I Heart Antibiotics

Few things are more pitiful than a three-year-old with strep throat.

We started to wonder if something was wrong with him after he slept on our friend in the nursery for the duration of the church service on Sunday. When we got him home he had a low grade fever so I decided not to attend a graduation party that night. Troy took Garrett and they were gone for most of the afternoon and evening at the party and then at our Community Life Group. Good thing I didn't take Matthew because he's fever was 102.8 that night.

On Monday I nearly took him to urgent care because, aside from running a pretty high fever, he was covered in hives. I jumped in the shower and, a few minutes later, he appeared. "Can I come in?" I pulled him into the shower with me and noticed that the hives were substantially better. We decided to hold off on urgent care.

Yesterday he was still running a fever and so I took him in.

He did not want me to put him down and getting him to stand on the scale was darn near impossible. And then there was the throat culture.

Suffice it to say, Matthew is not a fan.

The doctor came in and examined him and, apparently, his throat was, like, swimming with strep. All the doctor did was push his tongue down for a second. Then she pushed back the chair and said, "Oh yeah. It's strep."

By last night, even though he'd had a dose of the antibiotic, he was a mess. All he wanted to do was lay his hot, fever infested body on mine. If I wasn't holding him, he was crying. On the one hand, be still my heart. There are few things more endearing than the fact that my children think they are going to die without me when they don't feel well. I'm not good at much but holding a sick kid is one of my few talents. On the other hand, I was trying to breathe in any direction that his germs weren't. As he draped himself over my body, his tears, saliva, and general exhaling covered me.

What a difference a day makes. Tonight, Matthew is back to normal self. Praise God for sleep and antibiotics.

Tomorrow is the last day we're covered under the old insurance. I really don't want to use the new insurance on the very first day. Something in me says that this is bad form. Although I did think that since they are charging me an extra 25% because of silly reasons that I should tell them I plan to increase my insurance use by 25%. Anyway, if this raging headache and moderately sore throat are an indication of things to come, I may be paying my doctor a visit tomorrow. Might as well get one more day out of the old insurance.

Strep Throat

I have no intention of taking strep to the island.

So the strep that Matthew has, that will likely infect us all before it's through, had better be gone by then.

He's complained about the fever, the hives, the body aches, the chills, but he hadn't said a word about his throat hurting until after he was diagnosed. This afternoon he informed me, "My neck hurts. My neck. I hurt so bad."

Poor boy.

Packing Anxiety

An Open Letter to My College Roommate


We have packing issues. We both know it. You had to schedule a day between your wedding and your honeymoon because the idea of packing for a honeymoon while planning all the minute details of your wedding overwhelmed you. At the time, while I completely sympathized and definitely understood, I thought that, just maybe, your packing anxiety was worse than mine.

I feel that the tables have turned. Because, really, if you're as bad as I am now, we both need to check ourselves into rehab. I'm looking into programs for myself.

We're going to Maui in two and a half weeks. We've kept it fairly quiet because we're desperately trying to surprise the boys. Or, at least, Garrett. If it was just Matthew we could probably shout into his ear, "We're going on a plane. To Maui. One of the Hawaiian islands. MAUI. HAWAII. PLANE!" And he'd just blink several times and then ask us why we're shouting. But if Garrett so much as hears the word Hawaii, he's going to ask us 12,000 times a day if it's time to go yet and can we go swimming right when we get there, RIGHT WHEN WE GET THERE? CAN WE? And will there be coconuts? Pineapple? Mango? Papaya? CAN WE SNORKEL? ARE WE THERE YET? ARE WE? ARE WE? HUH? HUH? HUH? And don't even get me started on what would happen when he realized we were taking a PLANE.

"CAN I HAVE AIRPLANE WINGS? CALL THEM RIGHT NOW AND RESERVE A PAIR OF AIRPLANE WINGS FOR ME!"

I'm sure you can understand that I don't want to deal with that for the next 18 days. I also don't want to deal with it for the eleven and a half hour drive to San Diego which we are doing because airfare to Maui from Salt Lake would have involved us selling our firstborn. And oh my gosh can you even imagine how mad he would have been if he'd found out we'd sold him so that the rest of us could go to Hawaii? It was considerably cheaper for us to drive to San Diego and then fly from there. The tickets were still lined with gold but we were able to afford it because my parents are generously paying for the lodging and the rental car once we're there. My parents, brother and sister-in-law will all be there with us and we've been referring to the vacation as our Trip to Barstow.

Garrett's so thrilled he's been excitedly telling people, "We're going to BARSTOW! In June! With my GRANDPA AND UNCLE JON! Isn't that the best thing you've ever heard?" And people pat him on the head and make a sad little smile as I'm frantically mouthing the word, "Maui!" over the top of his head so they don't mistake me for the lamest mom in the whole wide world. I'm not kidding, if anyone tells him where we're really going, I'm gonna go out-of-my-mind-nuts and force that person to sit next to him in the car all the way to Southern California.

But back to the topic at hand. Can you even imagine the anxiety of the packing? First, I have to pack myself and two little boys for twelve days on Maui in carry on luggage because we are only paying to check one bag and that is going to be full of our snorkel gear and our sunscreen and toothpaste and hairspray and life jackets for the kids and everything else that's liquidy or too big to fit in a carry on. Troy is only staying for a week so I have to be able to get myself and both boys through the airport with three carry ons, three personal items, a checked bag, a car seat and a booster so I have to be very strategic. Then, I also have to pack the car for a road trip. We need backpacks full of things to keep them busy on the plane and toys for the car ride and clothes for the day between the trip to San Diego and the trip to Hawaii.

You, of all people, can understand this. Right? I need you tell me that I'm not crazy. This anxiety is not crazy!

It's not crazy that I've got the three of us 90% packed and the trip is still two and a half weeks away. It's not crazy that I get heart palpitations just thinking about the fact that my husband won't pack himself until the night before we leave. It's perfectly normal. I don't need shock therapy to fix this. This is organized. This is taking care of business. Am I right?

Or am I so far gone that when I get home from this vacation I'm going to start packing for the next? Actually, that reminds me, we're going camping for two days just a week after we come back from Maui.

Maybe I should pack for that trip now.

How will I manage to clean up a tropical trip and pack for a mountain trip in just seven days? I have to go. I need to find a paper bag to breathe into.

Signed,
The Headcase You Lived With For Three Years

The Wheels Were Turning

On the night we shaved Matthew's head, his big brother stood by, begging us to do his and watching in wonder as all Matthew's hair came off. Finally, when we finished, he cocked his head to the side and said, "Huh. I thought Matthew's head would be white underneath."

Week 20: A Place of Solitude

When I first saw the theme for this week, Solitude, a nearby mountain resort, immediately came to mind. I wanted to grab my camera and drive up there and see what we could find to take pictures of. So that's exactly what we did. On Wednesday I packed a lunch and the boys and I set off for Big Cottonwood Canyon.

It was gorgeous that day and, when we got up to Solitude, I realized that the winter ski season is over and the resort has not yet opened for summer. When we got there, a few people were having lunch but they left just after we arrived and we were, literally, left in solitude. This is the picture I used for the official photo project shot.

It had been in the 60s down in the valley so I'd thrown in light weight jackets as an afterthought. Despite the fact that there were very few clouds, it somehow managed to start snowing on us. It was really more like flurries and they were thick chunks...almost like light, soft, balls of hail. It was fine when the wind wasn't blowing but when it blew, it was freezing!

The boys desperately wanted to eat there but it was so cold that we only managed to eat our sandwiches before I ushered them back to the car. There were patches of snow and the boys wanted to stay and play forever but I was cold to my bones so I ended their fun, promising that we'd make a lot of stops on the way back down the canyon.

I pulled over four of five times during the 12 mile drive out of the canyon. The boys wanted to touch the water but I had to find really gradual shores because the water was raging. I had visions of both boys being swept down the river and that is just not a party I want to be invited to.

While I was helping Matthew touch the water at this location, I looked up just in time to see Garrett taking his first steps out onto this log.

Now I'm as adventurous as the next mom and, really, more than most so I know where he gets it but sometimes I think I gave birth to a reincarnated Evel Knievel. Except that Evel Knievel didn't die until after Garrett was born and I don't believe in reincarnation.

Normally I would not freak out about him crossing a river on a log but the water was cold and the river was fast and when I checked the log out myself a few minutes later it was not sturdy at all.

See what I mean?

Just kidding. That's totally not the same log. 

We explored. We did a little walking around a picnic area. We had a blast. And I was reminded that I really need to haul myself up into the mountains a little more often because this picture...

was taken about thirty five minutes from my front door.

Bald Boy

There's a kid at playgroup who has a mohawk. His dad Bics the part that isn't the mohawk. He's three. Can you really get a kid who's three to sit still while you Bic their head? Why, yes. Yes you can.

Matthew always stares at the other kid's head so I thought maybe we could try it and just see what we thought. We're going on vacation in three weeks and I figured if it was terrible, he'd have at least a tiny layer of hair by the time we leave.

Matthew loves it. When we were done he wanted to call his Grandma on the phone he was so excited. And this morning he came into my room and declared, "Remember I'm bald?" I've caught him staring at himself in the mirror at least a dozen times.

But it sure was a process. First we shaved it close with regular clippers. Then we used Troy's neck-hair-trimmer-thingy (that's it's official name) to go even shorter. Then we used a razor to do the rest. He sat so still and loved every second of the excruciating half hour.

And then we discovered that our kid has a dent in his head. It's about three inches long, maybe. I've never seen Matthew bald because, unlike his brother, he was born with a great head of hair. It started at his eyebrows, covered his entire head, and descended down his neck. It was quite a sight to behold.

Apparently, under all that hair, was a dent. Who knew?

He really loves his head all bald and exposed and there is so much heat that radiates off the top of his cranium that I could warm the house in winter. Unfortunately, we are not going to want to maintain it. A half hour on a weekly basis? I think even Matthew would tire of that.

What he doesn't tire of is learning his letters.

Insurance

I've been living and breathing insurance quotes and underwriting and deductible this and out-of-pocket that for three whole weeks now. I've spoken with a number of people at a number of companies. I've been rejected by Humana for the benign lump and the PCOS. I had a follow up appointment for the very lump in question today and the surgeon was appalled. " That's ridiculous! It was benign. Did you tell them that it was benign?" (No, I thought, I told them it was cancerous just for the joy of being rejected out right. Of course I told them it was benign. Multiple times. With all manner of tone to my voice.) "What do I need to do?" she asked me. "I can tell them that you need only routine exams until you're 40. Would that help?" Have I mentioned that I love her? I don't have any desire to spend a great deal of time with her, mind you, because that would mean that my breasts were up to no good but I kind of wish she'd invite me to go for coffee.

I'm really weird like that. Every once in awhile I form strange attachments to physicians and I think about blurting out that they should come over for dinner sometime. My obstetrician in San Diego. My breast surgeon. Apparently I get attached to doctors who have to deal with my unmentionables. Wow. This is not really the direction I'd intended for this post. Moving on.

Anyhoo.

Where were we?

Humana. Rejected.

Altius. Rejected. Their reason: Recent use of Metformin. If by recent you mean last October then, sure. But since I've almost had time to gestate an entire human--not that I am gestating an entire human--I don't really consider that recent. I'm appealing that decision although, it should be stated, that I am not holding my breath.

We also applied with Select Health. I sent in the online application with them about two and a half weeks ago. Last Monday I contacted them directly and found that they needed my medical records. So I had them sent. Then I waited three days and called them back. They needed something else. Something they hadn't asked for originally. So I had that sent. Then I called back the next day. It had been sent back to underwriting. I could call back on Monday. Today.

So I called.

And they said they hadn't received what they needed. So I nearly lost my ever-loving mind. There was this biting tone that kept coming out of my mouth. My head knew it wasn't the poor man's fault on the other end of the phone so I kept saying things in a measured but irritable voice like, "I don't understand how I'm back where I was a week ago. This is what I was told. I'm running out of time and, frankly, I'm getting tired of this." And then, no sooner would I finish the sentence that my voice would turn all soft and sweet, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't your fault." I was straight up Jekyll and Hyde. It was a little disturbing. Speaking of Jeyll and Hyde which, well, we weren't but Troy and I watched Van Helsing last night because you can't go wrong with Hugh Jackman, right? Wrong. That was certainly a party I wish I'd never been invited to.

Anyway, it finally got worked out and the application was sent back to underwriting. The nice man--who kept telling me that I didn't need to apologize--told me to call back tomorrow. But I've never been an overly patient person.

So I called at 4:30.

And there was good news and bad news. The good news is that the whole family was approved. Praise God! Hallelujah. After being rejected by two companies I know that this was all God. The bad news was that because of my "risky preexisting conditions" they are only offering it to us at a 35% cost increase. And the number is pretty steep. It's doable but it's steep.

I did have them send the proposal back to underwriting at Select to ask how long it would be before that additional 35% might be lifted. One year? Ten? And I'm seriously considering calling them tomorrow and trying to negotiate the price. Is this even a thing? Can someone try to do that? Will I be laughed off the phone? Because you know what, I negotiated my Santa Fe to a price I could live with. They never saw me coming. The salesman said he couldn't do it so I turned around, walked out, and drove home. He called me a half hour later and said he might be able to work something out.

Of course, there was that time in Mexico where I could not get the sombrero seller to give me a ten dollar hat for eight. Could not. And I bought the hat anyway. That dude totally called my bluff. So I'm one for two.

But what if I sent the underwriters a basket of mini muffins and a note that says, "Pretty please lower my premium?"

I could so do that. I would so do that.

Career Paths

So I'm putting the boys in bed. I'm cuddling with Garrett and I tell him that I hope he grows up to be a godly, righteous man. I hope he marries a good, godly woman and that they have wonderful children. I tell him that I hope he has a job that he loves. "Like what?" He asks me.

"Well, what do you want to be?"

"I don't really know," he answers.

"A firefighter?" I ask.

"Maybe."

"A police officer?"

"Maybe."

"A doctor?"

Again he replies, "Maybe."

"A port-a-potty cleaner?" I ask, just to break up the monotony of the responses.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Someone who cleans port-a-potties."

"With their hands?"

"Ew. No. With some kind of pump."

"YES! I want to do that!" he shouts, laughing.

"Garrett, what do you really want to be when you grow up?" I ask.

"A PUMPER!" he giggles, hysterically. "I really do."

"This is ridiculous," I say in a teasing voice and climb down from the top bunk. I get into bed with Matthew for some three-year-old snuggles. "Matthew, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Without missing a single beat and with all the seriousness in the world, Matthew proudly announces, "I want to be Batman."

Week 19: A Sunny Day

We were supposed to try to get a picture of a sunburst but every time I thought about taking a picture, it was cloudy. Or pouring down rain. Or night time. So there will be no photo of a sunburst.

I went to the archives and found this instead.

Last summer, Troy and I celebrated our anniversary by having fish on the pier in San Clemente. We walked down the pier once we were finished eating and this guy was there, harassing the people who were fishing.

It was gorgeous that day.

Although, I can't really remember a time when I didn't think that Southern California was beautiful.

Funny Boys

Yesterday The Rock Star was talking about his cousins. Then he asked Troy if he is an uncle. Then he asked me if I'm an aunt. "Yes, I'm an aunt."

From the table Matthew loudly declared, "And I'm a spider!"

Funny stuff.

************************************************
Garrett just asked, "You know the queen who lives in the country where all the white people come from? How old is she?" I only have Pocahontas to thank for this perception. We don't use the terms "white" and "black" around our children because we want them to learn and comprehend ethnicity at age appropriate intervals. When we're referring to skin color, we usually call Matthew "brown" and Garrett "peach" because these are the words he began using to differentiate between himself and his brother when he was three or four years old.

But, of course, he got a heaping helping of racial education from Pocahontas where the light skinned people are frequently referred to as "the white man."

It was still pretty funny to hear him say, "the country where all the white people come from." Since he is as white as they come and he's about one tenth English.

School

When it was time to put Garrett in preschool, we found one that we really liked. In all honesty, I looked at many online but the first one we visited was the one we chose. There is no way for me to express how much I believe that God led us to that specific school at that specific time. The Rock Star was placed in a class with a boy named Web. His mom and I became acquainted. Then we became friends. Then I fought through epic sweat and invited Web to Vacation Bible School almost two summers ago. (Evangelism is so not my spiritual gift.) She brought him. Then their family came to church. Then her husband accepted the Lord. Then she accepted the Lord. And I know that He would have reached them in another way if I'd given in to the rapid heart rate and copious amount of sweat and put that VBS flier back in my car. But I believe that in that moment, God used me to reach the lost. I believe that back when I first stumbled upon that preschool's website, God was setting everything into motion. And I believe that we have to look for opportunities wherever God has placed us.

We struggled to figure out whether to start Garrett or keep him in preschool for another year. All of his friends were off to kindergarten last year. We talked about it. We prayed about it. We beat a dead horse. Finally, agonizingly, we decided to keep him in preschool. And I know. There shouldn't have been anything agonizing about school. Make a decision already. But it really was a difficult one for us. People told me to absolutely start him. People told me to absolutely not start him. Eventually, we chose to keep him where he was for another year and there isn't a fiber of my being that regrets that decision. He's more confident. He's more of a leader. He's more ready. A mother sees these things and just knows.

So in the winter we were faced with the task of figuring out where to put him for kindergarten. We prayed. And prayed. And prayed. It's so clear to us that he was exactly where God wanted him for these past three years. We wanted to make sure that we put him where God wanted him for the foreseeable future. We debated trying to get him a transfer to a school several miles away that's on a traditional schedule because the idea of year round is foreign and abrasive to us. We debated getting him a transfer to the school up the hill from us that's on a year round schedule but has better test scores and services less kids. We debated sending him to the one around the corner. We debated several charter school options. All the while we just prayed and prayed that wherever our family is needed, wherever we might reach the lost for Jesus, wherever Garrett might shine his light--and it's a bright one--would be where God would lead.

It came down to four choices.

There were two charter schools in the mix, plus the school up the hill and the one we're zoned for. I prayed that if the charter schools were not in God's plan, he wouldn't be pulled in the lottery. He's so far down the list at one of them that there is no earthly way we'll ever get a call that he's been accepted. He also wasn't drawn at the other, although several weeks after finding that out, we received a letter stating that he's number seven on the list.

I applied for a transfer to the school that's a mile away and registered him at the one in our zone. The transfer was accepted so we decided to wait and see which school he got the better track at. But then, one day, I received a phone call. Turns out we couldn't have him registered in two places at once. I instantly and without thinking about it all, withdrew his name from the school we're zoned for. After so much prayer, I have to believe that God just impressed upon me that we're supposed to have him up the hill.

Last weekend we got his schedule. We wanted morning kindergarten because Garrett is bright eyed and bushy tailed at the crack of dawn. Our first choice for a track was D and our second choice was A. I was a little worried that he'd end up with PM B and we'd have to make due with a crazy schedule and a session that isn't as conducive to our child's personality.

He got AM D.

Our first choice.

At a school that I feel God led us to.

(Even if it is year round. Which, for the record, I still find foreign and abrasive.)

He starts kindergarten in a little over three months. He's ready. I'm pretty ready. But I'm going to try to make the most of these months left with my baby because, even though we waited to start kindergarten, and even though he is almost six (SIX!) I kind of still see this when I look at him.

Dessert

Not long ago, The Rock Star asked if we could roast marshmallows. Since there was no camping trip in our near future, we don't have any kind of outdoor fire ring and our fireplace is gas, we were kind of limited. But Daddy had an answer.

"Yes."

Turned out, we only had mini marshmallows.

It worked out okay. Except for every fifth second when The Rock Star lit his marshmallow on fire and then swung it around in his dad's face yelling, "Daddy! Help! Daddy! AH!"

We also happened to have tiny graham cracker cookies. And the minis'more was born.

And there was much rejoicing.

Moms

I'm listening to my oldest boy sounding out the words of Green Eggs and Ham. He's sitting on my mom's lap and they're reading together.

I'm so thankful for her. For all she was to me, all she is to me, and all she will be to me.

I'm so thankful for him. For making me a mom, for the amazing creation that he is, for the joy he brings me.

I'm so thankful for Matthew. For making me a mom again, for the incredible love I have for him, for his heart and his soul.

I'm so thankful for Matthew's first mother. For making me a mom again, for her sacrifice, for her love.

I'm so thankful for my mother-in-law. For raising my husband, for loving my children, for loving the Lord.

I wouldn't trade this for anything. My mom gave me life and I am forever thankful. Because it means that I get to be a mom. And there is truly nothing I would rather do.

Week 18: A Bug's Life

When I first saw the theme for this week, I immediately thought of a picture. The photo will be two years old in September but I love it.

My brave, bug loving, all-boy offspring certainly gave this praying mantis a day to remember.

Week 17: From the Hip

Our associate pastor shoots from the hip all the time. He catches me in all kinds of hideous poses and faces. It's the most thrilling thing that's ever happened to me, really.

I, myself, have no talent for shooting from the hip whatsoever.

After about fifty shots of just pants, or grass, or the tops of trees, I finally got this one.

ABCs

This is how Matthew sings his ABCs.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, K, Day, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, B, W, X, Y, G. Now I know my ABCs. Next time don't be with me.

Every. Single. Time.

*****Edited to add video*****

Dear Humana

Dear Humana,

Out of curiosity, why did you call me on the morning of May 4 and inquire as to whether or not my April ear pain had subsided if you knew that you would deny me on the basis that my polycystic ovaries and benign breast lump made me a high risk applicant?

Out of curiosity, why do I have to be without medical coverage for six months before I qualify for your high risk insurance? Do you not want my money for those six months?

Out of curiosity, what is it about the word benign that has you running scared? Usually the word that people don't want to hear is malignant.

Out of curiosity, why are you and every other health insurance on the planet so terrified of polycystic ovaries? Between 5% and 10% of women of childbearing age have them. I assure you that they do not come out at night, grab the nearest knife, and attempt to murder physicians. They don't even try to murder underwriters. They just stay where they are and don't bother anyone.

Out of curiosity, why don't you pull medical records before you deny people? Why don't you inquire as to whether doctors are concerned with the patient's medical condition? I'll have you know that at my last annual exam, the doctor told me I was the picture of health. My life insurance has me listed as Super Preferred. I eat pretty well, exercise, and manage to get out of bed each and every day.

I asked the lady on the phone--the one who told me that if I'm free of my cystic ovaries and any breast condition for ten years I can have Humana insurance--why I was denied for reasons that do not have any baring whatsoever on my health. She told me, in a nutshell, that whether I think so or not, I'm high risk.

That answer made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Sincerely,
The Uninsurable Risky Patient

Worthy Is The Lamb

There is something so beautiful, so extremely breathtaking, about standing shoulder to shoulder with fellow believers singing to the One we worship. In college I was moved to tears as the voices of a few hundred students rang out...

Alleluia, Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns

Alleluia, Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns


We were young. The world spread before us like the Pacific Ocean. We could do anything. Be anything. The land, for four years, was ours. And our Lord God Almighty reigned.

I'm older. Twelve years, to be exact. And I stood, last night, shoulder to shoulder with fellow believers who are residing together in this land. A land that is not ours. With hands raised high we declared what we know to be true.


Alleluia, Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns

Alleluia, Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns


We were gifted tickets to the Third Day concert. They were in Orchestra. In row six. Mac Powell was, well, life size. And it took my mind off of what the Lord is taking us through.

Alleluia
Holy, Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb


It was medical insurance that almost kept me from Utah. I sat in my toddler son's room in California and cried when I heard the man tell me that I wasn't insurable because I had polycystic ovaries. My husband found a group, though, and this ministry happened.

It was medical insurance that kept rising. Rising. Rising. And medical insurance that we kept paying, as it rose, never quite sure what we'd cut to afford the rising costs.

It was group medical insurance that gave us a thirty day notice on Tuesday. No longer insured, as of June 1. It was individual medical insurance that told me today that I am not insurable. Because my ovaries have tiny cysts that effect nothing except my ability to bear children. Because I had a benign lump removed from my breast in October. Because I'm high risk, apparently. I'm not insurable until I've been free of PCOS and any breast issue for ten years. TEN YEARS. As if PCOS will just vanish into the night.

And it's frustrating. Because I'm big on being protected. I don't think it's fair to exclude me because of a benign breast issue. I don't think it's fair to punish me for my infertility. The anguish I've felt has been punishment enough for that.

But this sense of entitlement I have is ridiculous. Sickening, even. I've seen pictures of dying children in third world countries who do not expect health insurance. I know God doesn't love me anymore than He loves them so why should I expect health care as if it is somehow owed to me. It isn't. The sooner I can get over my western, pretentious, self entitled way of thinking, the better.

Alleluia
Holy, Holy
Are you Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb


My children and my husband are insurable. Praise God.

I'm exploring my options. Praise God.

Worthy is the Lamb.


Regardless. Even when things don't fit my idea of fair. I've seen miracles in my thirty years. I've seen God. May He be glorified in all things. Always.

Worthy is the Lamb.
Amen.

I'll Be A Sunbeam For Him

All through the grocery store Matthew was singing. "Fight, fight, fight, for the Lord. Stand, stand, stand on word. Fight, fight, fight, for Lord. Armor. Shield. Sword." He leaves out a few key words here and there but he does okay. In the aisles, he sang. At the deli counter, he sang. In the checkout line, he sang.

"What's he singing?" The checker asked.

I paused a second before replying with, "A song from church." It isn't technically a song from church, although they do sing it at Kid's Club. Technically, it's really a song off of a children's CD that my friend, Jason, made. My parents bought the album for Matthew for his birthday and he is in love with it.

"Oh! Is he a sunbeam?" the checker asked with enthusiasm.

I was so puzzled.

The only thing I could think of was the children's song everyone knows and loves. "A sunbeam, a sunbeam, Jesus wants me for a sunbeam; A sunbeam, a sunbeam, I'll be a sunbeam for him." But I've never had someone ask me if either of my children are actually sunbeams. And how should I respond? Sometimes. When he's had a decent night's sleep and protein for breakfast. And sometimes he's got the personality of a hungry grizzly bear?

The pause was too long. Slightly awkward. I was about to ask, "Do you mean from the children's hymn?" When she cocked her head to the side.

"Uh," she stammered. "Are you LDS?"

"Oh. No. We're not."

"I'm so sorry. I just assumed..."

There was really no need to apologize. We live in Utah. It's a fairly safe assumption that if a kid is singing a song he learned in church, in Utah, he just might be LDS.

"It's okay," I said. "You don't need to apologize."

"You seemed so confused..." she continued. It's true. I had been. "I really am sorry." I'm still not sure exactly what she was sorry for.

"It's fine. His daddy is a pastor at a different church here," I said.

I learned something new today. I learned that LDS three-year-olds are called sunbeams. I also learned that this is based on the same song that ran through my head when she asked if my kid was a sunbeam.

My kids are rays of sunlight so, yeah, they're sunbeams. And I hope that, as they grow and learn and understand, they will reflect the light of the Father and be sunbeams for Jesus.