Hee-haw!

I'm in love with a camera. My old faithful Sony Cybershot died in DisneyWorld and so I've been camera borrowing ever since. Right now I'm in possession of my neighbor's Nikon D40. I'm tempted to keep it, but I'm sure she'd notice. *sigh* In the meantime, what's a girl to do besides hold some really fun photo shoots. My most recent subject wanted to show off her new cowgirl boots and handmade cowgirl skirt.

By the way, I also discovered the histogram adjustment layer on Photoshop Elements. That's just a geeky way of saying I can make the photos look really cool. I like that last shot so much, I might have to frame it for my wall. Not bad for an amateur, eh? Now if only I can get a great camera....
 

Only when

“Only when we understand that God has ordained our suffering
can we begin to make sense of it.
Only then can we be certain that He has a purpose in it.
When tragedy comes, when adversity strikes,
we will not be shaken.
Yes, we will cry. Yes, we will grieve.
But we will move on confidently
knowing that God is on His throne,
that we are in His hand,
that our circumstances are His doing,
and that He is working them for our good.”

~Terry L. Johnson, When Grace Comes Home

ReCommissioned

com·mis·sion vb.

1. The act of granting certain powers or the authority to carry out a particular task or duty.

I received my recommissioning. My authority and powers as head homemaker have returned. All because my sidekick has flown the coop. In other words...

...the husband got a job.

Not just any job, mind you. A job that seems so good that my head is still spinning. I am still holding my breath, waiting for the "catch" or the "attached strings", which have yet to materialize. He will be working as a Bilingual Employment Recruiter and I don't think that a different position could use his skills and gifts as well as this one.

I'm still shaking my head.


But in the last few years, my homemaking skills have grown a little rusty. The advantages of having a husband home a lot are many, but one of the downsides is being out-of-practice as a one-woman-show. I need igure out some semblance of a routine, make a meal plan including filling the freezer, and reignite the flame for making this home a soft place to land. 


On the Husband's first day, we took him to a small local restaurant as a way of honoring and celebrating him. It's only about 10 minutes from home, but as we sat down my 5-year-old remarked that "it took forever to get here".

"Yeah. About two-and-a-half years," I said.

The kids were confused.

But the Husband and I exchanged a knowing look.

It has been a really long road.

I'm Odd.

"A real Christian is an odd number anyway. He feels supreme love for One whom he has never seen, talks familiarly every day to Someone he cannot see, expects to go to heaven on the virtue of Another, empties himself in order to be full, admits he is wrong so he can be declared right, goes down in order to get up, is strongest when he is weakest, riches when he is poorest, and happiest when he feels worst. He dies so he can live, forsakes in order to have, gives away so he can keep, sees the invisible, hears the inaudible, and knows that which passeth knowledge."

-A. W. Tozer

A Brief Glimpse

Written in honor of Olivia's due date, August 2, 2009, exactly one year ago today.

A small spritely girl toddles around the fields of heaven, picking wild flowers. Every bouquet clutched by her warm, chubby fists is beautiful perfection. She grasps splendid colors of pink, yellow, purple and white, only to toss them into the gentle breeze and begin picking again, giggling all the while.

From time to time, she stops to delight in clusters of tasty berries, juice dripping down her petite defined chin. The Son's radiance highlights the auburn streaks in her wispy and unruly jet black hair. She laughs and toddles and laughs some more, pausing to plop down for rest beneath an always azure sky.

The ever-present melody of the heavenly host beckon her to stand and twirl, and as she does, the whisper of another love song caresses her heart, its refrain barely audible across the chasm of eternity. But without even stopping to listen, she already knows the familiar chorus....We love you, Olivia, We love you, Olivia. We love you.