{ Thanksgiving 2009 }

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple...in pictures!

We started the day with a tackle football game, a long-standing tradition for Mike and his buddies. I singlehandedly filled the role of cheerleader. I've never seen a live football game, or an entire televised game, and I admit utter defeat when it comes to understanding the rules. I would have been a serious hindrance to either team!

Damien sustained a pretty sizeable cut just above his eye. During the first play. This is why Nikki doesn't even watch football, let alone play it. This is also how I discovered that the first-aid kit in my car is the LAMEST excuse of a first-aid kit ever created: Approximately seven cotton balls, two thicknesses of gauze (like that is going to stop ANY bleeding, First Aid Kit Makers!!!), 30 band-aids that are all exactly the same size, and half a dozen little antiseptic wipes. It was all we had, though, so I bandaged him up as best I could. Look at that: playing tackle football, in Washington, in late November, barefoot. It started out with Damien taking his shoes off so he could take his pants off and use them to staunch the bloodflow above his eye (don't worry, he was wearing shorts underneath). Then he said he had better traction on the slick grass and mud with his bare feet. Jesse ended up barefoot, too. I tell you, guys are crazy. And they have the kind of circulation I can only dream of, as I drift off to sleep wearing socks year-round. (True story.)

At Mike's parents' house for dinner. Did I tell you I got my hair cut a few weeks ago?

With my mother-in-law Mandy's help, I made my first pie, the pecan one on the left. Isn't it pretty? It was delicious, too! (Shhhh, don't tell your teetotaling friends, but I added a little bourbon!)

Mike's sister Amaryah decided it was a good idea to put whipped cream on Mike's nose.

He returned the favor.

Handsome man loves whipped cream.

Cousin Stephanie and her cheery seven-month-old daughter, Estella.

Pictorial evidence of a teenage older sister multitasking: Stephanie's oldest daughter, Bethany, texting as she walked Estella to sleep.


I brought my knitting.

Amaryah attempting to help Mike "palm the floor." Turns out she's the only one in the family who can do it--I can barely touch!

How did you celebrate Thanksgiving?

{ Cooking While You're On Call }

Thank you Hesper for a retro apron with sweet pockets the perfect size for tucking in my pager!

{ Being made new }

Being married is harder than I thought it would be...but it's a different kind of hard than I expected. People always tell you marriage is hard, but they don't tell you how. I think that's because the "how" is different for every spouse.

I struggle so, so much with understanding godly submission. I've read so many books on relationships, dating, courtship, and marriage; I've listened to countless sermons and talks on those topics, I've been through the pre-marriage class and premarital counseling. The concepts, the framework, the way God designed it to work: It makes sense. I think I get the overall picture. Fleshing it out in daily life is the hard part.

One of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around is that Jesus asks wives to submit to sinful husbands. I don't have a problem submitting to the decisions and desires of my sinful self. I knew Mike wasn't flawless long before we married, and I didn't expect him to be sin-free after. But in the four months and one day that we've been wed, there have been times when I've been petrified by the possibility that Mike will make a "wrong" choice and I'll have to submit to it. I'm a control freak and a perfectionist. This freaks me out.

A few weeks ago I read the essay, "What if He Leads Wrong?" and found my questions echoed in the author's words:

"Could I love my husband as Titus 2 commanded me? I had no doubt. Could I be a 'helpmeet' as I was created to be? I had every desire to. But could I, really, submit to my husband? I knew that the Lord created man, woman, and marriage. Still, the deep-down, honest answer was: Of course, I could submit ... as long as he is right. Of course, my husband should be the head of the household ... as long as I agree with what he's doing. Of course, he should lead ... as long as I agree with what he's doing. Of course, he should lead ... as long as I have pre-approved the path. But what exactly am I supposed to do, my gut wrenched, when he is wrong? When he wants to make (what I really believe to be) a mistake? When he's leading badly or choosing the wrong path for himself--or worse, for us?"

I realized that my problem isn't with trusting the man I married. Ultimately my fears and recalcitrance stem from a heart that doesn't trust God's endless love, doesn't believe that He works all things together for my good. A heart that wants to trust ONLY its own understanding. A heart that fears.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear....

1 John 4:18a

In my head I believe that God is good, that He plans only good for me, that He loves me. I know that nothing reaches me except that which has first passed through the barrier of God's love for me--a love so great that it led Him a death He didn't deserve. I deserve that death. And I belittle Christ's love and His sacrifice when I balk at submitting to my husband because I'm afraid he may lead wrong.

Tonight I read the account in Matthew 2 of Joseph and Mary's flight to Egypt. An angel speaks to Joseph in a dream, telling him that he needs to take Mary and Jesus to Egypt, because Herod is going to search for Jesus to kill Him. Joseph gets up IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!!! and heads for Egypt with his wife and infant son. In the middle of the night. I'd call that unquestionably nuts.

I put myself in Mary's shoes: My husband wakes me from a sound sleep. He's had a dream. We have to go to Egypt because the king wants to kill our baby boy. We have to leave. Now. No, there's no time to pack. Joseph and Mary were poor, but doubtless they had to leave behind possessions in their midnight escape. I think of my sentimental tendencies: Did Mary have time to grab Jesus' favorite blanket? Did she have to leave behind her favorite cloak, mementos from her family or her wedding? Did she wonder if Joseph was crazy? Did she wonder where they would stay along the way, what they would eat, where they would live when they reached their destination in a foreign country?

If I were Mary, would I have tried to reason with Joseph? Would I have argued? Refused to go? Begged to wait for daylight? At the least I know I would have doubted him. Can you even imagine what sort of mental, emotional, and even spiritual contortions a wife could put her husband through, trying to change his mind, if he woke her in the night to say an angel had told him they had to move to a foreign country immediately?!

If Mary hesitated to submit to Joseph's leadership, Matthew doesn't write of it. If Mary was afraid that Joseph was leading their family wrongly, putting her baby in danger, or flat-out crazy, that didn't stop her from submitting to him.

In her essay, Heather Koerner continues:

"I've learned that I don't have to fear my husband's mistakes because he and I are both in the Lord's hands. And I've seen how my submission spurs my husband to thought, respect and responsibility. There are times it still gets messy, frustrating and yes, fearful. I can relate to Rebecca Jones when she writes, 'As I gradually understand the radical nature of submission, I also understand the depth of my own rebellion.' But the most important thing I've learned about submission was that first thing -- not to be afraid."

Lord Jesus, teach me to love and trust You as a child trusts her loving father. Teach me to submit to Mike, as Mary submitted to Joseph. May Your love drive all fear from my heart.

{ In which Home Improvement begins }

Conventional wisdom would tell you that after 8pm on a windy, rainy night in November isn't the best time to take your front door off its hinges. Apparently we don't always follow convention.

Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. See, the condo we bought is a whachamajigger--I can't remember the word for it (I haven't had coffee in eight days, people! It's amazing that I can speak coherently at all!)--a conversion, that's it: formerly apartments, converted to condos. It's not super old, but it's not brand new. And you can see under the door. Not under the whole door; just a section in the middle. Light and air and...who knows what...come in. It's a bit creepy, because it's a straight shot from the front door to the our bedroom. So if you're in bed and the bedroom door is open, you can lift your head ever-so-slightly and see light streaming forth from the sub-door region. Subconsciously this must bother me more than I admit, because last week I dreamt that our front door was a folding door, like you see on closets sometimes, and that it wouldn't shut. So we had it leaning at an angle against the doorframe.


The "perfect storm" of Mister, new weather stripping, appropriate power tools, and adequate time occurred last night. I was wolfing down fishsticks when Mike asked me to help him take the door off its hinges. I watched, wide-eyed, as he removed the old, torn weather stripping and put on the new, thinking, This is why I would make a horrible solo homeowner!!! I had no idea what-all was involved in eliminating that eery strip of light emanating from beneath our door.








The door had been down for a while before I had the brilliant idea to turn off the heater so that, you know, we're not paying the electric company to warm The Great Outdoors on a Howling, Windy, Dark and Stormy Night. I sat as much in a ball as I could (for the purpose of preventing hypothermia), writing thank-yous at the fireplace ledge (our camping/dining chairs are too low for the table...my arm falls asleep if I write at that angle, since my arm ends up being at shoulder height). I couldn't help thinking how comical this would look if any of our neighbors walked by: Front door off hinges, lying on living room floor. Man screwing weather stripping onto bottom of door. Woman crouched in front of empty fireplace, furiously writing on large photo cards. Small table in dining area with two camping chairs. Smells like fish sticks. Mmmmmm, these are the neighbors of my dreams!

The good news is that there is no longer a way for spiders and anorexic snakes to get from the outside to the inside.

{ A confession }

I have a rule about listening to Christmas music. This is my rule: You do not listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving.

I broke my own rule today!

I'm pretty sure this is a record for the earliest in the season that I've busted out the carols. Here's how it happened:

Last night it snowed. I mean hailed. It hailed so hard and fast that it accumulated on the ground, giving the appearance of snow, which is why traffic slowed to a crawl on my way home from work...the roadways were actually clear, but apparently that white skiff on the shoulder is reason enough to drive 20 mph. Anyway, it was all crispy-crunchy last night when Husband and I went out for burgers...the air was wintry-sharp, and coming back home to make mulled cider and watch LOST and eat popcorn whilst snuggled under blankets with the heater blasting was so cozy. Then today while grocery shopping, Fred Meyer accosted me with all sorts of festive decorations and rows of eggnog in the refrigerator case (why didn't I buy any?!). As I carried sacks of groceries from car to condo, a few hailstones still bright white between the yellow leaves coating the parking lot, the realization came: I want to listen to Christmas music.

So this afternoon found me cooking and doing laundry to the sound of Big Band Christmas tunes, thanks to Pandora. Although my homemade macaroni and cheese still doesn't taste as good as Mom's--why is that always the case, with anything Mom makes?--I had a jolly good time making it, with Bing and Frank and a host of others for company.

{The ominous cloud, from whence cometh the hail, that I saw when I left work on Friday. Isn't it apocalyptic-looking?}

{It was an enormous cloud, with separate clouds visible in front of it...this was one of those situations where I wish I carried my camera with me at all times, but this isn't bad for a camera phone!}

{ Photo Friday, vol. 2 }

Doesn't the glee on her face make you grin? This sweet girl, and her mama and daddy and baby brother came to visit us a few weeks ago, shortly before moving across the state to start their new-old-home adventures. It was so special to be able to have them over for dinner, since I've been a frequent guest at their home over the years. I'll admit, Chelle gives me a lot to live up to as a hostess (Mike STILL talks about that bean salad!), but it was so incredibly sweet to be able to spend an evening together at

our new digs before they move. Hugs and kisses!

Favorite engagement shots by Ryan Flynn.

{ Sunday morning }

I love mornings. I don't think it's possible to overemphasize how much of a morning person I am. I feel exponentially more sharp, focused, and energized in the morning compared to evenings or even afternoons. It's been sometimes comical, sometimes stressful to mesh my strong morning tendencies with Mike's night-owl leanings. Actually he's a mixed bag: he is a morning person too, but he can also be amazingly productive late at night. Really really late. I progressively fall apart as the night grows; he can somehow produce massive amounts of high-quality brainpower into the wee hours. For example, Mike is very strict about giving himself a Sabbath every week. He works really hard six days a week, and rigorously protects his day of rest and worship from becoming a day to catch up on tasks he hasn't finished yet. Last night that meant he was up till 1:30 AM working on his business plan. And he got a lot of it done while I slept peacefully. (At least, my sleep was peaceful till the crock pot alarm went off at 5:55 AM. I got this week's crock pot adventure started a lot later on Saturday than planned, and as a result it wasn't done cooking till after I went to bed. Apparently this crock pot emits a very loud alarm when it turns completely off. Scared the snoozing liver out of yours truly. I had been having a very lovely and realistic dream about Glacier National Park and convincing Mister that it is the per-fect place to go on our next vacation. No joke.)

This morning, while Mister slept, I had time for a long, luxurious quiet time with Jesus. I delight in having time in the morning to read the Bible and pray--it sets the tone for the whole day. I function a lot better when my day starts out with the Word, rather than having devotions in the evening. I admired the leaves outside the window, snuggled under the quilt Grandma Verla gave us for our wedding, and drank the most delicious coffee with sugar and cream. And snacked on Tostitos lime chips. Not because they go so well with coffee (though I think it's a pleasant combination), but because separately these are two of my favorite things, and I knew Mike wanted us to eat breakfast together...so I was waiting. A wife's gotta do what a wife's gotta do! ;-)

It was still super-duper early so I worked on some more wedding thank-you's. You can see the partial fruits of my labor below. We're using flat photo cards from Costco as thank-you's, and I absolutely love them. We have a lot of cool wedding photos, and this is a great way to use one.

Writing smears easily on photo paper, so I spread the cards out to dry before sticking them in envelopes. Out of nearly 100 thank-you's, I have less than 30 left to go! Yay!

What is your favorite time of the day?