Freedom, Fruitfulness, and…Fertilizer — August 9, 2016

Freedom, Fruitfulness, and…Fertilizer

2 days into my first week of “freedom” from language school, and I am laughing at myself.

Reality checks are always fun, right?

I had been feeling pretty anxious about this transition in our life and ministry. I wanted to stay busy. I wanted to keep learning, growing. I wanted to be fruitful.

HAHA. Oh, Amber, you’re too funny.

The first day I succumbed to a sinus infection after a week long battle with a cold the doctor says just comes with the territory of Nepal (thanks for your help, doc, I see why they pay you the big bucks). In true sickly stay-at-home-mom fashion I let my overly healthy toddler climb over my head while watching Baby Einstein on repeat until nap time finally graced us, and I joined the babe in sweet slumber. Judging from the snot+tear accumulation on his face versus the joy/elation/relief/um…drool…on mine, I was way more pumped about it than he was.

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I figured I would get out after our naps, but the beating in my brain and the heat unabated by the drizzle of rain that broke through for a moment breathed a seemingly audible, “Yeah, right.” Maybe that was just my sigh.

I got language practice, sure. I got to talk to plumbers about the septic system that was rather non-skillfully pieced back together after the landslide last year. They assumed I didn’t understand Nepali when I answered their question regarding the location of our main line (in Nepali) with an I don’t know (diddly squat about plumbing). In any language.

Today was immensely better in terms of intensity of pain in my temples but not so much in terms of things accomplished, though I did whine enough to the plumbers that they agreed to come a day earlier than promised, so that’s something. Also something I would NEVER do in English or in America, for that matter.. When in Nepal, I guess.

I’ve collapsed in bed alone at 7:30 after coaxing my children to sleep and watched the videos my husband wouldn’t watch with me on YouTube if he were here in the bed with me. I’m missing him tonight, and feeling like I’m also missing out (he went to India without me, please give him a guilt trip about this. I don’t think I’m allowed).

I’m guessing this feeling won’t be foreign to me as I navigate home and ministry as a helper to my husband here. As I stumble over syllables and mispronounce my neighbor’s name for the 13th time since this morning. Humbled doesn’t even cover what I feel like at the end of these two days where nearly everything in my home was either lost or broken and every family member had something decent to complain about (and they did).

Oh, and the whole house smelled like a day old diaper. Thankfully, my nose is all blocked up. My 4 year old tells me it’s rotten as I search for my last candle which turns up broken. No one will ‘fess up.

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God, you gave me these draining, disappointing days, and I know you will use them to grow me, teach me, and make me fruitful, though I can’t imagine how. My trials are so small when placed on a scale I didn’t forge from my Facebook feed. If I would have been less of a baby about sweat stains and sunburns, I could have glimpsed just how minuscule they are compared to those I decided not to face today.

So, the transition wasn’t smooth, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be redeemed. Fruitful days will follow because that’s just who You are, a good and gracious Master. Working through the sighs of a stressed out servant is not beyond your capabilities. I’ll try to remember that if carrying a cross was not beneath You, humbling at the hands of an overflowing toilet and a champion sleep refuser is something I can certainly deal with. Especially knowing the price paid for the peace that resides within me somewhere beneath the junk I’ve covered it with.

After all, blessed blooms of hard-fought-for fruit is often fertilized by a whole lot of…well…

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How is the Lord humbling you now and preparing you for future fruitfulness?
I’d love to hear from you in the comment section below!

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Just a Tonka Truck — July 27, 2016

Just a Tonka Truck

It was just a Tonka truck. Tucked into a 50 pound duffle bag of garage-sale gathered toddler clothes and toys.

It was thrown under a plane in Cincinnati, in Chicago, and again in Abu-Dabi along with other travelers’ jet-setting necessities and relocating families’ most prized possessions. It arrived in the back of our little Maruti Suzuki bursting with the gifts of doting grandparents finally arriving for a 10 day stay.

The next morning, it spilled out among the spoils spread out upon our marble floor. I nearly gasped at the sight! The previous Christmas, I had placed a Tonka truck on my Amazon wish list, not thinking much how unlikely and inconvenient this request was for a family living in a foreign land.

But leave it to Grandma to fulfill these crazy notions bound by far more than my imagination. She revealed to me that she had searched and even prayed while scavenging yard sales in my home town to find one of these golden vehicles of destructive delight.

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It was just a Tonka truck. But to me, it was so much more. It was a glowing, gleaming expression of an indestructible force- love. Though this tough love is threatened by thousands of miles, it plows and plunders through every obstacle and runs down each hill heaped up by hundreds of hardships.

Its work is HARD, and it is quietly admired by those privileged to behold its wonder. Its work is worth doing. Its work challenges and encourages me, though it is most often done without applause or praise.

Not many volunteer to take part in the cause. Most cringe a little at the mention at such a tedious, difficult task.

It speaks to me of a Savior that gives good gifts, no matter the cost. That toils to soften hard and frozen ground, to love those that are incapable of extending anything worth offering.

And it challenges me to love and give beyond myself. When it’s not quite cute and cozy and capable of being captured in a filtered photograph. I’ll roll up my sleeves and do the hard work of loving other people.

Across seas. Across cultures. Across the dining room table and down the hall.

Across the yellow-tape of my own comfort zone.

So thanks, MiMi, for the Tonka truck. Every time Shep vrooms it around the house or throws it down the stairs, I think of you (usually fondly, less so on the latter act). But mostly, I think of the hard work you’re doing.

And I thank God for a little boy so loved…

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…even if he doesn’t seem to appreciate it like I do.

 

 

Beauty in an Overgrown Rose Bush — July 14, 2016

Beauty in an Overgrown Rose Bush

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She was sweat and tear soaked. The sidewalk had claimed her knees and hands once again. I was encumbered by her big-for-his-age brother and had one hand free to help her up the steep hill ahead.

She had suddenly become a baby again. The pain she felt lit her instinct to crumple in my arms and be carried back home. Naturally.

Since my arms were currently occupied, she reluctantly (and slooooowly) dragged her feet step by torturous step towards home. We passed the overgrown yard she can’t walk by without commenting on, but instead of all the weeds, this time, she noticed the rose bush spilling over the front gate.

“Mom,” sob…sob…sob…”The flowers…they’re so…beautiful!” sobby sob sob.

And there I was, my own eyes misty, full of pride and moved by a four year old’s appreciation of beauty there by the old abandoned home.

Through her tears, in the middle of her pain, dragging her tired tootsies, she saw beauty in an overgrown rose bush nearly choked out by weeds. And I was thankful. Because I wouldn’t have noticed until she graciously gave me the opportunity to see through eyes that had only witnessed a few seasons of bloom.

I slid her brother over to the hip made for baby-load-bearing, and I summoned my mommy super powers to pull her up on the other. She cradled her chin into my neck as she had done so many times before. Together, we pointed out all of the small sources of delight all the way home.

I thought of all the weeds that life has sown in my life over the last few years. Great changes, great losses that have yielded an overgrowing faith in an even greater God. And though my perspective has been often clouded by scraped knees doled out by scathing sidewalks, there has been observable beauty in the tiresome journey. So often I have missed it.

I’m on that long walk home. There is pain aplenty but there is also beauty here. It’s crafted by the same hands that spoke immeasurable majesty of an untainted world into existence. And it’s for me.

When I’d rather embrace the pain and crumple into a Father whose arms never get full and whose load is never too heavy, I know I’m welcome there. As we go, He will ever so gently nudge me, encouraging me to lift my head every so often for a peek at the rose bushes along the way.

One day, I’ll open my eyes to see the gold streets lighting the way to where the pain won’t touch me again and my eyes will forever be wide open to beauty which makes the wonders of the world mere piles of rubble in comparison.

What scraped knees? It’s popsicles and praise from here on out.

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Earth-shaken, Fire-forged Love — February 17, 2016

Earth-shaken, Fire-forged Love

Is it too late for a mushy-gushy post? It’s my blog and I do what I want to.

Valentine’s Day has had me reflecting on the love the Lord has so generously blessed me with. First and foremost the unmatched love of Christ in my life is beyond compare to any temporal love that could be shown to me this side of heaven. That, in and of itself, is a totally and completely WORLD-ROCKING concept when I consider how abundantly full my life is in the L-O-V-E department.

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See what I mean?

The mission field has changed me. It has changed my husband. It has changed our marriage. It has changed our love. Our love may not of the Hallmark red-pink splattered fuzzy hearted type, but it is a lot of things less glamorous…but better.

Our love is shoulder-to-shoulder language learning, one of the hardest and most humbling experiences of our lives to date.

It is waking up to an earthquake and falling asleep again feeling safe in his arms.

Long walks stumbling around fallen bricks and our fears for our children growing up in this strange place.

Being led across the busy streets of Kathmandu in complete trust of the man that guides me.

It is sitting at our farmhouse table morning after morning, sipping our hot water (yeah, we quit coffee…and I don’t want to talk about it) and reading the word of God in a language that lights it all up for us.

Our love is my man sneaking out to the laundry room to start a load in the middle of the night while we are graced with power.

Snuggles that start solely for warmth. Cooking love-laced goodies on hot plates. Falling asleep on his shoulder on our millionth taxi ride. Walks with our daughter showing us her “secret places” she is unaware are public knowledge. Sharing our bed with a handsome little man who refused to sleep for the first year of his life. Rushing around in supermarket sweep style a few times a month. Squeezed-in cheesecake dates into our busting-at-the-seams schedule. Crashing into our bed at 8 o’clock after long days and waking up in groans and shared contempt for mornings.

It is joys, hardships, and countless stolen moments of peace among the crazy. The hug that chauffeurs me somewhere else. The kiss that takes away the stress if only for a moment. Romance is something I don’t remember much. But that’s not to say I don’t know love. I know it well. Maybe better than most.

  

I know our love. And I wouldn’t trade it for the love that storybooks and movies are made of. It has been forged in an on-going war to win the world. And it sure sounds romantic when you put it that way, doesn’t it?

And to think…Christ loves me MORE. And this ain’t a fairytale! It’s good and TRUE news our love weathers this place to share.

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Tell me about your earth-shaken, fire-forged love!
I would love to hear your experiences in the comment section below!

 

 

 

Frequently Asked Friday: All About My MKs — February 12, 2016

Frequently Asked Friday: All About My MKs

Seems like all anyone ever wants to talk to me about anymore is my kids! I kinda love that about growing up since I’m not too fascinating but I could talk about my sweet and crazy toddlers all day long! Pull up a seat and grab your coffee…we might be here a while!

This is Jolynn.

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This picture sums her up pretty well. She is always running around pulling stuff out, changing her identity (actual quote: “I not Jolynn… I Batman!”), and causing all kinds of trouble. She is a real firecracker but is pretty go with the flow when it comes to change (major life changes anyway- I wouldn’t suggest giving her peanut butter when she thinks she’s getting Nutella).

Life in Nepal- She settled into Nepal life well, has never made a fuss about us leaving her to go to language school, and has never seemed phased by having a nanny that only speaks Nepali to her.
Language- She understands A LOT of Nepali and follows any and all commands given to her but generally responds in English. She is starting to say phrases like, “Where is this?” “I am fine,”  “I am hungry,” etc. and the bossy gal has perfected, “Don’t do that, little brother!”
Food- She pretty much detests any food that is not PB&J or apples, so she hasn’t branched out into trying any real Nepali food. She will eat wai-wai which is a Nepali staple here similar to Ramen noodles, but she only eats them dry. She just doesn’t know how good they are the real way! YUM!
Social Life-She is not currently enrolled in school but we are exploring that option for her as she will be turning 4 in just 10 days! In our neighborhood, there aren’t any children her age and at times she seems to struggle with boredom and a lack of social interaction. We are praying for a little Nepali friend for her!

This is Shepherd. And no, he doesn’t have any sheep, but we know where to get him some. He’s kinda spoiled like that…

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He might as well be Nepali and everyone around here says as much. We moved here when he was 3 months old so I guess this is all just normal life to this little man!

Life in Nepal- He spends more time immersed in Nepali than English and, much to my dismay, often spends more time with his Nepali momma while his mommy learns this language! I sometimes think he might be surprised when he looks in the mirror and may even wonder who that little white boy is!
Language-Sometimes, when I can’t get him to obey, I say my command in Nepali and get an immediate response! Makes me feel bad for any discipline I may have given out unnecessarily! Oops! He hasn’t started talking yet, but I suspect when he does it will be a mash-up between Nepali and English…Nepalglish???
Food- He’ll pretty much eat anything that slightly resembles food but he does seem to prefer Nepali food (lentils, rice, and all kinds of veggies) and even likes it all a little on the spicy side! He enjoys carrying in the fresh-delivered milk, sweeping with the Nepali style broom, and throws a royal fit when we come in from outside, when his Nepali mommy leaves, and when his Masala Tea runs out!
Social Life- He doesn’t have one, but what one year old does? His sister drives him crazy, and he is a total momma’s boy (Nepali mommy or me…whoever is here!). He can usually be found on one of our hips trying to get a sneak of what’s cooking and will form a special bond with anyone who will sneak him some.

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I remember on the plane coming here, I looked at my sleeping babes and wept over their total oblivion to what was about to happen, to how their lives would change and not resemble many other American childrens’ lives. I worried that they wouldn’t have friends, wouldn’t eat anything, and would be scared of many things we would encounter. And that they would never feel at home anywhere.

Most of my fears have come true, but these precious babies have taught me so much about just enjoying each day and taking whatever comes. Like my husband told me, they don’t know that their life is weird…or hard!  So I try not to clue them in!

I’m so thankful for my American girl and my Nepali boy. I know that they have many challenges down the road as they grow up in a foreign land. I trust that the Lord will enable me to help them face those challenges with the grace and love that has been lavished upon me.

If I’m their Mom in America, in Nepal, or on Mars, I am truly, truly blessed!

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Tell me about your MKs- Missionary Kids and Mommy’s Kids alike!
I would love to hear your experiences in the comment section below!

 

An Open Letter to the Baby I was Scared to Love — December 6, 2015

An Open Letter to the Baby I was Scared to Love

Little One,

You’re not so little anymore. You’re finding your way around this house, running into everything, and filling the air with the funniest little growl sounds.

You’re constantly covered in bumps and bruises, smiles and kisses. You are so loved.

But, I’ll be honest, I was afraid to love you. When I learned of your presence in the womb that held your brother Ezra, I was flooded with conflicting emotions of joy, grief, and fear. We were moving on from our loss, accepting the void in our family but asking God to fill it with another pair of precious wrinkly feet.

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I never felt sure that you’d find your way into my arms. I took medicine, I rested, I prayed like I’ve never prayed before. And I trusted…with bated breath and a heart that could barely stand it…I trusted.

“God, make him kick.” I pleaded on many desperate nights after a day or two of you taking a vacation from assuring me of your thriving inside of me. And you would give the teensiest little punch and go back to your unsurpassed laziness lounging in the comfort of your mommy. Growing into a world-ready babe is hard work.

The doctor gave your big body the boot on December 5, 2014. I told your daddy he could go get some pizza while we waited for you to get ready. But you decided you were finally gonna get a move on, and I had to call him to come back before his first bite.

At 12:30 pm, I felt like I finally breathed as they put you in my arms and I heard the sweetest cry I’ve ever heard. As soon as they put you on my chest, you grabbed my finger. “Wow! Look how big his hands are,” Daddy and I exclaimed in near-perfect unison.

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Though you’re the tangible source of my healing, I can’t give you all the credit. Because the God who gives every perfect gift gave me you. And long before you were waking me up night after night, He had made room in my heart for the little guy with the giant hands which were used to play with my hair while taking his feeds.

You won’t reach for Christ with those hands, but I hope that you will embrace His when He reaches down for you. I want nothing more than for you to experience the love and kindness that I can’t give you this side of heaven. I will never be everything you need, but I will strive to point you to the One that is.

And when our family is whole again, we will sing His praises for all He has done for all eternity!

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Dream big, love big, little one. Thanks for filling my arms and mending my heart. I love chasing you around our home but am seriously considering making you wear a helmet from now on.

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With more love than you’ll ever know,
Mommy

 

 

 

Toddler Taught Truth — February 12, 2014

Toddler Taught Truth

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My daughter cracks me up. Especially when she throws tantrums. I really don’t want to encourage the behavior, but seriously, it’s hard not to laugh sometimes! Am I the world’s worst mom or can somebody relate to this predicament?

I’ve figured out that I can’t give Jo something (namely a piece of candy or food) if she can’t have ALL of it. I have to hand her the entire bag of fruit snacks instead of just one at a time. I have to give her a banana whole, not chopped up. I have to hide the jumbo bag of dum-dums in order to hand her one, and I have to show her my empty pockets. I’m not kidding.

I’ve seen my poor little girl sobbing…WITH A SUCKER IN HER MOUTH. I can’t even understand how she could possibly cry with a pink lemonade treat on her tongue. Seriously, what could be the problem? Didn’t I just send her to “toddler heaven?”

Her dissatisfaction with what I have seemingly withheld from her makes her incapable of enjoying the bit she holds in her hand. What she doesn’t know is that a lot of moms don’t let their babies have candy (and those moms probably aren’t in a car with their child for several hours a week!). I don’t HAVE to give her candy at all, but still, she acts like she has been on the receiving end of some major injustice by her mother not allowing her to rot her teeth out of her head.

And it’s funny how the Lord uses these moments to teach me. A red-faced nearly-two-year-old screaming with blue lips (from the treat- not a lack of oxygen!)  and a sucker in hand. And I think it’s ridiculous but it’s not far from home.

We were a stocking short on the mantle at Christmas, so I felt lonely when surrounded by a loving family. I long for my baby boy and fail to cherish the moments with my precious little princess basking in what an incredible miracle her sweet little life truly is. I think about each holiday and birthday being the last in the States, and I am tempted to sulk instead of take in every moment. But at the same time I long to be in India, serving where God has called our family, and I don’t make the most of the ministry God has given me stateside. And it’s nothing but ridiculous. I am robbing myself of the joy of the blessings God has given me because I’d rather focus on what I feel like has been withheld from me or even taken away from me.

I don’t indulge my toddler with everything she wants or thinks she needs because I love her. The decisions I make are for her own benefit. All us parents are in agreement here (except for maybe the lady who said, “Shame on you” for giving Jo yogurt while her father and I ate ice cream). This makes perfect sense to us.

Yet, when the Father in heaven withholds or takes away, we question Him. Does He really know what He’s doing? Does He really have it all under control? Why would He not bless me in the way He blesses others, and why would He take something that is precious to me away?

Because while it may not please me, it benefits me. And you know what’s the greatest thing about that? He actually KNOWS what’s best for me, without a doubt, because He created me. He knows my inside and out and has been conscious of every moment of my life from the moment of my conception (what?!?).

And let’s be honest, I really have NO clue what’s best for Jo. I read blogs and books, I pin and ponder, I ask advice and worry around the clock. But I don’t really know what’s best for her. But, oh, I sure do try.

But he knows. And he provides, and He doesn’t have to try. Blessings and benefits flow from His wounded hands. He is incapable of producing anything but righteousness. Rightness. And everything He allows in my life is for my benefit whether I can wrap my head around that or not.

Maybe it’s the blessing of being used for His kingdom or just the sake of knowing Him more intimately. But isn’t that the greatest gift of all?

That’s all I need. You can have my blue lollipop and day of the week. Just don’t take Jo’s. Trust me on that one.

A Haphazard Christmas — December 10, 2013

A Haphazard Christmas

We are thankful for time at home this year to be able to set up a Christmas tree and have a little family celebration at home before heading back to our family’s homes in Ohio. Last year, we were home only a few days and did not deem it worth it to set up a tree only to enjoy it for a few short days (all while fighting the tiny hands that would inevitably pull everything off).

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Last week, Paul went about the task of locating our Christmas tree in storage which we share with another family and some training center students. Monday, we had no luck as our neighbor Jeff was unable to get into the attic to look there. We looked around the other places in storage, and made cookies instead. We would wait until the next day when he could help us. Tuesday, we discovered that it wasn’t in the attic and wasn’t anywhere else either! Disappointed, we turned off the Christmas music we had hoped would set the Christmas mood, and we watched a movie together as a family.

I, of course, was disappointed. Jolynn had a fun time “helping” set up the tree at her Grandma Sue’s, and I wanted to experience that at our home, too. This also will be the last Christmas in our own home in the States until we return from India on furlough as we will either be leaving for the field or spending the last few months of deputation with family at this time next year.

Desperately, I contacted the ladies of our team to see if anyone happened to have an extra Christmas tree lying around! Thankfully, my friend Heather’s family had decided to go with a real tree this year and had their fake tree in storage. She graciously allowed us to borrow it along with some lights.  Colored outdoor lights, but lights nonetheless! Beggars can’t be choosers, right?

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We had previously had a themed tree with everything being silver, gold, and bronze. But since our lovely outdoor lights were colored, we scrambled to find some other ornaments. We had an Our First Christmas ornament, Jolynn’s first Christmas ornament, a ridiculously huge globe ornament, and some wonderfully tacky ornaments from my friend Krista! I also found a hook and hung up Ezra’s little hat he wore in the hospital, and we stuck Jo’s holiday stuffed toys in the tree and her first Christmas hat on top! We filled in the rest with silver balls and stood back to look at our creation.

And it was UGLY. But it was ours. We created it together, and we loved it! After all, we know what Christmas is really about- celebrating the birth of our Savior Jesus Christ, or as Jolynn calls him, “bee-bee.” We are hoping to teach her his name by Christmas!

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This will certainly be a Christmas we will always remember! What makes this holiday season memorable for your family?

 

Mommy Guilt — September 17, 2013

Mommy Guilt

I’m about the share my biggest battle on deputation with you. It’s not sleep deprivation, lengthy drives, financial struggles, or excessive carb-consumption (though at times, all of these wear on me!). It’s Mommy Guilt.

All of those little things about deputation not only have an affect on my life but also on the precious life of my toddler. At times, I begin to feel guilty about the long hours in the car, the 100th french fry (or 4th chocolate chip cookie) of the day, or the fact that she has worn the same thing for 3 days in a row and has had the same 5 toys to play with for an entire month. I get frustrated by our lack of schedule and bedtime that fluctuates by 1-3 hours which sometimes results in the following:IMG_0291

Thanks to my informative friend but victimizing enemy, Facebook, I see mommies doing activities I had hoped to experience with Jolynn this summer, teaching new things in creative ways in their home, purchasing new play items to stimulate and entertain their children and creating healthy, yummy lunches. As I peruse these displays of mommy perfection, the scum rises to the surface. Jealousy (there it is again). Guilt.

So maybe my child hasn’t had milk in her sippy cup for a few days, and has watched the same episode of Veggie Tales 16 times in a row. But this mommy needs to forget Facebook and focus on what my sweet girl does get to experience. She has fun, meets new friends, and learns everywhere we go. She gets to see her grandparents, great-grandparents, and other extended family on a much more regular basis due to our frequent travels.And not only that, but she gets to be with her Daddy a whole lot! We sure are lucky ladies to spend so much time with Daddy!

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She is loved by many people in many states. People all over the US have her picture on their fridge and pray for her by name. I would venture to say that she has had more hugs, snuggles, and kisses than the average kid, too. She plays with brand new (to her) toys and meets new friends in different nurseries 3 times a week. Many people give her gifts to keep her looking spiffy and staying entertained.

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She is learning to sit in church and will soon be learning from the Bible! She has become extremely sociable and will go to anyone. The most common thing we hear about Jolynn is, “She never meets a stranger!” With each person comes laughs, learning, and love.

If I think on the right things, I can see that truly, my girl is a blessed baby, and I am one blessed missionary mama!

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My quirky girl — September 6, 2013

My quirky girl

It is hard to believe my baby girl is 18 months old! I am so incredibly blessed to be the mother of this beautiful, lovable, QUIRKY little girl!

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What’s so quirky about Jolynn? Well, I will just make a list because I like making lists, and I think it will be fun…for me at least! It will also save all my Facebook friends from endless posts about all the wacko things my daughter does on a daily basis.

  • All doors MUST shut behind her
  • She enjoys rearranging furniture and/or moving it to other rooms
  • One of her favorite past-times is throwing trash away (and “trash” is one of her most frequently used words)IMG_0381
  • She holds her nose when she passes gas and says, “Shew!” (I DO NOT know where she learned this!)
  • She loves cleaning and assisting me in daily chores (and is really quite helpful!)
  • If I interrupt her while she is picking up her toys to do something else, a tantrum ensues
  • She always knows what she wants and gets frustrated if I don’t understand. “Oh, you want to put sunglasses on your feet? How did I not know that!”
  • She HATES having anything on her hands and asks for napkins throughout meals (the birthday cake “smash” was so not fun. She asked for a spoon!).
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  • She is overly affectionate. She doesn’t know when to quit kissing/hugging and who she should hug and kiss and who she shouldn’t. She doesn’t understand that not EVERYONE is as loving as she is! The other day, she chased a poor little boy around the McDonalds play-place trying to get a goodbye hug!
  • She could be entertained by a buckle all day. It is hard to get through meals at restaurants because she obsesses over the buckle too much to even eat!
  • She doesn’t like crayons and coloring books. She prefers plain paper and ballpoint pens.
  • She makes up her own songs and dances when there is no musicphoto-11

These are just a few of the things that make my little Jo the most weird and the most fun little toddler I know! I know all babies have their little habits and oddities, but I like to think my baby girl is special. Isn’t that my job as her mommy?

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