First Generation Christians

I've heard it said "every Christian is a first generation Christian". I think that statement is both true and false. From the very beginning it has been by the words of others that we have received the Word. It is through the faithfulness of others that we have been recipients of faith. The statement suggests that each person is their own island and no outside influence is necessary to find Christ. Even a hermit in the deepest darkest jungle with no human contact is still influenced by outside sources when contemplating God. The mountains declare His glory. All of creation points to the One true God.

Our faith is both individual and corporate. We are the Church, all together and individually. We all make up parts of the body of Christ, yet each part is recognized and will be judged based on how it functioned with and apart from the body. When we look at the priesthood we are looking at something like links in a chain. The links are not strewn here and there, they are all connected. It is true that each link has to be attached one at a time, but by adding them to the ones that were "linked" before the chain becomes stronger and stronger. It is that way within a family as well. I am a third generation Christian. I accepted the teaching of my family which led me to finally "attach" myself to that chain. It was passed down to to me...spoken to me...entrusted to me. It is true that I had the choice to accept it or not, but that doesn't lessen the influence and strength of the chains built by the generations that came before all the way back to those who first said "YES" to Christ. And now it is my responsibility and privilege to pass this heritage on to my children and they to their children. May the Chain continue to lengthen until the return of our Lord!

Shower to the People

I remember a time when bathing was just a part of life. You wake up, start the kettle for tea, mosey back to the bathroom, shower, deodorize, dress...done! Then came baby #1. Not too hard. Just incorporated her into the routine with maybe nursing between get up and the kettle. Then baby #2. The routine had to be switched up just a little. I'd wait for daddy to get home from work then read in the bathtub...my own little sanctuary. The same followed with baby #3. Then we added #4. I figured I could still be considered clean every other day. My head looked like a brillo pad, but that's what head coverings (or Do Rags as my husband so kindly calls them) are for:) We fluctuated between 4 and 6 children (foster) for three years and then settled (for now) on six. I don't know what happened, but transitioning from 4 to 6 made showering a difficult endeavor. It alludes me for some reason. I know it's there. I hear other people taking showers. The water bill indicates water is being used for more than drinking. It's almost like being on a desert island cawling down the hall grasping my nose croaking out "shower....shower". But somehow I always get intercepted by someone or some responsibility before I actually make it to the shower. And with the adult onset ADHD (ooooh look, something shiny!) Then by evening....well....you get the picture. I have found I can successfully go up to 3 days in the summer and up to...dare I say...5 during the cooler months. I just pretend I'm Ma on Little House on the Prairie. She always looked nice, but they only took a weekly bath unless it was a special occasion, which you knew it was if Pa went to the creek to bathe in his longjons and put on lemon verbena after. I'm trying to be...historical:)

So if you come to my home, I hope you come for the hospitality. And the headcovering...not so much for piety as for practicality, except while in church:)

The Prodigal Mouse

It all began two winter storms ago when I had all 6 children sick with h1n1 or John 3:16 or something like that. The wind howled outside while fevers raged inside. And downstairs when no one was around two mischievous cats sneaked into a bedroom to secretly devour two little mice. Hiding in the cage were Dawn the White and Dusk. If it weren't for a request from Dear Mama for daughter #1 to go downstairs to fetch her poor brother a bone...ahem...his water bottle we never would have known what had happened and both Dawn and Dusk would have been lost to us.

Well...when daughter #1 went downstairs she walked into a room of terror...the boys room! Underwear and socks were everywhere and from beneath one pile came a scream...a mouse's scream Quickly lifting the crusty sock from the heap she beheld Dawn the White (no relation to Gandalf). She brought a slightly injured and shaken mouse upstairs to her owner, but Dusk could not be found. We feared the worst. Dawn the White recovered quite well, and to our surprise became a mother the very next morning. This was a miracle since both mice were female!

A week later Daughter #2 realized there was a little black mouse living in her heater. Could it be? It was Dusk! But she wouldn't come. She was only concerned about taking her inheritance of sunflower seeds left over from the cat attack. She ran from the hands that had lovingly fed her and held her. The hands that had so gently placed her running wheel in her cage for hours and hours AND HOURS...in the wee hours...of pleasure.

Finally, yesterday after the Queen Mother (that's me:) returned from picking up the royal children from classes in her 15 passenger "chariot" she saw the black cat with a stick. NO! It was a TAIL!!! It was Dusk!!! Dusk trying to return. A repentant Dusk (especially after we rescued her). She knew she was not worthy to ask daughter #3 (who was bequeathed Dawn the White after the fiasco during the snow storm) to be her pet, but perhaps she'd be allowed to serve the little mice growing in the cage. Daughter #3 came running when she heard the Prodigal Mouse had been found. She brought her food and water in silver bowls (well...stainless steel is silver!) and gave her her own box of shavings to rest her weary bones in. The other mice looked on. They'd only been able to eat out of a glass bowl. If they had only asked...I mean...well...Dusk is home again and that's what matters (though she probably would still be a Prodigal Mouse if not for that darn cat!).

The End

A Mommy Sized Tantrum

Did you know that mom's can still throw tantrums? They're not just little glitches that happen in the minds and attitudes of children. Of course, mom's make their justifications sound much more sophisticated...maybe even "spiritual". And I can justify my tantrums away because I'm just "discussing" things with my husband that he "needs" to hear. I'm a heavenly messenger, if you will. But I throw my tantrums for the exact same reasons my young ones throw theirs. I WANT MY WAY! I MAY BE WRONG BUT I'M MORE RIGHT THAN YOU! IT'S ALL ABOUT ME!!! ME! ME! ME! And then we expect our children to simply obey because we say so:) We are adults in the world, but we are still but children in God's family.

Oh, may the Lord's mercy fall on this mama. Our children need to see us working out our salvation with fear and trembling. To see us fall and seek the Lord for our resurrection. Then, perhaps, inch by inch we'll gain ground, by the grace of God, on our long journey heavenwards. Perhaps our humility will bring our children to rely on the Lord and His strength and surrender their wills to Him.

"He that wrestles is still held fast, but it is enough for him that he has not fallen. When we depart hence, then, and not till then, will the glorious victory be achieved. For instance, take the case of some evil lust. The extraordinary thing would be, not even to entertain it, but to stifle it. If, however, this be not possible, then though we may have to wrestle with it, and retain it to the last, yet if we depart still wrestling, we are conquerors." St. John Chrysostom

Blessed be the Name of the Lord

Attack of the Killer Scones!

Okay, so they aren't really killer. Not even sure how they taste. But we here at Boyd Family Testing Facilities care about our readers and try out random experiments so you don't have to.
Experiment #1 Making scones with cake flour...DON"T DO IT!!! Cake flour really is JUST for cakes. It won't make scones but little flat muffins. The dough sticks to your fingers, clothing, the bread board and anything else unfortunate enough to come in contact with it.

So there you have it. Cake flour ONLY for cake!

All or Nothing

"I pressed the wrong button on the computer so I can never play Jump Start again!" came the voice of my five year old son. My sons, 8,7,5 are in the All or Nothing developmental stage. It is similar to early toddlerhood where if they touched a toy early in the morning and then left to go do something else the toy still belongs to them. Then, other siblings should be able to sniff the air and understand the rules, much like dogs sniffing the air for news.

I've noticed in my boys things I never noticed with my girls. My sons, when asked to complete a task, suffer from an uncontrollable compulsion to immediately take a detour. "Okay, time to go. Head to the van." I call at the park. This direction is translated to "You must immediately go climb the nearest tree." Or "Go make your beds, guys." they hear, "You must catch two cat's before eating chocolate on Wednesday."

The rhyme is right. "Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails" because that's what's in their pockets, on their clothes, in their thoughts all the time. But slugs are interesting. And puppy dog tails are simply adorable as long as they remain attached to the dog! Boys definatly bring adventure to the home. Tieing oneself to a tree with a bathrobe sash and propelling backwards off the branch...making wings out of cardborad boxes and standing on the stone BBQ in the backyard during a wind storm...peeing in the toybox outside making the world wonder "what IS that smell and where is it coming from?" for a month. Boys don't understand the purpose of clothing. They think their bowels are a built in science experiment. Boys don't ever think they'll get hurt, no they'll keep going backwards over the arm of the couch until they can figure out a way to do it without hurting themselves. Boys will tell you "you're beautiful mommy" when you're healthy and avoid you like the plague when you're sick. But boys give great hugs. They mean what they say with all their hearts. They solve problems, perhaps a little more physically than we'd like, but when the battle is over they leave friends. They work hard, even thought they usually destroy what they're working on. They may be the cause of my heart palpatations and grey hair. They are loud, oblivious, head strong warriors.... and I wouldn't trade them for the world.