Because my previous post left much to be desired, here is some recent adorableness to clean your palate so to speak.

Muh enjoying a bite of his sister's Christmas tree cake.

My little elf girl in front of "her" tree.

On Stinkhorns

There is a lot of good stuff being written on blogs about Christmas right now.  So, in lieu of adding my completely inadequate two cents to the holiday mix, I'm going to write to you today about a war I'm currently waging in my yard.

For starters, it's almost 80 degrees outside today.  Today, December 22nd.  It's also humid and perfect weather for plants.  Many of them are confused.  Our poor little azaleas are already blooming.  It's also perfect weather for fungus or every kind.

About a month ago I started smelling what I thought was a dead animal somewhere in the woods around our yard.  The next day, Els brought me a handful of some salmon-colored something as I was unloading the car.  Two and two were put together when I realized that she smelled awful.  It was that stuff in her hand that smelled like dead animal!  But, what was it?  Upon closer examination I discovered that our flower beds were riddled with what looked like mushroom-sized salmon aliens growing out of the ground.  They were the culprit.  Not only did they smell of carrion, they were covered in flies.  What the heck?

Stinkhorns.  My nemesis.  I do not exaggerate when I say that for the next few days I was so nauseated by these abominations that I could barely eat.  I wanted to puke every time I walked outside and I could not even look at them.  A quick internet search revealed that I was not alone in my plight.  Although some people inexplicably revere them, others, like me, battle with them, and the only solution is to dig them up, tie them up in plastic bags and throw them away. Eggs and all.

Oh yes, I said eggs.  B and I have decided that stinkhorns have included everything evil and disgusting in their make-up.  They are definitely a result of the fall.  They begin innocently enough as little white eggs just under the surface.  Then they burst forth into all of their salmon octopus/alien, green slime-oozing glory.  Did I mention that they smell like death?  They smell like death so that they can attract flies to spread their spores.  I have a friend who says that hell must be covered with stinkhorns and no-see-ums.

So, every day, I walk our flower beds and dig these things up along with any eggs I find.  What can I say, I lead such a glamorous life.

Why do I write this?  Two reasons:  1-To add my voice to the stinkhorn haters out there.  2-If there is someone who reads this who has done battle with these things and won, please, please tell me what you did.

That will be a great Christmas present for me.

Born is the King

If you haven't heard this song yet, you should.  It's had me dancing around the house, in the car, etc. for the last couple of days.

All Things New

Els:  Mama, what comes afta winta?
Me:  Spring.
Els:  Oh, but we're not on that page right now.
Me:  Right, what page are we on?
Els:  Fall.  (pause)
Els:  Mama, what comes afta night and day?
Me:  Well, babe, they just keep going around and around.  Night and day and night and day.
Els:  No, it goes night then day then summa, then fall, then winta, then Nana's house!

Yesterday I had a killer headache.  They thankfully only happen every once in a while but, oh, when they do I am down for the count.  All day long I could feel it building.  When I take the usual painkillers during the day and nothing happens, I know I'm in for trouble.  B put me to bed shortly after the kids were down for the night because there was nothing else for me to do but try and sleep it off.  I had taken the daily limit of medicine to no avail, and so I knew the Lord Himself would have to heal me.  In the merciful darkness, I prayed and then finally slept.  At one a.m., I awoke, covered in sweat but without pain.  Whenever this happens, I always feel new.  It's hard to explain but basically, when you feel like someone is driving a spike into your head, when that stops, there's no way to feel but new.

I was thinking about this the other day while dusting.  How providential of God to use a chore I despise to bring me truth.  So, there I was, dusting B's night stand when I noticed an etching.  "I love J@$&*#."  A little background for this.  Other than our beautiful, handcrafted bed, our bedroom suit is the same one that I had in high school.  The same one my parent's had when they got married.  The same one that my great-grandfather made.  So, long story short, I permanently carved "I love so-and-so high school boyfriend" in a night stand that is now my husband's.  God redeems all things.  He knows what is best for us.  Always.

And again, I was reading through my journals from college recently when I came across an entry from July 10, 2002 where I was begging God for a husband.  And I was being specific.  I had met a guy that summer at a camp where we both worked and I just knew that he was the one for me.  Except he had a girlfriend.  So, in this entry, I was pouring my heart out to the Lord, begging him with all that I was to somehow make this man fall in love with me.  I was heartsick.  (I actually remember this night now.)  Anyway, in God's divine mercy and love, on July 10, 2004, I married B and not the guy from camp.  (I'm actually not sure that I've ever seen him again.)

He makes all things new.  He redeems all things.  ALL things.  Even the heartached etchings and ramblings of a silly, silly girl.  Therefore I have hope.

"And he who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.'"
-Revelation 21:5a