Superbowl

My family and I watched the Superbowl this evening. There were several things that, other than the contagious game fever, touched/struck me. One was something that a player did after kicking an incomplete 50+ yard field goal. He lifted up his hands and pointed. He was giving the glory to God. I wish I could go back and watch to see if he had known he'd missed it yet. The commentator, I think, thought so, and I hope he did.

And that reminded me.... So often we groan when things don't go our way. We sigh, grumble, mope, yell, cry...probably more often that we should. But watching that field goal kicker miss the kick and praise God – that's what we should do. 'We're going to praise God when we win, and we're going to praise him when we lose.' (Facing the Giants, Sherwood Pictures 2006) Just because it doesn't work out our way doesn't mean God did something mean, unjust, or accidentally. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose – Romans 8:28 God always does what is best for His children, and He knows that often we will find it painful. It is painful. But that does not mean we get out of praising Him. How can we shut our mouths? He is doing this because He loves you, child! He loves you and He wants what is best for you. Will He give you any less?

Praise Him with me, then. He is good!

Christmas Cookies (Long Overdue)

In December, Katie and her mom and younger siblings came over to frost Christmas cookies with us a few days before we drove to Kansas for my Grandma's surprise 80th birthday (that may get its own post later). We had a lot of fun decorating them – although I wasn't all that creative. This is my super-cool Darth Vader head:

And this is my old woman who lost her right leg a very long time ago(we figured out how that happened, but at the moment the reason evades me – was it a car crash?):

You don't have to feel sorry for her – she's very used to it by this time.

This one did get a little more thought put into it. Can you guess who this might be?

It's Harrison Ford – can't you tell? Unfortunately he has green eyes, as we didn't have any blue sprinkles.

Here are some other pictures from the day. You can tell we enjoyed ourselves!

Extraordinary Measures

I just was wondering if anyone else (other than Katie ;) ) had heard about this movie. extraordinarymeasuresthemovie.com It comes out January 22nd and I'm really hoping to see it while it's still in theaters. It stars Brendan Fraser and Harrison Ford, both of whom I have seen in other movies and like a lot. I don't think I've seen Harrison Ford in anything other than Indiana Jones, so hopefully it'll be kind of cool seeing him in this. I've seen a couple of different previews for it, and it looks very sweet and tense and triumphant – a lot of what I like in a movie. I really, really hope it's as good as I'm hoping.

His Daughter

Well, I had hoped for this to be a longer series – one with several parts to it, but with our wonderfully busy December and the fact that I didn't get the idea for The Christmas Eve Chronicles until about two weeks ago, it will be incomplete. Perhaps next year I will be able to do the whole thing.

But here is story one: His Daughter. I actually wrote this story last year, but for some of you it may be new. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas!

His Daughter

The banister slipped smoothly beneath my hand as I tiptoed down the staircase. It was three in the morning, but I couldn't sleep. Even though I'd been so exhausted only a few hours earlier. And it wasn't just because it was Christmas Eve.

I paused on the landing. Light glowed through the living room doorway, throwing shadows onto the hall rug. I glanced toward the stairs. I hadn't woken Mom.

Pulling my robe around myself, I stepped toward the living room. My slippers made gentle brushing sounds on the floor. A cat looked up, blinking, from its place on a shelf. Brad loved cats.

I sat down on the couch facing the tree. The twinkling colored lights had been left on. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rested my chin on them and took a deep breath. Why did I care what that woman had said? I didn't even know her name. I wondered if she'd even been invited. There had been so many people at the party – maybe Mom hadn't even noticed who was here and who wasn't. She'd been so stressed out yesterday afternoon; maybe her mind was occupied with other things. She probably hadn't cared who came, just as long as there was plenty of eggnog for everyone.

"Lori, go make sure Brad got the wine. Did you get everything on the table?" Mom glanced at her watch. "Oh, I need to go take a shower. Take out the kitchen trash!" I opened my mouth to speak, but she'd rushed out of the porch before I could say a thing. Shrugging, I reached up to hang the last sprig of holly above the entrance. I stepped down from the footstool and smiled. Perfect.

There was a muffled knock at the door. I pushed the stool out of the way with my foot and pulled it open. A snow-covered young man stood on the step, holding a large brown box which looked almost too heavy for the unfortunate boy to carry.

"Please, come in!" I smiled at him. He looked very anxious and very tired, and I wondered if he'd gotten a friendly word all day.

He tumbled through the door, tracking snow and ice onto the newly vacuumed floor. I sucked my teeth. Whoops.

"Where do you want this?" he asked, glancing at the decorations.

"Oh, anywhere." I pointed at a corner. "There would be fine. Brad can move it if he needs to."

The boy all but dropped the box, two feet shy of where I'd suggested. On his foot. He closed his eyes as his toes were crushed, stifling a yell. "There...you are, ma'am." He shuffled toward the door, limping. I stopped a giggle.

"Wait a minute – don't leave yet!" I dashed out to the dining room, where I snatched three cookies, a tart, and a little tuna sandwich from the table. Grabbing a napkin, I wrapped it all up and ran back to stuff it into the boy's hands. "You look hungry. Merry Christmas."

The boy looked down at what I'd given him. Some of the worry vanished from his eyes and I thought he was going to smile. But before he could, he realized that the snow he'd brought in with him was melting everywhere and his cheeks flushed.

"Merry Christmas." He stumbled backward and was gone.

I sighed. Poor kid. I hoped he had family to go home to tonight. I was sure it would be terrible to be alone on Christmas Eve.

I swept out most of the snow and shut the door, hoping Mom wouldn't notice the carpet was soggy. Folding up the footstool, I took it back to the upstairs bathroom. My stepdad was shaving over the sink.

"Don't forget to clean up any mess you make." I wiped a speck of shaving cream from the mirror. "Mom already cleaned everything. Oh – she wanted to know: did you remember to buy the wine last night? She couldn't find it in the fridge."

"It's in the basement. Lori, please move – you bumped my elbow. Thank you." Brad shook his head briefly in irritation. "Did you clean your room yet?"

"This morning." I closed the medicine cabinet. "Mom wanted me to take out the trash, but I don't want to go outside. It's snowing really hard."

"I'm sorry." Brad nicked himself with his razor and yelped. "Lori Wallace, get out of here."

I watched a glass ball turn and sparkle in the firelight. I ran a hand through my hair and frowned. You aren't a Wallace. That's what the woman had said to me. But that wasn't true. I was a Wallace. I had been one for just about forever. When Mom and Brad had gotten married, a few months after I was born, they'd given me his name – my father's name. Brad was my father. He'd raised me – not my blood father. That's what I wanted to be. A Wallace.

I leaned against the dining room bureau, lifting a glass of punch to my lips. My muscles ached from cleaning all day. I just wanted to sleep. Sleep for a week. I rested my head on the wall. The grandfather clock chimed ten. Only an hour more, and then I could crash. Just collapse on my bed and rest my weary body.

A slender, middle-aged woman caught my eye. She was looking at the family pictures on the upright. I smiled and forced myself to walk over and talk with her. She looked slightly familiar, and Mom had told me to be hospitable.

"That's my dad." I pointed at the photo she was staring at.

The woman hummed. "You aren't a Wallace."

"Excuse me?" I raised my eyebrows in confusion. "That is my name. Lori Wallace."

"No, it isn't." The woman glanced at me for a second, before turning to a baby picture of mine. "Such a pretty child. All of us were attractive babies. Your Uncle Robert, especially. Never grew out of it."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have an Uncle Robert. I have an Uncle Tom, but not a Robert." I tapped the frame of another picture. "That's him."

The woman bent to inspect it closer. "Tom is handsome enough. But he is a Wallace."

"So? I'm a Wallace, too. What's wrong with you? Are you a friend of Mom's?"

The woman's face creased with bitter sadness. "She was my friend, once upon a time."

I lifted the open photo album from the coffee table and flipped through it, looking for a picture of the woman. There were pictures of me as a toddler – in my stroller; learning to wink; taking my first steps, but no sign of the strange woman. I stopped on a page covered with photos of me. In a rather faded, black and white one, I lay curled up on my stomach on Brad's chest. I was four months old, by the date on it. His strong, tender hand rested on my little bare back. The cat jumped down from the shelf and came to snuggle up beside me. Scratching it behind the ears, I sighed and stared at the flames licking the walls of the fireplace.

"You don't really belong to Brad." The woman spoke his name as though it poisoned her. "He isn't your father. Your birth father is your father."

"But I never knew him." I let my gaze drift to a picture of Brad and me – I was on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him. He was laughing and looking up into my face. I smiled and touched the picture gently. "This is the only dad I've ever known."

"It doesn't matter who raised you." The woman shook her head, snorting. "Jason was your dad, and nothing can ever change that."

I twisted the ring on my hand and frowned. "Brad is the only father I have."

I leaned on my elbow. The cat had stopped purring. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the wood in the fireplace as the flames slowly died down. Wrapped presents were scattered around the Christmas tree. The stockings hung from the mantle were bulging. Brad's, Mom's, and mine. My heart twisted. What if I didn't really belong to Brad?

The living room light flicked on. I blinked and whirled around. Brad was standing in the doorway. The picture of us sleeping together drifted to the floor.

"What're you doing up?" Brad sounded tired.

I glanced at the picture at my feet. "I couldn't sleep."

"You should be in bed. It's the middle of the night."

"Sorry." I put the album back on the coffee table. "I'll go upstairs."

"Why're you looking at that?"

"I just...." I swallowed. "Brad, who am I?"

"What do you mean, who are you? You're a girl who should be in bed. Go on." He jerked his head toward the hall.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and bit my lip. "You and Mom got married when I was a few months old, right?"

Brad's eyes sparkled. "That's right. When you were ninety-nine days old. I made up my mind that morning that when you were ninety-nine months old, I'd get you a ring, like the one I slipped onto your mother's hand that day."

I looked at the ring glinting on my right middle finger. Two little sapphires sat like winking eyes set into the braided gold band on either side of the beautiful emerald. I could remember after Brad had given it to me, how long it had felt to wait until my hand had grown enough to wear it. Now I wore it every day, ever comforted by its presence, by the constant reminder of Brad's love for me. My breath quickened with the fear that maybe he didn't really count as my dad.

"Brad, am I really yours?" I lifted my head, tears welling in my eyes.

Brad's face softened and he came to take my trembling hand in his steady one. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean, you aren't my blood father, but he didn't stay." I gripped his hand tightly. "I want to be a Wallace, Brad, but I'm afraid I'm not."

Brad smiled kindly and stroked my cheek. "I'm your adopted father. It counts every bit as much. You're my daughter."

"But I don't have your genes."

Brad shook his head. "It doesn't matter if my blood doesn't run through your veins. It's just your body. But I got to help mold the heart inside it. That's what being a father means."

"Really?" A smile pulled at my lips.

"Yes, really." Brad slid his hand down my arm back to mine and squeezed it. "You're a Wallace, even if you look a lot prettier than Brad Wallace."

I giggled. "But we do have the same nose. Even Mom thinks so."

"Do we?" Brad looked cross-eyed down at his nose. "I can't really see the resemblance."

"Well, you'd have to look in a mirror!"

Brad grinned. "Well, maybe I'll do that in the morning when I'm brushing my teeth." He yawned. "Speaking of mornings, you and I had better be getting back to bed to sleep for a few more hours."

I put my arms around Brad's neck. "Will you carry me upstairs?"

"Carry you upstairs?" Brad grunted. "I don't think I can hold you that long."

"You could try." I tilted my head to one side. "Please?"

"All right." Brad took a deep breath and slid an arm beneath my legs and one behind my back. With a great heave he stood up. "I think I'm starting to get to old for this."

He carried me up to my bedroom and let me fall gently onto my soft mattress. Pulling the blankets up, he tucked me in like he used to when I was younger. My Yorkie looked up at me from her place at the foot of the comforter, as though confused why I was getting in bed twice in one night. As I laid my head down on my pillow I could hear the ticking of the clock on my wall. It was almost four.

Brad brushed my hair off my forehead. "You don't have to worry about being my daughter. You are my daughter, and I love you very much. Okay, sweetie?"

I nodded and reached up to hug him. "Okay, Daddy. I love you, too."

Brad leaned down and kissed me. "Merry Christmas, Lori Wallace."

I closed my eyes in contentment. I was a Wallace – Brad's daughter.

Request for Prayer

I'm sitting in the car outside of church – we're leaving early for once. Because: Jon threw up in nursery. This is the craziest week of the year for my Dad and my grandma is coming on Friday. Please pray that we might be spared from further illness, if the Lord would be so merciful! If He will, He most surely has the power.

Holly

A couple of months ago, my cat, Trixxie, had a litter of four very adorable little kittens. There was an orange bicolor, a tortoiseshell, and two blue points (we at first thought these were cream kittens, as kittens of this color are born white and later develop the darker points – it's the pattern Siamese cats have – these kittens are 1/8th Siamese). When they were four weeks old, two of them unexpectedly died (the tortie and the smaller point) and Trixxie abandoned them. So we brought the remaining two kittens into the house and began to hand-raise them. It was a lot of fun, though everyone got h1n1 a couple days after we started bottle-feeding them and then we all felt really sick. Last Friday they turned eight weeks old and Snow White (the blue point) went to her new home the following afternoon.

But we still have Holly. She's a very sweet little baby. She isn't eating solids as well as her sister, so we decided to keep her for a little while to make sure she figures it out. Here she is:

I just gave her a bath here and she's drying off in my lap as I'm writing:

Isn't she darling? If you know someone who could give her a good home, be sure to let me know!

1 month, 2 days

That's how long it had been since I'd last seen one of my dearest friends, Katie, last Friday. On October 25th I had seen her for a little while at a MESSENGERS (my church's drama group) performance, and though I was VERY glad to see her (I hadn't seen her then for a few weeks), it wasn't very long. Both our families have been battling with lots of sickness this past month, and whenever one family wasn't sick, the other one was! So finally, the day after Thanksgiving, Lydia, Nat, Essie, and I were able to go down to their house for the day! YES! We had a very nice time with them, laughing and talking and playing games together. Love you guys!

Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Yeah, I know it's a little silly to start counting down the days already, but...oh, well. I remember waiting for Prince Caspian for a loooong time – pretty much from the time we got the first movie. At least they aren't waiting THREE years between movies this time. Only two. But at least, Lord-willing, it'll be out before The Hobbit (which, by the way, they are taking WAY TOO LONG to cast, so if you have any connections with Guillermo del Toro or his casting director, could you please tell them to at least give us some hints about who gets to play who????).

I like Prince Caspian (though I am still annoyed about what they did with Peter's character (Growl) ), but I hope VDT is better – PC wasn't as good as The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Well, I hope enjoy the next 416 days! See you December 10th, 2010!

Vacation Journal: Day 8

Last night the middle cousins had a sleepover in our living room. We watched Everyone’s Hero. The kids had a lot of fun (I could still hear them laughing long after ten. J Very understandable.) I slept with Ruth in our bedroom, and watched a couple Leave It To Beaver episodes via Netflix Watch Instantly.

We went bike riding today. We rode from Copper Mountain down to Frisco. It was 7 miles, but it went really, really quickly, as it was pretty much all downhill. Everyone but Mom, Ruth, and Zac went on the bike ride. They drove down to Frisco and waited for us. I pulled Sam and Jon in the burley, and Ben was behind Dad on the trail-a-bike. In Frisco, we went to the historical park/town.

Us girls were playing with Ruthie while the bikes were getting put back into the trailer. She went along with it quite amiably.

One helmet:

Two helmets:

Three helmets:

Four helmets!

Isn’t she adorable?

Vacation Journal: Day 7

We rode the gondola yesterday in Vail. It was a little…high and made you feel vulnerable, but we were fine and it was a lot of fun. There were quite a few dogs on top of the mountain, too. Apparently you can bring dogs up on the gondola. I think Tipper would have liked being up there. J

A couple trips ago we found a big pirate ship playground in Vail, and when we went back to it yesterday, it looked as though it had been rebuilt – bigger than before. It’s huge. There’s even a crow’s nest that’s about twenty feet above the ground. The kids loved it. We stayed for a couple hours. Dad bought pizza and brought it over to the playground – it was really good.

This morning Dad and I made a big breakfast for everyone. We had blueberry muffins, Mom’s egg casserole, tater tots, and fruit. I was worried that we wouldn’t have enough muffins, but we actually had four left. I love how the Lord works things out.