Tough As Nails, Mother's Day '16

There are some surface things people get from my mom within moments of being in her presence...

She's jolly and loud.

You hear her before you see her. From her portable "amen corner" in church (any denomination, every church) to intercessory prayer, to her...

(Wait for it...) 

Whistle. 

She whistles in church like other people whistle at ball games. And she's reproduced a whole congregation who at least try to muster a whistle periodically in a red-hot Pentecostal service. It took me YEARS to find my whistle. But I've totally got it now, and you'd better believe I use it! #LikeMotherLikeDaughter

She's tough as nails.

Because this is not always a compliment, I hesitate to use the phrase. It's so often a description used of drill-Sargeant types, which she is not. (Refer to the jolly version above.) She's HILARIOUS! She's fun! She's spontaneous! She's generous! But once she's discovered a truth that should be lived by, she's going to ensure the salvation of all in her boat by insisting these safety precautions are maintained. 

She was raised in a Christian home that had various leanings of the definition of "modesty." She saw the harm that unfolded in those who moved further and further away from conservative lifestyles. Therefore, she's tough as nails when it comes to standards. She's not "judgmental," in that she gives off a condemning vibe. Exemplified by the fact that she has friends who haven't dressed like her in decades. She has lifetime friends whose lifestyle would make your toes curl if you're a staunch Christian. She's incredibly compassionate. But if those friends are going to ask her advice about what lifestyle best preserves sanity & sanctity in the long haul, she's tough as nails in her advisement. And if you've ever been one of her's, you're going to hear "it" if she sees you straying. She simply has been privy to the dangers of another way. She's loves to the point of saying the uncomfortable. 

She's been in leadership in churches for long enough that she KNOWS what makes a congregation strong, or lethargic. She KNOWS what brings fervency into prayer meetings. She KNOWS what brings the raw power of God into a service. And she will let anybody attempt this in any fashion they want. But when it comes to how it's done in her ship, she's tough as nails. 

When I had a life-upset a few years ago I was not all that thrilled with her being tough as nails. I thought she was willing to sacrifice my happiness for "her way." I was so wrong.

In reality, I was in a storm that was battering our ship. ("Our" ship. I'm her daughter, not an island!) We were in danger of losing my children, our salvation, my sanity, and my future. Every time a piece came loose, she'd resecure it. When a strap sprung free from the tumult, she knew if she didn't secure it back yet more parts would break apart. She had to resecure the mast time and again, just so that one fine day, when the storm was past and a propelling wind had come, I'd be able to catch that breeze yet again.

My mom is mother to many. I do not envy those others. I understand the importance of her presence to their well-being. that she makes life possible for them.

She's tough as nails. 

And it's a good thing too, because she holds me together.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Changing Hands

Being the mom to a grown up is weird. 

I've always tried to be one step ahead of every stage my kids came to. When they were toddlers, I read about parenting school-aged kids. When they were in elementary school, I studied how-to parent teens. When they were teens, I looked into how to parent young adults. And now I'm trying to search out my best role-play for our next stage of life; being the parent of parents. 

There is very little direction for this. There's a lot of instruction and guidance for being an adult child of a senior citizen. But not much info is out there for being a parent to grown children who are the heads of their households. I want to know my place. I don't want to be "done," just because my kids no longer need my supervision. I want to be a mentor, guide, and help in a respectful way that honors that stage of life. 

I'm at a fun place in life at forty-three years of age. I still feel my youth. The lessening restraints of responsibility to my young adult kids has added vibrancy to my days. My hours that used to be spent homeschooling, washing piles of their laundry, cooking their meals, driving them places are now free to pursue MY goals. And yet, I'm NOT finished parenting. I am still yet (at least partly) responsible for their moral behavior. I am still the authority they must adhere to. I am still the guardrail of their life. As long as I am financially responsible for their welfare, I will be that voice of obedience that they must comply to. (Please, tell me you know this. Please, tell me you've not wimped out on parenting your teens. You still have so much to offer. They still need SO much.) 

For we parents who are still very active in our parenting role, our role as boss-of-their-lives, we must accept that unity and peace will only be maintained if we figure out how to play a drastically different role than we do now. 

Now our teen/young-adult kids are an extension of us. We've trained them to get along in life. We've trained them to do their own laundry We've taught them to clean a house We've taught them to drive and get about town. So many things we've made sure they know how to do so that they're capable of functioning as an adult, living on their own. But, something else has simultaneously been going on while we've passed on the knowledge of these responsibilities; our children have become a huge help to us!

It is a HUGE blessing and help to me that my kids can go grocery shopping for me. It's a huge help that my kids can drive me places, clean the house for me, help me with the yard, and on, and on the list goes. Granted, I'm not sitting in a recliner with a slave fanning me whilst my kids run about doing these jobs. I happen to be making money for them to spend on their phones, and clothes, and education, and dry cleaning, and food. My stress load has lessened because they are my extra pairs of hands. We are definitely scratching each others' backs in this scenario. But, I have sensed something to watch out for in the future. 

There will come a required change of hands if I am to stay actively involved in my kids' lives. So far, life has naturally unfolded in such a way that I am leading my brood, therefore as soon as they've been old enough to contribute to our family's progress, my eyes and voice have dictated our moves which get us from Point A, to Point B. But soon they will be the head of their brood, and if we are going to enjoy each other's company I must become THEIR hands.

As I've pondered this required change of hands I am reminded of my maternal grandmother, *Nellie Mae Butler.

My grandmother birthed fourteen children. No duplicates. Just one after the other. Consequently, she had a LOT of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. (At least one of her kids had fourteen children as well. Another had twelve. You've got to read the book about her. Details at the end of this blog.) She managed to make each and every grandchild feel they were her favorite. She lived in San Jose, California, I lived in central Florida. Even with that distance I felt like her fav! After she retired, she would travel from child to child, visiting her kids and grandkids. She brought the most wonderful experiences with her! It was like a fairy came to visit! I'm not sure how many grandma's visits in the world feel like this. But she didn't bring out "the worst" of my parents. Her presence didn't add stress to my parents' marriage, or to the atmosphere of our house. Had she been a pill I would not have these beautiful, lasting impressions of her visits.

As an adult looking back I can find two main keys that unlocked the beauty of her visits. I feel that her visits were not dreaded by her adult children because...

1. She came to them and didn't expect their lives to pause for her benefit. 

2. She was a help to their lives and not a burdensome weight of personal needs. 

I want to figure out how to do this before I get to this stage. I remember clearly that my mom remained queen of our home when grandma visited. Grandma wasn't a snooty guest criticizing mom's housekeeping. Grandma babysat us while my parents took care of business. She cooked, cleaned, and made life easier on my parents. She became my mom's extra set of hands. She took all of the little things off mom's plate. Granted, I don't remember mom being hyper-picky and telling grandma how to fold the towels. She just let grandma fold the towels! 

But, if grandma's visit would have been a power-trip, where grandma needed to be head of mom's brood, just as when she was head of her own brood, those visits wouldn't have been so lovely. If grandma had been all about feeling like a queen, insisting her adult-kids and grandkids obeyed and served, those visits wouldn't have became transfixed in my mind as magical. 

And it's especially important for me to note (and hopefully remember when my grandma stage comes!) that grandma came to US. 

We also went to her part of the world for three weeks every summer. But we weren't in her house, or even with her for three solid weeks. Again, she served my mother by allowing us to "base" out of her house while we travelled all over California and Oregon. She didn't insist to travel with us. She didn't complain that we were "hardly there" when we were in her neck of the woods. If she had, my parents wouldn't have been able to continue to vacation there. Vacations are for restoration and rejuvenation. If my grandma had made our trip a guilt-trip, it wouldn't have been wise to continue to go there. But she didn't. She watched us grands while my parents took day trips. She kept the light on when we came back to her late after visiting the redwoods, or touring San Francisco. She didn't make my parents feel like jerks for leaving her at the house.

Maybe I'll learn enough in my search for the kind of parent of parents I want to be that I'll write the book myself! But in the meantime, I'll keep my eyes open and my prayer request for wisdom active. I've already learned two things from open eyes! 

Someday, help will change hands, I will become my daughter's and son's laundress, I will become their babysitter, I will be their house tidier. And in these acts of service I will have the opportunity to make memories with my kids and grandkids. I want my presence to feel craved, not depraved.

*If you haven't read my mother's book about her life and conversion, get a copy by calling 352.245.3227. It's so inspiring to faith!

Dear Madison; National M&M Day

Dear Madio;

From conception you've been making impromptu, surprise parties.

I used to rock your older sister and think, "I'm not having my next baby until Morgan is in K-4, so that I can then devote and enjoy the same depth and quality of time with each baby."

Before Morgan's first birthday you were all, "Ba-BAM!" In an explosion of surprise you said, "Ready, or not, here I come!"

I had no clue! 

Due to a fibroid tumor in the way of natural childbirth, I was watched carefully throughout my pregnancy with you. They also scheduled your cesarean delivery two weeks earlier than the due date to avoid the threats the tumor presented. Between myself, the magical midwives, the highly trained doctors and nurses, we obviously had your surprises under control. 

We turned out to be no match for your stealth. A full eight weeks before you were scheduled (TWO WEEKS EARLY) you were all, "Ba-BAM!"

I had no clue!

I had to pop a pill and lay in bed for two whole months to tie you down. They said you needed more development time. (See? You never have been patient about development!) I didn't even need to check the time to know when it was time to take that anti-contraction pill. Within ten minutes of being past time, you would start shaking the rafters with contractions, "I'm Madison, and I'm raring to go!"

I had no clue! 

When you were born via cesarean delivery, the FIRST thing you heard outside the womb was a joke. My doctor was telling the joke about a man being caught by a bear in the woods unawares. He told the joke up until, "The man fell to his knees and..."

But he forgot the punchline! 

Through the anesthesia I groggily asked, "Are you kidding me?! You don't know the punchline?!"

Everybody laughed. 

I finished it for him, "The man dropped to his knees, closed his eyes and prayed, 'Oh, Lord, let this be a Christian bear!" And when he opened his eyes the bear was on his knees, praying, "Oh, Lord, for this food we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful."

The room erupted in laughter.

There you were. 

I fell back to sleep.

So, yeah...

Your need for humor should come as no surprise. You were born under the banner of laughter.

(Honestly, I don't remember every detail of this timeline. I was, after all, highly drugged.)

I had no clue.

You CONSTANTLY made noise. Even in your sleep you would hum. In your infant swing while staring out into space, you would hum. While playing alone with your toys, you would hum. It turned out you had a LOT to say, but we didn't know you were deaf in your right ear, and hard of hearing in your left ear. You weren't able to hear how to pronounce words. That humming; you were speaking as best you knew how. 

I had no clue. 

We started all kinds of hearing tests. First homemade ones. Then the professionals started checking you out. We didn't have much money, so a lot of students practiced and learned on you. Then we started speech therapy. It turns out you couldn't hear high frequency sounds, like "s," "t," or "d."

I had no clue. 

We met some really nice people because you couldn't hear. People who were intrigued by you and began testing more than your hearing, they wanted to test your intelligence. You scored off the charts.

I had no clue.

When you were six or seven years old you thought that when you grew up, you would grow out of deafness and into hearing. That's how everything else was working; people grew out of crawling into walking. People grew out of baby clothes into grown-up clothes. So it stood to reason that you would grow out of deafness into hearing like the grown-ups.

I had no clue.

That day you curled up into my lap and mourned. You sobbed. We both cried. I told you then, and would tell you each time you would cry about your inability to be "normal" that you didn't need the full capacity of those senses, God had use of your bodily-vessel for service in unique ways.

What I DID have a clue about was that since I didn't plan on your arrival, since I had done all I knew to do to NOT have a baby. It was so clear to me that you were mandated by God to live in this world for such a time as this. You know I don't blame everything on God. But you really, really surprised me. 

I had no clue.

You are God's "fault."

You're 6'5" now. You ALWAYS make a grand entrance. You are a walking, living surprise party. Anyone who knows you, knows one thing; Never expect the ordinary.

You surprise everyone with your appearance, just like you did me. Every person of every age of every ethnicity feels like you are their best friend. People going about their day, carrying chips on their shoulders, or hauling burdens in their heart.

And then, there you are!

Smiling and humming, "Hi!"

Your smile conveys the idea to them that they're not alone.

Your presence states, "I'm big enough to help you carry your burdens." 

Your deafness says to them, "Being imperfect is totally OK!" 

Your constant "humming," words we understand now, makes even the outcast to feel, "This person is interested in me."

We all have our place in this world, and yours is to be Christ's hands and feet, conveying to all humanity, "You are fearfully and wonderfully made."

I'm so thankful God knew better than my five-year-plan. Your existence goes beyond my careful plans. Your existence is due to God's ways, thoughts, and plans being higher than mine. Everything about you shows His handiwork. You will leave the palm of my hand someday, but you should cleave with all your being to His hand.

Here's at least one thing I'm not clueless about: He makes everything you touch a beautiful surprise party.

Love, 

Mom

Dear Morgan; National M&M Day

Dear Morgan;

When I was seventeen years old I was in Germany. At breakfast in our lodge everyone would greet each other with, "Guten morgen!" (Aka: Good morning.) I immediately knew I wanted to name my someday-daughter, Morgen. Several years later I saw a movie about a tough-cookie, girl pirate who took the helm when her captain-dad died. She continued his journey to attain his rightful treasure. It turns out lots of people were also pursuing the treasure and she had her work cut out for her. BUT SHE DID IT! The character's name was Morgen. I was even further certain that I wanted to name my girl, "Morgen."

From before you were conceived I wanted to raise a daughter who was beautiful, knew how to behave as a lady, but could navigate stormy seas and attain the treasures-of-goals she sought, even if it cost her beauty and ladylike behavior. And I felt that this was absolutely a base assumption to have for my child; not only have I personally always felt capable of pursuing and doing anything in my heart, but the rest of your family-tree also showed this capacity.

I named you after my mother, Naomi. Naomi is an AMAZING human. I would need more than a blog to tell of the very cool things she has been involved in and accomplished. (Pretty sure I'll be writing that book.) And your father's mom, Lola, has done equally amazing things. (Another book.)

You, little missy, came from the womb and completely bypassed almost every trait and characteristic of myself and your father. Those two indomitable women, your grandmothers, wove such a tight web of DNA, you were caught in it with no choice but to live forever in their spell.

I named you, Naomi Morgan. That name I had decided upon at seventeen years of age was still in my spirit, and it was the name you'd wear for life. I had no clue how prophetic your naming was. I wasn't TRYING to name you via a spirit of prophecy. But it happened.

The name, Naomi, means, "pleasant," or "sweet." It's my mom's name. It's one of my favorite Bible hero's names. It was a good choice. 

For your middle name, of course, Morgan. 

But, if you'll remember, this came from the German word for "morning." 

Morgen.

I spelled it, M-O-R-G-A-N.

This changed EVERYTHING! Your name went from meaning "Pleasant Morning," to meaning, "Pleasant Seashore."

As you know, we don't have much money to banter about at will. It is highly unlikely that we will ever own a piece of real estate on any seashore. Seaside real estate is among the most expensive property on the planet. It's highly coveted land. It offers the best views. It has the most relaxing and peaceful ambiance. People will spend large amounts of cash for even one night of restful restoration at the seashore. 

But, if there's a storm a'brewing...

VACATE!

VACATE!

VACATE! 

When you were two, and three years old, this was disconcerting. It was a daunting day for this new mommy, when you were four years old, and I picked you up from your first day of school with an IMMEDIATE parent/teacher emergency meeting. The problem was that you had learned to write your name a long time before, in all caps. This new person you hadn't learned yet to trust had the audacity to try to teach you lower-case letters. After throwing a pencil and some crayons, you clenched your teeth, gripped both hands onto your tiny chair and declared loudly, "I WILL NOT WRITE THAT!"

That was disconcerting. 

But a friend gave me a book, To Train Up A Child, by Mike & Debbie Pearl. That book showed me how to batten down the hatches. 

Had I not gotten that book...

Had I not trusted the biblical methods of training in that book...

Had I been a wimp...

You would never have learned to control and channel your storms.

But you were taught how to maintain control and beauty during the storms.

Your person provides beautiful enjoyment for me, like a lovely seaside. I ask your thoughts on a topic, and you restore sanity by pointing me in a right direction. You blow sadness away as I watch you create a drama presentation. You guide me through storms with your piano playing. I've watched you unravel someone's confusion, like a ship's mast being unfurled, with your gift to teach. You release them to sail further than they could before. You are truly such a beautiful, solid place for me to rest in the beautiful seashore of your person. When there are storms you know the drill to secure all that is of value.

And you have your own ship now. You enjoy leaving the shore and pursuing treasures your Heavenly Father has left in your heart and spirit. You're quite adept in sailing your own vessel. Some days you co-captain with me. Some days you take MY helm and navigate for me. 

I'm so thankful for your faith in God, your strength of will, and the reality of your name; Naomi Morgan. 

Best typo ever. 

Love, 

Mom

Your Kids' Interpretation Of Your Past

Abraham tried to pass off his wife, Sarah, as strictly his sister; twice. While it was true that she was his half-sister, he was purposefully being deceptive.

Isaac ended up doing the same thing.

Only it got worse.

Why would Isaac do this? It did not reap any benefits for his parents. In fact, it would seem to be a humiliating situation to be caught doing such a thing. Isaac definitely experienced for himself the shame of this decision. A PUBLIC PROCLAMATION of his lie was made!

It's possible that in relaying the story "of this crazy thing we did one time" to their son, they did not manage to present it in a negative light. 

I've seen parents inadvertently talk about their life before Christ in a way that makes it seem so fun, and glittery, and romantic to their kids.

I think it is very important to talk about our past with our children. They should know our mistakes. But I think we should be cautious and aware that we are not romanticizing the past in how we relay this information. 

As with Abraham to Isaac, the situation gets worse from generation to generation. Abraham was founding his lie on a partial truth; Sarah WAS his half-sister. For Isaac to repeat this behavior he had to straight-up LIE. In Abraham's case, God stepped in and intervened by telling the king to not touch Sarah. In Isaac's case, God didn't touch that mess. If the king hadn't seen them fondling each other in what they thought was a hidden place, there's no telling what disaster would have insued. And as mentioned before, when the king denounced Isaac, he did it loudly and to his entire nation. I'm not sure what your opinion is when a news outlet reveals a politician has been blatantly lying to the public about a matter, but I'm certain that's how the population felt about Isaac.

I have mad props for Abraham's endurance and faith. But I wish, for Isaac's reputation sake, that he'd have said, "Don't ever do that. Be honest and forthright and trust God to protect you, son."

Let us not giggle when we tell our kids about our foolishness while drunk or on drugs. Let us not high-five each other in conveying stories of narrow escapes. Let us soberly tell our children the damage we caused in our ignorant state. And let us wrap up those stories by telling them how thankful we are to not be living in that destructive place of darkness. Let's make sure they KNOW that because of the price Christ paid on Calvary to redeem us from our stupidity, that every generation henceforth will live in joyful humility and service to Jesus.

Homeschool Inspiration

AWESOME read about #homeschool. (This started as a tweet that turned into an FB post, that turned into a blog. Link of inspiration is at the bottom.)

There is a “fix” to schools, of course. Get rid of your cookie cutters & stop forcing ALL materials into the same box. Glue is less messy in a squeeze bottle. Ice, on the other hand, doesn’t do its job well in a glue bottle. Besides kids’ uniqueness, even parents’ styles and needs are different from each other. Schools generally act like we live in the 1960's and all work the same hours, and all eat at the same time, and... STOP! None of us do anything like they did in the past. Whether we like it, or not, we now live in a very unique place in history where majority doesn't rule. Creativity rules. Colleges will take an athlete with low test scores. And they'll ALSO take a computer genius with low reading scores. Society is open and accepting of a singular strength now, rather than an overall balance of one's grade point average. 

Schools, treat us like unique, creative beings and we might share OUR joy of learning with YOU. Disrespect our unique styles of learning and we won’t bother to share our sponge-brained children with you. Turns out, we can do it ourselves. :) 

Now let me balance this, by telling homeschool parents that if you don’t train your children how to interact with other humans from the privacy of your homeschool environment, you’ll give homeschool a bad name. Teachers are REALLY good at making kids able to sit still, remain quiet, etc. Don’t cripple your child by not including “behavioral skills” while you also teach math skills. If you don’t have the courage to add social manners to your training, HIRE A TUTOR. If you’ll hire a tutor to teach math, you can hire help in teaching self-control too.

This mama loves homeschooling!! :) 

http://www.wired.com/2015/02/silicon-valley-home-schooling/?mbid=social_twitter

The Reason I Sing

Music is vital to our health and well-being. It affects our mood, thinking, energy, and ambiance, and so much more. My son is deaf in one ear and wears a hearing aid (or rather is SUPPOSE to) on his other. When he was three years old I volunteered daily in his school-class that was specifically designed for deaf and hard of hearing children. Madison heard the most clearly out of all the children. Most of the fifteen to twenty children in the class were entirely deaf. But they ALL loved music time! They would sway and dance and pound things, they even used their voices. It showed me that music was powerful even when it wasn't heard.

Another experience I've always loved being a part of is singing with patients dealing with amnesia or dementia. I've seen them be nearly out of control, or sedated and inconsolable, I've seen them be mean and nasty in their confused state, and be heartbreaking because they couldn't remember their own children and spouse. Then in the midst of that a song from their past start being sung (in my situations, it's usually a hymn) and that person whose brain can't seem to call up the most important memories, will smile, sing or hum along, I've even seen them clap and dance. It's as if a song is a rescue helicopter, throwing down a ladder to them in their fog-filled house, and when that song is played they get a chance to be lifted up out of the fog. They breathe a bit of peace in that song. 

We all have "those songs" that happened to be playing when we were with a special someone, and even a hint of that tune take us back like a whirlwind to that person, that place. Sometimes it's lovely. Sometimes it's disconcerting. But it happens because music is eternal and is not bound by time. 

When my babies were born I wanted to instill my Christian teachings in them as solidly as possible before the rest of the world got their handprints on them. I wanted to do my part in impressing the teachings from scripture that there is one God, that His name is Jesus, that there has been a very clear plan of salvation given to us in scripture. The law of Moses gave parents the perfect formula for instilling truths into children; talk of them when you lie down, and rise up, and walk along the way, etc.

Instead of singing traditional lullabies to my babies, I started writing lullabies for them; 

"I will live my life separated. I will live free from sin. I am not my own, I've been bought with a price. I will live my life separated."

"There is one God. There is one Lord. His name is Jesus, Emmanuel. Everlasting Father. Our Lord and Savior. His name is Jesus, Emanuel."

I could go on; lullabies about baptism in Jesus' name, about being filled with the Holy Ghost, about repentance. They were all written in lovely moments of communion between me, my babies, & our Savior. 

Then I started writing them playtime tunes too, songs of doctrinal facts. I wanted them to know these things without the "drill" of a classroom setting. I knew that through song learning these things would feel as natural as breathing. When my dad saw the impact the songs had on his grandchildren, he financed the recordings of Plain Path for Kids, & I saw the learning of Apostolic doctrine go from my rocking chair to thousands of homes.

When the opportunity to record the Bible Quiz songs came up I was THRILLED. The United Pentecostal Church International has an amazing "game" that involves memorizing large portions of scripture. My kids were starting to play in the tournaments and the verse songs were vital. Each verse is it's own song. Someone else was doing them at the time. These original writers of the Bible Quiz songs were doing a great job, & my kids loved their work. We mentioned to Gary Powers, the man who oversees the distribution of the Bible Quiz materials, that we were interested in assisting if the original creators wanted. I knew my desire to record them was of The Lord, so it was hard to sit & wait my turn. I don't know the details of everybody's story, but the message that came to me was that the original producers were called into foreign missions, they couldn't continue, and the project passed to us.

After my work with Plain Path for Kids, I felt so "right" investing in children's minds again via song. I write other music as well. I have enough material for a solo album and a choir album. I hope God makes a way for me to do that. But what will make me able to close my eyes peacefully and cross over into eternity will not be the song I sang before Presidents, or the crowds of thousands I've sang before in concerts. It won't be where I've spoken, or even the solo recordings I've made. It will be the Bible music I've made for kids. Children never forget songs. Plus parents (poor, longsuffering parents) get the Word via song in them as well! I've been allowed to take the powerful Word of God & weave it into melody. It's the same method Moses used to ensure the Israelites knew the law. It's a win-win!

I've performed the song, "His Eye Is On The Sparrow," many times. And I've had moments when I felt hypocritical for singing, "I sing because I'm happy." I don't always sing because I'm happy. But I sing because it makes God happy. I sing because it helps people see their path to God. I sing because it can be felt by the deaf and heard by the blind. 

I sing because the song is strong.

Plain Path for Kids can be purchased through iTunes, the Pentecostal Publishing House, CD Baby.

www.DeneeRichardson.com 

All Bible Quiz songs can be purchased from www.bqpowers.com.

What Goes In; Parents' Inspiration

Some may say I do things to the extreme. I'd like to describe my methods as "thorough."

Ok. I'm fully aware of the reality in my tendencies. In the spirit of that knowledge let me explain that as a young mom, I took Deuteronomy 6:7, absolutely literally. It was my to do list from day one of my children's arrival on this planet.

"And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up."

I'm a singer and writer, so music was my gateway to accomplish this. While feeding and rocking my babies, I wrote and sang song after song about the oneness of God. As a Christian it is very important to me that if ANYONE is going to understand who Christ is, my own children should first and foremost. So I wrote, rocked, and sang lullabies, "All in Him... The fullness of the godhead is all in him."

I figured the world  already had in it a LOT of nonsensical lullabies ("When the bough breaks the cradle will fall?!" Really?!) My kids would learn those classics as well. But I wanted an understanding of God, an appreciation for WHO Christ is, interwoven in their earliest thoughts.

I also wrote and sang playtime songs like, "When I wake up in the morning and I get out of bed... la-la-la! Our God is one!" 

We happened to be in Europe for my son, Madison's, second birthday. We had played music and worshiped with some really exciting and motivated people in Serbia, Hungary, and before we came home we went to Rome and toured the Vatican.

My son gets hyper-activity very honestly. Energy is funneled into that child's DNA from every possible branch of the family. He's deaf in his right ear, and wears an aid on his left ear. Consequently, "loud" is also a part of his presence. He's loud and he requires everybody around him to be loud. He has bright blue eyes, laughs easily and (of course) loudly. He's not afraid to try almost anything. (Which keeps me in a constant state of intercession!) So THIS bundle of pent-up energy was being carted through the Vatican.

My daughter is 18 months older than Madio. Morgan was born "old." She knows stuff, understands stuff, teaches stuff that I didn't even know existed. She was QUITE into the Vatican! Her three and a half year old self was pointing at art, she would stand and gaze at various pieces for extended periods of time. (The CLOTHED pieces, I must say for my evil, joking friends!) She was typically "Morgan" there. Happy to be experiencing the height of sophisticated art.

Madio, on the other hand, thought he was going to DIE!

Because of all the various levels and staircases, we weren't allowed to use a stroller. And Madio could not be left for ten seconds without an adult hand in contact with his person. So he was carried. We were not allowed to take snacks or bottles for the kids either. After a couple hours of this Vatican tour, he was ITCHING to get down to play.  Every adult in our group was equally itching to PUT HIM DOWN!

His first opportunity was in this beautiful, ancient courtyard that seemed to be in the dead-center of the whole of that palatial structure. And that's where pure, epic awesomeness occurred.

That baby's feet barely touched the ground, when his pointer finger went up in the air, and my man-child waddled all over the Vatican courtyard singing, "la-la-la! Our God is ONE!"

I don't know if anyone else in history has ever had the opportunity to walk into the seat of the Trinitarian doctrine and proclaim, "Our God is ONE," but my baby did!

He's a teen now, and he doesn't remember the event at all. But as usual, the scripture worked. I purposefully taught it diligently from morning, throughout the day, and at bedtime. What goes in, comes out. And it sparkled out, all over the Vatican!

Plain Path For Kids, & Plain Path For Kids, Vol. 2, can be downloaded on iTunes!

Denee also makes Bible memory songs!

You can find links to download Denée's music at her website:

http://deneerichardson.com/