learning about the passover

This evening (a day late, I know...) we celebrated Passover with our family. (Well, some extended family and an alien among us, if you want to get technical.) It was our first attempt at a full Seder, with much reading and the four cups and all. It was an adventure having Israel and Eden along for our first attempt. I think in future years, we will be able to re-write some to make it more easily-understood by preschoolers. And, even though my paired-down version was still long, the meal was a success, I'd say. If you're interested in learning about it and have about an hour, you can check out http://www.cresourcei.org/haggadah.html for a step-by-step on how to conduct the Christian Seder.

Highlights of our evening included:
- the kids finding the moldy bread I hid around the dining room. (It's supposed to just be "leavened bread," but I figured the gross factor would help the kids understand how we are to obey God and get rid of all things that are displeasing to Him.) Turns out, Eden found it early and someone caught her munching on it before dinner. EW!
- Eden exclaiming her love of her "special drink" (a.k.a. full-strength grape juice): "It's good! I like coffee, Mommy!"
- Israel's first response to eating the parsley dipped in salt water. The shutter missed it, but it was photo-worthy.
- having three generations at the table.
- Grandma Terry reading the story of the first Passover over dinner.
- sending the kids to go look for Elijah and Eden screaming, over and over: "I found him! I found him!" (I guess she anticipated the point that we aren't waiting for him anymore, but that He and the Messiah have both come. Smart girl.)
- Israel preferring the vegetables to the lamb.
- Israel finding the afikomen (the broken bread representing Christ and His redemption that is found at the end of the meal) and proudly holding it up.
- following a tradition that is millenia old, that was originally commanded to be taught to children. I'm not sure what was learned this go-around, but it was a joy to be together and go through this process.

Here are a few pictures we will remember the evening by.

those in our house


Pat's mom reading the story of the first Passover


Israel bravely trying the salt-water parsley a second time


yup. That herb is still bitter!


the lamb that spilled its blood


Israel proudly displaying the afikomen....


...before getting a little crazy while Pat was finishing up the reading.

one of our kids

One of the kids in this picture has a tumor in her right leg.

You might not know which kid it is; the kid's parents don't know if the tumor is cancerous or not.
What the parents do know is that between this picture...

...and this one, the tumor became infected and grew 4 times its size. Overnight.
And it's causing her right leg to grow larger and longer than her left leg.

One of the kids in this picture is scheduled for an urgent surgery to remove a growing tumor in her leg.
The cost is over $22,000.

Insurance won't pay for it. Will you?

More information is on their blog and you can click here to donate online. They are dear friends of ours who trusted God to bring them a daughter against all kinds of odds. It was a beautiful day when God brought them Abigail. It has been a difficult road for them health-wise (which takes a toll in other ways) as Abigail has been diagnosed with asthma, neurofibromitosis (which causes the growth of tumors all over the body, as well as other things), a super-annoying nut allergy, and other things that just make life more difficult and mean lots of drives to doctor's appointments that are rough on a car-sick little girl.

She is a ton of fun, though, and more of a trooper than I would EVER be! She's between my kids' ages and is a great friend to them. She and Eden (whom she calls "Eednie") share lots of hugs and Abigail is always gracious when my kids try to "share" (which often means taking a toy away and saying, "You have to share!"). She loves to dance. She's smart as a whip, and I think she knows it! She has such a sweet, spunky spirit and a great laugh.

So it saddens us as they now deal with this tumor and a cost of surgery that keeps going up. We had planned to do fund-raisers together this month, but when the tumor suddenly grew -- a LOT -- the surgery was moved up and there is now very little time to raise the needed funds. So instead of planning a dance party, I'm just going to write this blog entry. It's not quite as fun, but hopefully it can reach even more people. Please donate if you can.

Don't sweat the big stuff

I suppose lots of people have conversations like this with their kids. It's still novel around here.

On a recent drive to the Indianapolis Children's Museum, Israel kept slipping his arms out of the shoulder straps of his car seat. (Pat points out it is perhaps time to move him to a big boy booster. I'm not having it...yet.) We tried to convey to him the importance of always wearing his seat belt. You know, in case of an accident.

"You could go flying through the windshield," Pat said.
"But...Super Grover can fly!"
I explained, "Well, you won't fly like Super Grover. Your body will go through the glass and it will hurt."
"And you'll get all cut up and you might die," Pat added, since Israel's face didn't look concerned enough after my explanation.
"But then I will go be with Jesus!" Israel said, like it was one of the best ideas we'd ever had.

Aside from this brief conversation, all the rest of Israel's energy on the ride was tied up in anticipation of seeing the triceratops. But when we arrived, he was afraid of the sounds of the dinosaurs and the storm clouds projected onto the ceiling. He was afraid of getting rained on. I had to go around showing him how the plants and the rocks and all were "fake," and how the dinosaur bones couldn't move and how the people and the museum are just really good at pretending. He hung around for a short while once the "storm" moved in, but was relieved to move on to the next exhibit.

He was also afraid of digging for fossils in the next exhibit.

He's often afraid of people.
He's afraid of shadows, he says. Tree shadows, specifically.
He's afraid of getting water in his eyes.
But he's not afraid of dying.

saving home

If you know me very well, you know I am not a Hoosier. I am a Kentuckian. If you hear me complain about Indiana, it's because I say it's ugly. I love the people I know here and I know this is where I am supposed to be, and I love it here for those reasons. But in winter when the snow is melted and all you see is brown mud fields or when it's a beautiful day and I have to drive forever to get to what feels like decent hiking, perhaps this will help you understand why. This is the main street where I am from.
And this is a picture I took two summers ago of the street where I grew up. That was my house on the right. How far do you have to go to be out in nature here? Maybe down the street. Indiana can't top that. I found the rest of these pictures online, but I know these places without needing to read captions. I moved when I was only nine, but this is home to me. Both sides of my family are from the same little wrinkle in the mountains.

This is Black Mountain, the highest point in Kentucky that hugs the town where I lived as a kid. This picture must have been taken from Kingdom Come State Park, which overlooks my Grandma's house. I once climbed this slope with my Grandma and her cocker spaniel to sit and look down on our towns from here.


We would cross Black Mountain either once a week or once a month to go to the "big" grocery store in Virginia. I remember this curve well. It's near the top of the mountain. Whenever I get the chance to visit my Grandma at her house, (which isn't very often since it's 8 hours away) I try to drive at least part of the way up the mountain. This is where I learned the difference between right and left, as my dad navigated the turns. One of the last times I visited, my aunt warned me not to drive all the way to the top to see the Virginia side. (The Kentucky-Virginia border is at the top of the mountain.) She said it would break my heart. So I didn't go. I like remembering it the way I remember it.

Today, one of my cousins posted a link to an article that showed the Virginia side of the mountain.
This is strip mining. It is where they strip the mountain down -- of trees, of rocks, of itself -- to rake out strips of coal. Words that come to mind are: rape, pillage, mar, destroy, greed, and instant gratification. I don't want this to happen to my hometown. If the picture doesn't tell the whole story, just think of what this does to the water that currently filters through the mountain! And how quickly this can be done. And how it can never be undone. Not even if the trees grow back years from now. Mountains don't look like this. At least they shouldn't.

So my aunt made a facebook event to encourage people to write the governor. The State Division of Mining already issued a permit to strip mine here. That has been put on hold pending study by the EPA. The article said the decision would end up on the desk of a man named Leonard K. Peters. If you read this and are outraged at the state's decision to destroy this part of our country (and it truly is a national treasure, even if it is a small one. I can go to the Muncie Public Library and check out videos about this place. PBS has done documentaries on it...) please write to Mr. Peters at the link above and the governor of Kentucky here. I'm doing whatever I can to protect this place. Please join me.

making a difference

So today I realized that the number of kids I know in the youth correctional facility here is up to 6.

Six.

Six kids who have been in my house. Six kids who I have prayed for at times. (Not as faithfully as I should.) Six kids who know my kids. Six kids who we've read with, who have loved our dog.

Six is too many; one is too many.

I had a friend ask me today, in light of this news, "Do you think you're making a difference?"

At first, I was insulted. In my mind, I thought, "Of course I am!" But maybe I'm not.

Then, thinking through the reasons that directly caused some of the kids to end up there, I said, "I can't keep kids from fighting. I can't keep kids from stealing." And I can't. Have they heard these things are wrong from us? Yes. Have they heard from us that Jesus doesn't want his children doing these things? Yes. Have they seen that we don't do these things? Yes. Is that enough? No. Is it making a difference? Well, that's the question I was trying to answer.

It was over a year ago when I heard Bart Campolo speak at a CCDA conference. His message shocked me. He was talking about people whose lives seem to be defined by the hard knocks and addictions in many cities. He said of them that their "cards were already punched." They have issues they aren't going to get over. I have a hard time with that message and I'm not sure it's true or the one we should be living by. We should always hold out hope for the aged alcoholics or those caught in the third generation of abuse in their families or whoever the person with the entrenched issue may be. Hope. Always. But I think he was just getting at how it feels from our perspective on our bad days. And I have my bad days (or weeks) just like the rest of you.

He spoke at length about how he gets weary of the burdens people will likely carry with them their entire lives. He gets weary of watching the alcoholic continue to be an alcoholic no matter how many times he dives in to rescue him from emergency situations. Was he making a difference? Was he?

But then he had a realization: It was only his job to LOVE those people. Love them. That's it.

Loving people is something we can do, no matter whether the other person gets "better" or not. It's never our job to make someone "better." Who am I to do that, anyway? I'm not even very good at making myself better! I can't even do the one thing that is contingent only upon me: loving people! If I can't do the thing that only depends on ONE person (me), why should I try to get all fancy and do something that depends on 2 people? Or 3? Or 20, both living and dead? There is way too much I can't change. That is up to God. Only God can change hearts and lives. And how he does that and how it fits in with that person changing themselves or being willing to be changed or whatever is something I'll never know. And I don't have to. I just have to love people. And that's enough work to last my whole life. It's a lesson that doesn't get old.

Am I making a difference? Only God knows. But probably not, because if a difference is being made, I'm sure him and the other person would get a lot more credit than I would. The only question I have to answer to is whether I'm loving the people put in my life. And if I can do that, then a difference has been made, at least in me.

I don't know many people who have lived a long time and still struggle with their issues. (And the one 60-something alcoholic I know has been sober for 4 years and 4 months!) But I do sometimes see situations and choices that threaten to make me hopeless or put-out. And I remember Bart's words. They don't make everything go away. They don't help what we and our neighbors are trying to do look good on paper. I mean, the stats are pretty grim right now under the "percentage of youth in the McCrorys' ministry currently in the juvenille system." But numbers don't tell the whole story. I couldn't even tell you the whole story, because it's not done yet and I don't know everything that's happened up until now. But I do know that lots of us love these kids, because God loves these kids. And I sure hope it doesn't change just me; I hope God's love changes all of us.

I'm not a difference-maker; on my best days, I'm just a lover.

not granted, not for granted

For this post to make much sense, you will first need to Meet Waverly and Oliver.

I have been glued to my computer since watching this, doing strange research on a disorder my children don't have. I first read about this family in Taylor magazine. I think I cried then. Then a friend posted this video on facebook and I realized this is a friend of a friend. People who attended my small university. People who are likely similar to me. Two young kids. But this crazy difference.

I watched the video again so I could go ahead and really cry about it. And I had Pat watch it with me. It's like waking from a nightmare and wanting to go back to sleep to see how it plays out, in hopes that there is a happy ending -- even though it's not your reality.

I have had several brushes with not-my-reality. I have a friend whose totally-cute daughter is just between my kids in age. She has a genetic disorder that seems mild now, but the possibility of it becoming severe looms over her. I watch our kids play together hope it just stays that way. I have a friend who gave birth to a beautiful girl while I was pregnant with Eden. Her daughter faces many physical and potentially neurological difficulties. When I was up nights nursing Eden, I was glued to the website where I could find progress postings of her time in the NICU. I am still glued to her life that runs parallel to my daughter's. During the time between my two births, two of my friends gave birth to babies who lived only a day. In quiet moments, I remember the babies who could have been my kids' friends.

It's a nagging question for me: How do I have it so easy? Not that my life doesn't have difficulties, as each of these friends would so graciously point out. We all have our struggles to go through. And part of mine, I guess, is struggling with "Why them?" and "Why not me?" I've encountered it in different ways since high school, with varying degrees of questioning God involved each time. At this point, there's not a bone in me that expects an answer this side of eternity...as though I'll be the one human being to finally know. I'm holding out hope that when I get to the other side, the question will seem absurd and lost in a sea of joy where we all swim.

Until then, I'll appreciate knowing these dear ones in whatever capacity I can. I will let their determination to live their best lives possible be an ongoing reminder to live my best life and to make the best life for my kids. I'll remember not to take "normal" life for granted, because it isn't always. And I'll hug my kids until past their bedtime.

In the meantime, click here to vote to help fund finding a treatment or cure for these kids. You can do this once a day during January. I plan to do it...both for them and as a reminder to myself.

Israel: Wrestles with God

Israel asked out of the blue today if we know anyone who died while we were alive. I told him I didn't think he knew anyone like that, but he kept pressing, so I told him his Grandma's daddy died not long ago. He then had a string of questions that lasted for a good 5 minutes. I can't remember them all, but this is the gist of it.
"Well, why did he die?"
"Everyone dies sometime."
"But why does everyone die?"
"Because this world is not perfect, so we don't live here forever."
"So sometimes, if people eat food that is yucky, they die?"
"Well, I guess so, but everyone dies. People who eat yucky food die and people who don't eat yucky food die, too. Everyone dies."
"But why?"
"Because our bodies aren't perfect. They wear out and we die." (I realize this overlooks death by other means, but I was trying to be concise.)
"Why do they wear out?"
"Well, these bodies don't last forever. But when we die, Jesus gives us new bodies that last forever."
[long pause] "When I get a new body, can it talk?"
"Yes, it can talk." (I think it's funny that talking in his new body was his first concern.)
"But why will I get a new body?"
"Because this one will wear out. But your new one won't wear out and it won't get sick or be sad."
"Oh. Well, I got sick one time and I puked. But I didn't die."
"Well, you don't usually die from just puking."
"But if you puke a lot and a lot and a lot, then you die?"
"Well, maybe...but probably not."

The conversation ended strangely when we arrived at the grocery store. But Israel picked it up in the evening when Pat asked him if he wanted to pray before going to sleep. Israel said he wanted to pray for the man that died, that he would get a new body.
"Um, Jesus, I pray for the man that died and that you would give him a new body."
Pat said, "Well, usually when people die, that's it. They're either with Jesus if they want to be with Jesus or they're not with Jesus if they don't want to be with Jesus."
"Yeah."
Pat then asked Israel if he wanted to spend time listening to Jesus. (Pat did this with the elementary school students at church this week and was somewhat surprised to find that, when they spent 30 seconds of silence listening for Jesus, about 1/3 came back and told him specific things they had heard.) Israel agreed. But I guess he didn't hear anything. I accidentally interrupted the time and Israel had more questions.
"Mom, can you make Jesus talk?"
"No. I can't make Jesus talk. I can ask Jesus to talk, but I can't tell him what to do. I'm not His boss; he's my boss."
"But Daddy is his boss."
[snicker] "No, Daddy's not his boss, either. No one can make Jesus talk, but if you listen really well, sometimes you can hear Him talk. He sounds like a voice in your head and you know it's Him because of how He loves you when He talks to you."
"But why won't he talk?"
"I don't know. You'll just have to keep listening. Listen really well and you might hear Him."
"When we get our new bodies, then we will be able to hear Him?"
"Yes, that's when we will hear Him the best."

I can tell my child the right answers about God, but I can't make good on God's promises. Only God can do that. It's hard when your three year old asks about death and not hearing God. I can't show him anyone's new body. I can't make God talk to him. I can only give the correct response. Many times, that correct response is, "I don't know," and Israel nearly always replies, "But, Mom, just tell me," as though I'm holding out on him. But it's not that easy. While its tough to watch a three year old already wrestling with questions that don't have easy answers, we chose the name "wrestles with God" for a reason. All we can do is point him to the One who asks us to wrestle it out with Him.

dinner nativity

This will be our first Christmas with the four of us at home. Israel is at a really fun age where expectation can be built and meaningful things understood. Eden also is demonstrating that she understands stories and gets excited over simple things. It's fun times around the holidays.

I feel this great freedom in being home to start our own traditions and to focus on Jesus during this time (all things about it not being his actual birthday aside). We didn't do as well as I would have liked with Advent this year, but I love the whole season of waiting for Jesus' light to come into the world. And now is the time to celebrate that light. But how to communicate that to the kids? I wanted to have a special meal with them, but I don't think great adult food communicates a celebration to a 1 and 3 year old. I searched the internet for ideas for a way to tell the Christmas Story through a dinner. There wasn't anything. So we made up our own. There were good ideas given to be over facebook, too, but I didn't have the ingredients on hand for those. So we made do with what we had, and I think it turned out well. We made the different foods, set them out on the table, and put them on plates as we told the story. So here is the story of the nativity as told through a candlelit dinner.


One night, a long time ago, in a land across the ocean, a star appeared in the sky. It was a bright star. (Let's paint our star really bright.)
Do you know what the star was telling people?
- Stars don't talk, mom.
You're right. Do you know why the star was there? Someone was born. Who was born?
- A Savior.
And what does a Savior do?
- Rescues the people.
That's right!

That same time, there were shepherds out in the fields, watching their sheep. Let's make our field.... And suddenly an angel came to the field! And the angel said, "Don't be afraid! I have good news for you! Our Savior has been born in a stable. You'll find him lying on some hay in a manger." And then a whole bunch of angels (putting them all on the field...) came and started singing and celebrating!


The shepherds ran off and sure enough, there was the manger. Who was in the manger?
- Baby Jesus!
Right! Here's some hay for a manger and can you put baby Jesus on the hay? There! The shepherds went to go see baby Jesus!


Of course, Eden had already been eating the heads off the angels and had eaten baby Jesus too, and kept asking where baby Jesus went. The obvious answer: Jesus is inside you! :)

If you want to know what the various things on the plate are, aside from their symbolism, here's the role call:

The part of the star was played by your favorite crab or tuna cake recipe, formed in a star cookie cutter and carefully fried. It was made to shine by a mustard, mayo, yogurt sauce.

The field was played by sauteed green beans and the angels were played by potato slices, cut, salted, and sprinkled with pepper, paprika, or coriander.

The hay was played by chopped apples mixed with honey and a little vinegar and cinnamon.

Baby Jesus was played by two marshmallows and a golden raisin on a toothpick with melted chocolate dots for eyes.

on stuffed animals

This morning I had the kids come "snuggle" with me in bed. (A morning "snuggle" is what I call it when the kids come crawl all over me with no regard for which part of me is lying under that part of the covers.) Eden had my old teddy bear. She hugged him for a minute and then grabbed his front paws. "Look at your hans! Say, 'Ta-da!'" and she made him throw his hands up in the air. (As far as he could, anyway.) She repeated the process for his feet. She made me "nug-guh" her Pig-pig and then traded and had me "nug-guh" my old bear.

Israel entered the room with his "Ellie." (Ellie is a stuffed animal formerly known as Cookie Monster.) These days, she sports a cloth diaper and infant pajamas, which look really funny hanging off her stubby limbs. He went back to his room and returned with a rabbit and then started to go get some more.
"That's enough stuffed animals," I said.
Israel got visibly upset. "But...Ellie is not a stuffed animal!"
He came up into the bed with the two...er...one stuffed animal and I told him I needed a hug this morning. Usually, it merits the best 3-year-old squeeze a mom could ask for...and a kiss on the cheek, too. This morning, I was presented with Ellie's wide-open black felt mouth and outstretched arms (which are default for her). I told Israel her hugs just aren't as good.

At bedtime, Israel piled all his stuffed animals on his pillow in a semi-circle around his head. He made sure a choice few of them were covered up and looked around at them all before settling among them under the covers himself. Eden had her favorite "Pig-pig" and a rotation of other special animals. It's anyone's guess which one she really wants on any particular trip to bed, but once it's found, she lays it beside her and is perfectly ready for sleep. Of course, blankets are part of the ritual here, too. For Eden it means knowing whether she wants to be covered up or not. For Israel, it's always the same: sheet, baby quilt, favorite fuzzy blue blanket on top. These things have become such habits they remind me of the way a dog circles before laying down or a cat kneads her bedding before laying down.

This morning, Israel would not stop asking me about it until I told him that Barker Bear is STILL my favorite stuffed animal. In a 3-year old's world, everyone has to have a favorite stuffed animal, I guess. Having something you take care of must be a way of letting people know you'll do your best to take care of them, too.

7th anniversary trip

This weekend, thanks to the generosity of family and friends, Pat and I were able to get away to our "yearly" camping trip. (I say "yearly" because it has not happened since the kids were born.) For our anniversary, our favorite thing to do is to spend a night camping in Red River Gorge.

This was our first time being just the two of us without our kids. (Yes, we also left them in the capable care of my parents a couple weeks ago, but that was to go to a conference with thousands of people and we shared a hotel room with friends of ours. Not the same.) I was looking forward to being out in the woods -- my favorite woods -- with just me, Pat, God, and the trees. We spent the first night in a cabin, since we arrived after dark. It was a perfect little cabin with no electricity or running water, but a gas stove we could turn on to keep warm. It was glorious waking up in the woods the next morning! I even liked the little outhouse!

~waking up in the woods~

We spent the next day finding a camp site, since ours was taken. Pat kept reminding me that it's not "ours," but I still say it is. It can be a lot of other people's, too, as it obviously was this weekend, but it's still ours. We found a new, nice camp site and went on a new trail, and they were both just fine. But they weren't our favorite camp site and our favorite trail. Pat kept feeling anxious about always doing the same thing every year, and I was curious, too, since the forest is large and there are many trails through it. But after trying the new, we went back to the old favorite trail (Rough Trail, west of 715, for those familiar with the area) the next morning. It's kind of nice to be affirmed in your belief that you had already found the best..for both of us, I think.

I am not sure what I expected from the weekend. We prayed when we got there, inviting God into the time and we tried to listen for Him all weekend. I may have expected to hear something new from Him. I often feel I hear His voice in the rustling of many leaves. But I didn't hear the new direction for the next year of our marriage or anything like that. We read through some of the note cards we received on our wedding day (maybe we even read yours...). We re-read our vows to each other. We talked through some of the bests and worsts of the last seven years. We recounted lives ended and lives begun. We spent time silently being together and listening in some of our favorite places. We listened to music that has been meaningful to us over the years. It was nice.

~where we read our vows~

But I didn't hear anything life-changing. There are things we hope to do better going forward, of course, but nothing crazy. What was apparent, though, in reading cards from people and our vows, is that we're still about the things we've always been about. On the day I first read the cards or first wrote the vows, I may have imagined the life's work referenced in them to happen with that group there rather than this group here or in that way rather than in this way, but it's amazing and comforting that, with all that has changed (neighborhood, church, kids, friends, culture, etc.) there is so much that hasn't changed (working with kids, opening our home to others, being concerned with being good neighbors, and having our life's mission being about reconciliation, which was the theme for our wedding).

So often I feel like I have become merely the things I do. I don't know if it's the work that we do, the fact that we have young kids, or just human nature, but so often I get caught up in "I do this," and "I do that," that I forget that I am a person apart from those things. And Pat is a person apart from the things he does. This weekend, remembering all the things and people we love, we could just be ourselves apart from having to do anything. (And this is even to the point of setting aside the "having" to remember or document to share later!) It was good to be able to get away from responsibilities to just be ourselves, apart from the things we do, with which we too easily identify. It was good to find that we are still the same people we've known and still on the track God apparently had in mind from the foundation of our marriage.

We count ourselves blessed by God's faithfulness and your friendship, for some of you stood with us on that day seven years ago and others of you we had not even imagined! We are glad to be in this together.