The Grinch Proves True

A childhood Christmas favorite of mine was watching the Jim Carrey version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas multiple times between Thanksgiving and Christmas, laughing along to catchy songs and witty lines.

I actually still practice this tradition. I nearly drove my brother crazy during our childhood, and now I nearly drive my husband nuts. Hey, it's tradition!

I remember the first time I saw How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It was December in 2000, and my mom and I went out on a mother/daughter date. We went to a theatre in Topeka, and it was packed. I laughed so hard I choked on popcorn, and my mom laughed so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks.

I can quote every line, impersonate all the voices, and laugh every time I watch the movie. I actually wore a VHS out and eventually begged my mom to invest in a DVD version of the Dr. Seuss classic.

But never has the theme of The Grinch impacted me as much as it did this year.

Last night, after my first Christmas apart from my parents but my first Christmas with my Idaho parents, I fell asleep watching The Grinch, snuggled up next to my husband. But also for the first time, I was crying, not laughing.

The Grinch figured it out, and I find myself in total agreement. Take away all the presents, all the fancy dinners and traditions, and Christmas comes anyway.

"'It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags!' And he puzzled. And puzzled. And puzzled some more. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. 'Maybe Christmas,' he thought, 'doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.'"

It's not about the presents. It's not about the food. It's about being with family, with people, in fellowship.

But Dr. Seuss missed one detail, though: it's also about Christ, and Idaho church services richly blessed my heart today as they celebrated the gift of Jesus.

Without writing a short novel, I'll simply say the people of Weippe Wesleyan Church and Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church are walking hands and feet of Christ, and I love them dearly. The Blains, my wonderful in-laws, are the walking hands and feet of Christ, and I love them dearly, too.

We took communion at Eternal Hope today, and I simply wept. There are moments when I am utterly homesick and find myself angry at God for bringing Josh and I 1,800 miles from my family, but there are also moments when I am so sure of God's call that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Today, that peace settled in my heart. While Idaho may not be home to me now, and quite honestly might never be, Bethlehem wasn't home to Jesus, either. And yet he came. Who am I to be angry at God?

Christmas frenzies are stressful, and they drudge up a lot of emotion, but shouldn't they? After all, I'm sure there was a lot of emotion stirring in a little stall in Bethlehem and at the Father's throne when Jesus came to this earth in the form of a baby to bring the world a Savior.

In the words of The Grinch, "I'm feeling!"

And this Christmas will forever be cherished.

Dr. Seuss, you got something very right.

May Christmas Eve Find You Well

Josh and I just spent a wonderful week in Kansas with the Lesslie/Hada clan, and it was refreshing to be in the Mid West again. It blows my mind to realize the stark difference of cultures between Kansas/Oklahoma and Idaho/Washington, but it also kind of makes me smile.

I flew back to Kansas in October to visit family, but this was Josh's first time back for nearly a year (let's just say I've missed it much more than he has!). Who knew Kansans were so friendly!

We are currently sitting in the Seattle Airport, waiting for our last connection to once again greet the fog, coniferous trees, and mountains of our valley. And it will be good to be home.

As I sit and watch (one of my favorite pastimes in airports) I am once again more aware of how richly blessed Josh and I are, not only because we found one another in this world of mates, but also because we share something that makes life so much more worth waking up to: Christ.

As people hustle and bustle from plane to plane, chewing flight attendants and gate workers out, I am in awe of courtesy, or the lack thereof.

When did Christmas become this chaos?

Flying truly reveals how people handle stress, and today we've seen people yell, cut in lines, and flat out break down weeping.

And as I sit in this little corner of the Seattle Airport, I find myself just wanting to be with family, and away from this fast-paced mayhem.

Austin, Josh's youngest brother, just got in from Rome, so I guarantee his flying experience was much more stressful than either of ours this Christmas, so I am looking forward to peace and laughter once we find ourselves with our wonderful Blain clan.

Wherever you find yourselves this Christmas, may the Lord bless you and keep you as you celebrate the birth of our beautiful Savior, and may you overlook the holiday stresses that distract from the real reason of this season.

There And Back Again

Sometimes I feel like Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo Baggins is the hero of J.R.R. Tolkien’s book The Hobbit. In the story, he is recommended by Gandalf the wizard to go on an adventure, as an expert burglar. Only he doesn’t begin as much of a hero - or a burglar - at all. In fact, he has every characteristic of someone who is not a hero. He is small – hobbits only stand about three or four feet tall – not much to contend with men and dwarves and dragons. He is also not very brave. He likes his posh life in his comfortable home. He has never burgled a thing in his life. He was the least likely person that should have gone on the adventure. That is what he thought, and that is what his companions thought. Bilbo Baggins is not of much use, they all said, but Gandalf assured them that he would prove himself more useful than even he knew.

So they set out on their adventure, to go to places that Bilbo has never heard or dreamed of, and to do things that he never could have imagined. He soon becomes a burden to his companions, always getting them into trouble, and causing much more trouble than they think he is worth. Many, many times he wishes that he had never came on the adventure, and that he was back at his home having tea. However, whenever someone grumbles against him, the old wizard Gandalf always says something to the effect that “he has much more worth than you know.” Gandalf saw what Bilbo could be, and believed that he would one day be that person.

Several times Bilbo finds himself alone, in the dark, starving, with no way to find his path again, and he has to make a choice. He can either lay down and die, or he can summon all of his courage, to do something that he has never done before, something that he is terrified of. He has never had a battle of wits with an underground creature, where he faced death if he was outsmarted. He had never battled giant spiders. He had never helped anyone escape from dungeons. Nonetheless, these are the things that he faces, and his only hope is to try with all his might.

In the end, through all of his trials, Bilbo does become the hero that Gandalf said he would be. Even he never thought that he could be that hero, but that was what he became.

Sometimes I feel like Bilbo Baggins.

God has sent me on a great adventure. He has laid a call on my life. He is sending me to do things that I never could have imagined. But sometimes I don’t feel like I have what it takes, and I have all kinds of excuses. “I’ve never done what you’re asking me to do before! I am not who you say I am – you expect too much out of me! I am small and insignificant! I am not brave!” But I followed.

In Habakkuk, God says “For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.” When we first meet the judge Gideon, an angel of the Lord calls him a “mighty warrior,” which at the time, he clearly is not. God sees what we cannot see in ourselves. He sees what we can become, and if we are willing to follow him, we will become that person.

Still, at times I find myself feeling like Bilbo. There are times when I feel like I am more of a burden than a help. There are times when I wish that I was “back at home, having tea.” That is, doing something more easy and comfortable. There are times when I feel totally alone. There are times when I don’t know where the path is. There are times when I feel like I am shrouded in darkness. But, if I am going to follow God, I have to be courageous, and step out boldly against things that I have never faced before. The good news is that those are the very places when I have the chance to become the person that God knows I can be. Romans reminds us of this truth.

““But my righteous one will live by faith.
And I take no pleasure
in the one who shrinks back.”

But we do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.”
- Romans 10:38-39

I am not perfect. I haven’t mastered this thing called life. I am still on my way to wherever God is leading me. But I know that I have to try. I have to give my best to this God who sees something worthwhile in me.

In the book, after all is said and done, Bilbo writes down all his adventures and he titles them There And Back Again. In the end, when all of his trials are over, he gets to go home. We must always remember that we, too, are headed home.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
- II Corinthians 4:16-18

I was blessed this week by a book that was written 73 years ago for children, and I hope that you, too are blessed.

Until we’re home,

Josh

I Digress...

I am weary.

I think, no, I am convinced I am looking forward to Christmas break more than my students. And they are the reason.

I love them. Truly. They have slipped into my heart and I genuinely cherish them. But some days, enough is enough.

Who ever knew a 5-paragraph research paper was asking for the moon? I missed that moment of reality somewhere along the journey. If those little turkeys would just focus their energy on DOING the paper, instead of trying to talk me into pushing back the due date, they would all be finished by now. Or even yesterday. Or last week.

I slave-drive all day, get home and do homework, then drag my weary body to bed. Sleep a few hours. Wake-up. Tell Josh good-bye. And start over. This routine is getting old.

I write not to claim "Poor me," but rather to remind myself that it probably could be much worse.

I had a parent come in after school today, and I knew it was coming. When I'm a parent, will I automatically think my child is always right? Or perfect? Or brilliant? Someone slap me if that happens. Bring me back to reality.

So here I've sat, churning over the day's events, and I all can claim is, "And I thought yesterday was tough."

I didn't know what tough was yesterday.

And so...I digress. Life might just have to be stinky for a season. Research season.

Welcome to Narnia

Our Idaho town has officially had its first snowfall, and all I can say is, 'Welcome to Narnia." It truly is beautiful here, but I do miss the flats of Kansas. Ivan is loving the snow, though, and although he can't eat it all, he does try.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Josh and I send you our love.

Good-bye, Little Rumbler

Today marked history. And it almost feels like I have betrayed an old friend.

In July of 2003, I bought my very first car, with my very own money. That car, lovingly named Little Rumbler, became a symbol of independence. And it was pink, well, technically "raspberry."


(The day I drove Little Rumbler home...I was 16)

After eight wonderful years of having that little 1996 Pontiac Sunfire, I have moved on. It's crazy how much this feels like a break-up.

Josh and I went to town to look at a 1998 Toyota Corolla today. Little Rumbler, who had 220,000 miles on her, was beginning to get tired. She didn't have power locks or windows. She no longer had the ability for air conditioning. She, and never because of me, was totaled four times in the eight years I owned her. Her paint was peeling off, and her rear brake lights were finicky. And I felt it was finally time for an adult car.

While I did plan on purchasing the Corolla today, I did not plan to see Little Rumbler drive away today. But there was a plan under foot I had not anticipated.

I really wanted to give my car away to a student in need of a vehicle. The retail value on a body like my 1996's was barely $500. Little Rumbler may have been in need of a few cosmetic touch-ups, but she ran well.

After Josh and I drove away with the Corolla, I noticed a woman I had met once back in February. Those two months I worked with Alternative Nursing Services...yes...at one of our staff meetings...that was it. Crystal something...

We stopped at a gas station to grab lunch, and then Crystal came, not driving, but walking up to the station. She came inside and sat down, so I peeked my head out and waved at her. She seemed flustered, so I said, "Do you need a ride?"

"Ah! Yes- do you mind?"

Come to find out, her van broke down a week or so ago, and was going to take about $3,000 to fix.

And my heart jumped...and the words just flew out.

"I have a car you can have. Do you want it?"

And then Crystal burst into tears.

And I burst into tears.

And we drove back to Kooskia and cleaned out Little Rumbler, and I watched her pink, cute little rear-end drive away for what could be the last time.

Crystal wept when she first spotted the car, and exclaimed, "It's beautiful! It's perfect! I have a car!"

She said just this morning, during her 7-mile walk into town for work, she very humbly prayed, "God, I need a car. And I don't want to ask You, but could you give me something?"

And this is where I'm humbled, because how often are we used as the tangible hands of feet of Christ?

It's just a car right? A hot, stick shift, manual windows and locks, paint-peeling car, right?

Not to Crystal. To her, it's livelihood. To me, it was independence.

As Crystal hugged me one last time before she drove back up the hill, she whispered one of my favorite blessings into my ear.

"The LORD bless you and keep you. The LORD lift His face to shine upon you, and bring you peace."

And with tears in my eyes I whispered back, "And to you, also."

God used a pink 1996 Pontiac Sunfire today, and it touched my heart deeply.

How to Win When You Can't Hit Back

I've run into many highly hilarious happenings during my short time as a high school English teacher. I've watched a student pull belly-button lint from his navel during class. I stood in horror during cross-dress spirit day as I spotted teenage boys with curvier figures than me. I've seen teenage brains break in the midst of high hormones. I've even witnessed a teen projectile vomit from her desk. But none of these occurrences have made me angry.

Today, for the first time in my teaching history, I lost my temper.

Looking back, today's events could easily go into the 'highly hilarious happenings' category (how's that alliteration for you!), but only after the fact. In the midst of the day's events, my only thought was, "I can't retaliate. I'm an adult."

This week has been grueling. Little sleep, high emotion, and evaluations looming have made the days drag on, so today was just a recipe for disaster.

I have one class for struggling readers. I have six high school students, all of whom read on about a 6th grade level. Keep in mind, five of these six kids are incredible, gifted students who simply struggle with reading. If it were up to them, they would be taking AP courses and plotting out college plans. But limited reading has a way of dashing great academic dreams, a concept I'm trying to correct in these students.

The sixth student, though, is a very capable, very intelligent kid. He just simply won't apply himself. By acting dumb, and acting out, he's figured out that high school can actually be a breeze with little to no effort.

Today, oh today...student #6 waltzed into class with a paper airplane, cocked and ready to go.

I simply stated, "#6, don't you dare." He looked me full in the eye, arched his hand back, and yelled, "Sean! Catch this!"

But he did not anticipate his poor ability to throw the paper airplane.

And the 8 1/2 by 11 inch paper missal missed its target, and paper cut me...in the neck.

And this would be where I lost my temper.

I could think of nothing better than strangling this kid, so I coldly stated, "Get out."

"Hahaha, very funny, Mrs. Blain."

"No. You. Get. Out."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I won't throw it again."

"Get out!"

By this point, the rest of the class had made their way into the room, and, eyes wide, echoed, "Just get out!"

I told #6 I'd call down to the office when I was ready for him to come back to class, but I had to give myself ten minutes. I don't know where the anger came from, but I genuinely had no love in my heart at that moment for #6.

After, not ten, but fifteen minutes, I called down to the office and said #6 could return to class.

He was an absolute angel.

After class, I kept #6, and made him sign a detention slip. One hour. With me. He'll be cleaning my classroom, top to bottom. And I am going to love every single minute.

I'm not mad anymore, but the slice on my neck stings a bit. I take solace in knowing that very soon, my whiteboards will be clean, my text books will be organized, and all of the desk tops will be sanitized.

Thank you, #6.

And so, for today, Mrs. Blain- 0, #6- 0, paper airplane- 1.

Technology, You Stink!

I'm still chugging away on my Master's degree, playing trapeze artist trying to juggle too many flaming torches while riding a bicycle down a tight-rope, and my computer crashed.

Working on an MAT alone is hefty work, especially during my first year teaching, but the task is quite difficult when your hard drive goes down.

I'll be honest- the Master's work didn't worry me too much. Josh has a laptop I can work on. But my pictures? I am lamenting over them. Years of college, traveling, and engagement memories...gone. Why didn't I print all of those pictures when I had the chance?! Can you hear my lamenting?!

Don's computer crashed earlier this spring, and I felt bad, but I didn't really have sympathy. Now I have total understanding of how life-altering the world becomes when a computer dies. And memories die with it.

Okay, enough lamenting. Josh did take my computer in to "The Mac Guy." I do still have a working laptop, but it doesn't have Microsoft Office, iPhoto, or my thousands of pictures documenting life from these last five years. Apparently Mr. Mac Guy couldn't salvage anything from the hard drive.

Isn't it amazing how someone can mourn digital media?

And such is life, and all I have to say is, "Technology, you stink!" But please, don't ever quit working again!

Following the Leader

Oh, the joys of owning a Miniature Schnauzer.

Lately, Ivan has been so full of energy he wakes up shaking, tearing apart his sleeper pillow before we can let him out of his kennel. The end result? Ivan's pillow is very thin, and when he has successfully killed it, he will no longer have cushion to sleep on.

Today was church day, so Ivan was left to entertain himself most of the day while Josh and I readied things for service.

Here is living proof that we are sharing our house with a hyperactive dog; a very entertaining dog at that!

Full Speed Ahead

Labor Day Weekend was a jam-packed, eventful three days, which ran right into yet another week of teaching.

On the last flight before landing in Ohio, I got to practice my CPR and First Aid certification. Just as I was boarding, an 85-year-old man fell, and I watched as nearly 30 people walked by him as he was sprawled out on the floor. Passengers made their way onto the airplane, offering looks of sympathy. I stopped and offered my assistance. The EMTs arrived thirty minutes later, and I walked onto the plane, covered in blood and ready to vomit. The poor man gashed his face pretty bad, and broke his nose. His eye had some trauma, and at the exact moment I realized the eye was bleeding, so did the man's wife, who started screaming, "It's his eye! It's his eye! It's his eye!" I remember yelling, "Get her out of here," and then she was gone, sobbing on down the platform. I'm fairly certain the man, Mike, had a stroke, which caused him to fall. He and his wife were on their way to their son's wedding, which I would guess they missed. It broke my heart.

But Lane Evan Miller is perfect. His mommy and daddy are finally home with him, and are enjoying their own space and privacy as a family of three.


I got home from Ohio late Monday night, and jumped right back into a week of school. Josh and I spent today on a date, picking berries with plans of making jam. We were very successful in our endeavors. We found thousands of blackberries, red, yellow, and purple plumbs, and apples. We thought we picked cherries, but once we washed them at home, we realized they were red plumbs. About the only negative point of the day was while attempting to pick yellow plumbs. We climbed over the guardrail on the grade, and it was nearly a 30 degree angle or so. I slipped, and ripped the crotch out of my jeans. Oh, well, I suppose. At least we got the plumbs!


What a marvelous adventure today! Hopefully the jam turns out---it could be interesting.

Here's another Idaho sunset. Just wanted to share!

Weekend of Labor

This time last year, Josh and I were rushing to Springfield for the arrival of the cutest nephew around, Martin Alfred. He was a month early, most definitely an unexpected arrival, but perfect in every way.

This year for the weekend of labor, I'm visiting another baby, Lane Evan. My best friend from high school, Carrie, and her husband Lyn, have a 4 pound addition to their family. Lane was just a week early, but had complications the doctor didn't catch, so he's spending his first few weeks at the Infant Hilton in Ohio. I'll catch a flight in just six hours, and head to the Buckeye state for the weekend to celebrate the arrival of the smallest Miller name sake.

Carrie and Lyn were married in November of 2008, and I was privileged to be Carrie's maid of honor. Then, in May of 2009, Carrie stood up with me for the Lesslie-Blain wedding extravaganza. I cherish the friendship we started as 14-year-olds in freshman speech class more than I can say.
November 14, 2008


May 23, 2009

To celebrate the long weekend, Josh is out camping with Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church members and Weippe Wesleyan church members, which is making my life a bit emotional. Who knew I could miss that man so much? He's only been gone for one day, and I'm a mess! The worst part is that we can't talk to each other, because there is no cell service in most of Idaho, especially the camping areas. We haven't gone a day without talking to each other since 2008...and I'm not handling it as gracefully as I anticipated. Maybe I'm not quite as independent as I once thought!

And one more sliver of information for the Labor Day Weekend...

Blake and Tina are expecting in late April!!! And just like when I heard the news of Martin, I screamed, laughed a little, and then burst into tears. I love being an aunt, and apparently cry every time a baby is added to that magnificent title.

Hoping for a Ticket

Here's the deal: if I so much as look at a cop, they write me a ticket. I won't feign innocence. I've had my rebellious streak of pushing the speed limit and rolling through stop signs, but I'm a changed woman.

By about the age of eighteen, I realized vehicular submission was becoming an obedience issue, and I had an attitude adjustment. But I still got tickets.

The worst scenario was my sophomore year of college, driving back from Blake and Tina's for the first time. They lived in Missouri, about 2 1/2 hours from OWU, so I didn't anticipate issues. But when the sun went down, and the cops came out, tears inevitably followed. Have you ever been lost in the dark? It's so creepy and hopeless. Sunlight makes a huge difference when traversing unknown territory. And not one single cop took pity on me.

Long story short, within one mile, yep, just one, I was pulled over three times, and not one cop had compassion. Sobbing and feeling forsaken, my dear friends, Max and Ruth Ann Colaw, came to the rescue. I described my surroundings, and they came and picked me up. This is where I cue the Hallelujah Chorus!

Totally innocent of malicious speed or burnt out headlights, I had to pay the fees. And that was my last run-in with tickets.

But Josh? Guilty- yes. Punished- never.

On the way home from Weippe last night, after several games of Pitch with Don, Patty, an Tom, Josh and I were chatting away when red and blue lights appeared.

Josh looked down, realized he was going about 12 over, and promptly pulled off the road.

The police officer approached, and upon seeing the driver stated, "Oh, I didn't recognize your car. Could I get your license and registration?"

"Whose car is this?" To which I responded, "Mine."

"Oh, that's why I didn't know the driver," a.k.a., had I been alone...he would have pulled out the ticket book!

But for Josh? The guy didn't even run Josh's license. He stood at the window for about 60 seconds, told Josh he's driven that stretch of Weippe long enough to know the speed, then handed everything back and wished us a pleasant evening.

This is, and I'm not exaggerating, about the tenth time Josh has deserved a ticket, and gotten out of it. Speeding through a work zone on our honeymoon, while talking on the phone, cruising through Alva at top speed, rocketing across Montana in a Mercedes Benz, trucking through Burton, KS, IN A SPEED TRAP! But no tickets.

And each time that bearded husband of mine gets pulled over, I'm thinking, "Give him a ticket, give him a ticket!"

Yes, I know this will increase our insurance, and I know we'll have to pay a fine, but I want justice! It's so wrong, and Josh isn't even trying to get off Scott-free.

Maybe it's his honesty. Maybe his pleasantry. Maybe some gleam in his eye. But then again, maybe it's the beard.

I might have to start growing one...

Syllabi and Power Drinks

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who have been praying for me and sending me facebook notes, text messages, and flowers. Up until now, my life has been all-consumed with classroom 102, and each night I've collapsed into bed, nearly sleeping before my body was fully under covers.

My classes range from 25 students to 6 students, some sharp and eager, others cranky and stubborn.

And life is good.

But I'm exhausted.

To combat the tiredness in the process of going through syllabi and procedures, I drank the second power drink of my life this afternoon. It wasn't pretty.

Yesterday was my very first day with students. After my first class period, the para for one of my 10th graders caught me at the door and said, "You're one of the best teachers I've ever seen," and then walked away, leaving me mouth agape, bumbling into the next hour.

What a blessing to hear that others see the work, blood, and tears my life has been consumed with these last four years of college.

Professors out there- thank you for investing in me, for pouring your wisdom out with all your heart. Friends, thank you for listening to my crazy stories, for crying with me in the struggles and laughing with me in the joys. Family, thank you for loving me, on my very worst days, and inspiring in me the longing to serve, to minister, to love. You taught me how because you pointed me toward the greatest Teacher, and then He cultivated this heart of mine for the classroom.

These first two days have felt like an eternity. In the moments when I have longed to see Josh so badly I was tempted to shove lessons plans in my desk and save them for morning, those moments, those pinnacle moments, God has reminded me of how desperately I need Him. And then He pushes me forward.

Students are already creeping into my heart. Some because they just make me smile--good attitudes and eager spirits. Others because they're broken, and they're longing to be whole. The need here is great, economically and spiritually. And it's written all over my students' faces.

Then there are the teachers. I've always said the classroom is a mission field, but I never expected that field to include coworkers to extent it has here.

Yesterday, after my first long and exhausting day, a brand new hire stopped by my classroom, and we ended up talking for two hours about God's faithfulness in the midst of the most painful and angering situations. This woman is broken and bleeding. She and I are the same age, and she's in the middle of a divorce while trying to work full time and take care of her 6-month-old baby. And the church has burnt her. And she wants to walk away. But Someone keeps pulling her back.

Today, thinking I'd get home early, I stopped by another brand new teacher's room to see how she was adjusting. She's never taught before, never even student taught, and now she's been thrown without a life vest into the eye of a hurricane. And she's frustrated with our system at school...and some coworkers...and the isolation of this valley...and apathy of believers here. And so we talked for two hours, discussing theology and church and deception of the enemy.

I feel like I have nothing to give these women. I'm tired and I don't want to give up two hours every day of planning time, only to get home late, work even later, and start the process over again five hours down the pike.

I love being a teacher--I don't want to be anything else--but I'm tired. I catch myself thinking, "God, can't you use me later?"

And then I'm humbled, because I know He's asking to use me right now, in the midst of being tired, because it's not about me. It's about Him.

God is good. And God is faithful.

Even when I'm tired.

Should of Seen it Comin'

You know those toilet contraptions that shoot water up to clean your bum as a replacement to toilet paper? A bidet? That was almost a great idea. Kind of like the pocket thing you can microwave potatoes in.

But here's the thing: there is no replacement method to either of these outcomes. You can't spray yourself with a hose to replicate the bidet, and, as it turns out, you can't put a spud in a gloved hot pad and have a speedy meal.

I'd love to tell you I read this somewhere, or heard a friend warn me, but no.

I'm the victim of an act of stupidity.

And here's why.

Today was in-service at the high school. It's the day before the my first day of school as a paid teacher, and I spent 12 hours at Clearwater Valley High School. The day started at 7:30 this morning, and I drug my weary bones home at 7:45. Josh and Tom came to visit me for a bit, but for the bulk of the day, I was running from meeting to meeting, and printing syllabi in my spare time.

So isn't it fair that a baked potato sounded pretty good after a long day?

My predicament was the hankering for a baked potato, but not wanting to wait an hour for it to bake in the oven. We don't own one of those nifty little microwave thingy majiggers, so I thought, "HEY! A hot pad glove is basically the same idea!"

This is why I teach English and not biology...

Four minutes later, our little house was filled with smoke and a stink to make your toes curl.

I opened the microwave to one very retired oven mitt, embers and all. And get this: my potato was ruined!

On the up-swing, Kooskia did display one pretty remarkable sunset for our little valley. Next time, I'll make a bologna sandwhich with my wonderful husband and watch that sunset, and leave the potatoes for the experts.

Family Vacation

Picture this: Rapid City, South Dakota. Family vacation. Eight adults, one infant, one child. Two campers, one tent. Two trucks, one car, and 15,000 motorcycles.

Yep- we just had our Lesslie family vacation in Rapid City during Sturgis Bike Rally, and it was a riot.

If we could do it all over again, I would do everything the exact same. Originally we had planned on a cabin, but long story short, dates got a little confused, and three weeks before vacation Josh scrambled for an alternative, which his wonderful family helped with. I loved the campers, tent, Cedar Canyon Wesleyan Camp, Mt. Rushmore, Bear Country, Badlands, putt-putt golf, s'mores, Martin pooping in Grandma's shoe...the only thing I would do differently would be the week we chose to vacation.

All things considered, though, it was a marvelous week. Despite the never-ending string of scantily clad bikers, it was quite ideal, actually. The weather was beautiful, the food was delicious, and the company was grand.

It was so much fun to watch my parents as Granny and Grandpa all week with Martin.
They have fallen in love with that little boy, and I think Aunt Ashley and Uncle Josh have, too.




Josh and I let my parents have the bigger camper, along with baby Martin, and we took a pull-out bed in the camper where Blake and Tina were staying, which was loads of fun. Grandma, Grandpa, and one of my cousins did the tent thing, and were a little flooded in the middle of the week, but were not bested by soggy bedding. I think I laughed all week long!

Josh and I also got to see his grandparents, two uncles, two aunts, and eleven cousins. One uncle, one aunt, and five more cousins would have made the trip complete.

We celebrated my parents' 25th wedding anniversary at the beginning of the week, which was very low-key and fun. I won't mix words; my parents are blessings, and I admire their love, even when marriage is tough. They have never pretended love is easy, but always savor the moments when love is sweet. Josh and I covet the examples of marriage our parents exhibit, and cherish the wisdom from those marriages.



Apart from family, we also got to see our favorite ballerina, Rebecka, one of my best friends who danced in our wedding. Her husband, Brett, was at a wedding in Ohio, so we missed him, but we relished our time with Rebecka. Brett and Rebecka just got a kitten, Chloe O'Brien, who was a ball of energy until I found her shut-off switch. I'm attaching a video simply because you have to see it to believe it!


On our way home, we stopped by Josh's grandparents' and Josh's uncle and aunt's, then attempted to drive through the night to meet up with another friend from OWU, Nate, who traveled with me my second summer on ministry teams, and who roomed with Josh his senior year.

That all-nighter was a miserable letdown. After trying to push through, we pulled over 30 miles from Nate's, and slept at a rest stop until sunrise, then met Nate for coffee in Gillette.

We drove through the night Sunday the 8th, pulled into Rapid City Monday afternoon, partied hard all week with games, sight-seeing, and Baby Martin, then drove further east to visit Rebecka, then back west Monday morning at 9:00, arriving safely in Kooskia Tuesday night around 11:00.

What a splendid week of vacation. But I'm pooped!


Martin's first tomato.


Two of my favorite boys!


My wonderful sister-in-law, Tina.


The cutest thug you'll ever see!


Grandma Karla and Grandpa Larry---married 51 years.


The Badlands.

Saying good-bye to my family was even more tearful this time, but, Christmas, I'm holding out for you!!!!

On the Other Side of the Desk

My classroom is set up. The chairs are arranged. The whiteboard has a welcome. My diploma and tassel are displayed. Quotes and pictures have found their place on my walls. I even have a small plant from when I worked with Alternative Nursing Services that is now living on the window sill, awaiting the inevitable death my black thumb is sure to bring.

My very own classroom. Wow.

I find myself eagerly waiting for students to fill that empty room. I anticipate discussions and essays. I chuckle quietly to myself as I imagine detention slips I'm sure to assign, and sport a Cheshire grin thinking of students who will spend those detentions cleaning in my classroom (thanks for the brilliant idea, Sandy!).

I don't want to be anything other than a teacher. I am proud of my profession, and humbled by that ministry.

I posted a quick blip on Facebook today as I headed out for my first day on the job. In-service at the district office...how nerve-racking! And the feedback from some of my dearest friends encouraged me in a way I did not anticipate.

It's a little strange to sit behind that big teachers' desk instead of standing in front of it, but the view is awesome.

Thanks for sharing in this journey with me.

Girl Power!!!

As a man, I often feel the need to assert my masculinity by doing things like moving heavy objects, or removing hot pots from the stove with my bare hands.

After this last Sunday, however, I must give it up for girl power... well, technically it was senior citizen lady power.

Many of our congregants this week were gone working at a church camp. Another family had relatives from out of town, and weren't able to be at church. Several others who come sometimes and not others didn't come this week. Put together all of those random things, and our church service had six members. Apart from Ashley and I, it was Jan (88), Janelle (70-ish), Alice (78), and Fern (88).

The other thing that was different about this past Sunday was that everything had to be picked up. EVERYTHING. We meet in a Jr. High cafeteria, and this week they've been resurfacing the floor, so all of our stuff had to be put away. Allow me to list all or our stuff.

- Stand-alone Projector Screen
- Sound System
- 50 Stacking Chairs
- 5+ Fold-Into-The-Wall Cafeteria Tables
- 10+ Fold-Into-The-Wall Cafeteria Benches

We thought it would take forever. We thought we would be there an extra hour cleaning up. We were leaving for vacation as soon as we were done, so we were ancy. We finished the service and started cleaning up. I got going with the sound system, and by the time I was done, so was everyone else - girl power. All of those ladies jumped in and helped - girl power. Ashley said that at one point she looked over and Fern had discarded her walker and was stacking chairs - girl power.

Men being manly can be useful, but I have learned this week to never underestimate girl power.

Treasures Aren't Always Monetary

Growing up is weird.

Take away phone bills, insurance, house payments, and grocery shopping...I officially think my parents are cool, as well as well-springs of knowledge and wisdom, and a few years ago, I thought they were clueless.

I just spent two hours with my mom on the phone, exchanging stories, laughter, and wisdom. That lady is my best friend, and I'm proud to say it. I remember a period during middle school when I didn't want to kiss her good-bye. I remember thinking "No one else kisses their mom!"

What I wouldn't give for the opportunity to kiss my mom and dad every day now. I should have treasured those kisses, even if they were a little embarrassing at the time.

Josh and I are gearing up for a whole week with my mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law, cute and cuddly nephew, grandma, and grandpa, and I am ecstatic! I will have to soak in every single hug and kiss as I prepare my heart for another season of separation. I'm so blessed to have Josh's family close. My world would just be perfect if my family were close, too.

Another weird aspect of growing up, I suppose.

Being a teenager does odd things to emotions and neuron processing, but this I have always known: my parents are blessings, and I take them for granted.

A friend from OWU once told me that every hug is stored in the heart. How true those words can be when every hug is a treasure.

Some like it Hot...But I Sure Don't

I am an adult, married woman, in the business of growing children into young adults, and I am agitated. And here's the deal...

Kids' camp starts tomorrow morning. While I am excited (maybe overly so!) about being with 8- to-12-year-old children for the next week, my to-do list is not getting any shorter before school starts, my masters is not getting any easier, and our house, cute as it may be, is not getting any cooler.

No joke---it is 11:00, in the P stinkin' M, and our house is 84 degrees.

And I am so cranky!

I have one of those 'isms' which makes it virtually impossible for my body temperature to regulate itself, which makes very hot and very cold temperatures an annoying centerpiece of my mind. My body is all-consumed with hatred for heat in this valley right now, and let me tell you, box fans just don't cut it.

See, I told you. Cranky, right?

Also, as I continue to upload assignments for the week for my masters, one certain classmate is driving me a bit nutty, and I've never even met the man.

Walt, a 40-something year old who has a bachelors in computer technology, has joined the Masters of Art in Teaching program, in hopes of earning alternative certification to teach math. The guy's only subbed for two months in his whole life, and he's convinced he knows everything about the world of teaching high school students.

Now honestly, I mostly have to laugh at Walt, because he is sexist and rather clueless when it comes to Differentiated Instruction and Classroom Management, which is usually SO funny to me. But tonight...oh, tonight...the heat has gone to my brain so much that I'm even blogging about Mr. I-know-everything-in-the-realm-of-teaching-and-you-don't Walt.

The guy has said that only male teachers can truly enforce classroom management. He's said that all female students flirt with male students, which, in turn, should penalize all female students in virtually all classrooms. He's even said the best way to discipline problematic students is to make them stand in front of the class while he continues to lecture.

This I can deal with.

But tonight I have very little tolerance for him, and really, he's just being Walt. He made yet another off-the-wall comment, but this time, on one of my posts. I usually try not to read Walt's posts, but tonight he took me unaware, and if I could see the guy face to face, I might be tempted to smack him.

Oh well, I suppose. I have my moments, too. And tomorrow I'll probably be laughing about this.

I'll be the first to say it...my mood fluctuates with the temperature. I'm woman enough to admit it. Just don't remind me of that when I'm too hot or too cold.

Teeth Are Made For Chewing, Hands Are Made For Catching

I grew up working construction with my three brothers: Tom, Andrew, and Austin. Our Dad always had some side project going to supplement his pastor's salary, or a rental house that needed some fixing up. No matter what we worked on, though, we always enjoyed doing it together.

This summer, all of my brothers are at home with my parents, and Ashley and I live less than an hour away. For the past week, I've been making the commute to do a siding job with the three of them. We've been having fun...

Until Wednesday...

A vital tool in the field of vinyl siding is the tin snip. We had three of them and four of us. We were playing "musical snips," tossing them back and forth to each other all day as needed.

I was working around the front of the house, and everyone else was in the back. As I was walking around the house, I heard Austin yell "HEADS UP! HEADS UP! HEADS UP!" When I rounded the corner, I saw Andrew and Austin looking very concerned, and Tom kneeling in the yard with a tooth in his hand, spitting blood on the grass.

Here's what happened. Tom needed to borrow the tin snips from Austin, who was working on the deck above the yard, about 10-12 feet high. Austin grabbed the tool, looked up, thought Tom saw him, and tossed the tool to the perfect spot for Tom to catch. But as you've probably guessed, Tom wasn't looking...

When Austin yelled "Heads up!", Tom looked up just in time to catch the snips right in the mouth. He busted his lip wide open, and broke his canine right in half.

He took the rest of the day off.

Four stitches, and one temporary tooth cap later, he's still feeling pretty smoked. Hopefully as the days go on he'll feel better.

Just goes to show that you never know what each day will bring... Especially when people are throwing tin snips around all day.

New Words

Note: This post is by Josh.

I just finished reading "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells. It is a science fiction classic, and I was obtained a free copy of it, so I read it.

No matter what your opinion of science fiction in general, or of Mr. Wells, one fact is certain.

He knew more words than me.

I started keeping track.

Before you turn on your thinking caps, don't. This is not a deep or serious post. I only wish to give you a list of words from this book that I did not know and had to look up. Are you ready? (Keep in mind that this is not a complete list.)

"cupola"
"ameliorate"
"etoilated"
"cicerone"
"halitus"
"rill"
"deliquesced"
"desiccated"
"hermetically"
"steatite"
"tumulus"
"fecundity"

At the mention of some of these, you may incredulously exclaim "I can't believe you didn't know that word." To others, you must admit vocabularial defeat. And now, you fall victim to your curiosity to look up the words for yourself. I will take pleasure in this fact... bwa ha ha.

A Sour Sense of Humor

Josh has officially earned 'pay-back points.' And I am genuinely worried.

But I'm still laughing as I type this.

This morning, we woke up and took care of our morning routines and readied ourselves to embrace the day.

This really wasn't an abnormal day by any means, but I'm afraid Josh may never forgive me for the interruption during our breakfast preparation.

I was making coffee, and Josh went in search of a non-coffee, non-dairy breakfast drink....and he's trying to stop drinking pop.

He hates milk...hates coffee...hates tea...hates water...he loves pop, but can't have any more this week...

But we did have some apple juice.

Here's the kicker. Yesterday, I had some apple juice. And it was rancid. We left for a week of camp, so it just sat in the fridge with no one to drink it for a whole week.

I really did have the best of intentions to throw it out yesterday but got busy and it completely slipped my mind.

So there it sat. Inviting, cold apple juice. And Josh poured himself a huge glass.

And I watched it all happen.

Josh took a huge gulp, then bulged out his eyes, ran to the sink, and spat out the juice. Then he screamed, "It's rotten!"

I erupted in laughter, and was therefore discovered for the knowledge I had of the apple juice but did not share.

Josh, without the comical expressions I was donning, said, "You let me taste the fermented drink!!!!"

I know, right? Further cause for laughter.

So now, I'm watching my back. And my drinks. Pay-backs are never as funny as initiation acts, are they?

Youth Camp Isn't Just for the Young

Josh and I just made it home from the Northwest District Youth Camp. It seems like only yesterday we were traveling for OWU together, going from camp to camp all summer long, living out of suitcases and spending most of the summer in a minivan.

So it should come as no surprise three years later that neither of us has the gusto we once had. We were out-jumped, out-slept, and out-lasted, but camp was so good.

Our dear friend from OWU was the camp speaker, and several friends from college were on a traveling team and music team that stayed for the week, and not only were our hearts, souls, and minds renewed spiritually, they were renewed relationally, as well.

For the first time since my traveling excursions in college, though, I felt a bit out of whack at camp. I'm working on my Masters, so trying to balance school-work on top of campers and team time was a bit more of a challenge than anticipated.

I had to hole up for nearly 24 hours to focus on school deadlines and missed the first full day of camp. Instead of being part of a team for the rest of the week, I wandered from team to team and simply watched campers and their interactions with peers and leaders. You can learn so much from merely wandering.

I was able to be in the cabins with the girl campers from our church every evening, which was wonderful. The female leader from another church had the two girls we took to camp in her cabin. That cabin was also full of students I taught this last semester substitute teaching for Josh's hometown high school.

There were a few girls in that cabin who caused both Josh and I much grief as subs. They were loud talkers, drama makers, and boy gawkers. I was nervous about their influence on other campers for the week, and curious to see what God had in store.

One girl in particular was a pure joy, but rough. Rough, rough, rough. During school, she never smiled, took pleasure from harassing and bullying other students, and had the mouth of a sailor. She was probably the most shocking face to see on the bus Monday morning as we headed off for camp. While subbing, Josh always said, "Every time I see her face, I just want to smack her!"

And Josh is one of the most gentle people I know.

But God was working overtime in this girl's heart.

Wednesday night of camp, during cabin devotions, "Mandy" leaned over to her neighbor and whispered, "Hey, what's Mrs. Blain's name?" The neighbor whispered back, and Mandy said, "I really like how Ashley said that teachers notice students. It made me think, 'Man, she must think I'm a jerk!'"

We all laughed a bit, and I said, "Yep, you're probably all very glad I don't have detention slips this week."

Several girls said, "You never gave me detention!" to which Mandy said, "Me eit.....oh, uh, never mind."

Mandy DID receive detention from me. Several times. And one or two from Josh.

The last night of camp, Mandy found me after the message and poured out her heart. She shared her joy of receiving Christ for the first time during camp, but the gut wrenching fear of what awaited her at home.

Mandy has a rough life. And she knows it.

She and I prayed together, and just before she stood up and walked away, she looked at me and said, "I want to be like you."

I was a little confused, then she added, "You walk into the classroom, and everybody's face lights up. I know you watch people, but people watch you, too, and you're always smiling. It makes everyone else smile, too."

Then she left.

I bowed my head, and wept. And that's how Josh found me. On my knees, weeping with joy, absolutely humbled by the continued promise that God is good.

Teaching isn't just a job to me. It's a ministry. And even as a substitute, some days wondering if God would ever give me a classroom of my own, students noticed my heart. This is amazing to me, because many days I just felt cranky----at the drive, the pay, the dysfunction. Somehow, a seed was planted, and I am awed.

I was also very proud of my husband this week. Some people are called to be teachers, some doctors, others laborers, and still others business owners. Josh is called to be a preacher.

He led what this camp calls a break-out session, which basically means campers are split into three groups and each group hears a different small-group speaker each day. Josh spoke about risk, and spoke with authority and love. He may not believe it himself, but he is remarkable, and campers listened to what he shared. Several girls shared how his message affected them during cabin devotions throughout the week.

I am so blessed and honored to be married to this man. We don't have a perfect marriage, and some days are more difficult than others to go to bed saying "I choose Josh," but every day is worth the commitment we made a year ago. I'm married to a man who helps craft me into a better woman. He loves me, even on my worst days, and holds me when I miss my family the most.

If any risk can make me aware and minutely understandable of the risk Christ took in laying down his life so we could choose to accept Him or not, it's the risk of marriage. It's vulnerable, and there's no guarantee love will be reciprocated, especially not for an entire lifetime, but nothing else in life quite compares to the joy of this partnership.

Camp may be for the young physically, but this tired heart has been renewed, and it's ready for the next round this life has to offer.

The Double-Edged Sword

Remember the song "He's still workin' on me?"

Alva, Oklahoma, 1995. My very first duet. I was eight.

"He's still workin' on me. To make me what I ought to be. It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars. How loving and patient He must be. He's still workin' on me."

This song continues to run through my mind as God continues to cultivate my heart.

This post is a bit more raw and honest than our previous posts, but it's what has been on my mind lately.

There is a fist-full of names I'm convicted about. A fist-full of names God won't take off my heart. I'm an English teacher with a head full of words, and I know just how to string a sentence together so that it becomes a double edged sword.

There was this high school teacher. He and I didn't see eye-to-eye, and he was kind of a jerk. And so I was a jerk back. I walked out the high school's doors, victorious in that teacher-student battle, thinking I'd done Haven High School a favor.

There were these girls. I liked them at first, but then I got to see their hearts. I stepped back. They stepped forward. I pulled out my word sword, and slashed them. I won another battle. And I gained two more scars.

There was this boss. I didn't agree with her work ethic. She was flaky, and I was mad. And so I said my peace, quit my job, and moved on to bigger and better things. And yet my heart broke for her because I had a moment to say something inspirational, something constructive, and I said something mean, albeit honest. More blood on my sword.

There was this co-worker. We had a foundational friendship, but she wore a holier-than-thou tiara. Instead of loving her despite her accessory, I borrowed that tiara, and donned it for myself as I pulled my word sword from its sheath.

Relationships I thought meant nothing, relationships I thought wouldn't haunt this heart of mine, seem to keep popping up in the farthest corners of my thoughts. I weep over them. I have nightmares. I sit. I ponder.

What battle am I fighting exactly?

God has placed such enormous conviction on me in the last month I can barely get through a day without my mind somehow settling on these wounds. With each battle, I convinced myself the flaws in others justified my words, my actions. And so I've become a slave to bitterness.

But God is slowly taking my wounded heart, and healing it. I'm reconnecting. Apologizing. Mending relationships. I've thought "What a beautiful gift, Lord!"

I was excited over this new conviction, until I contacted that teacher a few days ago. The one I thought was a jerk. The one I started my practice of sword slashing on. That battle has been the most difficult to face. And it's been the most difficult to recover from. My first battle won was the last one I decided to tackle.

And he doesn't want a thing to with me, and he doesn't want to hear my words.

All these years, I've thought about the injustice he caused me. I made excuses for my bitterness because I decided a long time ago HE was the reason I had to speak out. Someone needed to put him in his place, so I did. My 18-year-old mouth shot daggers, and I thought I was a hero.

But I am no hero, as it turns out. I'm actually the cause for HIS bitterness. And he doesn't forgive me.

Regardless of conviction, I can't fix every relationship I've wounded. Because of my words---my mouth---I have to live the rest of my life knowing this teacher does not forgive me. I hurt him so deeply he can hardly acknowledge me.

And so I've misrepresented the Savior's face to one of His lost sheep.

I am ever grateful He's still working on me, because some days, it seems I'll never quite grasp what it truly means to be "what I ought to be." I feel as though almost any other woman should be blessed with being Josh's wife, because I am no pastor's wife. I make life messy, and I take these great gifts of passion and justice, these awesome traits God has instilled in me, and I muck life up. I turn passion into harshness, and justice into illegitimate action.

As a dear friend of mine says, "Every good trait has a shadow-side if used incorrectly."

And so these are mine, my shadow-sides, and I am painfully aware of their existence as I continue to patch wounds inflicted by my sword.

Bless You

For the last several weeks, Josh and I have been walking around our little house sniffling, sneezing, and hoarse. Yep, it's allergy season in our valley, and we're suffering.

I've accepted the reality that I am allergic to nearly everything that blooms. From a young age, I decided allergy medicine was not only my friend, it was my very trusted ally. But Josh, on the other hand, has fought the conquering hero, claiming "I don't have allergies."

Oh, but he does. And the small white pill has become his ally, too.

For nearly four weeks, I have woken up almost every night, sneezing, leaking, scratching, and crying from allergies. My face swells, and every orifice in my face itches.

It is miserable.

And who knew the same thing could happen to puppies?

Josh and I have been so focused on our own plight with pollen season we have completely overlooked Ivan the miniature schnauzer.

As I type, Josh is outside mowing our grass while I am reading page after page on how to be "an effective teacher," seeking refuge from the flying spores. While Ivan usually leaps at every opportunity to be outside, he is inside with me, snuggled up against my feet, sneezing, scratching his ears with his hind legs, and his nose and face with his front paws. He's making small groaning noises, and stops every so often to simply stare at me, as if crying out, "Can't you do anything for me?!"

This summer, Ivan has gone from having one solid blister of a foot to having the itchy, watery eyes, runny nose, and scratchy ears Josh and I are suffering from. I'm telling you, this dog lives for summer, and he's barely made it outside during his first encounter with the season.

This place may be Idaho's Wilderness Gateway, and it may be beautiful, but it comes at a cost. Even for miniature schnauzers.

Nice Wheelie, Dummy!

Yesterday, we had a few people from our church over at our house for some coffee. Every Friday morning, the men go down to a local restaurant, and the ladies come over to our house.

One of our ladies had dropped her nine-year-old son, Levi, off with the guys and went on to the house.

After the men got done, we headed back to our house. When we got there, the ladies were still talking. Levi must have been uninterested in "girl-talk," because he promptly asked me "Hey Josh, can I ride your bike?" I said yes, and I must not have been too interested in girl-talk either, because I went with him.

Levi did a few laps up and down the sidewalk between our yard and the street. After he popped a few wheelies, he rode the bike over to the fence where I was standing, and asked me a simple question. "How long do you think you can ride a wheelie?"

I'm not sure what happened next. I was instantly motivated to run inside and put my shoes on, come back out, and try. I didn't know far I could ride a wheelie, but I had to find out. I really wasn't that worried. I figured that the worse case scenario would be me pulling a wimpy wheelie and being a little embarrassed. Ashley later said that it was peer pressure. This would only be possible if I had the maturity level of a nine-year-old. You decide.

Regardless, I soon found myself riding the bike to the end of our property, turning around, and preparing for a wheelie. While this was happening, someone was pulling up to the sidewalk in a van to pick up one of the ladies who no longer drives. I had an audience... it had to be good.

I started pedaling.

I got up to speed, yanked up on the handlebars, and pedaled for all I was worth. It was actually a pretty decent wheelie. The only problem was that I was not used to such long periods of riding only one wheel... I lost my balance. When the front end of the bicycle came down, I went over it. I landed half in the grass and half on the sidewalk.

I scraped both knees, both elbows, and one shin.

Amazingly, the woman in the van, the woman being picked up, and everyone in the house missed the whole thing. Levi was my only witness.

At this point I have only two options. I can either grow up a bit, or start practicing my wheelies...

His Plans are Better

Anyone ever have those moments when you feel like you're walking in haze, grinning from ear to ear, totally incapable of snapping back into reality? Whew, my haze is thick right now.

I am officially a high school English teacher. And I'm grinning just thinking about it.

God is faithful.

I think back to the 13-year-old child who wanted to be a doctor. The 13-year-old who decided she was never getting married because she wanted to be an optometrist on the mission field, loving people in celibacy.

And here I am, ten years later, loving the man I said "I do" to, loving him more every day I am blessed to call him mine, and completely content and still in the ministry God has defined in my heart: teaching.

My heart jumps just thinking about having my own classroom. My own sphere of influence. My own students.

God is good.

I interviewed Monday, and was officially hired Thursday morning. This morning. Who knew three days could feel like an entire lifetime? And who knew I wouldn't be able to wipe this smile off my face.

The plans my 13-year-old head mapped out weren't bad. But this plan is so much better. This plan still includes service, love, mercy, grace, and justice. But this plan allows me to be alongside this tenderhearted and gentle husband of mine, serving with him in this valley. This plan allows me to live a testimony to children in desperate need of the Good News.

This plan is perfect.

And I find myself more elated than ever to step into a classroom as Mrs. Blain.

God is working.

Human Cheese Grater

When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a helper in the kitchen. I remember when my Grandma Karla visited and we shred cheese for meals. One of us, in the midst of conversation and laughter, would nick ourselves with the grater and sullenly admit defeat to the dreaded "knuckle buster" yet again.

Today, my nerves feel like my knuckles did as a child.

I had my first job interview. High school English. One mile from our house. Ideal.

But now that it's all over, and I've re-thought and analyzed every answer I spoke, I'm a mess. I want this job more than I can quite put into words, and it's all out of my hands. That 30 minute interview is going to determine something I find monumental in my life, and I'm not handling that reality gracefully.

I ended the interview by boldly stating I am a capable and confident teacher, who would be a great asset to the staff, shook hands with the four people interviewing me, and drove the short stretch home to my awesome and huggable husband.

Now, after percolating for a few hours, I am watching "The Swan Princess," rekindling a childhood favorite for both Blake and I, and telling my mind, body, and soul they must stop churning, hiccuping, and stewing over this job, and succumb to distraction.

God is faithful, and I'm hanging onto His promises. Maybe I should get that tattooed to keep reminding myself of that.

You Might Be a Pastor's Wife If...

Josh's youngest brother graduated from high school a few weeks ago, and it felt like a Blain reunion in northern Idaho. At one point, there were 26 people staying the night at Don and Patty's house, and life became a whirlwind.

Even in the midst of chaos and laughter, Josh's grandma, Phyllis, found time to share a few stories with me and give me one of the most profound gifts I've ever received: a small, pink paperback written by Kathy Slamp entitled "You Might Be A Pastor's Wife If..."

But first, a lineage.

Josh's grandpa, Elmore, is a retired pastor, and Phyllis a retired teacher. Don is a current pastor, and Patty a current teacher. Josh is a fresh pastor, and I, well I am a certified teacher waiting to teach. If anyone can attest to the validity to this book, I'm certain the Blain family can.

As Josh and I wait for our 3:00 church service, I find myself laughing over this book, and wishing to share a bit of what I've found to be personally true.

You might be a pastor's wife if...you wear just enough jewelry and makeup- but never too much.
You might be a pastor's wife if...people excuse their inappropriate language in your presence.
You might be a pastor's wife if...your car has a minimum of 100,000 miles on it (and you think it's a steal!).
You might be a pastor's wife if...you are a schoolteacher or a nurse.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you display gifts in your home that anyone else would hide.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you can make furniture out of orange crates and Christmas ornaments from egg cartons (been there, done that!).
You might be a pastor's wife if...people are shocked when you know the words to old popular songs.
You might be a pastor's wife if...you love a "pounding." (Our church filled our cupboards when we first moved up here during a "food pounding.")
You might be a pastor's wife if...you never sit with your husband in church.
You might be a pastor's wife if...your best friend lives over 1,000 miles away.

And one of my favorites which I find to be very accurate...

You might be a pastor's wife if...when sweet little old ladies say they pray for you, they mean it.

God is doing so much for this small valley, and I'm glad to be a part of it. But, sometimes I find myself sulking a bit, thinking I've fallen in a black hole of trees and mountains and can't get out. And that's when I pull this little pink marvel off the bookshelf, and remind myself to laugh and take heart- little old ladies are praying for me.

Hot Dog Soup

One week ago, our dog Ivan had an ill-fated date with destiny... and vegetable soup.

It was a bright sunny day. Our church was having a picnic in our local park. Ashley had cooked up a steaming batch of her famous vegetable soup - one of my favorites.

I took the soup straight from the stove, put a lid on it, and nestled it securely in the back seat of the car. Excited for a fun afternoon, Ashley, Ivan, and I jumped in the car and drove to the park.

We pulled up and parked the car, got out, and were talking with some people in our church when we heard Ivan start making a LOT of noise.

I can only describe the sound of his voice as screaming. It was relentless painful yelping. Ashley ran to the open window just in time to catch our howling dog as he jumped out, covered up to his back hips in vegetable soup.

We felt terrible, but we are now on a veterinary-suggested regiment of daily washing and wrapping, along with a "slathering" of Neosporin. 10 days since the burn, and Ivan is well on the way to recovery. Our bad-pet-owner-guilt is slowly healing as well.

One Year In

Josh and I have been sharing life as Mr. and Mrs. for a whole year. It's amazing to stop and realize how quickly time flies. Our first year has been a busy one, filled with joy, but also many adjustments and tears.

Just after our wedding in Alva, Oklahoma on May 23 of last year, we drove to Northern Idaho to spend the summer interning at a church plant Josh's dad started a few years ago. Yep- we're ministry folk, who realize our God is bigger and more awesome the further we delve into serving. Josh graduated just a few weeks before our wedding with a Pastoral Ministry degree from Oklahoma Wesleyan University where we met and fell in love.

When the summer ended, we packed the few things we owned as a couple, and drove back to Oklahoma so I could finish my last semester of college, which was spent in a 9th grade English classroom student teaching. Teaching is my passion, and students are a joy.

At the end of the semester, after my graduation, we packed up our things again, and moved back to Idaho, where Josh has stepped in as Pastor for Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church. We've bought a house, a miniature Schnauzer named Ivan, and find ourselves packed right in the heart of Idaho's mountains and rivers. We're falling in love with the people of our small valley, especially the families in our church, which actually meets in the local middle school cafeteria.

We're creating this blog for three reasons. The first? Peer pressure. Two of my dearest girlfriends have blogs, and Josh and I find ourselves eager to read every post to stay in touch with the intricacies of their lives. The second- we want to keep track of every detail of the love and life we share together to preserve the adventure for our future LesslieBlain family. And third- we are blessed to have Josh's family very close, but my family is still in Kansas and Oklahoma. We want to stay in touch.

And so we write, and our odyssey on blog paper begins.