Language of Love

If you were to visit my house while my crew was sitting around, fiddling on their electronic devices, cleaning, folding laundry or working on homework some Saturday morning, the probability is high that you'd hear them singing a really (and I mean really) silly song called The Language of Love (by Ylvis). When I was a kid, it was Weird Al Yankovich... When my bigs were littles, it was Silly Songs with Larry. 

Today, we've got Ylvis and this song is all about a "puppy love affair", where a man and a seal fall in love and sing to each other. Ridiculous? Yes! But my kids have a blast, laughing and singing all in good fun, especially when someone decides to imitate the seal as she sings her love back to the man.

On a cold, snowy, blowy, white-outy wintry morning when all has been canceled and all have been advised to hunker down and shelter in place,  I've heard the song a few times. Funny thing? The title lines right up with reflections I've had this past week, returning to school... and ministry... after the Christmas holiday.

Many are familiar with Gary Chapman and the five "love languages:

1. words of affirmation, 
2. physical touch, 
3. acts of service, 
4. gifts and 
5. quality time. 

My love language is, without a doubt, words of affirmation. I feel most loved when people gift me words, sincere and quality words. I feel most loved by God when I spend time studying, meditating and drinking in His Word. I most naturally and easily love and minister to others through words, both written and spoken.

At least until the last couple of years. Doing life and ministry in French makes communicating and using words well more challenging, complicated and definitely more exhausting.

There's no doubt about it. I just can't use words nearly so easily or as well. In fact, I am pretty sure I often sound like the "seal singing" part of the above mentioned song. Therefore, since moving to Quebec I've been pushed - more than ever before - to learn new ways to communicate God's love, ones that aren't so "word-heavy," ones such as acts of service, and quality time. 

Unsurprisingly (even though head-in-the-sand-me managed to be surprised) communicating love via those secondary and tertiary for me languages demands an investment, a significant one, of additional effort and time. Words are easy and natural, at least for this introvert. Those other love languages require that I do what comes much less naturally. Even when I do try to fall back on words, my first instinct and characteristic choice, additional time and effort is required.  

And while I can't quantify this type of daily life effort in the same way I can calculate effort using a physics equation, I have ascertained the following:

• Compared to what I experienced while living in the developing world (i.e. my daily life in Niger), much less physical effort is required to "do life" in Quebec... and that's taking into account all the inconveniences that are a part of dealing with lots of cold and snow.
• On the other hand, even though the French language has been an important aspect of of life and ministry in both places, in Quebec, it encompasses the majority of all I do. Most days, I communicate more in French than in English. I can do it, but the mental effort is significant.
• When we first started this adventure 20+ years ago, I had no clue what choosing to live life in a language other than your maternal tongue demands. Today, I have enormous respect those who, whether by choice or necessity, do so.
• My appreciation of those who regularly demonstrate love using one of the other "love languages" is increasing exponentially.
• I'm learning to better recognize and appreciate those gifts of love when they are shared with me.
• I'm thankful that using my less "natural" love languages is deepening my daily dependence on God, because I feel unable, tired and out of my league.
• I'm learning to turn first to God's Word to help me communicate love when I want to use words, as well as to recognize when words just might not be the most effective tool.

Perhaps most significant of all, I'm realizing anew, literally every morning, just how dependent I am on God and his Spirit if I want to demonstrate and share his love - steadfast, sure and new every morning - regardless of the language.

Five Minute Friday ~ Accept

It is hard to accept criticism.

Why?

I think the primary reason is pride. I also think our current world where image means so much and people (myself included) attempt to cultivate their desired image via social media, etc., only feeds that pride and makes it an even greater temptation.

True. Sometimes the criticism is offered with less than altruistic motives. Does that give me the right to not listen, just because the person spoke at least partial truth to me with less than honorable, purely unselfish motives? Ideally, that wouldn't be the situation, but in reality, it is - probably as often as not. So, do I discard those words without personal reflection because I'm disgruntled by the one (or his/her manner) who offered them? 

Then, sometimes criticism it is just offered. 

What do I mean by that? 

Let me explain, for I'm often guilty as charged.

The other day I "criticized" someone in my family, not upset, not angry... just observing something done without reflection that could have been done better and simply hoping to teach a better way. I asked who had put the salad we'd eaten for dinner away in the fridge, without an appropriate cover for the bowl. Said person owned up right away. I replied that the salad needed to be transferred to a better container and the lid put on, or all of the lettuce would wilt.  

Said person, I think, was both a little hurt and mildly offended. After all, said person had taken the initiative to help me with dinner clean-up and all I did was criticize.

True - I could have "done" the criticism better. Actually - no excuses - I should have. 

But I wasn't thinking of it as criticism. I was thinking of it as teaching (and that teaching should have been done better, as well). I'm a teacher and a mom of eight. Teaching comes very naturally to me, almost as naturally as breathing. So when I saw something that should have been done differently, could have been done better, the teacher in me spoke up. 

When others are criticizing me or something I've done, why can't I look at it more like that. More like someone is giving of their time to teach me, to help me become better and put myself into the position of being teachable?

I've recently spent some time reflecting on criticism and what the Bible has to offer on the subject. I think I'll finish with some of those thoughts:

• Let the godly strike me! It will be a kindness! If they correct me, it is soothing medicine. Don’t let me refuse it. (Psalm 141:5)
• Teach me, and I will keep quiet. Show me what I have done wrong. (Job 6:24)
• If you reject discipline, you only harm yourself; but if you listen to correction, you grow in understanding. (Proverbs 15:32)
• People who accept discipline are on the pathway to life, but those who ignore correction will go astray. (Proverbs 10:17)
• Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy. (Proverbs 27:6)
• The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense. (Proverbs 27:9)
• Whoever stubbornly refuses to accept criticism will suddenly be destroyed beyond recovery. (Proverbs 29:1)

Last time for THAT moment with the last one of my gang

I love teaching. 

I'm passionate about teaching middle school. Fourth through seventh or eighth grade - some days you get the elementary school student, some days you get the high school student but on most days you get the student who's wandering back and forth between those two and totally clueless.

And I love it.

I do enjoy teaching younger children, but not with the same passion... unless you want to talk about teaching little ones to read. 

Or, teaching anyone of any age to read. 

One of the most memorable moments of my life was when, after working with a 60+ year old Zarma woman in Niger for over two years, she haltingly read a primer version of the story of Ruth from the Bible. As she struggled through the words, all of sudden all of the syllables and sounds came together and made sense. She looked at me, her eyes filled with tears of wonder and she emotionally said, "I know this story. It's from the Bible. It is the story of Ruth and Boaz. I'm finally, for the first time ever, reading God's Word for myself. It isn't a pastor or teacher or man reading it to me." I cried, too.

I've been so privileged to work with each one of my children as they've learned to read - either teaching them before they started day school or working with them in the language  they weren't using at school. For most of them, that has been reading in English. For a few, it has been reading in French.

There are so many moments. 

That moment when the code is finally deciphered and the learner realizes that those scribbles on the paper actually translate to sounds they use all of the time when speaking - and mean something.

That moment when reading transitions from struggling and halting and hesitant to fluent.

That moment when the words turn to real colors and smells and tastes and sounds and sensations, both palpable and emotional.

That moment when it is no longer simply reading aloud someone else's words, but interpreting them -and making it personal - to develop them into the story the reader wants his or her listener/s to hear.

That moment when God's story, as revealed in His Word, suddenly transforms from two dimensional to three and finally four or more dimensions, whe the reader is able to have his or her mind blown by His incredible-ness, His so-different-from-mere-man-ness, His powerful-ness, His bigness, His loveliness...

Mary Michelle experienced that last moment, for the first time, tonight. 

She was reading from the Jesus Storybook Bible. I just love its subtitle - every story whispers His name - but I digress. 

She read the following words: 

In the beginning, there was nothing. 

Nothing to hear. Nothing to feel. Nothing to see. 

Only emptiness. And darkness. And... nothing but nothing. 

But God was there. And God had a wonderful Plan.  

"I'll take this emptiness," God said, "and I'll fill it up! Out of the darkness, I'm going to make light! And out of nothing, I'm going to make...EVERYTHING!"  

Like a mommy bird flutters her wings over her eggs to help her babies hatch, God hovered over the deep, silent darkness. He was making life happen.  

God spoke. That's all. And whatever He said, it happened." (p. 18)

As she was reading aloud to me, I noticed that somewhere along the line, she's picked up a tiny touch of a southern accent (like me) - the only one of my gang, apparently, who has. Every single time she read the word "nothing," it sounded more like "nuthin' " This tiny twang showed up in every single -ing word. This fact makes me smile!

But back to the point. She read the above words, gradually slowing, and finally she paused. I thought it was because she was looking at the illustration or waiting for me to turn the page. Maybe. 

I was wrong she turned to me, and in that moment, the total awe on her face was priceless.  

She said softly, her voice trembling a little bit, "Mama, if God didn't have the idea to make people, you wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have you. That would be really sad," as her little hand reached up to cup my face and pull me closer to nuzzle.

I responded, "Hey, if He hadn't made people, you wouldn't be here either."

She startled, then giggled, "I guess that's right...." and her voice trailed off. I stayed silent because it was obvious she was thinking.

"I guess that means He didn't just make the world and the universe and all that stuff out there. He also made words and ideas so that could tell us about Him. Oh Mama! I'm so glad God made words and that He put the words in a book so I could learn about Him. And tell you I love you. And it's even okay that He made French words, too."

That moment! Witnessing His Spirit work in the lives of one of my children? It ranks right up there with the very best of all experiences, ever!

Will she remember the details of this conversation in a few days? I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that, in that moment, God just became exponentially "amaizin'-er," in her eyes. In my eyes, too. At the same time, her view of Mama decreased. I'm so glad that process is starting to happen.

In any case, there's no doubt whether or not I'll remember these details of that moment. I want to. I need to. 

That's part of the reason I put them down here. 

For posterity.

Five Minute Friday ~ Just my opinion, but I think our process of distilling information needs some serious refining.

Friday, yesterday, was President Trump's inauguration. I didn't watch it. I had an incredibly busy day, was feeling a bit under the weather, and while I think watching would have been a good thing, it didn't make it high enough on the priority list for me to try and make it become a logistical reality.

Social media reactions, however, have me mulling some things over.

In particular, I've been considering the extreme and opposing responses to his inaugural address. Looking at my feeds, I have to wonder if everyone actually heard the same speech, for how could the same 1456 words lead to such absolute extremes of reactions and understandings?

At one end of the spectrum are those convinced he loves the USA and that life will improve dramatically as he begins to actually follow through on his campaign promises. At the other end of the spectrum are those convinced he is selfish and inept and that if he even starts to do anything he threatened, our country cannot survive. 

Clearly, words aren't offered up on a clean slate. 

Rather, our understanding and interpretation of words spoken or written by another person is influenced by more baggage that we typically care to admit. Things such as:

• personal agendas;
• perceptions, right or wrong, of the person wielding the words;
• previous interactions with the actual words used or with the person using them;
• proper awareness of the context in which words are used;
• prior understanding of topics discussed; 
• actual mode of participation in the conversation;
• grace and pardon one is willing to offer to those whose words provoke unwanted or undesirable results; and/or
• pliability in accepting those who view things differently.

I could probably expand that list further if I had more time or if more "p" words were coming to mind

I still haven't watched the inaugural address. 

But clearly, most of us need more practice at recognizing that no one is a neutral listener. 

We all favor our own personal agendas as we listen and interpret the speech or the writings of another and our abilities to set those agendas aside to really hear first needs q lot of refining.

photo credit: Geoff Livingston 

The U.S. Capitol Building Readied for the Trump Inauguration 

via photopin (license)

Top 14 Posts of 2014 (Part 2)

#5 Encountering Jesus ~ and His traumatic love

This was one of my personal favorite posts of the year... a lesson God's still teaching me... and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that others resonated with these thoughts as well!"

"...When I'm following Jesus - I can count on the fact that I'll never be walking in total darkness. That guarantee isn't there when I take off on my own and the guarantee isn't that it won't be dark or shadowy or obscure... just that the darkness won't be complete. But that when caveat can be huge. I will have light because we're talking about Jesus as the provider, the source, of that light. It is true because Jesus is true and never lies. Jesus cannot be less than Who He is. His very nature will never allow Him to do less than what He has promised. This truth depends on His desire and ability to act, and that is unquestionable as He's proven it so over and over and over and... It depends on the fact that He loves, that He IS... love ~ 

But, as RC Sproul wrote in The Holiness of God:  "No man was ever more loving than Jesus Christ. Yet even His love made people angry. His love was a perfect love, a transcendent and holy love, but His very love brought trauma to people. This kind of love is so majestic we can't stand it." The Pharisees run headlong into this reality in this Jesus encounter.

His love seeks always and only the best for its recipients. 

That means His love is often incomprehensible, confusing, painful, frustrating, and even terrifying...."

#4 Encountering Jesus ~ Divine Makeovers

The photo that went along with this post was part of what made it a favorite - of mine as well as of many readers! 

"Every time we come back from four years overseas, we see in an instant how people have changed (and know that people can see those same changes in us as well). Sometimes, it is just the effect of time passing and life moving on - more gray hair than before, more wrinkles, moving a little slower, weight gain/loss, additional children... Other times it goes much deeper - now-suddenly-to-us spouseless... or remarried to a different spouse. Other friends have walked away from Jesus and following the faith that united us. Some have come to know the Lord and we can relate on a level we never could before. Some have experienced deep sorrow or life-threatening illness or accident - and even though they are the same, they are unmistakably different as well. 

Ever had a friend who experienced a change and one result was that they became someone almost unrecognizable? One furlough we came home and my mom, who'd had short hair all of my life, had let her hair grow long - well below shoulder length. It was a beautiful gray and she took the time to curl and style it. It really was lovely, but she looked like someone who resembled my mom... not my real mom. I'd continually kick myself because instead of telling her how nice she looked, all I could do was sputter about how different it was. She just didn't look like the mother I remembered for 40ish years... she wasn't the person-on-the-outside I expected to see and it took some getting used to. I'd just about made it to that point when she cut her hair short again!

Imagine that same sort of change - but much more significant because it wasn't/isn't simply external, but was/is a change that affected/affects every aspect of who that person was/is.

Yikes!

That's what happened to this blind guy. 

His story is rapidly becoming another Scripture favorite. I guess it is okay to have lots of favorite places in God's Word?..."

#3 Trusting in the Sufficiency and Sovereignty of God

This post addresses some of the real and nitty gritty of not just missionary life, but life following Jesus...

"Two weeks ago, I started a series that I'm hoping will be both a challenge and encouragement to you, based off of a sermon by the senior pastor at my sending church. Before delving into my notes, however, I'd like to share a story of one of our scariest moments overseas... one of those times when our only hope was to trust in God, His sovereignty and particularly?  In His sufficiency.

The story centers around our precious Anna...

She was six years old, in her first full year of school at a local French language school, still young enough that we called her by her baby nickname (Anna-lu) and that she still cried when we dropped her off at school - before bravely trudging on in through the gate. Elsie Mae had recently joined the family... she was only a few weeks old... 

One afternoon, Anna came home from school's morning session telling us she didn't feel well. Over the course of our sieste that day, she continued to wilt. I was pretty sure she was running a fever and so we took her to the recording studio where Tim was working (and the air conditioner was running) to see if we could cool her down. She only ended up chilled and uncomfortable, curled up by her daddy's feet under the production desk, as far away from the AC as she could be.

I decided to take her to the doctor.

Once there, she promptly threw up all over the waiting room... which sent us to the front of the line. A blood test confirmed that she had malaria and our doctor immediately prescribed medication. I think it took three pharmacies to find it. Three days later, her prescription had run its course, but Anna wasn't acting as if she felt any better..."

#2 When a Colleague Fails

This was a convicting and hard post to write...

"How are we supposed to act when a colleague sins?

It happens, and I’m not talking about the respectable sins with which we all struggle. I’m talking about the big ones – the ones that result in missionaries sent home from the field or pastors asked to leave their churches…

What are we to do? How are we supposed to act?

I know what sorts of behaviors and attitudes surface most naturally in me.

I criticize. Blame. Ostracize. Shame.

I want to gossip – even though I usually manage to restrain myself. I convince myself I could NEVER sin that sin – at least not the same way nor as sordidly as my colleague did… I sigh as I wonder how the ministry will ever weather the repercussions.

I want to disqualify that person from ever being part of “my team,” again. I might thank God for protecting me from such a wretched mistake, possibly praying, “Thank You, God, that I am not like those those who are unrighteous, who steal, those who commit <that really bad sin>… and Lord, especially that I’m not like____________” filling in the blank with the name of my “fallen” colleague.

Jesus had some pretty strong words for such an attitude..."

#1 "The cold never bothered me anyways!"

It makes me smile that this was the most popular post this past year. But since the original goal of this online space was to keep people updated with our family and to let them feel like they "know" our kids, it is fitting...!

People always ask us how her adaptation to life in America is going... since prior to touching foot in this strange place last summer, she had no memories of her passport country.

She seems to be adjusting better than her older siblings... at least to weather related aspects... Don't you think?

Never would've suspected this.

Just a few months ago, all she really knew was life on the backside of the Sahara.

Top 14 Posts of 2014 (Part 1)

Since beginning blogging and as one year slides into the past making way for a new one, I've made it a habit to look back through the blog posts I've written and to share, once again, links to those posts that have generated the most response in readers. Response can refer to the number of "hits" on a particular post. It can reflect a larger than normal number of comments when I shared the post on Facebook or Google. It can reflect a surprising number of "reaches" as defined by social networking sites. Or, it may simply be that it is one of those posts in which the writing and reflecting has changed me.

Thus, response - as I'm defining it here - is not a hard and fast scientific number, but more my intuitive feeling which then appears to be backed up by the numbers and stats. 

Given that definition, here's a glimpse of some of what has happened on Our Wright-ing Pad in 2014.

#14 Can Failure Really Become Common Ground?

A book review of the Divergent Trilogy, I discuss what I appreciated about this particular set of young adult fiction and share why I've encouraged my children (and as and where appropriate, other teens) to consider reading it.

"I love the truth of this quote. We are all unique and different, with different strengths and talents and abilities. But one thing we have in common is failure. Everyone fails. And everyone has the opportunity to learn, grow and become someone new as a result of those failures... and when we recognize, confess and move on, allowing our failures to unite us and to spur us on to something better, something powerful happens. That is a large part of the story of this book... " 

#13 When You're Willing...

Almost every Friday, I participate in a five minute free write, given a word prompt. This was one of those five-minute writes (although, I think if you read to the end, I confess I went a bit overtime to actually complete my thoughts). Here's a bit of an excerpt...

That doesn't change the fact that it is hard when I've got a vision for something... when I feel convicted about something... when I'm sure I'm willing and I should be... and he says "No."

It's even harder when God says "No."

No - I don't want you to serve there right now.

No - Another child is not part of my plan for your family.

No - That job was not for you.

No - You think you need _____________________, but what you really need is _________________.

Or just plain "No," and no explanations, no reasons or even good explanatory hypotheses, no thank-yous for your willingness, no understandings of why.

#12 ~ HOPING... among other things, to find a hairbrush in the HOPE basket ~

That this post made the list surprises me. It was written a bit tongue-in-cheek, excusing myself for a kinda-semi-absence from the blog, or, for not writing nearly as prolifically as I had been... But, if you take the time to click over and read... you do get a tiny glimpse of life in our home with four very busy and involved teenage girlies!

"I hope to be up and running again next week.

Of course, I say hope not in the Hebrews 11.1 sense of the word.

I say it more in the sense of my little "hope basket" I keep in my bathroom...

that is there "in the hope that" at least one or two of my girlies will remember to replace the brush after getting ready for school...

So I can find it when I need to use it later!"

#11 ever seen a baby lizard dressed in Polly Pocket clothing?

I write for a couple of collective blogs designed to encourage and challenge missionaries (since I am one...). This post was written for a life overseas, and I'm really honored that they let me be a part of their group. I mean, this group of people really write - as in publish their own books... as in make money off of their pixelated and penned words. I write once each month, and this post just might be my favorite among all of the posts I wrote last year. 

Here's an excerpt...

"...I learned something that day. It doesn’t matter what sort of troopers kids may be – when their carryon weighs at best their own body weight and at worse, even more, little tykes aren’t going to be able to manhandle them through the airplane aisle to seat 46E… or drag them along on a mile hike through the airport up and down escalators only found in your nightmares. Adding insult to injury, our kids hardly even opened those carryons. Instead they played with the masks and socks the airline stewardess handed out once seated on the plane.

Just like once we’d unpacked the bags and moved into our new home…

There, they threw almost all of the fancy toy gadgets from their carryons into an action packer, fastened the lid tight and shoved it into the closet so they’d have more room on the floor to play. Only a few things remained out, visible and accessible. Those last minute gifts from grandparents sat near their pillows, ready for bed every night. The girls kept out a few of their Polly Pocket dolls and clothing. Our boy kept out his Fisher Price knights and horses. And they discovered baby lizards… everywhere!

They started catching them, dressing them in Polly Pocket clothing, making intricate mazes and dwellings out of branches, muddy sand and mango leaves. Squeals of delight erupted when they observed that gently rubbing a lizard’s chin “hypnotized” it; that made dressing without hurting… or losing part of a tail… a lot easier. Our son, wanting to get in on the fun but not wanting to demean himself by actually playing with Polly Pockets… even if it was just their clothing… sat lizards on tiny little medieval horses and began jousting competitions.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I’m pretty sure some lizards were mildly harmed, i.e. tails lost, in the carrying out of these particular activities…)" 

#10 big changes, and our latest prayer letter
Our prayer letter, where we announced a change in direction for our family. Instead of returning to Niger, God is now leading us to work in Quebec City, Canada - still involved in broadcasting and audio-visual production as well as teaching. Here's an excerpt from the beginning of that letter...

“And God Wrought Special Miracles By The Hands Of Paul…”

Other versions/translations say “unusual miracles…” “extraordinary miracles…” “no ordinary miracles…” and “not common mighty works…” if we list a few of the other renditions of this verse. At first that seems a bit redundant, doesn’t it? After all, the definition of miracle is:

• an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.

• such an effect or event manifesting or considered as a work of God.

• a wonder; marvel.

• a wonderful or surpassing example of some quality.

• Yet we know God’s Word is not redundant and that “all Scripture is inspired.”

So why the seemingly repetitive adjective before the word miracle?

Perhaps both words together remind that an abundance of miracles surrounds, every moment, day in and day out, without fail. Most of the miraculous we forget because it has become common. We simply take for granted a beating heart, a deep breath, the gift of sight, the sun rising and setting, tides coming in and then out again, thorny soil producing fruit… too many miracles happen each day to try and count them all, and we forget about them because they are every day, dependent upon the Creator and Sustainer of this universe. The miracles God did through Paul were icing on the cake miracles – the unusual, extraordinary and not common ones. It’s that genre of supernatural that people demand of God.

Yet why should we expect… why do we demand… extravagant extravagance when every day we look right past His every day lavishness?

#9 When it rains, it pours
If our extended families ever doubted whether or not people read our blogs to keep up with them, sometimes, the response to this post should erase all doubt! 

When it lightenings, it thunders...

When it snows, it blizzards...

AND in the Midwest... when it blows, it tornadoes...

We actually drove through some pretty wild weather last week as we were traveling... but cliché-ish statements like these describe how I've been feeling the past few days... weeks...

...those clichés CAN and, at this moment, DO imply a breathless "What's next?" questioning that I'm whispering after the past three weeks, which have included 

• flurries to blizzards of activity, 
• showers of obligations with downpours of miles in the van, 
• whirlwinds of friends, faces and places... 
• and too many thunderous strikes of loved ones seriously sick way too close for comfort... and seemingly all at once....

[Then] While we were traveling, we received word that both Tim's dad and Richelle's dad were quite seriously ill and hospitalized....

#8 "I'm sorry. We aren't serving eggs today." 
I'm always surprised when I discover a new blog reader - but usually that happens via the computer - email, the blog itself, Facebook. After I wrote this post, I actually had several people (including my kids'  oral surgeon as we were in for a consult regarding wisdom teeth extraction) mention this blog post... in person, face to face! For what it's worth, this is another one of my personal favorite post from this past year.

One of the last times my friend and I were at the café together, we sat down at our normal corner table where we didn't have to see the large flat screen TV on the wall above us and to my right, even though it usually featured a soccer game or some sort of documentary I'd usually find interesting... and ...we waited for our server to arrive with the menus that I practically knew by heart but still took the time to read... every single time. Not sure if that is because I'm a creature of habit or if I was simply trying to make my little weekly escape last as long as possible before entering back into the fray... but I did. That week, I settled on my regular - l'omelette française... or an omelette chock full of ham and and even more cheese - usually Gouda. 

When our server came to get our order, we'd already exchanged a few pleasantries with our greetings when he brought the menu, so I immediately said, "Je voudrais avoir l'omelette française, s'il vous plaît." I instantly knew that something was up... he had that same smile plastered on his face that he always had when he told me they weren't serving my favorite coffee.

"I'm sorry. We aren't serving eggs today," he replied.

"Oh... um... well, then - a plate of french fries would be delightful. Instead of cheese this time, can you be sure and bring me some mayonnaise on the side?"

There was that awkward smile, again.

"Oh... you aren't serving those either?" Wanting to avoid further awkwardness for our server, I tried a different tactic. "Please, sir, tell me what you'd recommend that I try for breakfast this morning?"

I actually don't remember what he said after that... because as he was talking to me, I was looking out the window of the café, at the market that lined the sides of road, across the street from the small parking lot in front of the café. There, vendeurs had piles of eggs stacked... some of them at least a meter high... 

#7 Sobering, Scary... and Rings SO True
 Another book review (because I read a lot); this one prompted lots of discussion and inspired at least a few - that I know of - to want to read this book!

"I don't remember where I first saw this title, exactly what prompted me to get a copy of this book, or how long I've been slowly working my way through it,

...but doing so has taken me on a HUGE learning curve.

NARCISSISM ~

inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.

also: self-centeredness, smugness, egocentrism.

There's even something called Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), or a condition in which people have 

• an excessive sense of self-importance, 
• an extreme preoccupation with themselves, and 
• a lack of empathy for others.

It was one of those words I'd heard, and certainly understood when I read it in context, but not one that I'd spent much time thinking about, until recently... until reading this book."

#6 of bugs and maple buds 
This was just a cute post about one of our kiddos - kids who've been bounced all over the country and across three continents - and something she said.

When I told her that they weren't the rainy season red bugs, she asked for the seemingly billioneth time this year, "Why can't we go back to Niger?" 

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Oh... the things that make us homesick for our Niger home...

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Pop back in tomorrow for the top five posts last year...

and links to a couple of series that I've written/worked on over the past year.

A Poem INSTEAD {Not a Wordless Wednesday}

The Lighthouse

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,

  And on its outer point, some miles away,

The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,

  A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

Even at this distance I can see the tides,

  Upheaving, break unheard along its base,

A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides

  In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,

  Through the deep purple of the twilight air,

Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light

  With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare! 

Not one alone; from each projecting cape

  And perilous reef along the ocean's verge,

Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,

  Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it stands

  Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,

Wading far out among the rocks and sands,

  The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and return,

  Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,

And ever joyful, as they see it burn,

  They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness, and their sails

  Gleam for a moment only in the blaze,

And eager faces, as the light unveils,

  Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child,

  On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink;

And when, returning from adventures wild,

  He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same

  Year after year, through all the silent night

Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame,

  Shines on that inextinguishable light! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp

  The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace;

It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,

  And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 

The startled waves leap over it; the storm

  Smites it with all the scourges of the rain,

And steadily against its solid form

  Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din

  Of wings and winds and solitary cries,

Blinded and maddened by the light within,

  Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock,

  Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove,

It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock,

  But hails the mariner with words of love. 

"Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships!

  And with your floating bridge the ocean span;

Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse,

  Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!"

Photos from a stop to see the Port Austin lighthouse, 

up on the tip of Michigan's thumb, 

on a dark and gloomy afternoon. 

The storm blew began to blow just as 

we were getting back to the car!