Author: Sandra Harper-Lamgo

The Colors of a memory. . .

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment

It’s a late Friday night and I’m found nestled in between two piles of photo albums.  I have a picture in my mind so familiar that it must be true.

I see. . .Purple and white petunias. 

So, I sift and search through pages of the past to help me find the meaning of my memory.  Memory. . .it’s something precious.  For me, I lost quite a bit of it long ago.  Daily writing has come in handy with a constant telling of stories, taking pictures, and re-telling over and over again; I can rebuild what once was.

My 6 yr old, Jessica peeks her inquisitive cheeks around the corner, “whatcha doin’ mom?”  At her feet she catches a glimpse of a photo taken of me at age 7.  “Oh, look! A Memory!”  Watching me over the past years studying picture after picture she has learned that these books of photographs are actually memories.  Memories for me, locked behind a clear plastic protective cover.

 

We call them memories. . .the pictures that link my past to my present.  At 4 yrs old, the anger and rage of another sought out destruction on my brain.  A brain that just wasn’t healthy enough then to withstand the additional strike of a car accident at 16 yrs old.  The migraines started shortly after and then like a missing dash in a sequence. . .the puzzle pieces began to fall out of place.  

I LOVE taking pictures.  Capturing each moment in time that I refuse to lose.  Something simple. . .the drawing of a whale on the tile floor by a toddler who knows no limits to discovery; the beauty of each sunset and sunrise; blades of grain waving to me in the wind; the artistry in a bank of clouds; a Lego village; smiles and smiles from those I hold dear.  They are my memory.

Why does God give us a memory bank in the brain?  Is it so we can live a story over and over again?  So we can learn from the past and improve?  So we can better predict what happens next?  What about the memory lost?  I once believed memories were both a blessing and a curse.  And for me, one morning when I actually could no longer remember my childhood; I felt utterly cursed.  And then we started diving into that blank past and discovered what a blessing it was to have a clean slate.  Bad memories, misused and undefined serve as an invisible fence, holding us in. . .keeping us back from moving on.  Removing those memories served me well most of the time.  

But if I look at our sovereign God, the one who creates, gives and takes, and directs all by design, then I must consider even the remembered horrors of the past. . .a blessing.  A memory given to serve a purpose.  A map directing me on my journey.  An answer key.

          

Why does God want us to remember?

The Bible tells us over and over again to “remember.”  Every word in the Bible is of value.  However, there are some words that perpetually appear.  Could it be that the Lord does indeed want us to remember?  He’s driving in that fact. 

It tells us in Deuteronomy- “ You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.” 

Remember what once was. . .the hard.  And remember the rescue! 

To have true thankfulness of our present is to constantly bring to memory the pictures of the past and embrace the glorious joy of a promised future.

                                    

God knows our faulty human minds and that a memory fades.  It is this reason He states to “remember.”  It isn’t always a mental recall, but an act.  The Old Testament Hebrew word for remember is Zakar.  It’s meaning: remember, recall or call to mind.  Thinking back is just one way to remember.  We also remember by our acts of worship.  Our traditions, our purposeful acts that bring to mind what the Lord has done and what His promises yet to come.  Our sifting over and over again through both our and other’s “memories.”  The pictures they paint in His words. . .the stories they tell.

                               

The Lord tells us to “remember the Sabbath.”  I love this way of Zakar.  Yes, we actually have a day each week in which we can recall to mind the wonder of God through His six day creation and his day to rest.  How vast is His creation and how great is this God that brought it all into existence.  God is not just asking us to sit around and say, “Oh, hey. . .remember the Sabbath?”  Remembering in this context is an act.  Following a command in obedience to Sabbath IN remembrance.  These acts of choosing to remember through reading His words over and over and over again and call to mind in the moment. . .the hour we need them. . .are the reason we should aim to always remember. 

Paul in written word so that we may recall the past,  shows us in I Cor. 11:1-2 “But ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ.  Now I praise you, brethren, that ye remember me in all things, and keep the ordinances, as I delivered them to you.”

We remember what God has done for us.  His ev
erlasting Grace, His unbelievable mercy, His redemption and rescue from the enslavement of the past so we can appreciate, be thankful and feel joy for both the present and hope for the future.


We remember His promises.  Genesis 9:14-15a

“It shall come about, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow will be seen in the cloud, and I will remember My covenant.”  God calls to our memory with a bow of beauty to remind us that He has always kept his promises and has given us the hope and promise of a rescue from this broken world.  He is coming back!  He has promised. . .He has remembered. . .and we read His words to remind us that our labor is not in vain.  We read His words as a picture to the brain. . .burned now into a memory.  

And just as quickly. . .we forget.  I forget.  I forget His Grace, Mercy, Rescue and promises.  My Exodus from my enslavement to sin. . .even this. . .I have forgotten.  So, I grab that big book and read His words to link His past to my present. . .and then to my future.


I close the last book and give up on the memory locked behind.  We drive to the store. . .the spring sun warms the air and Phil opens the windows to smell the fresh cut grass along the roadside.  I close my eyes and I smell it. . .I see it. . .it’s right there in front of me. . .a memory.  Bare feet walking a path of freshly cut green grass.  Slightly wet, the Colorado velvet soft cools my feet.  I see my mom’s red shoes in front of me.  With one foot in front of the other, she pushes the green lawn mower making paths in the grass to form a pattern.  I hear the muffled sounds of the engine.  I see our split rail fence sheltering the purple and white petunias below.  I can feel the sticky of their leaves and smell their sweet perfume.  I see my mother’s face and there I have it. . .my moment forgotten.  My memory.  God’s great grace.  He remembers me. . .and I remember Him.

 

 

 

The crazy woman who lives on the hill…

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment


We moved to the little town of Venus,Texas almost 11 years ago.  A country ranch house, high vaulted ceilings, sky lights, lots of windows, no window coverings, hundreds of acres

and neighboring homes only viewable at the end of the long graveled driveway. It would appear to some that this was Heaven.  But to city slickers, it was an adjustment.  Both for us and those great citizens of Venus.  

Three little boys, stacks and stacks of boxes, accustomed to morning sickness, I spent my first day in my short nightgown, Madusa hair style, and bare feet.  Yes, that bare foot and pregnant was not lost on me either.  Without a fence around the yard to keep out the country wildlife, the boys and I were captive in our summertime home.  I however, felt a new freedom to being able to live without curtains, run around both inside and outside the house in p.j.’s without glaring eyes.  And if we ran short on bathrooms. . .well. . .you know.

 At least, that’s what I thought.  

Putting away boxes of books in our glass sun room,  the doorbell rang.  Another delivery or installation guy I guessed.  And I was right.  Only, I couldn’t open the door to get out of the sun room.  Our 7 year old, Andrew had used his beautiful
knot tying technique to entrap me. . .short night gown, crazy hair and all. I was so proud and angry all at the same time.  Without the phones in service, I envisioned
the boys tying me up in the middle of the living room and setting the house on fire. 

And then, in slow motion, Andrew about to release me from my prison, heard the door bell and slowly began to back away. “No, no, no Andrew!”  “NO-Don’t answer the door!”  He moved at a swift pace running away from me and opened the
door to the natural gas delivery guy, who just kind of stood there looking at this crazy- haired half naked pregnant woman Pounding on the door.  Like an exhibit in the zoo, he squinted his eyes moving side to side matching my squinting eyes moving side to side as I yelled, “Um, so sorry, but I’m locked in here!  Give me a just a moment.”  

Now, he could have come to my rescue. But we were city folk, new to town, a new species.  It was hopeless.  This guy was never going to rescue me nor leave.  If he had a bag of popcorn, he would have just sat and enjoyed the show.  I left the sun room through the outside door that led to the back yard.
Bare foot and pregnant, I walked all the way around the house, crunching
the sun dried grass mixed with dirt between my toes, around the garage via lava
hot concrete and up the front walk to my own front door, past the delivery man,
and into the house to sign his paperwork.  He stared… I didn’t care. “Welcome to Venus, Mrs. Lamgo.”  Yeah, yeah. 

Deliveries, telephone repair men, Dish Network, Plumbers, glass repair men, and electricians made the voyage.  The word was out. . .Mrs. Lamgo does’t wear
clothes.  

I think it was then that “the crazy woman on the hill” became Mrs. Lamgo and Mrs. Lamgo became the “crazy woman on the hill.”  My life spent so carefully
molding the image I wanted people to see was over.  It was freeing to some extent.  I no longer had to fake my way through life, keep a pristine home, kids and image.  I
could be. . .me!  Image was so very important in our Colorado lives.  The big house,
the cars, the wardrobe.  I had moved into a society that preferred “real” people and I was anxious to fit in.

Fast forward. . .11 yrs…

Yesterday I celebrated my 41st birthday!  Yes, exciting.  I did nothing.  It was AWESOME!!!  But I think where people often suffer from a “mid life” crises actually comes from the great realization that you have wasted a great deal of your life on pleasing self, falsifying an image of “perfect” to others, and chasing dreams that in the end never matter.  I have spent the first 40 years of my life going in the wrong direction.  And now, at 40 something, I have had a big wake up call to just where I am and what I want to be doing with my life.

My children, my business, my marriage
are not my own.  They belong to God and in my 41st year, I am begging Him to take the lead and praying to fully trust His every move.  Even if it means I’m locked in a glass room in my jammies.

That’s not easy for a control freak like me.  It’s not easy to have lost and lost over and over again and then just hand over the keys and trust that loss could come again. . .but it’s ok.  The truth. . .my life is messy!  Your life is messy!  We all create an image we want to project that speaks “we have life by the horns.”  We’re perfect little families with perfect parents and perfect children.  But it’s fake.  It’s an image filtered and fixed to fit in with what we think we want in life. 


I’m thankful that although different, we made our life here in the country.  I’m thankful that the Lord has kept my children who really could care less what others think of them.  I’m learning.  Often slowly, but I’m learning to be real.  Be myself and be only who God wants me to be.  The crazy woman on the hill is just another mom here in Venus.  Just like you. . .my life gets messy. . .but it’s real.

 

 

Fly With Me. . .cherishing life’s simple peaceful moments

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment
The morning in it’s usual rush, I pack two crates of puppies and one overloaded purse into the car.  Heading down the pot-holed graveled driveway, I balance tuning the radio and holding my chocolate breakfast shake level.  God is singing His best tunes as I navigate the back country roads.  Mastering the pitted gravel, a cloud of dust trails behind.  In spite of the Lord in my ear, the distance to travel gives way to thoughts uninterrupted.
My life, like this road. . .more often than not. . .winding, sometimes heading off in a different direct, bumpy, dirty, broken.  How often my busy blinds me from the bumpy youth.  At the end of the dirt road is the highway.  I sip on a straw, left blinker on and sift through the traffic for my moment.  It’s the morning rush, and I barely sneak through to get my spot on what is now a newly paved lane.  Bumper to bumper we slow down to pass the workers laying the lane next to us.  The smell, the sight, the smooth feel behind the wheel, my mind forgets the traffic, the speed limit, and I’m 6 yrs old.
 I remember that visit to Dad’s in Round Rock, Texas.  He rented bikes for us that summer.  An all time high since I didn’t have one back home at moms.  Nervous at first, I gained momentum and was soon traveling the newly paved neighborhood road.  There’s just something about a newly paved road that gives pleasure to travel.  Nothing to knock me down or trip me up.  There I was, 6 yrs old. . .a broken home and tumultuous daily life melted into that hot ground beneath me.  Nothing mattered.  For a moment in time the wind in my hair, the smell of the pavement, the sticky glue sound when the tire worked the road- all was fine.  All was forgotten.  Like eagles wings, my Lord carried me far away from my sorrows, my hurt, my pain.  His radiance warmed my face and I was at peace.
These moments, these little brief moments He has given throughout my entire life.  If even for just one small, simple moment, he grants peace, happiness, joy.  He is leading, I am following. . .falling into His arms.  I rest.  A smooth road to travel.  And I take them.  Moment by moment, like stepping stones throughout my life.  When all seems broken.  When the sin of this world rears it’s ugly head and knocks me down.. . .tries to swallow my joy.  He lifts my head. . .I open my eyes. . .raise my arms. . .cry out to my God who created this world and fall back into His loving arms.  And He fills me with his joy.  My stepping stone. . .in the form of His peaceful moments found in the most simplest of things.  The belly laugh of a child; the glow of a sun setting beyond the pasture; the sound of a snoring husband returning from a long trip; a garden grown over; a still soft voice calling to me from pages in the Bible.
Traffic now cleared, my straw hits the last drops of shake at the bottom of the cup.  I slurp to the end, and roll down my window.  The fresh black, the sticky against the tires. . .I smile through tears as my Lord lifts me on His wings, I close my window and foot to peddle, I fly.

3 Simple Tips to keep your House full of Kids CLEAN

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment

With five kids, a dog business, and one always dirt-covered Cowboy Husband. . .it’s hard to keep a clean house.  We have a saying in our house, “One MOMMY!”  I taught it long ago back when we had just three kiddos.  It means, there is just one mommy and I can’t do everything, be everything, or be everywhere at one time.  Our children have learned to take turns, pitch in and most importantly. . .to have patience!  They have also learned that team work is the best way to clear up our schedule so we can have more mommy time, more play time, and more down time.  

With a large family comes a large mess!  If we all pitch in. . .it gets done faster!  I’ve learned many tips by trial and error, and other momma’s who have been there and done just that. . .raised a house full of kids.  My disclaimer. . .we have had many periods in our busy life that have left us with a messy home for the record books.  During those last months of pregnancy, illness, busy schedule or simply feeling down, I have let my house go.  The only way to feel successful during those stages was to watch an episode of Hoarders.  Remember, we all go through seasons.  Do NOT let the stress of needing to maintain a perfect home wear you down.  Everyone. . .I repeat. . .Everyone has had these moments and everyone has had that moment in life when you just pray someone doesn’t visit unexpectedly.
These are my top 3 tips on how to keep things picked up on a daily basis to ultimately avoid the pile up mess.
1.  Grab a Condiment and Go!
  This one is from my neighbor who raised 5 boys on her own.  We homeschool, which means we have three mealtime opportunities to mess up our kitchen.  The rule stands. . .everyone is responsible for cleaning up their area at the table!  You made the mess. . .you clean it up.  After each mealtime, before we excuse ourselves from the table, everyone is required to grab just one condiment or extra item from the table and put it away along with their own plate, cup and silverware.  Each person takes their plate, scrapes it off and places it in the dishwasher.  For our family, we use paper plates most of the time.  So our kids just throw their plate in the trash.  We also keep our Clorox wipes on the kitchen table lazy susan.  Each child is required to grab a wipe and clean their area before leaving the table.  When mealtime is over the table is spotless and everything is put away.  After dinner, I put away the leftovers, place the cookware in the dishwasher and turn it on.  Then I’m off to the living room to cuddle with the family on the sofa.  I do not stay in the kitchen and work after mealtimes.  I just don’t!
 
2. Every Man- For- Himself Laundry
  Let me emphasize that we have 7, that’s S-E-V-E-N people in our family.  And with daily farm chores, you can only imagine the laundry we pile up.  I hate laundry!  There, I said it!  Now before everyone tells me how to better organize my laundry room, laundry sorting and folding techniques. . .let me remind you that we have S-E-V-E-N. . . that’s “7” people in the family and over the past 18 yrs of being a parent, I’ve tried everything.  What works for one family may not work for the other.  I have no problem sorting, loading the washer, transferring to the dryer and back into a basket.  It’s the folding and putting away that prompts me to re-start the dryer 2 and 3 times before emptying into that basket.  Yes?  Sound familiar?  See, I’m not alone am I?
So we have 7 days in the week and 7 people in the family.  Hmmmm. . .how do we work this out. . .A few important SUB points . . .
 
–Each person has a color coded laundry basket in their room.  A tall circular basket is for dirty laundry.  A coordinating rectangular basket is for clean laundry.  Mom-white, Dad-black, Andrew-red, Jacob-Blue, Matthew-Green, Melissa and Jessica-Purple.  Bathroom laundry is in a wicker basket.  You dirty your clothes and put them in the tall basket!  check!
–Next, we assigned everyone a day for THEIR laundry.  Monday is ME plus any towels, sheets, and misc.  Tuesday is Matthew, Wednesday is Melissa and Jessica, Thursday is Andrew, Friday is Jacob and Saturday is Daddy!  Sunday is usually my day off or reserved for emergency washing!  Yep, we get emergency laundry.
–TEACH everyone how to do laundry!!!  I grew up doing laundry every Saturday.  From the time I could walk, I was gathering, sorting, or folding laundry.  If they can walk. . .they can do laundry.  (Just remember to keep laundry soaps, dryer sheets, etc up and out of reach of the little ones.)  Each person learns what can be washed, dried and what needs to be separated.  We do this by giving everyone a “special” small basket in the closet for “specially washed” items.  If it can’t be washed together, dried, or must be dry cleaned. . .they learn and put it in this basket.  Mom helps with this basket.  Everything else gets washed together!  YES, together!
–Wash, Rinse, Repeat!  Well, almost.  On your laundry day- you load the contents from the basket in the washer. . .add soap. . .press the buttons.  Simple!  Then you transfer to the dryer. . .even more simple. . .then. . .wait for it. . .wait for it. . .you remove the contents from the dryer and transfer those clothes to your basket!!!  Yay!!!!  Almost done.  Next, the chore for that day (yes, the kiddos have chores too) is to fold the contents of the basket and put them away.  Then the next week you do it all over again!
–Lower your standards!  This is a huge one. . .my kids fold their own clothes.  Which means, we have nice piles and sloppy piles.  It gets better with time and instruction.  But I will take a sloppily folded pile of clean clothes over a laundry room piled high with baskets of clean laundry that ultimately ends up back on the dirty floor ready to wash all over again.
                  
3. Divide the house into ZONES and Conquer!
I actually started this one back when I had three boys and one little girl on the way.  There were periods after her arrival when we had help. . .but ultimately, this zone-style cleaning has kept me sane!
–My house is divided into 4 zones.  The layout of our home when you enter the front door is the main living room/dining room/ patio room all in one view.  This is zone 1.  Zone 2 is the wing with the children’s rooms and Bathroom.  Zone 3 is our Kitchen, hallway that splits off into the laundry room and pantry. &
nbsp;Because the kitchen has most of the tile in the home, we choose this day to mop all the tile.  Then the 4th zone is our Master bedroom, game room and guest bathroom.
– We tackle weekly chores by spending 4 days of 15 minute clean ups of these areas.  With 7 people, we can get it done in 15 minutes.  With a smaller family, you may need to divide into more zones.  Just keep it to 15 minutes or you’ll lose the consistency and soon burn out.
-Each Zone has a basket of cleaning essentials specific for that zone.  Let’s take Zone 1.  The kids are assigned areas in that zone and know what cleaning tools we use for that zone.  We have a cleaning basket with Pledge, duster for high items, dusting rag, glass cleaner, scentsy refills, trash bags and replacement light bulbs.  We also bring an empty basket for misplaced items not belonging to that particular zone.
 **Our order is the same no matter where the zone: pick up trash first,  then any dishes or kitchen items, next gather any laundry/blankets/pillows, put toys and games where they belong.  That is the “pick up” stage.  Then we dust, shine, vacuum, replace any light bulbs, scentsy refills, or trash bags and we’re done!  Yes, it takes just 15 minutes when each person is assigned a chore and they have learned to do it well.  We set a timer and quit when it rings.
**We clean zone 1 on Monday’s.  Zone 2 on Tuesdays.  Wednesdays are off.  Thursday’s we tackle zone 3 and Fridays we tackle zone 4.  Saturday and Sunday’s we do NOT clean unless we are doing a project or have had to bump a day for a schedule conflict on the calendar.
Our Home is well lived in. . .and we like it that way!  But we also need to make sure our guests can differentiate between the house and the barn.  So, we’ve adopted a few of these daily techniques and have found them useful for our particular family!  Find what works for you and stick to it!  Make it yours and embrace the “mess” that comes with family.  

Waiting on God. . .is it worth the wait?

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment
I was recently asked about a phrase written in my new-soon to be released- book, Living Water, and what I had meant by it.  While driving to our Son’s funeral, I had stated that I had “seen the face of God.”  The Face of God, not as a literal seeing the physical facial attributes, but rather, for me it was that God was with me.  A closeness indescribable other than to say I saw His face.  He was right there, in the midst of my suffering, holding my hand, lifting me up, granting me peace.  I was His and He was mine.  The Lord had given me an opportunity to be in such a place of sorrow, need, and loneliness that I could actually feel His presence and know Him in a very different intimate way.
As my fingers worked the keyboard explaining just what I had meant by those choice of words, it struck me that in that very moment, I was with God once more.  The day had been one for the record books.  You know, those days that will always stand in your memory.  The date, what you were wearing, your hair style, the colors of the painted sky, the smell of the season.  For me, it was the pain in my heart that I swore would never go away.  This wasn’t just any ordinary day.  We were so excited to have announced to family and friends just weeks prior, that we had made the decision to adopt a baby into our family.  It felt like we were pregnant.  So nervously full of joy.  We sent in our preliminary application which had awarded us more paperwork to send out to friends, church staff and various outlets to affirm that we were indeed a great family in which to raise a child.  Our confidence let us down.
That morning I received an emailed letter letting us know that we would not be invited to the next adoption orientation; as a referral concerned how any child could be properly educated while being Homeschooled.  Never even speaking with our children about academics. . .the judgement was made.  The knife turned deep as it entered our souls.  Immediate bitterness, anger and then complete sorrow.  Another child lost.  After miscarriages and losing a child, even with the crew of five sitting around the table; the loss of just one future child was great.  More than that, the heartbreak of deception, rejection and betrayal had broken us once again.
Was this it?  Our dream and God given desire to rescue and ransom a life. . .over?  The dream seemed to have died right there.  We held each other, cried, yelled out in anger at a judgement untrue and unfounded.  Would we recover?  Would we continue?  Would we run?  The 24 hrs to process what had just happened to us lent it’s way to seeking God, crying out to Him and feeling once again His incredible presence.  His rescue and ransom of our own orphaned lives.; it was He who had adopted us as His children and He would not let us suffer in vain.  The providence of the almighty sovereign God, our father, was to let us feel this rejection as He did on earth.  Even still, our constant rejecting him over and over and over again…  Did it feel like this?  The difference, we aren’t perfect and most likely deserve much of what is fed us.  But the perfect Lord, our savior never did anything to deserve his tortuous mutilation on the cross.  God gave me loneliness to see that I indeed was never alone.  He is always with me.  Even when everyone leaves.  When the cradle remains empty.  Like John Waller’s “While I’m Waiting”
 “I’m waiting, I’m waiting on you Lord, and I am hopeful, I’m waiting on you Lord, though it is painful. . .but patiently, I will wait.  I will move ahead bold and confident, taking every step in obedience. . .while I’m waiting, I will serve you, while I’m waiting, I will worship while I’m waiting, I will not faint, I’ll be running the race, even while I wait. . .”
Pregnancy, adoption, tough times, and even this short, short life are all moments of waiting.  We wait for the gestation to be completed.  We wait for the adoption agency to approve us.  We wait for the birth mothers to choose us.  We wait to make the orphan ours.  And while living here in this broken world, we wait.  We wait on the Lord until He takes us home.  And I will serve him, worship him, praise him, glorify him and long for him as I wait.  As the sting of rejection subsides, as the child yet to be created is laid in our arms, and yes, even as the cradle remains empty.  I will wait.  Because God knows my heart and the desires within.  I am His child.  And with His everlasting love. . .knowing him will be enough.  The closeness with him. . .seeing His Face is always worth the wait.  Our Adoption Journey continues. . .
“They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;  they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” – Isaiah 40:31

The Year of the Hot Pocket

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo
It’s a spring day in the middle of winter. A quiet stare through a beam of the sun points to imperfections on the wood- paneled wall nearby.  A spatter of dust, I run my fingertip catching the few that would fly away.  My hand stops while my heart studies each imperfect divot, scratch, and stain.  A smile.  I had waddled through the year of the light saber with three obsessed little boys and one little girl on the way.  With each scratch of wood, I could hear my constant complaints, my screams and pleas for the Star Wars Light Saber duels to carry outside.  For months, I’d mend a few wounds of the wood with Old English only to see them fade back into my life.  Would these boys ever sit still, sit down, stop beating everything and anything with mere plastic till destruction arose?  It seemed endless.  And now, it’s over. 
The three littles are big.  I beg to see them run around and destroy once more.  Even the two little girls that followed are caught up in the new play of “i” this and “i” that.  But it was the years in-between Darth Vader and Minecraft that drove my smile to full blown laughter.  The homeschooling mother of 5.  Well, four and the fifth and most energized infant known to man.  I had morphed into something I’d pitied.  So many mothers dress for success and have mastered the ability to sell it well.  I was not one of them.  A once controlling, clean freak with a pantry full of pledge. . .my beautiful white neatly vacuumed floor had now turned hot pocket covered floor in a matter of just three children’s time.  Yes, you heard me right.  Hot pocket covered floor.  Life became life and children played while momma shuffled laundry, dishes, mealtime and schooling. . .all while one little girl constantly at the breast.  It was a three ring circus in a petting zoo.  Quite the attraction.  Did anyone know it?  Not really.  Not if you gave me a ten minutes notice.  I was tired, busy breeding and raising puppies and chickens, cows and kiddos while the hubby traveled.  My standard was to stay just above CPS standards.  But everyone was healthy, happy and well fed.  Well, fed with hot pockets that is.  
 
There was a sale on everything hot pocket.  So, I bought it.  The picture looked good and microwavable nutrition was not only acceptable, but fully justified in my sight.  The littles loved them, but never finished them.  And while I rested on the sofa, they’d visit me, hot pocket and all.  Now, it wasn’t unusual to find a nugget or french fry nestled between couch cushions.  But the day I found my first hot pocket, I knew we were headed down, way beyond the standards I had set so low.  Then those standards were soon deemed way too high when in a matter of 2 days I had actually stepped on two hot pockets on the floor.  Bewildered, amazed, confused and somewhat upset, I picked them up and went on my way, past the injured wood paneled hallway. 
 
 Let the Hot pocket’s fall!  It literally seemed like it was raining Hot pockets.  The finale of our Hot pocket season was on a Saturday.  Our oldest, arriving at the front door, flew in the house excited from a basketball win, hopped over the sofa to pour out his adventures when he slipped and fell to the ground.  To our amazement, or better described as disgust. . .a hot pocket.  It was like manna.  I picked them up and the next morning they would miraculously re-appear. . .in multiples. 
 
 Now, present day, with tears streaming down my face through laughter, I see the line of shoes neatly placed by the door.  The windows are clean and pillows fluffed on the sofa.  My house, while cluttered is now clean.  While others deemed me pretty much unfit to parent in those days of chaos, I had the time of my life. So I grab my non pregnant belly, now hurt from giggles and I wish to revisit just one moment as the ring master. . .just one more cape around a kid’s neck. . .just one more hot pocket.
 

This life is but a vapor, a mist on a cold day.  Here one day, gone the next.  I know this too well and although I’ve spent many years in a frenzy of clean up, wipe up, and dress up. . .God opened my eyes or more like, my heart, one day and I’ve tried to never look back.  
 
In the reality of life, I have learned my limits.  Have embraced my talents and have let go of man’s view of perfection.  I have discovered what is important to both me and my children.  Life on earth is short. . .so very short.  Just ask any empty nester out there and they will tell you it was simply a blink of an eye ago when their married children were in diapers; learning to master those first steps.  Eternity on the other hand is forever.  My focus as an almost 41 yr old mother of five has changed from the constant living up to expectations of this life to showing my children Christ’s love, dedication, loyalty, Grace and Mercy.  It has changed my life and most importantly. . .it has changed theirs.  We no longer run around just to be running.  I no longer yell and scream at the “mess” in the house.  
 
I can do laundry all day long, every single day of the week and still only succeed at being caught up for a mere 24 hr period.  What do I get?  A metal? &nbsp
;A pat on the back from my friends?  Self glorification?  What does it matter?  “In the day of Christ I will have reason to glory because I did not run in vain nor toil in vain.” -Philippians 2:16.  While I do not necessarily condone a floor full of french fries or Hot pockets. . .I believe mothers today are constantly measured against the Pinterest ideals, the mirage of a perfect neighbor, friend, or family member.  This need to “be” or “do” is the reason I must constantly look to Christ and the eternal.
 
“You do not know what will happen tomorrow.  For what is your life?  It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” -James 4:14.  After merely 18 yrs of mothering, I offer this advice for you to leave or take.  
 
  • Embrace the life the Lord has given you.  Whether or not it is the one you dared to dream. 
  •  Slow down and smile at the imperfections.  
  • Listen to the laughter or your littles.  
  • Hug constantly and wipe away tears with a tender heart instead of frantically being irritated by the speed bump placed in your busy-filled day.  
  • Learn to love and teach it by example.  
  • Leave the dishes for the night and read a book to the kids 
  • Live for the eternal

And lastly. . .go buy a box of Hot pockets.

 
 
 
 

Welcome

/ Sandra Harper-Lamgo / Leave a comment

Welcome to my blog, Eggs In A Basket. . .where everything I am, I own, I do and Hope to be are all nicely piled in one big basket. . .called God.  My job, my mission, my parenting, my marriage are all beautiful gracious gifts from God. Who better to handle them all than our creator.  

 
Sit back, cringe at the messy, laugh at the imperfections and skim through our open book where life is messy and our Lord’s Grace makes sense of it all.

Grace and Peace,
Sandi