Realizations of Pure Love

You know what's nice, as a stay-at-home-mom? Having another sahm just down the road from me that I can call my best friend.

We text each other randomly throughout the day, maybe once or twice, maybe ten times, maybe none at all. Just little things- making plans to get our families together, asking for reassurance that something the baby is doing is alright, a funny story, or a realization that we have had and don't want to lose in the hectic-ness that is being a mom. Not having it until recently makes me realize I have always needed this type of friendship.

The other day, my dear, sweet friend and I were having a realization moment. Children were asleep or occupied, so we each had a minute to breathe and think.

It started with one of these pictures:

She had posted something similar of her daughter in a bassinet with a couple months' difference. By the way, those are my boys after a month's time. Crazy, huh?

We both exclaimed over the amount of change our babies had undergone, and yet they still looked the same to us. And a sudden realization hit me.

That is the main reason my mom, your mom, everyone's childhood caregiver, still sees them as a little baby. That is why I will forever look into my sons' eyes and see the little baby I pulled out of the water to my chest. I will not see their actions- successes or failures. I will just see them with eyes of pure love.

The children woke up or needed a new activity, so our precious moment was over for the day, but I kept that thought in my heart. Then, as I was laying down to sleep that night, mulling it over, God sent me another realization.

He sees us the same way, only in reverse. He does not see our sins, our failures, our short comings. He sees only the person, the soul he created. Full of goodness and love - love that He gave to us. He sees us as we will be at the end of our race. We are His children.

There is absolutely nothing in the world my boys could do that would make me stop loving them. And so if I, imperfect as I am, can love my children so completely and still see innocent babies when they are 30, how much more must our Heavenly Father love us and see us as we truly are?  My heart overflows just thinking about how much He loves me.

The only two commandments under the new covenant, as my husband pointed out to me in Romans, are to believe in Jesus as our Savior and to love one another.  That's the thing about love. If you give it away, it only grows.

So that love my Father gave to me, I first give it back to Him. Then I shower upon you, as you read this, all the love I can muster.

Halal, The Goat (and Liberty)

We are now the proud owners of two pygmy goat nannies.  This is the story of how one of these goats, the black one, came to be named "Halal."  Halal is a Hebrew word for praise to God that translates "to be clamorously foolish before the Lord."  Her name is quite fitting.

Patrick finished fencing in our front yard last Saturday, the 6th, and quickly went to pick up the first of two goats we were planning for that fence.  This goat, black and white, was about a year old, and nameless.

Before Patrick left, we spoke of what we would name our goats.  We had settled upon Aretha and Gladys, while we spoke on his way home, and the black goat would be named Aretha.

We got her in the fence, letting her run around, when suddenly she found the gate.  Within a split second, she had squeezed through the opening and was running full out around our house.  I was holding Clarence in my arms, but Patrick went off at a full run after her.  

The area we live in is extremely rural, with farmlands, fenced pastures, and untouched woods.  The odds of us finding her did not seem great.  I went to speak with our neighbors, give them the heads up on our missing lady.  Patrick closed the gate and got in the truck and started driving down the road.  I began praying, and for some reason, I opened the gate back up.  I said, "Here, Lord.  Here is my faith.  I know you can turn that little goat's tail right around and walk her back in this fence."

I prayed fervently, speaking out loud, walking around our house, for God to bring that goat back.  Patrick was beyond upset, blaming himself, and it felt like a dark cloud had descended over our home.  But the way Patrick pulled into our driveway, I knew, he had not found her.  Yet.

A neighbor a couple houses down had seen her running by, but didn't manage to catch her.  Both of us upset and forlorn, Patrick began to fix the gate.  Here was another show of our faith.  I kept praying.  Hard.  Then I promised God if He would only bring that goat back somehow, we would name her Halal.  And I would tell everyone why we called her Halal.

Suddenly, I felt peace.  I knew she was coming back.  I did not know how, but I knew that goat was coming back.

While I was nursing Clarence, about an hour since we first lost Halal, Patrick suddenly drove off in the truck.  Later, he would tell me God told him to go driving one more time.  I began praying and crying, and the Spirit rose up in my heart.  My phone rang a few moments later and Patrick said,"Baby, open up the gate, I'm bringing home our goat."

Then I truly began to praise His Name.  I was being clamorously foolish for God.

When Patrick pulled back in to the driveway, Halal tied up in back, we both were smiling like fools.

As he drove down the road, the same neighbor that had seen her before flagged him down.  She said she kept hearing the goat and thought she had gone across the street to another neighbor who happened to have horses and a barn.

Patrick pulled in there (and met another of our neighbors) and the lady had been getting ready, about to go driving to see who had lost a goat!  Halal was in one of her horse stalls, eating hay and chilling out.

Praise be to God!

The next day, Patrick picked up our other goat, Little Miss Liberty, born on the 4th of July this year.

Instead of calling her Gladys, we decided to just keep her name as "Liberty," as the farm we bought her from called her.  Both goats seemed to have already been named before we got them.  Both girls are doing great, and we love having goats.  Truly the physical start to Johnson Acres!

You may find it silly that I prayed over a goat coming home.  And that I believe God brought that goat back to us.  But I do believe that, with all my heart.  Without God, that goat would have disappeared or been eaten by a dog or who knows what else.

Why did God let the goat escape, you may also ask.  God doesn't make bad things happen.  But God has a plan.  And while I was asking Him the same thing, He told me

"A miracle can only happen if there is a REASON for it to happen."

It was a miracle that Halal came back.  Our day was 100x better because we had been blessed.  And that never would have happened if her little black head hadn't pushed through our gate.

Thank you, Jesus, for ALL that You do!

Makin' Stuffs

I started an Etsy shop back in 2007. Procrastinator that I am, I am finally getting around to making some items to sell!

So it currently only has two kinds of items... But more will be added soon!  

Uncommon Common Goods by Redneck Hippy

Wooly Bully!

I have a love affair with dryer sheets. I couldn't start a load of laundry without throwing in one (or two) of the static cling reducing wonders. But then I read how they can be bad for dryer lint traps. Without cleaning off the wax build up released over time, a fire hazard is possible.

I had read about wool balls as a solution to dryer sheets, offering static cling reduction with no wax build up, but was reluctant to buy my own. I doubted their abilities.  So I scrubbed my lint trap with an old toothbrush until water ran through it easily every few weeks.

Then my mother in law bought some while we were living in their upstairs. They worked beautifully! I almost couldn't wait to buy my own.

Once we moved in, we tried to cut costs everywhere, so I didn't buy my coveted wool balls, as planned.  But running across some wool for felting at Hobby Lobby that had been marked 90% off, I decided I would make my own!

I did some research, and played with techniques until I came up with the following:

All you need is some wool, nylon pantyhose (I used knee highs), a washer, and a dryer.

Begin by wadding the wool into a ball. You'll be ripping pieces off of your wool bunches, then squeezing and rolling them together as tightly as you can.  This part was probably the most difficult for me. It seemed I couldn't get it to be "ball-like" enough. Or tight. So just do your best.

Work until your wool is about the size of a baseball.

Next, you will stuff that ball into your panty hose, nice and tight, and then tie a knot so it stays in place.  I managed to put around three per hose.

Once I had them looking like this, I pulled another knee high over them all for added protection.

I placed my arm into the knee high, grabbed the end ball, then pulled the hose down and over the other balls. Easy!

Now toss the balls into the washer with your next load of clothes.  Then dry.  I actually dried mine three times, but that was my OCD overkill tendency.

Now that they are out of the dryer, little wooly hairs will be sticking out everywhere. Do Not Worry. This is normal.  Tear a hole in the pantyhose (oddly enough, super hard to do when you NEED to do it) and rip those little buggers out!

You have your own wool laundry balls!

If you're like me and you enjoy the fragrance of the dryer sheets as well, grab some essential oils (I like lavender and eucalyptus) and sprinkle a bit on the balls every week or so.

I have noticed that the homemade wool laundry balls get better with each use. We have virtually NO static cling now.  Even better than using a dryer sheet. And no fire hazard!

It is always a plus if you don't burn your house down at the end of the day.

Let me know how it works for you.

My Job

I spend every morning sandwiched in between two sleeping boys. For now, only one of them uses me as a punching bag pillow, but soon they both will be digging arms, knees, feet, and heads into my stomach and back.

I can't wait. :)

That isn't sarcasm, I honestly love waking up to find our eldest has made his way into our king size bed. And then the younger one begins to whimper from his crib, so either me or the hubby will rewrap his swaddle.  Then I'll put him to my breast, and we all (usually) go back to sleep.

This morning, as Patrick was leaving, he placed Clarence in my arms and leaned in to kiss me.

"I feel like your job is so much harder than mine. I hate leaving you."

That got me to thinking - this is My Job.

I grew up thinking I would be that career driven woman with power suits, business lunches, and high heels that could put your eye out. With the birth of my first child, that image changed forever for me.

But my thought was, I'm giving up jobs and career. In truth, I had been hired by an age old profession. One where the boss (or bosses) are small but demanding. Where breaks are few and far between, as is the ability to pee, eat, or drink in peace. One where the work day lasts 24 hours.

But one where the joys outweigh the difficulties.

Last week, Clarence hit his six week growth spurt and refused to nap. So with his constant need to nurse, Waylon didn't nap. By Friday, I was exhausted and spent. Patrick even left work early that day because I could no longer hold it together.

But even in that exhaustion and frustration, I felt happy. And I felt pretty accomplished that both boys had clean diapers and clothes on and food in their bellies.

Just as with any job, there will be hard days and easy days. But as with a career you love, all the days are worth it.

That Friday night, we also went on our first date since Clarence was born. Clarence came along, since I'm exclusively breastfeeding for now. I was still on duty as he was fussy and wanting to nurse all through dinner. Patrick apologized over and over, but I kept telling him I really didn't mind.  But "date night" really has changed!


I still get frustrated. Sometimes I want to quit. Sometimes I feel like the mother cat in a video I saw. She would carry one kitten up the slide as the other fell down. Over and over and over...


  And in those moments, God gets me through. Praying to Him eases the frustration and makes me enjoy the smiles on my boys' faces.  Without God, I don't think I could do it. I know I couldn't do it.  But with Him, I get to wake up every day sandwiched between my loves and try to be the best mom I can be.

I love my job.

I'm No Van Gogh But...

I did do this.

OK, so I only painted over an existing print, but I think it looks good.

When Patrick and I lived in our previous home, we found this print, already framed, at Old Time Pottery.

The orange, reds, and deep browns looked awesome on our then green living room wall, above our chocolate sectional.

At our forever home (don't we sound like shelter rescues when I say that?) our pallette is a bit different. We've decided to paint all the walls a bright white along with the trim, and have accents of turquoise, green, yellow, and blue. 

This super dark print no longer worked, but we loved it and the frame.

So, instead of donating it right away, I decided to "experiment" with some paint and a bit of modge podge.

After a few light passes, I was left with this:

A definite improvement color-wise, but the frame was still very dark and looked way too heavy on the wall.

So I painted the inside of the frame with a small brush, then Patrick spray painted the rest of the frame a glossy white. Finally, I painted on a thick layer of modge podge, bring sure to leave the brush strokes apparent. This really gave it a true to life painted feel.

And voilà!

Looks great above our couch, and we didn't have to spring for new art work!

Don't mind that clutter in the background... I'm getting to it!

Quiet Moments

One of the first things we did before moving in to our new house was ready the bedrooms.  Both downstairs bedrooms were in rough shape (the bedroom being used as the nursery was in the roughest shape... post to come), so some cleaning and some painting was in order.  Our master bedroom went from a flat, dull blue to a brilliant, bright white.  Add a new king bed with cream bedding, some home sewn curtains, and some white-washed furniture and you have a mighty serene atmosphere.

Enter my two sons.  Our second boy was born in mid-July, and neither enjoy a calming environment as much as I do.  So usually my day is spent relishing the ever increasing boyishness of my children - stepping over landmines of plastic trucks, bikes, planes, and trains, pretending to fall down after a karate chop, inspecting bugs close up (and trying not to eat them), etc, etc.  My days are anything but serene. Or calm.

Today was one of those days.  Clarence, our one month old, was screaming in his crib, waiting to be changed.  His brother, Waylon, ran from me half dressed, laughing at my dishevelment as I attempted to put pants on his (thankfully) diapered butt.  The dogs were whining, begging to be let outside, and I was still in my pajamas, hair pulled back in an unkempt pony tail. I was becoming more and more discouraged, when I happened to glance in the corner of our bedroom.

We placed a chair there, next to the window.  During my birthing time with Clarence, I asked Patrick to leave that chair open, to invite His presence in literally.  I imagined Jesus sitting there, in that chair, smiling at me and watching over me as I pushed Clarence into this world.  So I still imagine God sitting in our bedroom, in His chair, watching over us.

And there was that chair, a beam of light falling perfectly across the back.  And suddenly, peace.

Waylon plopped down and I managed to put his pants on (which later he shed after they got wet), Clarence dropped his screams to a slight whimper, and the dogs were silent.  But most importantly, the turmoil that had been building in my inner self with all the ruckus went still.  I smiled at my boys, glancing back at that chair, and knew that peace was always mine.

Yeah, maybe my immediate world is a bit loud and hectic.  But every time Waylon ran from me, I had a son to chase.  Every time Clarence cried for attention, I had a baby to tend.  I have children to love.  Dirty dishes in the sink mean we have food to eat.  Laundry piling up means we have clothes to wear.  Monthly bills mean we have a roof over our heads.  We are so blessed.

Later, when both boys were napping and the house was silent, I snagged a picture of that light-filled chair, to remind myself that He is always there.  I allowed my peaceful heart to enjoy a quiet, serene moment in my house.

And I thanked God for all the moments that are not peaceful.