As we go through our Christian lives, year to year, all kinds of different situations arise. Could be big blessings, bigger than you imagined. Could be difficulties, trials, and unexpected challenges. Could be both. In all these things we should look for our duties as Christian women. Are you grieving? How should a Christian woman grieve? Did you just inherit a million dollars? How should a Christian woman manage such wealth? Are you lonely, busy, sick, or exhausted? What are your duties? This is a very helpful perspective to adopt in all God’s dealings with us.
If you are childless, what are your duties? First of all, you are called to be a helper for your husband. That is what God says every husband needs, and you are uniquely suited to be that helper for your own husband. So, what kind of help does your husband need? How can you assist him in accomplishing what God has called him to do? Think about this. Maybe you even need to talk about this with your husband.
You can safely assume that he needs emotional support, your admiration and respect. He needs to know that you appreciate him and are grateful for all he does. He needs a home, an oasis that is a comfort and recharger. He may need your input, feedback, ideas, and a zillion little things to make his work go more efficiently and effectively. You know Continue reading ‘Look for Your Duties’
From time to time I talk with married women who are eager to be fruitful and multiply, but God has not yet blessed them with children. It can be difficult and confusing. Questions arise like, “Am I barren permanently?” or “Is God punishing me?” or “Why are we not having kids when everyone else seems to do this so effortlessly?” So I’m going to begin a few posts on this tender subject.
First a few observations about the modern mindset. Frequently, newlyweds practice birth control for the first year or two because one or both are in school or because husband’s job needs to get on a more solid footing, or simply because they have been told that they should wait a year so they can “get to know each other.” Whatever the reason for the delay (and they may have entirely valid reasons), there is an assumption of fertility, that they’ll be able to have babies whenever they desire. And though they may not realize it, this attitude can border on presumption. You just don’t know how fertile you are when you get married. You may be diligently preventing conception not knowing that you are one of those women who may have a harder time conceiving.
I always advise women to stay off the pill, not because I am an expert on the effects of the pill, but because I’ve talked to lots of women who have had a hard time getting Continue reading ‘Be Fruitful’
So, today marks the thirty-fifth week in this pregnancy of mine, and it seems like an appropriate time to write a little post about the whole endeavor. A lot of women have asked me if being pregnant with twins is very different from carrying one baby, or just what it is like in general. The truth is that it is a lot like being pregnant with one, just more. It is as though you read one manuscript about pregnancy, and then the same thing was re-submitted to you in all caps with reckless use of exclamation points. The content is familiar, but somehow the tone has escalated.
My stretch marks, which once looked like a tasteful flame decal on an El Camino, have now out-done the most over-embellished jacked-up monster truck around. We just aren’t proceeding in moderation any more. When the babies move, I can start feeling downright motion sick. And I should mention that the babies love to move. It usually seems like they wake each other up. One will start moving, that little stretchy feeling, and after a little bit, the other will suddenly kick violently. I think it must be funny to have someone poke you in the eye while you are still in the womb. But speaking of poking, when I wake up in the mornings, the babies seem to be just firing up a Jane Fonda workout video, and I have to sit up in bed, prop pillows behind my back, and devote my attention to pushing very busy feet out of my ribs. Continue reading ‘Double Time’
So the other day we had a fireman come knock on our door. I answered it and all the kids swarmed around to see what was up. He told us that there has been a lot of arson in our neighborhood lately (we live just outside what is apparently one of the roughest parts of the city) and particularly there had been a lot of fires started just across the field at the neighboring farm. He was wondering if we had happened to see anything suspicious, or any shady characters “skulking about†lately. I told him that no I hadn’t seen a thing – and he left me a little packet of materials about arson and his phone number in case we saw anything that should be reported.
And that was that. I took the packet inside and plunked it on the counter and went off to finish whatever it was I was doing. But later that afternoon I discovered that the children had been occupying themselves for the last few hours by planning what they would do if the fiendish person named “Arson†showed up at our house. They had worked up all kinds of elaborate schemes with which to foil his plans – and they told me that they even knew what he looked like because there was a picture of him in the packet of literature that the fireman had left.
I thought it was so funny that I postponed the crucial moment when I would have to tell them that there actually was no such person as Arson – I let them finish telling me all the ways in which they would make him wish he’d never been born and how he’d think twice before messing with the Merkles again. But eventually I thought that I needed to clear up this misunderstanding. I explained to them that “arson†was an activity and not, as they were all assuming, a proper noun. I told them that it’s like murder or stealing or cheating . . . it’s something that you DO.
At which point, one of them said, “Wow. No wonder his name is Arson then.â€
So, I’ve been a lame blogger these past weeks.
There, I’ve said it out loud, and admitting something is the first step towards improving, isn’t it? Usually not, but it always feels therapeutic, and now my guilt is somewhat alleviated. Onward. Onward.
Since inspiration has yet to find me (or I, it), I’ve decided to add a new category called “Happy Heather.†Here you’ll find random things I come across that brighten my day. Today’s “Happy Heather†is for Bekah as it’s a news story from her new homeland. Enjoy.
SANTA TOLD TO SLIM DOWN FOR CHRISTMAS TO ‘SET A GOOD EXAMPLE’
Santa is being told to shift the pounds before Christmas – because the obese saint is failing to set a “good example” for children.
The traditional children’s hero, best known for feasting on mince pies left out on Christmas eve, has always sported a bulging midriff.
But shopping centre bosses are giving the well-wisher his marching orders – to the nearest gym – to tackle the increasing problem of obesity…
Read the complete story at the Evening Standard’s thisislondon.co.uk
In the interests of full disclosure, I’m giving fair warning in advance that I’m about to have a little snigger at the expense of the English nation. Don’t get me wrong – I admire the English people group for many and sundry things. Their mallow tea cakes for instance. But for all their admirable qualities, they act downright strange when they are collected together in a crowd. I would go so far as to say they don’t know how to behave as a crowd at all.
Last year, Oxfordshire was having a celebration of 1000 years as a county of something. So in Broad Street in the middle of Oxford they had set up Luminox - a really unbelievable amount of “fire installations.” There was a terrificly huge chandelier, dangling from a crane and hanging out right over the street, and it was holding an outrageous number of fire pots. In what I thought was a little dubious taste, it was hanging almost directly over the spot in the street where Cranmer, Ridley, and Lattimer were burnt at the stake in the sixteenth century.
However, that is not the point. The point is that this huge chandelier hung over the street and there were flaming pots strung from wires all around the Bodleian Library. Large bonfires were raging away all over the road. The crazy firelight and shadows in front of the huge beautiful buildings created a truly amazing spectacle. But I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was giving the whole evening such a creepy and ominous feeling until I realized that it was the crowd itself.
We were packed into the road like sardines – absolutely shoulder to shoulder. You had to literally shove your way through the group to move anywhere . . . . and yet the whole road was eerily quiet. People were talking to one another, but not loudly. Some people might have said, “ooh!” in a hushed tone as they looked at the displays but no one whooped, no one was yelling, no one was calling to their friends over other people’s Continue reading ‘The Whoop Gene’
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