Charissa, Abby, Amy and Natalie at Thanksgiving

I have been meaning for some time, to update my faithful few readers on life's events. Much has taken place in the last several weeks, beginning with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving this year, was fairly laid back. We celebrated with my parents, eight of my siblings, a couple of spouses, and my son. Our festivities used to be much bigger, encompassing aunts and uncles and cousins and our most beloved "Poppa". But, as life has evolved, family has spread to the four winds, and the holidays have suffered loss. What we have not lost, though, is our fondest tradition: a summarized recitation of our year's gratitude, one at a time. We begin with the youngest, Lydia, and move all the way to the top, every Thanksgiving morning. And it is not just empty thanksgiving, aimed at the fates. Rather, the source of our gratitude, and in fact, of those things that make us grateful, is always God. That is what I love the most- the heartfelt stories of the displays of His goodness in our lives.

Every Saturday after Thanksgiving, Mark and I (and now, Judah), go and cut down a Christmas tree. Mark brought this tradition to our marriage in the first year, despite my protestations declaring its absurdity. As far as I was concerned, paying double the cost of a Home Depot tree AND driving out to the boondocks to get it, was simply not worth the effort. Oh how I have been brainwashed! We not only do this every year, but we have begun to include family and friends. This year, we went, along with Mark's parents, brother and sister-in-law and niece, and our friends Scott and Amanda Johnson (one of my blog all-stars- see the number of pictures of her). It has turned into quite the ordeal, as David mentioned the possibility of me making breakfast for everyone beforehand. And, since I aim to please, I served cinnamon rolls and an egg-sausage casserole.

We finally got on the road by about 10. Once at the tree farm, we had to check every lot for the perfect tree. In my three (and change) year marriage to a Wenslawski, I have learned to think like a Wenslawski: slow and methodical. If it were up to me, I would chop the first tree I laid eyes on, hoist it on top of my car, using one hand to hold it down in lieu of straps, and be on my merry way. But, predictably enough, it was NOT up to me. So, after careful inspection of nearly every tree on the lot, and only after Scott and Amanda FINALLY claimed their tree, Mark and I chose one. We then had to wait for David and Carrie, who had to choose a monster that would not be dwarfed by the cathedral ceilings. Anyway, we left the tree farm after what felt like five or six hours (I think the twenty-pound child I had on my arm contributed to my exhaustion). After a quick stop at Taco Bell (yes, another tradition), we made it back. Amanda likes to think her tree is the best. But, I am not convinced. Judge for yourselves.

Amanda's tree

My tree:

Shortly thereafter, Mark's five (and change) year stint at his company ended. He put in notice a couple of weeks beforehand. The impetus for such was the changing market and the depleting likelihood that land development would remain stable. Friday, November 30th, was his official first day at his new job. It is much closer to home, which is lovely. He will continue as a civil engineer, though in an environmental engineering company. Anyway, we're waiting with bated breath to find out if it is a good fit. Time will tell...

Sunday, I got my hair cut. Mark, who was once a die-hard long-hair fan, decided it might be fun for me to cut it. After the mixed responses from my family (including Abby's over-the-phone-ear-piercing scream), it has been determined that I look more "mom-like." And while this is a blow, it was inevitable. I am a mom, and at some point, I was sure I would start to look like one.

Aside from that, as I write this blog, Frank is working on my kitchen. After a year of having a deconstructed kitchen, we are finally on the brink of finishing (didn't I say I was married to a Wenslawski?). Frank has put in countless hours, and at the moment, seems to be going backwards. But, I am grateful nonetheless. Monday, the granite will go in. Yay.

The child, whose heart I'm shepherding

Finally, I have been ruminating lately, about behaviorism. I am reading the book Shepherding a Child's Heart, which I find to be quite helpful, full of good reminders. However, I know that one of the things I must be careful of is seeking the proper behavior. For me, it would be so easy if God required works for salvation. I am pretty good about keeping the law and living a "moral life." The book has many how-to portions in it, which are all quite good. And I think it is my nature (probably human nature) to seek how-to's because it takes my heart out of the equation, and allows me to pass the buck to the one responsible (the one who gave me the instructions). If somebody tells me what to do, it is supposed to get results. And if the results don't come about, then it is not MY fault! Involving my heart in all of life is what proves to be problematic, and quite difficult. It is so easy to sit and watch television, or surf the internet, or read a tantalizing book. It is much harder to pray passionately for ten minutes, or read the Bible avidly, or sing praises wholeheartedly. I am called to relentlessly fan the flames of my first love for Christ, to HUNGER AND THIRST for righteousness, and that is a difficult task. But I am not left to do this on my own (I couldn't if I tried). His Spirit is more than capable of working on me so that my heart is in all things. I am called to a life that is not lukewarm. So this doesn't mean I can idle through my faith with Sunday church and daily prayer rituals. God requires all of my heart, and for me to pray without ceasing, and meditate on His word, worshiping continually. And, so, I am reminded that while I have to do nothing for my salvation, my salvation should cause me to do all for God.