Grace.  “But God shows His love for us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8

Grace.  “It’s a name for a girl.  It’s also a thought that changed the world.
And when she walks on the street You can hear the strings.  Grace finds goodness in everything.” –  ‘Grace,’ U2

Grace.  She brought us many many meals after our little guy was born.  She sensed the prospect of a wall being put up.  But she persisted.  She pursued.  She was quick to say, “Don’t be a stranger!”  She has a very generous heart and an empathetic spirit about her.  There’s probably not a family in town under new and often difficult circumstances as birth, death, or sickness who haven’t been a recipient of her frequent meal delivery.  She cares.  A lot.  She loves.  A lot too.  She listens.  She grows a beautiful flower garden in the Summer and shares its bounty to anyone she sees is in need of perking up…or just because.  She sees.  She really sees you and still loves you for who you are.  She’s one of my heroes.  And I am thankful to call her my friend.  Manang Grace.  You are beautiful inside and out, a woman Christ-becoming.  Grateful for you.

Six minutes before the day is gone.  Well…everyone in our house is accounted for at the close of the day and I am thankful to our good Lord for that.  Good night, world!

“I’m so excited to go to class!” tweeted my just-awoken-but-already-peppy three-year-old at 6:20 this morning.  He was referring to his Sunday school class.  As we were driving to the church, he beamed about going to class today and said, “I’m so excited,” and on and on he goes about his teachers and the machines and everything else on his three-year-old planet.

What makes a little boy so excited to go to class at 6:20 in the morning?  Well…doesn’t take a genius to figure that he must be having tons of fun while there.  This now, from a year ago when just the idea of going to church makes him cry, even to a point of saying,  “I don’t want to go to church!”

But fun he must be having!  And who facilitates the fun?  His teachers!  He loves them so much he’ll even pretend on most days to be a teacher himself and do things teachers do, like telling us a story that starts with, “Okay, here goes…” or reading us a book.

I am ever so thankful for you, Sunday school teachers.  You have your own set of circumstances, some perhaps brought with you on Sunday mornings, yet you give of your time to care and love on our little kiddos.  Thank you for your tireless, selfless acts of love.  Thank you for caring for them much that you put up with stinky diapers, sticky fingers, random and/or intense crying, snot, and some craziness that little ones are, for some reason, capable of. Thank you for investing in the lives of our little kiddos.  Already, my little guy is so enthralled with the whole teacher idea and loves being one.  That tells me that he’s loved on a lot in his classes.

Thank you! Thank you!  Thank you!

Slightly awake but still sleepy, I felt my little boy’s lips touch mine and then heard the words, “Good morning, Mommy!”

Eyes still closed, I replied, “Good morning, sweetie.”

“You’re my sweet Mommy,” came the response, quite unexpected for me but certainly clear.  Then I was fully awake!  My heart swell…as always happens when my sweet little boy declares unabashedly and eloquently his feelings through words.

“Awwww…Honey, you’re my sweet boy, too.”  I grabbed him and gave him the tightest hug I can give a weeny little boy.

“I love you, Mommy!”  My heart’s bursting!

“I love you, too, Baby!”

I am so thankful for this morning’s early morning wake-up.  I’m finding out that one of the amazing things about being a parent is witnessing our son’s language development, from those early days of grunts and weird noises to those first mumbling sounds to what is now a most clear conversational kind of talking.  It’s amazing, really, that this all has happened in the first three years of his life.  And what’s even more amazing and beautiful is his way of expressing what I call his love feelings – without any expectation of returns, though not returning the love feelings would be kind of ba-hum-bag.  He also almost always says “I love you, Mommy” at the most unexpected times but always the right time to me.  Like this morning, for instance.

In the early morning hours, the little guy, for some reason, started crying on and off.  I thought he may be having a bad dream because his cries were just a few seconds long with a few minutes of break.  After about 20 minutes of this back and forth crying and settling down on his own, he cried again, and this time, he sat up and starting just bawling.  After about 10 minutes of trying to calm him down, he finally settled.  Realizing that he may be too hot under the blanket, I took off his footed pajama.  Then he slept and snored until the sun broke through.  About an hour prior to the first cry, he’d asked for lotion to slather around and behind his knee where his eczema is acting up again.  Half an hour later, he asked for more lotion, this time on his arms.  Then the crying.  I did not have a good sleep, if any, after midnight.

So, you see, his kisses and sweet words this morning really were just the thing much needed by this zombie sleep-deprived Momma.  That’s the other thing about parenthood I am discovering – the sleeplessness.  But, no matter.  I still won’t trade anything for this – the tenderness of a sweet little boy who knows quite well how he feels and thinks about his Mommy to express it in words.

Grateful for beautiful moments such as this.

Today, I am grateful for tupig.  

What exactly is tupig (pronounced ‘too-pig’)?  It’s a taste of home.  A real treat.  A Filipino delicacy made from sweetened ground sticky rice and coconut shreds, rolled in a preheated banana leaf and grilled over hot coals.  It’s been at least six years since I tasted them last.  I had two of them this morning with coffee.  And it was bliss!

Special thanks to a friend’s brother who bought it all the way from the Philippines to Washington, D.C. to Knoxville.  Some world-trotting tupig, they are.  Ha!

And today, I am also grateful for friends.  What can we do without them?  Rare are those that make time to be together, be intentional about living and sharing life together.  Thankful for these special people God has placed in my life.  

 

Grateful for my in-laws.

Because of them, I married my Darling-Love!  And because of that, our little unit has expanded with the arrival of a spunky cool little dude.

A long time ago, I made the declaration that I will never ever marry an American.  My roots are from the mountain region of the Philippines and I have always assumed that I will be marrying someone from the same area and settle down in the same place.  My vision of a married me never went beyond the mountains of northern Philippines.

But God had other plans.  And funny and mysterious how it all came about.

One summer in high school, I went to a youth camp at a town near us.  These folks weren’t the usual crowds I hang out with because its participants were from the big city churches and some from the small mountain towns.  I knew of one guy who was going to one of the city churches but who also grew up in our small town church.  There were many new friends made at the end of the week-long camp and many assurances that should I wander through their neck of the woods, I shouldn’t hesitate to visit their place of fellowship.  Fond memories.

So I made it to the city for College.  By the middle of my second year, my curiosity got the better of me to seek out the place of worship where I met some of the friendliest and most fun and funny friends I met at camp some years back.  I knew the general area so I loaded a jeepney (renowned Filipino means of public transportation) and hoped for the best.  It was Sunday morning and I was sure that where I will hear singing is where the church ought to be located.  I literally followed my nose and my ears.  And wouldn’t you know it…I found the church!

It was like youth camp all over again.  The delight in their welcome was so incredibly uplifting; secretly, I decided that this is where I will be worshiping from then on.  I’m not sure if that was the Sunday I met Pastor Mike and Ma’am Carolyn Ballast but I sure saw them from afar.  Not too long after my first visit, rehearsals for their Easter Cantata commenced.  Of course, there was an invitation for me to join but I was rather timid and unsure of a decision since I still felt like an outsider.  Also, it meant a serious commitment to fellowship and community, of which I was rather unprepared for.  Or so it seemed.

Throughout the rehearsals and eventual performances in the city and three other churches in the mountains, I have come to know many more of this close-knit community.  They were like one big happy family of a church.  Literally.  Because there was not one person in the community who is not related by blood or marriage to another person.  Cool ha?

Then at the end of the Cantata tour, I, along with some other young fellas from the big group, were summoned for a ‘serious talk.’  By young, I mean four gals and two guys ages between 14 and 27.  The reason for the meeting was to pitch the idea to these young’ns about forming an evangelistic music group and to pray about it before making a commitment.

Thus began my getting to know my future in-laws for two years before finally meeting the man I love.  I didn’t know that at the time, of course.  (By the way, if you haven’t pieced this together yet, my in-laws were part of the church as missionaries.)

Rehearsals were once on Fridays every week for a repertoire of about 10-12 songs and a target tour kick-off in the Summer when school let out.  I looked forward to every Friday of that two years because I got to eat good, healthy, delicious meals complete with dessert.  Ma’am Carolyn was not only a good musical director, she was also a good cook and she knew how to take care of us, giving free Vitamin Cs at the slightest sign of a sore throat.  School had its demands but I was always happy when Friday rolled along.  I much preferred singing than solving Algebra problems.

During tour, the team members were almost always in close proximity with each other.  We pretty much bonded like brothers and sisters with Ma’am Carolyn being the mother hen.  We knew who was having heart problems and the usual girly stuff.  Not sure we knew much what was going on with the boys in our team other than the little stuff they let us in on their work-related problems.  Well, that and some family-related stuff too.  Oh, how much fun we had!

Earlier in the year, the first-born of Pastor Mike and Ma’am Carolyn came to live for a month in the Philippines as a fulfillment of the second half of his sabbatical from his work in Eastern Europe.  It was rumored, too, that he was there to find a wife.  Tan…tan…tan!

Unbeknownst to many, Ma’am Carolyn already had someone in mind and she claims that upon their first-born son’s arrival, all she really did was introduce them.  This bears mentioning that the woman intended for introduction was a church member there in the city.

While this was all happening, there was also a budding romance between two of our team members.   I forgot to mention that of the six original team members, two were sisters, two were brother and sister, and the other two were unrelated.  The team welcomed an additional member our second year, a drummer, who is the brother of one of the two unrelated ones.  That left me out as the one without a blood relative in the group…not that it matters, of course.  And soon, those two lovebirds were going to be hitched.  Their engagement took place between rehearsals and we were all deliriously happy for both of them!  Their wedding was set for May, a month and a few weeks after our second tour was over.

We hit our second year together as a group running at full speed.  There was a wedding in July for the eldest Ballast son.  The group was slated to sing at the wedding so there was extra work to do.

Before going any further, I must mention that at this time, I, without realizing it, have formed a fairly deep friendship with Ma’am Carolyn, what with the piling years of ministry work together.  She voluntarily became my counselor without my even asking it.  I trusted her with my deepest darkest secrets…well, that’s really putting it in an overdramatic fashion.  But you get the idea.

Back to the wedding…as in every weddings, families gather to the place of celebrations, no matter how far they have to come from.  And, here is where the youngest Ballast son enters the picture.  He was arriving from the U.S. a week before the wedding.  The group was in the process of recording some songs for an album that was hoped to be released during our second tour.  Incidentally, the youngest Ballast son is a tech-geek audio-engineering expert and was recruited by Ma’am Carolyn to do the recording of as many songs as we can cram in that crazy week’s schedule.

Leading up to his arrival, there begun many teasing around.  And there were many…well, three of us single ladies remaining as the other girl was already taken.  Actually, her sister was taken too, so really, just two of us as targets for teasing.

And this was the epic moment I declared myself loyal to my tribe – that I will never marry anyone outside of it.  Really, I just wanted to be let out of the teasing…it was getting insanely incessant and excessive.  And…having seen his hugely bespectacled 5th Grade class picture on the wall of his parents’ house the last couple years…it wasn’t exactly love at first sight.

The recording sessions and the wedding came and went.  And…as if my head went into some amnesiac reaction, I agreed to go out for coffee with the youngest Ballast son.  The rest is history as they say.

After wrapping up our second tour as a group, the two love-birds tied the knot and a month later, my ‘American’ love and I were married.  I quoted ‘American’ because in many many ways, he really is more Filipino at heart than American, having lived in the Philippines since he was four up until he went to College in America.  So technically, he does belong to my larger Filipino tribe.  Pretty sweet ha?

My Mother-in-law, whom I fondly called “Ma’am” during our ministry years together, has since become a most wonderful “Mom” to me.  We really hit it off quite well as friends and I am most grateful for that.  To this day, she will readily admit that “All I did was introduce them” when we refer to her as the family matchmaker.  After all, she’s introduced two women to her two remaining single sons and had two weddings two years in a row.  What a feat!

Thankful that my in-laws have been wonderful second parents to me in many many ways, long before I even met and married their son.  They’ve counseled, prayer for and with me, and took me in as one of their own.  And…they sure know how to have a good laugh.  I thank the LORD for you!!

*Shout out to my Father-in-law, who is turning 50 again!  Happy birthday, Dad -from us Ballast fam in K-town.*

 

 

 

 

 

“It is very hard to keep bringing all of our past under the light of gratitude.  There are so many things about which we feel guilt and shame, so many things we simply wish had never happened.  But each time we have the courage (emphasis mine) to look at ‘the all of it’ and to look at it as God looks at it, our guilt becomes a happy guilt and our shame a happy shame because they have brought us to a deeper recognition of God’s mercy, a stronger conviction of God’s guidance, and a more radical commitment to a life in God’s service” (Nouwen, ‘Here and Now, p. 82).

Courage.  I’ll be the first to admit that where my family history is concerned, I have the least capability for exercising courage.  Don’t get me wrong.  My childhood is one I wouldn’t trade for anything.  I had the best support around me, loving family members that didn’t have the riches of this world but had the stoutest hearts that loved and cared for me.  But the fact remains that things happen.  And some stay with us longer than others, ribbing us at the most unexpected places.  As Nouwen said, there are things we’d rather not remember or wish weren’t part of our story.

And here is where I will revisit…where I will rewrite our story.  Not forgetting that part of our family history because really, there is no forgetting in our earthly brains except for disorders that force out memories.  Rather, it’s a remembering…so that we may seek for many chances to bestow and receive new grace.  

I am not the best at bestowing grace.  Honestly.  I have issues.  But I have been at the receiving end of grace undeserved.  Humbled.  That’s how I feel.  Not the shameful humbling but the kind humbling.  And grateful.  For family with incredible selective amnesia (figuratively speaking), unwavering friendships, and formidable acceptance.  Acceptance…regardless of the past, of personality differences, what-have-ya.

That’s “the all of it.”  A richer connection with family members who demonstrated with genuine honesty a radical kind of acceptance.  A self-awareness to be more intentional bestowing grace, not out of duty but of joy.

Sara Groves, a singer-songwriter I admire for her honest words, sums this up pretty good in a song she wrote called, “Rewrite This Tragedy.”

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what to keep and what to kill
What of this makes us who we are
All that we love the most, all that we cannot let go
How much of change can we survive?

I’m here to re-write this tragedy
One line at a time
Hold on, I’m changing all the scenery
It’s okay we’ll be fine
Cause we know how this ends
We know there’s a better story

There’s a better story
Of true love of true grace
There’s the hope of glory
And our first chance to be truly brave
It’s the place we’re going
When we can’t stay where we are

I’m holding up for the hope of glory, a better story.  In the meantime, I bring myself at the foot of the cross to ask for that different kind of courage to extend new grace.  Thankful for His mercy, new every day!

5:30 – Hubby called and said the meeting he thought was happening tonight is actually scheduled for next week.  He’s coming home.  Yeay!!

5:45 – Chicken is thawed.  About to marinate some chicken tenders in buttermilk for 20 minutes for dinner tonight.  Grabbed the half-gallon buttermilk container, checked the label, and voila!  I bought Vitamin D milk not buttermilk.

I could make some panko crusted chicken much like the ones I make with pork…maybe.  Serve it up with rice.  YES!

5:50 – Ugh!  Where was the container with the panko in it?  I saw it just a few days ago.  Ooh…found it!  Never mind…it’s yellow cornmeal.  Duh!

Now what?

5:55 – There’s a can of coconut milk.  Chicken curry?  Got potatoes too…masaman curry?  Nah…don’t have masaman curry paste.  Got red peppers.  Stir-fried Chinese chicken?  Nah…

6:00 – Garage door opens and the little guy rushes to see his Daddy.  Hugs and kisses all around.

6:05 – While the two boys were catching up and playing hard, I hunker down to find something to make with boneless, skinless chicken breasts.  Limited ingredient list.  Chicken curry is sounding good.  Wait…pad see-ew!

6:26 – My two boys made it back to our bedroom.  I turn on the video on how to make pad see-ew, the way they make it in Thailand (according to the website).

“You’re watching the video?”  Hubby inquires.

“Yep!”

“Is that the one you like?”

“Nope.  Pad woon-sen’s the one I like…a LOT!”  I say.

“Hmmmm…let’s go to Taste of Thai,”  Hubby suggests coyly.  “How long before it’s all cooked?”

“It’s 6:30 now, maybe 7:30 – about an hour.”

“Hmmm…I’m kinda getting really hungry.”

“Okay, let’s go!”  I say – excited but hesitant.  Then, “Well…maybe you should just get something to hold you over before dinner.  Apples or grapes should do.  Let’s stay home.  I’ll cook.”

“I don’t want to go out!” interjects the little boy.

“Alright…I’ll grab some cheese and maybe some crackers,” Hubby confers.

7:00 – “Boys, it’s time to eat!”

Pad See-ew experiment a success – made with soy sauce-hoisin-garlic-sugar-vinegar sauce, Shanghai bok choy tips in place of Chinese broccoli, and Vietnamese pho noodles in place of traditional Thai wide noodles.  The sauce flavor was just right…I think.

Advanced planning really is what puts food on the table on time every night.  I’m not always on top of this as much as I really would like to.  But today, I am thankful for the food that came about from our pantry and refrigerator.  And the collective resolve to enjoy dinner together in the comforts of our home.  The best part was our family storytime on the couch as the little boy devoured his ice cream cone for dessert.  

 

Sundays are special to me.  Not a big fan of the morning rush.  Funny to say that as both Hubby and I are involved in some ways, Hubby more than me for sure, and early morning prep is just a part of the routine.  Cold days are incredibly hard to wake up to…there’s always that longing to stay under the warm blanket for just a little bit more time.  But wake up we will for this is the day that the Lord has made and we will rejoice in it!

I have lived in both sides of the world where worship is not hindered by law.  Sometimes this freedom to celebrate gathering together with our community of faith is taken for granted.  Today, I am thankful for the freedom I have to worship my Father-God!

 

Tonight at around 7:00 was a balmy 65 degrees inside…but we turned on the fireplace.  See, yesterday my two boys and I were at Cracker Barrel for breakfast when our little guy noticed the dying fire in the fireplace.  A few minutes later, one of the staff there brought a load of wood and started piling those in the pit.  Within minutes, there was a roaring fire toasting up the dining area and holding full well a three-year-old boy’s attention.  Hubby’s voice cut through the mesmerizing moment, “Did you know, Bud, that we have a fireplace at our house?  And you know what, tonight we will turn it on and read stories by the fireplace before you go to bed.  Does that sound like a good idea?”

“Wooaah!”  was all the little guy can say with a big smile on his face.

While Hubby was putting the nap-less drowsy little guy to sleep last night, he shot up with a burst of energy in his voice and said, “Oh no, Daddy!  We forgot the fireplace!”  To which Hubby said, “Well, let’s do that in the morning soon after we wake up because it’s sleep time now, okay?”  And the little sleepyhead answered with a tired, “Oh, okay.”

Today was another one of those let’s-get-up-and-do kind of days.  A lot of practice driving for the Momma with another bonus Momma-only-time at the bookstore while the two boys monkeyed around in the garage, getting all psyched up to start the ‘Tidmouth Shed Project’ for the little guy’s train set.  Needless to say, we didn’t really wake up and have storytime by the fireplace.

However, right before bedtime, Momma remembered the fireplace idea and so we gathered ourselves near the fireplace.  Momma turned off the lights and Hubby turned on the fireplace.  Yes, we have one of those fireplaces lit at the flip of a switch…well, almost.  For a minute or so all we heard was a “tick tick tick” sound.  Even the little guy was wondering where the fire is!  Then “phoom!” and a bluish based orange flame appeared.  Hubby gave the very important safety spiel on fireplaces, particularly the one on not ever ever touching the surface of the fireplace when he sees the fire going.  The little guy said, “And little boys only stay near Mommy and Daddy when the fire is on.”  That point went through!

I was seated with our son, facing the window on the north side of our house and in the darkness, I can see the orange glow of the sunset above the mountains.  Hubby started his story of a guy named Steve when he lived in a far away land called the Philippines.  The little man stared at the flames…like a magnet.  He just didn’t move his head away from staring at that thing, even as I gently moved him closer so he can lean his body on me to relax.

“The end” came Hubby’s voice.

I gently moved our son’s head towards my stretched leg so he can lay flat and listen to the next story about to begin.  He was still fixated on the flame but his body started to relax as he was lying down.  Hubby was in mid-sentence when the little guy blurted, “Wow!  That is a cool fireplace!”

So it was that Hubby’s second story about four young kids going on adventures in an island called Corregidor got interrupted but with redirection was finished with a scene where all four boys pitched their sleeping bags in a place called “The Musuem” under the blanket of a dark sky magnificently lit by billions and billions of twinkling stars.

Thankful for a warm house tonight.  Thankful for moments of being together as a family, sharing stories of our lives near a warm fireplace.  Thankful for a beautiful sunset.  And thankful for a BIG God who made all these things possible.