Change of Plans

Lots of behind the scenes blog work going on here on the Ark. If you've emailed me about the launch of the "private" Ark blog, I apologize for not yet responding...but consider yourself on "the list".

In the meanwhile, there are a few changes going on here on the "public" Ark, which will allow me to keep it open while protecting my family's online security.

Comments, however, remain closed at this time. But feel free to e-me. ;-)

Amidst Our Suffering

God gives us people like Mr. Spivey.

In Which I Make A Decision

Thanks for the emails wondering what prompted me to abruptly shut down comments. I admit it was a bit of a rash decision, but where my family is involved, I can be like that.

I've been waffling back and forth since with the bigger question. If some internet cretin can come on my blog and randomly make comments that leave me uneasy about sharing my family here, can I truly share them here without concern?

I felt like I had two options:

1---Keep the blog.

2---Dump the blog.

I love writing here and having this keepsake of our family's story. I'd love to pass a copy of it along to each of my children someday (Heaven knows, they won't have any hand-crafted scrapbooks left by me). But I won't put them at risk (or my mental health worrying about their safety) to do so.

The thought of completely erasing our memories with a single keystroke just kills me.

Which left me with one final option: take this blog private.

This is not my ideal solution. I've appreciated new visitors (and most) new commentors and old friends who catch up with me via this funny little medium.

So, I'm leaving this post up for a few days. If you'd like to keep reading here as a member, please feel free to email me at patjrsmom AT yahoo DOT com and let me know. Probably by the weekend I'll have made the switch.

If our paths diverge here, let me thank you for visiting and for riding along with us for a while.

God Bless,
Jane

Done

Comments are closed here indefinitely. If you have something nice to say, you know how to reach me. And if you don't, then you probably shouldn't be saying anything at all anyway.

Art Imitating Life

Naomi to Candace: Now, I'll be the mom and you be the mom's friend who is coming over for coffee.

Praise

"There are so many ways of praying, so many ways of addressing God: in repentance, in petition, in intercession. But in the end we were meant to praise our Creator. Gratitude puts everything into a different perspective. It prevents me from taking anything for granted. It helps me to live my life awake, alert to those good gifts that I am given, in a state of mindfulness or awareness. Then, when I look at the world with eyes of wonder, I discover, rather to my chagrin, that it is often only too easy to drift and become neglectful, lazy, forgetful of gratefulness. I enjoy that line of W.H. Auden, "Practice the scales of rejoicing," because of its suggestion that it really is hard work and needs discipline. I might rewrite those familiar words "pray without ceasing" so that they become "praise without ceasing," giving thanks to my Creator for all the good gifts in my life." --Esther De Waal

"Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!" Psalm 95:2

Guarding Their Hearts

Have you ever visited the Catholic Dads blog?

You haven't?

You should.

Why have I visited there, you're wondering? Clearly, all these years (you've been thinking to yourself) the Ark blog had a womanly touch. And you've been right. So, obviously, I couldn't possibly be a Catholic Dad.

Oh, but the wisdom of these faithful fathers is too good and too pure to be hidden under a bushel. I visit often and you should too.

This post written about the recent scandal of South Carolina governor Mark Sanford is a cautionary tale that shouldn't be missed.

Wives, don't forget to pray for the protection of your husband's hearts. They need our steadfast prayers each and every day. And offer a special intention for the governor and his family. They sure need it, too.

Pleasing the Godmother

There is no previous post which specifically describes The Boy's aversion to the camera. Or at least to pictures on the camera that wind up on mom's blog.

But because it's for his sweet godmother, I absolutely must break with the moratorium on Boy pictures on the blog to share at least a couple of graduation night ones...which reminds my lame blogging self--I still have Easter pictures to share!

Is it The Boy? No, it's Beulah, practicing her graduation pose. You never can be too prepared.

Here comes Naomi getting into the act. You would never have known that the mortarboard in question was soaking wet from the deluge that hit as we exited the church. (You would, however, have known if you had gotten a look at the drowned rat who masqueraded as photographer.)

Get a load of Candace's hair. Picture the pouring rain...seriously, picture it. But look at the grin on that face. Not even a little monsoon could bring the arklings down!

Ummm...yeah.
(Can you see the slice of pizza on the counter? That would be The Boy's after dinner-dinner. Why did no one tell me that my once 8 pound baby Boy would eat his weight in pizza as a teenager?)

He even tied his own tie. We're just so proud!

A Strong Finish

Everywhere I look lately, someone is racing. There are 5Ks, 10Ks--Special Ks, even! There are bike races, pennant races, and most the most obvious rat race.

It's almost more than my tired brain can handle trying to keep pace and not break stride.

A long, long, LONG time ago, when I used to run (not to catch a toddler-on-the-loose or to catch the barista before the coffee shop closes) I remember an annoying habit our team's coach had. It seemed that he thought it appropriate, at the end of a leg numbing run, to shout out in the final stretch, "FINISH STRONG!"

It would have been inappropriate at that moment to stop running only to head over and give him a piece of my mind--what little I might have had left by then. Fueled only by adolescent fury, I did exactly what my frustrated teenage mind tricked my exhausted teenage body into doing---I finished strong.

I didn't know then where I found the strength.

I am quite certain that during the last 100 meters my legs would have been better served by a tall, handsome masseur (hey, I was in high school!) than a chain-smoking, psychotic ex-runner screaming through a bull horn.

As my body was pushed to the brink, muscles were being built in my legs. And somewhere deep inside, far beneath any calf or quad development I could see, a lesson was being learned and a virtue was being developed.

With each season of life, there seem to be more and more races to be run. And there are no shortage of annoying distractions on the sidelines.

But with each race we grow stronger.

And with each race, if we permit the voices of the crowds cheer us along, we come closer and closer to crossing the finish line.

"I know that the education of this child will be the distinguishing event of my life, if I have the brains and perseverance to accomplish it."

-- Annie Sullivan "The Miracle Worker", teacher to Helen Keller