Now I’m enjoying spending time here at the Purdoms’ house… it’s a lot of fun, even if the week before RoundHouse is rather crazy! Things are going well, and it’s simply gorgeous here. I’ll have to get my camera out and go for a little jaunt real quick one of these days.

So here are some pictures… I know that’s what you all want to see anyway!

I love you all!

Yes, I know it’s been a week. Blame Nathan and Ashley for not having internet! Though… it’s not like they don’t want it or anything, so I’ll give them a break. I have had a thoroughly enjoyable time here with my “extended family” the past week. Madison seems to be fairly fond of “aunt Jewels” and Hallie is as content a little baby as I’ve ever seen – so soft and cuddle-able!

I got to talk to my family today! They tracked me down with a phone call this morning, and that made my day! *happy sigh* Glad you all are doing well.

Here are a few pictures from this week! Maybe these will make up for a little of the unavailability of communication lately!

Ashley and Hallie

It was a beautiful day for nature photography, too!

Nathan and Josh had a grape-stuffing contest. Nathan squashed the competition, winning with an astounding 37 grapes.

It wasn't pretty. At all.

Madison taking at nap at Daniel and Chasity's house.

Madison and me having fun waiting in the car for her mama!

Well, I guess that’s it for now! I love you all so much!

PTP... highly recommended!

Last Friday, I rode with them to Sevierville, TN for Polishing the Pulpit. What a wonderful time of thought-provoking and encouraging lessons and fellowship with other Christians… as well as physical family! I was so happy to get to see my grandparents and spend some time with them, as well as uncles, aunts and cousins.

An audience of I'd say around 1,000 people listening to Pappaw deliver the lesson "The Greatest Thoughts That Have Challenged My Mind - Part One"

Pappaw preaching. Not a very good angle here, but it'll have to do! I forgot to try to get a picture on the night I was a little closer.

The family all went out to eat at "The Mill" for Pappaw's birthday and he got a piece of birthday pie with a candle!

Nicholas likes PTP

Kara and one of her her ever-present stuffed animals

Cute little Allie

Matthew and Natalie enjoying some good eats for Pappaw's birthday.

It was great to see the Moore family again - they kindly took a few of us out to lunch, which was really good!

Pappaw, me and Nanna before we parted ways.

Me and my Pappaw... too cool.

Nanna and me at Cracker Barrel

After an amazing week at PTP, Mrs. Evelyn picked me up and kindly took me to the airport, so I could catch a flight to Kansas City, MO.

Me and Mrs. Evelyn - what a wonderful lady!

I was happy and thankful to make it safely to Missouri… and have had a wonderful time during the one day that I’ve been here so far! Madison has grown so much and is really talking now. And *drumroll* Hallie Ann Cozort is SO small and cute and newborny and adorable! I’m really loving being able to be here to see her and all the rest of the family!

Madison and Uncle Dustin

Holding sweet little Hallie

Aww

Nothing more precious than an fresh, sweet, innocent baby! Isn't she cute?

So I guess that’s it for now! Maybe, just maybe, this trip will help me to start blogging a little more, even if it’s mostly just pictures! Lots of love to you all. 

You know that saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover?” It’s a very wise saying (unlike the one about a watched pot never boiling… which, in case you were wondering, is not true! I did an experiment when I was little – once I was old enough to see over the edge of the pot, hehe).

Well, at lunch the other day that saying came up. My family was having a conversation, and one of us said “well, you can’t judge a book by its cover” – to which Luke (infamous for his witty remarks, heavily seasoned with dry-as-dust humor) said “Yeah, but usually the title is written on the cover.” Of course that made us all laugh and Luke smirked in triumph. Just a passing comment, an inventive twist, but I thought it was good and it made me think.

It’s very true that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. What if you see a book (or a person) that’s a little rough around the edges? Some parts might not be as pristine as they could be… stains, markings, a torn spot here and there. Maybe the book (or person) even looks and feels different than what you’re used to (A paperback?! Why, in our family it’s hardback all the way!). What if you’re just a really old book? What if you’re a well-loved book and have just had a lot of use? What if you’re a book that’s been abused and you haven’t been cared for like you should? We should always carefully consider the fact that often there are things about books that we can’t know just by looking at the cover.

But what about the title?

There, along with all the other stuff that might be on the cover, is the title. Yep, it’s true. Whether you know it or not, we all have one. Announcing to the world what we are “all about.”

Actually think about it for a minute.

When people glance at your cover, what title do they read? Does it shine the title “Christian” in clear, clean print? …Or does your cover display a less glorious title? When someone sees you walking down the street, do they see you stand out from the crowd because you’re shining your light, or because you have a big “yes, I need an attitude adjustment” or “being depressed is cool” or “too busy to be polite” label on your chest? Maybe you’ve allowed the title to fade and get covered with the grime of the world…

Or maybe you’re (knowingly or unknowingly) hiding your true, Christian title under something else. You know, like these crazy looking stretchy book covers that were popular (at least in the checkout aisle of the grocery store) for a while? Seems like some Christians hide their title under crazy stretchy coverings too. Why are we trying to adopt all the immodest fashions of the world… mayyybe tweaking them just enough to be “ok?” I don’t want to be unkind in any way, but I’m sorry, I don’t get how wearing a t-shirt under a shirt that’s cut like lingerie makes it modest. It just doesn’t. Cute, but a little too much cute focused in certain areas if you know what I mean.

But I was also thinking… clothes aren’t the only things we can use to cover up our title. If we’re “obsessed” with something or someone to the point that it becomes the most prominent thing in our lives, there’s a problem. It could be a certain band, a video or computer game, the internet in general, a book or series of books (not that anyone would ever be obsessed with a book series. And yes, I’m talking about books other than the Bible). It could be movies, celebrities or gadgets (“Did you see the new iPhone? Totally cool, huh? I’m gonna die if I don’t get one soon… oh, just a second, I have to text for 5 minutes in the middle of our conversation to tell one of my friends something REALLY important..    …’ya tht wud b SO fun we shud totly meet @ da mall l8r’). Or it could even be your boyfriend or girlfriend that’s covering up your Christian title, if that one person is all you ever talk about, with no room for showing Christ to others. I’m sure you could think of other things… there are plenty of them.

I think it’s safe to say that all of our “title pages” could use a little polishing up now and then. I know that I’ve been guilty of not having the right priorities all the time… but I’m trying! I want my title to be worthy of the Name I serve.

So what does your title say?

[No, sorry, I didn't take any of the pictures, they're from flickr's creative commons.]

First, I kneel next to my bed and peek underneath it at the boxes and dust-bunnies (or sometimes full-grown dust rabbits) which fill that small space. Gathering my courage, I stick my hand into the dark recess and pull out a box. I open the box and begin taking things out and placing them around me on the floor. Loose papers that should have been thrown away long ago, scraps of material from old sewing projects, and pens which no longer work are all stuffed into a garbage bag. I then begin the job of sorting through the rest of the box’s contents.

This is when I start to question my sanity, for I notice an alarming amount of “stuff” which either has no use whatsoever, is simply not used, or which I never ever want to use. You know the kind of stuff I’m talking about – you probably even have some of your own: that threadbare souvenir shirt from some vacation, pencil stubs, balls of string, petrified rubber bands, notebooks completely used up and without a single thing worth saving inside, a sock which lost its mate 8 years ago (but which you keep hoping to reunite), a Snoopy toy that came with a bottle of laundry detergent, a roll of film from ’89 that you never developed, and that hideous shirt your great-aunt-someoneoruther gave you for your birthday that you didn’t want, but felt bad about giving away, so there it stayed in the junk box. Oh, and don’t even get me started on that old “Weight Watchers” exercise VHS that somehow stayed around ever since the early 90s when it was apparently cool to wear tall socks over tights! But who knows? Maybe someone out there is looking for a shirt just like the one you can’t stand; so by all means, give it to Goodwill and run – let that lucky person find it on the rack next to those red leather pants someone else culled from their closet. No matter whether you’re moving or not, or what you end up culling, you can be sure that the endeavor will be memorable and the outcome very rewarding!

If you wish to enter the market itself, you must first wind your way through the crowds of busy people which surround it. Trucks of all shapes and sizes swarm the street; men grunt and sweat under the burning sun as they push carts piled high with pineapples, oranges, or sugar cane. Women hurry by, gracefully balancing all kinds of burdens on their heads: buckets of water, baskets of fruit, and bundles of wood. Make your way safely across the street, and you will see rows of vendors squatting at the curb, or sitting with legs outstretched, trying to sell tomatoes and onions, potatoes and pineapples. All have nearly identical goods to offer, and all beg you to buy from their pile. The more aggressive sellers shout “Onions!” and “Peppahs” to attract attention and advertise their wares. “Goody yafternoon!” and “Hello madam!” can be heard through the sounds of the street mixed with the roar of a hundred voices speaking Swahili blended together.

As you cross the sidewalk and go through the opening in a crumbling wall, you enter into the interior section of the market. Here, scraps of board and shredded tarp are tied and nailed together to form small booths. Puffs of dust rise under your feet as you walk along the rows of fruit and vegetable stands, trying not to step in the many piles of banana and avocado peels and puddles of unidentified liquid fermenting on the ground. Your nose is assaulted by a mixture of odors: fresh tropical fruit, rotting garbage, musty dampness, sharp body odor, dust and dirt. Fruit and vegetables are stacked neatly into pyramids; piles of plastic bowls and pots are here for sale; there are burlap sacks full of peas and beans – brown and red and green. Old, dry fish are lying out in the sun, their biting stench overpowering everything else and causing your stomach to tighten uncomfortably until a breeze blows through and eases the intensity.

Further inside, there are thinner crowds and it is easier to notice individuals. There are old men and women with quiet, wrinkled faces sitting on stools, watching as children play here and there – pointing at you and smiling and chattering about you with their friends. There is a young woman with a baby tied onto her back, selling hand-carved ebony bowls as shiny and black as her own smooth face. A young man sits on a mound of shavings as he carves a wooden spoon with rough, calloused hands. There are all types of people in the market: from the thieves and scoundrels to the honest and hardworking. Many may look at you curiously or suspiciously, laughing or frowning, but a smile and a simple greeting in their own language will almost certainly bring an instant smile from anyone you meet. A single word of respect to the elderly will cause dark faces to brighten, and a cheerful hello to the young will elicit shy smiles and playful expressions.

I realize there is a place for the gleaming floors and glass windows of a mall, but there is also something to be said for a place where things are not attractively wrapped, polished or painted to lure you to buy. There is something comforting about a day in which everything is laid out, the beautifully ripe as well as the rotten, there for you to make what you will of it. That’s real… that is a market day in Africa.

Well, that’s exactly why this blog has been left mostly blank for so long. Poor thing, sitting here neglected and boring. I’ve tried to write a post several times, but I always end up scrapping the little I do type out, hoping that my next attempt will be more satisfactory. If I were to be completely honest, though, I couldn’t blame it all on writer’s block. A lot of the problem is simply that I haven’t sat down seriously enough and made finishing the post a true goal.

So here I am, and I’m going to write something and post it today – whether I think it’s good enough or not!

One of the things I’ve been thinking about lately is contentment. So many times, it seems like people view that elusive virtue as settling for what you have and not wanting anything else… for a while. When I was little, I assumed I was content because I had a hard time coming up with ideas for my Christmas list, unlike most kids. And I guess I was content in that simple, childish way. But in the past few years, I’ve had to really look at what it means to be truly satisfied – regardless of your circumstances… to be at peace with your life whether or not you have everything you desire. I can’t say that I have the same level of contentment that Paul had when he said had learned the secret (Philippians 4:11-13), but I can say that I’m in the process of learning.

It’s hard to describe what it means to feel content. Not the temporary contentment that you might feel after reaching a goal or acquiring a long-worked-for possession, but a deep tranquility of spirit that comes from the conviction that no matter what does or doesn’t happen in your life, things will be ok. There’s a big difference between intellectually assenting that something is true, and fully trusting in that truth. When contemplating my life, I don’t so much need to ask myself whether or not I believe the Bible is Truth… that fact is firm in my mind. But the more pertinent question is whether I have personal confidence in what that Truth tells me. Do I really have faith that if I seek the Kingdom first, my other needs will be taken care of (Matt 6:33,34)? Do I fully believe that God will never allow me to be tested beyond my ability to endure (I Cor 10:13)? Do I actually have the conviction that God only wants the best for me… and the real test, am I willing to put my will aside and just… trust? Trust that He will give me what I really need… when I need it? Trust that His way is the best way? Believe fully, as the first-century Christians did – to the point of dying for that faith? Will I try to struggle on through life by myself, trying this or that, whatever way seems good to me at the time… or will I lay aside my anxiety and give my concerns up to God? We can’t get through life alone… and I am so thankful for the many wonderful people in my life who have each, in their own way, made my life better. But only when I learn to let God be everything to me can I really have peace. Contentment isn’t about having everything you want… or being self-righteous enough to say you will wait for gratification. It’s about coming to the Father, laying it all down at His feet, and truly meaning it when you say “if the Lord wills.” Only then… “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.”

I’m not saying that I have a perfect or constant state of contentment – It’s taken me a long time to begin to fully realize what that even means, and I have to reevaluate myself in that area often… but I’m learning. And it’s a wonderful feeling. I can honestly say that I am content right now, and one day I may be able to fully say “for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therein to be content. I know how to be abased, and I know also how to abound: in everything and in all things have I learned the secret both to be filled and to hungry, both to about and to be in want. I can do all things in him that strengtheneth me.”

So next time you sing “I’ve got the peace that passes understanding down in my heart (where?!)” …ask yourself if you really do.

It amazes me to think about how low most of the world’s expectations are. If you are slightly respectful, dress modestly, and actually work hard, most people won’t know what to do with you! It is curious to note how people respond to the way you are and the way you live. Anyway, it was interesting to read this man’s point of view on the matter…

Homeschoolers Threaten Our Cultural Comfort

Sonny Scott
www.djournal.com/pages/default.asp
Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, Tupelo, Ms.

You see them at the grocery, or in a discount store.

It’s a big family by today’s standards – “just like stair steps,” as the old folks say. Freshly scrubbed boys with neatly trimmed hair and girls with braids, in clean but unfashionable clothes follow mom through the store as she fills her no-frills shopping list.

There’s no begging for gimcracks, no fretting, and no threats from mom. The older watch the younger, freeing mom to go peacefully about her task.

You are looking at some of the estimated 2 million children being home schooled in the U.S., and the number is growing. Their reputation for academic achievement has caused colleges to begin aggressively recruiting them. Savings to the taxpayers in instructional costs are conservatively estimated at $4 billion, and some place the figure as high as $9 billion. When you consider that these families pay taxes to support public schools, but demand nothing from them, it seems quite a deal for the public.

Home schooling parents are usually better educated than the norm, and are more likely to attend worship services. Their motives are many and varied. Some fear contagion from the anti-clericalism, coarse speech, suggestive behavior and hedonistic values that characterize secular schools. Others are concerned for their children’s safety. Some want their children to be challenged beyond the minimal competencies of the public schools. Concern for a theistic world view largely permeates the movement.

Indications are that home schooling is working well for the kids, and the parents are pleased with their choice, but the practice is coming under increasing suspicion, and even official attack, as in California.

Why do we hate (or at least distrust) these people so much?

Methinks American middle-class people are uncomfortable around the homeschooled for the same reason the alcoholic is uneasy around the teetotaler.

Their very existence represents a rejection of our values, and an indictment of our lifestyles. Those families are willing to render unto Caesar the things that Caesar’s be, but they draw the line at their children. Those of us who have put our trust in the secular state (and effectively surrendered our children to it) recognize this act of defiance as a rejection of our values, and we reject them in return.

Just as the jealous Chaldeans schemed to bring the wrath of the king upon the Hebrew eunuchs, we are happy to sic the state’s bureaucrats on these “trouble makers.” Their implicit rejection of America’s most venerated idol, Materialism, (a.k.a. “Individualism”) spurs us to heat the furnace and feed the lions.

Young families must make the decision: Will junior go to day care and day school, or will mom stay home and raise him? The rationalizations begin. “A family just can’t make it on one income.” (Our parents did.) “It just costs so much to raise a child nowadays.” (Yeah, if you buy brand-name clothing, pre-prepared food, join every club and activity, and spend half the cost of a house on the daughter’s wedding, it does.) And so, the decision is made. We give up the bulk of our waking hours with our children, as well as the formation of their minds, philosophies, and attitudes, to strangers. We compensate by getting a boat to take them to the river, a van to carry them to Little League, a 2,800-square-foot house, an ATV, a zero-turn Cub Cadet, and a fund to finance a brand-name college education. And most significantly, we claim “our right” to pursue a career for our own “self-fulfillment.”

Deep down, however, we know that our generation has eaten its seed corn. We lack the discipline and the vision to deny ourselves in the hope of something enduring and worthy for our posterity. We are tired from working extra jobs, and the looming depression threatens our 401k’s. Credit cards are nearly maxed, and it costs a $100 to fuel the Suburban.

Now the kid is . . . . demanding the latest Play Station as his price for doing his school work … and there goes that modest young woman in the home-made dress with her four bright-eyed, well-behaved home-schooled children in tow. Wouldn’t you just love to wipe that serene look right off her smug face?

Is it any wonder we hate her so?