Camping. It's a weird thing.

Last week while we camped at the lovely Holland State Park I got to thinking about the act of Camping.

You see I did not grow up participating in this activity. My father wouldn't step foot in a camper, (he probably wouldn't fit). He wouldn't be able to tell you what a "dough boy" was, or a "hobo pie." We spent our summer vacations at the cottage, by the lake with fully functioning toilets.

You can imagine the mockery I sustained when I told my family that I was going camping.
While I was growing up on Payne Lake, my husband was growing up in a tent on a remote Michigan campground and enjoying it to the fullest.

Dan wanted to recreate that kind of fun for our kids. Thanks to a friend with a fabulous camper we set out for family fun.

Here were a few observations I had about camping:

• Campsites are pretty close together. No where else would I want to eat, drink, and sleep that close to perfect strangers. But when you are camping it doesn't seem to matter that I was walking around in my PJs for all the world to see-- at 10am.
  
• Showering. It doesn't seem as necessary as it does at home. Why bother when the shower water just might be lukewarm and you have to push the button every five seconds to keep up a steady stream.
• Meals. Food cooked over an open flame just tastes better in a campground that on the grill at home.
• Exercise. I didn't wake up in the morning thinking that I would climb a sand dune that day. My sons tricked me into it I tell you. I think I may have got more physical activity in that week than I had in a long time. Embarassing, yes.
• The convenience of an indoor potty does not out weigh the gross-ness of emptying out the "black water" at the end of the week. Black water, Gray water, fresh water, who knew? I was such a camping rookie.

We enjoyed the week. So much.

A few Pix from our Camping Vacay.

vintage Mac

Thou Shalt Not Steal

Especially pink Bibles.

Last night we trucked out to Wal-Mart (they are yet to be on my black list, give it time) with one purpose. To buy the kids a kiddy pool so they won't drive me nuts all day begging to go and swim at Grandma's big pool.

While I was browsing the terribly messy clearance aisle Joy spotted a little pink Bible that she just had to have. I told her she may have it, how can you not let your kid get a Bible, right?

As we went to the outdoor check out to pay for the rad pool the boys picked out, Miss Joy neglected to hand her Bible (and a tube of pink princess toothpaste) to the cashier. I didn't realize it until I glanced back at her in the truck on the way home and she was holding tight to that little pink Bible.

What a prize, what prize indeed!

Now I have to go and be a parent a minute and teach her a lesson--and drive back to Wal-Mart to pay for it. Guess how much?

The saga continues

First came the indisputable evidence that a pest had cozied up in my van.

Next was the bread crumbs on the closet floor.

Now we have the lingering odor of a mouse gone on before us.

So stinky, so offensive.
I remember this happening to my parents home time and time again. A mouse dies in the walls or somewhere you can't locate. I also remember my father and Grandpa H. cutting a hole in the drywall to remove the offender(s).

Anyone have a solution to this problem or do we just have to wait out the potent stench?

Why pay more? Only if you have your own pen.

Soap Box Alert.

So I was grocery shopping at my local Meijer the other day filling the cart with random necessities when the most ridiculous thing happened.

I had successfully unloaded and loaded my groceries to and back into my cart. (no baggers at Meijer) I reach into my wallet and decided to write a good old fashioned check to pay my bill. You see, I did not have my debit card on me and I was not willing to charge my groceries.

Here is where the weirdness began.

My purse was ink pen-less and I asked the young cashier to borrow a pen.
This is what he said:

"uhhh, I don't have one." (he stands there and stares back at me)
"yeah, us cashiers are supposed to supply our own pens. People keep stealin' mine and I don't feel like buying them all the time." (Still he has not moved a muscle)

I said, "Well, you're gonna have to find me one if you want me to pay for my stuff, right?"

He said, "uh, OK."

As I am writing out my check, I say to him,
"This just might be the end of me shopping at Meijer."

He says, "You don't like it here?"

"No, I really don't like huge stores." I replied

He says, "Yeah, I hate it here." (He resumes just standing and staring)
He ends with "Uh, here's you receipt"

Employee of the Month he ain't.
It was just annoying on so many levels.

He's still working on me.

Well folks, it has been a busy and emotional week. Blogging took a back burner.

I guess I have been more up in my head than typing at my MacBook this week, thinking about things of greater gravity. Talking with my kiddos about life, death, and the afterlife following the death of my Aunt. It is so inspiring to me as I observe my children working out their faith, their beliefs, and how they describe it all. Kids says some pretty cute stuff. :)

I've been trying to think back to the first time I learned about Jesus, about the first time I asked the really hard questions about life and death. I suppose it was some time during my childhood and it was again most recently as I attended the funeral for my Aunt. When I was young, I thought I would have it all figured out and answered by the time I was a "grown up."

But really, I am still working out my Christianity. Not whether or not I believe in the incarnation, death, and resurrection, for I am persuaded, but rather working on the daily walk. I don't think there will be a moment when I feel I have arrived, spiritually speaking, because life's big circumstances always have a way of bringing me back to my foundation---the Grace of God.

I'm so thankful that this foundation is all I need to spend eternity with Christ, that I don't have to know it all, be perfect, or have all the answers. We are ever thankful that Aunt Patty had this same blessed assurance.

I know not why God’s wondrous grace
To me He hath made known,
Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love
Redeemed me for His own.

I know not what of good or ill
May be reserved for me,
Of weary ways or golden days,
Before His face I see.

But I know Whom I have believèd,
And am persuaded that He is able
To keep that which I’ve committed
Unto Him against that day.

OK, so I love old Hymns. If you do too and want to hear the one above, click here
It's old school church music but it still rings true.