Monday, April 27, 2015

What's in a name?

I've hesitated to write about this because I try not to use the names of my family members online. Partially to preserve privacy, and partially because it can be easier for people to know who I'm talking about. But some things I just feel are too special not to share.

I recently came to the conclusion that Sweetie and I did not actually name our son. We just thought we did. Turns out God is the one that named him.

Up until the point that we knew for sure we were having a boy, I had a name picked and Sweetie had been fine with it. Walking away from the ultra-sound, Sweetie's tune completely changed and we were back to square one. Eventually, Sweetie picked the first name. It was not for any particular reason, just a name that he liked. I decided on a middle name after my grandfather that passed about five months before little Boll-weevil was born.

Now I don't even remember why, but I was recently looking up baby name meanings. I knew that Boll-weevil's middle name meant "king." I had thought that his first name meant "healing," but as it turns out, it means "joined." If you take "king" to represent "King of kings," you suddenly have a name that literally means "Joined of God." See Mark 10:9.

This is a baby that I have come to consider to be a miracle child. We did not plan to have a child as soon as we did. Because of my health, I wondered if it were possible for me to even have a child, yet he was born ten months after we married. Our baby's impact on the lives of those around him was another indicator that he was sent from God because he was needed. God sent Dad a grandson that he got to see almost daily for nine months before he died. If we had had a child when we had been planning to, Dad would never have seen his first grandchild.

Children can be like glue in a marriage, and everyone goes through their rough spots. Little Boll-weevil has certainly brought Sweetie and I closer together than almost anything else could have done. Somehow being responsible for this little soul gives us extra incentive to take care of our marriage and each other.

But what makes me start to tear up over the name meaning "Joined of God" is the confirmation that God was the One that put Sweetie and I together. That's another story completely, but it was no less miraculous. Our first-born son that is half of each of us has a name that is a constant reminder that we were put together for a reason. We may not know what we will face in the future, but we have the assurance that we are meant to face it together. We were and still are "Joined of God."

Now let me just find my tissues...

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Thursday, April 9, 2015

Monica's Mini Meatloaves

Monica's Mini Meatloaves Recipe
(Makes about 2 dozen)

Ingredients:
5 lbs hamburger
2 cups oatmeal
2 cups chopped onion
4 eggs
1/2 cup ketchup
1/2 TBS soy sauce
1/2 TBS Moore's
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground black pepper

Mix all ingredients. Measure 1/2 cup servings and shape into balls. Bake 350F for 30 minutes. Drain well. Cover in Special Sauce.

Sauce Ingredients:
2 cups ketchup
1/2 cup BBQ sauce
1 1/2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 1/2 cups brown sugar

Combine ingredients. Mix well. Spoon over mini meatloaves.

***
Originally this was a recipe to make 1" meatballs. My cousin Monica made this one time and brought to a pot luck...or something like that. The details are fuzzy. What I distinctly remember is that everyone loved these little suckers, and the recipe was dubbed "Monica's Meatballs."

Mom and I were recently making these and I decided to try adapting the recipe a bit to make it easier to make. I do not enjoy hand-rolling 1" meatballs. So we changed it to mini meatloaves and doubled the recipe while we were at it.

The original recipe calls for Worcestershire sauce in the meatballs, but I couldn't find it when I was mixing it up. Hence the soy sauce and Moore's. Yay for recipe adaption!

It should be noted that the sauce recipe listed above makes about 4 cups of sauce. Sweetie is a sauce-aholic, so that was just fine for us.

Now go forth and try this recipe out. Seriously. They're almost addicting.



















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Wednesday, April 8, 2015

My Socks Don't Match!

How much time do you spend on laundry? Probably more than you would like. How much time do you spend matching socks? If all of your socks are the same, maybe not much. But if you have many different patterned socks the task can become time consuming.

I've recently decided to stop wasting so much time worrying about things like matching socks. Sure, it may be a little awkward, but life is too short to waste time worrying about something making you feel uncomfortable.



Sometimes three little words can make you uncomfortable: "I love you."

Do you remember the first time you said it to a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you remember how terrified you were? It's because the words hold a lot more meaning than their mere eight letters would suggest.

Some families say it more often than others. Just like some families are more touchy-feely, or "huggy" than others. The thing is, life is too short to pass up the opportunity to say "I love you," to someone you really care about, whether by word or deed. Even if it's awkward.

Several years ago I felt impressed to go and visit my Aunt Wanda in the hospital. I was living in Little Rock at the time, and Oklahoma City was a simple weekend trip. While I did stay with my grandparents, the purpose of the visit really was my aunt. I enjoyed spending that time with her, even though it was a bit odd to go for the express purpose of seeing her. I was so glad later that I did it. It was the last time I saw her before she died.

The last time I saw my grandfather he was outside talking with some of the family. I felt too awkward to interrupt and say goodbye, so I just waved. We left on our trip back home, and I never saw him again. I wish now that I had overridden my feelings of discomfort and given him one last hug and said "I love you." But I can't change it now.

It makes me so glad that the night that Daddy passed that I got to say "I love you," one last time. I'm glad for the opportunities that I had and didn't pass up during his illness--to sing for him, sit with him, pray for him. I don't have regrets for anything I did, even if it made me uncomfortable at the time.

I try to be more mindful now to say "I love you." I never know when my last opportunity will be, and I don't want to neglect it. Feeling awkward over it is such a waste, and the regret really isn't worth it.

So if you catch me wearing mismatching socks, no, I haven't reached a new level of harried housewife. I'm just choosing to focus my energies on things of slightly more significance in the big scheme of things. Which would you regret more? Missing your last opportunity to say "I love you," or wearing mismatching socks?

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