Laura Unearthed

Browsing Pinterest today, my irritation grew with every article titled “Must-dos Before Baby” or “Baby Gear Must-Haves.”   Outside of your doctors’ directions (by the way, please listen to your doctor) , there is nothing you must do to have a happy, healthy baby.  But I didn’t know that. I’m kind of ashamed of the thinking that devoured my normal senses during my first pregnancy.   More regretful than ashamed, I suppose, for all of the self-imposed stress and worry.   Reading baby product reviews was my new anxiety-inducing addiction.   It was ridiculous.     Our baby showed up a month early, which happened to be a day after this photo. Then, my daughter surprised us by debuting a month early, and I couldn’t complete my pre-babe project check-list.   What happened?   We had a beautiful, feisty baby doll anyway. This second pregnancy is cake compared to number one.   Mostly because number one keeps me way too distracted and entertained to worry. So here’s my list.  

My, oh my, the muck and the mire.   (Just finished reading Little Blue Truck to the tot before bed.   Who else has that one memorized?) Like much of the Midwest, our Spring has been wet.   In farm world, wet translates to: unhappy farmers who can’t get in the field.   The good news: creative meals delivered to the field haven’t been required lately.   However, blue skies lingered just long enough for the farmer to get in a soybean planting frame of mind today… which means: a field supper.   My farmer would be grateful for a plain ole hamburger or turkey sandwich, but the key to really making his day, is a small twist on a familiar go-to convenience meal. Tonight, I pulled out a new recipe: “ Grilled Chicken Cordon Bleu Wraps ” from the Taste and Tell blog.   Very loooosely chicken cordon bleu.   In fact, in my efforts to simplify the recipe, I looked up “cordon bleu” to make sure I didn’t compromise the essence of the “cordon bleu.” Ever look up “cordon bleu” before?

My teenage prayers easily embraced, “Lord, Your will be done.”   A blank canvas of life lay ahead of me with no commitments to jobs, husband, children, or mortgages.   Now, I still crave to draw near to the heart of God and His will… but sacrificing my time, security, comfort, and routine generates a greater grapple of the heart.   Our soldiers know better than anyone the likeness of Christ.   We may define Christianity as love.   That feels good, but we often fail to recognize the accompanying disclaimer: love in action requires sacrifice.   Hopefully, our soldiers influence you not to just reflect and appreciate this weekend, but inspire you to claim how God may be asking you to sacrifice. Occasionally, as youth leader, I write articles for our church newsletter, and this month, “coincidentally,” the idea of sacrifice in my newsletter article parallels my reflections this Memorial Day weekend. ..... Answering the call to sacrificial love When I first attended

I’ve been in an unpleasant mood for a few days... This topic tends to draw forth a bit of passion in me.   And the passion turns to anger... so I considered abandoning the issue altogether. But… someone wise once told me that if you want to find and fulfill your passion, start with what makes you angry.  (The ability to calm that anger and turn it into productivity is the key.) Last week, Time posted an excerpt from Sir Ken Robinson’s new book Creative Schools , titled “WhySchools Need to Bring Back Shop Class.”   I vaguely remember the mention of Sir Ken in my Master’s Degree classes, and the professor that urged us to follow him on Twitter… but I was busy teaching , unknowingly trying to accomplish exactly what Sir Ken was promoting: engaging the marginalized, stereotyped kids in our midst. “Viewing vocational programs as second-rate is one of the most corrosive problems in education.” – Sir Ken Robinson Don’t.I.know.it.   Vocational teachers are also often viewed as se

Cooking, cleaning, wiping bottoms… no doubt, mothers deserve a day of honor.   Pitching straw bales, steadying oneself after a spirited cow knocks you around, hauling an assortment of dirty, gross farm items in your car… the list of sacrifice grows deeper for a farm mom.   For those of us growing up on the farm, we often take for granted that our mothers performed at a different pace with unique challenges.   I remember fondly the adventure of running cows back to the barn as my mother and I were on our way to the Easter Sunrise Service in our Sunday best.   I would guess she doesn’t remember it with the same affection.   I know now why she emphatically repeated to me, attempting to engrain on my memory, the best practices for removing caked on, five-day-old manure stains from our good “cattle show” jeans.   (Lay pants out on basement floor, douse with stain pre-treat, wait, soak in wash sink with detergent, wait... again, get new water with detergent as you scrub with a stiff bri