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Merry Christmas from the Stulls
by Brenna
by Brenna
Slideshow customized with Smilebox |
by Brenna
This particular Christmas Eve I may have overestimated my capabilities. I had four energetic boys ages seven and younger, and I had agreed to play in the orchestra for the Christmas Eve Service at our church. We had also committed our six-year-old to recite Luke 2:1-20 from memory, which he had learned in his kindergarten class. Added to that, we had invited some families to come over after the service that night. I had been going full throttle all day—cleaning the house, preparing festive snacks, doing last-minute wrapping jobs, shining little black shoes and pressing dress shirts.
Minutes before I needed to load everyone into their car seats and drive to the church for the orchestra call time and microphone check, I heard my three-year-old say, “Mommy, I have a Tic Tac up my nose!” At first I was calm, showing him how to force the air out as if sneezing. Instead of sneezing, he took a big drawl in through his nose.
Oh, I can barely see it now! I began to get nervous as I showed him again the sneezing motion and told him to concentrate and do it with great force. At that point he took an even bigger drawl in and the Tic Tac could no longer be seen. I called one nurse friend and then another. They both told me we would need to make an ER visit to have it removed.
But Derek’s sound check is supposed to be happening now and the orchestra is tuning! Lord, help!
My seven-year-old said, “Mom, how about pepper?” and I darted toward my spice pantry. Holding the pepper under his nose and saying a fervent prayer, we waited. About thirty seconds later, he let out a huge sneeze and the Tic Tac went flying across the room. Thank you, Lord! We immediately darted out the door and rushed to the church where Derek had time to do his microphone check and I had time to get my preschoolers to the nursery and my clarinet tuned just before the service began.
The lights dimmed and thousands of people filed into the pews. As the music began, the stress of the day melted away. When Derek took the stage and quoted the Luke 2 passage in his little “Peanuts”-character-like voice, I realized this day would hold one of the best and worst Christmas memories of my life. The Tic Tac may have threatened to take down the night, but the peace of the coming of the Christ child quieted my heart and spirit. I silently thanked my Father for truly being Immanuel—God with us – and caring about even minor emergencies such as Tic Tac dilemmas.
To see the video of six-year-old Derek reciting Luke 2, click here:
by Brenna
Many in our culture really have no idea what the true meaning of Christmas is. Our pastor recently shared that the top 10 Christmas songs have nothing to do with Christ. Imagine what Christ feels about that – a huge birthday celebration, but the one having the birthday is overlooked and forgotten.
We are so deceived…hustle, bustle, shopping, baking, wearing ourselves out, spoiled kids, overwhelmed with stuff…stomachs are left full (overloaded with sugar, usually) but souls are left empty.
Some ideas for keeping Jesus the focus of your family’s Christmas:
This December let’s have Christ-mas…more of Christ.
Merry Christmas!
by Brenna
My goal: To share about my October trip to Sierra Leone.
The rules: Use 13 pictures and limit captions to five words or less.
Here we go!
Photographed orphans for sponsors.
Recorded orphans’ stories. (background)
Taught drawing lessons.
Introduced Uno.
Bonded through braids.
Helped with sponsor cards.
Saw hope on mean streets.
Shared best feast ever.
Played in the ocean.
Met war widows.
Visited special needs school.
Admired marketing tactics.
by Brenna
“Do you think my hair would do that?” I said as I looked at the cornrow hairstyles of my new friends in Sierra Leone. Eyes lit up and bright smiles shined on the girls’ faces as they called the name, “Yeama!”
These Sierra Leonean orphans, twenty-five of them sharing a house, all have their roles. Umaru leads a devotional for them each morning at 5:30 a.m., Abu #1 (the teenage Abu) trims the hair of the younger boys with a special comb, and the teenage girls help prepare their meals of rice. At 7 a.m. the teenage boys lead a workout routine. Though they have no running water in the house, they do have a gym. It consists of things like rigged metal pipes with paint cans on the end sitting in a corner of the main room. Who is the in-house hairdresser? Yeama.
And Yeama I needed. After spending just one day in the fierce Sierra Leonean heat and humidity, this girl’s locks were frizzing out like never before. I admired the girls’ elaborately designed hairstyles and thought I might just need one myself. Not only did I want to identify with them and let them help me with something, I thought my hair could really use some work.
That afternoon after I finished teaching some drawing classes, Yeama appeared with a comb and I knew my time had come. She moved a chair to the dirt yard beside their house, and then the fun began. With John and Mariama on my lap and at least a dozen kids gathered around, we got started. I took my ponytail holder off and my hair seemed to puff out to three times its normal size. Soon two more girls, Hanumatu and Animata were on the job (I think Yeama must have signaled for backup!) They were dividing hair, and pulling here and there (ouch). I loved having my new friends so close and visiting with them as they worked.
“She’s giving you a plant!” Animata said. Not only is she doing my hair, but she’s giving me a plant, too? I thought. Yeama chimed in. “With roses!” Seriously, roses? That sounded special, but I sure hadn’t seen anything close to roses since I had been in Sierra Leone, and especially not in their poor village. Where in the world will they find roses? I finally figured out the hairdo itself was called a plant and that the braids swooping upward into a ponytail on the top of my head were called roses.
I couldn’t help but smile the entire time as I watched the faces of the dozen or so children gathered around me. They were mesmerized, entertained, and amused by the whole process of this white woman getting a plant. Some of the little ones caught hairs as they fell from my head and sat and stroked the long, smooth strands. Others leaned their elbows on a nearby ledge and rested their chins on their fists as they sat quietly watching. Still others leaned in on me in whatever places the hairdressers weren’t standing.
We talked about everything from the bothersome acne problems of the thirteen-year-old to stories in the Bible. We sang some songs together, too. The praise songs were special, and they were impressed that I also knew some Justin Bieber songs. How they knew his songs I have no idea – they live in a primitive village in a tin home without electronics (nor electricity and running water, for that matter). As the sun lowered toward the horizon, we got a break from the scorching heat and an almost-cool breeze blew. Animata kept saying over and over again, “So beautiful, so beautiful, Auntie Brenna!” But, I didn’t realized just how awesome my hair looked until the end of that one-and-a-half hour session when the teenage girls broke out in the song “African Queen”!
About ten minutes before they were done, John got down from my lap and ran off. He returned, quietly leaning on my side with my bright pink backpack on his lap and my large water bottle in his hand, one of the many times he looked out for me and carried my things for me. As the children all walked me back to the Brockelman’s home at sunset, some holding my hands and others happily flitting around me, I couldn’t imagine a place I would rather be at that moment.
I kept my plant for a week. Through Brussels, Belgium; Chicago, Illinois, then back to Dallas. I guess I felt it was one way I could bring home with me a little bit of Yeama and my new friends. I wish they could have seen my hair the day it came out of the plant. I persuaded Micah to take the first shift. He worked undoing braids on the back for 30 minutes, and finally begged off the job by reminding me he had piano practicing to do. My ten-year-old Karis and her friends Kate, Bella and Meadow finished the job, leaving me with a hairdo bigger than the 1980’s Diana Ross had ever dreamed of.
I guess it’s only appropriate that I would end this blog with a Diana Ross song dedication for my new friends – her #1 hit “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”
It’s a tiresome 36-hour travel journey to you by planes, bus and boat, my new Sierra Leonean friends. But I want you to know that, Lord willing, there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough to keep me away from you!
by Brenna
And I love the ease and convenience of a breadmaker.
Here is one of my family’s favorite recipes. (You can’t go wrong when you put cinnamon and raisins together.)
It only takes about five minutes to put together. Three to four hours later your loaf will be ready to eat and your house will smell wonderful!
Try this fresh homemade bread toasted for breakfast or to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Ingredients:
1 pkg yeast (2 1/4 tsp.)
3 cups bread flour
2 Tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 Tablespoon butter
1 1/4 cups warm milk
2/3 cup raisins (Use ingredients at room temperature. If you want raisins to be whole, wait and add them at the “beep.” Personally, I like how moist the bread is when the raisins are stirred into the bread and become bits.)
Instructions:
Add ingredients into the breadmaker pan in the order listed, select white bread and push “start.” Prepare yourself for yumminess.
by Brenna
I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free. Psalm 119:32
When we picked up our pre-race packets for the triathlon this past weekend, Chris and Derek studied the map for the bike course, which was displayed on an easel. I only gave it a glance, then told them I usually just follow and try to catch the person just ahead of me. That had always worked before….
Fast forward sixteen hours to race morning. After getting out of the pool, I ran to the transition area, mounted my bike and was soon speeding along on my way. I immediately zeroed in on the biker ahead of me. After buckling my feet into my shoes (which were clipped into the bike), I checked my watch then took a drink from my water bottle. Concentrating on my form and trying to increase my pedal repetitions per minute, I continued to focus on the biker just ahead.
Sometime later I realized I didn’t see any orange race cones on the street. I looked behind me to see racers in the distance zooming straight past where I had turned right! Then I realized the biker I was following had no number on his bike. He wasn’t even a racer! I did a quick U-turn and backtracked to my turn-off point. I continued the race having added more than two minutes to my bike time. (So much for my great plan of following the person ahead of me.)
I got it wrong in the triathlon, but I’m hoping to apply some principles from what I learned to avoid making the same mistake in life. How can I make sure I make it to the end of my life’s race on the right path? Psalm 119 is my answer.
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path. (Psalm 119:105)
I must be diligent to seek the Lord daily through His Word to better know Him and his ways. Otherwise, it’s too easy to just follow the person ahead of me who seems to be headed to the same place I am. It’s too easy to be thrown off-track by frail humans who, even though they might have good intentions, are not dependable. It’s too easy to be preoccupied with my form and pace, mindlessly moving in a direction that gets me no closer to my goal.
So I pray…
Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight. Turn my heart toward your statutes and not toward selfish gain. Turn my eyes away from worthless things; preserve my life according to your word.
Your statutes are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart. My heart is set on keeping your decrees to the very end. (Psalm 119:35-37, 111-112)
by Brenna
We took Dillon to Baylor University on Wednesday, August 15 and the day was all joy! I was excited to see his room, help him get it set up, and meet his suite mates. As a matter of a fact, the only time I cried was when I mentioned how that day was a cinch compared to what I experienced when Dillon left for the summer.
The big “moving on” chapter for Dillon began shortly after graduation from high school. Each year the U.S. President’s Committee selects two students from each state to be honored as U.S. Presidential Scholars, and Dillon was blessed to have been chosen as one of the Texas scholars for 2012. He was flown to Washington D.C. to receive his award in June.
Since Chris was out of the country on a mission trip, he wasn’t able to be there, but I was able to attend. The scholars stayed together at Georgetown University, so I did not get to see Dillon much once the weekend was underway. The “letting go” moment of my summer came just after we met to go to church in D.C.
In a dark, loud, bustling, underground subway station I had to say goodbye to my son before he left for Africa for the summer. I held on to his strong frame and tears flowed like rain. I told him I was confident in him and the Lord’s leadership in his life — the tears were simply because we would miss him.
As I walked to my hotel I prayed he would make it safely to the Dulles Airport the next day (I would have already departed on my flight from Reagan National Airport). I prayed the Lord would grant him rest on his 32-hour flight with three layovers, one of which was through an African airport we were told to avoid. I prayed he would get the required reading done for the last five required books before entering the missions school. I prayed his body would adjust quickly to the seven-hour time difference and that someone would remember to pick him up from the airport. I prayed he would bond quickly with friends, though he was coming into the program three weeks late and he was the youngest of 300 students there.
God answered all my prayers for Dillon, his flights, and his arrival (Thank you, Father!) Though we had no phone contact with him, he had a half hour of computer access every week or two and was able to send emails. The two times we were able to Skype were a highlight – I loved hearing his laugh as his siblings told stories from the summer.
One other unexpected contact came through Steve Hyde, missionary to Cambodia. While he and his family were visiting McKinney in July, we had them over for dinner. After introducing ourselves and our children, we told him that one of our sons was not here because he was in Mozambique. He then told us he would be in Mozambique in two weeks. He was going to teach at the missions school Dillon was attending! Two weeks later Steve found Dillon, told him he had just been to his home for dinner, then delivered a hug, a card from the family and two bags of pistachios — a favorite snack.
Besides the traumatic D.C. subway farewell, the next big realization of Dillon’s moving on came in July when we moved the kids around to different bedrooms. Since Dillon would not be home much anymore and we expect to add two children through adoption soon, he was demoted from a “prime” real estate room to a small bedroom upstairs. As I took down his pictures from his bulletin board, and emptied his closet, again the tears flowed as my heart grieved over things never being the same.
On August 11th we welcomed him safely home, then enjoyed a wonderful three days as a family before it was time to move him to Baylor.
For all the years I have anticipated the heartache of dropping him off at college, I never expected to be so happy. Chris and I were able to drive him to where he would be staying two hours away, help make his bed and get him settled. He has good food readily available (with which to gain back the twenty-five pounds he lost). Contact is easy – we can text or call anytime. No, I didn’t feel the grief of a big break. I felt the joy of a wonderful visit that ended with my son staying not only on the same continent, but nearby in the same state! Perspective is everything.
Dear Father,
Thank you for your many blessings and the way that you care for every detail of our lives. I thank you for your grace and mercy. I thank you for the opportunities you gave Dillon this summer to know you more and to help others do the same. Thank you for the eighteen years you allowed us to share daily life with him. He is moving on with the vision for his life that you have placed on his heart, and we ask you to bless and protect him on his way to accomplish your will in this world.
by Brenna
Okay, blame this post on mother way past due to see son on other side of world for summer with very little opportunities for contact.
My oldest son, Dillon, spent this summer in Mozambique, Africa at the Iris Ministries Harvest School of Missions. He studied hard (including going to extra classes to learn a new language, Makua). He ate rice and beans…then more rice and beans. He hung onto the sides as he sat in the flat bed of a truck for ten hours each way on bumpy and dusty roads to go into the bush on a medical mission to share the Good News of Christ.
I thank God that this Saturday we had the opportunity to Skype with him for a half hour (well, besides the four times we lost connection). We saw his scruffy beard and his smile and his laugh lifted my soul.
Today I was thinking about his Harvest School of Missions Graduation coming on Thursday. I can’t be there, obviously. But I was able to find online a grand moment we shared in June at his high school graduation. I’m not sure I have ever been more proud of my son, as he boldly and courageously encouraged his audience of over 6,000 persons to “make Jesus [their] only goal and love [their] only motivation.” As I sat in the audience my mind reeled back to prayers we started praying for Dillon before he was even born. God is answering those prayers — working in and through Dillon.
I’m attaching the link (look on the right side of this page, and click on it) if you would like to hear Dillon’s seven-minute speech, which begins ten minutes into the video. He receives his diploma at the twenty-four minute mark. Even if no one views this, I will have this to refer to on my blog! (I almost couldn’t locate this today!)
To watch, you can also paste this into your browser: http://www.mckinneyisd.net/graduation/MBHS_Replay.asp
Lord willing, we will welcome him home this Saturday. We will relish the time with him, then send him off a few days later for college. After the African bush summer, this has got to be easy, right? (Ummm…I might need a gentle reminder of that next week on move-in day.)
by Brenna
Thank you to Neil Lemon for his post on http://www.iliveindallas.com/fun-things-to-do-in-dallas. Below are some exerpts from his post that will give you some ideas on fun things you and your family can do in Dallas this summer:
(Source: http://www.iliveindallas.com/fun-things-to-do-in-dallas)