Samuel Eisenhower…

When we first arrived in Kansas City, and were just beginning to be directed to move here, OJ and I visited the prayer room together.  When we walked in and sat down, the Lord began to speak about the baby I was carrying.  It was a little confusing to me, because at the time, I was sure I had a little girl inside!  But I heard the Lord call him a “Samuel,” because this little one would be set apart at a young age to hear and speak the Word of the Lord clearly.  Later, a dear friend sent me this verse she’d read as she prayed for us…

Acts 3:24 (New International Version)

I don’t think Scotland believes in summer.  Spring, yes.  You know, April showers and May flowers and all that sort of thing.  They’re down with that.  But summer?  No.  Sunblock?  Air conditioning?  Swimming suits?  Who needs it?  Wasteful, very, very wasteful.  Leave all that to the Spanish.  We prefer sheep and all the wool that comes with them.

I apologize if that sounded harsh or judgemental in any way.  It’s actually so lovely here, I just don’t want to make anybody jealous by describing it, especially any of you who might be currently experiencing the kind of humid heat that only American midwesterners understand…  It really is lovely, but it’s just not hot.  Nor does it intend to be.  The beach is here, the tank tops are in stores, the people are poised for fun and games, it’s just not hot.  And for intensely pregnant people, that’s a good thing.  Those aforementioned pregnant people should learn not to complain, eh? 

Actually, we just returned from two weeks in Germany, and it was quite hot.  We were just outside of a town called Herrnhut  in Eastern Germany, and to get to town we had to climb a hill nicknamed “Slow Death” in honor of all the farmers who died pulling their wares up it.  That’ll teach pregnant people not to complain.  Or to complain.  One or the other.  

There’s so much to say about our trip to Herrnhut, many long and intensely insightful blogs are in order.  But me and my belly are still at the stage of falling asleep every time I get near any piece of furniture soft and larger than me, so instead of those nice, inspirational blogs, for now I’m just holding off the “blog-guilt” (a term I just stole from my sister) with some comedy at the expense of pregnant people and Scots.  My apologies if you fall into either of those categories. 

Speaking of the belly, an update is in order.  “Angel baby,” who is due some attention, is currently almost 25 weeks old, and according to extensive research on the web, about a foot long and weighing about 1 1/2 lbs.  She (maybe?) is kicking up a storm, and is moving all over the place.  She has an aversion to doctors, and so we haven’t been able to convince her to go yet.  She says she wants to wait til she’s in America, where the price is right, and I quite agree.  On a serious note, a healthy pregnancy is not something to take for granted, as I’ve seen how very hard it is when friends have had difficult ones.  I am so, so thankful to God for the health of this pregnancy that allows me to be so relaxed about it.  It really is a gift, and all those related to Angel Baby can rest assured that if there were any concerns, it would be very easy to address them immediately.  So…there’s the update.  We don’t know if baby’s a boy or girl, and we don’t have a name yet either way.  All reasonable suggestions welcome!

OJ’s dad, Duncan, just celebrated his 60th birthday, and it was so fun to take some time to think about how much we love him and Patty, and to honor him…it got me thinking about my parents, too… so here’s a little blog to you, Mom and Dad!

1) Constant encouragement…one of the most common injustices we find as we pray for folks is the witholding of verbal blessing and encouragement from parents.  My parents let it pour out on me, all through the years!

2) Raising us in the city of Chicago.  My parents are from the part of America everyone wants to go to, not leave, namely California.  Instead of making millions in real estate like everybody who stayed, they left to raise us in the absence of everything that made sense, just out of obedience to the Lord.  They taught us not to figure out the nicest plan, but to obey the Lord.  And in turn, God’s shown their kids more of this beautiful globe than they probably could have imagined!

3)  Mom’s neverending ideas.  My mom’s so filled with passion and ideas, I don’t know anybody who can keep up with her.

 4)  Dad’s joy over his kids/grandkids.  I can’t wait for the look on his face next time he sees Ariel and Judah!!!

5)  Remembering Dad singing, “Trust and obey, there is no other way, to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey…”

6)  Remembering Mom’s tall corn, fruit trees, and tomato plants growing in that tiny yard in the middle of the city

7)  Dad preaching the Word.

8)  Mom’s cooking better in 15 min than most people in a half day…

9)  Annie’s driving now, and it reminds me of how normal my parents thought it was to be completely inconvenienced and expensed for our mobility…

10)  Mom’s taste for finer music and pulling out the china and Dad’s Ivy League education, and the flip side…Mom’s tupperware collection of cool whip containers, and Dad licking his plate!  HA!  We certainly must be the whitest folks to find ourselves in that famous work of literature and hallmark of our home library, Sckraight from the Ghetto.  Love you, Mom and Dad!

 P.S.  Sckraight from the Ghetto is a book by Bertice Berry that helps to identify certain traits common to people reared in the American inner city, and explains much of my childhood, and the paradoxes of the Petersons.  It is available on Amazon, and I do not recommend it at all, except for a little bit. 

The Wee Ones

Scots are so kind to kids.  We noticed as soon as we got there that instead of receiving annoyed glares, the kids were smiled at and enjoyed.  A friend here told me that they have a custom of putting money into the prams of strangers as they stroll their babies around.  I think Judah is a little too manly with his broad vocabulary, massive volume, and tendency to announce that he is in charge (literally—“I in charge!”) to attract any funds this way, but I try to use the stroller just in case.  

We have had personal experience of the pro-child climate, though.  For instance, we stopped at a gas station, and I ran a sleepy Ariel in for a potty stop.  I could tell from the moment I asked the question that there was no public bathroom at this station, but the ladies just looked at each other and said, “Is it for the wee one?  Oh, well, let me get the key…” and then led me back through a bunch of doors and storage.  And of course, we exited with several sweet comments and verbal caresses for my little redhead, most of which I couldn’t quite catch. You can drive ten miles down the road and suddenly find the accents totally incomprehensible.  I don’t know why the differences arise so suddenly.

Another time, Judah was losing it after a “day off” in the city of Ayr.  We were trying to take a fun day with the team, but it turns out the Ayr is for shoppers and café goers, which Judah and Ariel are not, and so Judah was in a high chair causing a ruckus at a coffee shop.  A lovely lady just walked right over to him from her nearby seat, and began to talk to him her sweet Scottish talk, mixing some general pleasantries with nonsense with gentle scolding, and utterly holding his attention.  “Tha’s right,” she said.  “Sometimes et just takes a defferent voice, and ma funny accent, and so you must be good, wee lad…” She smiled at us once he was calm and went back to her seat.  I sometimes think that even if for no other reason, God’s got a special blessing for Scotland.