Glory

 I wrestle with wanting glory. I want to be noticed. I want people to think, "wow, look at her." The praise of man is tempting.  It's alluring. But, it's deceitful. And it's bondage. Bondage to myself. Bondage to man and man's view of me. Bondage to trying to work for man's approval and consequently for my identity. It's exhausting and fleeting and never satisfying. Selfishly, I'm hoping I'm not alone with this struggle. I assume since Scripture talks about "men pleasers" and loving the "praise from men more than the praise from God," that I'm not. Even writing this blog post, I struggle with my motive. How do I fight this ugly temptation to seek glory for myself? Then, this evening, I read this in Revelation:

"At once I was in the Spirit, and behold, a throne stood in heaven, with one seated on the throne. And he who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian, and around the throne was a rainbow that had the appearance of an emerald. Around the throne were twenty-thrones, and seated on the thrones were twenty-four elders, clothed in white garments, with golden crowns on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, and rumblings and peals of thunder, and before the throne were burning seven torches of fire, which are seven spirits of God, and before the throne there was as it were a sea of glass, like crystal."  

The magnitude of God's glory and sole worthiness seeped out of those words and immediately my hunger for self glory seemed like a joke, an embarrassment, a farce. Who am I to compete against the glory of the Lord? While I still don't comprehend the full magnitude of His glory, I think tonight I caught a glimpse. It was humbling. And I'm thankful. I pray that when I'm tempted to pursue my own glory and continue to run into the same dead ends, that these words, this picture of a glory I've never fully grasped, would flood my mind and I would turn away from seeking empty glory for myself and find full freedom in directing all glory to Him who alone is worthy. In that freedom, there is rest. Rest from searching for affirmation through man. Rest from placing my identity in the ebbs and flows of man's fickle nature. And in that freedom there is peace. Peace because Christ is my glory. There is no other glory to be had. It is finished. And all glory belongs to Him who is the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last, the Creator, the Lamb who alone was worthy to rescue us from our sin. And it is to Him that all glory shall be freely given. 

40

 It's been three and a half years since I've put anything on my blog. Does anyone read blogs anymore? I'm just thankful this little piece of my life is still available to revisit and is always open for me to work out my rusty fingers and untangle my jostled thoughts.

Today I turned 40. Many of you have already crossed this threshold and perhaps reminisce fondly of these "younger" years in comparison of where you are now. It's funny how our perspectives change as we age. I'm sure one day I will look back at this and share in that perspective. But today, today, it feels a bit monumental. I entered my thirties with three young children, a new (to us) minivan, and a few gray hairs. We were just beginning our official homeschooling journey. Learning to read and potty training were still activities on my daily schedule. I even had naptime as a regular scheduled event...for the kids of course. While my twenties were a period of big changes: graduating college, getting my first real job, marriage, buying a house, and having kids, my thirties proved to be a period of consistency, with no "big" milestones to measure the decade. It was like a steady plodding along, which sometimes proved hard. Galatians 6:9 became a verse of encouragement during a season where the fanfare of new beginnings had passed and the call to be faithful and persevere in the mundane was my present. "And let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." If I'm being honest, the word weary has been a part of my vocabulary a lot in my thirties. Raising three children is not a glamorous job. It's a wonderful job, but it's not glamorous. Homeschooling three children is not a glamourous job. It's a privilege, but it's not glamorous. You see, in my twenties it was easier to be seen. You're graduating? Awesome, let's throw a party and celebrate. You're getting married? How wonderful! Let's have showers and buy all the pretty things! You're pregnant? Let's do a baby shower and bring you meals. You just bought a house? Let's decorate it and fill it up to make it a home. But after those milestones, the celebrations are fewer and farther between. And a lot of the hard work is waiting. 

I say this not for self pity. It's simply a reality, one we all face in some form or another I'm sure. No one throws a party when your struggling reader finally learns to read. Or that stubborn child finally obeys after hours of a standoff of wills. Or your child gets an A on a math test after so many tears of confusion. There's not much fanfare when you celebrate year after year of faithfully staying true to your marriage covenant. And so my thirties were such where I was challenged to persevere despite being "seen" in ways I was in my twenties. It was a season of pressing on in doing good, not giving up in the planting of all kinds of seeds and trusting that in due season, I would reap. And remembering that often times, while man does not "see" me, the Lord does. El Roi does. I think this was a major theme of my thirties. So I planted a lot. I planted good seeds and I planted, unfortunately, some bad seeds. But I'm thankful I serve a God who can work for the good in my marriage and in my kids and in my other relationships in spite of myself. 

And while my thirties were years that were characterized by persevering, the persevering already has produced good fruit. John's business has thrived over the past ten years, a testimony to the Lord's faithfulness to us in His provision through John's hard work and perseverance. Our children are healthy and growing. As they've matured we've been given opportunities to have good conversations about hard topics. I've had a front row seat to my children developing into young adults. The years I've had with them at home are precious and worth more than any other circumstance could give me. Homeschooling has been hard. It's required more of myself than I'm often willing to give. It's required my children to do hard things that have pushed them out of their comfort zones. But they've grown. I've grown. I've taken on different leadership roles within Classical Conversations in my thirties that have required me to stretch and do things that are uncomfortable to me...like flying solo to Washington D.C and dealing with a busted suitcase that didn't quite make it in one piece (among other things, of greater consequence). My later thirties reminded me I'm not invincible. My body is not immune to sickness. Hearing ovarian cancer was a quick wake up call. No one throws parties for that. Thankfully, after enduring 3 months of the unknown, surgery proved it was not ovarian cancer but a benign growth that was easily removed along with the ovary and fallopian tube. I was definitely celebrating here. And those close to me, they were as well. So while the fanfare may not have been as wide in my thirties, it was definitely deeper and more meaningful. My thirties continued to foster deep friendships with a few faithful friends who I know have my back through thick and thin. And of course, my family continues to be the constant in my life that is there in the big fanfare moments and ever present in the smaller fanfare moments and all those moments in between. 

So I sit, looking back at the past ten years that were very different from my twenties. They were formative years that were often built slowly day in and day out of doing the same things, often things that were not seen by anyone, literally. Most of my time has been spent within the four walls of my home with my three kids. It's not glamorous. It's not noteworthy to most. But I know I was planting. And I trust, as the Lord says, that if I don't grow weary and don't give up, I will reap in due season. And so I enter my 40s, continuing to plant, continuing to hold on to that truth, looking forward to more reaping. I know at the end of this decade, my children will all be adults. My life will look completely different. Homeschooling will be my past. But I will say this....there WILL be fanfare when my kids graduate. I hope my 40s include 3 cruises....an opportunity CC provides for graduating seniors. You better believe we will be celebrating...celebrating we ALL made it through. So, here's to my 40s. May I walk gracefully ahead, trusting the Lord, planting good seeds, and reaping good fruit....and boarding some cruises. 

Disney Disaster

We just got back from the Mouse's House.

THE MOUSE.

The M-I-C-K-E-Y  M-O-U-S-E

Where dreams come true and there's no place happier on the earth.

Well, maybe for some.

You see, this picture here tells only part of our magical story. 

I mean, I hate to complain. It's Disney. It's a dream vacation for some. However, it wasn't for us this time. So when people ask me, "Did you have a great time?!" I have to be honest, ya'll. It was a hot mess of a trip sprinkled throughout with fun.  And while there were lots of fun times, lots to be grateful for, and the kids had a blast (because yay for not having to adult), this is the not so good account because, seriously, you can't make this stuff up. 

And you just have to laugh.

Our story started with Hurricane Irma. It looked like Irma and I both thought September 10th would be a fun time to visit Florida. Apparently the "low" crowds at Disney also appealed to her. So, I did what any reasonable person would do, I called to reschedule. Who wants to wait in line for Peter Pan, with Irma? Based on the wait time over the phone, NOBODY did.

But, it's okay. I'm patient. I will listen to the Disney hold music. I know in the big scheme of life, this is no major deal. People's homes and lives were at stake and I'm just trying to reschedule our trip for the following week. I'll hold. 

3 hours and LOTS of Disney music later, BAM! DONE! We were to leave the following week. Easy Peasy. 

Until...

the following Tuesday, the night before we boarded the plane to the "Happiest Place on Earth," I got a call.

"Mrs. Harman, due to the hurricane, Fort Wilderness Cabins will not be open, please call us back to get a refund or see if we can move you to a different resort."

It's NEVER good to miss a call from Disney. NEVER.

(trust me, this wasn't the last time I missed their call)

Because, if you miss that call, you will have to wait, again, in an invisible "line" of other people who are listening to that same music, who are hoping for the same thing, for that music to stop and for that magical voice to speak.

Well, don't hold your breath. I beat my last record of three hours, by one more hour.

Nailed It.

That's when I met Stanley. Our conversation started well. We talked about the weather, literally. He was eager to help me. He informed me we could easily switch to the Art of Animation (one of his favs he told me).

Except....

he then informed me we could only stay there until Saturday (our plane didn't leave until Monday).

There was no other room available in ALL OF DISNEY for us to go. 

That was the word on the street.

Homeless.

Fast fast forward another hour and lots of pleas to help us find a place to stay, Stanley came through.

Art of Animation for three nights, Fort Wilderness Cabins, the last two nights.

We'll take it. Thank you Stanley.

We were Disney Bound the next morning.

While, presently, our lodging issues were solved, another issue emerged. My eye. I woke up with what had to be a scratched cornea. It was a red, watery mess that cowered in the presence of any light. Hoping by the next day, our first day at the parks, it would be better, I sported my ten year old crooked red glasses to the airport (I explained to the kind lady who sat next to me on the plane that I DIDN'T have pink eye just to ease her likely uneasy mind). Even cooler, I managed to wear my sunglasses OVER my glasses to stand a fighting chance against the light that flooded into the Magical Express Bus that picked us up at the airport to take us to the Art of Animation.

I'm glad my kids aren't too cool yet to be embarrassed by their mom wearing glasses AND sunglasses at the same time.

While I couldn't see well out of my one I, I still managed to notice a sea of emergency vehicles and workers upon our arrival at the Art of Animation with my good eye. While others whispered what could be going on, I immediately returned to my conversation with Stanley the night before who had informed me the reason there was "no vacancy" in all of Disney(I still don't believe it) was because of the doctors and nurses they were housing to help with the hurricane. I assumed they must have been housing EMT workers too and policemen. 

Amateurs, I have the inside scoop thanks to Stanley, I thought.

A quick message from a friend outside the Disney bubble informed me otherwise when she sent me an article about our very resort at that very moment we arrived and asked if everything was okay.

The building next to ours had been evacuated because it appeared a meth lab was being run out of it. 

One man was arrested.

Awesome.

Thankfully though, we were oblivious at the time and enjoyed perhaps the most heart stopping ride of our whole trip on the Disney Bus to Disney Springs for dinner. If the driver's goal was to prepare us for Test Track the next day, job well done. We managed to arrive in one piece (I'm not going to lie, I said a prayer for safety) at Disney Springs and did not have the same driver on a much more calm ride back.

My hopes that the next day would bring a healed eye weren't fulfilled. I woke up to my eye almost swollen shut. Determined to have the most magical day EVER, I did a few eye exercises, slipped a contact in it, and donned my sunglasses and kept my head low (thankfully the meth maker was already arrested because if not, I definitely would have looked suspicious). I occasionally took the glasses off only to wipe the water that seemed to gush out....and to take a picture with Mickey, Minnie, and Goofy. I looked awful and vowed to keep them on, whether inside or outside. 

"I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" carried a whole new meaning.

Thankfully, the next morning my eye was holding its own and I could walk without Hannah leading me by the hand. This was especially good since Friday would be our worst Disney day.

It started out great. I didn't have to wear my sunglasses indoors, it was our visit to The Magic Kingdom (my favorite), there were no complaints.

Then, while taking a joyful ride through The Haunted Mansion (figures I should get THE CALL while in here), my phone rings. The "Lake Buena Vista" under the number gave it away that it indeed was Disney. I knew right away this was not good but couldn't pick up because the noise on the ride was too loud. I should have done it anyways.

The message left resembled the one I received Tuesday. Fort Wilderness Cabins was still not opened and we would need to get a refund or they would try to place us at another resort. 

Homeless again.

She said she'd call me back in two hours (she never did) or I could call Guest Services but it would be a LONG wait.

So, there, at the Magic Kingdom, we began our third time on hold with Disney. I wasn't feeling so patient this time. The music was just out right annoying and the smiling faces walking by left me bitter. So much for a happy heart.  We found a place to eat where we could plug in our phone....and wait. And wait we did. After 30 minutes, the music stopped. Someone was ready to talk to me. I was elated. However, after explaining our situation AGAIN the gal informed me it didn't look like there was any place for us to go. But if ANYONE could help, it would be Guest Services but I would be on hold for awhile. 

So, we waited, again.

John and I switched phone holding duties while the other took the kids on a ride. We did this for three hours. 

We walked all over The Magic Kingdom listening to that same music, praying someone would JUST.PICK.UP.

And someone finally did. 

"I can't help you with that," she told me. I was almost in tears. Because we were already on property this had to be handled by the resort, she had explained. I resorted to begging, explaining that the lady told us to remain on hold because they COULD help us.

"Please let me talk to someone who can help us," I begged.

She told me there was no one and that we had to go back to the resort for help.

"Have a Magical Day."

Yeah.

Thankfully, in the midst of this, John found two WONDERFUL ladies who COULD and WANTED to help us at the Magic Kingdom Guest Services. I think my almost tearful face while holding the phone to my ear and the three kids looking cute with their Disney hats, helped. 

The kids and I headed to Hollywood Studios without John while he waited for a conclusion to the madness.

"It's fixed," he texted me a short bit later.

Just.Like.That. 

We get to stay at the meth lab, I mean, Art of Animation.

The cast member who helped us gave us tickets to the Halloween party and a gift card for our troubles. Bright spot.

And so, our day ended on a good note.

3 different reservation numbers though and multiple changes on the computer managed to leave lingering consequences...

We received free dining with the vacation package we bought six months ago. We got a certain number of meal credits for our stay. However, with the multiple switching of reservations, we lost them (along with our bus reservation to take us back to the airport, we got that fixed finally too). We found out the hard way the following day as we went to scan those magical bands and hear "Oh you don't have any more meal credits." Thankfully the kind lady who helped us the day before was a text away and after we paid full price she credited our account and reimbursed us. 

She's the true hero of our story.

As we continued to recover from the fog of the day before, John realized he needed to recover from motion sickness of the present day. Not as spry as he used to be, John fell victim to the sudden jerks, twists, and turns of many of the thrill rides from the day. 

We head back to the resort for a bit of rest and some fun at the pool.

"Make sure you wear shoes," I tell them all as we prepare to head to the pool.

No one heeds my advice.

John pays dearly for it.

The bottom of his feet were burned. 

Using what we had, we rubbed Chapstick over the forming blisters in hopes, maybe, just maybe, it would help ease the discomfort just enough so he could go with us to the Animal Kingdom.

Well, I'll go ahead and tell you, Chapstick won't do the trick.

So, the non thrill seeking mom, heads to The Animal Kingdom to ride Expedition Everest, again, with my thrill seeking kids (well Hannah is a semi thrill seeker) along with the other rides. 

I told them as we inched up the incline AGAIN that they should never doubt my love for them. 

John had remained laid out on the bed hoping tomorrow would be different. Thankfully, it was.

Sunday, our last day, was our most non eventful day. But we were tired. All of us. But we pressed on because tonight was The Halloween Party. And while we were thankful for the free tickets (they aren't cheap) it was so crowded and the lines were so long for candy and to meet characters that we decided, after everyone had half a bag full of candy, and we rode Space Mountain AGAIN to end our Disney vacation with a Dole Whip. It was on our list to do since we had never had one.

The Dole Whip was a great way to go out. It was delicious. It may have been one of my favorite things about Disney.

The Dole Whip.

It was redeeming.

That cold, sweet, MAGICAL, goodness.

It was good to us. 

It was like a long refreshing hug, whereafter we breathed a long sigh of relief

because

Disney was Done. 

A Letter to Molly

Dear Molly,

Happy birthday. Three years under the Harman Hood is something quite colossal to celebrate, considering what all we've been through.

Like this,

Just six short months into your life and BAM! you're wearing a cone, purple tail "cast" and sentenced to six weeks behind bars, crate bars that is, with little hope beyond that.

But you didn't realize who had your back...well pelvis more specifically. Thanks to Grant who said, "we'll pray for her everyday," in response to your bleak prognosis, your ominous future turned promising. While the x rays showed no healing, your behavior did.

And while we laugh and call you the "Miracle Dog," perhaps you are. Because while we were so thankful for your recovery, our answered prayer, it hasn't quite been a cake walk since then and yet, here you STILL are.

Here you are after multiple escapades through the neighborhood, with four of us in hot pursuit.

 You're stubborn Molly, really stubborn.

Because even with cajoling with treat laden hands or simply the perseverance of the four of us who refuse to leave you all alone in unknown territory, you remain faithful to whatever has caught your eye, or nose, while remaining oblivious to our calculated strategies. 

In fact, you've caused me to resort to embarrassing techniques that I'd be ashamed to confess to the Dog Whisperer. Techniques that include growling deeply while saying your name in hopes to transform me into the Alpha. Or sprinting toward you hoping to scare you into surrender. I've unsuccessfully tried to corner you but, well, that pelvis healed just fine because your moves are NFL worthy.

Mine are apparently not.

For certain, the neighborhood has seen me at my worst when tracking you. Not only is my temper being tested and put on public display, so is my fashion. You see, it appears you like to run off early in the morning, leaving me with no choice but to follow in my pajamas, with no makeup, and wearing boots so that I might have a fighting chance against all those briars you weave through and the mud you always seem to find.

So, there I am, three kids following me, growling, uncombed hair, pajamas, sometimes a coat, and rain boots, that sometime turn into track shoes when I must resort to the ole sprinting technique. It's really not helping our homeschool image.

And yet, to you, it's all fun and games, like that time you hid under our neighbor's hot tub deck for, maybe hours. All the while, I'm trying to corral you out not realizing at the same time Kate is being devoured (okay not really DEVOURED) by fire ants leading me to "pants" poor Kate, thus making an already awkward situation MORE awkward. 

But, you're our miracle dog.

You've run off a couple of times that we did give up on you, well I did, and maybe Kate and Grant. I left your fate up to Facebook. But as Hannah waited patiently (and tearfully) on our back patio, I assured her you'd be back. And back you came. I mean, you survived being smashed by a car with a slim chance of living and yet, you survived. You were covered in so many prayers I think you'll be around for a long, LONG time.

Yes Molly, it's really just amazing I haven't given up on you. I know I've said some hurtful things to you, like, I'm ready to get rid of you, among other more severe words.

I may have muttered these words after that time you threw up on our stairs and then somehow managed to do the same on Hannah's head.

Or it could have been after one of the multiple times you've found a way to relieve yourself in the house.

Or those many, many times you randomly throw up.

I'll try not to ruminate on the time you ate MY. WHOLE. CHICK FIL A. SANDWICH. when I left a few brief moments to answer the door.

Really Molly?

And don't get me started on the late nights after I take you out and you come back in only to sprint up the stairs and jump into Kate's bed. Like I wouldn't notice Molly. You ruined your chance to sleep with the kids after peeing in Kate's bed. She promises it was drool but you and I both know NOTHING drools THAT much.

And taking you on a walk, well, that's sheer torture, literally. If you're not yanking my arm off, my hand is subject to leash burn because of the tight grip I must keep in order to practice the "Cesar Milan Control." I think it's all a farce.

Listen, all of this makes your drinking out of the toilet and trying to lick the dirty dishes in the dishwasher child's play and not even noteworthy.

Yes Molly, you've miraculously made it three years, and by miraculously I don't mean simply because you survived being run over. You survived ME. Be thankful the kids love you. Be thankful you're cute. And be thankful that like all of us, you mellow with age. I think I will truly call you man's best friend after about six more years pass..as long as you still maintain control over your bladder.

Here's to many more adventurous years, Molly and then, many, MANY unadventurous years.

Love,

Jessica

9 Years Old

Hannah:

Hebrew name meaning favor, grace

The Lord has shown us favor and grace through you, Hannah, over the past 9 years.

Here's what else I know about you:

H elper: you are always willing to help and usually do so                    without hesitating. What a blessing!

A rtistic: you love to create and design. You're growing in                    drawing skills and full of new ideas!

N eighborly: you are kind to new faces and thoughtful to 

                    their feelings. 

N ature-loving: you love to be outdoors, whether it's 

                         building a fort in the woods or playing 

                         kick ball with your friends. You enjoy 

                         nature and its beauty.

A musing: you have quite the sense of humor and enjoy to laugh

                and make other people laugh!

H appy: you are so happy and I'm thankful for that. You often 

             have a smile on your face and enjoy life.

Oh sweet Hannah, we are so thankful for you. May the Lord continue to cultivate in you a love for Him and His Word. What a privilege it is to do life with you. You've taught me so much and continue to do so. I love you more than any words could express.

Happy 9th Birthday!