We all get them, almost every day. Some well-meaning friends just can’t resist forwarding those sappy, corny, goofy, important stories. Their mouse fingers are itchier than Wyatt Earp’s trigger finger, and before you know it…zap! From their inbox to yours.

I must confess that I really love the delete key. It is one of the most-used keys on my keyboard. But I also must confess that I cannot (usually) leave mail unopened, so I take a split-second peek at every message before consigning it to electronic oblivion.

Since we are on the mend here, but not quite arrived, I am going to bless you with a couple of the better forwards I have recently received. Sorry there is no delete key for my weblog…you’ll just have to close the window real fast. But promise that you won’t consign me to electronic oblivion, please?

FORWARD #1:
Here is a poem a friend sent me that a public-schooled student wrote. The student is from Baghdad, Arizona.

Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.

If scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytme my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.

Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That’s no offense; it’s a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.

For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.
In silence alone we must meditate,
God’s name is prohibited by the state.

We’re allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
Pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks.
They’ve outlawed guns, but first the BIBLE.
To quote the GOOD BOOK makes me liable.

We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the unwed daddy our Senior King.
It’s inappropriate to teach right from wrong,
We’re taught that such judgments do not belong.

We can get our condoms and birth controls,
Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed,
No word of GOD must reach this crowd.

It’s scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school’s a mess.
So Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; my soul please take! Amen

FORWARD #2:
A woman named Emily, renewing her driver’s license at the County Clerk’s office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. “What I mean is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job, or are you just a …..?”

“Of course I have a job,” snapped Emily. “I’m a mother.”

“We don’t list ‘mother’ as an occupation…’housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.” “What is your occupation?” she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. “I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right.

I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

“Might I ask,” said the clerk with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, “I have a continuing program of research, in the laboratory and in the field. I’m working for my Masters, and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day. But the job is more
challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants – ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than “just another mother.”

Motherhood…..What a glorious career! Especially when there’s a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers “Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations” and great grandmothers Executive Senior Research Associates”? I think so!!! I also think it makes Aunts “Associate Research Assistants.”

P.S. If you’ve read this far and you’re feeling frustrated at not being able to forward these wonderful stories to all your friends and relatives, then just send them a link to my weblog .

Still suffering here. A little more sleep last night, so I’m reading aloud to the kiddos today, trying to avoid so many videos. We started The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis.

One passage from our reading today struck me as a good explanation of why Potter is bad, Narnia is good (for more on this discussion, take a peek at the archives.)

Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole are discussing how they might find their way out of their horrible school, into Narnia. He says, “…And I can’t help wondering, can we–could we–?”

“Do you mean, do something to make it happen?”

Eustace nodded.

“You mean we might draw a circle on the ground–and write things in queer letters in it–and stand inside it–and recite charms and spells?”

“Well,” said Eustace after he had thought hard for a bit. “I believe that was the sort of thing I was thinking of, though I never did it. But now that it comes to the point, I’ve an idea that all those circles and things are rather rot. I don’t think he’d like them. It would look as if we thought we could make him do things. But really, we can only ask him.”

In Narnia, Aslan-God is in control…in Potterville, He’s not.

We’ve been attacked!

No, it’s not a repeat of “The War of the Worlds,” but we are definitely under attack…from germs! The Friedrich clan has had, is having or will soon have an intestinal virus. Half down, half to go. As my son Pieter reminded me, if the Martians do ever attack, these germs will come in handy.

Just in time for the stronger stomachs, we received a recent order from BookCloseouts.com with several Eyewitness Books, including one on epidemics. Have you ever seen a close-up view of a louse or an intestinal parasite? Yuck! We also got books from the same DK series on presidents, first ladies, the American Revolution, the Civil War, Shakespeare, the wild West, Medieval life and buildings.

While we’ve been ill, I’ve been grateful to have on hand some Tri-Light Herbs, especially ones which deal with tummy trouble, including Anti Dia Tribe for my baby and Tummy Plus. I have the 8-oz. size bottles with flip-top caps. This company is run by a nice family in Nevada City, California…I ordered over the phone and received my order less than 48 hours later!

I first heard of Tri-Light Herbs from Shonda Parker whose book A Naturally Healthy Family has also been a big help while we’ve been sick.

Last night, while sitting on the cold floor of the bathroom with a very sick child, I prayed to God, thanking Him for the opportunity to serve my family. Now I’m praying that I can keep that attitude for the next few days. I’m still thinking of Puddleglum, down in the dark Underworld…there is a sun!

Some pictures of my day…the handsome young man who is hurrying past is my son Pieter, who organized the teen rally at the California state capitol.

God in His mercy withheld the rain until the moment we climbed in our van to leave. It was supposed to rain all morning. Several hundred people were there to protest and remember. I wore black.

The craven hid away in the marble building, ignoring the organized tumult outside. We prayed and cried and talked and marched. There was a young woman who is now a mother of a 6-year-old daughter who almost didn’t have the chance to live. There was a young man who is not a father and wishes he was. There were lots of women present, despite the evil mantra of a “woman’s right to choose.”

I hugged my little baby very tightly.

I smiled back at those who were bold enough to make eye contact with their glares.

My little boys wanted to know when they could “fight” abortion. They know that’s what their big brothers do. “We’re doing it right now,” I explained. We will keep fighting for those precious lives, because it’s the right thing to do.

Read some more about why it is the right thing to do.