A New Season And A New Blog

After a long hiatus -- and my sincere apologies for that -- I launched a new Sabo family blog in June 2014. There's more kids, more stories, more changes, more faith, more fun. Basically a lot more of more. Hop on over to 14kids.blogspot.com for more entertainment, insight, thoughts on faith, raising kids, homeschooling, public school, church and a cornucopia of other musings. As incentive, here's a link to my latest post:

http://14kids.blogspot.com/2014/08/cooking-dinner-for-multitudes-or-dinner.html

God bless you all!

--Matt

Raising Kingdom Children: Some Thoughts

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." --Prov. 22:6

Our expectations for our children should be that they will love the Lord and pursue Him and forsake the things of this world to walk alongside Christ and fulfill His calling on their lives. Too often we see parents with low expectations for their children. Many parents think their kids are just fine because they aren't doing the things they were doing when they were teens such as drinking, drugs, sex, or whatever sin they were engaging in. Is that our standard? Really? Try measuring up your children to God's standards, with the first standard being loving the Lord with all their heart, mind, soul and strength. Praise God if that's what's going on in your child's heart. If not, no matter how "good" they are it's not good enough!

I even heard a pastor say once in a men's study that he is just planting seeds in his boys and when they rebel against God as teens he hopes they will have something to fall back onto in their 20s! I wasn't much for that men's study after those words of anti-wisdom (I just made that word up, in case you noticed). We need to expect our children will love the Lord and, most importantly, follow through by discipling them and modeling a faithful walk with Christ and showing our dependence on Him in our own lives. Do your children ever see you reading your Bible? Do they ever see you praying? Do they ever hear you talking about the Lord and his grace, mercy, faithfulness and everlasting love? Do they ever hear you talking about making decisions based on what the Lord is speaking to you in prayer and in His word, and not trying to do things in your own strength?

Fathers, be leaders in your families and lead your children to Christ by following Christ. Love and obey God unconditionally. Receive His mercy and be merciful in return. Be humble. Love others. Serve others, starting in your own family. Make disciples, starting with your children.

Sunrise in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina

A few minutes before sunrise this morning I snapped this photo at Morse Park Landing in the coastal town of Murrells Inlet, South Carolina. I had Judah in the backpack -- he thought 6 a.m. was wakeup time this morning so we decided to take a drive -- on a pleasant 52-degree morning, on a day we're heading for the 70s. On Dec. 21, no less.

We are vacationing down here for the week at a resort with an indoor pool, a 9-hole putt putt golf course, running paths and a nearby state park with a splendid beach on the Atlantic Ocean. It's a lovely spot and we are thoroughly enjoying our vacation, even if the putt putt golf is getting quite competitive and my team lost 6-5 to the vaunted trio of Abram, Madeline and Eli at a nearby soccer field yesterday.

It never ceases to amaze me the beauty of God's creation. The sun rising beyond the Atlantic Ocean over the salt marsh in a quiet little fishing hamlet was perfectly peaceful. Thanks Judah, for giving me a spectacular early start to the day.

Wiffle Ballapalooza: East vs. West

Brenton Sabo

Parker Smith

Taylor Sabo

Matt Sabo

Ethan Sabo

It was late August on a sultry afternoon with a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees above us when two irresistible forces of nature collided in Gloucester. Perhaps you're recalling how the 5.8 magnitude earthquake and Hurricane Irene struck just days apart, rending earth, trees and homes alike. You would be thinking flat wrong. It was no force of literal nature that collided, but rather forces of unnatural strength, power and dizzying speed that crossed paths. It was the long anticipated matchup discussed literally for years, talked about by pundits, dissected endlessly by commentators and broken down at length on the cyberpages of Facebook. Yes, it was the vaunted "East Vs. West Wiffle Ball Matchup of the Century" at Sabo Field at Courthouse Square. Gloucester may never be the same.

The game was in a round-robin format, mano a mano, pitcher vs. batter with 2 fielders. The friendly confines of Sabo Field would settle once and for all who plays the better brand of Wiffle ball. Would it be the newcomers from the West, who talk smack with the best of 'em and had to beef up their lineup by taking Brenton Sabo on loan from the East? Or would it be the vaunted team from the East featuring a player in the twilight of his career and two young, stout arms in the prime of their youth? The matchup consisted of the aforementioned power-hitting Brenton Sabo and his trusty slinging-n-hitting sidekick Parker Smith, a brawny young man better known perhaps for his starring role playing the prophet Habakkuk in a production that can still be seen on Youtube (Google "Sesame Street Habakkuk" and you'll be in for a treat). Facing them were yours truly, a 42-year-old soft-tossing, wily veteran who's been playing Wiffle ball for 35 years or so and the dynamic brotherly duo of Ethan and Taylor Sabo with electric arms and dazzling bats.

Every player faced every other player as both hitter and batter. The game featured Gold Glove caliber fielding, jaw dropping bombs rocketing off the bat (Sorry neighbors!) and pitching that, in some cases, defied the laws of physics to the point that MIT is sending down a team of top-notch nerds armed with video cameras, slide rules, laptops and pocket protectors to determine how exactly some pitches literally enter new dimensions of time and space.

In the end, it was something of a draw, as the top two run-scorers were from the West and East. Some things are indisputable. Brenton and Old Man Sabo scored the most runs. But they also gave up the most runs. Brenton can still wield a mean glove in the field. So can Ethan. Taylor swings for the fences. If he connects, look out. Parker wields a strong bat and the East teamers grudgingly admit he can pitch.

We do, however, hold these truths to be self-evident:

1) Brenton may look funny at the plate, but leave the ball up at your own peril. Brenton at the plate is a cross between Kevin Youkilis and Craig Counsell. He holds the bat high, wagging it around as he sort of wags his hips, then comes steady as the pitcher hurls the ball at him. Hitting left-handed, Brenton launched one shot into straightaway center that nearly hit the roof -- of our neighbor's house. I'm sure I heard someone say, "Houston we have liftoff!" He, uh, struggles at the mound, however. There's a divot about 20 feet in front of home plate where Brenton routinely drilled the ball into the ground as he was pitching. One time Ethan hit a nice rocket into center field off one of those bounces.

2) As noted before, Parker can pitch. His slider is pretty nasty. He's deceptively fast. For a beefy guy, he's more a slap hitter and uses his surprising speed to motor around the bases. But make him labor as a pitcher and he can get in trouble. He's not an innings eater, but is pretty solid for 1-3 innings. The East players freely admit that if he comes up in free agency, we'd snatch him in a heartbeat. That's about the highest compliment a West Coast player can get, in case you're wondering.

3) Taylor has struggled this year finding his release point and pitches. When Taylor can locate and has his pitches working, fuhgeddaboutit. He did seem to have some elbow issues, until he popped some ibuprofen during the middle of the game. He seemed to get more life on his fastball after that and started inducing grounders. At the plate he swings for the fences. He's not looking to stroke a single anywhere. He wants to tear another hole in the ball. Unfortunately for me, sometimes he actually succeeds.

4) As for me, well, I'm just hanging on. If my forkball isn't working, I'm in big trouble. Taylor and Brenton each scored 5 runs off me in one inning, I believe. I had to go to the chiropractor the next day because my neck was so sore from watching balls fly over our roof.

5) Ethan is absolutely dominant on the hill. It's not even close. He put up some pitching statistics that absolutely boggle, stagger and even blow the mind. Try this one on for size, for example: In 10 innings pitched while the West Coast team was in the 'hood, he did not give up a single hit. Not one. The only thing I can compare that to is Don Larsen's perfect game in Game 5 of the 1956 World Series. Ethan registered more than 20 K's. We had so many forward and backward K's hanging on the fence that makes the short porch in right field we had to run to the store to get more paper. Parker thought about retiring at the top of his game after he simply put a ball in play against Ethan. I would have loved to have put a ball in play against him. The challenge for the MIT guys will be figuring how Ethan's fastball gets so much giddyup on it as it crosses the plate. That thing literally comes in fat and then jumps out of the strike zone as if it's possessed with some sort of bat-avoiding properties. It's like fishing with dynamite. It's not fair. Then he has this changeup that pretty much stops in front of the plate. I threw out my back once waving at it.

In the end, it was determined that nothing was settled. The only thing settled was that a rematch looms in the offing.

Judah Benjamin Sabo Then And Now

On May 6, Judah Benjamin Sabo entered the world. He's been a pretty popular guy around our house ever since. His birth was a miraculous event, in my estimation. He's the product of a very difficult pregnancy for Julie, marked by gestational diabetes, insulin shots, sleeplessness, stress ... and at the end a very difficult birth. She began bleeding the night of May 5th. Nothing too serious, but worrisome nevertheless. In conversations with the doctor he at first advised her to stay home and rest. But I believe it was around 1 a.m. or 2 a.m. -- maybe a little later; at that time of night what's really the difference between an hour or two? -- that she woke me and said it was time to go to the hospital, even though she wasn't in labor.

We arrived at the hospital at 3 or 4 a.m. and she was doing fine for a while. So was Judah. The plan was for Julie to go ahead and have Judah naturally and to let the birthing process take its course. But around 8 a.m. suddenly things went downhill. Judah's heartbeat couldn't be found and Julie crashed as well, going faint. It seemed an eternity as nurses and doctors rushed into the room and an oxygen mask was placed on Julie that we couldn't hear Judah's heartbeat. It had been so strong at 138 beats a minute, a steady pulsing that signified a healthy baby. Minutes seemed to go by and I watched it at the end of the bed, out of the way of all the commotion, my own heart fluttering and a sense of dread. I did what only I could do in that moment and that was to pray.

I remember praying that I knew God had a plan in all of this but I told Him I didn't know if I was strong enough to face losing my son. And as I watched Julie as she appeared to be in a fog I asked God to save them both. In the scramble suddenly I heard Judah's heartbeat, about 70 beats a minute, weak but a sweet sound. The doctor came to me and told me they were taking Julie in for an emergency c-section. He thought things would be fine and that it appeared Julie and baby were stabilized. They wheeled her away and I waited, alone in prayer.

Maybe a half-hour later the doctor reappeared. Another Sabo had entered the world. He told me that the umbilical cord was wrapped around Judah's neck and in a knot. As he was descending in the birth canal, the cord was stretching and the knot was tightening. If he had been born vaginally, he wouldn't have made it, the doctor said. Julie had her own complications. She hemorrhaged in the recovery room and had a reaction to the anesthesia. For hours the nurses had to keep waking her up because she would fall asleep and quit breathing. It wasn't until about four hours later that I was able to see her. She was still groggy and twice while I was in the room with her she fell asleep and quit breathing.

The doctor, when he was speaking to me just after the birth, told me how another 20 minutes and we might not have either Julie or Judah with us. He told me how lucky we were. No, it wasn't that. "I was praying," I said.

Julie is doing just fine. She's as busy as ever and Judah keeps her quite occupied. Judah is growing into a stout young Sabo, or as stout as a Sabo can be. He's starting to laugh and is reaching out for things. This evening I was holding him and went in the back yard with the little boys and Olivia. Eli started kicking a soccer ball around. Judah watched him and started laughing. Then I joined in and started playing a game with Eli and Gabe while still holding Judah. We've never heard Judah laugh so hard.

A Sabo Sampler of Summer Photos & Thoughts on Irene

Here we are a couple of days after Hurricane Irene blew through Gloucester. We did just fine and praise God it wasn't as powerful as advertised. Brenton is visiting and brought a friend with him from Oregon, Parker Smith, we have Lauren Mealey (a 22-year-old friend from Corvallis) living with us this summer, and Anna joined us for the hurricane party. So if my fingers and toes are correct, that was 18 people under one roof for Hurricane Irene. What a night. I am quite positive I wouldn't want to be around for a category 2 or 3 blow. Three trees went down in our vicinity, including one on the neighbor's roof, but major damage was avoided and no one was hurt. We lost power for 14 hours -- fortunately we are on the county water system and have a gas stove and water heater -- and everyone slept downstairs because I was worried about trees falling on our house. Literally, the floor was covered with people on mattresses.

As you can see, Judah is with us. He's a splendid chap, quite popular with his brothers and sisters, and is just now starting to laugh and jabber somewhat in his own distinctive lingo. He was born May 6 under traumatic circumstances, for both him and Julie. God is good, however. At one point the doctor told me that if Julie hadn't had an emergency c-section, we may have lost both of them in another 20 minutes. Julie is doing well, as you can see, and so is Judah. He spends a lot of time being carried around, believe it or not.

Last week was quite crazy. We had an earthquake that struck about 80 miles or so from here -- a 5.8 temblor -- on Tuesday, that rattled the house and nerves. I was in the courthouse and at first thought the folks at Camp Peary across the river (a mysterious CIA camp) were blowing up things again. But it kept shaking and in fact shaking more vigorously. When I poked my head out the door I saw people running for the exits and hollering something about an earthquake. The last quake of note in Virginia occurred in 1897, to give you an idea of how infrequently these things happen here. Then Irene blew in on Saturday. I went shopping on Thursday in advance of the storm and it looked like there had been wide scale looting in the store. No water was to be found anywhere, entire shelves were cleaned out, the place was packed ... it was wild. The gas stations had long lines of people filling up containers for fuel for generators (a staple for homeowners in these parts) and by Friday you could see people hauling furniture and family belongings out of low-lying areas along the rivers.

Irene proved to be a lot of hype, however, and not nearly as destructive as feared. I am thankful for that. My prayer throughout the hurricane, which started blowing in earnest Saturday morning and continued to about daylight Sunday morning, with continuous sheets of rain, was that the Lord would keep us safe, not allow any trees to fall on our house, and to keep our neighbors and those in our community safe. My prayer was answered.

Of Snowstorms And Thieves

An epic snowstorm hit us yesterday, Christmas Day, with the first flakes falling about the time I was barbecuing steaks for Christmas dinner. It's been snowing since yesterday afternoon and we have 8 or 10 inches of snow on the ground, making for an interesting trip for Brenton as he was trying to fly home to Virginia from Oregon. He flew out of Portland last night, made it to Chicago early this morning, then to Philadelphia later this morning, only to find out all the planes in the City of Brotherly Love were grounded today. So two people he was in line with at the airport trying to find flights to Richmond -- it wasn't going to happen until tomorrow -- talked him into renting a car to drive from Philly to Richmond. We rendezvoused with him in Richmond about 6:30 this evening and made it home safely through all the snow, praise God.

So we get home and are all gathered around talking and laughing and catching up. Then stories start spilling out and I have to say I'm amazed at what goes on in this house, right under my feet. It turns out that Ethan is an accomplished thief. You see, the kids play this elaborate game called "Town" which I've described before where all the kids have businesses and operate like a real-life city. Well, their cousin and my nephew Killian was in town this summer and playing the game and Ethan quickly marked him. Taylor was the banker and everyone had bank accounts, complete with fictitious names, pin numbers and a special identification word that was a particular Monopoly piece. Well, when Ethan saw Killian opening an account in line he jumped in behind him to see what information he could glean. He heard Killian receive the "name" on his account, so he had the first piece of information. Then he saw Killian put his pin number on a slip of paper in his coat pocket.

So he started visiting Killian's place of business, a gun shop, and during the course of his friendliness asked if he could buy Killian's coat. He caught Killian by surprise and he asked Ethan why he wanted his coat. Ethan told him that it looked so good on Killian he hoped maybe it would look good on him too. So Killian sold him his coat and voila, Ethan had the second piece of information. Ethan sauntered over to the bank, but not before finding out from Killian his secret Monopoly piece (the boat) and how much money he had in the bank ($580). When Ethan got to the bank he said he needed to transfer $580 from an account into his account, provided the banker with all the necessary information and walked out $580 richer. But not before he rolled around on the floor laughing for a while. Later in the day, Taylor said, Killian walked in and wanted to withdraw $20 from his account. Taylor said Killian was quite surprised when he was told he had insufficient funds to receive $20.

So I'm wondering, do I ground Ethan for identity fraud, embezzlement, theft and assorted other charges in a game they were playing? These are big questions. Then I find out what happens when the kids do business with Ezra, who owns a store. The kids say they usually buy in bulk because when Ezra asks for money for the items purchased, his "customers" hold out money and hope he takes ones. Sometimes he takes the big bills, however. But Ethan said he likes to buy big items and give Ezra three one dollar bills. The thing is, Ezra always asks if his customer wants change back. "I always say, `Yes,' " Ethan said. "Sometimes something will cost $20, and rather than give him a 20 I give him three ones because Ezra thinks the three bills are more money than one bill, even if it's a 20. Then he gives me change back." As Ethan is telling this story I find myself laughing with the rest of the family. Then I find out the town had its own mob that had hired guns knocking off stores, there were hit men and assorted other criminal enterprises and I'm thinking, `What on earth is going on up there?' Until, music to my ears. MerriGrace became a cop, started flashing around a badge, writing up search warrants, confiscating guns, threatening jail time and basically cleaning up the town. Believe me when I say I'll sleep better tonight. Hopefully she locked up Ethan for a long time.

Winter Solstice In Virginia

As the sun dropped behind the York River on the First Day Of Winter, I headed out to Cappahosic -- one of my favorite places -- with my trusty new camera. I like my camera. All the kids were out in the yard playing "Medieval" -- the older kids want to be sure that I mention they were doing it to make their young siblings happy -- (even if it looked to me that they were having a good time, including Ethan/Claudius) and I was tempted to shoot photos of them. But I was told in strict terms by, hypothetically speaking, two cardboard box sides/shields-carrying sisters who might have been carrying battleaxes and who might have possibly been named Evie and MerriGrace, not to take photos of the battle. Lest the photos end up on Facebook. And I was pretty sure Ethan/Claudius and Taylor the Barbarian (it may have been Romans vs. Barbarians) were having a really good time leading their young charges in battle formations, ambushes and other very violent forms of warfare involving very frightening and brutal tactics that led to horrible, agonizing maiming, disemboweling, even death and the like.

So I headed out to Cappahosic to capture the sunset on the shortest day of the year, a frigid day that actually brings me warm feelings because I know we are one day closer to summer. The long shadows cast by the sun's low orbit across the southern sky will shorten, ever imperceptibly. I was the only one out there on the beach at Cappahosic landing, believe it or not. A cold wind swept off the river, numbing my fingers. The tide was going out and it appeared as if the tide today had been exceptionally high, scrubbing the sandy beach firm. It was a fine afternoon and a lovely sunset. Enjoy the photos.

Taylor Arrives Home From Oregon

This morning I returned from a short trip to the gas station with Olivia and as we walked up to the porch a small plane flew overhead. Olivia looked up and pointed. "A plane!" I looked up at the Cessna, or whatever it was buzzing overhead. "Yeah, a plane," I said. Olivia smiled. "Taylor's in it," she said. Well, not quite Olivia. Taylor was already in the house. We picked him up at the Richmond airport last night a little after 9 o'clock and everyone stayed up until midnight catching up with him. He's been away the past 3 months at Cornerstone School of Ministry in Corvallis where he's growing in wisdom of the things of the Lord. He's home for 3 weeks, a stay that everyone has been looking forward to for, well, 3 months, even if it will be woefully short.

A little while ago Taylor was playing the guitar and singing a worship song in the living room and Madeline was in the kitchen doing dishes. "It's better with Taylor here," she said. Yes, it is. Not just because when he got up this morning he did the breakfast dishes -- before he even ate breakfast. And not just because he's doing the laundry right now, or because he's already played "Battle" with his little brothers and sister and died several gruesome, protracted deaths that confirmed their superior battle skills. (Yes, that's Eli up there doing a front-flip off the footstool onto the couch during one of the battles. His mama wasn't home is all I can say.) Ethan smiles more. The girls laugh more. Julie glows a little brighter. Our house is a little closer to complete when Taylor comes home. Brenton comes home the day after Christmas for around 9 days. I imagine things in the Sabo house will be complete then.

Snowfall In Gloucester, Va.

Snow has this unique quality of combining peace and electricity ... the peace of frozen water in remarkably unique flakes that fall silently from the sky covering everything in a white blanket ... and the electricity that comes when kids in the house realize it's snowing outside, prompting a mad dash to pull the boxes full of the winter gear out of the attic or garage. The snow gear is pulled out by little hands looking desperately for matches -- a mishmash trail of mittens and boots leads to the door -- before they are yanked on in the mad dash to rush outside to play in the fresh snow. The end result is a gaggle of kids in boots and coats and wool caps building snowmen and throwing snowballs and piling up snow in snowy slides before coming back inside, shivering with rosy cheeks and numb fingers and toes and leaving a pile of soaked coats and mittens and snow-covered boots on the floor. Now it's late and the coats and boats and mittens are drying out and the worn out kids are chattering about the day in bed and wondering if tomorrow brings more snow and more fun. And outside the snow reflects the Christmas lights hanging from the houses, leaving the neighborhood aglow.

The Sleep Chronicles, Vol. I

A more appropriate title for this post would be "The Lack Of Sleep Chronicles, Vol. 6,283." Or something along those lines. With kids, sleep is frequently something to dream about. You know what I'm saying? Here's how my "restful" night went last night. I drifted off to sleep somewhere around 10:30 or so, which is fairly early, generally speaking. But I was still catching up to Saturday night, when for reasons I won't go into I was awake and tossing and turning for most of the night. Some personal trauma I was dealing with and I'll just leave it at that. So last night started off so pleasant ... sleep came quickly. Don't you like those nights? Me too. Then at 11:30 the phone rang. I awake with a start and think, `You've got to be kidding me.' It turns out, Julie's sister in Canby, Ore., wanted to check in. I'm thinking, uh, you know that whole time zone thing? ... Anyway, Julie happened to be up, got the phone and started chatting away (she loves her sisters, even at 11:30 at night) and so I tried going back to sleep. Emphasis on try. At some point after midnight I succeeded. I remember that because I recall glancing at the clock and seeing it was 12:01. At last, though, sleep came and it was lovely.

Until 3:27 when I awoke and wondered who was in our room. And why. It was Eli. I have no clue what brought him to the foot of our bed. I mean, he didn't have any aches or pains, no discernible lingering fear from a bad dream, I don't recall him hitting the bathroom to tinkle ... he just wanted company? Egads. At some point I managed to fall back asleep ... until 4:30. That's when Ezra arrived in tears and complaining about a leg ache. Some children's Tylenol was appropriated and he was situated on the floor next to Eli and still the whimpering continued. I thought maybe he was cold so I headed upstairs, fetched his blanket and returned and covered him up. Amazingly, Eli slept right through all this.

You know how when you are awakened from a blissful slumber quite frequently you can't return to that state of blissful slumber? That was me. To top it all off, one of those wonderful little Sabo boys kept kicking our bed ... I'd get all drowsy and then whack! I know I went to sleep at some point because I woke up again at 5:30 ... then 6:05 ... and finally 6:45. There's a reason I was tired this afternoon. Here's what gets me though. Eli is usually up by 7 o'clock, sometimes earlier, especially on the 2 days a week when he gets to play video games. Then he is up at the crack o' dawn doing school or whatever to take advantage of his precious video game time. This morning? I didn't see him until well after 8 o'clock. And Olivia, who is usually aroused sometime around 7, didn't make an appearance until somewhere around 8 o'clock as well. Same story for Ezra. Isn't that how it goes? The one morning everyone sleeps in, I can't sleep in. And to think another baby is on the way.

A Dozen Christmas Stockings On The Fireplace

Kudos to Julie's Aunt Judy back in Oregon who has labored over Christmas stockings for wee Sabo kids for more than 20 years. She's sent 12 of them to us over the years, and here they are in all their glory. Next year we'll have to make room for a 13th stocking. I was looking at the fireplace and imagining what it will be like when we start having grandkids and everyone gets a stocking. The fireplace will be covered. So will the wall. That's going to be pretty cool. Until you know who gets to fill all those stockings. Yowsa.

I managed to squeeze 58 percent of the Sabo kids in this photo this morning before we trundled them off to Miss Jen's house where they spent the day making gingerbread houses. Yes, Miss Jen invited them over. On purpose. Said it was "fun" even, if you can comprehend that. So nine Sabo kids made the trek and they each made one gingerbread house. It was quite an affair of candy, gingerbread, frosting, and snacking and they had a great time. Best of all, you can eat the work. If you're looking at the photo and wondering why every one's hand is raised, I was asking them who was a good kid this year. Hardly objective answers, however.

Gloucester County, Late Fall

We had our first frost of the end of the growing season on Monday after a protracted, lovely Fall and for me it was like a day of mourning. I'm not a cold weather guy. Had enough of that growing up in Bend, Ore., the land of eternal winter some years. Just to show you how abruptly the seasons change here, I believe it was Wednesday it was upper 60s, a warm wind blowing in from the south. Now they say it might snow this weekend. I have my doubts, but you never know. The cold winds have blown in from the north and dusted most of the leaves off the trees. The coats have come down from the attic, the shorts are being retired for the year and the canister of hot chocolate mix sitting in the pantry is already empty.

Here's some shots of Gloucester Court House. At top is the obligatory monument to the Confederacy and the men of Gloucester who lost their lives in the war that tore the nation asunder. It numbers more than 100, I believe, which is an extraordinary toll on a small, rural county. I'm reminded as I study the monument that no self-respecting Southern community lacks a monument to the Confederacy. I thought it framed up nicely between the two bare trees. There's some symbolism in there somewhere, but I'm too shallow to figure it all out. Maybe you can make hay of it. The shot below it is Gloucester's Colonial Courthouse, built in the 1760s and still in use today as a public meeting house. It's amazing to think that troops mustered there during the Revolutionary War. Then again, Gloucester County dates to 1651 so there's no shortage of history around here. When my folks were in town four weeks ago I showed them a house built in 1750 that's only a couple of miles from where we live. I bumped into the owner of the home at a gas station and she said it's been quite a labor of love to fix it up. Christmas is around the corner so Merry Christmas. Tomorrow is the Christmas parade in Gloucester. Should be fun.

When Brothers Are Separated

Tonight I had read a bedtime story to Gabe, Eli and Ezra and said prayers with them and was downstairs in my "office" studying Matthew 13. I can hear them talking up there from my "office" and caught wind of a conversation they were having with Claire. Then, inevitably, someone asked her for an apple so she headed downstairs. I asked her what was going on up there and it was something about Brenton not being someone's brother. So I headed up to investigate. As expected, Ezra was at the center of this conversation. I walked in and asked the boys what they were talking about. It turns out, Ezra doesn't think Brenton is his brother. I asked Ezra if this was true. He nodded. I asked why. "Because he doesn't come home," Ezra said. "So he's not my brother." I asked Gabe and Eli if they thought Brenton was their brother. They said he was. And is. Gabe tried to explain to Ezra that even if Brenton isn't here, he's still his brother just like Brenton is still my son even though he's not here. Ezra would have none of it.

"He's not my brother," he said. I believe he even gave a nice harrumph for effect. I asked him if he thought Taylor was his brother. Ezra nodded. Apparently Taylor hasn't been gone long enough -- he left in the middle of September and is coming home for 3 weeks on December 17 -- for Ezra not to consider unbrothering him. That's a good thing. I tried to explain to Ezra that Brenton is his brother regardless of where he is, but I might as well have been trying to explain the nuances of brush strokes in impressionist paintings. I tell you. When Ezra gets his mind set on something, he's hard to budge. Brenton is due to come home the day after Christmas and will spend about 10 days with us before he heads back to Corvallis. Hopefully he'll get some good bonding time in with Ezra and become Ezra's brother again. Ezra and I talked this over for a while but everything I was saying seemed to fall on deaf ears. Finally I asked him if he would go to the airport with us to pick up Brenton. He shook his head no. I asked Gabe and Eli if they would go to the airport with us to pick up Brenton. They seemed excited about it. So I asked Ezra again if he would go with us. "He has to," Gabe said. "Everyone is going." I wanted Ezra to answer the question, so I asked again. Slowly Ezra nodded. I told him that would make Brenton happy. Maybe Ezra is coming around. Maybe his two older brothers, the wise sages in that room, will be able to convince Ezra that Brenton is his brother. Maybe Ezra will just sleep it off and wake up talking about his brother Brenton. I think Ezra just misses Brenton and doesn't know how to handle it. Hey Ezra, it's okay. We all miss Brenton.

KLOVE's Mike Novak: Compensation Tops $500,000

About a month ago the omnipresent Christian radio station KLOVE wrapped up its fundraising drive. You probably heard it, too. Pleas went out for more funding and you had kids giving their allowances, businesses committing, single moms pledging, families pledging, the works. God bless 'em if that's how the Lord is leading them to spend their money. The radio in my Volvo doesn't work anymore, one of the effects I suspect of a vehicle with 323,000+ miles on it, so I don't listen to KLOVE as much as I have in the past. I do spend more time in the Volvo praying, which is a good thing. KLOVE is about our only option out here in Gloucester, Va., as far as Christian radio, so we listen to it in the van. I'm really not sure where I stand on KLOVE ... I appreciate the effort to bring Christian music to the masses on a platform that literally stretches across the country. But I hear the same songs over and over again and many times I'm looking for something fresher and seem to hear songs I heard 10 years ago again and again. As I said to Ethan a week or so ago while we were riding in the van, "Is no one making any decent Christian music anymore?" That being said, I decided to take a peek at KLOVE's books as I did about a year and a half ago on this blog. Let's just say being one of the bigwigs at KLOVE pays off handsomely.

As I mentioned, KLOVE stretches across the country and has radio stations and transmitters all over the place, so it's a big business from that standpoint with lots of employees. The parent organization of KLOVE, Educational Media Foundation, reported revenues last year of $88.2 million, according to forms filed with the IRS. Total payroll, including benefits and taxes, topped $25 million and net revenue was $16.7 million, according to the forms filed with the IRS.

I'm sure you've all heard the voice of KLOVE President Mike Novak, especially at pledge time, and last year (2009) his total compensation was $506,198, according to documents filed with the IRS. Think about that for a minute ... wow, that's a ton of money. It takes 12,655 people pledging $40 a month just to cover his compensation. Is he operating Christian radio stations or working on Wall Street? He received $343,792 in base compensation (that's $28,649 per month) and "bonus & incentive" compensation of $110,000 (A lot of us got bonuses on par with that last year, right?), other reportable compensation of $9,628, retirement & deferred compensation of $22,549 and "nontaxable benefits" of $20,229. The big question to me is what is acceptable for a guy of Novak's position and stature? Is $506,198 acceptable, considering there's no disclaimer come pledge time that 12,655 of you monthly pledgers are just paying for Mike? As the guy who runs what essentially is a national organization, is he deserving of that paycheck?

Here's a couple of head-scratchers from the IRS forms. Dick Jenkins, the former president who is no longer with KLOVE, received $300,000 in "other reportable" compensation and another $13,196 in nontaxable benefits. That's only 7,830 $40-per-month pledgers to pay for a guy no listed as the "former president." Speaking of guys no longer with the organization ... former radio personality and programming director Jon Rivers left KLOVE in early 2009 and earned $261,543 in "other reportable" compensation and $3,659 in retirement and other deferred compensation last year, for a total of $265,202. Rivers subsequently attributed his departure to an addiction to prescription painkillers and maybe there was a contract or something that KLOVE couldn't get out of. Who knows. All told, KLOVE listed 14 people earning a minimum of $114,000 or more last year on its IRS forms. Not bad for Christian non-profit work.

Don't be fooled. "Christian ministry" often seems to be simply big business operating as a "non-profit." Sure there's plenty of good hearts out there at KLOVE with a desire to serve Jesus Christ and play Christian music and the like. But when and where does "Christian ministry" blur the line between personal gain? I think whether you are a pastor at a church, a CEO of a Christian "non-profit" organization, a missionary, or in whatever capacity you believe the Lord is calling you and leading you and directing you, when it comes to money the question always boils down to whether or not the Lord gives you a peace about your paycheck. Is there any check at all on your heart? When you read the Bible every morning (hopefully you're reading the Bible ...) are you paying attention to what is being said about money? How do you justify these paychecks? The Apostle Paul had something to say about this: "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, for which some have strayed from the faith in their greediness, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows." (1 Tim. 6:10 NKJV) Jesus, the ultimate authority, weighed in on this: "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:19-21 NKJV)

Thanksgiving & Black Friday

We're giving thanks that Thanksgiving went off without a relative hitch, with just a few mishaps in the kitchen that didn't really amount to anything. The croissants didn't quite pan out, so to speak, and our turkey pan leaked in the oven, causing a very minor disturbance in the oven that only added a hint of smoked turkey to the dinner. But the ladies on the cooking team -- Julie, Anna, Claire, Evie & MerriGrace -- did an outstanding job and we've unanimously concluded that we will invite them back next year to cook up another dinner. Most importantly, we are really stoked already about next year's Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey turned out scrumptious, nice and moist and the spuds, gravy, sweet potatoes, Jell-o dish and whatever else was put in front of us was downed in remarkably short order. To think there was still dessert! Apple pie, pumpkin pie, cheesecake ... wow. The little kids worked off dinner, as you can see, with some "horse races" upstairs. I think my belly would have dragged on the floor, otherwise I would have joined them. I took the photos instead.

Unlike most of the country apparently, the entire Sabo clan, plus Anna, skipped the Black Friday shoppingpalooza -- sleeping in until 7:30! -- where Americans exercised their right to act like knuckleheads and spend money that probably a lot of folks don't have on things they don't need. That's so American, eh? I'm really struggling with the whole Christmas spending season this year. We have plenty. Our kids have plenty. They have toys they don't play with, we've got enough TVs to start an alcohol-free sports bar (Hmmmm. What exactly do you call an alcohol-free sports bar?) and then I watched a video today. It's always good to have perspective.
The video is of Matt Megill, who we met during our 3-weeks of training at Serving In Mission this summer. He's a doctor who was on his way home for a respite from serving at a hospital in Galmi, Niger. Here's a link to some information on the "hospital." http://www.sim.org/index.php/project/84400

And here's the link to the video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QPo620kV_Ig

So the question for us, in light of this need in Niger, is what would God have us do financially this Christmas season?

A Tragedy Unfolds In Gloucester

As you can see from the above photos, it was river city in Gloucester tonight. Olivia was downright inconsolable. I managed to capture the raw emotion of the moment on film, so to speak, and I hope these images don't make you break out into tears. You see, here it is, on the eve of Thanksgiving with so much to be thankful for, and Olivia is sad. Really, really sad. I'm not sure what exactly made her so sad, whether it was Julie leaving with all the other girls to go to a movie or whether it was the prospect of staying at home with four brothers and Dad. Maybe a combination of the two, perhaps? I think it was mainly Julie leaving, because as soon as she caught wind that her mama was going somewhere without her, the pity party started in full.

What was fairly remarkable was that right after I snapped these photos I asked her if she'd like to see them. "Yeah!" she said, somewhat giddily, the tears and mournful expressions disappearing in what I would almost call `glee.' As soon as she was done viewing herself in such a pathetic, sad and sorrowful state, Olivia promptly resumed her former pathetic, sad and sorrowful state and started crying again. It's an amazing ability to be able to turn on and off the tears like that. Is it genetic? A learned trait? A product of the immediate environment? Further study should shed some light on it. And I don't know how to break this to my sweet Olivia, but there may be plenty more tears ahead. There's the tears for the dreaded "Bad Hair Day" and tears for the "These Jeans Make Me Look Fat" moment and, more immediately, tears for the "Ezra Isn't Sharing" frustrations and tears for the "I Don't Want To Ride In My Car Seat" fit and the "I Want To Sit In A Booster Seat" kerfuffle and even tears for the "I Don't Want My Diaper Changed" act up. Now the diaper thing always throws me. I always think, `Girl, do you smell yourself? I'm going to get fined by the DEQ for violating odor pollution standards!' The emotional roller coaster of a 2-year-old is almost too much sometimes. Throw in the emotions of 8 eight other siblings living at home and things can periodically get out of whack. Not that it makes me want to cry or anything.

Fall In Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

Today I had to run into Williamsburg, Va., to Massey's Camera Shop to pick up a memory card for my newfangled digital camera. I've been looking to score a step up in the camera department from my point and shoot for some time, both for work and play and finally pulled the trigger on one ... only to order it online and when it arrived find out it doesn't come with a memory card. Which makes it hard to take photos that are a step up from my point and shoot. The folks at Massey's were excellent, and I highly recommend them for all your photography-related needs. If you're in Williamsburg. And need a camera. Or camera equipment, gear, paraphernalia, etc., etc. You get the idea. (Editor's note: You'd think Massey's Camera Shop was paying you for advertising. Author's reply: Now there's an idea! Shameless blogging name-dropping for dollars!)

So I walk out of the store and my Volvo (more name-dropping!) is parked down there and as soon as I hop in there I have to drive home -- albeit down the Colonial Parkway (www.nps.gov/colo/parkway.htm ... cha-ching!), which is particularly splendorous at the moment with the trees all ablaze in color, hardly any traffic -- and go to "work" writing a story about road construction in Gloucester (complete with photos!)...hmmmmm. Or I could take a walk into Colonial Williamsburg (www.history.org) proper on a 70-degree Fall day and, uh, you know, "test out my camera" to make sure it works properly with my new excellent memory card from Massey's Camera Shop. I'll give you one guess which route I took. Boy it was a beautiful day to walk around Williamsburg and "work" the kinks out of my new Sony (bet you knew that was coming, eh?) digital camera that I bought from B&H Photo Video Pro Audio "The Professional's Choice" (a credit on my account is forthcoming, I'm sure.) and had it shipped via UPS, where "We Love Logistics" (maybe they'll let us ship something free to Brenton and Taylor?).

As you see up there, I snapped some photos of the Colonial Williamsburg scenery, getting the bugs out of the camera. Everything went very well and I'm pleased to report my camera seems to respond just fine, despite the limitations of the shooter. This whole adventure raised a troubling ethical question, however. Tomorrow is Nov. 23, at least on my calendar. The temperature here is supposed to hit 75 degrees. Seriously! I mean, isn't it snowing in half the country? And it will be warm enough here to play in the sprinkler in the yard! Here's the dilemma. On what may be the last beautiful day of the year in our neck o' the woods, and considering I have no personal days or vacation days left, at what point is it unethical to "come down with a fever," or to have a "migraine," or to have "some sort of bug," that requires me to stay home from work? Well, technically I work at home so it makes it even doubly tougher not to work, even when sick. I'm not saying I would do something like that. No sireee. I'm just saying that I can see how the average American worker could be faced with the dilemma of being "sick" on a day when it would be so much finer to take the family on an outing and, uh, you know, work out the kinks in my camera and practice in a real-life situation so I would be ready to use it for work. Or something like that.

The `Family Plan' & Working At Home

Today I took our fourth child into the Verizon store to get a cell phone. Brenton has his own plan, Taylor and Ethan are on the plan with me already, so Claire is the third child to go on the "Family Plan." It's like 10 bucks for another line, unlimited texting and Claire babysits so much I think she's in my tax bracket -- minus the dependents -- so I think she can swing it. Generally in our household when the kids get of age and enjoy some income we try and have them pay their own way for things like phones, car insurance, Busch Gardens tickets ... basically things beyond the necessities in life. That's one reason why our kids generally start driving later than most other kids. We want them to save money they would spend on car insurance to salt away for college, or in Taylor's case the School of Ministry in Corvallis. Taylor didn't get his license until he was well past 18. I think Brenton was 19. Brenton paid for all his school himself. Praise God, eh? And here's another thing. There's nothing wrong in my mind with hauling kids around town, even though I might think it's a hassle plenty of times. I know that I'll miss the time spent with Ethan in the car driving him to or from a baseball game. I miss the times driving Taylor to or from work or wherever he's going. With our teens the alone moments in the car are precious, particularly with all the demands on us in this casa.

Speaking of demands, I hope my editors don't read this blog because sometimes work gets in the way of life. I fix about half the dinners around here and tonight I was on so I was rustling up some chili when an editor called wondering about this story I was supposed to file ... um, well, didn't I do that? Pause, and then came the answer: `No.' Really? So literally while I was spooning out beans into my pot of chili I learned that I needed to "clock back in" so to speak and write a little ditty about a dude who won a million bucks on a scratch lottery ticket. Piece of cake, right? Except that I figured I'd check out Facebook while I was "working" and noticed that Julie was online. Hmmmm. She had been doing school all day, I was "working" in between taking Claire cell phone shopping and cleaning out the grocery store (I still can't get over the Christmas tree that showed up in the store like the day after Halloween, but that's another story... and the kids are watching the Grinch on TV right now ... ) and here was a big chance to talk to her. "Hey babe," I typed. "You need something?" came the reply. Ahem, I thought, not exactly, "Hi my wonderful, doting husband! I was just thinking about you!" but it's a start. Then Taylor texted me from Oregon. Somehow between Facebooking my wife in the next room (Believe it or not our cyber conversation picked up and we decided to make it movie night! Yesssss!), Taylor texting me and Olivia sitting on my lap asking if her hair looked pretty ("So, so pretty Olivia. So pretty."), I managed to write something that somehow passed for written English with complete sentences, correct use of punctuation and lovely, stylistic presentations of present participles (Or something like that ... it sounded good when I just wrote that. I'll have to go back and read the story and see if there were indeed one or more lovely, stylistic presentations of present participles. But you get the idea. It will be a major upset if that little story doesn't win a Pulitzer.)

And now, as I'm blogging, comes music to my hears. I hear Julie telling the 20 little kids in our house to get ready for bed. OK, OK, it's only, uh (counting with my eyes closed using my fingers ... 6!) six little kids (Our 2 biggest kids are in Oregon and another 4 kids are at a Bible study.), but sometimes it feels like 20. You know what I mean? Soon, Lord willing, it will be quiet in our house, no one will be needing anything, no errands to run, no meals to fix, no diapers to change, my editors won't be calling wondering what happened to the story I was supposed to write ("Hey, I'm busy here, you know!" How do you think that would fly?), the house will be quiet and it will be oh so peaceful and pleasant and relaxing. Just me, my wife, a movie ...

The Chimichangas Are Hot? Really?

It is hard to put into words how remarkably lovely this Fall has been in Gloucester, Va., where as you know the county motto is the "Land of the Life Worth Living." It sure has been this Fall. We're still getting samples from the garden, as you can see, and no frost is in the forecast through Thanksgiving. That's a growing season, baby! The leaves have all turned, as is obvious from the photo above, and we still have a few flowers abloom, and I've got some gorgeous plump tomatoes that are green that I'm hoping to make the turn to ripeness before the inevitable frost hits. We made it through October without turning the heat on in the house ... I'm not sure if we ever made it through a summer in Bend, Ore., without turning the heat on at some point. I remember watching the fireworks show off of Pilot Butte on our roof in the comfort of a down parka, sipping hot chocolate and singing Christmas carols. Well, maybe the last part wasn't exactly true, but you get the idea. I remember fishing at a lake somewhere west of Bend up toward Mt. Bachelor with my man Chris Hamilton and getting snowed out ... on June 30. So spending an afternoon like today outside with 5 of my kids playing soccer in the back yard in shirtsleeves is absolutely remarkable.

Perhaps one of the downsides of this extended Indian Summer is that the garden is still producing. I say that tongue in cheek because some members of the Sabo household aren't sharing the same level of enthusiasm for the bounty, the fruits, the produce from our garden. The main culprit is that our "Fish" pepper plants are still producing. For the uninformed, the "Fish" pepper is a pre-1870s African-American heirloom, according to my packet from Seed Savers Exchange (http://www.seedsavers.org/). One of my homies in Corvallis, Sean Buckout, ordered me up a packet and God bless the man for thinking of his dear brother in Gloucester, hard on the shores of Chesapeake Bay. The plants produce unique peppers that ripen from cream with green stripes to orange with brown stripes to all red. They were traditionally used in oyster and crab houses in the Chesapeake Bay, so they are like homegrown here! My batch of Fish peppers had a homecoming! But here's the thing. As you can see from the top photo, the pepper plants are still producing. These peppers are described as "medium hot, perfect for salsa." So naturally I think they go with anything. As has been noted previously on the pages of this blog, I like my Mexican food with a kick. Not everyone in the Sabo house is on the same palate as yours truly, however. But they don't cook dinner. Bwaahh-ha-ha.

I rustled up some chimichangas the other night and threw all the Fish peppers I had in the batch. Creamy with green stripes, orange, red, whatever, in they went all chopped up and ready to spice things up! If it looked like a pepper, smelled like a pepper and admitted under waterboarding torture it was a pepper it went in the pot. Alas, the "medium hot" label might be a little misleading, some in the Sabo household would say. Abram was chowing down and enjoying the quality and exceptional taste of his chimichanga when suddenly he paused midchew, got this little facial tic and his face reddened up. Next thing I know he was drinking water like he'd been in the desert with nothing to drink for a week. He wasn't the only one who had a run-in with a spicy bite of chimichanga. I played dumb. "The chimichangas are spicy? Really? Interesting. Must be the seasoning." (Wink, wink.) Everyone seems to have recovered alright, no hospitalization needed. And I'm still scrounging up a few Fish peppers.