It's Going To Get Interesting...

Oh. My. Lord.   

My life seems to have made a hard left-hand turn.  And let me just say this before I go on...this turn of events is an answer to many, many prayers (spoken and unspoken).

I'm going back to work, people!  I haven't worked outside the home since I was pregnant with Sydney.  We're talking over seven years of being a stay-at-home mom.  Seven of the most rewarding years of my life, I might add.  My little man, Jackson, starts preschool next week, and Brooklyn enters kindergarten.  And God opened the door for me to work at their school. 

For several years I've put feelers out for a job...a means to help our family financially.  For several years every door I've knocked on has either closed or no one has even answered.  Until this year.  I didn't even touch the door, and the next thing I knew...I was offered a job...more than I expected.  If you were to pinch me, I'd swear I must be dreaming.  But I'm not.

Things are about to get interesting.  I am actually writing this post from the center of household chaos while dealing with multiple interruptions from three bored little ones.  (I'm going to try and make it a short one.)  

As I've been getting ready for the start up of school, preparing myself to go back to work and finishing up end of summer activities, my "to do" list continues to grow and grow and grow.  The perfectionist in me is stressing because of the driven nature to make sure everything is...well...perfect.  And I'm trying to keep all the balls in the air - this blog included - and I'm starting to worry that something is going to fall short of my high expectations, and I'm realizing that there is a deep cry within me for one thing. 

Balance.

In order to attain balance, I am going to have to restructure.  The first thing I am placing on the back burner is this blog.  I am not quitting...oh heavens no.  However, I will be cutting back on the number of posts produced.  If I have nothing to write, then I'm not going to write.  If I have no time to write, then I'm not going to write.  I am going to focus on quality...not quantity.  As of yet, I'm not sure what this is going to look like, or if I will eventually come up with a schedule of sorts.  However, the blog will have to get used to its new place in the priorities of my life.

My home is all a'bustle with excitement.  Rather than look at Brooklyn starting kindergarten as something to mourn, or the fact that my little guy is going to be in preschool, I have begun to celebrate this brand new season in our lives.  I'll be honest with you, change is not an easy thing for me.  But what I've learned in my very short life is that change can be my friend.  I am taking my kids on a journey to embrace change, and it all begins with me.  My attitude.  My countenance.  While I appreciate and cherish the past seven years as a gift from God, I can look ahead and know with confidence that this next season is also a gift from God.  And I'm ready to see what new things God has for us. 

It's going to get interesting.  And I can. not. wait.

Isaiah 43:18

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

The Scrambler

Jackson barely passed the height requirement for the "Scrambler" ride at the city amusement park.  I was hopeful that he'd still be too small, but we grow 'em up tall in the Slater family, so I shouldn't have been surprised when the girls squealed out that Jackson was tall enough.

In my mind I imagined the ride would take us up and down, around in circles a few times, and then we would be done.  Au contraire.  As I sat wedged between Sydney and Brooklyn, giddy with excitement, our enthusiastic "Woo hoo's" were slowly silenced as the "Scrambler" started to live up to its name.  Whipping us around like poor little eggs in a frying pan, I realized this ride was a bit more intense than a simple city park ferris wheel.  About the time the world around us turned into a blur of color, the smiles on Sydney's and my face disappeared and were replaced by looks of serious concern and deep concentration.  I kept envisioning our bucket seat flying off its steal arm and twirling into oblivion.  Brooklyn, however, didn't stop "woo hoo-ing" until the ride came to a complete halt.  In between mental pleas of, "Jesus, help us!" and heart palpitations, I tried to get a visual on the boys, but they were just out of view.  At the end, as we were unstrapping our tense bodies from the seats, my eye caught Joel's.  Jackson was good.  He loved every second of the ride.  My nerves calmed.

Why was I worried?  Joel's steady hand was on my little guy the whole ride.  The steal arm holding the bucket seats of the "Scrambler" was sturdy and trustworthy.  There was nothing to fear.  I spent a couple of minutes with my body stiff as a board when I should have been screaming with delight.  I think Brooklyn may have been the only one of the five of us who really let loose and had fun in the midst of the scramble.

What did I learn?  Life sometimes feels like we're riding on the "Scrambler".  There are so many uncertainties, thrills, terrifying twists and turns, but just like Joel's hand holding my little Jackson safe, God's hand is holding us...firm and secure.  His eye is upon us.  His attention never shifts.

I want to be more like Brooklyn as I ride the scrambler of life.  I want to release my grip and trust the steady hand that holds me; that hand that will never leave me.  Even when the world is spinning, and I'm not sure where the next dip in the ride is going to take me, I want to let go, feel the wind whip across my face, and trust the strong, capable arms of my Heavenly Father.

Life is a crazy ride, but we don't have to live it in fear.  I think God just wants us to sit back, "woo hoo" a little bit more, and trust Him...in every spin along the way.

Sun-Induced

It has been raining for days weeks months out here in the Northwest. It's almost been more than this poor African girl can handle. Unmotivated to do anything but sit around the house looking like a "shlumpadinka", I was beginning to wonder if we would ever see the sun again.  And then, gloriously, vitamin D has been pouring down on us like warm, yellow waves of sunshine for the past two days.  I. am. in. heaven. Yesterday afternoon, our three wild things were working some of their wiggles out on our patio with sidewalk chalk.  Sydney had the bright idea that we should all go to the pool.  Perhaps it was the euphoria we were feeling from the endless stream of sun rays on our pasty white faces that compelled our tired mouths to say yes to embarking on such an ambitious Sunday afternoon family outing.  Never-the-less, thirty minutes later all five of us were suited up and headed to the pool.

I am relieved to report that our kids represented us well.  There were no displays of ugly behavior, leaving me very optimistic that we might actually be able to do this again sometime.

Until we got home.

They saved all the ugly up- held every whine, every fight, every high pitched expression of displeasure for the last few hours of our day. Jackson, who did not get his regular afternoon nap (not even a thirty minute power nap), was about as contentious as a caged beast.  He knew what he wanted, but he didn't know what he wanted.  He was delirious with fatigue.  Rather than lay down and give in to sleep, he amped up and ran through the house like a wild animal.  There were so many "Uh oh's" and bedroom times that I started to lose count.  The mantra repeatedly playing in my head was, "Just get him through dinner, and then you can put him to bed."

Bedtime finally came (early).  We had completed our regular bedtime rituals and I was heading to my room when I heard a little voice behind me.  It was Jackson.  He was following me saying, "Mommy, I need to tuck you in."  I could seriously have eaten him up right there, he was so sweet.  I looked up at Joel, whose face was as endeared and touched as mine.  Jackson walked me to my room and helped me get my bed turned down.  It was precious, until I accidentally knocked him in the head with my lethal elbow.  (Yep...I sure know how to kill a moment!)  He let out a yelp, but quickly forgave me (I think he was too tired to have a full blown melt down).

Lots of kisses, hugs, "I love you's"  and one "bless my heart" from Jackson later, he was successfully in bed.

Whew...day over.

And another one has just begun.

Summer Give-Away Winner...& Going From Hero To Human

First...Congratulations to Tristan...winner of the Summer Reading Give-Away! Thank you to everyone who participated and shared your favorite must-reads.  I'm adding them to my list for sure!

*Sigh*

Let's just put it this way, when the day starts out with, "Mommy!  The tooth fairy forgot to put money under Sydney's pillow last night!" you know you are kicking the day off in a deficit.  Especially when the previous day was filled with super human moments of error.  Yesterday was Sydney's birthday, and things did not go as planned.  Here's a little rundown on the past 24 hours...

• I promised Sydney a scrumptious dinner and birthday cake as she danced her way to the car heading to school yesterday morning.  Two minutes later  Joel reminded me he had a wedding rehearsal in the evening.  He wouldn't be home.  (I knew this.  It's been in my day planner for weeks.  It totally slipped my mind.  Not a great moment in mommy history, knowing that when Sydney got home from school I would have to break the news to her that we were going to postpone her birthday dinner.)
• When Sydney received the news of my broken promise she proceeded to fall apart as though the world was coming to an end.  I took a deep breath and let her cry it out.  After an hour of listening to a very wounded child (she tends to live her life in a perpetual state of drama), I tried to console her.  Even though she had lost a tooth at school and got to wear a paper crown all day, the very fact that I broke my promise was enough to flush her whole day down the toilet.
• Since Joel was gone I suggested Burger King for dinner (I'm not a fan of fast food, but I needed to find a way to redeem the day).
• As we entered the garage to load up the car I heard a huge gasp behind me.  I turned to see Sydney spying a poster (that I had made for her Kindergarten graduation filled with pictures and artwork and cherished memories that was being stored in the garage because it was a treasure) wedged underneath my front tire.  It had slipped off the work table and I drove over it...completely oblivious, I swear to you.  The pain in her face was confirmed when she cried out, "How could you!  How could you!  You don't care about me, or my birthday, or my special poster!  This is the worst day ever!"
• I stood speechless.
• Before bed I apologized again.  I wanted to say, "Hey kiddo...I'm only human...get used to being disappointed with me."  But instead, I wrapped my arms around her and told her how blessed I am to have her as my girl.  How grateful I am that God gave her to me.  And how amazing my life is because she is a part of it.  I told her about the day she was born, how the sun shined and how I loved looking at her 6 pound, 12 ounce, 18 inch body.  How soft her skin was and tiny her toes were.  I could almost smell her fresh-from-the-womb downy hair and wrinkly skin.  Sydney was a beautiful baby, and I love watching her grow into a beautiful little girl.
• After this treasured moment with my birthday girl, she slipped her tooth under her pillow and smiled up at me.  Tomorrow would be a better day.

And so, today began with, "Mommy!  The tooth fairy forgot to put money under Sydney's pillow last night!"

Thankfully, Sydney knows that I am the tooth fairy, and after yesterday I believe her expectations of a super hero mommy have been lowered tremendously.  At seven years of age, my daughter is keenly aware of my humanity, and somehow she still loves and adores me.

So, this evening we will be enjoying a scrumptious dinner, cake and presents in honor of Sydney...our birthday girl.  And tomorrow...she gets her ears pierced.  This birthday is shaping up to be unforgettable...kind of like Sydney herself.  She is truly unforgettable.

Happy birthday, my sweet girl!  You are more than I could have ever dreamed or hoped for...and I am so blessed to have you.  Your birthday reminds me of the precious gift your life has given to me.  I love you!

Super-Hero Mom

I'll bet you didn't know that I'm a super hero.  Are you gasping from surprise?  This is new to me, too, as I was just informed by Jackson today- right after I killed a spider and flushed it down the toilet- that I am a super hero.  I can wield a mean wad of toilet paper, people.  There are no insects that can out wit this super-hero mom.

After relishing for a few minutes in my new found super-ness, I started thinking about how awesome motherhood is.  Too often, I focus on all the mistakes I make and completely overlook all the things I do that keep my home safe and sound.  So, I came up with a list of super hero qualities that I believe every mom shares.  This one's for all you supermoms out there who don your sweats, clean up spills, carpool, change diapers, and still have time to brush your teeth...all in a single bound:

Super-Hero Moms...

• Thwart bugs with shoes, tissue, and sometimes (when desperate times call for desperate measures) bare-handed.
• Can get spaghetti sauce stains out of pretty much anything.
• Have mastered the art of boo-boo kissing and tear-wiping.
• Make silly faces and perform Irish Riverdance for their children (leaving no trace of evidence behind).
• Turn Rascal Flatt's "Life is a Highway" into a bedtime lullaby for a very eager little boy.
• Make mac-n-cheese look like fine-dining.
• Turn vacuuming into a fun game of chase.
• Recite at least one Disney movie word-for-word.
• Nurse a baby while using the toilet, and talk on the phone all at the same time.
• Listen to the "why?" behind the "what?".
• Love unconditionally
• And toot her family's praises louder than a train horn.

If you said, "I do" to anything on this list then you, too, are a super hero.

It's snack time...and time for this supermom to get to work...until next time...

Something To Be Thankful For...

I spent an unmentionable amount of time staring blankly at my computer screen yesterday afternoon.  I was trying to write up a post for today, but my mind was drawing a blank.  I pulled up a post-in-process and tinkered around with it for a while, but it still isn't ready.  I perused facebook and twitter to kill time (perhaps hoping for divine inspiration of some sort).  Before I knew it, Jackson was up from his nap, and all the quiet uninterrupted time I had reserved for writing was gone, and I had nothing to show for it.   

I thought maybe I could jump back on the computer once Jackson and Brooklyn found their play groove, but not so much.  Brooklyn asked me to help her make a thank you note for a friend...and I did.  Jackson pulled on my arm and asked me to play with him...and I did.  The afternoon belonged to my kids, and my post went unwritten.

In my mind, the day had been a waste.  I didn't get anything accomplished that I had hoped.  I was even behind on getting the laundry done.  By dinner time I was feeling out of sorts.  Then, as we went around the table before dinner, and shared what we were thankful for that day, my heart was deeply touched by what my family had to say.

Jackson was thankful for the usual - Mom, Dad, Brooklyn, Sydney and Jackson (yes, he is always thankful for himself - we view this as a positive sense of self) - and then he added another item to his thankful list.  Jackson said he was thankful for me, because I played with him.

Sydney was next.  With her arms flailing for dramatic effect, she declared that she was thankful for having a great...GREAT...day.  This, too, touched my heart because she had been on my mind a lot throughout the day, and each time I would whisper a little prayer for her. 

Then came Brooklyn.  Brooklyn was thankful that I helped her write a thank you note.  She is such a sweetheart.  I didn't really put a lot thought into how much my time would mean to her, but evidently, it meant enough that she remembered and was thankful.

It was Joel's turn next.  He paused then simply expressed that he was thankful for "Mommy". 

Right then and there I was reminded that, although on paper I may not have much to show for my day, it was not a waste.  I did the most important job in the world.  I was the mommy God created me to be for these four amazing people in my life.  For each person it may look a little different, and as we are faithful to be who we were intended to be, we can make a huge impact on our world.

I had asked God yesterday morning to reveal himself to me in a personal way.  Through my family God spoke something sweet to my soul.  As much as they are thankful for me...I am so very thankful for them. 

And once again I was reminded of how much I have to rejoice and be glad in!

Mom, Mommy, Mama, Mother...

Sydney handed me a brown paper sack on Friday afternoon.  Inside was a collection of Mother's day projects she had been working on in her first grade classroom over the course of several weeks.  I unfolded a piece of composition paper where she had written something about me with a lovely illustration of the two of us.  This is what Sydney wrote:  

"The most important thing about my Mommy is that she loves to read her Bible.  She likes puppies!  BUT the most important thing about my Mommy is that she loves to read her Bible."

Just so we're clear, I love to read my Bible...according to Sydney.  I smiled when I read her composition, and my heart was warmed to think that, from my little six-year-old daughter's perspective, this would be the most important thing about me.

I don't know about you, but I absolutely love Mother's Day.  I love it more than my birthday.  I love waking up Mother's Day morning knowing that because of three precious little souls, who call me by a number of different names - "Mom"..."Mommy"..."Mama"..."Mother" (often repeated numerous times with varying voice tones and inflections) - this day is for me.

I love Mother's Day because I am reminded of my own Mom.

My mom could turn a two bedroom, concrete floored, 800 square foot condo in Kenya into home sweet home.  Her fingerprints are all over my own home today - there's a touch of my mom everywhere I go.

My mom could turn a seemingly disastrous eyes-closed-for-my-sixth-grade-school-pictures into something to smile about and be proud of.

She has been my biggest cheerleader, confidant, mentor and friend.

And the most important thing about my mom is that she loves to read her Bible.

Down the road, when Sydney picks up her little girl from school, maybe - just maybe - she'll open up a little gift sack with a handwritten note about her and read, "The most important thing about my mom is that she loves to read her Bible..."

Being a mom is not just about changing diapers, shuttling kids from school to sports to church and home again.  It's not simply making sure they eat their veggies and do their homework.  Being a mom is modeling the kind of person we want our children to become.  Leading by example in everything...everything...we do.

I love being a mom.  I know I mess up a lot, but I am encouraged that the most important people in my life are discovering the most important thing in life through my life.

This may be a day too late, but I just want to wish my mom, and all my dear and amazing mom friends, a very Happy Mother's Day!

Friday's Free Advice

We have a lot of leaders in our home.  Inevitably, there is a constant battle to be the line leader (it doesn’t matter if we’re just walking to a different room…everyone wants to be first).  My children will literally tackle each other in order to claim this coveted position.  This morning a genius moment of mommy creativity flashed in my mind.  As Jackson was bringing up the rear heading downstairs for breakfast, I could tell he was on the brink of a meltdown.  Then it dawned on me…Jackson wasn’t last…Jackson was…THE CABOOSE!  I told him, with excitement brimming from my voice, “Jackson!  You get to be THE CABOOSE!”  He looked questioningly at me, and I repeated, “Jackson…YOU get to be THE CABOOSE!”  His whole face lighted up.  He marched boldly down the stairs and proclaimed to his sisters, dad, and all of creation, “I’m the CADOOSE!  Look at me!”   

Sometimes it’s as simple as changing our perspective. 

There are nights when I will lay my head down on my pillow and feel like I botched every single item on my list of responsibilities.  I can beat myself to a pulp for something I said, or didn’t say; for not spending enough quality time with each of my children, or allowing myself to feel overwhelmed because I don’t think who I am is enough. 

In these quiet moments I am learning to pause and ask God to help me look on my life with a fresh perspective.  I ask him to help me see clearly those areas where I need to humble myself and make adjustments, and then release those things that are out of my control.  I ask him to help me accept the fact that I can’t do everything, and teach me to walk boldly in his perfection, because I am never going to be perfect.  I ask him to give me a fresh perspective, a fresh grasp of his grace and a fresh appreciation for others.

And he always does.  I find that I am asking God for a healthy dose of new perspective a lot these days.  I can’t be a wife, mother, daughter, friend and leader without him.  Where I am weak, he is my superwoman strength, enabling me to leap tall heaps of laundry and dirty dishes in a single bound.  And when my perspective is off, he is faithful to come to my rescue every. single. time.

Friday’s Free Advice:  If you are feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders and it is crushing you, maybe it’s time to stop and ask God to give you a change of perspective in your situation.  I was talking to a friend recently, and for her it was as simple as a good night’s rest.  It is amazing what a little change in perspective can do for a soul!

"Do Over" Day

Have you ever wished you could stop, rewind and re-do a moment in time?  I have...pretty much on a regular basis.  This past weekend, especially, I needed a "do over" day. On Saturday morning Sydney managed to wedge her bedroom door shut while she and Jackson were inside.  I couldn't get it open - not even a single budge.  They were trapped.  I body slammed it so many times that I now have a lovely bruise on my left shoulder.  I could hear wailing and screaming coming from the other side of the door.  This is why we have an "open door" policy in our home.  Doors remain open at all times, unless the parents have designated otherwise.  Too many near-loss-of-fingers incidents.  We had to put the open door policy into effect.  On this day in particular, Sydney was getting wild, decided to shut Brooklyn out of the bedroom, and pretty much closed herself in for a thirty minute time-out.

Was I frustrated?  Yes.  I was.  Did I manage this situation in a calm and peaceful manner?  Hmmm....I could have done better.

Stop.  Rewind.  Try again.

Some friends had invited us over to their home for lunch after church yesterday.  We enjoy this family so much, and their girls are the same ages as our girls.  The afternoon was going well until their youngest daughter came running inside from the backyard and announced that Brooklyn had told Jackson to throw dirt on her.  And he did.  My children were on the fast track to cranky-ville, and it was becoming clear that they were suffering from a severe case of nap-deficiency.  Not an excuse for bad behavior, but certainly a contributing factor.

As I was sitting in my friends' living room, holding Jackson and Brooklyn on my lap (both in full blown melt-down mode), singing "Little Mister Roo" all I could think about was, "Can I have a 'do over'?".

Stop.  Rewind.  Try again.

Jackson was up at 3:30 this morning.  His, "Mommy! Mommy!" cries pulled me out of a deep coma.  He needed help going potty.  I couldn't get back to sleep after that.  I laid in my bed thinking about all the things I need to do today, all the things coming up this week, all the things I am running behind in, and how much I wish I could escape to a nice, warm beach somewhere.  Needless to say, when my alarm went off at 5:30 am, I turned it off, rolled over and closed my eyes.

I woke up late.  Bad start to the day.

Stop.  Rewind.  Try again.

Psalm 103:11&12 "For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us."

Romans 4:7&8 "Blessed are they whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.  Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord will never count against him."

In my world of "high expectations" I really blew it a time or two this weekend.  It is Monday morning, and as I look to the past I fear it has set me up for a less than stellar week.  I wonder if I could do the weekend over, somehow I could set everything right again.  Not so.  "Do overs" are great, when you can actually do something over (like one of my kids waking up on the wrong side of the bed - they get to stop, go back to their room, and try again).  When you can't, there is always the assurance that once forgiven by God all is restored.  We don't have to rewind to try again.  We simply get to start fresh.  Start new. Start over.

So, rather than stop.  Rewind.  Try again.  I am going to stop.  Receive forgiveness.  And start anew.  I think I like this way better than a "do over" day.

Friday's Free Advice - When All Else Fails...

I live in the Northwest.  Rain is part of the package.  In fact, it is 99% of the way we do life here.  My daughter, Sydney, who is a native, has made it very clear to me that there is a difference between rain, drizzle, and a slight sprinkle.  It’s pretty much all the same to me.  When wet stuff falls from the sky – hard, soft, fast or slow - I call it rain.  

A couple of days ago, I was waiting to pick Sydney up in the carpool line at her school.  We were parked a good distance from the building.  On a dry day it would make for a nice, refreshing jaunt.  On a day like this one in particular, it could only be defined as something out of a nightmare.  We were getting dumped on.  The real rain was pouring.  After I had given Jackson and Brooklyn their stave-off-the-boredom-while-waiting-for-their-sister-snacks, Jackson started bouncing in his seat saying, “Mommy, I need to go potty.”  (This seems all too familiar to me.)  “How bad?” was my reply (hoping the bouncing was more for dramatic effect).  “Mommy, I need to go potty now!”  “Can you wait until we get to Sydney’s ballet school (which is a good thirty minutes away)?” Futile.  The poor guy needed to go.  What to do?

As I visualized myself wading through the puddles and raindrops with two children and a broken umbrella, I could feel a panic attack coming on (I’ve never had one, but I’m pretty sure that’s what was happening to me).  Not to mention that I was dressed “up” for a class I would be teaching that evening (a parenting class, no less).  I found an old zip-lock baggy, and was struck with instant inspiration.  Maybe he could tinkle in the baggie?  But then what?  There was no trash nearby…nowhere to dispose the evidence.  Jackson was beginning to wriggle and bounce even more intensely.  Then I noticed one of my water bottles.  I brought two with me that afternoon: one for the car, and one for later.  I quickly chugged the remaining water from bottle number one and turned to Jackson.

“Jackson, you are going to go pee-pee in this bottle.”

The look on Jackson’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock. and a little fear.

“Jackson, this is going to be fun.  You are going to put your pee-pee in this water bottle!”

I began unfastening him.  He was warming up to the idea.  We got everything situated…and…”tah-dah!”…mission accomplished.

The first words out of Jackson’s mouth were, “Mommy, this is fun!” 

“Yes, it is.”

Then he added, “Look!  It’s yellow!  My favorite color!”

Oh happy day!

Have no fear.  The contents were emptied out on an unsuspecting bush later after the rain died down.  And as far as I can tell, there has been no emotional damage done.

So, tell me…when all else fails, what do you do?

Friday’s Free Advice:  Share your “When All Else Fails” stories.  I would certainly love to hear them!  Mommy moments are much more fun when shared with other mommies…who have been there a time or two.

Where Does Jesus Live?

Exasperated, I sat down, put my head in my hands and whispered a quick prayer for strength and patience.  The following is the conversation that ensued:

Me:  “Oh, Jesus.  I need you.”

Jackson:  “Mommy, Jesus not here.”

Me:  “Yes, He is.”

Jackson:  “No, Mommy.  He’s not here.”

Me:  “Then, where is He?”

Jackson:  “He’s at His home.”

Me:  “Where’s Jesus’ home?”  (Here’s hoping he says something like, “My heart!")

Jackson:  “At His town.”

Me:  “What’s the name of the town?”

Jackson:  “I don’t know, Mama…I don’t know.  Where’s His town?”

Me:  “Does Jesus live in your heart?”

Jackson:  Shakes head, “no”.

Brooklyn eagerly jumps into the conversation at this point:  “Heaven!  His town is Heaven!”

And there you have it.  Where Jesus lives, according to Brooklyn and Jackson.

I Have Confidence

My six-year-old, Sydney, came skipping down the stairs the other day wearing her sassy jeans, pink t-shirt, flip-flops, Disney Princess sunglasses atop her head, swinging her sparkly purple purse on her forearm.  When she met me at the bottom of the staircase she looked me straight in the eye and announced, “I’m ready.”  She was referring to the Kids Praise Company spring musical auditions at our church.  For weeks she had been sitting with her CD player rehearsing each song, especially her favorites, closing her eyes in deep concentration so as not to miss any of the notes.  The day for auditions had finally come, and like she said, Sydney was ready.  

After the try-outs she made her way over to where I was waiting, shoulders back, head held high, and informed me that she got it.  She did it.  In her words, “I did great!”  I had to get a little clarification on the “I got it” statement, seeing that we were surrounded by a room full of children waiting to audition.  She didn’t actually get any part, yet, but was so confident in her performance that there was no doubt in her mind that she had nailed the audition.

That girl has more confidence in her little finger than I have in my whole body.  There are times I wonder to myself, “Whose kid is this?”  She is so secure.  Whether or not she is even singing on key, she believes she’s a superstar.  And I am in awe.

One of my favorite movies of all time is The Sound Of Music.  In it, Maria – Julie Andrews – dances through the streets of Salzburg, swinging her guitar case in one hand singing, “I have confidence in confidence alone!”  It is truly inspirational.  I want that kind of confidence.  And I want my children to have that too.

Sadly, I have to say there is a growing trend in our society that believes in order to instill confidence and achievement in our children, we must remove any factors that may, in fact, set them up for failure.  In his article,"Self-Esteem, Self-Destruction”, George Will writes about a school in Massachusetts that teaches children to jump rope without using ropes.  Apparently, this is supposed to raise their self-esteem because failure to jump rope (with an actual rope) could impair their self-concept for life.  This is insanity to me!  Citing Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman from their book, “NutureShock: New Thinking About Children”, Will writes:

“Children incessantly praised for their intelligence (often by parents who are really praising themselves) often underrate the importance of effort.  Also, overpraised children are prone to cheating because they have not developed strategies for coping with failure.”

Confidence and a healthy self-esteem are achieved, not by incessant praise and equality in sports, but by failure: learning to try and try and try again.  Pride in our kids should not be contingent on whether or not they do well in soccer, ballet or academics, but how much effort and discipline they have put into them.

As we were driving home from the spring musical auditions I had a perfect teaching moment with Sydney.  We began talking about the part she had tried out for.  She monopolized the first half of the conversation by expressing her passion for this particular role.  She could “see herself” playing this part, and was adamant that she got it.  Eventually, I was able to slowly explain to her that just because she tried out did not necessarily mean that she was going to get the part.  I had her think about all the other boys and girls sitting in the waiting room to audition.  There were a lot of children trying out for parts, some of them for the same role she wanted.  I pointed out that there are not enough solos and speaking parts for everyone.  I gently explained that there was a real possibility that she might not get the solo she auditioned for, and perhaps not get anything at all.  Over the next fifteen minutes I listened as her whole world came crashing down.  Was I being mean to my daughter, or destroying her self-esteem by telling her the truth?  No way.  Once she was able to face reality, get a good cry out of her system and talk through her “I can’t handle it!” feelings, she settled down.

Later, Sydney asked me if I was going to be proud of her if she got the solo.  I said no.  I would not be proud of her if she got it, because I was already proud of her for being brave enough to try out in the first place.  I told Sydney that I would be very happy for her if she, indeed, got the part, and subsequently, would be very sad for her if she didn’t.  However, my pride in her was already established because of her bravery, character and simply because of who she is.

Confidence doesn’t come easy.  Children have to learn how to work for those things they really want.  They have to learn to come to grips with failure, and be encouraged to keep on trying - to not give up just because something is hard.  I could care less if my kids get the best parts in spring musicals, make the soccer team or have the best grades in the class.  I believe they are completely capable of succeeding.  And if they are working hard, putting their best foot forward and not giving up when disappointment comes, then I’ll know I’ve done a good job.  I will have given them something far more valuable than a false sense of success.  I will have instilled in them the ability to fail and the ability to achieve – confidence in confidence alone!

Art Imitates Life

Last Thursday evening fans everywhere tuned in to watch the miracle of birth The Office style.  Michael got an eye-full when he prematurely marched into the delivery room, Dwight was inspired to grow his business by growing a family, and love bloomed between Andy and the new office receptionist.  I could almost hear little birds chirping sweet songs of spring.  (Birds chirping?  I might be pushing it just a little bit with that last comment.)  Aside from watching Jim and Pam swim through the rush of emotions as they wrapped their brains around the reality of becoming parents, anticipating the welcome of their baby girl, I found myself walking through this awkward forty-five minute journey with them.  For anyone who has become a parent, you know exactly what I mean.  It is both exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.  

My favorite part of the episode was after the adrenaline died down, baby was born, and the visitors departed, Jim and Pam were left all alone with their tiny infant child.  I could so relate to the wave of emotions they were portraying – ah…sweet parenthood.  And then, as if this precious seven-pound creature had some foreknowledge and insight that this was her cue to speak up, her moment to shine in the spotlight of celebrity, she began crying.  Crying loudly, I might add.  Apparently, she was hungry.  Pam tried to nurse her, but their perfect bundle of joy was not going to have anything to do with it. 

Now for the reality check: the struggle, the stress, the perfect couple-with-happily-nursing-baby occupying the bed next to them, and the awkward visit from a male lactation nurse. 

I immediately found myself transported back to the Cascade Valley maternity ward, holding my 6 pound, 12 ounce baby girl, Sydney.  Joel and I would unwrap and wrap her back up in her swaddle over and over again, just to take a peek at her tiny feet and hands.  I gazed for minutes on end at this sweet miracle, completely mesmerized.  When she was asleep, I was in love. 

But when she woke up, I was scared out of my mind!  And here is where art imitates life.  My cute bundle of joy didn’t want to nurse.  She didn’t want to eat. When she was conscious, she didn’t want to have anything to do with me.  I was heartbroken, in tears and fighting a major battle with raging hormones.  Motherhood wasn’t supposed to look like this.  Nursing was supposed to be natural…right?  A baby was supposed to bond with its mommy…right?  So, what was wrong with me, what was wrong with my baby, and why couldn’t we get this thing right…the one thing that was supposed to come naturally to both of us? 

We had nurses, lactation specialists (all female, thank God), and our pediatrician at our beck and call.  I had so many different hands and machines on my “you know whats” that I didn’t quite feel like a woman anymore.  I was the cow.   I was a milk producer who felt as though she was failing at the one job she believed she was made to do well.  I found myself irritated with my newborn.  Sydney was already getting on my nerves and she wasn’t even forty-eight hours old.  Her strong will and my strong will came head-to-head.  Devastated and discouraged, I sat in my hospital bed watching all the sweet visions of the nursing mother with child go up in smoke right before my eyes. 

Unlike Pam, who was nursing brilliantly by the end of the show, it took us five weeks, a couple of home visits from my lactation nurse, and one or two “mommy time-outs” to finally get the breast feeding thing figured out.  Once Sydney got the hang of it, she became the biggest baby in the church nursery, ballooning to a whopping 20 pounds by the time she turned six months old.  We became pros. 

As Sydney has grown, I’ve seen much of those early lessons learned in the first few weeks of her life transition right along with her- and me.  To achieve the next milestone there is often times resistance.  She will fight it.  We’re maneuvering through some math challenges at school currently, and I can see that same fight or flight attitude flaring up in her.  It takes everything within me to not lose my patience when she is facing a new growth challenge.  Why she resists it so much is beyond me.  But rather than fight along with her, I am learning to relax, listen, observe, and support her.  I can’t make her understand math, or friendships, or failing at something, or whatever “crisis” she may be up against.  I can, however, be her steady support.  Listening, coaching, loving, and guiding.  Eventually she’ll get it.  She’ll overcome.  She’ll succeed, but she will do it in her time. 

The one thing I believe I am helping her learn- and it started in that cramped hospital room with nurses, electric pumps and family members cheering us on- is to never give up.  If it takes until the end of the sit-com, or five weeks of sticking to it, or years of practice and failure, never, ever, ever give up.  If it’s worth anything, then it’s worth the pain and the struggle, the blood, sweat, and tears to see it accomplished.

Sydney is only six-years-old.  We have a long way to go together.  We are both learning and growing.  My hope and prayer is that we will not give up, no matter what obstacle comes our way. 

My best wishes go out to Jim and Pam, fictitious characters who well portrayed a very non-fictional reality for so many of us.  The adventure has just begun!

Friday's Free Advice

Sitting here at my computer this morning, I do so with a very squirmy three-year-old.  Jackson has decided that simply being in the same room with me is not enough.  He needs to be pressed up, hands and feet on my waist and in my face kind of close to me.  Currently, he is leaning over my shoulder with his arms squeezing my neck.  This, of course, is not very conducive to typing, but who can resist “Mama, I wanna sit wiff you?”  My heart melts.   

Moments like this I try hard to capture and freeze in my mind like a photograph.  Moms who have gone before me have warned, time and time again, that this season will be gone in a flash.  How true.  Just last night I was looking at pictures taken at a photo shoot right after Sydney was born almost seven years ago.  Tiny hands and curled up toes, her mouth opening up with a yawn (or maybe she was rooting around for her milk - she sure loved mealtime).  Precious memories, evidence of God’s miraculous answer to a long awaited prayer. 

And so today, rather than fill a page with deep thoughts, funny stories, and motherly musings, I’m going to put my computer away for a while and sit with my son.  I’m going to cherish this human jungle gym feeling, tuck it away in my heart, and hold it like a worn black and white photo before it is lost forever.  With my face cupped in the sticky hands of my son as he whispers, “Mama, I love you,” I realize this is my moment to let time stand still…and I’m going to do just that.

Friday’s Free Advice: If it can wait until later, or even tomorrow, let it go and embrace the time you have with the ones you love…especially if their bodies are dangling from your shoulders with their cheeks mashed against yours.

Stop And Enjoy The Potty Stops

Last week I was one twitch away from losing my sanity when, as I was driving to pick Sydney up from school, Brooklyn piped up from behind me, “I need to go potty.”  Which triggered something in Jackson and he echoed her plea, “I need to go potty, too!”  Even with the destination two minutes away, they ruthlessly insisted that they could not hold it…they needed to go “noooowww”.  

After I scrunched up my mouth, producing what can only be called the “Ugly Mommy Face”, I exhaled loudly and began searching for a feasible pit stop.  Nothing.  We continued driving.  The full bladder cries from the backseat intensified.  I kept driving, stressed out, darting my eyes here and there searching for a McDonald’s or Burger King…anything.  We made it to Sydney’s school parking lot where I parked the car and unloaded my two potty-dancing monkeys in the pouring rain.  They laughed, cheered, and thought this was the best adventure they’d ever had.  I, on the other hand, wanted to get inside the school building and find a bathroom before an “Oops!  Potty-in-the-pants” moment occurred.

When we made it back to the car, empty bladders and happy faces with 30 minutes to spare before Sydney would be let out of school, I sat back in my seat and thought further about this little adventure.  Why do I always feel like I’m in a hurry?  Why is my life a constant frenzy of panic and worry that I’m going to miss out on something or be late?  How is it that my children can turn a potty stop into Disney World bliss? 

Here’s why.  Children know how to live in a perpetual state of joy.  Every little thing in their lives is a reason for celebration.  Putting pee-pee in the potty, tying shoes, making beds, dressing themselves, cracking the eggs for the cookies we make, picking up their toys, and watching the neighbor walk his dog are all reasons to get down and shake their booties.  I wish I could look at life that way.  I wish I could pay my bills with a smile on my face and thanksgiving in my heart that we have the ability to pay them rather than grumble and grunt my way through.  Or twirl and sing when I’ve successfully folded a mountain of laundry, cooked a homemade meal, and swept the floors.  I think I am sorely deficient in celebrating the little things in life.

In the book, “The Life You’ve Always Wanted”, John Ortberg writes:

“God is the happiest being in the universe.  We will not understand God until we understand this about him.  God also knows sorrow and grief.  But the sorrow of GOD, like the anger of God, is his temporary response to a fallen world.  The sorrow will be banished forever from his heart on the day the world is set right.  Joy is God’s basic character.  Joy is his eternal destiny.  And God’s intent was that his creation would mirror his joy.”

I am challenged to stop hurrying my way through life, and take time to stop and enjoy the potty stops.  With my children as an example, who are experts at celebrating the little things, I want to grant myself permission to relish in the joys of motherhood, pat myself on the back once in a while for cleaning toilets and cooking dinner, and not allow myself to get bent out of shape when I hear “I need to go potty” from the backseat of the car.  Rather, I want to rejoice in the fact that I don’t change diapers anymore (which is cause for celebration for sure).  I want to sing in the rain (with a good, sturdy umbrella) and bask in the rays of pure joy. 

We have so much to celebrate - too many blessings to count.  I want to remember that life is a gift; life is about embracing the good and bad as whole, and remembering the One who holds me tightly in His grasp.  I want to be a mirror’s reflection of the One who takes joy in me. 

Psalm 28:7

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.  My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to Him in song.

Distracted

I knew something wasn’t quite right when I heard Jackson squealing with unabashed delight from the other room.  My first mistake was being in the other room.  My second mistake was allowing myself to be distracted by the ever-important task of plucking my eyebrows.  Realizing the inspiration for Jackson’s joy couldn’t possibly be the zillionth re-play of “Dora’s Search For Squeaky”, but had to be something potentially dangerous or illegal (as in, illegal in the Slater home), I dropped the tweezers and ran.  

Sure enough, I was welcomed into the playroom with a white carpet entrance brought to me by Jackson and two completely unraveled rolls of toilet paper.  Not a happy moment for Mommy.  Toilet paper is a precious commodity at chez moi.  Taking a deep, deep breath, I exhaled and, in good Love and Logic fashion, began singing, “Uh-oh” (picking Jackson up), “so sad” (keep breathing, Amy), “I guess we need a little bedroom time” (more for Mommy’s sake than yours right now, little buddy).  I plopped him, kicking and screaming, into his bed.  “When you’re sweet (and after I’ve recovered), you can join us in the playroom.”  Lesson learned:  I will not allow myself to be distracted by unruly eyebrows ever again.

As I was re-rolling toilet paper (like I said, TP is a precious commodity) to the sound of Jackson’s cries for mercy from his bedroom, I recalled another time when this good intentioned Mommy was distracted, and the mayhem that followed. 

The house was suddenly very quiet.  My (then) three-year-old and two-year-old were nowhere to be seen or heard.  My distraction this time was nursing infant Jackson.  Wearing my son, literally, I went in search of where the silence was coming from.  Calling to the girls, I tracked them down by their giggles.  (Giggles coming from behind a closed door is never a good sign.)  When I opened their closet door, I was welcomed, again, by something white.  This time, there were white clouds of baby powder billowing and falling like snowflakes in the air.  Sydney had stripped down to her panties and proceeded to shake the Costco-sized bottle of baby powder all over herself, her sister, and every other poor, unfortunate object in their closet.  Brooklyn’s face was a mask of white. 

What’s a mom to do?  I put Jackson down, reached for my camera, and took a snapshot for posterity sake. 

 

Truth be told, I get distracted a lot.  I start getting into decorating mode and lose myself to tweaking my knick-knacks and Pottery Barn catalogs.  I jump on the computer to look for a recipe, read a blog, or see what my Facebook friends are up to, and I end up sucked in to the ways of the web.  I go to my closet to find something to wear…and I never come out because…I’m still trying to find something to wear.  The distractions are endless, and my kids know this.  They have a sixth sense about these things, and intuition tells me that they live for these distracting moments. 

Distractions can be our undoing.  Whether they are in parenting, in our relationships, or even in our pursuit of God.  It is too easy to get sidetracked and eventually knocked off track all together.

How do we keep ourselves from falling victim to distractions?  I can’t say that I’m an expert on this; however, one thing I know for sure, starting the day with time alone with God does wonders in keeping life on track.  I’m also learning that having a clear and specific goal in mind helps me to stay on course because I know where I’m headed.  Additionally, I believe it’s important to allow myself time to do random, time-wasting activities (but not when Jackson is awake, as evidenced by the toilet paper incident this morning). 

I realize, however, that some distractions are unavoidable.  Life happens, right?  Another key thing that I am learning is to roll with the punches.  I do the best I can with what I have before me.  Like I am trying to teach my kids, you don’t have to be the best, just do the best you can.  Set the goals, make appropriate choices, give yourself a break every now-and-then, and leave a little wiggle room for whatever life happens to throw your way.

Morning Rejoicing - My Brookie

“Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” – Psalm 30:5

Brooklyn is the rejoicing that comes in the morning.

As the sun wakes up and ushers in the dawn, my little Brookie’s eyes pop open with a twinkle and a smile.  She is love and hugs and a kiss on the cheek before the words “good morning” leave her mouth.  She twirls through life, as though there is perpetual music playing in her head all day long.  She is my cuddle bug, my “Oh Mommy, you’re loo-lee-ful (beautiful)”, my twenty questions throughout the day, my hot cocoa addict and my big, brown-eyed darling wrapped up in a fuzzy purple robe.  She is a treasure.

I lost a baby in February 2004.  I was heartbroken, as only those who have lost a baby can truly understand.  I wanted that baby so much.  I wanted to know why God would allow a pregnancy to end after ten weeks.

Three months later we were expecting once again.  Our due date was February 2005.

Brooklyn Ava-Marie was born on Tuesday, February 8, 2005.

Brooklyn’s full name means: “beautiful waterfall; running stream; giver of life; bitter sea”.  In the midst of a bitter season in our lives, this beautiful, life-giving stream was born into our family.  For five years she has blessed us with hugs, kisses and unconditional love.  My morning of rejoicing.

Brookie, I am captivated by your wide-eyed innocence, your love for babies and puppies and early morning songs.  That you know the words to “Pocket Full of Sunshine” by heart is no surprise to me.  I am so grateful that God gave you to our family.  I am so blessed beyond my wildest hopes and lifelong dreams to get to see your sweet smile every day.

You are my precious girl, and today I celebrate your life!

Insecurities...And All

I’m a lucky girl.  I am surrounded by some of the most unbelievable women on. the. planet.  Seriously.  They are phenomenal mothers, wives, friends, cooks, home managers, and coupon clippers.  They are smart, witty, pretty, read their Bibles and pray every day.  It is simply an honor for me to be able to hang out with them and to know them.   

The challenge, not surprisingly, is that I am, maybe, fifty percent of those things, about fifty percent of the time.  I fall short…a lot.  Oh I try my darnedest to look like I’ve got myself all put together when I leave the safety of my home, but in the back of my mind I know my short-comings, and I never feel quite adequate enough.  As I hear my friends dialogue about motherhood my mind wanders to that episode with my daughter earlier in the day, when I lost my patience and snapped at her.  Or when my son kept begging me to play cars with him and I was irritated.  Oh, I played with him, but I didn’t do it with a sweet spirit (and I’m always encouraging my kids to be sweet to one another).  And so my insecurity continues to grow and grow and grow, like a festering wound deep inside my soul.

How do I shake the insecurity out of me?  How do stop this silly game of comparison (because it only paralyzes me)?  How do I climb out of this pit I’ve dug for myself? 

Here’s how:  I remember what God says about me.  I remember that He is the one who formed me in the womb, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made (yes, that is right…wonderfully).  I know I’m not perfect.  I know I will make mistakes.  But I also know that it is by God’s grace that I can wipe away the past failures and hit the delete button on shame. 

My mom has always said to me that my life is a book (an appropriate metaphor), and every experience, every challenge, every heartache, and every growth pain is all part of the story.  As I morph – transform – into the woman God has created me to be, there will be lots of bumps in the road.  I will struggle with insecurity, but I will also overcome.  I will catch myself looking at other women and thinking I have nothing to offer them but a long list of flaws and failures, while God still chooses to use me, insecurities and all:  mommy mess ups and all, burned dinners and unhappy eaters…and all.  And in the end, because I’m not Superwoman, God gets all the glory.  Any good that comes from my life has nothing – nothing – to do with human effort on my part. 

I think that’s the way God likes it.  And you know what?  I’m okay with that.  I may not be everywoman for everywoman, but I’ll just be me: insecurities, flaws, bad hair days (like the one I’m sporting right now)…and all.

Drop The Ball

Everyone deals with stress in their own special way.  Some people lash out and attack, while some withdraw and end up with stomach ulcers.  Others cry or spend money they don’t have, or pick up old habits they beat years ago.  For me, if you want to know the degree of stress I'm under, all you need do is take a look at my house.  When stressed, my house falls apart.  Clutter, which I hate as much as going to the dentist, fills every empty space, every drawer, and every closet.  I literally freeze up while piles of paper accumulate in the kitchen, dining room, office, and bedroom.  I find facing the menial tasks before me a challenge because all my energy and focus is on the issue at hand.  

For a little over a month, Joel and I were under a tremendous weight of stress.  There are stressors every day, but this was out-of-the-ordinary kind of stress.  We had some major decisions to make, and quite honestly, it was all I could do to just walk out the door with my hair done and a smile on my face.  My poor house sat neglected for weeks.  (I suppose I should set a disclaimer here that my house did not go without being cleaned for two months - I can only neglect to a point – but stacks and stacks of clutter, clothes, papers, etc., were accumulating, and I hadn’t an ounce of motivation to face them and clean them up.)  It wasn’t until earlier this week that closure was made on this particular decision we were facing.  Suddenly, it was as though I had lost twenty pounds.  The burden and the stress began to ripple off my back, and I felt my old-self climbing up out of clutter.

And you can only guess what happened next.  Yep.  This house is in major de-clutter mode.  The other morning I pulled every file out of our filing drawer and began re-organizing, purging, and filing (filing, filing, filing) all the papers, bills and statements that had been collecting dust in our dining room.  And my favorite part has been throwing miscellaneous papers, envelopes, and forgotten art projects away.  I feel great…and I’ve only just begun.  Slowly but surely, my home will be back in working order.

Which brings me to my point in sharing this little insight into my stress management, or lack thereof.  There are seasons in our lives that sometimes overwhelm and bear down so hard on us that it’s all we can do to simply get up and out of bed in the morning.  Have you ever faced a time like this?  I have.  And too often, when we are in those seasons, what compounds the difficulty is the stress we feel from outside expectations – that we have to keep all the balls in the air in spite of the pain or grief or depression…or whatever it is we are facing.  And I just want to say, it’s okay to drop a couple of balls now and then.  It’s okay to let the loose ends remain loose for a while.  I’m not a real fan of a dirty, cluttery house (just ask Joel…he loves to tease me about my obsessive compulsive tendencies), but there are times when my focus and energy are pushed so far in one direction that something’s gotta give.  Something needs to go by the wayside until the pressure has passed and I sense relief. 

I’m not encouraging a life void of discipline, but when a life is in crisis, or under heavy stress, I am encouraging a life void of unnecessary pressures.  Because, my friends, if you are going through a dark season right now, and you haven’t given yourself any wiggle room to let go of a few things, then I strongly believe you are setting yourself up to snap.  And I would sure hate it if someone I knew, or someone who reads this blog, ended up falling apart into a million pieces. 

You know, God’s not expecting perfection.  He’s already got that one in the bag.  If you are at your breaking point, He just wants you to come as you are – frail and weak.  I think He’d tell you the same thing that I’m trying to tell you:  that it’s okay to drop a few of those balls you’ve been frantically juggling, and let Him take care of you.  Eventually, when this tough patch has cleared, and you find yourself on the other side, whole and renewed, then you can pick those balls back up.  You can jump back into your life, but this time complete…restored.

Believe me, I share this because I’ve experienced the breaking point, and it’s not somewhere I ever want to revisit.  That’s why the papers will pile up every now and then, the closets will look like a bomb went off in them, and our junk drawer will look like a junk yard.  I’m learning to quit the juggling act and allow God to hold on to the balls for me because when I’ve overcome the obstacle in my way, the balls will always be waiting for me on the other side, and I’ll be in much better shape to handle them.

Asking "Why" About Haiti

I love the wild and unpretentious things that spring forth from my children’s mouths like, "Mommy, when you're mad your eyes get red!"  Or “Mommy, I put pee pee in the potty!  I’m a big boy!  You put pee pee in the potty too!  You a big girl!” - such sweet innocence.  Sometimes their simplistic views and profound observations make me smile.  I love to listen to my children discover life – taking in all the wonderment of this world they occupy.  

However, recently Sydney has been asking some pretty deep questions.  Much, much heavier content than, “Why do you wear make-up?” and “Do I really have to be a grown up someday?”  Lately the questions she’s been throwing my way have been inspired by the tragedy in Haiti.  “Did God make the earthquake?”  “Why did it happen?”  “Why did God let it happen?”  “Did those people do something wrong?”  Joel and I are not ones to throw petty answers at our children when they ask us tough questions, realizing at the same time, we need to keep our answers 6-year-old friendly.

As I was forming a response in my head, I felt overwhelmed.  How do I explain that the same God we have taught her about since she was squirming around in my womb - the God who is loving, compassionate, our protector, Who has good things for His children, Whom she has invited into her life - would allow an earthquake to trample a city to the ground, killing thousands upon thousands of men, women and children?  How do I explain the character of God to a 6-year-old, without confusing or skewing the image of such a gracious, merciful and forgiving Heavenly Father? 

Sorting out the best way to answer, I started thinking about the people who don’t believe in God at all.  Perhaps they are asking the same questions as my little girl.  What would I say to them?

Here is the response I came up with:

God is good, but sometimes, bad things happen.  Sometimes God allows tragedy because He knows what is best for us.  Just like I allow Sydney to make mistakes, knowing full well the consequence in the end will not be a pleasant one.  While God is in control of all the earth and everything in it, He still gives it permission to operate, rotate, breathe in and breathe out, fulfilling its cycles as it was created to do. 

Could He have saved those who perished?  Yes.  He could have.  Was He punishing them, and therefore chose not to save them?  No.  While He could have swooped in and protected each one of the earthquake victims, God chose not to.  And quite honestly, we’ll never know why or understand fully as long as we’re living on earth.  That’s a tough answer to swallow.  We like to know why.  We like to understand and rationalize and make sense of uncertainties.  It is very difficult to settle with the fact that we won’t always know why.

Here’s the thing.  Life is precious to God.  His character will always be good, righteous, holy and pure.  But we live in a broken world.  When Adam and Even chose to disobey the one command God gave to them in the Garden of Eden, sin entered into the picture…and life has never been the same.  Bad things are going to happen.  Good and bad people alike will suffer here on earth.  Even Christians will suffer. 

Could it be, though, that God sees a picture far, far bigger than the one we are looking at right now?  Could it be that from the devastation good will emerge?  Love will bloom where once it had no root?  That those who’s hearts were hardened to God, may, in fact, be melting at this very moment?  It’s difficult to imagine that anything good could come from this, but I don’t see all the details, or the full scope of the image God sees.  Could it be that while we are searching to understand why, God is already at work answering our questions, opening up our eyes to His panoramic view, little by little?  And while we may never see it fully, we may at least catch a tiny glimpse of the image God sees, and realize He was always good, and He was there the whole time.

I think it’s great to ask why, and I’m so touched that Sydney would feel comfortable to ask such questions of me, and my husband.  Sometimes I might be able to give a clear-cut answer, but other times, like this, I won’t.  She’ll have to learn to settle for the fact that not all “whys” have answers.  She’ll have to wrestle with it on her own, just as all of us do.  But the one thing I pray she will hold on to for her entire life is that God is good…no matter what.