When Syd Grows Up

Sydney: “Mommy, I want to be YOU when I grow up.”  (I know, I know...I too was overwhelmed with the "I just want to pick you up and kiss you all over" feeling when she made this momentous announcement.) She continued her statement with a list of weekly activities: “I’m going to be a girl pastor on Sunday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I’m going to be a gardener on Monday, Thursday and Saturday. Then on Friday’s I’ll sweep!” (For the record, I am neither a “girl pastor” nor a “gardener”. The sweeping part? That, I actually do.)

I’ve given her the job of sweeping our floors – I’m just trying to give her lots of practice for her career.

Do The Monkey

As I plopped back into my chair, heart racing and completely out of breadth from doing the “Monkey, Monkey” with the Wiggles, I had an epiphany, of sorts. Who says that stay-at-home moms don’t exercise? I’ve often beat myself to a pulp over the fact that by the time I’ve successfully taken care of all the needs of my household, plus managed to squeeze in a hot shower and throw on some make-up (we don’t want to scare the children), that I haven’t chiseled out at least thirty minutes for a heart pumping workout. I haven’t “Sweat To The Oldies” or knocked a lamp to the floor and stubbed my toe kickin’ it “old school” with Billy Blanks’ “Tae Bo – Advanced Total Body Workout” in years. (And, might I just add, both of these classics I happen to own on video-cassette – well, at least the Tae Bo one for sure - which simply proves how long it has been since I’ve been in workout mode!) The guilt plagues me. I see cute little mommies run by my house pushing their only offspring around in their top-of-the-line jogging strollers and I get depressed. I suppose I could pile all three of my kids into our six-year-old Graco deluxe stroller and go for a spin, but someone might get hurt - like me. I could seriously pull something you know. This morning Jackson, our number one Wiggles fan, dragged my mommy rear away from the computer and begged me to dance with him. So…I did. We “mashed bananas”, did the “monkey, monkey” and danced with Henry the Octopus. Once my little man’s love tank was full to overflowing from the quality time I spent with him cuttin’ loose with the Wiggles, I eased my way back into my comfy chair and that is when it hit me. I’m getting a workout every single day just keeping up with my three small “Monkey, Monkeys”! I’m climbing things – bunk beds, play structures and stairs – lifting weights (my children), and stretching almost every muscle in my body as I work my way through the house keeping it neat and orderly. I’m a workout machine!

Side note: I could seriously create my own workout video (I think they’re actually called DVD’s and Blu Ray these days). I could share all my fabulous moves with all the other stay-at-home-with-two-or-more-children mommies. I could be the next fitness guru, create and empire and retire at 40 – my…how the mind gets carried away.

Snapping back to reality…

I love being a stay-at-home mom. Even though I don’t get to don the cute workout clothes and jog around the neighborhood - inflicting envy on all the other women gazing out their front windows - I am grateful for what I do have. My workouts are small but come with big reward: Three healthy children - who keep me on the move all day long, sweatin’ with Dorothy the Dinosaur - and lots of hugs, kisses and words of encouragement when the workout is completed – “Mommy, you did it!”

And that concludes my deep thought for the day - which is perfect timing because I do believe I hear my three “personal trainers” beckoning me back for another round of “Monkey, Monkey” and “Crunchy, Munchy Honeycakes”!

So…here…I…go…!

Red Ballpoint Pen Strokes

Ms. Shaffer was notorious for driving poor, unsuspecting seventh grade students to tears with her ruthless grading scale and sharp-witted tongue. She was a legend at Rosslyn Academy, who we truly believed coined the phrases: “empty vessels make the most noise,” “little things amuse little minds,” and – probably my favorite – “open mouth, insert foot…and chew.” She never raised her voice, and pulled these zingers off with a smile on her face and a piece of chalk in her hand, all the while listening to Paul Simon – whom she loved. She was brutal. And I was terrified.  

Our first assignment in Ms. Shaffer’s seventh grade English class was to write an introductory journal entry telling her a little bit about ourselves. I was so relieved, and so excited because I loved to write. (Since I was eight years old, and wrote my first poem, I have loved to write.) I thought to myself, this is my chance to win Ms. Shaffer over…she’s going fall in love with me and I’m going to be her star student! Internally there was a serious party going on in my heart and Julie Andrews was singing, “I have confidence in confidence alone!” I couldn’t wait to get home and tackle my “Introducing Amy” journal entry. My fears were quickly subsiding.

As I sat down at my desk at home and opened up my square paper journal, I began to brainstorm about what to write. I really wanted to impress Ms. Shaffer, so I knew it needed to be good, and it needed to sound smart. Sounding smart was about the most important thing in the world to me when I was in school – that, and boys, of course. To be perfectly honest with you, sounding smart is still something I really strive for. Funny thing is, when you try too hard to do, or be, something because you really, really want to do, or be that particular thing, it usually ends up blowing up in your face. Which in my case, it did…big time.

Back to “thinking smart thoughts”: I remembered this “Family Ties” episode I had watched one time, and Alex – played by Michael J. Fox (dreamy) – used the word intellectual to describe himself. Alex was a very smart boy. Therefore, in my eleven-year-old brain I figured that if I used the word intellectual in my “Introducing Amy” piece Ms. Shaffer would be so impressed with me. Not just because it was a smart word, but it was a big word – and smart people use big words.

Let’s just put it this way, every hope I had in becoming Ms. Shaffer’s little buddy - her class pet, her superstar seventh grader - was dashed the moment she handed my journal back to me. My literary masterpiece was covered – COVERED – in red ink. From start to finish there was hardly any evidence that I had written anything at all because Ms. Shaffer’s red pen of death had completely ripped through the pages of my soul. I was heartbroken. To make matters worse, I didn’t even spell “intellectual” correctly. A smart person would have at least looked it up in the dictionary to verify the spelling, but I’m not too smart. It never even occurred to me to grab my dictionary. Not only that, but I was pretty bummed that I couldn’t even get a decent grade when my assignment was to simply write about myself – the one subject I just happen to know something about. Evidently Ms. Shaffer didn’t think so.

I spent my whole seventh grade English career living in fear and trepidation of Ms. Shaffer’s red ballpoint pen. I worked so hard that year to redeem myself from that hideous first impression. To this day, I honestly don’t know what Ms. Shaffer thought of me (probably something like…emotional). I will say this, however, she (or quite possibly fear) pushed me to work hard – harder than I had ever worked in my life. And then, of all things, English became my favorite subject in school (I’m not sure if Ms. Shaffer is the one to whom the credit is due on this one, but she certainly had a hand in it).

You know, there are times, as I go through my day-to-day activities, when that eleven-year-old girl resurfaces. As I did with Ms. Shaffer, I want to be Jesus’ superstar. I want to present him with an “Introducing Amy” life that will knock His socks off. But I so often mess it all up. I want God to be proud of me. So what do I do? I do what Spiritually smart people do. I get up early and spend time with Him - I pray, I seek, I wait and ask Him to lead and guide my day. I do this, only to get irritated at Brooklyn when she wanders downstairs and interrupts my moment of “Spiritual intellect”. If God had a red ballpoint pen my life would be hopelessly covered with marks and scribbles.

Yesterday morning at church, before we partook in communion, the song “Amazing Love” filled the sanctuary…and I was suddenly overwhelmed – kind of like that feeling when you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. My hands trembled as I held the communion emblems in my fingers.

Amazing love – how can it be? That you my King would die for me? Amazing love – I know it’s true. And it’s my joy to honor you, In all I do, I honor you.

In a strange sort of way, God did have a red ballpoint pen. Although, He didn’t use it to scratch up the pages of my life and leave me covered in permanent ink. God sent Jesus - crucified on a cross…for me. Jesus – whipped, broken, covered in red strokes - poured out His love for me. He nailed my “mean mommy” moment towards Brooklyn to the cross along with His hands and feet - and countless other mistakes I’ve made in my life, the ones I’ve made just today, and the one I will more than likely make in the next hour or so - many, many years ago. He allows me to redeem my less-than-stellar moments, not with red ballpoint pen strokes, but by grace, forgiveness and a second chance. It’s not an excuse to be lazy. I still have a high responsibility in the various roles I play, but God knows I can’t do it alone. He knows I’ll forget to pull the dictionary out and end up misspelling a word or two. So, He allowed Christ to be the one to take the tough grade in my place. Every time I look at myself in the mirror I am reminded of the price that was paid so that I could be forgiven and uncovered with red ballpoint pen strokes. And at the end of the day, I actually get to be God’s superstar student!

Africa, Bats and "Goat City" Smells (Part Two)

Africa. Experiences.

Even thinking about it now takes me back to the smell of chai and mandazis. I can almost taste the rich aromas of the coffee and tea plantations we drove by daily to get to school and church. Or the not-so-pleasant stench of “goat city” that, we too, had to drive through to get to school and church. I can see my white Keds turned red Keds from the red clay dirt that seemed to find it’s way into just about every nook and cranny of our lives. I can hear the sound of silence – sweet, calm and serene – on a typical night, where you can still see every star immeasurably scattered across the vast and boundless Kenyan sky. Coastal vacations on the white sands of Mombasa – the succulent salt air wafting through our hotel room beckoning us to put our toes in the sand and walk for miles. Reaching Mount Longanot’s highest peak - laden with camera, food and pretty much everything my mom thought we might need for a fun, “little hike” – as a family.

There are subtle, and then many not-so-subtle, moments when I look at my own children and it hits me that they are so “American”. I scratch my head and fret that because my adult life has led me to settle in the United States, my children may never have the opportunities like I had growing up. I stress about it…a lot. I hear “Americana” dribble from Sydney’s six-year-old mouth and I just want to cry. Will she ever realize that the world is much, much bigger and holds infinitely more, than her collection of Sleeping Beauty paraphernalia and stash of “golden” rocks hiding in her jewelry box? I know…she’s only six, but I desperately want her to know what I only wish I could have grasped as a little girl: that those experiences that take us outside and beyond the ordinariness of life, are the very things that open our hearts, minds and souls to a measureless world called “life”. I want my kids to actually have something to write about someday. I want them to be able to remember “the time we…”. I want them to breathe air that doesn’t smell sweet, or lose their shoes in something really disgusting, catch a parasite or two, sit in a room with five different languages carrying on conversations, set up a picnic five feet away from a python. I want them to know that there is ministry far more dangerous than an internship in Detroit; an adventure far more exciting than a vacation to Disney World; and a cultural experience far more unique than Canada.

My brain is a never-ending tirade of an unsatisfied wish list. I thought I was weird growing up because my experiences were so out-of-the-ordinary. Yet, here I am - the grown-up me - realizing just how extra-ordinary those adventures actually were. Even as I write this, I find myself challenged to take all of those encounters and incidents, collect them warmly in my heart, and allow God to use them through me. They are a part of my life story. They have shaped me and made me the woman I am today. While my children may not grow up overseas and share the same stories I write about, their's too will be great. They have me for their mom, and through the telling of my own experiences, their minds will be opened to endless possibilities of the places they can go and the things they can do! Maybe they won’t grow up in Africa, but I am certain they will have a desperate longing to go there someday, taste the nyama choma, smell the maize crackling on a make-shift grill along the street, and hold the tiny, orphaned, diaper-less babies.

Experiences. My experiences. They may not grace the pages of a book or magazine, or be the topic of conversation at the next social gathering, but my experiences will hopefully inspire and encourage my own children to reach for the stars and seek wild, insane adventures of their own.

Africa, Bats and "Goat City" Smells (Part One)

Experiences.  

I wish I could say that I have always appreciated the life story God chose for me. Take my childhood in Africa, for example. God in His infinite wisdom called my parents/family to Kenya. I have spent a lot of time wondering of what use my experiences could be: a good party story or outrageous testimonial? How does one make sense of so many random situations and off kilter scenarios? Life in Africa, life in America after Africa - each holding bizarre and embarrassing moments that still remain a mystery to me.

For instance, the time my sister, mom and I were sitting in the Dairy Queen drive-thru placing our orders for three Snickers Blizzards. In Africa we were accustomed to enunciating our words thoroughly so that we could be understood. My sister and I, 11 and 13 years of age, sat mortified in the back seat of the car as we observed the skinny, pot holed faced teen-age kid in the drive-thru window making fun of our mom who was clearly articulating our order for “threeeee Ssss-nick-errrs Bliiiiizzzz-are-dssss.” We wanted to die. And what made it all the more horrifying is that EVERYWHERE we went, my parents had to announce to everyone – the check out girl at JC Penney, the waiter at Denny’s, every employee at the mall, for that matter – that we live in Africa. As if, by simply looking at us they couldn’t already tell that we were not “from these parts”!

Adjusting to America was painful. As I sat in my math class at Jackson Middle School in South Bend, Indiana the only voice ringing in my head - as the boys ruthlessly made fun of my wild, multi-colored floral Palmetto jeans - was my mom’s, emphatically drilling the words, “Nine, Ninety-nine!” into the heads of my sister and me as we were shopping at the outlet mall for school clothes. We were on a tight budget and the maximum amount of money we were allotted to spend on anything was, “Nine, Ninety-nine!” To this day, when I am out shopping, I still hear my mom chanting, “Nine-Ninety-nine!” It’s insane.

Kids would talk about T.V. shows or some pop culture trivia that I was completely clueless about, and I would just sit silently. Nobody wants to hear about the Kikuyu woman who died during one of our church services, and after a bunch of people ran over and laid hands on her during worship, she came back to life and started pounding on a drum and jumping up and down. Stories like that just weren’t “cool”. Or the time we were driving out to another Kikuyu church and had to stop our car so that a herd of elephant could cross the street (elephants have the right of way!). And the countless stories of the obnoxious hawks (kites) that would swoop down during lunch time at school and snatch the food right out of our hands…well, who really cares about that?

Nobody wanted to hear the story about the time a bat flew up and hit me on my bare rear end while on a school camping trip. Or about the camel safari that left me constipated for a week. Or the time I got malaria. Or when my foot was only a few inches away from stepping on a coiling cobra. Or when my sister and I were on a safari in Swaziland and were chased by a herd of elephant…on foot (we forgot to give them the right of way)! Oh no…the American kids wanted to hear stories from the guy who spent a few weeks of his summer working in Detroit. Detroit! Are you kidding me? But alas, perhaps it was God’s gentle way of keeping me humble so that all my “experiences” wouldn’t go to my head.

Of course, the time I actually did open my mouth to say something it turned me into a “freak”. I asked the girl occupying the desk beside me if I could borrow a “rubber” – which, by the way, in Africa a “rubber” is an “eraser”…just clarifying. Of course, you can only imagine the uproar of laughter that sprung up in the classroom – filled with twenty junior high boys! All I could think was, “what did I say?”

I was “That Girl From Africa”. Not Meryl Streep from “Out Of Africa” – I could only wish – but “That Girl…” That shy little girl, who so desperately wanted to belong and be just like everybody else, but whose parents had to follow the call of God so that I could grow up in an exotic, life-transforming place called...Africa.

(End Part One.)

I'm "Wearing" Children

I love a good outfit. I enjoy coordinating and pulling pieces of clothes together to come up with a cute ensemble. A pretty blouse and a great pair shoes - combined with good hair - are all I need to make for a spectacular day.  

I’m not really a true expert on fashion. I just take a lot of notes – mental notes – while observing other women and their great sense of style. I don’t own fashion magazines, but occasionally I’ll Google something I might be struggling with (like “rain boots” after I received a really funky pair from my sister for Christmas, but was completely unaware of the proper way cool people are wearing their rain boots these days). In one of my Google searches - way back when I was pregnant with Brooklyn - I learned that “it’s all about the accessories.” Chunky necklaces, vintage bracelets or a snazzy little clutch can turn a “Plain Jane” jeans and t-shirt combo into “One Hot Mama”. I didn’t realize accessories are all it takes!

I do love a good chunky necklace, and have a few in my jewelry drawer. These days, however, I’m accessorizing with children. They hang from my neck and shoulders, and wrap around my waist and legs. It’s a style I’ve been working with for about six years now, and I’m not sure I’m wearing it very well. These accessories have been known to pull on both arms at the same time while I’m trying to do something really important like play on Facebook. They’ve clung to my thigh while I’ve tried walking across the church foyer to say hello to someone. They’ve pulled on my shirt to the point of indecent exposure (I’m NOT kidding – thank you Jackson), they’ve squeezed my neck while I was reading a book and I wasn’t giving eye contact while saying “No, it’s not snack time yet.” They sit on my lap while I’m typing, tug at my clothes while I’m making dinner and play with my toes when I’m trying to sit and relax. The list goes on and on and on.

I’m “wearing” children. It’s my new style. I would much rather be wearing GAP or Banana Republic, but alas, I am wearing three hot little bodies, every day. Style is fun. Fashion is great. Accessories - whether bracelets or children - are truly a gift from God. However, I wonder to myself, if I didn’t have the outfits or the enviable shoes or the child swinging from my right arm, would I still feel like “One Hot Mama”?

Colossians 3:12&14 says: “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them together in perfect unity.”

My brand new pair of Nikes might make my “mommy uniform” really pop when I go to playgroup on Thursday, but that shouldn’t be the one thing that makes me hot. My hair might turn out great this coming Sunday for church, but is that all I want people to notice or remember me for? Man’s accessories are cute and fun, but not eternal. Before I get dressed in the morning, before I choose which pair of shoes to put on that will pull the outfit together, before I hoist my two-year-old onto my hip and enter the public world, I realize I need to clothe myself with God’s accessories: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Most importantly, though, I desperately need love. I need God’s love, His guidance and His grace to wear these accessories when I don’t necessarily feel that pretty on the outside. Love takes all those beautiful attributes, those Spiritual fruits, binds them together to produce a sweet and fragrant fruit salad. That’s the kind of life I want – accessorized with love, reflecting God, and representing Him well.

So, the next time you see me I might be sporting a headband with a little person dangling from my wrist, but what I am mostly striving for is that when you get a closer look you will not only see me “wearing” children, but you will see me “wearing” love.

Laid Bare...Continuing The Thought (On A More Serious Note)

Writing yesterday’s blog post was fun for me. I smiled as I recalled the awkward airport bathroom moment I shared with my son...and the two women occupying the stalls next to us. (My kids have gifted me with more material for writing than just about any personal experience I have gone through in my life thus far…they are a treasure!) Once completed I uploaded my story, hoping that either it would give someone a good laugh, or perhaps a kindred spirit would read it, relate to it and “feel my pain.” In any case, it was shared, for all intents and purposes, as a good laugh. Then, as I was lying in bed last night I started reflecting on the idea of being “laid bare”. How absolutely horrifying and humiliating those moments can be - and are - when I’m out in public with my children and something happens that is completely out of my control. Suddenly I am…exposed.

“Hypothetical” situation: We’re at church and it’s time to go home. One out of three decides they don’t want to go, so they stomp their foot down – as if stomping their foot will magically fuse their body to the floor of the church lobby, like a majestic oak tree taking root in fertile soil. In my efforts to uproot this mighty oak, I can see out of the corner of my eye the other two-thirds of my crew running willy-nilly through the foyer, nearly knocking down an unsuspecting senior citizen. The tantrums begin, and I want to scream, cry, hide under a rock and just disappear. It’s not so much because my three spunky and energetic offspring are being naughty (kids are naughty a lot), but in that split second moment my failings are revealed for all the world (my church) to see. Flaws, imperfections, inadequacies, insecurities as a mom – you name it – it is all hanging out there and I have no where to hide. I am laid bare…and that is a very vulnerable and painful place to be.

I simply couldn’t let go of this thought last night. Yesterday’s story was entertaining and funny, as most of my embarrassing motherhood stories tend to become after time. It was the concept of being laid bare that kept me up late into the night. How I hate looking and feeling out of control. As much as I mock perfection I find myself consistently reaching for it, but it is an illusion that no one can quite grasp.

No one - that is - except Jesus.

And it was upon this thought that my mind lingered. Jesus - God in the flesh, but perfect and without sin. Jesus – who had nothing gross, ugly and shameful to conceal - took upon Himself all the sin of the world and was laid bare on a cross. Exposed…for me. He did it for those moments when I lose my cool and “Mean Mommy” appears, saying something foolish and stupid, and I have to run to His feet for forgiveness. He did it for those days when I just can’t seem to get a handle on the chaos and clutter, and I run to Him again for wisdom, strength and guidance. I shudder in my laid bare moments because I somehow think I can pull off perfect, or at least I want to. And yet, Jesus, who really IS perfect, humbly laid Himself bare for me.

I was convicted last night. Not because I wrote a funny story (at least I thought it was funny), but mostly because I forgot to include Christ in my weakest moment. In my weakness, He is my strength. He allows me to mess it up so that I won’t forget just how much I need Him. Everyday. (In every bathroom stall across the country.) I don’t ever want to forget the One to laid it bare for me in my many, many laid bare moments.

Laid Bare

"I am just a woman. One woman freaking out on a planet full of a lot of other women who, I think, are also freaking out. It's not just the ones with kids. Those of us who have kids are just laid bare more easily because our children know us for who we really are and they tell on us." - Susanna Foth Aughtmon, from "All I Need Is Jesus & A Good Pair Of Jeans". (TiredSupergirl.com)

(This is actually my THIRD try at getting this post typed and uploaded. I've had a little "help" from some eager hands that have managed to delete my previous two attempts. Hmmm...patience...not perfection.)

We were at the airport waiting for our flight to Orlando. Jackson’s diaper was stinky, so I took him to the bathroom for a quick change. (There is a strange, yet very real, phenomenon that takes place in my bladder when I enter a restroom. Regardless of whether or not I needed to go before I walked inside, once I am surrounded by the sound of multiple toilets flushing simultaneously, I desperately feel the need to “go”. So it was on this occasion.)

After I finished changing the poopie diaper I found an empty stall and hauled my little man in there with me. I really needed to go and was doing the potty dance that I so often see my girls doing when they’ve waited too long. Jackson thought it was pretty cool and threw himself on the floor (yes…that gross, disgusting airport bathroom floor!). I was too busy getting myself situated to stop him. Of course, once on the floor my ornery little two-year-old started to see endless possibilities for mischief. He peaked under the stall to see who was occupying the next one over. I gasped and pulled him back towards me. Then, he snuck a peak under the other side. Again, I pulled him back and in my sweetest motherly voice said, “Jackson, we don’t do that.” (And I know he was thinking, “Oh yes we do!”) Then, like lightening speed Jackson shot under the stall door and started climbing to his feet…ready for the sweet taste of freedom. I was STILL on the potty! I leaped forward and grabbed his left foot all the while my pants were down around my ankles…tooshy in the sky. Jackson was laughing and squealing with delight - no doubt because of the grunts and gasps coming from my side of the bathroom stall. I held on to his foot for dear life and pulled him back inside with me. I literally had to keep one hand on him as I finished up. I could see it in his pudgy little face, one false move on my part and I might literally be “laid bare” for all the world to see! Gotta love kids!

Are you perfect? Probably not. Am I perfect? No way! It's a heck of a lot easier to pull off an illusion of perfection without a couple of "mini-me's" hanging all over you, but at the end of the day...nobody is perfect. Every time I walk out of this house with my three little ones in tow I might as well not even bother with the make-up...wrinkles, warts and never-ending blemishes come shining through! So, don't worry about being perfect (perfection is highly over-rated) and our children will be the first in line to bring us back to reality every time.

Just a note of advice: never take two-year-old boys into public bathroom stalls without a leash or stroller.

Shoe Pile...Don't Bother Me

House Rule #9: No shoes in the house. At the bottom of our staircase lies a pile of shoes. Large shoes, small shoes, medium shoes, flip flops, sparkly shoes, crocs and sneakers.

Being the anal-retentive perfectionist that I am (confession is good for the soul), clutter is my enemy. Paper piles, clothes piles, piles of this and piles of that…piles of stuff in general unnerve and irritate me. So what to do about this little pile of shoes at the bottom of our staircase?

When it comes down to it, I am the one to blame for this unsightly collection. In my effort to keep the dirt out, I made a “house rule” that shoes are not to be worn indoors. It is my mantra as I am unloading the kids from the car, "Shoes off when you get in the house!"

The result...a pile of shoes.

I have one of two choices here: I can get frustrated about the shoe pile and whine and complain and make a big stink about it, OR I can take a step back and be grateful for it. (Grateful? Where am I going with this?) If there were no shoe pile then that could only mean my children, husband - and myself included - would not be following one of our house rules. That annoying shoe collection is evidence that we are team players, working together to keep our house clean. We are showing respect for each other and for our home when we take our shoes off at the door.

It is also a GREAT reminder of the feet that fill those shoes. Each pair represents someone who lives in this home and is a part of this family. There's a dad, a mom, a couple of sisters and a little boy. Five people...and countless pairs of shoes! You know...I think I can let this one go. I am much more concerned about the people that wear those shoes than I am with the pile they leave. Not everything has to be perfect (gasp!), and that shoe pile won't bother me anymore!

A Good Read

During my "quiet time" this afternoon I picked up Mark Batterson's book "In A Pit With A Lion On A Snowy Day", not realizing how quickly I would be sucked in. It's not a novel or action packed fictional piece - that's not to say it is a book lacking in adventure. In about an hour I plowed my way through the first half of the book (I could have easily kept reading, but was interrupted by a few hungry little people). To keep this short and sweet - I have been sensing that God wants to do something new in my life, but whether it be fear of the unknown or that my attention has been divided, I haven't understood what it is He has been whispering in my spirit. This book is challenging my perception of God, my perception of self and my perception of going through difficult times. Powerful and insightful. God is taking me on a journey right now, and I'm not quite sure what the destination is going to be. All I can say is this, I'd much rather be one who chases lions than one who is constantly running from them!

My book pick for this month: In A Pit With A Lion On A Snowy Day, by Mark Batterson

Battle Picking...

Pick your battles.

Man...with three little ones I am learning how absolutely right on this advice is, and how much I need to adhere to it. Here are a few battles I have decided are not worth fighting, and in retrospect have been the best decisions I have made thus far in my parenting experience:

* Allowing my daughters to pick out their own outfits - When I broke down and finally relinquished control over what my girls were allowed to wear, or at least how they wore their outfits, mornings in my home became refreshingly sweet, calm and smooth. When they were babies and toddlers I controlled everything in their lives, down to the shoes on their feet and bows in their hair. But here they are - Sydney is 6 and Brooklyn is 4 - and of all things...they have their own opinions. Imagine that! I want my kids to learn to think for themselves, take responsibility for their decisions and learn how it feels to succeed, and sometimes fail, on their own. The simple act of deciding what they wear on their bodies is one step towards gaining confidence in themselves to make the next choice, even if it is a small one.

* Letting Jackson, my two year old son, wear his Disney Cars jammies to church (last night) - Who would have thought that a BOY would have such a strong opinion about what clothes he wore on his body! My son has five different pairs of Disney Cars jammies, and that is all he EVER wants to wear. One exception is his Cars t-shirt. Since we only have one t-shirt and five pairs of jammies, you can see that there is often a struggle to get him to wear regular clothes. When we are at home I let him wear his jammies, but when we go somewhere like church, playgroup, Bible study, etc. I kind of prefer he wear normal "going out" clothes. Getting him dressed for such occasions can sometimes be a nightmare. Yesterday evening, however, I decided this battle was NOT worth fighting. Why make him wear a t-shirt and shorts for a grand total of two hours? Who really cares anyway? Of course my mind starts churning about comments that might or might not be made. After all, I am a pastor's wife. What will people think? I hate to admit that there are times that I really do worry about what other people think of me. Not last night - my son wore his beloved Cars jammies to church. Our whole evening was blissful. He was so happy and so proud to wear "Lightning McQueen" on his chest. There are plenty of other battles worth engaging the physical and mental energy in, but not this one...not last night.

* Quiet time activities - In a perfect world, or at least my perfect world, quiet time would mean my children sit and read, draw, colour, listen to music or watch a movie...in perfect silence. I mean, when I am having quiet time that's what I do! Here's what I've learned in my six years of parenting...children don't know how to be 100% still and quiet. There must be some sort of chemical or hormone or biological something in their little bodies which makes refraining from talking, singing, twirling and creative play nearly impossible. Unless my children are actually sleeping, their bodies never stop engaging in activity. Still, I am a firm believer that a little down time/quiet time is needed every day (especially for me). In order for all of us to enjoy our quiet time I have lowered my expectations. Instead of forcing them to sit still and read or watch a movie, I have given them freedom to play quietly. They are allowed to talk and interact, however, when the volume gets too loud or they start running and jumping I will, and do, step in. By being more flexible on this I find that I don't have to disengage from my own quiet time as much in order to deal with them. Let that battle go! (By the way, Jackson still takes naps...BLESSING!)

* Taking toys/books out of the house - Okay...this one was kind of a back and forth issue with me. It seemed that every time we would let the kids take a little toy to church it would somehow disappear...forever. I got tired of losing toys. In order to deal with this issue we made a new rule that toys and books were not allowed to leave the house. Then there were those "transitional" life moments that came: new class, new teacher, new friends, etc. The need for something comforting began to arise more and more. Discovering this simple need to hold on to a lovey, a small toy or even a little book began to make leaving the house in a timely fashion an actuality for us. The agreement we have on this is that they leave their toys in the car once we have arrived at our destination. If they are carrying a bag with them they are permitted to take the toy inside the school or church, but it MUST stay in the bag. So far, we have not lost a single toy or book!

Other battles I have let go of, (but don't feel the need to elaborate on):

* How they decide to decorate their bedroom * T.V. viewing in the morning * Playroom clean-up - how they do it, not if they do it

Just as my children are a work in progress...SO AM I! Some of the lessons I've learned may be "no brainers" for most moms, but maybe there are a few others out there like me that are "late bloomers" in the area of "battle picking". For those in the latter category, I hope my words are an encouragement to you. Choose your battles wisely, my friends...choose wisely.

A Premature Goodbye

Two years ago today my grandmother passed away. She was 81 years old. Nanny had shared sixty beautiful years with my grandfather, left behind a son, two granddaughters and three great-grandchildren. Her legacy was one of strength, self-sacrifice and trust in God. She had weathered the Great Depression as a child, went to work during World War II, took in my grandfather's siblings when their mother passed away, raised her family while working full time and remained devoted to my grandfather through sickness, health, feast and famine. Still, as I sat through her funeral I couldn't help but feel that Nanny had left us way too soon. I don't think I would ever have been ready to let my grandmother go - there's never a good time to say goodbye. Today I received word that a friend of mine from high school had to say goodbye to his eight month old baby girl two days ago...on Father's Day. I have read his blog to catch up on this saga, and I find myself sharing in this family's grief. Oh God, how could this be? This precious baby girl, who only had eight months to share with her family, is now in the arms of her Heavenly Father. I can not even imagine the sorrow, the questions...the premature goodbye. I know that God is with them - I hear the strength in the words they write. I also know this is only the beginning of a long road through the grief and the pain.

I struggle as I write this, my mind swirling with thoughts of my friend and his family. I look at my own little brood and a flood of emotion washes over me. I want to scoop each one of my children up and squeeze them tight - how grateful I am for their health, their energy, their smiles, their cries, from the hair on their heads to their wiggly little toes...every detail. While I'm dealing with temper tantrums and sibling rivalry, my friend is dealing with the pain of never again hearing the sound of his little girl's cry. The perspective is convicting. We may not have much - our house may be too small, our bank account sadly deficient and holding on to our sanity may be the only thing we accomplish on any given day. However, I am so thankful for all of it. I'm thankful that my home is filled with the sounds of children laughing and crying, jumping and running. This perspective, while convicting, brings me to a fresh awareness of how blessed I am. Not blessed because of any external or material thing, but I am blessed in the little things. And for these blessings, I am truly grateful.

Thinking back to my grandmother, I recall all of the experiences I was able to share with her, the conversations we had, the Christmases, the stories. Even if I think my time with her was too short, saying goodbye was filled with hundreds of memories that I can hold on to for the rest of my life. While I wasn't prepared to say goodbye to Nanny, it was not premature. God knows how many years, days and months we will live on this earth. "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be," Psalm 139:16. Whether we get to live eighty years, or life ends at eight months, God has ordained each one of those days. It is more difficult to understand the purpose of only eight months, but somehow God's plan will unfold in time. In this moment I see this baby's departure as a premature goodbye, but as time goes on I am certain God will prove me wrong. He will reveal a purpose beyond what I, or her family, could possibly comprehend.

My heartfelt prayers go out to my friend, his wife and their families today. I realize nothing I say will ease the pain of their loss. I know that God is with them. He will guide them through the grief, be a listening ear in the wee hours of the night when the pain seems most intense and hold them tightly in His grasp when they feel they are falling apart. Like I said at the beginning, there's never a good time to say goodbye, however I would imagine a premature goodbye would be the most difficult one to say.

In conclusion: I will keep praying for my friend. And as I pray for this family, I will continue thanking God for each moment, day and year that I am so blessed to share with my own family. For God has ordained each one of our days, and I want to cherish each one, no matter how few or how many we get to experience together.

Mother Of The Year

Just pin a badge on me and call me "Mother of the Year!" :) I received, by far, one of the best compliments I could receive - as a mom - this morning. Here's what happened: My 4-year-old daughter, Brooklyn, has ballet class on Wednesday mornings. At her dance school there is a small waiting room where the moms can sit and wait while their little ones are in class. Because Brooklyn's class is thirty minutes long I try to bring snacks for Jackson and something for him to play with. Most of the time he just wants to run around and find the very thing he is not supposed to get into and, of course, get into it. I get a thirty-minute workout every week while I "wait" for Brooklyn's class to be over. Not only is Jackson busy, but also he is two years old. (Do I really need to elaborate on that? - I think we are all familiar with the challenges of keeping a 2 year old contained in a small space! :)

So this morning, I had a minute to sit down while my precious son had found some blocks to play with for a minute or two. As I took a brief break, one of the other moms with whom we share the waiting room, said to me, "Wow! You are so patient with him!" I let out a deep sigh and simply said, "Thank you." I didn't have time to talk any further as Jackson was - at that very moment - turning the light switch off in the room.

As I spent the rest of the class time - trying earnestly to keep Jackson distracted from all of the "no, no's" - I did so with a new sense of confidence. Maybe you are like me, in that, most of the time I am so absorbed in the present moment with my kids - keeping them safe, guiding them, meeting their needs, setting boundaries - that I often times forget that people are watching me. I get so wrapped up in just trying to survive some of these more challenging moments that the rest of the world disappears around me. I don't really see myself as being patient with my kids. In fact, I pray daily...sometimes minute-by-minute, for patience and grace to handle all the "stuff" my kids bring my way. I usually feel like I am failing at it.

Then, this morning, that sweet mom in the waiting room made a personal observation, and the rest of my day was made! I know I don't always handle things so well, and I've messed up in public before. However, today I feel like "Mother of the Year”.

Galatians 5:22 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

I want my life to be a reflection of God, and when I exhibit – even in it’s most raw form – one of the fruits of the Spirit, I find myself encouraged. Progress is being made. I feel infused with strength and energy, and I am ready to tackle both the little things and the big things. (Even as I write this Jackson is pulling stuffing out of one of the playroom pillows – God is growing patience in me for sure!)

I will conclude with this thought (if I try to drag this out any longer I’m afraid I may have no throw pillow left): I honestly don’t expect to get a “Mother of the Year” badge or anything like that. I’m not looking for one. The reason I even feel worthy of an award today is because I exhibited patience while dealing with my busy two-year-old, to the point that someone noticed. Do I do it to be noticed? No. However, I am encouraged that patience was flowing through me when I needed it the most, and I bore the reflection of Christ to a group of moms who may have no idea who Christ is, as well as to my energetic and curious two-year-old boy. Mission accomplished...for today!

Mother's Day

My mom was in the hospital this week due to fever, extreme dehydration and asthma. Fortunately the doctors were able to get everything under control and send her home in good condition. In fact, when I spoke with my mom yesterday she was already talking about preparations she and my dad are making for a seminar they are speaking at next weekend! I'm so grateful that her sickness didn't become something more serious and that she is quickly getting back to her normal self.

Still, this incident with my mom really made me stop and think about "moms" and "motherhood". I thought a lot about my own mom in particular. She is my mentor, friend, confidant and hero. I find myself, as an adult, deeply desiring to become more and more like her. Growing up my mom always had a way of turning a seemingly tragic situation into something we could laugh about. For example, when I was in sixth grade my eyes were closed in my yearbook picture. I came home from school the day we received our picture packets mortified and certain I could never show my face to my classmates - or anyone at school, for that matter – ever again. Instead of taking pity on me, and wallowing with me in my sorrow, my mom lovingly convinced me that this was not the end of the world and that we could most certainly find a way to laugh away the embarrassment. She was right, and we did. In fact, my mom has the best sense of humor - far surpassing that of, just about, anyone I know. When I think things can’t get any worse, or I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of despair, I simply ask myself, “What would Mom do?”

As I look at my own children - all three of them - I often wonder, "What will they say about me when they are grown?" Will they remember how I was able to find the silver lining in the difficult situations, or will I be known for shriveling up or cowering in fear when life gets tough? Will they remember me as a model of not taking myself too seriously, or will they always see me as someone who doesn't laugh enough?

Proverbs 31:25 says: "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come." (How I long to be like that!) A little further on in that chapter it says in verse 28, "Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her." Can you imagine being a woman who not only walks with strength, dignity and a darn good sense of humour, but one whose husband and children honour her with praise and respect? It may seem like a dream too far out of reach, but I believe it is a challenge worth investing my heart and soul into.

I know I have a long way to go before I become anything remotely as great as my mom - or the Proverbs 31 woman - but I have a wonderful role model who encourages me to keep up the good work. Being a mom is a tough job, but my hope is that I may be able to face the ups and downs - and sometimes the "sideways" - with strength, dignity and a great sense of humour!

Mood Swings (From MomsConnect March 2009)

I was out and about this morning, taking Brooklyn to ballet class, running a few errands, and I could not believe how many times the weather changed in a few short hours! One minute it was raining, the next minute the sun popped out...then the wind...back to the rain...and then the sky turned blue accompanied by showers. It's like the weather has multiple personality disorder!

Honestly, I think there are days when I can relate to today's weather. One minute I'm crying and feeling blue, the next minute I'm filled with sunshine and happiness...then someone starts throwing a temper tantrum and it feels like a strong wind is blowing through the house...which brings us back to the tears again!

I can't tell you how grateful I am that God is steady and consistent during my mood swings and regardless of which way the wind blows, or whether or not the sun is shining. God is faithful. Days like this are a reminder to me that I cannot rely on my own strength, or even solely on others, to raise my children and be the best wife I can be. I need God to shine the light on my path when the clouds come, hold me steady when the wind blows and cover me with His umbrella of peace when the rain begins to pour. So, if the sun is shining in this moment today, be grateful for it and enjoy it! If you are reading this and the rain is coming down and the sky is gray, remember that blue skies are just around the corner!

My "Ah-Ha" Moment

"Children are not things to be molded, but people to be unfolded." - Unknown

I had an "ah-ha" moment this week.

My husband and I are taking a parenting class. Part of our homework was to take a behavior assessment, and then do a simplified one for each of our children. There are four main temperaments: The "Doer" - takes charge, doesn't believe in the word 'no', strong-willed, intense; the "Expressive" - talkative, demonstrative, energetic, social, 'life of the party'; the "Relater" - warm, caring, laid back, sensitive to the needs of others; and the "Thinker" - analytical, processing, reserved, thoughtful, introspective.

Here are the results we found in our family:

Dad - High "Doer" and "Expressive"
Mom - High "Relater" and "Thinker"
Child #1 - "Doer"/"Expressive"
Child #2 - "Expressive/"Relater"
Child #3 - "Doer"/"Thinker"

Three out of five in my family are "doers", one is highly "expressive", and then there is me. The relater. The thinker. The temperament that craves peace, tranquility and calm, rational thought and step-by-step process. If I were to describe my family in three words they would be: "DRAMA", "INTENSITY" and "PASSION". Do you see where I might feel a little like a duck out of water?

Here is my "ah-ha" moment.

I have often felt discouraged and much frustration as a parent because I can't seem to keep my home quiet and calm, and my children soft-spoken and reserved. When I am out with my three little ones there is much bustle and energy, noise and opinions. For a long time I have believed that somewhere along the way I messed up - that I haven't been training and leading them adequately - and, therefore, something must be wrong with ME. Then we did this behavior assessment. My perspective has completely changed. I came to the realization that with the temperaments represented in my home, there will always be commotion, noise, energy, passion, drama, excitement, talking, expressive story-telling, and intense outbursts of feeling and emotion. My home will NEVER be sedate. My home will always be ALIVE. You've heard, "The hills are alive, with the sound of music..." Well, my home is alive with sound of Slaters.

And that's okay. Realizing this has helped me look at my children, and even my husband, in a new light. Instead of molding them into a shape or design that suits me – or even the perceived expectations of others - my challenge as their mother is to unfold what God has ordained and woven together in my womb, with His guidance and help. It's not about letting them go wild and unruly - that would be irresponsible. It's about discovering them, learning them, nurturing their strengths and applying godly instruction to make them into the people that God designed them to be.

In conclusion, God blessed me with these little ones. He has given me everything I need to train them up, guide them and discover all the beauty and potential that lies within them – unfolding, not molding.

Book-ation

Book-ation: def. – to take a break/hiatus from routine reading habits – books, articles, etc. – replacing them with literature not ordinarily read.  

I’m on a “book-ation”.

Usually what one might find on my nightstand are books covering a myriad of topics like parenting, spiritual development/disciplines, marriage, counseling, Bible study, etc.   While I was wasting a few minutes (hours) on facebook, I came across a “note”.   In this particular “note” was a list of 100 classic pieces of literature.   The instructions were to put an “X” next to the books that one has read.   As I surveyed the list of classic lit. I realized, to my chagrin, I had only read about 24 books out of 100.   I felt so…so…illiterate!   Since being out of school (which was the only reason I read any of those 24 - well, maybe it was more like 15…or 10…my memory is getting a little fuzzy on the details - books was because I had to for English Lit. class), I realized there is an entire part of my brain that is not getting any exercise what-so-ever.   I call this the really, really intellectual part (I know, I can’t believe I came up with that all by myself either).   Not to say that what I read now is for dummies.   It simply doesn’t challenge me intellectually.   The reading I do these days challenges me in ministry, home, marriage, spiritual growth, etc.   However, intellectually?   Not so much.

So, after perusing through the “100 classic books” list, I made the decision that I am going to take a “book-ation”.   My first victim: “Anna Karenina”, by Leo Tolstoy.   In high school just the name Tolstoy made me shiver with fear and intimidation.   I’m older now and decided to take the plunge.   For however long it takes me to complete this novel (hopefully I can knock it out in under a year), I am putting all other extra-curricular reading on hold.   (There are a few books/articles I am committed to read, anything additional is staying on the shelf until I complete “Anna Karenina”.)   This is my “book-ation”.

Once completed, I’ll be sure to write up a review.

Be Strong And Courageous

One thing I love about the Bible is that it really brings out the "human-ness" of the characters that fill its pages. It is refreshing to know that these men and women that I admire so much were human and struggled with many of the same issues that I struggle with today. How many times does the Bible speak about the issue of fear? More than I can count. God's word is packed with scriptures that encourage us to "fear not", "do not be afraid", "do not worry", "be strong and courageous".

"Be strong and courageous." That simple, yet very powerful, statement is found four times in the first chapter of Joshua. It makes me think that perhaps Joshua might have felt a tad bit overwhelmed as he looked upon his current situation. The fears, doubts and insecurities he must have been dealing with internally were enough for God to encourage him over and over, "be strong and courageous." God also knew the challenges that lay before Joshua, and knew that Joshua needed absolute confirmation of God's presence in his life.

Verse 9 says: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." God wasn't only giving Joshua an encouraging word, but he was also commanding Joshua to be strong and courageous. Regardless of how big the obstacles ahead may have appeared or impossible the situation, God wanted Joshua's confidence to come from an unwavering faith and assurance that God would be with him wherever he went.

I believe God wants us to walk ahead through our own circumstances, fears and challenges with that same confidence, peace and assurance. "Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged." With God with us we can look at that mountain that seems impossible to conquer, and we can tell that mountain, with absolute confidence, security and power, to MOVE. Whatever your mountain is, know that God is with you WHEREVER YOU GO, and He has commanded us to BE STRONG AND COURAGEOUS! Trust in the Lord. He will never leave you nor forsake you!

I'm A Liar!

I had just finished giving Sydney - age five - her goodnight kiss. I started to leave the bedroom when all of a sudden Sydney cried out with great emotion, "I'm a LIAR!!!" This stopped me in my tracks. I turned around to look at her and asked, "What honey?" She was sobbing and said it again, "I'm a liar...I lied at school." "Hmmm," I'm thinking to myself, “This could be interesting.” So I went over to her bed, and I asked her to tell me what happened and if she could explain to me what she meant. Through tears she said, "Mommy, I'm a liar. I told the kids at school that I have a gold fish at home (sniff, sniff...) and I don't have any gold fish...I'm a liar!" It was so hard not to laugh. Her confession was sweet and innocent. I asked her if she wanted to pray and ask God to forgive her. She said yes, and we prayed and asked for God's forgiveness. Then I told her that everything was okay. God had forgiven her, and she didn't need to worry about it anymore.

The following morning I called my mom, who lives in South Africa, because this was a story that definitely merited a phone call. Mom and I laughed and laughed as I relayed the details of Sydney’s confession to me the night before. When we finally regained our composure and could talk again, my mom reminded me of a similar story that starred me at age five. I had told all the boys and girls in my class that my Mommy sold balloons at the circus. (In the mind of a kindergartener, selling balloons at the circus must have seemed like a pretty awesome job to have.)

All in all, I guess my conclusion is this: what goes around comes around.

God Speaks In The Silence

Recently I had the privilege of speaking to a group of women on “The Woman At the Well”. I had four months to prepare. During those four months I prayed, researched, meditated, fasted and wrote incessantly on the Samaritan Woman – I was completely immersed in all things “Woman At The Well”! Every time I sat down to work on my message I found myself crying as so many points in her story echoed my own life.

With three young children (ages 5, 4 and 2), I have found that the only way for me to have uninterrupted time to pray is by waking up at 5:30am. During the four months of preparation I found myself eager to get up every morning to spend quiet time with the Lord. I couldn’t open my Bible without some passage of scripture jumping out at me, or a new light being shone on one I’ve read dozens of times. It was like I had this private audience with God on a consistent basis. He was speaking to me in everything, and I was soaking it up as much as I possibly could. Amazing.

The day finally came when I was to share my message. I gave it my all. I had come to a point, before I spoke, that regardless of how much or how little feedback I may receive, I knew that God had given me a word to share. I was humbled, truly, by the overwhelmingly positive response I got from women of all ages. I have to say that the words of affirmation touched me deeply. God was faithful that morning.

Then 5:30am the next day rolled around, and the morning after that…and the morning after that…and the morning after that - still meeting with God. However, something was different. There were no bright lights and bursts of enlightenment. Getting up to meet with God was becoming more and more difficult – almost tedious (and I hate to admit that). Why? Simple, because my prayers and meditations seemed to be falling on deaf ears, and I was left with no response. Rather than God speaking to me I found myself sitting in God’s silence. My quiet time was too quiet.

Today I was thinking about this. I threw the question “out there” (“Where are you God – why are you being so quiet? I’m not feeling the love!”) figuring I would get no answer. Then something crossed my mind – a simple thought, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Hmmm…be still and know.

Lamentations 3:25-27 (The Message)
“God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks.
It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God.
It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times.”

It’s not about feeling. It’s not about the enlightenment and thrill of the experience. It is all about the search, the stillness, the quiet moments, the waiting, the persevering and the hope in God. I love those seasons when God seems to be “heard” not in whispered tones but almost audibly. However, my faith and my ability to truly KNOW God will only grow during these silent seasons. True faith - mature faith - is believing and trusting that God is here with me even when there is darkness all around and His voice is in the shadows. While I wait, I will seek, and while I seek, I will hope. God is still there. He’s still completing the work He began in me. He is still speaking to me however, at this time God is speaking in the silence.

As I am still I will know that He is God, and if I am quiet enough I might just hear Him whisper something new and fresh deep within my soul.