An Early Christmas Gift

Nope.  This is not another giveaway.  I apologize if I got your hopes up, but don’t let that keep you from reading on.  This post is a pre-holiday treat that I hope you will enjoy.  

Once November hits I officially become glued to my day planner.  It seems that holiday activities don’t wait until the traditional Christmas month of December.  Oh no.  Starting November first it seems we are inundated with television commercials, storefronts and e-mails announcing holiday markdowns and savings.  On top of which I find my schedule filling up faster than a stocking with Christmas goodies:  concerts, school activities, holiday bazaars and parties.  And somehow, someway I’ve got to squeeze in our annual family Christmas picture, order cards, go shopping for three eager children, husband, parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, etc.  One word.  Exhausting.  Three more words – I can’t wait.

We’re in the middle of a major office/playroom remodel (more on that another time).  For the past three days I’ve been sorting through toys, books, papers and files.  I have successfully filled a giant garbage bag with miscellaneous items, and it feels good to throw stuff out.  One of the projects I just completed was going through all of our children’s books.  I love books, but especially a really good children’s story.  We have so many, and of varying categories.  One of which is a stack of Christmas storybooks.  I’m pretty picky when it comes to children’s literature, and the ones we have are true Christmas treasures. 

My pre-holiday treat for you is a list of my top ten favorite children’s Christmas books.  Perhaps this list will give you some gift ideas.  I have chosen these particular books because of the content of their story or poem, and the quality of artwork.  The following books, to me, put a warm fuzzy in my heart, bring huge smiles on my little ones’ faces, and in their own special way make the season bright.

Amy’s Top Ten Children’s Christmas Books

• Snowmen At Christmas – written by Caralyn Buehner and illustrated by Mark Buehner.

• The Night Before Christmas – Clement C. Moore’s classic Christmas poem brought to life with the charming and winsome artwork of Mary Engelbreit.

• The Legend of the Candy Cane – written by Lori Walburg and illustrated by James Bernardin.

• Away In A Manger – the classic Christmas carol illuminated by the “artist of light”, Thomas Kinkade.

• Silent Night – yet another beautifully illustrated rendition of the traditional Christmas hymn by Thomas Kinkade.

• The Little Drummer Mouse – written and illustrated by Mercer Mayer.

• The Miracle of Jonathan Toomey – written by Susan Wojciechowski and illustrated by P.J. Lynch.

• Christmas Cookies – “Bite size holiday lessons”, written by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and illustrated by Jane Dyer.

• The Spirit of Christmas – written and illustrated by New York Times bestselling author, Nancy Tillman. 

• You Are My Miracle – written by Maryann Cusimano Love and illustrated by Satomi Ichikawa.

I’ll close with an excerpt from The Spirit of Christmas by Nancy Tillman:

That’s when the Spirit of Christmas smiled.

“Remember, this all began with a child.

Because it took nothing but love to begin it,

It’s not really Christmas if love isn’t in it.”

Your tree may be large as the room will allow

With a big yellow star on the uppermost bough,

But of one thing I’m certain,

I’m sure of one thing.

It is love that makes the angels sing.

Happy reading and pre-holidaying, my friends!

Smashing Pumpkins

When pumpkins start popping up at local farms and grocery stores I get giddy anticipating our annual visit to the pumpkin patch.  I visualize what our front porch will look like with a big fat splash of fiery pumpkin orange.  Ultimately, this image triggers a memory of a pumpkin I had in college.  My one moment of Bible school rebellion all started with a pumpkin. 

Friday nights were not big “going out” nights for me in college.  My phone wasn’t ringing off the hook with eager suitors.  Guys weren’t lining up outside my dorm room anxiously waiting to spend a couple of hours in my presence.  I was not a man magnet.  I was a man repellent.  Friday nights for me consisted of hanging out with other girls, late night Perkin’s coffee, and long heart-to-heart talks of life and love. 

That is until a pumpkin rolled in to our lives.  I really don’t remember how we acquired the giant squash, but eventually it ended up on the floor of the dorm room surrounded by a bunch of girls desperate for a little excitement.   It has been a few years and honestly don’t remember whose bright idea it was, but some genius decided we should toss the giant orange fruit right out the window.  We all agreed this would be fun (I feel so sorry for my college self – we must have been really bored and really hard up for good entertainment).

We managed to get the pumpkin up to the windowsill, and after confirming that there were no pedestrians in the vicinity of our target (because they were all out on dates), we launched our pumpkin missile to the ground…splat.  Eyes bulging from their sockets in sheer disbelief that we had actually thrown the pumpkin out of our three-story window, nervous laughter slowly filled the open space in the room.  We were really living on the edge now.  Being the hardened Bible school rebels that we were, we were so incredibly riddled with guilt for having committed such a crime that we quickly threw our shoes on and headed down the stairs and out the door to clean up our sticky, gooey pumpkin-y mess. 

No one witnessed our one moment of rebellion.  Our dreams of becoming notorious were smashed the moment our pumpkin hit cold, damp ground.  Friday nights resumed as usual: boring, uneventful and filled with the unspoken longings of love and adventure with a teeny tiny dash of defiance to show the tougher side of us. 

Ultimately, some did find love and left our little tribe of lovelorn co-eds.  Some stumbled into adventures and travels that swept them completely off their feet.  And some spent the following years discovering and uncovering who they were meant to be…and eventually found something greater than they expected. 

I’ve since hung up my Bible school rebellion days, and now the only smashing pumpkins I’m aware of are the ones I listen to on my iPod.  

Yes. Pumpkins.  They truly make me smile.

Taking My Cue From Dickens

Dickens’ classic story “A Tale of Two Cities” opens with one of the most famous lines in literature: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.  How can we manage to have both at the same time?  When things are bad, aren’t they bad because there is no good?  And aren’t good things void of bad?  Through the course of the summer and continuing on into fall, I have found my perspective regarding life’s unpleasantries changing, evolving, and maturing.  

Sitting in the parking lot, rain falling in drizzles and splats on my windshield, I waited for Joel to pick Brooklyn up from school and bring her to me.  The parking lot was packed.  I sat there, sans make-up, wearing sweats, my old maternity fleece jacket (Yep.  I still wear maternity clothes and I’m not pregnant – I’m that woman), three pairs of socks, my crocs, and Jackson snoring behind me.  People walking by my car inevitably turned to peer inside my window, and I tried my best to remain incognito (I almost put my sunglasses on, but because of the dark, overcast sky I figured that might have attracted more unwarranted attention).  I prayed several times that I wouldn’t have to get out of the car.  I know I’m trying to be authentic and real, but I’m still a little vain and would rather not be seen looking so au natural.

On the drive home I was thinking what a dreary day it is: the weather, my appearance, the piles of clutter and dust accumulating at home.  As this thought was twisting around in my mind, I swerved my car to the left in order to avoid hitting a man – who was either inebriated or mentally deranged – walking down the middle of the street.  I momentarily glanced his way and he gave me “the finger.”  “Hey Mister Crazy Man! I just saved your life, for crying out loud!  Is that any way to thank me?”  I wanted to roll down my window and shout this at him, but it was rainy, and I didn’t want to get wet, so I kept my rant to myself.  Again, what a dreary day. 

Not two minutes after being accosted with an insulting hand gesture by the mental case in the middle of the road, my thoughts recalled a conversation I just had this morning with a dear friend going through an extremely difficult and heartbreaking season.  On the phone - crying together and praying together - from two separate countries, I could feel my own heart breaking and grieving for my friend.  Being so far away, I can’t help but feel a sense of helplessness.  My only contribution to her comfort is that I can pray, and keep praying, for her as she faces challenges well beyond what her own strength can handle.  My friend truly is walking through “the worst of times”. 

I have several friends, near and far, struggling through the darkest times in their lives.  A baby died this year.  A home was lost.  A business downsized, and a job was lost.  One family is grieving the loss of a dream.  Another family is falling apart – their tragedy has taken its toll on their marriage.  Budgets are shrinking, belts are tightening, and everyone is feeling the squeeze of a shaky economy.  “The worst of times.”

This year my brother-in-law and his wife found out they are expecting their first baby.  Their initial reaction was, “this is not a good time,” as he is also in his first year of dental school.  However, it truly is the “best of times” for them.  This life growing inside of my sister-in-law is no mistake, even though from a human perspective this isn’t a “good” time to start a family.  From my own experience – Jackson was our big surprise – I can say that this hardly qualifies as “the worst of times”, but rather a precious gift from God.  A baby makes this year “the best of times”.

This year a couple, desperate to hold a baby of their own in their arms, underwent treatment in hope of conceiving.  They were disappointed.  There were tears.  And I am certain there were questions aimed towards heaven.  Through the disappointment, however, they have reached out to God as they have never done before.  They are finding that even while there is much hurt and sorrow in their hearts, God has been faithful to comfort and surround them with His strong and powerful arms of love.  Their journey to know God through their journey of pain makes this year “the best of times”.

Heartbreak happens the moment, the instant, our hopes have been shattered, or we’ve stood on the sidelines watching our loved one hurting.  Heartache is the pain that lingers after the heart has been broken.  I feel so much heartache for my friend so far away today.  I know that this season she is walking through will be painful and arduous.  I know right now it looks as though this truly is “the worst of times”.  I also know that when she comes through this night of sorrow, in the morning she will emerge with songs of joy (Psalm 30:5).

So the next time some meanie swoops in and snatches up a parking spot I’ve been waiting patiently to secure, or the line at the grocery check out stand detains me longer than I was expecting, or even if my car won’t start in the middle of a parking lot as the winter rain begins to set in, I will not allow my mind to translate these experiences into “the worst of times”.  Instead, I will reflect on how absolutely blessed I am.  How it is by the grace of God that I can breathe in and out every day.  And that God is in every detail, every thread in this tapestry called life I am weaving.  And, as Charles Dickens penned, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

My Favorite Fall Things Winner Is...

Drum roll please…and the winner is…  

Sister Sheri!

I had every intention of doing the drawing and posting the results this morning.  That didn’t happen.  In fact, I had considered beginning this post with a diatribe of excuses as to why I’m so late in posting: crazy morning getting out of the house, left home without the pictures for this post, unfinished Bible study material, etc, etc.  But reconsidered because, really, who cares about the excuses, right?

Congratulations to Sister Sheri.  May you enjoy the mulling spices to the very last drop of cider you make with them!

Your answers inspired me to add on to the fall favorites list.  Here are a few more “Favorite Fall Things”:

• Halloween:  Dressing up, decorating and handing out candy to the kids.

• Candles:  Scents of apple, pumpkin and cinnamon.

• Finding acorns and other nuts on the ground.

• A hunter green velvet robe:  There is nothing as cozy as wrapping your body up in velvet!

• Hot beverages and baking with pumpkin:  Tea, hot cocoa, Chai, muffins, cookies and pancakes.  Sounds yummy!

• Fall leaves.

• Decorating:  Centerpieces using pumpkins and other gourds.

And finally…

• The anticipation of the holiday season.  (And may I add a big “ME TOO” to that one!)

 

Happy Fall!

A Sound Mind

Bedtime routines were completed, and I had made my way downstairs to enjoy a couple of hours with Joel.  Before he joined me, I turned on the television in the middle of a news program reporting the most recent child abduction cases in our country.  Listening to the accounts of abuse and destructiveness, I found myself gripped deep in my heart with terror.  Recalling all the times in a week I am out and about with my children and how vulnerable we are, fear seized me to the core, and I began to bawl like a baby.   

Amazing to me how, in a moment of raw fear, my entire body can freeze and my mind goes completely blank.  There is no rational thought process - only panic, anxiety, and momentary confusion.  When Joel finally joined me, I tried to explain what I was feeling, but even saying it out loud was bordering on insanity.  I suppose there was some truth to what I was thinking; we live in a different world these days.  Children can’t just ride their bikes around the block or down the street because there are very bad people out there that blatantly act upon their evil compulsions.  The “insane” part of my outburst was that I completely undermined the sovereignty of God and where He stands in the whole picture.  I disregarded my own God-given instinct and wisdom that I take with me whenever I go anywhere with my little ones. 

And I completely gave myself over to fear.  And instantly became powerless, hopeless and frozen.

As I lay in bed last night, trying to get the tormenting thoughts of child abductions and kidnappings out of my head, 2Timothy 1:7 came to mind:

2 Timothy 1:7 (KJV)

 For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

As a child of God there is no room, no need, for fear.  God has not given me a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and a sound mind.  A sound mind.  I lingered on this one thought for quite some time.  A mind - not controlled by fear and anxiety, worry or panic.  A mind - whole, sound, complete and untroubled, filled with peace, confidence and assurance. 

Then I thought of 1 John 4:18:

1 John 4:18 (KJV)

 There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out all fear: because fear hath torment.

Perfect love.  God is love.  God, who gives me power, love, and a sound mind, wants to take the fear I am feeling and cast it out – to just get rid of it.  Fear hath torment.  Last night I was tormented with fear.  I called to God, perfect in love and power, and He heard me.  He came to me.  He brought peace to my mind where once had been irrational thought. 

Philippians 4:7 (KJV)

 And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

This morning this powerful truth was reiterated through the timely words of our pastor.  He spoke on submitting ourselves to God’s will and His plan for our lives.  Once we have abandoned ourselves, not to our fears, but to the very loving and all-knowing hands of our Savior, then we will “unleash God’s peace that stands guard 24/7 over all that concerns me.” – Ray Noah (paraphrased).  And then we will experience this:

“The settled assurance that because of God’s care and God’s competence, this world is a perfectly safe place for me, even though it doesn’t always seem so.” – Dallas Willard

Tonight I will sleep in peace with a sound mind, knowing that God’s hand is upon me, His power in me, and His plan unfolding before me.

A Chance To Win One Of My Favorite Fall Things

Oprah has her favorites, and the world waits on the edge of their seat to discover what they are every year.  Julie Andrews sang about “raindrops and on roses and whiskers on kittens”, and Lola (from Disney’s “Charlie and Lola”) has her favorite and her best.  Well, I have my own list of favorite things.  They usually make their appearance once October rolls around and the leaves begin changing colors, transforming the world around me into a rainbow of reds, yellows, oranges, and purples.  Fall is spectacular and even saying the word “autumn” puts me in a warm and fuzzy mood.  So, the following is a list of my favorite fall things.  These items (necessities) help make this season of transition more comforting and memorable as the weather shifts from the heat of summer to the frigid temps of winter.   

At the end of the list, I’ll let you know what the big giveaway is going to be and how you can participate in the contest.  Enjoy!

Amy's Favorite Fall Things:

• Going to the Pumpkin Patch.  This is quite a Slater tradition.  We look forward to seeing the goats and chickens, running through the hay maze, taking hayrides through muddy, brown fields, picking out our family pumpkins, and sharing a bag of kettle corn between the five of us.  The kids talk about it for days afterwards (Joel and I included).

• Fall colors.  I look forward to not only seeing nature clothed in the beauty of a fall color pallet, but also I love wearing those colors too!

• My comfy sweats.  Curling up in my favorite chair, wearing my soft and worn comfy sweats with a book or cup of cider is like heaven on earth.  What in the world would I do without my comfy sweats?  (Joel just snorted over my shoulder.  Apparently, my comfy sweats are a year-round favorite thing – which is very true, I might add – but putting it on the list today still seems highly appropriate to me.)

• Comfort foods.  Fall is when I break out all my casserole, soup, and crock-pot recipes.  The smell of homemade macaroni and cheese or corn chowder with corn bread wafting through the house puts everyone in a good mood.

• Grandma Hubbard’s Apple Dumplings.  I only make these in the fall.  They turn an ordinary apple into a dessert experience beyond your wildest imagination.  Top them off with a little homemade ice cream, and you’re well on your way to dessert narcolepsy. 

• Long walks in the brisk fall air.  I so enjoy walking outside and taking in the beauty of nature, but I especially love long walks during the fall season.  If I were a photographer, I think I might spend hours capturing all of the breathtaking sights of fall on film.  Plus, the fresh, cool air clears my mind and my senses too!

• “Thanks for Thanksgiving” children’s book.  Written by Julie Markes and illustrated by Doris Barrette, this charming book ties in the beauty of fall and the warmth of Thanksgiving into a precious and uplifting story.  Reading this to my kids puts a smile on my face.

And finally…

• Williams-Sonoma mulling spices.  You have not experienced hot apple cider until you’ve used Williams-Sonoma’s mulling spices.  The symphony of flavors, the aroma, the sweet taste of apples make each sip as soothing as the very first.  Thanks to my mother-in-law who got me hooked on them, this is a must-have for fall.  Mmmmm.

And because I’m so crazy about the Williams-Sonoma mulling spices, I decided this would be the perfect fall giveaway.  Simply leave a comment along with one of your own favorite fall things, and the winner will be picked on Monday.  (Note: Only those living within the continental United States will be eligible to win.)

 

So, leave a comment.  And may you have warm, cinnamon-y dreams of hot apple cider and perhaps your own favorite fall things.

God Who Sees Us In The Mystery Of The Wait

 There is a Christian code of conduct, so to speak, that is laid out pretty clearly in the book of Deuteronomy - the Ten Commandments, to be specific.  It is not difficult to discern the kind of behavior God desires from us.  He plainly articulates His will in these ten mandates.   

But what about the gray issues; those questions of life that seem to fall into the category of “mysterious”?  The mysterious will of God.  Too often, in my own personal experience, there are situations, life circumstances, and challenges that go far beyond honoring my father and mother and keeping the Sabbath day holy.  They are those defining moments when I don’t know what to do, or what God is doing, and what it is He wants from me.  I’m faced with a choice, and I feel lost, uncertain, and afraid of making a bad decision.  Sometimes it comes in the form of watching my husband go through a difficult season, and as much as I pray and seek God for a wise word to share, my mind goes blank and the insight just isn’t there.  Most times I find myself waiting in silence for the fulfillment of a deep longing, and the wait feels like a lifetime.  I start wondering, which eventually turns to panic, if I’ve messed up somewhere along the way.  Did I disappoint God?  Did my opportunity pass me by?  Have I missed His plan and will?  Why is He being so quiet?  Why won’t He speak up?  I feel completely unsettled when I sense that God is far from me and His will mysterious to me.

It is in that mystery, however, that God is doing His greatest work.  As challenging the situation may be, and often times emotionally draining, I take great comfort in that God sees everything.  Every detail, every tear, every moment spent second guessing every choice I’ve ever made are all seen and remembered by God.  And when the way doesn’t seem clear or God’s answer is momentarily withheld, the best thing to do is wait. 

On one of my long trips back to Kenya, I ended up with a thirteen-hour layover in Zurich, Switzerland.  I was twenty-years-old, had just survived the first semester of my sophomore year of college (barely), and was heading home to be with my parents.  My dad was what one might consider an overly protective father and had given me strict instructions to NOT leave the airport, under any circumstances.  I did exactly what he told me to do and spent thirteen long hours cooped up in the tiny international terminal (I realize this might have been a much more fascinating story had I actually left the airport, but unfortunately for me and you, I stayed put).

The wait can only be described as hell (pardon my “French”).  Seriously though, I was miserable, especially considering that I had just been on an airplane for eight hours flying from Chicago.  I was tired, smelly, and coming down with some kind of bug that made food unappealing to me.  This was “back in the day” before portable DVD players, iPods, notebook computers, e-mail, facebook, etc.  This was the early nineties, and there wasn’t much for a poor college girl to do for thirteen hours besides read and people watch.  So, I read a little and people watched a lot.

I was about six hours into the layover when two Nigerian men approached me.  They sat down next to me and struck up a conversation about traveling.  They were very interested in where I had flown from and where I was headed.  Being somewhat naïve, I chatted with them for a good length of time – mostly, I think, out of extreme boredom and that it was such a reprieve to have someone to talk to whose English I could understand.  After we had discussed the beauty and wonders of Africa, they finally got down to business.  They needed me to do them a favor:  to pose as the wife of one of them so that they could leave the airport.  It seemed a little odd to me, but unless part of their “party” remained in the airport, they were not permitted to leave.  Thus, they needed me to play the part of “wifey” so that the officials would let them exit for a period of time.  The more they disclosed to me, the more I realized they were up to something that was likely to be illegal.  I had the good sense to decline these gentlemen’s proposal and send them on their way.  As much as I have always dreamed about being a secret agent super-spy, I value my freedom more and figured all that adventure was not worth spending time in a Zurich prison cell.

And so, my long wait continued. 

Sometimes when God has me in a period of waiting it would be so tempting to jump the gun and seize the first opportunity for reprieve that comes my way.  I get desperate to see the delay come to an end.  Yet, in my haste I could do much more damage than if I had left it alone- just like my experience in the Zurich airport.  In order to ease my boredom and make the layover go faster, I could have accepted the offer those men gave me.  The end result, though, would have been disastrous.  In the same way, when I’ve reacted to God’s silence with panic, and thus tried to fix a situation, my “happily ever after” left me heartbroken.  I was too impatient and too immature to realize that part of God’s plan and will was for me to simply wait.

The wait is God’s will.  It’s not punishment or a sign that I have somehow missed God’s perfect plan for my life.  It is part of the plan.  The fulfillment of my destiny is in the wait.  Without it, I would be incomplete.  And it’s not so much the waiting as it is realizing that God is not upset with me.  He is waiting right alongside me.  He is in the wait.  He is orchestrating time and space for the moment when He will reveal the answer to my question, the next step in the journey, the direction for my life, and the fulfillment of my heart’s desire.  It is no mystery, even though so often God is very mysterious to me. 

Isaiah 40:31 (KJV)

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

Beth Moore points out poignantly:

“Our strength will be depleted when we wait on the event, or final outcome.  But our strength will be renewed when we wait on God.” (Paraphrased.)

God sees me, and God sees you.  He sees the challenges we are facing.  He sees the pain we are feeling.  He is “El Roi”, the “strong one who sees”.   And this El Roi, the strong God who sees everything, every detail, every tear and every fear, is the same God who is with us in the wait, ready to pour His strength into our lives.  As we wait on Him, He renews our strength by pouring His strength into us.  He sees our heart’s desires.  He sees the hopes deferred and stands ready to hold us in His arms, waiting with us through the storms of life.

Habakkuk 2:3 (NIV)

Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.

While the path seems unclear now, God will make it clear in His time.  We don’t have to figure it out, we don’t have to search for a “Plan B” because the wait is His will, and it won’t last forever.  The answer is coming for those of us who are willing to wait upon the Lord.

And when the wait is over, we will be one step closer to God’s heart, and our joy will be complete.

Proverbs 13:12 (NIV)

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

The God who sees is a strong God.  He is ready to offer us His strength as we wait; we simply need to reach out and receive it.  I am challenged today to do just this.  I am on a journey that seems uncertain and unclear, but I know I am not alone.  God sees me.  God walks with me, and God will strengthen me while I wait.  And in His timing, He will bring the answer and the clarity I need.  While hope may be deferred in this moment, it is only a matter of time before this longing in my heart is fulfilled, and joy once again renewed.

How To Survive Thursday

I’ve spent the better part of the morning, and early afternoon, trying to decide what I should write about today.  Every time I sit down to the computer I find myself quickly distracted by the likes of Facebook or the story of the six-year-old boy in the balloon.  I can’t focus, and even though I am the only one in the room presently (which is a miracle in and of itself), thoughts are chaos in my head, and I have no motivation to sort them out.  I guess the only excuse I have is that it’s Thursday, and Thursdays are notorious for meltdowns, grouchy family dynamics and slow moving neural synapses (or in other words, my brain is mush).   

Why Thursdays, you may wonder?  Because Wednesdays for the Slater brood are packed from the minute our eyes pop open in the morning until bedtime (which for the kids is, at least, two hours after they normally drift off to la, la land).  In addition to the various extra-curricular involvements we have on Wednesdays, we also have church activities in the evening.  We usually don’t get home until after 9pm, and rush to get our kids upstairs and in bed as quickly as possible.  As Joel and I drift off to sleep, we mentally prepare ourselves for the next morning.  There will be tears, there will be whining, and there will be a temper-tantrum of some sort.  This is what we get to look forward to on Thursdays!

Since Sydney started preschool – three years ago - we have had this challenge.  Fortunately, I’ve had time to come up with a few survival tips.  They don’t guarantee a blissful and smooth post-Wednesday night morning.  However, they do help Mommy and Daddy hold on to a portion of their sanity, and lessen the amount of battles we have to fight.  So here are my tips, for those of you who may find yourselves in the same boat:

• Have outfits picked out before leaving the house Wednesday afternoon.

• Have lunches for Thursday packed before leaving the house Wednesday afternoon.

• Have all items needed for school, work, MomsConnect group prepared and set out before leaving the house Wednesday afternoon.

• Beds DO NOT need to be made, and rooms DO NOT need to be picked up on Thursday mornings.  I have learned to let that one go and give the kids a day off.

• Mentally disengage and go brain dead when meltdowns ensue.  This is a great tip for every day tantrums, but especially helpful on Thursday mornings.

• Thursday night is leftover night!  Mommy doesn’t cook on Thursday, and if there are no leftovers, we do a sandwich night.

• Early, early, early bedtime on Thursday.  We will go to great lengths, even sacrificing bath time, in order to make sure our little ones are in bed EARLY on Thursday nights.  The benefit of this?  Fridays are amazing! 

• And lastly, prayer and coffee...and lots of both!

I know it’s not much, but like I mentioned earlier, it’s Thursday, and my brain is moving in slow motion.  This is about as deep as I can get post-Wednesday night.  Tomorrow is a new day, and perhaps I’ll be so fortunate as to squeeze something a little deeper out of this tired brain of mine over the weekend. 

Until then, happy Thursday to you!

Daddy's Shoes

“Look Mommy!  I wear Daddy’s shoes!”  It is a precious thing to see my two-year-old son clomp around in his daddy’s size twelve shoes.  He moves at a snail’s pace, but feels like he’s king of the world - all because he’s wearing Daddy’s shoes.  

I feel an ache in my heart when I think about children who grow up in homes without a loving father figure.  There are no big shoes to trip and stumble in, and if there are they have no desire to fill them with their tiny feet.  Daddy’s shoes are either non-existent or conjure up feelings of fear and insecurity.  This is a sad thought to me. 

I am grateful for my own earthly father who continues to shower me with love and comfort, strength and wise counsel, even though I’m grown and have a family of my own.  I am grateful that my children, too, have a father who loves them, adores them, and would sacrifice everything to keep them safe and secure.  These fathers in my life are a treasure to me. 

Because of the examples of loving fatherhood I have been surrounded with my entire life, seeing God as a compassionate and caring Heavenly Father comes more naturally to me.  I know that I can trust in His gentle and loving hands, even when being disciplined.  I have confidence that there is no problem too big, no need too small and no prayer too insignificant to bring to my Heavenly Father.  And I find myself longing to fill the shoes of this Father and follow in His footsteps.

When I choose to respond in love rather than a harsh word, or put the needs of others before my own, it is as though I have found a pair of my Heavenly Father’s shoes sitting on the living room floor, and I’ve slipped my feet inside.  They are big, they are impossible to fill, and if I try to walk too fast, I will no doubt trip and fall.  But it is the joy of wearing my Daddy’s shoes that excites and thrills me.  When I wear His shoes, I feel a little bit bigger, a little more confident and a little closer to the One who is completely captivated by my efforts to emulate Him. 

I wish everyone could know this amazing Father.  The One who cares deeply about every detail of His children’s lives.  The One who is as close to us as the air we breathe.  The One who fights for His children. And the One who’s heart we captured from the moment of conception.  This is the Father whose shoes are too big to fill, too perfect to replicate and often too heavy to walk around in.  However, He loves it when we try, encourages us to never give up, and thoroughly delights every time He hears our heart’s exclaim, “Hey, look!  I wear my Daddy’s shoes!”

Quotable

I love quotes.   

When I was in high school I would often daydream of perhaps being quoted someday.  Surrounded by notebooks and journals stuffed with poems, thoughts and long, hand-written emotional expressions, I would imagine one day someone discovering this treasure trove of language genius, and then quoting me.  In fact, armed with my pen and stacks of paper, I would brainstorm – working tirelessly to come up with a quote that would turn the world on its ear.  Here’s what my seventeen-year-old brain concocted (are you ready for this?):

“No one can judge that which comes from within.”

Hmmm…now that’s deep. 

Along with this excogitated thought I found a letter I had written to whomever was lucky enough to find my precious quote.  The first line of the letter is priceless:

“I just want you to know I am not an emotionally disturbed person.”

Interesting.  I find this highly disturbing!  If that line were any indication on the quality and depth of my high school writing career, it would appear my writings were of a somewhat dark nature.  To this day, my “quotes” remain unquoted.  Shocking, I know.

The question then, do I still dream of being quoted?  Well, these days I get quoted all the time, although I can’t say they are my most noteworthy words.  Still, when I hear Sydney exclaim, “Are you kidding me?” to her younger siblings, or when Jackson declares, “Hey, I’m working here!” when I pull him off of the computer keyboard.  Or even when Brooklyn, exasperated, lets out a huge sigh and says, “I’m getting so tired of this!” I think to myself, “Didn’t I just say that?”  Yeah, I’m getting quoted all the time.  When I hear words of impatience and irritation spilling from the mouths of my three innocent sponges, I feel like someone is twisting a knife in my stomach and reminding me of how often I fall short in the parenting department.  I would much rather catch someone repeating one of my more sweet and spiritually profound phrases, or in this day and age, be “re-tweeted” on Twitter for something pithy I posted.  Instead, my shortcomings and misquotes get played and re-played on a daily basis for my listening “pleasure”. 

I guess the moral of this story would be “Oh be careful little mouth what you say!”  It’s not so much about the words we throw around in the company of adults that get us into trouble, but the remarks we make in the presence of little people who are always eager to steal a quote or two from their unsuspecting parents.  To my three offspring, I am the most quotable person they know!

Psalm 19:14

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

I’ve got such a long way to go!

Trading Stress For A Yoke

Stress is like an unwelcome guest that weeds its way into the mind and heart, inflicting fear and worry to an overwhelmed host.  It wakes us up in the middle of the night, causes muscles to tense, tempers to flair and jaws to clench.  Headaches, backaches, stomach ulcers and even skin irritations can all be linked to stress.  As ugly and uncomfortable as stress is, it’s a fact of life.  I don’t know too many people who have sailed through this world stress free, and if they’re out there I want to know their secret!  Seriously though, when it comes down to it there is no way to avoid stress, or stressful events, in life.  They happen because we live in an imperfect and fallen world.  The key, however, is not how to avoid stress, but rather how we deal with the stress.  

I’m not writing this because I’ve figured it out.  And I’m certainly no poster girl for stress-free living!  The reason I’m writing about this is because I am currently under an immense amount of stress and I’m clinging to God as tightly as my heart and hands can grasp His.  I haven’t been able to fall asleep the past several nights because even though my body is willing, my mind won’t cooperate.  As soon as my head hits the pillow my brain kicks into gear leaving me weary and in much need of rest. 

In moments like these I have no other choice but to meditate on God’s word, and His promises.  This is what I’ve been setting my heart and mind on today, and I want to share it with you:

Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

When we feel the weight of the world bearing down hard on our shoulders, God encourages us to come to Him and take His yoke.  Then, when we walk the path of uncertainty and stress, we walk not directionless but in the steps of the Lord.  He will guide us through the stress, granting us the wisdom we need as we make decisions and choices.  While life won’t stop happening, we can rest because God is leading us through it and giving us rest for our weary souls.  

Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary on the Bible says this:

Whoever will, let him come.  All who thus come will receive rest as Christ's gift, and obtain peace and comfort in their hearts.  But in coming to him they must take his yoke, and submit to his authority.  So powerful are the assistances he gives us, so suitable the encouragements, and so strong the consolations to be found in the way of duty, that we may truly say, it is a yoke of pleasantness.

Trusting the hand of God and His yoke is the only way to survive our stressful lives.  Trusting in His wisdom and His authority rather than panicking and searching for a way out is what I believe Jesus is communicating in this passage.  His ways are higher and better.  Though the hand life has dealt me in my present situation is full of challenges, I know that God will guide me through and grant peace and comfort for my heart and all the rest my weary body needs.

If you, too, are finding yourself buckling up under the weight of stress, I want to encourage you to join me in trading the stress for a yoke.  His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.  He won’t let us fall, but will walk every step of that stressful path right along with us, whispering to our hearts the way to go.  And then before we realize what has happened, our souls will have found a place to rest.

Off The Wagon

When Mama's sick life comes to a screeching halt.   

Three weeks ago I decided it was time for Jackson to say "bye, bye" to diapers and "hello" to the big boy potty.  We bought him super cool pull-ups and made any venture to the bathroom a reason for a full-blown party, treats included.  He was catching on pretty well to this new routine, and would even give a good, hearty "Yay Mommy" when I put my tinkle in the potty too.  There were plenty of accidents, but consistency is key, and I was consistently sticking his little bottom on his little potty seat every ten minutes (while consistently cleaning up all of his accidents too).

Then I had surgery.  My mother-in-law watched all three kids for us the whole week I was out of commission.  We sent the beloved potty chair to Mimi and Papa's house, along with a heap of well wishes.  Mimi did her best, and I'm just grateful that she was willing and gracious enough to take our three monkeys for a whole week.  But, I'm not sure how much progress in the potty training was made.  It was pretty much hit or miss.  However, Mimi bought Jackson a package of Lightning McQueen pull-ups which have become his most prized possession.  It would be even better if he prized them so much that he wouldn't keep doing his business in them.  One could only hope.

With the kids home, and Jackson full-speed-ahead into potty training boot-camp, I thought for sure we were going to get this thing taken care of once and for all.  Five days into it I got the flu.  It knocked me flat on my back for four days straight.  Production came to a halt and life stood still. 

While Joel was at work I laid on the couch and ran back-to-back episodes of Dora The Explorer for Jackson.  Fortunately the girls are old enough to entertain themselves, and spent hours playing with their dolls upstairs.  The kids' lunches consisted of a few pieces of cheese in between slices of bread, and snacks - though promised - never materialized.  When Jackson napped, I went back to bed.  Then yesterday afternoon, when my strength was finally coming back to me, I heard my son in his husky, two-year-old, baritone voice announce, "Hey Mama!  I got water in my pants!"  It was at that point that I realized our potty training effort had been flushed down the commode.  We really fell off the wagon.

And that is not the only thing that suffered while I was sick: memory verses for school/church weren't memorized, the house hasn't been cleaned, there is no food in the fridge, laundry is piling up (although to my husband's credit, he did a little laundry on Saturday and has made quite a few trips to the Safeway down the street for soup and crackers...for me), and my blog has sat seemingly abandoned for over a week.  I can't begin to tell you how much all of these combined really bum me out.  I feel like I've been negligent!

It would be so easy to beat myself up (even though I couldn't help being sick).  But the thing about falling of the wagon is that you don't have to stay on the ground in a helpless heap.  You can stand up, dust yourself off and get right back on again.  I realize that with Jackson and his potty training we are going to have to start back at square one.  That's how it is sometimes, when you fall off the wagon.  Whatever your goal may be, and whatever roadblock you may be facing, just remember to take it a step at a time.  And if you do fall off the wagon, don't forget to climb back on, and keep moving forward.

I know it's not much, but that's all I've got for now!

My Hero

Hero is defined as: “A man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.”  (Source: Webster's online dictionary.)  

I have a hero.  A man who’s distinguished abilities and noble qualities may go unnoticed by others, but certainly not by me.  I wish I could say I remember to thank him as he consistently comes to my rescue, carries the burden of providing for our family and, with great respect, honors his responsibility as the spiritual leader of our home.  But oftentimes it slips my mind as I am caught up in the craziness of life. 

Tomorrow is my hero’s birthday, and I can’t think of a better way to let him know how I feel than by dedicating today’s post entirely to him.  I love him.  I feel immensely blessed and honored to be his wife.  And I want the world to know what an absolutely amazing and incredible man I get to share my life with.  My husband, Joel, is my hero, and the following is a list of all reasons why I can’t imagine one single day without him!

My hero:

• Passionately loves God with all his heart, mind and soul.

• Is passionate about – pretty much – everything!

• Makes me coffee - Every. Single. Morning.  And has it ready for me when I go downstairs for my quiet time.

• Rubs and scratches my back every night before I fall asleep.

• Encourages me to take one day a week for myself (he watches the kids, and I get a “day off”).

• Partners with me in parenting our children.

• Adores our two little girls and one little boy.

• Listens to me when I’m going through a difficult season, and always has a word of wisdom to share.

• Sees the best in me and points it out – he encourages me to keep trying even when I feel uncertain or insecure.

• Believes in me.

• Cares for me when I am sick.

• Edits my writing (anything I have ever written that has grammatical, spelling or structural errors was posted without having him edit beforehand.  In fact, this piece is a surprise for him, and I’m writing so fast that there are sure to be plenty of mistakes – please forgive me).

• Sings my praises to his co-workers (I never knew this until those he works with told me all the wonderful things he has said about me)!

• Thinks I’m GEORGEOUS and TELLS me (a girl needs to hear stuff like this from the man she loves)!

• Is the most wonderful person to sit with, be lazy with, and share long, deep talks over coffee.

• Is a LOST fan.

• Makes me laugh.

• Is strong where I am weak – he is a great balance for me.

• Is a genius (he’s like a walking encyclopedia)!

• Patiently answers and explains the multitude of questions on politics and history I throw his way (in fact, he can pretty much predict when a question is coming, and is always prepared to give an explanation).

And lastly, my hero loves me unconditionally.  He is faithful to me, walks with integrity and I know I can trust him.  We have shared many, many ups and downs in our eight years of marriage: ministry challenges and disappointments, multiple moves, miscarriage, marriage issues and counseling, financial difficulties.  As well as: late night coffee talks, the births of three beautiful and healthy children, miraculous financial provision, incredible ministry stories and more blessings than I have room to list here.  We may not have been married that long, but we have had our fair share of experiences for sure!

And so, if a hero were defined as a “man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities”, then I would have to say Joel fits that profile more than any other person on the face of this earth.  And yet, he is more than a hero to me.  He is my best friend, confidant and love of my life.

 

Happy Birthday to you, my hero!  I’m so glad you were born, and I’m so glad you are mine!

My Day At The Health Spa

Most hospital memories tend to conjure up a host of negative emotions: individuals feel like a slab of meat on a metal tray, poked, prodded, and covered indiscreetly with a two-sizes-too-small paper gown.  However, whether it was the strong narcotics, a pain pill-induced euphoria, or simply the unbelievable amount of relief post-surgery, my hospital experience can only be described as feeling like I spent a day at the spa.  Here’s how it went down:  

First, we began with the check-in.  The sweet elderly woman who pulled up my file and clicked a few keys on the computer keyboard was warm, soft-spoken, and reassuring to me as my teeth began to chatter from the nerves.  She must have sensed my anxiety levels increasing and was able to complete the admission process in record time so that my husband and I could find a couch to sit on in the waiting room.  And the wait was less than five minutes.  We hadn’t even warmed our seats up before another delightful elderly woman was guiding us to the hospital room where I would be hanging out until my surgery.

Immediately, and I mean immediately, a nurse’s assistant welcomed me, gave me a hospital gown and footies for my feet, and closed the curtain so that I could get dressed appropriately.  When she returned, my teeth were once again chattering – from both nerves and being cold – and promptly, before taking my temp and blood pressure – she hooked me up to a gown warmer, and then covered me with a blanket.  Seriously, a tube was inserted into my hospital gown that inflated it with hot air.  I was in hospital heaven instantly – oh so cozy…and puffy.

A few minutes later a nurse entered our little slice of heaven and wrapped my calves in what I can only describe as leg warmers.  Of course, there is a medical term for them as their job was to put pressure on my legs throughout the surgery, keeping the blood pumping and reducing the likelihood of clotting.  Regardless of the official term, those leg warmers kept me nice and comfortable.

There was, of course, a brief moment of discomfort when the nurse, apologetically, had to administer the I.V.  I knew it pained her as much as it pained me to interrupt what had, thus far, been the most relaxing experience I’ve had in a long time.  However, it was necessary as the whole point in my being there was for medical purposes and not pampering. 

Joel and I chatted for a while, laughing mostly at my ballooning hospital gown.  Before we knew it, the anesthesiologist was knocking on the door to wheel me into the O.R.  He reiterated most of what he had explained to me on the phone call the night before, and then he injected something amazing in my I.V.  What I mean by amazing is that, instantaneously, I felt tingly all over - he told me that I would feel good.  “Good” is putting in mildly.  For all of five seconds I felt super happy and numb.  I remember looking up at Joel who was smiling from ear to ear, thinking to myself, “Joel is nervous right now.”  And then…blackout.  I don’t remember one thing from that moment on.  Joel told me later that he kissed me on the forehead and walked out of the room with me, but I have no recollection.  I was on a flight to La-La Land by that point.

Post-surgery, I can’t say that I felt like a million bucks, but the nurses and my husband waited on me hand and foot.  If I looked the slightest bit uncomfortable someone was right there to ease my pain or fluff my pillow.  (I should also make it clear that I was still slightly woozy from the drugs, and my memory comes in bits and pieces.)  I think the doctor came by for a visit, but what he said sounded all gargled up to me.  Later, Joel filled me in on the details. 

I have to confess I was a little greatly nervous about what I was going to behold when I finally got up to look in the mirror.  Vain, I know, but I was genuinely concerned that my present appearance might scare a few children, not to mention myself.  I was pleasantly surprised.  There was no bruising, only minor swelling, my hair still had some bounce in it, and aside from the sling I had to wear - attached to both ears that held the gauze under my nose - I didn’t look too shabby (again…I was on drugs).  Once dressed, another sweet, elderly woman came by with a wheel chair and wheeled me out to my car.  Joel was waiting for me and helped lift me up into the front passenger side.  The kind wheel chair woman said a bunch of really nice things, all of which I don’t remember, we said farewell, and my Knight in Shining Armor drove me home.

I have been sleeping off the drugs ever since.

Before I conclude this post, I wanted to share, from a brief moment of clarity, a quick thought triggered by a comment that a friend of mine posted after “My Nose Job”.  Ever since reading her words, I have been thinking a little more deeply about the work that God is doing in me.  Here is what she said:

“This post did make me think though that often God does such intricate delicate work on us… on the inside… but is it noticeable on the outside? To think that if God does a work on the inside that would help us to breathe more deeply… rest more completely… and observe with more sensitivity. It would have to be noticeable on the outside!”

Don’t we just love to pick apart our outward appearance!  I am so guilty of doing that!  I don’t like this and I don’t like that.  I wish I looked like “so-and-so”.  On and on it goes.  During my adolescent years, and briefly in my twenties, I struggled to embrace the nose God gave me.  I hated my profile and wished with all my heart I looked like my best friend, who was gorgeous.  I was never content.  Then slowly, in time, as God began to do an incredible work in the deepest most intimate part of my life, I came to accept the person (both inward and outward) that God had made, as a whole.  I began to breathe more deeply, rest more completely, and observe others and their struggles and pain, with more sensitivity.  It’s not about the outside.  It’s not about the nose, the hair, or the complexion.  Looking fabulous isn’t going to bring the assurance and peace that we crave so desperately.  Knowing who we were meant to be, however, will give us the confidence and grace to walk proud and tall, no matter how big or small our noses may be.

I am very grateful for my day at the health spa.  I truly feel like a brand new woman now that those darn polyps are gone.  Just as the surgeon removed the unsightly and debilitating growths from inside my nose and sinuses, God wants to remove the things inside of me/us that keep us from breathing deeply the truths of His word.  And the work God does on the inside doesn’t just stay on the inside.  It manifests itself on the outside of us as well.  We radiate.  We shine.  We stand out.  We reflect the goodness of God, His character, and His love.  As I write this I’m breathing through my nose, and I feel great.  But I am also breathing the sweet air of contentment which only comes from God.

I know I’ve shared a lot.  Some of it probably doesn’t even flow well.  You’ll have to forgive me.  I’m still recovering from surgery.  I truly hope that just as God is doing a work in me, you too are seeing God’s handiwork in your own life.  May we all, no matter what we look like or think we look like, do as my friend articulated so well, “breathe more deeply, rest more completely, and observe with more sensitivity.”  Whatever God does, may it truly be noticeable on the outside!

I’m going to head downstairs now and enjoy a hot bowl of homemade soup that our neighbor brought by a little while ago.  Then, I’m going to rest a little more.  And maybe the next time I write something it will actually make sense!

My Nose Job

I had nary a care in the world until it was pointed out to me in the sixth grade that my profile was the same as that of a large Greek man.  Then it was again reiterated to me in high school when I was called “Parrot Nose Hayburn” (this didn’t go over so well for the other person, by the way – don’t mess with my nose).  My ninth grade art teacher told me that I had a very distinguished profile.  Seriously though, “distinguished” is not a compliment to a fourteen-year-old girl!  She would much rather hear words like “cute”, “feminine” or “adorable”.  Needless to say, I do believe my body issues began in sixth grade when, for the first time, the harsh reality that my physical flaws could be pointed out and made fun of hit me square between the eyes…or should I say in the appendage sticking out from between my eyes!  

I have had a love/hate relationship with this schnoz ever since.  By the time I reached adulthood, I had nit-picked nearly every square inch of my body and dreamed of a day when I could afford a nose job.  However, once in my twenties, I came to grips with the fact that this was the honker God gave me, it was time to make reconciliation with it, and that rhinoplasty wasn’t going to be in my future anytime soon.  Eventually, I forgot about the big beak protruding out from the middle of my face and turned my focus on accentuating the positives.

That is, until I was diagnosed with nasal polyps.  This darn snout just had to find a new way to give me grief!  In fact, I also discovered that I have a deviated septum.  Lovely.  Thus, the reason I snore, too.  (Attractive…I know.) 

Tomorrow I am headed to the hospital for nasal polyp surgery.  I’m finally getting the nose job I always dreamed of!  Although, I can’t say that I’m going to emerge from under the gauze with a brand new, adorable ski-slope nose (like the cute girl in my ninth grade class who’s profile I would have died for).  I guess I could always hint to the doctor that a little nip-tuck would be completely a-okay with me (wink, wink).   We wouldn’t have to tell anyone…our little secret, if you know what I mean…

Of course, that’s not going to happen.  What will happen is that I am going to be able to breathe again, smell again, sleep again (sans snoring, or so we hope), have more energy and overall feel like myself again for the first time in a long time.  My nose will still have the same shape, the same size, and my profile will still haunt me in pictures.  But hey, why change now?  I’ve lived thirty-some years with this trunk of a nose, and I’ve been able to function quite exceptionally at that (aside from this polyp issue).

And so, I’m off.  I’ll be away for a week, and I look forward to reporting all the wonderful results when once my distinguished nose and I are back in working order.

Relevant...Am I?

What changes people’s lives?  Who are the catalysts for that change?  Do they know who they are?  Do they realize change is happening because of them?  What is their message - their platform?  Did they set out to intentionally change the lives of others?  Are those changes for the best?  What makes their message significant to those following them?  

Relevance.  I’ve been contemplating this quite a bit lately.  Am I relevant?  Am I one who inspires others to change?  And if so, is it a change for the better?  Is my message, my voice, relevant to what others are going through?  Do I even have a message to begin with?

To quote Beth Moore:

“Coincidences are miracles in which God wishes that you remain anonymous.  BUT, God never wants to be anonymous in your life.”

Nothing happens in life without a greater purpose.  For some of us, we may never realize the relevance of our lives while we are living, or how many people we have touched with our words, our actions, our prayers.  Those coincidental moments when I’ve shared something that has been pressing on my heart, and in doing so the life of another has been transformed, are not by chance.  They were miracles ordained by God, and in many cases, I may never even know about it.  While the role I play in the process of change may go unnoticed and anonymous, I pray that God is never anonymous in my life.  It is the deep longing of my heart that God’s reflection would consistently be evident in me. 

I know I mess up…A LOT.  And I’m pretty good at documenting all my shortcomings too.  Still, I also know it doesn’t take a perfect person to inspire, encourage or bring glory to God.  It only takes a willing vessel – incapable, ill equipped, and hopelessly flawed.  You know, maybe it really is for the best that we don’t know just how relevant we are!  I know for myself it could so quickly go to my head.  Perhaps that is why God wishes that I/we would remain anonymous.

“In so doing (in His providence) God attends not only to apparently momentous events and people but also to those that seem both mundane and trivial…Indeed, so all encompassing is God’s attention to events within creation that nothing…happens by chance.

- Holman Illustrated Bible Dictionary on the providence of God.

So, for you who are changing poopie diapers, wiping spit up off of every shirt you own, cleaning up spills, teaching toddlers how to pick up their toys, potty training (that’s me right now), packing lunches every day, playing taxi driver as you shuffle your brood from one place to the next, trying to balance God, self, spouse, kids, church, school, work (oh how the list is endless), hormones and bad hair days - for you who think you are invisible to the rest of the world - You (and I).  Are.  Relevant!  God’s hand is in the mundane and trivial just as much as the amazing and momentous.  Nothing happens by chance, and where we are is right where God wants us to be.  This is no coincidence.

It is God’s providence.  And as we continue to walk through the daily ordinariness and routine, may we do so with understanding and fearless conviction that everything we do is relevant.  Our names may never appear in a book or magazine, and we may never get a one-on-one interview with Oprah, but we all have the opportunity to impact the life of another, and perhaps be that one person’s catalyst for change. 

Let us allow God to work anonymously through us.  And may He never be anonymous in us!

Can You Make Sense Of These Ramblings?

I think too much.   

I think about my marriage.  I think about my kids.  I think about ministry.  I think about me in ministry.  I think about the future.  I think about the past.  I think about finances.  I think about what I’m going to wear tomorrow.  I think about thinking.  I think I think too much.

I think (smile) I must have inherited this trait from a far, distant ancestor because - as I recall – I never saw my parents or grandparents processing life nearly as obsessively as I do.  Which brings me to the point of my thought: Hand-in-hand with the thinking comes a great deal of worry.  All of those things I “think” about, I usually tend to worry about equally or more so.  Just the other night I woke up at 3:30am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.  It wasn’t actually “worry” that roused me from my much-needed slumber, but an unwelcome asthma attack.  Once I got my breathing under control, then the worry invaded.  It entrenched itself into my weary mind, set up camp, and kept me wide-awake for an hour.  I was worrying about Sydney starting a new school, my upcoming surgery, the bill that will follow the upcoming surgery, the jury summons I just received the evening prior (which happens to fall right after my surgery), unfulfilled dreams, hopes, and desires, with the prospect of potty training Jackson bringing up the rear.  And the grand finale was discouragement.  I have found that the only thing that comes from worrying is a big, fat, ugly cloud called discouragement.  And discouragement only leads to hopelessness and sadness.  And who can get a good night’s rest once the dark cloud of discouragement is raining drops of sadness on a tired soul?

There are moments when I make myself proud.  Those times when I have realized the rabbit trail of thought I’m running down, and I have stopped myself mid-way, turned my thoughts upon God and His word, and closed my eyes knowing, “I will lie down and sleep in peace” (Ps. 4:8).  I wish I could say that I “go there” every time worry crosses my mind, but I don’t.  I think I’m getting better at it, but at 3:30 in the morning, clarity and perspective are really difficult to muster up, and it would be feign to say that I was reciting Matthew 6:25-34 on this particular occasion.  Rather, foolish me ran right down the rabbit trail and fell asleep from pure exhaustion rather than the peace of God.

Five-thirty came fast, and I was very tempted to disarm the alarm clock, roll over, and go back to sleep; oh, so very tempted.  Rather, I pulled myself up and out of bed, and sloth-like, made my way downstairs for some one-on-one time with God.  I opened my Bible to find a note-card with a scripture that I had memorized last year written down on it.  I looked up the passage and meditated on this:

Psalm 5:1-3 (The Message)

Listen, God! Please, pay attention!  Can you make sense of these ramblings, my groans and cries?  King-God, I need your help.   Every morning you'll hear me at it again.   Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar and watch for fire to descend.

I love this translation!  “Can you make sense of these ramblings?”  How often the worries, self-pities, fears, and words of doubt and discouragement that dribble from my mouth in the middle of the night or in the wee hours of the morning must sound like senseless ramblings?  (I do realize that the challenges of potty training Jackson and Sydney’s new school seem hardly serious enough for groaning and crying out, but at 3:30am EVERYTHING is severe and overwhelming.)  What I am so grateful for is that God doesn’t judge me, or the issues that I bring before Him in the early morning hours.  I believe He absolutely loves it that I would come to Him and declare that I need His help.  “Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar…” All those fears, concerns, endless waves of thoughts and worries are laid upon the altar of the Lord.  Every spoken and unspoken dream, hope and desire; all those pieces of my life that I can’t control or make sense of, are laid out before God.  And then I simply wait – no – watch for fire to descend.  In this, I take the fear and the worry and transform it into faith.  I’m no longer restless and weary, but peaceful and strong.  When once I have laid my life in the mighty, loving hands of my Heavenly Father for the umpteenth time, I am again renewed. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that whatever is heavy on your heart, whether it be how you are going to pay your monthly bills or the pile of laundry that’s been sitting in the middle of the living room for two straight days, it’s okay to spill it all out to God.  Our ramblings won’t oftentimes make much sense to other people (mine don’t even make sense to me most of the time), but God will understand.  Go ahead, cry it out; groan (for special effect) if you have to!  Every morning lay the pieces of your life, dreams and failures, hopes or discouragement, upon the altar and know that the fire will come.  God will come.  He will meet your need.  He will make sense of your ramblings.  And then, you will be able to pray this:

Psalm 4:8 (The Message)

At day's end I'm ready for sound sleep, for you, God, have put my life back together.

Totally Awesome

Yesterday afternoon driving home from ballet class, Sydney paused mid-thought and asked me this:  "Mommy, is God going to take ribs out of me and make a man?"  

Brooklyn came downstairs to help make lunch the other day.  She got the bread out and assembled three sandwiches for each kiddo.  As we were putting the leftover turkey, cheese and fruit back into the fridge she said this to me:  "Mommy, you are my best friend."

A few days ago Jackson stopped to inspect the wedding picture hanging in my bedroom.  He looked up at me, then back at the picture, then back at me.  Without a second thought he said, "Mommy, you a princess!"

This morning, while working on a few household chores, I could hear Sydney calling my name from the other room:  "Mommy, Mommy, Moooooommy!  Come look at me!"  Realizing she wasn't going to stop until I came to observe her, I dropped what I was doing and went to the playroom.  She was attempting to do a back handspring, while simultaneously watching t.v. (rather impressive - not to mention dangerous - if you ask me).  She looked up and asked,  "Is this awesome?"

"Totally awesome!" was my reply.  In fact, I took a moment, looked each one of them in the eye and added, "You are ALL totally awesome!"

Whether they are contemplating creation or being Mommy's special helper, calling me a princess or wowing me with acrobatic skills, they are amazing to me.  And absolutely, totally awesome!

9-11

I wrote a post yesterday.  I felt really good about it.  I edited, reviewed, and scheduled it to post this morning.   

Then this morning came.  Today is 9-11.  I felt convicted that I had not taken that into account yesterday as I feverishly worked on my post for today. 

I removed today's original post.  I'll re-post tomorrow or next week. 

This morning I want to simply take a moment to remember.  Not a moment to fear, question or worry.  But a moment to remember.

I also want to stop and pray and thank God for His protection following the attacks on our country eight years ago.  I'm grateful that we don't have to worry.  We don't have to be afraid.  I know that no matter what storms come our way, God is in control.  Our lives are in His hands.

Today is a reminder to never stop praying. 

Today is a day to remember those whose lives were taken away much too soon.

Today  is a day to remember those who have fought, and those who are still fighting, to keep us safe here at home.

Today is 9-11. 

Today I will remember and today I will pray.

Gone To My Head

They say confession is good for the soul.  Okay.  I’ve got a confession to make.  Throughout the long summer months, the challenge of keeping my three little banshees from tearing the house and each other apart has been a major undertaking.  Somehow they have this innate ability to discover Mommy’s weakness, and daily, they zero in on it.  Nevertheless, because I’m a smart mommy too, I have managed to stay one step ahead of them, thus successfully keeping an inkling of peace in our home.  In fact, our final two weeks of summer vacation have been positively fourteen of the most serene and enjoyable days we’ve spent in a long time.  The girls, from the moment their little eyes popped open in the morning, commenced making beds, playing dolls, dress-up, school - whatever their fancy – without screaming, thrashing, and fighting, all the whilst Jackson occupied himself with his trains, cars, and books.  There has been no jumping off of furniture, no throwing hard, plastic objects at each other, no hair-pulling, or name calling.  Truly amazing.  

The first full day of this sweet-natured behavior I found myself blinking my eyes in disbelief and pinching myself throughout the day.  This was simply too good to be true.  And, in an effort not to jinx it, I mustered all the self-control in my being to keep my mouth shut until bedtime when I would point out to them how very much I appreciated their flawless and “Grade A” behavior.

As the days went by and this marvelous phenomenon remained consistent in my home, I started to feel pretty good about myself.  “Hmmm,” I thought, “I must be doing something right.  Look at these three angelic faces.  Had it not been for my dazzling parenting skills, they might still be climbing the walls and spreading mayhem through the land.”  I was really patting myself on the back, thinking I had figured it all out and was now officially ready to dish out parenting advice to all those poor, unfortunate moms still struggling to keep their children from ripping each other apart.  Yep.  I was full of it.

Once again, I think the same childhood intuition that sniffs out mommy’s weak spot can also sniff out the false sense of success that mommy is feeling.  No sooner was I struttin’ along like a proud, colorful peacock then one child swiped a toy away from another innocent child at playgroup on Thursday, inducing heartbreak and tears.  (There’s nothing like having to deal with a misbehaving child in a room full of other moms, especially when you are the group leader!)  After recovering from that humiliating experience, another child decided that she hadn’t been defiant for a while, and our daily quiet time turned into World War III, thus galvanizing this ‘One-Time Super Mom’ to take away all of this child’s brand new school clothes.  (She has to earn them back piece-by-piece; we’re making slow progress.)  In the meantime, I could hear my two-year-old son grousing, “Mommy, I no like you anymore.”  I still don’t know what I did to deserve that one.

Then, there is the “piece de resistance”.  Only three days ago, I was startled to hear a gut-wrenching scream coming from the playroom.  I had put Jackson down for a nap, got the girls set up to watch a movie, and dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower.  I just lathered the shampoo in my hair when Sydney’s voice of panic seized my heart.  I jumped out from the refreshing stream of warm water and, dripping, ran into the playroom to see what had happened.  Brooklyn was lying on her stomach and crying.  When I turned her over, my eyes quickly focused on the large blue knot, smack dab in the middle of her forehead.  She had been chasing Sydney (so much for quiet movie time), tripped, and landed face-first into the corner of their little pie cabinet.  I sprung into action, checking for any signs of concussion, asking her questions, taking a blow-by-blow account from Sydney of the incident.  When I was finally able to rule out a trip to the ER (and let me tell you, that was a huge relief to me), I realized I still had a head-full of soapy bubbles in my hair and was leaving a trail of water behind me.  My once-inflated ego was now popped and lying in complete shreds like a balloon burst into a million pieces.  This 'Super Mom' image I thought I had attained had gone straight to my head, and it took one major head bump (and several other not-so-lovely incidents) to quickly bring me back to reality.

It’s never pleasant to be knocked off my pedestal.  I’m not fond of humiliation either, but for some reason I’ve eaten my fair share of humble pie in recent years.  The saying that kids will bring out the best and the worst in a person is absolutely true.  However, I feel that my worst side seems to be revealed much more often than all my good traits combined.  The process of growing and maturing in parenthood is never-ending.   There is no “arriving” in this occupation.  We are always moving towards something, being stretched, challenged, and struck hard with the reality that there is always something new to learn, something new to teach and lots of surprises in between.  I’m grateful that I have a hands-on husband who takes the responsibility of raising our children as serious as I do, and together we make a great team.  But even further than that, beyond that earthly father figure that Joel represents, there is another set of hands that play a huge role in our home.  Without the influence and guidance of our Heavenly Father, I am certain that I would never be able to survive all of the “growing pains” that parenthood has brought my way. 

Proverbs 22:6

“Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”

As an adult, and even more so as a parent, I am consciously aware of my need for discipline and instruction.  God, as my Heavenly Father, is training me, propelling me to reach even further beyond myself, and never tiring when I slip up or have a bad day.  As I am striving to train up my children in the way they should go, not the way they want to go naturally, God is also training me.  His love and discipline trickles down and has provided me with the perfect parenting model.  And rather than taking the walk of shame every time my parenting flaws are revealed, I would rather focus on the character God is forming in me and the character I am developing in my own children.  So, when they’re screaming, fighting, and swiping toys away from unsuspecting playmates, it’s a reminder to me that my job ain’t done yet, and we still have such a long way to go.  As well, when they are stunning me with their adorable sweetness, loving on each other, and reflecting the better side of me, I think it’s okay to give myself a little pat on the back (because seriously, that’s evidence of a lot of hard work on my part!).  Then pause.  Snap back to reality.  And never forget what happens when I let it go to my head.