In preparation for becoming a mother of four, I went to a mom's conference just three weeks before our little one arrived. It was a great time of relaxation for me, as through different circumstances I ended up having my own room. When I left I felt renewed in my calling as mother, refreshed by the time I spent debriefing with other moms, and I was grappling with a call to reconciliation with my family and my preconceived ideas of what it means to parent, especially what it means to be mom.
In the weeks leading up to Mary Elena's birth, I cleaned constantly as if my striving would ensure the perfectly organized and sanitized environment to bring my baby girl home to. I cooked as often as I cleaned, and we ate and I froze meals ... sure that once my help left at the end of March, I would have a couple week's worth of meals to make my transition to doing "it all" easier. I wanted my baby girl to meet the best version of myself, not the messy one I oftentimes am.
As her due date approached and I became more uncomfortable I continued in all my preparations and added walking miles uphill to my list of things to do, just hoping she would position herself, and I would have the natural labor I'd become accustomed to. A week before her anticipated arrival, we discovered that the baby was measuring big ... according to the new ultrasound machine, right around ten pounds. Because of a difficult and traumatic delivery with Nicholas who was just under nine pounds, in which my rose colored picture of natural delivery was colored with him getting stuck, nurses jumping on me, pushing down on my pelvis, trying to widen that ring of fire to ensure my boy would have full mobility in his arms, and him emerging, flailing, blue, with burst blood vessels in his eyes, my doctor highly recommended we opt for a c-section for this birth.
The idea had never crossed my mind. If there's one thing I thought I was good at, made for even, it is naturally delivering my babies with as little intervention as possible. But there is another part of me. The one that becomes crippled with fear. The part that would protect my children, without regard for myself. The one that was exhausted and worried about the outcome of this my fifth and final pregnancy.
We set a date for three days later, and I continued preparing for sweet Mary Elena Leigh to join our family.
That Friday morning, I dropped my older kids at school, dropped the baby off at a friend's house, and made last minute lists and phone calls to those who would be caring for my kids during my four and a half day stay in the hospital. Wiping down the counters one last time, putting the last load of laundry in dressers and closets, and removing three meals from the freezer for my family, I left for the hospital.
Other than wondering about the unknown, I was calm, and I knew our little girl would enter the world without a hitch, and she did at 1:03 on the afternoon of February 24th. She was and is, absolutely perfect. Her name, Mary Elena Leigh means "cherished light, sheltered from the storm."
Well, my help has returned to Texas and after four wonderful weeks of help from my mother-in-law where we began to discover the reality of being a family of six, I am mostly on my own. Because of the unforeseen cesarean, and the longer recovery and the busy-ness of having four kids six and under, we used all the meals I had prepared and frozen before mom left. And she left and I felt and continue to feel inept, inadequate, overwhelmed. And instead of responding to those feelings with the grace I prayed I'd have, with patience for the other four people in my home who are also adjusting to their new roles, I've found myself demanding perfection from myself, from them.
"Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret, hateful parts -- your arrogance, your spite, your condescension -- has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it's Mr. Nasty." Unfortunately, as lofty as my expectations and goals are as a mother, I am human. Often as a wife, parent and friend I feel what Tom Hanks says in "You've Got Mail" to be true of me. And no matter how much I try, I will always be inept, inadequate and overwhelmed unless I ground myself in something more than my own ability.
As I struggle to find enough hours in the day to clean, do laundry, cuddle, do homework, cook, do dishes, reassure, and gently redirect, I am rediscovering that in order for restoration to occur in me, in order to be the best version of myself, I need to be constantly in prayer, to spend time in the Word each day, and to give and receive the grace provided to us through His sacrifice.
It is no mistake that in my limited time, I just "happened" to begin reading through the Proverbs again.
Day after day I read, and it seems repetitive, but then I realize that all of my good intentions to do what is right and to be what I need to be, are futile and in my humanity, God knows that like my children, I will need to be redirected continually. And so I am reminded daily:
"Teach a youth about the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it" (22:6). It is a constant thing to mold the hearts of my children, but oh the eternal reward if I make it my priority.
"Better to live in a wilderness than with a nagging and hot-tempered wife" (21:19). Whether or not he does the things I think he ought, regardless of him making life for me easier or having needs that I must respond to, I am called by One greater than myself to be that "good thing" of which Solomon speaks for my husband (18:22).
"Life and death are in the power of the tongue ..." and "The intelligent person restrains his words, and one who keeps a cool head is a man of understanding" (18:21,17:27). In this regard, I require much maturation.
The interesting thing about Mary's name is that while it means "cherished" it has an underlying meaning of "bitterness." This week, in moments when I've lost it, when I haven't allowed myself to be admonished by the above truths, when I've been the messy version of me, I have begun to realize that whether Mary understands herself as a cherished light or allows bitterness to take root in her heart is very much on my shoulders. The way I react, when the lid blows off that Pandora's box, when my children and my husband receive my spite instead of grace, I plant the seed.
So when I forget to put the eggs in the banana bread and realize it the minute before the timer goes off -- or when I am required by my occupation to redirect hearts and I forget about what I'm cooking and my cheese sauce overheats and curdles -- when juice spills on my newly mopped floor -- or my son knocks so hard on the window that it busts on a night when it is bound to rain, I must lock the box and "... be transformed by the renewing of [my] mind, so that [I] may discern what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God" (Romans 12:2).
The work of a mother is tiring, non-stop, challenging, but rewarding.
You are changing the world
one little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh you, you may not see it now,
but I believe that time will tell
How you, you were changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time.
-- Steven Curtis Chapman
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thursday, September 8, 2011
They called it House of Grace ...
Many have lived here before. I like that history. They called it House of Grace. I love that name. I am struggling today to find that grace ... that favor that we don't deserve, but we come to expect from the God who so graciously holds us in his hands. Yet it is there. Isn't it?
I have always known that life is cyclical. When I taught, I'd have a year filled with stellar students, great curriculum and good faculty relationships followed by year with more discipline and frustration than teaching. As a parent, I experience months of cooperation, working and developing consciences, and much cuddling followed by months of strict discipline, redirection, sleepless nights, and mom and children teary eyed. We experience joy and pain, solidarity and floundering, security and fear. And through it all, whether my mind believes it or not, my heart knows He is sovereign.
For me, this is a season of great loss. If it were one thing, I might not be searching for the grace quite so desperately, but it has come in one deafening wave. My closest friend moved away. I am so happy for her, but more than I thought, I find myself wishing we were closer.
Our house was broken into while on vacation and all my jewelry, great-aunts silver, our computer with all our kids' pictures, and a handful of other things are gone. I tell myself those are just things, but attached to things are great sentimental memories from parents, grandparents already gone, and so many gifts of love from my husband. And they are things, and our treasure is not in this world, but I have to constantly remind myself of where my heart must be. Though they are things, when I walk by where something used to be, I feel that loss of security. I feel fear. I must push it aside constantly so that my children never need know there was a reason to fear. I must create the safe place for them that I find when I run to my Father's arms.
With the loss of the computer goes several outlets I took for granted. Right or wrong, the internet has really become a place of socialization, especially for someone who has spent much of their life moving, friends scattered across states and countries. I can only write on my blog, should my husband bring home his computer to work. And it's hard, and it's been a very lonely three and a half weeks home.
And with the seasons come unexpected changes in income and re-budgeting to remain a stay-at-home mom in Los Angeles and expected changes in the kids' schedules as they return to school and I find myself with more time, but to do what?
Today I find myself holding my swelling belly and pondering, what next? What next must I lose, and if I lose it will I still be able to practice gratitude or will I find myself continually comparing my circumstances with others around me? It is easy to give thanks in the easy times and today, as I search for his grace, I give thanks in the midst of loss, because sometimes there is pain in praise, but it always magnifies the giver of all good things. As I magnify Him, the loss must needs become smaller. As I thank, I allow Him to take his rightful place, and all things that could become idols, become shadows in His light. So for a few things lost, I am thankful for the associated memories.
83. Two young twenty-somethings in New York on their honeymoon, searching for just the right symbol of their love, wandering through Tiffany's and finding a silver pendant that looked like two hearts melted together as one. I am thankful for over 11 years of love with that man that God answered my deepest prayers with.
84. A small silver and turquoise ring that a Dad bought his daughter when she was twelve on a road trip in the middle of 7th grade. The destination, another home, another church, another school. I am thankful for a father who always provided love, shelter, and security in the midst of great change.
85. A silver cross given to a bride as a way of welcoming her into their family, the day before she became a Price. I am grateful for the acceptance I've always felt from Matt's family.
86. An amber cross, amber butterfly and silver chain bought for a girl on her thirtieth birthday in Krakow, Poland. I am thankful for a husband that always finds a way to make what seems like a huge deal for me, a wonderful memory.
87. A silver chest of silverware given by a great-aunt from her hope chest, though she never married. I am grateful for my family and for the heritage of faith and
88. That I was given the gift of marriage.
89. A computer that was well used and filled with thousands of pictures, videos, budgets, etc. I am thankful for the memories those pictures represent and that I was given a mind that allows me to relive those moments whether I have pictures or not and
90. That no matter how flawless I think my budget is, that it is He who supplies all my needs.
91. A silver cross and necklace. I am thankful that my husband and I share the same faith and that so much of what he gives me reminds me of where my hope is.
92. A gold and pearl ring given from a grandmother to her granddaughter as she entered her teens. I am thankful not only for such a gift and for great grandparents, but also that my sister replaced one of the missing pearls on my first mother's day, a month after my grandmother went home.
93. A Nicholas charm and a spring flower charm. I am thankful for my relationship with my mother-in-law who has year after year added to a charm bracelet she started for me, and made me always feel more special than I can begin to express. I might as well, just say it ... she's the best mother-in-law ever.
94. For the wood flower necklace with a picture of a precious five year old, glitter pasted to the middle of it, brought to me while in labor with my second son. It reminded me through the whole grueling experience the amazing good that comes out of such pain and got me through. I am thankful for my sweet kiddos and that I was able to communicate to Lucas how much that gift meant to me by keeping it in my jewelry box.
95. For the beautiful jewelry box that was my gift from Matt this past Christmas. I am thankful for the vivid memory of watching the kids' faces as I opened it and hearing them exclaim that they picked it out and
96. For a husband who searches for things that are things I would never think to need or ask for, but are so special and
97. For the memories of Nicholas organizing my jewelry early in the mornings.
98. For a church staff that made sure the house was put together enough when we returned home that the kids have never known anything to be amiss
99. For the security measures taken by the same staff and my husband to ensure that we are safe.
100. For the time we enjoyed in Texas with family in spite of what happened at home.
101. For the memories yet to be made and pictures still to be taken.
102. For this life that grows within me and that in all things, God is good and in control.
103. For a husband who understands what I feel and speaks the languages or reason and love simultaneously.
104. For visits from family.
105. For double date nights with brother and sister-in-law and yummy food.
106. That my mom and dad are coming to visit
107. That when I was at my lowest in the realization of the loss, my Matt gave me an anniversary ring to begin our 10th year of marriage and took me away to a quiet cabin, in the woods in Texas and reminded me of so many of the reasons why I love him.
108. That I can hold to this promise ...
Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with My righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10, HCSB)
109. That His grace is here, when my mind argues with what my heart knows.
I have always known that life is cyclical. When I taught, I'd have a year filled with stellar students, great curriculum and good faculty relationships followed by year with more discipline and frustration than teaching. As a parent, I experience months of cooperation, working and developing consciences, and much cuddling followed by months of strict discipline, redirection, sleepless nights, and mom and children teary eyed. We experience joy and pain, solidarity and floundering, security and fear. And through it all, whether my mind believes it or not, my heart knows He is sovereign.
For me, this is a season of great loss. If it were one thing, I might not be searching for the grace quite so desperately, but it has come in one deafening wave. My closest friend moved away. I am so happy for her, but more than I thought, I find myself wishing we were closer.
Our house was broken into while on vacation and all my jewelry, great-aunts silver, our computer with all our kids' pictures, and a handful of other things are gone. I tell myself those are just things, but attached to things are great sentimental memories from parents, grandparents already gone, and so many gifts of love from my husband. And they are things, and our treasure is not in this world, but I have to constantly remind myself of where my heart must be. Though they are things, when I walk by where something used to be, I feel that loss of security. I feel fear. I must push it aside constantly so that my children never need know there was a reason to fear. I must create the safe place for them that I find when I run to my Father's arms.
With the loss of the computer goes several outlets I took for granted. Right or wrong, the internet has really become a place of socialization, especially for someone who has spent much of their life moving, friends scattered across states and countries. I can only write on my blog, should my husband bring home his computer to work. And it's hard, and it's been a very lonely three and a half weeks home.
And with the seasons come unexpected changes in income and re-budgeting to remain a stay-at-home mom in Los Angeles and expected changes in the kids' schedules as they return to school and I find myself with more time, but to do what?
Today I find myself holding my swelling belly and pondering, what next? What next must I lose, and if I lose it will I still be able to practice gratitude or will I find myself continually comparing my circumstances with others around me? It is easy to give thanks in the easy times and today, as I search for his grace, I give thanks in the midst of loss, because sometimes there is pain in praise, but it always magnifies the giver of all good things. As I magnify Him, the loss must needs become smaller. As I thank, I allow Him to take his rightful place, and all things that could become idols, become shadows in His light. So for a few things lost, I am thankful for the associated memories.
83. Two young twenty-somethings in New York on their honeymoon, searching for just the right symbol of their love, wandering through Tiffany's and finding a silver pendant that looked like two hearts melted together as one. I am thankful for over 11 years of love with that man that God answered my deepest prayers with.
84. A small silver and turquoise ring that a Dad bought his daughter when she was twelve on a road trip in the middle of 7th grade. The destination, another home, another church, another school. I am thankful for a father who always provided love, shelter, and security in the midst of great change.
85. A silver cross given to a bride as a way of welcoming her into their family, the day before she became a Price. I am grateful for the acceptance I've always felt from Matt's family.
86. An amber cross, amber butterfly and silver chain bought for a girl on her thirtieth birthday in Krakow, Poland. I am thankful for a husband that always finds a way to make what seems like a huge deal for me, a wonderful memory.
87. A silver chest of silverware given by a great-aunt from her hope chest, though she never married. I am grateful for my family and for the heritage of faith and
88. That I was given the gift of marriage.
89. A computer that was well used and filled with thousands of pictures, videos, budgets, etc. I am thankful for the memories those pictures represent and that I was given a mind that allows me to relive those moments whether I have pictures or not and
90. That no matter how flawless I think my budget is, that it is He who supplies all my needs.
91. A silver cross and necklace. I am thankful that my husband and I share the same faith and that so much of what he gives me reminds me of where my hope is.
92. A gold and pearl ring given from a grandmother to her granddaughter as she entered her teens. I am thankful not only for such a gift and for great grandparents, but also that my sister replaced one of the missing pearls on my first mother's day, a month after my grandmother went home.
93. A Nicholas charm and a spring flower charm. I am thankful for my relationship with my mother-in-law who has year after year added to a charm bracelet she started for me, and made me always feel more special than I can begin to express. I might as well, just say it ... she's the best mother-in-law ever.
94. For the wood flower necklace with a picture of a precious five year old, glitter pasted to the middle of it, brought to me while in labor with my second son. It reminded me through the whole grueling experience the amazing good that comes out of such pain and got me through. I am thankful for my sweet kiddos and that I was able to communicate to Lucas how much that gift meant to me by keeping it in my jewelry box.
95. For the beautiful jewelry box that was my gift from Matt this past Christmas. I am thankful for the vivid memory of watching the kids' faces as I opened it and hearing them exclaim that they picked it out and
96. For a husband who searches for things that are things I would never think to need or ask for, but are so special and
97. For the memories of Nicholas organizing my jewelry early in the mornings.
98. For a church staff that made sure the house was put together enough when we returned home that the kids have never known anything to be amiss
99. For the security measures taken by the same staff and my husband to ensure that we are safe.
100. For the time we enjoyed in Texas with family in spite of what happened at home.
101. For the memories yet to be made and pictures still to be taken.
102. For this life that grows within me and that in all things, God is good and in control.
103. For a husband who understands what I feel and speaks the languages or reason and love simultaneously.
104. For visits from family.
105. For double date nights with brother and sister-in-law and yummy food.
106. That my mom and dad are coming to visit
107. That when I was at my lowest in the realization of the loss, my Matt gave me an anniversary ring to begin our 10th year of marriage and took me away to a quiet cabin, in the woods in Texas and reminded me of so many of the reasons why I love him.
108. That I can hold to this promise ...
Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with My righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10, HCSB)
109. That His grace is here, when my mind argues with what my heart knows.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Blessings in Disguise
Well, hello blog. I cannot believe how long it has been since I've written, even though it was a conscious decision to have a little hiatus, but this week is going to be a slow one for me so I thought there is no better time to start up again.
So how can life be slow with three kids? I dropped my oldest two at the airport with my mother-in-law this morning and said a teary good-bye, and so my life is much quieter for the next nine days as I hang out with sweet Nicholas and pray that Lucas and Bethany behave and have a wonderful time in the tenacious Texas temperatures.
As I left them at the security check-in this morning, I noticed a marked change in me. If I had written this post two years ago, it would have been more panicked, as I'd wonder if they were actually going to land, if I'd really hold them in my arms in just over a week. As I've begun to live in thanksgiving and notice the miracles in mundane moments, my faith and trust and hope have been renewed and restored. Sure I checked their flight progress and was happy to hear that they had landed, but I never believed for a moment they wouldn't. That, for me, is HUGE!
This Summer has been filled with the ups and downs of parenting three children ... tantrums, arguments, discipline, redirection, frustration, joy, laughter, spontaneous play dates, sprinkler fun and victories at swim lessons. In the midst of it all, we were blindsided by the discovery that we are expecting an unexpected fourth miracle.
For a perfectionist planner who had just agreed that the third "completed" our little family, that my arms were full, that I was just finally figuring out after a year to hold down the fort with three in tow, this was quite a shock. Not to mention that for weeks it didn't seem real to Matt, while it was all very real to me as I begun to hit walls of exhaustion and never ceasing morning sickness.
And for a girl who has had a miscarriage, pregnancy is of course wonderful and thrilling, but can be filled with fear, terror and loneliness. So we held off telling people at least until our suspicions were confirmed at the doctor.
I've been asked if I'm excited and my response has been "I'm getting there." It's not that I'm not excited, it's that this is an uncertain season for me and there have already been scares along the way, but every fear has been answered fully in the reassurance of his peace. If I've learned nothing else in the last two years, I have learned that in all things He is good and in every situation there is grace.
So we are excited to announce that our fourth child will make his/her appearance sometime in late February when our family will be complete.
As I think back on all my plans and the way many have come to fruition and many have been outdone by His plans for us, I begin to realize that while there is nothing wrong with planning, sometimes the things that shock or surprise us, the times when we can't seem to get a handle on life, the seasons where plans fall apart are the very moments when God chooses to step in and say "Just step back and let me handle this one. Wait and see what I can do!" After all, "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:9, NIV)
As I struggle to take care of the cooking, cleaning and child rearing in the midst of intense nausea, I am reminded with every glimpse of their little faces that this is all worth it. Sometimes the difficult seasons and the sweet surprises of life are blessings in disguise. I'm joyfully anticipating this blessing!
"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons born in one's youth. Happy is the man who has filled his quiver with them. Such men will never be put to shame ..."
(Ps. 127:4-5)
So how can life be slow with three kids? I dropped my oldest two at the airport with my mother-in-law this morning and said a teary good-bye, and so my life is much quieter for the next nine days as I hang out with sweet Nicholas and pray that Lucas and Bethany behave and have a wonderful time in the tenacious Texas temperatures.
As I left them at the security check-in this morning, I noticed a marked change in me. If I had written this post two years ago, it would have been more panicked, as I'd wonder if they were actually going to land, if I'd really hold them in my arms in just over a week. As I've begun to live in thanksgiving and notice the miracles in mundane moments, my faith and trust and hope have been renewed and restored. Sure I checked their flight progress and was happy to hear that they had landed, but I never believed for a moment they wouldn't. That, for me, is HUGE!
This Summer has been filled with the ups and downs of parenting three children ... tantrums, arguments, discipline, redirection, frustration, joy, laughter, spontaneous play dates, sprinkler fun and victories at swim lessons. In the midst of it all, we were blindsided by the discovery that we are expecting an unexpected fourth miracle.
For a perfectionist planner who had just agreed that the third "completed" our little family, that my arms were full, that I was just finally figuring out after a year to hold down the fort with three in tow, this was quite a shock. Not to mention that for weeks it didn't seem real to Matt, while it was all very real to me as I begun to hit walls of exhaustion and never ceasing morning sickness.
And for a girl who has had a miscarriage, pregnancy is of course wonderful and thrilling, but can be filled with fear, terror and loneliness. So we held off telling people at least until our suspicions were confirmed at the doctor.
I've been asked if I'm excited and my response has been "I'm getting there." It's not that I'm not excited, it's that this is an uncertain season for me and there have already been scares along the way, but every fear has been answered fully in the reassurance of his peace. If I've learned nothing else in the last two years, I have learned that in all things He is good and in every situation there is grace.
So we are excited to announce that our fourth child will make his/her appearance sometime in late February when our family will be complete.
As I think back on all my plans and the way many have come to fruition and many have been outdone by His plans for us, I begin to realize that while there is nothing wrong with planning, sometimes the things that shock or surprise us, the times when we can't seem to get a handle on life, the seasons where plans fall apart are the very moments when God chooses to step in and say "Just step back and let me handle this one. Wait and see what I can do!" After all, "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:9, NIV)
As I struggle to take care of the cooking, cleaning and child rearing in the midst of intense nausea, I am reminded with every glimpse of their little faces that this is all worth it. Sometimes the difficult seasons and the sweet surprises of life are blessings in disguise. I'm joyfully anticipating this blessing!
"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons born in one's youth. Happy is the man who has filled his quiver with them. Such men will never be put to shame ..."
(Ps. 127:4-5)
Monday, June 13, 2011
In all things ...
I have been on a journey of gratitude and it creates a deep and very real and abiding joy. As I'm scrubbing down the kitchen, ironing Matt's shirt for church, or sipping a cup of coffee, I've begun to give thanks in short, breath prayers. As I breathe out thanks, out goes the worry and the cares for the day and in enters more of His Spirit, and the joy overflows.
But how quick I am to forget that in all things He is good, whether that means all is peace and patience or I have come to the end of myself and just can't make it on my own.
I turned 32 last week. I am no longer thirty, nor one year past. I am, I feel, in my thirties and that seems daunting, because isn't a person in their thirties truly an adult? So often, I look around my home at scattered toys, folded or unfolded laundry, and three sets of eyes and smiles looking up at me and I wonder how I got here.
Was it really eleven years ago that Matt and I started dating? Time sure flies. I started out last week wanting to write thirty-two thanks for graces, but life happens and it didn't.
Right before we walked out the door for my birthday date on Tuesday, Bethany threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned it up and mopped and was assured that I shouldn't worry about going out anyhow.
Wednesday morning, Lucas said his milk tasted funny and we discovered that the refrigerator (only a year and a half old) was no longer cooling. We later found out that the repair man couldn't come until Thursday. Of course the one part not covered in the warranty was the computer and what else would our fridge need repaired? Nothing. It just needs a new computer. Because the part wasn't covered in the warranty, the nearly four-hundred dollars worth of food loss would not be covered either.
The part had to be ordered and was not put in until this afternoon.
Friday afternoon Lucas was picked up from school, limping. Just by lifting his pant leg and seeing an ankle three times its normal size, we knew we had to go to the hospital. Three hours and a temporary cast later, we left to wait for Monday to arrive with more appointments and hopefully some answers.
I am thinking about bills and injuries and a huge grocery shopping trip to replace food and I want to panic, but worry and joy have no relationship and I must choose joy.
In times like these I understand that praise can be a sacrifice, and here I am and all I want to do is give thanks. So nearly a week late, thirty-two thanks.
51. summer squash growing in the garden
52. Nikki's beautiful smile and sweet spirit
53. the use of Robin's freezer to preserve some of our frozen meat
54. Nicholas' sweaty head when he's sound asleep
55. coupons!
56. Grace's yummy bbq and baked beans
57. hanging plants
58. the smell of jasmine
59. a house that has been clean for a week and a half (that is huge for me with these tiny little mess makers)
60. my black and pink flannel pajamas
61. two yummy meals from Robin when I couldn't cook
62. the way it seems our money was multiplied when we had to eat out several times over the past six days
63. watching Matt enjoy a documentary about Cajun women and the way they iron
64. listening to Matt's impersonation of said Cajun women
65. clean sheets
66. pedicures
67. answered prayers
68. friendships birthed in prayer
69. Starbucks gift cards
70. differentiation and growing up
71. kissing Bethany's cushy cheeks
72. Nicholas' BIG blue eyes
73. Lucas' tiny top lip
74. the way my nose fits perfectly in Matt's ear
75. Allison's cinnamon chocolate chip coffee cake
76. raspberries
77. my kids' wonderful pediatrician
78. Jessica and how much my kids' (and we) love her
79. tiny Japanese eggplants hanging all over my plant
80. anticipating a big rhubarb harvest next year
81. bread rising
82. God's graces never ending
But how quick I am to forget that in all things He is good, whether that means all is peace and patience or I have come to the end of myself and just can't make it on my own.
I turned 32 last week. I am no longer thirty, nor one year past. I am, I feel, in my thirties and that seems daunting, because isn't a person in their thirties truly an adult? So often, I look around my home at scattered toys, folded or unfolded laundry, and three sets of eyes and smiles looking up at me and I wonder how I got here.
Was it really eleven years ago that Matt and I started dating? Time sure flies. I started out last week wanting to write thirty-two thanks for graces, but life happens and it didn't.
Right before we walked out the door for my birthday date on Tuesday, Bethany threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned it up and mopped and was assured that I shouldn't worry about going out anyhow.
Wednesday morning, Lucas said his milk tasted funny and we discovered that the refrigerator (only a year and a half old) was no longer cooling. We later found out that the repair man couldn't come until Thursday. Of course the one part not covered in the warranty was the computer and what else would our fridge need repaired? Nothing. It just needs a new computer. Because the part wasn't covered in the warranty, the nearly four-hundred dollars worth of food loss would not be covered either.
The part had to be ordered and was not put in until this afternoon.
Friday afternoon Lucas was picked up from school, limping. Just by lifting his pant leg and seeing an ankle three times its normal size, we knew we had to go to the hospital. Three hours and a temporary cast later, we left to wait for Monday to arrive with more appointments and hopefully some answers.
I am thinking about bills and injuries and a huge grocery shopping trip to replace food and I want to panic, but worry and joy have no relationship and I must choose joy.
In times like these I understand that praise can be a sacrifice, and here I am and all I want to do is give thanks. So nearly a week late, thirty-two thanks.
51. summer squash growing in the garden
52. Nikki's beautiful smile and sweet spirit
53. the use of Robin's freezer to preserve some of our frozen meat
54. Nicholas' sweaty head when he's sound asleep
55. coupons!
56. Grace's yummy bbq and baked beans
57. hanging plants
58. the smell of jasmine
59. a house that has been clean for a week and a half (that is huge for me with these tiny little mess makers)
60. my black and pink flannel pajamas
61. two yummy meals from Robin when I couldn't cook
62. the way it seems our money was multiplied when we had to eat out several times over the past six days
63. watching Matt enjoy a documentary about Cajun women and the way they iron
64. listening to Matt's impersonation of said Cajun women
65. clean sheets
66. pedicures
67. answered prayers
68. friendships birthed in prayer
69. Starbucks gift cards
70. differentiation and growing up
71. kissing Bethany's cushy cheeks
72. Nicholas' BIG blue eyes
73. Lucas' tiny top lip
74. the way my nose fits perfectly in Matt's ear
75. Allison's cinnamon chocolate chip coffee cake
76. raspberries
77. my kids' wonderful pediatrician
78. Jessica and how much my kids' (and we) love her
79. tiny Japanese eggplants hanging all over my plant
80. anticipating a big rhubarb harvest next year
81. bread rising
82. God's graces never ending
Monday, June 6, 2011
Blessed
If you spend much time with a baby in the midst of your soul awakening to God's mercies everlasting, ever present, always renewing, you realize that gratitude is a natural human instinct.
Eyes wide with wonder, mouth full-open, bursting smile, hands outstretched, squeals of glee ... he cannot speak the thanks, but his face expresses it all. Whether it's the newness of a game of give and take, peek-a-boo, a sibling walking into the room, Daddy coming home from work, eyes rolling back and blinking thanks while nursing and then sleeping, smiling, settling back in mama's arms all milk drunk in love; a baby's whole being says thanks and he is eager to keep the "game" going.
Somewhere along the way he will lose this innate gratefulness. Please and thank you will need to be taught, but seeing the natural giddiness of a thankful heart -- what better gift to give your children at a young age than the practice of gratitude; for the lapse of instinctual thanks to be brief, that they would not come of age before realizing the overwhelming joy that comes in recognizing His face in the world around them.
Life has a way of snatching this most basic instinct from us. I live in a world that since the fall, is inundated with sin ... that which has grabbed the joy and replaced it with suffering, pain, loss, fear.
And we are in the world, but must we be of it?
In the last month, I have been searching, and it is not difficult, to find Christ's face, His Breath, goodness, blessings all around me. As I've done so, I've noticed myself grow in joy, laughing to the point of tears, relishing the simple things and quiet moments.
In the word's of that Christmas movie "Love actually, is all around" and the giver of love is our Creator and He, actually, is all around.
But what of the moments when I cannot see Him? Is He also there?
Was He there when I started in my fourteenth school?
Was He there when we lived with my grandparents one summer waiting for the doors to open at another church, with another position for my Dad?
Was He there when I had to start at a new school, across the country in my senior year?
Was He there when I was told I may never have children?
Was He there as my grandfather's mind dimmed to this world, as he became trapped in a body yearning to join his Maker?
Was He there when doctor's tried to tell me I was experiencing a threatened miscarriage, when I knew I would never hold that baby in this life?
Is He there when doctor's diagnoses are grim or incomplete, causing angst and wonder?
Is He there every time a baby loses its life to a woman's choice?
Is He there when war rages?
Is He there when work is impossible to find?
Is He there when we give way to our addictive nature?
Is He there when the good suffer?
He was and He is ...
And He is always the Redeemer.
And I am called to find Him in all things, and sometimes it is difficult and I am not the soul owner of all the hurt in the world to offer reasons or reassurance of His presence, but when He conquered death and the curtain that separated our wandering hearts from Him was torn in two, the pain was not taken away, but I, we were invited to find Him in all things beautiful, peaceful and glorious filled with hurt, pain, and causing fear. He is in all things.
I hold my Nicholas and realize that all these things are gifts. That he is not mine, but His and I, through pain, suffering, loss, more pain, but greater still rejoicing have been invited to take part in this grace. That were I to hold my third baby, I would have never held His Nicholas. And that, and this faith, is paradoxical.
If we look for it, we will find His glory, but it is weighty, and it is difficult and it is far above our capabilities to understand, but it is there and in all things I am blessed.
24. the birds singing outside my window
25. zenias everywhere
26. daughter's heart to hold and mold
27. husband's strong arms around me
28. the anticipation of brother-in-law visiting
29. other moms to learn from
30. coffee percolating
31. Bethany wanting to wear dresses all the time
32. the sound of His people desperately seeking Him
33. blueberry batter cake
34. candles
35. how cute Nicholas looks in his gdiapers
36. the very kissable indentation just beneath and to the side of Matt's left eye
37. the little mole on Lucas' neck
38. opportunity to comfort kids in the night
39. Robin's brisket ... mmmm
40. moments of prayer while walking with Allison
41. reading my friends' blogs
42. a clean house
43. kids all dirty with sidewalk chalk
44. baby with skinned toes and dirty from playing outside
45. finding Matt's wedding ring after it was missing for 3 months
46. my kids, whether six years old or newborns, and how beautiful they are
47. Johanna Geesey -- how I will miss her.
48. Praise Baby dvds calming kids and baby
49. the stillness of the house before the kids wake
50. puffy clouds in a blue sky
Eyes wide with wonder, mouth full-open, bursting smile, hands outstretched, squeals of glee ... he cannot speak the thanks, but his face expresses it all. Whether it's the newness of a game of give and take, peek-a-boo, a sibling walking into the room, Daddy coming home from work, eyes rolling back and blinking thanks while nursing and then sleeping, smiling, settling back in mama's arms all milk drunk in love; a baby's whole being says thanks and he is eager to keep the "game" going.
Somewhere along the way he will lose this innate gratefulness. Please and thank you will need to be taught, but seeing the natural giddiness of a thankful heart -- what better gift to give your children at a young age than the practice of gratitude; for the lapse of instinctual thanks to be brief, that they would not come of age before realizing the overwhelming joy that comes in recognizing His face in the world around them.
Life has a way of snatching this most basic instinct from us. I live in a world that since the fall, is inundated with sin ... that which has grabbed the joy and replaced it with suffering, pain, loss, fear.
And we are in the world, but must we be of it?
In the last month, I have been searching, and it is not difficult, to find Christ's face, His Breath, goodness, blessings all around me. As I've done so, I've noticed myself grow in joy, laughing to the point of tears, relishing the simple things and quiet moments.
In the word's of that Christmas movie "Love actually, is all around" and the giver of love is our Creator and He, actually, is all around.
But what of the moments when I cannot see Him? Is He also there?
Was He there when I started in my fourteenth school?
Was He there when we lived with my grandparents one summer waiting for the doors to open at another church, with another position for my Dad?
Was He there when I had to start at a new school, across the country in my senior year?
Was He there when I was told I may never have children?
Was He there as my grandfather's mind dimmed to this world, as he became trapped in a body yearning to join his Maker?
Was He there when doctor's tried to tell me I was experiencing a threatened miscarriage, when I knew I would never hold that baby in this life?
Is He there when doctor's diagnoses are grim or incomplete, causing angst and wonder?
Is He there every time a baby loses its life to a woman's choice?
Is He there when war rages?
Is He there when work is impossible to find?
Is He there when we give way to our addictive nature?
Is He there when the good suffer?
He was and He is ...
And He is always the Redeemer.
And I am called to find Him in all things, and sometimes it is difficult and I am not the soul owner of all the hurt in the world to offer reasons or reassurance of His presence, but when He conquered death and the curtain that separated our wandering hearts from Him was torn in two, the pain was not taken away, but I, we were invited to find Him in all things beautiful, peaceful and glorious filled with hurt, pain, and causing fear. He is in all things.
I hold my Nicholas and realize that all these things are gifts. That he is not mine, but His and I, through pain, suffering, loss, more pain, but greater still rejoicing have been invited to take part in this grace. That were I to hold my third baby, I would have never held His Nicholas. And that, and this faith, is paradoxical.
If we look for it, we will find His glory, but it is weighty, and it is difficult and it is far above our capabilities to understand, but it is there and in all things I am blessed.
24. the birds singing outside my window
25. zenias everywhere
26. daughter's heart to hold and mold
27. husband's strong arms around me
28. the anticipation of brother-in-law visiting
29. other moms to learn from
30. coffee percolating
31. Bethany wanting to wear dresses all the time
32. the sound of His people desperately seeking Him
33. blueberry batter cake
34. candles
35. how cute Nicholas looks in his gdiapers
36. the very kissable indentation just beneath and to the side of Matt's left eye
37. the little mole on Lucas' neck
38. opportunity to comfort kids in the night
39. Robin's brisket ... mmmm
40. moments of prayer while walking with Allison
41. reading my friends' blogs
42. a clean house
43. kids all dirty with sidewalk chalk
44. baby with skinned toes and dirty from playing outside
45. finding Matt's wedding ring after it was missing for 3 months
46. my kids, whether six years old or newborns, and how beautiful they are
47. Johanna Geesey -- how I will miss her.
48. Praise Baby dvds calming kids and baby
49. the stillness of the house before the kids wake
50. puffy clouds in a blue sky
Monday, May 23, 2011
Bitterness and Beattitudes
These past weeks have been a period of great angst, but greater still reflection for me. Nearly three weeks ago, I watched my children say goodbye to one set of their grandparents, yet again, and my heart broke.
What was once an adventure for a young bride and groom, scuttling off to California to work his way through a venture in theology, has become so much more over the course of these most recent six years. The two are now five, and the new three may just not understand why we are so far from their papas, Mimi and Nonna.
As I stood, tears streaming down my face I allowed the hurt to transform to just one little seed. Though seeds mostly bring new life, this one is destined to choke out all that is good and lovely if it is not dealt with.
Nine years ago, days before packing up a truck and loading our little car to the brim, full of new appliances, linens, dishes and promise, a lovely lady said to me "Lindsey, do not let the seed of bitterness take root. May your spirit always remain sweet."
Frustration mounts.
Yelling ensues.
Seed burrows.
I water it with my tears.
And then I pick up a book and I am struck with the realization that this bitterness has no place in a heart -- in my heart, my life. A life I gave to God nearly three decades ago. A heart I yield to his leading at the commencement of each day. For one whose God has over the years shown nothing but goodness and kindness, albeit sometimes draped in mortal confusion, bitterness has no place here.
And what of it?
If I allow it to nestle itself in the fertile soil of my heart, what do the children who I righteously take it on for get out of life, out of me?
We were never told that our earthly life would be free from disappointment; it is what we do with our daily dose that matters.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, because the kingdom of heaven is theirs.
Blessed are those who mourn, because they will be comforted.
Blessed are the gentle, because they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, because they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, because they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, because they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, because they will be called sons of God."
(Matthew 5:3-9 HCSB)
And I'm poor and yet blessed
Mourning and yet at peace in the palm of His hands
Longing for gentleness to spill from my lips
Ever hungry
And I reach to become filled more with mercy
I push the bitterness aside, for purity
Praying His peace would fill our home and that it would begin in me.
In the midst of the dailies, the striving and the curse of Adam and Eve that is upon us, I focus on the promise through the lens of thanks.
11. the saints proclaiming His praises
12. serving cupcakes on the porch to my kids and their friends
13. naked baby soaking my pants as he listens to the bathtub fill
14. setting the coffee pot for morning
15. the promise of English muffins with peanut butter
16. the house that remains clean for all of five minutes, because I am blessed to have four precious lives that live with me
17. a flower bed overfilled with sprouts because the kids helped us plant
18. tall, nonfat, haf-caf, extra-hot, upside down caramel machiatos on Tuesday morning and the barista who enjoys my superfluous use of adjectives while ordering
19. friends to sip coffee with
20. parents who raised me to know Jesus
21. living close enough to one sister to occasionally meet for lunch
22. a God who helps me see and acknowledge bitterness before it becomes so ingrained in my heart that I struggle to rid myself of it
23. a community of friends I may never meet who are also giving thanks
What was once an adventure for a young bride and groom, scuttling off to California to work his way through a venture in theology, has become so much more over the course of these most recent six years. The two are now five, and the new three may just not understand why we are so far from their papas, Mimi and Nonna.
As I stood, tears streaming down my face I allowed the hurt to transform to just one little seed. Though seeds mostly bring new life, this one is destined to choke out all that is good and lovely if it is not dealt with.
Nine years ago, days before packing up a truck and loading our little car to the brim, full of new appliances, linens, dishes and promise, a lovely lady said to me "Lindsey, do not let the seed of bitterness take root. May your spirit always remain sweet."
Frustration mounts.
Yelling ensues.
Seed burrows.
I water it with my tears.
And then I pick up a book and I am struck with the realization that this bitterness has no place in a heart -- in my heart, my life. A life I gave to God nearly three decades ago. A heart I yield to his leading at the commencement of each day. For one whose God has over the years shown nothing but goodness and kindness, albeit sometimes draped in mortal confusion, bitterness has no place here.
And what of it?
If I allow it to nestle itself in the fertile soil of my heart, what do the children who I righteously take it on for get out of life, out of me?
We were never told that our earthly life would be free from disappointment; it is what we do with our daily dose that matters.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, because the kingdom of heaven is theirs.
Blessed are those who mourn, because they will be comforted.
Blessed are the gentle, because they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, because they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, because they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, because they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, because they will be called sons of God."
(Matthew 5:3-9 HCSB)
And I'm poor and yet blessed
Mourning and yet at peace in the palm of His hands
Longing for gentleness to spill from my lips
Ever hungry
And I reach to become filled more with mercy
I push the bitterness aside, for purity
Praying His peace would fill our home and that it would begin in me.
In the midst of the dailies, the striving and the curse of Adam and Eve that is upon us, I focus on the promise through the lens of thanks.
11. the saints proclaiming His praises
12. serving cupcakes on the porch to my kids and their friends
13. naked baby soaking my pants as he listens to the bathtub fill
14. setting the coffee pot for morning
15. the promise of English muffins with peanut butter
16. the house that remains clean for all of five minutes, because I am blessed to have four precious lives that live with me
17. a flower bed overfilled with sprouts because the kids helped us plant
18. tall, nonfat, haf-caf, extra-hot, upside down caramel machiatos on Tuesday morning and the barista who enjoys my superfluous use of adjectives while ordering
19. friends to sip coffee with
20. parents who raised me to know Jesus
21. living close enough to one sister to occasionally meet for lunch
22. a God who helps me see and acknowledge bitterness before it becomes so ingrained in my heart that I struggle to rid myself of it
23. a community of friends I may never meet who are also giving thanks
Saturday, May 7, 2011
It's about more than creme brulee ...
We've had an amazing weekend, from a mother's tea with Lucas and his kindergarten class, to a dual birthday celebration for my boys at Disneyland (complete with Nonna and Papa Price), to seeing my exuberant kids running to and away from the waves of the Pacific and seeing Nicholas feel sand, eat sand, and dip his tiny toes in the frigid water, to shopping for Nick's birthday and mother's day, ending with my favorite blackberry sauvignon gelato before I head to bed.
Tomorrow is Mother's Day and I am so excited to share the day with my little gifts and to see their smiles as they reveal the treasures they've made for me. As I sit in anticipation, my eyes tear with gratefulness for the precious lives that are entrusted to me and sting with guilty realization that I am not the mother I want for them.
Every once in a while, when I am least expecting it, out of the deepest, darkest depths of my humanity I see the ugliness of my mortality emerge. Sometimes with great embarrassment, I stifle that which I wish I wasn't. Other times, like tonight, I give way to the self righteousness, feeling wholly justified in the action, but rather than peaceful satisfaction, I see the ugliness from outside of myself and realize, I am not the person I would choose to raise these children.
I am inept.
I am hateful.
I am inadequate.
... and yet, I am forgiven.
I am equipped.
I am chosen.
Wholly incapable am I on my own, but with deep thanks I rejoice in knowing that "His strength is made perfect in my weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9)
I admit that after a year of being a stay at home mom, and completing my daily tasks at the height of exhaustion, never being able to check everything off a "to-do" list, and getting no high-fives for a job well done, I have been able to think of many things I would like tomorrow to be. I've thought of shoes I want, dresses to wear, pedicures to receive, a day of rest, children sleeping through the night ... creme brulee.
I have considered myself deserving of being celebrated in a way I never have before, and yet when it comes right down to it, what tomorrow will mean for me is exactly what motherhood is.
Tomorrow, I will teach my children how to love and accept and to welcome with the love of Jesus.
Tomorrow, I will lay down my pride.
Tomorrow, I will show grace to my children when they make mistakes ...
to those who have not yet grappled with Christ's grace to them ...
for myself as I grow in accepting that I will never get it exactly right.
Tomorrow, I will take another stride toward gentleness ...
Tomorrow, I will rest in the knowledge that I am a work in progress and though I cannot do everything on my own, I am being led in raising these gifts by the one who loves me too much to not be the strength that I don't have on my own.
Tomorrow, I won't celebrate myself, but I will celebrate the precious privilege I have been given in being mom to Lucas Emanuel, our little light bearer who reminds me that I serve a God that comes near to me in my imperfection, Bethany Jordan who helps me remember that I have a safe place to hide when the world is too much to bear, and Nicholas Judah who is evidence of a God who knows my heart and brings victory to his children and accepts my praise, even when it seems a sacrifice of a broken heart.
To me, mother's day is no longer about my daily sacrifices on the journey, but rather about celebrating the three lives and one angel baby that bespeak my name as mother, and how the Lord uses them to draw me closer to his heart.
Tomorrow is Mother's Day and I am so excited to share the day with my little gifts and to see their smiles as they reveal the treasures they've made for me. As I sit in anticipation, my eyes tear with gratefulness for the precious lives that are entrusted to me and sting with guilty realization that I am not the mother I want for them.
Every once in a while, when I am least expecting it, out of the deepest, darkest depths of my humanity I see the ugliness of my mortality emerge. Sometimes with great embarrassment, I stifle that which I wish I wasn't. Other times, like tonight, I give way to the self righteousness, feeling wholly justified in the action, but rather than peaceful satisfaction, I see the ugliness from outside of myself and realize, I am not the person I would choose to raise these children.
I am inept.
I am hateful.
I am inadequate.
... and yet, I am forgiven.
I am equipped.
I am chosen.
Wholly incapable am I on my own, but with deep thanks I rejoice in knowing that "His strength is made perfect in my weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9)
I admit that after a year of being a stay at home mom, and completing my daily tasks at the height of exhaustion, never being able to check everything off a "to-do" list, and getting no high-fives for a job well done, I have been able to think of many things I would like tomorrow to be. I've thought of shoes I want, dresses to wear, pedicures to receive, a day of rest, children sleeping through the night ... creme brulee.
I have considered myself deserving of being celebrated in a way I never have before, and yet when it comes right down to it, what tomorrow will mean for me is exactly what motherhood is.
Tomorrow, I will teach my children how to love and accept and to welcome with the love of Jesus.
Tomorrow, I will lay down my pride.
Tomorrow, I will show grace to my children when they make mistakes ...
to those who have not yet grappled with Christ's grace to them ...
for myself as I grow in accepting that I will never get it exactly right.
Tomorrow, I will take another stride toward gentleness ...
Tomorrow, I will rest in the knowledge that I am a work in progress and though I cannot do everything on my own, I am being led in raising these gifts by the one who loves me too much to not be the strength that I don't have on my own.
Tomorrow, I won't celebrate myself, but I will celebrate the precious privilege I have been given in being mom to Lucas Emanuel, our little light bearer who reminds me that I serve a God that comes near to me in my imperfection, Bethany Jordan who helps me remember that I have a safe place to hide when the world is too much to bear, and Nicholas Judah who is evidence of a God who knows my heart and brings victory to his children and accepts my praise, even when it seems a sacrifice of a broken heart.
To me, mother's day is no longer about my daily sacrifices on the journey, but rather about celebrating the three lives and one angel baby that bespeak my name as mother, and how the Lord uses them to draw me closer to his heart.
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