Sometimes Joy is Messy

I will admit, I don’t have the cleanest house in the world, but I also attempt to not constantly look like a tornado has ravaged us.  However, Christmas morning really is my favorite mess of the year.  There is so much excitement and anticipation as the paper is ripped off, new toys are taken out of boxes, and stocking stuffers are scattered everywhere.  It always seems like the entire room is covered in a sparkly array of chaos- and I love it.  Yesterday morning was no exception at our house.  Once everything had been opened and the fun of playing began, I stepped back to snap a picture of the mess.  Usually I will do anything to hide the mess of my house in pictures, but on Christmas morning I intentionally took pictures of the mess.

 I think the reason I love that mess is because it is so full of joy.  It is not the mess of carelessness or laziness; it is the mess created by the thought that something else is more important than the appearance.  The reality is, sometimes joy is messy.  It is the mess of Christmas morning.  The spit up, dirty diapers, and drool of a sweet baby.  It is the aftermath of cookies being decorated on your counter by 3 year old fingers.  Joy is in the mess of wet clothes and boots tracking in after making snow angels in the yard and on the sticky fingers of summer time popsicles and sidewalk chalk stains.  Joy is messy in the kitchen after the entire family has gathered for a meal or at the end of the night when your Christmas party guests leave.  These are not the messes left by carelessness or laziness, they are the messes that happen because something was more important than appearance.  It was more important to make memories with the little ones, laugh with friends, swap stories over the dinner table, or savor each precious moment. 

As I sat through Christmas Eve service at church, I couldn’t help but cherish the thought of how much God loves us that he would arrive in such a humble way.  That night was assuredly messy… birth in a barn, shepherds as the first visitors, and a manger for a bed- but most certainly full of joy as a multitude of angels made the announcement, and a new mom held a sweet snuggly baby in her arms. 

2019 is coming to a close, and as it does, I have been reflecting on our #theyearofJOY.  What a year it has been!  I’m so very thankful that God whispered to me, “JOY” as my word for the year.  It has made me think a new thought in hard circumstances, celebrate little things that I often would have overlooked, and given me a chance to pass that joy on to others as well. 

Joy is not always easy, it is not always clear.  Sometimes joy is messy like Christmas morning…. and sometimes messy is beautifully perfect.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” John 15:11

Peace and Joy

I guess it happens because I have always been musically inclined, but music lyrics often have a way of sticking with me.  As a little girl (I mean we are literally talking first grade), I was in a Christmas program at church where one of the songs was called “Peace and Joy.”  It was my least favorite song of the entire program.  All these years later I’m not for sure why, but my guess would be because it had a slower tempo and was a little tricky so we practiced it more than many of the others.  For whatever reason, the irony of it being my least favorite is this… I still know every word of that the song’s chorus:

Peace and joy,

Peace and joy

Hang up the holly and celebrate peace and joy.

A baby boy, was born to destroy

the sin of the world

and to celebrate peace and joy.

It does seem that peace and joy are things that are often lacking in this season.  We are so busy to attend all the functions, bake all the goodies, send all the cards, buy all the gifts, plan all the meals, practice all the songs, hang all the decorations, that we often are filled with stress instead of peace, and exhaustion instead of joy.  I LOVE all those things, but it has been a problem for me some years.

 Other years, it seems like December has been a time of greater ministry stress in our lives.  More than one Christmas I remember struggling to celebrate because of the toll the vocation of ministry was taking on our lives at the time.  Also, as a teacher I put a LOT of time and energy into Christmas festivities for my classroom, sometimes so much that I haven’t had much time or energy left to put into my OWN child (now children). 

This year, I promised myself it was going to be different.  If you have followed me at all this year, you probably have heard me discuss “joy” more than you ever wanted to hear about it, but I have really meant it.  I wanted to find the joy of the season.  I have been very intentional in spending time with my boys this year and giving them as much of my “Christmas energy” as I give my “big kids.”  We have taken trips specifically to see lights, (a) helped me decorate the tree, we have coordinated outfits (my sister calls that torture, but actually (a) LOVES that), we have made and decorated cookies, we have sung songs, read books, been to visit Santa, played in the snow, and most importantly talked a lot about the birthday of Jesus.  And so far, it has been one of my favorite Christmas seasons in years.

This week at our small group, one of our discuss questions asked us to share what words might be marking our feelings as we celebrate the birth of our Savior this year.  And I had to admit, for the first time in YEARS, that PEACE and JOY were my two greatest feelings this year.  No, this season has not been any less hectic than any other, but my vision has been different.  It’s true, we are not feeling ministry turmoil this year (thank you, Jesus!), but beyond that I have been intentional at how I let the season make me feel.  I promised myself I was not going to stress about all that stuff.  I was just going to marvel at what this season really celebrates, take all the festivities it as they came, and celebrate.  And in doing so I found what I have been needing for so many years at Christmas… PEACE and JOY.

May God richly bless you with His PEACE that passes understanding, and His unspeakable JOY this Christmas.  Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!!

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of PEACE.” Isaiah 9:6

“But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news that will cause great JOY for all the people.  Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is Messiah, the Lord.” Luke 2:10-11

What Child is This?

It is happening… my tiny baby is growing.  Last week I put away his Rock & Play, and last night we got out the Jumparoo that he was more than ready for.  I’m not sure how it all happens so quickly, this time last year we were still anxiously waiting for Christmas to even share the news that he was on the way, and now he is jumping up and down and giggling about everything. 

And while I love every stage, it does make me sentimental.  As I hold him in my arms I often wonder… who will he be?  Will he have the independent boldness of his big brother, or a more laid-back charm? (Currently my bet is on the latter!) What kind of hobbies will he enjoy? What foods will he love?  What will he grow up to be?  Whose life will he change?  As we have been navigating the joys and frustrations of big brother’s three-and-a-half (the half is VERY important to him), I often wonder the same thing.  Will he use all that big personality to lead others in a positive way?  Will he be a lawyer, engineer, farmer, preacher, or use an aspect of his personality we haven’t even seen yet?  Will he still be living with us a 40 like he claims he wants to do? (Currently “growing up” is an INTENSE fear, because he doesn’t EVER want to move out.  Reason 1: He doesn’t know how to make his favorite food, meat loaf.  Reason 2: He will miss us.  I can’t make this stuff up!)

On Sunday, (A) showed a video clip to open his sermon where a character playing Mary in a live nativity held the sweet baby who portrayed Jesus.  As she talked, I couldn’t help but look at the sleeping baby in my own arms.  They were close to the same size.  And as she went on talking, tears came that I wasn’t even expecting.  Christmas songs I love, like “What Child is This?” and “Mary Did You Know?” have taken on a whole new meaning since I have become a mother myself.  As I listen to them or sing them it makes me reflect.  Yes, Mary knew that this tiny precious baby she was holding was the Messiah, but it is doubtful she had any idea what that would really look like.  She had to wonder how God’s plan was going to unfold in his life, and I’m sure she cherished having a front row seat to it.  But I bet like me, she held that tiny Savior and wondered, What kind of personality will he have?  What foods will he like?  How is God going to fulfill His purposes through him?  What child is this… really? 

As I hold that question in perspective, it makes the birth of Christ, this gift from God, so much more powerful to me.  The God of the universe became a human.  He arrived to earthly parents who would hold and him and wonder about his future just as I do my own babies- what a humbling thought.  And because of the hope that baby brought, I have so many hopes for my own.  I hope they will love Him above all else.  I hope they will seek ways to serve others in humility.  I hope they will be obedient to God with their lives. 

That sleeping baby, was Christ the King, and as I hold my own sleeping boys in my arms, I can’t help but wonder… because of HIM and in HIM, what child is THIS who, in my lap, is sleeping?

“But Mary treasured up all these things, and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19

The Outtakes

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is creating/sending the family Christmas card picture.  From my very first Christmas at 6 months old, my mom began taking a family Christmas card picture, and it is a tradition I have continued with my own family.  I love watching us grow and sharing those memories with friends and family.  I remember as a child my mom would dress us up, often in matching or coordinating outfits, plan her background, and pose us to try and catch the perfect smiles for her picture.  She would shoot through an entire roll of film, then we would drop it off for developing.  Four to five days later she would anxiously pick up the pictures and flip through all 24 (or often the 27 exposure BONUS roll) shots in hopes that she caught the perfectly cute picture.  Usually, along with a perfect pose or two, she had 22 outtakes that either made you completely crack up or shake your head and groan. 

For the past four Christmas seasons, I have found myself in the same shoes my mama used to wear… outfits and back drop planned, then cross my fingers and hope that my kiddo(s) cooperate for the perfect Christmas card picture.  I’m so thankful for the digital age, where my pictures are now available for immediate review, however I still tend to end up with 25 outtakes to 1 perfect picture. 

This year was no exception, and was of course, a little trickier considering I was trying to coerce smiles out of two children at the same time.  At one point while we sat in front of the Christmas tree with both boys in matching jammies, (a) politely and matter of factly announced, “I’m done with this.”  (A) and I looked at each other and completely cracked up before we turned to him and admitted defeat for that photo session. 

A few days (and 3 photo sessions later) I sat down to choose the pictures that would go on this year’s Christmas card.  As I looked through the large amount of outtakes, I couldn’t help but giggle and realize, that is where life really happens… in the outtakes.  Most days my boys are not wearing coordinating clothes, honestly, most days they aren’t even clean by the end of the day.  It is rare for everyone to be smiling at the same time, and it is extremely rare for them to be sitting still.  Most of the time, our life doesn’t look like a perfect Christmas card picture, but that is ok.  We may not have our act together, but together we have a home that is filled with laughter and stories, love and support.  We answer 5,935,672 questions per day and clean up close to that many messes.  We discuss the importance of healthy food and making the kind of choices that would make Jesus happy.  In the outtakes we find teachable moments about safety and obedience, we make memories that will last for years, and we learn to grow in patience.  In the outtakes you see our real life- the messy, beautiful chaos that makes a family. 

Maybe someday I will get really brave and create a Christmas card completely from the outtakes… but for this year I will still send out the adorable picture where both kids are smiling and we look like we have it together… and for now, I will share with you some of the outtakes.

This one had great potential... until you realize we are missing a kiddo- he jumped out of the picture just before it was "clicked" so he could peek in the window of another house in this Christmas village.

“Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.” Ephesians 6:4

Give Thanks to the Lord

For the past several months, we have been working with (a) to learn some memory verses.  I chose some key Biblical truths that I really wanted him to learn to stand on, and one by one he has memorized them.  But more importantly that just memorizing words, we have wanted him to learn what they MEAN and how to use God’s word in our lives, so at any appropriate opportunity, we have used those verses as life applications to help him understand.  When he was scared about some things that were keeping him up at night, we used his verse, “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (Isaiah 43:5).  When he was worried about a situation we remembered, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart” (Proverbs 3:5).  And I try, every chance I get, to quote them to him in my life and situations surrounding our family so that he will see how we apply God’s word in our lives. 

A few weeks ago, there was a little bit of a scare at daycare one afternoon when a car went out of control and missed slamming into the daycare playground by just a few feet.  It happened shortly before I arrived to pick up the boys for the day, and as (a) was retelling the tale to me I didn’t think much about it- he does have his mother’s flare for telling a dramatic story.  But then the daycare owner filled me in a little more, and it really was kind of a scary story.  All I could think was how different things could have been if that car had come plowing through the playground where (a) and his daycare friends were all playing.  The frightening reality was a bit emotional for me, and as we discussed it, I quoted another one of his verses to him, “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good” (Psalm 136:1) and we talked about how fortunate it was that God was looking after them. 

This past weekend, much to (a)’s excitement, we decorated our house for Christmas.  (A) climbed up in the attic for me and dragged down the boxes of decorations and my multiple Christmas trees.  As most tree boxes do, there are pictures on the outside of the box that show what the tree looks like.  When (a) came into the room and discovered the boxes sitting out he was thrilled, and with a huge amount of excitement he threw his hands up in the air and announced, “I found a great Christmas tree! Give thanks to the Lord!!”  It was hilarious to us, but it also made my heart pitter patter… on his own he had chosen to quote part of one of his verses, in a context that he truly meant.  He was full of excitement, and chose to “give thanks to the Lord.”  The discovery of the tree really wasn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of life, it wasn’t even set up yet, but even in that little thing, he chose to give thanks.

The excitement really grew as we put up the tree and decorated it!

In this week of Thanksgiving, I have thought a LOT about that announcement.  How often do I remember, even in small everyday things, to give thanks to the Lord?  When I saw safety from a potential catastrophe, I gave thanks to the Lord, but when I live out those “regular” every day moments, do I give thanks to the Lord?  When I spend the afternoon with a lap full of giggles- give thanks to the Lord.  When they both finish dinner and have full, happy bellies- give thanks to the Lord.  When we have safe travels on a trip that has become so routine to us- give thanks to the Lord.  When we spend an evening snuggled on the couch having fun with our family- give thanks to the Lord.  When we get to pay the month’s bills to provide for our family- give thanks to the Lord. 

There are so many moments each day that I should take the time to stop and be thankful, not just in the big things, but in the small, simple such as discovering the Christmas tree box.

As we celebrate today, I know my family’s schedule is full, and I know my belly will be full, but more than anything, my heart is full… “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.  His love endures forever.” Psalm 136:1

Happy Thanksgiving from One Life Out Loud!!

The Gift of Compassion

I am going to be painfully honest with you… this has not been a gold-star parenting week at our house.  I wish I could tell you our life is all sunshine and roses and every smiling social media photo you saw of us gave an accurate picture- but that would be total lie.  When I began the ministry of One Life Out Loud, I vowed that it would be just that- an honest “life out loud” glimpse into what I am experiencing and how God is shaping me.  So, while I’m pretty embarrassed to recount the last few days for you, I’m going to do it anyway, because it is the truth.

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For the past year, (a) has been at war with sleep.  We have no trouble getting him to bed at night (well, no more than the typical three year old), but he does not stay in bed.  He is up multiple times in the night, every night, and we cannot find a solution for the problem.  Trust me- we have tried nearly everything you can imagine.  As a result of the lack of sleep, we often find ourselves dealing with a cranky, unreasonable child.  Sunday morning was no exception to our problem of his typical exhaustion, however it was an exception to our usual routine… it was (b)’s baby dedication Sunday at church.  We were blessed to have family and friends make the trip to be with us for the service, and since “our people” were there, (a) chose to stay with us in the sanctuary instead of going to children’s church.  During the service he was a little more active and noisier than I would have liked, but his body language made it very clear he was fighting sleep.  I was hopeful that most people wouldn’t be able to notice due to where we were sitting, however during the last song of the service he escaped the pew and ran up to the front where (A) was wrapping up the service.  I winced a little, but reminded myself that it did look sweet to see the preacher standing up front with his little boy in his arms.  THEN, it came time for the last two baby dedications and the fight for sleep became intense.  As (A) sat him down, he proceeded to lay in the middle of the stage steps, and then cried in front of the entire church when he had to move.  I was horrified.  I was embarrassed, we work SO hard at impressing politeness and appropriate behavior and here in front of the whole church he was NOT showing that he had any clue how he should be acting. 

We managed to survived the next few minutes and made sure he had a great nap that afternoon, however after evening service we had a reboot of the tears (very LOUD tears) because Daddy had to stay after for a meeting and (a) REALLY wanted him to come home with us.  As I was strapping him into his car seat he continued to sob for his daddy.  At that time, two ladies I love and admire walked out of the church toward their own cars and overheard the tears.  I was horrified, as this was the second time in one day they were witnessing a meltdown and I was feeling like a complete failure as a mom.  They both detoured from their own cars and headed over my direction.  What happened next was such a blessing.  Instead of commenting on the behavior of my exhausted three-year-old, they reminded me that they had been there too once, and that no one is judging our parenting as harshly as I am.  One of them hugged me and praised my patience with him while the other reminded me that it was ok to ask for help when I need an extra hand.  Their gracious compassion almost brought me to tears.  I had spent a lot of emotional energy that day stressing over the situation, and to have someone (or two someones) react with love and support meant the world to me.

There have been some moments of sweetness between tears!

I wish I could tell you the rest of the week got better, but I’m being brutally honest, so I will admit we had a repeat performance of exhausted tears in “The Green Store” (Dollar Tree) Monday evening.  And this time, as (a) fell to the floor crying (b) decided to start crying as well.  I frantically tried to gather them both and get checked out to escape as quickly as possible.  I was frustrated because we really hadn’t finished getting everything we needed, but I knew I needed to cut my losses and get out of there.  As I checked out with both boys crying, I was on the verge of tears myself.  I didn’t even want to meet the cashier’s eyes because I was so embarrassed.  However, her face was full of compassion as she kindly said, “He is over-tired isn’t he?” I admitted that he was and apologized for his crying.  Her voice was reassuring as she went on to tell me she had a little one also and completely understood the shoes I was standing in.  She graciously asked in the same gentle voice if I needed any help out to the car.  It was only one bag, so I was sure I could do it, but I thanked her profusely for her offer and her understanding.  A second act of compassion, as I was about to chalk myself up as the worst mother in the world, had been a game changer for me. 

There were still some pretty stiff consequences when we arrived home for the “Green Store” meltdown, and I have no answers as to how we fix this not sleeping/exhaustion problem.  But I do know this… compassion is a precious gift.  Three ladies in 24 hours reminded my heart why it is so important to reach out in love.  They could easily had avoided us and walked to their cars or the cashier could have been huffy with me for the loud scene we were making in her store, but none of them did- they instead touched my heart.

As we head into a season that gets busy and sometimes stressful, I am promising myself I am going to look for opportunities to gift others with compassion.  It may be just what their heart needs to hear.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3: 22-23

Speaking My Language

My (a) has lots of friends.  But, I often hear him rambling to them about the things he likes and they have no idea what he is talking about.  He wants to play rodeo, he wants to talk about feeding cows and doing chores- but most of his friends have no idea what he is talking about, they simply don’t “speak his language.”  Every now and then, he gets the chance to play with another kiddo his age who DOES understand him, and to me, it is the most precious thing to watch.

Over the weekend, the boys and I made a trip to Indiana to visit friends and family.  While we were there, we spent a few hours at a rodeo clinic my brother-in-love was helping teach, and (a) got to play with another boy his age who was also thrilled to be running around in boots, climbing on the rodeo dummies, and discussing horses and events.  (a) was over the moon!  His whole body language and style of play changes when he plays with someone who “speaks his language.”  The smile on his face is a little bigger and getting him to leave is nearly impossible.

I have to admit, sometimes in life I feel the same way.  While I have never had the privilege of traveling overseas, I have been in some situations where I felt like no one else “spoke my language.”  It can be hard to feel comfortable, it can be hard to relate, and sometimes even surrounded by people, you can feel all alone.  While I realize it is often important to step out of your comfort zone, and it is sometimes necessary to learn a new “language”, other times, it can be just as important to find a group of like-minded people for support.

By Sunday morning of our trip, I was getting tired of driving.  I had already done several hundred miles in the car as the only adult with two little (often impatient) travelers, but I had promised myself I was going to get us up and ready early enough to drive the 60+ miles from my parents’ house to our church home in Indiana for worship. I had then made lunch plans with our closest friends and all their kiddos.  My road-weary body almost got the best of me and I began to have thoughts of backing out, but I didn’t… and as the day progressed, I was SO glad I had made the trip.  I was incredibly blessed to visit with so many wonderful friends at church- friends who had loved us and prayed for us through our ministry transition, worshiping with the body who put our hearts back together when we were hurt… then sharing the afternoon with dear friends who speak my language.  While our little loves played together, we talked faith and parenting, jobs, and “life.”  One by one, the kiddos had little meltdowns as we visited long past everyone’s nap time, and I realized it was a rare occasion where I didn’t feel stressed out or embarrassed by that- because these friends speak my language.  I didn’t have to apologize for his exhausted behavior or the baby’s hungry crying- our kids are all in the same stages, we speak the same language. 

As we finally got ready to leave, I commented on how beautiful and heartbreaking these visits are for me.  While it breaks my heart that we don’t see each other as often as we used to, it is a precious reminder of how much love and life our four families share.  Because we speak the same language, we can go months without seeing each other yet pick right back up where we left off. 

It was a precious reminder my heart needed, that we were made to live in community.  We can’t survive on our own, we were never meant to.  We need a support system to encourage us in our faith, in our life, we need people who “speak our language.”

“All the believers were together and had everything in common.  They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need.  Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts.  They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all people.  And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.” Acts 2: 44-47

Slinky Life

Do you remember the Slinky? When those things are first out of the box all the coils lie so beautifully on top of each other- it is fun to play with and bounces back easily.  However… if you stretch it too far, too many times, it is going to bounce on top of itself, get tangled up, and be rendered useless.  Just this week I looked at one of (a)’s Slinky toys and told him I thought he and his friends had played with it a little too hard one too many times.  But yet I put it back on the shelf, because I remembered a Slinky from my own childhood that looked about that rough. 

I remember trying and trying to untangle my Slinky myself, and the mess was just getting worse.  In frustration, I was just going to throw it out because I thought it was beyond repair.  But my dad was watching, and he suggested I bring it to him and let him see if he could help me out.  He pulled out the vice grips he always wore in a pouch on his belt, and he patiently began working to untangle my Slinky.  It was not a quick process, but he was patient with tangles like that, and just kept working at it.  I remember that I went to bed that evening while he was still working on it.  I wasn’t so sure it could be done, but I trusted my dad’s capable hands.  When I awoke the next morning, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by my dad with the Slinky that he had untangled.  It wasn’t without a little bend here or there in the metal where the kinks had been worked out, but it was back in working order thanks to his loving care.

I can’t lie… there are some areas of my life right now where I feel like a tangled Slinky.  I have been stretched so thin that I am just all tangled up… exhausted, frustrated, out of patience, and barely hanging on by a thread.  And if you have ever played with a Slinky you know this… when it gets tangled on one end, and you try in frustration to fix it… you end up just getting it tangled in more places.  Before long the whole things is a mess.  This week I have been seeing that the frustration and stress I am feeling in some areas of life is beginning to spill over into others… causing more tangles.  Last night with tears in my eyes I sat to take a deep breath (and feed the baby- because in this season I don’t get time to just sit, only sit, and take a deep breath).  As I took that deep breath, I realized that I was feeling tangled in so many areas because I was trying in frustration to fix it all.  It was time to put my mess in the patient hands of someone who could help me untangle my Slinky life. 

Frankly, I don’t have the ability to fix the problems I am feeling.  I’m not in control of many of them, and truthfully, I’m not the cause of most of them… but the way I am reacting to them is the cause of much of my stress.  The thing is, I know someone who can help me untangle my Slinky, and it is time to do what I should have been doing all along… let Him help me.  There will probably still be a bend or dent here or there, because all my stressors aren’t going to magically go away. But I will feel a lot more functional, and there won’t be tangles spilling over into other areas of my life if I hand it over to my Father and let Him help me.  If I trust Him to remind me how to react to situations I can’t control, and let Him guide me in how to stop living in frustration, and just hand him my Slinky life.

“Cast all your anxieties on Him, because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7

The Way He Sees Me

Last weekend I wore leather pants.  Nevermind the fact that I am in my mid-thirties and don’t exactly have the body for leather pants.  I wore leather pants because (a) decided all the way back in April that we were all going to be the Avengers for Halloween.  Completely on his own, he announced he was going to be his hero, Captain America, (A) was going to be Thor, I was going to be Black Widow (because she is a girl he told me), and (b) was going to be “baby” Iron Man (note- baby Iron Man was still months from arriving when his big brother already had his costume picked out).  This plan was so important to him that we had to look for pictures of costumes nearly every week on my phone until we had them in our possession.  And so, even though I wasn’t so sure about how I looked, when it came the night of Fall Festival at our church, I put on the leather pants and walked into our living room to see if my DIY “Black Widow” costume met his approval.  His smile said it all, but he added that it “looked good,” so despite my own insecurities, off we went.  It really didn’t matter how I saw myself, it was about how he saw me.  What he saw “looked good” because I had helped make his plan come true of turning our family into the Avengers.

The next morning (a) was still so excited about his costume that he had it back on by 7:15 am.  As he sat at the breakfast table, I called him by name to ask if he wanted some more eggs.  He responded with a little bit of sass as he announced “Excuse me, I’m wearing the suit… it’s CAPTAIN AMERICA!” (A) and I exchanged glances as we tried to hide our giggles from him.  I apologized for my mistake in his identity and he did take some more eggs.  Later, when he was out of the room, we discussed his imagination and I felt that tender warm spot in my heart for how he sees things.  He didn’t see a three year old boy in his seat, he saw a super hero.

The costume experience was a precious reminder to me that he doesn’t always see things the way I do.  I, unfortunately, usually see the plain.  When I looked at leather pants in the mirror, I saw hips carrying a few more pounds than I like, and the reminders that I just had a baby 3 months ago.  When I looked at the breakfast table, I saw a cute little boy eating his eggs and bacon.  When (a) looked at me he saw someone willing to dress up to make his dream come to life.  When he looked at himself, he saw a brave, mighty, super hero.  And I’m thankful he doesn’t always see things the way I do.

It was also a perfect reminder, that God doesn’t see things the way that I do either.  When I look at myself, I see insecurities, flaws, shortcomings, and struggles.  I see the pitfalls and the plain in who I am.  But when He looks at me, He sees someone that was worth dying for, someone who is made in His image, someone that He calls His child, and someone that he dearly loves.  I’m so very thankful He doesn’t always see things the way I do.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called the children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.” 1 John 3:1

In the Strength You Have

A few weeks ago, a dear friend and I were discussing school workload and upcoming parent conferences and she said to me “I don’t know how you do it all! You teach, parent, cook, volunteer at church, blog, belong to a small group, teach Sunday school, and help your husband with many different things.  How do you do it all!??”  My response to her… “I’m not really sure.  But I do know I’m exhausted all the time.”  To top it off, the very day we had that conversation I became incredibly sick with the “fall crud” which has left me with a terrible cough I cannot shake, robbed me of my sleep for many nights, and stolen my voice for nearly 10 days now.  Prior to “the crud” I did something to my back that has given me weeks-worth of pain that has been keeping me awake at night.  At this point I sound like I’m throwing a pity party for myself that I’m sure you are not interested in attending- but hear my heart.

I share this to tell you how incredibly weak I realize that I am.  Physically, I am healing, but VERY slowly.  And when I am down physically it always brings me down mentally and emotionally as well.  When I have no voice to speak with, I feel like a terrible teacher.  I have felt like a horrible wife and mom because most nights I can barely make it through the door without collapsing to the couch to try to feel better, and my cough is keeping the entire house up at night.  I have had to bow out of some of my volunteer roles at church because I simply had no voice to fulfill them, and I even missed a blog last week because I simply didn’t have the strength to get it done.  It’s true… I’m very week.  I’m not a superwoman at anything and I don’t have any special secret.

While I was feeling pretty sick, this guy was having fun playing with his shadow.  He didn't see me take this picture, but it made me think of the "mighty warrior" that is bigger than us, but we have to be willing to stand in the light of God's grace to see it

While I was feeling down, two different studies I am a part of, took a look at the story of Gideon.  The studies were separate and had nothing to do with each other, so I quickly realized this was probably a nudge from God to me to take closer look at what He needed me to hear.  As a kid, the story of Gideon was one I loved, because it was fun to march around the Sunday school room blowing a paper horn and shouting “A sword for the Lord and for Gideon!!” And I remembered that God had whittled his army down to a number that shockingly low.  But there was a part of the story that I had forgotten.  When God called Gideon to take up an army and go defeat the Midianites, Gideon tried to argue that he could not be the one to do it because he was from the weakest tribe and he was the least in his family.  But God called him a “mighty warrior” and told him “Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand.  Am I not sending you?” (Judges 6: 11-14)

The words “Go in the strength you have” hit me deep in my soul.  Honestly, I’ve been feeling completely tapped out on strength, but I think so was Gideon.  That was God’s point.  When He told Gideon to go, God knew that Gideon wasn’t all that strong, but HE was.  He would be the one to provide the strength that Gideon needed to deliver the people.  When we are at our weakest points, that is when we truly get to see how strong God is.  When our strength is tapped out, we see how He goes before us and carries us to do the work we have been called to. 

It is a verse I am choosing to cling to in this season of life.  Where truthfully, I have no idea how to do all the things I do.  But I know this, I do them because I firmly feel that God has called me to them.  I am not strong enough on my own, but if I am willing to be obedient with what little strength I have, he will constantly remind me that it is not my strength at all that matters.

“When the angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon, he said ‘The Lord is with you mighty warrior.’ … The Lord turned to him and said, ‘Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand.  Am I not sending you?’” Judges 6: 12, 14

Really Listening

Since going back to work a few weeks ago, I have become painfully aware of just how few hours there are in the day.  I have been forcing myself to walk out of school by 4:15 daily… that is never enough time to feel caught up.  By the time we are home and car unloaded and changed into play clothes it is at least 5:00.  The doggone daylight is gone by 6:45.  I don’t usually even think of fixing dinner before 7:00 because I’m trying to soak up every possible minute of outside playtime with the boys.  By the time we finally eat and do bath time and bed time I am completely exhausted, but once they are in bed I have papers to grade, I make sure everyone has bags packed and clothes laid out for the next day, bottles have to be washed, laundry has to be thrown in the washer, the kitchen is a disaster area, and I hope to find at least 5 minutes for adult conversation with my husband… after all he is working until 7 or 8 four nights a week lately. 

In the midst of all the hustle I often find myself multitasking to the point that I am only partially present with each situation I am attending to.  Then cue the mom guilt again, because in trying to do it all, I’m still missing things by trying to do too many things at once. 

When I arrived home from school Friday, I was determined to spend the weekend soaking in each interaction instead of multitasking my way through them all.  I took (a) with me for a Friday evening grocery run, and since the grocery is right across from the city park, of course he asked to go to the park and play.  I do enjoy going to the park with him, but usually tell him no without even listening to his protests- we are on a time schedule, it is a hassle to get both boys in and out of car seats, most of summer it was hotter than I wanted to navigate either huge pregnant or with a tiny infant.  But Friday night, I listened as he gave all the reasons why it worked out for us to go… and when I really listened, I realized he was right.  And though I was EXHAUSTED… I found myself at the top of the jungle gym in the city park and instead of his playing and chatter as background noise, I listened… and participated in his quest to be “king.” 

The next morning, he had out his daycare class picture from last year.  He gets it out often and talks about it, but I’m usually in the middle of something so I don’t pay much attention.  But that morning, I listened… and I learned about a child or two whose name I often hear him mention as his friends.  I even asked some questions and I listened as he answered them.  Then we went on to play in the yard for hours that day.  And instead of trying to multitask my way through the day, I listened to all the things he wanted to tell me about, and the ways he wanted to teach me to use my stick “sword.”  I listened to, and followed his suggestions of where to pull the red wagon, when to stop and let him pull the wagon, where to collect pine cones for our crafty friend, and his commentary on how he thought his baby brother was feeling about their adventure.  I listened as he practiced his Bible verses, and made a mental note of his vocabulary comprehension skills when he substituted “get scared” for “be afraid” in one of them. 

When I took the time to really listen, I was amazed at all I heard.  His imagination is wild, his creativity is pretty fun, his vocabulary rivals some of my current 3^rd graders, and he REALLY loves his family.  These are all things that I already knew about him, but I realized just how easily I forget them when I am only partially listening.  When I took the time to really listen, it made my day so much richer, so much more joyful, and our relationship even deeper. 

It was such a wonderful day.  And I couldn’t help but think…  if I have trouble slowing down enough to truly listen to the 3 year old whose noise is constantly echoing through my house… do I really take enough time to truly listen to the God of the universe?  I tell Him I want Him to run my life, and I want Him to flow out of who I am and everything I do- but if I’m not taking the time to listen- really listen- how can I possibly hear what He is telling me?  How can I be living to let him flow out of me if I don’t even know what he’s saying?

Though our days are hectic, and the hours seem few, my prayer is that I will spend my time listening- really listening- to the most important voices in my life.  I know I am going to be thankful for what I learn.

“Listen, you heavens, and I will speak; hear, you earth, the words of my mouth.”  Deuteronomy 51:1

Ordinary Moments, Extraordinary Love

My great aunt and uncle were quite a special pair to us growing up.  They lived in the next town east and we frequently spent time with them on the weekends and in the summers.  I don’t remember doing any particularly extraordinary things with them, because they loved us right into their regular ordinary life.  I think that is what I loved most about being with them.  If it was their week to take care of watering the golf course, we went along in the cart to tend to what needed to be done.  If she needed to restock new items she ordered for the hospital gift shop, we went along to help with the process.  We often ate with their regular group of friends at the bowling alley or a little restaurant on the square.  My uncle loved to go for drives in the country and he would frequently stop by our house just for a short chat, some hugs, and a glass of lemonade. 

After more than 60 years of marriage, my uncle passed away less than one year before my own wedding- and I remember my aunt coming to my bridal shower and sharing that she hoped we would be as happy for as many wonderful years as they were.  It was an ordinary gesture that meant an extraordinary amount to me.  She now lives in a nursing home where, at 96, she still gets her hair done every week, puts on her makeup each morning, and is always dressed fashionably.  I try to visit as often as I can, because she adores my boys, and I adore her.  Our visits are pretty ordinary- (a) likes to push her around in her wheelchair, she always knocks on the door of the kitchen to make sure he is given a cookie, and they play ball together with a large therapy beach ball.  She and I visit about school and how quickly the kids are growing, and I spend most of the visit repeating myself, not because of her memory, but because of her poor hearing. 

Even "little" (a) loved to play ball with her, now that he's big enough to see over the chair, he loves to push her around 

We made the trip to Indiana this weekend especially for her birthday, and as I was sharing with my in-laws why she is so dear to me- I was reminded again, that the extraordinary love I have for her, was built on a thousand little ordinary memories. 

Tonight, was a gorgeous evening and so the boys and I played baseball outside in the yard while (A) attended a meeting.  Actually, (a) and I made an attempt at baseball (I am a terrible pitcher) while (b) laid on a blanket in the grass and laughed at us.  We giggled and hugged and shooed away mosquitoes.  Later I made a pretty basic dinner of grilled chicken that we ate together at the table, then (a), (b), and I snuggled with the TV on until (A) arrived home.  It was a very ordinary evening, but I snapped some pictures out in the yard because those are the kind of memories I love to hold on to… they are the kind of memories I hope my boys will look back on and cherish.  I hope they will look at us and see that an extraordinary love, an extraordinary life, can be built on a million little ordinary moments.  I pray that they will see God’s extraordinary love for them in a million little ordinary ways He takes care of them.

“From everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children’s children.” Psalm 103:17

Touch is Powerful Thing

The last week has been full of adjustment.  We have returned to our routine of dash out the door in the morning, make sure clothes are laid out, lunches are prepped, and bags are packed the evening before.  I am falling into the rhythm of lesson planning and grading papers, and using every second of my lunch and prep time to the best of my ability so I can walk out of school by the 4:15 I have promised myself daily.  You see, my couch is calling me… not so I can collapse there with exhaustion (though I totally could!!) but because it is where both boys fit in my lap for our afternoon/evening snuggles.  There is nothing like the feeling of a lap full of wiggly hugs.  A full lap is the outward sign of a full heart.

  I will admit, I have been feeling the stress of it all as we adjust.  My shoulders and neck ache at night from the tension I often don’t even realize I am carrying… but when I get home and my lap is full I feel it all melt away.  There is peace in those snuggles, there is comfort in those snuggles, the stress of the day releases, and my heart is happy.  While I can see their cute faces on my desk each time I pass by it, there is nothing like the power of touch, the comfort of having them in my arms.

Over the years there have been studies and research about the power of touch- it really is a precious element of our five senses.  Touch can release the “feel good” chemical oxytocin making us calm down, relieving stress, and often putting us in a better mood.  Touch is a sense that is incredibly important for the development of infants as they rely on touch to help them feel safe and secure. 

The hug from my mom as she left my house the day before I returned to school reminded me that she had been there and knew exactly what I was feeling.  The squeeze of (A)’s hand as we sat in the car reminded me that he believed in me.  The kiss on my cheek (and insistence that I REALLY needed to wear a tiara to school) were (a)’s reminders to me that I am his “mommy-princess.”  The power of touch is strong.

We see Old Testament characters die over touching something that was forbidden, and New Testament lives healed and changed forever with one touch from Jesus.  Touch is a powerful thing.  And while I can’t physically reach out and touch the robe of Jesus, I know that from time to time he has sent the touch of others to help remind me of just how much He loves me.

So when exhaustion has the best of him and (a) asks to snuggle I will stop what I am doing, because touch is a powerful thing.  When (b) cries while I’m eating dinner, I will eat one handed so I can hold him, touch is a powerful thing.  I will hold (A)’s hand in the car as a reminder that we are on this adventure together, touch is a powerful thing.  I will pat my students on the shoulder in encouragement as a I walk by during their math test, touch is a powerful thing.  I will hug the friend at church who needs it, touch is a powerful thing.  And I will daily thank God for the healing gift of touch- it really is a powerful thing.

“She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Matthew 9:21

Every Girl Needs a Tribe

Life is full of tough things.  I’m a pretty independent gal, but even so I’m glad we were never intended to face those tough things alone.  I’m a firm believer that every girl, whether 2 or 102, needs a “tribe,” a cheering section, some people to lean on.

My stage of life is that tough mom stage.  These little boys are such huge blessings, but sometimes even our blessings can overwhelm us.  Many days both of them are crying at once, or both of them are hungry at the same time (but currently fed in ways that I can’t help them both at the same time), three year old independence is a challenge, and life balance is hard to find.  Sometimes I feel like (A) and I just survive in the same house and sneak in 2 minutes of adult conversation every other day or so between episodes of cartoons and loads of laundry.  It’s tough… but then my “mom tribe” reminds me I’m not alone. 

A few weeks ago, we were with friends who are all in the same stage of life we are living through.  All our kiddos were playing together and I quickly realized we were all independently disciplining our children for essentially the same behaviors- behaviors that I was stressing about because I thought we had the only kid in the world who was acting that way.  We laughed as we realized we all were worried about our parenting, thinking maybe we were failing our kids, only to see it is truly a developmental stage we will all face, guide and correct them through, and move on.  None of us are failing and we shouldn’t feel like we’re in it alone.

The best thing about my “mom tribe” is- we aren’t all in the same stage of life.  Some of them are older than me, and their kids are older than me… meaning they survived this stage and lived to tell about it.  Their encouragement reminds me that I too can do it!  When I went back to school yesterday it was emotional for me.  While I love what I do, I love being mom too and transitioning back to the classroom and my boys back to daycare had me feeling a little nervous… but I have a tribe.  School had a welcome sign for me on the marquee when I pulled up, inside I was greeted with a banner hanging that had been signed by the entire student body, I received texts and emails from friends both local and far away, as well as parents of students in my classroom letting me know that they were praying for our transition.  My class threw me a welcome back party, and my principal burst through the door of my room during the first part of the morning to announce “Welcome Home!”  Truthfully, yesterday I wiped more happy tears for how loved I felt than I wiped in sadness as I kissed my babies good-bye.    Tough days are so much easier with a tribe!

And I know the is only one stage where I will need a tribe.  I’ve watched my mom support friends through the journey of releasing kids to spread their wings and fly.  I’ve seen teacher friends form new bonds and mentorships in their retirement.  For years we were in a church where the widows supported each other so much they even named their little “tribe” of friends- and when a lady faced the painful loss of burying her husband, they were right there to hold her up.  You often even saw them come help fill her pew at church when she returned for the first time after walking through that valley.

Life is tough, but God calls us to live in community, to pray for each other, to do life together, to encourage each other, to hold each other up, to walk through the valleys and climb the peaks together. 

Every girl needs a tribe. To tell her she’s got this, to remind her she’s not alone, to let her know they have been there, and to bring food (or unsweet ice tea) when she needs it.  To celebrate her wins, and to cry with her when she doesn’t win.  To tell her that her hair looks great on a day when everything else is falling apart, to tell her that her dress is tucked into her pantyhose on a day when she things she is winning at everything. 

Every girl needs a tribe… and on days like yesterday I am SO very grateful for mine!

“For I want very much to see you, so I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you, that is, to be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith, both yours and mine.” Romans 1: 11-12

He Makes Me Brave

A week ago this past Sunday, one of the sweet jr high girls from our church mentioned to (a) that there was going to be a rodeo in the little town where she lives on Friday night.  Now if there is one thing that gets (a) excited it is the rodeo.  Allllll week he kept telling me he was going to go to the rodeo on Friday with his friend (K).  Once that has been mentioned to him, there isn’t any getting it off his mind either! So while (A) already had a commitment Friday evening, I began planning a night out at the rodeo for the boys and I. 

The night before, as I was looking up the directions to the arena and times for the rodeo, I discovered there was also going to be a Mutton Bustin’ (sheep riding) competition for kids under 75 lbs.  I started reading about it and discovered it was something that kids could sign up for the night of the event- registration wasn’t due early- and it only cost $5 to enter.  I had a feeling it might be something (a) would be interested in, but I wanted it to be his decision.  When he woke up on Friday morning, I mentioned I had some YouTube videos I wanted him to watch, and I showed him some clips of mutton bustin’ competitions at other fairs and rodeos.  Within just a few minutes he announced, “That’s awesome! Mommy I want to ride a sheep!” I then told him it was going to be a part of the rodeo that evening, and that if he wanted to, we would let him compete.  We spent quite a while discussing that he would have to be on the sheep all by himself, I couldn’t go with him, the sheep would be fast, he would fall off, all the things I thought he really needed to be aware of- but he was confident and SUPER excited… he was going to ride a sheep!  He spent the better part of the morning riding around our living room on his inflatable “buckin’ bull” telling us he was practicing riding a sheep, and he then took a nap without argument “to make sure he had plenty of energy” for the evening’s event. 

We arrived plenty early to make sure we were there in time to register, they were only taking the first 30 kids who signed up.  He was BEYOND excited to get a back number with his own name on it.  He loves to wear rodeo back numbers that my brother in law gives him after his competitions, but this time it had his OWN name on it and he was so proud.  I noticed as we signed up that most of the other children competing were 6 or 7 years old.  They were twice his age and almost twice his size, but he didn’t seem to notice.  It was an hour before the rodeo began, and (a) continually asked me when it would be his turn, he could hardly contain his excitement.  Finally, about two minutes before 7:00, they called for all competitors in the mutton bustin’ to report to the buckin’ chute area. 

He proudly handed me his cowboy hat as we walked that way, he was already aware of the fact he would have to trade it in for a helmet.  As we got down to the line up area, I watched his eyes get bigger and bigger.  We walked past the bull riders who were getting ready- they were loud and rough as they were putting resin on their boots, strapping on their spurs, and bracing up their arms.  As he got in line in number order, he was within feet of the bulls who where snorting and pushing each other and banging the gates of their pens.  I could see in (a)’s body language that he was getting nervous.  I was fully prepared for him to back out at any moment- after all he is 3 and I was not going to make him do this if he didn’t want to.  He kept holding my hand standing in line as the competition started.  He was going to be number 13 out of the gate.  The first time I heard him say “Mommy!” I held my breath, I was sure this was going to be the moment his mind changed, but instead his question was when he would get his helmet.  I assured him it would be just a minute.  A few seconds later, “Mommy!” Again, I thought NOW he was going to back out, but again he was asking about the helmet- there was a certain one he really wanted.  When it was his turn for the helmet and protective vest, I helped him get situated, and then with 4 riders ahead of him, it was time I had to let go of his hand and he had to go the rest of the way without me. 

As I stepped on into the side of the ring to get my camera ready to video, I still was fully prepared for him to back out.  My heart was racing when I realized he was next- not because I feared for his safety, but because I really had no idea if he was really going to go through with it.  Sure enough… the man helping picked him up and set him down into the bull chute on the back of his sheep.  My mommy heart did a pitter patter and I swallowed hard as the announcer called his name and age over the loud speaker… it was the first time his named had ever been announced in public over any kind of PA system.  And then… we waited.  At first there was a problem with his helmet that they had to fix (he has an unusually large, oblong head for a 3 year old), but once I saw them strap it back on him we waited a few more seconds.  I could tell they were having to boost his confidence a little bit.  At that point I was SURE they were just going to lift him back out.  The announcer asked the crowd to clap for him to show their support and people began to cheer.  In just a second the chute opened and out he came!  He had a little assistance from one of the men, and the ride only lasted about 2 seconds, but HE DID IT.  I thought my heart was going to burst with pride for his bravery.  There weren’t even any tears in his eyes.

I waved and yelled to him from the side of the ring and he came over to me to head back to our seats.  Immediately I told him what a great job he had done and how incredibly proud of him I was.  He looked up at me with a look of sadness in his big, blue eyes and said to me “But Mommy, I got kind of scared.”  My heart broke a little as I realized he was disappointed in himself.  I gave him and big hug and told him I could tell he was scared, but that was why I was SO proud of him- he was scared, but he did it anyway and THAT was what it really meant to be a brave cowboy.  He perked up when he realized he was still a brave cowboy, even though he had been a little scared.  He quickly began asking when he could ride a sheep again, and by the time we were back to our seat and our friends he was already swaggering and tipped his hat to his friend (K) as he told her he was a “great cowboy” (said in a super drawn out, low voice- it is his quite hilarious signature announcement). 

Baby brother was just there to look cute in his "first rodeo" shirt ;-)

We are working on important doses of humble as well… but for that night I told him he was a champion in my book and I praised his bravery over and over.  I giggled as he continued to tell everyone what a great cowboy he was.  No there was no buckle won, and no place his name would be recorded for his placing, but that night he had looked fear in the face and didn’t let it win.  After living through a year where God helped me focus on being BRAVE, I was so thankful to see my own little boy learning those lessons at such a young age.

I pray that if he is brave enough to face his fears at the rodeo, he will also be brave enough to face his fear to invite a friend to church someday, to be brave enough to stand up to peer pressure as a teen, be brave enough to speak for his faith, be brave enough to be a leader in his family, church, and community… because watching him be brave, makes ME want to be brave also.

“For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” Isaiah 41:13