The Things We Do for Love

Last night, around 6:00, I was busy putting eye liner on my husband.  If you don’t know us well that statement may surprise you.  But, if you ever spent much time in ministry around us nothing about that statement surprised you- instead you just wondered what crazy costume (A) was dressing up in this time.  (For the record it was Pharaoh)

This morning I will give myself the 234^th shot of this pregnancy (with another 30ish still to go).  The needle is small, it really isn’t a huge deal.  I did it before with (a) as well, so this is “old hat” by now.

In the past week we have watched “Fievel Goes West” 17 times. 

Over the past year we have put thousands of miles on our vehicles driving across I-64 to be back in Indiana for 24 short hours at a time. 

For the past 3 ½ years we have given up countless hours of sleep, sacrificed the last of our favorite foods, turned the channel to cartoons when we didn’t want to, and answered 40 million “why?” questions a day.

The things we do for love.   And most of the time, we honestly don’t even realize we are doing them, because when we do things for love we often don’t think too much about the sacrifice.  Instead, we think of what it will mean for someone else. 

When I mentioned to (A) last night that I brought some black eyeliner for his Pharaoh costume, he didn’t even flinch.  He’s a pretty “manly man,” but when it comes to ministry with kids, there isn’t much he won’t do to get them excited and interested in the lesson or situation.  And because I know what he will do for the love of ministry, I knew he wouldn’t even think twice.  The things we do for love.

When I take my shot each day, I don’t often think about the needle prick or the bruise it usually leaves behind on my lower belly.  Instead, I think about how much I love being a mom, how much I cherish the opportunity to help God create a miracle, and I stop to pray for that little life growing inside of me.  I consider it such a small price to pay for the joy we will meet in a few short weeks.  The things we do for love.

The Cowboy keeps us up at night, always seems to prefer was is on our plates, has his own set of favorite shows and movies, would drive a hard bargain with even the best trained lawyer you could find, and can come up with questions even a bonified genius couldn’t answer.  But somehow (MOST of the time), we barely even notice as we pass over the last of our delicious pork chop or favorite ice cream, stumble to stay awake, or answer the questions and navigate the bargaining table.  The grin on his face, the unprompted “I love you”s, and the blessing of a healthy, growing little boy make those small sacrifices to pay.  The things we do for love. 

We spend more hours on the road than hours together just to see precious friends and family.  We spend money, give up time, go the extra mile, settle for someone else’s favorite, and repeat that decision over and over again without even thinking about it… because we are willing to do those things for love.  And if you are willing to do those things for love, I’m pretty sure it is because you can look back over the years and know someone who showed you that kind of sacrificial love as well.    They modeled it, they set an example.  It wasn’t usually a big grand gesture, it was part of every day life, it was something they rarely thought twice about- instead they just did it.  The things we do for love.

It was ultimately modeled by Jesus, the greatest example of sacrificial love ever.  And though I don’t deserve it, I’m thankful everyday for the continual blessings He gives to me… The things He will do for love.

“We love because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

Joy in Every Stage

With baby (b) making his arrival in just a few short weeks, over the weekend we made our last “pre-baby” trip to Indiana.  There was a LOT we wanted to cram in to two days because quite honestly, we aren’t sure when my body will be up to the trip again.  One thing was NOT up for debate as we tried to prioritize what we wanted to do- and that was pony riding time for the cowboy.  Since our last trip, we have heard nearly daily about how much he misses his ponies and how badly he wants to go “back to da farm and ride my ponies!” 

As I watched the huge smile on his face riding out in the round pen on Friday and Saturday mornings, I couldn’t help but marvel at how independent he has become.  In many ways it feels like just yesterday that we brought him home.  I always knew time passed quickly, but it seems to pass even morning quickly as a parent.  While I would sometimes like to slow time down, I also know that I do not want to stop it because if I did that, there would still be so much I would miss. 

It is often our tendency as parents to want to keep them little forever, after all, that sweet snuggly stage is so much fun.  But since we can’t do that, (A) and I have made it our firm resolution to enjoy EVERY stage because there really are incredible milestones at every age and there is joy to be found in each step of the journey.

One of our many stops on Friday was to the saddle shop.  We had decided it was time to invest in a saddle for (a) that fits him correctly so that he can continue to feel independent, and honestly it is safer for him as well.  He was SO proud as they helped him make sure it was a correct size and fit.  He told them he wanted a “sticky saddle” (more suede than smooth leather) and announced this would be for him and his baby brother someday.  When the choice had been made, he insisted on carrying it out to the car himself.   I giggled as I watched him, but couldn’t help but find joy in how confidently he had talked to the owners of the shop and how blessed I feel that (even though it means he is growing up) he is strong enough tackle something that large on his own.  The next morning, he again insisted on carrying the saddle himself as my sister helped him put it on his pony.  He then confidently rode to the round pen and proudly showed off his “skills.”  Skills he only has because he is growing up.  (And I realize I’m totally biased, but I’m pretty impressed at what he can do with a horse for only being 3 years old!)

He is no longer our “baby,” but that’s ok- because there is JOY in this stage too.  There is joy in watching our little boy finding hobbies he loves.  There is joy in watching him speak up for himself.  There is joy in seeing him bloom with confidence as he learns more and more each day.  And I don’t want to keep him little forever, because I don’t want to miss out on those joys. 

I pray that someday, there will be the joy of watching academic milestones, there will be a driver’s license, watching him move out on his own, hopefully even a precious wife and watching him become a parent himself.  And while I hope all these things are a LONG time off, I don’t want to stop time, because I don’t want to miss out on the joy of those milestones too. 

If I choose to focus on the joy of this journey, then I’m also not sad to see him grow.  I think back to the snuggly days with fondness, I enjoy flipping through pictures, it does blow my mind at how quickly it has happened, but it doesn’t make me sad and it doesn’t make me long for the past- because I’m too busy marveling at the joy in THIS day.

“And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.” Luke 2:40

Marked by His Love for Me

Growing up (and honestly even still) there were things about my dad that I questioned.  We often questioned his choice of clothing (the 90’s was NOT a good decade for his wardrobe), we still question his eating habits (I just can’t fall in love with taco meat on oatmeal), and we girls still sometimes question his idea that ANYTHING could be recycled and used over and over again.  However, there was one thing that we NEVER questioned- and that was his love for us. 

My dad has farmed full-time for his entire life, as his dad did as well.  Agriculture is an industry that I am fiercely loyal to, and SO incredibly thankful for my roots in it.  However, it is also an industry where for many years people just assumed that any farmer who was worth anything would want SONS to work with and someday take over the business.  I truly can’t tell you how many times I heard people say to my dad (with sympathy) phrases like “Oh… no boys” or “Too bad you don’t have any boys to help you.”  It could be a little disheartening to hear people talk about you like you weren’t worth as much because you were a girl- but my dad was ALWAYS so quick to speak up and defend his girls.  He was quick to tell people that he wouldn’t trade us and that he would trust us with anything that a boy could have done.  Never once did he let people talk down to us because we were girls, and we always knew our worth in his eyes.  And he often added humor to his “defense speech” by telling people that his high school dream was to “ride around with a truck full of beautiful women, and I now get to do that all the time.”  It left people chuckling, but he was always very clear that he meant what he said about how much he valued his daughters.

If you know my sisters and I personally, and know our personalities, you might find this surprising, but… contrary to popular belief, I honestly am the daughter who gave our father the most gray hairs- literally.  The summer of 1996 I was a twelve year old girl, and as most twelve year old girls, I struggled with self-confidence.  The night of our 4-H beef show was one of those especially difficult nights.  My show heifer had been a little hard to deal with, and I was struggling a LOT with finding the confidence to continue with my show commitments that evening.  My dad was a firm believer that we did not give up and we did not quit.  In trying to help bring me around he starting joking with me about the cattle clippers and got me teasing him about giving him a haircut of my choice.  That led to him making a deal with me that if I could pull myself together and go be the best me he knew I could be, then after the evening’s show was finished, I could give him any haircut of my choosing.  I didn’t back down from a deal with my dad, so I managed to start pulling myself together.  I went back into the show ring that evening to compete in showmanship.  That is the class where the judging is not about the animal, but the judge is actually judging the showman’s knowledge, presence, and ability to present the animal at it’s best.  Not only did I pull myself together enough to compete that evening, I managed to win showmanship.

 In keeping his part of the deal, my dad cheerfully sat himself down on a feed bucket in the cattle barn that evening in front of 50 or so onlookers as I gave him a haircut of my choosing.  It was reverse mohawk and I absolutely peeled him as close as possible down the middle of his scalp.  We had a great laugh about it that night, and it was a great lesson in what dad was willing to go through to see us do our best.  The next day he was scheduled to grill steaks for the Cattlemen’s food stand which he did while proudly wearing a t-shirt that said “My Daughter Did This.”  Of course he didn’t wear a hat because it would have covered his great “new do” but he also didn’t think to wear sunscreen on his peeled scalp and ended the day with a pretty intense sunburn down the middle of his head.

 It was a haircut we thought would just be good for some laughs for a few weeks and a fun memory.  But, in just a couple weeks, as his hair began growing back in… it became very obvious that there were going to be more lasting effects of this haircut.  The hair that was growing back, right down the center of my dad’s dark brown, was silvery white.  Apparently, something about the sunburn had affected his hair follicles and he was permanently marked with a “skunk stripe” right down the middle of his head.  And still to this day, over 20 years later, he bears that mark.  As the rest of his hair has slowly begun to gray, it isn’t QUITE as noticeable now as it was for many years, but still pretty apparent if you know what to look for.  And he doesn’t let me forget it.  Just a few weeks ago he had a fresh haircut for my sister’s wedding and walked into the living room where I was sitting, bent over, and pointed to show me his head.  We didn’t have to say a word to each other, we both just smiled and laughed.  He will always bear my marks. 

As I think about how incredibly thankful I am for my dad, I think about how much I learned about my heavenly Father through the lessons he showed us.  See, I also have a Father who wants me to always remember my worth to Him.  Over and over in His Word he reminds me that I am loved, and valued, and cherished, and known by Him.  And He is a Father who was willing to bear my marks- they are in his hands, and feet, and side because He was the ultimate example of sacrificial love for His children. 

Both my fathers are marked by their love for me.  I am richly blessed.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!  And that is what we are!...” 1 John 3:1

Worship Like a Child

For the past several years, (A) and I have worked with upper elementary aged students at church camp.  There are lots of things I have observed over the years from this experience.  They can lose any thing at any time- no matter how valuable it is.  They aren’t always fans of taking showers.  The girls take 14x longer to change or get ready than the boys.  Their kind of homesickness always presents itself as a terrible stomachache.  They are a great age because they aren’t “too cool for school” yet, and often adults are still their heroes.  They love to play dodgeball.  Swimming is the highlight of every summer day, and WOW it is awesome to get to be a part of their worship time.

Many times I have told people that I think worship with kids is the closest glimpse we will have on Earth to what worship will be like in Heaven.  No matter what the venue is, whether I am on stage with the praise band, watching from the back, or standing in the middle of the group there is something so special about being in worship with kids.  The atmosphere is always electric.  They love having the opportunity to sing.  Last week at camp, there were even several students who asked me if they could leave recreation time to go sit in on praise team practice.

At that age, students aren’t worried about how they sound when they sing or what someone standing next to them will think.  They aren’t afraid to learn a new song and they catch on quickly because they jump right in.  They are unashamed to clap their hands, move or do some motions when they feel the upbeat tempo of a song, or raise their hands in the air when they feel the power of the words.  Elementary students don’t complain if the music isn’t the exact style they prefer, and they don’t care if you switch up the order or the tempo on them.  Their sound is raw and beautiful because it comes from a place of pure motives and genuine love to sing for the God whom they adore.  Their voices are loud and unrestrained and the energy they share often makes me choke back a tear.  Many times, in worship with elementary kids I find that I want to stop singing, just so I can listen to their voices. 

And as I listen, I can’t help but pray that I would always remember to worship with the same pure motives as a child- that I wouldn’t worry about what it sounds like, that I don’t mind if it is the style I prefer or the songs are new to me.  I want to feel unashamed to clap my hands or raise them high.  Sometimes I think there is a lot that we as adults can learn from being in worship with children. 

I don’t want to lose things like a child, I AM a fan of taking a shower, I’m not so agile at dodgeball… but WOW I want to worship like an innocent child.

“Do you hear what these children are saying?” They asked him.  “Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read ‘From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise’ ?” Matthew 21:16