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