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

Brotherly Love

Within a week of finding out he was going to be a big brother, (a) was pretty excited about the pending arrival of “his” baby.  We tried to prepare him as much as possible for what it would be like to have a baby at our house, helping him cope with the idea that this baby could not play or talk back to him at first, for the reality that it was going to be a brother when he originally wanted a sister, for the fact that Mommy and Daddy would have to stay at the hospital for a few nights, and I still had concern in my heart about how he would handle having to share his favorite people.  What I was not prepared for was just how precious brotherly love would be at our house. 

From the very first moment (a) met (b) he was totally in love.  He beamed from ear to ear as his first declaration was “There’s our cutie baby!!!” Within two minutes of that meeting he begged, “Oh Momma, can we keep him!!???” (Which pulled at the heartstrings of everyone in the room including the nurse!)  Even now, 8 weeks in, he still asks almost daily if we can keep his baby brother.  The answer is still definitely YES.  I was afraid the new would wear off as the reality of crying and spit up and dirty diapers set it, but to my surprise, he is still completely in love with “that cutie baby.” He wants to help with him in any way he can, he talks sweetly to him, he gives him infinite hugs and kisses, sings songs to help make him feel better if he cries, and shares with him all stories of excitement and adventure he can think of.  He wants us to take (b) with us everywhere he goes and when they do need to be apart it takes 472 kisses to get (a) to finally part with him.   

Photo credit: La Di Da Photography LLC

Watching all of this on a daily basis makes my Momma heart melt into a million pieces.  I know it most likely won’t last forever, but I am going to enjoy every second of it while it does.  As I have watched the relationship with these two blossom I pray that I know what is ahead… having grown up with a couple of pretty awesome sisters myself, I know there will be days they will want to slug each other, but I hope they will also always be the first to jump in and help each other.  I know they will get frustrated beyond words, but if anyone else does they will be the first one to defend each other.  I hope they will cling to each other through the lows and cheer for each other in the victories.  (And I can’t lie, I hope they will take great care of (A) and me when we are old!)

Photo Credit: La Di Da Photography LLC

This brotherly love has also shown up in some of my devotions lately- and it has made me think how thankfully I am for that “brotherly love” within my faith family as well.  That I have friends who I know will help any way they can, will speak encouragement into my life when I need it, make me “feel better” when I cry, that we can share our joys and excitement with, that we may get frustrated with each other but are also the first to defend the other, and that we can cling to each other in the lows and cheer for each other in the victories.  I am so thankful that God set his people up to function as a family, because that brotherly love is a bond that is not easily broken.  It is stronger than time and distance, it is forged for life, and it is a gift from God himself.

“Be devoted to one another in brotherly love.  Honor one another above yourselves.” Romans 12:10

Without Distractions

Over the weekend, we had the privilege of attending a wedding back home in Indiana.  This wedding gave us the opportunity to take a little trip down memory lane.  It was held in the chapel of the church camp where (A) and I grew up.  This was also the camp where we met as teenagers, became friends, and eventually started “falling” for each other.  As the wedding music began, we sat side by side on the bench, a little boy in each of our arms.  I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered how we often sat side by side on those benches during evening worship those weeks of camp nearly 20 years ago.  I looked across the aisle and saw our friend, John, who we have known for many, many years.  John was the dean the week of camp when our siblings and friends conspired to try to get us to start dating- John was somewhat in on the conspiracy.  As the bridal party continued to come down the aisle, John caught my eye.  He was looking at our family with a knowing smile, and I could tell he was remembering us as teenagers also.

Our family back at camp so many years later... distractions and all :-)

On the late night drive back to Illinois, we discussed how the afternoon had brought back a flood of memories- but the most prominent one in my mind was the thought of what it was like to be in love with so few distractions.  Back then we weren’t worried about careers or household finances, we weren’t sleep deprived, our schedules weren’t packed with responsibilities, and we weren’t throwing our hearts and energy into parenting.  In the beginning planning a date night was as simple as checking the schedules on our part time jobs.  We really could sit and talk for hours because no one else was screaming for our attention or begging to be fed.  The future was something we only dreamed about, we had no idea what it would actually hold.  As (A) and I reminisced, we agreed that we wouldn’t want to trade the beautiful life we have built to go back to those simple times, but it sure is precious (and truthfully- healthy for our marriage) to remember what things were like before the distractions- what first made us fall for each other and what we built our relationship on in the very beginning. 

During my Sunday School class the next morning, the topic of distraction came back up as we discussed it was one of the greatest tools the devil uses against our marriages- how we many not stand in opposition of our husband but we easily become distracted by our busy lives and how it can cause our marriage to suffer.  But as I have thought about that further, I realize it is not just my marriage that can be a victim of distraction…. It is also my quiet time, as my house is rarely quiet… it is my role as mom when I take a look at all the things I need to do around the house… often lesson planning and grading distract me from loving my students as I should… the busyness of my own life distracts me from being the friend I should be. 

Distraction is dangerous because it is sneaky.  It is filled with GOOD things, but sometimes those good things, keep us from the BEST thing.  I pray that my eyes would be open to notice distraction when it tries to take over.  While all the “things” in my life do have to be taken care of, I don’t want to miss the forest for the trees.  I’m thankful that memory lane often takes me straight into the forest- and the memories take me to the heart of what I need to focus on the most… relationships.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us” Hebrews 12:1 

Whole Hearted Messes

Today was a 4-loads-of-laundry day.  I realize in some homes that is totally the norm every day, but I am the kind of girl who wants to get the most “bang for her buck” when it comes to detergent and electricity (ok, or maybe I just hate folding it), but in our house a 4 load day is a big deal.  I shouldn’t be surprised… we have a 6 week old (seriously… how did 6 weeks go by so fast!) who is an expert a spitting up on everything- hence a load of his clothes and a load of mine, a three year old who plays as hard as he can all the time until he is covered head to toe in sweat and dirt and grime, and overall we lead a pretty active life which tends to lead to more laundry.

Bouncy houses = one VERY dirty boy!!

As I made multiple trips in and out of the laundry room today, I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at one of the little plaques that sits in there.  I bought it at a home décor sale years ago because I absolutely loved what it said… “The most memorable days end with the dirtiest clothes.”  It’s so often true!  I think about the most memorable days from my years growing up… many of those “most memorable days” were in the cattle barn, and I was FILTHY from hard work but my heart was full from the rewards of that work.  As I watch (a), so many of our “most memorable days” mean sweat and sticky and lots of dirt because he plays hard and has fun doing it.  Some of the dirties clothes I have washed for (A) involved dares or challenges he took from kids in ministry- whether it was a pie to the face for reaching a VBS goal or cracking an egg on his head in the church camp cafeteria, he is always willing to get dirty to make memories bonding with students.  Right now (b) manages to get his clothes dirty within about 3.2 seconds of me getting them on him… and these days are so memorable as I watch that precious little boy growing right before my eyes.  It’s true- memorable days end in dirty clothes. 

I think that phrase is true, at least in our home, because you aren’t afraid to get dirty when you are doing something with your whole heart.  When heart is involved, I just spray on a little extra Oxi-Clean and smile as I think about the memory that made the mess.  And I think it is true figuratively too… you aren’t afraid to get a little “messy” with extra time or effort or financial support when you are working at something with your whole heart.   

When you love people with your whole heart it is messy because you risk getting your feelings hurt.  When you do ministry with your whole heart it is messy because people carry around a lot of baggage before they hand it to Jesus.  When you care for your family with your whole heart it is messy because some times they let you down or leave you carrying a lot of the weight.  When you lead with your whole heart it is messy because you feel like you are never enough.

But I wouldn’t trade the “messy” days for anything because that is where the memories are made.  That is where the learning happens, the sacrifices are made, the lives are changed, the whole heart is invested.  After all, as Kingdom Workers that is how we are called to live… “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward.  It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” Col. 3:23

Praying for that Classroom

For the last two days my social media feeds have been flooded with “First Day of School” pictures- both from the perspective of parents and teachers.  My students don’t return until next week, and I will still be home on maternity leave for a few more weeks, but I am still spending the majority of my time at school this week getting things ready for my substitute (God bless my friend, Judy, for stepping in!!).

As I look at the pictures of kids I have watched grow, and see the classrooms of friends I dearly love I think about all this year will hold.  All I can do is hope that I’m not the only one praying over that classroom.  Praying over the classroom because while I am a teacher, I’m still a person too.  I’m worried about meeting all the needs of every child in that room because I know that no matter how hard I try I will feel like it wasn’t enough.  I am a person and it hurts when outsiders complain about teachers or parents question how much I care or the approach I am taking.  I hear all the outside “noise” about “why aren’t schools teaching this or that…” and trust me some days I wonder too, but I have to follow the standards the state has set out for me.  I am a teacher, but I am also a person so I struggle with stress, am overwhelmed with joy, and wonder about the future… often all three within the same hour in my classroom.  I am a teacher, but I am also a mom who is worried about my own babies at child care while I work.  I am a teacher, but I am also a wife and friend trying to juggle relationships outside of the classroom.  I am a teacher, but I am also a Kingdom Worker so I am spending every day trying to show my students the love of Jesus in the best way I can for a public school classroom. 

I am praying for that classroom because it is filled with students.  And while they are students, they are also children- some who are missing parents because they have spent the entire summer together, some who are missing parents because their parents are absent from their lives.  They are students, but  they are also siblings who are distracted today because they had a fight with brother or sister this morning or are wondering what their best friend sibling is doing down the hall in another classroom.  They are students, but they are also athletes tired from practice or worried about their game that evening.  They are students, but they are also friends who are learning about the social interactions of their adolescent years where one moment you are besties and the next you are “frienemies”. 

I am praying for that classroom because I know the year will bring a roller coaster of “life” through the homes of everyone in that room.  I am praying for that classroom because I know the kinds of events that we will watch on the evening news and ask God to protect our community from experiencing the same turmoil.  I am praying for that classroom because I know that prayer is the most powerful thing I can do for the lives that walk through my door every day, and it is the only way to help keep peace in my heart and mind as I face a new school year.

Will you join me in praying for “that” classroom?  Mine, but also “that” classroom your child, grandchild, teacher friend, or even random stranger is stepping back into for the start of a new year.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Philippians 4:6