North. South.
Up. Down.
Right. Left.
It's fairly safe to say that everything and everyone has a direction. It might not be purposeful. It might not even be something of which we are aware. But the direction is there. We all point, orbit, track, follow.
Directions exist as ambidextrous forces in our lives... on one hand, direction is cherished and craved and sought after. It generates security and purpose. On the other, direction can remove our sense of autonomy, make us feel as though we are riding the waves of a force far to large to transcend.
When we are comfortable with the path - directional living is desirable. We are proud of it, we wear it on our sleeves for all to see. And even when we are not comfortable, we may cling to a path simply because it is familiar. At least we know where we are going.
It's when the path swerves unexpectedly out of sight that we are unnerved.
Here's the catch - it's my experience that the path can, will, must swerve. Directions change suddenly, the road falls away, storms gather and darken the course. It is going to happen.
I spent the first days, weeks, months of motherhood adjusting to the path upon which I was suddenly called to walk. I was responsible for another person - the task of keeping her safe and healthy was a track laid before me, a gorgeous and treacherous road of joy and accountability. The rocky thoroughfare of early parenthood gradually became familiar - I adjusted and learned and adapted to my new surroundings.
Then the road swerved. While I had spent my earliest moments of parenthood slogging through lesson after lesson on How to Be a Steward of Another Person, I realized that I would spend the remainder of my life as a mother learning to give up my responsibility, to relinquish that control.
Similarly, we spend the first few decades of our lives as growing our abilities in decision-making, taking responsibility for ourselves, controlling our choices and our lives... we live out the rest of our years grasping for the understanding that we cannot possibly control everything. Learning to hand over the reins. Discovering that perhaps life is not so much about choosing a direction as it is about choosing how we travel along the directions laid before us.
East. West.
Forward. Backward.
Over. Under.
God has given me the ability to weigh my choices, make decisions, and follow paths. I am accountable for these. But more so, it is the heart - the why and the how behind the scenes - that will define me.
I like knowing where I am headed. Clear views of the road ahead provide comfort. And yet, I know that my path will veer into the unknown. By His grace, I will prove myself a seasoned traveler, and know that in following Him, my path will be made straight.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
scavenging
My youngest daughter is a scavenger. A predator of treasures fallen and ignored by others, she hunts on all fours to lay claim to precious bits and pieces, to make them her own. Stray breakfast remnants, forgotten carpet fuzzies, strands of loose string. No one can eat within a 20-foot-radius - her radar picks up the frequency of the cracker box being opened, the refrigerator door sealing itself shut, the crunch of the pretzel bag being clipped closed. She prowls, scours, seeks... and fiercely protects her findings.
It's humorous - and in a way, oddly encouraging to me. I watch her sift through the "stuff" to find snippets of value and I am heartened. I learn from my 11-month-old daughter that there are treasures to be found and cherished, if only we would look for them.
And so, when I find myself frustrated by another tantrum, wondering what strategy to employ - wondering if it even matters... I remind myself to search. Toss aside the tears and the screaming, remove the selfishness and stubbornness... and find the glimmer of a desire to be pursued. Perhaps my toddler has wrapped this desire in her human nature, and it's been twisted into an ugly fit. But her need to be pursued, to know that someone is loving her with intent and purpose and determination, THAT is from God. In that piece, she reflects His image.
And when I am frustrated and disgusted by my own limitations, beaten down by the fact that yet another day has passed where I cannot count the number of times I havefallen slid run stumbled turned away from His grace... I stop and look. I find a piece of myself, however small, however deeply buried, that reflects an image of God. And I take heart in knowing that even though I can distort His beauty and holiness into something virtually unrecognizable - a glimmer of Him might still be found if I scavenge for it.
Tomorrow, as my daughter zooms around, searching for the lost and buried valuables of our living room carpet and kitchen floor, I will chuckle, and be comforted the she knows. It's there to be found - all you have to do is look.
It's humorous - and in a way, oddly encouraging to me. I watch her sift through the "stuff" to find snippets of value and I am heartened. I learn from my 11-month-old daughter that there are treasures to be found and cherished, if only we would look for them.
And so, when I find myself frustrated by another tantrum, wondering what strategy to employ - wondering if it even matters... I remind myself to search. Toss aside the tears and the screaming, remove the selfishness and stubbornness... and find the glimmer of a desire to be pursued. Perhaps my toddler has wrapped this desire in her human nature, and it's been twisted into an ugly fit. But her need to be pursued, to know that someone is loving her with intent and purpose and determination, THAT is from God. In that piece, she reflects His image.
And when I am frustrated and disgusted by my own limitations, beaten down by the fact that yet another day has passed where I cannot count the number of times I have
Tomorrow, as my daughter zooms around, searching for the lost and buried valuables of our living room carpet and kitchen floor, I will chuckle, and be comforted the she knows. It's there to be found - all you have to do is look.
Monday, July 19, 2010
reflections
Ever catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror - really catch the image - and find yourself surprised at the person looking back at you?
For me, the surprises lately have been things like,
"I wonder how long my hair has been doing that." and
"Where did those crinkly eye-corners come from??" and
"Is that snot or yogurt on my shoulder? Does it matter?"
The outward certainly catches me off-guard at times... but I try to pretend like that's a good thing, because it must mean that I'm not staring at myself in the mirror constantly. Right??
However - I also find myself surprised at the reflections I catch inwardly - the voices in my head and the instinctual responses that pop up. How startling it is to realize that specific actions in others bring out very strong (and not always so positive) gut-level-reactions inside me. Most of the time I am in control of myself, and witnesses would never guess that an interior battle is raging.
And the question comes to mind... which defines my character - the things I think and do not do or say... or the things I choose to put forward? Which is the true reflection of my heart - the unconscious, sinful, human natureness that swims through my mind and heart... or is it the deliberate, thoughtful choice that is made in my words and in my actions?
~~~~~
Pure UPDATE:
1. Meriel is 2 shakes away from walking. She stands up in the middle of the floor and growl-giggles like a happy baby bear. She loves to clap and wave and splash and will eat ANYTHING you let her put in her mouth (literally).
2. Hazel is (and has been since January) fully potty-trained save nap and nighttimes (she still sleeps in a crib). Such a big girl - she cracks me up daily with her Hazel-isms. She loves her little sister and is learning to share her space and toys... it's a daily lesson.
3. The girls could not be more different from each other - one cautious, one explorer. One shy, one outgoing. One picky eater, one vacuum. One needing constant encouragement, one whose drive cannot be stopped. And they still can crack each other up - and sweet baby giggles (Hazel's high pitched, little girl voice, and Meriel's sweet, deep baby cackle) are the best things I hear in my days.
4. I've MISSED this blog - and I hope to visit more often. Days have been busy here, but this place keeps me sane.
For me, the surprises lately have been things like,
"I wonder how long my hair has been doing that." and
"Where did those crinkly eye-corners come from??" and
"Is that snot or yogurt on my shoulder? Does it matter?"
The outward certainly catches me off-guard at times... but I try to pretend like that's a good thing, because it must mean that I'm not staring at myself in the mirror constantly. Right??
However - I also find myself surprised at the reflections I catch inwardly - the voices in my head and the instinctual responses that pop up. How startling it is to realize that specific actions in others bring out very strong (and not always so positive) gut-level-reactions inside me. Most of the time I am in control of myself, and witnesses would never guess that an interior battle is raging.
And the question comes to mind... which defines my character - the things I think and do not do or say... or the things I choose to put forward? Which is the true reflection of my heart - the unconscious, sinful, human natureness that swims through my mind and heart... or is it the deliberate, thoughtful choice that is made in my words and in my actions?
~~~~~
Pure UPDATE:
1. Meriel is 2 shakes away from walking. She stands up in the middle of the floor and growl-giggles like a happy baby bear. She loves to clap and wave and splash and will eat ANYTHING you let her put in her mouth (literally).
2. Hazel is (and has been since January) fully potty-trained save nap and nighttimes (she still sleeps in a crib). Such a big girl - she cracks me up daily with her Hazel-isms. She loves her little sister and is learning to share her space and toys... it's a daily lesson.
3. The girls could not be more different from each other - one cautious, one explorer. One shy, one outgoing. One picky eater, one vacuum. One needing constant encouragement, one whose drive cannot be stopped. And they still can crack each other up - and sweet baby giggles (Hazel's high pitched, little girl voice, and Meriel's sweet, deep baby cackle) are the best things I hear in my days.
4. I've MISSED this blog - and I hope to visit more often. Days have been busy here, but this place keeps me sane.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
not in kansas anymore
My life is not perfect. The cast of characters is human - flawed and real - and the setting is a world, created perfectly, that has been shattered and awkwardly glued back together.
My life is not perfect - but it is blessed. The path I walk is paved with gifts; it is bordered by my warm home, clean water, abundant food. The dust along this path bears the footprints of those who walk alongside me - my husband, my daughters, my family, my friends. The air is full of emotion: it rings with laughter, echoes with tears, and bubbles with lively chatter.
Why is it so easy to walk this beautiful path with a focus far too narrow? I see clouds instead of the blue sky behind them. I notice cracks in the pavement rather than the intricate beauty of the brickwork. It is too bright, too noisy, too dull, too lonely... Too, too, too.
Mamahood has of late left me feeling a bit used-up. The constancy of need can be exhausting and thankless. I found myself moping inside my head, longing to be pursued - not out of need, but out of desire. I looked and searched and hunted and found no clear sign of pursuit. I pouted.
It was when I sat still and watched my life without looking for anything that I saw it.
Hazel gazes into my eyes and tells me they are blue. She brushes hair out of my face and smiles at me with pure delight.
Meriel watches me while she nurses - dark blue eyes, almost gray, framed by thick lashes... she drinks me in with her gaze.
God is watching me through their faces - it is not just my daughters, but my God who is drinking me in, watching with delight. He is using the people in my life, always, to show me His love.
Life doesn't always look the way I expect it to. Rarely, in fact. But I belong to a God Who knows the desires of my heart. I don't have to go looking for them. Besides - if I have to look farther than my own backyard, I never really lost them to begin with.
My life is not perfect - but it is blessed. The path I walk is paved with gifts; it is bordered by my warm home, clean water, abundant food. The dust along this path bears the footprints of those who walk alongside me - my husband, my daughters, my family, my friends. The air is full of emotion: it rings with laughter, echoes with tears, and bubbles with lively chatter.
Why is it so easy to walk this beautiful path with a focus far too narrow? I see clouds instead of the blue sky behind them. I notice cracks in the pavement rather than the intricate beauty of the brickwork. It is too bright, too noisy, too dull, too lonely... Too, too, too.
Mamahood has of late left me feeling a bit used-up. The constancy of need can be exhausting and thankless. I found myself moping inside my head, longing to be pursued - not out of need, but out of desire. I looked and searched and hunted and found no clear sign of pursuit. I pouted.
It was when I sat still and watched my life without looking for anything that I saw it.
Hazel gazes into my eyes and tells me they are blue. She brushes hair out of my face and smiles at me with pure delight.
Meriel watches me while she nurses - dark blue eyes, almost gray, framed by thick lashes... she drinks me in with her gaze.
God is watching me through their faces - it is not just my daughters, but my God who is drinking me in, watching with delight. He is using the people in my life, always, to show me His love.
Life doesn't always look the way I expect it to. Rarely, in fact. But I belong to a God Who knows the desires of my heart. I don't have to go looking for them. Besides - if I have to look farther than my own backyard, I never really lost them to begin with.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
transparency
It's a good thing toddlers and infants don't play poker.
Um, for lots of reasons - but I'm thinking mostly about the fact that there is NO poker face whatsoever. I can virtually read the thoughts of my girls on their faces - their eyes, their lips, the crinkles in their little foreheads... adorable little open books.
Frustration, delight, fear, surprise, joy, sadness, laughter and love transport themselves directly from my daughters' hearts to their faces. Their emotions are real, they are raw, and they are available.
And as a result, those girls of mine, they are known. They are loved - they have been since I saw two blue lines, and they will be until I take my last breath and beyond - but theymay will not always make themselves known to me.
How often are we truly simultaneously known and loved? How often are we gifted with the opportunity to really know and love someone else? We learn at an altogether too-young age to mask our emotions and present a version of ourselves to the world. We take advantage of chances to change that identity, that persona, as we grow - we "try on" different costumes of self.
And so, as we wade through days littered equally with temper tantrums, crocodile tears, belly laughs and sticky kisses, days where a little poker face would go a long way... I remind myself that they will soon learn to choose what I know. They will guard secrets and cover their true feelings.
So today, I praise God for their innocent transparency. It is a gift I will not toss aside.
Um, for lots of reasons - but I'm thinking mostly about the fact that there is NO poker face whatsoever. I can virtually read the thoughts of my girls on their faces - their eyes, their lips, the crinkles in their little foreheads... adorable little open books.
Frustration, delight, fear, surprise, joy, sadness, laughter and love transport themselves directly from my daughters' hearts to their faces. Their emotions are real, they are raw, and they are available.
And as a result, those girls of mine, they are known. They are loved - they have been since I saw two blue lines, and they will be until I take my last breath and beyond - but they
How often are we truly simultaneously known and loved? How often are we gifted with the opportunity to really know and love someone else? We learn at an altogether too-young age to mask our emotions and present a version of ourselves to the world. We take advantage of chances to change that identity, that persona, as we grow - we "try on" different costumes of self.
And so, as we wade through days littered equally with temper tantrums, crocodile tears, belly laughs and sticky kisses, days where a little poker face would go a long way... I remind myself that they will soon learn to choose what I know. They will guard secrets and cover their true feelings.
So today, I praise God for their innocent transparency. It is a gift I will not toss aside.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Thursday, April 08, 2010
reality
Gloomy gray clouds, heavy with rain.
Blades of grass, once brittle and brown, now an emerald carpet.
Colorful blocks scattered on the floor, a tall tower knocked down by a powerful princess.
Swirly steam rising from my hand-painted mug.
Numbers, bright red and blurry, on the face of my alarm clock.
Rosy cheeks, tousled baby-fine hair and soft, warm arms around my neck.
My reality is often based upon what I can see. I define, label, describe and analyze with my eyes. The world becomes pictures - even things I cannot see, have never seen - my mind draws up images and files them away.
I want to see it to believe it.
And though a picture may well be worth a thousand words - they are often misleading, easily manipulated and at times downright false. It bothers me a bit that this is true, until I realize that I play this game as well as anyone. I paint pictures for people - in my tidied up, vacuumed home (that is normally littered with toys and carpet fuzzies) - with a touch of make-up, a little mousse and a splash of perfume (those who see Katie sans-mascara are true friends indeed) - and in what I choose to be part of my persona on Facebook or my blog (there is no "backspace" button in real life).
So I catch myself wondering what is real. What is true? Do I define myself? Do others define me? Is it what I do, what I say, how I act? All of the above? Or none?
I'm not sure if anyone aside from God, even me, knows my true heart. He alone knows all the fears, motivations, dreams, desires, regrets, words left unsaid and actions left undone. When I imagined what He would see when He looks at me, I felt a little nauseous. There's a reason I don't let other people know everything about me...
Until I realized that while He sees all those things - He also sees me through a curtain of sinless, perfect blood. Clean and unblemished, He sees Jesus. That stopped me in my tracks. No matter what my eyes tell me, no matter what pictures I paint for others, no matter what my reality is or seems to be... I am whole and saved and clean.
The rest of it matters - I don't believe God created this world and this life for us and made it completely meaningless - but it only matters because of who He is, and who that makes me.
Blades of grass, once brittle and brown, now an emerald carpet.
Colorful blocks scattered on the floor, a tall tower knocked down by a powerful princess.
Swirly steam rising from my hand-painted mug.
Numbers, bright red and blurry, on the face of my alarm clock.
Rosy cheeks, tousled baby-fine hair and soft, warm arms around my neck.
My reality is often based upon what I can see. I define, label, describe and analyze with my eyes. The world becomes pictures - even things I cannot see, have never seen - my mind draws up images and files them away.
I want to see it to believe it.
And though a picture may well be worth a thousand words - they are often misleading, easily manipulated and at times downright false. It bothers me a bit that this is true, until I realize that I play this game as well as anyone. I paint pictures for people - in my tidied up, vacuumed home (that is normally littered with toys and carpet fuzzies) - with a touch of make-up, a little mousse and a splash of perfume (those who see Katie sans-mascara are true friends indeed) - and in what I choose to be part of my persona on Facebook or my blog (there is no "backspace" button in real life).
So I catch myself wondering what is real. What is true? Do I define myself? Do others define me? Is it what I do, what I say, how I act? All of the above? Or none?
I'm not sure if anyone aside from God, even me, knows my true heart. He alone knows all the fears, motivations, dreams, desires, regrets, words left unsaid and actions left undone. When I imagined what He would see when He looks at me, I felt a little nauseous. There's a reason I don't let other people know everything about me...
Until I realized that while He sees all those things - He also sees me through a curtain of sinless, perfect blood. Clean and unblemished, He sees Jesus. That stopped me in my tracks. No matter what my eyes tell me, no matter what pictures I paint for others, no matter what my reality is or seems to be... I am whole and saved and clean.
The rest of it matters - I don't believe God created this world and this life for us and made it completely meaningless - but it only matters because of who He is, and who that makes me.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
coming
There are thoughts. I want to put them into words. It's coming. Just not yet. :)
In the meantime...
A smiley little Meriel - whose smile belies the torment raging through her brain as she is so! close! to! crawling!
And Hazel, wearing a swim diaper over a swimsuit over her clothes, 10 or 11 bows in her hair and lip gloss in hand/mouth. Ready for the day!! (And yes, that is a large stuffed frog on the arm of our couch.)
In the meantime...
A smiley little Meriel - whose smile belies the torment raging through her brain as she is so! close! to! crawling!
And Hazel, wearing a swim diaper over a swimsuit over her clothes, 10 or 11 bows in her hair and lip gloss in hand/mouth. Ready for the day!! (And yes, that is a large stuffed frog on the arm of our couch.)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
they might not sleep, but they are beautiful
Crying and screaming and not-sleeping has begun again. So I thought posting pictures of my pretty girls would make me feel better. Enjoy!
Monday, March 22, 2010
dry dry desert (UPDATED)
I am parched.
It is 2:36am. Hazel has been awake and crying for over an hour. I've been in twice - she is not sick or scared. Just awake, and for whatever reason, fighting sleep. I really hate to admit it, but I have no compassion left.
I am dry.
It's been almost 2 solid years of routine sleep struggle. Night wakings. Fighting naps. Crying it out. Hours spent awake in the cold, quiet middle of the night. Desperately trying to soothe your child to sleep while worrying about creating bad habits.
I've got nothing left.
I've tried every strategy (that I've read about or heard of).
At this point - the nighttime crying begins, and my skin just crawls. Part of me still just dies that my baby is not happy, not resting. The rest of me - is just SO tired. It is exhausted and raw and angry and frustrated at failing over and over and over.
I just want the crying to stop.
Because there is another baby in the house who will wake up soon and need to be fed. She is not ready to night-wean yet. Between the two, sleep is too elusive. It is difficult to find reason and sanity at 3am when your child has been screaming for hours.
I want my daughter to be rested. I want her to sleep well.
I want to be rested. I want to sleep well.
I want to give the best to my girls - and I don't do that when I am crabby and tired in the small small hours of the morning.
I am ashamed that it makes me angry to hear her continue to cry.
I carry so much guilt for that anger.
I feel so dry, so parched.
***UPDATED***
Even as I returned to bed after writing this, listening to Hazel cry, I realized that what I wrote was not completely true.
Yes, I feel angry in the middle of the night. I am frustrated and confused and angry.
But mostly, I think my anger stems from feeling so heartbroken and helpless that I cannot prevent my daughter's tears or give her the rest she needs. I feel that I should have the power to fix it for her.
It's physically painful for a mama to lay in bed and listen to her baby cry... I just want to go in and make it all better. The problem is that my going in doesn't necessarily make it all better - at least not for very long.
Because I cannot FIX it, and because I don't feel that I handle this trial very gracefully, I wonder about my ability to be mama to more than the two kiddos I have. And I know that I *want* more. So it terrifies me to think that I might not be "cut out" for being mama to more than two. That I might not really be capable, not able to handle it.
Probably not rational, but there it is.
So thanks for your kind words, and for reading my mid-night sob story. We are awake and smiling this morning, praying and looking for a better night tonight.
It is 2:36am. Hazel has been awake and crying for over an hour. I've been in twice - she is not sick or scared. Just awake, and for whatever reason, fighting sleep. I really hate to admit it, but I have no compassion left.
I am dry.
It's been almost 2 solid years of routine sleep struggle. Night wakings. Fighting naps. Crying it out. Hours spent awake in the cold, quiet middle of the night. Desperately trying to soothe your child to sleep while worrying about creating bad habits.
I've got nothing left.
I've tried every strategy (that I've read about or heard of).
At this point - the nighttime crying begins, and my skin just crawls. Part of me still just dies that my baby is not happy, not resting. The rest of me - is just SO tired. It is exhausted and raw and angry and frustrated at failing over and over and over.
I just want the crying to stop.
Because there is another baby in the house who will wake up soon and need to be fed. She is not ready to night-wean yet. Between the two, sleep is too elusive. It is difficult to find reason and sanity at 3am when your child has been screaming for hours.
I want my daughter to be rested. I want her to sleep well.
I want to be rested. I want to sleep well.
I want to give the best to my girls - and I don't do that when I am crabby and tired in the small small hours of the morning.
I am ashamed that it makes me angry to hear her continue to cry.
I carry so much guilt for that anger.
I feel so dry, so parched.
***UPDATED***
Even as I returned to bed after writing this, listening to Hazel cry, I realized that what I wrote was not completely true.
Yes, I feel angry in the middle of the night. I am frustrated and confused and angry.
But mostly, I think my anger stems from feeling so heartbroken and helpless that I cannot prevent my daughter's tears or give her the rest she needs. I feel that I should have the power to fix it for her.
It's physically painful for a mama to lay in bed and listen to her baby cry... I just want to go in and make it all better. The problem is that my going in doesn't necessarily make it all better - at least not for very long.
Because I cannot FIX it, and because I don't feel that I handle this trial very gracefully, I wonder about my ability to be mama to more than the two kiddos I have. And I know that I *want* more. So it terrifies me to think that I might not be "cut out" for being mama to more than two. That I might not really be capable, not able to handle it.
Probably not rational, but there it is.
So thanks for your kind words, and for reading my mid-night sob story. We are awake and smiling this morning, praying and looking for a better night tonight.
Monday, March 01, 2010
glimpses (updated to avoid confusion)
Life today *these days* is full of little sneak-peeks.
Movie trailers.
Ultrasounds. *(NOT MINE, just in general, in the world, you know)*
Coming Soon.
We can barely contain ourselves for all the wanting! to know! what's coming!
Generally, I like to know what's on the horizon - but I appreciate surprises and love a good sneak-peek.
My favorites are the glances and glimmers God gives me in my family.
I catch a vision of my eldest as a teenager - a strong, beautiful young woman with a sensitive heart and a passionate spirit.
I spy a shadow of my youngest, growing up with a love of life and a heart for others - her sparkly eyes an open window to the joy in her soul.
I see my husband as the father of those lovely teenage girls, love pouring out of his very being, consumed with pride and joy and wonder at the blessing of being entrusted with these creations of His.
I catch a glimpse of the woman I may grow into - I feel layers being shed, feel myself being molded and shaped and groomed - and occasionally I notice that my reflection is a little less of the me that was, and a little more of the me that is His.
Those images are tantalizing and sweet - and they add fuel to tired days... but as beautiful as they are, they do not compare to the moments of today. What strikes me most is that the more I stare into their faces today, the more I take note of the moment as it passes, the more I live and love NOW... the more He gives me of the future.
It is our ability to be content in any circumstance, to find joy in tough moments, to zero in on true gifts - good and perfect gifts from above... it is our ability to live in Christ's grace today that gives us hope and peace for tomorrow.
I just love those little sneak-peeks...
Movie trailers.
Ultrasounds. *(NOT MINE, just in general, in the world, you know)*
Coming Soon.
We can barely contain ourselves for all the wanting! to know! what's coming!
Generally, I like to know what's on the horizon - but I appreciate surprises and love a good sneak-peek.
My favorites are the glances and glimmers God gives me in my family.
I catch a vision of my eldest as a teenager - a strong, beautiful young woman with a sensitive heart and a passionate spirit.
I spy a shadow of my youngest, growing up with a love of life and a heart for others - her sparkly eyes an open window to the joy in her soul.
I see my husband as the father of those lovely teenage girls, love pouring out of his very being, consumed with pride and joy and wonder at the blessing of being entrusted with these creations of His.
I catch a glimpse of the woman I may grow into - I feel layers being shed, feel myself being molded and shaped and groomed - and occasionally I notice that my reflection is a little less of the me that was, and a little more of the me that is His.
Those images are tantalizing and sweet - and they add fuel to tired days... but as beautiful as they are, they do not compare to the moments of today. What strikes me most is that the more I stare into their faces today, the more I take note of the moment as it passes, the more I live and love NOW... the more He gives me of the future.
It is our ability to be content in any circumstance, to find joy in tough moments, to zero in on true gifts - good and perfect gifts from above... it is our ability to live in Christ's grace today that gives us hope and peace for tomorrow.
I just love those little sneak-peeks...
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
just bring me a cheese plate... and some multigrain crackers to go with it
The inside of my head is not a place I want to be right now.
It's whiny in there.
I'm having a really difficult time figuring out what's actually bothering me - because chances are good that it's not any of the minutiae buzzing around my brain like obnoxious little mosquitoes.
I've been swatting at them - and every once in awhile, I kill one or two. But quite a few have managed to get in a nice little bite, and suddenly I'm trying not to itch. And - ohmygranny - once I start scratching, things go downhill quickly.
The mosquito bites inside of my head are telling me all kinds of things about myself and what I'm not doing. What I can't do (for various reasons), what I should be doing, and what's keeping me from those things. They're telling me about the people around me - who cares and how much and how I can tell just from what is done/said and what is not done/said. They're chattering nonsense about needing and deserving and right and wrong and on and on...
I'm feeling all kinds of things that are, quite honestly, based entirely in this world - this broken world with my self-centered self caring too much about earthly things and not enough about the eternal.
I want to do all things without complaining or arguing (Phil. 2:14) and I know that if I am the victim/witness of actual sin, I am called to restore my brother gently and carefully (Galatians 6:1)... but I often find those to be difficult lines to walk.
Right now... I want to be held accountable - to put my struggles in the open and not hide them, and allow others to restore me gently.
In the meantime - you may just find me sitting around, staring at my mosquito bites, trying not to scratch, and munching on the cheese that came with my whine.
It's whiny in there.
I'm having a really difficult time figuring out what's actually bothering me - because chances are good that it's not any of the minutiae buzzing around my brain like obnoxious little mosquitoes.
I've been swatting at them - and every once in awhile, I kill one or two. But quite a few have managed to get in a nice little bite, and suddenly I'm trying not to itch. And - ohmygranny - once I start scratching, things go downhill quickly.
The mosquito bites inside of my head are telling me all kinds of things about myself and what I'm not doing. What I can't do (for various reasons), what I should be doing, and what's keeping me from those things. They're telling me about the people around me - who cares and how much and how I can tell just from what is done/said and what is not done/said. They're chattering nonsense about needing and deserving and right and wrong and on and on...
I'm feeling all kinds of things that are, quite honestly, based entirely in this world - this broken world with my self-centered self caring too much about earthly things and not enough about the eternal.
I want to do all things without complaining or arguing (Phil. 2:14) and I know that if I am the victim/witness of actual sin, I am called to restore my brother gently and carefully (Galatians 6:1)... but I often find those to be difficult lines to walk.
Right now... I want to be held accountable - to put my struggles in the open and not hide them, and allow others to restore me gently.
In the meantime - you may just find me sitting around, staring at my mosquito bites, trying not to scratch, and munching on the cheese that came with my whine.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
no use crying over spilled...
Some days I feel a bit full. On the verge of overflow, to be exact. Rather like a cup that might "runneth over" - but not in the best way. In the "I'm Not Sure How Gracefully I Can Handle One More Challenging Thing Today" kind of way.
I imagine adding ice cubes to a drink... the level of the liquid rises a bit with each cube. Add too many too fast - and the drink will spill over the top. It's inevitable.
Yesterday felt like one of those days:
We started out with a really rough night - very tired mama and very tired girls. (clunk-clunk... a few ice cubes)
Girls who had both started coughing - out of nowhere - in the middle of the night. (clunkety - clunk... a couple more)
Poor, fussy, teething Meriel - just didn't feel like herself all day (clunk)
Hazel's running a low fever (clunk)
A wet-pants accident in the high chair at lunchtime - very rare these days, and therefore all the more frustrating to this mama... (clunk)
Naptime struggles with both girls (clunky - clunk)
You get the idea. Before too long, I felt myself starting to spill over the edges. And as I tried to catch myself, hold it all in, control the spillage... I realized something.
Maybe it's not so much about trying to not spill over, or not be spilled by someone/something. Because -let's face it - the ice cubes are gonna come. Life is going to hand us challenges and tough moments - some bigger than others, but even enough tiny ice cubes pile up to overflow a cup. So trying to NOT spill might be a bit futile.
Perhaps it's about what comes spilling out. If my heart is full of grace and patience and my mind is full of the words of my Father - THOSE will spill out. But if my heart is focused inward, if I am playing the martyr, if my mind is busy with MY wants and desires... then ugliness will trickle (or gush!) over the edges of my cup.
For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. (Matthew 12:34b)
So today - I will try to relinquish my attempt at controlling the ice cubes and the spillage... and just focus on what I'm filling myself up with. And if/when I fail... I will fall back onto the grace of Jesus, and begin again with new mercies tomorrow.
I imagine adding ice cubes to a drink... the level of the liquid rises a bit with each cube. Add too many too fast - and the drink will spill over the top. It's inevitable.
Yesterday felt like one of those days:
We started out with a really rough night - very tired mama and very tired girls. (clunk-clunk... a few ice cubes)
Girls who had both started coughing - out of nowhere - in the middle of the night. (clunkety - clunk... a couple more)
Poor, fussy, teething Meriel - just didn't feel like herself all day (clunk)
Hazel's running a low fever (clunk)
A wet-pants accident in the high chair at lunchtime - very rare these days, and therefore all the more frustrating to this mama... (clunk)
Naptime struggles with both girls (clunky - clunk)
You get the idea. Before too long, I felt myself starting to spill over the edges. And as I tried to catch myself, hold it all in, control the spillage... I realized something.
Maybe it's not so much about trying to not spill over, or not be spilled by someone/something. Because -let's face it - the ice cubes are gonna come. Life is going to hand us challenges and tough moments - some bigger than others, but even enough tiny ice cubes pile up to overflow a cup. So trying to NOT spill might be a bit futile.
Perhaps it's about what comes spilling out. If my heart is full of grace and patience and my mind is full of the words of my Father - THOSE will spill out. But if my heart is focused inward, if I am playing the martyr, if my mind is busy with MY wants and desires... then ugliness will trickle (or gush!) over the edges of my cup.
For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. (Matthew 12:34b)
So today - I will try to relinquish my attempt at controlling the ice cubes and the spillage... and just focus on what I'm filling myself up with. And if/when I fail... I will fall back onto the grace of Jesus, and begin again with new mercies tomorrow.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
would you like fries with that?
What if life were like a restaurant, and you could simply order things off a menu and have them brought to you on platters?
I'm not talking about stuff - but experiences.
Tired? You could order up a Good Night's Sleep Appetizer - your choice of featherbed or memory foam.
Or when you're stressed - simply put in a request for a Well-Timed Vacation entree - you choose the duration, location, and up to 3 guests to go with you.
A well-trained, polite staff would be there to bring things out, beautifully presented on trays and platters, to refill your water glass, and to make sure that the everything has been to your liking.
And then you could always send things back - "This is not what I ordered."
It *sounds* idyllic. And as much as there are bits and pieces about the scenario that are truly appealing... there are a few problems with the whole layout.
First, menus never tell you everything about what you're ordering. And if they did, it's unlikely that you'd actually read the entire list, because who wants to spend their time doing that? Then when it comes, it's not quite what you thought you'd be getting... Or perhaps you *do* read the whole description, and then change your mind about ordering the most amazing dinner EVER because it has something in it you've never heard of before - and that freaks you out a little. How many of my life experiences have gone that way? If I had known the whole truth about some experiences of my life - would I have opted out before even trying them?? Or waited until I felt more "ready" for the challenge? And let's be honest - how often would I really choose to go through those "learning" seasons of life if given the option? I shudder a little to think what it would look like if I was in charge of the shaping of my own character.
Then, of course, there's the issue that restaurants need to prepare ahead of time - so customization (while sometimes feasible) is typically minimal. You can't ask them to add just a dash of cinnamon to the blueberry pie before it's baked because that's what you'd do if you were making it at home - so you take what you get. The Life-Restaurant would remove some of our ability to take life and make it our own - and while there are days when I might trade leaving my own personal stamp on my life for the simplicity of ordering from a menu... I wouldn't be willing to forgo that forever.
Finally, in restaurants, we feel that we deserve to be completely pleased when we walk out the door because we paid for a service to be provided for us. And that makes sense. By Life-Restaurant-Logic, that gives Christ the right to dictate what is ordered, served, in what order, at what pace... because HE paid for my life. I've done nothing, and really - have no "right" to demand anything at all... and then the whole dream scenario fails.
This is all just an elaborate metaphor to remind me that although there is a piece of me that wants to say "Um, excuse me - but this isn't what I thought I was ordering when I asked to Be a Mama!" or "You mean being Grown Up comes with these side dishes no matter what??" - the truth of life is better than whatever scenario I could dream up.
Because the truth is that God loves me. My life is a gift, and the experiences I am given - while not chosen by me - are chosen by my Creator. And His love is better than life, His grace is more than I can wrap my mind around, and His peace passes my understanding.
So I tuck my napkin in my lap, and say "Yes, please - I would like fries with that!"
I'm not talking about stuff - but experiences.
Tired? You could order up a Good Night's Sleep Appetizer - your choice of featherbed or memory foam.
Or when you're stressed - simply put in a request for a Well-Timed Vacation entree - you choose the duration, location, and up to 3 guests to go with you.
A well-trained, polite staff would be there to bring things out, beautifully presented on trays and platters, to refill your water glass, and to make sure that the everything has been to your liking.
And then you could always send things back - "This is not what I ordered."
It *sounds* idyllic. And as much as there are bits and pieces about the scenario that are truly appealing... there are a few problems with the whole layout.
First, menus never tell you everything about what you're ordering. And if they did, it's unlikely that you'd actually read the entire list, because who wants to spend their time doing that? Then when it comes, it's not quite what you thought you'd be getting... Or perhaps you *do* read the whole description, and then change your mind about ordering the most amazing dinner EVER because it has something in it you've never heard of before - and that freaks you out a little. How many of my life experiences have gone that way? If I had known the whole truth about some experiences of my life - would I have opted out before even trying them?? Or waited until I felt more "ready" for the challenge? And let's be honest - how often would I really choose to go through those "learning" seasons of life if given the option? I shudder a little to think what it would look like if I was in charge of the shaping of my own character.
Then, of course, there's the issue that restaurants need to prepare ahead of time - so customization (while sometimes feasible) is typically minimal. You can't ask them to add just a dash of cinnamon to the blueberry pie before it's baked because that's what you'd do if you were making it at home - so you take what you get. The Life-Restaurant would remove some of our ability to take life and make it our own - and while there are days when I might trade leaving my own personal stamp on my life for the simplicity of ordering from a menu... I wouldn't be willing to forgo that forever.
Finally, in restaurants, we feel that we deserve to be completely pleased when we walk out the door because we paid for a service to be provided for us. And that makes sense. By Life-Restaurant-Logic, that gives Christ the right to dictate what is ordered, served, in what order, at what pace... because HE paid for my life. I've done nothing, and really - have no "right" to demand anything at all... and then the whole dream scenario fails.
This is all just an elaborate metaphor to remind me that although there is a piece of me that wants to say "Um, excuse me - but this isn't what I thought I was ordering when I asked to Be a Mama!" or "You mean being Grown Up comes with these side dishes no matter what??" - the truth of life is better than whatever scenario I could dream up.
Because the truth is that God loves me. My life is a gift, and the experiences I am given - while not chosen by me - are chosen by my Creator. And His love is better than life, His grace is more than I can wrap my mind around, and His peace passes my understanding.
So I tuck my napkin in my lap, and say "Yes, please - I would like fries with that!"
Saturday, January 09, 2010
a preponderance of evidence
I miss this blog.
It gives me a space tothink organize the thinking I do All. The. Time.
And when I don't blog - to me, it almost feels like I'm not thinking. But not really, because I know that I am. But as far as my bloggie peeps go (if there are any of y'all left out there) - as far as you can see, my brains have been pureed by the two small children in my life, and I'm left with little coherent thought.
It just ain't (quite) true.
True - life has been busy lately. Holidays, traveling, pottying, doctors, present-making, and day-to-day-life-ishness have made the blog slip down the priority list. As it should, really.
But the thoughts and the thinking - they never take a break.
So grow not weary, oh faithful followers - I have much to share. It'll just have to come out slowly, in little bits and spurts as my days and minutes allow. Although all evidence points to a loss of valuable output here at Heartful... my heart is full, my brain is busy, and I miss sharing the heart and the thoughts with everyone.
For today - The Daddy is out of town, and I've already been interrupted 6 times writing this eensy weensy little post by a little blond pig-tailed chef, who is grinding coffee beans and making egg & fish soup for me... - so I'll keep it brief.
Lately I have found strange comfort in things beyond my control. I have not historically been a person who likes non-control (put mildly). But for some reason, my days are less rippled, my thoughts less turbulent, and my heart steadier when I've allowed myself to lean back into the passenger seat. There aren't as many buttons over here, no steering wheel to speak of - and no brakes or gas pedals... but there's a radio, there's a seat-warmer (*love those*), and there are mirrors and windows to see what is around me - coming and going and passing by.
I may not be driving, but I'm enjoying the ride.
It gives me a space to
And when I don't blog - to me, it almost feels like I'm not thinking. But not really, because I know that I am. But as far as my bloggie peeps go (if there are any of y'all left out there) - as far as you can see, my brains have been pureed by the two small children in my life, and I'm left with little coherent thought.
It just ain't (quite) true.
True - life has been busy lately. Holidays, traveling, pottying, doctors, present-making, and day-to-day-life-ishness have made the blog slip down the priority list. As it should, really.
But the thoughts and the thinking - they never take a break.
So grow not weary, oh faithful followers - I have much to share. It'll just have to come out slowly, in little bits and spurts as my days and minutes allow. Although all evidence points to a loss of valuable output here at Heartful... my heart is full, my brain is busy, and I miss sharing the heart and the thoughts with everyone.
For today - The Daddy is out of town, and I've already been interrupted 6 times writing this eensy weensy little post by a little blond pig-tailed chef, who is grinding coffee beans and making egg & fish soup for me... - so I'll keep it brief.
Lately I have found strange comfort in things beyond my control. I have not historically been a person who likes non-control (put mildly). But for some reason, my days are less rippled, my thoughts less turbulent, and my heart steadier when I've allowed myself to lean back into the passenger seat. There aren't as many buttons over here, no steering wheel to speak of - and no brakes or gas pedals... but there's a radio, there's a seat-warmer (*love those*), and there are mirrors and windows to see what is around me - coming and going and passing by.
I may not be driving, but I'm enjoying the ride.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
were there fireworks?
The New Year experience escaped me this year - or perhaps, it would be better to say that I released it from any obligation to provide extraordinary entertainment, purpose, or meaning for my life. I know we moved into a new decade - but it doesn't feel all that monumental.
Perhaps as we grow, the passage of time becomes less and less a thing to marvel at - and more an immutable fact of life.
Perhaps I'm just not a "party" person - the lure of big crowds, fancy food and drinks, sparkly outfits and loud music cannot override the call of comfy pjs and a warm spot on my couch.
Perhaps I've risen above the need to assign meaning to a specific amount of time, dictated by the calendar.
Possible answers, and mostly way more flattering than the truth... that my life has an ebb and flow right now that really squeezed out the need for a "new year."
Motherhood keeps me constantly re-evaluating myself, my time, my goals.
I don't need a new number on the calendar to remind me that time is passing and things are changing - I can see growth, joy, pain, change and love in people and circumstances all around me, all the time.
I have hope for the future.
I have love in my house.
I have two little girls who - for the moment - will not turn down a single moment I offer them.
I have faith in a God Who is in all and above all and holds all things together.
I have uncertainty and unknowns in my life.
I have a place to lay those burdens down.
I have gifts to offer my friends, neighbors and family.
So instead of ringing in the New Year with sparkles and screams - I nod quietly in its direction, recognizing and appreciating the gift of a clean slate... and yet knowing that there is far more in the hands of my Father than in the hands of resolutions and goals... and that the one thing that is in my hands is my response.
Perhaps as we grow, the passage of time becomes less and less a thing to marvel at - and more an immutable fact of life.
Perhaps I'm just not a "party" person - the lure of big crowds, fancy food and drinks, sparkly outfits and loud music cannot override the call of comfy pjs and a warm spot on my couch.
Perhaps I've risen above the need to assign meaning to a specific amount of time, dictated by the calendar.
Possible answers, and mostly way more flattering than the truth... that my life has an ebb and flow right now that really squeezed out the need for a "new year."
Motherhood keeps me constantly re-evaluating myself, my time, my goals.
I don't need a new number on the calendar to remind me that time is passing and things are changing - I can see growth, joy, pain, change and love in people and circumstances all around me, all the time.
I have hope for the future.
I have love in my house.
I have two little girls who - for the moment - will not turn down a single moment I offer them.
I have faith in a God Who is in all and above all and holds all things together.
I have uncertainty and unknowns in my life.
I have a place to lay those burdens down.
I have gifts to offer my friends, neighbors and family.
So instead of ringing in the New Year with sparkles and screams - I nod quietly in its direction, recognizing and appreciating the gift of a clean slate... and yet knowing that there is far more in the hands of my Father than in the hands of resolutions and goals... and that the one thing that is in my hands is my response.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
christmassing
Christmas is next week... and I'm cooking right along on my list of things to do for Christmas... and also realizing that some things will likely wait until next year. Here's a quick run-down:
1. Christmas stockings - MADE!! but still need names - this might be after Christmas, but I hope not.
2. Jesse Tree - next year. Kinda bummed, but the kids will be able to understand it better next year anyway. And this gives me a chance to shop for some ornaments after Christmas and get some crazy good deals.
3. Ninja Doll for Hazel (crochet) - DONE
4. Ball for Meriel (crochet) - DONE, but I'd like to make one more, smaller and jingly
5. Cupcakes for Hazel (crochet) - not yet...
6. Blanket for our new nephew Matthew (crochet) - ALMOST DONE
7. Birthday present for Mark's mom (birthday is Christmas Eve) (crochet) - ALMOST DONE
8. Cocoa Mix for my mom - not yet...
9. Muffin Mix for my family - not yet...
10. Balls for nephews James & Johnathan (crochet)- not yet...
11. Snake for nephew Brody (crochet) - not yet...
Now, if I would stop blogging and get back to work - I could get a few more things crossed off the list!!
1. Christmas stockings - MADE!! but still need names - this might be after Christmas, but I hope not.
2. Jesse Tree - next year. Kinda bummed, but the kids will be able to understand it better next year anyway. And this gives me a chance to shop for some ornaments after Christmas and get some crazy good deals.
3. Ninja Doll for Hazel (crochet) - DONE
4. Ball for Meriel (crochet) - DONE, but I'd like to make one more, smaller and jingly
5. Cupcakes for Hazel (crochet) - not yet...
6. Blanket for our new nephew Matthew (crochet) - ALMOST DONE
7. Birthday present for Mark's mom (birthday is Christmas Eve) (crochet) - ALMOST DONE
8. Cocoa Mix for my mom - not yet...
9. Muffin Mix for my family - not yet...
10. Balls for nephews James & Johnathan (crochet)- not yet...
11. Snake for nephew Brody (crochet) - not yet...
Now, if I would stop blogging and get back to work - I could get a few more things crossed off the list!!
Friday, December 11, 2009
adventures in potty training
We are on Day 11 of PT.
Day 11 of Big Girl Underwear.
It's strange to be a parent, and suddenly be in charge of teaching a little person how to do things that you've done for so long you almost can't comprehend NOT knowing, let alone how to teach it.
But for what it's worth (and that's not much, as every parent and every kid are different), here's my insight so far...
1. We went for no training pants - just underwear (diapers for nap and bedtime still - perhaps that will change to training pants soon). But just underwear during the day. Gets wet and uncomfortable faster.
2. Hang up the pride - you will get poo on your hands, your pants, your socks, the bathroom floor. You will get peed on. You will sing songs about going potty, make up dances about going potty, talk more about going potty than you ever imagined was possible, and spend a LOT of time sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for someone to go potty.
3. It's a struggle, because cleaning up messes gets so frustrating, but it helps me to remember that we are not fighting each other. We are working together to learn how to go potty. It's potty training for me as much as for Hazel - it changes our day considerably to be so focused for so long.
4. When I saw that it was getting stressful for her, I backed off a little. Putting her on the potty every 30 minutes to "try" got really old really fast. Now I ask if she needs to go (answer is almost always "no" - and if I think it should be time to go soon, I tell her "Okay, then in 5 minutes we are going to go pee on the potty." Then I ask her what we are going to do in 5 minutes, so I know she heard me.) We stop whatever we're doing, with the assurance that we will come right back when we are done. She believes me now, and doesn't resist much at all, and goes to the bathroom MUCH faster once in place.
5. It's a chore. It's a process. It's challenging - but it's good. We are working together, learning and teaching. She's trusting me, and I am learning to trust her with herself too. It's cool. But it takes time and effort and energy. At least once a day for the first week, I thought about quitting and trying again later. But every day, there was a reason, a success, a breakthrough - something to keep us coming back again. And she's doing great.
6. Little bitty bums wearing underpants under their clothes are really stinking cute. I tell her at least 3 times a day that I like her buns. She thinks it's funny.
7. The most helpful thing for Hazel was the story I made up for her. It went something like this:
"There once was a little girl named Hazel. And she wanted to wear big girl underwear! But Mama said she had to pee on the potty first. So she sat on the potty, and relaxed, and tried really hard - and then, one day, she went pee on the potty!! And everyone was SO HAPPY!!!! Mama did a dance, Daddy laughed and clapped his hands, and Hazel was so proud! And then she got to wear big girl underwear everyday!"
We repeated it so much that Hazel can fill in words now (all the ones that are pink are hers). And when she goes, she gets a BIG smile and says "so happy!"
We're hanging in there - and I love watching my girl grow and learn. She makes me laugh every single day - I cannot imagine my life without her face and her sweet, sweet spirit.
Day 11 of Big Girl Underwear.
It's strange to be a parent, and suddenly be in charge of teaching a little person how to do things that you've done for so long you almost can't comprehend NOT knowing, let alone how to teach it.
But for what it's worth (and that's not much, as every parent and every kid are different), here's my insight so far...
1. We went for no training pants - just underwear (diapers for nap and bedtime still - perhaps that will change to training pants soon). But just underwear during the day. Gets wet and uncomfortable faster.
2. Hang up the pride - you will get poo on your hands, your pants, your socks, the bathroom floor. You will get peed on. You will sing songs about going potty, make up dances about going potty, talk more about going potty than you ever imagined was possible, and spend a LOT of time sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for someone to go potty.
3. It's a struggle, because cleaning up messes gets so frustrating, but it helps me to remember that we are not fighting each other. We are working together to learn how to go potty. It's potty training for me as much as for Hazel - it changes our day considerably to be so focused for so long.
4. When I saw that it was getting stressful for her, I backed off a little. Putting her on the potty every 30 minutes to "try" got really old really fast. Now I ask if she needs to go (answer is almost always "no" - and if I think it should be time to go soon, I tell her "Okay, then in 5 minutes we are going to go pee on the potty." Then I ask her what we are going to do in 5 minutes, so I know she heard me.) We stop whatever we're doing, with the assurance that we will come right back when we are done. She believes me now, and doesn't resist much at all, and goes to the bathroom MUCH faster once in place.
5. It's a chore. It's a process. It's challenging - but it's good. We are working together, learning and teaching. She's trusting me, and I am learning to trust her with herself too. It's cool. But it takes time and effort and energy. At least once a day for the first week, I thought about quitting and trying again later. But every day, there was a reason, a success, a breakthrough - something to keep us coming back again. And she's doing great.
6. Little bitty bums wearing underpants under their clothes are really stinking cute. I tell her at least 3 times a day that I like her buns. She thinks it's funny.
7. The most helpful thing for Hazel was the story I made up for her. It went something like this:
"There once was a little girl named Hazel. And she wanted to wear big girl underwear! But Mama said she had to pee on the potty first. So she sat on the potty, and relaxed, and tried really hard - and then, one day, she went pee on the potty!! And everyone was SO HAPPY!!!! Mama did a dance, Daddy laughed and clapped his hands, and Hazel was so proud! And then she got to wear big girl underwear everyday!"
We repeated it so much that Hazel can fill in words now (all the ones that are pink are hers). And when she goes, she gets a BIG smile and says "so happy!"
We're hanging in there - and I love watching my girl grow and learn. She makes me laugh every single day - I cannot imagine my life without her face and her sweet, sweet spirit.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Jesus, I almost didn't recognize You in those fuzzy pink jammies
I believe in grace. I believe in love. I believe in taking responsibility for extending grace and love to others, whatever the circumstance. I believe that I fail at this every day, but that I am extended grace and love from the Father to wake up the next morning, and continue to strive for better. For more. For holy.
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I had lost track of how many times I'd climbed out of my warm blankety cocoon to tend to the needs of my small daughters. Some moms claim to treasure those midnight interludes... I'll be honest - I wouldn't mind if my little chiclets came out of the womb sleeping 12 hours every single night.
I was running low on grace, low on patience, low on sleep.
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I rubbed her back, ran fingers through her hair, and tried desperately to keep my touch from communicating my stress, my desire to be elsewhere, my selfish wish for sleep and warmth.
And I remembered that whatever I do for the least of the brothers (and sisters) of Jesus, I do for Him.
I took a deep breath in and breathed out slowly. Imagined Jesus laying in that crib.
Now - there IS a part of my brain that said "Now, I DO think that if Jesus was sleeping in my house, He probably wouldn't wake me up at all hours of the night, alternately chatting and singing loudly, and crying inconsolably. And He probably wouldn't be wearing footie pajamas and a diaper."
BUT. But...
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I rubbed her back, ran my fingers through her hair, and tried desperately to love her as I love Christ. To love her as He loves me.
Maybe sometimes the question isn't "What Would Jesus Do?"
Maybe it's "What Would You Do For Jesus?"
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I had lost track of how many times I'd climbed out of my warm blankety cocoon to tend to the needs of my small daughters. Some moms claim to treasure those midnight interludes... I'll be honest - I wouldn't mind if my little chiclets came out of the womb sleeping 12 hours every single night.
I was running low on grace, low on patience, low on sleep.
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I rubbed her back, ran fingers through her hair, and tried desperately to keep my touch from communicating my stress, my desire to be elsewhere, my selfish wish for sleep and warmth.
And I remembered that whatever I do for the least of the brothers (and sisters) of Jesus, I do for Him.
I took a deep breath in and breathed out slowly. Imagined Jesus laying in that crib.
Now - there IS a part of my brain that said "Now, I DO think that if Jesus was sleeping in my house, He probably wouldn't wake me up at all hours of the night, alternately chatting and singing loudly, and crying inconsolably. And He probably wouldn't be wearing footie pajamas and a diaper."
BUT. But...
I sat on the floor next to Hazel's crib, at some unknown wee small hour of the morning. I rubbed her back, ran my fingers through her hair, and tried desperately to love her as I love Christ. To love her as He loves me.
Maybe sometimes the question isn't "What Would Jesus Do?"
Maybe it's "What Would You Do For Jesus?"
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
