A dear friend of mine is a season ahead of me in raising children.
Her babies are the age of my oldest kids.
There's a reason God surrounds us with people of all ages--so we can learn from those who have already walked our road, and so we can encourage those who are coming along the road we have already traveled.
This friend burns the candle late into the night, while I'm barely making it through my own children's bedtime without falling asleep myself.
There's been the occasion when I'll climb into bed and yell to my big boys---"I beat you to bed. Come tuck me in."
And they do. Pathetic, huh? They don't do as sweet of a tuck-in as I do, but they trudge to our room and I get a quick kiss on the forehead, or maybe just an arm pat if we are going to bed under less than stellar terms.
I've mentioned my complete dread of evenings to this friend (umm...maybe weekly) and through the last couple of years, she's gently shared how God has worked in her family through those nights.
She's been gradually preparing me.
She's said how she needed to be available late into the evening as the teenage years kicked in because one of her teens would only open up while eating...in the middle of the night (maybe not really the middle of the night, but pretty stinkin late).
And she couldn't just sit down across from him at the table and look him in the eye and force the chat. She needed to simply be available, but not really look like she was available...maybe doing dishes...or fixing food...or wiping a counter.
But her availability and his vulnerability collided late in the evening over food.
That was when her heart and his connected.
I've heard her warning.
Be ready. Your teens might need you at night.
Ugh. Midnight. Food. Availability.
Sounds like the college years, which happen to be days I'd prefer not to do over.
(Don't read anything into that...I was a good girl...I WAS...)
I just don't really like late nights. Or fixing food. Or even being available on someone else's terms. (It's shocking that I'm a mother, right?)
Be ready.
Be ready.
My second son follows rules.
He naturally obeys. He even seems to love to obey.
He's got all sorts of other issues, but following rules is not one of them.
His obedience makes him fun to raise. He's the type of kid that makes a parent believe that they actually are a good parent (which is why God generally only gives each family one of those...lest we somehow think that we are actually better parents than we are.)
But, sometimes, it's the obedient ones in the family that need pursued.
Because they naturally fall in line, they love to be in the good graces of those around them, they don't require all of the "training." They don't demand the attention or the listening ear.
We're grateful for the rule-followers, we praise the one who obeys, we thank God that this one child is not going through a "stage."
And sometimes we can completely miss their hearts.
We can mistake their obedience for righteousness and we can lazily rest in their external actions rather than spending the time searching their hearts.
Disney World...three weeks ago...midnight.
We were on vacation with my parents and brother's family in Florida spending a week bouncing between Epcot, Animal Kingdom, and Magic Kingdom.
Although I can never stay awake until midnight in my own home, I happened to be bright-eyed late into the night because I have all sorts of energy when I don't have to make my bed or prepare meals or teach math or run our family. Disney World felt like a break. All I had to do was enjoy my family. And that I can do easily...when I don't have to do all the other stuff...
My second son climbed down the stairs, looked at me in complete frustration, and sighed,
"I can't sleep."
I looked at the clock.
Midnight.
Here goes.
"Want something to eat? We have granola bars and ummm...microwave popcorn."
He wasn't hungry.
In fact, he looked irritated that sleep wouldn't come.
He loudly groaned, furrowed his eyebrows, and headed back to his room.
Be ready.
They might need you at night.
So, I followed him back to his room and lay on the bottom of his bed as he rearranged sheets and pillows.
"Are you having fun?"
"Yes."
"What's been your favorite ride so far?"
" Everest."
Silence.
One-word answers. Not quite the connection I was hoping for.
More silence. I couldn't tell if he had fallen asleep or not.
I almost fell asleep myself.
But I was available...and he was vulnerable.
"You know, Mom..."
And he talked and he shared and he opened his heart to me for a brief hour in time.
And it was midnight and I was tired, but my rule-following son was choosing to talk to me and there was no way I was going to miss this. He doesn't seem to need me all that often anymore.
The clock neared 1:00 am, but I didn't care and he didn't seem to care either. In a large family, I guess you have to take that one-on-one time even if it's into the wee hours of the morning.
His speech began to slow and I could tell that our time was coming to an end.
I wasn't quite ready to let him go.
I reached out and squeezed his toe.
"Hey J, finish what you were telling me."
And he startled out of his doze and finished his story.
One more toe pinch from me.
"Thanks for talking to me tonight, J. I really love hearing your heart."
He whispered as he slowly drifted off to sleep, "Me too, Mom."
I got in my own bed and cried.
Cried because a midnight feeding now meant something different to me.
Not that long ago, I was pinching his toe as a newborn to keep him awake during his late night nursing.
I'd watch him as he nursed.
He needed me for nourishment and I needed him for joy.
I thought our midnight feedings were over.
I'm realizing, a new midnight feeding has just begun.
A new season of connection.
A knitting of our souls.
And I'm going to be available...even if it's at midnight.
The next morning my brother and sister-in-law were bleary eyed from being awake with their three little ones in the middle of the night.
My brother tiredly plopped down next to me and asked how we had slept.
"J and I talked late in the night. I think I just started a new season of the midnight feeding."
I could tell the thought made my brother tired. He just wants to believe that there will be a time in parenting when he will actually get to sleep through the night.
I couldn't help but smile and think of my friend's gentle warning to me.
Be ready, Brother.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Tears on Toast
6:00 a.m.
The light already on and the shower already running in the teenager's room.
Hmmm...it appears he can get out of bed early without being prompted. Who knew?
He's gotta be scared.
He's gotta be shaking with apprehension, right?
It's his first day attending a "real" school.
And he's not really attending. He's just shadowing a fellow student to get a feel for the way things work. It's only one day. But it's a big step.
I asked my husband this morning if he was a little sad that our baby was going to school.
"No, I'm not sad. I'm so excited for him," my husband declared.
Well, Good. For. You.
Because I'm kinda holding back some tears here.
I made him breakfast. An egg sandwich. As the tears polka-dotted the toast, I got a glimpse of my puffy eyes in the reflection off the microwave. Oh, this is going to be so embarrassing. Pull yourself together, Girl. So I lathered the tears on the toast with some butter and no one knew the difference. While I was at it, I made my husband an egg sandwich, too. Both my boys were surprised when they came down to a warm breakfast. I guess you have to go to school in this family to get good food in the morning.
The drive to school was sweet. I wasn't distracted. I listened to him. We laughed a bit. Twenty minutes of uninterrupted time with him. I purposed to parent. Because I knew I wouldn't have all day. We pulled up to the school with minutes to spare. We sat in the car and discussed his hair and swimming and whether he would ever be allowed to go to a dance. Lots of topics for just a couple minutes. As the clock ran out of stall time, we made our way through the front doors. I was dragging my feet...he was leading the way. I wanted to stop and take his first day of school picture, but I thought I'd wait. I'd wait until he really has his first day of school. And then I might embarrass the heck out of him. But not today.
The staff greeted us and welcomed him. Two boys that he knows walked through the front door and gave him a shoulder bump. The ninth grader that he's shadowing today came to get him and there were grins and laughter. As my baby walked down the halls of a school for the first time ever, he looked back at me. I didn't get a hug, or a kiss, or an I love you. We had said all that in the car. I got a wave and a head nod. A head nod that I know very well. A head nod that told me that indeed he was going to be just fine.
And I cried all the way home and made my face even more splotchy. I bought the other kids doughnuts, and now they are so glad that Zach went to school today because they got to eat sweets for breakfast. They don't understand why I'm so sad. It's just school, Mom. I'm totally going to throw those words back at them when their firstborns go to school for the first time.
And it's okay...
Even without my oldest, there's peace in the home today.
The light already on and the shower already running in the teenager's room.
Hmmm...it appears he can get out of bed early without being prompted. Who knew?
He's gotta be scared.
He's gotta be shaking with apprehension, right?
It's his first day attending a "real" school.
And he's not really attending. He's just shadowing a fellow student to get a feel for the way things work. It's only one day. But it's a big step.
I asked my husband this morning if he was a little sad that our baby was going to school.
"No, I'm not sad. I'm so excited for him," my husband declared.
Well, Good. For. You.
Because I'm kinda holding back some tears here.
I made him breakfast. An egg sandwich. As the tears polka-dotted the toast, I got a glimpse of my puffy eyes in the reflection off the microwave. Oh, this is going to be so embarrassing. Pull yourself together, Girl. So I lathered the tears on the toast with some butter and no one knew the difference. While I was at it, I made my husband an egg sandwich, too. Both my boys were surprised when they came down to a warm breakfast. I guess you have to go to school in this family to get good food in the morning.
The drive to school was sweet. I wasn't distracted. I listened to him. We laughed a bit. Twenty minutes of uninterrupted time with him. I purposed to parent. Because I knew I wouldn't have all day. We pulled up to the school with minutes to spare. We sat in the car and discussed his hair and swimming and whether he would ever be allowed to go to a dance. Lots of topics for just a couple minutes. As the clock ran out of stall time, we made our way through the front doors. I was dragging my feet...he was leading the way. I wanted to stop and take his first day of school picture, but I thought I'd wait. I'd wait until he really has his first day of school. And then I might embarrass the heck out of him. But not today.
The staff greeted us and welcomed him. Two boys that he knows walked through the front door and gave him a shoulder bump. The ninth grader that he's shadowing today came to get him and there were grins and laughter. As my baby walked down the halls of a school for the first time ever, he looked back at me. I didn't get a hug, or a kiss, or an I love you. We had said all that in the car. I got a wave and a head nod. A head nod that I know very well. A head nod that told me that indeed he was going to be just fine.
And I cried all the way home and made my face even more splotchy. I bought the other kids doughnuts, and now they are so glad that Zach went to school today because they got to eat sweets for breakfast. They don't understand why I'm so sad. It's just school, Mom. I'm totally going to throw those words back at them when their firstborns go to school for the first time.
And it's okay...
Even without my oldest, there's peace in the home today.
Monday, February 4, 2013
The Decision--Part 1
Since I process through words, this could be a series of thoughts. Or not.
I simply labeled it "Part 1" in case I need more space to analyze.
Because goodness knows my husband can't receive this much chatter.
We homeschool.
We never intended to homeschool and without a move to Las Vegas, we probably wouldn't have dared. Our journey began simply as the best alternative to the unimpressive Las Vegas schools.
We don't have a clear, long-term conviction that homeschooling is the only way.
We've always gone year by year.
Each spring, we evaluate how our children will be schooled the following year, and much to our surprise, the last nine years have led us to educate our kids in our home.
It's no secret that I have a tumultuous relationship with this method of schooling.
I love it...sometimes.
I don't love it...other times.
In a perfect world, my children would be home all day long with someone else schooling them.
I love my children home...it's the schooling part that gets me. But I'm willing...
Each year, we ask the Lord how He would want us to school the upcoming year.
The answer has been the same every year we have asked.
Keep them home.
A gradual shift has been taking place over the last year.
A page has been turning. A releasing of the oldest.
A gentle nudge toward another path. A slight beckoning that it might be time.
It might be time...
I can't say it very loud yet, so I'm going to whisper it and maybe my heart won't fully hear...
It might be time for my oldest to go to school.
It really might be time...
Early last week, our oldest went to a high school academic planning session. It's surreal to me that in a couple months I will have a highschooler. Surreal and scary. Surreal because I never thought I'd be old enough to have a child in high school. Scary because these next years will go so fast and I'm really not ready.
He came home from this meeting standing a little taller. Looking a little more grown-up. Talking a little faster than usual. Was it nerves or excitement? I couldn't tell.
We asked him how he envisioned his high school years.
He doesn't know...or so he says.
Or maybe it's that every time I ask him, I have big tears rolling down my face and I'm gripping his neck tightly in desperation (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration.) Maybe he really doesn't know what he envisions for high school...he can be indecisive. Or maybe he thinks my feelings will be hurt...he can be tenderhearted. Or maybe he's scared...just like me.
This is hard. It's hard because I love having him around. He's the oldest. My first baby. He and I have been through a lot together, and I hardly remember life before him. It's hard because if he goes to school our family dynamics will most definitely change. He leads his siblings. He's the peacemaker. He's a stabilizer. It's hard because I don't know that we've fully prepared him. Is he academically on target? Will he adjust? Will his teachers have a problem with him reading upside down?
Any mama understands the tight throat, the knot in the stomach, the aching heart when the firstborn goes to school. Our first day of school will just come nine years later than most. And is it possible it will be a little more emotional because I have a little taste of what I'll be giving up? There's so much I'll miss about having him home. The vision of him leaning over a Kindergartner's math lesson and helping her count coins. His sprawling body spread on the couch as we do Bible in the morning in pajamas. The quick kiss on the cheek as he grabs his sandwich for lunch. The random discussion that began with history, but continued on through math and then science. The field trip on a Friday with all of his siblings. Reading outloud and having him draw a correlation between what we're reading for fun and what we're learning in history. The spontaneous wrestling match between the brothers that interrupts writing. The "helpful" parenting tips he offers as a sister negotiates through her lessons. And..and...if I write any more about what I'll be missing, I might not even let him go to college. Moving on...
And then there's this one haunting fear--one that quickens my heart and causes me to look back at my anxiety notes from yesterday's sermon by Pastor Brett--a fear that I probably shouldn't even write, but maybe if I put it on paper, I will see the error of my thinking. What if he falls? What if we lose him? What if the faith we've planted falters? Will I forever look back on this decision as the loss of my sweet son as I know him? Even as I write that, it seems irrational. It seems faithless. It seems fearful. The faulty idea that keeping him home guarantees his heart. Can God not save my son wherever he is schooled? I know homeschooling will not save my son. Only Jesus will. And I've seen some fruit that makes me truly believe my son belongs to the Lord. And if that is true, nothing...nothing...NOTHING...can snatch him out of God's hands. Certainly not a school.
The decision is not made.
God might ask us to continue homeschooling him through high school.
But if He asks us to send him, I want to be ready.
Because I want to be excited for what God's going to do in his life, not sad about what it will cost me as a mama.
For tonight, I'm a little teary...but...
Just because I'm sad doesn't mean it's wrong
Just because I'm scared doesn't mean it shouldn't happen.
Just because things will change doesn't mean that it will be all bad.
If God asks us to send him, He will also equip my son...
And He will equip us to let him go...with joy.
I simply labeled it "Part 1" in case I need more space to analyze.
Because goodness knows my husband can't receive this much chatter.
We homeschool.
We never intended to homeschool and without a move to Las Vegas, we probably wouldn't have dared. Our journey began simply as the best alternative to the unimpressive Las Vegas schools.
We don't have a clear, long-term conviction that homeschooling is the only way.
We've always gone year by year.
Each spring, we evaluate how our children will be schooled the following year, and much to our surprise, the last nine years have led us to educate our kids in our home.
It's no secret that I have a tumultuous relationship with this method of schooling.
I love it...sometimes.
I don't love it...other times.
In a perfect world, my children would be home all day long with someone else schooling them.
I love my children home...it's the schooling part that gets me. But I'm willing...
Each year, we ask the Lord how He would want us to school the upcoming year.
The answer has been the same every year we have asked.
Keep them home.
A gradual shift has been taking place over the last year.
A page has been turning. A releasing of the oldest.
A gentle nudge toward another path. A slight beckoning that it might be time.
It might be time...
I can't say it very loud yet, so I'm going to whisper it and maybe my heart won't fully hear...
It might be time for my oldest to go to school.
It really might be time...
Early last week, our oldest went to a high school academic planning session. It's surreal to me that in a couple months I will have a highschooler. Surreal and scary. Surreal because I never thought I'd be old enough to have a child in high school. Scary because these next years will go so fast and I'm really not ready.
He came home from this meeting standing a little taller. Looking a little more grown-up. Talking a little faster than usual. Was it nerves or excitement? I couldn't tell.
We asked him how he envisioned his high school years.
He doesn't know...or so he says.
Or maybe it's that every time I ask him, I have big tears rolling down my face and I'm gripping his neck tightly in desperation (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration.) Maybe he really doesn't know what he envisions for high school...he can be indecisive. Or maybe he thinks my feelings will be hurt...he can be tenderhearted. Or maybe he's scared...just like me.
This is hard. It's hard because I love having him around. He's the oldest. My first baby. He and I have been through a lot together, and I hardly remember life before him. It's hard because if he goes to school our family dynamics will most definitely change. He leads his siblings. He's the peacemaker. He's a stabilizer. It's hard because I don't know that we've fully prepared him. Is he academically on target? Will he adjust? Will his teachers have a problem with him reading upside down?
Any mama understands the tight throat, the knot in the stomach, the aching heart when the firstborn goes to school. Our first day of school will just come nine years later than most. And is it possible it will be a little more emotional because I have a little taste of what I'll be giving up? There's so much I'll miss about having him home. The vision of him leaning over a Kindergartner's math lesson and helping her count coins. His sprawling body spread on the couch as we do Bible in the morning in pajamas. The quick kiss on the cheek as he grabs his sandwich for lunch. The random discussion that began with history, but continued on through math and then science. The field trip on a Friday with all of his siblings. Reading outloud and having him draw a correlation between what we're reading for fun and what we're learning in history. The spontaneous wrestling match between the brothers that interrupts writing. The "helpful" parenting tips he offers as a sister negotiates through her lessons. And..and...if I write any more about what I'll be missing, I might not even let him go to college. Moving on...
And then there's this one haunting fear--one that quickens my heart and causes me to look back at my anxiety notes from yesterday's sermon by Pastor Brett--a fear that I probably shouldn't even write, but maybe if I put it on paper, I will see the error of my thinking. What if he falls? What if we lose him? What if the faith we've planted falters? Will I forever look back on this decision as the loss of my sweet son as I know him? Even as I write that, it seems irrational. It seems faithless. It seems fearful. The faulty idea that keeping him home guarantees his heart. Can God not save my son wherever he is schooled? I know homeschooling will not save my son. Only Jesus will. And I've seen some fruit that makes me truly believe my son belongs to the Lord. And if that is true, nothing...nothing...NOTHING...can snatch him out of God's hands. Certainly not a school.
The decision is not made.
God might ask us to continue homeschooling him through high school.
But if He asks us to send him, I want to be ready.
Because I want to be excited for what God's going to do in his life, not sad about what it will cost me as a mama.
For tonight, I'm a little teary...but...
Just because I'm sad doesn't mean it's wrong
Just because I'm scared doesn't mean it shouldn't happen.
Just because things will change doesn't mean that it will be all bad.
If God asks us to send him, He will also equip my son...
And He will equip us to let him go...with joy.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Perseverance
Tension rose as one of my sons persevered through some math. He's generally a quick learner, but there's one concept that continues to confuse him. An entire page of math re-do's and a mom peering over his shoulder was enough to send him into an internal fury. (I often wonder if kids who learn quickly miss the important lesson of persevering through the difficult. That's a discussion for another day.) He worked and re-worked and then re-worked problem after problem. Each re-worked wrong answer revealed that in fact, he was not understanding the lesson. (Some might blame the teacher. Probably valid.)
Normally, I would sigh deeply, groan, and then raise my voice in a high-pitched nag and fiercely re-teach the lesson. (I also often wonder if a teacher who is spoiled with a quick-learning student fails to appreciate the art of patiently re-teaching. Never fear. I have a daughter providing me many an opportunity to re-teach...and re-teach...and re-teach.) Anyway, today, I decided to change my traditional, over-reactive, over-emotional approach and throw him a long-term vision.
"This is called perseverance. I'm proud of you for persevering through this difficult task right now. Your entire life you will have to persevere through something you don't like or you don't understand, and this is your training ground for that. Perseverance produces character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us." I thought inserting the scripture in Romans about perseverance was a nice touch.
Never one to mince words, he looked me straight in the eye and said,
"Well, I think perseverance sucks!"
Perseverance sucks.
It does kind of feel like it sucks at the time, doesn't it?
Perseverance when you want to quit.
Perseverance when you are facing a storm.
Perseverance when there seems to be no answer.
Perseverance when the answer isn't what you want.
Perseverance when there's something else you'd rather be doing.
Perseverance when breathing is just so hard.
Perseverance when you are just plain tired of waiting for Jesus to come back.
God's word says in Romans 5:3-5, "We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And HOPE does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us."
Perseverance feels like it sucks, but when you read that verse, my soul cries out for the strength to persevere. If we take God at His word, perseverance develops our character. The development of our character leads to our hope. And God's word says that this HOPE---hope in Him---won't disappoint us because this hope is not based on anything temporary. That's the hope that I want. The hope that is never disappointed because it is placed on something that cannot be taken away.
If working through silly math problems is one step in my son's journey of perseverance, then I'm thankful for the struggle for him. Someday, he'll have to persevere through something much more grand than the circumference of a semi-circle. This is his training ground.
Teach him, Lord, to persevere.
And I could use some refreshment in this area, too.
Because my heart's cry is often the same as his...
Perseverance sucks.
Normally, I would sigh deeply, groan, and then raise my voice in a high-pitched nag and fiercely re-teach the lesson. (I also often wonder if a teacher who is spoiled with a quick-learning student fails to appreciate the art of patiently re-teaching. Never fear. I have a daughter providing me many an opportunity to re-teach...and re-teach...and re-teach.) Anyway, today, I decided to change my traditional, over-reactive, over-emotional approach and throw him a long-term vision.
"This is called perseverance. I'm proud of you for persevering through this difficult task right now. Your entire life you will have to persevere through something you don't like or you don't understand, and this is your training ground for that. Perseverance produces character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us." I thought inserting the scripture in Romans about perseverance was a nice touch.
Never one to mince words, he looked me straight in the eye and said,
"Well, I think perseverance sucks!"
Perseverance sucks.
It does kind of feel like it sucks at the time, doesn't it?
Perseverance when you want to quit.
Perseverance when you are facing a storm.
Perseverance when there seems to be no answer.
Perseverance when the answer isn't what you want.
Perseverance when there's something else you'd rather be doing.
Perseverance when breathing is just so hard.
Perseverance when you are just plain tired of waiting for Jesus to come back.
God's word says in Romans 5:3-5, "We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And HOPE does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us."
Perseverance feels like it sucks, but when you read that verse, my soul cries out for the strength to persevere. If we take God at His word, perseverance develops our character. The development of our character leads to our hope. And God's word says that this HOPE---hope in Him---won't disappoint us because this hope is not based on anything temporary. That's the hope that I want. The hope that is never disappointed because it is placed on something that cannot be taken away.
If working through silly math problems is one step in my son's journey of perseverance, then I'm thankful for the struggle for him. Someday, he'll have to persevere through something much more grand than the circumference of a semi-circle. This is his training ground.
Teach him, Lord, to persevere.
And I could use some refreshment in this area, too.
Because my heart's cry is often the same as his...
Perseverance sucks.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Family Devotions
Family Devotions.
It's time to renew our commitment for family devotions.
That sentence alone makes me cranky.
We've renewed our commitment to have family devotions so many times that it's hard to get excited about another attempt.
My first thought is..."How many weeks will we make it before we fall off the wagon?"
We really, really, really want to have them. And we should have them.
Should. Want.
The should and the want are very different from the carrying-out part.
It's 2013.
Time to try again.
Let me clarify what I mean by family devotions.
The big kids read the Bible on their own.
The big kids and I do a Bible curriculum as part of school.
The little kids have a Bible storybook we read to them.
My husband reads his Bible on his Kindle at night to get out of putting the kids to bed.
The Bible IS OPEN daily in our home.
BUT...I have this vision of the seven of us spending time together while learning about God's Word. Maybe a fire in the fireplace warming the room. Maybe a little soft, classical music calming the chaos. Maybe all of the kids with their mouths closed and ears open. Maybe my husband and I smiling lovingly at each other as he teaches God's word and I nod in agreement.
Definitely just a vision at this point.
We picked Thursdays this year.
Let's try Thursdays for family devotions.
There's no rhyme or reason for picking that night. We've just tried every other night during the week and nothing has worked.
Looking at our track record, it's OBVIOUSLY the night's fault that we've quit so many times...not that there's anything wrong with our commitment to the devotions.
Thursdays it is.
So, we began two weeks ago.
Thursday evening came and almost went before my husband mentioned family devotion time.
Woo Hoo. I was sort of hoping he'd forget.
There was so much energy in the house that it hardly seemed like the best time to collect the children, but my husband disappeared to gather his family devotional material so I began to gather kids. Or herd cats.
I can be kind of whiny.
Why can't I gather the material and you gather the children, Dear Husband?
Because he still had to prepare and I certainly didn't want to be the one leading the devotion. Preparation time for devotions is as long as it takes all seven of us to find our way to one room.
It's generally plenty of time. There's always some battle to fight first.
Toddler and the Little Daughter wanted to invite some friends.
Teenager went to help Toddler with very specific instructions.
"Toddler can only bring 3 animals to devotions from his room. Three." Teenager smiled.
Middle daughter collected the three baby-dolls from the Little Daughter's room that would be joining us.
This is why we don't have family devotions. Getting ready for them is like an hour long process.
Finally, the majority of us arranged ourselves around our fearless leader.
Teenager and Toddler were still missing, but too bad.
In my mind, I flipped the switch for the fireplace.
What are we studying, Daddy?
That was when I noticed what was on my husband's lap.
His Bible. And Wayne Grudem's book entitled, Systematic Theology.
All 1167 pages of Systematic Theology.
Oh my.
He clearly thought too highly of my homeschooling efforts.
This could be a long night.
Before I could question the content we would be studying, Teenager entered with Toddler.
Five friends flowed from their arms. Five. Five. Five. And I couldn't let that go.
I had told him only three.
"I told you only three animals could join us. Go take two back."
It's a mystery to me why I picked that moment to be a stickler for the rules. I had let things slide all day, so I'm not sure why I chose to follow-through at that point. Maybe I was exerting my authority.
"But, but, but (Toddler stutters), I only brought three ANIMALS. This one guy is Spiderman. Not an animal. And this other thing is a dragon. Zach told me it's a...it's a..."
The Teenager interjected, "It's technically a mythical creature, so I thought he could bring it too."
Then Teenager smiled his charming smile. Gotcha.
So, there we sat...a dad, a mom, three boys, two girls, three baby dolls, three animals, Spiderman, and a dragon.
Kill the classical music in the background. It's just too much.
My husband told us we were going to be talking about why we need Jesus.
Start at the beginning. Good idea.
Second son piped up, "Do I need my Bible for this?"
"Are you kidding? Ummm, yeah, you need your Bible. Some people think a Bible is useful when we are actually reading the Bible."
Sarcasm has no place in family devotions.
But, seriously, "Do I need a Bible?"
Are we done yet?
My husband began by taking us through a brief overview of the Creation and the Fall.
He's a good speaker and he totally had their attention.
Cool. They are listening. Maybe 2013 will be different. The year of the successful family devotions.
Toddler disappeared, but we won't worry about him unless he's gone a really long time.
Then the study led to Abraham and the sacrifice of Isaac.
Again, the children are captivated. I'm kind of captivated, too.
My husband is good. He had us all under his spell.
Toddler returned. He brought his little toddler Bible and he opened it up on his lap.
Someone. Take. A. Picture.
Aren't we just the sweetest family ever?
Maybe for that moment we were. But it wouldn't last long. It never does.
Toddler interrupted.
"I want to tell you about Adam and Eve."
My husband furrowed his eyebrows.
The rest of us couldn't resist. The Toddler was just so incredibly cute.
Tell us, Noah. Tell us about Adam and Eve.
So he stood up and told us the story with full body action.
He told us about the Creation. He mentioned the fruit. He talked about the snake.
He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes dramatically.
"And then...and then...do you know what the snake said to Eve?"
"What did the snake say to Eve, Noah?"
I truly thought my three-year-old was going to quote from the Bible that the snake had said,
"Did God really tell you not to eat from that tree?'"
I honestly thought that's what he would say. He's smart enough for that.
We waited. Waited for his brilliance to shine.
"The snake said...the snake said..."
Noah made eye contact with each of us to make sure he had our undivided attention.
"The snake said....sssssssssssssss."
And he wagged his tongue back and forth at each of us just like a snake would do.
And then we all started to "ssssssssss" back at him.
Because of course that's what a 3-year-old would say a snake said.
It took minutes to turn the focus back to the devotions.
My husband did his best to keep us on track.
Together, all of us have only about a 5 minute attention span and we were pushing thirty minutes.
I wanted to say, "That's good for a first devotion," and give him the universal finger twirl for "WRAP THIS UP." But that seemed rude.
So, I interrupted instead with a nice, closing summary.
My husband looked at me quizzically. I looked at him hopefully.
"Good thought." He said. "But that wasn't really the point of what I read."
Oops. Should have kept my mouth shut. Not helpful.
He did wrap up our devotion.
Quite successful for our first one of 2013, I might add.
My husband asked the Teenager to pray.
As Zach and I were looking for a specific verse for him to pray for our family, the herd began talking. Kids began fidgeting. Stuffed animals began migrating.
My husband...the man who had just masterfully kept seven of us still and fairly quiet for 30 minutes...stood up and made his way to the center of the room.
As we all curiously watched, he proceeded to get in the push-up position and hold it for several seconds before he raised one arm and leg. And then he actually balanced like that.
"What is he doing?" I asked the Teenager.
"The plank, Mom. We did it tonight at soccer."
Middle daughter and I exchanged an eyebrow raise.
"Ummm...Honey...do you realize we haven't prayed yet?"
"Oh, okay. Zach go ahead and pray for us."
I'm really not sure if he stayed in the plank position for all of the prayer.
I was silently laughing so hard I couldn't even look up.
As the kids scattered, I couldn't help but ask.
"So, what was that?"
He innocently asked, "What was what?"
"The whole laying in the middle of the floor doing the plank thing at the end of devotions."
His eyes lit up with joy.
"I just wanted to see if I could do it."
He sheepishly added, "And I can."
Best family devotion night EVER.
I guess my family also had family devotions last week when I was gone.
Apparently, having the mom there is optional.
I'm told it went well.
My husband used my different personalities to describe the Trinity to the kids.
And the Teenager ended the devotion in the plank.
Oh well.
A friend recently told me that she had to get over her vision of how she thought things in her family should look and face the fact that they probably won't ever look that way.
Away with the fireplace, classical music, and closed mouths.
In with the snake noises, missing Bibles, and "the plank."
Family devotions will never look the way I envision.
Perhaps, God can still be glorified.
Even through the plank.
It's time to renew our commitment for family devotions.
That sentence alone makes me cranky.
We've renewed our commitment to have family devotions so many times that it's hard to get excited about another attempt.
My first thought is..."How many weeks will we make it before we fall off the wagon?"
We really, really, really want to have them. And we should have them.
Should. Want.
The should and the want are very different from the carrying-out part.
It's 2013.
Time to try again.
Let me clarify what I mean by family devotions.
The big kids read the Bible on their own.
The big kids and I do a Bible curriculum as part of school.
The little kids have a Bible storybook we read to them.
My husband reads his Bible on his Kindle at night to get out of putting the kids to bed.
The Bible IS OPEN daily in our home.
BUT...I have this vision of the seven of us spending time together while learning about God's Word. Maybe a fire in the fireplace warming the room. Maybe a little soft, classical music calming the chaos. Maybe all of the kids with their mouths closed and ears open. Maybe my husband and I smiling lovingly at each other as he teaches God's word and I nod in agreement.
Definitely just a vision at this point.
We picked Thursdays this year.
Let's try Thursdays for family devotions.
There's no rhyme or reason for picking that night. We've just tried every other night during the week and nothing has worked.
Looking at our track record, it's OBVIOUSLY the night's fault that we've quit so many times...not that there's anything wrong with our commitment to the devotions.
Thursdays it is.
So, we began two weeks ago.
Thursday evening came and almost went before my husband mentioned family devotion time.
Woo Hoo. I was sort of hoping he'd forget.
There was so much energy in the house that it hardly seemed like the best time to collect the children, but my husband disappeared to gather his family devotional material so I began to gather kids. Or herd cats.
I can be kind of whiny.
Why can't I gather the material and you gather the children, Dear Husband?
Because he still had to prepare and I certainly didn't want to be the one leading the devotion. Preparation time for devotions is as long as it takes all seven of us to find our way to one room.
It's generally plenty of time. There's always some battle to fight first.
Toddler and the Little Daughter wanted to invite some friends.
Teenager went to help Toddler with very specific instructions.
"Toddler can only bring 3 animals to devotions from his room. Three." Teenager smiled.
Middle daughter collected the three baby-dolls from the Little Daughter's room that would be joining us.
This is why we don't have family devotions. Getting ready for them is like an hour long process.
Finally, the majority of us arranged ourselves around our fearless leader.
Teenager and Toddler were still missing, but too bad.
In my mind, I flipped the switch for the fireplace.
What are we studying, Daddy?
That was when I noticed what was on my husband's lap.
His Bible. And Wayne Grudem's book entitled, Systematic Theology.
All 1167 pages of Systematic Theology.
Oh my.
He clearly thought too highly of my homeschooling efforts.
This could be a long night.
Before I could question the content we would be studying, Teenager entered with Toddler.
Five friends flowed from their arms. Five. Five. Five. And I couldn't let that go.
I had told him only three.
"I told you only three animals could join us. Go take two back."
It's a mystery to me why I picked that moment to be a stickler for the rules. I had let things slide all day, so I'm not sure why I chose to follow-through at that point. Maybe I was exerting my authority.
"But, but, but (Toddler stutters), I only brought three ANIMALS. This one guy is Spiderman. Not an animal. And this other thing is a dragon. Zach told me it's a...it's a..."
The Teenager interjected, "It's technically a mythical creature, so I thought he could bring it too."
Then Teenager smiled his charming smile. Gotcha.
So, there we sat...a dad, a mom, three boys, two girls, three baby dolls, three animals, Spiderman, and a dragon.
Kill the classical music in the background. It's just too much.
My husband told us we were going to be talking about why we need Jesus.
Start at the beginning. Good idea.
Second son piped up, "Do I need my Bible for this?"
"Are you kidding? Ummm, yeah, you need your Bible. Some people think a Bible is useful when we are actually reading the Bible."
Sarcasm has no place in family devotions.
But, seriously, "Do I need a Bible?"
Are we done yet?
My husband began by taking us through a brief overview of the Creation and the Fall.
He's a good speaker and he totally had their attention.
Cool. They are listening. Maybe 2013 will be different. The year of the successful family devotions.
Toddler disappeared, but we won't worry about him unless he's gone a really long time.
Then the study led to Abraham and the sacrifice of Isaac.
Again, the children are captivated. I'm kind of captivated, too.
My husband is good. He had us all under his spell.
Toddler returned. He brought his little toddler Bible and he opened it up on his lap.
Someone. Take. A. Picture.
Aren't we just the sweetest family ever?
Maybe for that moment we were. But it wouldn't last long. It never does.
Toddler interrupted.
"I want to tell you about Adam and Eve."
My husband furrowed his eyebrows.
The rest of us couldn't resist. The Toddler was just so incredibly cute.
Tell us, Noah. Tell us about Adam and Eve.
So he stood up and told us the story with full body action.
He told us about the Creation. He mentioned the fruit. He talked about the snake.
He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes dramatically.
"And then...and then...do you know what the snake said to Eve?"
"What did the snake say to Eve, Noah?"
I truly thought my three-year-old was going to quote from the Bible that the snake had said,
"Did God really tell you not to eat from that tree?'"
I honestly thought that's what he would say. He's smart enough for that.
We waited. Waited for his brilliance to shine.
"The snake said...the snake said..."
Noah made eye contact with each of us to make sure he had our undivided attention.
"The snake said....sssssssssssssss."
And he wagged his tongue back and forth at each of us just like a snake would do.
And then we all started to "ssssssssss" back at him.
Because of course that's what a 3-year-old would say a snake said.
It took minutes to turn the focus back to the devotions.
My husband did his best to keep us on track.
Together, all of us have only about a 5 minute attention span and we were pushing thirty minutes.
I wanted to say, "That's good for a first devotion," and give him the universal finger twirl for "WRAP THIS UP." But that seemed rude.
So, I interrupted instead with a nice, closing summary.
My husband looked at me quizzically. I looked at him hopefully.
"Good thought." He said. "But that wasn't really the point of what I read."
Oops. Should have kept my mouth shut. Not helpful.
He did wrap up our devotion.
Quite successful for our first one of 2013, I might add.
My husband asked the Teenager to pray.
As Zach and I were looking for a specific verse for him to pray for our family, the herd began talking. Kids began fidgeting. Stuffed animals began migrating.
My husband...the man who had just masterfully kept seven of us still and fairly quiet for 30 minutes...stood up and made his way to the center of the room.
As we all curiously watched, he proceeded to get in the push-up position and hold it for several seconds before he raised one arm and leg. And then he actually balanced like that.
"What is he doing?" I asked the Teenager.
"The plank, Mom. We did it tonight at soccer."
Middle daughter and I exchanged an eyebrow raise.
"Ummm...Honey...do you realize we haven't prayed yet?"
"Oh, okay. Zach go ahead and pray for us."
I'm really not sure if he stayed in the plank position for all of the prayer.
I was silently laughing so hard I couldn't even look up.
As the kids scattered, I couldn't help but ask.
"So, what was that?"
He innocently asked, "What was what?"
"The whole laying in the middle of the floor doing the plank thing at the end of devotions."
His eyes lit up with joy.
"I just wanted to see if I could do it."
He sheepishly added, "And I can."
Best family devotion night EVER.
I guess my family also had family devotions last week when I was gone.
Apparently, having the mom there is optional.
I'm told it went well.
My husband used my different personalities to describe the Trinity to the kids.
And the Teenager ended the devotion in the plank.
Oh well.
A friend recently told me that she had to get over her vision of how she thought things in her family should look and face the fact that they probably won't ever look that way.
Away with the fireplace, classical music, and closed mouths.
In with the snake noises, missing Bibles, and "the plank."
Family devotions will never look the way I envision.
Perhaps, God can still be glorified.
Even through the plank.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Happy New Year 2013!
Happy New Year 2013.
Could it be any wonder we had some spiritual hurdles this year? Savannah accepted Christ as her Savior. Hallelujah! The very next day confirmed her need for a Savior when she proudly taught her preschool class the song, “We’re Sexy and We Know It!” (Clap. Clap. Head wag.) Noah assured a preschool helper that in fact Spiderman WAS stronger than Jesus because Jesus does not have any REAL super powers. And Madelin. Sweet Madelin told her co-op class that prostitution (she meant persecution) spread the early church. Sexy dances. Powerless Jesus. Prostitution . The lessons are limitless.
Our year was full. A family trip to the beach. A new niece (Finlay Michelle...but I’m not proud J). Friends. Family. Colorado. Georgia. Lake weekends. Service at the church. Youth group. Gymnastics. Dance. Soccer. Swimming. Football. School. Work. Tears. Laughter. Groans. Praises. Living life is so daily. The sinfulness and goodness bound up in our children continue to amaze us, and every part of our daily life leads plenty of opportunity for both to be seen. The sinfulness of their selfishness. The goodness of their selflessness. The sinfulness of their greed. The goodness of their generosity. The sinfulness of their pride. The goodness of their relationships with the Lord. Yep, we can say with certainty, they are taking after their parents.
Does it seem exhaustive that our Christmas update each year describes each child? With five children, they are so often lumped together as “one of the McConnell kids.” To us, they are so much more, and each year we love introducing them and their own unique personalities and roles within our family.
The teenager. Zach, 14, loves deeply, provides comic commentary, leads quietly, and tests the rules. He’s an excellent brother and friend, and values people above all else. Watching the transition of boy to man has been exciting and humbling for us. He’s active in his youth group and seems to have a gift for reaching out and bringing others in. Football, soccer, and swimming are his sports. Writing…and well, more writing are his favorite subjects. His future plans may include going to the Air Force Academy…or living in our basement. The verdict is still out, but here’s a big cheer for Plan A.
The drama queen. Savannah, 6, is lovely, tenderhearted, and oh-so-dramatic. She loves dancing, baby dolls, and playing with her little brother. Homemade cards for us appear all over the house and she’s very quick to believe the best in others (including President Obama—she’s a closet Democrat.) She’s fearless on snow skis and the boogie board, yet simple tasks like hair-brushing end in hysterics, “I’m going to leave this town!” (What?) Reading is…coming along. Before any test we give her in school, she asks, “Are you judging me, now?” Child, a test is different than a judgment. But yes, we are judging you, too.
We pray that same HOPE for you in 2013.
Slow. Down. Time. How can it be time to celebrate another New
Year? I’m not ready. Our children are growing up and they aren’t
properly trained! Ahhh. We haven’t finished (or even started) what we
wanted to get done in 2012, so how can we be ushering in another year? The tension constantly exists between
wanting to hang on tightly to our family as we know it, yet somehow keeping our
hands wide open to allow time to do what it does…and change things.
God never changes. That’s our anchor as every year we realize
that life is constantly changing. New
ages, new phases, new attitudes, new trials, new successes, new sorrows, new
joys. Just life. The ever-fluid dynamics
of life lead us craving our Heavenly Father, who always stays the same. His Word doesn’t change--the rules in our
home do. Our Lord is dependable—we’ve
been known to disappoint. God richly supplies all our needs, plus more--we meet
needs according to the budget. God is
Sovereign--we pretend to be. God is
patient…we can be quick-tempered. God
whispers…what’s a whisper? Thankfully,
we can point our children to an anchor that is steadfast, loving, and always faithful. Because our consistent inconsistencies would
surely ruin them otherwise J.
Could it be any wonder we had some spiritual hurdles this year? Savannah accepted Christ as her Savior. Hallelujah! The very next day confirmed her need for a Savior when she proudly taught her preschool class the song, “We’re Sexy and We Know It!” (Clap. Clap. Head wag.) Noah assured a preschool helper that in fact Spiderman WAS stronger than Jesus because Jesus does not have any REAL super powers. And Madelin. Sweet Madelin told her co-op class that prostitution (she meant persecution) spread the early church. Sexy dances. Powerless Jesus. Prostitution . The lessons are limitless.
Our year was full. A family trip to the beach. A new niece (Finlay Michelle...but I’m not proud J). Friends. Family. Colorado. Georgia. Lake weekends. Service at the church. Youth group. Gymnastics. Dance. Soccer. Swimming. Football. School. Work. Tears. Laughter. Groans. Praises. Living life is so daily. The sinfulness and goodness bound up in our children continue to amaze us, and every part of our daily life leads plenty of opportunity for both to be seen. The sinfulness of their selfishness. The goodness of their selflessness. The sinfulness of their greed. The goodness of their generosity. The sinfulness of their pride. The goodness of their relationships with the Lord. Yep, we can say with certainty, they are taking after their parents.
Does it seem exhaustive that our Christmas update each year describes each child? With five children, they are so often lumped together as “one of the McConnell kids.” To us, they are so much more, and each year we love introducing them and their own unique personalities and roles within our family.
The teenager. Zach, 14, loves deeply, provides comic commentary, leads quietly, and tests the rules. He’s an excellent brother and friend, and values people above all else. Watching the transition of boy to man has been exciting and humbling for us. He’s active in his youth group and seems to have a gift for reaching out and bringing others in. Football, soccer, and swimming are his sports. Writing…and well, more writing are his favorite subjects. His future plans may include going to the Air Force Academy…or living in our basement. The verdict is still out, but here’s a big cheer for Plan A.
The rule-follower. Josh, 11, shares feelings honestly, lives
energetically, focuses intensely, and speaks openly. He’s a rule-follower and task tackler by
nature and loves to be in our good graces (Amen!). Soccer, football, swimming, and piano are his
activities. Josh is gentle off the field
playing beautiful pieces on the piano, but quite the touchdown runner with a football
in his hands. He gathers friends and loves
people. Math is his favorite subject. He will “NEVER” live in our basement, but
will possibly “allow his parents to someday live in HIS basement.” Retirement…done.
The middle-child. Madelin, 9, loves, loves, loves being the
middle child. (What is wrong with her?)
She loves playing “up” with her big brothers and playing “down” with her little
siblings. She competes with the boys,
yet plays make-believe with her sister. She’s
a dancing soccer player, who happens to have a pretty good freestyle in the
pool. Madelin blessed us with many
mornings of cinnamon rolls, and well, music. She’s our resident DJ. Her sweet spirit softens our home and her
spunkiness refreshes us.
The drama queen. Savannah, 6, is lovely, tenderhearted, and oh-so-dramatic. She loves dancing, baby dolls, and playing with her little brother. Homemade cards for us appear all over the house and she’s very quick to believe the best in others (including President Obama—she’s a closet Democrat.) She’s fearless on snow skis and the boogie board, yet simple tasks like hair-brushing end in hysterics, “I’m going to leave this town!” (What?) Reading is…coming along. Before any test we give her in school, she asks, “Are you judging me, now?” Child, a test is different than a judgment. But yes, we are judging you, too.
The story-teller. Noah, 3, is articulate, animated, and
bright-eyed in all that he says and does.
HE SPEAKS IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.
He masterfully weaves Jesus, Spiderman, and sledding into believable
stories that leave us begging for more of his tales. He runs
with the boys (always wearing his cowboy boots,) plays Barbie’s with the girls
(maybe in a Batman mask,) and drinks coffee with me (with lots of cream.) He’s everyone’s buddy, and we work
tirelessly to be his favorite. Noah
reminds the bigger kids of the fun in having an imagination, and reminds his
parents of how quickly childhood flies.
Preston began the year in
Afghanistan focused on protecting the guys on the ground in his A-10. Do I really need to say again that he loves
it? Their deployment sign said, “The Mission is the 18-year-old on the ground
with a rifle. All else is support.” I have my own version of that motto. “The
Mission is the husband, and the 14, 11, 9, 6, 3 year-olds in the home. All else should be hired outJ.” I’m
mostly kidding, but I do often daydream about having a full-time housekeeper,
cook, driver, and scheduler, so I can sit and simply read to my children all day. Apparently, I still need my mom.
Preston read the entire Bible
this year. I gave up in March. Preston boogie boarded. I snowboarded. Preston volunteers for Awanas. I find subs for my nursery shift. Preston turned 40. I think I got a new wrinkle (Savannah
assured me it’s not new. It’s always
been there.) Preston talks to the
neighbors. I shut the garage door
quickly. He likes movie night with
the kids. I like reading night with the
kids. It would seem both of us are
needed in this house.
Seventeen years. We stand amazed that 17 years have passed
since we said our vows. We had no idea
what we were in for all those years ago, and we stand amazed at God’s
faithfulness to us. Amazed He has
preserved our family. Amazed we are
finding joy in the journey. Amazed that
His grace could really be that great.
We HOPE in Jesus…the author of our faith…the joy of our salvation…the secret
to peace in this crazy world. Our HOPE
in the Lord will NEVER disappoint.
We pray that same HOPE for you in 2013.
God Sees
When your child is missing, there's a brief period of time when you know they must be right there.
They just can't hear me. They must be hiding. They have got to be here.
The more time that passes, the more the panic rises.
Where are they?
Why aren't they answering?
Frantically, you search and search, knowing that they must be here.
Under the bed. In the backyard. Maybe in the closet.
I don't know how much time passes before you begin thinking the worst.
It's probably not too long before your mind begins racing.
Time stands completely still.
Completely and utterly stops...life ceases...your heart and mind explode...
Where. Is. My. Child.
My brother and sister-in-law had one of those heart-wrenching experiences a couple nights ago.
My sister-in-law out for a walk with the dog. The dog that would bark if anyone came anywhere near the house. The watch dog.
My brother in the basement with the three kids. Watching cartoons...and maybe a little football.
The four-year-old goes upstairs.
The front door is unlocked.
How much time passes is unknown, but there comes a moment when mom comes back and dad comes upstairs when they realize...where is Owen?
He's obviously hiding. He's maybe fallen asleep somewhere. But where?
Why won't he answer?
Both search the house...the closets...the basement...the garage...
Outside?
Did he go looking for mom? Did he open the front door and wander the Denver neighborhood knowing that mom was for a walk? Or worse...did someone come in the house through the unlocked door?
That's improbable...but when your child is missing...improbable becomes real and very terrifying...
It was freezing. It was getting dark.
Where is he? The neighbors? No one had seen him, but they join in the hunt.
And the police are called.
Because it makes sense that he's somewhere in the house, but what if...what if he's not...
My mom is called.
And I am called.
Pray. Just pray. He's missing.
My brother drives around the neighborhood.
Runs through the nearby parks.
It's getting dark. And it's so cold.
Where could he be?
Forty-five minutes is too long.
He runs back into the house hoping for good news, but the look on his wife's face tells him that in fact, the little boy has not been found.
The policeman continues his search. Calmly. Methodically. They get calls on this and normally the child is found in the home...asleep somewhere.
But what if? What if?
And they've already looked a dozen times.
Where could he be?
They, again, search the bedrooms.
Under the beds...in the closets...
The sheets...the sheets haven't been thrown off the beds...
The pillows are lifted...the ones that look completely undisturbed...
And under the pillows, the sweetest little feet that my brother had ever seen...
Laying flat under the pillows lay a small child wearing shorts and a t-shirt...sound asleep.
The life of a family unraveling as they search for a little boy that was never in any real danger.
Relief...and weeping...
The little boy safe and warm, and safe and warm.
Thank. You. Jesus.
God knew the whole time where Owen was.
I imagine as they frantically searched and hearts picked up speed, the Lord's eyes never left my nephew. What a beautiful picture to envision the Lord's eyes keeping watch as he slept.
God's eyes see all.
That's an incredibly uncomfortable fact when we are living in sin.
Where can I go where He will not find me?
Can I go anywhere where He won't see?
But what a relief that God sees ALL when your child is missing.
God knows. He sees. He sees.
I'm so thankful that as we prayed for my little nephew and begged God to show them where he was,
that our God knew and protected and directed.
A first-grader sitting in a classroom. God sees.
A mom leaving her child with a babysitter. God sees.
A teenager driving alone for the first time. God sees.
A group of college students spending their first night away from home in the dorms. God sees.
A family at the beach trying to keep track of all their kids. God sees.
A husband on a trip far from his family. God sees.
A daughter who has wandered far from home and the faith she knows. God sees.
A widow, alone and burdened by daily life. God sees.
A four-year-old missing as the night grows cold. God sees.
Psalm 139:7-12
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far
side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand
will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light becomes night around me,"
Even darkness will not be dark to you;
for night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
They just can't hear me. They must be hiding. They have got to be here.
The more time that passes, the more the panic rises.
Where are they?
Why aren't they answering?
Frantically, you search and search, knowing that they must be here.
Under the bed. In the backyard. Maybe in the closet.
I don't know how much time passes before you begin thinking the worst.
It's probably not too long before your mind begins racing.
Time stands completely still.
Completely and utterly stops...life ceases...your heart and mind explode...
Where. Is. My. Child.
My brother and sister-in-law had one of those heart-wrenching experiences a couple nights ago.
My sister-in-law out for a walk with the dog. The dog that would bark if anyone came anywhere near the house. The watch dog.
My brother in the basement with the three kids. Watching cartoons...and maybe a little football.
The four-year-old goes upstairs.
The front door is unlocked.
How much time passes is unknown, but there comes a moment when mom comes back and dad comes upstairs when they realize...where is Owen?
He's obviously hiding. He's maybe fallen asleep somewhere. But where?
Why won't he answer?
Both search the house...the closets...the basement...the garage...
Outside?
Did he go looking for mom? Did he open the front door and wander the Denver neighborhood knowing that mom was for a walk? Or worse...did someone come in the house through the unlocked door?
That's improbable...but when your child is missing...improbable becomes real and very terrifying...
It was freezing. It was getting dark.
Where is he? The neighbors? No one had seen him, but they join in the hunt.
And the police are called.
Because it makes sense that he's somewhere in the house, but what if...what if he's not...
My mom is called.
And I am called.
Pray. Just pray. He's missing.
My brother drives around the neighborhood.
Runs through the nearby parks.
It's getting dark. And it's so cold.
Where could he be?
Forty-five minutes is too long.
He runs back into the house hoping for good news, but the look on his wife's face tells him that in fact, the little boy has not been found.
The policeman continues his search. Calmly. Methodically. They get calls on this and normally the child is found in the home...asleep somewhere.
But what if? What if?
And they've already looked a dozen times.
Where could he be?
They, again, search the bedrooms.
Under the beds...in the closets...
The sheets...the sheets haven't been thrown off the beds...
The pillows are lifted...the ones that look completely undisturbed...
And under the pillows, the sweetest little feet that my brother had ever seen...
Laying flat under the pillows lay a small child wearing shorts and a t-shirt...sound asleep.
The life of a family unraveling as they search for a little boy that was never in any real danger.
Relief...and weeping...
The little boy safe and warm, and safe and warm.
Thank. You. Jesus.
God knew the whole time where Owen was.
I imagine as they frantically searched and hearts picked up speed, the Lord's eyes never left my nephew. What a beautiful picture to envision the Lord's eyes keeping watch as he slept.
God's eyes see all.
That's an incredibly uncomfortable fact when we are living in sin.
Where can I go where He will not find me?
Can I go anywhere where He won't see?
But what a relief that God sees ALL when your child is missing.
God knows. He sees. He sees.
I'm so thankful that as we prayed for my little nephew and begged God to show them where he was,
that our God knew and protected and directed.
A first-grader sitting in a classroom. God sees.
A mom leaving her child with a babysitter. God sees.
A teenager driving alone for the first time. God sees.
A group of college students spending their first night away from home in the dorms. God sees.
A family at the beach trying to keep track of all their kids. God sees.
A husband on a trip far from his family. God sees.
A daughter who has wandered far from home and the faith she knows. God sees.
A widow, alone and burdened by daily life. God sees.
A four-year-old missing as the night grows cold. God sees.
Psalm 139:7-12
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far
side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand
will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light becomes night around me,"
Even darkness will not be dark to you;
for night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Cheesecake
We have our family Christmas before Christmas because we always travel to Colorado.
The Saturday before we head out for the holiday, we've established a family tradition, thanks to my aunt and uncle, who treat us financially to a family day for our Christmas present.
We ice skate at Crown Center, gorge ourselves at The Cheesecake Factory, see a movie (this year we saw Wreck It, Ralph), and open our family presents.
The day is always one of the highlights of our Christmas week.
This year was no different, but we started with lunch first.
Because it's good to be sickening full of food when you ice skate.
As we practically skipped with excitement toward The Cheesecake Factory, a man on crutches stood out front. Dressed in layers of clothing trying to keep warm, he was holding a cup for money. The kids remembered him there last year too.
He joyfully smiled at people walking by. You couldn't help but want to give this man a big hug.
Money for my daughter's Christmas present? Have a blessed day.
My children slowed as we neared him.
They love to give generously...my coins...and so they begged me for some money to put in his cup.
It's amazing how generous they are with someone else's money.
I, however, firmly believe that children asking to give money to someone else should rarely be denied. It's just a thing I have. Who am I to judge the worth of the receiver?
Give, Children, give.
They are too young to become hardened to need.
That will come in time, I'm sure.
But as long as they are under our roof, if we have the money, we let our children give.
We gorged ourselves on fabulous food and prepared to leave with two bags full of leftovers.
My nine-year-old daughter had the idea.
Let's buy him a hamburger.
My husband and I looked at each other.
The waitress brought our bag of leftovers.
Well, we could give him our leftovers...
Our leftovers? Food we'd touched, took bites out of, germified...
The kids were mortified. Give him our leftovers, Mom?
The hamburger was going to take fifteen minutes and we were short on time.
"How about cheesecake?" a child suggested as we packed up.
"No, he doesn't need cheesecake," an adult offered practically.
We walked out...empty handed of gifts for the man on the street...heads somewhat downcast...carrying our excess food.
We slipped some more money in his cup, but I couldn't help but think that we somehow missed an awesome opportunity to foster the generosity of children and teach them a bigger lesson.
I woke up thinking about cheesecake this morning.
Lessons learned sometimes take days to hit me.
Cheesecake would have been a great idea.
Cheesecake for the man on the street.
Because isn't that what God does for us?
We deserve nothing.
He saved our souls from eternal hell with His death on the cross.
That's more than enough.
Yet, He gives us cheesecake too.
Children, houses, sunsets, warmth, laughter, love, hope, families, churches, joy, celebrations, coffee, snow, flowers, light, animals, hugs, kindness, and so much more.
And cheesecake.
We should have bought the man on the street a cheesecake.
And we should have done that telling our children,
"This is what your Heavenly Father has done for you."
The Saturday before we head out for the holiday, we've established a family tradition, thanks to my aunt and uncle, who treat us financially to a family day for our Christmas present.
We ice skate at Crown Center, gorge ourselves at The Cheesecake Factory, see a movie (this year we saw Wreck It, Ralph), and open our family presents.
The day is always one of the highlights of our Christmas week.
This year was no different, but we started with lunch first.
Because it's good to be sickening full of food when you ice skate.
As we practically skipped with excitement toward The Cheesecake Factory, a man on crutches stood out front. Dressed in layers of clothing trying to keep warm, he was holding a cup for money. The kids remembered him there last year too.
He joyfully smiled at people walking by. You couldn't help but want to give this man a big hug.
Money for my daughter's Christmas present? Have a blessed day.
My children slowed as we neared him.
They love to give generously...my coins...and so they begged me for some money to put in his cup.
It's amazing how generous they are with someone else's money.
I, however, firmly believe that children asking to give money to someone else should rarely be denied. It's just a thing I have. Who am I to judge the worth of the receiver?
Give, Children, give.
They are too young to become hardened to need.
That will come in time, I'm sure.
But as long as they are under our roof, if we have the money, we let our children give.
We gorged ourselves on fabulous food and prepared to leave with two bags full of leftovers.
My nine-year-old daughter had the idea.
Let's buy him a hamburger.
My husband and I looked at each other.
The waitress brought our bag of leftovers.
Well, we could give him our leftovers...
Our leftovers? Food we'd touched, took bites out of, germified...
The kids were mortified. Give him our leftovers, Mom?
The hamburger was going to take fifteen minutes and we were short on time.
"How about cheesecake?" a child suggested as we packed up.
"No, he doesn't need cheesecake," an adult offered practically.
We walked out...empty handed of gifts for the man on the street...heads somewhat downcast...carrying our excess food.
We slipped some more money in his cup, but I couldn't help but think that we somehow missed an awesome opportunity to foster the generosity of children and teach them a bigger lesson.
I woke up thinking about cheesecake this morning.
Lessons learned sometimes take days to hit me.
Cheesecake would have been a great idea.
Cheesecake for the man on the street.
Because isn't that what God does for us?
We deserve nothing.
He saved our souls from eternal hell with His death on the cross.
That's more than enough.
Yet, He gives us cheesecake too.
Children, houses, sunsets, warmth, laughter, love, hope, families, churches, joy, celebrations, coffee, snow, flowers, light, animals, hugs, kindness, and so much more.
And cheesecake.
We should have bought the man on the street a cheesecake.
And we should have done that telling our children,
"This is what your Heavenly Father has done for you."
My 6-Year-Old
All of the sudden I can't get enough of my 6-year-old.
Her beautiful long hair.
Her shining eyes.
Her pout.
I can't stop touching her. Hugging her. Pulling her close.
I have an insatiable appetite for all of my kids right now, but particularly the 6-year-old.
Because I still have her today. And I feel so blessed.
Several nights ago, I lost sleep because of her.
I wasn't home and my older son was watching her for thirty minutes before my husband got home.
My cell phone rang not too long after I had left.
"Savannah swallowed a metal ball."
I knew exactly the ball he was talking about. It's slightly larger than a marble and it belongs to a magnet kit the kids own. It's the perfect choker.
He didn't sound overly stressed though, just a little annoyed.
"Can she breathe?"
"She's freaking out, Mom."
My heart began racing.
"Freaking out because she can't breathe or freaking out because she swallowed it and she's scared?"
"She can breathe. She's just totally freaking out."
"Put her on the phone."
And then the mostly beautiful thing I'd heard that week.
Her crying, hysterical voice.
Because if she was crying, she was breathing.
We talked for a bit and she calmed down as my heart slowly began to settle.
She's fine. She can breathe. She's fine. She can breathe. Be still my heart.
In a second, you realize how quickly life could change.
I laid in bed late that night fighting different scenarios in my mind.
As I tossed and turned, I failed repeatedly to cast those thoughts on to the Lord.
Over and over again, fear pounced. Something terrible could have happened...and I wouldn't have been there...I wouldn't have been there...I wouldn't have been there...
God would have been there, though.
But I want to be there, Lord. I want to be there.
And then Connecticut.
I've laid in the bed these last nights, I'm sure like so many others, and imagined myself as one of those parents. Could anything hurt worse than what they are going through?
I've imagined too much.
I've imagined being a mom, whose child had a slight runny nose that morning, but she thought that it would be no big deal. It's just a runny nose. Go on to school.
I've imagined being the mom, whose 6-year-old child was only a little sick, but she chose to keep her child home from school that day. Stay home today, Little One. We have a big weekend planned and we need you well.
I've imagined being the mom...this would be me...the one who was a little too short-tempered at bedtime the night before and hastily put her kids in bed because they were crabby and she was tired. I'd like her to have that night back to do differently.
This burden is just too heavy to carry.
I've imagined carrying this load and I crumble every time.
My mom always shares her hard-earned wisdom with me, and as a teen I remember being particularly troubled by a trial that was facing a friend. I was overwhelmed for my friend and I questioned if I would ever be strong enough to carry something so big, "If God asked you to carry such a load, He would help you. He's not asking you to carry this, so you don't have the strength for it. You can't carry a load not meant for you. You can't imagine the strength He would give you if this was truly yours to carry."
I'm trusting that God will do the carrying for those Connecticut parents.
Because when I imagine how heavy this burden must be...
It's more than anyone can stand.
And then this thought keeps haunting me.
Could I praise you, Lord?
Could I praise you?
Could I praise Him?
Would I fall into His arms knowing that He is good...He is good...He is good...somehow, even in this, God is still good.
Or would I curl up in the fetal position, close my fists, and shake them at Him?
I don't know.
I've not been tested in such a way.
I want to have the faith that praises Him.
No matter what.
But I really don't want to know if God is big enough to carry something of this size.
I really don't.
GOD IS GOOD.
GOD IS SOVEREIGN.
GOD WORKS ALL THINGS...ALL THINGS...ALL THINGS...FOR GOOD FOR THOSE WHO LOVE HIM WHO HAVE BEEN CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS PURPOSE.
But Lord, this would be a great week for you to come back.
Living in this world hurts.
Come back for your birthday.
Her beautiful long hair.
Her shining eyes.
Her pout.
I can't stop touching her. Hugging her. Pulling her close.
I have an insatiable appetite for all of my kids right now, but particularly the 6-year-old.
Because I still have her today. And I feel so blessed.
Several nights ago, I lost sleep because of her.
I wasn't home and my older son was watching her for thirty minutes before my husband got home.
My cell phone rang not too long after I had left.
"Savannah swallowed a metal ball."
I knew exactly the ball he was talking about. It's slightly larger than a marble and it belongs to a magnet kit the kids own. It's the perfect choker.
He didn't sound overly stressed though, just a little annoyed.
"Can she breathe?"
"She's freaking out, Mom."
My heart began racing.
"Freaking out because she can't breathe or freaking out because she swallowed it and she's scared?"
"She can breathe. She's just totally freaking out."
"Put her on the phone."
And then the mostly beautiful thing I'd heard that week.
Her crying, hysterical voice.
Because if she was crying, she was breathing.
We talked for a bit and she calmed down as my heart slowly began to settle.
She's fine. She can breathe. She's fine. She can breathe. Be still my heart.
In a second, you realize how quickly life could change.
I laid in bed late that night fighting different scenarios in my mind.
As I tossed and turned, I failed repeatedly to cast those thoughts on to the Lord.
Over and over again, fear pounced. Something terrible could have happened...and I wouldn't have been there...I wouldn't have been there...I wouldn't have been there...
God would have been there, though.
But I want to be there, Lord. I want to be there.
And then Connecticut.
I've laid in the bed these last nights, I'm sure like so many others, and imagined myself as one of those parents. Could anything hurt worse than what they are going through?
I've imagined too much.
I've imagined being a mom, whose child had a slight runny nose that morning, but she thought that it would be no big deal. It's just a runny nose. Go on to school.
I've imagined being the mom, whose 6-year-old child was only a little sick, but she chose to keep her child home from school that day. Stay home today, Little One. We have a big weekend planned and we need you well.
I've imagined being the mom...this would be me...the one who was a little too short-tempered at bedtime the night before and hastily put her kids in bed because they were crabby and she was tired. I'd like her to have that night back to do differently.
This burden is just too heavy to carry.
I've imagined carrying this load and I crumble every time.
My mom always shares her hard-earned wisdom with me, and as a teen I remember being particularly troubled by a trial that was facing a friend. I was overwhelmed for my friend and I questioned if I would ever be strong enough to carry something so big, "If God asked you to carry such a load, He would help you. He's not asking you to carry this, so you don't have the strength for it. You can't carry a load not meant for you. You can't imagine the strength He would give you if this was truly yours to carry."
I'm trusting that God will do the carrying for those Connecticut parents.
Because when I imagine how heavy this burden must be...
It's more than anyone can stand.
And then this thought keeps haunting me.
Could I praise you, Lord?
Could I praise you?
Could I praise Him?
Would I fall into His arms knowing that He is good...He is good...He is good...somehow, even in this, God is still good.
Or would I curl up in the fetal position, close my fists, and shake them at Him?
I don't know.
I've not been tested in such a way.
I want to have the faith that praises Him.
No matter what.
But I really don't want to know if God is big enough to carry something of this size.
I really don't.
GOD IS GOOD.
GOD IS SOVEREIGN.
GOD WORKS ALL THINGS...ALL THINGS...ALL THINGS...FOR GOOD FOR THOSE WHO LOVE HIM WHO HAVE BEEN CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS PURPOSE.
But Lord, this would be a great week for you to come back.
Living in this world hurts.
Come back for your birthday.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
A Day at the Beach
Very few moms that I know boast of their parenting skills.
Perhaps, it's just a mom thing.
Few of us ever feel like we have it all together.
Most nights I think that I'll do better tomorrow.
Most mornings I add a couple more dollars to their "future counseling" account knowing that I'm surely messing them up forever.
Maybe because we love them so much, and we just want them to have the best parents possible.
Maybe we know ourselves, and we aren't quite sure that we are it.
There are several stories in my parenting journey that might rightfully feed my fears that my parenting skills are lacking a bit.
A couple years ago, I left my 10-year-old in the front seat of the car with my two-year-old asleep in her car seat.
I left the keys in the ignition...the car running.
A brief thought ran through my head, "This is not smart."
But it was an emergency.
I needed a Diet Coke.
I ran into the busiest gas station on the face of the earth, where a police officer confronted me with the threat that she could indeed take me to jail that moment for child endangerment.
I could have died on the spot.
Child endangerment?
"Officer, take me to jail for stealing this candy bar right here, or for punching the worker in the face, or for lewd conduct, but please, please, please don't take me to jail for child endangerment!"
For some reason, I'd rather go to jail for stealing than for being a bad mama.
The truth is, however, I'm not a serious criminal, but I often feel like a completely incompetent mother, who was wrongly entrusted with the lives of five very precious children.
Some days, though, God gives me a break from my self-absorbed feelings of parental inadequacy.
Like today.
Today was a really good mama day.
Well, not the whole day. Really just 15 minutes worth, but I haven't had 15 minutes of good mommying in a really long time, so I'm going to share.
My little guy climbed up on the seat of the toilet to look intently at a picture of the beach.
"I want to go to the beach, Mommy."
ME TOO. IN FACT, LET'S GO NOW.
"How can we go to the beach now, Mommy?"
And here's where the good mommy moment began.
LET'S PRETEND.
So, we stretched out on the floor with our feet pointing toward our blue wall.
We closed our eyes and smelled the ocean.
Gradually, little waves began nipping at our toes.
I grabbed a nerf bullet from behind me and said, "Look! I found a snail."
He grabbed a piece of plastic sausage from the pretend kitchen and said, "Look, I found a sausage in the sand." Well, okay.
Then the waves began to crash against us and we fell backward.
A huge wave...a Mom wave grew bigger and bigger until it picked the little guy up and rolled with him across the floor. When his face ended up shoved into the carpet, we pretended that he had to spit out the sand that had found its way into his mouth.
His eyes lit up with excitement as he was once again tackled by a gigantic wave.
Then a brother and a sister came to the beach with us.
We took turns flying kites (or flying little kids like an airplane) through the air.
They grabbed some pillows and began to boogie board.
"Look at me ride this wave.Wooooow."
"Watch this wave knock me over. Ahhhhhh."
"Look at Mommy sunbathing in the sand."
And I just laid there.
Flat on my back in the sand with the sound of giggling children pretending to boogie board at our imaginary beach.
For that moment, I fully enjoyed being a mama.
The little guy soon became a big wave and tackled me just as I could almost feel the warmth of the pretend sun on my face.
"Thanks for taking me to the beach today, Mommy."
Just when I thought I was the worst mom in the world, the Lord gives us a day at the beach.
Thank. You. Jesus.
Perhaps, it's just a mom thing.
Few of us ever feel like we have it all together.
Most nights I think that I'll do better tomorrow.
Most mornings I add a couple more dollars to their "future counseling" account knowing that I'm surely messing them up forever.
Maybe because we love them so much, and we just want them to have the best parents possible.
Maybe we know ourselves, and we aren't quite sure that we are it.
There are several stories in my parenting journey that might rightfully feed my fears that my parenting skills are lacking a bit.
A couple years ago, I left my 10-year-old in the front seat of the car with my two-year-old asleep in her car seat.
I left the keys in the ignition...the car running.
A brief thought ran through my head, "This is not smart."
But it was an emergency.
I needed a Diet Coke.
I ran into the busiest gas station on the face of the earth, where a police officer confronted me with the threat that she could indeed take me to jail that moment for child endangerment.
I could have died on the spot.
Child endangerment?
"Officer, take me to jail for stealing this candy bar right here, or for punching the worker in the face, or for lewd conduct, but please, please, please don't take me to jail for child endangerment!"
For some reason, I'd rather go to jail for stealing than for being a bad mama.
The truth is, however, I'm not a serious criminal, but I often feel like a completely incompetent mother, who was wrongly entrusted with the lives of five very precious children.
Some days, though, God gives me a break from my self-absorbed feelings of parental inadequacy.
Like today.
Today was a really good mama day.
Well, not the whole day. Really just 15 minutes worth, but I haven't had 15 minutes of good mommying in a really long time, so I'm going to share.
My little guy climbed up on the seat of the toilet to look intently at a picture of the beach.
"I want to go to the beach, Mommy."
ME TOO. IN FACT, LET'S GO NOW.
"How can we go to the beach now, Mommy?"
And here's where the good mommy moment began.
LET'S PRETEND.
So, we stretched out on the floor with our feet pointing toward our blue wall.
We closed our eyes and smelled the ocean.
Gradually, little waves began nipping at our toes.
I grabbed a nerf bullet from behind me and said, "Look! I found a snail."
He grabbed a piece of plastic sausage from the pretend kitchen and said, "Look, I found a sausage in the sand." Well, okay.
Then the waves began to crash against us and we fell backward.
A huge wave...a Mom wave grew bigger and bigger until it picked the little guy up and rolled with him across the floor. When his face ended up shoved into the carpet, we pretended that he had to spit out the sand that had found its way into his mouth.
His eyes lit up with excitement as he was once again tackled by a gigantic wave.
Then a brother and a sister came to the beach with us.
We took turns flying kites (or flying little kids like an airplane) through the air.
They grabbed some pillows and began to boogie board.
"Look at me ride this wave.Wooooow."
"Watch this wave knock me over. Ahhhhhh."
"Look at Mommy sunbathing in the sand."
And I just laid there.
Flat on my back in the sand with the sound of giggling children pretending to boogie board at our imaginary beach.
For that moment, I fully enjoyed being a mama.
The little guy soon became a big wave and tackled me just as I could almost feel the warmth of the pretend sun on my face.
"Thanks for taking me to the beach today, Mommy."
Just when I thought I was the worst mom in the world, the Lord gives us a day at the beach.
Thank. You. Jesus.
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