Making Signs

Kids lying on their bellies all over the floor...
Empty pizza boxes scattered around...
Markers, red and blue streamers, and balloons spread throughout the bedroom...
We're making signs...
Welcome Home signs...
He's coming home...

We had our traditional "Daddy's Coming Home" party tonight...
It always comes after "the call."
It's just for us...no one else invited...
It's always the night before he comes home...
We eat pizza, make signs, and have a big slumber party...
We celebrate that's he's somewhere back in the States and
we wrap up the time we spent without him...
The time apart is done...maybe not well-done, but we did it...
And there's great relief in our house tonight...

The call came around 5:30...
His cell phone rings a special tone on my phone...
The tone hasn't rang in a couple months because his phone has been out of service...
We know he's back in the States when that phone rings his song...
We all can't help but scream...
HE'S HOOOOME!
Okay, not officially home, but back in the States and that's pretty close...
Closer than he was a day ago...
Close enough to celebrate...

We'll wait for the final call in the morning telling us
where to be and at what time...
We'll leave the house as a family of six and return complete as a family of seven...
We'll watch the plane land, wave our signs, and watch families around us be reunited...
We'll anxiously wait for him to make his way off the plane...
He'll probably be last one off...
But I get the first kiss...
Well, I better get the first kiss...
We'll love spending time together the first couple days, we'll argue through the next week, and we'll forget he ever left in a month...

But I love this night...
The night the kids and I can high-five each other, talk about all the things we can't wait to tell him, and celebrate tomorrow's homecoming...
The night that it's over...

We're making signs...
It's time to be a family again...
Welcome Home!

Almost Counting Down...

I never realize at the time how tense I am while he's deployed.
We still have fun when he's gone.
We work hard.
We play lots.
We have popcorn for dinner and watch movies.
Life goes on. Soccer games, dance classes, school work.
But, when he's gone, there's part of me that knows I'm in
charge and somehow that leaves me constantly alert.
I never let down my guard.
I don't notice the tension until I get the email or call.

Thursday I got the email.
The email that almost begins the countdown.

"I just flew my last sortie in Afghanistan.
I should be leaving here tomorrow night. Can't
wait to see you all. Coming home soon."

It's only been a couple months.
In some ways it seems like he's been gone a lot longer.
I'm not going to lie. Even a couple months feels like a sacrifice.

I read the email in the middle of a class and instantly I felt
a knot between my shoulders loosen a bit.
Suddenly, it became easier to breathe.
The beginning of my release of control.

I'm vague to the kids with the specific date he's giving me.
I find it's better for him to get a little closer before I tell them.
The delays can be weeks and so counting down is almost cruel.

Anything can happen in route home, but he's working his way this direction.
Through Qatar or Manas or Germany or Ireland...I don't know...but I know his final destination...HOME...I don't care how he gets here...

So the countdown almost begins...that is, if we did a countdown...

I'll wait until I get a call from his cell phone...
Military numbers have called me for the last couple months...
When the phone rings and his number appears, I'll know...
His phone has a special ring that I haven't heard for two months...
I'll know when I hear the phone, he's landed on the East Coast and he'll be home soon...
Then I'll tell the kids to get out the poster board and the markers--Daddy's coming home and we have some signs to make...

My role as mom and dad is coming to an end...
I can't wait to turn over the reins...
I could really, really use a nap...

Will you share?

We sure sing a lot for a family that is tone-deaf.
The car is our favorite stage.
The fighting in the back seat is minimal when one of our favorite songs plays.

We fall down. We lay our crowns. At the feet of Jesus.
The greatness of mercy and love at the feet of Jesus.
We cry holy, holy, holy. We cry holy, holy, holy.
We cry holy, holy, holy, is the lamb.

Beautiful song. I love thinking of falling down at the feet of Jesus.
Yesterday, however, a horrible thought struck me as I sung through the first line.
My mind wandered to the crown part...

We fall down. We lay our crowns. At the feet of Jesus.

Crowns in heaven. Revelations 4 mentions the laying of crowns before the throne.
Are these crowns of reward?
I panicked.

"What if I get to heaven and I have no crowns to throw at the feet of Jesus?"
"What if everything I've done in my life burns away?"
"What if my only treasure is the unearned reward of salvation for trusting Christ to do the saving?"
"What if my friends are drowning in their heavenly treasure and I have none?"
"Will they share? Or will they be selfish in heaven and keep the crowns for themselves?"
"I'm sure they'll share. They are nicer than I am.

I'm driving along totally embarrassed about my lack of reward in heaven.

(Clearly I need some sleep. Normal people don't have these thoughts.)

As usual...I must take this thought further.
This is terrible. In heaven, everyone will see my lack of reward and know I'm not really that nice...they'll know that my motives aren't always pure...they'll know I'm a filthy sinner...

I know there are many rooms in heaven. Jesus said so.
He went to prepare a place for me.
But what does that mean?
Does it mean that my room could be just barely inside the pearly gates?

I tried to remember some of the things I had done worthy of reward...anything that might get me a bigger room.
Hmmm...it's challenging to recall deeds done in obedience, with the right motives, while giving glory to God.
Wait...yep, thought of one. One crown I might get.
Oh no, does the fact that I think I'll get a reward for that one now mean that I just lost that reward because now I'm pride-filled at the memory?

All this nonsense thinking birthed because of one little song and one tired mind.

What if I get to heaven--crownless--and I'm living in the smallest room imaginable barely in heaven?

What if when I get to heaven all I have is Jesus?
What if when I get to heaven all I have is Jesus?

Thank goodness God reined me back from such self-focused thinking.
Heaven isn't about you, Daughter. It's about Me.
What if?
What if, Michelle, you get to heaven and all you have is ME?"

I suddenly can't wait to get there.
Forget the crowns, forget the mansion...
Just give me Jesus...

Frustrated at His feet

Learning lessons from my little ones is humbling.
My little guy had the honor of being the teacher tonight.
Is it possible that I'm doing none of the teaching in my family and all of the learning?
I'm beginning to wonder...

He was mad.
My two-year-old found his cookie, aka "tookie," on his bookshelf right as I was putting him to bed. He must have left it there earlier in the day because his eyes lit up like he'd found a long lost treasure.
"My tookie. My tookie. I eat my tookie."

His teeth were brushed, his jammies on, and my rocking chair waiting.
I was totally not in the mood to watch his teeth fill with chocolate goo and witness the smears of cookie mush decorate his jammies. Not to mention that it would delay bedtime and I really just wanted to get him to bed.

"No cookie tonight. We'll put it on the counter and you can have it tomorrow."

"Tookie. Tookie. Tookie." The word got louder and more frantic each time he spoke. He sensed it was being taken away.

We took the cookie down to the kitchen and set it on the table so he could have it for breakfast. Yes, breakfast. Don't judge.

The howls started as soon as we headed back up the stairs. Big tears.
His heart broken over this cookie that we left on the counter.
If he could have articulated his feelings, I'm sure he would have said,
"This isn't fair!"
"I didn't get to finish it earlier."
"I don't want to wait."
"I want it now!"
"Don't you love me?"
"Why can't I have it?"
"I don't understand!"
"I'm soo mad at you!"
"Why won't you listen to me?"

Curiously, as he yelled and sobbed, he threw himself toward me.
Not away from me. Toward me.
He fell down at my feet and clung to my legs.
I was the source of his frustration, yet instead of running from me, he came to me.
It was like he knew that while I was doing something he didn't understand, I was really the only one that could comfort him.
He wanted love from me in the midst of his anger at me.

He cuddled in and cried and cried.
Still furious, yet wanting only me.

I rocked him and pondered his precious response.
He didn't understand what I was doing by withholding the cookie and he certainly didn't like it, but yet he chose my arms to rest.

How often do I not understand God's ways...
Or I'm frustrated by something only He controls...
Or I know He could snap his fingers and fix the situation instantly, but He delays for a reason beyond my comprehension...
Or I'm waiting on an answer to prayer that doesn't seem to come...
Or the answer has come and I don't like it...

What do I do at those moments?

My little Noah gave me a beautiful picture of the way I'd like to respond when God doesn't work the way I think He should.
I should throw myself at His feet and seek comfort from the very One that I don't understand.
Because if I really believe that He is who His Word says He is, there's no where safer to find comfort...

In time, my sweet baby will probably turn away from me in anger, but what a gift to be able to hold and comfort---just for a moment---the little one that was so mad at me...
I wonder if the Lord feels that way when we fall frustrated at His feet...when we run to Him in our lack of understanding instead of turning away from Him---when we cling to the hope that even though we didn't get our way, He's the only One we want...
I bet He loves that...
When His arms are enough...