I don't often think about the devil. He's sort of out of vogue these days. I tend to focus more on filling up on the good - God's word, the Holy Spirit, Love - so that I have good to give to those around me. Lately, though, I've felt the truth of the words: "He prowls like a lion waiting for an opportune time to attack."
It used to happen in my dreams pretty regularly. I'd go to sleep feeling just fine, then the dreams would begin and soon nightmares would terrorize me. People I loved turned against me, shadows chased me, and things I hadn't given thought to in the day occurred at night. My husband and I began praying every night for peace in my dreams. When we had children, we prayed the same prayer for them as they fought night terrors on a regular basis.
But we've had peace in our home for some time. There are still nightmares from time to time, tears wiped away as my daughter snuggles against the safety of her daddy's chest, but they are few and far between.
Recently, though, I was attacked so suddenly and shockingly I didn't know what had happened or why.
I was sitting with my pastor discussing the book of Hosea. We were talking about Hosea's children, and when he listed them, one name pierced my heart like an arrow. One of Hosea's children was named: "Not Loved".
The purpose of this name was to show the Israelite people that because they continued to rebel against the Lord, they would know what it was like to have His love and blessing withheld from them. He longed for them to come back to Him, to stop turning to other gods and idols, but they would not. This was their consequence.
But for me, those words, that name, "Not Loved," was my greatest fear. It instantly took my heart back to times of deep loneliness and brokenness, wondering if I mattered at all, to anyone.
I have fought for decades to get to the place where I am today - so deep in God's love and the love of people around me, that I haven't felt the depth of that pain in years. It terrified me to feel it again, so suddenly when I was with my pastor reading the Bible of all things.
I nearly cried out in confusion, "What is happening? And how could God name any child this? Even to make a point to His people?" It was so harsh. I prayed and talked to my husband and tried to understand what had happened to take me so quickly to such a dark place, but I couldn't figure it out. It didn't make sense.
The next day I had the opportunity to talk to someone who, after listening for a while, mentioned how Satan used the scriptures to lie to and tempt Jesus in the desert. That was it! Relief washed over me as confusion gave way to clarity. That is what happened!
I sat there ready to drink deeply from the word of God, receive insight from my pastor, hopefully have stimulating conversation about how to teach from this section. Instead, the enemy of my soul saw an opportunity and attacked. He slithered into my ear and whispered, "If God could name that child "Not Loved," then how can you possibly believe He loves you?" And I wondered how - even as I reminded myself of the truth that God is love, that Jesus came because he loves us all, that the greatest of these is love - how could God possibly love me?
There is no simple answer to how it is possible that the God of the Universe could love me. But the Word of God says that it is true.
It is easier to look into your eyes, the eyes of my friends and family members, even strangers and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He loves You. How could He not? He formed you, He designed you beautifully. He placed His finger on your heart and said, "She is mine. I love her."
And so we have a choice when attacked with such lies - Who will we believe?
In that moment I made my choice - to claim the new name God tattooed on my heart through my years of healing - "Loved One" - because by His goodness and grace that is who I am.
That is who we are, His "Loved Ones".
Friday, August 9, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
My Story
A few weeks ago my pastor asked if I would share my story, and the hope I've found through it, with our church. Always eager to allow God to use my past to offer others hope, I said yes.
The problem is it is hard to mine into the depths of the traumatic events of my life to share with others (the divorces, depression, and violent episodes that marked my home), but it is worth it when I get to the second layer of my story. The one where God came and found me as an 11-year-old girl, told me He loved me so much that He sent His Son to come and die on my behalf, and that He wanted to cover me with love and grace and make me His. From that moment on my Heavenly Father provided small group leaders, youth pastors, friends and a church to love, care for, and provide a safe place for me.
As I prepared to share my story, I struggled to keep the heaviness of my past from weighing me down. The Friday before I was to speak, God reminded me that the hope of my story is not just for those who will hear it, but also for me.
God not only came and found me in my youth, but he held my hand and never let me go. When I went away to college I met Joel. We became good friends and then one weekend second semester my freshman year our eyes were opened and we were crazy about each other. It was wonderful and terrifying and overwhelming to fall in love so young, so deeply, so completely.
I grew up never believing that love could last a lifetime. In my experience there was no happily ever after. That was reserved for fairy tales and novels. So after a month or two of dating Joel, loving and being loved for the first time in my life, and being so gloriously happy I didn't know what to do with myself, I told Joel we needed to break up.
I told him that I was too happy, I loved him too much, it had to end sometime, and it would be less painful to do it now than later.
He said no. (I didn't know you could say no when someone tried to break up with you.)
He said we weren't going to break up now, being happy and in love were not good reasons to break up, and he didn't think we would break up - ever.
That was just crazy talk to me, but he seemed so confident, and I really didn't want our relationship to end, so I trusted him.
A year later he asked me to marry him. A few years after that we said our vows. And we have now been married for over 18 years and have four kids together.
When I shared that part of my story on Sunday morning, they applauded. They cheered in both services. It was completely unexpected. I was sharing my story to offer them hope in their hardship, but I was blessed in return as they rejoiced with me in the miraculous work God has done in my life.
That is the blessing of sharing our stories with one another. As we allow each other into our stories, we can offer comfort for the hard times and rejoice in the moments when God's hand is evident.
And we remember that we are all still contributing to the Greatest Story Ever Told.
The problem is it is hard to mine into the depths of the traumatic events of my life to share with others (the divorces, depression, and violent episodes that marked my home), but it is worth it when I get to the second layer of my story. The one where God came and found me as an 11-year-old girl, told me He loved me so much that He sent His Son to come and die on my behalf, and that He wanted to cover me with love and grace and make me His. From that moment on my Heavenly Father provided small group leaders, youth pastors, friends and a church to love, care for, and provide a safe place for me.
As I prepared to share my story, I struggled to keep the heaviness of my past from weighing me down. The Friday before I was to speak, God reminded me that the hope of my story is not just for those who will hear it, but also for me.
God not only came and found me in my youth, but he held my hand and never let me go. When I went away to college I met Joel. We became good friends and then one weekend second semester my freshman year our eyes were opened and we were crazy about each other. It was wonderful and terrifying and overwhelming to fall in love so young, so deeply, so completely.
I grew up never believing that love could last a lifetime. In my experience there was no happily ever after. That was reserved for fairy tales and novels. So after a month or two of dating Joel, loving and being loved for the first time in my life, and being so gloriously happy I didn't know what to do with myself, I told Joel we needed to break up.
I told him that I was too happy, I loved him too much, it had to end sometime, and it would be less painful to do it now than later.
He said no. (I didn't know you could say no when someone tried to break up with you.)
He said we weren't going to break up now, being happy and in love were not good reasons to break up, and he didn't think we would break up - ever.
That was just crazy talk to me, but he seemed so confident, and I really didn't want our relationship to end, so I trusted him.
A year later he asked me to marry him. A few years after that we said our vows. And we have now been married for over 18 years and have four kids together.
When I shared that part of my story on Sunday morning, they applauded. They cheered in both services. It was completely unexpected. I was sharing my story to offer them hope in their hardship, but I was blessed in return as they rejoiced with me in the miraculous work God has done in my life.
That is the blessing of sharing our stories with one another. As we allow each other into our stories, we can offer comfort for the hard times and rejoice in the moments when God's hand is evident.
And we remember that we are all still contributing to the Greatest Story Ever Told.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Words
Words are crazy little things.
A bunch of letters arranged to form common meanings. They often seem to matter so little, like when I tell my kids to clean up their rooms, and then nothing happens. Or when I say "I love you" to my husband for the tenth time in a day, more out of habit than passion.
On the other hand, when I'm careless with words I hope that they don't matter much, like when I'm too harsh with my kids for a mistake they made, or am critical of my husband. They can't really be taken back - words. We try, say we didn't mean it, we misspoke, or that we are sorry. But it takes time to heal from certain words.
The Bible says that a word aptly spoken is like an apple of gold in a setting of silver. I've always thought that was a strange analogy. Maybe that was some coveted piece of art that every woman wanted on her mantle during Solomon's time. I don't know. But I'm starting to understand what the wise king was getting at. Sometimes it's easier for me to understand a concept by looking at its opposite.
A careless word spoken at a person's weakest moment is like shoving rotten food down that person's throat. These words are hard to vomit back up, instead they fester in the stomach, absorbing through the lining, flowing into the bloodstream until the person is contaminated by them. They feel sick. Weak. Confused. This happened to me a few weeks ago. I was having a terrible week at work. Two major projects were to be completed and both were on my head and everything was going wrong with one of them. The reality is the least favorite part of my job is taking care of major mailings, and this was one of those. Nothing was working. The mail wasn't merging, the lists weren't downloading, the printer was printing wrong and the folder wasn't folding. But everything still had to get done on time and I was pulling my hair out.
I texted my husband asking if it would be a problem if I quit my job that day. He texted back that it depends on your perspective. That perspective being whether I considered food stamps a viable option for our family or not. All this to say, I was losing it. Then a coworker comes in. This coworker is a friend of mine, and a brother in Christ. When I asked if we could call a guy to fix the folding machine he said, "as long as it doesn't cost $30,000, let's get it fixed" I said, "Yeah, it'd be cheaper to hire a professional paper folder than to do that." He looked me in the eye and said, "You are our professional paper folder."
That was it. Those six innocuous words and I was sunk.
"I am a professional paper folder," I said to myself. Feeling about as much worth as the wadded up rejects in the recycling bin. No, I'm not! I wanted to scream back. But I couldn't because it was true. While there is more to my job than folding 1300 letters and stuffing them into envelopes, that was my job that day. That's all I am, I thought, nothing more. 39 years of life, 4 years of college, 15 years in ministry, and now I am nothing more than a professional paper folder. The words filled my stomach and seeped into my veins. In that moment, under that stress, those words told me that that was all I was. I was nothing more. I had no more value than to fold those God-forsaken papers.
I went for a walk through campus and cried. I sat in the shade of a tree and cried some more wishing I could absorb into the ground with its roots. I took this job to provide for my family. Now look at me. A college educated woman with creative thoughts and ideas bursting at my seams, now nothing more than a professional paper folder.
Certainly my pride was hurt, but this was more than humbling, this made me forget who I am. I know who I am. I know who made me and the value I have in my little world. A husband thinks I'm worth coming home to every night. My kids, even my middle schoolers, still clamor for my attention and affection. My friends all know that they can come to me for love, encouragement and a listening ear. In that moment none of it mattered. The words had cut deeply and I was fighting to get above them.
It took me days of talking, praying, reading and hearing God's truth to remember and believe that I'm more than those words. Therein is the irony. What brought healing? Those aptly spoken apples of gold, set beautifully in casings of silver.
I went to church that Sunday and was so starved for hope and truth that when I realized the pastor was wrapping up his message I started to panic. I wished I lived in Africa where I've heard the service might keep going for another couple hours. I felt like a camel just come across the Sahara, longing to be filled up again with living water only to get a trickle.
Thankfully, over the course of a week or two, I was able to journal and read the Bible, talk to my husband and friends, hold my kids and absorb their love, and finally be restored to the person that God made me to be - not limited by my current occupation or job description, but a child of God with tremendous purpose, just like you.
Words are crazy little things. Letters arranged in a certain order to create meaning that we share with one another. Thankfully, God knew the power they held when He created them, put them in his book and wrote them on our hearts. I pray that you are filled up to overflowing with those precious apples of gold set in casings of silver. Because you matter to God.
A bunch of letters arranged to form common meanings. They often seem to matter so little, like when I tell my kids to clean up their rooms, and then nothing happens. Or when I say "I love you" to my husband for the tenth time in a day, more out of habit than passion.
On the other hand, when I'm careless with words I hope that they don't matter much, like when I'm too harsh with my kids for a mistake they made, or am critical of my husband. They can't really be taken back - words. We try, say we didn't mean it, we misspoke, or that we are sorry. But it takes time to heal from certain words.
The Bible says that a word aptly spoken is like an apple of gold in a setting of silver. I've always thought that was a strange analogy. Maybe that was some coveted piece of art that every woman wanted on her mantle during Solomon's time. I don't know. But I'm starting to understand what the wise king was getting at. Sometimes it's easier for me to understand a concept by looking at its opposite.
A careless word spoken at a person's weakest moment is like shoving rotten food down that person's throat. These words are hard to vomit back up, instead they fester in the stomach, absorbing through the lining, flowing into the bloodstream until the person is contaminated by them. They feel sick. Weak. Confused. This happened to me a few weeks ago. I was having a terrible week at work. Two major projects were to be completed and both were on my head and everything was going wrong with one of them. The reality is the least favorite part of my job is taking care of major mailings, and this was one of those. Nothing was working. The mail wasn't merging, the lists weren't downloading, the printer was printing wrong and the folder wasn't folding. But everything still had to get done on time and I was pulling my hair out.
I texted my husband asking if it would be a problem if I quit my job that day. He texted back that it depends on your perspective. That perspective being whether I considered food stamps a viable option for our family or not. All this to say, I was losing it. Then a coworker comes in. This coworker is a friend of mine, and a brother in Christ. When I asked if we could call a guy to fix the folding machine he said, "as long as it doesn't cost $30,000, let's get it fixed" I said, "Yeah, it'd be cheaper to hire a professional paper folder than to do that." He looked me in the eye and said, "You are our professional paper folder."
That was it. Those six innocuous words and I was sunk.
"I am a professional paper folder," I said to myself. Feeling about as much worth as the wadded up rejects in the recycling bin. No, I'm not! I wanted to scream back. But I couldn't because it was true. While there is more to my job than folding 1300 letters and stuffing them into envelopes, that was my job that day. That's all I am, I thought, nothing more. 39 years of life, 4 years of college, 15 years in ministry, and now I am nothing more than a professional paper folder. The words filled my stomach and seeped into my veins. In that moment, under that stress, those words told me that that was all I was. I was nothing more. I had no more value than to fold those God-forsaken papers.
I went for a walk through campus and cried. I sat in the shade of a tree and cried some more wishing I could absorb into the ground with its roots. I took this job to provide for my family. Now look at me. A college educated woman with creative thoughts and ideas bursting at my seams, now nothing more than a professional paper folder.
Certainly my pride was hurt, but this was more than humbling, this made me forget who I am. I know who I am. I know who made me and the value I have in my little world. A husband thinks I'm worth coming home to every night. My kids, even my middle schoolers, still clamor for my attention and affection. My friends all know that they can come to me for love, encouragement and a listening ear. In that moment none of it mattered. The words had cut deeply and I was fighting to get above them.
It took me days of talking, praying, reading and hearing God's truth to remember and believe that I'm more than those words. Therein is the irony. What brought healing? Those aptly spoken apples of gold, set beautifully in casings of silver.
I went to church that Sunday and was so starved for hope and truth that when I realized the pastor was wrapping up his message I started to panic. I wished I lived in Africa where I've heard the service might keep going for another couple hours. I felt like a camel just come across the Sahara, longing to be filled up again with living water only to get a trickle.
Thankfully, over the course of a week or two, I was able to journal and read the Bible, talk to my husband and friends, hold my kids and absorb their love, and finally be restored to the person that God made me to be - not limited by my current occupation or job description, but a child of God with tremendous purpose, just like you.
Words are crazy little things. Letters arranged in a certain order to create meaning that we share with one another. Thankfully, God knew the power they held when He created them, put them in his book and wrote them on our hearts. I pray that you are filled up to overflowing with those precious apples of gold set in casings of silver. Because you matter to God.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Murderers of Love
I borrowed a movie from the library last week called Like Crazy. It's about a young couple who fall madly in love during their final year of college and then through various circumstances have to either end their relationship or attempt to stay connected from a very long distance. I brought the movie home and warned my husband that I didn't know if it was a happy or sad ending (he much prefers the former), it was an indie darling and looked interesting. Forewarned and curious we began our movie.
Stop now if you want to see the movie without me spoiling the ending, though I don't think it's worth your time, and I'll tell you why. These people are idiots. What happens in the movie is like a guide book for how to kill a relationship. And I was appalled. By the end we wished for the sad ending we had feared. Instead we were left with depressing apathy.
This young couple love each other "like crazy". Get It? Catchy title.
They meet in college, have a very talky first date and then travel through a falling-in-love montage. They graduate and it is time for the girl to go back to England because her Visa is about to expire. She decides to ignore it and stays through the summer so they can sleep in every morning and not have to suffer a few months apart. Bad idea. Rule #1: Don't mess with the INS.
So, she goes home at the end of the summer and attempts to come back a week later as a "tourist". As she tries to enter the U.S. through customs, they stop her and tell her she's not aloud back in because she violated her Visa. Duh. Didn't her dad say this would happen? I know, you make bad decisions when you're young and in love.
Tearful airport scene and then attempts at getting new Visa fail. Girl gets job in London and begins her life without the boy. Boy starts his business in California, where a very sultry Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) happens to be his assistant.
He hops the pond to visit the love of his life, but realizes that her life is now, like England, foreign to him. They try staying connected on the phone, but the time difference is too much to handle. So, obviously, they sleep with other people. She has a conveniently attractive neighbor and little Katniss is clearly falling for our boy.
Then, they decide to get married because they can't be apart any longer. Wouldn't this have been a good option a few years ago? But, they still can't get past the Visa problem. He goes back home and immediately starts sleeping with Katniss, while the girl invites cute neighbor over to keep her depression at bay. The smitten neighbor proposes on the same night she finds out that her Visa has finally cleared.
Hooray! She can finally be with the man she loves! Who is also now her husband.
Oh, wait, they've both been living and sleeping with other people.
Oh well, they're married now, they must be together.
They greet each other cordially at the airport and then he brings her to his ramshackle loft. You can see it on her face, "I left a great job and lovely flat in London for this?" She says she's going to take a shower. After a long pause he says he'll join her. They awkwardly shower together while thinking about how they used to be all crazy in love and then the movie ends.
Seriously?
A different movie that I would recommend is called Dan in Real Life and has one of my all-time favorite lines in it. After Dan kicks out his daughter's teenage boyfriend (of 3 days), she runs after the car crying and screaming and clawing at the window and then turning to Dan (played beautifully by Steve Carrell) and screams as only a broken-hearted teenage girl can, "You are a murderer of love!"
Steve Carrell may have broken his daughter's heart, but these two characters in Like Crazy are the true murderers of love. On the back cover of the DVD it said that the movie was about the "intensity and fragility of love." I personally don't think love is fragile. I think it is the most powerful force in the universe, but we have gotten so careless with it that we kill it dead a good portion of the time.
I kept asking my husband what was wrong with these people? Who, when madly in love with one person, lives and sleeps with another? Did they really think they could go back to each other like nothing happened? Is that really how our culture thinks? I'm sorry, but that is ludicrous.
Love is priceless. A treasure. A miracle. When you find it you nurture it with kindness, you wait patiently for it to mature. You sacrifice your own comfort for it. And then you never let it go.
I have to admit that the acting in the movie was good enough that I was screaming at the tv as though these were real people. But the only thing crazy about their love was how they squandered it.
Stop now if you want to see the movie without me spoiling the ending, though I don't think it's worth your time, and I'll tell you why. These people are idiots. What happens in the movie is like a guide book for how to kill a relationship. And I was appalled. By the end we wished for the sad ending we had feared. Instead we were left with depressing apathy.
This young couple love each other "like crazy". Get It? Catchy title.
They meet in college, have a very talky first date and then travel through a falling-in-love montage. They graduate and it is time for the girl to go back to England because her Visa is about to expire. She decides to ignore it and stays through the summer so they can sleep in every morning and not have to suffer a few months apart. Bad idea. Rule #1: Don't mess with the INS.
So, she goes home at the end of the summer and attempts to come back a week later as a "tourist". As she tries to enter the U.S. through customs, they stop her and tell her she's not aloud back in because she violated her Visa. Duh. Didn't her dad say this would happen? I know, you make bad decisions when you're young and in love.
Tearful airport scene and then attempts at getting new Visa fail. Girl gets job in London and begins her life without the boy. Boy starts his business in California, where a very sultry Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) happens to be his assistant.
He hops the pond to visit the love of his life, but realizes that her life is now, like England, foreign to him. They try staying connected on the phone, but the time difference is too much to handle. So, obviously, they sleep with other people. She has a conveniently attractive neighbor and little Katniss is clearly falling for our boy.
Then, they decide to get married because they can't be apart any longer. Wouldn't this have been a good option a few years ago? But, they still can't get past the Visa problem. He goes back home and immediately starts sleeping with Katniss, while the girl invites cute neighbor over to keep her depression at bay. The smitten neighbor proposes on the same night she finds out that her Visa has finally cleared.
Hooray! She can finally be with the man she loves! Who is also now her husband.
Oh, wait, they've both been living and sleeping with other people.
Oh well, they're married now, they must be together.
They greet each other cordially at the airport and then he brings her to his ramshackle loft. You can see it on her face, "I left a great job and lovely flat in London for this?" She says she's going to take a shower. After a long pause he says he'll join her. They awkwardly shower together while thinking about how they used to be all crazy in love and then the movie ends.
Seriously?
A different movie that I would recommend is called Dan in Real Life and has one of my all-time favorite lines in it. After Dan kicks out his daughter's teenage boyfriend (of 3 days), she runs after the car crying and screaming and clawing at the window and then turning to Dan (played beautifully by Steve Carrell) and screams as only a broken-hearted teenage girl can, "You are a murderer of love!"
Steve Carrell may have broken his daughter's heart, but these two characters in Like Crazy are the true murderers of love. On the back cover of the DVD it said that the movie was about the "intensity and fragility of love." I personally don't think love is fragile. I think it is the most powerful force in the universe, but we have gotten so careless with it that we kill it dead a good portion of the time.
I kept asking my husband what was wrong with these people? Who, when madly in love with one person, lives and sleeps with another? Did they really think they could go back to each other like nothing happened? Is that really how our culture thinks? I'm sorry, but that is ludicrous.
Love is priceless. A treasure. A miracle. When you find it you nurture it with kindness, you wait patiently for it to mature. You sacrifice your own comfort for it. And then you never let it go.
I have to admit that the acting in the movie was good enough that I was screaming at the tv as though these were real people. But the only thing crazy about their love was how they squandered it.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Easter Brilliance
I read something the other day that has struck me. I just happened to read it earlier this week and it happened to be about Easter. I've been reading N.T. Wright's Surprised by Hope ever so slowly over the past few years (yes, years). It is not a light read, but it is brilliant. And I picked it up the other day and I think I have struck upon my favorite part.Easter has always been my favorite holiday (read: holy-day). Not just to celebrate the risen Christ, but to remember the depth of sacrifice that Good Friday brought on our behalf and then to wake Easter morn knowing that He was miraculously risen that day - fulfilling all hope, conquering death, and promising us life eternal if we choose to take it.
I grew up without the observation of Lent as a precursor to this holiday, so it is a bit foreign to me, but in the last few years my husband and I have chosen to give up things in preparation for the Easter season. This year we gave up sugar in it's most obvious forms (it is hidden everywhere, so we didn't go much farther than to ban candy, baked goods, pop and chocolate). It has been good to sacrifice something that I crave constantly and depend on in times of emotional turmoil, so that I can learn that sugar, and chocolate in particular, cannot love me back, even though it seems, at times, like it must.
Getting back to NT Wright, this little excerpt from his book has filled me up to bursting with the need to celebrate Easter anew, though I'm not quite sure how to go about it just yet. Let me share with you some of what he said about how the Church could celebrate the risen Christ more appropriately:
"Easter is about the wild delight of God's creative power...we ought to shout Alleluias instead of murmuring them...we should give every man, woman, child, dog, cat and mouse in the [church] a candle to hold; we should have a real bonfire...
...But my biggest problem starts on Easter Monday. I regard it as absurd and unjustifiable that we should spend forty days keeping Lent, pondering what it means, preaching about self-denial, being at least a little gloomy, and then bringing it all to a peak with Holy Week...and then after a rather odd Holy Saturday, we have a single day of celebration.
Easter week itself ought...to be an eight-day festival, with champagne served after morning prayer or even before, with lots of alleluias and extra hymns and spectacular anthems...
...if Lent is a time to give things up, Easter ought to be a time to take things up. Champagne for breakfast again - well, of course. Christian holiness was never meant to be merely negative...the forty days of the Easter season, until the ascension, ought to be a time to balance out Lent by taking something up, some new task or venture, something wholesome and fruitful and outgoing and self-giving.
It might bring something of Easter into your innermost life. It might make you wake up in a whole new way. And that's what Easter is about."
Every time I read this it makes me want to have a party and dance in the rain and soak in the sunshine. It reminds me that we have something to exclaim to the world that is particularly wonderful.
Not only did Jesus die for our sins, but he rose from the dead, bringing new life and hope to the world. 40 days of celebration after 40 days of sacrifice. That sounds like something Jesus would delight in.
So, for the next 40 days I am going to celebrate, have a piece of chocolate after dinner, hug my kids, kiss my husband, maybe even walk in the rain and soak in the sun. I'm not sure what it will entail, but that I will remember that I have reason to rejoice.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Something New
Strange things are afoot in my house. Our time in the in between, wandering in circles in the desert and wondering if we'd actually ever escape, seems to be coming to an end. Hope is drawing near. An end is in sight and we may actually reach the promised land.
My husband and I realized that we would need to leave support-based campus ministry 5 years ago. After many tears and prayers and trial and error, Joel got into grad school. He was going to become a counselor, do the favorite part of his job full-time. A few problems loomed: 1) my husband has dyslexia and hates school, 2) We had no money to pay for school, and 3) we had 4 kids and not a lot of faith.
But here we are. My husband will be graduating with a master's degree in mental health counseling on April 28th. And Joel, the guy who feared school more than anything, will likely be graduating with a 3.7 GPA (one tenth of a point higher than my undergrad score, he likes to point out). I could not be more proud of him.
His teachers and classmates have thoroughly enjoyed his unique perspectives and wisdom from years of ministry experience. The supervisor of his internship has literally begged him to take a job there after graduation, and other job options loom on the horizon. An improbability in this economy. And so, I've begun to feel something for our future that I have not felt in quite some time. I think it's called...
HOPE.
We officially left the ministry just a few months ago and have wondered what it means to live a life outside of full-time occupational ministry. After almost 16 years, it had become a lifestyle. Everything seems new and strange, but not.
Somehow it doesn't affect my love for Jesus or need to be in His Word, it hasn't lessened my desire to tell people how much they are loved by their Creator or to bring hope and healing to their hearts. It's just no longer part of our resume. It doesn't really change the way we live as much as I thought it would.
But being done with school will. I can't imagine getting my Saturdays back. Getting to have family time all together, without Joel heading out for 5 hour study sessions. Or sitting together at night after the kids are in bed, instead of him in the other room on the computer finishing up another assignment. Or his 45 minute commute to class in all kinds of weather.
Other things are happening, too. This full-time working mom thing is not all it's cracked up to be. The pay check is certainly nice, and getting a new professional wardrobe has been fun, but trying to keep all the plates spinning causes something akin to insanity. The house continues to get dirty, dinner still needs to be cooked, groceries need to be gotten and birthdays need to be celebrated. I just don't have the time to do those things anymore. Not when there are four children with varying degrees of neediness and homework nipping at my ankles.
Things have fallen through the cracks. There have been assignments missed, science fair projects not turned in, kids not picked up (they did make it home eventually), and a puppy that rarely goes on runs anymore. In short, the life I worked so hard to create seems to be falling apart at the seams.
But here we are, my 13-year-old transforming from boy to man like some wild science experiment before my eyes, my daughter with her first best friend whose opinion is beginning to matter just a little bit more than mine, and two other boys who still love to run wild, but cling to me when I'm home like I may ship out to sea at any moment.
It's not pretty, this life that I'm living right now. But it's my life. And while I look forward to what comes next, maybe a little respite, a vacation or two? I rejoice in the moments of laughter I share with my kids and the fact that there is no one I would rather travel this road with than my husband.
Life is hard, but there is no denying that God has been oh so good to me...and whatever I may be lacking, I do have this...
hope.
My husband and I realized that we would need to leave support-based campus ministry 5 years ago. After many tears and prayers and trial and error, Joel got into grad school. He was going to become a counselor, do the favorite part of his job full-time. A few problems loomed: 1) my husband has dyslexia and hates school, 2) We had no money to pay for school, and 3) we had 4 kids and not a lot of faith.
But here we are. My husband will be graduating with a master's degree in mental health counseling on April 28th. And Joel, the guy who feared school more than anything, will likely be graduating with a 3.7 GPA (one tenth of a point higher than my undergrad score, he likes to point out). I could not be more proud of him.
His teachers and classmates have thoroughly enjoyed his unique perspectives and wisdom from years of ministry experience. The supervisor of his internship has literally begged him to take a job there after graduation, and other job options loom on the horizon. An improbability in this economy. And so, I've begun to feel something for our future that I have not felt in quite some time. I think it's called...
HOPE.
We officially left the ministry just a few months ago and have wondered what it means to live a life outside of full-time occupational ministry. After almost 16 years, it had become a lifestyle. Everything seems new and strange, but not.
Somehow it doesn't affect my love for Jesus or need to be in His Word, it hasn't lessened my desire to tell people how much they are loved by their Creator or to bring hope and healing to their hearts. It's just no longer part of our resume. It doesn't really change the way we live as much as I thought it would.
But being done with school will. I can't imagine getting my Saturdays back. Getting to have family time all together, without Joel heading out for 5 hour study sessions. Or sitting together at night after the kids are in bed, instead of him in the other room on the computer finishing up another assignment. Or his 45 minute commute to class in all kinds of weather.
Other things are happening, too. This full-time working mom thing is not all it's cracked up to be. The pay check is certainly nice, and getting a new professional wardrobe has been fun, but trying to keep all the plates spinning causes something akin to insanity. The house continues to get dirty, dinner still needs to be cooked, groceries need to be gotten and birthdays need to be celebrated. I just don't have the time to do those things anymore. Not when there are four children with varying degrees of neediness and homework nipping at my ankles.
Things have fallen through the cracks. There have been assignments missed, science fair projects not turned in, kids not picked up (they did make it home eventually), and a puppy that rarely goes on runs anymore. In short, the life I worked so hard to create seems to be falling apart at the seams.
But here we are, my 13-year-old transforming from boy to man like some wild science experiment before my eyes, my daughter with her first best friend whose opinion is beginning to matter just a little bit more than mine, and two other boys who still love to run wild, but cling to me when I'm home like I may ship out to sea at any moment.
It's not pretty, this life that I'm living right now. But it's my life. And while I look forward to what comes next, maybe a little respite, a vacation or two? I rejoice in the moments of laughter I share with my kids and the fact that there is no one I would rather travel this road with than my husband.
Life is hard, but there is no denying that God has been oh so good to me...and whatever I may be lacking, I do have this...
hope.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Sorrow & Suffering
There is a classic Christian novel of sorts called Hinds Feet on High Places. It is a beautiful and treasured story of a little deer-like creature named "Much Afraid" who accepts a seed of hope from her Savior and then sets out on a journey.
This story is precious to many of my friends, speaking to them in rich and powerful ways, so they always look at me a little strange when I tell them that I can't stand the book and was never able to finish it.
I've always known the part that bothered me, the part of the story that stopped me in my tracks so that I couldn't go any further. It is when the Savior tells Much Afraid that he has some traveling companions for her - Sorrow and Suffering - and he wants her to hold their hands on her journey.
I am a very visual person, and the mere thought of this causes my hand to recoil. I know that sorrow and suffering are part of this life. I know that God uses them to teach me many wonderful things, but this imagery makes it seem that my Heavenly Father is a masochist. That he likes to cause us pain, that he says, "Hold their hands, it will be good for you."
And so, I have never finished this book. If you love it, I am glad, I am not arguing that you should not read or love a book that has spoken to so many, I just want to explain what I just realized. The reason I can't stand to read this book, to imagine myself holding the hand of Sorrow and Suffering as I journey through this Christian life, is because the only hand I am willing to hold is Jesus'.
In my sanctified imagination (as Oswald Chambers calls it) I see us walking through the land of Sorrow and Suffering to get to the other side, to get home to Jesus where there will be no more sadness, no more tears. And when I accepted the love and forgiveness of my Savior, I believe that He took my hand, has never let it go, will never let it go until I am safe in his Heavenly Kingdom.
There is something interesting that Fredrick Buechner once said. He said that if he were not a Christian, he would probably be Buddhist (which I thought was an odd thing to say, but his point is good). He said that when you look at the two pillars of these faiths, the fat and happy Buddha, eyes closed, arms down, sitting in comfort, and then at Jesus, agony ripped across his face, arms spread wide on the cross, compassion in his eyes. The crucial difference between these two icons is this: while Buddha closes his eyes to the pain and suffering of this world, Jesus bears it, taking all of our sin, our sorrow, our suffering and experiencing it himself.
My Jesus did not ask my friends to hold the hands of sorrow and suffering as they watched and waited to see if their new born baby would survive a horrible infection. No, He held their hands, filled up their room, surrounded them with love and compassion, and bore their sorrow in his heart. He walked them through the lands of Sorrow and Suffering to bring them to the other side, deeper into His love, stronger in their trust in Him, surrounded by His Church and never alone.
This is what I know about my Jesus: He does not delight in our pain, but rather He walks with us through it and then does something beautiful with His miraculous magic - He redeems it.
This story is precious to many of my friends, speaking to them in rich and powerful ways, so they always look at me a little strange when I tell them that I can't stand the book and was never able to finish it.
I've always known the part that bothered me, the part of the story that stopped me in my tracks so that I couldn't go any further. It is when the Savior tells Much Afraid that he has some traveling companions for her - Sorrow and Suffering - and he wants her to hold their hands on her journey.
I am a very visual person, and the mere thought of this causes my hand to recoil. I know that sorrow and suffering are part of this life. I know that God uses them to teach me many wonderful things, but this imagery makes it seem that my Heavenly Father is a masochist. That he likes to cause us pain, that he says, "Hold their hands, it will be good for you."
And so, I have never finished this book. If you love it, I am glad, I am not arguing that you should not read or love a book that has spoken to so many, I just want to explain what I just realized. The reason I can't stand to read this book, to imagine myself holding the hand of Sorrow and Suffering as I journey through this Christian life, is because the only hand I am willing to hold is Jesus'.
In my sanctified imagination (as Oswald Chambers calls it) I see us walking through the land of Sorrow and Suffering to get to the other side, to get home to Jesus where there will be no more sadness, no more tears. And when I accepted the love and forgiveness of my Savior, I believe that He took my hand, has never let it go, will never let it go until I am safe in his Heavenly Kingdom.
There is something interesting that Fredrick Buechner once said. He said that if he were not a Christian, he would probably be Buddhist (which I thought was an odd thing to say, but his point is good). He said that when you look at the two pillars of these faiths, the fat and happy Buddha, eyes closed, arms down, sitting in comfort, and then at Jesus, agony ripped across his face, arms spread wide on the cross, compassion in his eyes. The crucial difference between these two icons is this: while Buddha closes his eyes to the pain and suffering of this world, Jesus bears it, taking all of our sin, our sorrow, our suffering and experiencing it himself.
My Jesus did not ask my friends to hold the hands of sorrow and suffering as they watched and waited to see if their new born baby would survive a horrible infection. No, He held their hands, filled up their room, surrounded them with love and compassion, and bore their sorrow in his heart. He walked them through the lands of Sorrow and Suffering to bring them to the other side, deeper into His love, stronger in their trust in Him, surrounded by His Church and never alone.
This is what I know about my Jesus: He does not delight in our pain, but rather He walks with us through it and then does something beautiful with His miraculous magic - He redeems it.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Ch-ch-ch-Changes
So, this is it.
Today is my last day of freedom. My last day of choosing what I want to do with a portion of my day. The last day of heading out for groceries or a run or to meet up with friends without having to answer to my children. The last day of cleaning the house without little tornadoes of disaster in my wake. My last day of thinking complete thoughts without the interruption of "Gabe is touching my stuff!" or "Josh just fell out of the tree" or "Hope is crying and I don't know why."
This is my last moment at Starbucks to sit and sip my chai while reading and writing and studying to my heart's content.
Tomorrow the kids will be home from school for the summer and on Monday I start my first real full-time job in 13 years.
EEK!
I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. I feel like it's my first day of kindergarten. I went shopping for "professional" clothes and found myself wondering if what I bought was right. I'm hoping that the people at my new job like me, that I will do a good job there, and that my family will be okay with this major transition.
I started looking for a job for the usual reasons: the need for money and insurance. But I think I found one that will be fun and challenging and kind of cool. I get to talk on the radio a little bit, though my kids are disappointed that it's not on their favorite rock station. I explained to them that mommy was taking this job to help our family while daddy finishes school. But I suspect I went a little too far when I expressed my pre-job concern that this year we may not have been able to afford Christmas presents. I personally think we could have had a perfectly lovely present-free Christmas, but I'm also not eight.
Last night Hope prayed, "And God, please help us have money so we don't have to be poor."
Yeah, I'm pretty sure my kids are scarred. Maybe my husband can do their therapy for free once he finishes school.
So, this ends a pretty amazing time of my life. I am forever grateful that I got to be home (mostly) full-time with my kids for the last thirteen years. I am thankful that my husband was willing to sacrifice a lot for me to be home for my family. And I am still amazed that I got to stay home this past school year, even while my kids were in school all day.
Besides some extra time to myself and connecting with friends that I love, I have had time to teach at a women's brunch, two retreats and a Mother's of Preschoolers group. I got to run with my puppy several times a week and spend hours letting my creative juices flow, studying God's word and working on a Bible study.
I went to Italy and got to hear a real Italian exclaim, "Mama Mia!" to my never ending delight, and share exotic food and the love of God with beautiful Chinese students, some of whom are now my sisters in Christ.
I was able to be home to nurse my kids when they were sick, to accompany them on many a field trip and to help out at their schools.
There were pressures and trials, in the midst of the blessings, that very nearly broke me. But God sent friends to help me through and seemed to promise that He is making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. Soon we will be out of this trying time. Soon and very soon.
And so I face my fear of being away from home 40 hours a week and trust in God's unfailing love - that it won't fail me and it won't fail my children while I'm five minutes away in my office, but away none the less.
I will be strong and courageous like my hero Joshua, because just as He was with him, my God will be with me wherever I go.
Today is my last day of freedom. My last day of choosing what I want to do with a portion of my day. The last day of heading out for groceries or a run or to meet up with friends without having to answer to my children. The last day of cleaning the house without little tornadoes of disaster in my wake. My last day of thinking complete thoughts without the interruption of "Gabe is touching my stuff!" or "Josh just fell out of the tree" or "Hope is crying and I don't know why."
This is my last moment at Starbucks to sit and sip my chai while reading and writing and studying to my heart's content.
Tomorrow the kids will be home from school for the summer and on Monday I start my first real full-time job in 13 years.
EEK!
I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. I feel like it's my first day of kindergarten. I went shopping for "professional" clothes and found myself wondering if what I bought was right. I'm hoping that the people at my new job like me, that I will do a good job there, and that my family will be okay with this major transition.
I started looking for a job for the usual reasons: the need for money and insurance. But I think I found one that will be fun and challenging and kind of cool. I get to talk on the radio a little bit, though my kids are disappointed that it's not on their favorite rock station. I explained to them that mommy was taking this job to help our family while daddy finishes school. But I suspect I went a little too far when I expressed my pre-job concern that this year we may not have been able to afford Christmas presents. I personally think we could have had a perfectly lovely present-free Christmas, but I'm also not eight.
Last night Hope prayed, "And God, please help us have money so we don't have to be poor."
Yeah, I'm pretty sure my kids are scarred. Maybe my husband can do their therapy for free once he finishes school.
So, this ends a pretty amazing time of my life. I am forever grateful that I got to be home (mostly) full-time with my kids for the last thirteen years. I am thankful that my husband was willing to sacrifice a lot for me to be home for my family. And I am still amazed that I got to stay home this past school year, even while my kids were in school all day.
Besides some extra time to myself and connecting with friends that I love, I have had time to teach at a women's brunch, two retreats and a Mother's of Preschoolers group. I got to run with my puppy several times a week and spend hours letting my creative juices flow, studying God's word and working on a Bible study.
I went to Italy and got to hear a real Italian exclaim, "Mama Mia!" to my never ending delight, and share exotic food and the love of God with beautiful Chinese students, some of whom are now my sisters in Christ.
I was able to be home to nurse my kids when they were sick, to accompany them on many a field trip and to help out at their schools.
There were pressures and trials, in the midst of the blessings, that very nearly broke me. But God sent friends to help me through and seemed to promise that He is making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. Soon we will be out of this trying time. Soon and very soon.
And so I face my fear of being away from home 40 hours a week and trust in God's unfailing love - that it won't fail me and it won't fail my children while I'm five minutes away in my office, but away none the less.
I will be strong and courageous like my hero Joshua, because just as He was with him, my God will be with me wherever I go.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tulip Bulbs
Tulips are my favorite flowers for many reasons, not the least of which is because they bloom every year at my birthday and Easter so that I can have a house full of fresh cut flowers on two of my favorite days.
I also love tulips because they come from bulbs which are insanely easy to make grow and they come back year after year. Tulips were my first foray into gardening. I planted twenty-five bulbs one cool fall day and low and behold, by the time April rolled around I had an array of colorful flowers blooming by my front door. I planted more and more every year until now I probably have hundreds that grow every season.
My daughter and I love to give them to friends and neighbors when babies are born, performances end, and to bring a smile to the people we love. Somehow they always seem impressed that they were cut from our own garden. Not actually impressive to be able to grow tulips I think, but sown with love for sure.
This year my children discovered that if they cut a few and gave them out to random neighbors at unexpected times, they received candy in return. Apparently single men feel the need to give something to small children holding flowers on their doorstep. I saw that this was quickly getting out of control any time my kids craved more sweets, so I told them they could no longer give flowers for candy. They are special and should be treated as such.
One other thing I like about tulips is that they come from those hideously ugly, shriveled, garlic-looking bulbs, and then mere months later they turn into a rainbow of beauty. I thought that C.S. Lewis said something about how we are like tulip bulbs now and our incarnate bodies when Christ returns will be like tulips.
I can't find this quote for the life of me, so I may have made it up, but I'm pretty sure Lewis said it, or maybe it was N.T. Wright. Anyway, I like it because I'm feeling very tulip bulbish these days. Dried up, wrinkly, hideous in my own special ways. At times like this I like to remember that this is only for a little while. Maybe God is working His garden, preparing to plant me in His rich soil and patiently wait for me to grow. And then when the time comes, I will be one of His favorite flowers - bright and alive and shining in His sunshine.
Sadly, my tulips are almost all dead now and I really don't have any flowers to take their place. But I came across the verse in Isaiah 40 the other day that says, "the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."
It brings me hope that someday we'll all be flowers in the garden of our Lord who will never fall again.
I also love tulips because they come from bulbs which are insanely easy to make grow and they come back year after year. Tulips were my first foray into gardening. I planted twenty-five bulbs one cool fall day and low and behold, by the time April rolled around I had an array of colorful flowers blooming by my front door. I planted more and more every year until now I probably have hundreds that grow every season.
My daughter and I love to give them to friends and neighbors when babies are born, performances end, and to bring a smile to the people we love. Somehow they always seem impressed that they were cut from our own garden. Not actually impressive to be able to grow tulips I think, but sown with love for sure.
This year my children discovered that if they cut a few and gave them out to random neighbors at unexpected times, they received candy in return. Apparently single men feel the need to give something to small children holding flowers on their doorstep. I saw that this was quickly getting out of control any time my kids craved more sweets, so I told them they could no longer give flowers for candy. They are special and should be treated as such.
One other thing I like about tulips is that they come from those hideously ugly, shriveled, garlic-looking bulbs, and then mere months later they turn into a rainbow of beauty. I thought that C.S. Lewis said something about how we are like tulip bulbs now and our incarnate bodies when Christ returns will be like tulips.
I can't find this quote for the life of me, so I may have made it up, but I'm pretty sure Lewis said it, or maybe it was N.T. Wright. Anyway, I like it because I'm feeling very tulip bulbish these days. Dried up, wrinkly, hideous in my own special ways. At times like this I like to remember that this is only for a little while. Maybe God is working His garden, preparing to plant me in His rich soil and patiently wait for me to grow. And then when the time comes, I will be one of His favorite flowers - bright and alive and shining in His sunshine.
Sadly, my tulips are almost all dead now and I really don't have any flowers to take their place. But I came across the verse in Isaiah 40 the other day that says, "the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."
It brings me hope that someday we'll all be flowers in the garden of our Lord who will never fall again.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Spring Cleaning
Yesterday a trusted friend came over to help me clean out my bedroom. I have been trying to get it organized for months and finally made a call of desperation to bring in reinforcements. My friend had to be trustworthy, otherwise she wouldn't be allowed into my room of clutter.
See, we don't have a basement or an attic to throw all of our extra belongings, keepsakes, etc. in. All we have is a carport with a small storage shed where lawn tools, totes of Christmas decorations and Joel's surf board are stored. So, when I have stuff that I want to keep, I fill another nook in my room. Under the bed is already stuffed full of pictures and duffel bags (covered by a bed skirt of course), behind the chair are miscellaneous craft and teaching supplies, beside the bed are piles of journals (each with its own purpose to fulfill), and don't even think about opening my closet.
They say the first step to recovery is to admit you have a problem. Here I am confessing that I am just one nervous breakdown away from being profiled on "Hoarders."
Between my husband's desire to keep everything he's owned since 1987 "just in case" and my sentimentality that has me holding onto every art project my children have ever made, every card Joel has given me in the past 20 years, and every book I have ever bought, we are becoming overwhelmed with "stuff."
My friend has the gift of throwing away, getting rid of and giving to charity. She tried to explain to me the idea that we can appreciate that something has served its purpose, and now its purpose is done. Throw it out. Give it away. Get it out. And as I do I will feel freer.
It's a novel idea. Keeping stuff tends to give me a warm feeling of security, until I have to dust, vacuum around and organize it.
But her theory is already proving to be true. I walk into my room and don't see old picture frames sticking out behind every piece of furniture or piles of books and papers that have been read, but have no home on my overcrowded shelves, and I breath a sigh of relief. Its gone. Done with. I've moved on.
I've been feeling that way about my spiritual life lately as well. Like I've hit a spiritual mid-life crisis, weighed down by the burden of unmet expectations, dashed hopes and unrealized dreams. Of course, I know that the dreams I was dreaming were not necessarily God's, but they were nice fairytale-like visions of Jesus riding in on his big white horse making the lives of all my loved ones better.
Not Biblical, but nice, don't you think?
So here I am left to figure out what to do with all of these things. I don't want to give them away, they are like old friends that I can run to for comfort every time life gets too hard, but burdening me still more when they let me down yet again.
I think of the college students I have loved and led to Christ, but have chosen to walk away. I think of the middle school students living such hard lives that the few hours a day I had to love, care for and teach them could never possibly be enough. And I think of the four growing lives in my home that I cannot possibly protect from all the pain of life to come.
And I wonder what is the point? If I can't make their lives better, then why? And what is God doing?
But lately I feel Him asking me to unpack all of these dreams and expectations and hopes for painless lives and give them to Him. Declutter the recesses of my heart and mind, open the windows of my soul and let his Spirit blow through like the Spring breeze.
And I sense Him promising that it will feel good. That He will set me free. And that when I dream His dreams I will not be disappointed.
I think I'll give it a try.
See, we don't have a basement or an attic to throw all of our extra belongings, keepsakes, etc. in. All we have is a carport with a small storage shed where lawn tools, totes of Christmas decorations and Joel's surf board are stored. So, when I have stuff that I want to keep, I fill another nook in my room. Under the bed is already stuffed full of pictures and duffel bags (covered by a bed skirt of course), behind the chair are miscellaneous craft and teaching supplies, beside the bed are piles of journals (each with its own purpose to fulfill), and don't even think about opening my closet.
They say the first step to recovery is to admit you have a problem. Here I am confessing that I am just one nervous breakdown away from being profiled on "Hoarders."
Between my husband's desire to keep everything he's owned since 1987 "just in case" and my sentimentality that has me holding onto every art project my children have ever made, every card Joel has given me in the past 20 years, and every book I have ever bought, we are becoming overwhelmed with "stuff."
My friend has the gift of throwing away, getting rid of and giving to charity. She tried to explain to me the idea that we can appreciate that something has served its purpose, and now its purpose is done. Throw it out. Give it away. Get it out. And as I do I will feel freer.
It's a novel idea. Keeping stuff tends to give me a warm feeling of security, until I have to dust, vacuum around and organize it.
But her theory is already proving to be true. I walk into my room and don't see old picture frames sticking out behind every piece of furniture or piles of books and papers that have been read, but have no home on my overcrowded shelves, and I breath a sigh of relief. Its gone. Done with. I've moved on.
I've been feeling that way about my spiritual life lately as well. Like I've hit a spiritual mid-life crisis, weighed down by the burden of unmet expectations, dashed hopes and unrealized dreams. Of course, I know that the dreams I was dreaming were not necessarily God's, but they were nice fairytale-like visions of Jesus riding in on his big white horse making the lives of all my loved ones better.
Not Biblical, but nice, don't you think?
So here I am left to figure out what to do with all of these things. I don't want to give them away, they are like old friends that I can run to for comfort every time life gets too hard, but burdening me still more when they let me down yet again.
I think of the college students I have loved and led to Christ, but have chosen to walk away. I think of the middle school students living such hard lives that the few hours a day I had to love, care for and teach them could never possibly be enough. And I think of the four growing lives in my home that I cannot possibly protect from all the pain of life to come.
And I wonder what is the point? If I can't make their lives better, then why? And what is God doing?
But lately I feel Him asking me to unpack all of these dreams and expectations and hopes for painless lives and give them to Him. Declutter the recesses of my heart and mind, open the windows of my soul and let his Spirit blow through like the Spring breeze.
And I sense Him promising that it will feel good. That He will set me free. And that when I dream His dreams I will not be disappointed.
I think I'll give it a try.
Monday, March 14, 2011
ER Fun
I am typically a pretty good patient. I'm mostly honest, cooperative and do most of what my doctor says. But I hate taking medicine. I only take it when absolutely necessary, like when my cramps make me want to tear one of my kids heads off, then I think, "maybe I should just take some Advil," and it helps.
I've wondered before if it's that I'm a naturalist, don't like putting foreign stuff in my body, but after this weekend I'm reminded that no, that's not it at all. Drugs and me just don't mix.
Like when I was attempting natural childbirth on my first over 9 pound baby and the nurse convinced me to take some nubane. "It'll take the edge off," she said. For the first five minutes it was mildly helpful, then it just caused me to fall into a deep sleep in between horrifically painful contractions that were only two minutes apart. A couple times my nervous hubby nudged me awake, asking me if I was okay. Apparently as I released a relaxing breath at the end of the contraction, I would forget to take another breath in. Joel was afraid my sleep was becoming a little too deep. Then the baby's heart rate went down so the doctor got Lukas out of there and everyone was okay. But Joel still gets a little shaky when he talks about watching my breathing drop as I dropped off to sleep between each contraction.
Then, for some reason, my doctor gave me nubane again after the birth of my little girl. I wouldn't let him give it to me during labor. Apparently he thought it would relax me again, as I was a little shaken up by that labor. But all it did was keep me from actually sleeping, I remember feeling like I was floating and thinking that my little girl was actually me when I was a baby. Like I said, me and drugs don't mix.
Which brings me to this past week. My doctor wanted to start me on a new medication that I grudgingly agreed to take for the sake of my future health. Then, due to the strep epidemic overtaking my home, I stopped taking the first medication so that I could take the penicillin prescribed by my doctor. I thought it was strange seeing the word penicillin on the label, I couldn't remember the last time I was prescribed that stuff, it was always Amoxicillan or Zythromax, but I started taking it Wednesday and then woke up Saturday morning feeling like my hand was asleep. I tried massaging it, holding it up in the air to get the blood flowing and moving it around, but soon it became painful, like my fingers were going to explode.
I got out of bed and realized my foot hurt too, then my other hand started to hurt and I got out the side effects pamphlets on any and all drugs I had taken in the last week. One said that if there was swelling of the hands or feet I was to seek IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION. You couldn't see that they were swollen, but they were throbbing and were hot to the touch. Can I just mention here that one of the side effects of penicillin is a "black hairy tongue." Are they serious? Black? Hairy? Does it just feel hairy or does actual hair grow on the black tongue? And does the tongue turn pink again or is it black and in need of a good shave indefinitely?
Questions with no answers.
Anyway, I went to the ER and was checked into my very own room. I must say here that my only comparisons are to County General and Seattle Grace. Dr. Green never showed up and there was no Dr. McAnything anywhere to be seen. But they inserted an IV and pumped me full of all sorts of fun stuff like Benedryl and steroids and pain meds. Eventually the pain went away, but I left the hospital barely able to stand on my own two feet and with the doctor telling me not to take either medication because he didn't know which one was causing the side effects. See, me and drugs, no good.
And while I have great respect for the medical profession, I have to say that I don't like all the testing and guessing and uncertainty that goes along with it. I want Dr. House to walk in my room, berate me for my fear of modern medicine, try to kill me with some crazy idea of his, and then heal me with absolute certainty of what the problem is. Okay, I would actually curl up into the fetal position and hide under the bed if House used his usual methods on me, but I would at least like the solid answers that he provides at the end of every episode.
So, I went home and took a two hour nap at four in the afternoon, and when I woke up my fingers were not throbbing, I could walk without pain, and as far as I can tell, I will have no need to shave my tongue in the near future.
Hallelujah.
I've wondered before if it's that I'm a naturalist, don't like putting foreign stuff in my body, but after this weekend I'm reminded that no, that's not it at all. Drugs and me just don't mix.
Like when I was attempting natural childbirth on my first over 9 pound baby and the nurse convinced me to take some nubane. "It'll take the edge off," she said. For the first five minutes it was mildly helpful, then it just caused me to fall into a deep sleep in between horrifically painful contractions that were only two minutes apart. A couple times my nervous hubby nudged me awake, asking me if I was okay. Apparently as I released a relaxing breath at the end of the contraction, I would forget to take another breath in. Joel was afraid my sleep was becoming a little too deep. Then the baby's heart rate went down so the doctor got Lukas out of there and everyone was okay. But Joel still gets a little shaky when he talks about watching my breathing drop as I dropped off to sleep between each contraction.
Then, for some reason, my doctor gave me nubane again after the birth of my little girl. I wouldn't let him give it to me during labor. Apparently he thought it would relax me again, as I was a little shaken up by that labor. But all it did was keep me from actually sleeping, I remember feeling like I was floating and thinking that my little girl was actually me when I was a baby. Like I said, me and drugs don't mix.
Which brings me to this past week. My doctor wanted to start me on a new medication that I grudgingly agreed to take for the sake of my future health. Then, due to the strep epidemic overtaking my home, I stopped taking the first medication so that I could take the penicillin prescribed by my doctor. I thought it was strange seeing the word penicillin on the label, I couldn't remember the last time I was prescribed that stuff, it was always Amoxicillan or Zythromax, but I started taking it Wednesday and then woke up Saturday morning feeling like my hand was asleep. I tried massaging it, holding it up in the air to get the blood flowing and moving it around, but soon it became painful, like my fingers were going to explode.
I got out of bed and realized my foot hurt too, then my other hand started to hurt and I got out the side effects pamphlets on any and all drugs I had taken in the last week. One said that if there was swelling of the hands or feet I was to seek IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION. You couldn't see that they were swollen, but they were throbbing and were hot to the touch. Can I just mention here that one of the side effects of penicillin is a "black hairy tongue." Are they serious? Black? Hairy? Does it just feel hairy or does actual hair grow on the black tongue? And does the tongue turn pink again or is it black and in need of a good shave indefinitely?
Questions with no answers.
Anyway, I went to the ER and was checked into my very own room. I must say here that my only comparisons are to County General and Seattle Grace. Dr. Green never showed up and there was no Dr. McAnything anywhere to be seen. But they inserted an IV and pumped me full of all sorts of fun stuff like Benedryl and steroids and pain meds. Eventually the pain went away, but I left the hospital barely able to stand on my own two feet and with the doctor telling me not to take either medication because he didn't know which one was causing the side effects. See, me and drugs, no good.
And while I have great respect for the medical profession, I have to say that I don't like all the testing and guessing and uncertainty that goes along with it. I want Dr. House to walk in my room, berate me for my fear of modern medicine, try to kill me with some crazy idea of his, and then heal me with absolute certainty of what the problem is. Okay, I would actually curl up into the fetal position and hide under the bed if House used his usual methods on me, but I would at least like the solid answers that he provides at the end of every episode.
So, I went home and took a two hour nap at four in the afternoon, and when I woke up my fingers were not throbbing, I could walk without pain, and as far as I can tell, I will have no need to shave my tongue in the near future.
Hallelujah.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
On Parenting
This blog is not usually about parenting because I am not an expert parent.
I am an experienced parent, with four kids aged 5-12 I'm pretty sure that's indisputable, but there's a difference.
I think the fact that I'm beginning to get parenting ideas from movies like Despicable Me and Baby Mama is a sign that I am not an expert parent.
The other day I told Joel that I had all of our parenting woes solved. From now on, when our children misbehave they will go in the box of shame (Despicable Me), a lovely cardboard box we could put in the corner of the living room labeled cleverly, "Box of Shame." There is an air hole, so it's humane. And then when our children are good, they will receive the reward of five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact (Steve Martin in Baby Mama). I personally think this is a brilliant plan. As they say at our church (tongue in cheek) "shame produces change!" And really, what could be more rewarding to a child than eye contact with their parent?
In case you don't know me, no need to call DCFS, I'm joking. But the truth is, I started out this journey of parenting reading every book that had a "Godly" plan and tried to follow it to the letter. Over the years I have come to regret a lot of that because it didn't allow me to trust myself as a parent. Sometimes my baby doesn't need to cry it out, but needs to be held, or my son doesn't need strong discipline in this moment, but to know that he matters to me.
And now that my kids are older it has only gotten more complicated. This requires more creativity. A friend told me that psychologist Dan Allender uses fear and humiliation in parenting adolescents. When his middle schooler was too embarrassed to have his dad drop him off at the door of the school, Dan realized that his son didn't want to be seen with him, so the next day Dan took a paper bag, cut out eye holes so he could see, and dropped his son off at the door with a bag over his head. To his amazement, his son never complained again. Now that is parenting genius!
I used to think I'd be a cool parent who my kids wouldn't be embarrassed by. I now realize that is impossible. Once a child reaches the age of 11 they are embarrassed by everything. I have surprised myself to realize the sick delight I now take in mildly humiliating my children. It's too easy, and you've gotta have fun as a parent or you'll just go crazy.
So, fear and humiliation will help Lukas through middle school, whereas Gabe needs focused activity. He brought home a writing exercise yesterday that I was sure was a consequence for out of control behavior, but he insists it was just a regular journal assignment. This is what it said:
I am an experienced parent, with four kids aged 5-12 I'm pretty sure that's indisputable, but there's a difference.
I think the fact that I'm beginning to get parenting ideas from movies like Despicable Me and Baby Mama is a sign that I am not an expert parent.
The other day I told Joel that I had all of our parenting woes solved. From now on, when our children misbehave they will go in the box of shame (Despicable Me), a lovely cardboard box we could put in the corner of the living room labeled cleverly, "Box of Shame." There is an air hole, so it's humane. And then when our children are good, they will receive the reward of five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact (Steve Martin in Baby Mama). I personally think this is a brilliant plan. As they say at our church (tongue in cheek) "shame produces change!" And really, what could be more rewarding to a child than eye contact with their parent?
In case you don't know me, no need to call DCFS, I'm joking. But the truth is, I started out this journey of parenting reading every book that had a "Godly" plan and tried to follow it to the letter. Over the years I have come to regret a lot of that because it didn't allow me to trust myself as a parent. Sometimes my baby doesn't need to cry it out, but needs to be held, or my son doesn't need strong discipline in this moment, but to know that he matters to me.
And now that my kids are older it has only gotten more complicated. This requires more creativity. A friend told me that psychologist Dan Allender uses fear and humiliation in parenting adolescents. When his middle schooler was too embarrassed to have his dad drop him off at the door of the school, Dan realized that his son didn't want to be seen with him, so the next day Dan took a paper bag, cut out eye holes so he could see, and dropped his son off at the door with a bag over his head. To his amazement, his son never complained again. Now that is parenting genius!
I used to think I'd be a cool parent who my kids wouldn't be embarrassed by. I now realize that is impossible. Once a child reaches the age of 11 they are embarrassed by everything. I have surprised myself to realize the sick delight I now take in mildly humiliating my children. It's too easy, and you've gotta have fun as a parent or you'll just go crazy.
So, fear and humiliation will help Lukas through middle school, whereas Gabe needs focused activity. He brought home a writing exercise yesterday that I was sure was a consequence for out of control behavior, but he insists it was just a regular journal assignment. This is what it said:
Calm Down
By Gabe
I am always getting hyper and getting in trouble for being hyper. My mom and dad started to think of solutions.
One bad solution is warning me, because it is hard to stop. The first solution was to make me read. It didn’t really help. Then a better solution was to make me take deep breaths, because it helped me calm down. An even better solution was to walk away, because then I couldn’t do any more damage.
The real solution that worked and they do now is to make me go outside and do three or five chin ups on the rings, because it wastes my energy and it is fun, too.
It sort of cracks me up that my son is so self-aware that he is critiquing our various attempts at helping him stay out of trouble. I'm glad he thinks we're finally onto something here.
Now Josh is another story. He has the most guilty conscience I've ever seen. The other night he came to me in silence with something clearly weighing on him. After almost a half an hour he finally broke down and confessed that he had taken a large cardboard box from our neighbor's yard without asking them for permission. We talked about how that was wrong and that he had lied about getting permission and we talked about needing to go and apologize to our neighbors. After a little bit I asked if he felt better after telling me. He said no because he was afraid he was going to go to juvie (juvenile detention). I stifled my laughter and told him that though what he did was wrong, I didn't think anyone would send him away for stealing empty cardboard boxes. He was mildly comforted.
But last night, after allowing my kids to watch some t.v. that ended up not being very age appropriate, Josh used some bad language on his brother. Because this has become a trend, I sent him to the bathroom thinking through using the tried and true wash his mouth out with soap method (The Christmas Story). By the time I got to the bathroom for our talk, I couldn't find him. I looked in the shower and he wasn't there and then behind the door. Finally Joshua emerged from under the counter, his face red and streaked with tears. It seemed he had been enduring his own box of shame. I was overcome with compassion for my sensitive boy and chose not to use any soap, but talked to him about sin and forgiveness and saying hurtful things and not letting hurtful things said about you change how you think of yourself.
His older brother had called him a chicken for backing out of a deal that would have certainly caused him physical pain. Josh is so much smaller than his brothers that his only retaliation is fury and the worst words he can think of. As we talked he told me he only knows one bad word and it means, "donkey butt."
That time I laughed out loud really hard. He looked at me like I was crazy, but then relaxed, realizing that if mommy's laughing, the consequences can't be too bad. And so he went to bed assuring me that he would try to control his language and confident that he is loved and forgiven. He and his brother apologized to one another and peace was restored in my home.
Parenting is the hardest thing I've ever done. I really have no idea what I'm doing and I mess up a lot. Though shame may, in fact, produce change, it's not the kind of change I want from my kids. I'd rather have them learn the lesson that their mommy clings to as she does her best to parent them - that love covers over a multitude of sins.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Best of 2010
Here's my list of favorites from the past year:
1. Best Novel - Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen was my favorite read from the last year. I loved traveling back to the Great Depression era circus train, meeting all of the strange characters and falling in love with that sweet elephant, Rosie. I also liked the Notebook-esque use of the old man telling the story of his youth and wondering who his wife turned out to be. I am sooo excited to see the Reese Witherspoon/Robert Pattinson movie which just happens to come out right before my birthday - happy birthday to me!
2. Best Non-fiction book - The Land Between, Finding God in Difficult Transitions by Jeff Manion - I downloaded this book on the Kindle because it said it was free, but it wasn't. Fortunately, this book knew that I needed it. It is written with compassion by a pastor who knows what it means to struggle through the trials and circumstances of life. It is also a study of Moses and the Israelite's time in the desert, but Manion seamlessly melds new Biblical insights with practical application and encouragement for life today. I have not finished reading it because it's become a sort of devotional for me. I find myself craving his words of assurance and encouragement on a regular basis. I may just start over when I'm finished.
3. Best Children's Book Series - Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems - I'm pretty sure the man is a genius of some sort. I love how his pictures meld New York streets with cartoon drawings and the way his writing captures the passion of a child and hilarity of parenting. My daughter loves these books so much that get them from the library over and over again. The final installment, Knuffle Bunny Free, was just released, but don't read it until you've read Knuffle Bunny and Knuffle Bunny, Too. My family's favorite part is in the first book when the little girl goes "boneless" in her daddy's arms. Don't tell Hope, but she's getting the whole series and her very own Knuffle Bunny for her birthday. I can't wait!!!
4. Best Movie - Inception - This is the only movie this year that I walked out of in awe. In awe of the movie experience I just had, in awe of the special effects and powerful story, and most of all, in awe of the amazing mind of Chris Nolan. In an industry made up of story lines recycled into oblivion, he came up with something completely new and mind blowing. I'm pulling for it to win best picture at the academy awards this year. If you haven't seen it, do, but be sure it's on the biggest screen you can find with a high quality sound system so that you can have the full Inception experience.
5. Best Family Experience - our first real family vacation in Tennessee - whether trying not to lose any children while tubing down the river, exhausting my kids on what was supposed to be a 3 mile round trip hike to a waterfall (turned out it was 6 miles in 90 degree heat and we didn't quite make it), going out for Mexican food or just hanging around what the kids now call "our cabin," it was awesome to get away from everyday life to focus on fun and family. The only problem now is that our kids want to go back next year.
6. Best Personal Experience - Italy! - It was truly the trip of a lifetime. From the cafes on every corner that invite you to come in and sit as long as you want, to the beautiful, passionate language and gorgeous people and paintings and buildings, not to mention getting to talk about the love that God has for his people with people that have never heard it before, it was more than I ever imagined it would be.
7. Best Daughter - Hope Elizabeth - She continues to leave me in wonder as she wants to be like me, but is so much her own person. Her first day of kindergarten she sat in her desk and never even looked up at me to wave good-bye. She was ready to strike out on her own, much more so than Mommy, who left with tears in her eyes. She is the delight of my heart, a gift that I never expected.
8. Best 3rd Son - Joshua Brody - my little turkey pot pie, as I affectionately call him, continues to crack me up with timely one liners and hilarious retorts. He is as sweet as can be and tough as nails, too. I feel for him being sandwiched between two older brothers and a little sister who acts like a little mommy, but am proud of him for finding his own path, too.
9. Best 2nd Son - Gabe - He is still crazy as he's been since he was a toddler and perceptive. His way with words is a blessing and a curse as he tells great stories, cheers up family members when they are down and offers stunning insight into all sorts of things, while also having the power to crush or manipulate a sibling at will.
10. Best Oldest Son - Lukas Joel - named after his dad, he continues to clash with him the most, but only because he's so desperate to become a man himself. Battling dyslexia, Lukas has become a middle schooler who works hard in all of his classes, brings home good grades and is a voracious reader, much to my amazement. He is learning an instrument, making new friends and doing a pretty good job of managing what I tend to think are the worst years of a person's life.
11. Best Husband - Joel - Juggling a full-time job, full-time school and a full-time family, Joel continues to impress his teachers, minister to students and still make time to talk to his wife at the end of a long day. I'm still mystified by the fact that he loves me while knowing the depth of my flaws. I continue to grow in respect for the man that God is making him to be and look forward to finishing this journey with Joel at my side.
12. Best Dog Ever - Gabby - Last but not least is my puppy who came straight from the hand of God to me. We have the most co-dependent relationship I've ever heard of between an owner and pet, but it makes me deliriously happy and she seems quite pleased, herself (as long as I'm around). She is my running partner, protector, snuggler, play friend and companion and I've decided she has to live forever as no other dog could possibly be as awesome as Gabby.
There were so many great things about 2010, but these are the top. 2011 is already underway and is off to a good start. As Joel will not be done with grad school until May of 2012, I'm trying not to view this year as the year between, but to look for all the hope and possibilities that God has for us.
May you be blessed in the new year.
1. Best Novel - Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen was my favorite read from the last year. I loved traveling back to the Great Depression era circus train, meeting all of the strange characters and falling in love with that sweet elephant, Rosie. I also liked the Notebook-esque use of the old man telling the story of his youth and wondering who his wife turned out to be. I am sooo excited to see the Reese Witherspoon/Robert Pattinson movie which just happens to come out right before my birthday - happy birthday to me!
2. Best Non-fiction book - The Land Between, Finding God in Difficult Transitions by Jeff Manion - I downloaded this book on the Kindle because it said it was free, but it wasn't. Fortunately, this book knew that I needed it. It is written with compassion by a pastor who knows what it means to struggle through the trials and circumstances of life. It is also a study of Moses and the Israelite's time in the desert, but Manion seamlessly melds new Biblical insights with practical application and encouragement for life today. I have not finished reading it because it's become a sort of devotional for me. I find myself craving his words of assurance and encouragement on a regular basis. I may just start over when I'm finished.
3. Best Children's Book Series - Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems - I'm pretty sure the man is a genius of some sort. I love how his pictures meld New York streets with cartoon drawings and the way his writing captures the passion of a child and hilarity of parenting. My daughter loves these books so much that get them from the library over and over again. The final installment, Knuffle Bunny Free, was just released, but don't read it until you've read Knuffle Bunny and Knuffle Bunny, Too. My family's favorite part is in the first book when the little girl goes "boneless" in her daddy's arms. Don't tell Hope, but she's getting the whole series and her very own Knuffle Bunny for her birthday. I can't wait!!!
4. Best Movie - Inception - This is the only movie this year that I walked out of in awe. In awe of the movie experience I just had, in awe of the special effects and powerful story, and most of all, in awe of the amazing mind of Chris Nolan. In an industry made up of story lines recycled into oblivion, he came up with something completely new and mind blowing. I'm pulling for it to win best picture at the academy awards this year. If you haven't seen it, do, but be sure it's on the biggest screen you can find with a high quality sound system so that you can have the full Inception experience.
5. Best Family Experience - our first real family vacation in Tennessee - whether trying not to lose any children while tubing down the river, exhausting my kids on what was supposed to be a 3 mile round trip hike to a waterfall (turned out it was 6 miles in 90 degree heat and we didn't quite make it), going out for Mexican food or just hanging around what the kids now call "our cabin," it was awesome to get away from everyday life to focus on fun and family. The only problem now is that our kids want to go back next year.
6. Best Personal Experience - Italy! - It was truly the trip of a lifetime. From the cafes on every corner that invite you to come in and sit as long as you want, to the beautiful, passionate language and gorgeous people and paintings and buildings, not to mention getting to talk about the love that God has for his people with people that have never heard it before, it was more than I ever imagined it would be.
7. Best Daughter - Hope Elizabeth - She continues to leave me in wonder as she wants to be like me, but is so much her own person. Her first day of kindergarten she sat in her desk and never even looked up at me to wave good-bye. She was ready to strike out on her own, much more so than Mommy, who left with tears in her eyes. She is the delight of my heart, a gift that I never expected.
8. Best 3rd Son - Joshua Brody - my little turkey pot pie, as I affectionately call him, continues to crack me up with timely one liners and hilarious retorts. He is as sweet as can be and tough as nails, too. I feel for him being sandwiched between two older brothers and a little sister who acts like a little mommy, but am proud of him for finding his own path, too.
9. Best 2nd Son - Gabe - He is still crazy as he's been since he was a toddler and perceptive. His way with words is a blessing and a curse as he tells great stories, cheers up family members when they are down and offers stunning insight into all sorts of things, while also having the power to crush or manipulate a sibling at will.
10. Best Oldest Son - Lukas Joel - named after his dad, he continues to clash with him the most, but only because he's so desperate to become a man himself. Battling dyslexia, Lukas has become a middle schooler who works hard in all of his classes, brings home good grades and is a voracious reader, much to my amazement. He is learning an instrument, making new friends and doing a pretty good job of managing what I tend to think are the worst years of a person's life.
11. Best Husband - Joel - Juggling a full-time job, full-time school and a full-time family, Joel continues to impress his teachers, minister to students and still make time to talk to his wife at the end of a long day. I'm still mystified by the fact that he loves me while knowing the depth of my flaws. I continue to grow in respect for the man that God is making him to be and look forward to finishing this journey with Joel at my side.
12. Best Dog Ever - Gabby - Last but not least is my puppy who came straight from the hand of God to me. We have the most co-dependent relationship I've ever heard of between an owner and pet, but it makes me deliriously happy and she seems quite pleased, herself (as long as I'm around). She is my running partner, protector, snuggler, play friend and companion and I've decided she has to live forever as no other dog could possibly be as awesome as Gabby.
There were so many great things about 2010, but these are the top. 2011 is already underway and is off to a good start. As Joel will not be done with grad school until May of 2012, I'm trying not to view this year as the year between, but to look for all the hope and possibilities that God has for us.
May you be blessed in the new year.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Christmas is...
Christmas is...
footy pajamas and ribbons and bows
twinkle lights and cookie cutouts
anticipation and waking before the sun
Christmas is...
a crackling fire and falling snow
games and meals and memories
bickering and baking, laughing and loathing
Christmas is...
Sparkling trees and video games and cousins clashing and laughing
children and grown-ups barely acting their age
one word reducing us to tears - of laughter or agony
reliving past wounds, remembering past loss
and choosing love.
Christmas is...
Jesus and Mary
Donkey and sheep
Star and wise men
And angels, deep
Christmas is...
Singing hymns, for centuries sung
Family side by side, hand in hand
Open wounds covered in Christmas best
Remembering the One who came to give us rest.
I love Christmas, but I am thankful Christmas is...
Over
until next year.
footy pajamas and ribbons and bows
twinkle lights and cookie cutouts
anticipation and waking before the sun
Christmas is...
a crackling fire and falling snow
games and meals and memories
bickering and baking, laughing and loathing
Christmas is...
Sparkling trees and video games and cousins clashing and laughing
children and grown-ups barely acting their age
one word reducing us to tears - of laughter or agony
reliving past wounds, remembering past loss
and choosing love.
Christmas is...
Jesus and Mary
Donkey and sheep
Star and wise men
And angels, deep
Christmas is...
Singing hymns, for centuries sung
Family side by side, hand in hand
Open wounds covered in Christmas best
Remembering the One who came to give us rest.
I love Christmas, but I am thankful Christmas is...
Over
until next year.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Italia!
I've only been home for a few days, and already I'm wishing that Italy wasn't so far away. I want to take all of my friends and family back to show them all that I saw and experienced, and I want to continue the friendships I began in Milano. I guess pictures and blogs and facebook will have to suffice, as Europe does not seem to be drifting any closer to the U.S., and airline prices are holding steady at completely unrealistic prices.
I am happy to say that my trip was amazing in every way. The food was delicious, the sites were awe-inspiring and the people and language were wonderful!
I so enjoyed learning the language over there that I was trying to teach some of it to my children, but the other day after using my favorite saying to send Lukas off to school, "Baci! Baci! Arrivederci!" (which means kiss, kiss, goodbye), my kids asked it I could be less Italian.:(
I don't know. I think after visiting Italy a part of it stays with you. I'm wondering if my experience there has earned me the right to call it "the old country." As in, "Remember back in the old country? When we had gelatto every day and enjoyed long relaxing meals, twice a day? Ah, I miss the old country."
Though I enjoyed the language, there were a few issues I ran into with it. First of all, it seems that without the proper voice inflection and hand movements, no one understands you. My most frustrating experience was trying to order bruschetta, real Italian bruschetta. I even had my Italian interpreter next to me, but all of the Italians looked at me like I was crazy. They asked if I saw a picture of it, but I couldn't find one at the time. I got a kebab instead. It's kind of like a gyro, but I didn't like it as much. Later, I found a picture of the bruschetta and showed it to Frank, our host, who said, "Oh, bruskaitta!" (with a powerful accent on the ai). Determined to order my own bruskaitta (which is actually spelled the way we spell it), I practiced my pronunciation and accent and a few days later the waiter brought me just what I wanted and all was well in the world.
I think my favorite part of being in Italy was waking up every morning, raising the blinds and opening the window to find Italy just outside - the old buildings, flower boxes in every window, trams running constantly, and Italian voices raised in what often sounds like arguing, but usually is not. They are a very passionate people.
As much as I loved being in Italy, ten days away from my family was very difficult. At one point during the trip I told the girls I needed more hugs because between my husband, four kids and dog, I was used to at least 100 touches a day. Thankfully, soon after that I got my first Italian kiss! Don't worry, it was from a girl, on both cheeks and it made me gloriously happy, as it meant that we were friends and made me feel like I somehow belonged there.
After getting home, sha
ring gifts with my kids and being mauled with love by everyone, I asked Lukas how he did while I was gone."Terrible," he said. "It was like a puzzle with a missing piece."
Such a beautiful word picture, I thought. And that is how I felt, too. As I traveled and photographed and met and loved people, I still had this aching feeling, like I was a missing piece, longing to be back in my puzzle where I belong.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Arrivederci!
I'm freaking out, I'm totally freaking out!
I leave for Italy this morning and really don't want to leave my family, but am so excited to see Italy and meet the people, see my sister and watch God unfold what I trust is his awesome plan for this trip.
I Googled our hotel and it is so quaint and perfectly Italian, I can't wait to be surrounded by Italian voices and scenery. I also saw where we are going for our excursion day - Lake Como! Don't worry, I'll tell George you said hi if I see him. And, of course, I'll be posting pics.
Well, wish me safe travel and my husband sanity as I leave him for nine days as Mr. Mom.
Addio!
I leave for Italy this morning and really don't want to leave my family, but am so excited to see Italy and meet the people, see my sister and watch God unfold what I trust is his awesome plan for this trip.
I Googled our hotel and it is so quaint and perfectly Italian, I can't wait to be surrounded by Italian voices and scenery. I also saw where we are going for our excursion day - Lake Como! Don't worry, I'll tell George you said hi if I see him. And, of course, I'll be posting pics.
Well, wish me safe travel and my husband sanity as I leave him for nine days as Mr. Mom.
Addio!
Friday, November 12, 2010
My Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Week
Last week was not a good one. It began with tears, my own instead of Hope's this time. I woke up Monday morning unable to shake my sadness. I went for a run and as I prayed I started bawling. Apparently there were some unresolved issues I needed to work through with some friends. The hurt was overwhelming me, which then turned to anger.
I don't really like anger. It's ugly and impulsive and does all sorts of stupid things and then blames it on us. So I boiled and stewed and sent out a short email asking my friends if we could get together and talk. I knew my typical novelette of an email would only lead me to trouble. They responded promptly with a time to get together and I felt a little better. The cursing in my head subsided a bit and I considered making a list of grievances, but thankfully didn't.
Apparently this is what happens when you leave things unresolved for something like 10 years. One day some event triggers it and a flood of emotion, dammed up to overflowing comes flooding out. I don't really like these floods of emotion either (note my previous post on my control freakishness).
So, to recap, it's Monday, and I'm an emotional mess.
Then I took my daughter to the doctor where she failed a hearing test, in both ears, even though I thought her hearing had improved.
Discouragement on top of sadness.
Then I took my daughter back to school and discovered that I had taken her to the doctor during a special lunch time when she was to get pizza and cookies and sit on the stage to get a character award.
Complete failure as a mom on top of discouragement on top of sadness.
At this point I was thinking going back to bed and starting over in another hemisphere would be nice.
The week progressed.
The meeting with my friends on Thursday went well. I told them how I felt, minus the angry tirade, and then cried for over an hour as we hashed through the past. Apologies were made, explanations were given, friendship was reaffirmed, and then I left.
On Friday, my mom arrived. We headed to the mall to do some early Christmas shopping and while in our first store, perusing pajamas, I got a call from my son's school. He had lice.
Lice.
Deep breath...
So now my emotionally exhausting week turned into a physically exhausting weekend as we washed (and shaved some) heads, cleaned sheets, bagged stuffed animals and combed out nits. (I apologize if you are now scratching your head uncontrollably. I promise you can't get it through the internet.) By Saturday night I was pretty sure that every surface had been sprayed, laundered and deloused and I was done. Emotionally and physically DONE.
Mom left on Sunday morning and I had the opportunity to go to Starbuck's for a little chai therapy and journaling. It was wonderful. A few more tears were shed as I poured out my heart to God, but he gave me insight into where all the tears had come from and why. But he did me one better. He showed me that he saw all of my pain over all of the years, all of the sacrifice, and that he felt it, too. It mattered to him. And not only that, but there would be rewards in heaven for everything done for him. One day, he would make everything better. And so, after a very, very long week, I was comforted. I felt peace.
As I thought about what I needed for the coming week, I felt prompted to fast on Monday and then to gradually reintroduce foods throughout the week. Have I mentioned that I was eating my weight in Oreos to cope with all the stress of the previous week? I wondered if a little self-control on the food end of things might help me look to a higher power than Nabisco when tragedy strikes again.
And it has been awesome. Not only is my son's head no longer crawling with insects, but I feel so connected with God and able to do one thing at a time, prioritize my time without worrying about my list of 100 other responsibilities, and I've lost a few pounds (this in not the ultimate goal of fasting, but I'm pretty sure it was all Oreo weight that needed to be removed immediately). I feel like this fast has been a reboot for my body and my brain.
So, my terrible, no good, very bad week came to an end. God redeemed it and has given me a pretty wonderful one to follow it, and hey, I go to Milan in seven days!
I don't really like anger. It's ugly and impulsive and does all sorts of stupid things and then blames it on us. So I boiled and stewed and sent out a short email asking my friends if we could get together and talk. I knew my typical novelette of an email would only lead me to trouble. They responded promptly with a time to get together and I felt a little better. The cursing in my head subsided a bit and I considered making a list of grievances, but thankfully didn't.
Apparently this is what happens when you leave things unresolved for something like 10 years. One day some event triggers it and a flood of emotion, dammed up to overflowing comes flooding out. I don't really like these floods of emotion either (note my previous post on my control freakishness).
So, to recap, it's Monday, and I'm an emotional mess.
Then I took my daughter to the doctor where she failed a hearing test, in both ears, even though I thought her hearing had improved.
Discouragement on top of sadness.
Then I took my daughter back to school and discovered that I had taken her to the doctor during a special lunch time when she was to get pizza and cookies and sit on the stage to get a character award.
Complete failure as a mom on top of discouragement on top of sadness.
At this point I was thinking going back to bed and starting over in another hemisphere would be nice.
The week progressed.
The meeting with my friends on Thursday went well. I told them how I felt, minus the angry tirade, and then cried for over an hour as we hashed through the past. Apologies were made, explanations were given, friendship was reaffirmed, and then I left.
On Friday, my mom arrived. We headed to the mall to do some early Christmas shopping and while in our first store, perusing pajamas, I got a call from my son's school. He had lice.
Lice.
Deep breath...
So now my emotionally exhausting week turned into a physically exhausting weekend as we washed (and shaved some) heads, cleaned sheets, bagged stuffed animals and combed out nits. (I apologize if you are now scratching your head uncontrollably. I promise you can't get it through the internet.) By Saturday night I was pretty sure that every surface had been sprayed, laundered and deloused and I was done. Emotionally and physically DONE.
Mom left on Sunday morning and I had the opportunity to go to Starbuck's for a little chai therapy and journaling. It was wonderful. A few more tears were shed as I poured out my heart to God, but he gave me insight into where all the tears had come from and why. But he did me one better. He showed me that he saw all of my pain over all of the years, all of the sacrifice, and that he felt it, too. It mattered to him. And not only that, but there would be rewards in heaven for everything done for him. One day, he would make everything better. And so, after a very, very long week, I was comforted. I felt peace.
As I thought about what I needed for the coming week, I felt prompted to fast on Monday and then to gradually reintroduce foods throughout the week. Have I mentioned that I was eating my weight in Oreos to cope with all the stress of the previous week? I wondered if a little self-control on the food end of things might help me look to a higher power than Nabisco when tragedy strikes again.
And it has been awesome. Not only is my son's head no longer crawling with insects, but I feel so connected with God and able to do one thing at a time, prioritize my time without worrying about my list of 100 other responsibilities, and I've lost a few pounds (this in not the ultimate goal of fasting, but I'm pretty sure it was all Oreo weight that needed to be removed immediately). I feel like this fast has been a reboot for my body and my brain.
So, my terrible, no good, very bad week came to an end. God redeemed it and has given me a pretty wonderful one to follow it, and hey, I go to Milan in seven days!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Losing Control
Apparently, I'm a bit of a control freak.
My husband chuckles when I say this. Not a, "No, you're not a control freak!" kind of laugh, but a, "Really, you're just figuring this out?" laugh, which I do not appreciate.
It's always irritating when other people know things about me before I do.
But I came to this realization the other day when I mentioned to a friend that I have had a few borderline panic attacks lately. It was odd to me because my life has gotten less stressful since my kids are all in school and I no longer work at a job where I felt like a constant failure.
My friend, after listening to what brought on these attacks, suggested that I make a list of everything I feel responsible for and then share it with my husband, and maybe see what he could take on and be responsible for.
I began my list. I started with all my responsibilities on Monday - everything from getting groceries, to getting kids to their events, to working out, making dinner, checking everyone's homework, teaching my younger two to read, and practicing spelling words, then moved to Tuesday and so on. The list, by the time I was done, had more than 100 items on it, all things that I feel responsible to get done.
I showed Joel the list and he gasped, really. My husband has a lot of responsibility right now with working a full-time job and going to grad school just about full-time, so I try to pick up everything I can for him. But the truth is he does help a lot. He does dishes regularly, throws in a load of laundry here and there, vacuums and such, but when he does these things I usually feel guilty. Like it's a sign of my failure that he needs to pick up my slack when he's already stressed out.
But getting to part 2 of my assignment was difficult. What could I actually give Joel as his responsibility? As in, not my responsibility anymore. The problem was, as much as I didn't want so much responsibility on my shoulders, it was hard for me to let go of any of my list.
If I don't make sure that Joshua's reading is done, will he fall behind? If I don't clean the bathroom myself, will it really get as clean as I like it? Could someone else really work out for me? Man, that would be nice if I could hire a personal trainer to work out and then see the results on my own body! Seriously, why has no one else thought of that?
Anyway, all of this thinking about my myriad of responsibilities made me think about something that Shauna Niequist said in her book, Bittersweet. As a wife and mother, author and speaker, she has made a list of things she doesn't do.
This list includes:
scrap booking
baking (though she buys lovely treats from the bakery)
gardening
home improvement (she says unloading the dishwasher counts as home improvement in her family)
making the bed
I look at her list and think, but I love baking, just not the effects of eating what I bake. Gardening is sort of fun, especially the fresh basil and tomatoes that make the most wonderful bruschetta. And making my bed is the easiest "cleaning" I do of the day.
I know I need to give up some things on my never ending list of responsibilities, but every time I try to make my list it looks something like this:
What I don't do:
Sing well
Keep my house clean enough
Always respond patiently to my children
Eat well enough to get my cholesterol down and lose 10lbs
Save money
Respond to emails promptly
etc...
You get the point. My list of what I don't do is really a list of what I feel bad about not doing well, which is probably not the goal of this exercise.
So, for right now, just having a husband who has compassion for my extensive to-do list is nice. I'm still working on figuring out what I can let go of and sacrifice for my own sanity, without causing my house to spiral out of control.
My husband chuckles when I say this. Not a, "No, you're not a control freak!" kind of laugh, but a, "Really, you're just figuring this out?" laugh, which I do not appreciate.
It's always irritating when other people know things about me before I do.
But I came to this realization the other day when I mentioned to a friend that I have had a few borderline panic attacks lately. It was odd to me because my life has gotten less stressful since my kids are all in school and I no longer work at a job where I felt like a constant failure.
My friend, after listening to what brought on these attacks, suggested that I make a list of everything I feel responsible for and then share it with my husband, and maybe see what he could take on and be responsible for.
I began my list. I started with all my responsibilities on Monday - everything from getting groceries, to getting kids to their events, to working out, making dinner, checking everyone's homework, teaching my younger two to read, and practicing spelling words, then moved to Tuesday and so on. The list, by the time I was done, had more than 100 items on it, all things that I feel responsible to get done.
I showed Joel the list and he gasped, really. My husband has a lot of responsibility right now with working a full-time job and going to grad school just about full-time, so I try to pick up everything I can for him. But the truth is he does help a lot. He does dishes regularly, throws in a load of laundry here and there, vacuums and such, but when he does these things I usually feel guilty. Like it's a sign of my failure that he needs to pick up my slack when he's already stressed out.
But getting to part 2 of my assignment was difficult. What could I actually give Joel as his responsibility? As in, not my responsibility anymore. The problem was, as much as I didn't want so much responsibility on my shoulders, it was hard for me to let go of any of my list.
If I don't make sure that Joshua's reading is done, will he fall behind? If I don't clean the bathroom myself, will it really get as clean as I like it? Could someone else really work out for me? Man, that would be nice if I could hire a personal trainer to work out and then see the results on my own body! Seriously, why has no one else thought of that?
Anyway, all of this thinking about my myriad of responsibilities made me think about something that Shauna Niequist said in her book, Bittersweet. As a wife and mother, author and speaker, she has made a list of things she doesn't do.
This list includes:
scrap booking
baking (though she buys lovely treats from the bakery)
gardening
home improvement (she says unloading the dishwasher counts as home improvement in her family)
making the bed
I look at her list and think, but I love baking, just not the effects of eating what I bake. Gardening is sort of fun, especially the fresh basil and tomatoes that make the most wonderful bruschetta. And making my bed is the easiest "cleaning" I do of the day.
I know I need to give up some things on my never ending list of responsibilities, but every time I try to make my list it looks something like this:
What I don't do:
Sing well
Keep my house clean enough
Always respond patiently to my children
Eat well enough to get my cholesterol down and lose 10lbs
Save money
Respond to emails promptly
etc...
You get the point. My list of what I don't do is really a list of what I feel bad about not doing well, which is probably not the goal of this exercise.
So, for right now, just having a husband who has compassion for my extensive to-do list is nice. I'm still working on figuring out what I can let go of and sacrifice for my own sanity, without causing my house to spiral out of control.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Bittersweet Kindling
I am a book lover.
I love not only reading books, but holding their sturdy spines in the palm of my hand, turning the paper edges with anticipation for what waits on the next page. I love the smell of wood pulp and ink.
I love books.
Reading them, underlining their best passages, dog-earring the pages so I can go back to my favorites again and again. And lining them up neatly on my shelves, like old friends and destinations just waiting for me to come and visit again on a lazy, rainy afternoon, a sunny morning or sleepless night.
Books are a wonderful escape; fuel for my imagination and understanding of this world.
Someone said that, "A room without books is like a body without a soul."
It feels true to me.
Whether the tattered and stained cookbooks that tell the tale of favorite meals shared with love, as well as failed attempts at culinary delights, that sit on my kitchen shelves; or the worn and dusty collection of classics that go mostly untouched in the family room; the pile of reading material waiting on the bathroom counter for a stolen moment behind a locked door; the loads of books on my bedroom shelves where my favorites are displayed and cared for; or the rainbow of childrens books standing at attention in my kids' rooms; books bring comfort and imagination to all the rooms of my home.
So when my husband got a Kindle for use in grad school, I was excited for him, but hesitant for myself. It sounded so exciting to have books right there at my fingertips, whether traveling or home or at Panera. No broken back as a result of lugging all those pages, just the touch of a button on one neat and tidy device. But no books?
This week I bought my first book on Kindle. It is called Bittersweet and is by Shauna Niequist, the author of Cold Tangerines, which I blogged about before. And the title seems fitting for my first foray into technical reading.
The Kindle is cool. Even though it looks like a computer screen when turned off, when I turn it on, it is as though a page appears with no glare and no screen strain on my eyes. It saves my place when I turn it off, lets me underline or take notes right there in the text, no need to find a pen, and I can make the letters larger for my eyes which sometimes require reading glasses (yes, I am that old).
When I turn it off, a random picture appears of sketches of fish straight off an encyclopedia page, Mark Twain, Mount Olympus or, my personal favorite, Charlotte Bronte (I almost kissed that picture when it appeared, but refrained due to the fact that I had on lip gloss and did not want to clean the screen, but I do love her that much). I need to have proper lighting to read off of it just like a normal book and Joel bought a nice protective case for it that feels like a book spine or nice journal in my hands.
I know that this is the future of books, if only to save the trees and publishing costs. I must say it was pretty amazing to see the book on amazon, buy it new for a paperback price and then watch as it downloaded to the Kindle, via some sort of magic that I do not care to understand, in mere seconds. But I will miss not having this book's purple spine watching over me as I go to sleep at night or being able to grab it off the shelf, shove it into a friend's hand and tell her she must read it.
The book, Bittersweet, is pretty fantastic. The Kindle certainly doesn't affect my enjoyment of the content and kindly shows me my progress (28%) at the bottom of the "page" as there are no page numbers or book marks to show how far I have gotten.
So, while I am enjoying the convenience of our Kindle, I hope that books will forever be printed on paper, at least a few copies, for those of us who need these old friends sitting on our bedroom shelves keeping us company, not just on our hard drives.
I love not only reading books, but holding their sturdy spines in the palm of my hand, turning the paper edges with anticipation for what waits on the next page. I love the smell of wood pulp and ink.
I love books.
Reading them, underlining their best passages, dog-earring the pages so I can go back to my favorites again and again. And lining them up neatly on my shelves, like old friends and destinations just waiting for me to come and visit again on a lazy, rainy afternoon, a sunny morning or sleepless night.
Books are a wonderful escape; fuel for my imagination and understanding of this world.
Someone said that, "A room without books is like a body without a soul."
It feels true to me.
Whether the tattered and stained cookbooks that tell the tale of favorite meals shared with love, as well as failed attempts at culinary delights, that sit on my kitchen shelves; or the worn and dusty collection of classics that go mostly untouched in the family room; the pile of reading material waiting on the bathroom counter for a stolen moment behind a locked door; the loads of books on my bedroom shelves where my favorites are displayed and cared for; or the rainbow of childrens books standing at attention in my kids' rooms; books bring comfort and imagination to all the rooms of my home.
So when my husband got a Kindle for use in grad school, I was excited for him, but hesitant for myself. It sounded so exciting to have books right there at my fingertips, whether traveling or home or at Panera. No broken back as a result of lugging all those pages, just the touch of a button on one neat and tidy device. But no books?
This week I bought my first book on Kindle. It is called Bittersweet and is by Shauna Niequist, the author of Cold Tangerines, which I blogged about before. And the title seems fitting for my first foray into technical reading.
The Kindle is cool. Even though it looks like a computer screen when turned off, when I turn it on, it is as though a page appears with no glare and no screen strain on my eyes. It saves my place when I turn it off, lets me underline or take notes right there in the text, no need to find a pen, and I can make the letters larger for my eyes which sometimes require reading glasses (yes, I am that old).
When I turn it off, a random picture appears of sketches of fish straight off an encyclopedia page, Mark Twain, Mount Olympus or, my personal favorite, Charlotte Bronte (I almost kissed that picture when it appeared, but refrained due to the fact that I had on lip gloss and did not want to clean the screen, but I do love her that much). I need to have proper lighting to read off of it just like a normal book and Joel bought a nice protective case for it that feels like a book spine or nice journal in my hands.
I know that this is the future of books, if only to save the trees and publishing costs. I must say it was pretty amazing to see the book on amazon, buy it new for a paperback price and then watch as it downloaded to the Kindle, via some sort of magic that I do not care to understand, in mere seconds. But I will miss not having this book's purple spine watching over me as I go to sleep at night or being able to grab it off the shelf, shove it into a friend's hand and tell her she must read it.
The book, Bittersweet, is pretty fantastic. The Kindle certainly doesn't affect my enjoyment of the content and kindly shows me my progress (28%) at the bottom of the "page" as there are no page numbers or book marks to show how far I have gotten.
So, while I am enjoying the convenience of our Kindle, I hope that books will forever be printed on paper, at least a few copies, for those of us who need these old friends sitting on our bedroom shelves keeping us company, not just on our hard drives.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Waking Up Hope
No, this is not a commentary on how to wake up hope in our lives, but a plea for help in waking up my 5-year-old daughter for school every day.
Each morning I start with the tried and true alarm clock, situated next to her sleepy head, move on to flipping on the lights and telling her to wake up because it's time for school. These tactics, which have been effective on my three boys, are completely ineffective on my late night owl daughter.
Here are some more creative approaches I've tried:
1) Putting her to bed super early so she won't be so tired in the morning.
Result=It's 10pm and I think my daughter has been sleeping soundly for the last few hours, only to hear her door open and tiny footsteps make their way out to the family room where a very awake little girl tells me she just organized her kitchen.
2) Thinking of something she will look forward to that day which would make it worth getting out of her soft, warm bed (i.e. you have art today! It's Friday! You get to wear your days-of-the-week socks! I'll make you a special lunch!).
Result=I'm beginning to feel more desperate. My attempts at manipulation seem to be moving into the realm of bribery and I'm afraid she's onto me. Next thing you know she'll be staying in bed longer, holding out until I offer to buy her a pony for getting her tushy out of bed (not gonna happen).
3) Singing her ridiculous songs to make her laugh and wake up happy and/or annoy her until she gets up and asks me to please stop singing.
Result=That annoying song, Alejandro, seems to be on our local radio station every morning about that time and is most effective at making my boys laugh and then beg me to stop singing while Hope just giggles a little and then hides deeper under the covers.
4) Faking a natural disaster. This morning was my first attempt at this. It started out with me shaking her gently, and after no response, I started shaking her mattress violently and telling her it was an earthquake.
Result=Either she realizes that we don't live on a major fault line, or she just doesn't care, but it didn't work either way. Maybe telling her a tornado is coming would be more effective, but I fear scarring her, as she's actually pretty afraid of those.
5) Having Lukas play his trumpet in her room. He's just learning to play, so not only is it loud, but it is irritatingly off-key.
Result=Everyone else in the house is annoyed by such loud noise first thing in the morning, including Joel who has to stay up late studying, while Hope lays in bed with her pillow over her head.
6) Putting Gabby on her bed. Our sweet puppy is the sure-fire way to get Hope to stop crying, so maybe she could help wake her up.
Result=My dog, who seemed to be on to my plan and is terrified of heights cowered in fear as I picked her up and then foiled my attempts to get her onto Hope's bunk bed buy digging her claws into my shoulder and Hope's railing. Later I also realized that she peed on Hope's carpet while cowering in fear. Nice.
So, this is just a smattering of my attempts since the school year began. If you have any creative suggestions, just leave them in the comments below!
P.S. Hope does like kindergarten, though she says it's not as much fun as preschool. :)
Each morning I start with the tried and true alarm clock, situated next to her sleepy head, move on to flipping on the lights and telling her to wake up because it's time for school. These tactics, which have been effective on my three boys, are completely ineffective on my late night owl daughter.
Here are some more creative approaches I've tried:
1) Putting her to bed super early so she won't be so tired in the morning.
Result=It's 10pm and I think my daughter has been sleeping soundly for the last few hours, only to hear her door open and tiny footsteps make their way out to the family room where a very awake little girl tells me she just organized her kitchen.
2) Thinking of something she will look forward to that day which would make it worth getting out of her soft, warm bed (i.e. you have art today! It's Friday! You get to wear your days-of-the-week socks! I'll make you a special lunch!).
Result=I'm beginning to feel more desperate. My attempts at manipulation seem to be moving into the realm of bribery and I'm afraid she's onto me. Next thing you know she'll be staying in bed longer, holding out until I offer to buy her a pony for getting her tushy out of bed (not gonna happen).
3) Singing her ridiculous songs to make her laugh and wake up happy and/or annoy her until she gets up and asks me to please stop singing.
Result=That annoying song, Alejandro, seems to be on our local radio station every morning about that time and is most effective at making my boys laugh and then beg me to stop singing while Hope just giggles a little and then hides deeper under the covers.
4) Faking a natural disaster. This morning was my first attempt at this. It started out with me shaking her gently, and after no response, I started shaking her mattress violently and telling her it was an earthquake.
Result=Either she realizes that we don't live on a major fault line, or she just doesn't care, but it didn't work either way. Maybe telling her a tornado is coming would be more effective, but I fear scarring her, as she's actually pretty afraid of those.
5) Having Lukas play his trumpet in her room. He's just learning to play, so not only is it loud, but it is irritatingly off-key.
Result=Everyone else in the house is annoyed by such loud noise first thing in the morning, including Joel who has to stay up late studying, while Hope lays in bed with her pillow over her head.
6) Putting Gabby on her bed. Our sweet puppy is the sure-fire way to get Hope to stop crying, so maybe she could help wake her up.
Result=My dog, who seemed to be on to my plan and is terrified of heights cowered in fear as I picked her up and then foiled my attempts to get her onto Hope's bunk bed buy digging her claws into my shoulder and Hope's railing. Later I also realized that she peed on Hope's carpet while cowering in fear. Nice.
So, this is just a smattering of my attempts since the school year began. If you have any creative suggestions, just leave them in the comments below!
P.S. Hope does like kindergarten, though she says it's not as much fun as preschool. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)