love {advent}

We attended Christmas Eve service at my parents' home church, basking in the candle light and rich truth in the song lyrics of old tradition. The kids were quite wiggly during the service, and their energy began to spiral upward the later it became. This generally involves a lot of jumping up and down, touching each other, and loud shrill voices. It was late for little kids, but still, they should be able to obey simple instructions.

Climbing into the car for the 40 minute drive home, Sommer began to melt down. She is my teenager turned 4-years-old and uses loud crying and yelling to express the tangle of emotions inside of her underdeveloped communication system, especially when she is tired or hungry. Lord forbid both.

It was the Christmas music that set her off because she didn't want to listen to the song that the rest of the family was enjoying on the radio. That is what she said, but the truth is she was feeling miserable and wanted to boss and scream and shout the rest of us into feel miserable too. It was an awful way to end an otherwise beautifully intentional night of focusing on Jesus Christ.

With the world's most over dramatic tantrum as background noise for the entire 40 minutes, I stared out the car window thinking about the things I needed to do before I crawled into bed. A mother doesn't get to rest on Christmas Eve and there were the stockings to fill and the Christmas dinner to prep and I couldn't forget to put out some of Santa's presents.

Throughout the drive, I kept thinking that my daughter didn't deserve any presents. Not a single one. Here I was in poised position ready to play Santa, and my she was putting up the kind of fit that would destine her for the naughty list. What to do?

The words of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" were playing on the radio now "... he's making a list, checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty or nice..." It didn't sit well with me. I have never liked that aspect of the Santa tradition, promoting the idea that he only brings toys to good little girls and boys. Maybe it is because of the disgust I once felt overhearing a mother shopping near me use this to get her misbehaving son's attention, and it was only July. I figured it would be a long year for them if this was all she had up her sleeve. Or maybe it is because in my blended and confused mind I like to equate Santa Claus a little more with his Saintly origins and a little less with his commercial appeal.

It occurred to me then that even though my daughter didn't deserve her Christmas gift, I still wanted to give it to her. Because I love her. I love her so much that I still want to give her good gifts, even when she absolutely doesn't deserve them. Isn't that what the first Christmas was all about?

Not a single one of us deserves the many gifts we have been given. Maybe thinking that we do is one of the bigger problems with society today.

The greatest gift the world has ever known was wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a manger, though its people were wretchedly undeserving. It was because the world had not earned it and would never ever be good enough to deserve such a gift by following rules that this baby was sent to earth to close the gap between what we deserve and what God wants to give us. That is love.

On Christmas morning I wanted to give my headstrong children good gifts that represent the vast and deep love in my heart for them. How much more does God love us? I didn't want to be like Santa for my children, I wanted to be like Jesus.

Excerpts from Psalm 89:

I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever;

with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known

through all generations.

I will declare that your love stands firm forever,

that you have established your faithfulness in heaven itself...

If his sons forsake my law 

and do not follow my statutes,

if they violate my decrees

and fail to keep my commands,

I will punish their sin with the rod,

their iniquity with flogging;

but I will not take my love from him,

nor will I ever betray my faithfulness.

Psalm 89:1,2,30-33

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I might be a few days late here, posting my final thoughts on Advent. But it is still December and still feels like Christmas in our home. This has been a personal first for me to follow through on a 4-week series, and it has been an encouraging exercise and challenge during an otherwise highly committed season. I was forced to process and articulate my thoughts on the hope, peace, joy, and now love that the coming of Jesus Christ brought to earth with His birth. Thank you for joining me!

*******************

joy {advent}

One of the things I love best about the Christmas season is that we don't have to look very far to find joy this time of year. It seems to be all around us... in the excited faces of children, in the extra creativity of teachers planning Christmas fun, in parties and music and special events, even in the smiles of the clerks hired as holiday help that seem to be slowing down the checkout lines, though pleasantly at least. There is a bustle and buzz of enjoyment leading up to Christmas, and in general people make an effort to show some cheer.

On the other hand, the older I get, the more aware I am of the joy-stealers all around me. Whether it is difficult people or difficult circumstances, there is always something lurking in the shadows that will worry away my joy. The mounting obligations of the season only make it worse. Even simple good intentions like buying the right gifts for others, and mailing items off on time, and fretting over the equality of gift distribution among family members only contribute to stealing the joy I want to have in giving those gifts.

Joy shouldn’t be so transient, coming and going from faces at the drop of a glass ornament. When our joy comes from the truth about who Jesus Christ is then no unfortunate circumstance or unhealthy interaction with a friend or unhappy experience in an overcrowded department store can steal our joy. It becomes a lasting kind of joy grounded in truth that doesn't change. That is the power of joy in Jesus Christ.

The Christmas story in the book of Luke features a song of joyful praise sung by Mary the mother of Jesus (Luke 1:46-55). Mary had much to worry about, arguably much more than I do. She found herself pregnant but not married in a time when that did not happen to good girls from good families. She was living in a period in history when God’s people had been waiting an awfully long time for their Savior to come, and wondered at the legitimacy of what they had been promised.

Mary chose to believe, and out of it bubbles a joyful song of praise to God, despite the most unlikely circumstances. Mary has a joyful response in the face of hardship. She felt fearful, troubled, and very alone, but her joy overflows as an act of faith in God and His promises. Mary made an active choice to believe God is who He says He is despite the number of questions, despite her unseen future, and despite the circumstances that threatened her reality.

Joy is not a feeling the way that happiness is. We don't have to feel joyful in order to choose joy. Joy in Jesus comes out of a deep rooted belief that something better is coming. All of the hardships, the discomfort, the challenges, the trials of many kind, are not the end of the story. Despite our circumstances, we can have joy in God’s glorious plan. 

I believe you, Lord. If this is your plan, then I want to be a part of it. Even if my life ends up really hard, I'm in! Whatever today brings, I choose joy.

Mary's Song of Praise (Luke 1:46-55)

Mary responded,
"Oh how my soul praises the Lord.
     How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!
For he took notice of his lowly servant girl,
     and from now on all generations will call me blessed.
For the Mighty One is holy,
     and he has done great things for me to all who fear him.
His mighty arm has done tremendous things!
     He has scattered the proud and haughty ones.
He has brought down princes from their thrones
     and exalted the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
     and sent the rich away with empty hands.
He has helped his servant Israel
     and remembered to be merciful.
For he made this promise to our ancestors,
     to Abraham and his children forever.
He shows mercy generation to generation."

Luke 1:46-55 (New Living Translation)

(For the other advent posts in this series see HOPE and PEACE.)

peace {advent}

It's our first Christmas in our new home and my husband's outdoor project of late has been cutting back some of the brush on a downward sloping part our property. When the kids and I started campaigning one morning to go pick out our Christmas tree, he told us simply to come outside with him. We threw coats on top of our pjs and marched out into the yard, somewhat unceremoniously. He'd been saving one of the little pine trees just for Christmas.

In the yard it looked cute, maybe a bit lanky but otherwise healthy and the right size. The kids were so excited about cutting down a tree in our very own yard and then dragging it into the house. Except for Sommer who was having a grumpy moment.  Fortunately, we were at home and she had the luxury of staying inside (or rather, we had the luxury of leaving her inside.)

How is it that these trees always look so different outside? I believe it grew 4 more feet once we set it up in our open stairwell. We then proceeded to decorate the tallest, saddest little Christmas tree we have ever had. I am calling it the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree on steroids. How can a tree this size only have three branches for hanging lights and ornaments? It took me nearly an hour to get lights hung convincingly, and I don't even want to mention the bald spot. Then the tree was misbehaving, leaning in an awkward direction, until it finally fell over 2 days later. It is now tied to the banister.

The tree keeps whacking me in the face, as it has gradually encroached on my regularly used path through the entryway. It is not my favorite tree ever, but it seems to represent something true about Christmas. There is a lot of childlike joy inspiring this tree, and a fun memory, and the onset of tradition. Christmas has never been about perfection.

I was prone to some unsettled feelings this week. There weren't any big reasons, just some strained conversations, unpredictable futures, uncertain outcomes, inability to please certain people in my life. All of these niggling in the back of my mind even when I wasn't consciously in thought over them. All of them making me aware of how much my little world lacks perfection. All of those little imperfections creating a lack of peace in my spirit.

Peace was this week's advent theme. In my reading, the peace of Christ took on a new meaning for me as the kind of peace that is independent of our circumstances. It is the kind of peace that bleeds into the unsettled corners of our lives even when the world around us seems to be falling apart and there is nothing we can do to control it. The kind of peace that surpasses all understanding.

We hear a lot about Peace on Earth at Christmas, and I want that for our world so badly. This is a place with some big problems, like genocide and child trafficking and terrorism just to name a few. Because of it, real Peace on Earth can seem pretty far away. We have been promised that one day that kind of peace is coming. There will be a future world without so many external struggles.

In the meantime, today, we can experience a different kind of internal peace. God offers us the kind of peace that comes from wholeness and harmony and completeness in Him. The kind that allows us to make tough decisions that others don't necessarily agree with, and still have peace knowing that we have followed after Him to the best of our ability. Seeking peace through the perfection of our circumstances will never be long-lasting. Peace comes through righteousness, and righteousness can only come through Christ.

In preparing for the birth of baby Jesus, I am thanking God for the kind of peace we get to experience today, even as we wait for a better kind of Peace in our future.

"And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and peace
    there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
    and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
    with justice and righteousness

from that time on and forever."

Isaiah 9:6-7

hope {advent}

Every year as December rolls around I find myself wishing I had gotten started earlier on the decorating, the gift-buying, the baking, the added elements that make the weeks leading up to Christmas seem full of crazy instead of full of peace.

Something jarred me this week in an article about all of the misdirected frenzy this time of year. That phrase ..."misdirected frenzy"... it gave me a sharp pin prick way down deep. I feel the frenzy coming, and I don't want any of it to be misdirected, especially this time of year.

The word "advent" means an arrival or coming, especially a much anticipated one. This season leading into Christmas is called Advent because we have something wonderful to anticipate, and need to be disciplined about remembering to expectantly await its arrival. Nothing could have changed the world more than the arrival of Jesus Christ.

For the first time I signed up for a daily Advent email to help make the month leading up to Christmas more intentionally focused on the scriptures that speak of the coming of Jesus. There must be a ton of different ways you can do this, but I subscribed to the series at IF:equip. IF is a movement by some key Christian female leaders to provide tools for women to grow Spiritually and to live out their full potential in Christ. Their Advent series of emails basically provides a theme for the week and daily passages of scripture including old testament, psalms, new testament, and gospel passages within the theme. A simple (and free!) way to dedicate some intentionality toward Advent.

I rarely articulate goals for posting here, in fear that I won't actually be able to follow through on my best intentions. However, as a form of accountability for myself, at the end of each week I intend to post a few reflections on the chosen Advent theme .

This week's theme was HOPE.

Hope is what prevents us from being overcome by complete despair over the broken world we live in. Hope is the life we cling to in the midst of the death and destruction all around. Hope is the belief that our tragedies will lead to something glorious and beautiful. Hope is the promise that we will not be stuck in our own junk forever, but will one day have the power to change... if we keep clinging to that Hope.

The ancient Jews hoped in this kind of salvation, that would come from a Messiah. They waited for the advent of their King, in expectant anticipation. Just as we wait, still, in the hope that this life we are living here on earth has a greater purpose than we can know. Hope is a life-giving gift amidst hurt and devastation.

When I am focusing on the blessed promise of Hope, and the much awaited Advent of Jesus, there isn't any room for my misdirected frenzy.

"...and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.

For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Revelation 7:15-17

a day of thanksgiving

I sat in on my daughter's preschool Thanksgiving feast last week. The teacher so graciously told the 4-year-olds that we always have something to be thankful for. Even when someone wrongs us, by taking our toy for example. We can still be thankful. We can be thankful for the many other toys that are around. We can be thankful that we have friends we can play with instead. We can be thankful that we have creative imaginations and don't need toys to have fun. There is always something to be thankful for.

Adults could learn a lot from that preschool lesson. I found myself thinking about the cultural practice of thanksgiving, and wondering if children everywhere are learning to be thankful when someone takes their toy. If they are, then we should have a whole culture full of grateful hearts.

My husband and I were watching a PBS show last night on the first pilgrims that colonized Massachusetts, in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday of course. Apparently, it was a regular practice for the pilgrims to declare a day of Thanksgiving, especially after a particularly hard season. The first Thanksgiving is the one we think about when the Pilgrims and the Indians shared a meal together. The second one happened two years later after a hard drought.

Several of our early presidents, starting with George Washington, declared days of Thanksgiving. It was Abraham Lincoln who proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day to celebrate the unity of the states in the midst of a nation weary of civil war.

What struck me is the regularity found in our cultural history to declare a day to celebrate, rest, feast, and practice the art of thankfulness together. Maybe I sound cynical, but I just can't imagine any of our modern presidents taking it upon themselves to declare a day for the nation to remember to be thankful. If it wasn't already built into the holiday schedule that is.

I am not convinced that the value of thankfulness is at the very heart of American culture... but I want it to be. I will start by making it a core value in our own home. May my children's natural response to the end of a hard season be to declare a time of thanksgiving.

Today I am thankful for modern medicine and wise doctors. This past month was a rough one, between a bad strain of croup that sent two of my little ones to urgent care in need of care at inconvenient time, and my own wisdom teeth that left me in severe pain or fighting a developed infection for weeks, I am thankful for the medicine we have available in the 21st century because I honestly don't know what a poor mother was to do a hundred years ago.

Today I am thankful that our home is a place of respite, filled with peace. There is warmth and joy in this place and I don't feel fearful about where I live.

Today I am thankful for days spent with small children because it is a luxury. These days sometimes feel shrouded in monotony and death to my personal dreams, but I have already begun to see the benefits to my family and must be intentional about viewing these days at home as a privilege. God takes my life away, but more and more it feels He is actually giving it back.

Today I am thankful for the community that helps me raise my children. From loving grandparents, aunts, and uncles, to teachers and other parents who school my children, to friends who think my kids are special because of all the ways they are unique and not out of obligation to me. It truly takes a village.

Today I am thankful that my children love Jesus to the best of their understanding and ability. My middle child is sassy and bossy, and she needs Jesus. My oldest doesn't share well and is consumed by holding tightly to her things, and she needs Jesus. My youngest has a stubborn streak I am not sure I can parent on my own, and he needs Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, that you are going to be doing the hardest work on their hearts.

Today I am thankful for my spouse and the ways he brings balance to who I am. He is a dreamer in ways that I am not. He pushes me to give more in some areas while stepping back in others. He challenges me to work harder and rest better. He offers words of praise and appreciation freely and is present with our children. He continues to surprise me with his understanding of the purpose of this life and the important components of having a good quality of life.

Today I am thankful for the tiny glimpses I get to see in the role God has for me in His kingdom. I believe that for the sake of our own humility that much of how we impact the kingdom of God will remain hidden. But God like to crack a window open periodically to encourage us to press on in this hard work of loving others and being bold in the truth. I am thankful for the little peek I get to see through the window today.

Today I am thankful for the painful, unhappy, awkward parts of my journey because they have made me who I am, and because they are still chipping away at me like a chisel in the hands of the Master Sculptor.

Today I am even thankful for the weather. California has been in a devastating drought, and we fell asleep to the sound of rain in the night. Every drop is a gift from above.

Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord;  let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.

Let us come before Him with thanksgiving...

Psalm 95:1-2

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise;

give thanks to Him and praise His name.

For the Lord is good and His love endures forever;

His faithfulness continues though all generations.

Psalm 100:4-5

Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

1 Thessalonians 5:17

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever.

Psalm 136:1

too many cooks

When I went to tuck my seven year old into bed one night, she asked me sweetly, "How did you learn to cook so well?"

I stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Because she was serious. Even though she doesn't eat at least half of what I cook.

She then proceeded to tell me that she thinks she needs to start learning some recipes and practicing cooking meals so that she will be able to take care of her own family one day. Big stuff.

Sure enough, the next evening during dinner preparation she pulled up the small chair we use as a stool to the kitchen counter and announced that she wanted to help me. Two other little people saw what was happening and went to get their chairs too. Suddenly I had three quite incompetent cooks "helping" me during the pre-dinner madness hour with a meal not designed for little hands.

For them, this was clearly way better than the PBS show I had just put on television intended to occupy them while I made dinner. For me, it was one of the most stressful 15 minutes of my life.

There was a sizzling pan on the stove and my 2-year-old kept grabbing the knife. The 4-year-old was hungry, so helping mostly involved snacking on pieces of food that looked interesting to her, and pushing her brother off of his chair. The 7-year-old genuinely wanted me to teach her how to cook at this very moment and it could not wait.

The panic was rising in my chest at the chaos of it all and I had to make a choice: shout telling them all to get out because I really just want to be alone for a few minutes so I could concentrate on getting my starving family fed,
or...
let them help.

Pasting on my smile and my most believable calm face, I had the distinct sense that what they were learning in this moment was less about the actual "how to" of cooking, and more about an overall attitude toward being the kitchen.

To be honest, I don't always have the best attitude about cooking, mostly because it comes around so darn often. I feel largely that I live in a world of women who love to cook... but I am not one of those women. It is frustrating when 30 minutes of preparation time translates to only 7 minutes of actual eating time. And another 30 minutes of clean up. I do enjoy occasional baking because treats are always optional. They can be made when I feel like it, and when I don't, no one is going to have a hunger meltdown. Cooking dinner is an entirely different kind of mandate.

Another part of the problem is that I don't feel that good at cooking, or efficient at piecing together a meal. I have only recently begun to do more of it in an effort to get my growing family to eat well. In our beginning years of marriage we went out to eat regularly, and I made an embarrassing amount of macaroni and cheese from the box. In college I thought I was cooking healthy when I microwaved a "Lean Pocket" instead of the more fattening "Hot Pocket". Before that, I was too busy with school, or too uninterested, to learn.

I have to be careful about how these feelings towards the kitchen are unintentionally communicated to the little copycats I am raising. In the end, I don't cook for my family because I always love cooking, or because I love getting under the table to wipe up the crumbs for the 3rd time in a day, or because I love seeing what I cooked sit untouched on a child's plate. I cook out of a sacred sense of duty and responsibility to my family. They have been entrusted to me, and it is a privilege to always have enough food in the pantry to feed them.

Letting my children help in the kitchen is more than just a fun way to kill some creative time. It is part of my responsibility to them. These little people are the next generation of caretakers for their own families. They need training in the skills and the attitudes for doing that well. It wasn't exactly convenient for me, but I had an open invitation from my children to train them up in the way they should go.

Kids have a small window of years when they think helping is actually fun. Ironically, it is these same young years when they are not that helpful. Oddly, I don't believe that means we are not to let them help. Instead it reminds me to stuff down my goal-oriented plans for getting dinner made at lightning speed and instead allow a messier kitchen, a delayed meal time, and a lot more noise, in order to plant a seed of helpfulness. The skills are not yet there, but the opportunity to train up an attitude is.

Keeping people fed is almost a full time job around here, and I could use some help. These little hands are the servants of the future. It starts right here in my kitchen.

"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it."

Proverbs 22:6

what really happened on halloween

It seems ironic to me that my last post was all about the drama in our home when it comes to getting dressed. Enter Halloween and an adorable costume idea that my kids would just not buy into. Boo.

You see, I have these creative ideas that I feel my kids will be dying to go along with. When I came across this gnome hat with an attached beard, I felt I must have it. Could anyone resist a chubby-cheeked towhead in suspenders?

Thus was born this year's costume endeavor to get all three of my kids to go as garden gnomes.

Don't let the adorable photos fool you into thinking that our family has it all together. That my children always get along. That they do what I ask, when I ask, without pausing to exercise their own strong wills. I have carefully sorted through the bloopers.

What really happened is that I bribed my children into cooperating in a garden gnome photo session by telling them they could be anything they wanted for the evening's trick-or-treating. I had to throw in the promise of make-up to clinch the deal. You might notice that my oldest is being quite well-behaved overall. She was dead set on getting her face painted in character.

My husband was furious with me for "wasting" time and energy (and money) on costumes I wasn't going to make our kids wear. It was definitely a dilemma.

I just don't subscribe to the school of parenting that involves making kids wear costumes they don't enjoy. Halloween is supposed to be fun for them, not just me. I spend a lot of energy throughout the week making them wear things they don't want to wear. When it is important, I will win that battle. When it doesn't better society, or better them, or disturb any honor to God, then it feels wrong to insist.

In the end, my oldest went as a fox... again. Same as last year.

I don't even know what my middle child went as. Some kind of snow princess, I guess. She wore her favorite Christmas dress, that she actually wore to school every day last week as well. With a medieval flower child headdress and her favorite red shoes. A pink wand made it into the photo as well.

The little guy was the only one without a choice. He was into it as long as the hat wasn't involved. The entire night was a constant back and forth with some adult putting the hat on his head and him removing it. Over and over this played. He did keep his pants on all night, though, which is a real triumph when it comes to keeping him dressed. This little gnome rocked trick-or-treating. He walked the whole way through the neighborhood holding his little pumpkin bucket and his flashlight shouting "Tick or Teat!" He could care less about the candy.

There are plenty of ways in this life to squash a child's spirit by enforcing things. I don't feel right contributing to it by forcing them to wear costumes. Being flexible about this is one more way that I can teach them the difference between the things that matter in life and the things that don't.

In the meantime, I got my photos, so I guess I am happy. I can only feel sincere about them by telling the real story of what happened on Halloween. All those of you out there who have children who also rebelled against conformity in some manor or another regarding a costume can sleep a little bit better tonight knowing that the photos of your friends on facebook or instagram whose children are all dressed in a set of cleverly matching disguises, smiling, getting along... well, they might not be telling the entire picture.

getting dressed

Getting dressed in the morning unleashes all kinds of drama in our household.

From "I can't find my shoes!" even though there are 3 other pairs by the door. I have decided I must have the missing pair today.

To "I don't have anything to wear!!" because my favorite dress that I have worn for the past 5 days in a row has been stolen by my mother for the purpose of washing. The other twenty thousand things in the closet will not do.

My personal favorite is "I can't wear any of my socks because they all have threads hanging off of them!!!" said in the shrillest of panicky voices. Even though we live in an age when scissors have already been invented.

And, of course, the inevitable ear-piercing shrieks surrounding hair and any attempt to tame it.

I would have thought having a boy was easier, but he continues to be on a pants strike, removing them along with his diaper at every opportunity, and non-opportunity, along the way. He is almost stronger than I am when it comes to physically fighting to put clothes on.

Getting dressed is something we do every single day, even on a lazy Saturday. If the kids have already eaten breakfast then the process of putting on clothes, and brushing teeth and hair, literally takes three and a half minutes. Boom. Ready. So much faster than this adult Momma who needs a lot more primping to be presentable. Three and a half minutes is the time if there are no tantrums in any form.

I realized recently that the majority of my parental disciplining happens while the kids are getting ready in the morning. The same morning routine we repeat every single day is a launch point for drama in all forms, rotating through the children. We get hysterical crying to kicking fits to running away to horribly mean and awful things said by children to their parents. I generally begin correction with a calm tone of voice, logical reasoning, or gently urging the child in the right direction. But as panic about being late to whichever prospective destination sets in, I resort to yelling. Sometimes short military commands in my most authoritative voice. If there is time, a child is sentenced to her room. Sometimes a spanking. It isn't a great way to start the day.

Sunday mornings are inevitably the worst. Something about that slight change in routine and the pressure of getting all five of us into the same car at the same time. By the time we pull into the church parking lot it feels like I have already run a marathon. On Sunday morning the Devil is doing his best work to keep us from leaving the house.

On the surface the issue appears to really be about the dangling thread that clearly requires us to throw away every sock we own. If only the thread wasn't tickling the ankle in such a meltdown-inducing manner, then the morning might have gone smoothly.

I have come to believe, however, there is something about the getting ready process that reveals the condition of our hearts. If it wasn't the irritating thread, it would be the missing pair of favorite underwear. If it wasn't the underwear, then it would definitely be the fact that I made two full ponytails when the child wanted two half ponytails.

Some days we wake up ready to flexibly accept and manage conflict. Some days we wake up ready for rebellion... against order, against authority, against conformity, against being told what to do, against structure when play sounds much better, against me. I have come to believe that getting our physical bodies ready is just another means for revealing the readiness of our hearts.

Getting dressed is a discipline in the simplest, most basic, form. It isn't something we always enjoy doing, but we must do it anyway. That is what makes it a discipline. Putting clothes on isn't the only discipline we should practice at the beginning of our day. If the simple act of obedience of getting dressed is the catalyst for a full stage rebellion against Momma, then perhaps the problem lies much deeper than the outfit of the day.

Perhaps the real discipline we should be practicing is the discipline of getting our hearts ready. There is a bucket load of conflict awaiting us in the big wide world. Adults and children alike, from getting stuck in traffic to working with difficult people to other kids who take the toy we were holding. Conflict is one thing we can count on.

Handling conflict with grace, and love, and peace, and gentleness, and joy, and kindness is an opportunity to be set apart as different because we believe in Jesus Christ, and all of the grace, love, peace, gentleness, joy, and kindness He shows us.

It helps me to view all of the drama we endure during our getting-ready routine as a training ground for the conflict that is inevitable outside our front doors. It reminds me that on top of getting my kids' bodies ready for school, I need to help them get their hearts ready.

In fact, getting their hearts ready, and teaching them to do it themselves, might be my most important job as a parent. The discipline of making clothing choices and practicing cheerful obedience is only the beginning of a lifetime learning true readiness for the day ahead. There is so much more to it than the clothes we put on. Teaching them to set their hearts in the right place before walking out the door is the bigger picture.

None of this is my idea. It all comes from Ephesians chapter 6:

"Therefore, put on the full armor of God...

Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints."

Eph 6:13-18

We can use a little more "feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace" around here in the mornings. So we begin with a whole lot of practice embracing our most basic discipline with joy, in hopes that one day it will get easier.

This post was inspired by a family photo session taken by a long time friend last weekend. As you might imagine, no one wanted to wear the outfits I originally picked out. I was able to bribe the girls with chocolate into wearing matching dresses. The boys (meaning the little one and the big one) didn't fall for that trick. Their original outfits disappeared into a mysterious black hole in our home. Oh well. Our photographer did a marvelous job at capturing the grins and giggles in between the grimaces. Thank you, dear friend. You did a beautiful job despite some uncooperative hearts! 

turning two!

Dearest Karsten,

My sweet baby boy is turning two! Happy Birthday to my most mechanically-minded, outdoor oriented, stealthily determined and quietest child. I really can't believe you are two.

Oh sweet boy, may you always keep your tender heart and gentle spirit. You have a rough and tumble side that wants to poke things with sticks and break things. But you also have an innate compassionate understanding that I pray is revealed in greater capacity with each year of your life. You love your Momma, and find the taste of her hair strangely comforting. We hope you find new ways to show your love with each passing year. I hear it isn't very popular in high school to rub a clump of your mother's hair over your face before saying goodbye.

You are still chubby in the most delicious way. We get to admire your chunky legs often because apparently it is a genetic trait of our children to not want to wear clothes. You'd better learn to keep your pants on by the time you hit puberty, however. Good thing we have a few years left.

You love your sisters dearly, shown by your frequent unannounced kisses and hugs, and unprompted "I la loo" (I love you). They love you back, as shown by their patience and kindness in sharing with you and forgiveness of you destroying their hard work, beautiful pictures, and creations of all sorts. You want to be like them and have taken to wearing their dress up clothes and accessories. You have a particular fetish for shoes and socks of all color and style. It is definitely hard being the only boy amongst sisters. Take heart, I am told that boys with older sisters make the best husbands.

For a child that doesn't talk much, you sure manage to communicate. A shortage of words is not a shortage of opinion. If the gestures don't work, then a good breath-holding spell seems to get your point across. Breath-holding is when you get angry enough that you forget to breath and your face gets stuck in a silent scream for a minute, or more, until you turn purple and pass out. The doctor has assured me that you will outgrow this... but I am still waiting.

It also needs to go in the record here that you beat both of your sisters by many months to the first stage of potty training. On your second birthday you went pee pee in the toilet four times in one day - a young record in our house. Surely this means you are destined for brilliance!

Since I was given free reign on your cake, I went with a favorite theme of yours: tractors! Unfortunately, you were quite upset to see one of your toys on top of the cake. Perhaps you thought we were going to eat it? At least I got some photos before returning the tractor to you.

You didn't understand the birthday thing because it seemed to you like we were singing "Happy Birthday" all week long to various different people. Finally, someone started handing you some presents to open too.

It has become a fun family tradition to give our 2-year-old his or her first backpack. You were proudly excited to wear your new fox backpack all day long... as long as you didn't have to wear anything else, of course.

"I'm TWO", you say holding up all of your fingers.

And... the many silly faces made by your and your precious little personality...

We love you little boy! You make our family much better rounded. We can't imagine life without you. Keep growing into the little man God has destined you to be.

turning four!

Dearest Sommer,

Happy birthday to my spunky middle child who keeps us in giggles all day long!  As a good friend puts it, you are the perfect combination of sugar and spice.

Three was a fun age, and your imagination has grown to be much bigger than you are. There are days when you never stop talking, or singing, or sing-talking. You still have have a lisp, pronouncing your Rs and Ls like Ws, and your Ss like a TH. I want to always remember the way you sound right now with all of the musical inflection of a girl who is enthusiastically enamored with the world. 

You have the perfect middle position between your siblings, with a friend on both sides. Well designed for our most social child. You are growing into an excellent older sister, being sure to teach younger brother all of the rules, while enforcing a few of your own at times (we are working on that.) You and your older sister have become the best of friends this year and each other's preferred playmate. Together you are learning to get along most of the time, and are practicing fair fighting strategies the rest. 

Four is truly a magical birthday. You are excited to finally be a big 4-year-old, and now insist on taking four more bites of dinner instead of three before being excused. Of course, you are well beyond your years in many ways. You have memorized the names and calls of hundreds of birds from your bird song book, identifying more than I can. You are the youngest child in your pre-school class, but the teachers assure me that you are well placed (meaning if you were in the younger class you would be bossing everyone else around.) You learned to swim this year, which I believe was possible because you have no fear. Your independence and strong opinions can feel like an overwhelming job to parent, but I have to remember this is our opportunity to help shape those personality extremes into future greatness.

We celebrated all four years of you with your very first birthday party of your own. Like Annike's, it was a last minute affair with no extra frills. A cake and plenty of tutus and tiaras to share from the dress up bin is all a group of 4-year-old girls really needs to make it a party! You appropriately convinced the other girls to pretend that you were the queen while they were your daughters. Because it was your birthday, everyone seemed to think this was just fine.

Oh yes, and you gave up the idea of an osprey cake in favor of a much more colorful peacock cake. The inside was flavored like pink lemonade, just one step tastier than bubblegum. We may be giving the rest of this cake away to the neighbors, but at least it looked pretty.

We love you Sommer Sunshine! Happy 4th year of life!

turning seven!

Dearest Annike,

Happy SEVENTH Birthday to my sweet-natured, animal-loving, serious but silly girl!

You are a kind friend and a fabulous big sister - and there is nothing I would rather be able to say about my daughter than that. You love God and are always asking me to tell you a Bible story that you haven't heard yet (which is challenging me in new and good ways!) Your artistic talents have continued to blossom through detailed drawings and your beautiful handwriting. You enjoy learning about almost everything, but have recently been particularly engaged in ancient Egypt, insect life, and birds of all types. You, of course, still want to be a scientist when you grow up.

This year you have grown into a new kind of helpful member in our household, faithfully taking on chores like organizing your room, setting and clearing the table at dinner, responsibly watching your siblings, and helping with odds and ends jobs like window cleaning and car washing. The best part is that you do it all with a cheerful heart - and that make me SO PROUD. What a gift you are to our family!

We celebrated your birthday with a last minute invitation to the girls in your second grade class to come over for pizza, cake, and a "play date". I was afraid to call it a birthday party because I didn't have any decorations or party favors or any planned activities. The absence of fancy decorations didn't matter at all because the fun was in being together. I heard one of your friends tell you she was sorry that she didn't bring you a birthday present... and then I had a proud mother moment when you responded, "That's okay! You didn't need to bring me a present. I am just glad you came!"

As it turns out, you changed your mind about wanting a fox cake (which is good because I wasn't sure how to get the fox-flavoring to come out right). Instead you got a chocolate flavored hummingbird cake, which I feel represented you perfectly this year.

I want to remember this group of seven-year-olds as having big teeth, big feet, big imaginations, and really dirty faces. For all of the ways they are getting bigger, they are still quite little girls in many ways. Don't grow up too quickly, my child!