the call to greatness

I recently played the violin as part of a worship gathering for women. An embarrassing number of close friends came up to me afterwards and told me they had never heard me play before. It shocked me. So much of my young life involved playing violin - practicing daily, playing for recitals, playing at church, playing in orchestras or for special events, throughout college, or with friends just for fun. Music was a big part of my life, and I worked very hard to be good at it.

Until I had children.

My college degree is another one that tosses over in my mind, begging to be used, causing me to wonder why it has slipped away from me in this current decade of parenting young children. I spent all my years in school dedicated to academics so I could get a scholarship to the right university, then a slave to my scholarship to maintain it. All leading to a degree in chemistry... which I have discovered is not needed much at home with children ages seven and under.

Sometimes I wonder if I am wisely using the gifts I have been given. There are things I have spent my whole life working toward that now lay unused and unnecessary on the side of the road. Is this the way it was meant to be?

I think a lot of mothers feel this way. There is discord between faithfully trudging through the humble duties of parenting, and pursing a life that exercises the full potential of who we were created to be. I constantly wrestle with this.

We live in a day and age when anyone can find their 30 seconds of fame, from YouTube videos that go viral to all varieties of reality television. In our culture, fame is the ultimate form of success or recognition.

Let's face it, motherhood is not the route to fame or recognition. No one gets invited to be a guest star on Ellen for a stellar job on mopping the floors yet again, or reading bedtime stories, or de-cluttering a dresser by sorting through another set of clothes that don't fit a growing child. But it absolutely must be done.

God gives each of us unique giftings for the purpose of using them. Housekeeping, and other tasks of that nature, lack the ability to fulfill me in the same way that using good gifts such as music and the intelligent side of my brain can. And I keep wondering... wasn't I destined for something greater?

Then, this passage from the gospel of Mark. Jesus' words themselves in response to an argument about what makes one person greater than another:

"They came to Capernaum. When he was in the house, he asked them,“What were you arguing about on the road?” But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest. 

Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all."  

He took a little child whom he placed among them. Taking the child in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me.”  

Mark 9:33-37

Greatness comes from being the servant of all. Especially to little children.

It is not a very popular idea to preach putting your own life and dreams on hold in order to serve others, but women raising families are constantly doing this. Whether at home full time, or working full time, or something in between, the added responsibilities of mothering often delay the pursuit of personal dreams.

I feel that call to greatness in my spirit, and I want to interpret it to mean that I should be using all of the gifts that God has given me to shine with brilliance and excellence, all while glorifying Him. But these words of Jesus redefine what greatness means. Greatness is not fame or glory to which the media would gravitate. It is born out of being a servant.

In this decade home with small children, the call to greatness begins in the quiet of my home. It is practiced daily on my family, the ones least likely to show appreciation. I am the last one to sit down with a full plate at the dinner table, the last one to climb in the car because my hands are full of everyone else's things, the last one to slide into bed at night, and the last one to pursue my dreams.

I'll be the first to admit there are many days when it is hard to do it with joy. Some seasons weigh me down with frustration over all of that hard work I have done over the course of my life going to waste. Yet, Jesus is the author of all of those skills and talents I once had, and the One who dreamed up who I am in the first place. He is writing a greater story than I can even begin to imagine. It happens to be far bigger than me, myself, and the important person I think I should be.

If I am pursuing God's greatest call to be a servant, then I don't need to worry about whether I am using my gifts or skills the way God envisioned. He won't let a single gift of importance fall to the wayside. He will raise up every talent and hard-earned skill when they are necessary, and I can trust Him to bring the whole of who I am together in due time.

In the meantime... patience. And joyful serving. And clinging to the hope that the best is yet to come.

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

for the sleep-deprived mother

For the past six and a half years, since I very first became a mother, it seems that issues related to sleep have consumed our household.

A tiny fraction of my sleepless nights have been due to my own sleep issues related to pregnancy and weird nursing hormones and the odd night filled with anxiety here and there. A tiny fraction, mind you, belongs to adults in the house.

The vast majority of the sleep issues are entirely the fault of one or more children who live under this roof. The child who decides that sleep is simply not something he feels like doing at midnight, or 3am, or some number of horrid hours in between. The child who feels that crying for insane amounts of time is preferable. The child who incorrectly assumes that throwing an angry fit will give me some compassion and allow her to stay awake. Or perhaps the child who finds that coming into my bed to talk to me and poke me all night and play with my hair is a much more entertaining option.

Besides creating a general state of exhaustion, it creates a persona of self-doubt. A sentiment perpetuated by other mothers who love to talk about how well their own child is sleeping.  As if getting a baby to sleep through the night by 6-weeks, or 12-weeks, or even 20-weeks-old has somehow granted them a pass into the Excellent Mother Club.

What am I doing wrong? And why is it that other people's children are the same ones who sleep through the night AND take long 4 hour naps every afternoon? Isn't there some kind of sleep fairness rule that says if the child (and mother) doesn't get enough sleep at night that he should make up for it during the day?

Let me tell you that I have read a LOT of books on getting children to sleep and I have tried a lot of different methods. I have even gone to such desperate measures as climbing into my child's crib to get him to go back to sleep. You might think that is part of the problem, and you might be right. But when everything else has been tried to no avail then climbing into the crib actually seems like a great option. I will spare you the trial, however, because it doesn't work either.

Whether the problem is middle of the night wakings, or dreadfully short naps, or a child who loves dawn patrol, my children have never been great sleepers. In issues related to parenting, I have probably cried out to God more times asking for sleep than I have for anything else. Lord please let the baby sleep for more than 45 minutes this time! I don't think I will make it through my day if I don't get some rest!

He rarely answers the way I want Him to.

In one of my sleep-desperate days, I stumbled upon Psalm 127 which says:

In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat - 

for the Lord grants sleep to those He loves. 
Psalm 127:2

To whom will He grant sleep? 
To those He loves. Me. You. Sleep-deprived mothers everywhere. Especially the ones who have been awake at odd hours of the night caring for the precious children that have been entrusted to them.

He will grant sleep to the mother who spent the majority of the night rocking a sick baby. The mother who held her daughter's hair back while she vomited over and over again until the virus passed. The mother who can't bear to let her child "cry-it-out". The mother who is so consumed with love for her child that she must arise to check on him. The mother who returns throughout the night to quell a cough, or a fever, or a simple lonely cry. The mother who knows she is the earthly caretaker of this little love and puts his needs above her own.

The Lord grants sleep to those He loves. When I cry out to God for the gift of sleep, He often answers me not with more hours of rest, but with more ounces of strength.

I have learned that God made women incredibly capable. Somehow all of that laboring children into the world and spending months of sleepless nights with newborns only makes us stronger. As we lean on Him, we are stronger still.

In that, comes the knowledge that He will always give us the strength to do what He asks us to do.

He asked me to raise three children who have some kind of terrible sleeping gene. In turn, He gives me the strength to do it.

The strength is given one tiny miracle at a time. Sometimes the miracle is in the minutes of sleep. Sometimes it is in the husband who says "Go take a nap while I watch them." Sometimes the miracle is a show on television.

I will always feel that this psalm was written specifically for the generations of mothers plagued by sleep issues. The next verse says it all:

In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat -
for the Lord grants sleep to those He loves.

Children are a heritage from the Lord, 

offspring a reward from Him.

Psalm 127:2,3

Besides being an ever-present source of enervation, children are a heritage, a reward, a gift.  In sleeplessness, we are challenged to depend more upon God for our strength.  All of the ways that we grow to be a little more Christ-like end up being part of the reward.

Take heart, exhausted friend! You are not alone in this journey. The Lord knows exactly what you need to make it through today. Indeed, He grants sleep to those He loves.

pinterest fail

It's the second week of February and I am having nightmares of last year's Valentine's Day when I got a crazy notion that I should send a snack into the kindergarten Valentine's party that was both healthy AND cute. Yes, I do know that no child willingly chooses a healthy option at a class party. Still, we have our motherly ambitions.

Enter Pinterest, with its eye candy photos and links to the unimaginable. Pinterest and its simple inspirations for every occasion. HA! I settled on yogurt parfaits with blueberry and strawberry toppings in a waffle cone. The picture was adorable. All of the ingredients were readied the night before and I woke up early on the day of the party to be sure I had enough time to assemble the treats.

Friends, Pinterest is not mother-tested. I knew we were in trouble as my husband was carrying the parfaits out the front door in my clever egg carton carrying case. It was too late. We were already committed. I tried to ignore the wavering waffle cones, slightly losing their shape as the moisture began to soak through. I wanted to hope for the best. Let's just push them lower down into the carrier, I suggested as I ushered my husband out the door with the treats and my daughter, Can't be late for school drop-off on a special day like today!

After the ten minute car ride only half of the waffle cones looked edible. By the time the party rolled around mid-day, the entire tray of soggy mess had to be tossed. My contribution to the class festivities went directly into the trash can. Nowhere, I repeat NOWHERE, did the Pinterest-popular recipe mention that these treats must be eaten within 5 minutes of assembly lest they collapse and taste like a leftover bowl of cereal. That kind of information is apparently not Pinterest-worthy.

I had a similar experience making cake pops for my daughter's birthday. I will spare you the details, but if you want to know what happened just try making your own cake pops. If I ever want cake pops again, I WILL BUY THEM. They are worth every penny. (In defense of the cake pops, they at least still tasted good after falling apart.)

All this striving to impress 5 and 6-year-olds. The same 5 and 6-year-olds who have glue dripping off of every project and who don't always feel like coloring in the lines. The ones who are still learning to make their letters all the same size. The ones who think that when it comes to glitter or sprinkles, more is always better. Or was it really to impress them?

The worst part of these experiences was the way the word "failure" played on repeat in my head. There was the failure to create what I intended to create. There was also the failure to create the perception of perfection.

Pinterest gets a lot of slack for causing feelings of inadequacy in those of us who are less-than-perfect. For example, me. Pinterest itself is not doing anything inherently wrong. Pinterest only represents the ideology of women in my generation:  appear creative, original, trendy, or a perfect blend of healthy and cute, in order to give the illusion that we have it all together.

I am here to tell you that the perfect blend of healthy and cute does not exist. I do not, and will never, have it all together. I am admittedly far less-than-perfect. As proof, I will stand proudly behind my Pinterest failures and hope it sparks change in the ideology women subscribe to. There should be no more sleep lost or wrinkles gained over achieving an illusion. Failed crafts and projects do not define me, and neither do successful ones. I would much rather be known at school as the mother who would never judge others for their lack of presentation. The mother who would laugh at and learn from mistakes made, full of grace for all, especially herself.

For Valentine's Day this year, instead of Pinterest-perfect try something tested by time... like candy hearts and a paper Valentine. It just might be the most original thing the kids at school have ever seen.

hobbies

As a child I remember wondering what was so special about the Family Circus cartoon. Now I am all grown up and I get it. They are not so much funny as they are true, thus laughable.

This one tickled me a familiar place where I sighed when I read it and thought: Yes. That is how I feel. 

Once, I had hobbies. I just can't remember what they are at the moment. Laundry and dishes hardly count. It took me all summer long to hang some picture frames in my hallway. No exaggeration. Some weeks I literally hammered in one single nail.

Hobbies are the activities I would choose to do during all of my free time, as an outlet for creativity. I dream of having an afternoon alone when I will, undoubtedly, complete the mile long list of crafty fun and sewing ideas and house projects that float around in my brain while sorting toys and sweeping.

The truth is that I spend too much of my thought life thinking about the activities I am not doing, or am not able to do. My days are spent doing a number of things. They are full of the activities that have been entrusted to me by God. The vast majority of them actually do utilize my creativity. Telling bedtime stories. Reading books. Coming up with breakfast and dinner and the many meals in between. Reorganizing our home over and over again. Tickling and telling jokes. Convincing little people it will be fun if we get out the vacuum cleaner. Incorporating everyone's ideas. Teaching children valuable life lessons over broken toys.

These are not the activities I envision bringing my soul satisfaction. But they are the activities entrusted to me by God, first and foremost above my desire to hang pictures on the wall, or re-paint the bathroom, or add another post to this blog. Because they are from God, they can satisfy me as hobbies of a different nature never will.

It is good for me to remember that my future may hold the luxury of time to pursue hobbies, but even if it doesn't, I am glad I have a family to take care of. A life without them might be full of hobbies but empty of all the other things that bring me joy.

Praise the Lord, O my soul,... who satisfies your desires with good things 

so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. 

Psalm 103:5

my help

School started up last week for Annike. First grade begins the wild world of full day school. Off she goes.

On that first day while she was gone and my younger two were napping, I sat on the couch with my Bible, by myself.  It felt like a small miracle to be alone. I teared up with emotion, and all of the mixed sentiments of the day... worry, exhaustion, gratitude, relief, sadness at witnessing the arrival of yet another year.

That moment sitting on the couch was a healing moment. There was peace in my home, and I was allowed some space in a frantic world to process all of my emotional extremes. The moment ended shortly thereafter as the baby awoke early from his nap and refused to go back down. But in those minutes spent reflecting on our summer, I felt a huge sense of relief that we were exiting it and all the chaos that accompanied it. Summer is a wonderful time of fun and freedom, but we are all ready to have the reigns pulled back restoring some sense of order and routine in our lives, if for no other reason then our ability to once again enjoy occasionally breaking the routine.

At times, parenting three children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done. I can only imagine what it is like to have four, or six, or more. It brings multi-tasking to a whole new level, like trying to have a different conversation with five people at once giving them each your undivided attention. Take any serene moment, and there is an equally disastrous moment unpredictably lurking behind it. Like yesterday afternoon when we were all playing nicely in the backyard, engaged in our respective happy tasks, and all at once one child has thrown sand into the eyes of another child. The child with sand in her eyes is screaming in pain while the other child is rebelling with the knowledge she is waiting to be disciplined. Meanwhile the baby has discovered a nest of ants and is quite literally covered in them. The disciplined child is sent inside where she has an accident in the bathroom. As the meltdowns occur, everyone also appears to be both tired and hungry. Only 60 seconds have passed since the world was a place of calm. Now all is calamity.

It is difficult to know what to tackle first. I find myself just wanting a little help. Why is no one helping me? Why are there suddenly so many tasks to complete and not possibly enough minutes in the day to complete them while caring for these young people? and caring for my husband? and sometimes caring for myself? It is the feeling of being overwhelmed by all of the things that need to be done and the truth that I am completely incapable of doing them all at once, let alone doing them at all.

In that frantic moment I do not remember that God is my help. No, I am too busy being angry that my daughter has peed on the floor while she was having a tantrum, and being frustrated that my other daughter doesn't know how to communicate with me when she is in pain, and being worried that my baby is getting bitten by ants or choking on a pebble because I left him outside. In that frantic moment I succumb to the lies that I cannot do it. I have forgotten the truth that God is my ever-present help. He hasn't left me, or you, alone in the overwhelming present. He has not fallen asleep while we are left to tend to the mess.

I will lift up my eyes to the hills--

From whence comes my help?

My help comes from the Lord,

Who made heaven and earth.

He will not allow your foot to be moved;

He who keeps you will not slumber

Behold, He who keeps Israel

Shall neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper

The Lord is your shade at your right hand.

The sun shall not strike you by day, 

Nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;

He shall preserve your soul.

The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in

From this time forth, and even forevermore.

Psalm 121

In that healing moment on the couch, relief flooded me as I remembered that I do have help. There will be plenty more overwhelming moments in my future. But they will be peppered by moments of peace, in which I have space to remember, and hopefully internalize, the truth.

.........................................................

It is ridiculous, of course, to entertain the notion that I don't have any help. Karsten himself has entered the very helpful stage of 11 months old. Below are some photos to prove just how helpful he truly is...

Here he is helping me load the dishwasher...

and helping me sort laundry...

and helping me reorganize the children's bookshelf...

and helping me clean the shower...

and helping me change the toilet paper roll, a favorite task of his...

and helping me dig in the garden, sampling plants as he goes to be sure that they are edible...

And just in case you have forgotten what it is like to live with small children in the house, this video is a reminder. How does anyone ever do it without this kind of helpfulness?

firstfruits

"Bring the best of the firstfruits of your soil to the house of the LORD your God..."  

Exodus 23:19

There was a lightly attended morning convocation service I enjoyed during college if I had time between classes. One Friday morning, a guest speaker whose name I do not recall and whose face I would not recognize, shared a challenging story about his own journey with God because of a commitment he made to read his Bible every day for a year. The idea was to read anything, short or lengthy, so long as the Bible was opened and the date was recorded in a journal as a form of accountability.

It seemed a simple enough commitment, with a rewarding enough outcome, that I took up the challenge. I didn't exactly get all 365 dates of that year in my journal, but it was the first time in my life I had engaged in regular Bible reading and quiet times with God, and it was life-changing.

I consider that decision to be one of the dramatic turning points in my testimony, transforming me almost overnight into a woman pursuing solid food instead of milk (Hebrews 5:12-14). The commitment also turned me into a journaler, though I am sure no one who reads this blog will be surprised to learn I process my thoughts by writing them! I continued in this pattern of setting aside quiet time, with my Bible and journal in hand, on a mostly-daily basis for many years.

Then I had kids.

The change was gradual at first. However, recently it has become obvious that the main obstacle between my Bible and me is that there is no such thing as QUIET TIME. Quiet now means that the volume in the house is such that I can hear the thoughts in my own head because the little voices are talking to each other instead of me. Time is what I use to cook dinner or empty the dishwasher or move toys from the living room back into the bedroom. Awakening early ends up awakening the others in the house early as well. Actual quiet time is a rare enough occasion that when it occurs I become immediately anxious about how to fill it... should I finish the project I started 3 weeks ago? should I sweep up the crumbs left from dinner last Wednesday? should I take a nap? return a phone call? pay bills? check my email?...
Should I read my Bible?

It is a daily battle for me to find time for anything that doesn't involve six small, enthusiastic, but not-so-helpful hands, let alone quiet time that belongs to me and God alone. Yet, it is God who first invented the idea of motherhood. He put this love and desire for children deep within me. He designed the whole of mankind to prosper through the affection and nurture of a mother. He endorses and embraces my role as mother. He intimately knows each busy, noisy, detail of my day, and still longs to meet me somewhere, anywhere, on a daily basis.

He is not asking too much. Even in my busiest seasons He has never asked me to give Him something I don't have. He asks only for the firstfruits of what I do have. In this case, He is asking for the firstfruits of my time.

"Bring the best of the firstfruits of your soil to the house of the LORD your God..." 

Exodus 23:19

Literally, the firstfruits are the first and best harvest of a crop. The ancients were asked to give to the Lord the first and the best of what they had grown to survive, trusting that He would ultimately provide all they needed.

Time has always felt like something I need to survive. I cling to it tightly, selfishly, with anxious ownership over how I want to distribute it. There has been, and always will be, something more pressing to do than reading my Bible during any free or quiet time. In my moments of struggle with what to do, how to divide, where to give, I try to remember that the time was never mine to begin with. It is a gift from God.

Pursuing God and Biblical wisdom has come to look different than it did during my childless days. It is not as quiet. It is not as focused. Yet, it can still be a regular pursuit. Perhaps pursuing Him involves a greater sacrifice of time than ever before. But the reward is sweet. He asks for the firstfruits of my time, promising that as I give it to Him, so will He provide for me in all the ways I need.

they grow up so fast

I know it sounds cliche, but I really can't believe my baby is already 6 months old!?!!

Six months marks the point half way through baby-hood. Sigh. Seriously, how did this happen?

Karsten has officially entered into my very favorite baby stage: the happy sitting stage. He is content sitting in one place as long as he is snacking on something like a ball of socks or a crinkly bag, and as long as he can see me. He smiles at anyone who gives him attention. He stares at me with eyes full of adoration. He is a simply delectable ball of chubbiness. What is not to love?

Up until a week ago, when I handed him a teething cracker as a form of entertainment and tried to shove some sweet potatoes in with a spoon, I have grown this chunky 17-pound baby up entirely through my body's own nourishment. No wonder I am always starving.

This third time around with a baby in the house I realize how much I have grown as a person over the past five and a half years, since I first entered the world of parenthood with little Annike. So tiny, and yet somehow she managed to occupy so much of my time. Every minute that had previously belonged to me was suddenly devoted to mundane and repetitive things like changing diapers and sheets and doing laundry and making ridiculous facial expressions for entertainment. I couldn't go anywhere without consulting my infant's schedule and every errand included a helpless child on my hip.

Life felt so slow when I first made that transition into staying home full time with my baby. How many times did some well-intentioned older person tell me to "treasure up each moment because it goes by so fast"? I wanted to punch them in the face. That season felt anything but fast to me. I was physically exhausted from jumping into a baby's rhythm of waking all night long. I was mentally exhausted from processing all that had changed in my life. Someone had ripped the rug out from underneath all I understood about myself, forcing me to redefine my entire identity.

I remember that season so clearly. Yet, here I sit now with three of these little buggers. Life must be so much harder now than it was then... but I am not struggling in nearly the same way. There are more piles of laundry to do and diapers to change and overall chaos in the house than ever before. Instead, life is going by quickly. So quickly. Too quickly. Those well-intentioned people were right.

This third time around I am treasuring up each moment I can catch. In a different way, I understand that this does not last forever, and may not even last through tomorrow. Sometimes that is a very good thing. Sometimes it is woefully sad.

I keep thinking about how sure I was to bottle train my first baby right away because the thought of never being able to leave her for an entire year of breastfeeding put the fear of bottle-training in me. This third baby has not even seen a bottle, because, well, I don't have time to mess with extra things like that. And, reality tells me there isn't anywhere I can leave him because even my husband doesn't want to watch three kids yet. Mostly, I haven't given him a bottle because I know this year already feels so short. Plus, if I get to go some somewhere with only one child, it is almost like being on vacation anyway. Boy have things changed.

The thing that has changed the most over these past years is not the number of children I have or the diminishing number of minutes I have to myself or the average number of decibels in my home. It is my attitude. This chubby cheeky child with his two chinny-chins is growing up too fast. I don't want a lack of perspective to make me miss it.

investment

As I promised at the start of the New Year, we have been purging around here. Unfortunately, dropping giant boxes full of clothes and toys and bedding off at the donation center isn't the only form of de-cluttering that needs to happen in this house. There is a purging of the heart that is taking place too. Some bad attitudes have been cluttering up this home. They start small at first, with a mere thought of annoyance at something, or someone. Before I know it the entire attitude closet needs to be cleaned out. And I really know we are in trouble when I can no longer close the door to that closet as the junk comes pouring forth. Time to purge.

All three kids had RSV over the last few weeks, also known as a horrid respiratory virus that left the kids coughing all night and cranky all day. I was sneezed on and coughed on and used as a tissue. It is rather miraculous that I didn't get start getting sick until twelve days into it. Twelve long days of caring for fussy sick children, then I succumbed myself.

The head cold was the final item in that closet that prevented me from closing the door. There is nothing like a head cold to bring forth a deluge of self-pity. Poor me. Sometimes I just want to know that my life is about more than wiping noses and bottoms and faces. Is that too much to ask?!

Apparently, it is a lot to ask. Apparently I think pretty highly of myself to believe I should be doing "more important" things with my days.

The most important characters in the Bible were the ones who spent years investing in the insignificant. They were shepherds and fishermen and characters of humble beginnings. They spent the majority of their lives not being recognized or thanked or noticed particularly. They didn't visit exciting places and they lived a rather mundane daily routine. In the end, they were chosen for the condition of their hearts. Because investing in the insignificant is the best way to transform the condition of the heart.

Mothering young children feels a lot like investment in the insignificant. No one puts a stay-at-home mom on a list of the most accomplished or successful or wealthy people. No one is watching when she has a stellar moment to offer praise for her supreme patience with the obnoxious habits of her children. No one is around to notice if she doesn't do her job right either.

Motherhood is a training ground for the kind of humility that would make God want to choose someone like me for something in His kingdom. A nasty virus that sweeps the household is like the wolf that comes lurking through the shepherd's pasture. No one sees how the wolf is handled. But the outcome is crucial to the fate of the flock and the shepherd.

So now we are working on purging the attitudes that have begun to clutter our halls... attitudes of self-pity, and self-importance, and down right selfishness. Some of those attitudes belong to little people in my house. And some of them belong to me. But all of them need to go, no matter how insignificant it feels to invest in this way. In this case, an investment in the insignificant is an investment in eternity, an investment truly worth making.

God was shouting at me from the pages of Romans this week. I love it when He does that - as if He made sure it was written down 2000 years ago just so I could read it and be encouraged today.

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, 

to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true 

and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, 

in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you." 

Romans 12:1-3

And... some pictures of all the sickies. What else do you do when all 3 kids are home all day long for over a week? Dress up like animals and get a lot of snuggling in...

helpless

Well, the verdict is out. Karsten is definitely my most mellow and content newborn. Thank you, Lord. I needed this.

Strange, but I think because he is mellow it took me a little longer to bond with this third baby. Don't get me wrong, I am now fully in love and completely attached to this squishy adorable face. I just think it might be harder to bond with a baby who sleeps all the time. Not complaining, just saying.

All of those hours spent rocking and comforting my other crying newborns actually served the purpose of attaching us to each other quickly, in that supernatural way that God intended for a mother to feel attached to her children. And it has got me thinking that maybe God intended babies to be fussy for just that reason. Something about a tiny helpless baby being in need bonds us as we swoop in to rescue them.

Life is like that too. We live through seasons that are especially hard, and we might feel especially needy. On the other side of that life experience, however, we can see how the season changed us in a permanent way. There was a bonding that took place, a deep spirit learning, an experiencial wisdom that was gained. Those needy times are the only ways to get a certain supernatural change to take place within us. In our need, we are given the gift of helplessness, being reliant on God to swoop in and rescue us.

Perhaps God intend for hard seasons to work just like that in our lives.

I am just thanking God daily that He decided this baby would not be a full test of my helplessness. And if God chose to give me a baby who knows how to sleep and sit contently, I am not going to question His good gift. I am sure we have plenty of other challenges ahead!

kindness

I have plenty of experiences in my life where I am struck by disappointment in the rudeness and entitlement and self-promotion that seem to govern the attitudes of our culture.

However, late into my pregnancy, I have found renewed faith in humanity's ability to be kind. Throughout this pregancy I have instead experienced compassion and gentleness and patience, often from complete strangers. It gives me hope for the world my children will grow up in. It helps me believe that kindness is still a general value in America.

Crossing the street as a pregnant lady with two kids in tow seems to bring out the compassion in drivers who previously would have sped by. People offer their spot in the grocery store line to me, insisting that I go ahead. Friends have randomly dropped off dinner, or picked up my house, or watched my children. And with another fast labor likely looming ahead, I have a long list of both good friends and casual acquaintances who have offered to drop anything at any time of day to help me get to the hospital from our somewhat remote location. It is refreshing. It is encouraging.

A more specific example happened in the grocery store recently. The grocery store sees mothers with their children on all kinds of days - good ones, bad ones, stressful run in and run out days. It is the one store we can't avoid just because we are having a bad day. On this particular bad day Sommer started with the most horrid screechy screaming stereotypical of a spoiled 2-year-old having a tantrum - usually someone else's child's tantrum. In this case, unfortunately, it was not someone else's child. It was my extremely stubborn and hungry child who refused to snack on grocery store goods or sit in the cart. We were in the process of abandoning a full cart of food (something I have only had to do one other time in all my 5 years of motherhood) when one of the grocery clerks took compassion on us and offered my kids some sweets and treats they did not deserve. These were goodies that they don't hand out to every child who comes through the store. It took all my self-control not to start crying on this woman's shoulder simply because someone showed me kindness instead of judgement. God bless the people who work at Trader Joe's. We managed to make it out of the store with our food.

This week, while out and about shopping for some birthday presents, Sommer was playing with a display of small stuffed animals. An elderly lady, who I guessed to be in her 80s, insisted on buying her one of fuzzy white kittens. I tried to refuse, partially because it was unnecessary, partially because the last thing we need is another stuffed animal in the house, and partially because I don't need Sommer thinking that she gets to takes every toy she likes home with her. But something about this lady's demeanor told me that allowing her to purchase the kitten would be a blessing to the both of us. It was something she wanted to do for us that came from a genuine place of kindness in her heart. Her sweetness and her interest in doing something kind for no apparent reason is what encouraged me. (Aside: this act of kindness is probably unrelated to my pregnancy. It is far more likely a result of Sommer's disarming ability to charm complete strangers. Either way, we were blessed.) 

I have also had plenty of awkward belly rubs from strangers, and been the brunt of many tactless comments about how my hands are going to be so full soon, and I have people everywhere who want to make conversation with me about my pregnancy and my kids and their own experiences, which is often poorly timed because I am trying to make it out of a store in a timely manner before my children spiral out of control.

But through it all, I have a great sense that these strangers do these things, tactless or not, because of a genuine interest in my life. Something about seeing us roaming around triggers a desire to reach out, and to be kind. I admit it could be pity, but I believe it is more like a glimmer of unselfishness that surfaces. That these people have kindness pent up in their heart and they are looking for a way to express it.

I share all of this because I have been deeply blessed by little things throughout this pregnancy. And I am asking myself, Why does it take a pregnant woman with kids to bring out the kindness in strangers?

Perhaps if we all just made it a priority to treat others as if they were in some sort of delicate state, offering help just because, exercising great patience for no apparent reason... perhaps many more people would experience the kindness of strangers.  If we took great interest in their lives then the world would indeed become a better place. Just a thought....

"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, 

just as in Christ God forgave you."

Ephesians 4:32

babies don't keep

While I was growing up, my mother had this poem hanging on the wall of our family room on some homemade medium of sorts... cross stitched? hand painted?  I can not even vaguely remember what it looked like hanging on that wall all those years.  But the words are stored permanently in the subconscious recesses of my mind. They have been running through my head all day, and I thought I would bless you by sharing them.

Cleaning and scrubbing 

         can wait til tomorrow

For babies grow up, 

                     we've learned to our sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs, 

   dust go to sleep

I'm rocking my baby 

               and babies don't keep

Author Unknown

Sommer was sick this week and needed a lot of Momma-time.  I rocked her to sleep today for the first time in a very long time. It was special. To be fair to myself, however, the girl has received (demanded?) a LOT of rocking in her little lifetime. Still, it was special. And well worth ignoring the pile of dishes in the sink.

happy new year

Happy New Year!  Am I too late to say that?  It is already the middle of January, but let's be honest, it takes me this long to get around to processing, then posting, an entry on this blog.

Spending time in reflection is one of my favorite things to do each January as the new year begins. That takes time. It all takes time. On January 1st, I could have written "Happy New Year" but I could not have written what is to follow, which in my book is what really matters. Only after time spent reflecting over the past year am I able to share about the theme repeated over and over and over again in my life.

This year God asked me to do some things that seemed hard. Maybe they don't sound hard to other people who have much bigger issues in their lives. But, to me, they seemed hard. A self-sacrificial, never-ending kind of hard. God asked me to do some things that seemed hard, then He gave me the strength to do them. A God who revealed in Himself a great pattern of faithfulness to me.

He asked me to parent a baby who did not know how to sleep, waking 4, 5, 6 times every night, then deciding catnaps during the day were enough for her. And He subsequently gave me the strength to get up each and every morning, to care for my family, to walk through my day with something that actually felt like energy. And more miraculously, He gave me the strength to have a good attitude, which I chose most days.

He asked me to wear a lot of hats. And He subsequently gave me exactly the right amount of time to juggle bookkeeping for our business, co-leading women's ministry in our church and parenting full time. Oh, and being a wife and a friend too. As an added bonus, once in a while He even gave me some spare time to do something fun outside of all those roles, like a crafty project or a post on this blog.

He asked me to spend time with Him every day. On the days when I did, He blessed me with depth and truth and gave the time back in some way. On the days when I didn't, He forgave me. And He called to me in a voice that was a little bit louder the following day.

He asked me to love my family. And He taught me that loving them means snuggling and serving and playing and laughing and escaping together. And that loving them does not mean my house is clean all the time.

He asked me to love unconditionally. And He gave me the eyes to have grace and compassion and perspective. He helped me to walk onto the other side of bitterness and forgive others. He helped me to forgive myself.

God did not ask me to do things that I was already good at, or already had the time for, or already felt confident in. He asked me, knowing full well how incapable, ill-prepared, inept, unseasoned, and outright weak I am. He asked me because I did not have the strength on my own... because He wanted to supply it... because of my vast inability and utter dependence on Him.

In the year 2012, God gave me incredible strength to do what He asked me to do. Even when the things seemed really hard. Especially when those things seemed really hard. And it gives me great hope for the year 2013.

Happy New Year from our family to yours!

pieces

"We will discover the miracle of servant-living when we catch hold of the enormous truth 
that people cannot take from us what we freely give away." -- Susan Lenkes

This quote.  It hit me in a deep soul-wrenching place.

I read it. Then decided I wanted to blog about it. Then tried and failed. The post would just not write. My heart would just not bend. Oh, I wanted my heart to bend, it just seemed to be stubbornly stuck in place that wills not to freely give.

Everyone wants a piece of me. This week my husband had the stomach flu and needed lots of tea and naps and to be excused from his regular child-rearing duties. My baby needed lots of holding. My 3-year-old needed lots of conversation, explanations, and direction. And our kitten decided that I am her favorite, which means she finds me for any and every need. She got the stomach flu too, so guess who got to clean that up. Why does everyone want ME? Can't someone else be the favorite for a while?

Being a mother is not about getting my needs met.  No one ever said it was.  Being a wife is not about that either.  Nor is being a teacher or a counselor or a friend.  Even though I know this, it somehow gets confusing inside of me and I want to cry out, rash and selfishly.

The quote (from a women's devotional that I am reading) reminded me that I am called to follow the example of Jesus by being a servant to those I love. Specifically, I am called to love my family by serving them. But I will be the first to say that it is freaking hard some times!! All that giving can start to feel a lot like someone is stealing pieces of me until nothing is left but a crabby shell of myself with a bad attitude.

...people cannot take from us what we freely give away.

Daily, I try not to lose my perspective, but somehow a line gets crossed and it begins to feel less like giving and more like others taking. That isn't servant-living; that is selfish living. When I give with the expectation that I will somehow be repaid, or that there will be an outcome I can view as "fair", then I am not really acting with a servant's heart, but acting in self-promotion.

The miracle of servant-living is that when our hearts are in the right place, the burden evaporates. How it works is an enigma, but truly, there is strength and freedom in the giving. Instead of feeling robbed, I can feel blessed by the opportunity to give... especially when it goes unnoticed. By refusing to give freely, I am disabling the power of joy to change my heart. 

Perhaps this is why God designed us to live in relationship with each other... to teach us more about how to love like He does. No one can steal pieces of me if I have already given my whole self away.

small miracles

God's provision is so evident to me of late.  I never quite get the break I am hoping for, but miraculously, I never quite need it as much as I think I do.  Small miracles sustain me.  I call them "small" because to anyone else they would seem rather innocuous everyday occurrences, possibly no miracle at all.  But to me they are life-saving moments placed precisely by God to restore me.  

A child who sleeps in until 8:45am... small miracle.  If you have small kids, you understand.  You are probably envious.  

A magazine that entertains a baby for almost an hour... small miracle.   No, she isn't reading yet.  Simply shredding it to pieces, we have to start somewhere with our love of books though.

A child who gets dressed, brushes her hair and her teeth, without crying when we are already running late... small miracle.  You've seen the pictures on this blog.  We do actually own clothing for Annike, she just chooses not to wear them.

An ant crawling out of my baby's mouth when she has been left to play in the dirt by herself... small miracle (for the ant).  Actually, I am just glad that she didn't choke on a rock or a cricket because it has been quite a while since I checked on her.

A baby (who never naps longer than 40 minutes at a time) who sleeps for an hour and a half while we are stuck in San Francisco rush hour traffic... small miracle.

A genuine smile for friends who tell me their babies take long naps everyday, multiple times a day... small miracle.  I am truly glad for them, and seriously, that generous sentiment can only come from above.

A small girl who chooses to share and help her baby sister... small miracle.

Two overtired children who remain happy and fun to be around... small miracle.

A piece of an corner of an hour when my husband is playing with both children and I am typing on the computer, given a fleeting chance to reflect upon God's goodness in this life... small miracle.

But the real miracle for me is that as much as I am dying for a minute to myself, to express, to emote, to refresh, God sustains me.  I don't need that moment on my own nearly as much as I thought.  With two children who could not possibly sleep less and remain healthy, I am always in want of more time to          (you fill in the blank).  There is never enough for me.  And yet, there is always plenty.

I call them "small" miracles because to anyone else they would seem rather innocuous everyday occurrences. Perhaps a coincidence.  To me, they are larger than life, hugely miraculous, sanity-saving moments frozen in my mind as a divine gift from God.  They are proof that God knows me intimately and cares about my everyday needs, some admittedly mundane and insignificant in the large scheme.  He loves the way that He created me, selfish needs and all, and sometimes simply wants His creativity to flourish.

Thank you, Lord in heaven above, for the small miracles that are hugely sustaining, 

enabling me to press forward as myself in world that is 

not always what I expected, or dreamed of.  

Because of Your Provision, Lord, 

it is so much more than I would have hoped.

laughter

I often find myself daydreaming about things I will do one day when I don't have young children... like read a book in the afternoon... go shopping for an entire day without them... sleep through the night, uninterrupted... travel to a foreign country with a small suitcase... use the bathroom alone... Catching my thoughts in places like these, it is tempting to envy retirement and empty nest days as a time of freedom.  In reality, I simply have a bad case of brown-grass-syndrome.

On the tail end of three wonderful family vacations, Christian and I agree that we have never laughed so much at any other stage of our lives.  Never before have we sung so many silly songs, tickled so many knees and bellies, laughed at so many bad jokes, told so many funny stories, or giggled spontaneously so many times in a day.  Can it get any greener than this?


What, exactly, are we laughing about, you ask?  Anything and everything. You might not think it is nearly as funny as we do, but some of the expressions in these vacation photos had me rolling. Feel free to laugh along side of me as I recap a few memories from our most recent trio of travels.


First Stop:  New Orleans to celebrate my younger brother's graduation from dental school!

One thing about children is that at any given moment what they are feeling is written all over their faces.  These two girls were troopers but the significance of posing in a picture with two great-grandmothers was completely lost on them.  As disappointing as it is to have 4 smiling adults and 2 grumpy children in a photo that cannot be duplicated, I can laugh at the outcome.

 The most special part about our trips over the past month was the sister-bonding... 

Welcome to Gators-ville, Louisiana!

The baby alligator doesn't bite... yet.

The next one cracks me up.  Sommer fussed for most of the time on our hot and humid swamp tour.... except when the wind was blowing in her face.  She could hardly keep her eyes open pointing directly into the wind, but at least she was smiling!

Second Stop:  Yosemite camping in the R.V. with my parents and brother.  A cold front came through including a torrential downpour - we were oh so thankful to have the R.V.

Does anyone know who the man with the mustache is holding my baby?

Third Stop: Clearlake for a restful (mostly) summer vacation. The real treat was that my entire immediate family joined us.

Someone has recently begun to specialize in silly faces...

This is the face of a big sister who does not want to share the swing with her little sister.  I was cracking up as I took the picture... one day she might think it is funny too.

Those pretty much sum up our wonderful, short, chaotic, exhausting, kid-friendly, nap-deprived, family-centered, enjoyable, date-less, but still wonderful vacations.

With all of this fun going on, who has time to blog?  Apparently not me.  I do miss capturing my thoughts and recording snippets of our lives, but instead of lamenting the hobbies and projects I just can't keep seem to keep caught up with, I am just going to enjoy this season of laughter with my family.  The grass may never be this green again.