A Father's Lap

My five-month-old Simon is getting more and more mobile with each day that passes. I remember that with my first born, it seemed to take f - o - r - e - v - e - r for him to reach his gross motor milestones. With this one, it is happening way too fast. He’s rolling from his back to his stomach. He’s inching his way forwards and backwards. I saw him do a plank for a half a second today. And this week, he discovered he could roll from his stomach to his back. I feel like we’ve reached the point of no return. This little boy is going to move, whether the rest of us are ready for it or not.

Today he was sitting in my love’s lap, Dave doing what he could to keep him entertained while I got ready for the day. And this is what I saw: Simon squirming and wiggling with every developing muscle in his body, working his hardest to make his way out of that lap.

—-

My dear friend Sherry, who has lots of experience raising kids and even more experience walking with the Lord, looked at Simon in my arms this past summer (when he was much more prone to cuddling), and was reminded of the way that God loves to hold us close. Ever since that day with her, my mind finds its way back to this picture of God holding us close, the way a parent holds their newborn baby—like there is nothing more precious, nothing more important for His arms to be doing than holding us close to His heart.

And how often do we respond in the way that a five-month-old might? We feel confident in our own newly-found abilities, we have our own ideas of what’s best for us, and we have the urge to get out. And God, in his wisdom and love, allows us to go… to wiggle… to squirm our way away from his lap. I’m sure we look ridiculous to him, as we slide down onto the ground and find ourselves in a position from which we don’t know the way out. Simon ended with his belly on the carpet and his face flat against Dave’s hairy leg. 

___

What follows is beautiful. 

Simon looked up at us with expectant eyes as if to say, “Can you get me out of here?” Of course, we did. And of course, God does. Every time that we think we know better than he does, he rescues us. Every time that somewhere else seems more appealing than his lap, he’s there to draw us back into his arms. Every time that we look up at him with those eyes that beg, “Can you get me out of here?” he reaches down in grace and love and pulls us up.

But as for me, how good it is to be near God!

    I have made the Sovereign Lord my shelter,

    and I will tell everyone about the wonderful things you do.

Psalm 73:28

If Only

The boys are on their two-week Fall Break right now. So, we’re getting lots of opportunities to have fun together, to spend time together, and, in the midst of our hours together, to grow in our relationships with each other—you know: the kind of growth that happens in the midst of good times and in the midst of bad times.

There we were, enjoying a laid-back meal together of the boys’ choosing. My love was working late, so our dinner was not as “formal” a time as normal, if our normal could be considered formal. The baby woke up as we were nearing the end of the meal, so I left the 5- and 3-year old to finish things up while I nursed Simon in the next room. Noah, the oldest, finished quickly. Apparently, whatever he ate gave his little frame a boost of energy;  pretty soon he was bounding into the living room, ready for action and giddily goofy. I sent him back to the kitchen to clear his dishes from the table, and then I returned to checking my email on my phone. About a minute passed and I realized that it was getting rowdy in the kitchen, and that Noah had not accomplished the task for which he had been sent. As I looked up from what I was doing, I saw Zeke (the 3-year-old always ready to hop on whatever bandwagon his brother is riding) toss his cup of milk across the table. [Thank God for cups with lids.] Well, throwing was not sufficient goofiness, so he proceeded to slam it around in his attempt to pick it up and then shake it. 

And all the moms know what happens next: 8 ounces of milk, all over the kitchen floor. Splatted on the wall. Wet on the legs of the table and chairs. Slippery in-between little three-year-old toes. If only I wouldn’t have given him a full cup! If only Simon would have slept a few more minutes! If only I wouldn’t have been on my phone! If only NOAH WOULD HAVE DONE WHAT I ASKED HIM TO DO!

As Zeke stood there, feet in milk, milk on floor, and I hurried to get Simon settled somewhere besides my lap, I was quick to anger and quicker to spout off from my mouth. “Zeke! We don’t throw cups! What is that?!?—The second time you’ve spilled a cup of milk today?? Why did you do that?!  Noah! Why didn't you do what I asked you to do? (grumbles under breath....)" 

If only, If only, If only.

Of course, spilled milk is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, so after a few towels and a conversation, we were able to put it behind us (and I began counting down the minutes until my love, a.k.a. my reliever, would come home).

Later that night, after all the boys were asleep, I read these words:

This is what the Lord says—

your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel:

“I am the Lord your God,

who teaches you what is good for you

and leads you along the paths you should follow.

Oh, that you had listened to my commands!

Then you would have had peace flowing like a gentle river

and righteousness rolling over you like waves in the sea.” 

(Isaiah 48:17-18 NLT)

If only.

If only we would listen to God instead of going our own way. If only we would pay attention to our teacher and guide for the right path. He desires to bless our lives. He desires to give us peace and righteousness. How often do our lives look like we’re throwing cups and spilling milk, instead? How many good things have been wasted in our attempts to do things our own way?

If only.

Today, let’s pray for the understanding to hear our Leader’s voice, and for the wisdom to follow in his ways; that we would not be foolish with the blessings he has showered on us; and that we would not make hasty decisions based on what is popular around us. Let us look forward to His peace like a river and righteousness like the waves.

My Bubble (the good and bad)

I have a confession: I live in a “mom bubble.”

My days consist of spending much of my time in my home.  When I’m not at home, I’m in my community running errands, at the schools where my boys attend, at my church, or in my friends’ homes. My most challenging conversations are with my kids’ friends who don't quite have all of their words and sounds perfected yet. Anyone who knows me will tell you I don’t watch much TV; anytime I do happen to catch the news, I don’t enjoy it. And if you looked at the apps on my phone, you would find Pinterest but not CNN. I read our community newspaper about once every three weeks, and I generally keep tabs on the world through my friends’ Facebook posts.

I’m not proud of this part of me, but it is definitely my M.O.

Usually, I find my bubble useful. I’m able to focus on the tasks in front of me—really investing in the lives that I have an ability to affect. I don’t stay up at night worrying about the stock market or national safety. I don’t waste hours keeping tabs on when the latest celeb will have her next baby. I find it’s easier to keep thoughts of God running through my brain rather than the spoutings of talking heads. My bubble helps me filter the voices that speak to my heart.

But, of course, my bubble has its down sides. I can’t generally join in on social conversations about what’s happening in the Middle East or what movies are playing at the theater on Friday. I don’t know what time the debate is scheduled for this week, and I can’t tell you what big legislation is or isn’t passing in the House right now. I don’t know the latest trend in kitchen gadgets or the hot styles for fall.

I wish I could filter what is good for my soul while letting in what is important for my head. 

While my current bubble is not perfect, I became thankful for one of its by-products this week: I am not over-sensitized.  When big stories make it through to my ears and head, they have a way of making it straight to my heart. 

Because I do not daily hear about tragedy, when I do, it is felt as just that: horrendous, heart-wrenching tragedy. Because I am not consistently exposed to the blackness of evil, when I see it, I can quickly identify it and hate it. When I hear about wars and torture and merciless men and hurting children and separated families and people fleeing their homes for their lives, my response is shock and compassion and hurt. I am all at once angry at the devil, worried about the future, thankful for blessings in my life, and awed by the individuals who live through such horrific trials. And my swelling heart cries out, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus!”

I don’t know the best way to Raise Little Royalty in light of the sin in our world. I don’t know how thick or thin to shape their bubbles. All I know is that it is VITAL for me to introduce them to the One who is in charge of the heavens and the earth. The One who is worthy of these words:

O Lord, I will honor and praise your name, for you are my God.

You do such wonderful things!

    You planned them long ago, and now you have accomplished them.

You turn mighty cities into heaps of ruins.

    Cities with strong walls are turned to rubble.

Beautiful palaces in distant lands disappear and will never be rebuilt.

Therefore, strong nations will declare your glory;

    ruthless nations will fear you.

But you are a tower of refuge to the poor, O Lord, a tower of refuge to the needy in distress.

You are a refuge from the storm and a shelter from the heat.

For the oppressive acts of ruthless people are like a storm beating against a wall, or like the relentless heat of the desert.

But you silence the roar of foreign nations.

    As the shade of a cloud cools relentless heat, so the boastful songs of ruthless people are stilled.

In Jerusalem, the Lord of Heaven’s Armies will spread a wonderful feast for all the people of the world.

It will be a delicious banquet with clear, well-aged wine and choice meat.

There he will remove the cloud of gloom, the shadow of death that hangs over the earth.

He will swallow up death forever!

    The Sovereign Lord will wipe away all tears.

He will remove forever all insults and mockery against his land and people.

    The Lord has spoken!

In that day the people will proclaim,

“This is our God!

    We trusted in him, and he saved us!

This is the Lord, in whom we trusted.

    Let us rejoice in the salvation he brings!”

Isaiah 25:1-9

Weight

My heart was heavy last night.

I got news of a kid I once knew, my little brother’s high school friend--the one that always had a mischievous smile and a quick joke. The news was this: that thirty-year-old kid was on a motorcycle one minute, and brain dead the next. God bless the off-duty nurse who was there to resuscitate his heart back to beating so that he could be transported to the hospital, so that his family could spend one last day with him.

My heart pictures his mom, and it hurts.

Oh, heart, why is it that no one speaks about this side of motherhood? How is it that our minds can be filled with images of sweet little baby toes and perfect nurseries and designer outfits, but that we can miss this very real side of motherhood? The side that hurts. The side that would give anything for one more day. The side that feels the weight of another’s life on one's own soul, but knows it lacks the strength to carry it. This, heart, is what you have been given wrapped up in your precious little bundle. Yes, there are many joys and laughter, but do not be a fool. There will also be events that will make you want to split in two and spill out all of the hurt that has bundled up inside. Dear heart, be wise. Be thankful. Do not be foolish and believe that right and wrong will always be so clear, or that the good you have now will be good forever. Treasure this moment, heart. Drink in deeply of healthy little ones who are kept safe under the same roof as your own. Treasure the requests for extra lovin’s, be thankful for the midnight wake-ups, rejoice in the little squabbles. These are gifts to you. Do not ignore them or think them light. They are preparing you for the weight of what the future might bring. Be wise, dear heart. Love today.

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

Birthday

August 28, 2015

Today is my birthday. 34. It feels like a funny year to celebrate. Perhaps the more and more kid’s’ parties I throw, the less and less exciting it is to have my own birthday. “What kind of party should we throw for Mom?” 5-year-old Noah asked my husband earlier this week. I’m sure he was thinking about Avengers or Minions or Frozen or something.

When we are little, birthdays seem like they are most importantly times for us to indulge in things we want. Even as adults, we do this. What do I want? What special thing  am I going to splurge on (or ask others to splurge on) so I can celebrate my birthday in the best way possible? What do I want to do? Where do I want to go? How do I get the most joy ?

This year, I didn’t have a desire to make my day exciting, to have friends over, or even for the boys to make me a cake. In years past, I’ve wanted to do things like going out for a long run or getting away by myself for a few hours or receiving exactly the present I was hoping for; but this year, I am out of shape, had alone time yesterday, and nothing on my list has a hold on my heart. So instead, we’re going to have a picnic in a park and go out for ice cream at a special place. It sounds perfect to me (especially since we’ve been out of ice cream in this house for the last two weeks!). Birthday Joy.

I got to sleep in this morning and was woken up by two sets of four limbs crawling onto my bed shouting, “Happy birthday!!  Wake up!! It’s time for breakfast!!” followed by secretive whispering, “We picked you flowers, but that’s not your present… and Dad’s going to bring home roses later, but that’s not your present either.” Birthday Joy.

I fumbled on my glasses and followed their happy feet out to the kitchen table where I found a cinnamon coffee cake muffin on a plate for me, one yellow candle sticking out of the center, and four impatiens petals scattered about. My love lit the candle, they sang, I made a wish and blew out the flame. Birthday Joy. 

I felt loved, appreciated and special. Birthday Joy.

But there is a joy that found its way into my heart and into my day that I did not anticipate or expect. At one point, my three-year-old Zeke (who was more than a little frustrating at various times throughout the morning), requested that we turn on some music and do some dancing. With baby Simon in my arms, we began singing and dancing around the living room. Zeke was happy, moving his body every which way and bounding around. A few moments into the song, I looked down, and there was three-month-old Simon, looking up at me and laughing. He had the biggest smile across his face, and he was giddy at the moves I was making. 

There is nothing like baby laughter to melt everything else in the world away. 

And with everything stripped away, I was left in my living room, holding this gift from God in my arms that brought joy to my soul. In that split second, God spoke something like this to me:

I have given you life. And your greatest joys will occur as you follow me. The rest of the stuff and the special things of this life do not matter—not even a little bit. Your Greatest Joy will be Me. Today, on this special day, and on every day, Christa, I am your joy.

Silence

Oh, the sweet sound of silence. I actually wish that I was writing this entry out by hand, so that all I could hear would be the sound of pen on journal paper. 9:38 p.m., and all I hear is the hum of the fridge, the click-clack of my keyboard, and a basketball hitting cement as the neighbor boy enjoys the temperate summer evening. 

This is the first time it’s been silent since 6:30 this morning, as I was woken up from my “morning nap” on the couch by two handsome and very energetic little boys. Since that time, I have gotten kids dressed and fed. I have studied Scripture with a friend. I have answered kid questions. I have gone to the grocery store. I have fed kids more. I have disciplined. I have soothed a baby’s cries. I have hung out with friends. I have pointed boys in the right way. I have sung song after song to get my three-year-old child to take a nap. I have picked up MagnaTiles and moved couches. I have pat the baby on my shoulder while reading a book to another child. I have worked over a soapy, watery sink with my five year old. I have been a listening ear for my husband.

And now this silence is so sweet to my ear and my soul. Some peace. Oh, sweet peace. Part of me wants to stay up all night and clean up my house in peace—put all the books back where they go and file all of the papers that need to get filed and throw away all of the old coupons that have been expired for two months. And the other part of me just wants to sit here and be silent with this silent house. I just want to let the silence weigh heavy in the air, let it soak into my bones, let it press its memory on my mind.

In this peace, in this silence, I want to hear God talk. Here in this place, all I need to think about is being His kid, not taking care of three kids. Here in this silence, I can begin to feel some restoration for my mind. My mind that is tired and a bit worn today. My mind that wonders if I’m up for this challenge of raising three boys, and doing it right. This mind that thinks a lot about giving anything, but wonders if I have anything to give.

My friend Katrina, who doesn’t like dust, asked tonight why anyone would willing put themselves into a position where they were camping. Well, Katrina, I think it’s the silence that draws me. I can get lost in the kind of silence that camping offers, surrounded by fir trees and stars. I can get lost in this silence that God is offering me this night. A chance to stop and to hear the voice he’s placed inside my heart—that quiet voice that often gets overrun by the noise around me. That voice that whispers, “I see you. You are loved. You are special. You are my precious kid. Rest here in my arms for a bit, my dear heart.”

Sounds good to me.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

Psalm 23:2-3

Double Triple

Yesterday, we celebrated my second son's third birthday.

Ezekiel. The baby whose name caught us off guard. The baby whose strong will matched his strong frame. The baby who fought sleep. The toddler who brought me to tears. The toddler who screamed and used that voice to cut like a sword. The toddler who climbed up the ladder and slid down the slide on his own before he could even walk. The little boy who repeats everything his brother says (and does). The little boy who can hike up to Eagle Lake. The little boy whose hearty laugh infects the whole room. The little boy who shares all that he has with people around him. The little boy who is learning how to express his emotions. The little boy who is gaining an appreciation for using his strength for good.

This little boy turned three yesterday... and in the words of my dear friend, "he's two going on four."

As I was singing my energetic boy to sleep last night (ok, he was actually already asleep by the time I started singing--birthdays are draining!), God gave me a moment to glimpse into our past. The song I sang to my tuckered-out "big boy" was the same one I had made up a few years ago, when his refusal to sleep was wearing away at my sanity.

Oh, my little child, fall asleep;

Let the peace of Christ guard your heart.

Oh, my little child, fall asleep;

And from Him never depart.

Oh, my little child, close your eyes;

Wrap yourself in His great love.

Oh, my little child, close your eyes;

And dream sweetly of grace above.

And I saw for a moment how fleeting time is. Because it was not that long ago that I began to sing that song to him... but my worn-out three year old seems very far removed from that crying baby cradled in my arms.

It made me marvel at all the days that we have already passed through together, and it stirred excitement in my heart for the days ahead.

Happy Birthday, little guy. You are loved.

Praise [the Lord] for his mighty deeds;

praise him according to his excellent greatness!

Psalm 150:2