Enough

For the last nine months, my husband and I have had the week of "Nov. 2-6" reserved for an amazing conference hosted by the Pastoral Leadership Institute.  We had reserved time off from work, babysitters lined up, hotel and airlines booked--all for this conference. This conference has made a substantial difference in our relationships, our marriage, my view of self, my weekly schedule, and my relationship with my Lord.

This is a conference that loves, that teaches, that challenges and supports. And I am always a renewed spirit at the completion of the final session.

So you might be able to imagine how it felt when our 3-year-old was sick as a dog to his little tummy 12 hours before we were supposed to leave our home to fly halfway across the country for this conference--like the floor dropped out from under me. He was sick for seven straight hours on Nov. 1. His usual boundless energy was zapped for the lack of food in his system, so we put him to sleep early (surrounded by lots of towels) and prayed for mercy from the Lord.

What is a mom to do? Our dear friends had assured us that they would take the best care of him, and I knew they would. But what message would I send to his tender heart if I would choose attending a conference over attending to him in his sickness? On the flip side, what message would I send to my husband if I would choose to stay home with a sick boy rather than spend that precious week growing with him? 

God is doing a work in my heart, no doubt. There were many years before this one when I would have chosen fear or discouragement or self-pity when such a situation threatening to cause ruin to my beautiful plans. But that day, in those down-to-the-wire hours, I had peace knowing that if we stayed or went, that He would have a beautiful plan for either. I was strangely content in the midst of the struggle (after my brief worst-case-scenario freak out moment, of course).

Going to bed that night, I was mentally prepared to be up every hour, with a hungry babe on one knee and a sick little boy on the other. And I was worried about running out of lap space for the kindergartener, who I was certain would catch whatever bug had gone through the rest of our ranks.

And then it didn’t happen. 

I woke up once to feed the smallest one, and as I checked on my sick boy, he was sleeping peacefully in the same spot we had left him. The towels around him were still clean and dry. I said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving.

And at 5:15 the next morning, that sick little boy was climging on top of his dadda and over the couches, begging for “beckfrest.”

We were still holding our breath in anticipation of seeing those breakfast cheerios come up again, but they stayed down. And then some toast stayed down. And some milk. 

And we put our bags in the car. The kindergartener ready for the week ahead. The baby showing no signs of sickness. And my husband and I began to let ourselves get giddy with excitement. He was well! We were going to be able to go on our trip! We would not be separated for the week! We would not be spending hundreds of dollars on change-flight fees! 

God had heard our prayers, and in his mercy had given us just enough.

____

We had an amazing week. The conference revived my soul, my marriage, my long-distance friendships, my love for my Lord and my desire to work for Him.

As I return from “retreat” and enter into this season of “holiday,” this is a good word for my heart: that God gives us enough, that He is enough, that his gift of grace to us is enough. As I might get fretful about my to-do list and what will or will not go the way I expect, the Prince of Peace is present and has a Beautiful Plan that he wishes to introduce to me. No amount of worry on my part will do. The best thing I can do is confidently wait for him to show up. And he does. And he did. And he will.

I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.             Romans 15:13

Support

I was asked this question last night: “What do you wish you would have known about having kids before actually having them?”

As my brain raced through all of the reactions in my head to this question, there was a silence on the phone line. How do I even begin to share what motherhood is like to a high school senior, conducting an interview to fulfill a child development assignment? My hands were wet in the sink busy with dinner dishes, my three-year-old in the midst of the post-bath naked dash to get a Pull-Up, my living room a mess of clothes needing to be folded and books scattered everywhere. 

What do I wish I would have known? How life-altering it is. How it can fill your heart and break it. How it magnifies every single selfish act. How it doesn’t stop. How it stretches you physically. How it is different for every person, with every child. How it exposes your weaknesses. How it challenges the way you spend your resources. How it opens doors to new experiences and situations and lots and lots of people. How it requires many weighty decisions. How it bonds. How it blesses. How it teaches. How it sieves out the unimportant. How it fulfills. How it empties. How complex it is. How much farther beyond one’s own capabilities it is. How wonderful picture books are. How amazing it is to introduce a young brain to life. How special to be someone else’s safe place. How honoring to be one of the voices to speak in to a little one’s soul. Tears find their way to the back of my eyes as I think about it.

But the ONE thing? Why not just ask me how to bring world peace? I think it might be easier to answer…

I exhaled and it came to me: the importance of a support system.

Because raising kids is beyond me. It’s beyond each of us. We can’t do it [well] on our own. And perhaps God planned it that way.

I think about what it would be like to try to be a mother without the help of my husband, without the example of my parents, without the experience of watching my brothers raise their children, without the unconditional love of the “grandparents” at church, without the friends and neighbors who welcome the boys alongside them as they change the oil or mow the lawn, without the people behind the websites that give advice, ideas and encouragement.

And, for me, the sticky, messy glue that holds these different pieces, prioritizes them puts them in their right place, and provides purpose for each piece is the Lord. My Father. The one whose wisdom, strength, courage, energy, determination, plan, foresight, forgiveness, compassion, love, and peace holds my life and heart. In every which way that I am weak as a mother, his strength is my support system. It sounds cliche as I write it down, but when my legs hit the ground chasing after three little people, I don’t need a small support. I need a BIG support. I don’t need just a mom’s group to see me through from week to week. I don't need just a date night every once in a while. I don’t need just another person to walk alongside me. I don’t need just a voice to give me advice.

I need God.

So I guess I wish I would have known how complex being a parent would be, and how I would desperately need a far-reaching support system. And how God would already be there, waiting for me and willingly giving me all that I would need.

“Now all glory to God, who is able to make you strong.” Romans 16:24a

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.