Neighbors

I manage to get three boys, one carseat, two large canvas bags of groceries, one over-stuffed diaper bag, one plastic bag of wet pants, my phone, my wallet, and our snacks from the morning into the house. It’s 1:25 in the afternoon and I’m ready for some lunch and a little down time.

I’m unloading groceries with the baby on my hip because he has a fever, while warming up an oh-so-healthy lunch of taquitos for the older two. A cup of milk for this one. Peel the Cutie for that one. Some snuggles and kisses for the baby. Tell me about school. Please don’t use that tone with your brother.

My head is in the fridge and I hear the doorbell ring. It’s the neighbor girl. “Can Noah come play?” She never takes “not now” for an answer. I explain to her that he’s eating his lunch, and, no, he won’t be eating his lunch outside and, yes, he will come out when he is ready, and, no, it won’t be too long. And then I hear her sassy little voice: “Your house is messy!”
Really, Lord? I really do not need this right now.

Except I keep on hearing from him that I need to embrace this little girl rather than push her away.

How do moms navigate neighbor friends (or any friends that aren’t the best influences on your kids, for that matter)? How much do I lean forward and how much do I stand firmly back in how I want to parent my kids?

I do not have this figured out in the least bit. But this I do know: I will keep on lifting it up in prayer before the Lord. I will keep on letting her know what our family standards are. I will keep being present outside whenever they play together. I will work to love that little girl the way that I would want a neighbor to show love to my little boys.

And I will trust in the midst of it, that the Lord is good and that he has a good plan for this.

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." Philippians 2:3-4

Clouds

A dark cloud has settled in over Northern California this week. I hear the hard drips of water pouring off of our roof. It is 6:30 in the morning, without any real sign of sunrise in sight. It is dark. And wet. And I am very thankful for a good roof over my head, a working furnace, and a little bit of my husband’s morning coffee in my cup.

We here in California have experienced a massive drought over the last few years. The lakes and reservoirs have hit levels that are hard to believe for this Midwest girl. We’ve been taking shorter showers, cutting way back on watering our lawns, and trying to use every drop of water for a purpose before letting it get down the drain.

So this rain is beautiful. This cloud is lovely. It is heaven-sent, and I humbly give thanks and worship our Creator Sustainer for it.

But so often, in daily life, I want the dark clouds to go away. His judgement is clouded... She’s been walking around in a dark cloud for weeks... There’s a cloud hovering over this place. 

My husband and I had just said some of these exact things to each other this week. And we desired for those dark clouds we saw to go away.

And then I opened my Bible, and the Lord opened my eyes.

I was reading in bed, starting to doze off for the night, when these words jumped off the page at me:

“When the priest withdrew from the Holy Place, the cloud filled the temple of the Lord. And the priest could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled his temple. 

Then Solomon said, ‘The Lord has said that he would dwell in a dark cloud.’” (1 Kings 8:10-12)

The Lord is IN a dark cloud!?! So often I try to limit him to the light, to the joy, to the rejoicing. But he is much greater than these things. He is also in the dark clouds. He is working in the hard. He is active through the difficult. From the very beginning…

“The earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” (Genesis 1:2)

And again…

“By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way.” (Exodus 13:21)

“The Lord said to Moses, ‘I am going to come to you in a dense cloud, so that the people will hear me speaking with you and will always put their trust in you.’ … On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, with a thick cloud over the mountain, and a very loud trumpet blast. Everyone in the camp trembled. Then Moses led the people out of the camp to meet with God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain.” (Exodus 19:9, 16-17)

As was the case in Moses’s time, most people were terrified of the dark cloud. They didn’t want to go near to it.

But that’s where God was!

Oh, how often am I terrified of the dark clouds in my life? How often am I captivated by the desire to have happy, sunshiny days every day? But day after day of sunshine brings a terrible drought. 

The dark clouds are good. God is there! The Lord is in the dark clouds of our lives. He is there in the hardest moments of parenting. He is there on days when we cannot seem to connect with our spouse. He is there when we feel as though we have been failing at our job. He is there. And his power is sometimes most evident in the cloud—so much so that it makes us sit back and tremble at his might, and at our frailty.

And if we are humble to open our eyes to his work, his dark cloud is refreshing as pouring rain to a drought-ridden land.

Glimpses: siblings

The afternoon sun is making its way into the door that leads from my bedroom to the outside. The house is at rest--my brother and his wife and their son all sleeping off some jet lag; my non-stop three-year-old tough boy dozing without moving a muscle in his toddler bed. And my five-year-old catching the eye of my seven-month-old. In an instant, baby Simon is grinning ear to ear. This is his brother in front of him: the one that has a special smile that's reserved only for him. I put Simon down on the floor so that he and Noah can play, giving in to the fact that only one of my children will nap this afternoon.

My mourning over lost nap time is truncated in an instant. Before my eyes are two handsome little boys, separated by five years minus six days. Their eyes are alive with delight in each other. Simon crawls over Noah's leg, nuzzling his face into Noah's pants and making Noah giggle. Noah gets on the floor next to Simon and lifts his body up and down, almost like a push-up, getting squeals of surprised joy from Simon.

first day at home together

playing around

I read somewhere about the gift of a sibling. When we as parents feel stretched, and feel as though there is no way we could ever divide ourselves enough to meet the needs of each child that calls us mom or dad, into that tough space is inserted the beautiful blessing of a sibling.

No grown-up (or very few) would have thought to entertain Simon the way that Noah had. Five year olds are gloriously creative! It was not planned or purposeful--it was accidental and hilarious, at least according to the baby, and that warranted repetition. Likewise, no baby responds to Noah the way that Simon does. In their short seven months of being brothers, they have developed a shared consciousness of joyful interaction. So it doesn't take them much to get going. And on this sunny December afternoon, Noah is soon in tears and Simon wears himself out from giggles.

I sit and watch and am amazed.

Simon on the left. A picture of Noah on the right.

Thank you, Lord, for making siblings. And for teaching me, bit by bit, of the importance of allowing other people into my children's lives to interact with them and bring joy to them in creative ways that I would never do.

A Reminder

Oh, I have my moments when I feel like I can handle this three kid thing.

And then there are days like today when I wonder if this house and these boys wont just up and run off without me, leaving me in the dust, stunned and numb.

...When they are rowdy and loud up and down the hall while I'm trying to nurse the youngest one to sleep, and I've told them five times to be quiet and to stay out of the room, but it seems they are too loud and too busy to hear. ...When they take out everything that was put away and leave it on the floor in the kitchen, on the floor in the living room, on the floor in my bedroom, in the baby’s high chair, on top of the trash can lid, in my seat, on the couch, on the toilet. ...When they are frustrated that we can't follow through on spontaneous ideas, due to lack of energy or lack of margin. ...When the baby is not happy unless he’s being held, and I start to feel his 22-pound body put a strain on my back and my shoulders and my wrists. 

And I wonder how I can keep up.

I wonder about those words that I heard clearly a few days ago: that a big part of my job as mom is to be a blessing to my sons. That's my job. 

I confess: I was not focused on blessing them today.

Perhaps it is the lack of sleep from a gassy baby. Perhaps it is the stress of the season. Perhaps it is not being able to go outside much due to the shorter days. Perhaps it is just how it's going to be. 

Or perhaps it is God at work to give me a message--

--the same message I shared with an acquaintance this morning, when she asked how I was balancing the three.

“Balance?” I replied. “There’s no balance. When I am doing well in one area, I’m terrible at another. But,” I continued, “I knew I would be in over my head when I found out I was going to have another kid. So it makes me trust in God much more than before. And that’s a good thing.”

Perhaps he was just checking this evening to see if I still think it’s a good thing to need to trust in him more, to lean on him more, to depend on him for everything. Perhaps he saw it fit to remind me that instead of pushing harder, talking louder, working smarter, or feeling deeper, I need only to trust and obey. Perhaps he desired to give me a little reminder in this season of beauty and perfectly perfect-ness, that I am not perfect. That there is no way for me to raise these little children of his on my own. That these little royalty will be a picture of his glory shown through my weakness.

Just like it was his glory shining out of a small, weak town of Bethlehem, just like he gives answers in many unexpected places and ways, he can use an insignificant, hard night to remind me of my need for him. 

And that's a good thing.

"But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,

    though you are small among the clans of Judah,

out of you will come for me

    one who will be ruler over Israel,

whose origins are from of old,

    from ancient times."

He will stand and shepherd his flock

    in the strength of the Lord,

    in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.

And they will live securely, for then his greatness

    will reach to the ends of the earth.

Micah 5:2, 4

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