You know there’s rockets and stuff; talk of a ground invasion. Mmm….life never can just be a smooth road, can it?
The seminary is really having to make a major decision here. They’ve been working on this trip for so long; it would be a huge disappointment to cancel. But on the other hand (insert Toppel’s voice from Fiddler on the Roof), it’d be pretty bad PR to send your students over there and have them get stuck or something worse.
Cease-fire.
And…
…the trip is on!!!
All right, I’m not a worrier. And I was truly hoping that he would get to go, and he is!! I’m beyond excited for him.
It just occurred to me as I was sitting here reading online, that maybe I should only have one resolution this year.
You see, there is so much that I’m horribly mediocre at; I long to grow in my decorating and cooking abilities. I want to become a consistent disciple-maker of my children. I want to read more and make better use of my time.
But the one thing that I feel that I want the most often becomes the last priority on the list. Which we all know means I don’t really want it at all.
I want to love Jesus. But I just love myself too much. It doesn’t matter what I say; my actions speak the truth.
So what if this year my one goal and resolution was to love Jesus?
I know that you have to put more arms and legs on it than that, but here’s my idea for right now. What if at the end of every day, or at the beginning of each morning I survey the past twenty-four hours and ask myself, “Did I love Jesus? Was love for him the motivation behind each action and the constraint behind each refusal?”
I will have to think on this more. I do know that while I look back at this year and am satisfied to see tons of improvement, there’s something major missing. Last year’s goals were great, but it’s time to go farther.
(God is so faithful to lead when we seek Him. Just after these thoughts occurred to me, I came across these posts from girltalkhome.com)
As I have been processing the tragedy that occurred in Newtown, Connecticut, the realization has come to me that we all do at some level still deeply value human life.
I shut my eyes, and try to think of how to say this without being unnecessarily offensive while still maintaining pleading honesty.
Why does it bother us that the lives of small children were ended, yet in the same day we as a nation champion the cause of ending even smaller lives?
Some of the children in that school at least had the opportunity to run or hide in a closet. Unborn boys and girls can’t even do that.
We grieve at seeing the destruction of those children, but would think nothing of their destruction if had been just, say, ten years and seven months earlier. But ten years and seven months earlier they were the same person that they are today, just smaller and more helpless.
From the little bit of reading I have done around the Word Press community, I understand that this will probably not be a welcome opinion; and that’s okay. It is not my intent at all to be incindiary or uncaring; I’m just trying to write what I’m thinking as a way to process the grief in my heart.
But ending a life is ending a life. And the knowledge of when life begins and who gives it is unmistakably burnt in our hearts.
I was relieved to hear that the children were told to close their eyes as they walked past such unnecessary carnage.
But we are adults; we must not close our eyes to this other horror in our nation.
The 180 presentation really helped me to understand how I thought about this question. It’s definitely thought-provoking, whether you’re for or against.
I resort to this blog to give a raw attempt at processing all that is going on in my mind tonight.
How are we, hundreds of miles away, supposed to deal with this grief? And how can we even label it grief when compared to what the actual families are suffering from?
Natural reactions as a mother are fear, over-protectiveness, anger, confusion. Just because I know that evil will never go away until Christ is ruling on this earth does not mean I just stand by and let it take over.
But what can I do? What difference does it make that I feel badly or that I have this temporary sense of motivation to change things? That doesn’t help the families. They’ll never know if I’ve cried; they’ll never even know if I just go on with my life unaffected. These are real people, just like me and there’s nothing I can do to comfort them.
I feel helpless.
So what I’m asking myself is: How can I help people in my own community who might be at risk of becoming the kind of person who would commit an act like this? Or, is it enough to once again renew my commitment as a mother and pour myself into my children’s spiritual, emotional and physical development? Or is the solution somewhere between those two extremes?
No answers come.
I pray for the families; that they would come to rest under the wings of an Almighty, beautiful God, to know and trust His gracious sovereignty, and to long for the day when Christ will rule as King and banish evil eternally.
I pray for little children to sleep without nightmares, or at least to have big, warm, comforting beds to run to when the inevitable nightmares come.
I pray for moms and dads to be able to weep out their sorrows even when clamming up seems so much better.
I pray for teachers to remember the priceless gifts that fill their classrooms.
I pray for law enforcement officers to renew their courage and to somehow know how deeply we appreciate them.
I pray for teenagers to stop watching violence on TV.
And I pray for myself, to never forget how precious life is, or to waste a day of motherhood, or to pass up a stranger who I could help.
I often joke with my husband that I have to live two days in the future if I want to actually be prepared for anything.
My mind, my body, and my life are in constant forward motion.
“We have to finish breakfast so we can do our morning jobs; we have to finish cleaning up so we can play; if we get all this laundry folded we can read before it’s time to make lunch; let’s hurry and finish lunch because if the girls get to their naps on time we can go outside and play before it’s time to start dinner;” and on it goes.
Being prepared and planning are vital. They allow me to enjoy so much more than survival with my children. But every now and then something happens and all the forward motion stops.
A hug.
A simple, spontaneous hug from a little girl.
All of them have done it to me; and I love it. It surprises me every time.
Countless times during the day do I pick up a child for one reason or another. Normally it’s driven by that forward motion, transporting them here and there.
But when they hug me, here and there and plans and schedules fly right out the window.
Today it was Mckayla. When I carried her into her room to lay her down and began singing, she laid her head on my shoulder… and just stayed.
How can something so simple be so wonderful? Everything else fades away and I’m just a mom holding a precious, soft, fuzzy-headed little girl. who’s hugging me.
Roses: someone else can stop and smell you; I will stop for this.
This kitchen will never be featured in a magazine. It will never receive enthusiastic compliments from friends and visitors. It’s only future is to observe my less-than-perfect cooking skills and to endure my fledgling attempts to keep it immaculate.
But this little room is a happy place for me. Want to know why?
I get to teach my little girls how to make macaroni and cheese here. (And hopefully insure that they will never try to make a homemade salad dressing out of a raspberry crystal light packet)
What could be more fun than sitting on a floor with a four, three, and two-year old making lunch while the one-year old sleeps?
I wish you could have seen their delight at all they got to do; unwrapping butter, shaking in salt and pepper, adding and stirring the cheese. Hope was cheddar, Gracie was mozzarella, and Sophia was parmesan.
The floor got a little messy; it took longer than if I had just done it myself, but that didn’t seem to matter.
This little incident really impressed me, obviously enough to get a camera and take some rough home photos.
Why did something so insignificant fill me with this deep, abiding sense of happiness?
I think that true happiness always catches us off guard. How many times have I done things trying to manufacture happiness? But there was none of that on this particular Saturday; just got up, got the girls up, made breakfast, probably played or folded laundry, sent my sweet husband off to the library and hoped that the rest of the day wouldn’t be too difficult.
And for some reason decided to put the pot of noodles down on the floor so the girls could make macaroni and cheese with me. Weeks later, I’m writing about it and still trying to figure it out.
Happiness doesn’t depend on beautiful surroundings, ideal circumstances, or perfectly planned activities. It just happens; I think I would argue it happens when you’re thinking about yourself the least.
Okay, I could easily make a long list of things that sound more fun than making macaroni and cheese with preschoolers. I’m a big girl; I have interests, desires, dreams; but for right now, teaching them and spending time with them are the steps I find myself taking. And the big picture truth I’m thinking about is that these small steps have right here, right now, brought me to a happy place.
p.s. Thank you all so much for reading; you’re giving me unexpected encouragement.
Let’s suffice it to say, this post will not be categorized in forgettable memories.
If only he knew
Just a couple of months after being married, we were invited to an older couple’s home for golf and dinner. Golf for the guys and hanging out in the kitchen for the girls. She prepared this fabulous meal as I watched and helped, trying to soak up everything I could learn. At one point she made this homemade salad dressing; just pulled a few things out of the cupboard and fridge and voila! a delicious dressing. I was amazed. Well, the meal was lovely, and I was inspired to become a culinary diva who could whip up my own salad dressing and make it look so easy. Because, honestly, you have to be a culinary diva to do that, right?
home sweet home
Fast forward a month or so. It was late morning and Paul was coming home soon for lunch. I had prepared some kind of sandwiches??? I think??? and had also decided to make a little salad in some bowls to go along with it and be kind of special. Aww…so sweet. Well, I realized that all I had was lettuce; and I was kind of suspicious whether it even was lettuce. I remember buying it at the store and thinking “is this really it?” Okay, I knew what lettuce was; we had plenty of that growing up; I just had never been the one to pick it out and yeah…I bought cabbage. So I’m ripping off these “lettuce” leaves into the bowls thinking…this is cabbage…no, it’s lettuce…uh, I don’t think so…well, it’s all I have so we’ll just go with it. ***Ninety-nine percent of the time a “just go with it” mindset is great(!), but not always.*** And definitely not when it comes to substituting raw cabbage in a salad for lettuce.
But, I stray from the real story: the salad dressing. Looking at my bowls filled only with some sort of green shredded something, I realized, this is pathetic! I don’t even have any salad dressing! Lightbulb!!! I could make one the way my friend did!
A quick glance through my cupboards and I knew I was going to have to get creative. Genius that I was, I dumped a raspberry crystal light packet it into a bowl, added some olive oil, salt and pepper, and stirred it around. (Yeah, the little packets that you mix with a whole gallon of water to make lemonade. Like I said, genius!) Hmm…it didn’t look as delicious as the one my friend made. Yikes, it didn’t taste like it either! But, sometimes, you just have to go with it. ***No you don’t!!!!*** So I drizzled it over our ridiculous bowls of “salad” and hoped for the best.
Do I have to write the rest of this? Well, the mix and olive oil separated and became all at once slimy and gritty. Our cabbage became a bright hot pink color. The taste was…atrocious, or was that the raw cabbage?
A failure in every sense of the word. My husband was actually really nice; I mean, he laughed at me, but who wouldn’t? That was probably one of the moments where he began to realize what he had gotten himself into.
We definitely bought a whopping bottle of amazing store-bought ranch on the next grocery run. And the cabbage ended up in the trash.
My superhero who has survived it all
Since then, I’ve come a loooong way. It’s amazing what scrutinizing cookbooks, asking questions, experimenting and making mess after mess, and reading on the internet can do. Have I mentioned my husband is patient? There’s still a loooong way to go; I get nervous if other people are at my house watching me in the kitchen, but whatever, one of these days maybe I’ll get over it.
Want to make me feel better by sharing your first food flop?
If I had a wishlist of things to do with my girls, one of the very top items would be to spend time with each of them alone. As you can imagine, with four of them four and under this is nearly impossible. (Unless you possess an incredible skillset including organization and determination, of which I do not! Hmm…one of the reasons for starting this blog…)
Anyways here is the long shaggy dog about how my wish came true! Sophia began showing signs of mild sickness first, followed by Gracie and Hope. After lunch, Sophia and Gracie were laying around practically beginning to nap on the living room floor. I wasn’t sure that Sophia would actually take a nap, but after putting her in my bed and laying Gracie down, one look at her said she was out. By this time it was time for Mckayla to go down and voila! I had an afternoon with Hope all to myself.
I think sometimes it’s the easiest to bypass the oldest when it comes to giving individual attention.
Her first request was to work in her letter book (always my learner); then we looked at birthday cakes on pinterest and played the piano. Oops…forgot to fold the laundry, again. Actually the most bizarre thing we did was to look at pictures from superstorm Sandy the day before. She asked me if some cars could swim.
Next I got to play with Mckayla by herself. Gracie was still asleep and Hope and Sophia were resting in my bed. I nursed her and then she did the cutest thing with The Open Road. She would flip the pages back and forth and say “DA-Dat!” every time she saw the mole. I could almost promise she tried to say “flower” too, but I’m not biased or anything. I love seeing the pleasure babies get out of doing such simple things over and over. Then when that finally got old, I tickled her and she laughed and laughed. That’s pretty much our favorite activity when we’re together, her and me. = )
And Gracie. Well, to start with she napped from 2:00pm to 6:30pm, and therefore averted the sluggish yuckiness that had afflicted her sisters. (Insert hilarious non-related to title theme story: At dinner Gracie saw a bug, proceeded to clap her hands and proudly pronounce, “I got it!” Then she looked at her hands, wrinkled her nose and said, “Him gwoss!” Was there a bug in her hands? Of course not.) So, there was no way I was putting her to bed at 8:00 like her sisters. We sat together by the bookshelf and she picked books and I read them. Then she would go back page by page and ask a dozen questions about everything she saw. If you’ve ever wondered what love feels like, sometimes it’s not so much a dramatic explosion inside as it is thirty pounds of soft, squishiness sitting down in your lap.
As I write this, I realize that there’s no special time with Sophia recorded here. Does changing her from a wet bed at 3:00 this morning count? Actually, Sophia was the first one up this morning as usual. We normally enjoy hugs and cuddles before everyone else gets up. Actually, I’d say it’s split half and half between hugs and cuddles and bouncing up and down and running back and forth in the hallway …on her part of course, I just watch and adore and try to bring it back around to hugs and cuddles.
I wish I could have time with them like that every day. They’re absolutely wonderful all together, but when I’m with them alone I feel like I can really soak the moments up so much better. Their expressions amaze me; I never get tired of watching them.
small steps, big picture 