Boys do stupid things. Sometimes we like to call it "adventurous" things and I suppose this is true also. But other times there really is no other word more appropriate to use than stupid. ALl of you mother's of boys out there can attest. And yes, I will go ahead and say what you are thinking, my oldest is only four and a half so I am just scratching the surface of stupid. I am at the forefront of what will inevitably a be a long list of a whole lot of crazy that will ensue in my house over the next years. Just wait, you say, just wait until their little bodies are overtaken with a concoction of hormones that will reek all sorts of havoc causing them to make even more rash and unpredictable decisions than before. I know it's coming. I acknowledge that I am completely unprepared and pray, with quite frequency, for my sanity, which I assume will be tested to the limits, in their teenage years.
For now, I have plenty of stupid to go around. Let's name a few shall we;
1) Finding broken shards of glass all over the grass, undoubtedly the result of the "genius" idea dreamed up by Wesley to test the trajectory of my very breakable votives.
2) The periods of "battling" as they call it, aka wrestling, which always ends in a combination of tears and tattling but which carries some sort of magnetic force that pulls them to it despite that it ends poorly EVERY TIME. Albert Einstein couldn't have said it any better, "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
3) Oliver yelling, "Mom, come quick Wesley's putting toilet paper in the toilet." This would, under normal circumstances, thrill me considering our month long (probably longer) fight to potty train the kid however when I arrive at the bathroom doorway and I see the mound of toilet paper peeking over the seat I think otherwise.
4) Oliver pretending to be Silver Surfer using Crosby's car seat as a surf board and landing in a puddled mess on the floor after an infraction with our kitchen cabinetry.
There's lots more I could share in this section called, "stupid things my boys have done" but there's not enough time for me to write nor for you to read them all. And usually, as least some of the time, when they run to me with their voices cracking and words disjointed from the hurt, anger, frustration, you fill in the blank with the emotion, I do feel compassion and wrap them in my arms and comfort them as best I can. But then there's the other times, when I am desperately trying to do get something, anything, accomplished (i.e laundry, cooking, cleaning, reading of emails, paying of bills etc.) and I am interrupted by their sad, pathetic, and at times faked cries that I feel a competing emotion. Not one of compassion but acute aggravation and annoyance. Why? I think in my head. Why must you jump from that cushion? Why must you bite your brother? Why must you use the obviously unstable car seat as a surf board? Why? In these moments, I feel very little sympathy and lately I have been bothered by my shortage of compassion. And I have been asking myself that very question, why?
There's an image of God portrayed often in the Bible, one of Him as Father, that I just can't shake. God is referred to as Father over 245 times in the New Testament alone. That's a lot, and I confess I am no brain surgeon but it must carry some weight in our quest to grow in our knowledge of Him. This is an image that, although I had heard it said thousands of times growing up, was blurry and didn't come into focus until I myself, became a parent. Just as you bit by bit turn the kaleidoscope and the shapes lose and then regain focus transforming into newer more colorful and elaborate patterns. So it has been with each stage of parenting giving way to a greater glimpses of God's Father-like character.
At first, when Oliver was a newborn, I was shocked by my love for him in spite of the fact that he did absolutely nothing other than poop, sleep, use me for milk, and pee on me. Newborns don't give much reciprocal love and yet all of us parents comment on the depth and ferocity of our love for them. I knew in the instant he emerged from the womb and they laid his slimy little body on my chest, I could never, would never, no matter what he would or wouldn't do, love this child any less or more than I did in that moment. He was perfect. And he was mine. As the early weeks passed I pondered this very thought in my head and then let it work it's way over to my relationship with the Almighty. If I, weak and frail in my humanity,was capable of such a love how much more God? If I, flawed as I am, can care so deeply for this tiny little being that does nothing to benefit or profit me, how much more does God care for us? Us, all of us. ALL OF US. This image of God as Father, now brought into focus by my new role as mother, made me question all I had been taught about how we "attain salvation"? Could it really be that God denies certain of His children access to Him and others not? Could He really ever turn His back on us if we choose, often because of circumstances far out of our control, not to utter "the prayer?" If I, in my total depravity, could never turn my back on my kids, could the all loving God turn His back on His?
Now as we are well into our toddler and pre-school years I observe, in our older ones, very unique personalities emerging. I also watch as they begin to assert their own independence which can, at times, result in choices I don't fully condone or support. Lucky for me the stakes aren't too high yet. Their choices may result in excess toilet paper in the toilet, or spilt juice, or too much breakfast left on the plate, or broken glass on the grass but it could be a lot worse. And yet, I still at times find this frustration rising within me and, as I mentioned above, I have been asking why? The answer is far from impossible to discover: my compassion is limited, my patience runs out, and quite clearly, I am far from perfect. Then I twist the kaleidoscope and the pattern changes and I see it all more clearly. My perspective changes and comes into focus and I realize God should be, in fact He has every right to be downright frustrated with me. With us all. How many times do we do stupid stuff over and over again expecting the result to be different? Make choices that I imagine make Him shake His head in exasperation? The Bible puts it this way, "As a dog returns to it's vomit, so a fools repeat their folly." And yet His compassion is unlimited, His patience never runs out, and He is perfect. My frustration is rooted in selfishness; why can't you just stop pushing your brother I have to finish the dishes? Or why would you try to climb that and expect not to fall off? Can't you see I am in the middle of something here? God's frustration or anger is righteous, selfless; why do you continue to make choices that lead to death and not life? Why can't you see all I want is what is best for you? If only you knew the depth of my love for you?
Father, expand my vision. Focus my perspective. Make me more like You.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Dear Momma...
I've heard it said that you cannot fully understand or be grateful for the labor of your own mother until you, yourself, become one. I am sure this isn't universally true as there may be women who have chosen or fate has not allowed them to be mothers and still appreciate their own with great fervor. However, what I can say for sure, now four and a half years into my mothering journey, is just how much more, with each passing day, I appreciate mine. So this post is dedicated to you mom and to you Nona (my mom's mom) as you both deserve far more credit that I am sure this tribute will deliver for all things seen and unseen you have done and continue to do to serve your family.
Advice/ Wisdom gleaned from my mother over the years:
1) Sleep generally cures all things.
On any given day in my household you will, with almost certainty, hear me use this phrase, "You're tired. You need to sleep and then you'll feel better." So when Oliver says, "Mom, my head hurts." I say, "You need to sleep, and then you'll feel better." When Wesley says, "My tummy hurts." I say, "You need to sleep, and then you'll feel better." When Crosby cries, "He just needs to sleep, and then he'll feel better." This assumption that sleep is the ultimate cure all I undoubtedly inherited from my mother. Probably more important that this truth, and generally it is a truth as almost every ailment is, in fact, improved by sleep, is to face every impending crisis, or lack thereof, with a glass half full mentality. Those of you who know me well can hopefully attest that I am not easily flustered and from time to time, you may even need to check my pulse. Thanks Mom, for teaching me that, contrary to popular belief, it is always better to assume the best, to see the positive as best as you can in every circumstance, and to remember that even the most disheartening of situations an extra measure of sleep makes everything much better.
2) Make-up, who needs make-up?
A "friend" in junior high once said to me, "You would be so pretty, if you only wore make-up." I will go ahead and assume she meant it as a compliment, perhaps this whole assuming the best thing also causes me to live in ignorance. That is beside the point, though. I think one of the most treasured gifts you can give your children is to instill in them the belief they are beautiful inside and out. Of course, due to our culture's unhealthy obsession with external beauty, this is particularly critical for young girls but should not be ignored for boys either. Thanks Mom, because whether my hair was short or long, baby fat or no baby fat, lip stick or no lip stick, brand name clothes or no brand name clothes I believed I was beautiful because you believed I was beautiful.
3) A New Normal
As my Junior Prop was approaching I went to my mom and said, "I don't want to wear a "normal" prom dress." "Oh" she said, "What do you want to wear?" "Well" I responded, "I was thinking of a, well a skirt, with tight pants under it, and some kind of funky top. What do you think?" Now, let's pause for a brief moment. She could have easily told me I was off my rocker. She could have said, "I'm not sure that's the best idea, what will people think? Why don't you wear something more normal." And many moms would have said this, caring more about how a "different" out fit might reflect on them versus fostering and encouraging their daughters individuality. Not my Mom. She just went straight to work sewing me the coolest skirt pant combination you've ever seen. And I rocked that out fit and the Mariah Carey "esque" wig I wore (my hair was pretty short at the time). And together we created a "new normal." Thanks mom, for always being on my side, for always supporting me, for teaching me to re-define "normal."
4) Thinking Outside the Box
We moved from Canada the summer I turned ten. There are a few words that encompass that summer. The first is, "hot." I've never been so hot in my life. I took a cold shower at least once a day and still felt remarkably overheated. The other "tea." We stayed in the guesthouse as the men worked to re-tile the main house. As we were preparing to move in, once they were done, my mom remarked to me, "Don't you think the grout is too white. It doesn't look right does it?" I shrugged my shoulders, knowing little about proper grout colors. "Let's die it," she said, "using tea." "Okay," I said. These types of projects were a fairly normal occurence in my childhood. So we spent the next few days on our hands and knees, shuffling big pales filled with tea around the house, and applying it to the overly white grout giving it the "aged" look my Mom was going for. Thanks Mom, for teaching me to think outside the box, for showing me that problems can often be solved as long as you have a little patience and creativity to approach it with, and, on a more practical note, that a little tea goes a long way when trying to age grout or any other item for that matter.
5) Being the best Cheerleader
My Nona has shared with me a little about her mother, my Granny, who I, very unfortunately, do not remember. I catch glimpses of her when my Mom and Nona remind me to have "perseverance" a word which they deliver with extraordinarily thick Scottish accents. They have shared more with me about her, much of which I cannot recall at this particular moment, but anyone who speaks with a Scottish accent is inherently awesome, can I get an amen here? In her last days some of her many children were able to be with her including my Nona. She was in her late nineties when she passed. My Nona and her were very close and she has told me that one of greatest sadnesses in losing her mother was losing her greatest cheerleader. I can imagine that this is true as my mother is that for me. When I decided to quit tennis after years of lessons, tournaments, and summer camps and try out for volleyball she said, "Great! volleyball is a good choice." When I decided to chop all of my hair off she said, "Great! You're beautiful and you can wear your hair however you like." When I decided to try out for my very first play she said, "Great, your Nona is a speech teacher you'll do wonderfully." When I decided to try out pole vaulting for a few fleeting moments she said, "Interesting, but great." In college, when I decided to take up crew she said, "Great! You can do that too." It really doesn't matter what I choose to do, how wacky or weird, fun or fleeting, strange or sensational, and everything in between. She is on my side. Thanks Mom, for being my greatest cheerleader and for instilling in me the knowledge that I really can do anything as long as I put my mind to it.
No words can truly convey my gratitude to you for all you have done and continue to do in my life. Perhaps imitation is the greatest form of flattery. If I can impart just a few of the wisdoms mentioned above in my boys I will consider my mothering a great success. I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
Advice/ Wisdom gleaned from my mother over the years:
1) Sleep generally cures all things.
On any given day in my household you will, with almost certainty, hear me use this phrase, "You're tired. You need to sleep and then you'll feel better." So when Oliver says, "Mom, my head hurts." I say, "You need to sleep, and then you'll feel better." When Wesley says, "My tummy hurts." I say, "You need to sleep, and then you'll feel better." When Crosby cries, "He just needs to sleep, and then he'll feel better." This assumption that sleep is the ultimate cure all I undoubtedly inherited from my mother. Probably more important that this truth, and generally it is a truth as almost every ailment is, in fact, improved by sleep, is to face every impending crisis, or lack thereof, with a glass half full mentality. Those of you who know me well can hopefully attest that I am not easily flustered and from time to time, you may even need to check my pulse. Thanks Mom, for teaching me that, contrary to popular belief, it is always better to assume the best, to see the positive as best as you can in every circumstance, and to remember that even the most disheartening of situations an extra measure of sleep makes everything much better.
2) Make-up, who needs make-up?
A "friend" in junior high once said to me, "You would be so pretty, if you only wore make-up." I will go ahead and assume she meant it as a compliment, perhaps this whole assuming the best thing also causes me to live in ignorance. That is beside the point, though. I think one of the most treasured gifts you can give your children is to instill in them the belief they are beautiful inside and out. Of course, due to our culture's unhealthy obsession with external beauty, this is particularly critical for young girls but should not be ignored for boys either. Thanks Mom, because whether my hair was short or long, baby fat or no baby fat, lip stick or no lip stick, brand name clothes or no brand name clothes I believed I was beautiful because you believed I was beautiful.
3) A New Normal
As my Junior Prop was approaching I went to my mom and said, "I don't want to wear a "normal" prom dress." "Oh" she said, "What do you want to wear?" "Well" I responded, "I was thinking of a, well a skirt, with tight pants under it, and some kind of funky top. What do you think?" Now, let's pause for a brief moment. She could have easily told me I was off my rocker. She could have said, "I'm not sure that's the best idea, what will people think? Why don't you wear something more normal." And many moms would have said this, caring more about how a "different" out fit might reflect on them versus fostering and encouraging their daughters individuality. Not my Mom. She just went straight to work sewing me the coolest skirt pant combination you've ever seen. And I rocked that out fit and the Mariah Carey "esque" wig I wore (my hair was pretty short at the time). And together we created a "new normal." Thanks mom, for always being on my side, for always supporting me, for teaching me to re-define "normal."
4) Thinking Outside the Box
We moved from Canada the summer I turned ten. There are a few words that encompass that summer. The first is, "hot." I've never been so hot in my life. I took a cold shower at least once a day and still felt remarkably overheated. The other "tea." We stayed in the guesthouse as the men worked to re-tile the main house. As we were preparing to move in, once they were done, my mom remarked to me, "Don't you think the grout is too white. It doesn't look right does it?" I shrugged my shoulders, knowing little about proper grout colors. "Let's die it," she said, "using tea." "Okay," I said. These types of projects were a fairly normal occurence in my childhood. So we spent the next few days on our hands and knees, shuffling big pales filled with tea around the house, and applying it to the overly white grout giving it the "aged" look my Mom was going for. Thanks Mom, for teaching me to think outside the box, for showing me that problems can often be solved as long as you have a little patience and creativity to approach it with, and, on a more practical note, that a little tea goes a long way when trying to age grout or any other item for that matter.
5) Being the best Cheerleader
My Nona has shared with me a little about her mother, my Granny, who I, very unfortunately, do not remember. I catch glimpses of her when my Mom and Nona remind me to have "perseverance" a word which they deliver with extraordinarily thick Scottish accents. They have shared more with me about her, much of which I cannot recall at this particular moment, but anyone who speaks with a Scottish accent is inherently awesome, can I get an amen here? In her last days some of her many children were able to be with her including my Nona. She was in her late nineties when she passed. My Nona and her were very close and she has told me that one of greatest sadnesses in losing her mother was losing her greatest cheerleader. I can imagine that this is true as my mother is that for me. When I decided to quit tennis after years of lessons, tournaments, and summer camps and try out for volleyball she said, "Great! volleyball is a good choice." When I decided to chop all of my hair off she said, "Great! You're beautiful and you can wear your hair however you like." When I decided to try out for my very first play she said, "Great, your Nona is a speech teacher you'll do wonderfully." When I decided to try out pole vaulting for a few fleeting moments she said, "Interesting, but great." In college, when I decided to take up crew she said, "Great! You can do that too." It really doesn't matter what I choose to do, how wacky or weird, fun or fleeting, strange or sensational, and everything in between. She is on my side. Thanks Mom, for being my greatest cheerleader and for instilling in me the knowledge that I really can do anything as long as I put my mind to it.
No words can truly convey my gratitude to you for all you have done and continue to do in my life. Perhaps imitation is the greatest form of flattery. If I can impart just a few of the wisdoms mentioned above in my boys I will consider my mothering a great success. I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
We Might Lose a Battle, But HE Will Win the War
An Exercise in Reflection: Exodus 14
Life has gotten pretty strange lately. This is an understatement. I woke up this morning with heavy eyes and a great deal of soreness in my limbs. We've been walking all day and frequently long hours into the night. With the level of exhaustion my body has endured you might assume that sleep would come easily but instead its been rather elusive. I repeatedly, without warning, wake to the sound of my own horrified screams. All I can see is blood. It's pouring from every surface, every crevice, every square inch is covered and I try to run. I try to escape but my legs are so heavy, I pump my arms and strain my core forward but my effort is in vain. I cannot move. And just as they are closing in I awake to the sight of my son's horrified face. Although, of late, his face is filled with less terror and more fatigue. Muddled in with these emotions is a touch of irritation one which he attempts to conceal but I see right through. This is how I know the night terrors have been coming with even greater regularity. This morning, he touched my back, as if to comfort me, then rolled over only to quickly return to sleep.
I often, more so that I would like to confess, slip into self pity mode. But when I grab my son's hand and the skin is smooth, no longer callused and blistered. I rejoice. We are free. We do not operate any longer by their rules or regulations. The kind of rules that govern a child, an eight year old boy, to work alongside men three times his size and stature and be expected to keep up. We do not operate any longer under a regime of fear but instead one of freedom. We are not alone. There is pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. And it never leaves. It is an ever constant reminder that our God, Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob who promised to rescue us and redeem us has done so.
I know this to be true. And yet as we settled in for the night and watched as the sun danced closer to the horizon line we glimpsed, every so subtly, movement off in the distance. Speechless, no one said a word. Silence, as if speaking with our mouths what we knew to be true with our eyes would make it more real, more eerily tangible. We stood still. Motionless for what seemed to be hours. "Mom" my son pleaded, "We have to go. We have to run." And there I was. My worst nightmare coming true. Sure that my attempt to propel my legs into motion would fail. That those nights filled with terror weren't just memories of the past but premonitions of the future.
These next hours are scarred with a gamut of emotions; terror, adrenaline, doubt, horror, fear, wonderment, and relief. So jumbled are they that I don't know where one trails off and the other picks up. I hear voices echo in my head from whom they come, this I cannot remember;
"Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us here?"
"We're going to die here, you know."
"Why didn't you just leave us alone? Let us serve the Egyptians?"
"Better to serve the Egyptians than to die here."
I see the Sea stretched for miles before us and then in a moment, unparalleled to any other I have experienced, the waters begin to separate. You would fail to believe even if you had witnessed it with your own eyes as I did. A wind came and drove the sea back creating a wall of water stretching towards the heavens on to my right and my left. And dry, not a single drop of water, dry land emerged forming a pathway for us. We all exchanged looks of awe and wonder, there were not words to say. Could this really be happening? Were we already dead and dreaming this? But it wasn't a dream. It was, in fact, a reality...
A Devotional Thought:
I mentioned this passage of Scripture (Exodus 13-14) briefly in a previous blog post but I was so stirred by some of it's words that I felt forced to return to it. Specifically, something Moses said when addressing the Israelites,
"Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance that the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today, you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." (Exodus 14:13-14)
In the verses following this compelling statement we see God do just as Moses said He would. He fights for His people here's a few ways how:
The angel of God moves from the front of the traveling Israelites to stand behind them along with the pillar of cloud, "coming between the armies of Israel and the armies of Egypt." (vs. 19,20). It goes onto say, "Throughout the night the cloud brought darkness to the one side and light to the other side; so neither went near each other all night long." (vs. 20)
God proceeds to separate. Yep, you read it right, separate, the Red Sea as described in my writing exercise above. Enough said.
The Egyptians, not the brightest tools in the shed, decide it is still a good idea to pursue the Israelites, despite the face that there is an angel of God and a pillar of cloud standing in their way. And, get this, in verse 24 the Bible actually says, "In the last watch of the night God looked down from the pillar of cloud." I mean, was He just sitting on top of it? Just chillin' (yep I just used that word to describe God) perched precariously, a front row seat for the show He is about to put on? I don't know that this is the case but it sure is amusing to ponder. And so, despite, like I said, regardless of these fairly insurmountable obstacles, the Egyptians continue to follow the Israelites until God does two things; one, throws them into confusion and two, causes the wheels on their chariots to fall off making driving an impossibility. Then and only then do they finally conclude that God, who may have turned out to be a teensy bit more powerful than them, holds the reigns here and they remark to one another, "Let's get away from these Israelites." You think? "The Lord is fighting for them against Egypt."
What happens next is fairly gruesome. So I won't go into details. Moral of the story if you're going to wage war against God, you will lose. Every time. No exceptions. Now, aside from the above statement, I can ascertain several other truths about God from this passage that carry a great deal of weight in my every day goings on. One, I do have enemies. No, they do not look like a group of hairy chariot driving Egyptians. They do however, come in the form of complacency, selfishness, misplaced anger, lapses of patience, entanglement in the small stuff, and the list goes on. And two, God's words to me are the same as the words He gave Moses to speak, "I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU, YOU NEED ONLY BE STILL." God, the master strategist, is more than able to take down these enemies. The great news, no, the remarkable and life-changing news is that He's got my back. And they are many a time when I feel incapable to wage this war on my own. Sure, he told Moses to stretch out his staff, He asked the Israelites to step out onto the dry land created by the schism in the separated waters and they had to trust He literally was going to hold these waters in his hands. But the rest, the hard part, was up to Him. There isn't one day I am not reminded of a lost battle, of my shortcomings as a wife, a mother, a friend. But then I call to my mind that though I may lose a battle here or there, God always wins the war. Sometimes I need only BE STILL. His grace is sufficient for me, for His power is made perfect in my weakness.
I don't know where this will find you today. Or what kind of enemies you are battling. But believe in the good news, the remarkable and life changing news, that God will fight for you, you need only be still. He's got your back. Trust that the God, who's never lost a battle, is on your side.
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