The Smallest Blessings

I sit here listening to the smoky voice of Adele belting out her tale of betrayal and retribution on "Rolling in the Deep", knowing I'm going to have to regretfully shut off the music if I want to keep writing. As much as I love (LOVE) listening to Adele Adkins singing--she could sing the ABC's and I'd be happy to sit at rapt attention while she does it--I've never been able to read or write while music is playing. Kind of ironic, since I consider myself such a "music person." Ok I give, just hold on a minute; I want to listen to the rest of the song. "...you're gonna wish you....never had met me....tears are gonna fall....rollin' in the deep....you played it, you played it, you played it, you played it to the beat." Ok. Music's off now.

Why'm I writing tonight? I just feel like it, I guess, and the rest of the house is quiet, which is rare. A short while ago I crept out of Judah's room. He woke up with some sort of ambiguous sleep disturbance and in order to avoid having him wake the whole house (read: Laura, who screams loudly and could wake up the neighbors), I came in and comforted him. I rocked him for a few minutes in the decrepit Walmart rocking chair that amazingly still holds up--albeit barely-- after almost six years of ownership (we got it as a gift when B was born). We have to pop the pegs of the right arm of the chair back into their holes on the end piece every time we sit down, and the chair has a truly annoying squeak if there is any amount of moisture in the air, but it serves its purpose well enough. I rock my baby boy, who will be three next month, and then gently lay him down in his bed....is he asleep enough to just roll over and keep sleeping? I tiptoe out and the minute my toe is over the threshold of his doorway I hear the start of his little puppy dog whine all over again, and I wait to see if he just gets over himself and goes back to sleep. Nope. Sigh. I go back in, sit down next to his bed, ask him what's wrong, if he is ok, and if he wants a drink. He's fine, and no he doesn't want any water. He doesn't know what he wants. He's half-asleep but restless. I cover him with his blanket. He kicks it off with a grumpy "no I don' wannit!" Ok, don't have it. I resign myself to sitting there until he's truly and deeply asleep. This used to happen almost nightly with him, but as he's gotten older, it only happens on occasion. I'm glad for that; he used to wear us out with his nightly waking. He still creeps into our bedroom in the middle of the night a couple times a week but that has lessened as well. He's growing, my little Judah-Budah. Not a baby anymore. I lie down on his bedroom floor next to his bed, using his white Christmas snow bear for a pillow, as I always do. I'm in my standard house "uniform" (the kind that no one sees but Walter and the kids)--a sleeveless tank top and a knit skirt. After a few minutes of lying on the floor, my arms start to get chilly. I pull my most exposed arm inside my shirt like I used to do when I was a kid. I carefully arrange my skirt at the bottom so it covers my legs and feet as much as possible. I don't have a blanket, as I wasn't prepared to camp out in my son's room for half an hour tonight. It's ok though. With my creative coverings, and my makeshift pillow (it's actually really comfortable, that snow bear), I'm comfortable enough to get drowsy as I muse about a million things. Our trip to Florida next month. Getting the house in order for a missions/outreach committee meeting here tomorrow night. Doing school with B tomorrow. Going to Dartmouth on Friday for Laura's checkup with her allergist. I reflect on the nice time we had at B's dance class today. I got to see my good friend Lori and her daughter Macy, one of Bethany's "special friends." I got to chat with another mom too, whose little girl is named Charlize, just like the actress Charlize Theron. I muse over the impromptu chat I had in Vista Foods this afternoon when I ran into an old acquaintance who wanted to know all about the family and how we're doing these days. All these things, run through my head at lightning speed, as I lay there in the darkness with only the light from a Cars nightlight shining. I reach a break in my train of thought and glance up at Judah. I can see by the light of Lightning McQueen that he's finally out for real. I sit up, wince as my knees pop and crack (I might be as decrepit as the rocking chair), hoping all my flurry of noise doesn't disturb the boy, and quietly stand up. I look at him one last time, consider pulling the blanket over him once more, and decide against it. If he's cold, he'll pull it up over him. I'd rather not risk it. I tiptoe out of his bedroom. All's quiet. Seems like the last leg of the parenting journey for this day has been completed.

I love my babies and I love writing about them. Being a parent has its ups and downs, to be sure. Sometimes a little one-on-one time with one of my children, even if it's just to comfort them back to sleep, is just the little blessing I need, even when I don't realize it. When I'm discouraged or frustrated, something, some little moment, blesses me and I get reminded for the thousandth time that this journey of motherhood is a gift, and nothing less.

Hanging Drawers

If you were to be a guest in my house any time in the past few weeks and made a trip to the restroom, you would laugh. Or, if you're a mom, you'd simply smile and nod to yourself with a “yep, been there, done that/doing that.” Why? Because we always...ALWAYS...have at least one pair of little girl pants and underwear hanging on a towel rack somewhere, drying after being washed out from a potty accident. It's our go-to hand towel. Just kidding. But truly, it's a daily occurrence. Our three-year-old is fully potty-trained but she still has accidents, and we're ok with that. She's learning how to be responsible for her own self and that always entails mistakes.

It got me thinking. Today at our women's Bible study, there was one particular Bible verse that struck a chord with me. Romans 8:1&2 says, “therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.” No condemnation. What an immeasurable blessing. No matter how many times we mess up; no matter how many accidents we have or how many mistakes we make, no matter how many times we give in to temptation and commit sin, God is standing ready to forgive us when we ask. Prov. 24:16 is a verse I've always appreciated. It says in part, “though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again...” God has given us the freedom to confess our sins to Him without fear of condemnation and He willingly restores us each time, when we allow Him to do so. He is slow to anger and quick to forgive. That's great news, because even though I'm saved, I'm in no way perfect. Romans 8:1 says there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. I am in Christ Jesus. I have been since I was twelve years old. Doesn't mean I'm perfect. It means I am free. Not free to sin as I wish and continually receive forgiveness just so I can go sin again; no, I'm free to not be a slave to sin. I can choose to believe that Christ is enough and can give me victory over that which entangles me.

What does that have to do with hanging drawers in the bathroom? My daughter is imperfect. Even though she's potty trained, sometimes she forgets to go to the bathroom. Even though I'm a child of the King, sometimes I forget to pray. Sometimes she tries but doesn't make it on time because she was too busy playing. Sometimes I don't leave myself enough minutes in the day to spend quality time with the Lord because I'm too busy doing other “stuff.” Sometimes she's outright rebellious and pees her pants because she chose to. Sometimes I make a conscious decision to watch a morally questionable TV show, choosing not to care about the effect it might have on my heart and mind. I fail. My daughter fails. But she is still my daughter and she always will be. I will always love her. No amount of disobedience, mistakes, or potty accidents will ever make me stop loving her. And I patiently (or sometimes impatiently, since I'm not God) wash out her clothing and hang it up to dry, and put her in clean clothes. I make mistakes every day and fall into sin regularly. But God said He would not condemn me. And I can take great comfort in knowing that He said that nothing would separate me from His love. I am his child and will always be His child and just as I continue to dress my daughter in fresh clothing each time she has an accident, He continues to give me new mercy each day and a fresh start, no matter how dirty or foul-smelling my sin may have been. He keep forgiving and keeps renewing. Salvation itself is a one-time thing but forgiveness and repentance are ongoing. Until we get to heaven, where there will be no more sin, we will still be plagued by it. But just as my daughter is not going to perpetually have potty accidents (I'm fairly certain that by the time she's 21, this will have resolved itself!), which means she is not enslaved to this behavior, neither are we enslaved to sin.

I wonder how many pairs of “hanging drawers” we would have, were it not for God's instantaneous forgiveness and mercy? I shudder to imagine. Thank God I don't have to.

Trick or Treat?

It's that time of year again. Time for the ritual of Samhain, or All Hallow's Eve....what we call Halloween. If you do your research on the holiday and read about it , you can get a general overview of the history and the symbolism behind it. For instance, I learned that ancient Celtic pagans believed that on October 31st, the separation between the living and the dead dissolved, and that the dead could cause danger to the living, such as sickness or damage to crops. They would dress in ghoulish attire to try to scare off or placate the spirits they believed were endangering them, which is where we get our modern tradition of dressing in costume on Halloween. I also learned that many of the symbols now associated with the holiday are largely a result of propaganda, through movies made by American filmmakers and through novels such as Frankenstein and Dracula, and other works of Gothic and horror literature. However, there is no doubt that many current pagan and cult organizations (Neopagans) have adopted the day of Samhain (originally a Celtic festival dedicated to celebrating the dead, and the final harvest, and symbolized the beginning of the Celtic New Year) as the biggest holiday of their year. The name is the same but the rituals and celebrations vary widely among pagan religions. Wiccans celebrate Samhain as a way of paying respect to dead loved ones and to welcome them into their assembly on the night of festivity.

All that being said, most of us who celebrate, or celebrated as a child, know Halloween as the holiday where children dress up in costumes and go house to house asking for candy. It's the time for carving a pumpkin, coloring pictures of witches and ghosts, and getting cavities from too much sugar. The original meaning of the holiday has largely been lost. I don't write this to advocate that we remember the meaning and celebrate it. It is a pagan holiday and has been since the very beginning; what little Christian association it had occurred when Popes Gregory III and Gregory IV moved the Christian feast of All Hallow's Day, or All Saints Day, from May 13 to November 1st, thus rendering October 31st All Hallow's Eve. The celebration that modern Americans engage in on Halloween stems directly from the pagan tradition, not the Christian one. I write this article to simply inform you, and myself as well, as I am doing Wikipedia-style research while writing. With knowledge comes power.

I also write to pose a question. Should we, as Christians, allow our children to go trick-or-treating? Why or why not? When the children are small and don't have the first clue what Halloween celebrates (and neither do many adults), is there any harm in allowing them to participate? Should we cave to the silent peer pressure around us, as we watch every other kid on our street dress up and go door-to-door on Halloween night, coming back with the motherload of Tootsie Rolls, Laffy Taffy, and fun-size Snickers bars? Or should we strictly abstain, and refuse to celebrate any aspect of Halloween at all? What about compromising? Would you refuse to let your kid color pictures of witches and watch "Halloween episodes" of their favorite children's tv shows, but still allow them to go trick-or-treating? I have opinions but I'm keeping them to myself at this point, in the interest of gathering yours. Armed with the Word of God and the knowledge gained by a little research into the holiday, what say you? I'll save my convictions for another blog post. Please feel free to offer your two or twenty cents.

Snack Invention! Survey Says....??

We have fallen in love with Nutella at our house. My daughter Bethany asks for it every morning on her toast. Except, she can't say "Nutella"...sometimes she says "Tun-nella" but most of the time she says, "tella"..."Mommy, can I have peanut butter and tella on my toast?" Absolutely! It's not even chocolate! :)

Nutella has also become my go-to evening snack. I like to scoop a spoonful into a bowl and dip graham crackers in it. It is so good! And then I got to thinking: I bet you could even make a kind of cookie; graham cracker outside, with Nutella filling. And the name just came to me, thanks to my daughter: Tella-Grahams.

I have considered contacting the Ferrero company, who makes Nutella, to talk with them about my idea. It's crazy, but it just might work! What do you think? Try it yourself! Nutella is readily available in most supermarkets; you can find it where you find the peanut butter. Try breaking your graham crackers into fourths (go by the perforations on the cracker) and making "nutella cookies", or Tella-Grahams. And then tell me what you think! Give me feedback. Good idea? Original, or is it "so yesterday" and I didn't know it? I want lots of opinions, on both the snack itself, and how you think it would fare as an idea to try to sell to the Ferrero company. Thanks for participating!

Time Don't Wait for a Mom

I did not just turn 31. I rebuke that in the name of Jesus. *Waiting...* Well, that didn't work. I guess Jesus is not interested in fulfilling my selfish wish to turn back the clock. He's God like that. Being the Lord and all, I guess He's more interested in giving me a hope and a future...sigh...Jeremiah 29:11 strikes again.

I'm not whining. Don't get me wrong. I'm just in shock. I find it exceedingly hard to believe that I am where I am, and that I am who I am today. God has been so good to me. I have three blessings. I amend that statement. I have hundreds of blessings and am not done yet counting them, and I doubt I will be, even till the day I die. However, I have three that stand out more than the others, and it's right that they do. My husband. My baby girl. And my baby boy.

As I turned 29 twice over this year, I was wonderfully blessed with cards, cake, Cracker Barrel, and outlet shopping from dear chosen family and a beautiful red rose from my sweetheart, and lots of well wishes from friends and family afar, thanks to Facebook. I felt (and still feel) incredibly unworthy. But as much as any birthday is the one day of the year where a person is allowed to think of themselves for once and be catered to, I found myself just in awe of how God "caters" to me in His own perfect way, all year long. My blessings. As I sat at a wooden picnic table parked underneath the awning of a Liteway Outback camper, eating a slice of my birthday spice cake surrounded by campfire smoke and children's laughter, I couldn't help being a bit reflective. Here was my cute-as-a-button baby girl, blonde curls bouncing and and icing-smeared face beaming, happily and messily taking a bite of a cake at a time in between laps around the campsite (sugar high!) and singing her own made-up version of "Happy Birthday" in a greatly exaggerated, pointedly comedic deep voice. Sitting placidly across from me, my handsome man with his deep blue eyes ever contemplating the meaning of life, holding our adorable brown-eyed baby boy whose favorite pastime seems to be using his daddy, and anyone else within range, for spit-up target practice. (If he can perfect his aim now, using only his mouth, why then it will be nothing at all to be sent out to the back forty with a shotgun when he's twelve to kill and bring home dinner.)

It is in moments like these that I realize how quickly time flies. My friend Jennifer likes to quote the Latin, "tempus fugit." How true. It was only yesterday that we brought our boy Judah home from the hospital, and only last week that Bethany learned to talk. Right?? I blinked and our son went from being a helpless infant, head rolling every which way and needing to be held nearly all the time, to a strapping sixteen-pounder who laughs and coos and goes to sleep on his own, and eats cereal like a big boy, sucking it right off the spoon. In predictable cute fashion, most of it dribbles down his chin(s)...textbook baby, yes...but he's my baby. I looked away for one moment and my daughter exchanged her crib for a big-girl single bed, diapers for big-girl "underwears", and baby sign language for whole spoken sentences, with freakishly adept pronunciation.

Sometimes it scares me. Time slips through our fingers and dissolves, regardless of how much we try to hold on to it. Gloria Gaither wrote a song called "We Have This Moment Today" and part of the chorus says, "We have this moment to hold in our hands, and to touch as it slips through our fingers like sand..." If you think about it, life as we perceive it is not one solid whole. Look at it more closely and you will see that it is vibrantly variegated, constructed of moment upon moment, hour upon hour, days that add up to weeks, that add up to years and constitutes what one would call "a life." My mother always used to say to me, "You're growing up so fast. You don't see it, but when you have children, you'll know what I mean. " She was right. How did thirty-one years pass for me already? How is it possible that I am not the little girl sitting on Granny's knee singing "Do Lord" anymore, but I am a grown woman who is a wife and a mother? How did it come to pass that I have not just any three, but these particular three, flesh-and-blood blessings in my life, without whom I would find it impossible to breathe? And more importantly, how do I take it all in, and appreciate it for all it's worth, and not miss anything? Today my husband has brown hair with a few gray flecks that he affectionately says I helped put there. I know that one day there will be little brown left, on either his head or mine, but we will both be older and grayer and hopefully wiser. Today my precious girl walks with her daddy and holds his hand in the parking lot. It will be sooner than I know, that she will be walking down the aisle and taking another man's hand, in a church. Tonight I rock my baby boy to sleep; all too soon, I will be rocking his newborn baby some night while he gets some sleep as a brand-new Daddy.

I wax nostalgic. Although, perhaps it's good to do that on my birthday. While others celebrate my birth, I realize what a fitting opportunity it is to celebrate the ones that mean the most to me in this life. Gifts and cards and flowers and food pass away (except for that peach cobbler that seems to be permanently stuck to my hips now), but memories and moments, once made, remain for as long as I choose to hold onto them and cherish them. And more importantly, the ones who help make those memories. I cherish my husband and my two "littles" as I sometimes call them.

God help me show it and help them know I do. Help me "cater" to them as much as you lovingly cater to me in Your ways that are not my ways. You always have my best interest at heart, even though most of the time I have no idea what You are doing. Help me to have their best interests at heart and to put aside my selfish desires--to be 29 for just one more year, or to be prettier, smarter, thinner, more skillful, more successful, more wealthy, more knowledgeable, more respected, more admired, or more loved. Help me instead to love. And help me to hold precious every moment I have with my family and to set aside irritation, frustration, anger, and sleep-deprived stupor in favor of cheerfulness, forgiveness, and grace...knowing that Your joy is my strength.

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." Matthew 6:33

"....the joy of the Lord is your strength." Nehemiah 8:10

"....train the younger women to love their husbands and children...to be busy at home, to be kind..." Titus 2:4-5

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

Random Thoughts on Motherhood

I never thought I'd be glad to have a CD player that skips if you look at it the wrong way. But I am. Why?

In recent weeks Bethany (my 3-yr-old, to refresh your memory) has really been dealing with her fear of loud sounds, particularly car alarms. We have a neighbor whose truck alarm goes off unpredictably at any time of day or night, and although to you and me it isn't even loud enough to be seriously intrusive, to her it must sound like a Chinese gong or a fire truck because the minute she hears it, she becomes hysterical and tears down the upstairs hallway screaming in terror and fright. In other words, she freaks out. So in addition to her dad and I patiently explaining, ad nauseam, what the car alarm is and how it won't hurt her, and reassuring her with hugs and a drink of milk each night at bedtime, I realized that I could put her love of classical music to good use in this instance by playing her classical "quiet time" CD. It's full of soft compositions by Mozart, Beethoven, and others and really seems to quiet her down. The only problem is, our CD player is an old dinosaur from Walmart that once upon a time, operated with the standard level of perfection that one can expect from a discount department store, but having now succumbed to the inevitable and seemingly rapid-fire electronics aging process, only works sporadically and seems to have developed its own will concerning which CDs it will play and which ones it won't. Thankfully it seems to like "Quiet Time"...but being the old fogie it is, skips very easily and can't even withstand the normal jostling of gently moving it across a table six inches. So why am I thankful for this? Well it sure makes it a good motivator for making Bethany stay in her bed and being still! Yesterday she thought she might be able to get away with quietly standing up on the bed and "just bouncing, Mommy"...I didn't even have to threaten a swat on the bum. Her innocuous bouncing had of course caused the floor to vibrate just enough to knock Ol' Grandpaw CD player off its groove. So she paused, looked at me, and said "CD's stopped; where'd the moosic go?" I said "well, if you want the music to keep playing, you have to lie down and be still, because when you move around, it skips." Worked like a charm. She went to sleep. I am going to keep that old player and use it for as long as it has breath...and when it finally does pass away, I will be sad. But I won't go buy a new one...I'll get one of those ones for free off Freecycle, that "needs work"...that's just what I'm looking for! One man's trash really IS another man's treasure! :)