On Snails and Heaven

Naomi has been a handful today.  She’s tired, waaaay over-sugared, and fairly under-napped as well, since Malachi just HAD to go get his light-saber rightthisminute and forgot she was asleep.  We went to an evening church service tonight. After church the kids ran around in vicious circles screaming and playing and knocking stuff over and sticking their hands in my water (Just, why?) until I was dun-dun-DONE and we left. Titust cried all the way home (poor, sleepy baby). When we got home and it was time to go inside, Naomi was dawdling and then turned around to look at the snail on the sidewalk.

There’s this awkward commercial (here it is) where the guy opens with, “Has anyone else been experiencing a snail infestation?” and I always yell, “Yes! ME!” because every time it rains we get tons of them all over our walkway. It was raining on the way home from church so when we got home – snails. Everywhere, snails.

Naomi: turns around
Jeremy: Naomi, don’t step on the snail!
Naomi: crunch
Me: Naomi! Daddy said no! You killed the snail! It was alive and now it’s dead.

Yes, I actually said that. I shouldn’t have – but I was mad and tired and stressed out and really, really ready for bedtime.  Naomi sauntered proudly into the house with quite the unfazed smirk on her face and I started the “Jackets off! Shoes off! Someone get the baby his paci!” routine when I looked up and noticed Malachi’s lip was quivering.

“What’s the matter, buddy.”

“I’m sad because Naomi stepped on the snail!”

And then he burst into tears.

You guys: this was heartbreaking. 99% of the time if my kids are crying it’s because they’ve been hurt or they’ve been punished. They are little, they haven’t experienced any kind of death yet, and it’s rare that true, genuine, innocent sadness happens. But here it was, sitting in my lap (barely fitting), crying on my shoulder because his sister killed the snail.  After a few minutes he asked me,

 

“But why did Nani kill it?”

“I’m not sure, buddy.”

At this point I notice that Naomi is staring out the window, refusing to look at Malachi and I, completely expressionless. It scares me a little how she can detach herself from things. I turn her face towards me.

“Naomi, you need to tell Malachi you’re sorry.”

Two big tears roll out of Naomi’s eyes, and she quivers, “I’m sorry, Malachi.”  I pull her into my arms and let her cry.

Me: “Naomi, I forgive you.  This is why Daddy told you no, and why you should listen when we say no. He was trying to save the snail and to save you from being sad about the snail.”

Malachi:  “But I’m sad Nani killed the snail.”

Me: “I know, buddy.  It’s sad when something dies.  But you know what?  Jesus tells us that every time a leaf falls, or a bird sings, or a snail dies, He sees it and He cares.  Because He made the world and He loves it.”

Malachi: “How will the snail get un-dead, Mama?”

Me: “Well, it won’t, buddy.  It’s dead now.  But it’s ok – there’s lots of other snails.  God made a lot of snails.”

Malachi: “But I want ALL of the snails to be alive!”

Me: “I know, buddy.  But if snails never died the whole world would be full of snails!  Sometimes animals die to make room for new animals.”

Malachi: “But if Jesus loves the snail, why did He let it die?”

Me: deep breath… “Well buddy, even when Jesus loves something, He still sometimes lets it die. Everything that is alive dies sometime.  Animals die.  People die one day.  Flowers die.  It’s how the world works.”

Malachi: “But isn’t Jesus really sad about the snail?  That Nani killed His snail He made?”

Me: “I’m sure Jesus is sad that the snail died.  But you know what?  He’s more sad that you are sad, and that you are sad, Nani.  He cares a lot more about you than about the snail.”

Malachi: “But how can Jesus love Nani if she was bad and killed the snail?”

Me: “Malachi, have you ever done something bad?”

Malachi: “Yes.”

Me: “And did I still love you?”

Malachi: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, Jesus loves us, even when we do something bad, he still loves us so, so, so, so much.  And Nani, just like I forgive you and Malachi forgives you, Jesus forgives you, too! And he wants you to be happy.”

Naomi: “But it was an accident, Mama.”

Me: “No, you didn’t step on him by accident. You stepped on him on purpose. But you probably didn’t mean to kill him, did you?”

Naomi: “No.”

Me: “Why did you step on him, Naomi?”

Naomi: “I wanted him to move out of the way.”

Me: “Well, next time why don’t you just step over the snails, ok?”

Naomi: “Ok.”

At this point both kids are in my lap, with one arm around me and one arm around each other, having completely forgiven but still sad.

Me: “You know what, guys? We don’t have to be sad anymore. One day when go to Heaven, nothing will ever die, and nothing will ever be sad! Because Jesus will be there.”

Malachi: “But what if there’s snails in Heaven and what if Nani steps on them there?”

Me: “Well, God won’t let that happen because sad things don’t happen there. And we can pray tonight that he will bring us a new snail friend tomorrow!”

Malachi: “But what if Nani steps on the snails tomorrow?!?!”

Me: “Are you going to step on them, Naomi?”

Naomi: “NO! I’m not.”

Me: “That’s good!  See, Malachi?  It’ll be ok.”

This whole time Jeremy was putting a crying, over-tired baby down for bed, so we finally went upstairs and got ready for bed. Naomi went potty all by herself without any prompting (this is HUGE) and that helped everyone feel happier and gave me a good reason to act (and be) super, super proud of her. We read our bedtime story with both kids cuddled up together in Naomi’s bed. When we prayed, we thanked Jesus for dying on the cross and rising again so we could live with Him forever. We asked him to take care of our snail in Heaven and send us a new snail friend. Malachi got a little teary again because that boy is MADE of sensitivity and Naomi got excited that she gets to put another sticker on the chart for going potty.  All ended well.

I know more things were said that I left out – something about the snail turning into dirt to grow food for new snails to eat (which Malachi quickly interpreted as cannabalism #backpedal). And most of what I said was directed at both kids equally – Naomi listened intently to Malachi’s questions and my answers.  Now I can hear them snoring through the monitors and hopefully soaking up all the sleep their bodies need.

For children, disobediance seldom leads to true remorse or repentance, but when her actions gave pain to those around her Naomi’s heart truly grieved over and repented of her sin.  If Malachi wasn’t so sensitive, the whole thing would have blown over.  If I wasn’t so stressed, they probably would never have known that the snail actually died. And even though it was sad, sitting on my living room carpet cuddling with my teary babies and talking gently about Heaven and forgiveness and the cycle of death and new life was such a gift.  He makes all things good.  He makes all things new.

Happy Easter.

 

She doesn’t know she’s big.

The girl was tiny – really tiny.  She looked like a walking baby doll.  She was obviously much older than her size would lead me to believe and when I asked her mom, yep – 16 months in 9-month clothes.  She was beautiful and just so precious.  Malachi was tiny like that, too, and it was the best.  He wore newborn clothes for 4 months, and I carried him around in his infant seat until he was 14 months old.  In a sense you really do get to keep them “babies” for longer.

My daughter, however, is the opposite. 22 months younger than her brother but four pounds heavier.  She is not even 2 but comfortably wearing 3T shirts because of her adorable, enormous potbelly. We are asked frequently if they are twins.  She is stronger than my son.

And she’s fearless.  She climbs things, jumps off things, and is utterly independent. I let her climb ladders and slide down big slides and learn by doing because she won’t have it any other way and she has plenty of padding to cushion her falls.  Which are frequent.  When Malachi is too timid to try something she goes first and barely notices when he follows her because she’s already off to do it again.  She’s a natural leader who doesn’t even know she’s being followed – she’s just being herself.

She’s heavy, and she’s squirmy.  You carry her for 5 minutes and you are exhausted.  When Malachi hides from scary cartoon characters, she laughs.  She talks in sentences and already knows half her letters and can count to 13 (minus “7”).  She has entire songs memorized.

Two months ago she got a toddler bed for Christmas and she was really excited. She layed in it to watch TV and we set it up in her room that night.  And the poor thing was terrified.  She didn’t know what to do with herself and felt so insecure. Every time I heard her get out of bed she was picking up another toy to put in the bed with her – her popcorn push toy, her Elsa doll, 6 books.  If I told her to go back to sleep she burst into tears.  The next two nights I had to lay with her until she fell asleep and she still wimpered and sniffled.  We switched back to the crib after that, and I dealt with my Mommy guilt for a week.  I was so surprised by her reaction – my girl who leaps from couches, laughs at the guarddogs in our neighborhood, and watches the Frozen ice monster without fear just did not know what to do with herself in a bed with no walls.

I adore her hugs and cuddles, but carrying her around is so hard.  She’s so big, and so advanced, and so mature, and I have to constantly remind myself, “She doesn’t know she’s big.”  She may not look like a baby doll, but she’s still a baby, at least for a few more days.  Even though she can do things other kids her age can’t do, reach things, open heavy doors, climb on the big kid playground, balance on a tire swing, she still crys when she bonks her head, or when she can’t play with big kid toys, or when Mommy can’t carry her anymore.  She is Malachi’s best friend but she doesn’t understand pretend, so when he tells her that he’s a crocodile and he’s going to bite her, she runs to me for protection.  And I have to say to myself and to my son, again and again, “She doesn’t know she’s big.”

Your kids don’t either.  They don’t know they are mature for their age, or strong, or heavy.  They know they are your baby and you are their protection.  And in the moments when they are frustrating, or tiring, or needier than you’ve seen them in weeks, remember that most of the world still looms over their heads like so many giants, and most obstacles are still too big for them to hurdle.  You are the one who gets on their level, picks them up, and carries them home.

She doesn’t know she is big, so I won’t forget that she’s little.  She is, afterall, still my baby.

What You Thought You Wanted

A few months after my first was born my husband said, “It seems like you were happier when you were working than you are now that you stay home.” In other words, he punched me in the gut. I felt a defensive, sad, and guilty because in many ways he was right and I didn’t want to admit it. I’ve wanted to stay home with my kids all my life – I wouldn’t trade it for the world or the paycheck or the 9 to 5 adult conversation. But it was true – I was stressed and often unhappy. My baby had reflux and I had overactive let-down and excess milk. He cried a LOT. He didn’t gain weight well. We went through three to five outfits each a day, multiple sheets, all the burp rags, and a ton of laundry detergent. I was exhausted. I carried him around non-stop and adored him like I’d never loved anyone before, but all the same – I missed adult interaction, using my mind, doing what I was good at (I didn’t feel very good at motherhood), taking a break, and being challenged.

Things got better and easier and the stress lessened (slightly) and changed (every day). I started volunteering as director and teacher for a local ESL program. Malachi got a prescription and my boobs calmed the heck down so he was able to sleep, gain weight, and eat in peace. I fell more and more and more and more in love with my son. I stopped bleeding and started napping and things got a LOT better. But I was shocked – shocked – at how much I missed my job.

From the time I was a child I knew I wanted to be a teacher until I hit middle school and felt called to missions. So it was no small providence that I combined both and ended up teaching English to international students. I loved it. I loved them. I was good at it and I thrived on it. Teaching ESL became a huge part of my identity. And teaching was the first job I ever enjoyed. I loved what I did and I loved who I worked with. My happiest memories of that job are the summer I worked 60 hours a week, even though I never slept or cooked anything decent. I fully expected to fall in love with my baby and be overjoyed to be home with him – and that happened. But I didn’t expect to grieve the loss of my job – which also happened.

After Malachi got older I started wanting to work part-time, teaching one or two clases a week. I knew I would like spending the majority of my time at home but also to go back to a job, ministry really, that was so fulfilling to me. The thought still appeals to me. I tried and asked and searched and attempted to tutor for a while but still there was nothing.

Then this past summer my old job offered me a class – one I had taught before and loved. I was thrilled – I nailed down childcare and talked to Jeremy and got way ahead of myself in my excitement. But after a lot of prayer and thought and agony, I turned it down. The timing was bad, the commute was bad, and it would have been really weirdly hard on my kids because of all the minutae.

Within a week a new ESL program was created in the city. It was intended as an adult community outreach. The faculty were diverse, it was close to my neighborhood, and they used curriculum I have used and taught before. I applied and interviewed and nervously waited and prayed. After my interview I discovered that although it was only 6 hours a week and payed well, it was during the worst possible 6 hours of my week it could be. I wanted the job but I didn’t want the job and I warred with myself over it while I waited for a call. Then finally I got the call and they had offered the job to someone else. My pride took a blow but my heart felt relief, and once again I was shocked.

Over the past few years my heart and mind have grieved and let go of my old job. I still miss it, but not in the same way. Letting go of a job and having a child is similar to letting go of your only child and having a second – the relatioship changes, who you are changes, and the adjustment is wonderful and priceless but also painful and surprising. I’ve also gotten really, really stupidly busy. I volunteer too much and take too much on and when I get stressed and overwhelmed it strains my relationships at home. Over the summer everything went on hiatus – both my volunteer positions, Malachi’s pre-school, Bible study, and at least half of our small groups. And it was wonderful. I had so much more patience with my kids, and we spent so much more quality time together. We baked cookies and went to the park and played games and napped and threw plans out the window to eat popcorn and watch movies instead. And in those moments, on those good days, I realized that THIS is what I want to be doing with my days. And that the biggest thing keeping me from it was my own overcommitedness (<– new word). I miss my old job because it was wonderful and I loved it, but it’s no longer what I want to do. Not all the time. I romanticized the wonderful aspects of it and diminished the things that would be challenging and God used two no-go job offers this summer to show me that.

I still hope down the road I can teach again and I believe I will. One day the timing will work out and my kids will be ready and I will be fully confident that it’s the right thing. But now I can look at it honestly. I can look at my kids and know without a doubt that I would rather be home with them. And I can look at my teacher-self and know that she is a part of me, too, and that one day she may get to shine again. But when I look at Christ, I realize that HE is what defines me. Everything I am – mother, wife, teacher, leader, volunteer, friend – is tied up in Who He is. And for this season, whether long or short I do not know, he has called me to be here, in this moment, with these children. Maybe I’ll get a job offer tomorrow and I’ll take it, maybe I’ll go back to work when my kids are in school, maybe I’ll homeschool and never go back to work, maybe we’ll move overseas and everything will change. I don’t know and that’s ok. This summer I needed to let go of what I thought I wanted to realize that I what I truly wanted is what I already have. And I have found so much freedom in that.

A post so bad I can’t even think of a title.

I guess if you take my overly-serious “I-really-thought-this-blog-would-be-cooler-and-more-introspective” tagline at face value, nothing has been going on in my head the past three months. “Inner monologue of an avid thinker.” I don’t know, maybe I just ran out of time to think. That’s a real possibility. Let’s re-title it, “Occasional verbal vomit of an over-wired spaz – don’t get your hopes up.”

Do you ever get so busy and overwhelmed that when you suddenly have unexpected time to do kind of whatever you end up feeling bored and restless at the same time?  It’s almost like my mind is addicted to focusing on too many things at once and it no longer knows how to do just one thing at a time or, Heaven-forbid, nothing. I can’t remember when I last allowed myself to actually have “nothing” going on in my head. I blame my iPhone.

Believe it or not, I actually journal every day. It’s a prayer journal, not a diary, but truthfully I process everything better when I write it down. Even my prayers. Even my arguments (ask Jeremy). I take notes on things I know I wont forget because I won’t fully “hear” it until I read it. I once wrote a heart-wrenching letter to someone I loved and they called me on not having the guts to say it face-to-face, which was true. But I genuinely didn’t know what I wanted to say until I wrote it. I broke up with Jeremy when we were dating a decade ago through a letter that he read in my presence. Sometimes I think I’m a writer with no time to write.

Almost any time I have a profound thought or a challenging conversation the first thing I want to do is blog about it, and the second thing I want to do is analyze my motivation for blogging about it. Sometimes I get jealous of other people’s blogs. Sometimes I get inspired by them. I generally like my writing self better than my actual self and sometimes I stay up too late re-reading past posts and wake up feeling really tired and embarrassed and self-absorbed (probably because I am really tired and embarrassed and self-absorbed).

Want a list of things I’ve wanted to write about the past three months?

• Vacation
• Stuff that annoys me
• Saying no to things you want
• Anger and control
• My sister’s wedding
• The death penalty
• Politics and Christianity
• Funny stuff my kids say
• Halloween
• Malachi’s new shoes
• A million other things that are looong gone.

And here I am writing about not writing. I’m sure you’re enthralled. Have some pictures.

The Fruits of the Spirit for a Mother’s Heart

Dear Father,

The further I journey into motherhood, the more grateful I am to call you my Father. When I am overwhelmed, tired, and clueless on what to do next, You are there to show me how to parent with grace. When I wrestle once again with my attitude and temper, and I wonder where the gentle and quiet Spirit I pray for daily has gone, You remind me that the fruits of the Spirit are not the fruits of my Spirit but of Yours, living and breathing inside of me.

Lord, fill me with love – a divine love for my children – a love like Yours. A love that loves without selfishness, without agenda, without limits. Fill me with a love that drives me to do the hard things for the greater good, and to offer grace no matter how undeserved.

Lord, fill me with joy – the kind of joy that transcends happiness. Joy that soaks in the precious moments and presses on through monotony and struggle.

Lord, fill me with peace – a peace that is deep and unshaken by a chaotic home, a tantruming child, or a lack of sleep. Fill me with a peace that breathes in and breathes out, accepting and giving thanks for each moment.

Lord, fill me with patience – the patience I don’t have on my own. The patience that can see the forest for the trees. The patience that recognizes my children look to me for guidance, help, direction, and security. Patience that sees my children looking up at me and bends down to speak to them in a way they can understand – just as You came down to live in our skin and guide us home.

Lord, fill me with kindness – Teach me to be kind in the face of backtalk, bad words, squabbles, and rudeness. Teach me to treat my children as my neighbors. Fill me with the type of kindness that kneels down to wash their feet. Let my kindness be an example.

Lord, fill me with goodness – fill me with You. Fill me with pure motives and a true heart.

Lord, fill me with faithfulness – the kind of faithfulness that prioritizes You no matter what is going on around me. The kind of faithfulness that holds on to Your Gospel in the moments when things seem to be falling apart. The kind of faithfulness that disciples my precious children even when I’m worn and tired. The kind of faithfulness that makes time to rest in You but does not turn away those who need You when they come.

Lord, fill me with gentleness – Lord, how I need Your gentleness. Fill me with gentleness rooted in wisdom and empowered by Your Spirit. The gentleness that speaks slowly and listens quickly, that makes room for vulnerability, that creates a home of safety.

Lord, fill me with self-control – In the moments when none of these other fruits come easily. In the moments I want to yell, be sarcastic, or ignore. In the moments I want to forsake the dignity of my children and vent their failings to the internet community – please give me self-control. Teach me to control myself by surrendering completely to Your Spirit.

Let the fruits of Your Spirit be alive in me, that by drawing closer to Your heart my children might do the same.

6 Ways to Make Your Early Mornings Easier

I was about to start off with “Last week I wrote about…” and then a little sleuthing reminded me that it’s been three weeks since I wrote anything. So.  If you were ever looking to read a post about good time management you have COME to the right place, people.

Ahem. Three weeks ago I wrote about making time to rest when you’re tired, even if that means getting less sleep.  For me, I need to get up early and spend time praying and reading my Bible every morning or I’m a wreck all day.  Today I got up early to spend time with the Lord, and let me tell you: I am tired. The past two months have seen three family members in the hospital, two out-of-town trips, multiple meetings, and oh yeah – my normal life.  Today my children were in RARE form.  And I say “rare” quite loosely because truthfully, I wish it were rarer.  Anyway my daughter starting things off with a bang by grabbing her nasty poopy diaper out from under her butt while I reached for a wipe and whipping it across the room and herself and her adorable outfit I just found hiding in a drawer and the carpet and my hand.  (Do you want to know how nasty that diaper was?  She had black beans last night.)  My son – not to be outdone – screamed and threw things and yelled and hoarded toys and went batpoo crazy the whole time I was tutoring in my home. Things pretty much went downhill from there and at one point I texted Jeremy and told him I wanted to scream.  And then I realized – I hadn’t screamed.  Or yelled at my kids or anyone else, which to be honest, is a BIG deal for me.  And even though I was going crazy inside, I realized that God had helped me treat my kids with true grace all day, and let me tell you – that does NOT happen on the days I sleep through my time with Him.

But I HATE getting up early. I am a natural night owl.  Even on the days I wake up really early I can still stay up til 1 or 2 in the morning without realizing I’m tired but then when that alarm starts going off at 6:00 –  I realize it real good.  So I have to find ways to make my mornings easier, and maybe some of these will help you, too.

So without further ado….

Can you tell I’m an expert at making pinnable pictures with catchy titles?  This is totally my forte.

1. Give it a fair shot.  Don’t tell me you just can’t do mornings until you’ve actually, honestly tried. If you want to wake up early you have to go to bed a little earlier, or if nothing else, at a consistent time.  You need to actually get up early consistently for at least a week to really give it a fair shot. So don’t try for a few days and give up, or try for a couple weeks without ever being consistent. It won’t work – trust me.
   
2. Set your coffee the night before.  Most of your basic coffee makers have a timer setting.  You can get everything ready and have your coffee brew for you at whatever time so you can literally wake up and smell the coffee.  I even drink decaf and it still helps.  For a while I went through a phase where I put my half and half and sugar in my mug and then stuck it in the fridge the night before, too.  I got over that.  Don’t drink coffee?  Freeze half a bottle of water, fill it and add lemon, then let it thaw overnight so you can drink something cold and refreshing when you first wake up.  Drink fancy coffee like a pour over or a French press?  Well….clapclapclap.  Not sure how to help you.  Sorry.
   
3. Adjust your thermostat. I like to sleep with the air pretty cold because I sweat like pig at night (did you need to know that? Sure.) but it’s really, really, really hard to get out of a warm cozy bed and step into some frigid air. So if your air has the fancy sleep setting thing that will go up and down for you – rock it. If not, do what I do and drag yourself out of bed, cut the thermostat back up a few degrees, then go get back in bed for the mandatory 15-20 minutes of snooze-button-beating.  When it’s time to get up, it won’t be so hard.
   
4. Pick out your clothes the night before.  Maybe this takes you back to elementary school but so be it.  Let’s have a show of hands from all the ladies who spend way too long staring at their clothes before deciding on one of the same 10 outfits you rotate allthefreakingtime.  Check the weather and lay out your clothes the night before – jewelry, shoes, underwear, all of it.
   
5. Consider showering at night.  I know I know I know – your hair looks gross when you do that and showers help you wake up.  Me too.  BUT it really super sucks to have to choose between doing my devotions or getting to shower alone and do something really self-pampering like….I don’t know….shave the forest of my legs so I can wear shorts again. Plus I find a night shower helps me relax. At least give it a go. Maybe you just can’t hack it and if so I understand, but be prepared to wake up a little earlier.
   .                                           Cool lamp, right?  Buy it here.
   
6. Turn on a light. Immediately, as soon as your first alarm goes off.  Even if you don’t get up right away, the light will help you wake up a little. Sunlight is the best, but if you can’t drag yourself to the window – turn on your lamp.
7. Bonus: play on your phone:  This is a slippery slope for me so take it with a grain of salt.  You know how they say staring at a screen before bed will wire your brain and keep you awake longer? I find the opposite is true.  When I’m just having a really hard time waking up after my obligatory first two alarms (I’m not the only one who does this, right?) sometimes I’ll start browsing instagram or playing Words with Friends.  It seems to help me wake up.  The only problem is how addictive it is – sometimes before I know it I’ve been on my phone for 15 minutes and then I’m rushing to get my coffee, get dressed, and do my devotions before Malachi comes traipsing into the room at 6:50 (on the flipping dot, every day, WHY?!) telling me “I got pee-pee my diaper” and “It’s almost breakfast time!”  So maybe set a timer or something so you don’t get sucked into the iPhone void?  I don’t know.

And there you have it.  Some things that I hope will help make your early mornings a little easier.  When I consistently do all of the above every day (which is quite rare, trust me) I get going into a really good routine.  But even just doing a couple is enough to help.

Tick Tock

It seems like the best definition of being a stay-at-home-mom is being busy all day, exhausted at night, but still having no idea what to say when asked, “What did you do today?” I used to be proud of myself when I could accomplish my whole to-do list in a day. Now making a to-do list at all is an accomplishment. It amazes me that any day I have to grocery shop automatically means: exhausting. And heaven forbid they don’t have a car cart because the consequences are the toddler has to either 1. walk (i.e. run a 5k down every aisle and fill the cart with canned corn and fruit snacks) or 2. get covered in groceries that he may not touch, eat, sniff, crush , rearrange, or throw. Also, your legs are numb, offspring? Suck it up or tough it out – I literally have no other options. You may have a free cookie from the bakery, or 4 if the bakers aren’t looking.

Bribery is your friend.

I wouldn’t trade my role as a stay-at-home-mom for the world, but these young years can be tough. Hilarious, sweet, fun, rewarding, but tough. There are days when all the busyness is exhausting not only because it’s a constant rotation of squat, lift, bend over, carry, repeat but because reading children’s books, playing restaurant, and explaining over and over that brown grapes don’t have dirt on them is far from mentally energizing.

My church teaches this principle of the pendulum. In the first century, grapevines were given three years to rest before they were allowed to grow grapes. The vine dressers knew that without enough rest they wouldn’t be strong enough to bear fruit. the same principle applies to us – we need to work from our rest, not rest from our work. Our life is like a pendulum constantly swinging from rest to work, abiding to fruitfulness, tick tock. Neither can exist alone. A clock can’t stop at one hour and keep ticking and you cannot stop on one end of the pendulum and keep living.

I used to take this literally. Without enough sleep I get short-tempered and sad so I need to make sleep a priority. Not a bad idea, in theory – extremely hard to maintain in practice. Babies get sick. Toddlers have nightmares. Laundry piles up and thunderstorms happen and sleep is no longer a constant. It used to be discouraging to think I’d always be operating on 50%, always fighting off frustration and bad moods and apathy. I was trying so hard to get enough rest and it never paid off, so why on earth was God nudging me to start getting up early again to spend time with Him? The baby still wasn’t sleeping through the night. Wasn’t this the grace period? But finally I did, and I realized oh. Physical rest, though important and something to strive for, isn’t a constant. But spiritual rest can be. Resting my mind and heart in Him every morning lets me “go to work” yawning and tired, but renewed and at peace. Does it always “last”? No. Do I still lose focus, roll my eyes, yell at my kids, or pretend I can’t hear them sometimes because I just need a break? Yes. But giving up a little physical rest to invest in spiritual rest every morning makes me feel like a new person.

The days are long, but I want each morning to be a fresh start, not another “Here we go again.” And on the nights when I stay up too late, bending over to pick up the pieces of a day that blew up in my face, those are the nights I KNOW I need to take some time to rest in the Lord, not just to recover but to prepare for a new day investing in my children. If my job description is to parent my children with grace, to teach them about a God who adores them, and to gently shepherd them towards His heart, they need my example more than my words. They need a Mommy with rings under her eyes who showers them with grace and patience, much more than they need a Mommy who got 8 hours of sleep but is tiring under the weight of all the yesterdays that she is dragging into today.

Maybe it feels more like your life pendulum swings from cuddles to tantrums, from Caillou to Dora, or from goldfish to Oreos. Maybe your baby is precariously wedged between your arm, your husband’s back, and somehow your left knee and if you twitch she WILL wake up. Maybe you’ve given it a fair shot and decided that mornings just do. not. work. for you. I’ve been there and I get it. He understands, too. But carve out some time. Find a way to wake up and get some rest. He can restore your heart and prepare your mind for another day of tea parties, crayons, The Hungry Caterpillar, and squat, lift, bend over, carry, repeat. There is no guilt in abiding and no greater productivity than pointing (little) hearts towards Him.

Anger and compassion may be two sides of the same coin.

It’s so easy to call these people monsters. I’ve done it, I’ve felt it, and I’ve fought it to no avail. Developing compassion for abortive mothers took me a long time, and then I had to do it all over again when I became a mother. But I can understand – I can understand the desperation and the hopelessness and even the ignorance that could lead to that choice. I can’t understand the blatant selfishness, but I want to believe that’s not as common as it probably is. I have no sympathy for the “doctors” who took the vow to do no harm and who murder helpless innocents every day in the name of choice and personal autonomy. Who chooses that job? I mean, even if you believe with all your heart that the death penalty is justifiable, who would volunteer to pull the trigger? All day? Every day? If you believed with all your heart that you needed to bomb a building to end a war, but you knew there were civilians inside, who jumps at that opportunity, necessary though it may be? So even if you ideologically believe that abortion is not only justifiable, but right, who wants that job? Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they’re stuck. But still, who can do that day in and day out? How can you live with that dichotomy?

If you watched this video, you probably remember the part where the abortionist, who is graphically and untruthfully describing the development of a 24-week old fetus, tells the mother “I don’t want you to torture yourself.” I don’t even know how to process that statement. Don’t torture yourself over your decision to end the life of this child who, yes, has organs and a face. Or, don’t torture yourself with a baby – torture the baby instead. Or maybe, in a very twisted way, this woman actually had compassion for the mother. She really wanted her to live a life free of guilt. She really didn’t want her to suffer. Maybe there is something I can relate to in that. Maybe if I had lived a different life, grown up in different circumstances, maybe I would be in her shoes.

Yes, she is a monster. It takes a monster to kill babies every day. It takes a monster to kill a child while her own child kicks inside of her. It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “You do not have enough value to live.” It takes a monster to look at a person and say, “My life is worth more than yours.” It takes a monster to call someone else a monster from a seat of superiority. It takes a monster to look at someone and say, “I don’t know how God’s grace could possibly cover you.”  

I am a monster. You are a monster. She is a monster. And truthfully, the word monster just means “human.” But Christ died for all of us. He put on flesh to set us free. And His grace is sufficient for all our sin. Praise God that he didn’t leave me in the mud and blood I was wallowing in when He found me. Praise God that he can pull any monster out of any mire and that He loves us enough to reach down and lift our faces towards Him. Praise God that the same Father who rocks the murdered babies of millions of mothers is waiting with open arms for those mothers and their doctors to come home.

You can always come home.

A Secret

Last Fall I went through Beth Moore’s Bible study on secrets. The entire summary of it is this: Secrets manifest. They always do, in one way or another. Bad secrets that are never told in words are exposed in the lines on our faces, the way we treat others, the dreams we live at night, anxiety, eating disorders, anger. But there are good secrets, too. Things we keep to ourselves so that God can get the glory later.

Sometimes we confess something before the Lord privately, but we never talk about it. We carry the guilt as a secret – even though we think we’ve dealt with it, we can’t even whisper the words of it out loud.

That’s what happened to me a few months ago. It was time to go and we were late – really late. And I was tired – really tired. Malachi had been at his worst and today was no different. No matter what I told him he did the opposite. I pulled out his brown sneakers and he insisted on the white ones. I asked him to walk to the door and he had to stop in his room to get things. And then we walked to the front door and I saw it – the pile of toys I’d bought on sale for Christmas that I had accidentally left on the couch. Well of course he rushed over and absolutely ignored my every call for him to come to the door. Finally I lost it. I got angry – really, really angry. I was stressed and late and none of that was his fault, but I took it out on him. He burst into tears, upset and scared, and immediately my stomach dropped and I realized how awful the whole thing was. And for whatever reason, even after I apologized to him and prayer journaled about it, I carried that guilt for weeks. I could not get over it.

So I told my husband, thinking maybe that would help. And he understood my guilt and did not condemn. He told me he thought Malachi didn’t even remember. But it didn’t help.

I told myself I was making a bigger deal out of it than it was. I told myself that Malachi had forgiven me and I needed to forgive myself, too. I ignored the guilt that wouldn’t go away.

Then I remembered something we’d talked about in the Bible study – the power of spoken-aloud prayer. I am an avid prayer-journaler and rarely pray aloud for that reason, but one day I was in the shower and I just couldn’t take it anymore. No one was around and I just poured out my heart to God. I told Him about my guilt, about how confused I was over it. I told Him how I just couldn’t get over it and begged that He would help. I just verbally gave it over.

I did feel lighter but still not great when I sat down to do my Bible study homework that day. We were supposed to read a passage from Hebrews and as I picked up my iPod to use my Bible app, the Lord whispered, “Use your regular Bible.” I’m reading through the amplified Bible right now, and to be honest, I find it more exhausting than encouraging most of the time. So I wasn’t too excited, but I did it anyways. And this is what I read:

For we do not have a High Priest Who is unable to understand and sympathize and have a shared feeling with our weaknesses and infirmities and liability to the assaults of temptation, but One Who has been tempted in every respect as we are, yet without sinning.
Let us then fearlessly and confidently and boldly draw near to the throne of grace (the throne of God’s unmerited favor to us sinners), that we may receive mercy [for our failures] and find grace to help in good time for every need [appropriate help and well-timed help, coming just when we need it].
Hebrews 4:15-16, AMP

Tears streamed down my face. Mercy for our failures. Mercy for our failures. This was what God was trying to tell me – Yes, you did fail. But I have mercy for you. I have forgiven you. His grace isn’t just sufficient for my imperfections – He has abundant mercy even in my failure.

When I closed my Bible study book I moved on to my daily Bible reading, which passage happened to be my favorite story in all the Bible – John 21. When Peter – crazy, overzealous, relate-able, wonderful Peter – sees the Lord on the beach. He hasn’t spoken to him since before His death, and their last interaction was the knowing look Christ gave Peter right after he denied Him. Can you imagine the utter guilt Peter was feeling? So instead of helping the disciples paddle quickly to shore, Peter puts on his coat and jumps in the water, swimming for all he’s worth to reach the sand. Later, when they were walking, Christ asked him,

“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these do?” He replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” Jesus told him, “Feed my lambs.”  Jesus said a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” Jesus told him, “Shepherd my sheep.”  Jesus said a third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that Jesus asked him a third time, “Do you love me?” and said, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus replied, “Feed my sheep.”

And in that moment, after I had spoken my ugly secret into the open and laid it before the Lord in our beautiful secret place, He whispered to me, “Your children are my sheep. Shepherd them.”

God had walked me through the restoration process, and there, sitting on my bed, crying tears of joy and resting in the arms of my Father, for the first time in weeks, I was free.

He has mercy for your failures. Trust Him.

7 Quick Takes about 2013

I wish I could come up with one word to describe 2013, but I’m not sure what to choose.  Maybe it would be “fast” – my memories of Christmas 2012 are crystal clear because it seems like just yesterday. My memories of newborn Naomi are already fuzzy because that is what it’s like to have a baby. Any stage other than their current one seems so far removed you sometimes wonder if it even happened to you.  I watch videos of Malachi from 8, 9, 10 months ago and it’s hard to believe this little boy was ever that little boy.  Maybe I would choose “hard” – because focusing all my attention on one child at a time gives me a twinge of guilt almost every time, no matter which kid. Because on the day I think I’ve never been more exhausted, that night I lay awake with a squirming baby and realize that now I have. Because consistently spending time with the Lord has never been so difficult for me. Because anytime I make progress in one area of life I fall behind in another.  But maybe I would choose “joy” – because there has never been a happier, more smiley, more laid-back baby than Naomi.  Because my son has finally broken past the barrier and can speak clearly and efficiently and is so much happier for it.  Because my endless stream of photos and videos attests to the beautiful memories we have made this year.  Maybe I’ll just choose all three.

And if I were to pick a word (ok, two words) for this coming year, I will declare them over my home and my family and myself and prophetically choose “peace” and “love.” Not because I’m some kind of hippie, but because if there’s anything this house needs, it’s a little more peace so the abundant love we already have for the Lord and for one another can be a little more obvious, a little more dominant, and a little more in-control.

Thanks for sticking through the sappiest and most flowery introduction to date.  Onto the cooler stuff: 7 quick takes about 2013.

1. January – We discovered the neighborhood farm, Malachi learned to sit at the big table and give real hugs, and he experienced his first snow.
   
2. February – One night I went to bed early because I thought I was having regular, painless contractions.  The next morning when I woke up they continued but at the same frequency and pain(less)-level.  So Jeremy went to work, Malachi and I played, I bought an app called “labor mate,” made myself cry when I put Malachi down for his nap because intuitively I knew this was the last time it would ever be just me and him (crying again, btw), mopped the kitchen floor, did some yoga, finally decided to go to the hospital, found out I was SIX CENTIMETERS PEOPLE, and three very-natural hours later, sweet baby Naomi Kate was born to change our lives forever.
   Malachi was overjoyed.
   Eventually he got used to her and even learned to share.
   
3. March and April – March included a lot of sweet moments, like this:
   
   According to a quick skim of my daily kid log, I went to Goodwill at least 3 times with both kids in April. We also really settled into being a family of four. I remember feeling really content with just “being” with my kids. I wasn’t super stressed about things with Naomi (she slept through the night for two months starting in April) and Malachi was doing really well with her, too. Also, I started my blog in April.
4. May, June, and July – In May my baby boy turned two. Naomi rolled over, laughed, and settled into a great schedule.  In June we went to Seattle.  Re-reading some of my highlights of July makes me remember how much I LOVE summer and how much happier we all are when it is sunshiney outside. We did so much partying, playing outside, swimming, and fun stuff in July. Malachi started making developmental strides (colors, numbers) and we visited his pre-school for the first time. We also hosted two Brazilian girls for a long weekend and I got really, really secondhomesick.
5. August and September – In August I started harvesting things from my first-ever garden. It was encouraging and discouraging all at the same time, but I’ll definitely do it again (just way differently).  August was also a little hard – Naomi had major sleep problems and Malachi started hitting her. Having two young kids started to get a lot harder than it had been before. In September we visited my best friend and her family, Malachi started preschool, Naomi started eating insane amounts of food (this trend continues), and we went to several festivals.
   
6. October and November – In October we went camping, Malachi potty-trained, Malachi and I had a very intense supernatural experience with the Lord, and Naomi started standing on her own.  In November I began my ongoing trend of slacking off on blogging. Malachi made huge strides in his speech. We enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgivng.
7. December – I love the Christmas season! We had so much fun family time this month. The kids LOVED Christmas, baby Jesus, Santa, and presents. Naomi took her first steps. Malachi became obsessed with the guitar. Malachi was the cutest Christmas angel ever.
   

Happy New Year!  Now go see Jen for much bigger and better.
**Ummmm, also…. I just reread this and realized I only talked about my kids. Wow. I guess that’s what I get for using my daily kid log to remind me of the year….  if you wanted any news about me and Jeremy, sorry to disappoint!  Better luck next year when I’m not too tired to go back and edit.