Then, there is the annual NICU reunion. It never fails to remind me that with each ordinary day, change happens, seen and unseen, that gives weight to gift of life and glory to its Creator and Sustainer.
 |
| February 2012 |
 |
| September 2015 |
- Micah, Tiffany, Andrew, Elijah, Isaac, Eliana, and Isabella
- We are a family of fifteen: eight already with Jesus and seven in desperate need of Him. This is the story God is writing in our lives. Proverbs 16:9
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Milestones
Another school year begins and I suddenly have a 6th Grader and a 4th Grader. Something tells me the teens are right around the corner...
Then, there is the annual NICU reunion. It never fails to remind me that with each ordinary day, change happens, seen and unseen, that gives weight to gift of life and glory to its Creator and Sustainer.
Then, there is the annual NICU reunion. It never fails to remind me that with each ordinary day, change happens, seen and unseen, that gives weight to gift of life and glory to its Creator and Sustainer.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Remembering and Hoping
What I will remember most about my Grandfather was his care and concern for those less fortunate. I will remember the simplicity of chocolate ice cream in a cone and the tender way he prepared it. I will remember his ability to quote poems and scriptures. I will remember his laugh. I will remember his bold fashion choices--- plaid pants and bright colors suited him.
Two weeks ago, after suffering mini-strokes and dementia, he left this place and went on to the next. The "Lasts" blog I recently posted, I read again with him in mind.
Toward the end as his body and mind failed him, he couldn't remember that he and my Grandmother were married. It became a great concern to him! She recounted this story with a teary-eyed laugh. He wanted her to pick him up at 7 a.m. and take him to the church. Her concern was who would come to a wedding that early in the morning!
Even his generous spirit was quieted by his conflicted brain activity. It became important to remember that dementia was a part of him, but not all of him. At the end of his life here, he wasn't himself.
Sometimes, a persons overt and apparent neediness reminds me of this truth in a way that causes me to hope.
Isn't that what we all need? What we all hope for? That as our flesh and hearts fail, something else is true of us? There is another reality--- not just the one we see with limited vision. While it is a different context, I find the epilogue of Psalm 73 fitting. In all times, the nearness of God is my good. The older I get and the more I see my frailty of life, it makes sense. In some way, perhaps truth is easier to believe in closer proximity to the one who is making all things new. The further I am away, the more difficult it is to believe, yet is no less true.
If life is a continuum, birth to death, always moving closer to eternity where death is no longer the end, the ultimate gift for those in Christ is God. It is His nearness wholly realized. The promise that I am being made like Him in the process--- even as my body is wasting away --- is a comfort to my soul. He is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Not me and my grasp of truth (especially when my mind may fail) but Him. Surely strength doesn't originate in me. Lasting endurance in the face of all that is this life is found outside of me.
Sometimes I wonder, am I moving closer to God? Then I remember the words of Jesus, "Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world." In the story of redemption, God draws souls to himself.
My grandfather knows what it means to be bodily near God. His flesh and heart are whole and new.
I am but a whisper of the girl I really am. Simultaneously saint and sinner. In the in-between space. I am not myself. Praise God.
In Memorium
Donald Leroy Abernethy
1929-2015
Two weeks ago, after suffering mini-strokes and dementia, he left this place and went on to the next. The "Lasts" blog I recently posted, I read again with him in mind.
Toward the end as his body and mind failed him, he couldn't remember that he and my Grandmother were married. It became a great concern to him! She recounted this story with a teary-eyed laugh. He wanted her to pick him up at 7 a.m. and take him to the church. Her concern was who would come to a wedding that early in the morning!
Even his generous spirit was quieted by his conflicted brain activity. It became important to remember that dementia was a part of him, but not all of him. At the end of his life here, he wasn't himself.
Sometimes, a persons overt and apparent neediness reminds me of this truth in a way that causes me to hope.
Isn't that what we all need? What we all hope for? That as our flesh and hearts fail, something else is true of us? There is another reality--- not just the one we see with limited vision. While it is a different context, I find the epilogue of Psalm 73 fitting. In all times, the nearness of God is my good. The older I get and the more I see my frailty of life, it makes sense. In some way, perhaps truth is easier to believe in closer proximity to the one who is making all things new. The further I am away, the more difficult it is to believe, yet is no less true.
If life is a continuum, birth to death, always moving closer to eternity where death is no longer the end, the ultimate gift for those in Christ is God. It is His nearness wholly realized. The promise that I am being made like Him in the process--- even as my body is wasting away --- is a comfort to my soul. He is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Not me and my grasp of truth (especially when my mind may fail) but Him. Surely strength doesn't originate in me. Lasting endurance in the face of all that is this life is found outside of me.
Sometimes I wonder, am I moving closer to God? Then I remember the words of Jesus, "Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world." In the story of redemption, God draws souls to himself.
My grandfather knows what it means to be bodily near God. His flesh and heart are whole and new.
I am but a whisper of the girl I really am. Simultaneously saint and sinner. In the in-between space. I am not myself. Praise God.
In Memorium
Donald Leroy Abernethy
1929-2015
Friday, July 24, 2015
Lasts
It happens quietly. The days turn to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. I usually speak mid-season evaluating the feelings therein, then the season has passed. The firsts are usually celebrated. Sometimes the lasts, but not usually. I don't always sense the lasts until they are a memory.
I recently found myself in the midst of a post-last conversation. I was talking with a friend about something new-momish--- and her response signaled that I am no longer a part of that division of motherhood. Apparently, I have moved past that already. Have I? I think she is right! I felt a little sad. The season ended without my knowledge and especially not my permission! Had I known, I would have done something to extend the time into a more indelible memory. My mom, another gal well versed in lasts, says there is a book that voices this sentiment. Even this morning, I read of a different mom, feeling the weight of lasts voiced the same thought in a beautiful way. I am not the first.
I am sure that on the last days, I did not know them from others. The significance was lost in the excitement of what would come, the business of what is current, or in the stillness of the work behind me. The fact they were comes later when something causes me to remember when. Then, it hits me. Sometimes the realization is sweet--- and sometimes, it stings.
The last gaze out my childhood window.
The last figure eight on my bike in the backyard.
The last time we were together, sharing dreams and making plans.
The last drive away.
The last time I was called by my unmarried name.
The last time we went to a restaurant together as a family of two.
The last hiccups, felt some inexplicable place in my belly.
The last grasp of my finger with that tiny hand.
The last time he slipped into our bed in the middle of the night.
The last time she called me "Ma-ma".
The last time he rested his head on my shoulder, arms and legs draped at my sides.
The last walk out of that room.
The last conversation this side of eternity.
I am sure, the lasts shape me. There are some moments I feel ~somewhat~ satisfied when something has ended. But I almost always I wished I would have done {blank}, and I am left feeling unresolved. Usually, sadness is a signal. But I can't go back. I cannot relive parts of history. There are chapters that are closed.
Mixed into the sadness is joy. The new movie, Inside Out, is brilliant in painting a picture of our maturing natures and the complexities of how experiences shape us. Micah and I took the kids to see this one, but it was really for the adults.
The theme was profound. Most of life is a mix. I don't have many (maybe any?) memories that are purely joyful. Even the most joyful are lacking in something, especially within the expanse of all of life. It may sound depressing, but ironically, the more I am okay with this realization, the more joy seems accessible at any given moment. When the pressure is off to have any part of this life experience ultimate, the joys taste a little sweeter.
The Bible speaks of many lasts. Our lives are full of them. There will be finality for us all. More lasts are approaching. I think it is one way God has set eternity in our hearts. Augustine calls it restlessness. Others speak of it as well.
Someone calls Himself the First and the Last, the Alpha and Omega, Lord of Eternity, the Beginning and End, Who Was, and Is, and Is to Come. Regardless of the direct implications of His name, all things unresolved will find completion in Him that will be perfectly satisfying. As life brings me moments to reflect on my allotted portion of lasts, I ask for continued faith to believe that what (or rather Who) is to come will be even better than my best joys and repent of searching out ways to hold on to hope here. Like John in Revelation, one day I will worship in light of Unending Love. And for the sadness, in His presence, all that is sad will come untrue. And all the joys, will be made fully and wholly complete.
This is not the end. These are not really the lasts. Thank God.
I recently found myself in the midst of a post-last conversation. I was talking with a friend about something new-momish--- and her response signaled that I am no longer a part of that division of motherhood. Apparently, I have moved past that already. Have I? I think she is right! I felt a little sad. The season ended without my knowledge and especially not my permission! Had I known, I would have done something to extend the time into a more indelible memory. My mom, another gal well versed in lasts, says there is a book that voices this sentiment. Even this morning, I read of a different mom, feeling the weight of lasts voiced the same thought in a beautiful way. I am not the first.
I am sure that on the last days, I did not know them from others. The significance was lost in the excitement of what would come, the business of what is current, or in the stillness of the work behind me. The fact they were comes later when something causes me to remember when. Then, it hits me. Sometimes the realization is sweet--- and sometimes, it stings.
The last gaze out my childhood window.
The last figure eight on my bike in the backyard.
The last time we were together, sharing dreams and making plans.
The last drive away.
The last time I was called by my unmarried name.
The last time we went to a restaurant together as a family of two.
The last hiccups, felt some inexplicable place in my belly.
The last grasp of my finger with that tiny hand.
The last time he slipped into our bed in the middle of the night.
The last time she called me "Ma-ma".
The last time he rested his head on my shoulder, arms and legs draped at my sides.
The last walk out of that room.
The last conversation this side of eternity.
I am sure, the lasts shape me. There are some moments I feel ~somewhat~ satisfied when something has ended. But I almost always I wished I would have done {blank}, and I am left feeling unresolved. Usually, sadness is a signal. But I can't go back. I cannot relive parts of history. There are chapters that are closed.
Mixed into the sadness is joy. The new movie, Inside Out, is brilliant in painting a picture of our maturing natures and the complexities of how experiences shape us. Micah and I took the kids to see this one, but it was really for the adults.
The theme was profound. Most of life is a mix. I don't have many (maybe any?) memories that are purely joyful. Even the most joyful are lacking in something, especially within the expanse of all of life. It may sound depressing, but ironically, the more I am okay with this realization, the more joy seems accessible at any given moment. When the pressure is off to have any part of this life experience ultimate, the joys taste a little sweeter.
The Bible speaks of many lasts. Our lives are full of them. There will be finality for us all. More lasts are approaching. I think it is one way God has set eternity in our hearts. Augustine calls it restlessness. Others speak of it as well.
Someone calls Himself the First and the Last, the Alpha and Omega, Lord of Eternity, the Beginning and End, Who Was, and Is, and Is to Come. Regardless of the direct implications of His name, all things unresolved will find completion in Him that will be perfectly satisfying. As life brings me moments to reflect on my allotted portion of lasts, I ask for continued faith to believe that what (or rather Who) is to come will be even better than my best joys and repent of searching out ways to hold on to hope here. Like John in Revelation, one day I will worship in light of Unending Love. And for the sadness, in His presence, all that is sad will come untrue. And all the joys, will be made fully and wholly complete.
This is not the end. These are not really the lasts. Thank God.
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
The Opening of Chick-fil-a Jefferson Commons
On Thursday, June 18, the doors opened to Chick-fil-a Jefferson Commons, with my sweet husband at the helm. The weeks leading up to this day were packed with hiring, training, preparing, praying, and growing in increasing thankfulness for the opportunity to serve the community in Okolona we have come to love. Here are some of the highlights:
 |
| Premier Night ~ with the addition of our nephew Caleb (although he fits right in with that Childs smile;)) |
 |
| Backstage Tours |
 |
| Dedication Dinner ~ Passing the Batons to Our Team |
 |
| Thankful to share this with Family and Friends |
 |
| First 100 Event |
 |
| A Visit from Dan Cathy |
 |
| Micah's Dad, his first paying customer. |
 |
| Micah's First Evaluation;) |
 |
 |
| Dedicating the Playground with the "Play Area Supervisors", Andrew and Elijah |
 |
| A little suspicious of the Cow... |
 |
| Our Grand Opening Supervisor Extraordinaires |
It has been a whirlwind! And we are so thankful. And tired. But mostly thankful.
Monday, May 18, 2015
~Some~ Lessons Learned (for now) Installment 1: Toys
There have been a lot of lessons learned over the years in regard to systems of home organization and while I am absolutely still learning, there are things that I thought might be helpful to someone somewhere. My hesitation is that any suggestion would either 1) make me seem like I have it all together (I do not) or 2) make someone else feel like they don't have it together. This is not my intention. This is simply a way to adjust if you ever find yourself, like me a few weeks ago, outnumbered and starting to lose your mind over all there is to do all the time. And I am not talking stuff that can wait until later. I mean "we cannot function here people!" kind of stuff.
Sometimes, I am asked how I do it all. "Do what? What am I doing" I wonder. Then, I remember. I homeschool and have five children. The honest truth is, I don't do it all. "I am finite, I come to an end," to quote Sara Groves. One of the sure things that daily bring me to my end is all the cooking, cleaning, teaching, training, running, and constant moving. There are days when the "to do's" make me cry, crash, and pray.
One day, it hit me. A season had passed and the mess was a bigger burden. I felt like I was spending all day every day talking to the kids about cleaning up after themselves. I remember looking particularly at Andrew, as he is growing by the minute, and saying, "I don't want to be taking to you about this! I want us to have conversations about something--- anything else. I want to hear from you today." I also was exhausted from of all the time spent picking up. I want to learn stuff, dance, and play! And so do they. Having a bit of a system has helped so much. We still have days where it feels like the walls are caving in and a five-child tornado has passed through, but even then, we have a plan in place to help everyone get back on track. It really does take everyone. Now that the little ones are utilizing their opposable thumbs in bigger-toddler fashion, they are better helpers too.
That in mind, I make these suggestions with this caveat: we all have different philosophies about play and life in general, and while some ideas may make life easier, it still doesn't mean they are for everyone. And every Mom is wired a different way and is given to her particular children to love. There is a lot of freedom here in respect to what works for different families.
Regardless of the lot, it is hard work. The pay is horrible. But there are bonuses--- moments when God grants the mercy in the mess to look up and see Him and then look around and see them. He gets His "to do" list done all the time, thankfully, and one of those items is sustaining and deeply loving me.
What is true of all Moms who hang their hope on being justified by Jesus is that we are continually loved and accepted. ((Notice that period, it is there on purpose)) Doing this, that, or something else, doesn't make us good Moms. Jesus makes us good Moms. In fact, we are Perfect Mothers in Him (Saints) even while we still struggle and somedays, throw in the towel (Sinners). What is far more difficult than running a home is believing that the Gospel is for me, today, when all my best laid plans fall flat. Without it, redeeming the time (Eph. 5) and working toward discipline in running a home becomes a burden that I cannot carry. Jesus was always timely and intentional. And His record is mine. Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.
Having made that as clear as I am able, I humbly offer this first installment. After weeks of trying to deal with clutter, I am going to focus on toys today as this is where I am finally seeing some progress. Others have probably implemented similar systems and even written about them with better clarity, but here goes anyway.
Recently, the children and I gathered every toy that they own and put them in piles by subject. It was like a page from the The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room. For real. We got rid of the broken things, the things missing pieces, the things that no one even likes or plays with anymore and discarded or donated them. Some sets, I sold for the kids in a local "Buy, Sell, and Trade" group. Then I split the money between those to whom those toys belonged. I have five children, but we really don't have that many toys. I am ok with that. I love for toys to serve more than one function. If all it does is use up a battery, I am not sure it needs to stick around. Micah and I have spent many days and nights trying to beat the last life out of a nearly dead toy that just won't quit. Toys that require imagination are my favorite for them anyway.
Then, I went to Target and bought bins with detachable labels. Each bin comes with two labels and I really liked that they could serve us in the future if the boxes needed to change function. I also like their aesthetics. as opposed to clear ones. All the kids and I sorted and stored all toys in these bins. I also added whatever toys might fit in the closet among the bins that go along with some of the sets. This has been a game changer. No more do I find ridiculous amounts of toys all over the house--- and if you have children, especially many children, you know how toys can end up everywhere. Doll shoes, Minnie Mouse Plastic Dresses, Beyblades, Matchbox Cars, Legos, in the closet, under the bed, in my sock drawer, behind the dresser, under the stove... everywhere.
I do have a similar but more exhaustive system for Legos. My children love Legos and they can be difficult to manage. They are in a separate location for the big kids and are in clear bins by Lego type.
Whenever playtime is near, they choose a category of toy. They love to play with the sets especially when all the pieces are right there. And when they are done, they cannot have a new set until they pick up and put the first away. Sometimes, I let them have a couple out at a time. It really depends on if they can be played with together. I am not terribly rigid, only partially, as I have witnessed all to often too many toys out at one time, getting thrown, dumped, and generally slung from here to Timbuktu. If people want to sling things, we can go outside and throw a ball or something else throwable. Inside, I generally give them what makes sense, they play, pick up, and move to the next thing. This makes it really easy for them.
I also am trying to have areas in our home where other sets make sense and are stored. For example, coloring books and crayons are stored near their craft table. Playdough is stored in a bin in the kitchen where the hard floor and countertops make cleanup as easy as it can be. Stuffed animals and dolls are stored in large bins in their rooms. I do have a place for some toys in the living room that fit into one large basket. They are mostly the "B" toys and are easily identified and grouped together when pick up time comes around. We also have a music area so if I or one of the big boys go to play some instrument during the day, people gather 'round and play something to add to the band.
The garage is the (almost) same. I have been working on this one more lately. Bins for sidewalk chalk, bubbles, sports equipment, etc. One group of items at a time. Everything has a home.
Even though the system might sound solid and even simple, there are times (many times) things are misplaced and still end up all over. After breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I set a clock for 5-10 minutes. The kids go over the first and second floors (I split them up) and clean up all the toys they find. There are two designated bins (different from the toy closet) they use to collect toys. If a toy is too large for the bin, it is immediately put all the way up. Everything else, goes in the bin. At the last meal at home for the day, either lunch or dinner dependent on our evening plans, the bins are emptied and all the stuff is put back in its appropriate home. Even my threes can do this fairly well with some help. Elijah calls it "a tornado, in reverse."
Sometimes with prompting, I will help with whatever is left. I don't always get everything of mine picked up all the time so it would seem reasonable to give them some help. Sometimes, it does gets donated if it floats around too long or it is obvious no one really cares about that particular thing anyway. You get the picture.
If you have any suggestions or thoughts, please feel free to leave them in the comments. I love when I hear brilliant ideas, even if I store them away for a new season of life. You never know, I may suddenly need a new plan if I begin to lose it again.
One last note, if you have a community of friends you can help with a project such as this, I can imagine it is much more fun as a team. If you find that one way is not working, friends can be great at helping problem solve. Most of all, we need friends that point us outside of all the work, give us a means to relax, and the are the best at loving us in the struggle and success.
This toil will not remain forever. There will be a day when I will miss my little mess-makers. For today, there is rest- not in systems or in plans but in the One who carries us through the gamut of the calm, challenge, and chaos of raising children. God help us so that all our burdens, big and small, be light and joy remains outside of us, drawing us in.
Sometimes, I am asked how I do it all. "Do what? What am I doing" I wonder. Then, I remember. I homeschool and have five children. The honest truth is, I don't do it all. "I am finite, I come to an end," to quote Sara Groves. One of the sure things that daily bring me to my end is all the cooking, cleaning, teaching, training, running, and constant moving. There are days when the "to do's" make me cry, crash, and pray.
One day, it hit me. A season had passed and the mess was a bigger burden. I felt like I was spending all day every day talking to the kids about cleaning up after themselves. I remember looking particularly at Andrew, as he is growing by the minute, and saying, "I don't want to be taking to you about this! I want us to have conversations about something--- anything else. I want to hear from you today." I also was exhausted from of all the time spent picking up. I want to learn stuff, dance, and play! And so do they. Having a bit of a system has helped so much. We still have days where it feels like the walls are caving in and a five-child tornado has passed through, but even then, we have a plan in place to help everyone get back on track. It really does take everyone. Now that the little ones are utilizing their opposable thumbs in bigger-toddler fashion, they are better helpers too.
That in mind, I make these suggestions with this caveat: we all have different philosophies about play and life in general, and while some ideas may make life easier, it still doesn't mean they are for everyone. And every Mom is wired a different way and is given to her particular children to love. There is a lot of freedom here in respect to what works for different families.
Regardless of the lot, it is hard work. The pay is horrible. But there are bonuses--- moments when God grants the mercy in the mess to look up and see Him and then look around and see them. He gets His "to do" list done all the time, thankfully, and one of those items is sustaining and deeply loving me.
What is true of all Moms who hang their hope on being justified by Jesus is that we are continually loved and accepted. ((Notice that period, it is there on purpose)) Doing this, that, or something else, doesn't make us good Moms. Jesus makes us good Moms. In fact, we are Perfect Mothers in Him (Saints) even while we still struggle and somedays, throw in the towel (Sinners). What is far more difficult than running a home is believing that the Gospel is for me, today, when all my best laid plans fall flat. Without it, redeeming the time (Eph. 5) and working toward discipline in running a home becomes a burden that I cannot carry. Jesus was always timely and intentional. And His record is mine. Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.
Having made that as clear as I am able, I humbly offer this first installment. After weeks of trying to deal with clutter, I am going to focus on toys today as this is where I am finally seeing some progress. Others have probably implemented similar systems and even written about them with better clarity, but here goes anyway.
Recently, the children and I gathered every toy that they own and put them in piles by subject. It was like a page from the The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room. For real. We got rid of the broken things, the things missing pieces, the things that no one even likes or plays with anymore and discarded or donated them. Some sets, I sold for the kids in a local "Buy, Sell, and Trade" group. Then I split the money between those to whom those toys belonged. I have five children, but we really don't have that many toys. I am ok with that. I love for toys to serve more than one function. If all it does is use up a battery, I am not sure it needs to stick around. Micah and I have spent many days and nights trying to beat the last life out of a nearly dead toy that just won't quit. Toys that require imagination are my favorite for them anyway.
Then, I went to Target and bought bins with detachable labels. Each bin comes with two labels and I really liked that they could serve us in the future if the boxes needed to change function. I also like their aesthetics. as opposed to clear ones. All the kids and I sorted and stored all toys in these bins. I also added whatever toys might fit in the closet among the bins that go along with some of the sets. This has been a game changer. No more do I find ridiculous amounts of toys all over the house--- and if you have children, especially many children, you know how toys can end up everywhere. Doll shoes, Minnie Mouse Plastic Dresses, Beyblades, Matchbox Cars, Legos, in the closet, under the bed, in my sock drawer, behind the dresser, under the stove... everywhere.
I do have a similar but more exhaustive system for Legos. My children love Legos and they can be difficult to manage. They are in a separate location for the big kids and are in clear bins by Lego type.
Whenever playtime is near, they choose a category of toy. They love to play with the sets especially when all the pieces are right there. And when they are done, they cannot have a new set until they pick up and put the first away. Sometimes, I let them have a couple out at a time. It really depends on if they can be played with together. I am not terribly rigid, only partially, as I have witnessed all to often too many toys out at one time, getting thrown, dumped, and generally slung from here to Timbuktu. If people want to sling things, we can go outside and throw a ball or something else throwable. Inside, I generally give them what makes sense, they play, pick up, and move to the next thing. This makes it really easy for them.
I also am trying to have areas in our home where other sets make sense and are stored. For example, coloring books and crayons are stored near their craft table. Playdough is stored in a bin in the kitchen where the hard floor and countertops make cleanup as easy as it can be. Stuffed animals and dolls are stored in large bins in their rooms. I do have a place for some toys in the living room that fit into one large basket. They are mostly the "B" toys and are easily identified and grouped together when pick up time comes around. We also have a music area so if I or one of the big boys go to play some instrument during the day, people gather 'round and play something to add to the band.
The garage is the (almost) same. I have been working on this one more lately. Bins for sidewalk chalk, bubbles, sports equipment, etc. One group of items at a time. Everything has a home.
Even though the system might sound solid and even simple, there are times (many times) things are misplaced and still end up all over. After breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I set a clock for 5-10 minutes. The kids go over the first and second floors (I split them up) and clean up all the toys they find. There are two designated bins (different from the toy closet) they use to collect toys. If a toy is too large for the bin, it is immediately put all the way up. Everything else, goes in the bin. At the last meal at home for the day, either lunch or dinner dependent on our evening plans, the bins are emptied and all the stuff is put back in its appropriate home. Even my threes can do this fairly well with some help. Elijah calls it "a tornado, in reverse."
Sometimes with prompting, I will help with whatever is left. I don't always get everything of mine picked up all the time so it would seem reasonable to give them some help. Sometimes, it does gets donated if it floats around too long or it is obvious no one really cares about that particular thing anyway. You get the picture.
If you have any suggestions or thoughts, please feel free to leave them in the comments. I love when I hear brilliant ideas, even if I store them away for a new season of life. You never know, I may suddenly need a new plan if I begin to lose it again.
One last note, if you have a community of friends you can help with a project such as this, I can imagine it is much more fun as a team. If you find that one way is not working, friends can be great at helping problem solve. Most of all, we need friends that point us outside of all the work, give us a means to relax, and the are the best at loving us in the struggle and success.
This toil will not remain forever. There will be a day when I will miss my little mess-makers. For today, there is rest- not in systems or in plans but in the One who carries us through the gamut of the calm, challenge, and chaos of raising children. God help us so that all our burdens, big and small, be light and joy remains outside of us, drawing us in.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
It Happened in My Kitchen (A Tale of Theology in Practice)
I want you to first know that the below narrative is true. I have wondered what might happen if the persons described read this blog. In some ways, I hope they do. Even though I was minding my own business, this drama found me. It weighed so heavy on me, I felt compelled to write about it. And by now, you all know me--- and that I don't shy away from the serious stuff. I do not claim to have all of this together, but I do think it important to share my thoughts.
A couple of mornings ago, I had two men here doing an odd job for me in my house. The first was an older gentleman who was very quick to share his faith with me. In the course of about a half an hour, he told me of his service at church and shared various opinions about life. I was surprised at his openness. One thing he highlighted was his desire to make sure the children at his church are ready for worship, sometimes speaking to them in front of their parents about their behavior as they walk in the door. He added this bit of information as one of my children was having a "moment". He was a nice guy--- just intense and opinionated.
A couple of mornings ago, I had two men here doing an odd job for me in my house. The first was an older gentleman who was very quick to share his faith with me. In the course of about a half an hour, he told me of his service at church and shared various opinions about life. I was surprised at his openness. One thing he highlighted was his desire to make sure the children at his church are ready for worship, sometimes speaking to them in front of their parents about their behavior as they walk in the door. He added this bit of information as one of my children was having a "moment". He was a nice guy--- just intense and opinionated.
The second was a bit quieter. He is an apprentice. He is also from NC. In fact, his brother was a former Tarheel Basketball player. It was nice to have someone outside of the state share my affinity for Carolina. He is in college and was working his way through. He had worked at UPS for a while sorting boxes in the middle of the night, as did Micah. It was clear this young man would do whatever he could to make it in life.
As I listened to the two of them speak back and forth, it was clear that the religious man was intent on informing the younger man of his downfalls and then the way he should be, all in the name of Jesus. In between lessons, he would send the young man out to the truck to get supplies. The young man did so over and over without complaint.
Honestly, I sat in my living room, in shock that all of this was taking place in my kitchen.
Toward the end of their job, I entered the room. I tried to encourage the older gentleman. Not much of what I said was received without some interjection that was teach-y. Then, it was implied that the young man had a child. I inquired a bit and he told me he had a son. I congratulated him and affirmed his efforts to care for him.
"He's not here anymore... you don't want to hear about that," the older gentleman added.
"Oh my--- what happened?" I said, trying not to make this guy feel like he had to tell me anything but would welcome what he might have to say.
"He... died," the younger interjected, with a quiet, solemn tone.
This young man shared freely that he had gotten a gal pregnant in high school. She had the baby--- a little boy. But somewhere in his story, he lost custody and the boy was murdered by his mother's boyfriend. He missed his son. And the perpetrator was only sentenced jail time.
There are moments in life when odd jobs and basketball don't matter. They are sacred moments, when heaven might break through. I wanted to hug him (had that been appropriate) and weep with him over the loss of his son. Acknowledging his guilt and pain, I wish I could have shared with him that Jesus came to save sinners and offer hope to the grieving in conquering death. But instead, the older man took control of the conversation. His words were a jumble of things--- all admonishing this young man getting his act together. He spoke of sacrifice and moving on. "Jesus is good, but you have to do something with Him". And then, they left.
I am here to tell you, friends, that is not the Gospel. This young man had endured suffering--- some admittedly by his own choices. But he didn't need to do more right stuff to be right with God. He cannot do enough. Even if he did everything the older gentlemen suggested (and his suggestions were biblical) he still would fall short. He doesn't need biblical morals. He needs a substitute. He needs to know Jesus is right with God and so are those who believe Him (John 3:16). And goodness knows that before we even offer this truth, he needs compassion.
I have been in the position of the older man many times, seeking to reform behavior instead of offer a Savior. There is a point when the Law of God does and must condemn. It is the reason we see our need for a Savior. Sadly, Law is often downplayed as something we can attain to, as if it can fix us. If that were true, then why the life of Jesus and the cross? The cross is a clear sign that we could not and cannot save ourselves. It offers hope to those condemned and should be like a drink of water for the thirsty, a balm for those who need healing. When we realize we are dead without it, it breathes life. The Good News of the person and work of Jesus Christ falls softly on the broken hearted. It brings rest to the weary and heavy-laden (Matthew 11:28). If it comes across as anything else, it is not the Gospel. When we meet weary souls along the way who have been condemned by the Law, we must offer them Good News.
I have spent the last couple of days praying that someone else will speak to this young man--- That he will hear that Emmanuel sympathizes with us in our weakness, there is a Comforter that is with us in suffering, and a Father who makes sinners sons and daughters.
I also pray for the older man--- That God he would learn of God's love for Him in a way that gives him a love for his neighbors.
I also pray for me--- that God would forgive my lack of love and remind me that my attempts to communicate the Good News are perfected in the cross and made discernible by the Spirit.
As I listened to the two of them speak back and forth, it was clear that the religious man was intent on informing the younger man of his downfalls and then the way he should be, all in the name of Jesus. In between lessons, he would send the young man out to the truck to get supplies. The young man did so over and over without complaint.
Honestly, I sat in my living room, in shock that all of this was taking place in my kitchen.
Toward the end of their job, I entered the room. I tried to encourage the older gentleman. Not much of what I said was received without some interjection that was teach-y. Then, it was implied that the young man had a child. I inquired a bit and he told me he had a son. I congratulated him and affirmed his efforts to care for him.
"He's not here anymore... you don't want to hear about that," the older gentleman added.
"Oh my--- what happened?" I said, trying not to make this guy feel like he had to tell me anything but would welcome what he might have to say.
"He... died," the younger interjected, with a quiet, solemn tone.
This young man shared freely that he had gotten a gal pregnant in high school. She had the baby--- a little boy. But somewhere in his story, he lost custody and the boy was murdered by his mother's boyfriend. He missed his son. And the perpetrator was only sentenced jail time.
There are moments in life when odd jobs and basketball don't matter. They are sacred moments, when heaven might break through. I wanted to hug him (had that been appropriate) and weep with him over the loss of his son. Acknowledging his guilt and pain, I wish I could have shared with him that Jesus came to save sinners and offer hope to the grieving in conquering death. But instead, the older man took control of the conversation. His words were a jumble of things--- all admonishing this young man getting his act together. He spoke of sacrifice and moving on. "Jesus is good, but you have to do something with Him". And then, they left.
I am here to tell you, friends, that is not the Gospel. This young man had endured suffering--- some admittedly by his own choices. But he didn't need to do more right stuff to be right with God. He cannot do enough. Even if he did everything the older gentlemen suggested (and his suggestions were biblical) he still would fall short. He doesn't need biblical morals. He needs a substitute. He needs to know Jesus is right with God and so are those who believe Him (John 3:16). And goodness knows that before we even offer this truth, he needs compassion.
We ourselves are Jews by birth and not Gentile sinners; yet we know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified.
But if, in our endeavor to be justified in Christ, we too were found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? Certainly not! For if I rebuild what I tore down, I prove myself to be a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.
Galatians 2:15-21
I have been in the position of the older man many times, seeking to reform behavior instead of offer a Savior. There is a point when the Law of God does and must condemn. It is the reason we see our need for a Savior. Sadly, Law is often downplayed as something we can attain to, as if it can fix us. If that were true, then why the life of Jesus and the cross? The cross is a clear sign that we could not and cannot save ourselves. It offers hope to those condemned and should be like a drink of water for the thirsty, a balm for those who need healing. When we realize we are dead without it, it breathes life. The Good News of the person and work of Jesus Christ falls softly on the broken hearted. It brings rest to the weary and heavy-laden (Matthew 11:28). If it comes across as anything else, it is not the Gospel. When we meet weary souls along the way who have been condemned by the Law, we must offer them Good News.
I have spent the last couple of days praying that someone else will speak to this young man--- That he will hear that Emmanuel sympathizes with us in our weakness, there is a Comforter that is with us in suffering, and a Father who makes sinners sons and daughters.
I also pray for the older man--- That God he would learn of God's love for Him in a way that gives him a love for his neighbors.
I also pray for me--- that God would forgive my lack of love and remind me that my attempts to communicate the Good News are perfected in the cross and made discernible by the Spirit.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
To Iowa
As you may recall, I have not been a fan of public speaking. Editing is my friend. Goodness knows, I need some editing in life in general.
However, the last time I spoke for something, one of the veterans at the event gave me a piece of advice:
Find something you are passionate about, and speaking will come naturally.
I had the opportunity, thanks to my friend Jaime, to speak to the ladies of Oak Hill Baptist Church in Humbolt, Iowa last weekend. I have never been to Iowa before so the trip in and of itself was so much fun! Nor have I ever seen so many fields in my life. Micah and the kids went along. It was quite an experience with three newly-potty-trained people in the car for 11.5+ hours. Whew! Thankfully, we had friends almost exactly halfway between our home and our destination who didn't mind taking seven in for an evening on the way there and the way back.
It was a honor to speak about adoption and the Gospel. If there is anything I am passionate about, it would be these things. It felt like the engagement flowed out of what comes naturally to me in this time and space. I still sit back and marvel at God's mercy on us. He writes the best stories.
If you are interested, the church was kind enough to provide the audio from the event on their website. You can access it here. I have to say, my friend Jaime's introduction is so very kind and a bit embarrassing! She is such a sweet friend and I am thankful that God has given me her friendship in the midst of both suffering and joy in life.
And just in case you hear Jaime's intro and are wondering, I am writing a book. I hope to have it finished by the end of this year so stay tuned;)
It was a honor to speak about adoption and the Gospel. If there is anything I am passionate about, it would be these things. It felt like the engagement flowed out of what comes naturally to me in this time and space. I still sit back and marvel at God's mercy on us. He writes the best stories.
If you are interested, the church was kind enough to provide the audio from the event on their website. You can access it here. I have to say, my friend Jaime's introduction is so very kind and a bit embarrassing! She is such a sweet friend and I am thankful that God has given me her friendship in the midst of both suffering and joy in life.
And just in case you hear Jaime's intro and are wondering, I am writing a book. I hope to have it finished by the end of this year so stay tuned;)
Sunday, March 22, 2015
The Time Has Come...
The kiddos are three and ready.
I have not been necessarily ready. With visions of public restrooms with my three, touching, grabbing, and licking everything in sight, I was quite content just letting them live in diapers.
But they are determined to grow up. I guess I can't hold them back forever.
Having trained two boys, the first with trepidation and the next with second-child confidence, I have---eh---had a good plan. It is one that has worked in the past (because the child was physically ready... that is important). I like the plan. It is also one of the first parent/child authoritative yet collaborative efforts that says to them, "I am mom, you can do this, and now we work on it together."
But I don't have one to train, I have three. There is always the possibility of the plan shifting to another plan (like all my best laid plans in the land of parenting and especially parenting triplets). There is a pretty funny article on how to appear smart in a business meeting that suggests asking, "Will this scale?" Well, that is actually helpful around here and it is, indeed, smart.
So we go for it. The first four hours are like an episode of Full-House--- or I guess like 8 back-to-back Full House episodes. There seems to be music playing, resolving all the potty-training conflicts as all three are 6 for 6. Micah is astounded at how easy it all is turning out to be! I have employed Daddy because, again, three... scale. He wasn't around for the first two experiences but here, we do everything together as a team. Two on three are better odds.
It is simple (for them). Go potty, get "One, two, three chocolates!" Do it again. And do it again. There are extra chocolates for the longer potty time. One child realizes she can spread her potty successes out to get more chocolate. Smart girl.
Then I leave to run an errand and people start forgetting. Poor Micah.
The rest of the day is a little sketchy. There were a lot of "Oops!" and "Ahhhhh!" moments. And some more "Yay!" and "Woohoo!"
Day two--- they start getting creative.
Imagine (or see below visual aid) all the littles lined up on their Ikea, green potties. One is successful. The second, happy for the first, lifts bum mid-potty (verb this time) to celebrate. The third, not wanting to be behind, stands and hoists potty (noun) in the air to show the rest.
The next go-round, the potties suddenly liken to racing cars and the trainees begin scooting them across the bathroom floor.
Sometimes, before I can clean all the potties, one or two gets kicked, knocked over, or something from the bathroom, that is more than likely mine, gets thrown in.
The rest of the time, Micah or I am continually herding people around the bathroom so they don't go too far away.
Remember also, this is co-ed. That also makes things interesting. That's all I have to say about that.
Ay-yi-yi.
As I wake to tomorrow's light, ready to go at it another day, at least the bathroom is entirely cleaned and sanitized.
I have not been necessarily ready. With visions of public restrooms with my three, touching, grabbing, and licking everything in sight, I was quite content just letting them live in diapers.
But they are determined to grow up. I guess I can't hold them back forever.
Having trained two boys, the first with trepidation and the next with second-child confidence, I have---eh---had a good plan. It is one that has worked in the past (because the child was physically ready... that is important). I like the plan. It is also one of the first parent/child authoritative yet collaborative efforts that says to them, "I am mom, you can do this, and now we work on it together."
But I don't have one to train, I have three. There is always the possibility of the plan shifting to another plan (like all my best laid plans in the land of parenting and especially parenting triplets). There is a pretty funny article on how to appear smart in a business meeting that suggests asking, "Will this scale?" Well, that is actually helpful around here and it is, indeed, smart.
So we go for it. The first four hours are like an episode of Full-House--- or I guess like 8 back-to-back Full House episodes. There seems to be music playing, resolving all the potty-training conflicts as all three are 6 for 6. Micah is astounded at how easy it all is turning out to be! I have employed Daddy because, again, three... scale. He wasn't around for the first two experiences but here, we do everything together as a team. Two on three are better odds.
It is simple (for them). Go potty, get "One, two, three chocolates!" Do it again. And do it again. There are extra chocolates for the longer potty time. One child realizes she can spread her potty successes out to get more chocolate. Smart girl.
Then I leave to run an errand and people start forgetting. Poor Micah.
The rest of the day is a little sketchy. There were a lot of "Oops!" and "Ahhhhh!" moments. And some more "Yay!" and "Woohoo!"
Day two--- they start getting creative.
Imagine (or see below visual aid) all the littles lined up on their Ikea, green potties. One is successful. The second, happy for the first, lifts bum mid-potty (verb this time) to celebrate. The third, not wanting to be behind, stands and hoists potty (noun) in the air to show the rest.
The next go-round, the potties suddenly liken to racing cars and the trainees begin scooting them across the bathroom floor.
Sometimes, before I can clean all the potties, one or two gets kicked, knocked over, or something from the bathroom, that is more than likely mine, gets thrown in.
The rest of the time, Micah or I am continually herding people around the bathroom so they don't go too far away.
Remember also, this is co-ed. That also makes things interesting. That's all I have to say about that.
Ay-yi-yi.
As I wake to tomorrow's light, ready to go at it another day, at least the bathroom is entirely cleaned and sanitized.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
New Eyes
The woman through the first door, who's delicate hands literally poured various drops into my eyes, reminded me so much of my Grandmother. "You are going to love this." she said.
I was nervous. My game plan was to go to my happy place ---the mountain of my childhood--- and remember the sway of the hammock, the sound of the tree canopy in the breeze, and the smell of clean air. It was a good place and a good plan, but as I took my place under the first ominous laser and temporarily lost my vision, I felt hoisted out of there for a bit. The nurse who calmly stated, "12 more seconds... now 5 more seconds" nudged me back. I am sure I left nail prints in the armrests anyway. Then, I went to another room with another laser. I tried to glance through the glass opening in the wall, knowing on the other side, Micah and a dear friend of mine were waiting and watching.
When I was six years old, my teacher called my mother and told her I was struggling to see the chalkboard. Shortly thereafter, I became the proud owner of a pair of blue on the top (like eyeshadow) and pink on the bottom (like blush) glasses. Following the various fashion trends (if you call forrest green/black speckled, maroon, and black rectangle trendy), I have remained in glasses since then. I have tried contact lenses over the last twenty+ years but those brought me some problems. Once, I fell asleep with them in and woke up with a severely scratched cornea. It gave me I-want-to-punch-a-hole-in-the-wall pain and a long recovery. In the last ten years or so, my vision had deteriorated to such a degree that I could not even see the big "E" on the wall with a side of astigmatism. I have been notorious for taking out contact lenses at night without securing my glasses first. While this scene can be humorous for those with good vision, it is terribly inconvenient since I must search two inches away from surfaces until I find them.
I wasn't sure what to think when my husband suggested that maybe I would benefit from Lasik surgery. I have heard great things and not-so-great things. If it worked well, I imagined it would be fantastic. I read all the stuff on the internet... because again, that is what I do these days. "Lasik Gone Wrong" was my preferred search phrase. I had pretty realistic expectations. I prayed nothing terrible would happen.
After the second laser finished and the smell of laser-ed ~whatever part of my eye the doc laser-ed~ cleared (gag), I sat up and immediately glanced at the clock on the wall. I noticed the 5 first. I saw it clearly except for a small bit of blurriness.
After a half-drugged ride home with my Lasik-curious friend who so kindly helped me eat without opening my eyes so much, I returned home. I kept my eyes closed for 5 hours. Then, at 11 p.m., I opened them. No glasses, no contacts, and I could see EVERYTHING.
The only reason vision correction seems so wonderful is because I have lived the majority of life not being able to see well. The other day, I got caught between a seeing-eye dog and his owner in World Market. Suffice it to say, they tried to take me home with them! ---That sweet doggy didn't get an A for the day though his owner took it all in stride. She and I had a good, hearty laugh together. What would sight mean for her? Then, I think of the blind men in Matthew 20 as well as others who got the Lasik treatment ~only far better~ from the One who created eyeballs and corneas in the first place. While the ailments may differ, the ministry of Jesus is full of healing. That is something I know something about first hand as well. The thing that seems to be true about each individual is that they all know they need help. They cried out, "Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!"
When you know you need it, it is what you say.
Even though I have been given eyes to see, I think of 1 Corinthians 13:12 often:
The older I get and the more I know of myself, the more I experience just how many blinding facets of this life hinder clear vision. But He knows. And one day, faith will be sight. Then and only then will I realize the true dimness of the mirror.
The scripture above falls in a section quoted often about love. The only person that has ever fulfilled the descriptions of true love in 1 Cor. 13 is the One who's name is Love. It is difficult to imagine anyone loving so completely and simultaneously well. One day, I will see the Him face to face. If there is any clue about just how brilliant that scene, I imagine it will be much like John's experience in the book of Revelation when he first sees the One speaking to him. "I fell at his feet as though dead," he says. And Jesus will lift my chin and say, "Fear not." I believe my happy place will be changed forever... help my unbelief.
I was nervous. My game plan was to go to my happy place ---the mountain of my childhood--- and remember the sway of the hammock, the sound of the tree canopy in the breeze, and the smell of clean air. It was a good place and a good plan, but as I took my place under the first ominous laser and temporarily lost my vision, I felt hoisted out of there for a bit. The nurse who calmly stated, "12 more seconds... now 5 more seconds" nudged me back. I am sure I left nail prints in the armrests anyway. Then, I went to another room with another laser. I tried to glance through the glass opening in the wall, knowing on the other side, Micah and a dear friend of mine were waiting and watching.
When I was six years old, my teacher called my mother and told her I was struggling to see the chalkboard. Shortly thereafter, I became the proud owner of a pair of blue on the top (like eyeshadow) and pink on the bottom (like blush) glasses. Following the various fashion trends (if you call forrest green/black speckled, maroon, and black rectangle trendy), I have remained in glasses since then. I have tried contact lenses over the last twenty+ years but those brought me some problems. Once, I fell asleep with them in and woke up with a severely scratched cornea. It gave me I-want-to-punch-a-hole-in-the-wall pain and a long recovery. In the last ten years or so, my vision had deteriorated to such a degree that I could not even see the big "E" on the wall with a side of astigmatism. I have been notorious for taking out contact lenses at night without securing my glasses first. While this scene can be humorous for those with good vision, it is terribly inconvenient since I must search two inches away from surfaces until I find them.
I wasn't sure what to think when my husband suggested that maybe I would benefit from Lasik surgery. I have heard great things and not-so-great things. If it worked well, I imagined it would be fantastic. I read all the stuff on the internet... because again, that is what I do these days. "Lasik Gone Wrong" was my preferred search phrase. I had pretty realistic expectations. I prayed nothing terrible would happen.
After the second laser finished and the smell of laser-ed ~whatever part of my eye the doc laser-ed~ cleared (gag), I sat up and immediately glanced at the clock on the wall. I noticed the 5 first. I saw it clearly except for a small bit of blurriness.
After a half-drugged ride home with my Lasik-curious friend who so kindly helped me eat without opening my eyes so much, I returned home. I kept my eyes closed for 5 hours. Then, at 11 p.m., I opened them. No glasses, no contacts, and I could see EVERYTHING.
The only reason vision correction seems so wonderful is because I have lived the majority of life not being able to see well. The other day, I got caught between a seeing-eye dog and his owner in World Market. Suffice it to say, they tried to take me home with them! ---That sweet doggy didn't get an A for the day though his owner took it all in stride. She and I had a good, hearty laugh together. What would sight mean for her? Then, I think of the blind men in Matthew 20 as well as others who got the Lasik treatment ~only far better~ from the One who created eyeballs and corneas in the first place. While the ailments may differ, the ministry of Jesus is full of healing. That is something I know something about first hand as well. The thing that seems to be true about each individual is that they all know they need help. They cried out, "Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!"
When you know you need it, it is what you say.
Even though I have been given eyes to see, I think of 1 Corinthians 13:12 often:
For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
The older I get and the more I know of myself, the more I experience just how many blinding facets of this life hinder clear vision. But He knows. And one day, faith will be sight. Then and only then will I realize the true dimness of the mirror.
The scripture above falls in a section quoted often about love. The only person that has ever fulfilled the descriptions of true love in 1 Cor. 13 is the One who's name is Love. It is difficult to imagine anyone loving so completely and simultaneously well. One day, I will see the Him face to face. If there is any clue about just how brilliant that scene, I imagine it will be much like John's experience in the book of Revelation when he first sees the One speaking to him. "I fell at his feet as though dead," he says. And Jesus will lift my chin and say, "Fear not." I believe my happy place will be changed forever... help my unbelief.
Monday, March 02, 2015
Extra! Extra!
I am very excited to announce that Micah has been officially named the Owner/Operator of the soon-to-come Chick-fil-a Jefferson Commons. I know I speak for Micah when I say that he is thankful and humbled by the opportunity to continue to serve South Louisville and the community around Jefferson Mall, as the new, free-standing store will be right outside his current location. Our family has grown to love the people there. Both Micah's employees and customers have been a source of encouragement for us over these past years and we are glad to be afforded another means to be connected to them.
Congratulations, Micah!
Congratulations, Micah!
Wednesday, February 04, 2015
Three x Three!
And on February 3, 2015 at 8:45, 8:46, and 8:47 p.m., three years exactly from the moments they entered the world:
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
If Only I...
One of the first things I did last week while grappling with Eliana's febrile seizures was google "febrile seizures". Isn't that what we all do these days? I read from so many different sites. Medical information comes in a few of different forms. There seems to be a divide between the traditional and the natural, if one could be so discerning to differentiate the two. If you want to revisit my thoughts about natural stuff, see this blog here. There is so much information from so many sources, it is overwhelming.
I read quite a bit from the Mayo Clinic. I also received information from the ER and Ana's Pediatrician (who I like so much, by the way). There is nothing like speaking to a person who has spent his or her adult life caring for children and has personally seen and treated a multitude of illnesses. I truly appreciated the counsel I received from others who have witnessed and cared for a person having a seizure. On top of the seizure, we were looking for signs of a rare disease--- one that would need to be treated swiftly. I needed the guidance of a physician who had seen this disease before or could confidently say Eliana didn't have it.
While we waited on a diagnosis, I also employed some things deemed more natural to bolster her immune system. Lets be honest, when my kids are sick, I will do anything to help and not (knowingly) do more harm.
In the middle of one sleepless night, I did some reading on a site that promoted other ways of treating--- or not treating--- fever. There were opinions that directly condemned my understanding of fevers and seizures (together, not separately). There is nothing like being told you did and are doing everything wrong, especially when it means you have harmed your child. It hit me like a stab to the stomach. In my own medical-background mind, the information still didn't jive with my understanding of anatomy, physiology, and disease/treatment process. Let me assure you, I understand the body's way of dealing with disease and, for God's common grace in it, I am thankful. But the way the writer was speaking, I questioned whether or not he or she had ever seen a child have a febrile seizure. My biggest criticism of most of the information directed at the masses assumes a normal, healthy child. Most times, there is a caveat or exception--- and usually my children (and many times me as well!) fall in that category.
Talk about causing anxiety. Then, there was even more information linked to that particular site that added more anxieties in the illusions to systemic problems caused by environment, diet, laundry detergent, carpet chemicals, plastic toys, preservatives, ozone, etc. (do you get where I am going here?). All I have to say about that is "ya think?" I don't mean to be snarky. Still, there are no lions lying down with lambs here people. And, to quote one of my favorite singer/songwriters, no one is getting out of here alive (except for the ones who see Him coming--- and boy, I hope to be in that company).
I get it though. I want to feel well. I want the energy to care for my family. I want them to be healthy. I never want to see my little girl going through what she did last Saturday. But sometimes, wanting something is not enough. There may be a better way and there may not. I may do something that helps her and I may make a choice that ---God forbid--- does her harm. And knowing that produces all kinds of anxiety.
There are so many differing opinions all claiming to be the one that is right. What is right today will be disproven tomorrow. There is always another article to read with another expert opinion. I am bound to feel condemnation from one direction or another. Then there is the insinuation if my kids get sick ---or if I get sick--- that I am just not doing enough. Or willing to do the hard thing. Or another thing. Or this thing. Or that thing. That feeling is discouraging, completely exhausting, and isolating. I get tired of conducting science (or anti-science) experiments on my children. Am I the only one? (I know I am revealing something about myself here.) I am so glad that some things help some people, but we are all not the same. What should happen doesn't always happen. Many of the information-givers want to be helpful. Some are selling something. Some want support for the decisions they have made. I know I have been guilty of not listening for the sake of needing to speak out of my own experience.
My contributions to different brands of apothecary are substantial. I have never been more thankful for Tylenol suppositories, epinephrine, coconut oil, and Elderberry as I am right now. The one time in many that a child needed help for a fever, I was so thankful for an ER full of doctors and nurses who were absolutely all in to help. Aren't we so fortunate here with access to so much that is completely unavailable in other parts of the world. But the masses of information can be unhelpful and it is absolutely not our ultimate hope. I have to remind myself of this all the time. I am so thankful that God gives us stuff to help us in human weakness but so often I forget the Creator and in essence, begin to worship the created. God help me, I am the worst. I would do some pretty crazy stuff to avoid suffering. Everyone with built-in self-preservation can sympathize. Even Jesus sympathized. When faced with ultimate suffering, He asked that it be taken from Him.
This life is full of opportunities to pray and do the best I can, knowing I may not always know everything. You and I can sit down and talk about what we have learned and it may be a help and it may not. I will never be omnipotent or in control as much as I might like to be for you or for me. But I can sure speak to the One who is all knowing and ask for a deepening of faith to see that He ultimately sustains and will redeem. He is bigger than what is in my pantry, medicine cabinet, or skill set right now. His hand reaches out when I lose all sense of what I should do, confronted by my biggest fears, and gives a where-with-all that must be supernatural. He sure did last Saturday.
When I am convicted of unbelief or more specifically, hoping in information, medications, or other things, He is faithful and just to forgive me. All of confessions of anxieties are met with perfect trust and faithfulness at the cross. And when the results of the fall hit home, He hears my cries of anguish, cries with me (John 11:35), and answers my sufferings--- not by belittling --- but with a response that mirrors the depth of pain with the promise of redemption. Even that seems too good to be true sometimes when His choices aren't what I would like. In all things, I believe, help my unbelief. In a few weeks, when the flu season is almost over and Easter Lilies are in bloom, it will be good for me to remember the cost of a future hope.
One of the best speakers I have heard that addresses the anxiety brought about by social media is David Zahl. I would encourage you to listen to his thoughts here.
I read quite a bit from the Mayo Clinic. I also received information from the ER and Ana's Pediatrician (who I like so much, by the way). There is nothing like speaking to a person who has spent his or her adult life caring for children and has personally seen and treated a multitude of illnesses. I truly appreciated the counsel I received from others who have witnessed and cared for a person having a seizure. On top of the seizure, we were looking for signs of a rare disease--- one that would need to be treated swiftly. I needed the guidance of a physician who had seen this disease before or could confidently say Eliana didn't have it.
While we waited on a diagnosis, I also employed some things deemed more natural to bolster her immune system. Lets be honest, when my kids are sick, I will do anything to help and not (knowingly) do more harm.
In the middle of one sleepless night, I did some reading on a site that promoted other ways of treating--- or not treating--- fever. There were opinions that directly condemned my understanding of fevers and seizures (together, not separately). There is nothing like being told you did and are doing everything wrong, especially when it means you have harmed your child. It hit me like a stab to the stomach. In my own medical-background mind, the information still didn't jive with my understanding of anatomy, physiology, and disease/treatment process. Let me assure you, I understand the body's way of dealing with disease and, for God's common grace in it, I am thankful. But the way the writer was speaking, I questioned whether or not he or she had ever seen a child have a febrile seizure. My biggest criticism of most of the information directed at the masses assumes a normal, healthy child. Most times, there is a caveat or exception--- and usually my children (and many times me as well!) fall in that category.
Talk about causing anxiety. Then, there was even more information linked to that particular site that added more anxieties in the illusions to systemic problems caused by environment, diet, laundry detergent, carpet chemicals, plastic toys, preservatives, ozone, etc. (do you get where I am going here?). All I have to say about that is "ya think?" I don't mean to be snarky. Still, there are no lions lying down with lambs here people. And, to quote one of my favorite singer/songwriters, no one is getting out of here alive (except for the ones who see Him coming--- and boy, I hope to be in that company).
I get it though. I want to feel well. I want the energy to care for my family. I want them to be healthy. I never want to see my little girl going through what she did last Saturday. But sometimes, wanting something is not enough. There may be a better way and there may not. I may do something that helps her and I may make a choice that ---God forbid--- does her harm. And knowing that produces all kinds of anxiety.
There are so many differing opinions all claiming to be the one that is right. What is right today will be disproven tomorrow. There is always another article to read with another expert opinion. I am bound to feel condemnation from one direction or another. Then there is the insinuation if my kids get sick ---or if I get sick--- that I am just not doing enough. Or willing to do the hard thing. Or another thing. Or this thing. Or that thing. That feeling is discouraging, completely exhausting, and isolating. I get tired of conducting science (or anti-science) experiments on my children. Am I the only one? (I know I am revealing something about myself here.) I am so glad that some things help some people, but we are all not the same. What should happen doesn't always happen. Many of the information-givers want to be helpful. Some are selling something. Some want support for the decisions they have made. I know I have been guilty of not listening for the sake of needing to speak out of my own experience.
My contributions to different brands of apothecary are substantial. I have never been more thankful for Tylenol suppositories, epinephrine, coconut oil, and Elderberry as I am right now. The one time in many that a child needed help for a fever, I was so thankful for an ER full of doctors and nurses who were absolutely all in to help. Aren't we so fortunate here with access to so much that is completely unavailable in other parts of the world. But the masses of information can be unhelpful and it is absolutely not our ultimate hope. I have to remind myself of this all the time. I am so thankful that God gives us stuff to help us in human weakness but so often I forget the Creator and in essence, begin to worship the created. God help me, I am the worst. I would do some pretty crazy stuff to avoid suffering. Everyone with built-in self-preservation can sympathize. Even Jesus sympathized. When faced with ultimate suffering, He asked that it be taken from Him.
This life is full of opportunities to pray and do the best I can, knowing I may not always know everything. You and I can sit down and talk about what we have learned and it may be a help and it may not. I will never be omnipotent or in control as much as I might like to be for you or for me. But I can sure speak to the One who is all knowing and ask for a deepening of faith to see that He ultimately sustains and will redeem. He is bigger than what is in my pantry, medicine cabinet, or skill set right now. His hand reaches out when I lose all sense of what I should do, confronted by my biggest fears, and gives a where-with-all that must be supernatural. He sure did last Saturday.
When I am convicted of unbelief or more specifically, hoping in information, medications, or other things, He is faithful and just to forgive me. All of confessions of anxieties are met with perfect trust and faithfulness at the cross. And when the results of the fall hit home, He hears my cries of anguish, cries with me (John 11:35), and answers my sufferings--- not by belittling --- but with a response that mirrors the depth of pain with the promise of redemption. Even that seems too good to be true sometimes when His choices aren't what I would like. In all things, I believe, help my unbelief. In a few weeks, when the flu season is almost over and Easter Lilies are in bloom, it will be good for me to remember the cost of a future hope.
~
One of the best speakers I have heard that addresses the anxiety brought about by social media is David Zahl. I would encourage you to listen to his thoughts here.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Andrew Turns 11
Andrew had quite the birthday this year. It was bigger boy initiation really. It is fun to party and all but sometimes there are some birthdays when all the hoopla is shrouded in real life. I guess it is fitting that at this age, he is just the right amount of boy and just the right amount of man. We have still not taken him for his requested birthday steak at his (second) favorite restaurant but we are waiting on wellness to do it.
What is Andrew up to these days, you may ask? He is tackling fractions, declining more Latin nouns and learning sentence translations, playing basketball, building unique and complicated Lego creations, reading loads of Calvin and Hobbes, unabashedly cheering for UK, and continuing to take us to task in staying on track. When I asked Andrew what he might want the world to know, age 11, he said, "Jesus is alive." Amen brother. Then, I asked what he might want the world to know about him, age 11. He replied, "I like being a leader. I have a lot of ideas. I have a lot of feelings, too, and I feel ok about that."
We feel ok about that too. We are thankful for another year and another birthday, whatever the circumstances, with Andrew.
 |
| Brother Photo Bomb |
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Life This Side
On January 12, our Andrew turned 11 years old. It feels like the first 10 years were the climb up the clinking hill part of his life and now we enter the free fall. Stay tuned for a post about him very soon.
On Christmas Eve, I awoke with Isaac staring at me from the side of my bed. He was pale and upset. One look, and I immediately thought of his asthma. I ran him downstairs and Micah prepared a breathing treatment. He has never looked this way without having some breathing difficulty so I assumed he was somehow struggling. His lungs sounded clear and I heard no wheezing. I began the treatment anyway. After a couple of minutes, his lips started turning blue--- and he complained that his tummy hurt. He was lethargic. Even the soles of his feet were pale. Clearly, asthma wasn't the culprit.
The ambulance arrived and assessed our boy. His vitals were OK overall but his demeanor was not improving. We decided it was best to have him looked over. On the way to the hospital I suggested to our EMS escort that maybe his blood sugar was low. Sure enough, it was indeed. He gave him glucose and when we arrived, he drank juice and returned to his normal, energetic self.
For some reason, on this particular morning, Isaac's blood sugar lagged well below normal. After a good visit with his Pediatrician, we are confident this was a one-time episode. Isaac had fallen asleep early the night before and had slept in that morning. His body should have regulated his blood sugar better, but this time, it didn't. This is definitely something we will be more mindful of for him in the future.
On another note, his "asthma" (although they are still hesitant to officially diagnose) seems to be under control. When he saw the doc, he had had a cold for over a week and an ear infection. Even given his upper respiratory ick, his lungs were completely clear. The doc was pleased at his progress. It was just last year that he got ill and ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. Praise God!
Not too much time passing and another child, another concern. This past Saturday, Eliana woke up with swollen, bloodshot eyes. She looked really sick--- and had been sharing Isaac's cold (sharing is good, right?--- not always). I took her to an urgent care center in the afternoon. She was diagnosed with a sinus infection and conjunctivitis. I brought her home and started medication. She also felt a little warm, so I gave her ibuprofen. She was very tired having missed her nap so she quickly fell asleep on the couch. She had been very still for about half an hour when she woke up abruptly. I remember saying out loud, "I think she is having a seizure". Some of the details are a blur. Somehow, Micah loaded all the kids up in the van, I gathered her in my arms, and we again headed to the ER. On the way there, she had two more seizures.
Those minutes have made an impression on my soul that will not be erased. They settle among others that have altered the fabric of my soul. Suffice it to say, I thought she was going to die in my arms. I was speaking aloud--- words to calm her, asking her to take breaths, trying to get the pulse oximeter to read something other than *panic*, prayers for God to intervene. I sang to her. The ride was so long. There was a person that had pulled out in front of Micah that surely thought he was just impatient and decide to go slowly to make a point. From now on, I will consider the hurried driver a bit more graciously--- you never know what may be going on that might make them move with more urgency.
We finally made it to the ER. I ran her inside and tried to say something that would give them the information they needed to help. We were seen by the doc in less than a minute. Her temperature was well over 104. The nurse gave her acetaminophen in suppository form. It helped very quickly. I fed her a popsicle. At some point, Micah and the other children came back to see her.
For a good while, she and I sat on the bed. The nurse brought her a sticker sheet with a winter scene complete with snowflakes (how appropriate). The doctor came back in the room and began going over information regarding febrile seizures. I heard about half of what she said.
The doc left and Eliana's nurse entered. I felt like I had been pummeled by a stream of relentless waves. The adrenaline subsiding, I felt sick to my stomach. I kept closing my eyes trying to reabsorb tears and act like I was somewhat succeeding in assimilating the information I had been given. The nurse stopped, put her arm around me, and gave me a safe space to cry. Since Eliana had stabilized, we went back home.
In the days afterward, she remained very sick. Her fever continued to spike, sometimes going from completely normal to almost 102 in just 10 minutes. With the seizure episodes, I have been very careful, watching her temperature. With her eyes swollen and a crazy shade of bright red we made two more trips to the doctor. He finally narrowed down her diagnosis. Sinusitis was not the whole story.
There were groups of symptoms that would move us toward a more clear diagnosis. He began looking for signs of Kawasaki Disease and a type of Adenovirus, giving me instruction on how to differentiate between the two. One is more rare and threatening than the other. It has been frightening for her to have been so sick without knowing exactly what we are treating, whether what I have been doing was helpful, and if she is in real danger or simply following the course of a virus. After watching her all week, it seems as though she has had an Adenovirus. After days and days of high fevers, she is getting better. Her eyes are less red and swollen. She still isn't at her best, but she is definitely better than she was.
 |
| Fever Finally Broken |
Today, I have learned a little more about Isaac and Eliana. I have also learned about Andrew, Elijah, and Isabella in the ways they have responded to their siblings. I know a little more of the ills of life. But ultimately, I know that I may not always know. There are mysteries here that will also be my companions. There are best guesses and at a given moment, they may be wrong and may be right. It makes me uncomfortable, sometimes to the point of discouragement. I don't like it, especially when it comes to my little ones.
In the moments where the veil is thin between this world and the next, the only thing that remains clear is that Hope still remains outside of us--- outside of our understanding--- outside of our frailties--- outside of our limitations--- and enters in to those spaces that threaten to undo us. I need the One who has conquered death to continue in life. True hope does not deny hard things but sees them as they are. Suffering is real. Sometimes it feels like it may consume. But of all that I am sure and more that I am not, it does not win. I say this with confidence because it absolutely does not depend on me. The ultimate suffering and the thing most feared is death. Jesus made the end of all things ---not death---but life--- where seizures and illness do not exist for those He loves "for we will be like Him, because we will see Him as He is." Since that day is not today, keep reminding me. I so often forget. I am completely serious. And I will keep reminding you.
Monday, December 29, 2014
A Prayer for 2015
It began with a real baby.
The set was simple with a few reminders of the setting. A door front and risers welcomed the drama while poinsettias adorned the perimeter. Perfumed air swirled through pews and carried along the anticipation of their occupants. The angel appeared. Teen Mary and Joseph arrived at the inn in costume aside a cute kid dressed as a donkey, trying to balance a large animal mask while situated on all fours. The audience chuckled. The old story was told again and familiar verses, both spoken and sung, fell soft among the candlelight. No room. Mary took her place, center stage at the heart of the nativity. It was the moment every note and word hinged upon.
From a back door, a baby appeared dressed in white, carried by a gal dressed as an angel, and was tenderly placed in the young Mary's arms.
I have been to many Christmas plays, pageants, and the like. I don't remember the last time I saw a real infant play the part of Baby Jesus. Usually it is a doll that may or may not get its head gently whacked on something en route to the manger or threaten to have its real identity exposed as the swaddling clothes partially slide away. It caught me off guard. The sight of the living, breathing little one brought tears to my eyes.
There is Christmas and there is Easter. Then, there were 33 years between. This past year, the part of Jesus' ministry that resonates with added weight is the ministry of His life. There was a day-to-day for him that speaks Hebrews 4:15 in a way that meets me in my day-to-day and year-to-year. I have a clear memory of hearing a favorite author of mine expound this truth highlighting His entire fulfillment of all the law--- law I have such difficulty obeying--- until His death and resurrection on my behalf (Matthew 5, Galatians). The implications of the connection of the God-Man walking this same earth yet without sin are continually astounding. And it isn't only his fulfillment of the law that comforts, but His sympathizing with my weaknesses--- weaknesses that show themselves in more and deeper ways every year that I live.
It is one thing to hear the theology of it and quite another to see the connection to flesh and blood. To know what it is to walk this earth from infancy to adulthood, in a land cursed and in a state of desperation. To experience the thinness of the veil between life and the life to come. To feel the weight of sin and its consequences. To marvel again at the incarnation and see the humanity.
I think as the new year comes, as my thoughts shift toward the months ahead, it would be tempting to consider me and what I want this year to be. Maybe the best hope for me is to consider all that He has done. It is true; The Word became flesh and dwelt among us for us. It is easy enough to focus on all that surrounds Him rather than focusing on Him.
It isn't a new or fancy prayer, but one I need to pray: Lord God, may I know more of You in 2015. Show Yourself to me that I may see You, looking back so that I may move forward in faith. Make known what You have done and give me anticipation of what You have yet to do. Amen.
The set was simple with a few reminders of the setting. A door front and risers welcomed the drama while poinsettias adorned the perimeter. Perfumed air swirled through pews and carried along the anticipation of their occupants. The angel appeared. Teen Mary and Joseph arrived at the inn in costume aside a cute kid dressed as a donkey, trying to balance a large animal mask while situated on all fours. The audience chuckled. The old story was told again and familiar verses, both spoken and sung, fell soft among the candlelight. No room. Mary took her place, center stage at the heart of the nativity. It was the moment every note and word hinged upon.
From a back door, a baby appeared dressed in white, carried by a gal dressed as an angel, and was tenderly placed in the young Mary's arms.
I have been to many Christmas plays, pageants, and the like. I don't remember the last time I saw a real infant play the part of Baby Jesus. Usually it is a doll that may or may not get its head gently whacked on something en route to the manger or threaten to have its real identity exposed as the swaddling clothes partially slide away. It caught me off guard. The sight of the living, breathing little one brought tears to my eyes.
There is Christmas and there is Easter. Then, there were 33 years between. This past year, the part of Jesus' ministry that resonates with added weight is the ministry of His life. There was a day-to-day for him that speaks Hebrews 4:15 in a way that meets me in my day-to-day and year-to-year. I have a clear memory of hearing a favorite author of mine expound this truth highlighting His entire fulfillment of all the law--- law I have such difficulty obeying--- until His death and resurrection on my behalf (Matthew 5, Galatians). The implications of the connection of the God-Man walking this same earth yet without sin are continually astounding. And it isn't only his fulfillment of the law that comforts, but His sympathizing with my weaknesses--- weaknesses that show themselves in more and deeper ways every year that I live.
It is one thing to hear the theology of it and quite another to see the connection to flesh and blood. To know what it is to walk this earth from infancy to adulthood, in a land cursed and in a state of desperation. To experience the thinness of the veil between life and the life to come. To feel the weight of sin and its consequences. To marvel again at the incarnation and see the humanity.
I think as the new year comes, as my thoughts shift toward the months ahead, it would be tempting to consider me and what I want this year to be. Maybe the best hope for me is to consider all that He has done. It is true; The Word became flesh and dwelt among us for us. It is easy enough to focus on all that surrounds Him rather than focusing on Him.
It isn't a new or fancy prayer, but one I need to pray: Lord God, may I know more of You in 2015. Show Yourself to me that I may see You, looking back so that I may move forward in faith. Make known what You have done and give me anticipation of what You have yet to do. Amen.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Piles of Grace
Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace might also reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. Romans 5:20-21
As children grow, the number of opportunities to parent in a gospel direction grows. (Duh, you say). It is a little more complicated than that. I guess what I mean is that as my children grow older, I move from giving straightforward, simple commands (like "Don't touch." or "Come here.") to giving directives where a whole counsel of rules take effect. I think of sending my older children outside to play with the admonishments to be respectful of our neighbors' property and show love to them in the process (just to name two). All past simple commands combine and problem solving takes place. The more the rules increase as well as imparted wisdom, the more the opportunity to mess something up, somewhere.
When major messing up occurs, that presents a big opportunity for me as a mom. I realized this the other day as I considered disobedience that carried with it other failures--- like lying and blaming others. The list of wrongs had piled against the child. I could tell that on this day, this particular child was feeling the crushing weight of the list of wrongs against him. The situation had moved from bad to much worse very quickly. Defenses mounted. Fear and shame were visible in his eyes and heard in his words.
Then there was my response. I must admit, many times, when failures and complications land at my feet in a heap, my frustrations pile with it. Instead of speaking life, I get bogged down by the consequences of actions. Even worse, I think of how this situation has affected me and breaks into my day. I get flustered and add my struggles to theirs. To up the ante even more, all the laws that have been written on my soul for 35 years accuse me all the more.
The worse the situation, the more opportunity for grace to be just what it is--- it is and should always be good news. It washes away all the eternal weight of our failures and even makes temporary consequences bearable. In contrast, its beauty is unmatched when held against our worst. We don't pile sins to see grace--- grace is seen most clearly because of our piles of sins.
So if the ultimate goal of parenting from a Romans worldview is to train children who never fail, then I fail. If we fail in order to see grace, then that is a problem. But failure is inevitable. As the law increases, the trespasses increase. But what happens when they fail? Or when I fail? That is a distinctive Christian question.
Our worst is precisely where the gospel operates. There is something bigger than training children to keep rules. Sure, I want them to stay safe and love their neighbors. I want them to be good citizens and maintain a reputation of a trustworthy person. I want them to not bear hard consequences in the horizontal plain of this earthly domain for bad choices. But the function of the rules that speaks the loudest is the demonstration of how they (and I) need a rule keeper. What a better time when they are experiencing mounting failures to move into, "God has loved you so much that He sent Jesus to do everything all right for you... in your place. You can repent, believe and move on." Even when the situation warrants a good grounding or time out, they will grow to know (by grace) they are safe to bear the consequences. My relationship and posture toward them has not changed nor has their relationship with God. I love them because they are mine. When I am able to speak good news into the situation the load lightens--- every time. When I don't, the gospel brings the good news to me.
Regardless of the failure or the success, our focus is out --- not in --- to the beauty of Jesus. Our sins are great, combined, and complicated, but the One who bore them is greater.
This is one way the gospel is relentless in taking hold of me these days.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)