Wish me luck.
Archives for 2011
Living Life: Practicality vs. Wisdom
June 14, 2011 by
There’s a certain thing that happens when you become a parent. It happens in different degrees and forms for everyone, but we all experience this phenomena:
We become practical.
It’s just natural for a certain amount of practicality to set in once that bundle of joy lands on your doorstep. Suddenly life takes on a whole new meaning. That money you used to spend on late night Sonic runs now gets applied to diapers or formula or a set of plastic keys for your little one to rattle. And you forget what it was like to dash out for a snack at 11:00 at night anyway because, you know, practically speaking it’s not wise to leave the baby home unattended.
Practicality.
Where life was once an adventure, now you have to think about jobs and income and houses and schools. You have to consider how your decisions will affect not only yourself or your spouse, but also your child or children.
Practicality.
Some people are very good at remaining spontaneous, even with children in tow. Have you heard about the family that is driving around the world, living nomadically, raising their children on the road? They’ve been on the road for 11 years, all four of their children born in a different country. I don’t desire that life, but I envy their courage. What they’re doing isn’t practical, but it’s pretty dang cool.
Or this family, whom Lee met recently on an airplane. After adopting a little girl from China, they felt a strong prompting from the Lord to return to their daughter’s birth country and open up an orphanage for special needs children. So they went. They packed up their three young children, sold all their possessions and went.
“What organization did you go with?” Lee asked.
“No one,” came the astonishing reply. “We just asked the Lord to provide and He has.” Through charitable donations, they have raised enough to build a five story building where they currently house 34 children with various special needs from cleft palates to cerebral palsey. And they’ve never asked for a cent.
That’s not practical. But it’s pretty dang spectacular.
I used to fancy myself a bit of an adventurer. I didn’t think twice about hopping on a plane as a 20 year old and exploring the former Soviet Union on my own. I didn’t flinch when I spent 36 hours on a train to Prague by myself, half the time trapped with a horny Iraqi German (I know…). I relished walking the streets of London by myself.
When Lee and I went to Europe last year, I once again found my adventurous roots. I loved not having a plan, living in the moment, exploring, living.
But I’ve felt trapped in practicality for awhile. This isn’t a bad thing, in some regards. Obviously parenthood requires a certain amount of practicality. We have to provide for our children. We have to give them stability and they do need a certain amount of material possessions to feel secure. Of course, our Western world children (as I’m sure yours as well) have far more than they need for security and stability, but as a parent I want to give them good things. Just as I know the Lord wants to give me good things.
But I’m a little tired of feeling held back by practicality. Because there’s a very fine line between practicality and fear. And I think that sometimes?
I blur that line.
I’m not going to act on passion because I tell myself it wouldn’t be practical for my family. But really, I’m just too scared to try it. I’m not going to follow a dream because it would be terribly impractical to do so. ‘Fraidy Cat! As a couple, Lee and I always talk about all the cool things that we’d like to do with the kids and expose them to, but most of them seem too lofty and impractical to really pursue.
We’re scared.
What will people think? What if it takes us out of our comfort zone? What if we fail? What if it requires us to leave all that we know? Where is the practicality in that?
Here’s the thing: I don’t think God calls us to be practical. I think He calls us to be wise. We are not to live in fear. “Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you for I am your God.” Isaiah 41:10. We are called to wisdom, not practicality. Men are called to provide for their families, and that will look differently for everyone. For some, that means a stable job in a good home where they can minister to, and meet the needs of, those in their local community. For others still, that means selling all you have and leaving.
One of those scenarios is practical, one is not. But for the two men who are guiding and leading their families according to God’s calling placed in their hearts – both are wise.
Does that make sense?
So Lee and I together are working on, and learning, to let go of the shackles of practicality.
Walk in faith.
Live in wisdom.
Cry out to Jesus.
Do not be afraid.
That last one’s a doozy.
When Daddy Explains
June 12, 2011 by
I was on the phone last week, pacing the driveway. It was a beautiful day and the kids were all napping or resting. I just needed some air. As I spoke with my friend, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see Sloan marching by with a twelve foot ladder tucked snuggly under his arm. He didn’t even glance my way as he walked past, his face cool and nonchalant. As if carrying around a ladder was normal.
I swear, if that kid had a stuffed tiger I would be living with Calvin and Hobbes.
“Um…I think I should probably hang up,” I said to my friend as Sloan set the ladder down next to the corner of the house and popped it open. He looked up at the roof, his hand shading his eyes slightly. I managed to reach him just as he stepped on the third rung, the ladder wobbling precariously on the slanted driveway.
“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, grabbing hold of the base of the ladder.
“Oh, hey Mom,” Sloan said, still playing cool. “I’m checking out the bird’s nest up here.”
I looked up and sure enough, there was a nest just underneath the roof.
“Can I?” he asked, looking down at me with his penetrating blue eyes. Then he grinned. Stinker.
“Yes,” I replied. “Be careful.”
So up he climbed to the top rung and he peered over the side of the nest.
“There’s a baby bird in there!” he screeched. Seriously screeched. My ears are still ringing. “It’s so cute! Aw, Mom come see the baby bird!”
So we switched places and I climbed the ladder with him holding it steady. Inside the nest was a tiny, newly hatched baby, it’s beak pointed upward, waiting for nourishment.
“Can I see it again?” Sloan yelled, shaking the ladder for effect. Nice.
He climbed back up and looked in again. “This is so freakin’ cool!” he yelled again. To which I reminded him that I was only a few feet below and he didn’t need to scream. Then he reached for the bird.
“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned. “If the Mama bird comes back and smells you on her baby, she’ll leave him and he’ll die.”
With one last look and a wave, we pulled the ladder back down and headed on with our day.
Fast forward to this afternoon when we’re driving home from church. Sloan pipes up from the backseat. “Hey Mom. I don’t care if it dies, so when we get home can I get the ladder out and pick up the baby bird and keep it? I’ll get it worms and I’ll take care of it. Can I raise the baby bird?”
“No,” I said. “It’s Mama would be sad. And we really don’t know how to raise a baby bird. It’s better if we leave it alone.”
“But I can take good care of it,” came the anticipated protest.
“Hey Buddy,” Lee said, glancing into the mirror. “You don’t need to try and raise that baby bird.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Lee said, and he paused. “It would be like a bear coming to our house and seeing you and saying ‘I want to take that little boy home and raise him.’ Bears don’t know how to raise little boys. That bear wouldn’t know how to feed you – he’d probably just give you raw meat or raw fish, like he eats. And if he tried to hug you or give you a kiss, he’d probably claw you to death or bite off your nose with his sharp teeth. Bear’s aren’t meant to take care of little boys just like little boys aren’t meant to take care of baby birds.”
This is the part where I begin clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard.
“And bee’s should take care of bee’s, wight?” Tia chimes in.
“Right,” Lee replies. “Bears take care of bears, bee’s take care of bee’s, bird’s take care of bird’s–”
“And people take care of people!” Sloan interrupts.
“That’s right!” Lee pumps his fist in the air. “Homosapiens take care of Homosapiens.”
And THAT, folks, is what happens when Daddy decides to explain.
The End.
Good Morning to You
June 10, 2011 by
He crawled up in bed next to me and laid his head on my pillow. I rolled over, caught in that fuzzy state between dreams and reality. His soft cheek pressed up against mine, satiny skin dotted with freckles.
I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him close, breathing in deep the smell of little boy. Summer is in his hair – dirt, sunscreen and sweat. My eyes have yet to open but I feel his eyes on me, his breath smelling of apple juice. I squeeze him close and I hear his mouth stretch into a smile. His tiny little arm wraps around me and he returns the early morning squeeze.
Pure bliss.
“Good morning, buddy,” I say, finally forcing my heavy lids to part. He looks up at me with wide, crystal blue eyes and his tiny little bow tie mouth leans in for a kiss. It’s delicious and precious.
“I’m glad to see you,” I whisper in his ear. “How are you this morning?”
There is a quiet pause as his warm little body snuggles close to mine. Then he giggles – magic.
“I jus’ fawted.”
*sigh*
So how was your morning?
The one where I can’t move my neck
June 9, 2011 by
I never fancied myself much of a worrier. In general I don’t get too worked up over things. I may have a brief moment or so, when worry starts to overtake me, but I don’t usually dwell on it and, therefore, haven’t had to suffer many side effects of worrying.
Until recently, when cicadas began falling from the sky in droves and we got a contract on our house.
This process of moving out of our house has proven to be more stressful than I thought. I didn’t realize I was stressing out about it until the last few days when my stomach tied itself in a knot and my head began to pound. Yesterday, my neck began tightening up. I believe it happened sometime during my conversation with a storage facility. We are beyond blessed to have been able to sell our house for almost what we asked for it. But…
We don’t have another house to go to as of now. So we’re storing our stuff and staying at my parents apartment until we figured some things out. Another huge blessing! So I don’t know why my body is shutting down on me. My brain is fried, my neck literally will not turn and despite being wickedly tired I cannot sleep as I think of all the things I need to do during this rather bumpy transition.
What do we do with the dog?
What do I do about the mail?
You mean we need a new furnace?
How much will it cost to move twice?
Where do we store the piano?
You mean we need a new roof?
On top of those questions, I am also beginning to mourn leaving this house. I am a sap – a sentimental, emotional sap. Those who know me well know that, while I love a good adventure, change has never been my strong suit. This house is our first house. It’s the place we brought all our babies home to. It’s where first steps, first words and a mountain of other firsts occurred.
It’s home.
This neighborhood is wonderful. There are kids galore, all of whom are my children’s ages. I think of the little girl next door who taps on our back door every day to play. Sometimes (or a lot of times) it annoyed me, but she and Tia are the exact same age and I’m sad that they will no longer have each other as instant playmates.
I’m just kind of sad. And stressed out.
I know that this too shall pass. This flux of not knowing what comes next will be short lived. I’m not worried about the future. I know we’ll find a new house to make memories in and a new neighborhood with friends to meet. But it’s the interim that has, apparently, seized the muscles in my neck and chosen not to let go.
So on we go, marching forward to June 30 when we will say goodbye to the place where we became a family of five. What does God have next? We simply don’t know. I hope, for my sake, His plan includes some muscle relaxers and a massage…
And now, random pictures that have nothing to do with this post, but I just got some great shots yesterday and want to post them.
My Montreal Post
June 6, 2011 by
What if you and your kids could all enjoy movie night together?
It’s a scene that is familiar to all moms. You sit down on the couch with your young ones, excited to enjoy a little downtime together. You flip on the TV and begin channel surfing, looking for the perfect program to all enjoy together. Given the night, you can flip through all 562 channels and not find a single appropriate program.
Because, let’s face it, we can only watch America’s Funniest Home Videos so much before our brains start to melt. Am I right?
If, on the off chance, you happen to catch an evening where there are one or two reasonable shows on for your young children, you will likely find yourself scrambling for the remote at some point during the commercial while screeching at your bewildered children to close their eyes. Whether it be an advertisement for a scary movie or a Hardees commercial, little is safe on TV these days.
That’s why I’m happy thrilled to announce a new movie coming out August 6 as part of Walmart and P&G’s series of family friendly movies.
Want to read more and see my interview with Christine Baransky? Head over to 5 Minutes for Mom and check it out!
One more year
June 6, 2011 by
I am officially one more year older as of Saturday. I am 29.
Stop laughing.
I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.
When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior. One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was. “23,” he replied. And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.
One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us. They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be. It was my birthday. “How old are you today?” they asked.
“23,” I replied. And they laughed. “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.
“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.
Shortly thereafter I began having children. And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up. Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.
Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age. When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two. It’s a look of pity and wonderment. Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.
So I stopped there. Mentally, anyway. The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties. I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.
And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age. Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”
And h@#^ no I’m not. I’m nowhere near the 4-number. I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.
Stop laughing.
Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative. Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old. I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud. But whatever. The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?
But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway. Moving on…
So the number may not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:
I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.
I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles. But just a few!
Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist. Deal?
Stop. Laughing!
Childhood
June 1, 2011 by
I am going to post some pictures, but before I do, I feel compelled to offer this warning:
The photos you are about to view contain images of extreme cuteness. View with caution, particularly if you are sensitive to happiness, small children and unabashed joy. These images should not be viewed by the faint of heart or anyone with an aversion to the following items: babies, puppies, rainbows, sunshine or happiness as they will not be emotionally equipped to handle the cute. If you suffer from hard heartedness, view with caution and with full awareness that you may be forced to smile. Proceed carefully and it is advisable to let out a hearty “Aaaawww” while viewing to prevent your heart from exploding.
Phew. Now that I got that disclaimer out of the way, you’re free to look. Does anything scream childhood more than this? Tell me. Anything at all?
Aaaaaawwww…
The packing fairies failed me
June 1, 2011 by
I am putting out an SOS. This is my Bat Signal, the rocks in the sand spelling H-E-L-P. I need you webernets! I am here on my knees…grovelling.
Our house has a contract on it. We’re waiting on inspection reports and will likely have a bit of negotiating to do, so it could all fall apart still, but in all likelihood our house is going to sell and we will need to be out June 30. That’s 30 days from now. Which means one very important thing:
I need to start packing.
I bought boxes last weekend to do just that. See?
I brought the boxes home – 11 small boxes, 7 medium boxes and 4 large boxes – and I excitedly set them in the kitchen, prepared to begin filling them with all our life’s treasures. Then I stepped back and looked around and my throat closed. I sat down in a kitchen chair and stared at the boxes.
A half hour later, Lee walked by. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged.
“Are you going to do something?” he asked, ever so gently.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my eyes glassed over. “Maybe I’ll start with the closets. I can at least pack up the winter stuff.”
So I carried four boxes to my bedroom and leaned them against the wall…where they still sit.
I don’t know where to start, folks. I just don’t even know where to start. I can pack up winter clothes, but that means going through the closets, which look like this:
Clearly, going through the closets is no small task. They are filled with clothes, many of which should probably be weeded out and donated. And I’m just not sure where or how to start. So I asked the packing fairies to come out at night and magically fille my boxes in an organized and efficient manner.
They haven’t responded.
It was suggested that I try packing up things I don’t use, like my fine china. That’s a much less overwhelming room to pack because there’s not much in it and I won’t be giving anything away. I just need to pack it.
But I’m nervous, because that stuff is highly breakable and fragile and I don’t know how to pack it in a way that doesn’t destroy it. I’m scouring the internet for special boxes and I know I should get packing paper and newspaper. I do have bubble wrap and a nifty tape gun, so I have the tools.
I just don’t know what to do with them.
I have moved before, incidentally. But that was back when we were first married and we lived in a little apartment and had17 possessions to our name. Packing a house?
I need a drink. A stiff one. And I really need those dang fairies to do their jobs.
So do you have any advice for me, internets? Where do I begin? And please, someone tell me how I’m supposed to do any of this with three rug rats under my feet!
Compassion Bloggers in Philippines
May 31, 2011 by
A few years ago I started reading about a ministry called Compassion International. And I dismissed it.
I had seen the ads on television for child sponsorship programs before. You know, the ones with a tearful celebrity begging you to give up one cup of coffee every day so a child could eat. Not that I don’t think those programs are wonderful, but I was just desensitized to the weepy pitch. So when blog post after blog post began popping up about Compassion, my first reaction was to ignore them.
I hate jumping on bandwagons and this seemed like an online Christian bandwagon. I’m revealing a bit of evidence of my sad, stubborn little heart to you all today…
After the Compassion bloggers went to India, though, I began to take notice of this organization a little more. I was impressed by several things -first, Compassion is serious about meeting the needs of children. Sponsorship money goes to the child and is used honestly and wisely and lovingly to make sure that children living in poverty are given hope for the future.
Second, the hearts behind those involved with Compassion are so humble, tender and filled with love. Compassion has a purpose to “release children from poverty in Jesus’ name.” They take this purpose seriously and it really made an impression on me.
Finally, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how well this ministry utilized social media for the greater good of humanity. I’m not sure you’ll find another organization that is better utilizing social media tools like Twitter, Facebook and blogging to bring hope, healing, faith and love to the most remote areas of the world. I’m seriously amazed by what they do.
So, I finally got over my silly pride and we sponsored a child from the Philippines named Jonri, and what a blessing it has been. The kids LOVE to get letters from Jonri and to draw pictures in return. Admittedly we have not done a good job of consistently writing him and we are working on communicating with him more. But it has blessed our family to know that Jonri is being loved and cared for and he is definately prayed for.
This week, Compassion has another group of lovely bloggers touring none other than the Philippines and the stories coming out of the country are beautiful and moving. You will be blessed to follow their journey. And if you feel led to sponsor a child, you can rest assured your money is not squandered or wasted. It is well spent and you will be impacting a child’s life forever.
That’s a bandwagon that’s totally worth jumping on, in my opinion.
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