Eyes rolling, Seth sets me straight. "That's not cheese, Mommy, it's a SpongeBob. Rainy said so."
Friday, February 11, 2011
A recent controversy
I was coerced into watching a bit of Tom and Jerry with the kids the other day. So as I sat there I made a comment, "Look Eldie, Jerry is hiding in the cheese!"
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Working hard to be cute
If I am cute enough this morning, mommy might forget that I was such a stinker last night.
Is it working mom?Tuesday, February 8, 2011
This is how we know
This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. 1 John 3:16
Inner contortions not necessary!
Listen here
It is less than a minute long, and you will be encouraged.
Inner contortions not necessary!
Listen here
It is less than a minute long, and you will be encouraged.
Oh, the cleverness of Marcus!
Marcus waited in the bathroom for me to come give him a talking-to. When I walked in he said humbly, "Mommy, I already spanked me!"
"When I grow up I want to be a worker man. And when this [hammer] grows up it can be my new hammer."
After an exuberant Marcus roar, I touch his arm and say sternly, "Marcus, be quiet! Peter is sleeping right there on the couch!"
Marcus runs over to Peter and pries open his eyelids, yelling, "Look mommy he's not sleeping now!"
As we are getting ready for church I see a naked Marcus streak down the hallway for the third time. "I told you to get dressed, did you obey?"
Standing in front of me without a stitch of clothing on his little body, sticking his stomach out proudly, naked Marcus looks me right in the eye and says "Yes I obeyed! I am dressed!"
Thinking back, I wonder if he would have carried on with his lie when I told him it was time to go to church... Maybe I should try that next time. (You have been warned.)
As I am helping him with his PJ shirt, I say, "Marcus please pick up your dirty clothes and put them where they belong." He replies, "Mommy, you got them out, you get to put them away."
This morning,
"Marcus! Is it kind to pee on your brother in the bathtub?!"
Eyes dancing, huge smile, Marcus says, "No!"
Lord have mercy!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Budding friendship
We sit together.
We bounce together.
We sulk together.
(Eldon was the one in trouble. I guess Enola thought he needed some company! )
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Weak and Loved Part 1
Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist
When I worked at the crisis pregnancy center, I was in charge of interviewing volunteers. One of the questions that was on the application was, "What are your faults?"
By far the most common answer, and likely the one I said as well, was something like this:
"I am a workaholic... and a bit of a perfectionist."
Yes, I was at home among those high-achieving do-gooders in my college community. I shared that "fault" of doing too much and expecting too much of myself.
I might have really believed that perfectionism was a problem (if not exactly a fault,) in part, because it made me weirdly different from many other people, because my inability to relax was annoying to calmer (lazier) people, and because I knew sometimes I took my "to-do" list a little too seriously.
A quirk, an irritation to some, but also a mark of strength, I secretly believed. It is good to be dependable, hard-working, and extremely motivated. It is good to be a person who can take care of herself and everyone around her. Right?
Of course it is good to be the caregiver... that is, if you actually have care to give.
What happens when you find yourself empty?
What happens when you find yourself at the mercy of sickness, or depression, or suffering, and you realize that you are made of flesh? When you discover, to your dismay, that you are not a machine?
Weakness.
Ok and understandable in other people, but not in me!
And yet, there it is, in me, and my own willpower does not make it go away.
But I find God is teaching me many things through weakness, things I cannot hear when I plow through life like a machine.
He is a God who cares for the weak.
Even when I am weak, I am loved.
And perhaps, that is more important than what I get done today.
When I worked at the crisis pregnancy center, I was in charge of interviewing volunteers. One of the questions that was on the application was, "What are your faults?"
By far the most common answer, and likely the one I said as well, was something like this:
"I am a workaholic... and a bit of a perfectionist."
Yes, I was at home among those high-achieving do-gooders in my college community. I shared that "fault" of doing too much and expecting too much of myself.
I might have really believed that perfectionism was a problem (if not exactly a fault,) in part, because it made me weirdly different from many other people, because my inability to relax was annoying to calmer (lazier) people, and because I knew sometimes I took my "to-do" list a little too seriously.
A quirk, an irritation to some, but also a mark of strength, I secretly believed. It is good to be dependable, hard-working, and extremely motivated. It is good to be a person who can take care of herself and everyone around her. Right?
Of course it is good to be the caregiver... that is, if you actually have care to give.
What happens when you find yourself empty?
What happens when you find yourself at the mercy of sickness, or depression, or suffering, and you realize that you are made of flesh? When you discover, to your dismay, that you are not a machine?
Weakness.
Ok and understandable in other people, but not in me!
And yet, there it is, in me, and my own willpower does not make it go away.
But I find God is teaching me many things through weakness, things I cannot hear when I plow through life like a machine.
He is a God who cares for the weak.
Even when I am weak, I am loved.
And perhaps, that is more important than what I get done today.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Relaxation and snuggles
We had a fantastic time in Florida! I think little Petie really is the easiest baby we have ever had.
He was great in the car, great by the poolside, great relaxing in the hotel, great going for walks, and of course great getting attention from his mommy and daddy!
Here he is working on his tan!
Not really of course.
He was just waiting for me to take his picture before I brought him in the pool.
Swimming turns out to be yet another thing he loves!
Little Petie, passed out on his daddy's shoulder.
This is what happens when you spend a day relaxing in the sun
only to go back to the room to relax some more.
In fact, I fell asleep on this man's shoulder a couple times myself.
Ah, I love vacation.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Get well soon
"Mommy! The pukes are coming!"
My son runs towards me yelling these words. Towards me, and away from the bathroom.
Few words get me moving so quickly as these. Immediately I switch from relaxing on the couch mode to super-ultra multi-tasking mode. I leap towards my son, scoop him up in my arms, and begin my lecture, "Honey! If you have to throw up---" toilet seat up, kid in position, "go to the bathroom first, don't---" Lysol, paper towels, "come running to me first--- Oh, honey." The lecture is silenced by compassion. The child looks up at me in between heaves. His world has utterly changed. He has come face to face with pure evil, and its name is "stomach flu."
One by one, the six children succumbed to stomach flu last month. Each one insisted that mommy be present and involved when the heaving was happening. So there I stood, time and again, next to the toilet, rubbing backs and murmuring words of compassion.
I hate sick eyes. Sad, sick eyes looking up at me, begging me to make it stop, or at the very least to explain why it is happening. I could do neither, so I sighed, prayed, and rubbed backs. My ineffective, weak hand could not stop the violence that attacked my babies' small bodies. I gently encouraged,, patted, and assured the little ones that it would be over soon.
What was the point of that, really? Why in the world was it necessary for me to be there with them every time? Why did they want to hear those words that I could not fulfill, those mere wishes that they would get better soon? Why was it necessary for me to crawl from underneath my warm covers, stand with them through the heaving and the crying, and maintain some sort of hopeful and comforting attitude through it all? Why did they want my powerless hands to comfort them when they could not take away the sickness? Yet they insisted on it, adamantly, making clear that messy consequences would follow if I even hesitated for a moment.
It made me think of another situation I hate even more than I hate stomach flu: when evil, the kind worse than stomach flu, attacks me or people I know. I hate when I know of someone facing an enormous trial that I can do nothing about. I hate when my heart breaks with theirs, and when I feel so utterly powerless to do anything about it. I hate the helplessness so much that sometimes I am tempted to say nothing, do nothing, and ignore it if I can; to stay under my warm covers and simply comfort myself with denial.
I remember when Aggie's brain tumor was making her terribly sick and nobody knew what was going to happen. I hated being the person that reminded everyone of this huge, sad thing, the family that was suffering so much that anyone who knew about it couldn't help but wonder, "Where is God and why isn't He helping?"
Yet I also remember being comforted. I remember those who allowed their own hearts to be pierced as they shared the burden with us. Those who let themselves love Aggie, and us, even though it hurt. Those who were there with a meal or a hug or an offer of help. Those who dared speak a word of encouragement. I remember, through those seemingly small things, I was comforted.
I was comforted because what was given to me was not simply a cheerful pep-talk or unfounded optimism. I was encouraged by those actions that reminded me of Him, by the words of encouragement that were echoes of the Truth of God's love for us in Christ. It is all too easy to forget the love God has shown us in Jesus, the peace and forgiveness and grace we have in Him, when we are suffering. God knows this about us, and in His mercy, He sends people into our lives during times of suffering to remind us of these things.
Mere words cannot take away the sadness of this life. They cannot turn heavy boulders into feathers, they cannot make the sun shine in the pit of hell. But God can do all of these things! In Christ we have a hope that will not put us to shame; even if the worst should happen, our God will be victorious, and we will be OK.
Because we are in Christ, we can join with those who are facing hardship that we cannot relieve. We join with them by bringing them in prayer to God, and bringing the encouragement we receive from God back to them. We can take the hands that tremble into our own, and look together to the God that steadies them both.
Even though we suffer, we are not forsaken. God is with us, and because of Christ, we will get well soon.
My son runs towards me yelling these words. Towards me, and away from the bathroom.
Few words get me moving so quickly as these. Immediately I switch from relaxing on the couch mode to super-ultra multi-tasking mode. I leap towards my son, scoop him up in my arms, and begin my lecture, "Honey! If you have to throw up---" toilet seat up, kid in position, "go to the bathroom first, don't---" Lysol, paper towels, "come running to me first--- Oh, honey." The lecture is silenced by compassion. The child looks up at me in between heaves. His world has utterly changed. He has come face to face with pure evil, and its name is "stomach flu."
One by one, the six children succumbed to stomach flu last month. Each one insisted that mommy be present and involved when the heaving was happening. So there I stood, time and again, next to the toilet, rubbing backs and murmuring words of compassion.
I hate sick eyes. Sad, sick eyes looking up at me, begging me to make it stop, or at the very least to explain why it is happening. I could do neither, so I sighed, prayed, and rubbed backs. My ineffective, weak hand could not stop the violence that attacked my babies' small bodies. I gently encouraged,, patted, and assured the little ones that it would be over soon.
What was the point of that, really? Why in the world was it necessary for me to be there with them every time? Why did they want to hear those words that I could not fulfill, those mere wishes that they would get better soon? Why was it necessary for me to crawl from underneath my warm covers, stand with them through the heaving and the crying, and maintain some sort of hopeful and comforting attitude through it all? Why did they want my powerless hands to comfort them when they could not take away the sickness? Yet they insisted on it, adamantly, making clear that messy consequences would follow if I even hesitated for a moment.
It made me think of another situation I hate even more than I hate stomach flu: when evil, the kind worse than stomach flu, attacks me or people I know. I hate when I know of someone facing an enormous trial that I can do nothing about. I hate when my heart breaks with theirs, and when I feel so utterly powerless to do anything about it. I hate the helplessness so much that sometimes I am tempted to say nothing, do nothing, and ignore it if I can; to stay under my warm covers and simply comfort myself with denial.
I remember when Aggie's brain tumor was making her terribly sick and nobody knew what was going to happen. I hated being the person that reminded everyone of this huge, sad thing, the family that was suffering so much that anyone who knew about it couldn't help but wonder, "Where is God and why isn't He helping?"
Yet I also remember being comforted. I remember those who allowed their own hearts to be pierced as they shared the burden with us. Those who let themselves love Aggie, and us, even though it hurt. Those who were there with a meal or a hug or an offer of help. Those who dared speak a word of encouragement. I remember, through those seemingly small things, I was comforted.
I was comforted because what was given to me was not simply a cheerful pep-talk or unfounded optimism. I was encouraged by those actions that reminded me of Him, by the words of encouragement that were echoes of the Truth of God's love for us in Christ. It is all too easy to forget the love God has shown us in Jesus, the peace and forgiveness and grace we have in Him, when we are suffering. God knows this about us, and in His mercy, He sends people into our lives during times of suffering to remind us of these things.
Mere words cannot take away the sadness of this life. They cannot turn heavy boulders into feathers, they cannot make the sun shine in the pit of hell. But God can do all of these things! In Christ we have a hope that will not put us to shame; even if the worst should happen, our God will be victorious, and we will be OK.
Because we are in Christ, we can join with those who are facing hardship that we cannot relieve. We join with them by bringing them in prayer to God, and bringing the encouragement we receive from God back to them. We can take the hands that tremble into our own, and look together to the God that steadies them both.
Even though we suffer, we are not forsaken. God is with us, and because of Christ, we will get well soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)