Living in Bethel

I'm a slow learner.  But, learning, I am.  After a near Three Mile Island red alert last week that nearly put  me into nuclear exploding (or imploding) mode, I knew something had.to.change.  And so I did. 

I sat down. 

And played. 

I mean really played. I played like I had nothing else to do. I played like it was1999.  No dishes, laundry, errands, emails, raking, dusting, ironing, bed-making. Nope. Nothing. Ignore the mess. I heard it said once that, "Trying to keep your house clean with little kids is like brushing your teeth while eating an Oreo."  So true. 

So, I just sat down and played and tried to breathe in the moment.  Even if it was only for a moment.

The curl of his eyelashes.  The plopping in my lap.  The sweet smell of baby shampoo.  The crashing and banging.  The cries for kisses and justice.  

It was as if time paused. Just for a moment. Air thick with holiness. Even in the ordinary. 

The gift of presence. 

Given to them.

But really, a gift to me.

For as we built these blocks into hospitals and skyscrapers, roads and houses, I realized that this was not child's play at all. 

This was my pillar.  

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the LORD is in this place--and I did not know it!"  And he was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.' 

So Jacob took a stone and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it and called the place, 'Bethel'--the House of God.   

Genesis 28:16-18

Layer upon layer

In the dark we rocked back and forth.

Silent love pouring from my heart to his.

"I love you, I love, you, I love you," my heart sang.  

"Know my love for you, may you always know my love for you."  

The only thing separating our hearts was my skin to his:

T-shirt, 

sweatshirt, 

Colts' jersey, 

and soccer jersey.  

Yes, four layers.  To go to bed.  It is our version of the toddler sleep sack. Connor is into a stage now where he just likes putting on clothes and doesn't like taking them off.  Whatever works.  He sleeps better warmer than colder anyways.  

But as I rocked him with my love outpouring for him, heart penetrating through a blanket of clothing, it gave me pause to consider my own "layers."  What do I "wear" or "put on" that shields me from receiving Holy love?  Out of fear?  Out of control?  Out of pride?  

What mutes me from hearing God's own heartbeat?

Relentless and pure. 

Constant and deep.  

As a mother's love for her chid. 

The more layers I place trying to keep myself warm, the more distant the Heartbeat sounds, the more frozen my own heart becomes.

But ironically, the best way to fight hypothermia is not to put layer upon layer, 

but to go skin to skin. 

Gratitude Manifesto

Oh my.  It was one of those.  Another one of those days.  But it started off so, so good.  It really did.  The intentions were good.  So good.  After reading the 10 Point Manifesto of Joyful Parenting I was inspired.  So inspired.  Today would be the day.  I will succeed.

I will be more patient, 

I will be more understanding, 

I will fill my home with laughter,

I will,

I will,

I will...

So what happened?  

The grocery store. 

(Which could use a name makeover from Giant to...
Giant Pain In the Derriere.) 

It gets me every time.  Every single time.  

We start off amazing--hopes are high, spirits are up, giggles and smiles abound.  I even went above and beyond by making sure the kids were well watered and snacked and we spent some time together making our grocery list, each boy with pen and marker in hand scribbling down what was needed.  I was ready, prepared, focused.  

And we made it.  

Almost.  

But then, there was a line.  

In the checkout isle.  

Of course.  

The lull gave just enough time for the monkeys to climb out of the germ-filled car's window to reach the forbidden fruit lining the isle.  M&M's?  Tic-Tacs?  Gum?  Oprah? (Just kidding, the last one was for me...)

I think it is a conspiracy.  It is the only plausible explanation.  It is a conspiracy against a mother's last frayed nerve.  But we made it through, despite many a stern look and word about expectations and appropriate behavior.  

But,  I was spent.  Completely and thoroughly.  Couple that with a toddler that refused to nap, a stack of laundry and dishes to do, clogged toilet, a constant request nagging for candy every other nanosecond...slightly put me over the edge.  

"Manifesto, oh Manifesto...where for art thou Manifesto?"

From the highest highs to the lowest lows.  That really is the parenting journey.  Attitude altitude that can change by the day, hour, minute, or second.   Snuggling with books (to fighting over who gets to sit on my lap), full-body giggles (to full-body wrestles), bear hugs and sloppy kisses (to runaways and snot), all in an amazingly short amount of time.  

This is the parenting journey.  A journey of the deepest love.  Full of the difficult and the joy.  

Joy. 

A good reminder.  

Joy is one of those amazing gifts that lies subtly constant throughout the ebbs and flows of life.  It is an attitude that despite the circumstance has the power to transcend and transform one's own attitude and perspective.  

God, grant me more joy.  

But you know what? 

I think at the heart of joy, is gratitude.  

Gratitude for what is.  For what's been given, despite the circumstance.  

I have two healthy boys who have kind hearts, smart minds, loving spirits, boundless creativity, self-confidence, a sensational sense of humor, and pure zest for life. 

I have much to be thankful for. 

I am one lucky Mama to be blessed with these treasures.  

So maybe, God, grant me more gratitude.  

You have given me so much.

Come rain or shine, sickness or health, manners or whines, hungry or full, may I radiate joy for truly, 

I.am.blessed.

I have people to love. 

Giving thanks

In this season of giving thanks, my heart just about melted all over the floor tonight at supper.

We sat down together and Shawn led us off on our blessing--a song that we frequently sing, "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow."  The boys are usually very good about joining in, but from the first note, Connor piped up, "I do, I do!"  And it continued with increasing intensity through the entire song.

"I do!  I do!"
"I do! I do!"
"I do! I do!"

After we sang the final, "AMEN," we asked Connor what he wanted.  He folded his hands, closed his eyes and said,

"Dank yu, God."

So innocent, real, and present.  A true prayer from the heart.  Because sometimes, really, that's all that needs to be said.

"Thank you, God."

There are no other words needed. No fluffy verbose, nor long-winded eloquence.  For words cannot express all that God has been, is, and will continue to be.  Giving thanks seems to be the only adequate response.

Connor, you reminded me of a very important lesson today.

...and a little child will lead them.

Bread for the Journey

What in the world am I doing?


Have you ever asked yourself that question, as a parent?  I'm not talking the superficial question of running around and walking into the same room a gazillion times having no more clue to what you are looking for than the last time.  (Baby brain, is what I call it.)


I mean in the deep, raw, keeping-you-up at night way.  What in the world am I doing?  Parenting is such.hard.work. It makes me feel as though my head is being twisted and turned in a million directions and all of the competencies that I have (or thought I had) are shattered. Talk about a reality check.  What in the world am I doing?  How in the world did I ever think I could raise a human being?

And sometimes, if I am honest, really really honest, I answer, "I...don't...know..."  Thinking like this makes it nearly impossible to get out of bed.  To think of all the things that are waiting to fill the day. The dishes.  The laundry. The wrangling.  The feeding.  The modeling.  The teaching. The cleaning.  The diapers.  The diapers.  The diapers.  Do I really have what it takes to do this? Again? And again?  And again?  What in the world am I doing?  "I...don't...know..."


But then I hear it.


"Mama."


I arise at this sound and go to the One calling my name.  And as I reach down to pick him up from his crib, nuzzling him close whispering, "I love you," I understand.


Jesus asked Peter, the disciple who was lost, disheartened, overwhelmed, in a crisis of faith, four simple words (John 21):


Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Do you love me?


And each time Peter responded, "Yes, you know I love you."
And each time Jesus replied, "Feed my sheep."


As I held this One in my arms, whispering "I love you" in his ear, deep down (way, way down) I knew that I was really answering Him.  


His response?  
"Feed my sheep."  


For the care and love and energy I put forth into nurturing my boys is ultimately, not really even about them.  It is about the One that created them...the One that shines in their eyes. Calling out to me, that in the mundane, in the fatigue, in the tedious work of being a parent, this is not the end.  But rather the means.  The means of loving and serving the Holy.  


It is then, to this ends that I receive strength and bread for the journey.  That I can get up and put one foot in front of another and digest my breakfast of Manna--given as a gift, even in days of desert wandering.  



 

Sounding the alarm

My little alarm clock went off this morning at 4:45 a.m.  Yes, you read that correctly, 4:45 A.M. With a pounce and a hug this alarm rang his bell soundly, until it was silenced by a glass of juice.  No snooze button here.

Do you know what is on TV at 4:45 a.m.?  I really hope you don't.  Let me tell you, just in case you are curious.  Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero, unless you want to order "The Best of Soul Train" DVD Collection from TimeLife. (Which actually mesmorized the alarm clock for quite awhile...)

Do you know why nothing is on TV?
Because people should.not.be.getting.up.at 4:45am.

The day was pretty rough...let's be real. There was too little patience and too much laundry.  Too little coffee and too much human excrement clean-up and carpet scrubbing.  Too little focus and too much complaining.

Yet such are some days.  May God's grace still abound, and abound, and abound.  Yet, as much as I'd love to get a jump start on grace, God, as it is written,"...your mercies are new every morning...,"

am I asking too much to start the morning a little later tomorrow?

Soul rest

All I wanted to do was take a nap.  Really, is that too much to ask?  Ok, not even a nap...like I could restfully close my eyes and drift off into lala-land knowing my 4 year old was roaming the earth like a free man. Not a chance.  I just wanted to sit.  For 5 minutes. 5 minutes--by myself. In the quiet. Peace and quiet.  

"Mom, will you play animals with me?" 

This question is heard no less than a million times on any given week.  I am not joking.  A million times. Maybe more.  

"Mom!  Come outside and play animals with me. I want to show you something. Will you, will you?" His eyes twinkled.  

I breathe in.  I breathe out.  Although a relatively insignificant query, this question loomed so large. Why me? Why now?  I just. want. a. nap.

My needs?  

His needs?  

Weighing the cost of each...knowing that each one is valid and necessary...

His brown beauties looked at me again with hopeful anticipation, would I come?  

Would I?  

I breathe in.  I breathe out.  As I looked again at this gorgeous one asking for nothing but time, what moved me from stillness to action was that I saw the true invitation.  My invitation to meet the Creator--the One whose creative personality breathed life into this budding zoologist in front of me.  For this invitation was not merely about role-playing with my son, but interacting and affirming and encouraging those gifts that this One placed within.  

A huge task?

Or an honor given?

"Sure, I'll come out.  How do you want to play today?"  

What I saw floored me. Owen had hidden his animals all over the yard in different "habitats." As we lurked and creeped, he told me of their eating habits and mechanisms for survival.  He is one smart dude.  Either that, or he watches way. too. much. television. 

After my tour, I suggested that it would be fun to invite Shawn and Connor around on a "safari."  So we spent the rest of the hour or so getting ready by making tickets, brochures/maps, signs, etc...

Welcome to Owen's Safari

Tiger spotting!

Roar!!!

Tour guide explaining how pandas live in trees eating eucalyptus leaves

Giant Panda

Guide explaining camouflage and how chameleons use it to their advantage 

Beaver building his dam

Guide allowing petting 

It was announced that the zebra just had a baby

Snakes in the dirt (and kangaroo if you look carefully)

Moose in the woods eating grass and berries

Longhorn on the plains

Komodo dragon on the beach

An afternoon encounter with the Creative Divine.  

At the end, even though my body was still tired, my soul found rest.

A Cinderella moment

It's just a little gold band.  Well, three to be exact.  Placed on my finger by my first love...and removed by my love-to-be.  Meaning...(don't start jumping to wild conclusions here)...when I was pregnant, my whole body swelled.  We are not talking just the belly bump.  I never really had that. Ok, let's be serious.  There is no need to even state the word, "really." I never had that.  I so envy those beautiful women with the gorgeous baby-goddess look. You know what I mean.  

Me?  I had the whale look. Enormous, huge, larger-than-life.  I was very good at growing babies.  Yes, I grew them everywhere.  On the belly, chin, thighs, fingers.  Needless to say, from a claustrophobic perspective, the ring had. to. go.  Or, at least put away in a safe place until I shrunk back to a somewhat recognizable me. 

It's been five years.  Five whole years.  That's a lot of time getting to know my size 9 Target ring that stood in for my golden-boy.  When I came across the ring over the weekend and tried it on again, to my surprise, it slipped over my knuckle with ease.  My golden-boy is back, safe and sound where he belongs.  A symbol of love and commitment  forever and for always.

I do find it a bit ironic the circle this ring traveled.  Or I traveled through the ring.  Like I stated above, it was first put on by Shawn, taken off for my boys, and then placed back on by me.  I've had to work really hard in order to get the baby weight and lose my whale-esque shape.  In essence, I've had to fall back in love with me again.  To love me enough to take care of me.  To lose weight, to get in shape, to get healthy again.  It wasn't about the number on the scale anymore, it was so much larger, fuller, deeper than that.  Honestly, I could care less about the number.  Rather, I realized, that if I didn't love me wholly, than I wouldn't be living life at the fullest of who I was and was created to be (the Holy one that created me as His temple).  Living less than I was created, in turn means that I was also withholding love to Shawn and my boys (and the rest of the world) with all that I am.  

And so, I place this ring on my finger as symbol of love and commitment, not only to the love of my life and the fruit that our relationship produced, but also for me, living fully into the one God created me to be.  

Now let's celebrate...on to the reception (for some cake)!  Just kidding...a run is in my future tonight.