Happy Mother's Day!

Dear Mom,
Here is what I remember of you from when I was a kid:

-- You were the best cook in the whole wide world.

-- I have some memory of you singing a special (at a baseball field?). You did an awesome job, and I was so proud that you were my mom.

-- "If it was a snake, it would have bitten you by now." Several times over, I'm sure. Thanks for not giving up on me when my locating skills were useless.

-- The house was always filled with music because you were always teaching someone how to sing or play piano. I was convinced you were the most knowledgeable person alive when it came to music. And although I didn't know it then, I love how you have never turned anyone away, even if they couldn't pay, because music belongs to everyone.

-- I remember how tender you were to me the day that I wore my brownie uniform to school when our meeting had been canceled for a week. Nearly everyone in my troop saw me that day and reminded me that we weren't meeting, which was too much for my little third grade soul. I came home embarrassed, took off my uniform, threw it on the kitchen floor and stomped on it. You came in and held me while I cried, and told me that it was really your fault for not remembering and reminding me. Thanks for that, Mom.

-- I remember the dresses you made, the enormous puzzles you put together, and amazing birthday cakes that you made from scratch and decorated with those special frosting tubes/pipes/whatever they are.

--You constantly did things to support our family. You worked three part time jobs while Dad was out of work, and you home schooled us when things at our local school turned sour.

-- You watched our three best friends every Wednesday, and let us have Mac 'n' Cheese and Blue Koo (that was our cool name for blue Kool-Aid) over and over and over again. Then you'd give us popsicles made from chocolate pudding or red Jello. I was convinced you were the coolest mom in the world. And I still am.

There is wisdom in a multitude of counsel.

Last year around this time, I was one week away from delivering a baby. My baby shower was on May 10th, and on May 17th my Elizabeth Joy was here.
As a present to me, a box of index cards was passed around. All the guests were told to write encouraging words for me to keep and read once I became a mother of two. Anyone reading this is welcome to steal this idea for an upcoming shower -- it was a wonderful gift and I've read them over several times! Here are some of my favorites to read:

--I can tell you for sure that you cannot be a mom without the help of God. I have tried to be a mom without God and it doesn't work. When the going gets tough, the tough go to God.

-- Sometimes as a mom, I would be looking forward to when they were all potty trained or whatever. So my encouragement to you is savor every moment because time flies all too fast. Enjoy!

-- You will love being the mother of two girls! When the emotions and drama are running high at your house, just remember that God has given you grace to raise strong, confident women of God.

-- Remember: God's grace is enough for each day and each moment. The enemy tries to get us to look at ourselves and our inadequacy, but he is a liar and accuser of the sisters. God is enough. He says ask for wisdom. Pray with other mothers who have lived through it! Did I say I love you? I love you!

-- One time, when my children were small, I was at my wits end. I sort of screamed at God that if He had soooo much patience then He would show me how much patience He had. I felt God smile and He said, "You only have two children, and look at how many I have." .... Think about that.

Thank you so much, Ladies! You have no idea how many times already these words have lifted my perspective!

Lucky for Benjamin that you get your identity from your father .

I read Genesis recently, and I was struck with something that I'd overlooked many times before. Rachel gives birth to her second son in anguish, and just before she dies, she names him "Ben-Oni". The very next verse says, "But his father called him Benjamin." Without thinking I looked to my footnotes: Ben-Oni means "Son of my trouble," Benjamin means "Son of my right hand." I've probably read those same footnotes every time I've read that passage in this particular Bible. The story immediately moves on to the rest of Jacob's journey, but I was stuck right there.
Before, I've just thought, Boy that was pretty mean of Rachel. How could you stick your child with a name like "Son of my trouble?" But this time my thoughts stayed on Jacob. The father renamed his child; gave him the name he would always be known for from this time forward, "Son of my right hand." This time, I grasped the parallel.
So many things push for the chance to label us. The devil tells us we're worthless, inadequate. That we should have just stayed in bed today, and every day from now on. The world tries to get us to compare ourselves, but we never measure up. There's always someone who meets the standard a little better than we do. Someone who is prettier, smarter, funnier, more spiritual, gets rewards that we deserve. But, it's the Father who gives us our identity. And no matter who the world says that we are, it's God who gets to name us. The things around us have spoken to us, trying to make us believe that we are nothing more than a son of trouble. But the Father is the one who gets to sign our birth certificate, and He has named us the sons of His right hand. I am seriously excited about this!
Here's to living like a Benjamin!

My Children, Do what I Say, Not what I Do.

1. Don't let your child cram so much food in their mouth that it becomes a liquid mess and they can't swallow it.

2. The table should be cleaned after every meal.

3. So should the dishes.

4. Don't allow yourself to become frustrated with your children. After all, they are with you because they still need training.

5. If you let your child sleep in your bed for naptime, be sure to remove all pens and paper from your nightstand. Otherwise they will only color.

6. Don't leave a kleenex lying on the floor. And even if you think you didn't, look again. And again. Because somehow, your baby is still chewing on one.

7. When your child uses the bathroom, and you come in to find out what's taking her so long only to discover that she's gotten off the toliet and now there are large, brown smudges on the toliet seat and her legs, don't look at her and say, "That's disgusting." She needs to know that she's beautiful even when her legs are smeared with poop.

8. If you carry an important paper and a baby at the same time, don't be surprised to see a small rip on the top. Be surprised that there aren't any visible bit marks.

9. If you take your child to the store because you want her to help make decisions about which clothes you will buy for her, know that she very well may forgo your favorite item for another that wasn't even on your list of choices.

10. When your child moves from a crib to a bed, expect that she might take advantage of her new freedom by getting out of bed. Even two years later.

I was expecting toothpaste.

In the last month, Natalie has:
-eaten a fifth of her tube of toothpaste
-tried our toothpaste
-eaten the remains of Elsie's bottle of teething tablets
-painted her toenails all by herself (only one drop spilled where it couldn't be cleaned -- it was red, however)
-spent naptime in our room and in her room pulling books and things off the bookshelves.

Actually, all of that took place within the course of one week. For some kids this might be the normal happenings. I spent much of Natalie's second year expecting this kind of thing, but she never really did it. After she turned three, I stopped worrying. And now, at three and a half, it has come. Even so, I wasn't prepared for last night.
Jason gets up for work at 3am now (yes, really), so our normal plan is to put the kids to bed at 8 and go to sleep ourselves. We stayed up a little later last night (we saw American Idol was on), but had the lights off at 9. Imagine my surprise at 10 when Natalie walked into our room and asked for a drink of water. After Jason and I fumbled around for a moment, I grabbed a mug on my nightstand and filled it with water in the bathroom. I tried to hand her the mug, but she said, "I can't hold it." A little frustrated, I said, "Natalie, hold the cup. I don't know how much you want to drink." She obediently took the cup and drank. Then I took her arm to lead her back to her room. I noticed her arm was sticky. Not a good sign.
"Why is your arm sticky?" I asked.
Natalie whimpered.
I stood in front of her and repeated the question sternly.
Same response.
I got down on my knees to look her in the face. Then the beam of the nightlight shone on her. I took a second look, then pulled her into the bathroom and turned on the light. Bright pink and black were streaked in a large circle around her face, and her arms were covered in the same pink, with blobs of it here and there.
"Why were you playing with my makeup?"
No answer.
I searched the counter for similar markings, but there weren't any. In fact, my makeup bag was no where in sight. I walked to the door of her room and realized her lamp was on. Elsie was still asleep. There, on a pink Dora toddler bed, was my makeup bag and remains of eyeshadow and blush. I stormed out and went straight to our room.
"What is it?" Jason said in a groggy voice.
I gave him the story.
No response. He was tired, and I guess makeup is my department anyway.
So, I started the clean up process. I was fully intending to give Natalie what she had coming to her as soon as she was clean, so I tried not to say to much until then. But when the moment came, I didn't want to do it. I'm not sure what happened. I wasn't angry anymore, but even when I was calm I knew she deserved some sort of punishment. She knows my makeup is off limits, she knows she can't turn her lamp on after we leave, she knows not to get out of bed and play. There were so many violations. Normally, I have no problem being a disciplinarian. I mean, I'm a stay at home mom, so how much does Natalie really get away with? It's not much. I wondered if I just felt like she needed mercy; I'd read something about that lately. I don't know if that was it or not. I explained the concept of mercy to Natalie; I mean, if I was going to give it to her then I was going to make a lesson out of it.
It's just that . . . I don't know, she's three. I could picture her putting on that lipstick and mascara, feeling grown-up and pretty. What a nice thing to feel, it's not so wrong.
I went back to bed and asked God again what was going on with her. If there was something that I'm missing. And the only thing I can think is, she's three. I think she's trying to figure out who she is and how independent she can be.
All I can say is Natalie, be nice to my grandbabies.

With Honor from my Heart.

I've been reading Honor's Reward again. It's an excellent book by John Bevere that I would recommend to anyone (and everyone, really). So my thoughts have been on honor a lot lately, and what that looks like for me.
There's a chapter in the book about honoring those under your authority, such as employees or children. John uses the passage in Matthew 10:40-42 that says, "He who receives Me receives Him who sent Me...and whoever receives one of these little ones with only a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple, assuredly, I say to you, he shall by no means lose his reward." First of all, this makes getting up to get Natalie a refill at lunch seem like way more of a big deal -- as well as the attitude I have when I do it.
But secondly, it got me thinking about Mary. How did Mary treat Jesus? How did she honor Him? I mean, she knew He was the Messiah. So that was in her favor. But what if I knew my girls were going to be the next Dr. Cho or Amy Carmichal or Mother Theresa? Or the next amazingly, awesome person whose name no one knew except the hundreds whom their life touched? Because (and I hope this isn't presumptious) isn't everyone's call, in some way, as important as Jesus's? Don't get me wrong, Jesus is holy and He is God, and He is the only way to the Father, and He is the only means to salvation. I'm not trying to devalue Him. But... it was important that He obeyed God and fulfilled His call. Could it be true that it is just as important for us to obey God and fulfill our calls? (Let me know what you think about this one. I'd like to know if I'm being heretical, here.)
My point is... if I knew I was raising the world's next most amazing living being, would I treat them differently? Would I honor them better? And even if that's not their destiny, shouldn't I still honor them that way? Because if it's just as important for them to obey God as it was for Jesus, well then I'd better honor them the way Mary honored Jesus. So again, what does that look like?
It made me really glad that I'd laid in bed with Natalie for a few minutes the night before like she asked, instead of saying, "Not tonight, Honey. I'm so tired," which is what I really wanted to do. I think she actually felt the honor of perfering her in that moment. So many little ways to show honor. Holy Spirit, help me listen to You.

When I look at you...

Hurray for strong internet access! It's been a long time since my last post. Since then, I've thought of a hundred things to blog about, but I have something fresh on my thoughts that I want to write about today.

I was holding Elsie this morning before Natalie woke up, and I was struck -- as I often am -- with the thought of how blessed I am to have her. Elsie is my miracle baby, which is funny because there was never anything wrong with her, as is usually the case when that term is used. My pregnancy and delivery were textbook perfect, as a matter of fact.

When I became pregnant with Elsie I had finished recovering from a surgery from an ectopic pregnancy only two months earlier. Jason and I sat down on the bed, looking at a stick with a little pink plus sign, and didn't say too much. Really, we were expecting that plus sign, we'd been trying for that plus sign, but we were still in shock.

After Elsie was born, at my six week check-up, all I could do was sit and stare at the little pink bundle in the carseat. It was a year and two weeks after my surgery. And the thought hit me, I could have spent this last year with no pregnancy, and no baby. Jason and I could have spent the last year trying, and being depressed, wallowing in pain and sadness. Or I could have become pregnant and spent nine months in oppresive worry. In fact, I remember telling Mary R. that I didn't know how I could ever become pregnant again without being in constant worry (She wisely spoke words that I will always remember: But Eleanor, worrying only takes away. It never adds). Instead our story had a different end -- a different middle even. It was a time of great healing for us, of expectation, of hope.

It's that of that story that Elsie continually reminds me. Please understand that I am not saying -- and would never say -- that a loved one lost can be replaced by another. But Elsie is a reminder of the abounding mercy and the abounding love of God in my life. Of all the ways things could have been, but weren't. She makes me grateful for so many other things, and for so many other people that I still share this life with. That's why Elsie is my miracle baby. I see in her the miracle of God at work in our lives.