Did you read Ann's post today? It was about the pain and the shame divorce brings into our lives. Her parents got divorced eleven years ago, and still, it hurts her so much.
Some days I know my husband wishes I were different. And there are certainly days I wish he didn't struggle with certain things. But at the core? Our marriage is solid. Rock solid. We hate divorce, so we would never go there in thought, much less in word or deed. Knowing this about husband and me brings me security, fulfillment, joy. Our current days are hard. So much to weather! And yet strength abounds most days, due to our firm foundation.
Reading Ann's post today, I wanted to fall on my knees and thank God. Wow!
I think of a tree. There is a glorious season of flower and fruit. Temperature changes come, and a shortening of days. The leaves change color, weaken, shrivel....blow away with storms. Dormancy arrives for a time. Things look bare. Lifeless. Desperate. But the glory season faithfully comes again. The tree's firm foundation and rich root system are its hope, its life.
My marriage has that same hope and life sustenance. Praise God!
It dawned on me recently that I need to draw on that same strength of commitment in other areas of my life. Take church, for instance. Have you ever grown disillusioned with your church? Ever thought about leaving? Did you go so far as to research other churches?
I did. Yesterday. And today, I'm ashamed.
You remember that I sought some pastoral counseling in regards to dealing with unsaved family? Since then, my husband has been to two sessions of counseling to help guide him through this job/career storm. I don't write about the crisis from his perspective, but suffice it to say he is angry and demoralized, even though he has faith in the outcome. This is an understandably deep crisis for a man.
We were grateful pastor lent an ear. He's a sound counselor. All seemed well, despite the trepidation involved in being laid bare before one's pastor.
Only now, it seems that our privacy was more important to us, than to people on the staff. We aren't certain of a breech--just a strong hunch. Could be our imaginations, but we both feel less comfortable at church. The kids are oblivious and love it there, however.
I went through a couple days of anger. I added up all the things I didn't like about our church. The flaws in the children's ministry. The fact that we are more conservative in our spiritual approach than most of the church body. The fact that there are only a couple homeschooling families. Some are dual career households with kids in daycare, with whom we have nothing in common. The music never thrilled either of us, after the first couple weeks. The church body is predominately empty nesters, or soon to be empty nesters.
My list went on. My anger fueled a bit. I coveted a fancy, anonymous type mega church I researched online.
And then the Holy Spirit soothed.
Of course our church is flawed! Who makes up a church? Sinners! Like me. Like my husband. Like my kids.
I don't like people knowing things. Without an entire story, details can get skewed.
But I shouldn't look for a new church because someone sinned against me, any more than I should look for a new husband because mine is flawed. Sinners sin. I am a sinner. Where is my grace? My father in heaven extended it to me, and I must do likewise. I am called to do so.
Seeking help with issues puts one in vulnerable territory. People might wonder things. Judge. Jump to conclusions. But where does my security come from? Not from the approval of man. Not from the security of anonymity. Not from Pastor thinking I have it all together. False security, all of it.
My security comes from my foundation--my God. And secondly, from the strength of my marriage--my family unit. Like a firmly rooted tree, I can weather storms. I can avoid chasing after the things of this world, which are here today, gone tomorrow.
I can go into that church and embrace those people, serve those people. Truly. Flaws and all. (Theirs and mine).
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
what. have. you. done?!
Oh, people! My children are doing lots of childish things lately. As in the past two days, especially. I confess to throwing my hands up and shouting (and I do mean shouting, bless my inappropriate soul), "What were you thinking?! What is wrong with you people?! How could you think that was okay to do?! I don't understand such nonsense!!!"
This morning was the worst of the childishness. My husband left for school at 7:20 a.m. as usual. I was involved in poopy diapers and clean up and couldn't jump in the shower before he left. So, I had to put the gate up in the playroom, give everyone drinks and cheesesticks (except for baby), and tell them that under no circumstances, except for bleeding, choking, or severe pain, were they to hike over the gate and risk knocking it down. Baby stays in there, usually, when all her siblings are there with her. She can hike the gate, but doesn't always choose to.
After all the caveats and preparations, I got into the shower and started praying for their safety.
No one came to tell me an insignificant detail about their playtime. Baby did not escape and pull open the shower curtain and smile her mischievous smile. No one came to ask me for Popsicles, which they are known to do at weird times once the mercury hits 80 degrees.
In short, it was a peaceful, if not rushed, shower.
Then, as I quickly pulled on my clothes and started oatmeal prep, I noticed what they were doing in the playroom.
Oh, my word! You wouldn't believe it.
To set this up properly, I need to say that yesterday I finally got around to reshelving a ton of books, pulled out by my seventeen-month-oldreader tyrant.
Well, their mischief just had to involve the unraveling of my hardwork, right? Bingo.
They were playing some sort of game in which they were sea lions and the books were their food. The result? Almost an entire bookshelf was devoid of books!
I was never more horrified! Never more spewing of "how could yous". Never more fire-breathing in my countenance.
I took away the sprinkler for two days. I took away lemonade Popsicles for two days.
My children were devastated.
But they will remember this. Because sprinklers and Popsicles are what they live for during all those frigid winter, and then rainy, muddy spring days, spanning late November through late May.
But to everything, my dear friends, there is an upside.
I gave them each a size of book to deal with in an effort to get the books off the floor. They are putting them in separate laundry baskets. They can't re-shelve them in an organized fashion, enabling us to pull what we need quickly (easy reader, science content, social studies content, rhyming, etc.). I don't expect that at their ages.
So the upside? What could the upside possibly be?
Just this. They are all in there, looking at my books. A portion of my hundreds, if not thousands, of books, collected since 1991. And I see that their interest has piqued. Their interest in reading many of these treasures.
I have rain gutters to enticingly display books. But they had to be put away, due to the chance of injury to the little ones.
I tried displaying books in tubs all over the room, which also works as a reading enticement. But baby made more book messes this way.
Finally, the books had to be tightly tucked into shelves--a storing method that never encourages reading.
So. While I am not at all happy about reshelving hundreds of books in my spare time, I am gratified that my children are looking at my collection of literary treasures, gathered with love and care.
I honestly don't know when they will quit doing childish things. I truly don't. I don't know where I have failed that on some days, they don't seem to be maturing one itty bitty bit.
But I do know this. There will come a time, soon enough, that my house will be empty. No beautiful baby faces interrupting my shower. No hopeful three year old pining for a Popsicle before breakfast.
And at that time nothing will sound better to me than having a roomful of childish kids, playing sea lion games with my beloved books.
Such thoughts always give my days perspective, trying though they are.
This morning was the worst of the childishness. My husband left for school at 7:20 a.m. as usual. I was involved in poopy diapers and clean up and couldn't jump in the shower before he left. So, I had to put the gate up in the playroom, give everyone drinks and cheesesticks (except for baby), and tell them that under no circumstances, except for bleeding, choking, or severe pain, were they to hike over the gate and risk knocking it down. Baby stays in there, usually, when all her siblings are there with her. She can hike the gate, but doesn't always choose to.
After all the caveats and preparations, I got into the shower and started praying for their safety.
No one came to tell me an insignificant detail about their playtime. Baby did not escape and pull open the shower curtain and smile her mischievous smile. No one came to ask me for Popsicles, which they are known to do at weird times once the mercury hits 80 degrees.
In short, it was a peaceful, if not rushed, shower.
Then, as I quickly pulled on my clothes and started oatmeal prep, I noticed what they were doing in the playroom.
Oh, my word! You wouldn't believe it.
To set this up properly, I need to say that yesterday I finally got around to reshelving a ton of books, pulled out by my seventeen-month-old
Well, their mischief just had to involve the unraveling of my hardwork, right? Bingo.
They were playing some sort of game in which they were sea lions and the books were their food. The result? Almost an entire bookshelf was devoid of books!
I was never more horrified! Never more spewing of "how could yous". Never more fire-breathing in my countenance.
I took away the sprinkler for two days. I took away lemonade Popsicles for two days.
My children were devastated.
But they will remember this. Because sprinklers and Popsicles are what they live for during all those frigid winter, and then rainy, muddy spring days, spanning late November through late May.
But to everything, my dear friends, there is an upside.
I gave them each a size of book to deal with in an effort to get the books off the floor. They are putting them in separate laundry baskets. They can't re-shelve them in an organized fashion, enabling us to pull what we need quickly (easy reader, science content, social studies content, rhyming, etc.). I don't expect that at their ages.
So the upside? What could the upside possibly be?
Just this. They are all in there, looking at my books. A portion of my hundreds, if not thousands, of books, collected since 1991. And I see that their interest has piqued. Their interest in reading many of these treasures.
I have rain gutters to enticingly display books. But they had to be put away, due to the chance of injury to the little ones.
I tried displaying books in tubs all over the room, which also works as a reading enticement. But baby made more book messes this way.
Finally, the books had to be tightly tucked into shelves--a storing method that never encourages reading.
So. While I am not at all happy about reshelving hundreds of books in my spare time, I am gratified that my children are looking at my collection of literary treasures, gathered with love and care.
I honestly don't know when they will quit doing childish things. I truly don't. I don't know where I have failed that on some days, they don't seem to be maturing one itty bitty bit.
But I do know this. There will come a time, soon enough, that my house will be empty. No beautiful baby faces interrupting my shower. No hopeful three year old pining for a Popsicle before breakfast.
And at that time nothing will sound better to me than having a roomful of childish kids, playing sea lion games with my beloved books.
Such thoughts always give my days perspective, trying though they are.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
crying buckets over Ann's post
I just read a post from Ann, at Holy Experience. I am crying buckets. So beautiful. You really must read this. Intimate Issues: The Making of a Marriage Bed.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Dr. Doolittle and my grocery list
Made me smile today:
* Tonight we finished The Story of Doctor Dolittle, by Hugh Lofting (1920). It is by far one of the best children's books ever written (there are eleven others in the series). So imaginative! Mr. Lofting wrote it to his children while he was away during World War I. Reality was too difficult to include in his letters, so he delighted them with this tale.
Now that we've finished it, I feel like a friend has moved away. Peter agrees with me and says we absolutely must find the others at the library.
Born in England in 1886, Hugh Lofting settled in the United States in 1912, and passed away in Topanga, California, in 1947.
* My boys always have requests for me when it's grocery store time. I found their list on the fridge, compiled mostly by my older son, who loves to cook. We found a bread maker at a rummage sale, so the first two items are needed for our first loaf, which they are very excited about!
yest
dri melk
lemonad
sosig (turkey sausage)
syorup (syrup)
black bens
appolsos
letis and coliflower
gume vitimins
cucuber
iec crem
sqosh
putatos
popcorn
get sand for sandbox
I came across a review today of one of Sally Clarkson's books, The Ministry of Motherhood. I'll be checking our library for that one. Here is Sally's Clarkson's site, which always includes wonderful, insightful blog posts.
Good night, friends! I'm off to fold three mountains of laundry. For real.
* Tonight we finished The Story of Doctor Dolittle, by Hugh Lofting (1920). It is by far one of the best children's books ever written (there are eleven others in the series). So imaginative! Mr. Lofting wrote it to his children while he was away during World War I. Reality was too difficult to include in his letters, so he delighted them with this tale.
Now that we've finished it, I feel like a friend has moved away. Peter agrees with me and says we absolutely must find the others at the library.
Born in England in 1886, Hugh Lofting settled in the United States in 1912, and passed away in Topanga, California, in 1947.
* My boys always have requests for me when it's grocery store time. I found their list on the fridge, compiled mostly by my older son, who loves to cook. We found a bread maker at a rummage sale, so the first two items are needed for our first loaf, which they are very excited about!
yest
dri melk
lemonad
sosig (turkey sausage)
syorup (syrup)
black bens
appolsos
letis and coliflower
gume vitimins
cucuber
iec crem
sqosh
putatos
popcorn
get sand for sandbox
I came across a review today of one of Sally Clarkson's books, The Ministry of Motherhood. I'll be checking our library for that one. Here is Sally's Clarkson's site, which always includes wonderful, insightful blog posts.
Good night, friends! I'm off to fold three mountains of laundry. For real.
a moment with Paul
Keepsake moments. We live for them as parents. We can wipe a sticky, after-meal floor three times a day for what seems like forever, and suddenly, one keepsake moment puts it all in perspective. Kids are dreamy. Fun. Hilarious.
Never-ending messy floors? Who cares! I'm blessed! Blessed! This experience is Out-Of-This-World Wonderful!
Keepsake moments can never be planned. They just happen. When they're especially delicious, our minds naturally want to recreate them in subsequent days or seasons. How can something so wonderful not become the norm?
This morning, I had a doozy of a keepsake.
Beth awoke at 6:30 a.m., dragging me out of bed with her. Her sleeping habits have changed again. Back to night nursings and late evening wake ups, with lousy naps during the day. I mind the unpredictability more than I mind the wake ups, actually.
My last beauty sleep occurred eight years ago, in case you're interested.
On the positive side, my little one recently gave up early rising for a more respectable 7:15 a.m.
I held out hope. Would my night-person body hit the jackpot? Would this trend continue?
I refer you to my second paragraph, in which she drags me out of bed at 6:30 a.m. Is she my darling daughter, or my boot camp instructor? Definitely both. As I write this, I can hear her. It's nearly midnight and she's on her second wake up.
Back to this morning.......
...After her diaper change, I tried cuddling her on the playroom couch. Kid cuddles hit the spot when Momma is drowsy. I crave them. My brood is one of movers and shakers though, so for the most part, I'm often disappointed. Beth is fun and sweet, but her cuddles are as brief as a hidden package of chocolate chips. Here one minute, gone the next. If Beth could talk well, she'd say, "Okay, Momma. Cuddles. But briefly. I'm busy ya know."
Enter Paul, my part-time mover and shaker. He's been known to sit around at times and stare off into space. Hence, the part-time designation.
He joined us at 7:00 a.m., while the other siblings continued slumbering. Seeing Momma drowsy, he took the cue and climbed under the blanket with me.
Oh, what a gift! That child's wrap-around, boa constrictor cuddles! May they never end, Lord!
Now Baby Beth wanted to cuddle. It's her pattern. No one, and I do mean no one, can come between Beth and her Momma. Even the sight of Momma changing big sister will irk this jealous baby. She actually climbs into my lap during sister's diaper changes! I tell her I love her and then I disentangle myself. Foiled, she plants herself on Mary's head, to discourage us from interacting, I suppose. Mary, all sugar and spice, takes it in stride and giggles.
Diaper changes are special to children; they equate them with love. Reaching that coveted milestone, toilet training, is complicated for them. Four children in, I finally get this.
Anyhow, back to the couch with my boa-constrictor boy......
....Paul and I started giggling away at a collection of children's poems. Beth climbed on top of us, as though our cuddled bodies were a mountain. She grabbed the book, running her finger over the words and mumbling as if to "read". Then she giggled, as she'd heard us do. This would last a minute, and then she'd go play briefly.
Meanwhile, Paul and I read the whole book of poems, giggling and cuddling, cuddling and giggling. I squeezed him repeatedly for giving me my best morning in a long time.
I found myself wishing we could cuddle and read, just like this, every morning.
But keepsake moments can't be planned. Only captured. Enjoyed. Lived. Remembered.
Usually, the older three wake up simultaneously. Special morning times with my boa-constrictor are rare.
The funny book, if you're interested, was this:
Never-ending messy floors? Who cares! I'm blessed! Blessed! This experience is Out-Of-This-World Wonderful!
Keepsake moments can never be planned. They just happen. When they're especially delicious, our minds naturally want to recreate them in subsequent days or seasons. How can something so wonderful not become the norm?
This morning, I had a doozy of a keepsake.
Beth awoke at 6:30 a.m., dragging me out of bed with her. Her sleeping habits have changed again. Back to night nursings and late evening wake ups, with lousy naps during the day. I mind the unpredictability more than I mind the wake ups, actually.
My last beauty sleep occurred eight years ago, in case you're interested.
On the positive side, my little one recently gave up early rising for a more respectable 7:15 a.m.
I held out hope. Would my night-person body hit the jackpot? Would this trend continue?
I refer you to my second paragraph, in which she drags me out of bed at 6:30 a.m. Is she my darling daughter, or my boot camp instructor? Definitely both. As I write this, I can hear her. It's nearly midnight and she's on her second wake up.
Back to this morning.......
...After her diaper change, I tried cuddling her on the playroom couch. Kid cuddles hit the spot when Momma is drowsy. I crave them. My brood is one of movers and shakers though, so for the most part, I'm often disappointed. Beth is fun and sweet, but her cuddles are as brief as a hidden package of chocolate chips. Here one minute, gone the next. If Beth could talk well, she'd say, "Okay, Momma. Cuddles. But briefly. I'm busy ya know."
Enter Paul, my part-time mover and shaker. He's been known to sit around at times and stare off into space. Hence, the part-time designation.
He joined us at 7:00 a.m., while the other siblings continued slumbering. Seeing Momma drowsy, he took the cue and climbed under the blanket with me.
Oh, what a gift! That child's wrap-around, boa constrictor cuddles! May they never end, Lord!
Now Baby Beth wanted to cuddle. It's her pattern. No one, and I do mean no one, can come between Beth and her Momma. Even the sight of Momma changing big sister will irk this jealous baby. She actually climbs into my lap during sister's diaper changes! I tell her I love her and then I disentangle myself. Foiled, she plants herself on Mary's head, to discourage us from interacting, I suppose. Mary, all sugar and spice, takes it in stride and giggles.
Diaper changes are special to children; they equate them with love. Reaching that coveted milestone, toilet training, is complicated for them. Four children in, I finally get this.
Anyhow, back to the couch with my boa-constrictor boy......
....Paul and I started giggling away at a collection of children's poems. Beth climbed on top of us, as though our cuddled bodies were a mountain. She grabbed the book, running her finger over the words and mumbling as if to "read". Then she giggled, as she'd heard us do. This would last a minute, and then she'd go play briefly.
Meanwhile, Paul and I read the whole book of poems, giggling and cuddling, cuddling and giggling. I squeezed him repeatedly for giving me my best morning in a long time.
I found myself wishing we could cuddle and read, just like this, every morning.
But keepsake moments can't be planned. Only captured. Enjoyed. Lived. Remembered.
Usually, the older three wake up simultaneously. Special morning times with my boa-constrictor are rare.
The funny book, if you're interested, was this:
My Dog Does My Homework! An Exclusive Collection of Poems by Shel Silverstein, Jack Prelutsky, Eve Merriam, and Many More.
With a Special Introduction & Poem Pointers by Jon Scieszka
I purchased it through the Scholastic school market, years ago. We laughed the most at this poem, which is anonymous:
Vegetarian Poem
Do you carrot all for me?
My heart beets for you.
With your turnip nose
And your radish face,
You are a peach.
If we cantaloupe
Lettuce marry.
Weed make a swell pear.
Anonymous/Folk Rhyme
It's late now and I probably won't get to that folding pile. But I captured something here--something special, to feast on in my empty nest years. I chose the better thing, even though those clothes start their fourth night of basket dwelling.
It's never about the laundry piles or the sticky floors, is it?
It's never about the laundry piles or the sticky floors, is it?
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