Thursday, November 18, 2010
a hello
My baby hasn't been sleeping well enough to allow me any computer time this week. We'll see how things go tomorrow night. Hope all is well with you, friends!
Monday, November 15, 2010
the unexpected gift
Due to schedules, my husband and I can't enjoy much real conversation anymore. We aren't your typical, dad-arrives-home-at-6:00 p.m. household. This morning in the ten minutes I had to talk with my him, I explained that I'd had an unexpected crying episode the previous night. "Honey, I think I'm on the brink. I need two hours to myself."
In the good ole' days, he might have ministered to me or asked me what was going on, and then found the extra time to watch the kids. Now, since he's just as much "on the brink" as I am, he only looked at me seriously for a moment, and then mentally worked on carving out a couple hours.
He can usually study on Sunday night, but because of my little break today, he's still on the job at 11:00 p.m., the night before school. I would feel guilty about that if it weren't for my being so sure I needed a break. It did help.
Only God knows how long we'll be in our current situation. When a man loses a job in his fifties, it's a very serious situation--one I wouldn't wish on anyone. I know of a family who, in ten years, hasn't recovered, and they're exhausted. It would make me feel better to know that someone out there is gleaning something from all this sharing.
May I please offer something? If you're in your twenties, thirties, or forties, and you're regularly using credit cards (to replace broken items, for car repairs, for gifts or that much-needed weekend away, etc.) please remember this: You can never take a job for granted, no matter what industry it's in. God gives and he takes away. Live under your means (less house, less car, less of everything), save, tithe, and give thanks for what you have. Forget about how the Joneses live; they don't pay your bills.
God be my witness: If we ever get out of this, I'll do everything I can to minister to the working poor, in practical ways, like offering to be a taxi, watch their kids, help with resume distribution, buy household supplies or socks and underwear (can't get those at thrift stores). My mom bought the children some underclothes when she was here, thank the Lord.
The working poor live in a furiously busy, treading-water kind of way, always on the brink of exhaustion. No, it's nothing like abject poverty, but it is maddening. We're only surviving emotionally and spiritually because of God's grace. As our circumstances become more and more humbling, He becomes more and more important to us--to our very survival.
The Lord has taught me to recognize my urgent need for Him as a blessing. I'm thankful I can pass that knowledge on to my children, so they're not constantly wondering, "Why us, God?" At seven and nearly-nine years old, my boys understand the upside-down nature of God's kingdom. Praise God!
The friend who brought me to the Lord, Phyllis, suffered much in her life. Unable to conceive children, she adopted two as infants. Sixteen years later her husband committed suicide, causing painful rifts in the family. Her children have been distant and nasty over the years. Her daughter, now in her thirties and an alcoholic, just lost custody of her three children and may be facing a divorce, unless God delivers her from herself.
Phyllis' first grandchild, a baby boy, died of meningitis 12 years ago, which further alienated her son (the baby's father) from the Lord. Losing his father so horribly, and then his first child, was more than David could bare. He fell into drug use and got divorced. Only now is he interested in a relationship with his mother--but not yet with God. Her daughter, always angry at her mother, has no interest in the Lord, either.
As well, my friend does not have the gift of singleness, but the Lord has kept her single for some twenty years. Right now she is a short-term missionary in Africa--that being a lifelong dream. She worked two years in China just recently. After her husband's death, she went back to school to get a teaching credential, and has been retired now three years.
But, and you guessed it, my friend has a relationship with the Lord that surpasses any I've seen.
As much as someone may try, it's difficult to walk closely with the Lord when all health is good, work is good, children are good, the house and cars are good, and the marriage is good. Without desperation, we simply don't want much of God--at least not on a daily or hourly basis.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
James 1:2-4
In the good ole' days, he might have ministered to me or asked me what was going on, and then found the extra time to watch the kids. Now, since he's just as much "on the brink" as I am, he only looked at me seriously for a moment, and then mentally worked on carving out a couple hours.
He can usually study on Sunday night, but because of my little break today, he's still on the job at 11:00 p.m., the night before school. I would feel guilty about that if it weren't for my being so sure I needed a break. It did help.
Only God knows how long we'll be in our current situation. When a man loses a job in his fifties, it's a very serious situation--one I wouldn't wish on anyone. I know of a family who, in ten years, hasn't recovered, and they're exhausted. It would make me feel better to know that someone out there is gleaning something from all this sharing.
May I please offer something? If you're in your twenties, thirties, or forties, and you're regularly using credit cards (to replace broken items, for car repairs, for gifts or that much-needed weekend away, etc.) please remember this: You can never take a job for granted, no matter what industry it's in. God gives and he takes away. Live under your means (less house, less car, less of everything), save, tithe, and give thanks for what you have. Forget about how the Joneses live; they don't pay your bills.
God be my witness: If we ever get out of this, I'll do everything I can to minister to the working poor, in practical ways, like offering to be a taxi, watch their kids, help with resume distribution, buy household supplies or socks and underwear (can't get those at thrift stores). My mom bought the children some underclothes when she was here, thank the Lord.
The working poor live in a furiously busy, treading-water kind of way, always on the brink of exhaustion. No, it's nothing like abject poverty, but it is maddening. We're only surviving emotionally and spiritually because of God's grace. As our circumstances become more and more humbling, He becomes more and more important to us--to our very survival.
The Lord has taught me to recognize my urgent need for Him as a blessing. I'm thankful I can pass that knowledge on to my children, so they're not constantly wondering, "Why us, God?" At seven and nearly-nine years old, my boys understand the upside-down nature of God's kingdom. Praise God!
The friend who brought me to the Lord, Phyllis, suffered much in her life. Unable to conceive children, she adopted two as infants. Sixteen years later her husband committed suicide, causing painful rifts in the family. Her children have been distant and nasty over the years. Her daughter, now in her thirties and an alcoholic, just lost custody of her three children and may be facing a divorce, unless God delivers her from herself.
Phyllis' first grandchild, a baby boy, died of meningitis 12 years ago, which further alienated her son (the baby's father) from the Lord. Losing his father so horribly, and then his first child, was more than David could bare. He fell into drug use and got divorced. Only now is he interested in a relationship with his mother--but not yet with God. Her daughter, always angry at her mother, has no interest in the Lord, either.
As well, my friend does not have the gift of singleness, but the Lord has kept her single for some twenty years. Right now she is a short-term missionary in Africa--that being a lifelong dream. She worked two years in China just recently. After her husband's death, she went back to school to get a teaching credential, and has been retired now three years.
But, and you guessed it, my friend has a relationship with the Lord that surpasses any I've seen.
As much as someone may try, it's difficult to walk closely with the Lord when all health is good, work is good, children are good, the house and cars are good, and the marriage is good. Without desperation, we simply don't want much of God--at least not on a daily or hourly basis.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
James 1:2-4
Here is my handsome boy, displaying the finger Momma learned how to wrap. Praise God, the wound is flat again! As I was taking off the bandaid this morning, Peter smiled sheepishly, saying, "This kind of thing always makes me queasy." I could only give him a chuckle and a hug, telling him I'm the same way. I'll be so glad when this thing is completely healed!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
thankful for Father--that He's so close
Tonight, I'm so grateful that our heavenly Father is available to us at any moment. How I need him!
Peter's wound needed to be washed and redressed this afternoon. I feel so inadequate about wound care! How I wish we could have the dressing changes professionally done.
The wound care specialist at the ER told me I could use a band aide if the wound looked good after the first home cleaning, and since I don't know how to wrap wounds well, I was grateful to hear this. It did look good, so I washed it, put on the antibiotic gel, and then covered it with a large band aid bandage.
Then, a few hours later, the bandage came off. The wound didn't look as flat as it did when I took off the specialist's dressing. Peter had gone outside to play, finally, after doing indoor things for two days. Did riding his bike make it puffy and was that a mistake? I know it's not infected--no sign of that. And I know wounds can get puffy in the healing process. But I worried myself so much this evening, wondering if the wound would close nicely without mishap, and wondering if I'd done something wrong.
As I was reading Little Men (Louisa May Alcott) to the boys before bed, I cried at one part, and then couldn't stop crying.
Oh my, I thought. Am I going through perimenopause or something--is this a crying spell, a mood swing, like my sudden anger yesterday? Or was the emotion just related to worry about Peter's finger?
I don't know, but I was too emotionally exhausted to pray with the boys, even, when I tucked them in. All I could do was get into bed with each of them in turn, cuddling and telling them I loved them.
I'll whisper this verse over and over tonight, and go to bed early:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
Matthew 11:28-30
Peter's wound needed to be washed and redressed this afternoon. I feel so inadequate about wound care! How I wish we could have the dressing changes professionally done.
The wound care specialist at the ER told me I could use a band aide if the wound looked good after the first home cleaning, and since I don't know how to wrap wounds well, I was grateful to hear this. It did look good, so I washed it, put on the antibiotic gel, and then covered it with a large band aid bandage.
Then, a few hours later, the bandage came off. The wound didn't look as flat as it did when I took off the specialist's dressing. Peter had gone outside to play, finally, after doing indoor things for two days. Did riding his bike make it puffy and was that a mistake? I know it's not infected--no sign of that. And I know wounds can get puffy in the healing process. But I worried myself so much this evening, wondering if the wound would close nicely without mishap, and wondering if I'd done something wrong.
As I was reading Little Men (Louisa May Alcott) to the boys before bed, I cried at one part, and then couldn't stop crying.
Oh my, I thought. Am I going through perimenopause or something--is this a crying spell, a mood swing, like my sudden anger yesterday? Or was the emotion just related to worry about Peter's finger?
I don't know, but I was too emotionally exhausted to pray with the boys, even, when I tucked them in. All I could do was get into bed with each of them in turn, cuddling and telling them I loved them.
I'll whisper this verse over and over tonight, and go to bed early:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
Matthew 11:28-30
insignificant
Today started like any other day. Nothing significantly different.
Except for the intense anger I fought all morning.
I looked at the dining room floor, full of tiny leaf remnants. The carpet throughout the house? The same.
Some can't stand a sink full of dishes, or a disheveled bathroom, or unfolded laundry. For me, dirty floors and carpets are the trigger.
Ignoring it wasn't possible; it was just too littered. Finding uninterrupted time to sweep and vacuum large areas is a challenge with a toddler in my midst.
Too, I was behind on laundry. It was everywhere! The folding is a problem for me, but the washing and drying and hanging I usually keep up with. Just not the last few days. We dedicated time outside to rake and bag leaves, partially so they'd quit showing up on my floors. But no deal. They're still here.
Along with the laundry.
Buy why my intense anger? I rarely feel like the house actually looks good. Only when company is due does the place shine--and that at great cost to the family. Otherwise, there's always a problem area, or two, or three.
Insignificant. That's how I felt, looking at the room full of leaves, which I'd just vacuumed yesterday. I just clean and reclean. Is there any true value in that? Some days are so discouraging, it's hard not to feel like Cinderella.
Some women are significant because of a career, a business, a published book, a ministry, a family name, a website, etc.
Me? I'm insignificant. My corner of the world is very small.
Or so it feels, some mornings.
I could end this here, because I know that adding Scripture about humbling oneself and serving others doesn't change the daily reality for mothers with toddlers and babies and other littles. Always feeling behind and always having a huge list to complete, is just plain hard. Thankless. Maddening. Monotonous.
Feeling behind is a season of mothering. When there are babies and littles among us, we do less and cuddle more. There's no formula or answer. Things are just messy. It doesn't mean we've failed or that we're slobs--no matter what outsiders may think.
But that feeling of insignificance I spoke of? That we must fight!
As mothers, how many lives do we impact? Don't think just the number of your children, as you answer this. Think of your children's friends, their future spouses, their in-laws, your grandchildren and great grandchildren and their whole families, and anyone else who will ever reap a benefit--however small--from your mothering legacy.
The impact of one mother is huge! Immeasurable.
Those that have careers? Successful websites or businesses? Large ministries? Published books? That's all well and good and more power to them.
Most of you, if you had those ambitions, could do the same. But it would mean less time to concentrate on mothering, even if you did them from home. Some of the time you'd be absent in mind, even if present in body.
If you've chosen mothering, and just mothering, don't feel insignificant. Your impact is huge and doesn't end when you die--especially if you're training your children in the ways of the Lord.
As I thought of this today, my anger melted. I didn't fight another negative thought all day.
I believe the Lord helped me. I confessed and prayed while I nursed Beth at naptime, and after that, things changed.
I changed.
Choosing just motherhood is noble. If you can't do it with joy and love, ask Him for help. Anytime. Any day. He is faithful to put feelings in us--feelings of joy, hope, love, significance.
He never expected us to do this well.....alone. We forget that so often, don't we?.
We are supposed to ask for help!
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.
“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"
Matthew 7:7-11
Except for the intense anger I fought all morning.
I looked at the dining room floor, full of tiny leaf remnants. The carpet throughout the house? The same.
Some can't stand a sink full of dishes, or a disheveled bathroom, or unfolded laundry. For me, dirty floors and carpets are the trigger.
Ignoring it wasn't possible; it was just too littered. Finding uninterrupted time to sweep and vacuum large areas is a challenge with a toddler in my midst.
Here's my busy toddler, stealing the cheese Momma is grating for Shepperd's Pie.
Too, I was behind on laundry. It was everywhere! The folding is a problem for me, but the washing and drying and hanging I usually keep up with. Just not the last few days. We dedicated time outside to rake and bag leaves, partially so they'd quit showing up on my floors. But no deal. They're still here.
Along with the laundry.
Buy why my intense anger? I rarely feel like the house actually looks good. Only when company is due does the place shine--and that at great cost to the family. Otherwise, there's always a problem area, or two, or three.
Insignificant. That's how I felt, looking at the room full of leaves, which I'd just vacuumed yesterday. I just clean and reclean. Is there any true value in that? Some days are so discouraging, it's hard not to feel like Cinderella.
Some women are significant because of a career, a business, a published book, a ministry, a family name, a website, etc.
Me? I'm insignificant. My corner of the world is very small.
Or so it feels, some mornings.
I could end this here, because I know that adding Scripture about humbling oneself and serving others doesn't change the daily reality for mothers with toddlers and babies and other littles. Always feeling behind and always having a huge list to complete, is just plain hard. Thankless. Maddening. Monotonous.
Feeling behind is a season of mothering. When there are babies and littles among us, we do less and cuddle more. There's no formula or answer. Things are just messy. It doesn't mean we've failed or that we're slobs--no matter what outsiders may think.
But that feeling of insignificance I spoke of? That we must fight!
As mothers, how many lives do we impact? Don't think just the number of your children, as you answer this. Think of your children's friends, their future spouses, their in-laws, your grandchildren and great grandchildren and their whole families, and anyone else who will ever reap a benefit--however small--from your mothering legacy.
The impact of one mother is huge! Immeasurable.
Those that have careers? Successful websites or businesses? Large ministries? Published books? That's all well and good and more power to them.
Most of you, if you had those ambitions, could do the same. But it would mean less time to concentrate on mothering, even if you did them from home. Some of the time you'd be absent in mind, even if present in body.
If you've chosen mothering, and just mothering, don't feel insignificant. Your impact is huge and doesn't end when you die--especially if you're training your children in the ways of the Lord.
As I thought of this today, my anger melted. I didn't fight another negative thought all day.
I believe the Lord helped me. I confessed and prayed while I nursed Beth at naptime, and after that, things changed.
I changed.
Choosing just motherhood is noble. If you can't do it with joy and love, ask Him for help. Anytime. Any day. He is faithful to put feelings in us--feelings of joy, hope, love, significance.
He never expected us to do this well.....alone. We forget that so often, don't we?.
We are supposed to ask for help!
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.
“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"
Matthew 7:7-11
Friday, November 12, 2010
fingers and leaves, oh my
Sometimes I have organized thoughts. Sometimes not.
Sometimes I start out with disorganized thoughts, but as I keep typing, God arranges them just so.
Not tonight, I'm thinking. Nothing coherent coming out of this frazzled-nerved lady.
We had a nice day up until Peter sliced his finger open with the lid of a mandarin orange can.
You see, they wanted me to make ambrosia salad (canned fruit, sour cream, marshmallows, coconut). Peter wanted to help. I opened a can of mandarin oranges and asked him to please throw it away so that Beth wouldn't find it and cut her finger on it. As he pushed down the lid, his finger caught slightly. He panicked and forcibly pulled his finger loose, slicing it open.
The blood was substantial. The panic was substantial. The pancakes burned. The girls, hearing Peter carry on so, started crying. Momma, weak kneed, applied pressure to the skin flap wound, stopped the bleeding, doused it liberally with iodine, and called Daddy to come home. Then, while Peter held on a dressing and applied more pressure, I finished cooking dinner.
Peter calmed down nicely as we dined together (was it the pancakes and turkey bacon?), but kept questioning me about the stitches. Remembering going through hell during Mary's stitches procedure two years earlier, I said as little as possible, while my nerves continued to frazzle
Daddy came home, reluctantly, since he'd only slept a few hours the night before. He knew this would delay his bedtime by a few hours (he would have to start his last job later than usual).
But. There were pancakes and bacon and thawed mixed berries waiting for him. So he got over his disappointment.
Conclusion?
Homemade pancakes. Bacon. The answer to so many of life's little dramas. (They would prefer the real thing, as far as the bacon goes, but Momma only buys lower-salt turkey bacon).
Turns out, at the children's ER, they only cleaned and dressed it. Since it was a skin-flap wound on the finger, which has so many lines anyway, they don't worry about scarring. Once the wound is professionally cleaned, they can just dress it and let the finger close on its own.
Peter survived the minor procedure quite well. Having the wound flap pulled back for thorough cleaning hurt, but he didn't panic or cry. Later, as I helped him with his pajamas, he smiled and said, "Thank you for taking care of me."
We did have a nice day, as I said, up until the wound. The children and I raked and bagged 24 garbage bags of leaves (over two days). Working hard together has been a blessing! So much so, that I want to think up other work projects we can do together.
When we were almost done with the leaves, Peter said, "The best thing about raking leaves together is spending fun time with your Mom."
Oh, my heart! It m. e. l. t. e. d.
This post by Amy from Raising Arrows, about teaching boys the value of hard work, was on my mind while we plugged away at the leaves. She shared some great thoughts.
Miscellaneous pictures
Paul received this puzzle for his birthday from Auntie Lorrie. It was a challenge, since the picture completely changes as your head moves. It wasn't called three-dimensional--the name of this type escapes me. Anyhow, Paul loved the challenge.
I love that Peter is so responsible in his care of Harry. It makes me smile and gives me reason to lavish him with praise, which is always a good thing. During Sunday School last week, Peter prayed that Harry would live the maximum three years. Sweet.
Pics from the leaf pile.
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