A Babe in His Arms

She's too young for an appetite stimulant, she says. "I'd rather you add tofu to her mac and cheese. Things like that. I give it to all my athletes. It adds protein and calories."

I try to listen to every word, whilst keeping the other three controlled, and the patient herself sitting squarely on the examining table.

But we don't eat mac and cheese, I want to say. I don't buy food in boxes anymore. And homemade? It's not the same.

But what's the point? She doesn't get it.

My daughter has no appetite. She won't eat more than a couple bits of anything. I'm the one who has to look at her pencil-thin frame in the bath every night.

The opthamologist, a smart guy people come from around the world to see, told me cancer and inflammatory patients get an incorrect "I'm full" signal from the brain. People expect it in cancer patients, not inflammatory ones, he says, but it can occur in both. Ask the rheumatologist about an appetite stimulant or for a referral to an endocrinologist, he advised.

But this woman, a nurse practitioner we had to see because I had to cancel the other appointment, she says this must be his own theory. "We don't have these problems in the patients who just take anti-inflammatories. Now our patients on methotrexate, which is a cancer drug, they get nauseated on the days they get their shots. They have appetite problems because of that. He must be thinking of those patients."

This, she tells me, after the doctor herself--this woman's boss--switched Beth's medicine at our last visit, "because it was probably making her feel too full." Beth had lost two pounds in six weeks, and in the last two months she only gained a pound back, probably from the prednisone.

The opthamologist's explanation, it makes sense to me. This is what we see. She is full too soon and doesn't get hungry soon enough. Adding higher fat foods helps some, but not significantly because she won't eat enough bites.

Next, a surprise. She needs blood work. The last thing I want to hear, after all the stress leading up to this appointment. I just want to go home, and the kids do too.

How many elevators do we take to get to the lab, he asks. "Will they get stuck?"

I give him my dutiful answer. "No, everything is going to be fine."

She refuses to be distracted and looks right at the nurse giving the needle, while two viles fill. She cries and doesn't stop.

Finished for the day, we go out the front door and in an angry fit, she rips off the pressure bandage.

Why didn't they just put on a bandaid, I wonder angrily.

She cries all the way home and I wonder if her arm might be spilling red, under her jacket. I should have gone back, I tell myself. Asked for a bandaid instead.

But Beth wouldn't have entered that door again. Not in her state of mind.

Will she remember this six weeks from now, when we're due back? Will it be hard to get her here from now on? Is her love affair with the medical profession over?

I wish we could have gone somewhere else for the lab work, and not this hospital where both her eye doctor and rheumatologist work.

It's a long ride home, angry tears still spilling.

Back home, she nurses on the couch and we both destress.

Her older brother, free from elevator worries for another six weeks, blows off steam. He feels free. Unencumbered for the first time all day. The noise he makes, I try not to let it upend my nerves. His hyperactivity blows in full force.

My heart aches for my nursling, but as I see her sorrows melt away in my arms, I'm grateful to God for the comfort of a mother's breast...for the hundredth time since the diagnosis. Seeing how I can comfort her? I know it's His grace.

She falls asleep at 5 in the afternoon.

And I just sit there cradling her, wondering what to do about dinner. As Peter asked me time and again if the elevator would get stuck, I didn't think about thawing anything.

I should have been more aggressive with the nurse practitioner...trying to help her understand that my daughter is too thin. I know my husband will say this. "You have to be more aggressive with them. Get the answers you need."

Yes, but what about the other three fidgeting in the office the whole while? They're a distraction.

I ask Paul for my purse and call him. Husband says he'll make dinner tonight. I should just comfort Beth, who still suffers from a head cold. It will be a late dinner, but we'll survive.

I don't know what to do about anything...about Peter, about Beth...I have no answers.

But watching my girl sleep in my arms? Her eyelashes resting on delicate skin? It reminds me of what He wants from me.

Snuggle in. Trust and abide.

Receive My peace, in the same way Beth receives what you offer. Be as a babe in My arms.

Victory

I read these verses on Saturday in the middle of my big house clean. Beth, dealing with her arthritis discomfort and her head cold, needed to nurse and cuddle. Moms know that all cold viruses are not created equal; a real nasty one blew in here somehow, despite my hand gel obsession. 

Grabbing my Bible while she nursed, I turned to Ephesians:

The Armor of God

 ¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. ¹² For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ¹³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. ¹⁴ Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, ¹⁵ and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. ¹⁶ In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. ¹⁷ Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. ¹⁸ And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. ¹⁹ Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, ²⁰ for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.

Scripture Source 


These verses give us compelling reasons to be in the Word and in prayer. Satan, ever attacking in the most devious ways, gets a stronger foothold on us when we get too busy or distracted to stay connected to the Holy Spirit, through Bible reading and prayer.


Friend, have you opened your Bible today? Grab it now and claim victory over enemy one.


We have a rheumatology appointment this afternoon requiring the use of two elevators--one that goes up eight floors. Please pray for Peter, who obsesses about the elevators getting stuck? When I say he obsesses, I don't exaggerate; he asks about thirty times prior to the appointment: "Are you sure it won't get stuck?"  


At first we thought it was the Generalized Anxiety Disorder cropping up, since that can encompass a lot of different fears or phobias. But when a person continually asks for reassurance, and becomes very upset when you don't deliver, that crosses over into OCD (the asking is a compulsion associated with an obsession). When they ask for the verbal reassurance, it's similar to the OCD sufferer who has to continually check to see if the stove is on or not, or if the door is locked. Continually washing the hands is another common compulsion. Their brain tells them if they don't perform the compulsive act, the fearful thing will happen. For example, the house will blow up because of the stove, the elevator will get stuck, a major germ will cause death, a burglar will absolutely get in.


It adds considerable stress and sadness around here, so prayers are appreciated. Thank you!

To Whom Are You Listening?

Harry Broker: Breakfast time

I find a quote on a dear friend's blog, and though I love most of it, some of the words haunt me.

"The home is also where future queens learn how to rule their own kingdoms.

Are your daughters learning by example all that goes into the management of your family estate?

It doesn't matter if you live in an apartment or a grand house; your home is truly your family's castle. Do your daughters see you as the queen and ruler of your realm or as a slave reluctantly doing enough to get by? The future of the home depends upon the example you are giving your daughters." 

Quote taken from Queen of the Home: Essays, Poetry, and Quotes on the Honor, Nobility, and Power of Biblical Womanhood. Compiled by Jennifer McBride

"doing enough to get by"...this is the part the enemy uses against me.

Is my house clean enough? Should I be doing more? Should it be company ready all the time?

Miss Mary makes three-letter words with the Leapfrog Fridge Word Whammer, purchased years ago. It still works off and on and I'm trying to hold out before purchasing another. She calls me for help. "Mommy, I can't find the H!"

I sit there on the kitchen floor with her, marveling at her attention span and her love for learning. That's when I notice it.  

The magnetic letters are filthy! The Word Whammer is filthy! 

How could I let this happen? Why didn't I notice it before? Has it been so long since we've actively used it?

Shame fills me. Yes, I should be doing more! I'm a terrible house keeper. There's visible dirt in my house. Cobwebs on the ceiling. Dust on the blinds.

I wonder...is it Satan's voice, or His, shaming me? 

Each time I clean the house for guests, I ignore the children to do it, for that's what it takes. The boys make lunch for their siblings. They fetch things for their sisters...reluctantly sometimes, but they've come to understand cleaning deadlines.

After guests leave, I try so hard to keep things orderly. No piles anywhere. No clutter on the counter. If we just clean up as we go, it won't get behind again. I remember a friend of the Flylady's telling her early on, regarding the Flylady's messy home, which in those days was never company-ready: "Why you just have to clean up after yourself, that's all."

So I drive myself and the family insane, cleaning up as we go. I don't tolerate messes. I react immediately, putting everything in its place.

The problem is, I don't ever relax or spend time with my kids. I just scurry here and there, putting things away and sweeping the slightest bit of dirt as soon as it shows up.

After about 24 hours of this, I go back to really living, instead of being a slave to my home. Leave the scurrying around to the neat nicks, I say. That's just not me. 


My way is to clean like a fiend for a day, whenever friends or repair workers are due. In the meantime I keep Clorox Wipes in both bathrooms, ensuring we live as germ-free as possible. 

I don't mop every three days as needed, but I do sweep often and use wet paper towels on sticky floors. If the children are needy or appointments overtake us, I take a wet paper towel to the debris that collects at the baseboards, instead of sweeping. 95% of the time we have the clean clothes we need. We have three home-prepared meals a day plus snacks. 


We school at home, we disciple, and we pray. We read the Word. We hug and enjoy stories. We pursue our interests and hone our gifts.

Some days, depending on chronic illnesses, temporary illnesses, and appointments, I only do the meals, the dishes, and the laundry. Just those three things can take Herculean effort sometimes. 

Children use their imaginations when they're allowed to make messes. They get out all the pots and pans and ladles, experimenting with high and low tones. They tear up nature magazines, painting, gluing and cutting to the glory of God. They experiment, discover, and marvel.


I'm training my children to care for their school books, their clothes, and their rooms/playroom. It's a slow process, requiring commitment, patience, and grace, but it's worth the effort. Mom should eventually become the manager, not the sole worker. One day the house will be orderly most of the time, but they're still young yet; they still need me.


Many factors contribute to how clean or organized ours homes are. Every family is unique, so don't compare. For example, how many children do you have and what are their ages? How much supporting family live close? Do you or your children have chronic conditions or disorders? How many hours a week does your husband work? Does he travel? Is your husband a carpenter who whips up shelves and cabinets and makes organization a breeze? Does he bring home the money necessary to provide custom closets, and a garage, or a basement?


My own husband doesn't whip up shelves or provide a garage or basement , but when things are behind he gladly takes the children to the park on the weekends so I can organize, clean, and fold. If the weather is bad he takes them to the mall to ride the merry-go-round and the escalator, and to share greasy french fries or an order of Chinese food. They all come back happy. And me? I'm grateful and at peace.


Yesterday I cleaned for four hours before the used appliance place brought a dryer. Then I took Peter to get a new coat. The forecast included snow and he'd torn his only coat earlier in the week. Next we went to Home Depot to buy hardware to rehang the cupboard door Peter ruined. 


This afternoon husband took them to the mall so I could continue with yesterday's cleaning--dusting, taking a broom to the ceiling dust, and vacuuming and folding.


We can all do a few things right, no matter our circumstances. We can pray for wisdom, good habits, and proper attitudes. We can buy less to clutter our home. We can live simply. We can train our children.  We can use our time wisely.


To whom are you listening? Satan can turn even the loveliest exhortation against you. He attacks from every angle. His burden crushes. He's deceptive and convincing.


The Lord's burden? It's light. He cares about the heart, above all else. 


Let us be thankful for what we have and do our best to take care of it...fulfilling our duties to the glory of God.  


Above all, may we never neglect the shaping and cleansing of the heart. Which would you rather have? A clean house or a clean heart?


Ephesians 6:10-11
¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 


Ephesians 6:14-17
¹⁴ Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, ¹⁵ and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. ¹⁶ In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. ¹⁷ Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.


I ask it again. To whom are you listening?

photo source

Purpose: His Not Mine

That crying feeling, it comes back, after a day off. The family sleeps and I sit up alone, quiet, knowing its name. Depression.

Ugliness, designed by God, produced by my endocrine system. And why? I always want to know why.

The traffic in my brain, here is what it says: There's nothing to look forward to. You, your life, it's ordinary. Nobody cares or notices your presence here. Beat the clock to get breakfast, lunch, dinner, produced on time. Socks and underwear in drawers. Clean towels for all. Do it all over again the next day. You like to write but it doesn't matter. Tons of writers, they spill words no one reads. Too many people like to write, too few like to read. Worthless pursuit. Too hard and nobody cares. Forget that ache inside to produce beauty and meaning. Forget it.

My three-year-old beauty with post-nasal drip, she stops the traffic, cries in the night.

I go in the dark room, lay next to her, pull her close. She presses herself as close as she can, receiving my love. She nurses and I marvel.

He says it, maybe?

This child, she cares. Her sister deep in slumber one bed over? She cares too. And they need you. They're my gift to you. Give them your life.

I think of Jesus, forced to carry his own cross. The living God came as a baby, humbled and needy. He could have fought and killed his enemies, but he gave up his greatness, his strength. He gave up everything.

Is that what motherhood is like? Giving up everything? I give up my need to write something pretty? I give up my need to stimulate my brain by reading online stuff that pulls me away from my babes, but lets me escape from the laundry? From the monotony?

Is God telling me that my only claim to fame, to anything out of the ordinary, is in choosing to give up myself...for them? That like a recovered alcoholic must choose every day to stay sober, I must choose every day to give up myself? Are we addicted to ourselves, the way the alcoholic is to drink?

Motherhood, it's about staying in the shadows, not the limelight. It's investment in someone else, with possibly no return.

I think of that blog, the one with the brainy content. Several days a month, it really draws me in like a vodka and I neglect my kids for theological discussions. Not all day, for there are meals and laundry, but still, it feels sinful. I know it is, when I think of the discussions I can have with my children instead.

Investment. How many times can we choose something else, and still say we invested in our kids?

Our interests and pursuits, they can feel very important. But He lets us know when we've crossed the line. How many mothers cross the line with their smart-phone addictions? Or with the PTA or that church ministry? Name your passion. Shame on us all.

I don't really want to write something pretty after all.

I want Him to infiltrate my mind every moment of every day, so I can invest in the most precious commodity...the children He blessed me with...the children He trusted me with. I want to bring Him glory, not let Him down.

We have this ugly thing inside. This draw of some sort. What do I even call it? It makes us seek our own greatness, instead of His, like Satan fighting God in the Garden. He wasn't content to be just an angel. He wanted it all. Eve, she wasn't content to just commune with God. She wanted to be like God.

Is it Satan fighting us mothers, wanting us to pursue something other than investment in our children? He tells us it's not enough? That motherhood--servanthood--is too lowly?

When we seek not our own, we choose Him. Therein lies the fulfillment we hunger for. Only in Him can it be satisfied. Not in writing something pretty, or participating in something brainy. Not in being noticed, or receiving accolades.

I go back to the depression that started all the traffic, that led to the truth. Is there a purpose, then, for the depression every month?  Does it force us to look squarely at our sin, as we look for a route out of sadness?

I don't know. But now, as I finish this, it's gone. No sadness remains.

Just purpose. His, not mine. 

Momma Blessings and Reflections

~ Daddy won a raffle at work and brought home a huge gift basket of flavored popcorns, peanuts, chewy candies, tea, and peanut brittle. Thankfully there was no chocolate--nothing to tempt Momma! The basket was wrapped in polka-dotted gift paper and curled ribbon. Miss Beth, eyes wide, said, "Oh, it's bootiful!"


~ Miss Mary in the bath, watching me wash Beth's hair, said: "Mommy, I have to watch you closely. When I'm a mom I have to know how to wash my kids and cook. When can you teach me to cook?"


About a month ago while folding clothes with me, she asked with a hint of dread, "Mommy, if I'm a mom do I have to wash clothes and do dishes all the time?"


"Well, yes Baby. But you won't mind so much because you'll love serving your family. God will help you." I tried to choose my words carefully, but they depressed her nonetheless. That night I had a chuckle with my husband, telling him motherhood can be a hard sell. We were both encouraged by Mary's latest comment...she seems to be embracing at least some parts of motherhood!


She's come a fair distance with this, because several months ago she told me she wanted to be a train driver. I asked her if she also wanted to be a mother, and she exclaimed, "But I can't be a mother! I don't even know how to babysit!" 


~ Miss Beth sees her share of doctors and apparently she observes them carefully. She's decided she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Her ophthalmologist responded last week that she could certainly be a doctor if she studied hard. 


Yesterday, a quiet sick day, four of us watched The Wizard of Oz, a recent thrift-store find. It wasn't interesting to Beth so she got her clipboard, put some paper on it, and came over to me with some reading glasses on. "What hurts you today, Mommy?", she asked in three-year-old style. Oh, the cuteness of this scene! "My head is hurting right here," I said, pointing to the temple of my migrained head. Forty minutes into a dose of generic Excedrin Tension Headache, it was better, but I had to think of something. She drew a circle and made a mark where my head hurt. Then she pretended to write other notes. She repeated this a few times with each of us, thrilled to be taking notes like a real doctor!


~ Paul loves math and puzzles and board games and spelling. But reading? Not so much. He's good at it but it seems like a chore to him. He doesn't like books that describe too much scenery. "Get on with it", his head says. I vaguely remember that as a young reader...skimming some of the artsy stuff when I wanted just the story. Now I'm hungry for the artsy stuff, hoping to learn from the more poetic authors. 


When I can find the right stories for him, however, things change and he'll sit and read and read. So far this school year he's loved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Mr. Popper's Penguins, and the My Father's Dragon series (a trio). Many others he read barely made an impression on him...they were just assignments. He's reading well above grade level so I'm not fussy about length or difficulty. I care mostly about quality and finding something he'll fall in love with. It's hit and miss and he doesn't even know what he'll like, so he isn't much help in choosing literature. Right now I'm just thrilled to see him gobbling up the last of the My Father's Dragon series, and I'm praying for another treasure he'll love. 


Peter loves to get lost in books. Lately he's been engrossed in all the historical fiction novels I recently bought. Yesterday, though, Paul raved so much about the My Father's Dragon books, which are short, that Peter began to read those. I love the freedom homeschooling affords us!

This is the first book in the series. Scholastic's website puts this at a 990 Lexile and a 4.8 grade level.

This book includes the three tales.

 Yesterday I caught Miss Beth lying across the second easy chair, next to Paul's sprawled, reading-engrossed body. She put on some reading glasses and put her head in a Mrs. Piggle Wiggle novel she grabbed off the shelf. She's lying there on some unfolded towels, reading to her okapi, acquired years ago from the San Diego Wild Animal Park. That girl sure blesses!

okapi

~ Someone asked about the multiplication program I recently bought. It's called Time Tales. I bought the DVD with small flip chart for around $40.00. Expensive, but well worth it! Peter couldn't seem to retain the multiplication facts; we just weren't getting anywhere. I began to fear a learning disability, so I perused learning disability websites for curriculum that might work. A long, tedious, very technical article I found detailed four learning-disabled students who went two to three years with no progress in multiplication. When they were taught with mnemonic devices, they immediately began retaining the facts. After suffering through that research article, I searched for mnemonic devices for teaching multiplication, and the Time Tales product came up. 


I don't think Peter has a learning disability, though a fair percentage of AD/HD students do (about 1/3). They tend to be bright students who don't meet their potential. The disorder itself is considered a learning disability due to the inattentiveness/selected hyperfocusing, but there are some problems beyond this in some AD/HD students. Mostly, I'm learning that the more we try to put learners in a box, the less effective we become as teachers and facilitators. They are all unique and our task is simply to find what works...not dwell on or worry about what they can't do.


The Time Tales, at first glance, looks too simplistic. I put it in the player and said to myself, "I paid $40 for this! It's too simplistic." But my child thrived. He quickly learned the stories and now knows even the most difficult facts. And he's retaining them! My boy is very proud of himself, leaving me a teary-eyed, grateful Momma.


The DVD comes with a second disk that allows you to print out practice sheets and other associated helps.