Really?

Dear Caleb,


Although it gave you great delight, did you really have to put every last cough drop in the bag down the humidifier shaft, causing them to pile up in the pool at the bottom and stick together into one gummy mass?  Thank you for the life lesson that cough drops, once moistened by stagnant humidifier water, will never be the same.  Reassure me of the pleasure it gave you when I have bronchiolitis and have to choose between my deathbed and sucking on one of these wretchedly defiled cough drops.


Love,

Mommy

Theology of American government

It took us a while to figure out why Lizzy was singing about the White House.


By the White House
By the White House...


We finally realized she had misheard the words in the new Rend Collective song "My Lighthouse."


My lighthouse
My lighthouse
Shining in the darkness I will follow You


Praise God the anchor for our souls is not the White House.


In my wrestling and in my doubts
In my failures You won't walk out...

In the silence You won't let go
In the questions Your truth will hold...

I won't fear what tomorrow brings
With each morning I'll rise and sing...

My lighthouse
My lighthouse
I will trust the promise
You will carry me safe to shore
Safe to shore

Spring is lovely

Family Easter egg hunt at Nana's.

Nana was silly enough to use this shelf as a plant stand.  It also held framed pictures and other decorative items.  Caleb's presence inspired her to undecorate.  Caleb understands this piece of furniture's true function is as a play table.  Truly he spreads beauty wherever he goes.

The Easter bunny brought Caleb the little wooden school bus and it was an instant hit.

Ada helping Caleb use markers

...and the result.

Planting bean seeds for a school project.  Lizzy and Ada got their own pots too.

A good spring activity.

Caleb was uninterested in beans.  This table also once held glass picture frames.  What was I thinking?  Plastic vehicles are much nicer.  Notice the little bus.

Cherry blossoms.

Tuckered out.  But still not letting go of the bus.

My Father's world

In my fantasy world, all our books are arranged uprightly on shelves, organized by Dewey Decimal system, and the kids always put them back properly.


In my fantasy world, my kids always pick up after themselves and appreciate cleanliness and neatness.


In my fantasy world I'm not getting wrinkles.


In my fantasy world I'm wearing a stylish apron and pulling a steaming dinner out of the oven with a smile on my face to greet my husband as he arrives home from work.  The children's faces are scrubbed and the girls have pigtails tied in bows and they greet their father cheerfully and then return to their quiet games in out-of-the-way corners while Jason and I exchange uninterrupted sentences.


In my fantasy world, my flowers grow and my weeds don't.


In my fantasy world, my kids outgrew their asthma by age 2, as hoped.


In my fantasy world, eating cake doesn't affect my body shape.


In my fantasy world, I alway like my kids and they always admire me for consistently guiding them toward what is good for them.


In my fantasy world, something in my house is gorgeously clever and worthy of Pinterest.


In my fantasy world, nothing crunches underfoot when you walk across the dining room.


In my fantasy world, I got that paint color in the bathroom right.


In my fantasy world, I don't need a pill to be normal.


                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


In the real world, my house is disheveled and I sometimes wonder if my kids are descendants of barnyard animals.  They are sinners and so am I, and we each struggle to see the good in anything we don't like.


In the real world, my body is in a slow process of decline and even my children's youthful bodies are flawed.


In the real world, applying all my limited energy and ability to the task still results in dirty faces, crummy floors, good-enough dinners, and unsatisfying bathroom decor.


In the real world, I don't have a naturally buoyant personality.


This is my Father's world.


My Father is pleased to press me into dependence on Him.


My Father is slowing redeeming me, having accomplished my redemption already, and promising to complete it finally.


My Father allows me to feel the brokenness of this cursed earth and this wretched soul until I cry out for salvation.


My Father knows my full satisfaction will be found only in Him.


My Father has given me a loving family, a happy marriage, abundant provision, modern medicine, and His own dear presence to cheer me and whet my appetite for eternal restoration.


My Father highlights His grace against my weakness.


My Father is lovingly prying these idols out of my grubby fists and setting my heart's affections ever more on Himself.

This is my Father's world.
His love has filled my breast,
I am reconciled, I am His child,
My soul has found His rest.

This is my Father's world.
O let me ne'er forget
That tho' the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father's world.
The battle is not done.
Jesus who died shall be satisfied.
And earth and Heaven be one.

-Maltbie D. Babcock, "This Is My Father's World"

2 for 4

A new realization dawned on our family today when Caleb woke up wheezing and struggling to breathe.  The unhappily familiar signs of asthma were all there:  rapid breathing, "tugging," the depression at the top and bottom of the rib cage with each pull, listlessness, crying, wheezing, coughing.  The vomiting at the front desk of the pediatrician's office was just an added bonus.


So Caleb gets to share Ada's nebulizer and pop some 'roids and check back with the doctor soon.  I had hoped he was past the point when asthma would show up but apparently his time is now.


I'm thanking God today for modern medicine, without which we would have grief upon grief.  Two out of four of our kids will now depend on it for breath--which means we're batting .500.  I'm no expert, but I understand that's pretty darn good.

Potty training and the empty tomb

This isn't my first potty rodeo.


You'd think that by the 4th kid I'd know what I'm doing.


I think the necessity of turning off part of your brain so you can survive the cleaning up of bodily excrement renders you unable to remember how you finally succeeded in getting it to end up in the proper place.


When you feel successful because your kid sat on the potty for 15 minutes, but then pees in a shoebox 30 seconds later; or when your kid pees on the floor and then drags the potty over to put on top of the pee; or when your 20-pound toddler suddenly has the strength of Hercules when you try to place him on the potty against his will, you start to believe that this is the way it ever shall be.


Chilling images of your child going off to college in pull-ups start creeping into your mind.


We humans have such myopic perspective, don't we?  The present moment is all we can see.  Even the past gets blurry--and the future is completely invisible.


{Case in point:  my memory of potty training my older three children is spotty.  I am a proponent of the naked method (thus the dearth of photos in this post), and I know I employed it with a certain one of my other children, who provided me with a rather spectacular memory that (for better or for worse) has not been erased.  Said child was standing naked in the kitchen when it became apparent that there was an impending bowel movement.  I whisked up the very small child under the arms and rushed toward the bathroom; alas, too late, because as I swung the child around the corner, legs splayed out, the centrifugal force of the swing caused the poor child's poop to go flying out like a discus...landing on the very floor I was trying to spare.}


Ahem.


Where was I?


So maybe our life will meander along pretty close to how we imagine it.  Or maybe life will turn a sudden sharp corner, never to be the same.


A Christian's faith is based on these surprise twists, isn't it?


For the most part, Jesus' followers hoped that Him being the Messiah meant an imminent, glorious throw-off of their Roman oppressors.  He had made the blind see, the lame leap, the hungry crowds fed--what expectation must they have had when the conflict between Him and His critics came to a head!  Now their belief would be vindicated!


How many of them thought, Any minute now! during Jesus' arrest, mock trial, and crucifixion?


Yet He died.


No legions of saving angels, no overthrown Rome, no glory.  The One they hoped in was dead.


Now the disappointed crowds started to return to life as it was before.  Not our Messiah after all.


Then came the greatest twist in history.  Surprise!  The tomb is empty!  The death wrappings are discarded!  The One who would forego a spectacle to save His Son from death has worked a far better miracle by raising Him from death!


So if nothing else, should not Easter remind me that unseen twists are possible, and despite appearances, my child may yet potty train?


Should not Easter remind me that I am no longer under condemnation?  "If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you."  (Romans 8:11)


And should Easter not remind us all that God has warned us of another unseen twist coming?  "For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God... the day of the Lord will come just like a thief in the night.  While they are saying, 'Peace and safety!' then destruction will come upon them suddenly."  (1 Thessalonians 4:16, 5:2-3)


History is replete with unexpected surprises.  May God give us faith to expect the twists He has promised.



"Death is swallowed up in victory.  O death, where is your victory?  O death, where is your sting?"   -1 Corinthians 15:54-55

Terribly (going on) two

My sweet little cherub has turned into a fallen angel.

He's perfected his demoniac impersonation.  He hates all clothing.  He refuses to sit down, anywhere, ever.  He almost knocked Grandma out chucking a bundle of silverware across the table.  He screams at night.

I finally decided since no offspring of *mine* would ever act this way, there must be something wrong with him, so I took him to the doctor.  He's had a runny nose for a while so an ear infection seemed like a reasonable guess.  

Previously at the doctor the part Caleb hated the most was being weighed.  For whatever reason, he always freaks out about it.  So I figured a doctor looking in his sore ear would go over even better.

While I explained to the nurse and then the doctor that I'm here because my child is in a constant horrible mood and terrible to live with, he sat placidly on my lap gazing at them.

When they weighed him, he was completely calm.

When the nurses had to "flush" his ear because there was too much wax, he sat perfectly still and quiet through the procedure, and then turned his ear toward the doctor so he could see it. 

And he got a clean bill of health, the little weasel.

When we came home and I placed him lovingly in his crib for his nap, he resumed his screaming.

Thus, little Dr. Jekyll's diagnosis, according to Mommy, is Incurable Crankiness.  

Believe me, it is highly contagious.

Good fun

Family get-together on a Sunday afternoon:  fire up the heavy machinery and turn the kids loose!

Loaves and fish

You're picking up toys on the living room floor

For the 15th time today

Matching up socks, sweeping up lost

Cheerios that got away...

While I may not know you, I bet I know you

Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?    -Steven Curtis Chapman, Do Everything

Caleb reading Busy, Busy Town to the girls.  He points out every single "vroom."
And yes, that is a red felt scarf tying the handles of the toy cabinet together--because we had to use the yardstick to hold the kitchen cabinets closed.  My house is nothing if not glamorous.

Matching up socks is technically Jed's job around here.  We feel doing laundry teaches Jed responsibility, giving back, diligence, and a life skill.


Actually folding the matched socks together is a detail he's a bit.... relaxed about.


Yesterday I pulled out seven white socks from my drawer, one at a time--and none of them matched.  It took eight to finally get a matching pair.


(Yes, I could've worn almost-identical white socks around my own house.  Only I would've known that the writing on the soles were in different colors.  Look, I may be on Zoloft, but I'm still me.)

Does it matter at all?  Did this song ever catch my attention when I first heard it.


Having (several) children and choosing to stay home and choosing to breastfeed for a long time and choosing to homeschool all comes with certain limitations.


As in, I can't leave my nursling for a day (or more than a few hours, until recently).


As in, mobilizing to go to the grocery store for a gallon of milk is like planning for D-Day, but with more thought to potty stops.


As in, I can't play with my friends whenever I want to, because I'm schooling all morning and have nappers in the afternoon.  And after that I have to make dinner.


Et cetera.

In theory, I believe what I'm doing is valuable.  In raising our family intentionally, we are a building block in a society that needs intact homes.


I want to do what I do.  But it's hard.  And it's much harder when I can't stop thinking, does it matter at all?


For one thing, will these little beloveds ever stop acting like barbarians raised by wolves?


Will they grow up to love Jesus?


Will they know how to fold socks?


And for the love of all that's good and holy, will they ever stop pooping in their pants?

He fell sound asleep while I was making our lunch.  Emptying the dishwasher and running the microwave right in front of him didn't wake him up.

Neither did informing him that it was time to eat.

Aside from the inability to do whatever I want whenever I want to, I have certain more significant limitations.


Such as, feeding orphans in Myanmar isn't very feasible for me.  Or soothing the rages of war across Africa.  Or reaching the Middle East for Christ.


No, because I'm matching white socks and mopping up pee puddles and fixing lunch.


Does it matter at all?


How can *I* make a discernible difference in this world?  Does bringing some children into the world and (best case scenario) teaching them to love Jesus really contribute to the Kingdom of God?


Because that's all I seem to be working on.


But there are zillions of people and problems and painful things out there!  What a discouraging few days I've had thinking about it.

He woke up extremely resentfully.

And then--


God directed me to the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand*.  You know, zillions of hungry people in the wilderness with Jesus, and He starts asking the disciples how they are going to meet their need.  Andrew says,


"There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are these for so many people?"


What are these for so many people?


Is this not the very question that's been burdening my mind?


Jesus, I have four little people who are learning to know You, but what are these for so many people in the world?


Jesus, I have a biblical worldview and a few short years here, but what are these for so many people?


Jesus, I have faith like a mustard seed and a flickering love, but what are these for so many people?


"Jesus then took the loaves," and fed the people to satiety---gathering up twelve baskets of overabundance.


And the feeding belonged to Jesus--not the boy with the offered food.



Lord, take my wavering faith and my unsteady efforts to love my family, teach my children, and keep my home.  Take my concern for my neighbor and my God-ordained limitations and work, that the world may see You glorified in my weakness.


*John 6