"Baby, you matter."

Last night after our three little boys were all changed into their jammies with teeth brushed, stories read, stuffed puppies in the crooks of their arms and tucked under covers in one room, and wrapped in a fleecey blanket and laid gently in a crib in the other room, Shaun and I had a date. One of our goals this year is a monthly date night, last night was to be it, it snowed, so our date was staying up late watching a movie together. We watched October Baby. If you haven't seen it, you should.

It left my heart wide open and feeling such deep things last night. I wanted to write then, but Jaden roused from his sleep, his little wimpers called for me, and so I spent the time that would've been given to writing snuggled together nursing him back to sleep between the flannel sheets of our bed. I held him and I stayed in that place of awareness so strong it's almost tangible.

The movie is about a girl who finds out at age 19 that her parents are not her biological parents, and that she was the result of a failed abortion attempt and was born at 24 weeks gestation. Without knowing anything about the way her life began until 19 years of age, she was deeply, deeply affected by the way she came into the world. Feelings of being unwanted, feelings of thinking she should have been dead, feelings like she was drowning, anxiety, nightmares, etc were part of her daily life only she didn't know why. All that to say, my thoughts turned to the way our childhoods affect us, even the parts we can't remember or may never know about. And that thought of course led to the way I love my boys, the way their childhoods will one day be part of who they become.

You know, it's so easy to be selfish. Just this past week I kept thinking how I am so over Jaden waking in the night still (he's 15 months) and how desperately I just want a full nights sleep. That's just one example, there are so many more moments of thinking selfish thoughts in motherhood. But last night my brain did a 180. Oh my goodness, to put selfishness to death in me. To pour out for them. To be alive to serve. To be alive to love. To give until it hurts. To have them know they are wanted. To make sure they know they matter. To see the way they react to their emotions in their immaturity, and instead of being angry, instead of dismissing their feelings, to get down there on their level and tell them that what they feel matters to me. No matter how immature. And then, because you love them so, teach them that although what they are feeling is the very rhythm that causes your heart to beat, you love them so much that you want them to learn to live a life that is not dictated by their feelings, but by their relationship with Jesus. To teach them to take those emotions to the Father that created them, to sort them out while sitting in His lap, and to listen to His voice that will tell them where to go from there.
And I held Jaden there against me and his sweet baby presence was worth far more than those twenty minutes of sleep I was missing. The tears slipped down, I kissed his soft blonde head over and over, and I vowed to make sure, absolutely sure, that my boys know how much they matter to me.

A Most Memorable Bowl of Soup

My boys are growing. Stretching their wings, testing the limits, the tide of the current "norm" ebbing and flowing with them... Jaden is taking steps, Drew is back in school after Christmas break (and loving the dinosaur themed unit they are currently doing!), and Isaiah... well, this story is about him.

When I make vegetable soup, I make a lot of it. I usually make a double batch, we eat it as leftovers for a while, I freeze the rest for another meal... It's such a great comfort food in the winter. I love to heat up a bowl and crumble some crackers in it for lunch, my boys all eat it, Drew especially loves it. But Isaiah is sometimes opinionated about his dinners, and he likes variety. So if we have soup one night, he's not a fan of having it again the next. You need that background before I tell this story.

So, I made soup. We had eaten it a few times be it lunch or dinner over the past few days before the story took place. Isaiah was apparently tired of it. He had told me numerous times as I warmed the soup for dinner that night that he wanted chocolate for dinner. Specifically Gertrude Hawk peanut butter smidgens. Nice choice, but no, sorry buddy, soup it is. I set Drew's bowl in front of him. I set Isaiah's in front of him. In what seemed like slow motion Isaiah calmly climbed down out of his chair, picked up his bowl of soup, and threw it on the floor. The bowl shattered, the soup splattered. (I didn't hear it in rhyme at the moment.) My mouth dropped open. Isaiah stared scowling at us in an effort to mask the tears that were already rising to the surface. Shaun exploded "Isaiah Matthew!!!!" I took charge of discipline. I whisked that blonde headed defiant-but-now-crumpling-in-tears boy into the laundry room and shut the door. He knew this was serious. I sat him down on the floor. We worked through why he threw the soup (anger, frustration, disobedience), why it was wrong (ungratefulness, selfishness), how to change his attitude (being thankful, saying he was sorry, showing self-control even when he's upset, acting in a way that's pleasing to Jesus), that he was going to eat vegetable soup for dinner or it would be his breakfast and that was that... And I let him stay in the laundry room until he was ready to come out and eat his soup. He came out eventually and tearfully said he was sorry, climbed up into his seat, and with tears still streaming down his face began spooning the soup into his mouth between gulping sobs.

And then I did what anyone would do, what was clearly the most obvious and logical thing to do in the situation. I got out the video camera. And without cracking a smile or acting like it was a humorous event in anyway, I began recording Isaiah eating his soup between tears. What I got will probably live on as one of our favorite family home videos for years to come. He was literally doing his loud Isaiah-cry between each bite... he saw that Shaun had croutons on his salad, said through his sobs that he wanted croutons, even as he was spooning soup into his mouth. Then Shaun set one in front of him and his eyes went wide and a smile came on his face even as the tears still streamed down. He started to put the crouton in his mouth, I asked him if he had told daddy thank you, he took the crouton back out of his mouth to say thank you and accidentally dropped the crouton on the floor in the process, at which point his world shattered even more dramatically than his first bowl of soup had.... in hysteria he scrambled down to rescue his crouton before Zion got to it. Thankfully the crouton was saved, he returned to his chair, the soup eating resumed.... but then for some unknown reason he set down his spoon and began leaving the table again. Quite sternly I asked, "Isaiah, are you supposed to be leaving the table right now??" His little chin quivered, his forehead got all wrinkled down in emotion, but he managed to say "n-n-no, but, but, but I have to go POTTY!!!!" before the tears started again. We quickly told him it was ok, he could go to the bathroom... When he came back out and saw the video camera still pointed at him, he couldn't help himself and a little smile escaped. He got back in his seat and did indeed finish his soup.

Sigh. Smile. Head shake..... The passion in that boy..... I am determined to teach him how to demonstrate self-control even when he is overcome with very vibrant emotion... But I will do it in a way that does not crush his spirit, does not constantly speak disapproval in who he is. Instead I will lead him to Jesus, I will help him sort out his feelings, I will dig deep and find my humor instead of my anger as I discipline and correct. And I will pray that one day his passion and determination will be traits used all to bring glory to God.

On Living in the Tension

"There is almost no such thing as ready, there is only now. It's time to start living."

(source unknown)

 

 

On the way home from a church leadership dinner last night Shaun and I held hands while we drove the cold dark roads home. And we talked.

And a profound thing came out of our conversation. I know for a fact we were not made to live or be motivated by fear. But we were made to live and be motivated by love.

What would happen if we were able to live in the tension of being conscious that we are not promised tomorrow with our loved ones? That tension where you are not living in a state of fearfulness, but in a state of deep and profound gratefulness for the moment you're in.

How would that change the way we love, the way we serve, the way we express that deep well of love for another that exists always but is often not tapped into?

 

The path we are called to walk is a straight and narrow one. It feels like a tightrope often, probably looks like one from the outside too. But the balancing act isn't one that's done alone, arms out stretched, desperately swaying side to side, scared to death we'll fall into oblivion. It is one done with one arm stretched straight upward, hanging onto our Father's hand reaching down toward us, keeping us steady, coaxing us onward, His voice reminding us, "don't worry what's to the right or the left, just keep your eyes on me, I will get you there safe." And the other arm flung out with complete abandon, worshipping, feeling the wind between our fingers, soaking in this beautiful life around us, resting alongside the faces of the ones we love, looking into their eyes, telling them we love them, meaning it with our whole hearts.

 

I want to live in the tension.