Closer

Malia never took to a pacifier, and although she sleeps with a few stuffed animals, if one were to disappear, she wouldn't even flinch. She doesn't have a "blankie," or anything like that. She uses my arm. When she is tired or upset, she comes over and rubs my arm, just between my elbow and my wrist. While this started out cute, as she gets older, it is getting less cute, and I am trying to break her of the habit. There are rare nights when she has a bad dream or can't sleep, and she doesn't wake me up, she just comes into our bed and rubs my arm till she falls back to sleep. Fortunately for me, since having children I can sleep through an explosion, so it doesn't bother me; I just wake up and she's there. If we are out shopping or running errands and she gets tired, she just touches my arm and rubs it a little bit, and I know that her shelf life has expired and she is done. It is much nicer than a screaming fit, which is Gianni's signal that it's time to go home, and everyone in Target will know it. And although Malia is one of the most self-confident kids I know, there are times that she just needs "Mommy's Arm," as she refers to it. And when she really needs it, there is no stopping her. She will grab it while I am cooking, folding laundry, or typing. I can be doing things around the house, and she is attached to me, following me around, holding on to my arm. Many times I will say, "you cannot have my arm right now," a sentence that I never thought I would say once, much less repeatedly. I have tried to shift the object of her affection to numerous other "normal" kid security objects, but it never works. There just is no substitute.
This got me to thinking about how we should be with God... always wanting in, pressing for as much "close" time as possible, accepting no substitutes. With God, like with Malia, we sometimes only go to Him when we are tired or upset, and then we demand His attention (which He lovingly gives). And it benefits us. After time with God, we are usually more relaxed and less stressed. But unlike me with Malia, He prefers that we move closer to Him more, not less. He wants us to follow after Him and be as close to Him as possible. He has all the time in the world to let us draw near to Him; it is usually us who have such "important" time constraints. I am so guilty of shoving God off my docket when I am super-busy, because I know He will always be there, but the house needs to be clean because a small group is coming over, or laundry needs to be done, or coupons need to be cut so I can get to the store. It is not fair to Him, and truthfully, it is to my disadvantage. I think that just like tithing money seems to make us more financially comfortable, even when it doesn't add up on paper, that tithing our time somehow allows us to get more done in the same amount of time. Because God's cool like that. And He will never push us away, like I do with Malia; He will always sit and let us be as close to Him as we want, for as long as we want. And THAT is a loving Father.

Treasure

I think that everyone has rational fears and irrational fears. Sometimes our irrational fears can become very real and we must walk them out to see if they materialize or if they are, in fact, irrational. Today I had to take my son to All Children’s Hospital to see an immunologist. We were referred there about a month ago, so for the past few weeks I have carried an invisible burden of wondering what is wrong with him and how serious it is. When I first heard that there was something showing up in his bloodwork pertaining to his immunity system, my mind immediately said, “cancer.” When we were referred to All Children’s, my anxiety began to climb, because I knew what kind of kids were at that hospital: really sick kids. For a month, I acted like I was OK with the situation, and I acted the part of the faith-full mom who was believing that there would be nothing wrong with her baby, when inside I was a petrified mess, playing out every “what if” in my mind. You see, one of my irrational fears is that God is going to realize that I was the girl who wasn’t supposed to have kids, that some cosmic mistake had been made, and He’d decide to take them back. I have an awful fear that something horrible will happen to my kids and I will have to figure out how to exist without them. And I can’t even wrap my brain around how that would play out. So when we entered the cheery halls of All Children’s this morning, I saw some sick kids. Really sick. Bald-from-chemo sick. And I pushed my son in his stroller down to the immunologist, wondering if I was about to find out that my baby boy was as sick as these other kids.
As it turns out, Gianni is not that sick, and although they aren’t yet sure exactly what is going on, no one thinks that it is anything that can’t be easily fixed, so my invisible weight has been lifted and I feel lighter. But as the day has gone on, I cannot help but picture those sick kids. The journey that these families are on is, to me, one of the longest, most difficult journeys there is. Parents simply aren’t supposed to outlive their kids. They should never have to pack a nursery up, get rid of car seats and high chairs that are no longer needed, or have to pick out the last outfit their child will ever wear. Is just isn’t fair.
So in this month that I have had to walk out my irrational fear, I’ve treasured moments, not knowing if they were numbered. I’ve let the house get a little messier, and I’ve cuddled a little longer. I’ve played a little more and yelled a little less. I’ve let dirty laundry wait while chubby little fingers tickled me for as long as they wanted to. And perhaps this is really how life is supposed to be lived.
Only the perfectionist in me cringes at the thought of leaving dirty dishes in the sink while my kids and I make a fort with blankets. And the realist in me knows that there is no laundry elf, and the longer I let it go, the longer it will take me to catch up, and it is inevitable that I will have to catch up. And the pessimist in me says that if I think I’m supposed to do nothing but play and enjoy my kids all day every day, I’m living in some sort of fairy land, because chores need to get done and people need to be fed. But perhaps there is a fine balance somewhere in between a scheduled day full of chores and errands, and weeks and weeks of dress-up and picnics. Perhaps somewhere in between loads of laundry I can stop long enough to enjoy the closest thing to pure happiness on this side of heaven. Because I’m pretty sure that the parents of those sick kids aren’t too worried about how clean and organized their closets are, or how high up the corporate ladder they have climbed. I’m guessing that they’re trying to squeeze the most out of every single moment that they have with their kids, and taking a million pictures, and jotting down every detail so they don’t forget how their child’s face lit up when a favorite song came on, or how sweet he smelled when he got out of the tub. It’s not fair that one day those memories are all they will have, and that makes me even more grateful for what I have right now: a daily reminder of the fact that God loved me enough to allow me to wake up each day with two living, breathing miracles in my house. And somewhere in between making beds and making mud pies, I will treasure moments. I will take pictures. I will jot down details. And I will remember to be very, very grateful.

Cat Treats

My son is generally a happy boy. As long as his diaper is dry, his belly is full, and he's had his nap, he's pretty easy to please. However, when he gets his mind set on something, he won't easily back down until he gets what he wants. Stubborn doesn't even begin to describe him. He can throw a fit to rival any other toddler's, and he has no shame. He will throw a fit in the quietest of public settings without thinking twice.

The other day, he got hungry, and he opened the pantry to look for a snack. He found a bag of cat treats and decided that this was what he wanted. He handed me the cat treats and said, "Eat." I said, "Gianni, these are for the cats; these are not for little boys." He threw himself on the floor and kicked and screamed, "EAT! EAT!" I tried to reason with him. I showed him the picture of the cat on the package. I tried to give him cheese crackers instead. I offered him a banana. I offered him $100. He would have none of it. He wanted the cat treats. The only thing I could do to maintain the shred of sanity I have left was walk away and let him cry.

I got to thinking about how often I say, "Yes," "No," or "Not now," in any given day.

"Mommy, may I have some juice?"
"Yes."

"Mommy, can I drive the car?"
"No."

"Mommy, can we go to the park?"
"Not now."

And that's all before my first cup of coffee in the morning.

I answer the way I do based on what is best for my children and what works with our schedule. Some answers are easier than others. And I'm not always sure that I'm right.

God, the perfect Father, does the same with us. We ask Him things, convinced that this is really what we want, and He says, "No." To Him who sees the big picture, our question may seem as ludicrous as a child asking for cat treats, but to us, we are convinced that this is what is best for us.
We are convinced that we should have a certain job, a certain salary, a certain house, a certain number of kids, a certain spouse.
Sometimes God says, "No."
Sometimes God says, "Yes."
Sometimes God says, "Not now."
And in His case, Father always knows best. Although it is difficult for us to hear His answer sometimes, we must trust that he has our best interest at heart, for He is the perfect parent.

As a parent, my patience has a shelf life. After a certain number of questions, I snap. In contrast, God's patience with me is not an exhaustable resource. He listens to every prayer and is so patient with me as I continue asking for cat treats. Little do I know that He has a fine meal waiting for me instead.

While we were in Puerto Rico, we went to a beach for part of a day. I had to use the bathroom before I went down to the beach, so I was walking away from the rest of the family. On my way to the bathroom, I saw old buildings in terrible disrepair, a rusted out car on the side of the road, and the street was littered with paper, beer bottles, and a dead animal. Once I got into the bathroom, I looked around to see that there were no doors on any of the stalls, there was no toilet paper or paper towels, and the water had been cut off. Excellent. By the time I left the bathroom (thankful that I carry baby wipes with me at all times), I was more than a little disgusted at this "beach trip."
When I emerged on the other side of the bathroom, this is what I saw.

How on earth could this beautiful, secluded beach be just steps away from all that garbage? As I walked toward my beautiful family (the one I never thought was possible just four years ago), my thoughts turned to my path in life. Sometimes we look around and all we see is garbage. We see everything that is wrong in our little world. We whine to God about the broken glass and garbage, and fail to look a few feet away (or maybe even just a swivel around) to see the beauty in our lives - even when the beauty far outweighs the garbage. There are people who are always looking for what is wrong in any given situation. If you are always looking for something wrong, you will always find it. However, if you are always looking for something right, you will always find that, too, and I have to imagine that the latter people are much happier, and lead much more peaceful, fulfilling lives than the former. I want so badly to be someone who sees the beach and not the garbage in my life. Now I know that it isn't healthy to ignore the garbage altogether, but I want to focus on and be grateful for what is right in my life, while I work on correcting what is wrong. If my only focus is on what needs to change, I will become incredibly overwhelmed and those issues will overshadow all the blessings that I have, and I will never see them or acknowledge them. As Christians, we should be a light in a dark world, shining the light of Christ and His love for all people. If we are always complaining, always judging, always negative, what kind of representatives are we for the King of Glory? I want to positively influence my kids, my family, my friends, and anyone else who God may send my way. I want to embrace and celebrate my wonderful life and all the blessings it contains! I want others to hear my testimony and say, "It really is true... with God, all things are possible!" I want to divert people from the garbage and direct them to the beach (and then introduce them to the One who made it)!

Ice Cream

Tonight after Malia’s soccer game we decided to go to an ice cream shop for a treat. The tables were outside, and on the first “Florida Fall” night of the year (a “cool” 74 degrees), there were many others who had the same idea. As I sat looking around at the other customers, I noticed how different we all were. There was my family, with two children ages three and under, there were two women who were catching each other up on their lives. They had brought photos to share and were excitedly updating each other on mutual friends and family. There was a couple who was obviously at the beginning of a dating relationship, as they seemed nervous, and although flirtatious, didn’t sit too close to each other. There was also a couple in their 60s who had brought the man’s elderly father with them, who couldn’t have been any younger than 90. He moved slowly with a walker and seemed to be enjoying every single bite of his ice cream cone. There were a few other families, each with kids of varying ages, some coming after a soccer game, just like us.
It occurred to me that even though we all seemed so different, we had this one thing in common: we all wanted ice cream tonight. Now, that’s not such a huge deal, and certainly not a reason for us to unite together for some great cause, but we all came from whatever point in life we were, and for a brief blip on the radar, we sat together enjoying ice cream. I looked at my son, who was enjoying his first-ever big boy ice cream cone. I glanced back over at the elderly man, and couldn’t help but wonder how many ice cream cones he had eaten in his life, and whether or not this would be the last time he was here enjoying one. He looked at my son and smiled, and I thought of how wonderful it was to be sitting there with one boy at the very beginning of his life, and one man nearing the end of his, both doing the same thing…eating ice cream. I thought of all the man had been through, and I wondered if he had had a good life. One glance at Gianni with ice cream all over his face, and I thought of what lay ahead for him, and said a quick prayer that he would have a good life, and that he would become the man God wanted him to be.
At one point, a man came by and handed us some napkins. He said that he had been given too many, and I guess it was very obvious that we were going to need more. I thanked him, and he sat back down and began talking to his wife. Chances are that I will never see him again, but sometimes it feels good to just get a little bit of kindness from a stranger. Even though it wasn’t a big deal to hand us a napkin, it was a little tag at the end of the day, reminding me that there are still people out there who notice the needs of others and who make it a point to meet those needs.
The whole experience at the ice cream shop lasted fewer than thirty minutes, but it got my mind thinking about Gary. Gary is a man in his 60s who in I met when I lived in Haiti. He is from the Seattle area, and we taught at the same school in Port-au-Prince. We both lived there at the school, and he was the only American I knew in Haiti. The first day we met, he was sitting out on the stoop to his room, watching The Simpsons on TV. I introduced myself and noticed that he had a gold front tooth with a peace symbol on it. He was under the impression that he was in Haiti to teach English to adults. There must have been some communication failure, because he landed in a classroom full of second graders and had no clue what he was doing. A kindergartener at the school asked him to tie her shoe, and he said, “God! No! Aren’t you supposed to be able to do that? That should be a prerequisite to get into school!”
Gary and I were as opposite as any two people could be. We could hardly find ground that we agreed on. However, because he was the only other English-speaking person around, he became my friend. The president of Haiti would cut the electricity for all of Port-au-Prince and Gary and I would sit in the pitch black, with the sounds of voodoo ceremonies in the background, and debate politics, religion, or which of the Golden Girls was the best. On weekends, we would pay ridiculous amounts of money to get in the back of a semi- truck with pigs and goats and travel to orphanages high in the mountains. For the time that we lived there, he was a father, a neighbor, an older brother, and a friend to me. Had we met in the U.S., we never would have even had ice cream together. But I learned so much from Gary, and I also learned a valuable lesson in kindness and respect for others, no matter if they think like me or not. Gary taught me that I can listen with respect to the opinions of others, and that if I really, truly, believe something, I should never be ashamed of it, and should never cower or hide my passion just because someone else may disagree.
I think that God brings all sorts of people into our lives, whether it’s for a short time, like those folks at the ice cream shop, or for a longer time, like Gary. He never brings just the people that He knows we would get along with; He also brings people who challenge us, who challenge our faith, and who, perhaps, we can point toward Him. Christ died for every single person at that ice cream shop, and He died for Gary, and He died for me. Whether we happen to be all enjoying a cone at the same time, or whether we are out trying to save the world, it's interesting to see all the different people who come across our paths in life, knowing that God loves us all.

Bullet Points

When we tell the stories of our lives, we tend to sort of “bullet point” the big events and leave out the details. These details may be mundane, or they may be lessons learned, or personal growth made, but we leave them out in the interest of time, and to spare whoever is on the receiving end of our stories every detail, from what brand toothpaste we use to how our faith was stretched during a decade-long life lesson.
I think that sometimes the details are as important as the bullet points. There can be a pack of lessons learned and wisdom gained behind one little sentence. For example, a bullet point to the story of my life is:
-I was told by numerous doctors that I would never have children, and I have given birth to two.
Behind that simple sentence are years of longing, disbelief, agony, prayers, tests, doctors, diagnosis, surgeries, and fertility treatments. Also behind that sentence are lessons in trust, faith, patience, and gratefulness. Going through that time in my life changed who I was, and even though it is a sentence - 19 words strung together – I am a whole different person behind that sentence than I was facing it.
The most recent “bullet point” to my testimony is a very simple, direct sentence:
- I had a miscarriage.
Now, I know that there are people who believe that there is a reason behind absolutely everything that happens in life. I tend to believe more that we live in a broken world, and sometimes bad things can happen. However, reflecting on this recent event in my life, and – three weeks out – not yet getting through a day without a few tears sliding out, I have decided to glean some wisdom from this tragedy. I have decided to take this opportunity to see what I can learn and how I can be a better person to the right-hand side of this sentence in the paragraph of my life than the person I was to the left of the sentence. And here is what I have learned:
From now on, I will be unapologetic about the fingerprints on my sliding glass door, because they are a sign that life is going on in this house, and the fact that there are little fingers to make those prints is a miracle in itself, so instead of finding them embarrassing, I’m not going to be so quick to wipe them off.
When my one-year-old son cries every.single.night at exactly midnight, just wanting a little cuddle for all of five minutes before drifting back to sleep, I’m going to go in and cuddle him. I'm not going to feel guilty that I should be letting him “cry it out,” because one night he is going to sleep through our little midnight date, and I’ll never get to go back to that. So if I want to sit and continue to rock him, even after he’s been asleep for a while, and smell his sweet hair, then I will. I may be a little more tired in the morning, but I have the rest of my life to catch up on that sleep. Besides, I don’t know how many more nights I’ll get that little wake-up call, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. Chances are that one day he won’t want to be caught dead letting his mamma sniff his head, so I’ll let his little fingers curl around mine and wonder what he is dreaming about as he sleeps softly in my arms for one more night, thank you very much.
When my three-year-old crawls into bed with us every so often in the middle of the night and snuggles up to me, using my arm as a teddy bear, instead of carting her immediately off to bed, worried what others might think of me for – gasp- letting her stay in the bed with us, I’m going to snuggle her right back and stroke her hair, amazed that I even have a little girl to snuggle. I’m going to remember the days when I was a “barren” teacher, and was trying to swallow the news that the only children in my life were to be other people’s children who I taught. I’m going to remember the three months of bed-rest that I went through at the end of my pregnancy with her, and how those were the longest three months of my life. I'll think about trying to keep her in there so she could bake longer, but finding it more and more difficult to keep on waiting to meet her, and once I did meet her, wondering how on earth I ever lived without her. And maybe one day, a bullet point in her life’s story will be that her mamma snuggled with her every chance she got.
When I’m at Busch Gardens watching Sesame Street Live for the 42nd time, but seeing the magic of it through my kids’ eyes, I’m going to remember what a marvelous age three years old is. I'll think about what a privilege it is to have learned to enjoy discovering life with a three-year-old before it’s too late. I’m going to try to enjoy the magical world of three, tantrums and all, because I have a baby in heaven who will never see three-years-old on this earth, so each day of “three” is a gift.
When I look into our home’s “den/office” and see a “playroom/playroom,” I will be grateful that this room isn’t really being used as a boring office, rather it is a place where imaginations can whisk you away, towers and towns can be built of blocks, chocolate covered celery can be cooked and served, and baby dolls with bizarre names like Princess Peanut Butter can drive remote control cars without a license. I will remember to look around that colorful room and think about the fun times we have already had in there, and anticipate new memories that will be made.
When I stop and remember the life of a baby that I know but have never held, that I felt but never saw, I will be grateful that this precious child taught me so much in such a short amount of time: that life is so fragile and must be appreciated to be truly lived, and that there is a depth of intimacy with the Father that can only be obtained through brokenness and grief, and so hard times must come every once in a while. And those times in my life when my patience seems short and the days seem long, and I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, I will go to the playroom and have tea with Princess Peanut Butter and the loveliest two kids any mom could ever ask for, and I’ll enjoy every minute of it.

Clean

We went to Busch Gardens today. In spite of the fact that the calendar says that fall is looming around the corner, it was hot. "Dante's Inferno" kind of hot. I picked up on people saying, "It's still better than summertime," and that is true, but make no mistake, it was HOT. We were all a sweaty, sticky, disgusting mess when we piled our tired bodies back into the car at the end of the day. The first thought that came to my head when I collapsed into the car was, 'A shower is going to feel sooooooo good.' It seems that the dirtier you get, the better a shower feels, and the more clean you feel when you are done. If there is a day when I basically stay indoors and don't do much, then when I take a shower, it's OK, but I don't step out of the shower feeling transformed or anything. When I've had a day much like today, when the funkiness of the outdoors is clingling for dear life to my skin and I feel as if the only reasonable choice for the garments I am wearing is to burn them, a shower makes all the difference in the world. I feel like a new woman. I can literally feel the filth running off of me, and when I step out I actually feel lighter. It's the best feeling, and can only be helped by immediately jumping into a bed with sheets that are still warm from the drier. That is the perfect storm of coziness right there.
It's the same thing, I think, with sin. There are people who think that they have been too awful, sinned too much, done too many unthinkable things, to even try to approach God and ask for forgiveness. What these people are missing out on is feeling the cleanest they have ever felt. They have the opportunity for the God who created the universe to wash away their sin and for them to stand before Him completely clean and forgiven, and all they have to do is ask. Their load would actually feel lighter if they would just ask for forgiveness and accept the grace and mercy that the Father lovingly offers to all of His children. It is such an amazing concept, and I think that so many miss out on it, for fear that they aren't good enough to be forgiven, which is the awful irony of the whole thing. There are many passages in the Bible that speak of being washed, made whiter than snow, and we are urged to approach the throne and ask for forgiveness. If no one were to take the Father up on His offer, then His Son would have died in vain. So if you haven't, I urge you, give it a try. It's the best feeling ever; I promise. Jumping into a bed with warm sheets doesn't even compare.