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These Three
Bear: Mom? Do you think I’d make a good pastor? Perhaps I’ll be a pastor when I grow up. I’d love to be a pastor.
Ash: Bear, if you become a pastor, I will come to every. single. one. of your sermons!Bella: Oh, Bear! You could be a pastor at Cub-nant! Then we could all be at Cub-nant together and you could teach us!
No words, y’all.No words.
They are my heroes. -
Ruling and Drooling?
He came to me, voice quavering, this boy who wears his heart on his sleeve. He was hurting because of words. Words spoken by friends. He shuddered and sighed, “Mom, they say that girls rule and boys drool. That’s not true, Mom. That’s not true.”
Oh, my boy.
I hid my smile, remembering the days of cooties and “hating boys”. His innocence slays me. He just doesn’t think that way, and it made my heart ache to hear him hurting.
How do I do this?
This parenting thing.
“Oh, Bear,” I held him. “You know that’s not true. Girls are no better than boys. You know it in your heart. That was girls being silly girls. Try not to let it hurt you, and remember, if you know the truth you can rise above the silliness.”
How do I help him learn to shut out the noise of others. Or rather how do I teach him which noise to shut out? And which noise to hear and move towards? And which noise to let change his life?
The reality is that kids are kids and they’re going to say things.
But honestly, y’all, the other reality is that we live in a world where men and women belittle each other as “less than” far more often than they should.
“We need each other,” I told my Bear. “Boys need girls and girls need boys. And no one is better than the other. We are each uniquely created for the roles we’ve been given. The places we are. Imagine a world with no girls.”
He shook his head, “That wouldn’t be good.”
“You’re right, it wouldn’t. And a world with no boys would be bad, too.”
We need each other.
Oh, how we need each other.
I remember many years ago being at a seminar and hearing the woman speaking bash her husband because he was home with her children and look at all she had to do to prepare him for taking care of the kids. I remember her mocking him because she didn’t trust him to potty train. I remember her talking about the mess her home would be in when she got home, and I remember the group listening laughing and someone mentioning how “men just can’t do it right.”
I remember wanting to walk out of that room right then and there, because, y’all I know that husband was a good father. He just didn’t do things her way. Instead of being thankful that she had the freedom to come speak at this seminar because her husband was willing to stay home with the kids that night, she stood in front of a large group of women and bashed him. It was painful to hear.
And years later, I struggled in bed for weeks and months fighting cancer while my husband didn’t do things “my way” in the home, but my children were loved and cared for and protected and provided for because my Brian was willing to step up even more than he normally does.
Because we need each other.
Oh, how we need each other.
Whether we’re classmates or workmates or siblings or married or unmarried. Whether we’ve been hurt by men or hurt by women. Whether we think we do or not… we need each other. And in a perfect world, nobody would “rule or think anybody drools”… But sadly, we don’t live in a perfect world, and men and women fail each other all the time.
And that is why we need Jesus.
And that is how I do this parenting thing.
By taking it all to Jesus.
And taking my Bear to Him, too.
No matter how simple I may think the problem is, if it’s big to Bear, it’s big to me and it’s big to Jesus. And so we pray and we ask God to help when others’ words hurt, and to help us move forward and to love others.
I watched my Bear today. He spent the day helping his dad with the car and came in with grease on his hands and told me how the bolt fell and Dad couldn’t reach it and so he reached down in the engine and grabbed it, and he’s the hero. Then I watched him play baseball and pop fly and hit fouls and stop grounders and make errors and handle losing 17-2 with grace and dignity (might I say far more grace than was in my heart toward the coaches of the other team who played rather dishonorably?). I watched his heart melt when he found robin eggs in a tree that blew down in the wind, and he sighed over how sad it must be that the mommy would never come back to those eggs. I watched him jump in the truck and help his dad load branches and take them to the dump.
And I realized something all over again.
His friends might think girls rule and boys drool.
But I know better.
My little boy Bear who will one day, Lord willing, grow up to be a big man Bear (and perhaps “should I be a pastor?” he wonders).
This world needs my Bear.
I need Bear and he needs me.
Oh, how we need each other!
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Must. Stop. Time.
Last night we curled in her bed and read together, and I watched her fingers trace the outline of Maid Marion’s wedding dress. Her eyes lit up and then turned dreamy, and I knew where her mind had gone–to her own white dress and flowers and dreams of weddings and husbands and families. She loves to imagine that day.
I shook back tears and mentally screamed, “Must. stop. time!”
We read Dumbo together, Bear curling in with us, and she finger traced the Mommy and baby together and cried when they were separated. “That’s how I feel when I’m away from you, Mommy. Well, some of the time. I really like to be at school, too. I guess I’m torn in two.”
I nodded, knowing what she meant, because this growing up is exactly what I want her to be doing, learning her independence, learning to step forward on her own, but inside I am torn in two, screaming, “Must. stop. time.”
“Will you snuggle me?” Her big brown eyes looked even bigger as she gazed up at me. We snuggled together under her covers and prayed for her days and the year to come. And it was my turn to trace, only this time it was tracing the outline of her forehead and cheeks with my finger just as I had done when she was a baby. “This feels good…” her words slurred as she whispered in her not-yet-but-almost-sleep. And she nestled into my shoulder and sighed, and my mind screamed, “Must. stop. time!”
Somehow that spot under my chin has grown with her. I’m thankful for that… this molding and growing and changing and learning… I’m molding with her and we’re growing and changing and learning together.
As she drifted off to sleep, I eased myself out from underneath her and kissed her forehead, “Good night, my love.” She opened her eyes for a moment and murmured, “I love you.” Then she tucked her hand under her chin and slipped back into dreamland, and I screamed inside, “Must. stop. time!”
This morning around 6:00 I heard them, the pitter patter of little feet as she came into our room, crawling into bed with us, barely awake, shivering in the pre-dawn darkness. She found the nook under my chin and sighed, and I whispered, “Happy birthday, baby.” She half-sighed, “Thank you, Mommy.” And I lay next to her and silently screamed for time to stop.
I woke her later to get ready for school and in our morning rush, we sang our happy birthdays and thanked God for our little Bella-girl. I ran up the steps to call her to breakfast and found her stroking her long, red curls, watching herself in the mirror, and I stopped and caught my breath, and I think this time I actually said, “Must. stop. time!” She turned and grinned at me, “But Mommy, I have to grow older, so we can grow older together.”
Oh, that girl!
She is a gift.
And as I wrap presents and prepare her birthday meal and buy donuts (she wants donuts instead of cupcakes this year), it is I who am receiving the gift.
The gift of her life.
It is easy for me to sit and be sad, to long for time to stop, to grieve over so much lost time with her these past 5 years of battle. It is hard to accept that I cannot remember parts of her life, the milestones, the cute phrases, the stories of toddlerhood, the time missed with her while others cared for her. Every year on her birthday, I grieve those losses.
But the gains. Oh, the gains far outweigh those losses.
What have a gained?
I have gained a rainbow in my cloud. She is happy and content and enthusiastic for life.
I am certain God knew when He formed her that I needed her little joyful personality to bolster my spirit. She is full of dreams and spunk, and is a friend to all, weeping when others weep and rejoicing when others rejoice. This girl with a heart of gold.
And though I cry inwardly for time to stop, I know… this is best, this growing and loving and learning and changing.
This is the beauty of time.
Because for us time is measured in heartbeats of love, and we have all the time in the world.
Happy birthday, my dear girl. This world received a beautiful gift the day you were born.
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Once a baby is delivered, there are new and important matters to address, such as breastfeeding, newborn screening tests, and sleeping safety, so that the baby has the best chance to develop normally. Also, a newborn’s lungs and kidneys have not yet developed, and so he or she is much more vulnerable to breathing problems, including sleep apnea.
Sleep apnea is a common breathing problem, affecting one in five infants. Sleep apnea is characterized by the slow and irregular breathing that can be difficult to distinguish from an occasional yawn. As the mouth is opened and the airway opens (inhaled air enters), a person may find he or she can breath more quickly. If it happens several times a night, this is sleep apnea. Although most people do not experience these conditions on a regular basis, they can lead to serious health problems such as apnea (shortness of breath) and potentially serious respiratory problems.
Preventing sleep apnea
According to clinics like Children’s Physicians Raleigh, NC, for children with sleep apnea, sleeping without the need for a pacifier can help reduce the symptoms of the condition. In addition, sleep apnea prevention efforts should also focus on children with medical conditions, such as asthma, diabetes, and epilepsy. The American Academy of Pediatrics has developed a position statement on sleep apnea. It advises pediatricians and other health care providers to monitor their patients who are at risk for sleep apnea to monitor for sleep apnea episodes and to provide appropriate management to these patients to avoid continued problems. The American Academy of Pediatrics also advises that children with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease should be tested for obstructive sleep apnea. This testing is recommended every two years and should include at least the following five parameters: oxygen saturation (SOS), inbreath volume (IV), ventilation (V), tidal volume (T) and airflow rate (A). Most importantly, the tests should be done in the morning (before bedtime).
A number of studies have explored the effects of pacifier use on children with sleep apnea. This information has been used to develop recommendations for the use of pacifiers on children with sleep apnea. A study of 50 patients with COPD (which included 30 children with moderate to severe sleep apnea) showed that pacifier use resulted in a significant improvement in apnea-hypopnea index, a better sleep efficiency (SLE) score, a significantly greater number of awakenings (33%) and fewer apneas (15%). A comparison of pacifier use with no pacifier use showed no significant difference in apnea-hypopnea index, a better sleep efficiency (SLE) score or fewer apneas. In another study, 55 children with moderate to severe sleep apnea underwent the Sleep Evaluation Test, a standardized measurement of sleep quality (SETF), and were randomly assigned to receive pacifier therapy with or without no pacifier use for an average of 13.3 months. After 12 months, no significant difference in sleep quality between pacifier therapy and no pacifier therapy was found.
A study of 40 children with moderate to severe sleep apnea showed that with or without a pacifier, no significant effect on sleep apnea was observed.
The use of a pacifier in the absence of an associated need for artificial ventilation is unlikely to be of benefit in infants with significant sleep apnea, since the pacifier has little or no effect on airway, airway function, respiratory rate or gas exchange.
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Such Joyous Work
It happens in an instant. Unexpected. I know things are unsettled, but I do not know what it is that I say or do that triggers outbursts, meltdowns, arguments, emergence of the strong will.
Suddenly I am face to face with rebellion and anger, and I must swallow mine in order to love, train and teach.
And God’s Word rings in my ears…“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
How do I do this?
We look at each other, eyes searching, wondering who will break first, but it is not my job to break. It is my job to bend–bend their hearts towards the Son of righteousness, so that they will grow. I must speak. But how to bend?
“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
Each moment is full of the need of grace. And I fail far more than I succeed, but failing does not make me a failure.
This parenting is hard, but if it were not hard, it would not be parenting.
This parenting is not convenient, but if it were convenient, it would not be parenting.
These children are gifts no matter how difficult parenting them may be. Difficulty does not diminish the goodness of God. It only increases my dependency on Him and His goodness.
That is how the words can come. Through Him. Because of Him and His grace. That is only how I can give grace.
“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
It is only when I am not dependent on Him that the lens through which I view my children blurs and cracks and distorts.
But when I look at them through His eyes I see them clearly. The way I need to see them. The way I want to see them. As gifts. And I fall on my knees and beg God for wisdom and strength. For grace and love. Because I so desperately need Him and so do my children.
“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
They need to see Him through me, and how can they see him through me if I view them as a nuisance, an inconvenience, an interruption to my day or my plans or my life? How can others see Him in me if I complain and groan and disrespect my children and their reputation?
No. I parent them and I love them, and I accept parenthood for what it is.
Daily denying self.
Work.
But oh, what joyous work!
At the end of the day when they curl up beside me, head on my shoulder, the words, “I’m sorry…” come.
There is the boy who looks at me and I ask, “What will you tell your friends?” and he says, “The truth. I messed up. I sinned.”
“let NOTHING unwholesome proceed out of your mouth… only that which edifies…for the need of the moment…so it will give grace…”
Their words. My words. They have changed from unwholesome to edifying because of God’s grace.
And I see the Gospel.
It is there and they are growing.
And as I bend them toward the son of righteousness, I see the shoots deepen into the earth and the saplings stand tall.
And I fall to my knees. Thankful for His gift.
This joyous work of parenthood.
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The Boy Who Banged the Drums
It was a year or two ago that our worship leader, Mike, approached Brian just before the second service we were attending at church.“Brian! Ian wants to play the drums, and I say ‘let’s let him’! Would you bring him up on stage for the last song after the sermon so he can play?” Brian willingly agreed.
Ian. That dear boy who loved unreservedly and enjoyed life fully. That boy who hugged anyone and made friends with everyone he saw. That boy who loved to tickle and laugh and say “tamales” for Sunday School answers just to laugh some more. That boy who was a boy scout full of adventure. That boy with Down Syndrome. That boy who truly LIVED.
At the end of the service, Ian’s dad walked him to Brian and Brian brought Ian up to the congas for the last song.
For those of us who were there, we’ll never forget it. For those of you who weren’t, I can’t even begin to describe it for you… the look on his face as he banged away at those drums…pure worship and joy!
And oh, how he banged! He played and played and smiled and laughed and banged and jumped and enjoyed worshipping Jesus to the fullest. I have rarely witnessed such a beautiful picture of pure, unfettered worship like Ian’s.
My seat in church gave me clear view of not just Ian’s face, but Brian’s face as he stood next to him and drummed with him… and of Ian’s father’s face as he sat in front of me, worshipping with his son.
No words, friends.
No words.
Ian. That dear boy who loved unreservedly.
He went home to be with Jesus on Friday morning.
As I hugged Ian’s mom at calling hours, she talked with me about that day, about how wonderful it was for him to play the drums… about how blessed she was to have had him in her life for 22 years, her constant companion…and about how Ian had so many adventures and so many people who were willing to adventure with him.
It makes me think of C.S. Lewis’ book, The Last Battle, where he writes, “And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”
Ian has fought his last battle, he’s walked through that door, he’s past the cover and title page and he’s into chapter one… which goes on forever and every chapter is better than before.
That boy. That dear boy who loved unreservedly and enjoyed life fully. That boy who hugged anyone and made friends with everyone he saw. That boy who loved to tickle and laugh and say “tamales” for Sunday School answers just to laugh some more. That boy who was a boy scout full of adventure.
That boy who banged the drums.
I can only imagine his worship now… pure and unfettered.
That boy who lived so passionately.
He is really living now!
(Would you pray, my bloggy friends? For Ian’s family and friends… There are many who knew Ian far better than Brian and me, and we grieve for their pain. But we cling to hope with and for them… a hope that does not disappoint.)
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Just in Case You Were Wondering…
…why the blog has been silent the past few weeks. Well, we’ve kind of been busy.
(Brian’s parents joined us for week two.) -
Of Tooth Fairies, Joy and Ritz Crackers
He lost another tooth this week, and our dragon loving Bear was nicknamed, Toothless. One of his favorite movies is How to Train Your Dragon, so it was a fitting title for so noble a Bear.
He grinned at me and talked of the Tooth Fairy and his anticipated dollar.
I shook my head, trying to look mournful, “The Tooth Fairy has had some economic setbacks, Toothless. I think you’ll only get a nickel this time.”
His eyes sparkled and his dimples flashed, but he said with a touch of hesitation, “No-ho, Mom. You’re kidding, right?!” He half asked, half stated that last part.
I rumpled his hair and his daddy chimed in. “Nope. I talked with the Tooth Fairy last night, and she said no money anymore. She’s going to have to pay you in Ritz crackers.”
Bear nodded. “I LOVE Ritz!”
That. dear. boy.
After he skipped off to his room, assured that there would indeed be something from the Tooth Fairy, I looked at Bri and watched softness wave over his features. He shook his head gently and sighed, “I love that boy. His heart is so big. He just accepts things and is thankful.”
Yes.
I have so much to learn from my Bear.
He counts it all joy.
He hesitates, he hurts, he struggles, he cries, but he accepts it and turns it all to joy.
That night he put his tooth in his little tooth box and placed it under his pillow. He checked a few times to make sure it stayed there, fluffed his pillow and climbed in bed. We had just finished reading a Magic Tree House book together and he was excited to start the next one, chattering away about knights and magic and books and reading. Bri was gone (a meeting then going back to work for a bit), so I stayed upstairs in my room across the hall–the kids just feel safer when I’m up there with them and Daddy’s gone.
I fell asleep (probably before Bear did), but I remembered to leave a note on Bri’s pillow reminding him to be the Tooth Fairy when he got home. Then Bella woke me at 1:30 with her coughing. We are both fighting bronchitis and the coughing, oh friends, the coughing.
She climbed into my bed and I plumped up 3 pillows and sat with her on my chest, soothing her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, singing to her, comforting her when the coughing came. It was 3:30 before she finally fell back asleep. I texted Bri to see when he would be home (yes, he was working until 3:30 in the morning!) and looked over. There sat the reminder note and dollar on his pillow.
I eased Bella down and walked over to Bear’s room. He looked like a mummy all wrapped tight in his comforter. I slid the dollar under his pillow and kissed his forehead and then stood there gazing at him. Joy washed over me.
Being the Tooth Fairy is one of my favorite roles. Not because of who it is… my kids know it’s really us… but because being the Tooth Fairy means I get to sneak in their room and lavish on them. Bring them joy. Then I can stand there and pray for them, that God would grow them healthy and strong and wise and brave. That they would know the joy of Jesus’ peace. That they would be men and women who are devoted to Christ, who aren’t afraid to be radical.
And I realized.
Bear already is radical.
Just by choosing joy.
He skipped into the kitchen the next morning with his dollar, eyes shining. I’m going to put this in my piggy bank! He raced upstairs and then came back down and hugged me. Thanks, Mom. Oh, and by the way, you can put some Ritz in my lunch.
I laughed and squeezed him, and my heart exploded with joy.
He brings it.
By choosing it, he brings it.
And I am blessed.
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For Today
For Today, February 8, 2012…A glimpse into my day, just an ordinary day.
Outside my window…sprinkles of snow falling and then melting away.
I am thinking…about how the boys will be home very soon and we can all curl up next to the wood stove together with popcorn and hot chocolate and maybe even a movie.
I am thankful for…a fridge full of food, heavy blankets on chilly days, crackling fires, red curls, phone calls, unexpected lunch with my Brian, just living LIFE.
From the kitchen…the hum of the dishwasher finishing its final cycle… chicken thawing for buffalo chicken wraps… piles of filing on my desk. (I’ll get to it, I promise.)
I am wearing…brown, brown and more brown along with some green and my new peacock pendant from my mom.
I am creating…long lists of books to check out at the library tomorrow. I cannot tell you how much this thrills me.
I am going…to stay at home with my loves. Couldn’t ask for a better afternoon.
I am reading…The Blue Castle, Somewhere More Holy and The King’s Cross. It all just depends on the mood I’m in.
I am hearing…Bella-Girl sing while she paints next to me: here in the death of Christ I live.
Around the house…remnants of our Super Bowl party: popcorn pieces under my couch, squished floor pillows, black TV cables snaking from room to room (evidence of my Brian’s ingenuity), bean bag chairs, forgotten hats–I. love. college. students!
One of my favorite things… anticipation. There is so much to look forward to, isn’t there?
A few plans for the rest of the week…recovering from bronchitis is first on the list. But lots of errands and shopping and baking and cleaning and just doing what I’m made to do.
Here is a picture thought I am sharing… She loves her Raggedy Ann & Andy!
What happens matters, my friends… it all matters.
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The Nature of Grace
Recently, I had someone ask me how I am doing and where we are going from here with my follow-ups, and I realize I didn’t write about the results of my recent scans… will you forgive how late this is? So many of you have been praying, and I never want you to think your love and prayers aren’t important to me.
At the end of the day my exhaustion and pain often overwhelm, and it is rare for me to find time to write anymore. I hate this feeling. My words seem stolen from me, and the catharsis they once were is gone. It is one more thing the struggle of life has taken from me, and I ache with the longing for words to come.
But I am writing now… full of gratefulness for clear scans and no surgeries looming.
Yes.
The scan showed no sign of cancer and no need for anymore surgery.
What this means is we don’t know why I’m still having so much abdominal pain, although over the past week that pain has been diminishing some.
I see my oncologist next week and we’ll discuss what it could mean and where we go from here.
But at least we know there is no cancer.
In the near future I will head over the mountain to the hospital to meet with a geneticist to see what they recommend. I have already had three genetic tests for my specific cancers, and they have all come back negative which means my cancer isn’t something I can pass on to my children. But they want to look deeper at me… more specifically at my chromosomes to determine if I have a genetic mutation that is causing my different cancers. If so, then this might help determine when/if another cancer will come and help me know how to help prevent it. It seems like so much to comprehend
As for how I am? I never know how to answer that question. Every day is different.
In general I am doing well. Or fairly well. I fatigue easily, and I find chemo brain to still be extremely frustrating. Last week I was cooking supper and halfway through I completely forgot how to cook. I couldn’t figure out what the recipe meant and how on earth to mix cornstarch into the sauce to thicken it. I knew I should know, but my brain just. wouldn’t. work.
It was scary and frustrating at the same time. Thankfully, my Bri was home and started packing up everything on the counter and stovetop. “You don’t need to figure it out tonight,” he said. Then he went out and bought us supper.
As our friend, Joe, tells me, “He’s a good man, Ang.” Yes. Yes he is. I’m so thankful he’s mine.
We are learning that the new normal that we keep waiting for will probably never come, and we are learning to be okay with that. Normal will change for us on a consistent basis, and as hard as that might be for someone who doesn’t do well with change, I’m learning to accept it.
Learning to accept.
Thankful for what’s given and choosing to move forward.
There’s a scene in the movie, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, where King Caspian has reached the edge of Aslan’s Country and is given the chance to enter. He has longed to be with his father again, and now is his opportunity. He reaches out and touches the wall of water then turns back to his friends, to Aslan, to his life. When asked why he didn’t enter, he responds with something along the lines of, “I’ve spent too long focusing on what was taken from me and not enough on what was given.”
Grieving is a hard place to be. It will always be a part of me, a part of this, of us. But I am taking steps forward… away from grief and tasting grace.
It is a struggle. Daily I see and feel the effects of six surgeries and four cancers and lupus and fatigue and pain and scars and the inability to be and do what I have been and done for years. There is all the time my family and I have lost together and the moments we haven’t had were our life a “normal” one. I struggle with all the sacrifices my husband and children have made for me. It is a hard place to be. But I don’t want to be stuck here either.
There is a place to grieve all of this, I know, and there will be moments when it all hits like a tsunami and takes my breath away.
But, oh y’all, look how much I have been given!
There will be so many moments where God’s grace will steal my breath away… so many moments where He already has.
His grace fills me.
Look. how. much. I. have!
Yes. So much has been taken.
But look what has been given.
I could not ask for more.
It is the nature of grace to fill the spaces that have been empty…
~ Goethe
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A Spring of Joy 