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Nightly Routines
After a long day, the cuddling and rocking of bedtime routines are cathartic. Inhaling deeply, I smell Dove soap and baby lotion as Bella climbs on my lap in the chair by her window. “We can’t forget to rock, Mommy,” she whispers. I pull her close, her Digger Dog held tightly.
I lean my face against her freshly washed hair and begin to sing, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” I finish and begin again, singing it like a round. She pulls up and looks in my eyes, “You forgot the Amen, Mommy.” (This from the child who walked through Kohl’s and rearranged the mugs because Spongebob and Hannah Montana were on the same shelf and it was disorderly.) I smile and am sure to sing the Amen this time. Then we curl into each other and I ask God once again for time to stop. Her sighs lengthen as sleep begins to overtake her.
It is then that I hear it. Daddy is with the boys in their room, and voices loudly invade our quiet. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” It is a beautiful invasion. An invasion that wipes away all the clutter and mess of the day. We are one even though we are in separate rooms, and there is a calm that deepens.
Lights out. Blankets tucked. Stuffed animals grasped tightly. Books read. Prayers prayed. We tiptoe down stairs for time together. The hush of evening is settling.
Then we hear it. Soft footfalls on the stairs. Brown eyes peer around the corner.
“I can’t sleep.” Asher sighs, ever the picture of his father. “May I read?” He goes back to his room, slips between covers and turns open pages that transport him to another world.
There is nothing like creeping into his room an hour later to find him fast asleep curled up with Peter Pan, pulling those covers up around him, turning out his bedside lamp, and kissing that sweet forehead.
It makes all those “uncivilized behaviors” disappear.
And I breathe prayers over them each night, thanking my Father for these children, three of the abundant blessings He has poured into our lives. And I realize bedtime routines are just one of the many things that make being a mom the best job in the world.
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Sunday Selections
The question is not how close can I get, but how far can I run from sin?
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God Sightings
There are different types of hardship. The hardship of broken relationship is different than the hardship of learning how to live in a new marriage. The hardship of pregnancy and childbirth are different than the hardship involved in learning parenthood. The hardship of lupus is different than the hardship of cancer. The hardship of treatment is different than the hardship of recovery. The hardship of expectations is different than the hardship of learning a new normal. The hardship of fear is different than the hardship of discovery.
These past weeks have been beyond hard. The exhaustion in my life is palpable. I’ve had nothing to give and when I needed to give, adrenaline kicked in and got me through.
Overwhelmed is an understatement.
While we’ve moved into a home I absolutely adore, my project list is growing. They are simple projects, like painting chairs, but the thought of getting out all the paint supplies exhausts me. And my discouragement grows as long as my list.
CT scans, doctor’s visits, pain, consume my life… but I don’t want them to ruin it. Unexplained pain leads to another biopsy. A clear one. And we breathe huge sighs of thankfulness. But the pain remains. Unexplained. And my discouragement swells with along with it.
My children go to school, and my Bear comes home longing to have stayed with me all day. My Asher comes home, a child with no guile, who believes everything his classmates say, and I stand on the precipice waiting to fall into hurt feelings with him. Ready to catch him when it happens. I cannot be there. I cannot help in classrooms like I want. I cannot attend every function. The fatigue overcomes, mentally and emotionally. And my discouragement deepens.
We have plans, events, parties, guests, on top of just living life. And I think, “It’s over. Cancer is gone. I can do this.” So I forget for a while that I am not well, and I make ridiculous dives in volleyball games and dance like a crazy woman at wedding celebrations and laugh loudly at potlucks and invite people into my home. Then I sleep for days afterward, soothing the achy joints with warm baths, and I am reminded that life is different. Discouraged that I am not what I once was.
Discouragement. Meds that cause depression and nausea. Needles that can’t find veins. Bloodwork that comes back anemic every. single. time. Pain that keeps me awake at night, all the while knowing that sleep is what I need to feel better. Endless.
It seems the song of my life has become a dirge.
And I long for it to not be so. I beg Him for patches of Godlight.
And He comes.
See, here I am. In all you do.
–The marriage vows between two people I love dearly, a true taste of the wedding feast to come.
–Friends who surprised me with a two-year celebration… who have walked every step of this journey with me.
–Another mom from our school giving me no choice but to let her clean my house so I could rest.
–No cancer! Clear scans! Clean biopsies!
–A sweet friend who brings us supper every Monday just so I can have a break.
–Heart smiles from my Bella: “Mommy, I love Jesus just a tiny bit more than I love you.”
I drink deeply of these glimpses. For in a world where little joy is shared, but hardship seems to always be headlined, these God sightings remind me that He is still working, and He is enjoying life with me here until I can enjoy life forever there.
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Birthday Blessings From the Mouth of Babes
My dear friend from college, Marni, has a little boy about 9 months younger than our Audrey. He is absolutely, breath-takingly adorable. AND he is obsessed (with a capital O) with my daughter.
To celebrate my birthday on Monday, Marn, sent me this, (and it almost made me spit coffee all over myself).
Enjoy…
We’re going through a Kids’ Devotional the other night. While talking about creation and how God worked to put all kinds of animals and plants on the earth, Tim asked Austin, “So Austin, what was missing from God’s Creation?” The little man actually took a deep breath, looked up and said, “Audrey?”
Can we just say betrothal right now and be done with it?
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“Let The Little Children Come…”
There are moments in life that simply take your breath away. Moments that make all things fade around you. Moments that capture your heart and mind and settle over you, calming your heart and soul. Moments that you will never forget.
Last night our Bear called Brian up to his room where he had been tossing and turning, awake into the night. He wanted Daddy to put blood on the doors of our house like the Israelites did in Egypt. He thought it would make for nice decoration. (Oh, how that boy makes me laugh.)
After a long and very sweet conversation where Brian explained the whole meaning behind the blood on the door posts, our Bear prayed. “Jesus, please put the blood of the Lamb on the door of my heart.”
And today I am breathless with wonder.
The wonder of grace.
The wonder of the cross.
The wonder of faith.
And the wonder of a little child.
“…for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Bear’s Worship from b on Vimeo.
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The Beautiful Torn
While coloring with Bella this weekend, she kept trying to tear her own pages out of her coloring book, each one resulting in a jagged tear through the middle. Finally, one came out easily and she colored to her heart’s content. Finding a speck of paper sticking up in the middle of it, she tried to tear it off and ended up ripping her artwork in several places.
Bringing it to me, Bella said, “I teared it.” I asked her how it happened and she showed me, then I explained to her how if she comes to Mommy I would help her so her picture wouldn’t get torn. I believe my words to her were, “It might be ruined. See, it’s all torn.” No matter how gently those words were spoken, it cut to her heart.
“But Mommy,” her eyes pooled with tears, “Even the torn is beautiful.”
I sighed, and rubbed my head between the eyes. I have caught myself rubbing that spot a lot lately. It’s that spot I rub when I am wondering how to respond. (And that spot where the deepest wrinkles are forming.)
“Oh, love,” I pulled her onto my lap. “It is still beautiful, isn’t it?”
She is so right. The torn is beautiful. The broken isn’t trash. The messy isn’t worthless. In a world where we casually toss away broken toys, torn papers, ripped clothing, what are we doing with the broken people in our life?
Are they valued? Or do we walk away from the messy? Do we throw away the relationships that are broken? Do we mend the torn or discard them as worthless?
Just some food for thought courtesy of my three-year-old. She’s good at that.
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A Vote For Bella is a Vote for Zuzu (or something like that)
Are any of y’all in need of a soothing night of solo piano music? How about your kids? A little piano music to help them fall asleep?
I know just the place to go!
My friend, John, is a gifted composer and pianist. He will soon be releasing his newest CD, Zuzu’s Petals, and I have entered my Bella’s picture in his WE ARE ZUZU! Photo contest.
So, here are a few things you can do for me.
First off, you can vote for Bella’s picture, because if you do, I get a cd, a gift certificate from Restaurant.com, and Bella’s picture in the CD mosaic. Just go here and look for this picture titled Bella.
More importantly, you can check out John’s music. Read his blog. Sign up for his newsletter. Hear his heart. He is an example to me of faith and ministry, and I love how he has spoken into my life over and over again.
So, let’s go over it again.
Go. VOTE. I’d appreciate it.
Go. Read. Sign up. Let John speak into your life. Buy a cd or two. I know he’d appreciate it.
Go. Pray. For his ministry and his work. I know he’d appreciate that more than anything.
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The Wonder of Boys
The past few weeks have brought me many moments of wondering how it is I am to do this whole mothering of boys thing.
“Why might that be?” you say.
Well, I’m so glad you asked.
Let’s see, since school started, table manners have evaporated into thin air and jumping, spinning, burping, hitting and singing have taken their place. In fact, I’ll give a prize to the person who guesses just how many times I sputter, “That’s uncivilized behavior!” tonight at supper. (Well, not really, but maybe I’ll mention your name on my blog.)
One of my sons, who shall remain nameless, swore this week. It’s our first foray into the realm of swearing, and I am at a loss. You see, in our house, “hate” is a “bad word”, so I’ll just say that I LOATHE foul language in any way shape or form. Yes. I know several of you are collapsing with laughter imagining me responding to my child’s potty mouth. To which he replied with, “It’s a word I made up.” Yeah, right.
One of my sons, who shall remain nameless, is trying to decide whether or not he’ll join in with friends from school to beat up someone else. Yes. I know several of you are collapsing with laughter imagining me responding to my child’s violent tendencies.
And Bear. Dear Bear, who I will name for this one. He came to me today, eyes spilling over, and asked, “Mommy, can you write a letter for me to Mrs. S. and ask her if we can have more time to play at school?” He’s still not into this whole Kindergarten thing.
Boys.
Some days I throw my hands up in exasperation. Some days I cry A LOT. Some days I laugh and give up.
But most days, I just do what my bloggy friend, Kristen of No Small Thing, suggested last week.
Most days, I can’t help but love to stare at them…at how wonderful they are at just being boys.
(Kristen is an amazing writer and photographer and she captures her life in a way that brings me smiles and tears on a weekly basis. She’s a face I’ve never seen in person and a voice I’ve never heard, but she’s a heart that shares mine and has been one of my biggest encouragers. Check her out if you get the chance.)
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Do You Remember?
Do you remember running and jumping in sparkly puddles after a summer thunderstorm?
Do you remember how wonderful that downy bed felt after a long day hard at play?
Do you remember the smell of honeysuckle and trying to catch those drops on your tongue?
Do you remember snuggling in strong arms while thunder boomed and lightning flashed all around?
Do you remember the salty, buttery flavor of corn on the cob running down your arms?
Do you remember days at the pool, swimming until your eyes burned and your arms ached?
Do you remember play dates with friends, traipsing through yards pretending you were in a whole new world?
Do you remember bike rides and skateboarding and shooting hoops and running with the neighbor kids?
Do you remember trying to lick ice cream cones faster than they melt?
Do you remember curling up with good books under a tree while the summer breezes blew over you?
Do you remember sparklers and fireworks and barbecues and celebrations?
Do you remember staying up late to run barefoot through the yard and catch lightning bugs?
Do you remember playing games on car rides almost bursting with the anticipation of seeing the ocean?
Do you remember swinging as high as you could and thinking you were touching the sky and feeling like it would last forever?
Do you remember your summers?
I do.
I remember it every day through the eyes of my children.
And I’m so very sad it’s come to an end.
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Sunday Selections
Our friend, Scott, posted this on his blog, and I have watched it over and over, crying every time.
Y’all, no matter what the rose is in your life… Jesus wants you.
That’s the beauty of the Gospel!
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A Spring of Joy 