Summer Vacation

Hannah likes to play games with her Daddy about giving him hugs and kisses. The more he begs, the more she plays hard to get. Tonight before bedtime, he asked plaintively "Where's my hugs and kisses?"

She looked at him condescendingly and said, "Daddy, I told you already that all my hugs and all my kisses went away because it's summer. They're gone now."

And I thought I was the creative mind in the family!

A Girl Can't be Too Prepared!

Grace went on a hike with her dad the other day—just the two of them. On arriving home, she excitedly told me that she was "gonna be born again." Daddy quickly interjected that they had talked about Jesus and salvation on their hike. And Grace "prayed the sinner’s prayer" with him. He explained to her what it meant to be born again—that Jesus makes you new and that you start over spiritually—like a baby again. She thought this was neat, but soon moved on to other topics and didn’t bring it up again until today.

As I was going through some old clothes to give away, she discovered an outfit that she wore a couple of years ago. Being a lover of all things pink and girly, she immediately snapped it up and tried to squeeze it over her head. Much to her dismay it was too small, and I told her that she wore it when she was a baby, but that it doesn’t fit her anymore.

She thought about this for about three seconds before she quickly rolled the outfit up into a tight ball, and shoved it firmly into my hands. "Keep this for me Mama! I want you to save it for me ‘cuz when Jesus comes back to get us and I’m a baby again, I want to wear this!"

(Would that be the ten foolish virgins or the ten wise ones? :)

Who else but my Grace would plan her wardrobe for Jesus' return?

I Rest My Case

My Hannah just might be a lawyer one day. Here's my evidence.

The other day she and Grace had a little conflict. It bore investigating, so I questioned Hannah first. She listed Grace's various sins in the matter, and I made some mental notes between the lines. She seemed to be finished with her side of the story, so I began to ask Grace for hers. But before I could get my first question out, Hannah interrupted--

"Wait! I have one more detail I need to tell you." She did, and then closed her case by saying, "Ok. That's all the details. You can talk to Grace now."

Now maybe this just flew over your head, and you're saying, "I don't get this one." Let me just say, in a world where the daily vocabulary is anchored by words like "poop," "jammies," and "Whaaaaaaaah," a three year-old framing up her closing argument with a word like "details" and permission to question the next witness kind of gets your attention.

All the evidence points to lawyer, but you decide. I rest my case.

Tribute

This will not be my most exciting post, my most entertaining, or even informative. But it may be my most worthwhile.

Grandma came over tonight. Though she lives only blocks away, weeks can pass without seeing her or (to my shame) even talking to her. She is a dear lady, and is maybe the best person I know at picturing the grace of God. Tonight, she said something that I want to remember.

When I asked how her Mother's Day went, she smiled and shook her head slightly. It seems that both of her children who live here in town had other plans for the day. Seeing my shocked look, she stitched together an explanation for me, and of course they were entirely legitimate things that occupied her kids' attention. But I could see the little bit of hurt and lonliness that leaked out around the edges of her words, and the end result was still that Grandma, nearly 90, and a widow, was left to her own devices on that special day.

I was upset--that this happened, and that I hadn't invited her myself, as she would certainly have been welcome at our gathering. Seeing my frustration, Grandma went on to say this, "I am a content mother. I know none of my children would think of hurting me. . . .So, I just stayed home and had a lazy day, and I thanked God."

Now, grace has been defined for me as essentially "unearned, undeserved favor or kindness." And that is exactly what she showed her children that day. It isn't that they are mean or abusive to her, or even neglectful. But Mother's Day is Mother's Day. A mom expects or at least hopes for the nearness of her children on a day like that--the ones who are nearby anyway. I expect any lonely older widow might see that as an opportunity to be bitter, or to complain, or at least to get a little depressed. But Grandma made the most of it for herself, and thanked God. She thanked God and prayed for her children and grandchildren--off leading their own lives--even on a day meant to honor the one who gave them life in the first place.

I hope to be so gracious--to give people the benefit of the doubt like that--to thank them when I could "justifiably" be resentful. To assume--to choose to believe that no hurt is intentional. To pray for them even when I feel slighted or neglected. To thank God for all they are--for His work in their life, especially when I think maybe I deserve a little thanks too.

After all, that is what a Mom does. It is what she should do. It is what Grandma does, and it is why I honor her today.

Happy Mother's Day, Grandma! And thank you for your living example--the one you are not even aware of. I love you!

Snapshot of My Heart

It’s a night of a million thoughts—but this picture sticks in my mind. I guess it captures my life right now. Is it because things are so blissful or perfect? No. But the other day as we played with the camera’s timer feature and (all three of us) repeatedly rushed headlong onto the couch in front of the camera, we got a lot of funny pictures. Some were blurry with action, or had very fake smiles (witness Gracie above). Others caught us with our eyes closed. Still others caught us unprepared or distracted by a stubbed toe or the kitchen timer. And in the end, we got a number of really good pictures too.

And I was just thinking that if you took random snapshots of my life and attitude, you would find much the same thing. In the course of capturing the really sweet moments—you would end up with lots of others too. Pictures blurry with too much running around, funny—even embarrassing faces, eyes closed to the blessings around me. Some would show me completely unprepared for what I’m facing, and probably many would catch me distracted from my purpose by discomfort or a myriad of tyrannical details. But then there are those others. And tonight is one of them.

Outwardly--my kitchen is messy. My family is sick. My creative inclinations fly about like Noah’s dove—with no place to set their feet. My writing ambitions far exceed my time or energy levels. Let’s not even talk about the toilets. My newly pregnant stepdaughter and friend live entirely too far away from us. I am completely unprepared for the school week ahead. Gracie talked me dizzy all day and I spent the whole morning oblivious to the most ridiculous hair day I’ve had in a very long time.

But that is only what shows on the outside. You see, I had time to pray tonight. Jack was content on the couch downstairs, the girls were snuggled together in their bed singing Deep and Wide over and over and over and. . . . I locked myself in my bathroom with my Bible, closed the toilet lid, pushed aside the dirty clothes, and sat cross-legged on the linoleum to talk to my God.

After a day of calling back and forth to one another as we “went about business,” I finally got to sit down and talk with Him face to face. We talked about my unruly dreams and my laziness as a teacher. I talked to Him about the concerns on my heart, and He talked to me about His. I thanked Him for many things—things just between us. It was a pleasure to know that He doesn’t mind my silly hair, or messy kitchen. And I remembered again why I love Him—because He first loved me! And that is so much more than enough!

So today, this picture is me. Today, you caught me smiling.

Shoe Idolatry

To say "Gracie loves shoes." would be a massive understatement--like saying "Minnesota has a lot of lakes."

Happy Mom

I LOVE MY KIDS!

I know. If you are a regular reader you are saying "Duh! That's almost all you talk about!" But I am discovering, or rediscovering a love for them that goes beyond the cute stories and the excitement of watching them grow and do wonderful things. I don't know that that could rightly be called Love in the first place as it is focused on my own pride and self-gratification through my children.

I'm talking about love that gives up (extremely) precious minutes of sleep at 2:30 am to comfort a little girl terrified of the train whistling across town.

Love that daily confesses her sin of anger or grumbling to her kids and asks them to forgive her.

Love that sets her book down 15 times in just two pages to listen--really listen--to the endless, rambling, nonsensical and crucially important thoughts of a 5 year old.

Love that cleans up the clutter that grows faster than dandelions on a Minnesota lawn--and does it with a song on her lips.

Love that reads the facial expression on her friend that says, "Your daughter is begging for a spanking!" but instead offers a gentle, private reprimand because she knows her daughter’s defiant response just now really sprang from a late bedtime the night before combined with a lack of maturity and self-control—not (this time) from a rebellious defiant heart.

Love that purposes to enjoy her daily tasks and responsibilities—not because cooking and cleaning and teaching are such a jolly good time, but because she really is thankful for the opportunity to share in her children’s lives, and because she doesn’t want them to ever feel as though they are a burden that is keeping her from something else she’d rather be doing.

Love that smiles and holds her tongue as a child persistently scrapes crumbs off the table into her hand with a fork, then shows her how to vacuum up the ones that didn't quite make it.

Love that finds ways to motivate her active children to sit quietly for 15 minutes a day—reading their Bibles because it is better for them than air and water.

Love that puts soft soap on her own tongue in front of her kids because she said a naughty word in front of them.

Love that expends the energy to solve yet another "I had it first!" argument by encouraging one or both of them to lovingly think of the other as better than herself and willingly give up the disputed object.

Love that notices the irritated looks of other people in the restaurant at the volume of her children, gently whispers to them to tone down, and refuses to roll her eyes or act in any way embarrassed or unnecessarily harsh toward her children just to prove to people that she’s "in control."

Love that notices not only every time a child disobeys, but takes special notice of their obedience--and affirms them for it.

Love that turns off the TV and helps her children to find something creative and interesting to do with their time.

Love that finds or makes ways for her children join her in serving others sacrificially—when it is hard, or unpleasant and there is something much more fun we’d rather be doing.

Love that sees a daughter who is having a terrible time controlling her body and emotions, gently and firmly removes her to a private place, and takes the time to pray with and teach her how to calm herself when she feels out of control--instead of just yelling at her to "Chill out!" or "Quit it--NOW."

Love that turns from unfinished dinner preparations to snuggle and tickle the tummy of a girl whose "love language" is physical touch.

Love that lets her daughter sit on precious kitchen counter space and "help" for hours a day because she loves to be with Mama.

Love that makes no apology for dirty bathroom and kitchen floor when company comes for dinner because she used excessive amounts of time during the day to talk and pray with her girls about attitudes and how to make guests feel welocme in our home--no matter what.

Love that sees the critical looks and hears the "unspoken" expectations of others regarding "a good mother" and vows never to burden her children with the pressure of trying to behave just right—just so others will think she’s a good mom.

This is the kind of love I am talking about. It is not a formula or a procedure. It is born of God—hour by hour, (or minute by minute) through the work of the Holy Spirit in my life. By the graciousness of God, it sets me free from the heavy and darkly oppressive rules, formulas, expectations and fears that sometimes hang very low over my head. It is courageous, and terrifying, potent and gutsy, and I am so thankful to God for leading me along this road—trod by so many others and paved by Jesus Christ himself. May God grant me and you the courage and faith to persevere and not faint as we walk this road with our children each day.