the pictures lie.

Monday was a day for the memory books. And, it is rather humorous that it so closely followed my previous posts about the joys of this stage with my kiddos.

So, yes. Monday, both kids were up before 7. For me, life doesn't start until after 7. Anything before 7 is still "night". So, I stayed in bed and listened to them quietly playing in the playroom. I finally pulled myself out of bed and walked into the playroom, ready to congratulate Noah and Aleni on playing nicely together. I was stopped by the vision my eyes beheld.

They had emptied the entire (brand-new) box of carpet powder onto the floor in a heap, and were driving their little trucks and back-hoes thru the powder, extending the mess out into a wide circle around them.

"Look, mom!" Noah happily exclaimed, "I'm Scoop from Bob the Builder!" Oh, joy. So, since I still wasn't officially awake or useful to society, we left the pile as it was and headed downstairs for breakfast. Breakfast went along in typical fashion and the kids went back up to the powder pile to play.

About 4 minutes later, I heard Aleni screaming in real pain, so I rush up the stairs to find her holding her head, near her eye, which is now swollen and dripping blood. Apparently, she had annoyed Noah and Noah responded by chucking a wood block at her with great force. Clean up the girl, put the boy in time out. Force apologies. Continue on.

Try as I might to introduce fun things into the day, the kids were just in one of those sour moods where nothing goes right. Everything ended up broken, or with whining, or in a fight. I was pushing them on the swings, and Noah decided to jump off at the highest point. And, immediately learned why not to do that. With much drama.

In the middle of this glorious morning, I had to pack the kids into the car and head to the eye doctor for the I-don't-know-how-manynth time for my FOURTH fitting for a contact. I must indeed have very special eyes. I drag my bundles of perfection into the waiting room, then back to the doctor's room, and as soon as I open the package for the new contact, I can see it's not going to fit right. Seriously? Of course. So, a fifth contact was ordered and we headed back home.

I decided that I couldn't loose with a swim, so we did that. But, I found out... Yes, you can loose with a swim! The entire time they were in the pool, it was one conflict after another. It was so bad that even our dear, sweet neighbor was in hysterics. It was literally as though anything they weren't supposed to do, they wanted to do and would fight and tantrum for the right to do it.

Nap time to the rescue! I was living for naps that day, since it was a day that it just felt like we should've all gotten back into bed and tried a re-do. Naps--the almighty "reset" button.

Joyfully, both children fell asleep (Noah is averaging about one nap every 2 weeks). I collapsed into a chair and listened to the silence

Of course, Noah ended up having an accident. In our bed. On my new bedspread.

But, that's just because it was that kind of a day.

Ah, and just to show you that you can't believe everything you see in pictures.... I told my neighbor I would take some pictures of the "fun" we were having in the pool that day so everyone could envy the "perfection"!!

Noah, smiling from the "house" it took several tantrums to build.

Aleni, smiling serenely as she steps on the hose that cleans the water. 

Which she knows not to do.

See?? You can see my neighbor laughing. She knows. She was there.

Seeing, is this case, is not believing.

caught lingering...

I can't really put it into words, these feelings of late. But, I have a feeling that there may be some other mommas who know what I am trying to say.

The measure of how much I love this stage is undefinable.

Noé-- sturdy, funny, four. Figuring out the world one "why" at a time. Laughing, throwing back his head in an full-bodied expression of joy that brings out the dimples in his cheeks and the twinkle in his eye. Noé, a gentleman. First to ask, "Are you ok?" or "Do you want to play with me?" Noé, firstborn. Thinks in black-and-white. Wants to know where the lines are and wants to enforce them. The planner, the thinker, the creator. Loving friends, loving structure, loving one-on-one time.

Aleni--independent, mischievous, determined, two-and-a-half. Her beauty takes my breath away, causes me to drink it in. The fierceness of her, the grace of her. I adore seeing traces of her heritage in her complexion, the shape of her nose, the long delicate fingers and frame. The way she seems to see herself as huge and invincible. The ways she seems to have no fear (Unless you throw costumed people, clowns, mascots, life-sized stuffed animals into the mix! Then you will see her most squeamish side. That's how I know she is my daughter.). These things both fascinate and frighten me. She is wild where Noé is cautious, impulsive where he is calculated. What a pair they make.

I feel as though I must somehow etch every moment of them into my memory, as into stone with a chisel. A sense of desperation--will I forget the way their deep chocolate brown eyes are filled with golden shining? Will I forget that cute thing he said... or the way Aleni loves to run full-speed ahead, head down and arms flung out straight behind her like a cape? Will the tender moments of play together, as they converse back-and-forth as only small children can, heads together, intensely focused--fade into shapeless shadows? Will I remember how hard they work to make us laugh, how much it means to them to be "a fam-ah-wee together"?

When Noé's boyish voice is lost in adolescence, will I cry? When Aleni looses the freedom of just being a kid--will it hurt my heart?

Somehow, with all the hard parts that come with raising preschoolers, I find myself desperately wishing to freeze time.

Perhaps, it is knowing that growing up is hard on a kid.

I think, though, the reality is I know that when this time is over, it's over. Yes, that will mean that I won't be wiping behinds and cleaning up puddles all day... but it also means loss. A loss of all those cute things that only little ones do, those who are virtually unaware of their bodies, expectations, and outside judgement. When they just purely are who they are.

My babies, I adore you just the way you are (and know my love will only grow).

everything changes

Young one. You who know enough to notice things, feel things... but not enough to really know. There is something I must tell you.

There are certain bridges you cross that, after you are on the other side, everything changes. They are bridges of being. Bridges that change who you are. On the other shore, everything you see comes through a different filter. What is important is not the same.

One such bridge is the bridge you cross the day you become a parent. Before you become a parent, you think you know what love is. You think you know loyalty, sacrifice, determination. You don't.

On a typical day, the mom you know may be fun-loving, generally easy-going and reasonable.

But, then tragedy strikes. A loved one dies, a young person suffers a tragic accident. Suddenly, your mother becomes another creature. She becomes hyper-vigilant. Over-dramatic. She hugs you at every chance she gets, tells you "I love you" more often. Lingers, watches. She jumps at every loud noise, institutes new and seemingly outrageous safety measures. Her tone becomes shrill: "Don't cross the street alone!" "Hold onto the rail!" "Are you ok?"

And you roll your eyes. You sigh. Shake your head. What's her problem? Sure, it was bad. But, that doesn't mean she has to get all crazy!

That's because you don't know. You aren't a momma. If you were, you would be experiencing those heart-palpitations right along with her.

You would know that the idea of anything happening to the body that grew within her, the being that she has poured her life into, the frame that represents untold hours of love and tenderness.... makes the blood run cold.

You would know that the weight of our child's life hangs heavy; their breath becomes our own.

You would know that we dream of our child's future, live so that they can live.

So, give us a little grace when our mother bear side comes out of hibernation from time to time. We will go back to our gentle, relaxed selves. Eventually.

i am a lion tamer... among other things.

I don't know why... but for me--it's all in how I think about it. If I can think of being broke down on the side of the road as an adventure--it's ok! If I can think of being hungry as a way to identify with those who don't have food--I can make it all the way to McDonald's without complaining (haha).

So, for some reason, I find myself re-evaluating what I may be finding mundane. The dailies. Re-looking at what I have understood to be the "right" way to do things. Re-defining.

In this search for getting the right mindset, I have come across 3 thoughts that are transforming the way I look at my calling as of today... in other words: motherhood.

One thought came to me during a talk at a MOPS meeting a few months ago. As the woman talked about the issue of discipline, I sat on the edge of my seat--pen in hand: "Give me the magic potion, woman!" While she did give some helpful, practical tips for disciplining, what most stood at to me was the instruction to beware of thinking of children as "basically good and perfect". She said, instead of treating them like wonderful little adults who could do no wrong--we should see our relationship more like this:

As in, our kiddos come at us as "un-tame" and wild. It is our job to mold them into respectful, productive members of society with a passionate heart for God and His Kingdom. For some reason, that really was a "shift" in my mind. Now, I did not think of my kids as perfect in any way--but the view that I had been told often that my kid's "sin nature" was causing them to misbehave just never sat right with me. I know it's the truth--but (for me) looking at my kiddos that way made me feel more judging and harsh to them as opposed to loving and nurturing.

So, where to find the balance between harsh, judgmental parenting and over-indulgent, "we are buddies" type parenting?

#1: I am a lion tamer.... not an indulgent peer.


For me, it was sooo helpful to think of this "tamer" image as my role. My kids misbehave because they come to me "untamed". If I think of a mistake, a disobedience, a defiance as just evidence of that-- it is easy for me, as the trainer, to step up and implement the training necessary to "tame" them. It took out the emotional side of their bad behavior.

If I don't expect misbehavior and mistakes along the way, it is easy for me to take each and every one of those either as a direct reflection of my failures as a parent or to jump to anger that they would dare to defy me.

It's neither of those things. Testing the boundaries, messing up, accidents--they are all par for the course in the taming of our kids. If I expect these things to happen, and have a system set in place for getting my little wild things back on track, it really makes the momma load so much easier.

If you have time, you should read about how lions and horses (and any other animal) are tamed. It is so interesting to note the themes of earning respect, patience, repetition and constancy in every training method. It truly is piece by piece, one thing building on another. Children whose hearts have truly been trained to listen and obey to God's voice do not happen overnight.

Some definitions that I loved as I thought about this concept:

Tame: "Changed by man from a naturally wild state into a tractable, domesticated, or cultivated condition. Brought from wildness into a domesticated or tractable state."

Train:

1. To coach in or accustom to a mode of behavior or performance.

2. To make proficient with specialized instruction and practice. Synonym: Teach.

3. To prepare physically, as with a regimen: train athletes for track-and-field competition.

4. To cause (a plant or one's hair) to take a desired course or shape, as by manipulating.

5. To focus on or aim at (a goal, mark, or target); direct.

On to my next new mindset:

Sometimes (ok, try every day) it can be easy for all that I do in a day to go unnoticed. Un-praised. Why people don't follow behind me, applauding when I scrub a toilet or twittering when a word of wisdom falls from my lips is beyond me... :-P That's just it. Being a momma is so every day. It's right there in the middle of that 15th sibling squabble and answering "why?" for the 100th time. "Have some ice cream!" "Whhhhhyyyyyy?"

Do you ever feel the need to glamorize things? Or to dramatize them? Or to exaggerate them? I know it's just me--but, sometimes it happens. Our days can seem so routine and unglamorous that we've gotta do something to spice 'em up

That's why a snippet from this great, wonderful, amazing, can't wait-to-read-it-again devotional caught my eye:

#2 I am a servant not a martyr.

Why is that so profound? Because she talked about the fact that, come on whiners: We CHOSE this vocation! No one tied us down and made us have our babies. No one is commanding us to stay home and raise them. No one is holding a gun to our head as we make the meat loaf.

We are choosing it. Why?? (Ah, I sound like my boy!) Because we at some crazy, delusional time in our life decided it was right.

We chose to be servants. We chose to pour our lives into our family and be a bedrock of wisdom and love for our home. We chose to make our home a nest where loved ones can feel Jesus. So, instead of internally moaning when no one noticed that I scrubbed out the sink or ironed the clothes--I can thank Jesus for the opportunity to serve where He has called me. The opportunity to show His love in tangible ways.

And that is amazing. That is enough reason to get our weary feet out of bed in the morning!

Lastly, #3.

Mommas: Forgive me. I compare myself to other mothers. I compare my kids to other kids. I compare our discipline methods to other people's discipline methods. I may even feel pressured to imitate what seems to be working for another family. I may even try to line up our priorities with theirs.

While I want to have the heart of a student until the day I die, I loved another mental shift I gained from the devotional I mentioned.

My personality needs a goal to work towards. An image. A reason. And, if it's super clear and concise--I am all over it.

#3: I am a disciple-maker... not a creator of perfection.

In the devotional, the author spoke of how our job is not to create these perfect children, set on a pedestal for all to adore. Nope. My job is to cultivate kids who have the heart of Jesus towards this world. "Disciples who understand their mission and who will contend for God's glory."

What does that mean? That means modeling it! Showing love to the least of these. Serving in unexpected ways. Learning to train your eye for hurt and need--and then seeking to be like Jesus in that situation.

I don't know about you--but those thoughts gave me some serious tunnel vision: I could see it! I could see where I wanted my kids to be as adults! I could see concrete ways to instill that from early on. I could see what to make a big deal of in life (i.e: Praising signs of compassion, tenderheartedness, service) and what to just let be (i.e: Handwriting, physical abilities, perfectionism).

I am trying to, even now, engage my kiddos in discussions. As we slurped on juice boxes at the park: "Did you know that every person you meet is so special? Because God made them!"--and thrill at the way their eyes ponder this, or light up at the connection. "What is a way we can show love?" And the 4-year old answer: "By not hitting." Ahh. Our job is so great.

diatribe... or just a straight-up rant

I could feel the anger surging through my body. Waves of hot anger made my heart beat insanely fast. My hands turned ice cold, yet they were sweating profusely. I kept my eyes on the floor, struggling to calm my breathing and think through a rational response.

The setting was an unlikely spot for such an emotional moment: A small group discussion following a financial class that my man and I are taking. (An aside: The class is awesome, radical and life-changing. We heart the Ramsey.) Some members of the group were discussing how it can be a struggle for them to continue making wise financial decisions when they see people around them with much more, much nicer stuff.

As people commented on the topic, I remembered how, while I was living in Mexico, many of my friends and neighbors commented on how wealthy the US is. How they longed to live in a place as rich as that. Asking me how I could live in Mexico after living in the US. Although there are many answers to that question, I always thought about how much of our "wealth" isn't really "ours". In other words, how much of the stuff Americans have has been purchased with "fake money"-- aka: credit cards. Think about it--if there was no credit, what would our cars look like? Our houses? Our wardrobe? It is (for me) an interesting thought.

And so, I made a mistake. I opened my mouth and shared that perspective. That, for me... thinking about reality keeps me grounded. I'd rather have less--but completely paid for--than have more... with piles of debt. And, I told them about the conversation I'd often have with my Mexican companions--ending with the words: "So, it makes me wonder if we didn't have credit cards, maybe we'd look a lot more like Mexico."

At this, another member of the group exploded. He'd been furiously clicking a pen in each hand as I talked, and by the time I finished, his legs were bouncing crazily. He threw himself back against the sofa he was sitting in as he burst out, "I completely disagree! To say that Mexico could be anything like the US is completely incorrect and uninformed. Mexico is just a bunch of drug dealers all waiting around for a hand out. You see, here in the US we want to better ourselves. Better our lives. There, they just wait around on others to give them what they need. And, they have that corrupt government that is just teaching them even more bad ways. If we didn't have credit, we'd just work harder to get what we need. In fact, credit cards are like what gives us hope. We can get it, and then pay it off. There, the Mexicans don't even hope for things, so that's why there isn't any advancement. Really, a lot of the things they do they are just trying to copy off of us and they can't do it very well. To say that they could be anything like us is just wrong. Mexicans have completely lost all sense of integrity--unless perhaps you go way out into the rural areas. But, as a whole--there is no integrity." And with a few more clicks of his pens, he sat back and crossed his arms. "So, I completely disagree."

Even as I write his words, I can feel the anger simmering within yet again. I wanted to leap off of my chair and throttle the self-assured and ignorant person by the throat. Seriously? You think you know Mexico? So, you lived there? So, you have close friends who are Mexicans? So, you speak Spanish and keep informed by watching Mexican newscasts? And, above all- sir!! Do you not have eyes?? My HUSBAND is a MEXICAN! Do you have no sense of tact whatsoever? Ok, have your completely off-base and WRONG opinions about a WHOLE COUNTRY... but at least have the decency to keep your mouth shut when you see a person from that country within earshot.

It made me mention to Rey that it is people like him who cause other countries to hate the US. Of course, this man is an extreme version--but a lot of non-Americans feel that Americans feel towards them as Mr. Clickerpens feels. That they are so below, so corrupt, so un-American.

I'm sorry, sir. You know nothing. Yes, Mexico lives under the daily weight of dealing with a corrupt info structure. Yes, Mexico trembles beneath the power of a ruthless and cruel dictatorship by the drug people. But, not wanting to better their lives? No integrity? Not like us Americans in any way? Please. Go live in Mexico for a few years, earning the typical Mexican wage, receiving the typical Mexican health-care, fighting the typical Mexican legalities. And, then come back and tell me how superior your American spirit was in those circumstances than those of your neighbors. I can rest assured that I will be talking to a man with new-found respect for his Mexican neighbors. Who actually can really know what he's talking about. And who will have learned just how much those "ignorant and backwards people south of the border" know than he does.

Rant finished.

post diagnosis

Most of my reason for these posts about our journey with Noé is that I am hoping that perhaps another momma or pop with a child similar to our little man might stumble onto this page and find some direction or validation.

Noé received Occupational Therapy sessions for about 2.5 months. During that time, he went through different screenings which helped the therapist know which exercises to do with him. His therapist worked with things to help overcome his fears of falling, his need for control. She taught us more about how he processes the world and gave us tools that greatly helped our daily living.

In December, Noé went in for a screening for autism. This test has been the one that I have been wondering about--really since he was maybe 3 months old. I was curious to see how the diagnosis would come out, now that he had made so much progress. Maybe they wouldn't find anything? If they would have seen him a year ago...

Long story short, Noé was diagnosed with "Atypical Autism". The way it was explained to me is that he has enough symptoms indicating autism to put him into the circle of autism--but not enough to label him autistic. It could also be thought of in percentages--like maybe he could be 20% autistic, as opposed to 100%. He scored a 5 in his list of symptoms; 6 would have classified him as "classically autistic".

His overall developmental score put him at 2 years, 10 months... which is nearly a year younger than his chronological age.

When the therapists conducting the screening told me their results, they all seemed to lean in around the table studying me. It was as if they were waiting for me to fall off my chair in a fit. They asked me how I felt about what they were saying. I wondered if I was under-reacting--but I just said, "If I was asked to describe him, that's exactly what I would have said."

In the weeks following the diagnosis, I have continued to wonder about my reaction when many friends ask how I feel about it. It may be because I have lived with Noé for the last 3 1/2 years. I know how he is. It wasn't a shock.

Actually, the diagnosis has brought to me a huge sense of validation. It makes me sit back and say, "Ok! So there is something going on. It's not just me being a bad mom. It's not just me over-reacting. It's not my fault."

It has also given me a shot in the arm of mommy confidence. What I have been saying along has been confirmed by unbiased professionals-- at a time in Noé's life when he is the best he's ever been. If I could take this baby with these developmental and communication delays, these social and sensory difficulties and mother him in such a way that he is actually getting better, then I must be a pretty good momma! Sorry if it seems like I am patting myself on the back, but if you could have seen our struggles with Noé in his first years, you'd know why any form of affirmation comes as a shock.

In giving their diagnosis, the therapists also said that typically, with support, a child with Noé's delays can be fully "adaptable" by high school age. I can't explain what it felt like to have a realistic time-line. There were days I would lie on our bed, staring at the ceiling. Wondering what the future held for us and Noé. Wondering if I could dream of things like independent living and a social circle for him.

I also have often wondered, in our darkest moments, "Why us? What did we do wrong for us to have a child with these issues?" I wondered if I had done something wrong. If I was doing something wrong. After the diagnosis, while driving from point A to point B one day, I heard God speaking to me. While stopped at a stop sign, God said, "I chose to give Noah to your family because I knew that you would love him and be what he needed." Talk about a change of focus! Tears sprung to my eyes as I gained a new perspective on God's sovereignty and His love for us. Noah is a gift. Noah is God's way of saying to Rey and I, "You can do it! I chose you to do it."

The other "nice" thing about the diagnosis is that it help people to understand Noé a little more--or, maybe just give him a little more room. And that is really all he wants most of the time--a little more room. It also makes available a lot more help--like the speech and occupational therapy that he is getting at his Pre-K.

I wanted to end this post by sharing some things that are really working in our home.

The biggest breakthrough? A visual schedule! It as blown us away how much this means to Noé: Knowing what is happening ahead of time. I have always verbally walked him through things before they happened--hoping it would help to calm him. When I say always, I mean from like 4 months old. "Noé, we are going to Grandma's house. Your aunt and uncles are going to be there. You are going to see horses and cows. We will be happy. It will be fun!" It seemed to calm him to some extent. But, since we've learned that his visual discrimination is much more advanced than his ability to make sense of what he hears--it makes sense that SEEING it is so much more effective for him. Noé can be spiraling out of control, and I can whip out his schedule, and he calms right down. He can tell me he doesn't have to go potty, and if I put it up on the schedule--he'll automatically tell me he has to go. It is, in a word, incredible.

The therapist also showed us how to use pressure on his joints at times to help him calm down, relax or focus. I often do this as I am praying with him before he goes to sleep. He really seems to enjoy it. At times, I will see he is getting a little overwhelmed in a busy social setting, and I might take him to the side and lay him on his back. It may appear that I am just playing with him, but I am putting pressure on his joints and talking to him which seems to help him "center himself" again.

It is great, because we are getting into a good enough rhythm that I can read when he is almost to the boiling point. It may appear to others that he is "fine", but I can feel him getting tense and fragile. So, I generally just make him "break away" with me. I take him aside and we read together. Or we walk around outside. Or we simply just leave. The point is, he may not even think he's ready, but I can see it coming. Almost always, that sense is confirmed if I ignore it.

I've also learned that it's ok to let him eat in the car when socializing. Very rarely can he get focused enough to eat well while having all kinds of fun at a friend's house... but if he doesn't eat he generally will end up with a behavioral problem because he generally isn't very in tune with what his body needs. He may end up being horrible to play with because he has an empty stomach. But, if I haven't been paying attention, I might not realize it's that--because he may have a plate full of his favorite food sitting next to him, but he's not focused enough to eat it. If he eats in the car, he'll finish it all... and be a wonderfully behaved little man.

Also, numbers work. If I tell Noé we have to get 3 more things at the grocery store, he can take it. Saying, "I'm almost done," doesn't help. If I put ten minutes on the timer, Noah complies beautifully (usually!). If I say we can do something 5 more times and then we are done-- 9 times out of ten, he stops when those 5 times are over. If I ask Noé to help me count something, it helps him to focus and calm down. Lovely.

When Noé looses control, it is a sad thing. Thankfully, the times it happens are fewer and fewer. But, whatever the thing is that set off the attack usually becomes so big in his eyes that it is hard to walk him past it. He just keeps getting more upset over that same thing and often it's a thing that can't (or I've decided won't) be changed.

It can be like helping Noé find the ledge in the deep end of the swimming pool. When he's lost in his storm, I can feel like I am not communicating with him. He isn't listening, or hearing. He's just focused on the problem. But, as he comes back, I can see the awareness come back into his eyes, the tension releasing from his shoulders and he, step-by-step, calms, gains control, comes back into his body. His eyes tell me all. Cloudy, distant, stormy, troubled when he is gone. Sparkling, relaxed, eager, confident when he is there.

Today we had a small storm because some trucks he had lined up in a certain pattern were moved. It threatened to ruin his day. Since I now know the why of this storm, I can help walk him through it--as opposed to treating it as a discipline issue. I explained to him that his friends didn't mean to make him sad. That that pattern of trucks was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. That he did it so well that everyone there loved it. That I was proud of him for working so hard. And that he had done such a good job of being a friend. I told him I knew his teacher would be really glad to hear that he had been practicing patterns.

At first, Noah wasn't hearing me. But, at a certain point, his cries calmed to whimpers as he focused on what I was saying. When he began to snuggle into me, I asked him to look at me and help me "smell flowers and blow bubbles". In other words, I helped Noah to breathe deeply. Another thing that works. So, Noé and I looked at each other and very seriously began smelling imaginary flowers and blowing imaginary bubble. After doing that maybe 7 times, I saw Noé was back and I began making plans with him. "Guess what, Noé? I saw that there were a lot of cars outside! Can you come with me and help me count them?" "Ok..."

So, yes. Maybe the biggest thing that works? Know when to ignore the behavior and address the cause. And, that is what therapy has given me. A toolbox of things to try when things spin out of control.

learnings...

Ok, folks. It's been crazy here internet-wise... and otherwise! Whenever I wasn't too busy running around like a crazy person, our internet connection wasn't working. Then, our computer went down with a virus and it was about 2-3 weeks without internet whatsoever. Now, I know I am due for Aleni's 2nd birthday post... but since our main computer went down with the virus, we had to download all our pictures memory sticks.... and I don't have the time to go through them and find the pictures I want right now.
During this time, I have been working on about 4 posts. The one I am posting today, I probably started around end of November, and it has been interesting to find that other "blog friends" have been doing similar posts.

Everyone seems to say when you hit 30, you just suddenly get it. Life becomes an "oh, I get it"... and things take on a new light. Well, I haven't quite hit that noble age--but have become aware of certain understandings that come to me. And, I wanted to write them down.


1. Life truly lived is messy. I remind myself of that--not only when I am sweeping up the scraps of a fun craft project with the kiddos--but when things don't go according to how they "should" be. I have just noticed that those people with big joy, who have people coming and going at all hours, who are ready to drop or pick up anything at a moment's notice--their lives could be seen as "messy". But, man. Are they really living!

2. You can't escape pain. You can choose your response to it. I think we often feel that we have the right to nurse a hurt or complain about a wrong thing said--but, really. It doesn't help. Pain is often a life-saver.

3. Listen deeper. Ask more questions.

4. Love hurts. Or, it hurts to love. Whichever way. I've often thought about how a rational person could sit back and look at all the heart-pain two people madly in-love with each other go through to make things work... or the late nights parents stay up crying and praying for their child... or the sacrifices made in the name of love... and that person would realize: Life would be a lot easier if I didn't truly love. But, oh. It wouldn't be a life worth living. Because true love is what it's all about.

5. In each season of life, there is always going to be [at least] one thing that is not how you wish it to be. I think if I can just except that, expect that--I can just move on. "Ah, you are that thing that is going to try to make me crazy during this season? Foiled!"

6. Redefine your perfect. And then, redefine it again. And, again.

7. Just stay open. Living with a closed fist does not protect you from harm. But, it does shut you off from a whole lotta good.

8. Smile more and yes, at people you don't know and yes, your big smile.

9. You can't do it all. So just pick that one most-important thing for today, and let the rest go.

10. It's ok to change. In fact, that's the point. I feel that we can often hear a voice in our heads, "Changing is admitting you are wrong." When, in fact--maturity is impossible without change. If you even sit back and look at all the changes an acorn has to go through to become a huge, strong oak... you can see that. And, no one is mocking the "wrong-ness" of the acorn. I think if I see change as a sign that I am doing something right--I am being open and sensitive to God's voice--then it takes away a lot of trying to prove myself more right than someone else, or just b
being scared to change.

11. Uncomfortable never killed nobody. Have you ever noticed that often our discomfort level rises whenever we think about doing something we might want to do--but be afraid of what someone might think... or that we might fail? Ya gotta do that thing. It may be your destiny.

12. Forgiveness is different than trust.

13. Let your loved ones know you believe in their greatness. It can make a huge difference.

14. You can learn something from just about everyone. How to be or not to be.

15. Who you choose as your friend(s) makes a huge difference in life.

16. We all have it way better than we think we have it.

17. Expect your plans not to go as planned. I don't know if this may just apply to me... But, I tend to be a very idealistic person. I dream up this, "Let's take the kids here, and they will love it and it will be great" plan. And then, the car runs out of gas, the place is closed and it's raining. And, then I have a choice. I usually just completely melt into a mushy pile of, "Boohoo. It was going to be so fun". But, if I had put in my mind that realization that "It could go great or it could go horrible" and kind of started playing out different scenarios in my head... Then it helps me to switch to, "Ok, kids. Let's have an awesome time playing in the rain while dad hikes up the road for gas." I have to remember: The point is, life is made up of memories. Memories are made. What kind of memories do I want to make?

18. You don't have to explain or justify yourself to people as much as you think you do. No really. You don't. Either people will agree or disagree. You will have either done the wrong thing or the right thing. Words don't generally change that.

19. People first. Always.

Woulda been cool if I'd have come up with a perfect 20, right? Maybe by the time I turn 30... :)

identity

A little while ago, I was watching a program about soldiers coming back home from the battlefield and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Many of them spoke of how nearly impossible it was to them to just switch gears from being on high alert 24 hours a day... to just being good ole' dad playing legos with the boys. How when they were soldiers, they knew who they were and what was expected of them. Back in the US, they felt out of place. Different, yet the same. Feeling like strangers in their own homes and families.

And I cried. Because, I got it. I got that whole "who am I now?" question. Since coming back to the US, I've been haggling with that question. Who I was had been summed up in "missionary"-- and now that we are in a somewhat in-between state, what is my answer?

I suppose, looking at things from where I am now, I can see that perhaps I set myself up for this identity question. Throughout most of my life, my identities were chosen for me: Daughter. Homeschooled. Christian family. #3 of 10 children. Even the course I studied was, in large part, not what I wanted to study but what I was directed to study. Where I worked was, at the beginning, chosen for me.

Of course, as I grew older--I chose how I would behave. I chose my character inside of those identities... but, again: they were chosen for me.

Then, I chose my identity: I chose to marry Rey. Within about a month, I married my man, became pregnant with Noah and moved to Mexico. If you weren't counting: that was 3 new "identities" in one month. Wife, momma and American-living-abroad.

These being some of the first decisions I'd made on my own, I wanted to excel. I wanted to be the best wife, momma and foreigner there'd ever been. But, I wasn't. Being a wife involved a lot more growing than I'd anticipated. I was sick during most of Noah's pregnancy and then struggled in knowing how to raise him. I constantly mis-interpreted cultural signals and became weary with it all. I found myself often just putting one foot in front of the other--feeling as though I was failing on all fronts.

But, at least. At least I was a missionary, which in itself is an identity. People knew what a missionary was (or at least their understanding) and supported us in amazing and tear-jerking ways. At least on those days I didn't get supper made for Rey because Noah had had a bad day and the annoying neighbors had been over--I was still a missionary.

And then. Then we came back to the States. Yes, our heart is still to return to missions--but we don't know exactly how or when that will be. Yes, I am still a mom--but now I am a mom in the US, which I've never done, and am trying to keep up. Yes, I am still a wife--but, for a while there, I was a working wife. And, now a wife to a foreigner (as opposed to being the foreigner).

Around the time that I saw that program about the returning soldiers, we were experiencing a lot of conflict and stress in our home. My work schedule was colliding with Rey's, and we were constantly passing responsibilities back and forth between each other as we tried to keep things going. I had actually been coming to find a new sense of identity in my job as I was beginning training to be a manager and was frustrated with trying to keep up with that and home.

There is a saying that I am not going to remember correctly--but it has to do with the fact that without conflict, there is no change. That we have to learn to view conflict as a good thing, because without it... we stop growing. So, during this high-pressure time--I felt God's voice saying that same thing to me. That this pressure was coming from a deeper area in me, an issue I had not ever really settled. That I shouldn't get caught up in the personal aspect of this conflict, but dig deeper and take the time to ask some questions. And wait for God's answer.

And I heard this verse: "Your life is hidden in Christ." (Col. 3:3) And, my eyes began to be opened. Ok, folks. Don't be rolling your eyes about the fact that this "identity in Christ" message is one taught in Bible class 101... cuz I am just really getting it. So, bear with me.

You see. I felt like I was this person who needed to be somewhat like a chameleon. The same, but drastically different. Somehow being always culturally relevant and in style while balancing that with pouring myself into the lives of my kids and balancing that with being a romantic wife while balancing that with being a servant to this world that needs Jesus. So, it was like me manually trying to change these gears in my mind--without making any waves.

But, what God is teaching me is this: My identity is Jesus. What that means to me is this: I am successful only when I am doing all I do to please God. When I am moving in obedience to Him and allowing Him to cover me and take care of the rest.

What that translates into in daily living is FREEDOM. Shall I go on? Here's the facts, my dear readers: Life will change you. You will gain weight or loose weight with pregnancies. Your body will take on a completely different shape. Fashion will loose priority in your life as you delve into ways to raise your babies in a healthy and Godly way. You will have little to no time or money to spend on yourself--because your investment is now in the lives of many. You will be "the unsanitary mom" to one person, and you will be the "overly protective mom" to the next person. You won't be able to have as many carefree adventures, travel at whim, stay out as late or go out as often. But, you know what? It's ok! Because your identity isn't that. Your identity is Jesus.

Do you know how much weight you'll take off of your loved ones once you stop trying to get your identity from them or from things? The wife that knows her identity is in Jesus won't be making her husband sweat as he thinks of the correct answer to, "You think I'm fatter now, don't you?" The friend that knows her identity is in Christ won't be over-burdening her friends with her complaining about what she doesn't have. The momma who knows Jesus has her back, can drive her kids to the playground with her head held high (even though she hasn't showered or remembered to wipe the banana off her shirt) because she says, "Lord, you know how this looks. But, you also know how I spent my morning on the floor with my kids. Pouring time and love into them. And, I know you are so happy about that."

Because, the truth is. Everyone out there, and their neighbor, has an opinion. And they're all different. So, if we take our identity from what we hear about ourselves--or what we should be--we will be constanly loosing sight of who we are. Like I was.

glorious morn--encouraged by growth...

Morning shadows are long shadows. They are shadows that stretch out long behind you as you march toward the sun, or shadows that lean out in front as you walk away. Morning sun is a bright sun, a sun new and full of energy and promise. Crisp mornings are meant to be spent outside, beneath that newly awakened star--making those stretchy shadows. Cool mornings call us out, beg us to breathe in their reviving essence and allow our eyes to twinkle from the light falling dappled through the tree branches. There is something grounding about being outside on a morning such as this. About walking through a wooded park, listening to the birds' cheerful twitters and seeing the flutters and swoops of bird and butterfly in the fields. The breeze tickles our memories of childhood campouts, playing with friends. The earthy smell of leaves and moist ground arises and awakens thoughts and ideas that would have never lifted their groggy heads had they been kept indoors. Having my two precious gifts out with me on a morning like this could only make this experience better. Especially when accompanied by my new BFF, the double stroller. We rolled and crunched our way down winding roads, exclaiming over the wonders of nature that stretched out before us every way we looked. And I marveled most over the wonder of what was just inches from my finger tips. I looked amazed at my babies now not so small. I wondered at their sturdy bodies, ever growing, now sitting calm in the pure joy of being out. I smiled as I realized that even if most days it may not feel like it's true--these children are learning. And growing, And maturing. They are learning to love and respect each other. They are learning to be at peace. They are learning to stand in awe of God's creation. Lord, on hard days--let me remember the happy moments. Such as these. 

And, P.S Lord? Let them remember the cool mornings, too.

the story of us, chapter 14.

Ok, so if I was more technological, I am sure I would know a better way of doing this. And, I can think of other ways--but they involve way more time than I want to invest. So, here's my next best idea: Go to this video and click "play". This was the song I entered the wedding to... Now you can feel like you were there! ;) 

At our rehearsal dinner:


Rehearsal:

The big day!


Programs:


Ceremony:







Vows...

"I now pronounce you man & wife"!!



Just so happy to finally be together... forever!













Reception:

August 25, 2007



Thank you to all of you who made this journey down memory lane even more fun
by taking it with me. It means a lot to me!

the story of us. chapter 13

While my mom and I were enroute, Rey had found a nice, colonial hotel built around a quaint plaza with a fountain in its center. It was late, and our following day was to start early--so, we weren't afforded many moments together before saying goodbye until the next morning.

The system at the consulate was rather confusing. Rey had an appointment for 2 in the afternoon, but he had been warned that it was a first-come-first-served operation and that the line could start forming as early as 5:30 am (even though the consulate opened at 8). So, Rey and I arrived to the consulate promptly at 6 while my mom slept in. Sure enough, there were probably around 50 people already in line when we took our place. Soon the line snaked out behind us, down the sidewalk and around the block. Strangely enough, the 2 hour wait went by really quickly. Wink, wink.

When we finely made our way to the entrance gate of the consulate, the guard would not let me in. He said witnesses were not allowed in unless summoned. He told me I could wait outside. Which I did. I waited right outside the gate for about an hour. I was all dressed up in nice clothes and heels. Dressed to impress. That and the direct sunlight were not helping make the wait a comfortable one. There was not one place nearby to sit. After a couple hours in front of the consulate, I decided to move across the street. To the shady side.

I was in a group of probably around 80 people who were also waiting on people inside the consulate. We all shifted around as the day went on and the sun moved positions. All friends for a little shade. But, at noon, there was no shade and we just sweltered. We hunkered down near the side of some buses parked there on the side of the road. Several busloads had come over 12 hours for their interview. With babies and small children. And now we were a small community. Camped out on the street and waiting.

By around 2, I was hoping Rey was getting interviewed and really regretting my decision to wear heels. Have you ever tried to squat in a little section of shade in a gutter next to a bus...in heels? Bad, I tell you. Bad.

People started coming out of the consulate across the street. Each time the gate would open, I'd crane my neck to see if it was Rey. Nope. An elderly woman came out with a walker, escorted by a granddaughter who was waving a visa. Grandma was approved. A young man came out, dejected. Sobbing when he told his family that the work visa was a no go. A family of 5 came out--beaming. "America, here we come!" And so it went.

4 o'clock came and went. I'd now been sitting on a curb for 8 hours. I tried to distract myself by people-watching and chatting... but, my distractions were leaving by the second. Was Rey the last to be interviewed or what?

And then, around 5 pm, Rey came out of that swinging gate. I jumped to my feet anxiously. He didn't make eye contact with me as he waited for a break in the traffic so that he could cross the street. My heart was thumping. What would I do if he was denied again? We'd already been through somewhere around five denials, and I didn't know what I'd do if this one had been turned down too. Rey came over to me, his face grim.

I got myself ready to be okay with a no. We'd gotten through it before. We could do it again.

And then, he pulled something out of the folder of paperwork that he'd taken in with him. His visa!!!! Excited isn't quite the word to describe how we felt--but it is a pretty close relative.

We zipped to the hotel as fast as we could to tell my mom the exciting news. Being crazy, as we were, we decided to just drive back to Illinois in our rental car that very night! Why not? Save us a hotel rental! So, off we went.

I remember the trip going down in a haze of glory--even though we were all completely exhausted.

We arrived back in Peoria on July 27, 2007... almost exactly 3 years after Rey had left. And, a little less than a month before our wedding!

As you can imagine, those weeks were a flurry of last minute planning, parties and preperation. About a week and a half before the wedding, Rey and I suddenly realized we hadn't bought wedding rings yet! Oops! So, we ran over to the mall and compared prices between the stores there. We ended buying them from a kiosk out in the middle of the mall from an Indian woman with a low, heavily-accented voice. She assured us we were getting, "16-carat gold for 14-carat gold price. Ver-dee, ver-dee gude price." We believed her.

There was also a fiasco with my wedding dress that I was having made. A week before the wedding, the seamstress showed me the finished product--it was all I could do to keep from crying. I took it home--and 3 days later, my sister-in-law lent me her wedding dress to use, which was absolutely beautiful.

Friends lent me all kinds of gorgeous things to decorate the wedding place with. Friends pitched in and all brought different elements of the wedding meal. Friends put on parties for the groom and bride. Friends paid for our rehersal dinner. A friend did the photography. Friends sang. These two young kids with no money were able to have the most beautiful wedding of all time--thanks to those who loved us!

Prepare yourselves--wedding pictures next time! :)

the story of us, chapter 12.

So, we were engaged! A fine evening, the 6 of April, 2007, had changed my life forever. The bus we took went through the night and got us to Rey's hometown around 9 am. We waited in the rain at the bus stop for Rey's brother to come pick us up. After running him back home, we turned around to go back to church. It was Easter weekend, and we wanted to catch the service.

We brushed our teeth out in the front parking lot, spitting into the gravel. We smoothed down our hair in the window, re-adjusted our travel-rumpled clothes and went into church. Of course, the church was packed, and the only seats open were all the way in the front...

Upon returning to Rey's house, we found his mom was very ill. She suffers from osteoporosis and it seems that perhaps the weather made her sick with horrible body aches. We ran her to the Red Cross in town and sat in the office for a couple hours. After getting her back home and making sure she was ok, Rey took me over to the deaf school so I could shower before the evening church service. Problem was, the shower didn't work. So, we boiled some huge pots of water on the cafeteria stoves and I took a tepid bucket bath.

Outside the deaf school: Post bucket bath, pre church

From the church service, Rey took me to the bus station. And here it was--goodbye again. One of the last, we hoped. I got onto a Greyhound bus departing around 9pm, hoping things would go better than on the way down. I was completly exhausted from all the travel and excitement of the last few days and fell asleep in probably 20 minutes.

I was awakened by a flashlight shining in my eyes, and a burly man shouting at me in Spanish. My groggy mind was not translating fast enough--and I realized I was in an empty bus. "Get out!" the man shouting, gesturing the way to the door with his flashlight. I looked out the window and saw a line of people snaking from the bus to a terminal. Oh! We were on the bridge. We had to get off for customs. I stumbled out and managed to find my suitcase to haul it through inspections.

It felt so cruel to have just slipped into blissful sleep and then be tossed back into line in a brightly lit office. After about 30 minutes, we were back on the bus and getting settled back in. I kept hoping that I would continue to experience good fortune and have an empty seat next to me. The luxury!

As I was just being lulled to sleep again by the rocking of the bus, we pulled into another blindingly bright terminal. A man jumped aboard and walked through the bus, counting empty seats. Uh-oh, I groaned.

Completing his count, he returned to the front of the bus and grabbed the microphone: "Ok, people. This bus is going to fill completely. Clear all the seats and make room." I wasn't the only one groaning.

The man stepped off, giving entrance to a seeming mob of people all rushing for spots. And then I saw her. My soon-to-be seatmate. She was large, very large. I kept my eyes on the ground, hoping she would see a seat far more suitable than the one next to me. She didn't. She kind of hefted herself into my row and sank down into her chair. And mine. I am not exaggerating. She literally took half of my seat and was taking up much of the aisle to her right.

I can easily get claustrophobic, and when guy in front of me reclined his seat--I was near panic. I was sitting on half of a seat, a backpack on my legs, squished under a reclined seat and against a window. The woman next to me ripped open a bag of chips and commenced crunching. I leaned my head down against the crack at the bottom of the window, taking in whatever cold air was coming in there... and prayed that the woman would get off at the next stop. Or the next. I felt horrible. I knew Mother Teresa would never have entertained the thoughts I was entertaining, but I was exhausted. That excuses all, right?

But, since this trip was one to remember, the woman stayed on the bus. All the way back to Houston. About 8 hours.

I was so glad--although I don't know if that word is emphatic enough--to unfurl my crunched up body and clamber off the bus around 6 am the next morning. I called a cab from the bus station. I started getting nervous that I was going to miss my flight when the taxi didn't show up.. but then it did. And I made my flight. Just barely.

We now had to get the paperwork together for Rey to be able to come up for the wedding. It's always nice for the groom to be there. ;)

God was smiling on us, because the process went along at a good speed and Rey was called in for his interview at the end of July. This was good, since we'd tentively set up the wedding for August 25. Thinking that I may be needed as testimony for Rey's petition for a Fiancee Visa, my mom and I flew down.

Hmm. Should I tell you that we actually missed our original flight out of Bloomington because someone missread the itinerary? Cough. I had read what was our arrival time as our departure time. We ended up waiting for another flight. Good thing there was an IHOP nearby, and that the following flights pretty much worked themselves out--although it did require some speedy connection runs through the terminals.

We flew into El Paso, Tx and then took a rental car across the border into Juarez where Rey was to be interviewed. Thank goodness that Juarez was not quite as dangerous as it is now--although it has long been a city where one needs to know where he is and not be out after dark.

When we saw Rey walking along the sidewalk just across the bridge--it was so surreal to pull up next to the curb and yell out the window. "Hey, good-looking! Need a ride?" And to think it had only been about 3 1/2 months since we'd seen each other last!