hope

This isn't news to anyone: Things are looking pretty dark "out there". New reports seem bleaker. Common sense seems to be less and less common. Darkness seems more oppressive.

Adding on to this, I have just sensed more of this feeling of "doom" from many of those I come in contact with. Like, we are just all resigned to our fate, waiting for whatever horrible thing is around the corner.

I hear dismal reports of what our generation is choosing, I see things that depress even the most optimistic of us. Why are we--the young adults of our nation--seemingly so without backbone? So without the pride of a job well-done, so without the determination and strength of will that typified those who built this nation? Why do we seem "fine" with just drifting downstream? Why do strong, able-bodied people just sit back and watch TV, waiting for the government to pay for their lifestyles and whining all the while? What would it take to shock a little life back into this generation--cause them to stand up as responsible adults, full of passion and fire?

I grow sad seeing us young adults--right at that place where we are definitely adults, but still young enough to have a lot of life in front of us--I tire of just seeing us wanting to be invisible. Of not wanting to stand for any one thing (unless we already know its a majority thing). I can often even see it in myself.. Not possessing that... what else can I call it? Passion for living! Zest! Fullness of purpose and healthy drive! Assurance. Determination. Calling. Conviction.

I see a much higher percentage of us young adults who almost appear to just wish to blend in: "Please don't call me out! I am happy being in my own comfort zone!"

All of this can combine into a sense of hopelessness, pessimism for what the future holds. Passivity.

And yet.

I know God has his hand on us.

I know God is calling out his leaders once again. I know that from the shapeless, shadowy masses, his voice is drawing out bold voices, bright lives that will rise for his glory.

I know God has dreams for us. That where the darkness is the greatest-- there light is made even more visible.

Just a couple weeks ago, at church, my heart was stirred as a young man, around my age, made his way to the front of the church during worship. With great conviction, his voice rang out in a passionate cry to God's people. He pleaded with us to draw close to God, to proclaim his name without fear. While his words spoke to me, it was his passion that moved me. He stood. He moved. He became visible. He raised his voice. It gave me hope. I felt God whispering to my spirit: "There is still hope for this generation. I still have dreams for you."

And that, my friends, makes all the difference.

It means that it's not enough to sit silently while wrong is proclaimed in the streets. It awakens me--why would I want to blend in to something that is dying, something that is without hope, something that has given up long ago? It gives me purpose and confidence: we can handle mockery when we have God's guiding light in our souls.

Let's stand up and be counted. Let's lift our voices, clear and bright as a trumpet's call. Let's be light, let's be hope.

Lord, move in this nation.

Lord, move through me.

remembering...and thankful

 Noah getting a bucket bath outside, when we ran out of water inside

I hesitate to post this... afraid that my rememberings will in some way appear like I am saying what we had before was bad and what we have now is good. Not at all. In both places, we were/are above and beyond blessed and held in God's hand.  Every experience plays a part in the tapestry of our lives, and I feel that remembering is a part of contentment, gratefulness. I don't want to forget what it was like... nor what it may be like again if/when God sees fit to take us back where we were....

Every time I bump the temperature button up or down a few degrees, I remember. I remember living first in a climate that the highs reached to 104 much of the year... the nights that cooled down to the 80s. I remember the house was made of cement, hemmed into a row of other cement houses and that there was hardly ever a breeze I could get to come through the windows. I remember not having an air conditioner there for several months, at the end of my pregnancy. Keeping the curtains pulled shut all day long, hoping to keep the house cooler. Dragging the mattress out to the living room floor at night, hoping for more of a breeze. Sweating all the time, cold showers in the middle of the night to try to cool down. I remember filling a bucket with water and ice, sitting with my feet in the water--thinking cold thoughts. We did finally get an air conditioning unit, used from Rey's boss, and installed it in the bedroom. The bedroom was a glorious cold. We kept that poor machine on high day and night most of the time. It managed to keep the rest of the house a tepid temperature.

I remember the cold, how it came with the rain... causing the wall to pour down with condensation. Hot cement meeting with a rapid temperature drop. One wall unit blasting on Noah's crib, keeping him bundled, his crib swaddled in thick quilts.

I remember the next house we lived in, much more comfortable. It was 3rd floor, so there was much more of a breeze. The cold months were a little harder, but not bad with a large, gas heater we were given.

The third house, we found, would burn like a toaster oven as the sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling (uninsulated) windows. Noah would wake up from his nap with nose bleeds from the heat. In the cold months, those same windows made keeping it warm a near impossibility. I remember trying (highly dangerous) inventions involving metal piping from the gas heater to the kids rooms. Sleeping in several layers of clothes, a bathrobe, socks.

I remember basically dealing with living in a house just about the same temperature as it was outdoors. So now, as I adjust our family's temperature comfort with a mere pressure of my fingertip, I stop and say "thanks". Not because it is better, because it is so much easier.  

I also am grateful for insulated windows and doors that don't gap open at the bottom. The houses I lived in never had insulated windows and hardly ever had screens. The doors leading to the outdoors usually had about an 1" gap between the floor and the door. One time, as I was reading, I looked up to see a mouse run in under the door. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Keeping a clean house was pretty much a laugh with the dust blowing in from everywhere.

I have it so easy now.

Every house I lived in before had roof issues. The rain would discover leaks in the roof, and we would wander around the house placing buckets, emptying others. No such problems now.

In the first house we lived, we didn't have a water heater for several months. Hot showers are quite possibly the "thing" I can't live without, so it was sad there for a while ;) When we did have a water heater, we conserved gas by only lighting it about 20 minutes before a shower. As soon as we were done, we would go turn off the flame. The water heaters were always located outside, so it would involve a quick check to make sure no neighbors were lurking around to catch me with crazy bed hair and in pajamas. It also meant that if I needed to do an "emergency" bath with the kiddos (think spit-up, mud, whatever kids do), it was often quicker to just boil up a pot of water on the stove and add it in to their cold bath water. I also washed dishes in cold water..... Now, every time I turn the hot water faucet, hot water comes out. Glorious.

In the houses I lived before, there was always "issues" with the water and electricity supply. In some places, the electricity would go off for a couple hours every week, without warning. Sometimes for days at a time. The same with the water. Most houses have a water tank attached to them. Some fill constantly, some once a day. Sometimes the water would be out for days at a time. Just disappear mid-shower or while running a load of laundry. Haven't had that happen yet here.

The clothes dryer! On sunny days, I often miss hanging out the laundry (a clothesline was one of the first things we installed at this new house)... but, when the weather is bad--or even just for convenience--how nice it is to, again, just push a button and--voila: dry clothes.

There were big stretches of time that I didn't have a vehicle. That made for long days with nowhere to go! And, speaking of places to go... I often struggled with finding places to take the babies even when I did have a vehicle. Things definitely were not as "kid-friendly" and even playgrounds often looked like attempts to get rid of children (broken glass, broken equipment, holes). Now, I have a vehicle...and places to go!

Also, I was often warned against going out "alone". Sometimes, it wasn't the safest thing to be an American girl out and about. Sometimes it wasn't a safety issue as much as an "annoyance" issue (read: drunk guys trying to get chatty). So, even if I had a place in mind and a way to get there, I would usually be trying to make sure it might be at a "safe" time of day to be able to get out and enjoy it. Now, such thoughts don't even cross my mind.

I guess my point in remembering all these things is--I don't ever want to forget what it was like. I don't ever want to become dependent on "easy". I don't want "easy" to become my idol. I don't want comfort to become a god. I want to be content--in plenty and in lack. I want to be grateful--for the central heat/air...and for the drafty doors. I love being able to experience such different things in life. And I want them to remain that way-- experiences. Not good or bad. Not rights or necessities. Not curses or badges of honor. In both places, I am in God's will.... and I love how He carries us. I love His adventures.

whispers

The words were whispered forcefully. Whispered with confidence--as if the whisperer already knew their power: "If you don't, I won't be your friend."

And I... watched. Watched my little boy's face change from the shine of easy play to the trembling of acquiescence.

My boy. We've worked so hard on the idea of cooperative play. Of being a good friend. Of going along with other people's ideas. Of sharing and being kind. And yet, I see that this is not all I need to teach. My boy is about the best kind of friend there is. Fiercely loyal. The kind of friend that--when separated from his them--talks about them, dreams up things they could do together, makes them notes and art projects.
What to do when our friends--people--don't treat us right? What should my tender boy do? I watched tears well up in his eyes as he struggled to find the right action, relieved when an adult stepped in.

Today, I took advantage of a quiet moment to pull him aside and talk.

"Noé, look at mommy. What do you think you should do if someone says: 'I won't be your friend'?"

Semi-distracted, Noé looks at me and shrugs, "I don't know."

I asked him to really look at me. Focus. "Noé, how about if Noé has a toy in his hand. And someone comes to Noé and says," I lean in towards him, "Noé, give me the toy now or I won't be your friend!"
And, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Because in that second, my boy's precious face crumpled up and tears began pouring down his face.

My throat closed up and I said, "Oh, baby. That person is being so mean to Noé, aren't they? Those are mean words, right?"

Noé nodded, tears still rolling down his sweet cheeks, little gasping breaths.

"Noé, if someone says mean words, it's ok for Noé to say, 'Don't be mean to me!' Because my Noé is a good friend. He is kind and gentle. Aren't you?"

A strangled, "Yes!" came out and he hugged me hard. Then, embarrassed at himself, he scrubbed the tears off his cheeks and sucked in a deep breath of air.

"I love you so much, Noé. Don't ever be afraid to tell me or another daddy or mommy if someone is saying mean words to you."

"Ok."

Ah, my darling first-born. Life's lessons are hard. Now that you are not here, seeing me, I can let my own tears fall, feeling your pain. It is hard to keep a tender heart...and yet be strong. Hard to forgive, but require respect. I think we can learn, you and I.

life thoughts.

Deep thoughts these days. Pondering the horrific events that brought our year to a close in a school not so far away... thinking--as we all do--why? And how do you ever get to that place? There are all the outcries of "this is what should have been done"... "this is what should be done"... "this is what really happened". Often, I hesitate to lend my voice to the multitude--fearing that giving attention to such atrocity might encourage other troubled youngsters longing for fame to try something similar.

I don't have the answers. The reasons, or the solutions. I just began thinking of some huge differences between children growing up here in the US and children growing up in many other countries around the world. Thinking about how many of we American adults grew up in comfy circumstances, watching Disney movies that told us that there was no one in the world as special as us. That if we wished for something hard enough, we could have it. That there was nothing we could not be. That we deserved to be happy. We deserved to have whatever we wanted because we were that special. We heard that message in varying degrees from many sources. Perhaps our parents re-inforced it with us. Maybe we never had to do chores around the house, because our parents said we were the princesses and princes and our job was to just be a kid. Maybe we never had to pay for the things we got, because our parents felt that was the way to show love. It could have been that we excelled easily, we felt only praise and encouragement as we performed or did athletics as small children. "If you don't like it, if it doesn't make you feel good, we will find something that does!"

It seems that a large portion of us feel that things should be fair. Things should make sense. There shouldn't be suffering. It shouldn't be hard. We deserve comfort. We deserve what we want. We deserve to be famous--brimming with confidence and purpose.

I contrast that with other societies. Other societies that perhaps live, as a many-membered family in a one-room, dirt-floored home. Where--if the children have the luxury of going to school--probably will only go until they are old enough to be of service to the family. Where, from the age they could walk, they knew how much things "cost". Perhaps water had to be hauled by buckets, waited for in hours-long lines. Perhaps small portions of food took hours of work to attain--and when attained, had to be shared among too many mouths. Working, suffering, injustice, sickness, death, scarcity-- these things are as common as breathing to large portions of the worlds population from a very early age. Yet, amongst what we would see as horrible life-conditions, I often see faces calm with acceptance. Bright and genuine smiles that bring sparkles to the eyes.

People, sometimes I think we suffer too little. We have too much time on our hands. Recently, as I hear people saying, "I just need to find my purpose in life"... "What is my great calling??" (and, believe me... I have said those very words)... my mind immediately takes me to images of a man in India, pulling his rickshaw in the oppressive heat, the pouring rain. Hard, hard, thankless work day in, day out. Living in a one-room shack, jammed into an over-populated slum. But, his take on his life? He is very happy. He loves that his shack has a tarp on it... and he says that the open end of his shack brings in a "beautiful breeze". He says he has the greatest neighbors and his son's smile at the end of the day is what he lives for.

The point being--I don't think many the people who, from sunup to sundown, are just working to stay alive are falling into depression as the wonder what is the great calling they have on their life. They don't have that luxury.

I do think we need to live with purpose. I also know what that purpose is-- knowing God! Being known by Him. After that, I think it is learning to walk with Him, and to LOVE what He has given us, where He has us.

I also think we need to accept--maybe expect--suffering. Sickness. Death. Injustice. I think we need to be proactive in loving and sheltering our kids--but also in making sure they know that life is hard. Things don't make sense a lot of the time. There will be more things that are unfair than they can count.

We need to make sure we know that God does have individual plans for our lives. But, that those plans fit inside His bigger, universal plan. We are only a piece in His puzzle. We aren't on this earth to become famous, have everything we ever wanted or even make the world make sense. We are here to know God and love Him. To love people. To walk in humility.

Oh, how little we know humility! Humility: Head bowed, hands open. Humility: Acceptance. Humility: I've been wrong more times than I've been right. Humility: It isn't about how it affects me, how it makes me look, how it makes me feel. Humility: All I am for all He is. Humility: Everything I have I have been given. Humility: Abundance or scarcity--I am content.

I am grateful to live in a country where, oftentimes, all we need is a little willpower and elbow grease to attain our goals and get ahead in life. I also am becoming aware of just how detrimental it is to make a child feel that they are the center of the universe, that they are all-capable and in-fallible. The damage we do when we don't allow our children to experience hard work, understand suffering, see pain. How hard it is, then, for us to truly bow our heads to the Almighty when He begins to mold our life as He chooses. How much longer the road to maturity and usefulness can become.

As I seek to be inside of God's will for my life, I am also learning to rest in the fact that life is often daily. That--as long as I am close to Him--it is okay. I am learning that, perhaps, the thing that would please God most is that I am overflowing with joy in the exact situation, the exact portion, the exact place, He has me at this very moment.

looking for a good movie??

So, I have never written about a movie I have liked on this blog... so, I guess these 2 movies I'm about to tell you about must be really, really good! ;) And... they are!

Around this time of year, you hear so much talk of striving to find the balance between celebrating and consuming, between sharing love and becoming greedy and dissatisfied. How to not be sucked into the grinding machine of "I want it now" and "It's never enough".

Enter these 2 movies! I'd never heard of them before, but found them on Netflix--and the rest is history. I must say these are definitely movies for adults to view, not children.

The first one is called "Which Way Home".  

 Here's its "official description":

As the United States continues to build a wall between itself and Mexico, Which Way Home shows the personal side of immigration through the eyes of children who face harrowing dangers with enormous courage and resourcefulness as they endeavor to make it to the United States.
The film follows several unaccompanied child migrants as they journey through Mexico en route to the U.S. on a freight train they call "The Beast." Director Rebecca Cammisa tracks the stories of children like Olga and Freddy, nine-year-old Hondurans who are desperately trying to reach their families in Minnesota, and Jose, a ten-year-old El Salvadoran who has been abandoned by smugglers and ends up alone in a Mexican detention center, and focuses on Kevin, a canny, streetwise 14-year-old Honduran, whose mother hopes that he will reach New York City and send money back to his family. These are stories of hope and courage, disappointment and sorrow.
They are the ones you never hear about – the invisible ones.

 Wow. This video pulled Rey and I in from the first images...and didn't let us go until the end. I felt like we were seeing Mexico's intestines, since we watched the train on its route all the way from the southern Mexico/Guatemala border and up to the Texas border. The camera crew is so unobtrusive. You feel like you are just another passenger on the train, a visitor in the home. The filming is raw and real. It brought back memories of many places and people we ourselves know. At one point, I was all-out sobbing. So heart-wrenching.

I feel that this film also perhaps brings another understanding to the whole issue of illegal immigration. It is a touchy subject in almost any crowd--but seeing what these people are coming from, their stories, at least helps us see a little bit more of their world.

As the video ended and the screen turned black, Rey and I sat back in silence. Rey finally said, "I.am.so.blessed." Truly. After watching the nothingness these people survived on, our drinking water felt cleaner, colder. Our house felt too big, luxurious. The amount of clothing we own ridiculous. I love it when that happens! We must know how truly rich we are to practice contentment--and appreciation.

The second movie goes by the interesting title of "HAPPY".

Again, the official description:

"HAPPY takes us on a journey from the swamps of Louisiana to the slums of Kolkata in search of what really makes people happy. Combining real life stories of people from around the world and powerful interviews with the leading scientists in happiness research, HAPPY explores the secrets behind our most valued emotion."

Ok, 2 things:
1. Watch this movie
2. If you ever see an opening for the housing showed in Denmark, call me. I wanna go.

So interesting! Exploring what, scientifically, really seems to make people happy. The main finding here (sorry if this is a spoiler) is that community is everything. Having a close-knit group of family and/or friends in your life. They showed many examples of this--and it stood out to me how often our American culture does not encourage that kind of community. We can tend to be somewhat isolated from each other, with very thick boundary lines between "yours" and "mine". We can try to compete with each other, hide things from each other, be better than the other. In other cultures, it seems there is more of a fluidity there between families. Using what each family has to help the other, compliment the other. Seeing everyone as part of a whole entity, as opposed to everyone being their own entity.

While that way of living is definitely more "messy", I do see it as being more healthy and want to move more towards that way of thinking, living. Which is interesting, because as Rey and I are taking the classes to become licensed as foster parents--we are finding out that we are really going to have to practice that. To see ourselves as not the "it" for the child, but as a link in the chain of their life. Possibly even serving as mentors and encouragers to the birth parents--as opposed to their competition. "I can do this better than you..." I think we are going to really learn about true love in these upcoming months. Loving just to love, for nothing in return. Learning to encourage the good in someone as opposed to writing them off for their failings. Realizing that we are called to love even after being disappointed... because He does. Allowing things to get messy, be unpredictable. Letting our hearts feel just a tiniest portion of the pain that the Creator feels as He sees His creation subject to the choices and whims of sinful people. Being grown together, even if only for a season. Letting Him show us how to "lay down our lives" for our brothers and sisters.

reaping.

Thinking about sowing and reaping.

Not just the "you get what you deserve" kind of interpretation. But a broader, more life-long way of understanding the verse.

The idea that you sow and you reap in two separate  seasons of life.

That all those seemingly meaningless, day-after-day decisions we are making today are actually forming our latter days. We can think of our constant choice to stop and give grace-filled attention to a perhaps inconvenient interruption as adding compost to our field.

The choice to serve when we want to sit as preparing the soil with good, thorough plowing. Determining to obey when we'd rather do our own thing as putting down only the best seed. Yielding to God's correction instead of explaining it away and hardening your heart is like the rain pouring down at just the right time.

 

I can't help but think of people who are now in their reaping stage--and reaping with joy. And their lives have been filled with unconditional love... even (and perhaps especially) when it hurts. Serving, always serving. They are people who have learned to stop for people--knowing they are made in God's image. Who listen to God's voice and have allowed them to soften, mold and use them in the way He saw fit.

 

I also mourn for other sad, bowed reapers. Who sowed, day after day, in anger, selfishness, and duplicity--and now look around in somewhat dazed wonder. "What happened? How did I get here?"

I want to end it joyful--watching load after load of life-filled harvest. A life well-lived. 

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.