My Baby, My Boy

My Lewis is growing up, and it's exciting.  And I already miss my baby.  This thought is repeated so often, by so many mothers, that it becomes a comment that only skims the surface, not sinking in deeply.  But once you're actually experiencing it, it's cause for consternation.  

He's sleeping in a boy's bed, sharing a room with his brother.  He's been in there napping for a while, but the past two nights he wanted to be with "Linky"--and he's not only stayed through 'til morning, but he SLEPT THROUGH those two nights in a row.  This morning, he cried for me shortly before 5:00, but then went back to sleep until 7:00.  I don't remember the last time that happened; his normal wake up is around 5:40.  

He's potty training by choice.  He's making jokes with his brother that crack them both up.  He's wanting to do things on his own, like climb the stairs with no hand from mommy. His legs are looking long.  He's fierce in expressing his desires.  Though the product looks very different from his brother's, he does most of our school lesson projects right along with us.  He's so proud of himself whenever he does something new or well, like watercoloring: often the water-filled brush goes to the paper without any paint, and he's puzzled.  But then he gets the order properly, and a big, bold swash of turquoise lands on his paper, and he's just delighted.   

I'm so proud of him. 

For Myself, to Remember When I'm Feeling Uncharitable

2/18/2014

Alanna, 

I need to apologize to you for how I have communicated with you and thought toward you over the past few weeks.  I have had a hard time looking at things from your perspective, and instead focused on my own frustrations when things don't unfold in the way or as easily as I had planned.  And instead of dealing with the roots of my frustration I have allowed my disappointments and bothered-ness to fester until what fills overshadows my soul regarding you is thoughts of division and cutting down.  
I need to take this time (of reflection and actual writing) to realize the problems in my own heart and attitude.  I have cho been choosing to forget that above any other aspect of our relationship, and regardless of our actions/inactions toward each other, 

I am your friend.

You are my friend.  

And we are Sisters.

I have often been puzzled by the term "passive-aggressive," but I'm realizing that in a lot of ways, I myself am passive aggressive.  Instead of just expressing my feelings and thoughts directly (and tactfully/graciously), I tend to avoid any apparent conflict and pretend as if nothing is ever much the matter.  But it isn't true.  Underneath the surface I get downright angry and hurt sometimes, but deal with it in ways that just lead me toward resentment, bitterness, and a wounded spirit that pulls me away from relationship instead of seeking restoration.  I think I've had enough conversations with you about my mom for you to see that my relationship with her is sort of the flagship example of this principle at work in my life, though I've actually never realized it before now.  My relationship with my mom is something I've struggled with for a long, long time, but I want that sort of damage to not be given the nourishment to grow up into any more of my relationships.  

So I want to lay that down for you, and ask for your forgiveness for when I've been cold or stony or sullen toward you, especially about library matters.  As you step away from the library to be able to give as much of your energy as possible to Lucy and Alex, I want to turn to a fresh page of grace and friendship with you.  I want to do life together with you, friend.  

Love in Him, Lydia

A Jonah Day

Sigh. 

In the language of Anne Shirley (of Green Gables fame), a "Jonah Day" refers to a generally bad day, where everything just seems to be going against you.  Those of you who are Biblically literate can see the connection: you know, just a guy trying to mind his own (selfish) business and then interrupted with an unsavory task, which he ran away from, which led to a horrendous storm-tossed sail, which led to his being thrown overboard and swallowed by a giant fish, his sitting in its belly for a long time, then being thrown up on a strange beach, bringing him back to follow through on the unsavory task after all. 

Today seems to be shaping up into a Jonah day for me.  I'm going to complain for a bit here, under the guise of looking forward to heaven.  Because, you know, in heaven there will actually be no more sorrow, no more suffering, no more injustice, no more selfishness, no more regret.  That is so hard to even begin to fathom for me.  

It means, for example, that my right hand, which already begins to feel arthritic, will never ache or suffer from split knuckles in the cold again.  My neck and back, perpetually cricked and tense (especially during the cold, scrunched-up season), will be able to somersault and dance and probably even turn like an owl without the least complaint.  I'll never have to keep up the personal chores I do for the sake of being my most beautiful.  (Actually, I haven't kept up with those for years now, so it will be unthinkably wonderful to just be, just BE beautiful, nothing doing.)  

There will be no poop in heaven.  No poop of any creature, at all, for me to face.  Hallelujah.  

I can sing all I want and not have anybody tell me to stop, that it's too loud.  Dishes.  No more dishes.  I have a feeling that being creative will always be a joy, and never a burden or a frustration.  There will not be cranky toddlers beating on my back begging for my attention while I focus on something else.  For that matter, it seems likely that I'll be able to devote my full attention either to as many things as desired all at once, or else there will be the opportunity to focus entirely on one thing at a time, fully and completely, for always.  I will not crash into things from clumsiness anymore, and there will be no ingredients-flung-about disasters while cooking.  There will never be heartache or loneliness, and I will never Not Understand again--myself, others, my wonderful, mysterious Father God.  I can learn every secret I've ever wondered--and more--about how this incredible creation works.  All the dots will be connected.

I have sometimes wondered how eternal life, the whole system, will be able to function without what we know as Decay.  Because in our system, our broken, beautiful world, everything kind of functions based on the cycle of life and death, Decay.  I can't imagine something different, because that's just how it Is.  But you know what?  I absolutely trust that Elohim, the Creator of the universe, is fully capable of a perfect, Perfect system in heaven, which allows for all things without death.  

Oh, the Joy that will be!

Welcome to Our Porch, Fred

It seems we have acquired a cat.  By order of my husband, a strictly OUTDOOR cat.  

Our boys have named him Fred.

While he spent our entire suppertime meowing at us through the window a couple of nights ago, I had to make a confession to my hubby.  A couple of nights before THAT, I had heard Fred meowing continuously (and piteously) outside our front door late at night, just before going up to bed.   I tried to ignore it, because our last Cat Owner Experience ended with lots of frustration and was sad but a relief.  

But, for heaven's sake, there was a Polar Vortex out there.  So I said, 'OK, God, I don't think I have any cat food downstairs, but if for some reason I never got rid of Green Bean's food, it'll be my sign to feed the cat.' 

There was still cat food in the can.  

Turns out it had gone bad over the past year+, but HAVING cat food was the sign, so I gave the cat what I had: albacore tuna.  In the morning, the tuna was gone, and one little cat footprint was left in the snow beside it for a thank you.  

I kept hearing the cat meowing, but we didn't meet him until that night he sat in the window begging.  And now Fred is very, very glad for company when we go out to say 'hi.'  

And, of course, I bought a fresh bag of cat food.  I am a softie, but I'm not going to feed a cat (and who knows what else) on albacore tuna.  

Welcome to our porch, Fred. 

To Speak of the Things Which Move Me

"AWE-INSPIRING GOD, when I am lost in wonder and lost for words, receive the homage of my silent worship but do not let me be content to bear your mysterious beauty and be still. Go with me in the places where I live and work. Lift the veil of reticence behind which I hide. Give me the courage to speak of the things which move me, with simple and unselfconscious delight. Help me to share my glimpses of glory until others are drawn to your light."

                                                                                                   Jean Mortimer

I am not taking the time to do this today, but I hope that, often, the contents of what I share with you move you toward simple and unselfconscious delight.  Because I intend to show you some of His glories.  

Beautiful

So, in the random way these things happen, I stumbled across this article just now.  (Don't read it yet.  Come back up here at the end.  Also, I looked through all 30 images so I could feel justified in writing a post about it...but if you don't want to waste a bunch of time, 4 or 5 pictures will do you just about as well.)

It's titled "30 Fairly Shocking Pictures of Celebrities Without Makeup"...but I find myself more shocked by how normal most of them look without the magic wand of a professional makeup artist.  I mean, those pictures on the left?  They are of you and me on any given Saturday morning (or, let's face it, any given most-mornings if you're at home with little kiddos).   

Of course some of these pictures are actually awful, because candid photographs have the same ability as pressing pause at any given moment in a movie: you get the most gruesome, funny distortions of the actors to stare back out of the tv until you come back from your potty break.  But really, start by looking at the left-hand picture in each of these slides, and I think you'll find many of these girls actually garish when they're all done up for the Oscars.

When did our culture redefine beauty this way?  Why are you and I always so terribly conscious of our faces when we go beyond our front porches without makeup?  What IS beauty, anyway?  We are created in God's image, and His paintbrush never touches a makeup palette; He pronounced us Good.  

Now, this isn't a post about whether or not makeup is ok.  I use makeup.  I really, really appreciate makeup, actually, and it's a Big Deal to me if I forget my makeup bag when I'm traveling, or find I left it in the car that went to school with Andy, or something else that necessitates a bare face.  But, though I don't often feel it when I look at my bare self in the mirror--I am beautiful.  My husband seems to prefer my bare face, and I have to choose to take him at his word.  My God certainly doesn't care in the least what I look like, and I have to choose to take Him at His word.  

What my God and my husband care about more than anything else in my life is that I allow things like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control shine their beautiful selves brightly in my life.  Those beautiful things, radiating out of the inner me?  They change me, and they change the world that I interact with and touch.  And they have the side effects of physical beauty: a soft countenance, a ready smile, lines creased by laughter instead of stress and anger, a quiet spirit, a body that is stewarded well and therefore trim (if not altogether tone ;0) ).   

What our culture needs is more women who think about their inner Beautiful more than their outer, more women who get their affirmation from Jesus, and let Him do His good, beautiful work in and through us. 

Go.  You're more beautiful than you know. 

A Day of Misadventures and a Year of Memory-Making

I'm ending today better than I began.  Actually, the day began very nicely, with quiet Quiet Time and all my hot coffee before the boys woke up.  But the whole "daytime" part of the day was pretty darn rough.  Is it bad that all I really (really, REALLY) wanted to do was to clean my house?  I mean, yes, it's nice to have a clean house.  And yes, I'm much happier to go to bed in a few minutes with a cleaner house.  But I was emotionally at war all day with my un-clean, attention-demanding boys.  This is my problem, not theirs.  

But anyway, the big reason I wanted to clean (other than there being laundry, toys, food, milkweed seeds and flower petals literally EVERYWHERE, ALL over the house) was in order to let my home know that I appreciate it.  I do not actually anthropomorphize my house; it's more of a called-to-be-a-good-steward thing, wherein being entrusted with a big gift means I'm expected to take good care.  (...We'll save the post on being a good steward of my children for another day, hopefully for when I'm letting God give me the grace for it.  This was a bad day of accepting grace.  Thank heaven His mercies are new every morning, right?!)

And the big reason I want to let my house know I appreciate it is because... 

...one year ago TONIGHT (October 29, 2012), Andy drove to Watertown after school to sign the closing paperwork on our new home. The boys and I met him here afterward with macaroni and cheese for supper in the kitchen out of red plastic cups. Let's make it a macaroni tradition! So blessed to live here! Been praising Jesus for 365 days, and we look forward to many, many more.