Life and Truth

Here's a copy-paste post from my other blog, MandyMom.com.  I wanted to share it here as well since it deals with matters of faith.

 It's been hard to find time to update, and when I do have the time, sleep sounds much more appealing. Other priorities, y'know. I'm sure you all can understand that.  I know I say this just about every time I write a real entry, but gosh-darn, life has been so busy.  I can't remember the last time I had a day to just relax.  I don't think I've had any of those for the past, oh, seven weeks.  In retrospect, I'm so thankful that we sent the kiddos to my mother-in-law's after Jub'ee was born because once the kids came back, life went from zero to sixty in point five seconds.

I've had a couple of those, "Man, I wish my mama was here," moments.  I really cannot allow myself to think about how I wish things were.  Fact is, she's disabled and unable to help in that capacity, but I know she really wishes she was able, and, if she was able, she would be here every time I whimpered. I know I've expressed before how my mom was before the car accident that changed her life (and therefore our lives) eleven years ago.  She was able to whip a house into shape (and I'm talking model-home-shape, white-glove-test shape, near-perfection sparkleatude) in what seemed like mere seconds, all while dinner stewed on the stove.  Seriously, Mom was Wonder Woman, except with a bun (and more modest clothing).  I know my mom has spent many hours (days) sobbing because she can't be what she desires to be for her daughter and grandchildren.  There are few things my mom wants more than to serve us in that capacity.  She would have been the picture perfect epitome of a grandmother.  Not that she's not a fabulous Nana just as she is now, but her disabilities keep her from serving as I know she desires to serve.  She just isn't able to do that, and I totally understand that.  I am very grateful that she was able to do that with my first child.

{Mom and Jubilee}

 I remember coming home from the hospital with Merikalyn wrapped in my teenage arms.  Mom and Dad had overhauled our humble abode (a tiny trailer, just perfect for a family of three), caught up the laundry, and prepared meals for us to feast on.  My place had never seemed more inviting.  And boy, did I need my mama that first week (not just because I was a new mother, but because I came home with double mastitis and a high fever, plus a severe case of anemia to boot).  I know that was extremely exhausting for my Mom, but I am so glad the Lord gave her strength to do that for me.  What a blessing! The Lord has been gracious to give her strength when I've really needed her to have strength!

Anyway, like I said, life has been a little crazy.  My husband worked nights for the first two months of Jubilee's life, which was nice in many ways (having him home during the day has been such a blessing!), but exhausting as well.  We are both so tired.  In fact, a couple days ago, after dinner with my favorite midwife (my friend Nanci), I came home, did that "bad mommy thing" (put the babies to bed, then put on a movie for the kids to watch and told them to go to bed when it was done), and crashed.... at 7:30pm.  I slept for 12 hours (not solid sleep, since I did have to wake up to make sure the kids went to bed, and to nurse the baby several times as well, but solid enough), and still felt weary when I woke up.  I am definitely having to take naps.  I told my brother today that I am turning into our mom! (I used to think it was crazy that she had to take daily naps!  I didn't understand that we adults don't have all the energy our kiddos do!)

I am really not sure how we manage to do all that we do.  I could use more hours in the day, but I am thankful that there aren't more hours in the day because I am worn out with the twenty-four I'm given!  I am really, really glad we put in the effort to teach our children how to care for the home because I know that I would be even more weary if I had to do everything myself.  They don't know how much of a blessing they are by helping with the dishes and laundry!  (But I try to encourage and remind them of how awesome they are!) I am so amazingly, wonderfully blessed. I feel like God has just loaded my arms with gifts beyond measure.  Sometimes I get "a little" overwhelmed, but that overwhelming feeling is just a reminder that I am trying too hard to juggle on my own terms, and I need to rely on Him and His strength, not my own ideals, my own agenda, my own strength.

The Lord has been doing some major "house cleaning" in my heart, and as a result I have experienced a lot of spiritual warfare.  Satan knows just how to push my buttons, how to flare up my pride and selfishness, how toget me berating myself... and the Lord keeps reminding me that I don't have to listen to that garbage.  One of the things I have felt prompted to do is regularly write down truths the Lord wants me to focus on. I don't know about you, but I've spent much of my time rehearsing the lies the devil whispers in my ear, but not near as much time reminding myself of God's truths.  

Last week, the Lord had me focusing on these truths:

• My identity is found in Christ.
• I am loved, deeply loved, by God.
• There is infinite power in the palm of my Father's hand.
• The Lord desires to bless me, not to hurt me.
• My Father hates to see me suffer, but loves me enough to allow it because it refines me, grows me, molds my character.
• Jesus will NEVER let me down.
• I can ALWAYS depend on Him.
• He cares about even the smallest details of my life. It matters to Him.
• He hears me. He is listening.
• Nothing is impossible for Him.

Whenever Satan starts poking and pestering me, the Lord reminds me to live and move in the Truth of His Word.  I am not what or who Satan says I am. I am who God says I am.  God is not who Satan says He is.  God is who He says He is, who His Word says He is.  I cannot tell you how ..... strong..... the Lord has been impressing that upon me. Satan wants me to believe lies about myself and my God so I live a defeated life.  God wants me to believe that, through Christ Jesus, I am worthy. I am passionately loved and pursued by Him.  When I live and move and breathe in those truths, I live in the light, and the Spirit can live mightily through me.

My sweet little Evie-toddler just came to me with her pajamas gripped in her chubby little fist wanting me to put them on her, and I was reminded that, you know, she makes a lot of mistakes.  She's learning. She's growing.  When she makes a mistake, I don't furrow my brow and shake my finger at her yelling, "Why are you so dumb? Why did you do that!?  Why can't you get that right?"  That would be ridiculous! Her little toddler feet are going to trip and fall.  She's going to get into stuff she's not supposed to get into.  She's going to spill stuff, break stuff, ruin stuff.... and I will still love her just as much as I do when she's perfectly behaved.  I know she's going to make mistakes. I know she's going to have booboos and break things and hurt my mamaheart sometimes. God knows I'm going to have booboos and break things and grieve His Spirit.  When I slip and fall and make massive mistakes, He's not hovering over me berating me, telling me I'm worthless. That is what Satan does, not my loving Father.  When I screw things up, nail pierced hands pick me back up.  I am deeply loved. When I make a mess, the Lord helps clean it up. He loves me. He adores me.  A good picture of His love is the parable of the Prodigal Son who takes his inheritance, wastes it, and returns home a complete mess.  His father doesn't go off on a tirade of how dumb his son acted. The father doesn't punish his son.  He doesn't call him names and tell him he's worthless.  NO! He welcomes him home, hugs him tight, and throws a big party!  He kills the fattened calf and invites everyone to celebrate.  Why? Not because his son was disobedient, but because his son turned his heart to his father.  What a picture of the Father's love for me.... and for you!

Anyway, I had not intended to go into all of this.  I really was just coming here to say, "Hi, I'm still here. Still putting one foot in front of the other."

It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:22-23

The Pouring Out

I'm a woman of many blogs, I suppose.  There's a reason for that.  My MandyMom.com blog is more about my family, our homeschooling, and random stuff like that.  A Fighting Faith is more along the lines of what I've been pondering on spiritually, what I've been studying, what the Lord has been showing me.

My new blog, The Pouring Out, goes hand-in-hand with this blog so people will probably wonder why I bothered to create a new one rather than write those things here.

The Pouring Out was birthed out of.. well, the birth of Molly Jo.  Her birth (and the fact that she wasn't breathing and her heart stopped beating for a time) had a tremendous impact on me.  The Lord has been molding me through that, and I wanted to have a place to organize those thoughts pertaining to her birth (even if they don't seem like they pertain to it).  The Pouring Out is kind of a private place, although I have chosen to share it with the world wide web.  It's mostly just snippets- notes scrawled on a piece of paper or napkin, a snapshot here and there, a discussion with myself, a conversation with God- but I felt like it was something to be shared.

It's about miracles and how they transform a life- bring blind eyes to see, deaf ears to hear.  It's about how long a mere ten seconds can be when your baby doesn't have a heartbeat and how those ten seconds become a message to your heart.

So, if you're interested, here's the link:  http://thepouringout.blogspot.com

The pouring out

Four or so years ago, God gave us this desire to move out to the country and live a simple life. Now, if you knew me before all of this, you would know that sort of thing would not have been very appealing to me. I really liked the city, and the idea of being out in the middle of no where and getting my hands dirty? Like, ew. When I was a kid, I would have loved to live out in the country. I was a tomboy, and loved getting dirt under my nails, but somewhere in my late teens and early twenties, I had definitely become quite the priss. In fact, the idea of working hard... actually having to work with my hands and work up a sweat... yeah, no thanks.

So, you can see how much of a change it has been for me to have my desires completely flip flopped. Brandon and I went from desiring a bigger house, nicer cars, more stuff, more money to just wanting to simplify. A lot of people thought we were nuts when we started talking about building what is called a "tiny house" and cramming our growing family in less square footage (so we could move out to the country). I used to talk about it a lot, but it seemed like such a distant dream. I had no idea how we were ever going to get to that point. It really felt like an impossible dream- that God had put this desire in my heart and this dream in my head that we would never achieve. It took a few years for me to realize that was kind of the point.

I believe the Lord wanted me to realize that this was not only a God-planted dream, but also a God-directed one. He is going to arrange it. It is in His hands. One day it became very clear. I was telling a friend about our dream, and then said something like, "Well, it'll be a miracle when it happens because it just doesn't seem possible."

{*Light bulb moment*}

Then it hit me that God had been, was, is still arranging all the pieces. Just because it's taken four plus years doesn't mean He hasn't been choreographing it all. The message to me has been, "Sit back and watch Me work, Mandy. Don't rush it. Don't push it. Just let Me do it."

Even though the journey has been rough, I am so glad that the Lord showed us that stuff is just stuff. As Brandon often says, "One day, it's all gonna burn." It's stuff. It breaks down. It gets lost, stolen, worn out, replaced, repaired, rebroken. It's stuff. It becomes clutter. More stuff to dust, wash, clean, care for. And, throughout our lives, we keep adding more and more stuff to the collection, don't we?

But I know what it's like to have nearly nothing. I know I've said this a lot, but I like to remind myself of how poor we used to be because that's one of the times in my life when I felt the richest. House on the brink of foreclosure. Truck repossessed. Restaurant going under. Twenty dollars in my pocket for groceries and diapers for the week. Electricity being turned off every month. It looked bad. It seemed depressing from the outside looking in. But I felt so rich. It's not like I loved the position we were in. I was indeed frustrated with the whole situation but boy did we learn a lot of valuable lessons. It was one of the richest seasons in our lives.

It's when we really learned that God wanted us to pour our lives into people, not our business, not our stuff, not the "pursuit of happiness". Our home may not have been much, but it was always open. It became the place of ministry as Brandon and I learned how to reach out to those who were where we had been- those lives controlled by drugs, alcohol, sex, marital woes, and various other addictions, lives that needed someone to love them until they could love themselves, pour out patience and kindness.

Not to say that being in that position didn't sometimes drive me crazy because it is really difficult to work with addicts, to help them get clean and then see them fall back into that pit. It's really hard because you love them, you want them to be free of those things, you want them to see how rich life can be, and how those addictions are chains that hold them back. But it's also a good mirror. It has shown me the love of God, how I was addicted to stuff and a dream that was useless and fruitless and never-ending (because you are never satisfied with the stuff you have if that's what you're chasing after), and how Christ wanted to set me free from my dependence on stuff, and I can get "clean", but I end up falling back into that pit because it's tempting and it's flashy and it's all around me and it's new and it's improved, and man, I've gotta have it.

And yet it never, ever brings happiness. It's brings a temporary high, but it never satisfies.
I firmly believe that nothing in this dimension can satisfy.

Look around at all the people who are constantly chasing after something fresh and new, never satisfied for long. That unquenchable thirst. We get what we think we want, and it's not enough. We're all starry-eyed and wooed and then after a few days, weeks, months or years, when we feel we aren't being served by it or him or her, the search is on. If you're pursing happiness, you'll probably never find it. Happiness is a state of being. It's not something you can find or create. Happiness is contentment, and you will never be content as long as you are focused on yourself, on what you have or don't have, on how you're being treated or how you should be treated, or whether you've achieved the goals you had in mind.

But man, we live in a society that hates contentment. Loathes it. We market against it. We are bombarded with images that stir a longing within us for something "better" than what we have. The "Keeping up with the Joneses" syndrome. An envy, greediness, a Gollum-like obsession over anything that sparkles- "My precioooous."

All that keeps us from really enjoying what we have already been blessed with, blinds us to what really matters, distracts us from what is truly valuable. It's so easy to be distracted. God is constantly realigning my focus. I am like a small child thrilled over trash, refusing treasure. Reminds me of what our pastor in Louisiana once said. "We're clinging to a cow patty, while God is offering us a gold brick."

I'm constantly stripping away the stuff, and yet the addiction is still there. My eye is drawn to things I don't really need, craving meaningless things. I'm no fool. I know that shedding the stuff won't make life perfect. I know that moving out to the country won't make me happy. I mean, yes, it will make life simpler, and it can bring about things I really want, but it, in itself, will not bring happiness. I can't live life waiting for the next phase, living for the "when". I've been in that trap. Life will be better when. I'll be happy when. I'll start really living when. I'll be a better wife/mother/friend/person when. I'll enjoy life more when.

What about now? I'm aware that my dream can become just as much an addiction as stuff. I can lean on a dream just as I can lean on stuff. I can chase after a dream just as I can chase after stuff. And it won't satisfy any more than my stuff will satisfy. It's a hard lesson to learn- how to live right now, to be intentional about living this very moment to its fullest. We categorize the days and the moments. This is a good day. That was a bad day. I'm ready for tomorrow. I miss yesterday.

So what about now? Can I choose to enjoy now, even if my newborn is fussy, and my toddler is clingy, and the children are being too noisy, and my house is dirty, and I miss/want/need my mama and..... Can I turn it around, appreciate that I have babies who need me, a house that is full and running over? Can I put on different glasses, change the perspective, realign my focus, tweak the lens through which I see my life?

I want to see the stuff as just stuff. I want to see the beauty where beauty really is. So many things masquerade as gold, but few things are. I want what is truly valuable, I want to clearly see it, never take it for granted.

I want the simple things. You can have the world, I don't want it. I don't want the competition for bigger, better, badder. I don't want to be a celebrity. I don't want to be famous. I don't want to be rich. I just want to live in the fullness of love, to really pour out my life like Christ did. That's where the value is- in the pouring out, not the taking in.

What will I have done with them?

 

I think it's fair to say that Molly Jo has changed my perspective on life.  I suppose that's happened with every birth and every child, but she really has taught me the value of each breath. I don't want to waste one, and boy, do we waste them.

We waste them complaining and arguing.  We waste them as we focus on negative things, grumble over things in our heads, stressing that beating heart.  And every beat of the heart is precious.  I can't tell you how many times in the last few days that I have counted to ten.  Ten seconds.  How can ten seconds seem so long?

Ten seconds without a heartbeat. Mouth to mouth. Chest compressions. Suction. Suction. Oxygen. Breathe.......

My-oh-my how ten seconds can fly at any other time.
I think of how many ten-second-spans I have wasted on thoughts and worries and concerns for tomorrow.  How many heart beats I've used frivolously on things rather than people, stuff rather than relationships. How many breaths I've inhaled, exhaled in anxiety over the pokes and prods of the devil instead of in peace and trust in the knowledge of Jesus Christ.

Our time is limited. Our heart beats have a number. The breaths of this body will one day be sucked away.
And what will I have done with them?

Worry or Trust?

Parenthood.  It's full of lessons, isn't it?

Even before the child forms in the womb, many of us learn the hard lesson that we don't have as much control over these things as we'd like.  As we struggle with infertility or miscarriage or still born losses, we become keenly aware that we cannot force a child into being, cannot control the life forming within.

Our baby girls have thrown us for such loops during their womb-stays. Evangeline with her three-chambered heart and cyst on the brain, Molly with her extra amniotic fluid and possibly-flipped organs (we will find out whether she really has situs reversus soon).  We begin to worry, What does this mean for our babies? Will they be okay? And when God moves His hand in a healing answer to our prayer, we feel silly for even worrying about it, yet we find ourselves wondering, Why did God heal my child and not hers, or theirs, or that one? Why are we so fortunate?

From the beginning, we realize that we don't want to go this alone, don't want a day without the Lord's hand crafting each and every moment, leading each and every foot step.

When we walk down that hallway, with our oldest daughter riding in a little red wagon clutching her Clifford to her chest, toward the room where they will open up her skull and slice so close to vital brain tissue I am all to aware that I have no control. I am powerless.

But there is One to whom there are no surprises.  There's no shocking God. He sees the bigger picture. He is standing outside of time, and He knows what was, what is, and what is to come. I am weak, but He is strong. I am limited but He is limitless.

I can fight it, or I can surrender and trust. I can fret and worry and pace which brings forth no good thing, or I can rest in knowing that all things are in the Father's hand.

And so, when my baby is born with fluid in her lungs, and her heart stops, and the midwives are leaning over her, mouth to mouth, chest compressions, suctioning.... I can rejoice in the truth that I am His daughter, He hears my prayers, and He's in control.

 

You can read the birth story of Molly Jo Jubilee on MandyMom.com.

[Link opens in a new window]

What I learned from skipping Christmas

 I am really, really glad we decided to do a low-key Christmas this year.  It was truly a relaxed, hassle-free holiday for once, especially since we were able to avoid all the chaos of the stores.

We were able to steer clear of most of the commercial holiday gimmicks (especially since we don't watch television), and no one seemed to miss going sans-trees and holiday decor. (Although, I still do have a fake strand of evergreen above the kitchen windows- it's been there for a year.)  I've read so many posts on Facebook, blogs, and other places in which people exclaim that they are so stressed out.  And, from my current prospective, I have to say that most of that stress is self-done.  I feel we choose to put so much on ourselves around the holiday seasons- we want it to look and feel a certain way, and we think we have to have so many gifts under the tree, and the family meal has to go just perfect and....

Then there's the depression that sets in when you cannot afford to buy very many gifts for your children, and the pretty Christmas picture you have in your mind does not unfold as you wish it would. I know what that's like, I've been there as well.  But, more and more lately, our family has been looking at other families around the world and seeing that, even at our poorest, we are incredibly rich.  

We complain about not having this or that gadget or toy, or not having the best gifts under the tree, or there not being ham at the Christmas Eve dinner (finger pointing at my husband here, ha!) .... and we're so caught up in what we want, what we desire, and things we think we need... when in reality, it's all a cherry on top. I suppose this is one of the big negatives of living in America where wealth is taken for granted and called "poverty", where people who have a big screen television and expensive gadgets complain about not having enough food on the table. I don't think we understand how completely ridiculous that sounds to someone in Lesotho, South Africa where our friend, Nkutu, lives.

Our perspective is extremely skewed, and we call our selfish desires our "rights", and we think we deserve every little thing we desire while people who work harderthan us, live tougher than us, and see things no human being should ever see struggle just to get food on the table. 

Believe me, I'm preaching to myself as much as anyone else.

And, maybe it sounds like I can say this stuff now because we're doing good financially, but that hasn't always been the case.  And, while the main reason we're doing well financially is because of the grace of God, another reason is because we've learned our lesson in managing money, don't buy anything we can't pay with in cash, and try to keep a savings stored up.  However, all of that is just MONEY and it can be gone in a second.. and someday it will.  (Seriously, all China has to do is cash in on all the debt we owe them, and the people of the United States are going to find that they won't be able to afford a loaf of bread!)

For all the folks talking about the "Christmas Spirit", I really hope they aren't talking about the Spirit of Christ... because that's not what I see this time of year (for the most part). What I see is a spirit of materialism, people concerned about what they are getting, what to get for other people, who got something better than they did.....  and depressed when the "Christmas Spirit" doesn't hit us like we hoped, and we can't smile through the season because the season is a hassle and a hoax and is making us go broke and our kids hardly appreciate the things we spent good money on.

Know what I mean?

I'm not saying we can't have nice things, but man... so often we make life about those "nice things".  This morning, I was looking at my face in the  mirror, noticing the subtle changes that aging brings, and I actually felt okay with that.  It's just a face, it's just skin, it's just a vessel. It's not me... it's just the vessel that contains me.

Lord, I don't want to be so obsessed with how I look, what I have, and my own status in life that I miss the point of it all.  It's not about any of that, yet we spend so much of our time- waste so much of our time- obsessing over it all.

These last half-dozen years of my life have been very interesting to say the least. I had everything stripped away from me, and I had everything "returned" (so to speak) and more. For me, who I was, my identity, was tied to my stuff- the appearance of things, how it looked, how I looked, what I had.  It was very humbling to have that all taken from me. Very. 

I didn't write a lot on my blog in those days, and when I did, I didn't go into much detail about that part of our lives. It was embarrassing. I didn't want anyone to know that we hardly had two pennies to rub together, and were always in danger of losing our business and our home.   But, through all of that, God taught me that it's just stuff.  And I learned to give, even when I had little to give (whether it was of my money, time, effort, strength, love..).  I learned to take joy in those "simple" things, which, in reality, are the big things.

But it's so easy to forget those lessons.

This month has been absolutely amazing as we have leaned on the Lord to show us what to do, how to bless others, how to be vessels of His love. I keep having to remind myself- it is not about  me.  It's easy for me to get caught up in my wants, feelings, plans.... and to ignore God's desires, His will, His hopes for me.

We started out this month with plans not to "do Christmas", and yet I feel that we have "done" Christmas more than ever.  It has been so refreshing to set aside the materialism, the rush and the mental stress of it all, and just focus on Christ.   It's been so great have so many opportunities to teach our children about giving, real giving.  Giving to people who can't afford to return the favor, who won't be able to repay your kindness.  I'm talking about the kind of giving that is not a "gift exchange", but the kind of giving that is as Christ's example- giving to those who truly need and will never ever be able to repay you.  I mean, if we're going to celebrate Christmas, isn't that what it's REALLY all about?

While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. [Romans 5:8]

For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.  [Romans 5:6] 

That is what it's about, isn't it? That's what life is about.  Sometimes I picture Christ dying for those who had stoned Him, scorned Him, betrayed Him- dying for those who hate Him, blaspheme Him, use His name in vain.  Dying for those who justify sin and love wrong-doing.  Dying... dying for the murderer, the child-abuser, the rapist.  Not just the "good" people, but those society deems bad and horrible and disgusting as well.

This is the kind of love we are called to have. To love the unlovable, not just those we like.  To give, to extend ourselves to the fullest extent.  To think of others, to serve others, above ourselves.

This was the lesson God was desperately trying to teach me when  our friends were living with us, yet I kept thinking about myself, my own feelings, and justifying myself by society's standards.  Afterall, as people kept telling me, hadn't we gone "above and beyond" in inviting a family of six into our home for a month? 

But Christ calls us to go beyond what "good people" do, to stretch ourselves, to give until it hurts.  And, in doing that, there really is no room for this mindset that Imust have, I will have, I deserve....

Like I said, I feel that, in "skipping" Christmas, I have had the best Christmas of all.  I've appreciated my family more than ever, I've enjoyed giving more than ever, I've seen the Holy Spirit move more than ever (not that He wasn't moving before, I just didn't see it).

Note worthy

A taste of infinite Love

I pull my bible from the bedside table and flip open to the verses I had read just before sleep invaded, the verses that rolled through my mind as I dreamed, as I groggy-nursed my baby, as the first beams of sunlight spilled across the sheets.  With a whole heart. I will praise Thee. I will sing praise to Thy Name, most High. Be glad. Rejoice. In Thee.

I look to the previous page.

There it is again. Praise. Sing praise. His Name. Most High. How excellent is Thy Name!
The children are memorizing Psalm 24:1.   The earth is the LORD's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.  I put it to my own tune. Yes, me and you... and the ocean blue, all sea and land is in the LORD's hand, it is His. The verses appear on my lips as I sing. The children cuddle on the couch and read Thank You Prayer. "Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you Lord for everything," my oldest reads.

It is His. It is all His.  Formed by His Word, brought to life by His breath. In everything I can give thanks to the Creator, sing praise to the Most High, be glad and rejoice in Him.

Why do we wait for big events to give thanks, sing praise, rejoice? Why not now? Why not in the little, every day events that I so often overlook?  Are they not worthy of praise as well?

He has on his serious face, and he colors with a mission.  It's the first time I've seen him really consider what hue to use instead of scribbling the whole page with one crayon. Brown for the monkey. Blue for the curtains. Yellow for the man. Green for the chair.

He's growing, and it's happening each millisecond.  Some days I miss it because I'm caught up in dishes and laundry, but today I let the dishes sit in the sink. I watch them, all four of them. His chubby cheeks still draw my kisses, but I can see they are starting to thin. He's four, brand-new-four, this-month-four, and my mind rewinds to the day when he was born into my husband's hands in our bedroom.  Husband baptized by amniotic fluid. Baby, born unassisted, child of faith. Total dependence on the Lord.  Just me and my husband and our baby. Alone. The rest of the world drifting away in the moment of joyful tears and gratefulness and praise to God. And now he's four. He calls cereal "city-all" and likes to "take a bathtub".  He calls his brother Nolyn, "Woah-nen." He snuggles his baby Evangeline a little too tight but only because he fiercely loves her. Now he wants big boy haircuts and shoes that tie and desperately wants to be like his older brother.

He is my blessing. Our olive shoot ¹. Does that mean I'm a fruitful vine?  I hear the back door slam, and I unfold myself from the couch. I find Nolyn on the small cement slab with a tiny piece of chalk. Itty bitty ants scurry back and forth, and I show him how to confuse them by drawing circles around them with chalk.

"They must be pretty stupid," he states.
I shrug, "Well, they are really small. Imagine how big a speck of chalk dust looks to them."
"Yeah..." he considers. "It's probably like a big rock!"

It's all about perspective, I realize.

The kids panic over a line of ants marching through a hole in the front door seal. "They're in the carpet!" they squeal. I find myself sighing. Ants. Bah. Arg. Bleh. I suck them into the vacuum, sprinkle "ant-be-gone" dust around the outside of the house, and hope they go away. In the carpet. Bleh.
And then I laugh because I have ants in the carpet because I have carpet. I have walls. I have a roof over my head. I have a house for ants to get into. A house with a foundation and carpet and walls. Not dirt floors. Clay walls. Leaf-thatch roof.  I tell the kids. We're so ridiculously privileged and blessed.

It's all about perspective.
Finding a mass in your daughter's brain- blessing because it is the answer to the prayer and questions of her random and odd behavior. Dirty dishes and loads of laundry- blessing because I have loved ones to cook and clean for. Blessings- olive branches around our table, husband who works hard, sweats hard. We have dishes and food and clothes a'plenty.

Husband and I talk about how those of us loaded with stuff find so much to grumble about. We grumble about our stuff and it's never enough. The children have toys and more toys and it's never enough. And we complain about clothes not being stylish or fitting just right and that's so American.

Ungrateful.

Stuff gets in the way most of the time. It gets in the way because we're so busy taking care of our stuff, we don't stop to count the blessings, don't see the faces, don't cherish the moments.

We see the negative. The chalk on clothes. The peanut butter jelly mess on the table. The van needing repairs. The A/C struggling to keep up with the summer heat. The smart phone acting stupid.

We sigh and stomp and say we need better and new and more and we're unhappy.  We're unhappy because we're looking through darkened glasses.

It's the perspective. Children managing on their own, making sandwiches so Mommy can relax. Having a van, having an A/C, having a phone. Having a house, even if it has ants. A bed to sleep in, a place to come home to. Coming home, period.

Children see the world differently. Breakfast is exciting. Lunch is a thrill. Park visits make it "the best day ever". Getting the mail is an awesome adventure. Reading beside Mom and Dad, climbing in our bed early in the morning, sweet moments that stay pressed to their hearts even when they are grown with children of their own.

He looks at the jug of tea. It's almost empty, nearly gone. "For me? Just enough for alluvus!" Just a sip, just a taste is enough to make his thankfulness bring a smile to his face, eyes light up.

I thank the Lord that I left the dishes in the sink and chose to watch my children. Reminders of His blessing. A taste His infinite love.  He is worthy of praise. Worthy of praise when there are loads of laundry to be washed, dishes to be scrubbed, meals to be made, children to be taught. These are my acts of worship. I can praise His name as I rejoice through the day, sing my worship as I serve my family and reach out to those around me. Even when I'm exhausted, worn. What a difference that would make in my children's lives to see their mother singing and dancing joyfully while cleaning toilets and changing diapers.   What is it that causes her to be glad and rejoice? What an impact that would make on their lives, impressing the beauty and might of an awe-inspiring God upon their hearts through their mother. Yes, Lord. Let it be!

Sometimes the things looming before me look overwhelming. I forget my praise. I see this white wall before me and don't know it's just chalk dust before the Lord. From here it looks daunting, scary.  Fear grips me, and I stop living. I'm merely surviving. Surviving through the dishes, the laundry, the dusting, the errands, the cooking, the bedtimes, the serving. I press my praise into a bag and start thinking about "when". When this happens, when that happens, when life gets better. I'll pull out my praise then.

I forget the here and now. I forget this is the day the Lord made, I should rejoice and be glad in it. I'm weary, and instead of resting in the Lord, I look around me for something else that will satisfy.

Stop. Look. Praise. Worship.
With a whole heart.
My God- my God of marvelous works, righteous, most High.
I am His.  This is all His. The fulness thereof.

1. Psalm 128:3- Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table.

Do I believe God is good all the time?

The thought from William Law's book stays in my mind.  All goodness comes from God.  How many times have those words of the chorus floated off my lips, "God is good, all the time. All the time, He is good."  Have I believed that?  That God is good all the time.

Did I really feel He was good when my daughter was lying in a hospital bed, face pale and head bandaged.  When the doctors didn't even know what that mass was in her brain (and still don't), and we didn't know where that road would take us?  Did I really feel God was good all the time when, weeks after she was discharged from the hospital, we found out this little one in the womb only had a three-chambered heart?

I suppose, with the first blow, it was easier for me to trust in God's plan. I kept singing, "I will praise You in this storm," and I really tried.  The only way I could sleep at night was to leave it in His hands.  Everyone kept remarking at how strong we were.  Were we?  I think we were just trying to survive each moment as it came.  It made me all to aware that God was the giver of life and the taker as well.  I felt so out of control.

Then the second blow, my little baby.  I had suffered four miscarriages before that pregnancy.  We had made it halfway through only to learn that we could possibly lose her shortly after her birth, if not in the final weeks of my pregnancy.

I could hear the pain in my midwife's voice as she called to relate the news.  She knew what we had been through with our oldest child.  She didn't even mention the cyst on the baby's brain.  I suppose she thought the heart issue was enough to handle.

It was then I began to question, "Why us?"  I knew we wouldn't escape our first decade of parenthood without some sort of huge heart-wrenching event, but two? One right after the other?

I recall days sitting on my bed, staring across the room at my reflection in the dresser mirror. Who was that girl? I felt like God was poking and plucking my children one by one.  The future seems so uncertain. Would God heal them both?  Could we be that fortunate?  Why would He do that for me and allow my friend to lose two of her children within two years?  I knew I wasn't more worthy of that mercy and grace.

The story ends well. I have both of my girls, healthy, safe. But now that I'm pregnant again, all those feelings, memories, and emotions are rushing through the cables of my mind. 

God is good, all the time.   Is that what Abraham was thinking when God told him, "Take your son, Isaac, whom you love, go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about." (Genesis 22:2, HCSB)  Was he singing songs of thanksgiving as he, his son, and his men made their way across the land?  On that third day, as he glimpsed the location from a distance, was his heart full praise?

Did it feel like a punch to the gut when his son asked, "The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?"

I've been thinking about this a lot.  What am I willing to sacrifice?  I've come to a place where I feel I could sacrifice my comfortable living, the material things I love.  Could I sacrifice my family?  If God chose to take them away, would my faith remain? Would I still praise His name? Would I still call Him good?

My mind drifts to the author of my favorite hymn [It Is Well With My Soul]. Horatio Spafford was a prominent lawyer in the 1860's. He was likely more known for his support of preacher D.L. Moody. His testimony amazes me.  Here is a man who seems to have it all- a beautiful wife, five wonderful children, a lovely home in Chicago.  And then tragedy strikes.

Their only son is struck with scarlet fever and dies at the age of four.  (My third-born is about to be four. I can't even imagine...)  A year later, still morning the loss of their loved little boy, the Great Chicago Fire sweeps through the city.  The Spaffords had invested in real estate. Almost everything they owned was ashes.

A couple years later, after the family had pitched in to assist in the restoration of their community, Spafford decided it would be good for his family to take a much needed vacation.  He sent his wife and four daughters to England, as he was delayed in business dealings and planned to follow shortly after.

On November 22, 1873, while crossing the Atlantic on the steamship Ville du Havre, their ship was struck by an iron sailing vessel and two hundred and twenty-six people lost their lives, including all four of Spafford's daughters. Anna Spafford survived the tragedy. Upon arriving in England, she sent a telegram to Spafford beginning "Saved alone."

Spafford then sailed to England, going over the location of his daughters' deaths. According to Bertha Spafford Vester, a daughter born after the tragedy, Spafford wrote "It Is Well With My Soul" on this journey. [source: Wikipedia]

The words of his hymn stick with me.

When peace like a river attendeth my way. When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, "It is well, it is well with my soul."

I remember singing those words one Sunday as my daughter lay lethargically in the hospital bed. My mom and I wept as we listened to a version on YouTube in that cold, sterile room.

It is well with my soul.

Would it still have been well with my soul if one or both of my daughters had died?

How strong is my faith? I mean, how strong is it really? How strong is it when everything seems to be going awry, when the pretty life I had hoped for begins to make a downward tilt, or the plans I make begin to go askew? Will my faith stand, will praise still joyfully sound, will my hope remain?

Do I truly believe that God is good all the time, even when life has taken a road I'd rather not go down, when I lose those I love, when I'm challenged with sacrifices I'd rather not make?

Oh Lord, help my unbelief!

What about Children's Church?

I love this Spurgeon quote Mrs. Fuentes shared on her blog A Wise Woman Builds Her Home:

Let no Christian parents fall into the delusion
that Sunday School is intended
to ease them of their personal duties.
The first and most natural condition of things
is for Christian parents
to train up their own children
in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

-Charles Haddon Spurgeon

My husband and I are not a big fan of Sunday School.  First of all, I don't really care for the way that churches mimic the humanistic institutional method of separating children by age groups.  Secondly, I've seen too many Sunday School classes that look more like playtime with a story of Jesus thrown in somewhere.  I've seen churches put on a big Children's Church production every week (with characters singing and dancing across the stage) that rivals Disney Musicals. The focus is on entertaining the children and keeping them busy- not Jesus.

I've been to churches where children are not allowed in the service.  There have been times when Sunday School teachers have argued with us, making quite a scene as the pastor got up to speak, and have even grabbed our children's arms and attempted to drag them away from us into their Sunday School classes even after we have made our stance known.

I don't want you to think I'm completely against children's bible classes.  Certainly many children, especially those without godly parents, benefit from them.  However, many parents have surrendered this command to disciple and train up their children to the church- some in part, some completely.

I think many homeschool families may use Sunday School as a means of socialization, and certainly it is good for our children to fellowship with other families within the body of Christ, but children also should learn to worship, praise, and learn alongside their parents.  Obviously there may be times when certain subjects will not be appropriate for children's ears.  However, I believe pastors, teachers, and anyone bringing a message from the Lord should keep children in mind and try to present their message in a clear manner.

Somehow people have picked up this idea that children are incapable of understanding such "lofty" things from the bible without significantly "dumbing them down", but I have found that most children are able to understand more than we give them credit for.  Yes, there will be certain things they don't understand which parents can expand on later, but they will soak up quite a bit.  It helps for parents to explain what is discussed within the meetings over the days following. This not only helps the child grow in their understanding, but it keeps the message from evaporating from the mind as soon as the church service or gathering is over (at least, I have found this to be true for me).

I believe sitting within the church meeting, listening along with my parents, and reading the bible at home when I was a kid helped in other ways as well. My vocabulary grew, and I  learned how to define words by the context they were used in.  I grew up reading the King  James Version, which, even at six or seven years old, was not too far above my comprehension.  (We tend to read the NASB or Holman Christian Standard with our children, though.) I also learned how to sit still and be quiet for an hour or two.  I have heard many say this is impossible for young children, especially toddlers, but I can tell you, it is not impossible. Yes, there will be some days when things don't go so well, but children can learn to be still and quiet.  This is easier done when you start from birth.  Children have a harder time doing this when they have become accustomed to playing and being entertained during church meetings and services.

Another issue I have with children's church is that we don't always know what is being taught to our children.  When our children sit in the meeting or service with us, we hear what they hear, but when they are separated from us, we cannot be totally sure what they are being taught, even when we are given an outline or a sheet that explains it. At one church we attended, the only "test" a Sunday school teacher had to pass was a background check.  As long as their record was free of felonies and such, they were allowed to teach children. No one questioned their doctrinal beliefs.

Don't misunderstand me here. I'm not saying you cannot send your children to Children's Church.  This is something you need to pray about and consider yourself.  (I'm not going to judge you either way as it is not my place!)

Some have asked what we do.  When we visit the Church in Moss Bluff, Louisiana, our children attend the Children's Church classes.  When we have a Church meeting or a fellowship gathering in our home, our children often play in the backyard.  When we have a meeting or a teaching at someone else's home, our children usually sit on the floor and color or draw when we are not singing or praying. I believe they are capable of listening and taking in while they color or draw, so this is fine with us.

Most of all, we understand that we should not depend on children's classes, church meetings, services, or teachings to disciple and train our children. That is our task as parents which is to be done daily in the home as we walk together, talk together, and live together.  There are many moments and opportunities in every day life to train and teach them "the way of the Lord".

Children in the Word

I couldn't resist snapping a few shots of my son reading his bible this morning out in the backyard!  Moments like this warm a mama's heart!

I am blessed

I snapped a bunch of photos today as we went about our day. As I look over them, I am reminded how blessed I am.

Some days are totally exhausting. Okay, most days are. But I am so fortunate to have each and every single one of my sweet children here at home with me- under my eye, under my care. I am so privileged to teach them at home, to guide their little minds and hearts, and to give them the biblical education I feel is so very necessary.

Today has been a good day- evidenced by the many smiles I caught on camera, the lingering smell of freshly baked cookies, and the cheerful sounds I hear as my two oldest play out the backyard (the younger two are still napping).

Soon, my husband will walk through the front door- this is the moment I anticipate all day.  I am thankful that he works hard to provide and takes his job (as provider) seriously, but I miss him fiercely when he is gone.

I am blessed, I know.

Homeschooling, Modesty, and Little Blessings

It's only a bit passed noon, but already I feel like I can say that today is a good day. It's not that it started out particularly wonderful. In fact, I didn't sleep very well last night, nor did my hubby, since the baby was up in those wee hours of the morning (and he had to head off to work at 5:20am!). But, counting the little blessings, he did not prompt me to make breakfast for him at that hour (although I had said I would do so if he would rouse me from my sleep), knowing I had endured the night with minimal sleep. He is such a kind husband. Does he realize that the extra hours of sleep help me tremendously when I'm trying to focus on teaching and training our wee ones, or does he simply do it because he loves me? (Or both?)

I struggled through the first hours of the day, and we did not sit down for lunch until a quarter passed ten (although I had given the kids bananas shortly after they woke up). I struggled with my attitude and felt like writing the day off, even considered sending the kids outside to play while I settled down with a book.

But, I knew that it would not be wise to dismiss the day so quickly, especially since we are a homeschooling family and, well, it is my duty to uphold structure and order, even if we are running behind.

While the kids finished eating their biscuits and pears, I read to them from I John. Our prayers for the Fruit of the Spirit wer answered, and then our day began to move along in a much better fashion.

Today, Keagan, age three, began his reading lessons. I decided it would be good to "test the waters" to see if he was ready to start- after all, he does seem to listen in while I'm teaching his siblings. The first lesson went surprisingly well- perfect, actually. There were many high-fives, and then we called Daddy to report on how well he had done. Could it be that we will have a little one reading before he is four?

See, reading has been one of the subjects I have hated the most (even though I love to read!). With my first born, Merikalyn [Mare-eh-kuh-lyn], it was a nightmare situation. What we did not realize during that time was that she had a brain mass which hindered her education. It made it difficult to retain and remember information. We learned of this a year ago when she suddenly began having partial seizures and was rushed to the hospital. Days later, doctors had peeled back her scalp and were peering at her brain.

They still do not know what the mass was, but they removed two-thirds of it, and by God's grace, the remaining third disappeared.  Once home and back to our normal schedule, she was finally able to retain information and recall it. We had to return to the very beginning though- with numbers and letters and the basics of education.

As I mentioned, it has been a year since her surgery, and we are seeing great improvements. We don't really do "grade levels" in our homeschool, but I suspect she would be at about a first grade level in most subjects. I don't really fret about it (okay, I do sometimes), because I know each and every child has their own pace, and she is moving along well enough. She is doing some basic reading and cannot wait until she can read the bible on her own. (Currently, she likes for me to give her the "address" of a verse- say, John 3:16- so she can look it up herself.)  Her main passion is in homemaking. She loves to cook and bake, and has been exclaiming how she cannot wait to learn to sew!

It is exciting to see things "click", and I know Merikalyn will really enjoy helping little Keagan learn to read. It will likely help her own reading skills improve!

Going through their reading lessons today was a huge blessing to me. Some days homeschooling feels much like herding cats or nailing jello to the wall, but there are also those days when there is just an overflow of joy and excitement- even when the baby is refusing to nap, and I have to bounce her on my hip while trying to read the bible and scarf down breakfast.

Speaking of excitement, Merikalyn's long-awaited package arrived.  I found some beautiful long skirts for little girls on OldNavy.com and bought them, along with two beautifully feminine button-up shirts. (And, even a long black skirt for myself.)  It's crazy how hard it is to find decently-priced modest clothing for little girls!  My girls do not need to be wearing shorts or skirts that barely cover their heinies! I am thankful that tights (not the thick panty hose sort- I'm talking about the kind that are like pants) are in style and are easy to find because they are great for slipping under skirts and dresses for a bit more coverage.

When I was a little girl, I was not allowed to wear pants at all. I loved skirts, but found them most inconvenient since I was pretty active and, um, one can give the little boys an eyeful when romping on the playground, climbing trees, or flying through the air on a swing.  Tights were a staple in my wardrobe in those days. Mom made sure I had a pair of tights (or shorts) under each skirt.

While Merika is allowed to wear pants, she prefers her feminine skirts and dresses (as do I), so tights are still a great addition! (They also allow summery dresses to extend through the winter and coolness of spring. Panty hose are just too fragile!)

Anyway, back on subject. Merikalyn was thrilled to tear open the package and see her new skirts and shirt!  She kept exclaiming, "Oh, Mommy! It's so long! Just like yours! We can be twins! It's so long!"

The package wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow (according to the shipping notification I received), so it was a lovely surprise to receive it today! She'll be thrilled to wear it to church tonight!

Praise God for the little blessings and pick-me-ups!