her

A wise old sage once told me to "enjoy the journey as much as the destination". It has been a thought I've revisited often, pouring it over my circumstances like syrup on a steaming pile of hotcakes. And, as for the sage, she really isn't old at all but wise beyond her years. I think often of her words to me.

I am a mommy. The moment that beautiful little creature I'd felt dancing in my womb for months entered the world my heart changed. I remember being caught up in wonderment at the miracle in my arms. I cried. I took in her tiny features. I kissed her soft skin and breathed her in.

Such a tiny person to enter my world and such big changes she brought. I had watched other people have babies and anticipated a certain sense of "new normal" that I would experience in those shoes. My "new normal" did not follow my carefully laid plans. My child did not enjoy life outside the safe confines of her early existence and protested everything. While my heart ached at her sorrow my attempts at bringing comfort were often not successful. I have many fond memories of those early days though the soundtrack to them is an unceasing wail.

Such a busy little person even from the days when mobility was a skill to master. She moved with determination. She had plans to see it all, touch it all, rip it all and eat it all. I can still remember the weekend I attended a women's conference and returned home to see a half eaten cardboard book on the kitchen table. I wondered if Andy had taken in a pet in my absence. "No," he assured me,"it was just our daughter. We drove to a friend's house and I gave her a book to read for the trip. She ate it instead."

My tidy house has morphed into something I hardly recognize. Sometimes I gaze about the living room and wonder who could let their child do this?  Oh yes, I remind myself, it is your smallish person who moves about with such a passion for life. If only she felt so passionate about restoring order to our world. I observe my space and deflate. My perfectionist expectations raise the white flag and the mess throws a victory party.

It is her joy in the simple things that breaths life into my day. Down the magical rainbow of wonderment (a pile of pillows) into a soft cloud of blankets. We drink imaginary hot cocoa and sample plastic snacks. We read stories of curious monkeys and talking bears and Bible characters. We set out for adventures and explore the world. She helps me cook, carefully measuring and mixing things and always asking to lick the beaters. Tony Bennett's music puts a spring in her step.

It is her strong, independent and adventurous spirit that keeps me on my toes.  She is as determined as she is capable. As quickly as she draws breath her mind weaves tales. She has a broad vocabulary and knows how to use it, often to try and re-explain circumstances that should spell for naughtiness. Of course she's innocent, it was all a mistake. Opossums are often blamed for things around here. Darn creatures.

She is my little creature. I am her mommy. Today was a day of potty training independence. She calls out "I NEED TO GO POTTY!"  then makes a dash for the potty chair. I meet her there but am not greeted with graciousness. "I NEED PRIVATE-CY!" she announces, her hand waving me away. I step out, my careful eye on the girl inside. Recently, however, she has discovered that it's better not to announce her intentions as she slips into the bathroom, a place that she visits often in these early days of learning. Three separate trips equal one time of actual need. Lots of hand washing. Lots of toilet paper strewn about the bathroom floor. And then an afternoon of energy-splosion, as if she was a vending machine filled to the limit with quarters. I could barely keep up. I prayed for strength to endure the afternoon with joy, to live in these little moments with a 3 year old girl who won't be 3 for long.

Night falls and the little girl snuggles up in my arms. Daddy reads a chapter of "Little House in the Big Woods" and then Psalm 23.  I treasure these moments before tucking her in her little bed. She is tired and does not stir. I smile.

2013

It's New Years Day. I'm 34 years old and feel every day of it.

I can turn my mind's eye around and see this same day and how I've lived it so many times before. A starry eyed youth who saw the magic in a fresh start. New ideas and new changes to implement. Dreams to chase.

Now, I sit here, in the front row of the game of life. A courtside seat to the sufferings of others with whom I walk closely. A game in which I too have played, though in wonderment I find that it hurts my heart more to see their pain then to experience it for myself.

It's New Years Day. I do not begin this year with a head full of dreams or a list of improvements but rather a determination to cling to hope. I will not be defeated.

tried

 

I put a fancy dress on a silly girl.

 

I staged a little Christmas magic.

 

I tried...

 

 

And much (much, much, much) cajoling later...

 

She smiled!

timer

"I'm going to set the timer,"I said to Evie as I gathered up her artwork and crayon pieces from the couch, "and when the timer goes off we are going to get our shoes on."

"Okay," she responded, her arms laden with stuffed friends. She was in the middle of a project of epic proportions, packing up all of her dolls and toys and stuffing them into dozens of plastic shopping bags. Little floor was visible during the construction of this project. Where there weren't toys there were crumpled up bags waiting to be opened and filled. It made the art mess on the couch seem rather insignificant. 

She seemed quite focused on the task at hand and I wasn't sure that she had really heard me. I couldn't leave the scene without verifying that my words had indeed made it into the inner workings of her mind. 

"What are we going to do when the timer goes off?" I asked her while fishing tiny broken crayon bits out from between the cushions.

"Wash our hands?" she offered with a smile. 

So I repeated myself, making sure that she was fully aware of the plans. She soaked up my words, thought about them and then asked a few questions about the plans of the day. Success.

I put the crayons in a plastic bag and stacked the paper and stickers. I picked up the pile and went to the kitchen to put it away in the basket above the fridge. We keep all of the art supplies in that basket, in a place out of the reach of little hands to whom the whole world is a canvas. I won't mention the sharpie drawings on my couch pillows....

I set the timer on the stove. First for fifteen minutes then backed it down to fourteen. Don't ask me why. I think sometimes I need to live life a little outside the box. One minute outside the box, I guess. 

A pad of paper sat on the counter beside the stove and I picked it up, along with a pen that I had pulled from the drawer below. Sitting down at the kitchen table I started a list of things that needed my attention. There were many things to put on that list and as I jotted them down I felt the familiar rush of anxiety. Most of those things, though needed and important, might not even get done and it feels so defeating to even try to hope that I might. 

I lifted my eyes from the table and my gaze fell upon the blinking green numbers that counted down the minutes until shoe time. I began to dream a little, wishing that those numbers were counting down the time until Jesus returned. A brief thought of how selfish that was flitted through my mind for a second before I let my thoughts wander down the glorious path of how wonderful it would be. In the face of life as we've known it lately, my heart has longed for heaven.

Rising from the table, I packed up the things we would need for the afternoon, stopping often to glance at the clock. "What if?" I wondered knowing full well that it wouldn't, and yet with the tiniest inkling of wishing. 

Evie hummed away in the living room. I peeked around the corner and observed her packings. She filled the bags to overflowing and then those bags began to migrate into the kitchen, filling the space in front of the door.

I finished up a few things and then I grabbed some pink socks from Evie's drawer. She stopped just long enough for me to snake them on to her chilly feet. "Can I bring all these bags?" she asked. I explained that only one bag could come with us.

The kitchen timer beeped a one minute warning. 

Evie shifted into high gear and the pile of bags by the door began to rise like a bowl of bread dough on the back of the stove. I mentioned the one bag rule again. She stopped piling and began, with much difficulty, to try and pick just one bag. 

Beep Beep Beep Beep. Fourteen minutes was up and there we were. Two girls in an entryway full of bags and some pairs of shoes that needed putting on.

I turned the beeping timer off. We put our shoes on. I grabbed our belongings and we stepped out into the chilly afternoon. It was time to go.
 

yesterday

Some days, I get the distinct impression that God is working very specifically with me. He boils the water and drops me in the pot. He has purpose in how He orchestrates my day, although I don't seem to recognize it until the next day, after the rat on the wheel in my mind takes good long rest.

Yesterday was one of those days. It's no wonder then that God nudged my heart in the wee morning hours to set aside my daily Facebook habit until next week. No doubt my Facebook friends would have been given a play by play account of my discontent and overwhelmedness, robbing God of the glory He brings about in such things. Sanctification is the beautiful result of refinement.

I shall spare you the goriest of details, only to say that I've been caring for a sweet but sick 3 year old for an entire month. She is the sort of girl who usually portrays the picture of health, a lovely blessing that we all have enjoyed. But, a month ago, she fell prey to a respiratory bug that seems to have dug his feet in, a character flaw not out of place in this household. We have fought this battle with every homeopathic remedy and herb that we can find, yet with minimal success. Hand in hand with Mr. respiratory bug has been a stiff case of insomnia, a wretched beast that flares his head to battle when the weary are at their weariest. Suffice to say, I've not been at the peak of my game although the Lord has woven lovely graces into my character during these days. A miracle at its finest.

Yesterday. After another night of battle, I had determined in my mind to bring my little pipsqueak to the local minute clinic, desperate to know if something fiercer raged in her little body. A spot of breakfast, an episode of Dora and some laundry folding later, I packed up. The phone rang. My mother called to remind me to check the hours of operation for the minute clinic, a good lesson learned from a previous, now very entertaining to retell, experience. I picked up the laptop to check the hours and.....the screen of death appeared. A fatal hue of gray with the heart stopping words, "Imminent Failure of Hard Drive."

It was like a home stress test yet, without the monitors and cables to determine the extent of its capability, my heart pounded fiercely but maintained its strength. I stared at the screen before my eyes while thoughts of un-backed up data, lots of un-backed up data, raced through  my mind. My curly topped fairy, determined NOT to go the clinic in the first place and very exhausted from another nightly battle Mr respiratory bug and his buddy the giant insomnia monster , displayed the sin nature in its finest.

I can tell you that I did not respond with the great faith of those listed in Hebrews 11. I think the words "freaked out" might actually be a better description.  I can also tell you that heroes emerged through the smoke and rubble and came to my aid despite their own schedules and circumstances. I am ever so grateful for their selflessness on my behalf. And I can tell you that after 4 or so hours of work, most all my files, minus the few I accidentally lost in my haste, are all safely stored away.

To my husband, my mother, my sister and brother-in-law, my brothers and any others I may have forgotten to list, you have truly blessed me with your patience, your time, your generosity and your selflessness, thank you.

To the little pipsqueak who has stretched me and loved me and filled my heart with laughter and helped to make me a better mommy, thank you.

To the God who showers me with grace upon grace and loves me and ordains my days and my hours with His glorious purpose to make me more like Christ, thank you.

"For momentary light affliction is producing in us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison." 2 Corinthians 4:17

if not

If not for the gift of a friend's sweet words today I might still be sitting in the mire of doubt, afraid to try again.

If not for the goodness of my tender hearted husband I might not know God's love in such a tangible way.

If not for the sweetness and mischief loving-ness of my curly topped fairy, I would not know the joy of motherhood and the sanctifying work of my heart.

If not for the coolness of fall evenings, I might not appreciate the warm embrace of the sun.

If not for God's gift of His Son's life for my sinful heart I would not know life or peace or hope.

Thank you, God.

backseat ramblings

It was dark by the time we pulled out of the driveway and headed home. The car was quiet except for the sounds of my happy little companion in the backseat. She crunched on crackers and took long sips from her water cup. I drove along, watching for deer in the dark shadows, lost in my thoughts. From the quiet her voice rang out,"Here mom. I'm done with my snack." I reached back to take the plastic sandwich baggie from her hands and set it down on the seat beside me. Her empty mouth is never one for idleness so it wasn't long before her thought factory of a mind began production. She manufactures words faster than a used car salesman. For the rest of our drive she filled our car with stories and songs....

OH NO! (she gasped) I lost my twenty dollars. I can't find my money. Could you please share yours with me?

I realize, I need to have a business, but I don't know how to make free chocolates. I don't have the recipe. Maybe I could just get strawberries wet with a spray bottle, put them in the dryer than dip them in egg. I think that would be good. Do you think so? I need a business, I realize this. Maybe I could make chocolates in the wash machine and then put them in the dryer. I don't know.

Singings 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 at the top of her voice. Over and over...

Look! There's Kohls and there's another Kohls. Oh and there's Costco. And there's Nards (menards). I really need a Nards card.

More songs..a mix of the alphabet and the ever familiar 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

We sure have a lot of bathrooms in our house. WOW! (gasps)What should we do with ALL THOSE BATHROOMS! Oh wait. Auntie Sheri really has a lot of bathrooms. She has 3 upstairs. Victoria has a bathroom in her room. Oh WOW! (gasps) Oh WOW! She also has one downstairs. WOW (sigh) that's a lot of bathrooms. What should we do with all those bathrooms?? Wow! (long pause) Wow! So many bathrooms...

(sniffs the air) What's that smell? It smells like glue.

(driving through the neighborhood) Oh NO! Everyone took Christmas down. There's no frosty the snowman. Where did Christmas go?

(As we pull into our driveway) Oh NO! Who took our car...where is frosty (the sable)?  I tried to explain to her that we were riding in frosty the sable. She was too distressed to listen. Until we looked up to the house and saw daddy in the window. All thoughts of frosty disappeared.....

We gathered up our bags and headed inside, her little feet dancing in the dew-kissed grass, my mind repeating all of the sweet wordings she shared with me so I wouldn't forget. I hope I never forget.

and she danced to the sound of her dreams and the simple pleasures of life