Morning prayers

Morning prayers

I close the white car door after Zachary is secured in the seat. 
As the vehicle drives away carrying my precious cargo, I walk back toward the white door of our front porch. I take that usual glance back to watch as my son makes his way up the slight hill before following the curve to the left and disappearing out of my sight. 
The familiar yet impassioned prayer flows silently from this momma... 

I used to simply pray that he would be happy; that he would belong. 
That others would like him; that he would be a "good boy." 

Somehow through the months of him being away at school those mornings, my prayer changed.

It's been a journey for me...

As I would daily watch that white vehicle make that turn around the corner until out of my view,
I would pray that my son would somehow make a difference in the lives of those people he spends those hours with each day. 
That somehow their lives would be impacted for good because of that little boy I once held in my arms as a babe. 
That his words, his smile, his treatment of others would somehow shine and make an impression; humbly play a role in the outcome of those lives he shared life with those hours.  
That his preschool-aged faith and kindness and empathy would somehow reach out and softly bless.

He is young. I don't have any idea what the result of those daily prayers are yet... YET. 

Not expecting anything like perfection. At all. 
Just genuineness. 
Care. 
Respect.
Connection.
Love of others. 
Love from Christ to flow out naturally.

That even in the less-than-perfect days for my firstborn... that even then he would focus beyond his own needs. That somehow, someday he will see the bigger picture of his purpose in this huge world around him.

And it's been a struggle for this momma. 

Not to pray for my son's happiness.

I know what it's like. To struggle with happiness and have that single-focus of simply desiring that inner feeling of joy and peace and self-contentment. But as the years have gone by and God has gently been showing me, there is a focus that goes much, much further than my own happiness. It's an entirely different perspective. 

And my husband and I have faced this truth together. 

That our sweet children must walk through (even crawl through) their own set of difficult circumstances in this life. 

And that will be the shaping of their minds/hearts/souls/character. 

(Just like it's been for you and me, in our years.)

Facing that truth and straining to loosen our white-knuckled grip on attempting to lovingly protect them from facing pain and sadness and discouragement and grief...

KNOWING they are already on a journey, a God-designed journey, 

that will take them through struggles and give them consequences for their decisions... 

ENDEAVORING with every fiber of our being to recognize that this is life: 

the letting go so their lives can become matured and softened-by-hardship, 

but keeping close-to-the-heart the AWARENESS that the result can be beautiful and even glorious in their personal impact. 

Even the tiniest imprint onto the soul and spirit of another. That one who is walking alongside him for even the briefest of moments.

This is the miracle. The hard-to-swallow focus that has become part of me. The strain to look beyond ourselves and instead train our eyes to look and see the pain around us... and to relate, to love, to connect.

I think of Zach Sobiech, the young man who passed away this week after a struggle with cancer. But, oh, the impact of his life. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NjKgV65fpo

And I think of the sons of Ed Thomas, the beloved coach who died several years ago in a tragic way. Although it's been a few years, the impact of watching how his sons responded, even in the midst of their own pain, has stuck with me. I clearly remember wanting my sons to have those qualities in their own lives someday. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukodLTOTens

"The most beautiful people we have known are 

those who have known defeat,

known suffering,

known loss, 

and have found their way out of the depths.

These persons have an appreciation,

a sensitivity,

and an understanding of life that fills them

with compassion,

gentleness,

and a deep loving concern.

Beautiful people do not just happen."

-Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

I believe you have your own "beautiful" role models you recall; your own visions for your children and your own life's impact. 

What are those qualities you value? 

Those purposes you envision? 

The lessons you're learning?

If we could sit down together (over a cup of coffee, tea, lemonade) and compile our lists; share. What a blessed time that would be!

My morning prayer will continue throughout these yet-unwritten years for my son. 

(And there are two more little boys following his newly imprinted footsteps...)

Anger & Expectations

Written from the deep, hidden places of my heart.

Praying my words speak to your heart. 

When anger rears its head

A persistent idea has continued to mull around my mind and heart. Unfortunately this "idea" is not just philosophical, but very practical and real. 

Expectations. Me. Anger.

When circumstances and potential are in place for life to flow freely and without pressures, life is so sweet. 

BUT, the moment an EXPECTATION creeps into my vision and spirit, it's as though another side of myself wipes away the contented, grateful spirit... like an eraser set to turbo speed. 

Emerging instead is the side of me that seems to struggle under my own skin, itching to be rid of the imperfections that glare all around me. 

All I can see are the 

flaws

defects

deficiencies

blemishes

faults

shortcomings

weaknesses

insufficiencies

IMPERFECTIONS. 

Appearing all around me are sudden, all-essential "needs." And I have expectations of myself to accomplish them now. Right now. 

(And am mad that they're not already completed!)

aspirations

ambitions

objectives

targets

desires

wants

wishes

vision

EXPECTATIONS.

And I have learned, especially this past week, that when I become overwhelmed by my expectations, ugliness rears itself in the form of Anger. Impatience. Selfishness.

-When on the verge of running late (so often this way)...

-When a child, ever-so-slowly, may-or-may-not make his way toward you after being called...

-When a boy steps his new sandals into a deep puddle after being warned against...

-When sets of elbows are continually nudging into your ribs on a hot afternoon...

-When a content baby becomes suddenly discontent after being startled by an older brother...

-When (time and again) the same toy's ownership is being fought over...

-When a boy will not open his mouth at a dentist's appointment...

-When a boy will not close his mouth during a church service...

-When a just-mopped floor becomes dirt-covered and sticky in seconds...
-When I envision a magazine "house-perfect" scene with no clutter or dust, but just doesn't happen in this home filled with children and everyday life.

Much anger comes from a change: Quiet to chaos. Peace to mess. Work undone. Resulting in repetition and saved-up time snatched away from me. What I feel entitled to being taken away. Stolen! Or so it seems. 

James 4:1-2: "What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? You want something but don't get it." 

But what are we entitled to? Anything at all?

Working, to receive a reward: money, a treat, peace, time. Peaceful time. (A precious treasure to this momma of young ones!) But what happens when the reward is postponed, washed away by others' needs? 

"Look at your most uncontrollable emotions... look for your idols at the bottom of painful emotions, especially those that never seem to lift and that drive you to do things you know are wrong. If you are angry, ask, "Is there something here too important to me, something I am telling myself I have to have at all costs?" (Timothy Keller, "Counterfeit Gods")

And those who are the witnesses of my inner struggle? The little ones who see their momma in all her imperfection. The ones I hold so dear and deeply desire to become men of strength and integrity and self-control and balance. And love.

More times than I can count, just in this past week, anger has fought within to emerge and reign supreme in my thinking and handling of "those moments" of life.

So where is the hope? I certainly want a solution, a fix. I would rather solve a problem immediately than labor over it with my words and worries. 

But. 

Realistically, this is a struggle that will continue all my days. (We all have our personal areas we suffer under and desire to master, do you agree?)

So how to not give up?

I talk. To myself. Or, rather to my God, who actually cares about this struggle in the life of this one, simple momma. Oh, the conversations that go on inside this girl! 

To remember there are promises for me in the Word. Just to seek them out, like attainable treasure.

I read thoughts from others, farther down the path of maturity than me. But knowing I'm not alone in the struggle. Inspiration from shared vulnerabilities. 

"Instead of ranting... I talked to God. I've learned that when I humble myself before God and respectfully talk to Him about a matter, He really does give me grace, to ease my anger. It's a grace that prevents a small gust of anger from turning into a destructive tornado of emotion." (Annie Chapman) 

"Idolatry is not just a failure to obey God, it is a setting of the whole heart on something besides God... Jesus must become more beautiful to your imagination, more attractive to your heart, than your idol. That is what will replace the idols of your heart." (Timothy Keller)

"Houses may be bought, built, or borrowed. But homes can only be made, and that with bits of ourselves. Mother ducks puck feathers from their chests to line their nests. She lines the nest with bits of herself. The best of her, from the deep spots. She cups her young in her sacrifice. When will I learn that down sacrificed settles and soothes? Mother ducks don't line nests with feathers, dirty and trampled, the molted and unnecessary. Nests need feathers fresh, warm with a mother's life. Prayers to Him who plucked hard from His own heart. A sacrifice, staggering a true, for love of His very own. We learn love from His laid down." (Ann Voskamp, "What a Mother Must Sacrifice")

I must take minutes to be outside. Alone. Even for briefest of moments to breathe deeply. In nature, away from everything created by human hands. Instead surrounded by the perfection of God's undisturbed, unbroken, lovely design.

And I laugh. Reminding myself to sometimes just shake my head and let a smile in. (Maybe even one of those giggles that may also somehow include tears.) 

Is this fellow hopeful-struggler ever open to a conversation with you; to receive the gift of your understanding, words, views, heart.

Blessings.

Taller than the moon and farther than the sun.

The Chopstick vs. Shirt Incident

Have you ever had gotten a hole poked through your t-shirt from a pair of wooden chopsticks in the hands of a 5 year old? 

Me neither, until today.

As my dear friend and I were enjoying a nice chat over lunch with our boys, I felt a tug on the sleeve of my softest teal-colored t-shirt. I looked down and saw a chopstick poking THROUGH my shirt! That deadly chopstick was connected to the small hand of my son. My mouth must have dropped open as I quickly assessed what had just taken place!

I tried to balance my reaction with firmness without saying something I'd regret later. I did insist "DO NOT TOUCH MY SHIRT ANYMORE" to my son. (Mommas need breathing room at times, no?!)

Bless that boy, as he tried to tell me he could fix my shirt... 
"I can sew it."
"I can tape it."
"I can put glue on it."

My friend and I tried to contain our laughter. Even in my anger, it was pretty silly. Still, I had to train my son that it's not okay to touch things that belong to other people, and it's especially not okay to damage those things. Firm words were conveyed, even as he tried to stuff a tiny piece of paper into the hole in my t-shirt sleeve. He told me he had fixed that hole! Sure.

Minutes later, as I drove the boys away from the restaurant, a tiny voice asked from the back seat,
"Mom, are you still angry?"

My heart felt that momma tug. 

I reached my arm into that crazy-awkward angle to the backseat of the car, to grasp the hand of that 5 year old.

I (once again) used a firm voice and told my son, 
"I love you no matter what. No matter what you do. When you make mistakes, when you do things on purpose that hurt. I will always love you. Do you understand me?"

His blue eyes locked onto my brown ones. He held onto my hand with both his small hands.

"Sometimes Daddy gets mad at you, Mom. And sometimes you get mad at Daddy. Sometimes Luke even gets mad. Ben is the only one who doesn't do that." 

Oh, the conversation that followed between us during that car ride. About the bad things we ALL do. The anger we express at times. The on-purpose things we do wrong, and even the accidental things. 
(And how, yes, Ben is too little to do "bad things" on purpose... yet!)

Then he asked me if I still love him "taller than the moon." 
Well, of course I do, my sweet boy. 
"And do you love me "farther than the sun? That's super far away." 
Oh yes, precious child. 

I will always love you taller than the moon and farther than the sun. 

I didn't want to let go of that boy's hand. But life goes on, and he was back to chatting with his baby brother.

I will continue to wear my t-shirt with the hole in today. It's reminding me how important my reactions are. How much our young ones understand and remember; how much they pick up on when they are the unseen witnesses of the dynamics in every conversation they overhear. 
I've memorized this quote that I heard months ago: "Only speak words that make souls stronger." (Ann Voskamp) 
If only we could easily remember that we can grab hold of strength from the One who will always give us strength. Before ugly, hurt-inducing words come out of our mouths that do NOT make those babe's souls stronger.

My thoughts for this afternoon.

Blessings!



 

Better than okay... you've got your hands full.

I have been so full of energy today, from waking up early to learn my niece was in labor and about to have her first child. This lively mood continued for me after finding out I'm a great-aunt (!!) for the first time, to a beautiful baby boy.

The boys begged me to go for a walk with them. Zachary on his scooter, Luke in the stroller, Ben in the Bjorn (my favorite invention). 

Barely down the first block, Zachary let out a big sigh. I asked what was wrong, and he said "Nothing's wrong. I'm better than okay. Just taking a deep breath." That boy blessed me with those optimistic words. 
I earnestly pray that my children maintain that kind of attitude through life. That even when storms come, as they surely will, that they do not struggle or hide behind fear or discouragement. 

We continued our walk to get some ice cream... how messy can kids be with ice cream cones? (Which momma didn't bring any wipes with her? Trying to keep things simple doesn't always pan out!) But, oh so happy they were. 
Luke's traditional VANILLA ice cream dribbling down his chin, and very soon the complete ice cream cone dropped on the floor. Yep, that happened! Resilient me, picked up the cone, wiped of the portion that touched the ground and gave it back to my kiddo. 
Zachary, of course, having a race between all of us as to who would finish their ice cream first. Blue goo from his birthday cake ice cream smeared across the ice cream counter in the way only my firstborn can smear!

There were moments for me during our walk where I basked in blissful feelings of recognizing the sweet, friendly beauty of living in our town. 
Just soaking in the contentment of resting in the fact that God has placed us here for this season, for His purposes. Seeing myself as in the middle of a journey where I have no idea the outcome or the next steps (that happens with this season of life, of being consumed with meeting the needs of small bodies, do you agree?). 
I love the analogy of the tapestry, looking from the underside like a jumble of knots and twisted strands... but on the frontside, there is well-designed beauty and exquisite meaning.

Anyway, those moments of slow-paced-gratitude gradually turned into survival mode, once again, for this girl-who-somehow-is-old-enough-to-have-3-kids. 
My eldest, Z, loudly announced he was DONE. Done with walking, done with using his lil' sticker-covered Spiderman scooter. Sweet-but-stubborn Luke was not about to move from his throne of the stroller, and Ben was sleeping with his head leaning severely to one side of the Bjorn. With all the boys expressing demanding (and noisy) needs, I decided that... fine. FINE. The stroller simply had to be strong enough to carry both older boys. If you saw frizzy-haired, sweaty me slowly down the street with my left arm pushing the heavier-than-normal stroller over drastic sidewalk bumps, and my right arm holding up my baby's head from falling downward... you may have felt pity. Or relief that you were driving by in your air-conditioned car! A man we walked by smiled and said, "looks like you've got your hands full."

So that's how I decided to title this blog today. I'm doing BETTER THAN OKAY. Yet, these 2 hands of mine are always full...

Blessings.