He has us, and all that surrounds us, firmly in His grasp.We're going to be OK. And Mary Grace, yes, I'm talking to you. ;o)
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Because sometimes we forget...
...just exactly how much God does hold in His hands.
He has us, and all that surrounds us, firmly in His grasp.
We're going to be OK. And Mary Grace, yes, I'm talking to you. ;o)
He has us, and all that surrounds us, firmly in His grasp.We're going to be OK. And Mary Grace, yes, I'm talking to you. ;o)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Words to live by
Yes, I have had quite a few sunny moments lately - like the overall glow of joy I carried with me all through yesterday. But I must admit that I have had quite a few little worries niggling around in my brain over the past months - really for much of this pregnancy. I've had some rough moments, but most of it really has been background noise. But as background as it's been, that worry has still been there.
And last night, I finally felt it all be washed away, and I am so thankful and so humbled!
I know that with all of my pregnancies I have had those typical fears that something, anything, might go wrong. Surely THIS TIME labor will go wrong. I can't POSSIBLY have FIVE healthy babies and FIVE safe, peaceful deliveries. Something is bound to happen. I JUST DON'T DESERVE SO MUCH GOODNESS. Every time. All five pregnancies, all five babies. Last night I was feeling those fears creep in again, and I actually asked my husband to tell me his recollection - had I done this before at the end of my other pregnancies?
He basically laughed and said, "Yep. All four of them. But not at the end. It's been the whole time. With all of them."
So I was comforted to know that it's not some deep sense of foreboding or spiritual sign that something is bound to actually go wrong. It's just my standard issue pregnancy paranoia. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I suspect most other women have the same fears at some point in their pregnancies as well - some worse than others of course, and some more well founded, but the same fears nonetheless.
But just knowing I had felt this way before wasn't the kind of comfort I needed last night, so I pulled out my Bible and the little journal I keep for Girly Pie (I keep one for each of my kids, but what I wanted to find was in hers specifically) and started searching.
What I was looking for were two scripture references that I remembered praying over and holding close to my heart at the end of my pregnancy with her, and through her entire peaceful and wonderful labor. I had forgotten over the past almost two years what those scriptures were, so I looked in her journal to find the references, and then I read them in the Bible. And here they are (emphasis mine):
Isaiah 14:24
Yahweh Almighty has sworn,
"Surely, as I have planned, so it will be,
and as I have purposed, so it will stand.
and
Phillipians 4: 4-7
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
As I read those passages last night the memories came flooding back. I remembered wondering if I would ever have a daughter. After three sons, I was convinced this surprise fourth baby would be another beautiful son - and I was thrilled at the prospect of getting to raise four young men. But deep, deep down, I wondered if there was some reason that God knew I would not, could not or should not be the mother of a daughter. So the Isaiah passage really comoforted me. God has a plan and a purpose in EVERYthing He does. He knows each soul to come to this earth. He creates families and just as He plans them to be, for HIS divine purposes, that is how they will be - no matter what I think I want or need. God knows the right formula for our family. So the comfort was in knowing that this baby (Girly Pie I mean - back then when I was still pregnant with her) was exactly who he (or she) was supposed to be, and I would hold that baby in my arms and see the perfection there in God's creation - both of that new little life and of our family's makeup.
So last night those same words were comforting in very similar ways, but also in new and different ways as well. The fears of labor trouble or health problems with the baby just keep floating there - but it felt so good to know, to KNOW that God has it all planned and purposed. My fears do no good for anybody. God is good, I know that. How can it be so easy to forget in the day to day that He really and truly has it all under control?
The second verse, the one from Phillipians, was one that I also prayed over during my pregnancy with Girly Pie, but also through my labor with her in particular. And I felt such peace in reciting it. Do not be anxious about ANYTHING. So last night - I felt my anxieties literally melt away. I want that peace - the one that surpasses all understanding. I love when I feel it - and it makes me sad to think that my own lack of diligence and commitment to reading scripture daily is what distracts me from knowing that truth fully, day in and day out. It is so comforting and refreshing to actually pick up God's Word and see those things. And last night, He came through yet again right when I needed Him - and reminded me just how little I have to fear, and just how Big He is - and just how much He loves me and how much power He has to comfort and protect me.
So as you can imagine, after reading those I was already feeling 100% better - but then I went on to read the rest of Girly Pie's birth account (that was the entry where I had written down the verses - and who can resist re-reading your own birth account, especially weeks before getting to do it again!). And I was overcome again by God's presence and His gifts and blessings.
I never quite forgot all the beauty and awe of the night of my daughter's birth... but it certainly floats to the background in the busy-ness of day-to-day life. Labor was fast, contractions were real but not overwhelming, pushing took longer than I'd expected but still was not difficult - and then after just two hours and 42 minutes of laboring, I sat there in the dim light of my bedroom, surrounded by my husband and Mary Grace and a good friend E. and my midwives - and I looked down at the miracle of my daughter - the little girl I was too afraid to even hope for - perfect, beautiful and whole. The peace through the whole labor was just so present for me, more than I can recall with any of my other births. That night is just amazing to me as I looked back on it, written in my own words.
But the part that really got me - the part I never forget but often neglect to remember (there is a difference, you know) - was what happened after her birth. I delivered her placenta - but things didn't go as they always had. I am not going to go into deep medical detail, but in short, once her placenta was delivered, my midwife made it very clear that she was amazed that my whole, healthy daughter had come full term into the world with that as her only sustinence for nine months while in my womb. It was not only smaller and thinner than a healthy one should be, but it was divided almost in half. The chord was also thinner than it should have been and was attached to the smaller of the two lobes - so all that sustained her physically through my entire pregnancy had funneled across a small channel from the larger side to the 1/3 sized side and through an umbilical chord near half the diameter of a normal one.
That was not a normal, healthy placenta, said my midwife. A healthy, full term, good sized baby should NOT have come from that. And yet there she was, my normal, healthy daughter. A miracle from the start, proven even moreso by the evidence presented at her birth. According to the world's medical standards, she should not have been born. Girly Pie should never have even been conceived. We were not trying for a fourth. Certainly by the world's standards, we were already a "big" family. And we should be in control of our own reproductive systems, right? So without her being our plan, she shouldn't even have started. Girly Pie should have died early on in pregnancy - when her cells were dividing and trying to become twins (as my midwife guessed was what had happened to divide the placenta like that) from the sheer stress that puts on a developing fetus. But after surviving the cell division that did (most likely) take her twin sister, she should have died from the lack of nutrition that one would expect from an unhealthy placenta. From all I can see, Girly Pie should not be here.
And yet here she is. And she is perfect and whole and wonderful and such a gift and blessing to our whole family - to everyone who knows her. She is amazing and I feel so blessed to have her in our family.
And all that, all those odds, were just because God was there - His hand held her through it all. He had a plan and a purpose. And I hadn't a clue. I had no idea how precarious things could have been the whole time. Of course I had my pregnant paranoia that something could go wrong - but I was blissfully ignorant that so much should have gone wrong.
So reading that last night again was so humbling and awe inspiring. And honestly, I felt so ashamed for doubting and worrying. I felt I had been downright rude to look at the Gift Giver and basically tell Him that I didn't trust Him to again come through and pull off such a miracle.
And since reading that last night, I have felt that peace that surpasses all understanding. And I am not anxious, and I love that I get to be a part of God's big plan and purpose in any way that He wants me to be. Yes I know bad things do happen in pregnancy, in birth. In life every day bad things happen. Every time I drive down the highway to the next town there is an excellent chance someone could cross the yellow line and it could all be over for me here in the life I live now. And there is no promise that says that God will protect us from hardships.
But that is no reason to dwell on the posibilities of hardship.
So as of today, no more worrying about this little Jelly Bean. God has just as much purpose in his or her being here as He has with the other four children He has brought so safely into the world through me. I'm not having this child because I "deserve" to get another one. It's just God's plan. He wanted to bless us again, and so He did. Who am I to question the wisdom behind that decision? And why should I worry that the gift somehow will bring with it hardships? Nope. No longer. I cannot honestly look at all that God has poured into my life and walk away thinking He is just waiting to knock me off my happy little rocker. Sure, it could happen. But I can look at every single hardship I've endured in my life, and I can see that the blessings that came from them each time far outweighed the hardship itself. But even still, I do not see hardship here. I do not feel fear. I see only blessings and I feel only peace and faith. I trust His power and His wisdom. I love that he chose to bless us not only with another new life, but with a whole family - husband, wife, sons, daughter(s). What a gift that is in and of itself.
So that's where I am today. Just full to overflowing with yesterday's same joy and giddiness, but also glowing with the knowledge of God's love for me and His power to make all things right. This baby will come just fine - no complications. I'm sure of it. And he or she will be the perfect addition to our family. Because God put him or her here and so that means it's perfect.
And I feel so GOOD to be free of that weight of fear and worry! Faith over fear. I need to work at that every day. Always, always, ALWAYS follow faith rather than fear.
And last night, I finally felt it all be washed away, and I am so thankful and so humbled!
I know that with all of my pregnancies I have had those typical fears that something, anything, might go wrong. Surely THIS TIME labor will go wrong. I can't POSSIBLY have FIVE healthy babies and FIVE safe, peaceful deliveries. Something is bound to happen. I JUST DON'T DESERVE SO MUCH GOODNESS. Every time. All five pregnancies, all five babies. Last night I was feeling those fears creep in again, and I actually asked my husband to tell me his recollection - had I done this before at the end of my other pregnancies?
He basically laughed and said, "Yep. All four of them. But not at the end. It's been the whole time. With all of them."
So I was comforted to know that it's not some deep sense of foreboding or spiritual sign that something is bound to actually go wrong. It's just my standard issue pregnancy paranoia. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I suspect most other women have the same fears at some point in their pregnancies as well - some worse than others of course, and some more well founded, but the same fears nonetheless.
But just knowing I had felt this way before wasn't the kind of comfort I needed last night, so I pulled out my Bible and the little journal I keep for Girly Pie (I keep one for each of my kids, but what I wanted to find was in hers specifically) and started searching.
What I was looking for were two scripture references that I remembered praying over and holding close to my heart at the end of my pregnancy with her, and through her entire peaceful and wonderful labor. I had forgotten over the past almost two years what those scriptures were, so I looked in her journal to find the references, and then I read them in the Bible. And here they are (emphasis mine):
Isaiah 14:24
Yahweh Almighty has sworn,
"Surely, as I have planned, so it will be,
and as I have purposed, so it will stand.
and
Phillipians 4: 4-7
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
As I read those passages last night the memories came flooding back. I remembered wondering if I would ever have a daughter. After three sons, I was convinced this surprise fourth baby would be another beautiful son - and I was thrilled at the prospect of getting to raise four young men. But deep, deep down, I wondered if there was some reason that God knew I would not, could not or should not be the mother of a daughter. So the Isaiah passage really comoforted me. God has a plan and a purpose in EVERYthing He does. He knows each soul to come to this earth. He creates families and just as He plans them to be, for HIS divine purposes, that is how they will be - no matter what I think I want or need. God knows the right formula for our family. So the comfort was in knowing that this baby (Girly Pie I mean - back then when I was still pregnant with her) was exactly who he (or she) was supposed to be, and I would hold that baby in my arms and see the perfection there in God's creation - both of that new little life and of our family's makeup.
So last night those same words were comforting in very similar ways, but also in new and different ways as well. The fears of labor trouble or health problems with the baby just keep floating there - but it felt so good to know, to KNOW that God has it all planned and purposed. My fears do no good for anybody. God is good, I know that. How can it be so easy to forget in the day to day that He really and truly has it all under control?
The second verse, the one from Phillipians, was one that I also prayed over during my pregnancy with Girly Pie, but also through my labor with her in particular. And I felt such peace in reciting it. Do not be anxious about ANYTHING. So last night - I felt my anxieties literally melt away. I want that peace - the one that surpasses all understanding. I love when I feel it - and it makes me sad to think that my own lack of diligence and commitment to reading scripture daily is what distracts me from knowing that truth fully, day in and day out. It is so comforting and refreshing to actually pick up God's Word and see those things. And last night, He came through yet again right when I needed Him - and reminded me just how little I have to fear, and just how Big He is - and just how much He loves me and how much power He has to comfort and protect me.
So as you can imagine, after reading those I was already feeling 100% better - but then I went on to read the rest of Girly Pie's birth account (that was the entry where I had written down the verses - and who can resist re-reading your own birth account, especially weeks before getting to do it again!). And I was overcome again by God's presence and His gifts and blessings.
I never quite forgot all the beauty and awe of the night of my daughter's birth... but it certainly floats to the background in the busy-ness of day-to-day life. Labor was fast, contractions were real but not overwhelming, pushing took longer than I'd expected but still was not difficult - and then after just two hours and 42 minutes of laboring, I sat there in the dim light of my bedroom, surrounded by my husband and Mary Grace and a good friend E. and my midwives - and I looked down at the miracle of my daughter - the little girl I was too afraid to even hope for - perfect, beautiful and whole. The peace through the whole labor was just so present for me, more than I can recall with any of my other births. That night is just amazing to me as I looked back on it, written in my own words.
But the part that really got me - the part I never forget but often neglect to remember (there is a difference, you know) - was what happened after her birth. I delivered her placenta - but things didn't go as they always had. I am not going to go into deep medical detail, but in short, once her placenta was delivered, my midwife made it very clear that she was amazed that my whole, healthy daughter had come full term into the world with that as her only sustinence for nine months while in my womb. It was not only smaller and thinner than a healthy one should be, but it was divided almost in half. The chord was also thinner than it should have been and was attached to the smaller of the two lobes - so all that sustained her physically through my entire pregnancy had funneled across a small channel from the larger side to the 1/3 sized side and through an umbilical chord near half the diameter of a normal one.
That was not a normal, healthy placenta, said my midwife. A healthy, full term, good sized baby should NOT have come from that. And yet there she was, my normal, healthy daughter. A miracle from the start, proven even moreso by the evidence presented at her birth. According to the world's medical standards, she should not have been born. Girly Pie should never have even been conceived. We were not trying for a fourth. Certainly by the world's standards, we were already a "big" family. And we should be in control of our own reproductive systems, right? So without her being our plan, she shouldn't even have started. Girly Pie should have died early on in pregnancy - when her cells were dividing and trying to become twins (as my midwife guessed was what had happened to divide the placenta like that) from the sheer stress that puts on a developing fetus. But after surviving the cell division that did (most likely) take her twin sister, she should have died from the lack of nutrition that one would expect from an unhealthy placenta. From all I can see, Girly Pie should not be here.
And yet here she is. And she is perfect and whole and wonderful and such a gift and blessing to our whole family - to everyone who knows her. She is amazing and I feel so blessed to have her in our family.
And all that, all those odds, were just because God was there - His hand held her through it all. He had a plan and a purpose. And I hadn't a clue. I had no idea how precarious things could have been the whole time. Of course I had my pregnant paranoia that something could go wrong - but I was blissfully ignorant that so much should have gone wrong.
So reading that last night again was so humbling and awe inspiring. And honestly, I felt so ashamed for doubting and worrying. I felt I had been downright rude to look at the Gift Giver and basically tell Him that I didn't trust Him to again come through and pull off such a miracle.
And since reading that last night, I have felt that peace that surpasses all understanding. And I am not anxious, and I love that I get to be a part of God's big plan and purpose in any way that He wants me to be. Yes I know bad things do happen in pregnancy, in birth. In life every day bad things happen. Every time I drive down the highway to the next town there is an excellent chance someone could cross the yellow line and it could all be over for me here in the life I live now. And there is no promise that says that God will protect us from hardships.
But that is no reason to dwell on the posibilities of hardship.
So as of today, no more worrying about this little Jelly Bean. God has just as much purpose in his or her being here as He has with the other four children He has brought so safely into the world through me. I'm not having this child because I "deserve" to get another one. It's just God's plan. He wanted to bless us again, and so He did. Who am I to question the wisdom behind that decision? And why should I worry that the gift somehow will bring with it hardships? Nope. No longer. I cannot honestly look at all that God has poured into my life and walk away thinking He is just waiting to knock me off my happy little rocker. Sure, it could happen. But I can look at every single hardship I've endured in my life, and I can see that the blessings that came from them each time far outweighed the hardship itself. But even still, I do not see hardship here. I do not feel fear. I see only blessings and I feel only peace and faith. I trust His power and His wisdom. I love that he chose to bless us not only with another new life, but with a whole family - husband, wife, sons, daughter(s). What a gift that is in and of itself.
So that's where I am today. Just full to overflowing with yesterday's same joy and giddiness, but also glowing with the knowledge of God's love for me and His power to make all things right. This baby will come just fine - no complications. I'm sure of it. And he or she will be the perfect addition to our family. Because God put him or her here and so that means it's perfect.
And I feel so GOOD to be free of that weight of fear and worry! Faith over fear. I need to work at that every day. Always, always, ALWAYS follow faith rather than fear.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
What Do I Know of Holy?
I heard this song tonight and I was left speechless by the truth I found in it. I felt convicted, comforted, helpless and encouraged all at the same time.
What Do I Know of Holy by Addison Road
I wish I knew how to make a fancy direct link to the YouTube video with the preview pane in my post, but I am pretty sure if you click the link above it will still work.
And here are the lyrics (emphasis mine)... powerful stuff to me tonight.
What Do I Know of Holy?
by Addison Road
I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What, indeed, do I really know of Holy? Of Yahweh who created everything from the oceans to the stars to web weaving spiders and light and color and the human eyeball? What indeed do I know of Him?
Some days I think maybe I act like I have it all figured out. Yes, I know God will still mold and shape me. But I know Him. I have found Him. I know the Truth. So I'm good, right? We're good buds, God and me.
But what, really, do I know of Him?
Tonight I am left wondering that...
Monday, August 17, 2009
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice.
... Oh, and ER visits, too.
So I got to spend my first day in an ER today - and it was not with one of my three sons. It was with my little Girly Pie. I've heard many a rumor that girls are docile, calm and still. But not my sweet Girly Pie. She is sweet for sure, and definitely has her daintier qualities. But she is not anywhere near still. She's been a climber since before she could walk, and has given me more than my fair share of scares over the past months of her increasing mobility.
But this morning when she fell and bumped her lip on a small child's bench we keep at our little kid's table, she hardly cried at all, and I never would have thought twice about such a simple stumble.
Except for the fact that there was blood everywhere and her lip had a nasty looking flap of skin hanging off of it.
Looking at it I suspected immediately that it would need something - stitches, skin glue, something like that. I called Mary Grace to confirm my suspicions (I didn't want to be too paranoid, after all lip wounds can look much worse than they really are) and then set to work trying to figure out just what to do.
The really cool thing was that God's hand was all over the day. For a start, my Hubby has Mondays off from field work and he works at home doing phone and office stuff, so I had the flexibility to just go with Girly Pie and not have to worry about who could watch my three boys, or about taking them along and dividing up the attention that I was sure a sad little girl would need fully. And from there, the little twists and turns of the day just led more and more directly to exactly where God knew we needed to go.
Our new insurance is apparently not accepted by our current doctor's office - a fact we just found out this morning when I called to find out if they could squeeze her in for a look. I have never much liked the whole office, and really the only reason we have remained is that it is only 25 minutes away and all the other docs are 40 minutes or more. But I always second guess their thoughts and we never have really been on the same wavelength. So I called my good friend E. who uses the same insurance and has always said wonderful things about their pediatrician. She quickly gave me the number, and off I drove with Girly Pie, waiting on hold on my cell as I headed that direction and going on faith that they would make room for her ASAP. Sure enough, even though the wonderful doc didn't have any openings until 5pm, they made room for Girly Pie right as we arrived at 10am. The new doc was WONDERFUL. I know that I would not have appreciated my old doc's advice as much as Dr. Wonderful's, and he was so sweet with Girly Pie, and so thorough with his exam. He was gentle with her and explained to me the severity of the injury.
Now I will pause in the story here to point out that Girly was not crying during all this time. The fall was minor, the bleeding had stopped, and aside from missing her morning nap, she was really not fazed at all by the whole ordeal of the actual injury. (another small miracle for the day!) So the doc told me all I needed to know, and said that since the cut was on the line between her actual lip and the skin below, and because it was so close to the crack where upper and lower lips meet, it was just a really hard place to stitch up. He saw she did indeed need stitches, but he knew his office was not equipped to do such a delicate job on such a small, and uncooperative, patient.
So we were sent to the Children's Hospital in Seattle, over an hour from our home. He said we could go to others nearer, but that Children’s would be the best equipped to do such a delicate procedure on one so young.
So off we went. Again, this doc's demeanor and his kindness and gentleness with both my girl and this worried momma were so comforting, and I really did trust his opinion. I really see God's hand in the insurance thing sending us away from our other office to this one.
So eventually (after so very much waiting and talking and looking and waiting…) Girly Pie was given a bit of a loopy drug, the name of which eludes me at the moment, to lessen her reaction to being messed with and to make her forget the whole ordeal when it was over. She was definitely happier after the drug - she had been horrified up to that point by anyone even looking at her or taking her pulse, let alone sticking needles in her face! But even with the happy juice, she fought like crazy when they tried to wrap her up in the blanket to do the procedure. She was numb and a little sedated, but still fully conscious - and fully ticked off to be so rudely messed with.
Poor thing.
So as if that wasn't bad enough, after I was finally able to hold her again and calm her down, while she was sucking on a popsicle BOTH of her stitches popped out.
So they had to do it AGAIN.
That is the point at which, as her Mommy, it really got hard for me. I had already told her we were all done, she was in my arms and ready to go. But that wound just opened right back up, and aside from just not wanting her to have a big scar on her face for the rest of her life, I just could not imagine how the healing process would go with such a big, floppy wound.
So I agreed to try it one more time, stating that if these new stitches failed that we were done and she was just meant to have a scar.
So they did it again. They used a heavier gauge suture, and did three stitches instead of two. And she fought even harder.
The hardest part for me though was not so much the fighting and crying. That was actually a good thing. I was glad to see her fighting and not just accepting such abuse. But when she plaintively called out "Mama! MAAAMAAA!" through that second procedure I just about lost it.
I just could not imagine how terrified she was in that moment, her head held down by strangers, bright lights in her face, her lip numb and her body reacting to a strange drug in her system that made her feel out of control. And when she called for the one person she trusts most in the world to help her - I couldn't. I couldn't help her, and I couldn’t stop the fear.
I just talked to her all through it and stroked and held what parts of her little body I could without disturbing the doctors, and I prayed like crazy. I prayed that God would give her peace and not let this be a scarring event in her life - emotionally, I mean. I could care less about the physical scar compared to that. And I prayed that she really would just forget the whole thing, and that it wouldn't be something that would really affect her as she grows.
So finally, long past when I ached to hold her, they finished the last stitch and I got to pick up my frightened, sweaty, exhausted little girl. And she really did calm down quickly. She did not like any of the hospital folks after that, though I can hardly blame her. But she was happy to be in my arms, and we went home shortly thereafter.
Girly Pie was asleep before we even got out of the parking lot, and slept like a rock for the whole hour + ride home. The poor girl had missed her usual naps and hadn't eaten since her very meager breakfast at 7:30 this morning. We left the ER at 3 in the afternoon.
But when she woke up, she was happy and snuggly and ready to get up and get to playing at home. She still wants to grab at her lip, which we of course are not supposed to let her do, but she is eating fine and as far as I can tell is not feeling any pain from the whole incident.
And though I can't tell for sure, I feel like my prayers really were answered, and Girly Pie seems to have forgotten the trauma of the ER today already. She has not been overly clingy or fearful, and she really has been her same old, adventurous self all evening. She has already given us several scares from climbing and trying to fall. I'm not super thrilled about the scares, but it's still a good sign that she's feeling like herself.
Sigh.
So that was my day. I had big plans for a mellow day at home, a bit of school and tidying up, maybe a trip to a park after her nap. But God had other plans for our day.
And really, aside from the pain of watching her through that second procedure as she called for me - and thinking about just how terrified and awful she was feeling in that moment - through the whole day I was so aware of God's gifts for the day. I never had those thoughts of "If only she hadn't fallen!" I was so focused on being thankful that God had everything under control. The day was crazy, there were such hard moments, and nothing went as smoothly as it could have. But the trouble with the doc's office ended up being a blessing. And the doc not being able to do the stitching was a blessing too. Can you imagine if they had tried in the office and failed? It would have been even more traumatic there, and then we would have had to go to the hospital in the end anyway, since the stitches clearly needed to be done in such a special way. And what if we had gone to our old doc and they had tried to do a less-than-the-best fix for her? I was just so thankful that God paved the whole day to get my girl, His girl, where she needed to go for the best care.
So today really was such a good reminder to me that stuff happens in life. There are no promises that we'll be protected from hardships. But God does make a way to get you through those hard times, and he makes sure you are carried safely to the other side.
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him... (emphasis mine)
So today was a much needed perspective check, and I feel firmly kicked out of my little cave of worry over the things to come. I've been stuck here in neutral for a few weeks, wondering how to do all that I have to do, and feeling overwhelmed by all I feel I must do. But in all that, I lost sight of God's power to carry me through any hard times to come, and I lost focus on the gifts and blessings he has blessed me with along the way.
As our pastor recently said powerfully in a message about the young David in the Bible before he was king - I was like the other Israelites, focusing on the Giant - unlike David, who put his focus on the Giant Killer - God.
So today I am happily, joyfully, thankfully back where I belong. My eyes are on my Giant Killer. The giants of my life - the duties, the fears, the sensory disorders, the responsibilities, the worries of failing those I love the most – will no longer receive my utmost attention. God, the defender of us all, the slayer of all of life's Giants, is where my eyes are pointed once again.
And I never would have thought He would remind me of that simple truth by walking me through a day of trauma and pain in my baby girl's life. But He does indeed work in mysterious ways. And my baby is safe and happy and sleeping soundly in her bed.
I have nothing in the whole world to complain about. I have only thanks to give this night.
... Oh, and ER visits, too.
So I got to spend my first day in an ER today - and it was not with one of my three sons. It was with my little Girly Pie. I've heard many a rumor that girls are docile, calm and still. But not my sweet Girly Pie. She is sweet for sure, and definitely has her daintier qualities. But she is not anywhere near still. She's been a climber since before she could walk, and has given me more than my fair share of scares over the past months of her increasing mobility.
But this morning when she fell and bumped her lip on a small child's bench we keep at our little kid's table, she hardly cried at all, and I never would have thought twice about such a simple stumble.
Except for the fact that there was blood everywhere and her lip had a nasty looking flap of skin hanging off of it.
Looking at it I suspected immediately that it would need something - stitches, skin glue, something like that. I called Mary Grace to confirm my suspicions (I didn't want to be too paranoid, after all lip wounds can look much worse than they really are) and then set to work trying to figure out just what to do.
The really cool thing was that God's hand was all over the day. For a start, my Hubby has Mondays off from field work and he works at home doing phone and office stuff, so I had the flexibility to just go with Girly Pie and not have to worry about who could watch my three boys, or about taking them along and dividing up the attention that I was sure a sad little girl would need fully. And from there, the little twists and turns of the day just led more and more directly to exactly where God knew we needed to go.
Our new insurance is apparently not accepted by our current doctor's office - a fact we just found out this morning when I called to find out if they could squeeze her in for a look. I have never much liked the whole office, and really the only reason we have remained is that it is only 25 minutes away and all the other docs are 40 minutes or more. But I always second guess their thoughts and we never have really been on the same wavelength. So I called my good friend E. who uses the same insurance and has always said wonderful things about their pediatrician. She quickly gave me the number, and off I drove with Girly Pie, waiting on hold on my cell as I headed that direction and going on faith that they would make room for her ASAP. Sure enough, even though the wonderful doc didn't have any openings until 5pm, they made room for Girly Pie right as we arrived at 10am. The new doc was WONDERFUL. I know that I would not have appreciated my old doc's advice as much as Dr. Wonderful's, and he was so sweet with Girly Pie, and so thorough with his exam. He was gentle with her and explained to me the severity of the injury.
Now I will pause in the story here to point out that Girly was not crying during all this time. The fall was minor, the bleeding had stopped, and aside from missing her morning nap, she was really not fazed at all by the whole ordeal of the actual injury. (another small miracle for the day!) So the doc told me all I needed to know, and said that since the cut was on the line between her actual lip and the skin below, and because it was so close to the crack where upper and lower lips meet, it was just a really hard place to stitch up. He saw she did indeed need stitches, but he knew his office was not equipped to do such a delicate job on such a small, and uncooperative, patient.
So we were sent to the Children's Hospital in Seattle, over an hour from our home. He said we could go to others nearer, but that Children’s would be the best equipped to do such a delicate procedure on one so young.
So off we went. Again, this doc's demeanor and his kindness and gentleness with both my girl and this worried momma were so comforting, and I really did trust his opinion. I really see God's hand in the insurance thing sending us away from our other office to this one.
So eventually (after so very much waiting and talking and looking and waiting…) Girly Pie was given a bit of a loopy drug, the name of which eludes me at the moment, to lessen her reaction to being messed with and to make her forget the whole ordeal when it was over. She was definitely happier after the drug - she had been horrified up to that point by anyone even looking at her or taking her pulse, let alone sticking needles in her face! But even with the happy juice, she fought like crazy when they tried to wrap her up in the blanket to do the procedure. She was numb and a little sedated, but still fully conscious - and fully ticked off to be so rudely messed with.
Poor thing.
So as if that wasn't bad enough, after I was finally able to hold her again and calm her down, while she was sucking on a popsicle BOTH of her stitches popped out.
So they had to do it AGAIN.
That is the point at which, as her Mommy, it really got hard for me. I had already told her we were all done, she was in my arms and ready to go. But that wound just opened right back up, and aside from just not wanting her to have a big scar on her face for the rest of her life, I just could not imagine how the healing process would go with such a big, floppy wound.
So I agreed to try it one more time, stating that if these new stitches failed that we were done and she was just meant to have a scar.
So they did it again. They used a heavier gauge suture, and did three stitches instead of two. And she fought even harder.
The hardest part for me though was not so much the fighting and crying. That was actually a good thing. I was glad to see her fighting and not just accepting such abuse. But when she plaintively called out "Mama! MAAAMAAA!" through that second procedure I just about lost it.
I just could not imagine how terrified she was in that moment, her head held down by strangers, bright lights in her face, her lip numb and her body reacting to a strange drug in her system that made her feel out of control. And when she called for the one person she trusts most in the world to help her - I couldn't. I couldn't help her, and I couldn’t stop the fear.
I just talked to her all through it and stroked and held what parts of her little body I could without disturbing the doctors, and I prayed like crazy. I prayed that God would give her peace and not let this be a scarring event in her life - emotionally, I mean. I could care less about the physical scar compared to that. And I prayed that she really would just forget the whole thing, and that it wouldn't be something that would really affect her as she grows.
So finally, long past when I ached to hold her, they finished the last stitch and I got to pick up my frightened, sweaty, exhausted little girl. And she really did calm down quickly. She did not like any of the hospital folks after that, though I can hardly blame her. But she was happy to be in my arms, and we went home shortly thereafter.
Girly Pie was asleep before we even got out of the parking lot, and slept like a rock for the whole hour + ride home. The poor girl had missed her usual naps and hadn't eaten since her very meager breakfast at 7:30 this morning. We left the ER at 3 in the afternoon.
But when she woke up, she was happy and snuggly and ready to get up and get to playing at home. She still wants to grab at her lip, which we of course are not supposed to let her do, but she is eating fine and as far as I can tell is not feeling any pain from the whole incident.
And though I can't tell for sure, I feel like my prayers really were answered, and Girly Pie seems to have forgotten the trauma of the ER today already. She has not been overly clingy or fearful, and she really has been her same old, adventurous self all evening. She has already given us several scares from climbing and trying to fall. I'm not super thrilled about the scares, but it's still a good sign that she's feeling like herself.
Sigh.
So that was my day. I had big plans for a mellow day at home, a bit of school and tidying up, maybe a trip to a park after her nap. But God had other plans for our day.
And really, aside from the pain of watching her through that second procedure as she called for me - and thinking about just how terrified and awful she was feeling in that moment - through the whole day I was so aware of God's gifts for the day. I never had those thoughts of "If only she hadn't fallen!" I was so focused on being thankful that God had everything under control. The day was crazy, there were such hard moments, and nothing went as smoothly as it could have. But the trouble with the doc's office ended up being a blessing. And the doc not being able to do the stitching was a blessing too. Can you imagine if they had tried in the office and failed? It would have been even more traumatic there, and then we would have had to go to the hospital in the end anyway, since the stitches clearly needed to be done in such a special way. And what if we had gone to our old doc and they had tried to do a less-than-the-best fix for her? I was just so thankful that God paved the whole day to get my girl, His girl, where she needed to go for the best care.
So today really was such a good reminder to me that stuff happens in life. There are no promises that we'll be protected from hardships. But God does make a way to get you through those hard times, and he makes sure you are carried safely to the other side.
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him... (emphasis mine)
So today was a much needed perspective check, and I feel firmly kicked out of my little cave of worry over the things to come. I've been stuck here in neutral for a few weeks, wondering how to do all that I have to do, and feeling overwhelmed by all I feel I must do. But in all that, I lost sight of God's power to carry me through any hard times to come, and I lost focus on the gifts and blessings he has blessed me with along the way.
As our pastor recently said powerfully in a message about the young David in the Bible before he was king - I was like the other Israelites, focusing on the Giant - unlike David, who put his focus on the Giant Killer - God.
So today I am happily, joyfully, thankfully back where I belong. My eyes are on my Giant Killer. The giants of my life - the duties, the fears, the sensory disorders, the responsibilities, the worries of failing those I love the most – will no longer receive my utmost attention. God, the defender of us all, the slayer of all of life's Giants, is where my eyes are pointed once again.
And I never would have thought He would remind me of that simple truth by walking me through a day of trauma and pain in my baby girl's life. But He does indeed work in mysterious ways. And my baby is safe and happy and sleeping soundly in her bed.
I have nothing in the whole world to complain about. I have only thanks to give this night.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Soul Music
I was having an oddly low day today. I really had to struggle to keep positive (or maybe afloat is a more accurate word here) which is unusual for me. I prayed constantly today in the hopes that just by His mere presence God would somehow restore the general sense of peace and joy I daily take for granted.
But apparently it wasn't His Own presence God had in mind to settle my spirit today.
Apparently it was Finny's.
Tuesdays are busy for us right now. Finny has a 10-11am gymnastics class and Punky has a 2-4pm homeschool class at the YMCA which includes swim lessons and alternating gym and art classes each week. Both of these classes are in the next town over from us, a solid 25-30 minute drive from our door to theirs. Thankfully it's just a short season, and both kids seem very blessed by these classes, so it's something we're willing to do... but myohmy, I was not created to be an on-the-go mom! And poor Girly Pie and Goose!
But today we were blessed in that Mary Grace was able to take Punky to the 2pm class with her kiddos, so I was able to drive the kids home after Finny's morning class for a full lunch and everyone but Punky got a decent rest or nap depending on their needs. It was clearly a much needed nap for Goose and for Girly Pie, both of whom were most definitely not going to make it through the rest of the day without it! And though Finny fought the alone time in his room, he did seem to benefit from it.
Oh. And I really enjoyed the quiet time, too.
So when Finny's rest time ended (the story on CD is set on a timer and when it clicks off they know their "rest time" is over and they are free to come out and join me) I was still in my bed finishing up a very nice worship time of music and Bible reading. I was feeling fairly refreshed and mellow, though I admit I was still oddly pensive and a bit gloomy feeling. But instead of both big boys trampling down the stairs to find me catching up on chores or computer time, I just had one quiet boy amble into my room, and together we stumbled into one of the nicest afternoons I've had in a really long time.
He joined my on my bed and I snuggled him up into me. I could smell the dirt in his skin from yesterday's yard play. And the sun was coming into the room just so, lighting up his fair skin and the little blond fuzz on his arms and neck. He was just so snuggly and yielding, which he is at times but not all the time. It was so nice to chat with him without interruption. No baby needing my arms. No toddler bouncing around with funny little antics. No older brother butting into each and every part of the conversation to offer up his own thoughts. Nope. None of that. Just me and my Finny William.
We talked about Easter and Jesus. Usually it's Punky who gets into the deeper theological discussions around here, and Finny is often just left there looking like a much younger child who really doesn't "get it" yet. So I was honestly surprised to hear what a strong grasp he has of Jesus and His sacrifice for us. He seemed perfectly aware of His death and resurrection, and understood why it had to be so. I was surprised by this mostly because Finny currently struggles with some pretty intense fears and sadness over anything remotely close to death or sadness. So to see him so matter of fact about the whole thing was really neat.
And then we talked about how we get to live forever in heaven. And about how in heaven you don't have any pain or fear... and you don't get ear infections (he is currently recovering from one), and you don't need ear tubes in heaven, nor do you need to get your tonsils taken out there (have I mentioned last year's surgery to have his tonsils and adenoids removed and to have ear tubes inserted to help with his chronic ear troubles?). He laughed at that, and was very pleased to realize that in heaven, he could swim or shower and not fear water getting in his ears. My heart hurt to see how simply he accepted how it is here - my strong little boy, already so much more aware of sacrifice and burdens than so many other five year olds. But it was so sweet to really know that someday, if my husband and I do our part well and if Finny stays on this path towards Jesus, he will be in a place free of these burdens of pain and suffering. And it was so fun to dream about that with him. Forever in heaven, always happy, never sad or lonely.
He was smiling the whole time. And I held his hand in mine, cradling it and turning over his little fingers, studying them, memorizing them and their smallness, their softness. The bright sun still lighting up all those blond little fuzzy hairs, the window cracked to let in the sounds of passing trains and breezes flitting through the trees.
The whole time I had my music playing, a little CD my husband put together from me with some of my favorite praise songs and a bunch of other country and oldies songs I like. It was pretty funny when Finny asked me to turn off the music. He said it made him "nervous." I tried to get him to explain to me why it made him feel nervous, and the best he could put to words was that they were all about Jesus and hearing songs about only him just made him feel "nervous." (For the record, they weren't all Christian songs, only a small portion - but it is a mix of music with a lot of heartwarming songs that definitely spark emotions in me.) So I'm not sure my five year old's understanding of the word nervous fits the feeling he was actually having, but I did find it interesting and sweet to see him so aware of the emotions that music brought out in him.
Another striking moment for me was during a snippet of our talk involving guns. We don't allow toy guns in our house and though the boys have small character toys with guns (Lego guys, etc.) they aren't allowed to play with or pretend to have life size guns. I'm just not ready to watch my boys pretend to kill each other. I've heard it may just be inevitable and I'll just need to get over it. But for now... I'm still holding strong!
But... Finny mentioned something about guns and how we don’t have them and how he'd never want toy guns. And it sparked a memory of a story my dad told me from his childhood. It was the first and only time he'd ever gone hunting. He went out in the California desert as a young man (old boy?) with a gun, and he heard a song bird. He saw it far in the distance and just for fun tried to shoot it, figuring it was too far off and he'd miss anyway. Well he hit the bird, and its song died along with it. My dad went home and put the gun away and never picked a gun up again. He was so heartbroken over the life he'd taken - over the contrast of the beauty of the bird's song to the harshness of the gun that killed it - that he just couldn't bear to take another life again.
So as I told this story to Finny, in a more watered down way of course, he turned his head aside and started to cry softly. This is the same boy who so openly accepted Christ's gift of His own life in exchange for our sin... the same boy who had only moments before discussed the beating and the crown of thorns... and yet his heart could not bear the thought of that little song bird dying in the desert, nor the thought of his young Grampa being so sad over the death of that little bird.
It was just such a sweet moment. He was a little sad, but still talking about it, and our talk took a few more twists and turns from there. That little boy has such a soft heart.
Sigh.
Later I brought up a little bag of candy I had and we divided up some pieces to share. He had fun counting them all out and finding patterns and making shapes and letters with them. He loves that kind of thing.
So through the whole time we spent together - maybe an hour total - I just felt so close to him, and so blessed to be his mom, to have him for a son. And I felt so thankful for all of my children. I very much enjoy the time I spend with all four of my kids together, and the times with just a couple of them. But when I really get to have just a little chunk of time like that with just one of them I am always amazed at how much I really enjoy that. It's just a special treat and it's one that I am so grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy now and then. I am so blessed to be a stay at home mom. I have a husband who works so very hard so that I can be home to raise and care for our children! And I get to homeschool. How hard would it be to carve out that special time with my kids if they were gone all day five days a week!? And I have a friend who can make a car trip for me now and then so that I can have just those extra two hours in the afternoon to spend refueling my spirit.
So that was my gift today. I admit that I still struggled to keep positive as the day wore on. There must be something rumbling in my soul that will be revealed later. Or maybe it was just a weird day. But that little snippet of my day really feels like a bright ray of sunshine on an otherwise gray day.
I can still smell his dirty boyish smell. I can still see the translucent look of his skin as the sun shone so brightly on it. Those little peach fuzzies are so clear in my mind's eye. Those hands - so small. That giggle at the thought of an ear infection-free heaven. The quiet tears shed over a little lost life. I think part of what made it so special was that Finny was himself, too. He wasn't frustrated or straining. He wasn't distant and happily floating in his own little Finny World. He was not competing with anyone else, nor was he striving to get my attention. He just had it, and he was happy for it, but not straining. It was just the most natural thing in the world. And sometimes in a house with 6 people, it's a little hard to find completely natural time to just be yourself with someone.
And as an only child, though I rarely get such moments, and really don't even try for them, I really do feel so refreshed when I am gifted with them. I forget how much a part of me that quiet one-on-one time is. It is just music to my soul.
But apparently it wasn't His Own presence God had in mind to settle my spirit today.
Apparently it was Finny's.
Tuesdays are busy for us right now. Finny has a 10-11am gymnastics class and Punky has a 2-4pm homeschool class at the YMCA which includes swim lessons and alternating gym and art classes each week. Both of these classes are in the next town over from us, a solid 25-30 minute drive from our door to theirs. Thankfully it's just a short season, and both kids seem very blessed by these classes, so it's something we're willing to do... but myohmy, I was not created to be an on-the-go mom! And poor Girly Pie and Goose!
But today we were blessed in that Mary Grace was able to take Punky to the 2pm class with her kiddos, so I was able to drive the kids home after Finny's morning class for a full lunch and everyone but Punky got a decent rest or nap depending on their needs. It was clearly a much needed nap for Goose and for Girly Pie, both of whom were most definitely not going to make it through the rest of the day without it! And though Finny fought the alone time in his room, he did seem to benefit from it.
Oh. And I really enjoyed the quiet time, too.
So when Finny's rest time ended (the story on CD is set on a timer and when it clicks off they know their "rest time" is over and they are free to come out and join me) I was still in my bed finishing up a very nice worship time of music and Bible reading. I was feeling fairly refreshed and mellow, though I admit I was still oddly pensive and a bit gloomy feeling. But instead of both big boys trampling down the stairs to find me catching up on chores or computer time, I just had one quiet boy amble into my room, and together we stumbled into one of the nicest afternoons I've had in a really long time.
He joined my on my bed and I snuggled him up into me. I could smell the dirt in his skin from yesterday's yard play. And the sun was coming into the room just so, lighting up his fair skin and the little blond fuzz on his arms and neck. He was just so snuggly and yielding, which he is at times but not all the time. It was so nice to chat with him without interruption. No baby needing my arms. No toddler bouncing around with funny little antics. No older brother butting into each and every part of the conversation to offer up his own thoughts. Nope. None of that. Just me and my Finny William.
We talked about Easter and Jesus. Usually it's Punky who gets into the deeper theological discussions around here, and Finny is often just left there looking like a much younger child who really doesn't "get it" yet. So I was honestly surprised to hear what a strong grasp he has of Jesus and His sacrifice for us. He seemed perfectly aware of His death and resurrection, and understood why it had to be so. I was surprised by this mostly because Finny currently struggles with some pretty intense fears and sadness over anything remotely close to death or sadness. So to see him so matter of fact about the whole thing was really neat.
And then we talked about how we get to live forever in heaven. And about how in heaven you don't have any pain or fear... and you don't get ear infections (he is currently recovering from one), and you don't need ear tubes in heaven, nor do you need to get your tonsils taken out there (have I mentioned last year's surgery to have his tonsils and adenoids removed and to have ear tubes inserted to help with his chronic ear troubles?). He laughed at that, and was very pleased to realize that in heaven, he could swim or shower and not fear water getting in his ears. My heart hurt to see how simply he accepted how it is here - my strong little boy, already so much more aware of sacrifice and burdens than so many other five year olds. But it was so sweet to really know that someday, if my husband and I do our part well and if Finny stays on this path towards Jesus, he will be in a place free of these burdens of pain and suffering. And it was so fun to dream about that with him. Forever in heaven, always happy, never sad or lonely.
He was smiling the whole time. And I held his hand in mine, cradling it and turning over his little fingers, studying them, memorizing them and their smallness, their softness. The bright sun still lighting up all those blond little fuzzy hairs, the window cracked to let in the sounds of passing trains and breezes flitting through the trees.
The whole time I had my music playing, a little CD my husband put together from me with some of my favorite praise songs and a bunch of other country and oldies songs I like. It was pretty funny when Finny asked me to turn off the music. He said it made him "nervous." I tried to get him to explain to me why it made him feel nervous, and the best he could put to words was that they were all about Jesus and hearing songs about only him just made him feel "nervous." (For the record, they weren't all Christian songs, only a small portion - but it is a mix of music with a lot of heartwarming songs that definitely spark emotions in me.) So I'm not sure my five year old's understanding of the word nervous fits the feeling he was actually having, but I did find it interesting and sweet to see him so aware of the emotions that music brought out in him.
Another striking moment for me was during a snippet of our talk involving guns. We don't allow toy guns in our house and though the boys have small character toys with guns (Lego guys, etc.) they aren't allowed to play with or pretend to have life size guns. I'm just not ready to watch my boys pretend to kill each other. I've heard it may just be inevitable and I'll just need to get over it. But for now... I'm still holding strong!
But... Finny mentioned something about guns and how we don’t have them and how he'd never want toy guns. And it sparked a memory of a story my dad told me from his childhood. It was the first and only time he'd ever gone hunting. He went out in the California desert as a young man (old boy?) with a gun, and he heard a song bird. He saw it far in the distance and just for fun tried to shoot it, figuring it was too far off and he'd miss anyway. Well he hit the bird, and its song died along with it. My dad went home and put the gun away and never picked a gun up again. He was so heartbroken over the life he'd taken - over the contrast of the beauty of the bird's song to the harshness of the gun that killed it - that he just couldn't bear to take another life again.
So as I told this story to Finny, in a more watered down way of course, he turned his head aside and started to cry softly. This is the same boy who so openly accepted Christ's gift of His own life in exchange for our sin... the same boy who had only moments before discussed the beating and the crown of thorns... and yet his heart could not bear the thought of that little song bird dying in the desert, nor the thought of his young Grampa being so sad over the death of that little bird.
It was just such a sweet moment. He was a little sad, but still talking about it, and our talk took a few more twists and turns from there. That little boy has such a soft heart.
Sigh.
Later I brought up a little bag of candy I had and we divided up some pieces to share. He had fun counting them all out and finding patterns and making shapes and letters with them. He loves that kind of thing.
So through the whole time we spent together - maybe an hour total - I just felt so close to him, and so blessed to be his mom, to have him for a son. And I felt so thankful for all of my children. I very much enjoy the time I spend with all four of my kids together, and the times with just a couple of them. But when I really get to have just a little chunk of time like that with just one of them I am always amazed at how much I really enjoy that. It's just a special treat and it's one that I am so grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy now and then. I am so blessed to be a stay at home mom. I have a husband who works so very hard so that I can be home to raise and care for our children! And I get to homeschool. How hard would it be to carve out that special time with my kids if they were gone all day five days a week!? And I have a friend who can make a car trip for me now and then so that I can have just those extra two hours in the afternoon to spend refueling my spirit.
So that was my gift today. I admit that I still struggled to keep positive as the day wore on. There must be something rumbling in my soul that will be revealed later. Or maybe it was just a weird day. But that little snippet of my day really feels like a bright ray of sunshine on an otherwise gray day.
I can still smell his dirty boyish smell. I can still see the translucent look of his skin as the sun shone so brightly on it. Those little peach fuzzies are so clear in my mind's eye. Those hands - so small. That giggle at the thought of an ear infection-free heaven. The quiet tears shed over a little lost life. I think part of what made it so special was that Finny was himself, too. He wasn't frustrated or straining. He wasn't distant and happily floating in his own little Finny World. He was not competing with anyone else, nor was he striving to get my attention. He just had it, and he was happy for it, but not straining. It was just the most natural thing in the world. And sometimes in a house with 6 people, it's a little hard to find completely natural time to just be yourself with someone.
And as an only child, though I rarely get such moments, and really don't even try for them, I really do feel so refreshed when I am gifted with them. I forget how much a part of me that quiet one-on-one time is. It is just music to my soul.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Listening
I am trying to listen.
I want to hear.
I want to know.
I cannot shake the feeling that God is speaking to me. And for the life of me, I cannot seem to hear what it is He is trying to say to me.
Mary Grace once said something to me that she probably has long forgotten, but it has stuck with me for the past four years since she said it. It was when I was really searching God out (or He was searching for me, or both…) and feeling called to Christianity – but I was paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing.
I was terrified to make the WRONG choice.
In my family, there seemed to be so many rules set up around how to believe and what to do for God. At that time, I really felt like if I went to a church, if I called God by the wrong name, if I did anything that wasn’t “just right” than He would reject me due to my own lack of understanding. My own wrongness, for lack of a better word.
Well, by this time Mary Grace and I were already pretty close friends and I went to her with these thoughts. I explained that I was praying constantly and wanting so badly for God to tell me what He wanted me to do. I wanted to know His “rules” for me, without the clutter in my mind of all the “family” rules for Him.
Mary Grace was quiet for just a moment before she responded. I remember that for some reason. And when she did, I was struck speechless (not a common thing for me, by the way).
Then she asked me, “But have you ever stopped to listen for His answer?”
Wow. Now, I admit that I am not the most stunningly intelligent person in the world, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. But to hear that calm, quiet, simple and obvious reply, well, I was just taken aback.
The answer you see, was “No.”
Praying, I was good at. Talking to God, that I had down. (Talking in general I'm pretty good at - but I digress) I asked question after question. Sheesh, I must have seemed like a tiresome 5 year old to God at times, always a new question, always wanting to know answers, even to things that really were none of my concern.
But listening? Truthfully, the thought had never before occurred to me.
But seriously. How on earth could I hear His answers to any of my questions when my entire brain was filled with the clutter of my own worries and thoughts?
Well, I won’t go into great detail, but that same day as I drove the twenty-odd minutes to the grocery store with my then three and one year old boys, I asked the Question that had been on my heart clearly and concisely one last time. Then I told God I’d not ask anything else, and I worked as hard as I possibly could to clear my mind of all the questions and clutter bouncing around in there. And then I waited.
And you know what? I had the most clear and perfect answer from God before I even hit the city limits of the town where our grocery store is. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was holding back tears and beaming a smile of sheer love and awe up the My Father in Heaven. I knew then and there that I was His child, and that He loved me – and that all He asked in return was that I love him back.
I do not throw this word around much – but the only way to describe it is to say that it was truly and awesome experience.
So, why do I throw all this old news out there at you? After all it was more than four years ago. I guess I just wanted to bring clarity to my struggles to listen. Still, after four years of following Christ’s lead in my life, of seeking His will first and of growing, changing, maturing, hurting, rejoicing, loving, living in Him… STILL I struggle to really hear His voice. Still I get so caught up in my own questions, my own busy little details, that I somehow don’t always leave room for God, Yahweh, the creator of heaven and earth, to tell me what it is He wants me to hear.
So as I sat down this evening to fold a couple of loads of laundry before heading up for the night, I was overcome with a weight that I cannot quite describe. I felt burdened, weary, worried and insufficient. So as I always do in moments like that, I began to pray.
And that’s when Mary Grace’s sage advice from years ago came flooding back to me. I know it well, and have revisited it more than a few times over the years. But it hit me like a ton of bricks this evening. As I sat there folding all those precious little articles of clothing that those I hold dearest to my heart fill each day, I felt the clutter closing in around me as I asked and asked and ASKED of the Lord all that I wanted to know.
Then her words rang clear in my head, and I stopped, and told God that I was sorry, and worked to clear away the clutter – trying oh-so-hard not to ask any more of Him as I did so. And then I just waited.
Well, I can’t say I got as clear of an answer as the one given to me on that glorious car ride. But a funny thing did happen. I couldn’t shake the tune in my head of a worship song from Church yesterday. It’s not even a song I am particularly drawn to, but there it was.
No great profound revelation. No amazing clarity. Just a simple song of praise.
La la, la-dee-da-dee-dah dah… My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to saaaaave…
So that’s all I got.
And really, it wasn’t until I sat down here to put it all in words that I really realized that maybe, just maybe, He was calling me back to the point. Back to that day in the car. Back to another song that first brought me to Him as a daughter to a Father. Maybe, He just wanted to remind me that in all that happens each day - through all the sick boys (poor Goose) and all the teething girls and all the happy smiles and busy chores and school schedules and serving and classes and friends and husbands and shopping and planning and cooking and researching and praying and reading – I still need to make time for just plain old LOVING HIM.
So it’s back to the basics for me, I guess. Time for me to seek Him out and Love him, praise Him, worship Him. I think it’s time to turn on the Christian radio stations again during the day and just be brought back to a place of just Loving him. I mean, I always love Him. But how much time in my day to I actually devote to just Him, and Him alone?
Sadly, not nearly enough.
So. There you go. I am still struggling to keep clear the clutter and to hear His whispers to me. But tonight, I am actually pretty excited to run upstairs and sit in bed and think of a few of my favorite praise songs. And I am just going to sing my heart out to the One who has loved me better than anyone else ever has or ever will.
Man, am I glad that God is patient with me. Sometimes I feel as dumb as a brick. But thankfully He is always willing to wait for the fog to clear and for me to hear His voice calling me.
Thank you Lord, for speaking to me in that gentle, loving way that You know soothes my heart. Thank you for leaving the harsh admonitions behind, the ones that I most surely deserve but that you still do not burden me with. I ask only to be a parent to my children in the same, gentle and loving way that you are to me.
Amen.
I want to hear.
I want to know.
I cannot shake the feeling that God is speaking to me. And for the life of me, I cannot seem to hear what it is He is trying to say to me.
Mary Grace once said something to me that she probably has long forgotten, but it has stuck with me for the past four years since she said it. It was when I was really searching God out (or He was searching for me, or both…) and feeling called to Christianity – but I was paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing.
I was terrified to make the WRONG choice.
In my family, there seemed to be so many rules set up around how to believe and what to do for God. At that time, I really felt like if I went to a church, if I called God by the wrong name, if I did anything that wasn’t “just right” than He would reject me due to my own lack of understanding. My own wrongness, for lack of a better word.
Well, by this time Mary Grace and I were already pretty close friends and I went to her with these thoughts. I explained that I was praying constantly and wanting so badly for God to tell me what He wanted me to do. I wanted to know His “rules” for me, without the clutter in my mind of all the “family” rules for Him.
Mary Grace was quiet for just a moment before she responded. I remember that for some reason. And when she did, I was struck speechless (not a common thing for me, by the way).
Then she asked me, “But have you ever stopped to listen for His answer?”
Wow. Now, I admit that I am not the most stunningly intelligent person in the world, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. But to hear that calm, quiet, simple and obvious reply, well, I was just taken aback.
The answer you see, was “No.”
Praying, I was good at. Talking to God, that I had down. (Talking in general I'm pretty good at - but I digress) I asked question after question. Sheesh, I must have seemed like a tiresome 5 year old to God at times, always a new question, always wanting to know answers, even to things that really were none of my concern.
But listening? Truthfully, the thought had never before occurred to me.
But seriously. How on earth could I hear His answers to any of my questions when my entire brain was filled with the clutter of my own worries and thoughts?
Well, I won’t go into great detail, but that same day as I drove the twenty-odd minutes to the grocery store with my then three and one year old boys, I asked the Question that had been on my heart clearly and concisely one last time. Then I told God I’d not ask anything else, and I worked as hard as I possibly could to clear my mind of all the questions and clutter bouncing around in there. And then I waited.
And you know what? I had the most clear and perfect answer from God before I even hit the city limits of the town where our grocery store is. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was holding back tears and beaming a smile of sheer love and awe up the My Father in Heaven. I knew then and there that I was His child, and that He loved me – and that all He asked in return was that I love him back.
I do not throw this word around much – but the only way to describe it is to say that it was truly and awesome experience.
So, why do I throw all this old news out there at you? After all it was more than four years ago. I guess I just wanted to bring clarity to my struggles to listen. Still, after four years of following Christ’s lead in my life, of seeking His will first and of growing, changing, maturing, hurting, rejoicing, loving, living in Him… STILL I struggle to really hear His voice. Still I get so caught up in my own questions, my own busy little details, that I somehow don’t always leave room for God, Yahweh, the creator of heaven and earth, to tell me what it is He wants me to hear.
So as I sat down this evening to fold a couple of loads of laundry before heading up for the night, I was overcome with a weight that I cannot quite describe. I felt burdened, weary, worried and insufficient. So as I always do in moments like that, I began to pray.
And that’s when Mary Grace’s sage advice from years ago came flooding back to me. I know it well, and have revisited it more than a few times over the years. But it hit me like a ton of bricks this evening. As I sat there folding all those precious little articles of clothing that those I hold dearest to my heart fill each day, I felt the clutter closing in around me as I asked and asked and ASKED of the Lord all that I wanted to know.
Then her words rang clear in my head, and I stopped, and told God that I was sorry, and worked to clear away the clutter – trying oh-so-hard not to ask any more of Him as I did so. And then I just waited.
Well, I can’t say I got as clear of an answer as the one given to me on that glorious car ride. But a funny thing did happen. I couldn’t shake the tune in my head of a worship song from Church yesterday. It’s not even a song I am particularly drawn to, but there it was.
No great profound revelation. No amazing clarity. Just a simple song of praise.
La la, la-dee-da-dee-dah dah… My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to saaaaave…
So that’s all I got.
And really, it wasn’t until I sat down here to put it all in words that I really realized that maybe, just maybe, He was calling me back to the point. Back to that day in the car. Back to another song that first brought me to Him as a daughter to a Father. Maybe, He just wanted to remind me that in all that happens each day - through all the sick boys (poor Goose) and all the teething girls and all the happy smiles and busy chores and school schedules and serving and classes and friends and husbands and shopping and planning and cooking and researching and praying and reading – I still need to make time for just plain old LOVING HIM.
So it’s back to the basics for me, I guess. Time for me to seek Him out and Love him, praise Him, worship Him. I think it’s time to turn on the Christian radio stations again during the day and just be brought back to a place of just Loving him. I mean, I always love Him. But how much time in my day to I actually devote to just Him, and Him alone?
Sadly, not nearly enough.
So. There you go. I am still struggling to keep clear the clutter and to hear His whispers to me. But tonight, I am actually pretty excited to run upstairs and sit in bed and think of a few of my favorite praise songs. And I am just going to sing my heart out to the One who has loved me better than anyone else ever has or ever will.
Man, am I glad that God is patient with me. Sometimes I feel as dumb as a brick. But thankfully He is always willing to wait for the fog to clear and for me to hear His voice calling me.
Thank you Lord, for speaking to me in that gentle, loving way that You know soothes my heart. Thank you for leaving the harsh admonitions behind, the ones that I most surely deserve but that you still do not burden me with. I ask only to be a parent to my children in the same, gentle and loving way that you are to me.
Amen.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Worth revisiting
There are some books that are good to read. Plenty of books out there really are enjoyable and bring good stories to your mind that can fill your world for the hours, days or even weeks you spend reading them.
Many of those books though – in fact I’d go so far as to say most of those “good” books – are really only worth reading once. Most of the time, when you pick up a good book the second time through, it’s just kind of old news. You’ve lived the adventure. You know how it ends. It’s just not the same.
And then there are the GREAT books. I know there must be thousands of GREAT books out there, and I am not going to claim that I have read even a fraction of them. But I just felt I must just give my two cents’ worth on a particularly GREAT series of books.
So here you go. My opinion.
The Chronicles of Narnia.
There. I have put it out there. I have a hunch that it may be a series that is condemned by many Christians, since it is hard to deny its magical content. But, if you can look past the word “magic” and really just read it with a little grace, it is well worth anything you must overlook, in my humble opinion.
So here is the thing about the Narnia books. Every single time I have read them in my life, and it must be at least four times I’ve gone through them now, I get something new out of them.
When I was a little girl and my dad read them to me, I was completely enchanted by the stories themselves. I loved the characters. I loved the idea that there were worlds outside our own. I was so excited by the thought that one might actually just stumble into such a world by mistake. What a lovely thought for an imaginative and lonely only child… that I might just walk into a room and fall out into a beautiful land of green grass and friendly mythical creatures. Oh how I dreamed the dreams of Narnia as a little girl.
And then when I was a young adult, still not a committed Christian but aware of the idea that there was some allusion to God in there, I did get that little glimpse into the real STORY beneath the story. But it was most definitely vague at that time. Really what I got out of it was just a deeper understanding of the characters and a renewed excitement for adventure.
But the more times I have read the books, the deeper I seem to go. The first time or two as a Christian that I read them, I noticed how obvious the Christ message was in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. How could I have missed that? And wow. The simple, childlike way in which C.S. Lewis brings that message home is really amazing. Self sacrifice. Willingly giving innocent blood in place of a sinner’s. I was really amazed. And that was just the one book that started it all.
Really, in hindsight, I saw God in that particular book even in my young readings. But the thing that has gotten me as I have read the other books a few more times as a believer is how much wisdom can be gleaned from them, and how scriptural the ideas are even though there aren’t any direct scriptural references cited.
I’ll spare you a rewrite of the entire series here, but I feel compelled to at least list a few of the really meaningful parts of the books that have really hit me hard this last time reading them through.
In A Horse and His Boy, I really like when Aslan makes the point, more than once mind you, to Shasta and to Aravis that their story is their own, and what happens to another is not for them to know. He also makes it clear that no one is to know “what might have been” when they ask Him if things might have gone differently had they made other choices. I also felt God’s spirit in the underlying meaning all throughout the book that no matter how bad things looked, no matter how much Shasta in particular wondered why he had all the bad luck, Aslan was orchestrating it all. And in the end each and every event in Shasta’s life was planned perfectly. Each difficulty was meant for a purpose. Each trial made him stronger. Many fearful moments were actually forcing him into situations that in the end were helpful and necessary. And the funny thing is, that is one of the books that really hardly even stood out in my memory when I thought back on the series.
I love in Prince Caspian the part when Aslan calls Lucy to follow Him, but since no one else sees Him or believes her she chooses to follow the others instead, going the opposite direction from which Aslan had told her to go. And when she finally speaks to Him and asks why she didn’t follow, she explains that no one believed her so she couldn’t go with Him. Then He makes it clear to her that it made no difference what the others said. She knew He was telling her to follow, and that should have been enough. How much do we need that reminder in our own daily lives? I know I need to remember that more often than I care to admit.
I was also taken aback this time reading through The Magician’s Nephew. Again, this is one of the books in the series that never really meant much to me. Mostly, I am just peeved that they put it at the front of the series now when I still think The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe should be the first book of the series one ever reads.
But I digress.
This time while reading it, what struck me was Lewis’ telling of the creation of Narnia. I had never before noticed how similar it must be to God’s own creation of our world. What must His voice have sounded like as He called plants to life and brought forth the creature of the earth? It is not something that I have taken the time to really ponder when reading it in actual scripture, but when mixed with the fancy and beauty of a fictional telling, it just sparked my imagination like wildfire to make me really want to know what those six days of creation must have been like. Oh, to have been there… the beauty, the wonder of it all. The colors, the lights… so much from nothing… all from the one Voice that existed before all time or matter existed at all. If a complete work of fiction can make me look to our Creator with such awe and wonder, well, I think it just goes to show that God can work through anything he chooses. And I feel like, at least for me, He has used these children’s stories to really speak to my heart and to call me closer to Him… to really help me to see some of His creative self.
And, since it is so fresh in my mind from reading it out loud to Punky these last couple of weeks, I cannot believe how much I missed the first several times reading through The Silver Chair! I won’t put each and every detail here, but the one that sticks out the most to me as I sit here tonight is in chapter twelve when Jill, Eustace, Puddleglum and the prince are in the castle with the evil witch who has held the prince a captive under an enchanted spell for the past ten years. They are deep in the bowels of the earth, miles and miles below the earth’s surface with no natural light to be seen… nothing but darkness and eerie silence… and when they confront the witch (who appears to the observer to be a beautiful and charming young queen) and demand to be released, she calmly and quietly puts some sweet smelling powder in the fire and begins playing a simple, lovely and rhythmic tune on a small instrument. They try to tell her to let them go home to the Overworld and she turns all their words around on them. She convinces them all with simple, soft words, spoken from a beautiful woman with a lovely and kind voice that none of the things they speak of ever really existed. With her alluring and deceptive ways, she begins to convince them that her world, this dark Underworld, is really and truly the only world that ever was. I was so struck as I read this (and believe me, Lewis writes it so much better than I can retell it here in short) that Satan uses such similar tactics to lull so many people into believing that life here, the things of this dark world, are all that are really important. Heaven, God’s beautiful paradise, really must not exist at all except for in the imagination of man. So many of us are tempted into loving and longing for the things of this life. So many people who do not know God feel no need to even search for Him, because they have been so misled by Satan’s lies. And though some may think that his lies are big, ugly and obvious… I was really reminded by this part of the book how alluring and lovely his lies can really be.
Anyway. I cannot do justice to The Chronicles of Narnia in my own short and broken examples here. But for almost a year now Punky and I have been reading through them together for his first time, my 4th or 5th. And as I read through the books yet again, I am touched by Punky’s fresh love for the story, the characters, the excitement and the adventure. And I am thrilled to see that he actually has a decent understanding of the STORY beneath the story – much more of a grasp than I had at 6 or 7 years old. And as a woman who has willingly offered her heart and life to Christ for the past 4 years, I have just been amazed time and time again how much I have gotten out of these stories, yet again.
So maybe you have never read them. Maybe you have, but not since you were a kid. Or heck, maybe you read them a few years back when you were already a believer but it’s just been a while.
Might I suggest that it may be worth your time to pick them up again?
Maybe one of your kids is ready to begin the adventure with you for the first time. Or maybe you can just carve out a little time each week to enjoy them yourself. Or, like my husband and I did 7 or 8 (or was it 9 or 10?) years ago, maybe you can read the series aloud to each other before bed for a bit each night. Whichever way you do it, I think that you may very well find it well worth your time. And you never know what new little sub-story you might find this time through. There are treasures to be found hidden in those pages, no doubt. I really think this is one of those GREAT books (series of seven books, no less!) that you can’t go wrong when re-reading. I have yet to read it through without finding something that really filled me up in one way or another.
So there you go. My opinion on some books that I really like. I am just thankful to God that, no matter what hand He had in the author’s efforts of writing the story, He has clearly used these stories to speak truth to my heart in a way that has brought me closer to Him.
And that, my friends, is the sign of a book worth reading (again).
Many of those books though – in fact I’d go so far as to say most of those “good” books – are really only worth reading once. Most of the time, when you pick up a good book the second time through, it’s just kind of old news. You’ve lived the adventure. You know how it ends. It’s just not the same.
And then there are the GREAT books. I know there must be thousands of GREAT books out there, and I am not going to claim that I have read even a fraction of them. But I just felt I must just give my two cents’ worth on a particularly GREAT series of books.
So here you go. My opinion.
The Chronicles of Narnia.
There. I have put it out there. I have a hunch that it may be a series that is condemned by many Christians, since it is hard to deny its magical content. But, if you can look past the word “magic” and really just read it with a little grace, it is well worth anything you must overlook, in my humble opinion.
So here is the thing about the Narnia books. Every single time I have read them in my life, and it must be at least four times I’ve gone through them now, I get something new out of them.
When I was a little girl and my dad read them to me, I was completely enchanted by the stories themselves. I loved the characters. I loved the idea that there were worlds outside our own. I was so excited by the thought that one might actually just stumble into such a world by mistake. What a lovely thought for an imaginative and lonely only child… that I might just walk into a room and fall out into a beautiful land of green grass and friendly mythical creatures. Oh how I dreamed the dreams of Narnia as a little girl.
And then when I was a young adult, still not a committed Christian but aware of the idea that there was some allusion to God in there, I did get that little glimpse into the real STORY beneath the story. But it was most definitely vague at that time. Really what I got out of it was just a deeper understanding of the characters and a renewed excitement for adventure.
But the more times I have read the books, the deeper I seem to go. The first time or two as a Christian that I read them, I noticed how obvious the Christ message was in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. How could I have missed that? And wow. The simple, childlike way in which C.S. Lewis brings that message home is really amazing. Self sacrifice. Willingly giving innocent blood in place of a sinner’s. I was really amazed. And that was just the one book that started it all.
Really, in hindsight, I saw God in that particular book even in my young readings. But the thing that has gotten me as I have read the other books a few more times as a believer is how much wisdom can be gleaned from them, and how scriptural the ideas are even though there aren’t any direct scriptural references cited.
I’ll spare you a rewrite of the entire series here, but I feel compelled to at least list a few of the really meaningful parts of the books that have really hit me hard this last time reading them through.
In A Horse and His Boy, I really like when Aslan makes the point, more than once mind you, to Shasta and to Aravis that their story is their own, and what happens to another is not for them to know. He also makes it clear that no one is to know “what might have been” when they ask Him if things might have gone differently had they made other choices. I also felt God’s spirit in the underlying meaning all throughout the book that no matter how bad things looked, no matter how much Shasta in particular wondered why he had all the bad luck, Aslan was orchestrating it all. And in the end each and every event in Shasta’s life was planned perfectly. Each difficulty was meant for a purpose. Each trial made him stronger. Many fearful moments were actually forcing him into situations that in the end were helpful and necessary. And the funny thing is, that is one of the books that really hardly even stood out in my memory when I thought back on the series.
I love in Prince Caspian the part when Aslan calls Lucy to follow Him, but since no one else sees Him or believes her she chooses to follow the others instead, going the opposite direction from which Aslan had told her to go. And when she finally speaks to Him and asks why she didn’t follow, she explains that no one believed her so she couldn’t go with Him. Then He makes it clear to her that it made no difference what the others said. She knew He was telling her to follow, and that should have been enough. How much do we need that reminder in our own daily lives? I know I need to remember that more often than I care to admit.
I was also taken aback this time reading through The Magician’s Nephew. Again, this is one of the books in the series that never really meant much to me. Mostly, I am just peeved that they put it at the front of the series now when I still think The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe should be the first book of the series one ever reads.
But I digress.
This time while reading it, what struck me was Lewis’ telling of the creation of Narnia. I had never before noticed how similar it must be to God’s own creation of our world. What must His voice have sounded like as He called plants to life and brought forth the creature of the earth? It is not something that I have taken the time to really ponder when reading it in actual scripture, but when mixed with the fancy and beauty of a fictional telling, it just sparked my imagination like wildfire to make me really want to know what those six days of creation must have been like. Oh, to have been there… the beauty, the wonder of it all. The colors, the lights… so much from nothing… all from the one Voice that existed before all time or matter existed at all. If a complete work of fiction can make me look to our Creator with such awe and wonder, well, I think it just goes to show that God can work through anything he chooses. And I feel like, at least for me, He has used these children’s stories to really speak to my heart and to call me closer to Him… to really help me to see some of His creative self.
And, since it is so fresh in my mind from reading it out loud to Punky these last couple of weeks, I cannot believe how much I missed the first several times reading through The Silver Chair! I won’t put each and every detail here, but the one that sticks out the most to me as I sit here tonight is in chapter twelve when Jill, Eustace, Puddleglum and the prince are in the castle with the evil witch who has held the prince a captive under an enchanted spell for the past ten years. They are deep in the bowels of the earth, miles and miles below the earth’s surface with no natural light to be seen… nothing but darkness and eerie silence… and when they confront the witch (who appears to the observer to be a beautiful and charming young queen) and demand to be released, she calmly and quietly puts some sweet smelling powder in the fire and begins playing a simple, lovely and rhythmic tune on a small instrument. They try to tell her to let them go home to the Overworld and she turns all their words around on them. She convinces them all with simple, soft words, spoken from a beautiful woman with a lovely and kind voice that none of the things they speak of ever really existed. With her alluring and deceptive ways, she begins to convince them that her world, this dark Underworld, is really and truly the only world that ever was. I was so struck as I read this (and believe me, Lewis writes it so much better than I can retell it here in short) that Satan uses such similar tactics to lull so many people into believing that life here, the things of this dark world, are all that are really important. Heaven, God’s beautiful paradise, really must not exist at all except for in the imagination of man. So many of us are tempted into loving and longing for the things of this life. So many people who do not know God feel no need to even search for Him, because they have been so misled by Satan’s lies. And though some may think that his lies are big, ugly and obvious… I was really reminded by this part of the book how alluring and lovely his lies can really be.
Anyway. I cannot do justice to The Chronicles of Narnia in my own short and broken examples here. But for almost a year now Punky and I have been reading through them together for his first time, my 4th or 5th. And as I read through the books yet again, I am touched by Punky’s fresh love for the story, the characters, the excitement and the adventure. And I am thrilled to see that he actually has a decent understanding of the STORY beneath the story – much more of a grasp than I had at 6 or 7 years old. And as a woman who has willingly offered her heart and life to Christ for the past 4 years, I have just been amazed time and time again how much I have gotten out of these stories, yet again.
So maybe you have never read them. Maybe you have, but not since you were a kid. Or heck, maybe you read them a few years back when you were already a believer but it’s just been a while.
Might I suggest that it may be worth your time to pick them up again?
Maybe one of your kids is ready to begin the adventure with you for the first time. Or maybe you can just carve out a little time each week to enjoy them yourself. Or, like my husband and I did 7 or 8 (or was it 9 or 10?) years ago, maybe you can read the series aloud to each other before bed for a bit each night. Whichever way you do it, I think that you may very well find it well worth your time. And you never know what new little sub-story you might find this time through. There are treasures to be found hidden in those pages, no doubt. I really think this is one of those GREAT books (series of seven books, no less!) that you can’t go wrong when re-reading. I have yet to read it through without finding something that really filled me up in one way or another.
So there you go. My opinion on some books that I really like. I am just thankful to God that, no matter what hand He had in the author’s efforts of writing the story, He has clearly used these stories to speak truth to my heart in a way that has brought me closer to Him.
And that, my friends, is the sign of a book worth reading (again).
Thursday, January 15, 2009
What a day
Girly Pie is a crawling, pulling up wild thing! It is so unbelievably cute and fun. I forgot how CUTE this stage and age are! I could eat that girl alive right now.
Goose sings songs with the cutest little toddler voice and grammatically incorrect toddler-isms. I love that! And he can't give Girly Pie enough kisses, which is super sweet, too.
Finny has had a great attitude with his occupational therapy exercises this week and has been very much "himself" more often than not. He's even doing his morning chores with a smile and is remembering them with very little prodding from me. That's a small miracle in and of itself.
Punky is just a shining star and so cute and funny at a month shy of seven. I can't believe what an amazing young man I see unfolding in him already. Wow. It just boggles the mind how quickly you see your baby becomes a young man with such maturity and wisdom (relatively speaking, of course).
My husband is the sweetest guy on earth and even stopped to pick up my library holds without my even mentioning it, just because. I guess he knows that when left to my own devices, I never leave the house and my holds go stale and get pulled before I venture the 3 miles to the library.
God is good. I watched a blessing pour down today onto a friend who blesses others continually and never asks anything in return... and I was in awe at how our God works to help His children.
My best friend and her kiddos were able to stay for a short visit today, which is a luxury I feel I do not get to enjoy as often as I would choose, so I relished it today.
AND I won the majority of the rounds of Uno I made my husband play with me tonight before we head up for bed. How cool is that!?
So life is sweet. I am just happy to be in a place where all I can see when I look around me is God's good grace and His love, and the beauty in this life that I have been so blessed to live.
Don't you just love days like that?
Goose sings songs with the cutest little toddler voice and grammatically incorrect toddler-isms. I love that! And he can't give Girly Pie enough kisses, which is super sweet, too.
Finny has had a great attitude with his occupational therapy exercises this week and has been very much "himself" more often than not. He's even doing his morning chores with a smile and is remembering them with very little prodding from me. That's a small miracle in and of itself.
Punky is just a shining star and so cute and funny at a month shy of seven. I can't believe what an amazing young man I see unfolding in him already. Wow. It just boggles the mind how quickly you see your baby becomes a young man with such maturity and wisdom (relatively speaking, of course).
My husband is the sweetest guy on earth and even stopped to pick up my library holds without my even mentioning it, just because. I guess he knows that when left to my own devices, I never leave the house and my holds go stale and get pulled before I venture the 3 miles to the library.
God is good. I watched a blessing pour down today onto a friend who blesses others continually and never asks anything in return... and I was in awe at how our God works to help His children.
My best friend and her kiddos were able to stay for a short visit today, which is a luxury I feel I do not get to enjoy as often as I would choose, so I relished it today.
AND I won the majority of the rounds of Uno I made my husband play with me tonight before we head up for bed. How cool is that!?
So life is sweet. I am just happy to be in a place where all I can see when I look around me is God's good grace and His love, and the beauty in this life that I have been so blessed to live.
Don't you just love days like that?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Women, part 4
But again, the Lord was there even without my knowing it or really even asking Him to be. He put us in that first house knowing I would need those friendly neighbor women. He knew I would need people to smile at me and my way too cute babies. He knew I’d need others to say, “It’s ok. I’ve been there.” And to plan neighborhood potlucks with and to introduce me to the world of homeschooling.
He knew that in a few short years after we moved to our first home, that Mary Grace and her family would be moving in just down the road from us. He knew I was in need of a mentor and a true best friend: a woman to walk with hand-in-hand through this beautiful season of life. He created in me an apprentice’s spirit, and He knew that I would need to have a friend to watch and walk alongside without my even being aware of it.
I was not created with an innate knowledge of the world of mothering and of women. I was not raised in a home with anyone modeling these things for me either. But I was brought up in an environment with a very loving and supportive father, and women all around me pouring into me in various ways that went unnoticed for years.
So now, to sum up a bit from all the ramblings… I realize that I really do like women.
I love being able to talk to Mary Grace for hours about nothing really worth keeping a record of, but still I can walk away feeling justified, supported, refreshed, loved, understood… I love that. I love that she can encourage me without even trying. Heck, she can encourage me in the middle of telling me about a tough moment for her just in the fact that I do not feel alone in my occasional chaos or struggles to be all that I am called to be.
I enjoy having another friend I met from church (Let’s call her E.) over with her children and we can let our 6 walking and talking children play together and make gingerbread cookies and while we hold our babies and share stories of support and encouragement of the Lord and His work in our life. We can mention something that we cannot quite put words to in our world of mothering and the other can say, “I know! That is so true.” Even when we do not have the right words to make it all make sense. The thought, the feeling… the understanding is still there.
And I like that I can call the slightly younger friend down the road (I’ll call her C.) with her very young family of two children under two years old and chat about the thrill and newness of our same-aged babies. It’s great that she can come over and try out a craft we’ve been doing for years and to watch her face light up as she enters this world of mothering that I have enjoyed for so many years (well, almost seven years… it feels like it’s been longer though!) and I get to feel just that little bit like the mentors who have meant so much to me over the years.
And the day I started this silly little Women post, after a morning chat with Mary Grace, a midday baking and chatting time with E. and her brood, and an evening spent at C.’s house where we were invited for a lovely quesadilla dinner and we stayed for a nice chat and some super cute play time between our two-ish year olds and our 7 month olds… well, that day it occurred to me that the women in my life are truly a blessing.
These days (though the aforementioned day was a bit more full than I am accustomed to) fill me up in ways that I cannot describe. To share a common thread with these women, to be a part of this world that I once feared… even hated at times… to be accepted, loved, understood…to have others see the beauty in the day-to-day details of my life and understand them on a level that only another mom could… well I am not the graceful and talented writer that is my friend Mary Grace, so I cannot find the words to describe the feelings that come with this connection. But, I have a feeling that if you are a woman reading this right now that you may just have some idea of what I am talking about.
So all this to say that my friends, the women that I can clearly see were chose by the Lord Himself to walk with me in this life, mean very much to me indeed. I once thought that a husband to love me and children to raise were all I needed.
He knew that in a few short years after we moved to our first home, that Mary Grace and her family would be moving in just down the road from us. He knew I was in need of a mentor and a true best friend: a woman to walk with hand-in-hand through this beautiful season of life. He created in me an apprentice’s spirit, and He knew that I would need to have a friend to watch and walk alongside without my even being aware of it.
I was not created with an innate knowledge of the world of mothering and of women. I was not raised in a home with anyone modeling these things for me either. But I was brought up in an environment with a very loving and supportive father, and women all around me pouring into me in various ways that went unnoticed for years.
So now, to sum up a bit from all the ramblings… I realize that I really do like women.
I love being able to talk to Mary Grace for hours about nothing really worth keeping a record of, but still I can walk away feeling justified, supported, refreshed, loved, understood… I love that. I love that she can encourage me without even trying. Heck, she can encourage me in the middle of telling me about a tough moment for her just in the fact that I do not feel alone in my occasional chaos or struggles to be all that I am called to be.
I enjoy having another friend I met from church (Let’s call her E.) over with her children and we can let our 6 walking and talking children play together and make gingerbread cookies and while we hold our babies and share stories of support and encouragement of the Lord and His work in our life. We can mention something that we cannot quite put words to in our world of mothering and the other can say, “I know! That is so true.” Even when we do not have the right words to make it all make sense. The thought, the feeling… the understanding is still there.
And I like that I can call the slightly younger friend down the road (I’ll call her C.) with her very young family of two children under two years old and chat about the thrill and newness of our same-aged babies. It’s great that she can come over and try out a craft we’ve been doing for years and to watch her face light up as she enters this world of mothering that I have enjoyed for so many years (well, almost seven years… it feels like it’s been longer though!) and I get to feel just that little bit like the mentors who have meant so much to me over the years.
And the day I started this silly little Women post, after a morning chat with Mary Grace, a midday baking and chatting time with E. and her brood, and an evening spent at C.’s house where we were invited for a lovely quesadilla dinner and we stayed for a nice chat and some super cute play time between our two-ish year olds and our 7 month olds… well, that day it occurred to me that the women in my life are truly a blessing.
These days (though the aforementioned day was a bit more full than I am accustomed to) fill me up in ways that I cannot describe. To share a common thread with these women, to be a part of this world that I once feared… even hated at times… to be accepted, loved, understood…to have others see the beauty in the day-to-day details of my life and understand them on a level that only another mom could… well I am not the graceful and talented writer that is my friend Mary Grace, so I cannot find the words to describe the feelings that come with this connection. But, I have a feeling that if you are a woman reading this right now that you may just have some idea of what I am talking about.
So all this to say that my friends, the women that I can clearly see were chose by the Lord Himself to walk with me in this life, mean very much to me indeed. I once thought that a husband to love me and children to raise were all I needed.
It didn’t take me too long to realize that God had more planned for me. He knew, first of all, that I needed Him. He also knew that I needed friends. And I think He created us that way to begin with. I do not think women were meant to go it alone, you know? Not that every one of us needs to be a social butterfly. One best friend is perfect for me, and one or two other close friends to walk along beside me as well round me out just right.
But at this point in my life, at least now in this short but important season of raising up my young family, I am so very thankful that I can do it alongside a few other women who can hold my hand and hear my stories and enjoy them, and who can share theirs with me. And then, once I have gotten all my chatty excitement out on them, I have just enough left for my husband to enjoy but not to feel overwhelmed by. ;o)
After all, as my dad occasionally says to my husband with a wink, “You married her. She’s all yours now.” And half the time he’ll make the little flapping hand sign that is synonymous with talking too much. So I guess that even though I looked like a boy once upon a time… I always did talk like a girl.
And one last little point, though I have been terribly long winded already… I adore my sons. I love (and always have loved) the world of boys and I always did feel like I would be the mother of boys. And after three of them, I was pretty well sure that I was going to be the mother of only boys. During my pregnancy with Girly Pie, we did not find out her sex (as with all my pregnancies) and I was completely confident and convinced that she was a boy. I remember having pangs and thoughts along the lines of, "I never got to be on the daughter end of a winning mother-daughter relationship. And I wonder if I will ever get to be on the mother end of a right and good mother-daughter relationship." But I was ok with that. I was just thrilled to be having a fourth child regardless!
But at this point in my life, at least now in this short but important season of raising up my young family, I am so very thankful that I can do it alongside a few other women who can hold my hand and hear my stories and enjoy them, and who can share theirs with me. And then, once I have gotten all my chatty excitement out on them, I have just enough left for my husband to enjoy but not to feel overwhelmed by. ;o)
After all, as my dad occasionally says to my husband with a wink, “You married her. She’s all yours now.” And half the time he’ll make the little flapping hand sign that is synonymous with talking too much. So I guess that even though I looked like a boy once upon a time… I always did talk like a girl.
And one last little point, though I have been terribly long winded already… I adore my sons. I love (and always have loved) the world of boys and I always did feel like I would be the mother of boys. And after three of them, I was pretty well sure that I was going to be the mother of only boys. During my pregnancy with Girly Pie, we did not find out her sex (as with all my pregnancies) and I was completely confident and convinced that she was a boy. I remember having pangs and thoughts along the lines of, "I never got to be on the daughter end of a winning mother-daughter relationship. And I wonder if I will ever get to be on the mother end of a right and good mother-daughter relationship." But I was ok with that. I was just thrilled to be having a fourth child regardless!
I am still in awe at times that God blessed me with a daughter of my own. I only pray that He has prepared the right women to come alongside in her life to help guide her toward His purpose for her as He did for me in mine. And I am so very thankful that He has allowed me the gift of being one of those women.
And, for the record, so far I am deeply enjoying this whole mother-daughter thing from the mom end of things. It has been well worth the wait.
Ok. I’ll stop talking now. ;o)
Ok. I’ll stop talking now. ;o)
Friday, December 12, 2008
Women, part 3
Now fast forward a few years to the time of meeting, befriending, loving, marrying and eventually having children with the man I am proud to call my husband…
When I first married my Man, I thought, “Who needs friends? I have a husband. He’ll make me happy and complete.”
Are you laughing with me here? Because I am. Oh, how naïve and innocent I was then. I was a few weeks shy of my 21st birthday when I married my Man. I thought I had it all. We bought our first house three months later and life was good. The neighbors seemed nice, we had decent jobs, the house was perfect for raising a family.
Life was good.
And then the babies came. And oh how long I had waited for them! (well, it felt like a long time... but patience was not a virtue I yet had at 22 years old...) Now, still I thought that aside from my long dreamed-of children, my husband was the only person I needed in my life. I was still under this delusion. I was not a believer at the time, so I didn’t think I needed God. I was close enough with my dad, but I was grown now and didn’t want to “need” him anymore, either. I certainly had no need whatsoever for my mom. And those other women? Oh well. I could do it just fine on my own.
I had nannied for the years before marriage and up to the time Punky was four months old and again, though I didn’t realize it, these women I was working with daily were filling me up with the stuff it takes to be a woman, a mother, a friend. It’s funny how clear everything is when looking back. Hindsight’s always 20/20, right? At the time it was just a job. Back when I watched those children as an adolescent and teenager, that was just fun work with cute babies. But those women, those moms behind the scenes… it’s only now as a woman and a mother myself do I see the important role they played in my life. I didn’t feel like I needed anyone, because I had always been blessed with people I didn’t even realize were there.
But as my family grew and my children got older and needed more of me - the deeper me, not just my arms and my breasts and my kisses, but my thoughts and my instruction and my constant attention - things started to change. Suddenly, my husband wasn’t enough. Suddenly he didn’t want to hear about the daily goings on now that we had our own kids. Or at least he did not want it in the minute and monotonous details that I was so fascinated and enthralled with. Suddenly I had questions and challenge and stories that I could not share with him. Suddenly I was a mother, a woman… and I was alone...
When I first married my Man, I thought, “Who needs friends? I have a husband. He’ll make me happy and complete.”
Are you laughing with me here? Because I am. Oh, how naïve and innocent I was then. I was a few weeks shy of my 21st birthday when I married my Man. I thought I had it all. We bought our first house three months later and life was good. The neighbors seemed nice, we had decent jobs, the house was perfect for raising a family.
Life was good.
And then the babies came. And oh how long I had waited for them! (well, it felt like a long time... but patience was not a virtue I yet had at 22 years old...) Now, still I thought that aside from my long dreamed-of children, my husband was the only person I needed in my life. I was still under this delusion. I was not a believer at the time, so I didn’t think I needed God. I was close enough with my dad, but I was grown now and didn’t want to “need” him anymore, either. I certainly had no need whatsoever for my mom. And those other women? Oh well. I could do it just fine on my own.
I had nannied for the years before marriage and up to the time Punky was four months old and again, though I didn’t realize it, these women I was working with daily were filling me up with the stuff it takes to be a woman, a mother, a friend. It’s funny how clear everything is when looking back. Hindsight’s always 20/20, right? At the time it was just a job. Back when I watched those children as an adolescent and teenager, that was just fun work with cute babies. But those women, those moms behind the scenes… it’s only now as a woman and a mother myself do I see the important role they played in my life. I didn’t feel like I needed anyone, because I had always been blessed with people I didn’t even realize were there.
But as my family grew and my children got older and needed more of me - the deeper me, not just my arms and my breasts and my kisses, but my thoughts and my instruction and my constant attention - things started to change. Suddenly, my husband wasn’t enough. Suddenly he didn’t want to hear about the daily goings on now that we had our own kids. Or at least he did not want it in the minute and monotonous details that I was so fascinated and enthralled with. Suddenly I had questions and challenge and stories that I could not share with him. Suddenly I was a mother, a woman… and I was alone...
...To be continued AGAIN (getting down to the end here...)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Women, part 2
God knew I would eventually be called to be a mother and a wife. I remember being perplexed at my cousin even in kindergarten as she dreamed of fancy wedding dresses and ornate jewelry and decorations… and I just wanted to hurry up and have babies. So God, in all His infinite wisdom, groomed me for the plan that He had set up for me. He knew my mother would be absent, but instead of my heart turning away from that world of mothers, I began to long for that life that I missed out on. If I couldn’t have a mom there when I got home from school, than darnit, I was going to BE that mom someday. If I couldn’t have a mom to bake cookies with me and teach me to sew and cook and bake and talk with me, then I was going to do all that and more when I grew up and became a mom.
I went out of my way to play with other people’s babies. I was blessed with some women in my life who had small children, and since I was a responsible and kind young lady who adored children, I played with them and watched their children often. At the time I was just enjoying the time with small children, but what I didn’t know was that my young mind and heart were being filled with the stuff that families are made of. These women took me under their wing. They loved me, shopped with me, talked with me, comforted me, invited me into their homes and made cookies with me and let me enjoy their children and play with them and feel just a little bit like the (albeit older) daughter of a woman who actually loved her children. Though they were receiving the benefit of cheap or free help with their young families, they were also pouring their love out to me.
And I drank it in.
These women were such a huge blessing to me in my life. They were the ones who actually gave me glimpses into this world of women that I someday would be a part of. And they made it look like a world that I might actually enjoy living in.
And then as I grew into the upper years of high school and got caught up in friends and driving and boys (well, the idea of boys, though no real boys actually existed in my world – also by God’s grace in hindsight) and I moved on from these surrogate mothers in my life, but their presence remained in my heart. I saw them occasionally, and spent time with some mothers of my friends, but I took for granted their presence and only in hindsight did I really see any of these women for the angels that they were...
I went out of my way to play with other people’s babies. I was blessed with some women in my life who had small children, and since I was a responsible and kind young lady who adored children, I played with them and watched their children often. At the time I was just enjoying the time with small children, but what I didn’t know was that my young mind and heart were being filled with the stuff that families are made of. These women took me under their wing. They loved me, shopped with me, talked with me, comforted me, invited me into their homes and made cookies with me and let me enjoy their children and play with them and feel just a little bit like the (albeit older) daughter of a woman who actually loved her children. Though they were receiving the benefit of cheap or free help with their young families, they were also pouring their love out to me.
And I drank it in.
These women were such a huge blessing to me in my life. They were the ones who actually gave me glimpses into this world of women that I someday would be a part of. And they made it look like a world that I might actually enjoy living in.
And then as I grew into the upper years of high school and got caught up in friends and driving and boys (well, the idea of boys, though no real boys actually existed in my world – also by God’s grace in hindsight) and I moved on from these surrogate mothers in my life, but their presence remained in my heart. I saw them occasionally, and spent time with some mothers of my friends, but I took for granted their presence and only in hindsight did I really see any of these women for the angels that they were...
...To be continued again (part 3 will follow soon... I felt quite verbose on this topic, can you tell?)
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Women, part 1
I’ve decided that I like women.
Now that may seem like a strange statement, but hear me out here.
I grew up as the only child to a single father. My mom moved out of the house just weeks after my second birthday, and never came back. She kept in touch and I visited her fairly often as long as we lived in the same state, but by the age of five, my dad and I left sunny California and headed north for rainy Washington. From that point on, to the best of my recollection, I only saw my mom for weekends once every two or three months, plus a week or so in the summer and a decent stint between Christmas and Thanksgiving.
By first grade I was BEGGING my dad to let me get a short hair cut. I refused to wear anything even remotely resembling girl clothes, including anything dress-like, anything pink, or anything with ruffles, ribbons, bows or fancy collars. By third grade I had a complete boy hair cut and actually gelled my hair to a stiff shine for school each day. I wore jeans, frumpy tee shirts and sweatshirts and even my dad’s long baggy shirts. I did not really like to play with girls too much and really and sincerely prayed a few times in my life that God would just make me a boy. I really wanted nothing to do with the world of women. As far as I was concerned, my dad was the only person in the world who mattered, and my mom was really not who I wanted to grow up to be like, so the world of men looked way more appealing to me.
Now the funny thing was I was a slight, prancy little girl with completely feminine tendencies and a girlish way about me. I loved babies and played "house" often. I had girly features and pretty hair (well, it would have been pretty had I let it get longer than my chin) and I flitted around in all my frumpy boy clothes with dainty little mannerisms. But still, I was in complete denial that I was created female.
Of course I didn’t really want to be a man either, and eventually I grew to appreciate the world of women and girls more by the time I hit middle school. I still remember a boy (a punky popular kid – the kind who can say something stupid and everyone else thinks it’s cool) asking me if I was a boy or a girl. I thought (but didn’t say out loud) “I’m wearing pink sweats, Stupid. What do you think I am?” But for the most part, I started making female friends and getting interested in boys and playing with Barbies and all that. So it worked out alright eventually.
Now that may seem like a strange statement, but hear me out here.
I grew up as the only child to a single father. My mom moved out of the house just weeks after my second birthday, and never came back. She kept in touch and I visited her fairly often as long as we lived in the same state, but by the age of five, my dad and I left sunny California and headed north for rainy Washington. From that point on, to the best of my recollection, I only saw my mom for weekends once every two or three months, plus a week or so in the summer and a decent stint between Christmas and Thanksgiving.
By first grade I was BEGGING my dad to let me get a short hair cut. I refused to wear anything even remotely resembling girl clothes, including anything dress-like, anything pink, or anything with ruffles, ribbons, bows or fancy collars. By third grade I had a complete boy hair cut and actually gelled my hair to a stiff shine for school each day. I wore jeans, frumpy tee shirts and sweatshirts and even my dad’s long baggy shirts. I did not really like to play with girls too much and really and sincerely prayed a few times in my life that God would just make me a boy. I really wanted nothing to do with the world of women. As far as I was concerned, my dad was the only person in the world who mattered, and my mom was really not who I wanted to grow up to be like, so the world of men looked way more appealing to me.
Now the funny thing was I was a slight, prancy little girl with completely feminine tendencies and a girlish way about me. I loved babies and played "house" often. I had girly features and pretty hair (well, it would have been pretty had I let it get longer than my chin) and I flitted around in all my frumpy boy clothes with dainty little mannerisms. But still, I was in complete denial that I was created female.
Of course I didn’t really want to be a man either, and eventually I grew to appreciate the world of women and girls more by the time I hit middle school. I still remember a boy (a punky popular kid – the kind who can say something stupid and everyone else thinks it’s cool) asking me if I was a boy or a girl. I thought (but didn’t say out loud) “I’m wearing pink sweats, Stupid. What do you think I am?” But for the most part, I started making female friends and getting interested in boys and playing with Barbies and all that. So it worked out alright eventually.
And thankfully, though I was fairly unaware of it the whole time, God was there all along, working His grace in my life and guiding me right where He knew I needed to go...
...To be continued (part 2 will follow soon)
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