The Dropbox

Tony and I took a trip to Italy in 2007 to celebrate the end of dental school.  I was what the locals called incenta, pregnant with Ana Sophia, although it was too early to know I was carrying a little girl.  We toured several cities including Florence, Rome, Pompeii, Sorento, and Cinqua Terra.  Lazy, beautiful Cinque Terre was by far my favorite place but Florence was a close second for reasons apparent if you know me well - ART.  Florence, walking on the bricks and roads once tread by Michalengelo and da Vinci.  Florence with its tile, family feuds, cathedrals, and endless art galleries.  

With so many cities on our agenda we were on a tight budget.  Yet, we allowed ourselves a few indulgences, one being a two night stay in a Florentine monastery-turned quaint hotel.  High-beamed ceilings, gigantic solid wood doors with tricky locks to suit.  Engraved crosses in every corner and nook.  It was magical.

We woke each morning feeling small in our bed under the majestic high ceiling, the dark-stained wooden beams in stark contrast with the white painted ceiling.  We sauntered slowly toward our morning espresso then out onto the streets, a walk along brick pathed paths to the Duomo.  I picture it now.  Just before reaching the Duomo there was a cartoleria on our right, with fine swirling carte marmorizzate, and little packages tied up with twine in the storefront.  I entered this tiny store, eyes wide with the beauty.  Back out again, stepping down onto the sidewalk then around the corner to the Duomo its exterior littered with scaffolding and ladders, renovation on repeat through hundreds of years.

Everywhere you looked, right or left, tucked away and unnoticed or with the grandeur of a long entrance line, metal detector, and ticket there was art.  It's a surprising thing when you see masterpieces in real life.  They exceed or sometimes even disappoint what you've created in your mind's eye from textbooks and reprints.  Larger in scale, slightly different colors than you expected, so much smaller, textures not perceived in 2D are now fresh and dangerously tangible in front of your eyes.  Tony and I soaked it all in and by the end of the day we were completely exhausted, every sense overwhelmed.  My feet hurt, my knees ached from standing and walking all day.  My eyes literallly burned.  But yet, there was just one more, just one more thing we had to see that day.....

Our agenda was tight in each city, with Rome and Florence leaving little time for casually walking the streets, stopping in for an espresso, people watching.  Yet, it was the unplanned discoveries that remain the most memorabale and exciting.  The traveling Chagall exhibit that just happened to be open until 9 p.m. in an art museum across from Hadrian's column in Rome.  A large banner beckoning us inside.  "Just an hour maybe?  I'm not sure my legs can last much longer."  Two hours later and we practically crawled out of the museum, exhausted but blissfully happy.  So many colorful, joyful images.  Other unexpected discoveries:  The puppeteer shop in Florence, Pompeii and all its many secrets,  cheese and bread dinner looking out our tiny window (just a hole cut in the wall) in Cinque Terre, a restaurant in Sorrento absolutely dwarfed and overtaken by lemon trees.  

(Image from www.facebook.com - The Drop Box Film page)

But there is one discovery that now, with greater life experience I more fully appreciate and understand.  On the way back to our monostary hotel in Florence, just after the sun set we passed a dark, uninhabited, uncared for building that was quickly falling into a state of ruin.   We paused a moment in our walk to study the circular blue and white tondi: roundels picturing small babies, scattered along the frieze above the portico.  Tiled or porcelain tondi are found scattered all over Florence's architecture and usually symbolize the building's purpose, the architect, or the family that commissioned its building.  This particular building was an orphanage and the porcelain baby was a symbol to the common people that children were safe here.  As we walked the length of the orphanage's loggia we found a large, circular stone that was partially out in the couryard and partially inside the building.   After reading a bit more we learned that the stone was used in the 1400's as a way to safely and anonymously leave an unwanted infant.  The mother would place the baby on the stone, turn the stone like a Lazy Susan, so that the baby would then be in the interior courtyard of the orphanage.  The baby's cries would alert the nuns inside as to it's presence and they would quickly retrieve the infant, ushering it to safety.

Twenty seven and preganant with my first-born I could not fathom the circumstances that would cause a mother to abandon her baby.  Turning, turning, turning that rounded stone never to see your child again.  Before experiencing the highs and lows, the indescribable love and pain of motherhood, this discovery of the Florentine orphanage left a deep impression on my young heart.  

The Dropbox movie made an even greater impression.  God was at work in my heart, in Tony's heart to see this movie.  We knew the premise, South Korean pastor creates safe, heated box for mother's to leave their unwanted babies, babies that would have been abandoned to the elements had it not been for this pastor's invention.  An idea as old as Florence, Italy now in modern Seoul.  We knew the premise but we had no idea how deeply this movie would touch our hearts.

(Image from www.facebook.com - The Drop Box Film page)

I think there was a total of 10 minutes when I was not crying as Tony and I viewed this powerful film on an icy March night.  When tears were not rolling, we were laughing in delight over these precious children.  

This movie touched my soul in a powerful way.  For you see, the babies abandoned were mostly disabled.  The pastor and his wife who took them in - called powerfully and radically to care for "the least of these;" to literally be God's hands and feet to the children who would require the most care and love, many of whom would never be able to utter a word of thanks.  At the time of filming this Pastor Lee and his wife were caring for 15 children, many (if not all) with disabilities.  And you know what?  I saw more joy, more prayer, more love, more purpose in that family than any I might witness in a house full of "typical" children.  

There was one particular story-line in this film that pricked my heart, one vital piece of the story that left the deepest impression on me: a mother of a special needs daughter.  This piece is not immediately revealed at the beginning of the film but is rather shared later, bit by bit.  You watch baby after baby entering the tender care of this family.  You watch this pastor lovingly pray over each child.  Meal-times and bath times, and rolling around rough housing times.  And all the while you are thinking, "Who would take on such a heart-wrenching, demanding, exhausting call?  Who would take on this role?  Who would feel such a passion?"  And in these scenes you are not allowed to see (quite yet) the instrument of their calling.  The broken vessel by which God would save many lives.  Long before any Dropbox there was the birth of a man named Eun-man and he is Pastor Lee's eldest son, his son born with severe and profound disabilities.  When the movie introduces 26 year old Eun-man, it does so in the context of the care given him by his father, his mother, and several adult volunteers.  His needs are vast, and suddenly this movie with its joyful overtones turns quiet and somber.  You watch several scenes of the labor intensive, yet tender care of Eun-man, from bathing him to feeding him, to suctioning out his tracheostomy.  

(image from www.facebook.com The Dropbox Film page)

Then there is the scene where I literally hold my breath.  Pastor Lee is talking to his son quietly before asking him to give the camera a smile.  Based on all the previous scenes, all the care his son requires, all his challenges, you are left wondering will his son smile at the camera.  Does he understand what his father is asking him to do?  In the quiet pause as his dad says "Smile, give them a smile," your heart is breaking.  He's not going to smile.  He doesn't understand.  And you want him so bad to smile.  You want him so bad to prove to all of us he's in there, understanding his father who loves him so dearly.  His father who is coaxing and rooting for a smile from his son.  And just when you think there's no way he has the capability to respond, Eun-man smiles for the camera, slow and laborsome but a smile.  Right there in our theatre seats we laughed and cried in relief and joy!  You see, Eun-man is in there.  This man who on the surface seems so profoundly challenged, has this spirit, has this joy.  Lest you leave the movie feeling as though this was a one-time miracle, the final scenes include Eun-man giving smile after smile after smile, all in response to joyous things happening in his presence.  It just touched my momma's heart so deeply.  Parents of special needs children hold out hope for the simplest things and we find such joy, such relief, such comfort in one smile, one signal of understanding.  This film so beautifully portrays that kind of love.

But perhaps more profoundly, I came away with this reminder from Pastor Lee.  God sent our children to this Earth with a disablitiy and He did so for a purpose.  I was reminded of Joseph's story and his faithful declaration to his guilt-ridden brothers, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." Genesis 50:20

Society would say these children are burdens.  Society would say, you parent of a child with a disability, you sibling of a child with a disability -  your life is over, your life now full of restrictions.  Here in America we may not abandon our children with disabilities at the rate other countries do, but we do abort them in shocking numbers, their lives considered not worth living.  Yet, here is a man (Eun-Man) with profound challenges, totally dependent on others for his care but God has used him in the saving of many lives.  Every baby entering that Dropbox finds safety and redemption because God has worked good out of a situation society sees as hopeless and pitiful.  Eun-man's smile, his soul the avenue through which God would save many.  Is there any greater purpose for one person's life?  

The Dropbox film shows the value of human life, every life.  The Dropbox film, Pastor Lee, his wife, and his small army of volunteers demonstrate to the world that every life has purpose, from the servants to those being served, from the helpless to the capable, from the broken to the whole -  healed by God's grace.  Each is valued, each is loved by a loving and gracious God.

"If my father and mother leave me,

    the Lord will take me in." Psalm 27:10

From a Florentine orphanage to a South Korean Dropbox I am learning God's redemptive story for those broken and abandoned.  God's redemptive story for broken me.

Magical Moments

Magic is made great by surprise.  And life is made great by moments that seem almost magical.  The most magical moments of our year here in Florida are those that took us by surprise.

Mother's Day 2013 started with breakfast in bed, balancing trays dangerously on my lap as children bounced around in anticipation of their hand-made treasures opened by mom.  At some point in the morning we decided to take a drive.  When 2/3 tiny heads began to bob in slumber we turned up the Mumford and Sons and cruised our usual routes of historic neighborhoods.  These "slumbering drives" are mini-dates for us.  We talk, we hold hands, we listen to music, we tackle decisions and problems put off to needy hands and night-time routines.  On this particular Sunday Tony pointed the van towards ocean and sand. 

We ended on Amelia Island after criss-crossing bridges over wetlands peppered with red kayaks.  Upon first arriving on the island we were greeted by the typical beach shops of souvenirs and frozen yogurt but even these were subdued and minimal.  As we drove the main drag shops and houses gave way to tropical forests and bike paths.  Where was the ocean?  Somewhere behind the forest? Somewhere beyond the bikers and palms?  It seemed  as though we were the only ones out that day.  Magic is feeling as though you are experiencing something truly unique.  We found public beach access after stopping to stock up on picnic fixings.  Soft pita bread, Gouda with its gritty texture and sharp bite, fancy sodas.  Later as we picnicked there would be sand on our fingers, caked to our thighs, sprinkled in our hair as we tore bread and sliced cheese with the handle of our plastic fork. 

 To arrive at the beach we walked on a path overgrown with trees and palms dwarfing us in size.  Tree branches snaked and curled overhead in beautiful tangled knots.  Mansions with plantation shutters and with as many rooms as a hotel stood silent to our right and left, partially hidden in the trees surrounding our path.  We arrived at the dunes surprised to find ocean in the midst of forest.  Shells were everywhere, whole and pure, crunched and broken.  Tiny shells smaller than a fingernail, giant shells bumpy with barnacles and black as night.  Later in the afternoon I would take a solitary walk as ocean lapped my feet and find a perfect sand dollar.  Magical.  Unexpected.

Magic gives us a break from reality.  And when reality is especially brutal.  Exhausting.  Overwhelming.  Those magical moments seem like a gift from God.  Like a gasp of fresh air after swimming underwater on a trek that never seems to end.  Across the English Channel.  As fast and as hard as your burning limbs can take you.  And at that moment when you feel as though your lungs may burst, you pop your head up and see the beautiful world around you.  You gasp and turn your tired body over to a float.  You rest, for a short time.  We floated on Amelia Island that day.  Then as the day ended we reluctantly flipped over, held our breath, put our heads down and continued the strenuous journey to the shore on the other side.

Our family is tired in a way we have not been before.  10 years of post-graduate training, a total of four moves, 100+ work weeks, and to-do lists never completed, whining in the back of our minds as we prioritize family-time.  Blogs and scrapbooks and Facebook and Twitter, they capture the magical moments in word and pictures.  We are fooled into believing these pictures are someones reality.  But the truth is, they are only snippets of the moments we find most precious.  Reality is found in the parking lot of the supermarket on the way home as the baby melts down from too much beach, too much sand, and throbbing teeth.  Reality is found in the perfect, delicate sand dollar shattered in the breast pocket from a child kicking while atop Daddy's shoulders.  Should we take more pictures, talk more of reality?  Maybe.  Or maybe we should view blogs and Facebook, not with envy of our friend's "perfect" life but with celebration of our friends' magical moments.  Capturing and sharing them brings a completeness.  It brings joy.  But let's not forget that reality lurks on the other side of the digital image.  

The skeptic might say magic is only a trick of the mind.  Sure.  Maybe.  But I don't mind being tricked in this way.  I don't mind believing for a few hours that my reality is endless time with family.  My head on his shoulders.  Their rosy cheeked faces and long limbs racing across the sand.  Cheese and bread and fancy cola and ice cream without worry of caloric intake.  Because reality can wait.  I will not worry about reality and ruin this moment.  I will bottle up this magic and open it on the screen when reality threatens to drown me.  If real-life looked like our magical moments, would they cease to feel magical?  Yes, I believe so. So we need brutal reality to make marvelous magic, don't we?

I am thankful for all those magical moments here in Florida that offered us a break from the reality of fellowship year.  When we reach the shoreline at the end of December, when our real-life waters become less choppy, I pray we will not miss the magical moments because we are less desperate for them.  May my Instagram feed and Facebook updates reflect the magic found in the everyday.  The bubbles blown in the backyard.  The taste of a savory dish.  The quiet moments of naps and reading and flowers in a vase.  Let's capture them all, those magical moments.  And let's rejoice with our friends, not envy them.  They are simultaneously gasping and celebrating as they post their own magical moments.

 via here

The Sea of Motherhood....

I live in a land of snot dried tissues, medicine droppers, and tea wrappers.  I'm surrounded by an ocean of pink antibiotics, sticky and sweet.  I am bobbing at the surface searching for a life preserver, drowning in the late-night wakings, the worry.

This is motherhood.  These are the waters, choppy and perilous.

If one more kiddo throws up, develops an ear infection, or dares to dribble even a bit of snot I may reverse my way out the drive. 

Lu has decided to wean.  Too bad she won't take a bottle.  Or accept formula.  Or drink from a sippy cup.  She would rather have fruit, thank you very much.  Cut in small pieces with a side of Saltines.  At night after everyone is asleep I grab my phone off the nightstand and google "Low milk supply?  How many wets for an 8 month old?  Signs of dehydration."  You know, just some light, relaxing reading before drifting off to sleep.

Vincent is the "The Ill Lone Ranger."  I found him two nights ago wandering the house moaning.  Before I could ask what in the world he was doing and was he o.k, he laid down prostrate on the living room carpet and vomited.  Later that same night I found him in the same position on the bathroom floor.  Literally face down, lips on nasty bathroom floor.  "Must disinfect all areas of house tomorrow," I thought.  Then he vomited again and in stupefied exhaustion I picked him up and carried him back to bed.  "Must wash bathroom carpet tomorrow," I thought.

Then there's Ana Sophia with her immune system of steel bored out of her mind as the nasty cold passes through every member of the family.  She sniffled for a day, coughed for a few then asked if she could wear her track suit to run the neighborhood with the dog.  The long sleeved, sweatpants track suit.  Did the fever go to her brain?

This is motherhood.  These are the waters, choppy and perilous.  You hang on for one more day, hoping tomorrow his stomach will be strong enough to start the antibiotic.  The baby might nurse peacefully as she once did.  The ache in your own head might lessen, just a little.

"For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him." 2 Chronicles 16:9

 

 

His eyes are ranging, searching to and fro.  Then He sees us.  Our heads bobbing on the surface of the troubles and fears threatening to drown us.  He will strengthen us, pull us out in the form of modern medicine, loving neighbors, friends who respond to emergency texts.  In light of this grace, we find ourselves drowning in a different ocean, an ocean of gratitude.  Thanksgiving for bodies that work properly to fight infection.  Medicine that relieves pain and kills nasty bacteria bugs.  Developmental milestones reached.  Laughter (FINALLY!) from raspberries on the belly.  When we count our blessings, we gasp fresh air.

 

This is motherhood.  These are the waters, peaceful and calm.





5 Minute Friday - Remember

(courtesy Jill Aldridge photography)

I am only 33 and yet there are years gone from my memory.  Being young newlyweds is fuzzy now, 11 years in the past.  Certain events during that time spring brightly to life - hosting our first party with our brand-new ice cream maker in the bath tub, churning with rock salt and Oreos.  Our one year anniversary trip to the Hill Country.  But the intensity of emotions that characterized that time fade to the background and what is left are clouded memories of events and places. 

As a young mother I want the older generation to remember the details of new motherhood, offering camaraderie and perspective along the journey.  Yet they offer me strawberry visions of sweet babies grown too quickly.  I understand.  It fades.  The sleepless nights, the angst, and worry are replaced by nostalgia as grown children sprout wings and fly away too quickly. 

So Sarah - remember.  Remember the exhaustion and endless labor that carried on long after you shed your hospital gown for yoga pants and old t-shirts.

When you see the young mother in the supermarket, remember and offer to take her groceries to her car.  Hold the baby carrier as she puts cream and sugar in her coffee.  Divert your eyes or smile lovingly, knowingly as her toddler throws that tantrum.  Stop up your mouth against comments like "You sure have your hands full," and offer instead "How blessed you are!"  Knock on her door, her favorite latte in hand.  When she invites you in, march to her sink and insist on doing the dishes.  She will not be embarrassed because you love her so.  Then look her right in the eye and with deep conviction say, "You're a good momma.  I see it.  You ARE a good momma."

 

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Join me over at Lisa-Jo's on the prompt, "remember?"  I was inspired by the older gentleman who offered to hold Luisa's carrier at the coffee shop today.  His kindness fed my soul. 

 



5 Minute Friday - What Mama Did

I remember her tenderness.  When we were sick she was tender, bringing us orange juice and warm washcloths for our heads.  Tough as nails the rest of the time though.  There were high expectations for our behavior.  Saturdays were cleaning days.  We were to help or get lost in the neighborhood.  Mama was going to get that house clean.

But in the evenings she would read to us in a sing-song voice.  She wasn't one for creating silly character voices from the book.  Her voice was soft and consistent, little more than a whisper.  It lulled me to sleep.  As I rested in her arms, I wanted the story to never end.

Then there were her hands on Sunday mornings.  Too old to go to the nursery and too young to follow the sermon, I rested my head on her lap during the church service.  My mama would lift her hand and using her fingertips, lightly stroke my forehead.  Gently from one end to the other, then back again.  I would close my eyes, often falling asleep.  I smelled her perfume, never too strong, soft and feminine.  There were times she would cease her caress and lay her hand on her knee, just in front of my face.  I would study her hand as the pastor continued his long discourse.  Her nails were cut short, her skin like ivory colored tissue paper spread over large purple veins.  Those prominent veins were fascinating to this little girl.  I played with them as I rested on her lap.  I pushed them down and they popped right back up.  I followed the vein's course with one finger.  Maybe if I pushed with several fingers  the vein would stay down?  Despite my best effort, ,y finger tips were too small and there were gaps in the vein's course that remained plump with blood.  I released my tiny fingers and tried again, this time with eight fingers.  Often she would lift her hand from under my play, resuming the gentle movement across my forehead.  Go to sleep.  Settle down.  Back and forth, lightly over my skin, pulling my hair gently back

 

 

This is what I remember - washcloths and orange juice, quiet readings, and gentle touch.  Decades later, when I am weary or sad I long to lay my head down and feel her gentle, repetitive caress.  Settle down.  Go to sleep.  Cease your worry.  Rest here.

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Join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt "What Mama Did?"  If you have time, read some of the link-ups and Lisa-Jo's week long guest posts on the prompt, "What Mama Did."  It is encouraging to read through the memories of so many.  God's grace is manifested in time.  With time,  imperfections fade away while LOVE remains.  No mother is perfect but grace, grace, grace - what seems to be remembered is LOVE.


5 Minute Friday - Story

{A little gem I ran across today.  How did I forget what a chunky baby Vincent was?  And how little Sophia was when she became a big sister?}



I spent a good part of my afternoon sorting through 3 years worth of pictures, all in an effort to finish up Vincent’s baby book.  And it occurred to me, creating a story worth remembering takes effort.  Sleepless nights, money spent, hours doing for them when I might want to do for me, slowing my pace to match theirs.  This is the stuff of their story so far. 

Making a baby book, blogging about milestones, journaling their sayings, writing of them in my mommy notebook.  Why the effort?  Why the hours spent sorting through pictures?  These pictures, these anecdotes, these thoughts will only represent a small fraction of their life story.  So why do mothers everywhere carefully preserve each milestone, dragging feisty toddlers to picture booths across the world?  Why?  Maybe because pictures, baby books, and blog entries are the beginning of their story.  Maybe they will be the roots their children someday look back upon for insight.  Maybe they will serve as assurance that someone cared.  Their lives were and are of utmost significance.  There are people who delight in pouring over their pictures for hours, just to see their chubby baby faces with food smeared from mouth to ear.  They are wanted and of great importance in this world.  They are watched over.  Delighted in. 

And yet this mother love, this careful recording of their story, this attention to the details, is nothing compared to the love and attention they will find in Him.  The great story He has planned for them.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.”  Isaiah 49:15-16

“From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind; from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth – he who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do.” Psalm 33:13-15

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Linking up late over at Lisa-Jo's.  Join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt, "story?"  Just click on the button below:

5 Minute Friday - See

There are days I cannot see over the mountain of dishes that fill my sink.  Past the peaks of clothes that balance precariously on top of the washer and dryer.  I cannot see past the repetitive corrections and lessons that need to be taught over and over.  Past the Thomas trains scattered over the floor that pierce my bare feet on the way to the laundry hamper to grab more clothes for the next load.  Cannot see past the 15 years of higher education.  Cannot see past this next night on call.  Cannot see past the next unknown.

Can I just muster the strength to lift my head?  Can I strain my neck to peer over the mountains of clothes, toys, dishes, and towels that obstruct the view?  Will this work in the fields of motherhood and residency reap a bountiful harvest someday?  And I know the answer before I ask the question.  We are guaranteed nothing but His presence, His peace.  But I still like to imagine what might lie over the heap of tediousness.  Holidays with children, their spouses, and grandchildren.  Matriarch and Patriarch standing in the kitchen taking it all in.  Their children - secure, loved, loving, and contributing – in right relationship with one another.  A career - patriarch grey, operating, teaching - challenging his students - much loved by faculty, students, and patients.  Matriarch -  home bustling with people, warm tea, hot coffee, books, and a home orderly and welcoming.  It is the dream, the hope that keeps us moving forward.  And the promises – that we are never alone, that all is but passing and all can be used for His good, that He sees the desires of our hearts.

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What comes to your mind when you read the word, "see."  Will you write about it for 5 minutes and link up over at gypsymama?

5 Minute Friday - GRIT

{This picture has nothing to do with the post but I ran across it the other day and wanted to post it.  Feeling a little lonesome for this baby boy - he's getting so big now.}

Parenting is not for the faint of heart, the easily scared, the queasy of stomach.  Parenting is for those with grit, substance, perseverance, and character.  If you are curious as to whether or not you possess this “grit,” take a trip to Wal-mart with your children around lunch time.  Don’t feed them before you go and foolishly bring only one toy.  Watch the sibling rivalry turn heads in the Subway as they fight over who gets to sit in the high chair – the baby doll toy or the 2 ½ year old brother.  She will become shrilly because this is what she does when she’s hungry and he will cry because she is shrilly.  And I will order two kids meals and grit my teeth as the sandwich artist asks entirely too many questions.  At this point I just need the sandwiches.  Don’t care if their toasted.  Any cheese will do.  Do you really have to ask about the veggies?  Sandwiches please before someone starts swinging. 

It takes grit to get on your hands and knees later in the lunch to mop up the chocolate milk little sister spilled.  And when you see that it splashed on the elderly ladies foot behind you, it takes grit to wipe off her shoes while still on your hands and knees.  It takes grit to hold your tongue when the lady has no words of forgiveness for little sister who just apologized five times.  It takes grit to settle disputes and mop up milk all the while remembering to teach about repentence, forgiveness, and grace.   All at the lunch table in the middle of Wal-mart.  It takes grit…..

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Linking up late tonight.  Want to join me in writing for 5 minutes on "grit?"  Hop on over to GypsyMama....

5 Minute Friday - ROAR

I have an inner roar, do you?  It’s the encapsulated roar of my heart when someone is mean to my child.  It’s the ferocious roar of pain when mean words are spoken.  It’s the timid roar of uncertainty when I’ve lost my way.

But the roar I most fear is the roar of agitation.  The roar of aggravation that parts from my lips when they will not obey and I’ve lost the temperance to teach.  The nip of my sharp teeth into their tender hearts with the harsh tone of my snarl.  This is the roar I dread.  This is the roar I guard against.  This is the roar I must “take captive…to make obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:5).”

Momma roars - all at once protective, perceptive, and piercing…. 

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So glad to be back with 5 Minute Fridays.  Will you join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt, "roar."  You can link up here:

Monday's Musings

A Mother's Purse

One of my primary responsibilities as a child sitting in the passenger seat of our Ruby Red Suburban, besides corralling the stray Diet Coke cans so they didn't fall out when I opened the door, was to locate objects in my mother's purse as she drove.  I loathed this task as my mother's purse was always a jumble of gum wrappers, stray post-its, lipstick, and loose credit cards.  Searching for a pen in the abyss of my mother's purse seemed to take ions.  

So you can imagine my shock when I last emptied the contents of my purse onto the table:

It appears as though I practiced juvenile naivety in judging my mother's purse, not understanding that someday I would lug around inexplicable chaos of my own.  Study the photograph above for the contents are rather telling of this stage of life.  Let me highlight a few of the absurdities you will find on closer inspection:

•  Assortment of Small Toys:  Useful for entertaining children strapped in a shopping cart, in their car seats at a stoplight, or while waiting at the doctor's office.  They also serve as cheap, plastic reminders that although I fancy myself a foodie, we eat at McDonalds frequently enough to warrant disqualification.
• Mini-Sticker Pad - A gift for the kiddos from a sweet lady at church.  Recently while dining out the kiddos used these stickers to decorate their Styrofoam cups.  They were entertained for at least 15 minutes - a record for my little ones.
• Mother's Notebook - A constant as writing is a passion and thoughts must be trapped on paper before they fly away. 
• Small Blue Notebook - for jotting down random numbers, grocery lists, and titles of books I wish to read
• Stray Sock - Origin unclear.  It is dirty so I it probably entered my purse when I picked it up from outside.  It is a size 6 months so it either sat in the flower bed for over a year and a half OR has managed to hang out in the bottom of my purse for all that time.
• A Lump of Coal - Don't believe me?  Look closer.  It's the round black thing.  It's origin most likely the Cahaba River Valley where we recently traveled to see the Cahaba Lilies.  Vincent loves to bring me rock treasures like the neighborhood cat loves to bring us his most recent killing, laying it on the front doorstep to be discovered as we walk out the front door to retrieve the mail. 
• 7 Good and Perfect Gifts Booklet - An attempt to capture the small gifts God sends everyday.  Concept and booklet from this beautiful lady.
• Inhaler - I'm an asthmatic.  Diagnosed at the age of twelve, my asthma is exacerbated by exercise and allergies.  I rarely use it anymore because A: The move from Texas improved my allergies and B:  I rarely workout (my lungs thank me, my tummy does not)....
• Stray Headband - Because Sophia never wears them for long but this fact does not dissuade me from putting them in her hair everyday.
• Checkbook - I think only mothers and elderly people carry around checkbooks anymore.  Needed when writing tuition for gymnastics and paying for class portraits.
• Small Bag of Lipsticks - For the two days a week I remember to put it on...
• Billfold - Carries an innumerable "buy 6 ice creams/coffees/smoothies and get the 7th one free" cards.  Also, membership cards to professional organizations and community pools and my blood type card, just in case.

What you WILL NOT find:

• Hand Sanitizer - This may qualify me for "worst mother of the year" award.  No excuses here.  It just never seems to make it in the purse.  Recent studies have shown that over-use of hand sanitizer is harmful to our health long-term.  Well, that's what I will tell you when you ask if I have any on our playdate.  Quoting this obscure study makes me feel better about my negligence.
• Sunglasses - Most likely under the car seat or in the linens drawer, placed there by one of my children and re-discovered when I set out the place mats for dinner.
• An iPhone - Hint, hint
• Empty Diet Coke cans - because they plagued my childhood.  Love you mom!

I hope by opening my purse and laying out its chaotic contents for all to see I have made you feel somewhat better about the stray candy wrappers in your purse.  The inside of a mother's purse is rarely a pretty sight.  Yet, there is blessing in the chaos for the chaos is but a reminder of the living, breathing, beautiful lives that surround us.  Dig deep and you will find treasure - her bracelet, his rock, her artwork, his car.  Treasures and blessing in the chaos - this is a mother's purse.

Monday's Musings

Helpless

Scripture Reading:  Ezekiel 16:1-14

I sit in the backseat, still sporting the maternity clothes, my newborn baby girl beside me in her car seat.  No doubt she’s screaming, the acid reflux unknown to the newbie parents, working its way up her delicate throat causing her to cry most hours of the day.  The in-laws are up front and we are driving around Homewood, picking up newborn necessities.  As we pass the Starbucks, I timidly ask from the backseat to be let out to buy a latte.  A grande non-fat sugar free vanilla latte to be exact.  In purchasing this cozy drink I will engage in ritual making things appear normal again, not this foreign, newborn colic, sleep deprived new mommy world I’m currently experiencing.  My father-in-law pulls over on the side of the road opposite Starbucks and I jump out, readying myself for the familiar scent of coffee brewing and the noise of milk frothing when I hesitate for just one moment.  Freeze in my tracks before crossing the street.  What if a car speeds around the corner and I get hit?  How will she eat?  She’ll starve.  She needs me!  Mother’s instinct.  I glance in the backseat and then make a run for it.  There’s formula, for goodness sakes.  I’m just getting a coffee, not abandoning her to wolves.  But it’s there, the instinctual mother drive to protect my helpless one, my newborn baby girl.

When I open my Bible to read Ezekiel 16 I find an analogous instinct.  Yet this is no imagined scenario of a sleep deprived mommy.   The circumstances are desperate, the story grim, and the threat genuine.  There’s a newborn baby but this baby is abandoned, lying in a pool of its own blood, left to die in an open field.  Though it kicks and cries desperately, no one has compassion on this precious life.  The wretched babies’ circumstances are hopeless.  She can do nothing to help herself and there’s not much time left.  Then He passes by.  He sees her and does what she could not do for herself, He saves her.  Scoops her up.  Breathes life into her.  Wills her to live.  And because her Savior is the Creator God of the world and because He loves her, He lavishes her with riches, splendor, and beauty (Ezekiel 16).

That newborn babe lying abandoned in an open field?  Covered in its own blood?  Flailing and kicking in horrendous circumstances?  That newborn baby is you and me, our spiritual condition no better off than her desperate plight (Romans 6:23, Ephesians 2:1).  Praise God that He passes by and sees us in our helpless state (Romans 5:6-8)!  If we allow Him, He will breathe life into us (Romans 4:17b), purify us from our bloody, sinful state (1 John 1:9, Titus 3:4), and will walk alongside us to the end of our days (Matthew 28:20).  Even though I am confident I belong to Him (Galatians 4:6-7) and that He chose me (Ephesians 1:4-5), I still fall prey to feelings of helplessness (enter ludicrous fear of latte induced starvation of newborn) and sins that threaten to entangle.  When feeling feeble I will call on Him.  For you see, He is “the Lord, my God, who takes hold of my right hand and says to me, Do not fear; I will help you. (Isaiah 41:13).”  I may be helpless, but He’s more than enough for me (1 Corinthians 1:27-31, Philippians 3:8).



It's Thursday....

So therefore, it makes perfect sense in my world to post....

I must confess.  The motivation behind the “Wednesday Book Review,” is mostly selfish.  A lover of all things literary, I find myself frazzled as I turn the last page of a well-written book.  Frazzled because I’m afraid I will forget the characters, the lessons learned, and the details.  Why it stole my heart as I read or why I couldn’t wait for it to be over.  And since I rarely read the same book twice (the only exceptions being Jewel by Bret Lott and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy) I am finding it helpful to record a book’s highlights here on the blog in an attempt to remember those things I found significant. 

I’ve read a good deal of non-fiction lately, some autobiography but mostly parenting books.  Today I wish to highlight a parenting book I completed awhile back, Grace Based Parenting by Dr Tim Kimmel.  Let me start off by saying I read parenting books cautiously.  I am by no means a seasoned mother but what I've learned so far is that my children in no way fit into a compact, tidy mold.    They have their own unique personalities with distinctive strengths and weaknesses.  So until someone writes a book entitled “Navigating the Heart and Mind of Ana Sophia” or “Raising Vincent Laws” I will read parenting books with discernment as to their relevance to my family unit.  Accepting one parenting style or a rigid program of raising children is, in my not so very experienced opinion, like saying one key opens all the locks ever made.

Enter Grace Based Parenting .  I started this book immediately after finishing What's So Amazing About Grace by Philip Yancey.  I read Grace Based Parenting  hoping for insight into how to parent with clear boundaries while still offering grace when my children inevitably fall short.  Upon completing the book, several of my questions were answered but more importantly I found myself prayerful on this subject matter.  All in all, I feel the book was written in response to the  conservative Christian culture that tends to withdraw from society and parent with tight control and oppressive boundaries.  Several of the illustrations in the book were focused on the adolescent years but principles are applicable to all stages of childhood. 

Below you will find a few quotes by Dr. Tim Kimmel that I found convicting, encouraging, and/or applicable to our family’s needs.  I hope you will find them interesting also. {Side note – I was taught in high school to site quotations with page numbers – as a Kindle user I can no longer locate a “page.”  If I’m breaking any rules here, let me know.}

On the importance parenting:  “You’ve been handed a piece of history in advance – a gracious gift you send to a time you will not see-and you play the biggest role in how that history will ultimately be recorded. “

“You have been singled out to do a favor for God.  He is asking you to be His representative to a small but vital part of the next generation.  He needs someone to be His voice, His arms, and His heart.  He chose you.”

On rigid parenting, with tight control: “These parents are deluded into thinking that the families with children who learn to obey the most rules produce the best kids.  Hardly” 

“The real test of a parenting model is how well equipped the children are to move into adulthood as vital members of the human race.  Notice I didn’t say ‘as vital members of the Christian community.’  We need to have kids that can be sent off to the most hostile universities, toil in the greediest work environments, and raise their families in the most hedonistic communities and yet not be the least bit intimidated by their surroundings.  Futhermore, they need to be engaged in the lives of people in their culture, gracefully representing Christ’s love inside these desperate surroundings.”

On Grace-Based Parenting:  “Graced based parents spend their time entrusting themselves to Christ.  They live to know God more.  Their children are the daily recipients of the grace these parents are enjoying from the Lord.  If you watch them in action, they appear to be peaceful and very much in love with God.  They are especially graceful when their children are hardest to love.  Their advice to their children would be a mixture of: ‘You are a gift from God; go make a difference’ ‘You may struggle doing the right thing sometimes, but you’re forgiven.’”

“The freedom children enjoy in a grace based family is this:  They are accepted as sinners who desire to become more like Christ rather than be seen as nice Christian kids trying to maintain a good moral code.”

Dr. Kimmel proposes that children have three inner needs – love, purpose, and hope.

On meeting a child’s inner need for love:  “At the core of grace is love—a love that delights in us in spite of our sin and comes to us free of charge.”

“We need to send them into that time so secure that even if we have long since passed away, they will rest in the confidence that they are loved.”

“Sometimes our love is incomplete because our children feel they constantly have to compete for it.  We tell them we love them and then they watch us make decisions regarding our careers, our friends, or our pastimes that directly undermine our ability to invest the time in them that love requires.”

Dr. Kimmel’s definition of love:  “Love is the commitment of my will to your needs and best interests regardless of the cost.”

“We’ve got to love them in the way God loves us – when they’re unappreciative, when they don’t deserve it, when it’s inconvenient, when it is costly to us, even when it’s painful.”

On giving our children purpose:  “Tyrannical families blunt potential too.  So do preoccupied families and indifferent families and lazy families.  Our children deserve better.  God has left us as stewards of our children’s gifts and skills.”

“Teaching them the benefit of putting higher value on others than they do on themselves empowers them to look out for the weak and disenfranchised people they encounter each day.”

“The standard challenge of a grace-based parent is to help your children develop a workable skill in most areas of their lives and a highly disciplined skill in the area of their giftedness.” 

On grace excluding obedience:  “Grace does not exclude obedience, respect, boundaries, or discipline, but it does determine the climate in which these important parts of parenting are carried out.”

“Relationships without rules don’t result in grace either.  In fact, that is the ideal formula for raising resentful kids.”

“God helps grace-based parents see what matters and what doesn’t matter; what is an issue and what isn’t an issue.  His grace helps you see whether to write the rules in pencil or in blood.”

“Many of our kids do things that annoy, frustrate, or embarrass us, but they are not wrong.  Everytime we point these things out, we tell them that they don’t measure up.  This builds a foundation of insecurity in them.”

“Discipline is one of the key tools God has given to help us groom our children for greatness.”

“Parents who want to raise kids in a safe and highly controlled environment could well think that all this stuff about making allowances for your children’s benign quirks smacks of too much leniency.  I’m not advocating raising out-of-control, over-the-top kids.  But inside the boundaries of respect and honor, there’s room for our children to be the creative individuals God made them to be.  It’s how Jesus parents us.  I have a lot of confidence in His example.”

And one of my favorite quotes from the book:  “Children brought up in homes where they are free to be different, vulnerable, candid, and to make mistakes learn firsthand what the genuine love of God looks like.”

I finished this book convicted and humbled.  I long to be a dispenser of grace in my home because I have known God’s grace in my life, a grace so undeserved.  I have two very passionate, vocal children and I  rely daily on God’s direction on how best to love them, how best to administer grace, how best to teach and discipline.  I mess up everyday.  They mess up everyday.  As the sun sets, I hope we all rest in "grace."

                                                *************************************

This summer I am challenging myself to read the following three books.

May/June – The Mission of Motherhood by Sally Clarkson. 

  July – Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference? by Philip Yancey. 

 August – One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. 

{all images via here}

Will you join me?

Because It's a Calling...

About a month ago I sat on the couch with my "mommy notebook" and jotted down a few things that currently characterize Sophia at 3 years of age.  As I wrote, principles from the Bible Study Tony and I were attending on Wednesday nights came to mind.  The subject of the study was "Discovering your Spiritual Gifts" and  although we spent our time studying and discovering our own spiritual gifts, my mind wandered to my children; contemplating the gifts and talents they were given upon creation.  What are their gifts?  What are their talents? Are they currently and will they someday use them to glorify God?  These are questions only they can answer as they grow in their personal and spiritual maturity. 

Yet, as I sat there in my uncomfortable folding chair I began to feel a sense of conviction that to be entrusted with these children is, indeed, a calling.  And one aspect of this calling is helping my children discover, foster, and use their gifts and talents.  To become aware of their innate struggles and natural "bent towards evil," (strong words, I know, but the truth for all of us) laying the groundwork for obedience, and hopefully pointing them to the only One who saves.  With this in mind I found a renewed purpose returning to my "mommy notebook" and this blog's updates on Sophia's and Vincent's growth.  My hope is that they will someday look back on these blog entries and discover nuggets of self.  Puzzle pieces of who they are.  I know their interests will change over the years, their personalities and character continuing to grow and develop.   Yet, grown-up Sophia as you read this little 3 year old update, I hope you will find (even in these early years) a sense of who you are now, looking back.

Sophia, just like all the other children in this world, you are completely unique.  Here are a few things that make "Sophia" ~ "Sophia" right now.  You appear to be very "relational."  You feed off interacting with other children and adults.  At this age, playing by yourself is a challenge.  You would much rather dance with mommy or daddy, direct other children in the proper way to play "house," jump with your brother in bed, do "school work" with mommy at the red table, or have a grown-up conversation with daddy over ice cream at our kitchen table ("What did you do at  your work today, Daddy?").  You memorize the names and physical characteristics of other children, recalling and recognizing them in different contexts.  The only exceptions to your relational play is the time you spend painting and drawing pictures, and sculpting play-doh.  This you could do for at least an hour by yourself, with little calls for assistance.  You also spend an unbelievable amount of time changing in and out of your dress-up clothes.  Those who know you best, will attest to your obsession with "dressing up."  There are no words for how much you love sparkly, pink pretty things. 

You like being "on the go." Each morning starts with the questions, "What's today?  Where are we going today, Mommy?"  You enjoy "bible class" on Tuesdays and school and ballet on Thursdays.  The rest of the week you delight in playtime with your Jean Jean and playdates with your friends.   You are a "lively, physical" little girl.  I've never met a girl who enjoys to roll around, wrestle, and run as much as you do!

As you entered "school" and bible class this last year you began to exhibit an "outgoing and fearless" personality.  How many times have I met a mother of one of your classmates and heard, "Oh this is Sophia!  Johnny talks about her all the time."   Your boldness appears to make you stand out!  I witnessed this first-hand at your school's Halloween party.  After making the trick or treat rounds, you and the other children gathered in the cafeteria for a magic show.  In an effort to get things going, the magician played music and called for the children to get up and dance.  Every single child stayed glued to the floor.  Every child, but you.  You hopped up and began to dance with the magician in your princess dress and high heels.  And when no one else joined you, you kept right on dancing in front of the whole assembly.  Later when the show began the magician asked for a show of hands for a volunteer.  Yours shot right up and when the magician chose another little princess you were not deterred.  You just stood up in place, marched to the front of the room and stood on the other side of the magician.  My jaw hit the floor!  Fortunately for you, I was in the back of the room with your brother and unable to get through the children seated on the floor to make you sit back down.  Also working in your favor was the magician's good humor.  "You want to be in the show too, huh?  Sure.  Stand on this square."  You know what, Sophia?  I was so proud of you.  Not yet 3 at the time, you stood there perfectly still on that square, followed every direction he gave you, waited your turn when he worked with the "chosen" volunteer (who was at least a year older than you), and sat back down when instructed to do so.  After the show we walked back to the car and I gave you a firm verbal warning to wait until you are chosen and to allow other children the opportunity to shine.  But since the magician invited you to stay I found no grounds for applying a consequence.  During the ride home you were perfectly delighted, energized from the spotlight.

You continue to be, in the words of your ballet teacher, "crazy verbal."  This video is of you at 18 months of age.  Your verbal skills have continued to explode since that time.  On your good days you are genuinely grateful and mannerly in your speech, "Wasn't that nice?"  "Thank you so much!"  "Excuse me, I need to say something." And on your not~so~good days we will hear "Not now."  "Five more minutes mommy." "I need space!" "I sometimes make bad choices, mommy."  Amidst all the sweetness and personality you face the daily struggle of making good choices.  I do too, sweet girl.  My hope is that our firm resolve will teach you the benefits of obedience.  Peaceful, unbroken relationships.  Order and security.

Here are a few other things you enjoy right now:  the farmer's market, the zoo, Sesame Street, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Fancy Nancy books (oh, the Fancy Nancy in our house!!!), books, books, books, and more books, your doll "Marabelle Lavinia Chandelier" ~ name taken from Fancy Nancy herself, babies (your favorite being Judah who is really no longer a baby but will always be so to you), singing, and your family.  How you love family time!  Dancing together in the kitchen, outings, picnics.  You are starting to play with your brother more but things get heated as you both like to be in charge.  And finally, kisses.  Oh how you love to kiss, hug, and snuggle your family and close friends!

In summary, little one, you are a delight.  Each day is an adventure and I never know what you are going to say!  Sweet girl, you may not always be "relational, on the go, physical, lively, outgoing, fearless, and crazy verbal" and I'm not sure any of these traits are an indication of your spiritual gifts and talents but I'm enjoying them while they last.  As you grow, change, and develop new traits, I will delight in you and try to record your growth in the written word.  What a privilege to watch you grow!