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Transplant

April 26, 2010

Day 2.

Today I miss that my husband is the head of our household, especially the spiritual head. While he is gone, it is my responsibility to care for our children’s spiritual needs. Not that I don’t do that at all when he’s around, but it’s up to me to keep up our practices, which is difficult to do when you’re away from home and out of routine.

This morning, I read our family devotions to Isabelle, usually my husband’s job.

“For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.” (Ephesians 5:23)

Before I was married, I thought it would be a lot harder to yield to my husband’s headship because I had been the “head” of my household as a single girl for 7 years. It’s certainly not always easy, but today I realized how much I’ve transitioned into that role.

Spanish doctors recently reported performing a complete face transplant. With my husband separated from the kids and I for a few weeks, I feel like our family has had a head transplant. Fortunately for us, it’s temporary. I’ll be glad to have him back in his God-given role.

21 days of separation

April 25, 2010

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say. I’m about to find out. My husband and I are on day 1 (really, hour 1, but I didn’t want to sound too pathetic) of a 21-day separation – the kids and I visiting family and friends, he finishing the semester.

Already, I miss him. I’m hoping to journal something I miss about him every day, and while our marriage is nowhere near “on the rocks”, I’m hoping this separation will strengthen our relationship.

Today, I missed that he takes care of car stuff, including car seats and such. Without my dad’s help, transferring car seats might have taken me all day. Installing the headrest mirror took far longer than it should have because I’m usually watching the children while my husband is preparing the car for the children.

I cried when he left but I wanted to be strong, to think that I can handle two kids for three weeks without him, but the truth is I can’t, and I can’t wait for him to come back.

Valuables

April 18, 2010

A few weeks ago, a family on our street had their garage broken into. The thief stole a motorcycle and a guitar. Today as we walked home from church, I noticed a sign in their yard for a security system. I thought that seemed a little bit like locking the barn door after the horse is already gone, but I understand why they did it. Sometimes we don’t recognize the value of something until it is taken from us.

I think about purity, and how little it seems to be valued these days. It’s almost laughable to call yourself “pure.” It was in my early college days, too. Those of us who managed to escape high school with some purity intact were pressured into becoming less pure, if you will. I didn’t treasure and protect purity for myself until I’d lost it. And while you can, to some extent, protect what’s left, you never really get back what was lost.

I feel like an “old fogey” when this topic comes up with teens we know. Try to impress on them the value of pure hearts, minds and bodies, and I feel shut out before we’ve even begun to talk. I wonder if it will be the same with my children. Will they want to hear about the mistakes their parents have made and how desperately we want for them to avoid those mistakes?

Where are their examples of purity, anyway? Is there even one “cool” person who could stand as an example of pure living? And I’m not just talking sexual purity, but speech that’s not littered with “f-bombs” and lesser coarseness, humor that’s not based on innuendo, crudeness or at the expense of someone else, and a life that’s based on honesty and integrity.

Have we made those characteristics lame somehow? Do we search in vain for lives that model them? Is this what it’s like to get old?

How do we start over and give purity back its value?

Tuned in

April 16, 2010

Now that it’s spring and the windows are open, I find myself having to retrain my hearing. Yesterday I was washing dishes while both of the kids were napping and I thought I heard whimpering. I stopped what I was doing to listen more attentively and realized it was the neighbor’s dog. (The neighbors didn’t have a dog last spring, so I imagine this might happen more often.) Minutes before the dog whimpering, I mistook sounds on the radio for a crying baby.

Maybe my hearing is going. Or maybe as a mother my ears are just more tuned to the sound of crying. It’s incredible, really, how I can almost completely ignore the sound of someone else’s crying baby because the baby doesn’t sound like mine but then jump to attention at a sound that isn’t crying but sounds similar.

Am I that in tune to the voice of God?

Sometimes, I forget what He sounds like. So many “voices” compete for our attention and not all of them are bad. Many sound like God but when we stop and tune our ears, we realize it’s something else.

A few weeks ago while reading family devotions, Phil lowered his voice instead of competing with Isabelle’s volume. It worked. She got quieter, too. Maybe that’s why God’s presence is compared to a “gentle whisper” when Elijah meets him at the mouth of the cave. (1 Kings 19:10-11) Maybe God wants us to quiet ourselves in order to hear Him.

When I’m listening for my children’s cries, it’s because I don’t want to delay in responding. How quick do I respond to God when He calls? When I read about Samuel responding first to Eli, then to the Lord (1 Samuel 3:1-10) I imagine him quietly waiting for his master’s command, jumping up when he hears it and running to him to await further instruction.

Whisper. Quiet. Waiting. Listening. These are not the words that describe the world in which we live.

So, I wonder, what are we missing?

Nothing

April 15, 2010

I came home from the grocery store a bit heavy-hearted this morning. I think I’m beginning to realize how God has used a simple errand over the course of the last year and a half to deflate my pride. That’s how long we’ve qualified for food stamps and the WIC nutrition program. Using either of those government aids was difficult in the first few months because I always felt like people were looking at me, judging me and assuming things about me or my family. Then I got over it and realized it didn’t matter what they thought because I knew the truth. Now, I’m back to being aware of what people might think.

The last few times I’ve used a WIC check, which specifies the kinds and amounts of certain foods you can buy, the store’s register has not recognized an item that should be allowed for purchase. Most of the time, the clerks are friendly and helpful, as are the managers who help them rectify the problem. Today was about the same, but I just got the feeling that the clerk thought it was my fault that a block of cheese came up as unallowable, and even though the manager corrected the problem and found the price, I couldn’t shake the desire to defend myself. I always want to defend myself in these situations, even if everything goes right. I want to say, “I’m not stupid. I have a college degree. My husband works two jobs and is a graduate student. The stress is about killing us, but we’re in for the long haul to serve people as God has called us to do.”

And then I think, so what? So what if I did explain our family circumstances; what would it help? And why do I feel the need to tell them anything at all? If I’m honest, it’s because I want to set myself apart from “all those other people” who get government assistance. You know, the welfare moms who don’t have a high school education and have four kids by four different guys who sit at home and mooch off the government.

Stereotype much? I’m just as guilty of judgment and prejudice as the people I think are judging me. So, I keep my mouth shut, respectfully respond, and walk out knowing that our family won’t be a WIC and food stamp family forever. Others, however, aren’t so lucky.

I wonder how many times Christ had to hold his tongue and how hard it was for Him to not completely humiliate His hearers with a statement like, “You do realize I’m God, right?” (His response in Matthew comes close, “O unbelieving and perverse generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy here to me.” 17:17)

Instead, we’re told, this was His attitude:

“Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” (Philippians 2:5-7)

This is a familiar passage, but what I’ve missed before is that to Christ, becoming human was becoming nothing in comparison to what He was and is. We are nothing compared with what He is, and we are nothing without Him.

I don’t want to be nothing, and I don’t want to be treated like nothing, but amazingly and unexplainably, in Christ, I am something and someone. To me that means that I don’t have to prove or defend myself to anyone.

Christ did not and He had infinitely greater reason than I.

Shadow

April 14, 2010

“I’m watching you.”

These words from my 2-year-old immediately triggered in my mind the lyrics to The Police’s “Every Breath You Take.”

Every move you make, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.

TMI alert: I was shaving my legs at the time. I’m hoping we have years before we have to talk about why.

Her declaration was not news to me, but it did remind me that my actions, words and attitudes don’t go unnoticed. She also takes note when I wear makeup, brush my teeth, comb and dry my hair, and wear deodorant. I can see the little wheels in her head turning, wondering why Mommy does these things, some of which she doesn’t do yet. Last week, she was playing Mommy to her baby doll, feeding her, putting her facedown on a mat to do “tummy time” and strapping her into the bouncy seat.

Yes, indeed; I’m being watched.

I’ve heard people call little ones of this age “sponges.” I can’t think of a more apt word. While I hope she’s absorbing healthy attitudes, kind words and beneficial practices, I’m too fallen to deny that she also picks up criticisms, unkind words, poor attitudes, frustrations and bad habits.

Fortunately, we haven’t seen many of the latter develop in her yet. I don’t want to be a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do parent, so I think the next 10 (15? 20? more?) years of my life is going to be a time for God to continually show me where I can improve in these areas. In the end, I know I’ll be better for it, not only as a parent but as a Christian seeking to share the love of Christ with others.

Because I don’t want to be a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do Christian either. I want my life and words to match, and at times, for my life to speak louder than my words. As with my daughter, I know any inconsistency in my life will be an easy target for anyone not following Christ to continue not following Him.

The apostle Peter spoke of this in relation to husbands and wives: “Wives, in the same way be submissive to your husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives.” (1 Peter 3:1)

I love the idea that a life lived purely and reverently can win over someone who does not believe. I fall so short of that, but I pray that God can take the imperfect life I offer Him and make something of it.

Paul, also, in giving instruction to Timothy, advised him about the importance of his behavior: “Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.” (1 Timothy 4:16)

“Watch your life.” In my house, I need no greater reminder because if I don’t watch my life closely, someone else surely will. And will what she sees draw her nearer to Christ?

Lord, I hope so.

Hold tight

April 10, 2010

I can hear the wind howling outside. Two nights ago, the gusts were almost scary as a storm rolled in. The living room shades rattled and flapped. Papers flew off the printer and desk. The bedroom doors slammed shut.

We were in the midst of putting Isabelle to bed, and I knew the storm would hit soon. Although she sleeps soundly in her own room, in her own bed, I wanted to hold her close and sleep in the same room. And I wanted to keep Corban with us in the living room. Something about severe weather makes me want to hunker down, huddle up and stick together till the storm passes.

I wonder if we aren’t made this way — to crave community when the going gets tough. Our need for each other never seems to be more clear than in a time of crisis or great need. Think natural disaster, terminal illness, financial hardship or severe weather, to name a few.

We’ve been talking about and studying community for the last several weeks in Sunday School, and we were asked to share how we were welcomed into the community — the geographical and spiritual — because we moved from the Midwest to the mid-Atlantic. I had a hard time voicing my feelings on this subject because we felt very welcome, and we generally find people to be friendly and engaging. We know quite a few people, but we don’t know them well. Sometimes I think I have more of a bond with the nurses from our birthing unit than the people in our church. But maybe it goes back to the crisis and time of need idea.

The people I feel the closest to in my life are those with whom I’ve shared large chunks of life or something significantly out of the ordinary. I’ll always feel a bond with my maternity ward nurses, even if I don’t remember their names or faces, because they walked me through recovery and first-time mom worries.

I wonder if it’s like this for other people in church, even people who have been going to church together for decades. Maybe it’s just me. And I wonder if the church doesn’t need more crises, more significant moments, more life together in order to demonstrate the kind of bond and love that Jesus intended. I think of the disciples and how they held together after Jesus’ death, before they knew what had really happened, and how they held together after that, even when they faced extreme opposition.

At Bible study this week, we were reminded of this verse in 1 Peter: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (4:8, NIV) We were challenged and encouraged to protect and defend our Christian brothers and sisters from outside attack and to stand close together to not leave room for evil’s entry.

I don’t like storms, neither the ones that bring physical rain, thunder, lightning and hail nor the ones that bring pain, turmoil, confusion and despair into people’s lives, but if they’re necessary to form bonds that can’t be broken, then I have to be willing to let them come.

They will know we are Christians by our love. That’s my prayer. That the church will more evidently show itself as a people who rally around the defeated, pick up those who have stumbled, walk alongside the wandering, protect the weak and defend the weary. And in the process, maybe we’ll find ourselves a little tighter.

Sacrifices

April 9, 2010

I’m holding my four-month-old son, who for some reason this week, has occasionally decided his bed is not the place for sleeping longer than a few minutes. As I type, he slumbers contentedly on my lap. A minute ago, he was screaming his head off in his bed. He didn’t nap well today or yesterday. He’s tired. I’m tired. On the plus side, his sister is sound asleep without too much fuss, although 45 minutes ago, I was sure I had entered a contest to see how many children I could make unhappy at one time.

Before I was a mother, I knew this was part of the deal, and by “this” I mean the lack of sleep, the giving of yourself even when you have nothing left to give. Most people know that mothers — most mothers — give up a lot for their children. Until I was a mother, I didn’t know just how much.

Some of the things I, and other moms I know, have sacrificed:

Personal privacy — “Mommy, you going potty?” Isabelle asks loudly, usually in a public place, like church.
Personal space — When I’m trying to rock Corban to sleep or feed him in our orange swivel-rocking chair, Isabelle undoubtedly wants to squeeze in with us. If we’re on the couch, usually the three of us are on the same cushion.
Peace of mind — Even when they’re healthy and sleeping soundly, I don’t feel like I ever completely relax about my children’s well-being. Lately, I’ve been envisioning all kinds of horrible things that might happen to them and trying to put those thoughts out of my mind. I know I can’t protect them from everything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.
Clean clothes — Seldom do I make it through an entire day without spit up, drool, water, food, stickers, marker and who knows what else on an article of clothing. Isabelle, particularly, likes to wipe her hands on my pants instead of using a napkin. Miss Manners would faint at our house.
And while we’re on the subject, a clean house — I’ve never been a great housekeeper, but I’ve never been a slob, either. Since having kids, I have an almost-constant desire to clean, with little to no follow-through. Case in point, there’s hardly a clean dish in our kitchen, but now it’s the end of the day, and I’m tired. Plus, the aforementioned baby is still asleep on my lap. The dishes will always be there, that’s what seasoned mothers tell me, but I don’t really want to be known for my mold collection, either.
Conversation — I’ve never been a great conversationalist. I’m even worse now. I hardly ever watch the news. I don’t read the paper (a journalist’s sin!). I spend most days with my kids and husband, and people will only listen so long to another story about the escapades of a 2-year-old, no matter how funny.
Caffeine and chocolate — My kids will hear about this when they’re older. Every now and then, I give in to the chocolate temptation, but I pay for it later with a fussy baby.

Geez, when I write them out like that, I seem selfish and shallow. None of those things can make me smile or give me an unforgettable memory like my two God-given blessings. Nor do any of those things compare to the ultimate sacrifice a Father gave of His son.

John 3:16 took on a whole new meaning for me after I had children. God so loved the world that He gave His only son to die in our place. I can’t imagine willingly giving my only child to save the life of someone who hated me and might never have a relationship with me.

What a great sacrifice, indeed.

Numbers don’t lie

March 31, 2010

Last Friday night, I found myself both appalled and inspired as I watched two hours of “Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution.” If you’re not familiar with the show, check out this link: http://www.jamieoliver.com/campaigns/jamies-food-revolution.

One of the most shocking parts of the show was when Jamie visited a local family and collected all the food they ate for a week. Their diet consisted of fried donuts for breakfast, pizza for snacks, hot dogs and a whole bunch of other processed junk-type food. As I watched, I swelled with pride. At least I don’t feed my family that, I thought. We don’t always eat the best stuff, but we at least cook from scratch as much as we can and eat fruits and vegetables.

Fast forward to today. I was reading about childhood obesity in my most recent Parenting magazine. The article provided a Web address for a BMI (body mass index) calculator on the CDC site (http://www.cdc.gov/). Our 2-year-old daughter had just been to the doctor, so I thought I’d check it out.

According to the CDC, she’s obese. Obese??? And so are the rest of us. Now, I know that none of us are at our ideal weight points, but “obese” isn’t the word I’d use to describe us. “Obese” is reserved for “The Biggest Loser” types, right?

One of the aspects of “Food Revolution” that surprised me was the unwillingness of the people to listen to what Oliver had to say. Watching from the outside, it was easy to see that what he said had merit. But less than a week after judging their attitudes, I found myself in the same state: denial. As if I don’t have enough parenting worries, now I have the nagging thought in the back of my mind that I might be killing my children.

The validity of BMI as a diagnostic tool seems to be in question. Perhaps it’s better as a guideline than a rule. For me, at least, it was a wake-up call. Spring is here, and even though it’s a chore to get three people — me, a 2-year-old and a 4-month-old — ready to go outside, we need to make the effort because we need the exercise.

And, it was another opportunity for God to show me an area where I could be more humble. As I thought about my reaction to the family on the TV show, this story from Scripture came to mind:

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Luke 18:9-14, NIV)

Obese or not, I need to remember that I’m no better than anyone else, and all of us need God’s mercy.

Kind words

March 30, 2010

Grocery shopping with a talkative 2-year-old is never dull, to say the least. Yesterday, we did our usual rounds to three stores, and in every one, she talked to anyone within listening distance. In the deli line at one store, she told the woman ahead of us, “We getting turkey.” At the second store, it was “I need this” to anything she could see. Usually it’s “I need ogurt” as we approach the yogurt aisle.

Wal-Mart, though, is where she shines. I’ll confess that I’m not always excited to go to Wal-Mart. Long lines. Unhappy people in front of and behind the register. Screaming kids. And more often than not, I can’t find what I need because it’s out of stock temporarily. That said, my daughter has a way of making the experience better. As we cruised the aisles, she would zero in on a person and say, loudly, “Hi.” Some were people who might have noticed her in the first place, but most were people I normally would have passed in my quest to get in and get out as quickly as possible. She brought smiles to the faces of elderly women who were trying to navigate Wal-Mart’s wide open spaces and to a gentleman who seemed as if he was hoping to go unnoticed. She even out-greeted the greeter as we left the store.

“Hi! We going to the car,” she said before he even saw we were leaving.

Her introverted mother doesn’t always know what to do or say, so I find myself displaying that awkward, “Isn’t she cute?” smile and pressing on to the next aisle.

I struggle to find the right words to say to people in conversation, so I often say nothing when I feel I should say something. Isabelle doesn’t have a filter yet to make her question whether she should say something. She says it, and it makes people smile.

At church on Sunday, she looked at a woman sitting behind — a woman we didn’t know and hadn’t seen in our church before — and said, “You pretty.” Everyone who heard her had a shared “oh how cute” moment. I was sort of embarrassed, but more challenged than anything.

The book of Proverbs says this:

“A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” (25:11)

And,

“An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up.” (12:25)

I’ve swallowed more kind words than I’ve spoken, and I’ve let the moment for an apt word pass far too many times.

May I take a cue from a little child and speak from the heart whenever I can.