Doubtful Moments

Lately, I've had voices in my head telling me that I'm not good enough.

When a mom says, "I find your house a bit chaotic," I can't help but think, Am I not trying hard enough?

When a well-meaning stranger comments, "You must have your hands full," the thought that runs through my mind is, I must look like a crazy and stressed person.

When a friend jokes, "Haven't you guys ever heard of birth control?" I interpret it as, You are stupid and have no idea what you're doing.

And sometimes, all it takes is a look from a person in the store, and the voices in my head will fill in the rest.

Believe me, I am not blind to the mess in my house, I am well aware of the fact that my toddler is strong-willed and stubborn, and I still don't know how I will handle homeschooling, housework, and a new baby when I already work thirteen-hour days, but what I don't need are the voices in my head telling me that I'm not good enough. They make me feel hopeless and weak, completely naked and vulnerable.

So, what do I do now?

This week, I was rereading the last chapter of Ephesians, the section that describes the armor of God. Perfect timing, as always. I was reminded that the comments may come from people, but we are not always fighting against flesh and blood. More than that, what I realized in my reading was that I can fight naked, or I can fight clothed. If I am naked (as the Enemy wants me to be), I cannot win. But clothed in God's armor, I have His protection, His strength, and His victory.

P.S. Sometimes, it is better to think twice about a comment or joke. If it's not entirely encouraging, maybe you (or I) shouldn't say it.

If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

Do you have days when you step back to observe the world, but find the view overwhelming? So much pain, so much horror, so much injustice and hopelessness...

I re-stumbled upon Emily Dickinson's poem last night, one that I have always loved. Such a simple poem, but so full of hope and compassion. It gave me another perspective, reminding me that all is not lost.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain. 

Pruning

I'm confessing. I have a habit that needs breaking. It's a habit I had to break before, but now it's crept up again on me.

Some of you have your coffee, some have your tea-- whatever it is that you must have before you feel like you can really start your day. I don't drink coffee, and I try not to become dependent on tea, but I had begun to feel incomplete in the morning if I don't hop onto the Internet first thing. My excuse was, "I'm checking my e-mail and planning my day" or "I have a deadline" but really, I knew better. It was becoming an idol.

When I found my thoughts wandering to the Internet more and more throughout the day, I knew I had missed my chance to prune this sin while it was still small. A few years ago, I was jumping onto the Internet every time I felt alone and removed while at home with my little ones. It's coming back. I start thinking, "Maybe someone e-mailed me" or "I wonder if anyone commented on my photos on Facebook?" Usually no one has, or at least, it wasn't anything urgent, and I end up wandering aimlessly from site to site for a few minutes, wasting my precious time. The 'web' was aptly named.

So I have made a rule for myself: no computer whatsoever until I have read my Bible. I was building the foundation of my days on the computer, not on God's word. I decided to start with the epistles of Paul. Right now, I'm in Ephesians, chewing on one section at a time.

This morning, after my new morning routine, I went outside to hang the laundry. I decided it was also a good time to prune the cypress trees in the back; most of them were looking scraggly. Some leaves were so overgrown that they were hanging and pulling the whole branch down. As I snipped and strained, I noticed how one tree in particular looked green and healthy on the outside, but the more I trimmed back, the more I saw the brown and dead branches closer to the trunk. Oh, how sin can grow and cover and deceive! I also thought of the tool I was using, and how it would hurt if it was my finger getting cut, instead of a tree branch. I'm grateful that God's pruning doesn't always hurt. If I'm obedient early on, it's only uncomfortable for a short while. But it still is hard work. My shoulders ached as I reached for the upper branches, and my hands were sore from pressing on the handles of the clippers for those extra-thick branches. But the trees look lovelier now.

We are creatures of habit. Idols are easy to come by, oftentimes, without our knowing. But if I may be permitted to write as Paul wrote centuries ago in I Corinthians 1:31 ("Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord")-- If I must have habits, let them be habits of Christdom.

(oh, and if I am not replying to e-mails and such as quickly as I used to, please forgive me.)

A Special Saturday

We attended the Livermore Rodeo parade for the first time yesterday. What a lovely morning it was! (I wish I had photos, but I always forget the camera when I'm packing a lot for an outing.)

First, Livermore has not yet lost its small-town feel. Though I only saw one person I knew at the parade, just being there made me feel like I was a part of this amazing community that happened to be called Livermore. We sat outside a toy store called KoolyKats, which was not open because the store's owners were dressed in cat costumes and driving a hot rod in the parade! Right after they were done, they were outside the store, still in costume, greeting people (including my children). It definitely encourages me to continue supporting our small local businesses.

Second (oh, I'm listing again!), I saw some gorgeous horses: whites, browns, piebalds, palominos; dainty Quarter horses, stocky work horses, dancing prancing horses. They are (in my opinion) one of God's most beautiful creations. Took my breath away.

Third, I never knew that there are so many organizations out there for war veterans who want to keep on giving! From clowning to music making, these vets are active in the community! And seeing them march in their uniforms always brings tears to my eyes.

After the parade, my husband announced that he was taking our oldest son... somewhere. He didn't really have a plan, but what was important was that my son was spending more time with his father, and less time with me. We know that this is the time to pave the path that will guide him into young adulthood. 

Not having my oldest with me meant that I was alone with the girls (and the baby, but he was ready for a nap as soon as we arrived home.) The girls and I spent a half-hour together in the kitchen preparing food. If the garage is a "man's workshop", then the kitchen is mine. I love chatting while I work in the kitchen! We pulled ingredients from the refrigerator so my oldest daughter could make her unique yogurt concoction (someday, we'll share the recipe!). She started pitting cherries, and I started chopping vegetables for a salad. While we worked, side by side, we talked about mixing bowls, measuring spoons, and why we enjoyed baking. Nothing super deep, but I enjoyed talking to my daughter person-to-person. She is at an age where I don't need to hover over her as she cut and mixed, and she is ready and willing to learn some womanly wisdom from me. My flowers are starting to bloom! I too am paving the path that will guide them into young adulthood.

It was a busy, busy day, but I like having moments that make me stop and take notice. It's those little things that I remember the most.

Home

My 4-year-old is on a rhyming spree. She come up with random little couplets, and repeats them for several days. Usually, they involve a sibling or an animal; for example:

"No!" said the pig who was wearing a wig.

"No!" said the cat who was wearing a hat.

Fun and silly, we get a good laugh out of them.

The other day, she was in a rhyming mood again, and started spinning a long, rather elaborate poem while playing in the other room. I was only able to really hear the end of it, when she walked into the room where I was working.

"...and then you're home, and your home is a poem."

My first reaction was, "That is such a good rhyme! And such a sweet sentiment!"

But the phrase stuck with me. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not just 'sweetness'. Sweetness is splitting a cookie with a friend. This goes much deeper than that; it's giving your friend the whole cookie. 

I started asking myself, "Is my home a poem?" I sometimes want a Thomas Kinkade home: vines climbing up the side, warm firelight shining out through the windows, the countryside blooming all around... some would say that that is poetic. I will probably never have a house that fits that description. But how do vines and a fireplace make a home anyway? Or matching furniture? Or retro flea market finds? I'm asking myself the wrong questions. This is what I should be asking: Do I lose my patience and raise my voice too often? Do I overly criticize my children? Do I praise them, hug them, and kiss them enough? Do I make judgments and hold grudges? 

The reality is that I cannot give my children a farm, or a beautiful large backyard, with a pony, playset, and tree house. They will never have individual bedrooms, or designer bedroom sets (I haven't even put curtains up in their rooms yet!) But we have a home. It may not look impressive, but it is a home. We play board games and hide-n-seek in the dark. We read books and eat dinner together. Our garden is not professionally done, but the children are right by my side, digging the holes and pulling the weeds. We don't have satellite TV (or cable), but the kids look forward to 'Saturday Morning Cartoons' with their dad. It's easy for me to get distracted when I start comparing my family to what other families do or have, but I can make up for anything 'lacking' by knowing that to be a homemaker is a calling. If I strive to love my children for whom God made them to be, and not let busy schedules, worldly standards, or my own sinful nature get in the way, my home will be a sanctuary. If I am a  peacemaker, and teach my children to be the same (my husband and I never allow teasing or 'sibling rivalry'), my home will be a haven. If I build traditions, like half-cakes on half-birthdays and advent stockings, and decorate my walls with my children's art, and stay on top of the cleaning (yes, this is important too!), my home will be a place where my family wants be. Then, my home will be a poem.

Where every member is perfectly loved

Where every member feels safe and secure

Where every member knows he belongs

Where everyone feels joy and peace

Where a family wants to be together

Where a family wants to be

This is home