The Return of My Nastiest Customer

The 'ba' is gone. I'm not even sure how the word 'pacifier' ended up as 'ba', but that's what we've been calling it for the past two years.

And now it's gone.

When my son turned three last Saturday, we figured it was time. I even gave him a few extra days, because I'm also in the middle of training the baby to sleep through the night. But my graciousness is lost on the little guy. And he has been expressing himself today with a lot of screaming and not very much sleep.

Oy vey.

But I tell myself, "This is all a part of his training."

And I tell myself, "Remember the potty thing? It's done now!"

And then I tell myself, "Don't beat yourself up. Stay rooted, but be flexible."

One thing I can say is that I haven't lost my patience yet. No yelling, shouting, or screaming from my end this time. But I'm so tired. I go outside to bring in the diapers that have been hanging on the line since morning. The sweet night breeze blows over me; I look up at the Big and Little Dipper dangling above my neighbor's house. And I know, that though  my child may go through phases, God's promises always stand true.

We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience. ~Colossians 1:9-11

Beauty in the Mirror

I'm trying to gather my thoughts. My son turned three today, and we spent the morning having chocolate chip pancakes (his birthday request) with his godmother and 'godsiblings'. While the children finished watching 'Finding Nemo' (also my son's request), I chatted with Elizabeth about everything from food budgeting to getting our babies to sleep through the night to thrift store shopping, which led us to the topic of self-image.

"When I see myself as through a camera, I see someone who is loud, awkward, and impatient," I told my friend.

"Your self-image is so screwed!" she retorted. "You are a graceful and calm person, and a good listener."

I began to argue back, then paused to think. "You're right," I finally said, "my self-image is screwed."

Why is it that most women hate what they see in the mirror? A woman is the first to say, "I'm having a bad hair day" or "I need to lose five pounds." That's what I did, and still do. For a long time, I hated almost everything about myself, and I couldn't take a compliment. I would brush it aside, not feigning humbleness like a 'proper Chinese person', but really believing that the person speaking was telling a lie. And when I married my husband, I continued this disbelief.

"You're beautiful!" he would say.
"You're just saying that because you're married to me," I would reply.
"No, it's the truth! You need to believe that!"

After ten years of hearing "You're beautiful" nearly everyday, I AM starting to believe it. I'm starting to love myself as my husband loves me, and as God loves me. But that's how long it has taken, ten years, and I still need reminding everyday. In the meantime, I am thankful for friends who remind me that I don't need to compare myself to other women. I am thankful for my husband who simply tells me that I'm amazing. And I'm thankful for mornings like today that, even though I can't quite sort through my thoughts and emotions, leave me refreshed and encouraged.

A Turn in the Road

My husband is now a 'pastor'. I use the title 'pastor' because, though he is not ordained, I don't know what else to call him, as he is now in a shepherding role at our church. But how he ended up with this job (when we were all certain that he would be teaching as long as the school would have him) is another story.

Back to the point. I never wanted to marry someone who worked for the church. My father is a pastor, and I had literally grown up in the church. After years of feeling like I was competing with the church for my father's time and affection, I decided that I would only marry someone with a 'normal' job-- regular, reliable hours, good vacation time, little work to take home if possible. Teaching didn't follow that criteria exactly, but at least I could look forward to the weeks off during Christmas, Easter, and summer.

And now this.

"Wait!" part of me wanted to say. "I didn't sign up for this! I might not have married this man if I had known that ten years down the line he would change careers!"

But marriage doesn't work that way. And neither does God. The part of me that reacted this way was the part based in fear, not faith. And really, in the midst of it all, I find myself laughing because I know God has been planning this for a long time. All my life, in fact. I admit that I was a little worried when the job was presented to my husband, but I also knew that we were perfect for it. All my experience of being a PK ('pastor's kid', for those of you not familiar with Christian slang) made me a perfect candidate to be a 'pastor's wife'. 

A few months back I read an article written by another 'pastor's wife'. I choked as she wrote (with some bitterness) about her husband's "so-called calling" to be a "man of God". (sorry I can't provide the source material, I can't remember what magazine I read this in.) Firstly, I know that my husband was a 'man of God' before he took this job. Secondly, there is no such thing as a 'so-called calling'. God is always calling. The real question is, are we listening? And He doesn't just call about church jobs, and He doesn't just call men. God called my husband to teach, and now to shepherd. He called me to homeschool, and now to support my husband in his new role. The road we've been traveling has taken yet another unexpected turn, but I know that, though the path may lead us through dark forests, calm meadows, rough oceans, or high mountains, it is the path that God is paving for us, a day at a time.

A Simple Song

Your love reaches farther than the farthest star,
Your faithfulness is beyond where my eyes can see.
Your righteousness is as grand as the tallest mountain.
Your justice, like the ocean, is unfathomable. 
Lord, You watch over me, as you watch over all the earth.

Psalm 36:5-6

Braids and Crayons

The trip to Chico for the wedding did have its happy and memorable moments. Driving north on Highway 99, miles from any town, I saw the Milky Way spilled across the sky. A shooting star streaked by us. A large barn owl caught himself a good breakfast and flew home to enjoy it.

Caper Acres at Bidwell Park

The best part was having the time to focus on my family. Without meals to prepare and laundry to do, I relaxed. We walked through Bidwell Park and played at Caper Acres. My husband and I talked during the long stretches of riding in the minivan. Communication and teamwork made every transition from car to hotel to restaurant to car go smoothly.

But there is one occasion that stands out. As I braided and curled my second daughter's hair (she and her older sister were the flower girls in the wedding), she said to me, "Sometimes I feel like I'm missing out."

Memories of being the middle child washed over me. "I know what you mean," I said.

We talked for a few minutes about being the younger child, about being the older child, about growing up. And then I said, "I know you want to be like your sister, but remember, you are you. You feel like you're being left behind, but really, you are on a different path than her."

My daughter's response was, "You can't start a fire by rubbing two crayons together." While I was working on her hair, she was intently studying the crayons in her hand. The conversation was over, but I hope she heard a little of the something I had to say.

Paper Cranes

We just got back from a family wedding. As joyous as the occasion was, it was a bittersweet day. The groom, my husband's cousin, couldn't help but miss his mother, who had died a year and a half ago. My mother-in-law, who filled in as advice-giver and dinner-coordinator, longed to see her sister's smile. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, the groom's siblings, and I all knew that the day would have been so different if Aunt LeAnn was still with us. My prayer is that this marriage will be the beginning of a new season, full of joy, reconciliation, and healing.

And I didn't think that I would be spending part of the reception in the bathroom, shedding tears with a young lady who was trying to escape an abusive relationship. She told me her story, and showed me the bruises, and I looked her in the eye and said, "You are worth more than this." She had witnessed a beautiful marriage ceremony and had come face to face with the reality that there is something very wrong with her boyfriend's 'love'. My prayer for her is that she finds the strength within herself to break away.

Bittersweet. Life shouldn't have to be this way.

Does anyone ever look into the future and hope for sadness and brokenness?

Does anyone gaze upon the face of a sleeping baby and imagine that one day she will live with a man who will hurt her?

No, of course not. But every day, people look back and wish things had been different. They want to go back to being a baby and they want to see their story take a different turn. And I believe that every person, every child, deserves that chance, the chance to one day look back and say, "My life took a different turn."

I wrote this song a few months ago. If I had the money, I would adopt all the orphaned, hungry, hurting children of the world, hire all my grandmother friends, and just love on these lonely children. 

Paper Cranes

She has a closet full of cranes

Folded paper cranes and wishes

She folds a new one every day

Sits and folds and prays and wishes

To fly away, fly away

She wants to fly away too

He has a dresser full of planes

Folded paper planes and wishes

He folds the planes to hide the pain

Puts on a smile but inside he wishes

To fly away, fly away

He wants to fly away too

And I want to take them away

Take them away from that shadow place

To where their creations play

Creation plays and soars

She hears the whispered tales of lore

Tales of faraway lore and wonders

He hears a voice he cannot ignore

The less he ignores, the more he wonders

She turns the handle of the door

The door holding all her cranes and worries

He sees the paper planes on the floor

Scattered across the floor and worries

And I want to take them away

Take them away from that shadow place

To where their creations play

Creation plays and soars and flies

Teach them to fly too

Lips of Love

Yesterday, I was trying to pack up the family for a trip, which meant gathering the clothes and food, grabbing the suitcases, cleaning, making meals, and still dealing with a stubborn two-year-old and an overly-curious crawler. Later in the evening, I reviewed the day and saw myself as through a video camera. I didn't like what I saw. 

So I gave myself a challenge:

Could I get stuff done without stressing out? Could I be just as efficient without becoming a whirlwind that bulldozes over my family?

I am all too aware of how snappy I get when I feel like I'm suffocating under my to-do list. And I am all too aware that if it was with anyone else other than my children, I would be much more kind.

Why is it so hard for me to speak with love to my children? I could ask my son, "Please help me sweep the floor," or I could yell, "Look at that mess. Clean it up!"

I want to be more relaxed. I want to gather my children as an owl gathers her owlets under her wings. I want to teach my children to work, but with care and joy.

Lord, give me lips of love. So that my children will experience Your love through me.

Amen.

Abundant Grace

I haven't written for a week because the baby's been sick. Early last Tuesday, she woke with a high fever that lasted for three days. Then, she broke out in red splotches all over her body. Roseola, or three-day measles, is what she had. So for a week, I had a crying baby and little sleep. Worse than the fatigue was seeing my smiling, joyful baby cry and lose interest in eating and playing. I am happy to say today that she is almost back to her normal self.

During the seemingly long hours of holding my baby, I pondered what lesson could be learned from all of this. It wasn't until yesterday that I knew. I am thankful for God's grace. Where is God's grace in a sick child and a weary mother, you may ask? God's grace was that the illness happened last week, not this week, when we have to travel to a wedding in which my older daughters are flower girls. God's grace was what could have been, but wasn't. And when I think of all the other incidences in my life of how things could have been, I find that His grace is more than abundant.

Like how, twelve years ago, I could have married the wrong man. The man broke up with me and my heart shattered. But by God's grace, I experienced months of pain rather of years, maybe decades, of pain.

Or how I could have pursued the wrong career, and found success by the world's standards. God could have given me what I asked for, but by His grace, He didn't. He led me away from that path, and away from self-destructive pride and greed.

And so, once again, a difficult week of mothering has shone light on God's character. And I also found it providential that my baby's middle name is Grace.