Comfort and Peace

His chest rises and falls
Rises and falls
Rises and falls

As he lies in my arms
All his weight
His whole twelve pounds
Rest on my strength alone

There is nothing he wants more in this world
Than the comfort of love
And the peace he finds
In his mother's arms

And if I could
I would
Stop turning to objects, memories, desires, experiences
Even people with the best intentions

This is all I want
To lean
To rest
All my weight
On the only One

To know the same comfort
To know the same peace
That can only be found
In my Father's arms

Ashamed of My House

Sigh. What do people think of us when they see our house?

Boards in the fence are either missing or hanging on for dear life. The lawn is dead (brown is the new green, right?), which gives our faded-orange-sherbet house a very monochromatic, tired look. The kitchen is also tired, so much so that the dishwasher, faucet, stove, and cabinets seem to be giving up on us, one by one. Cracks and holes in the walls cry out for patching and a fresh coat of paint. The backyard is in its usual state of chaos, like the rest of the house– the house full time of mismatched, hand-me-down furniture and loud, energetic children.

We are the "ugly" house on our street. The "poor" family. "Those" neighbors. Sometimes, I admit, I am ashamed of my house. I wish it looked more shiny and welcoming. I wish I had more time and money to spend on landscaping, remodeling, and decorating. To steal a line from the musical 'Into the Woods', "I wish…"

Then a family from Iraq visits us. We have a wonderful, simple time together learning about each other's culture. Without knowing why, I start feeling a bit uncomfortable.

What do they think of us when they see our house?

A feeling of shame comes over me again, but not because my house isn't as lovely as I would like it to be, but because it is more than anything they have in Iraq.

Air conditioning and heat. Sturdy walls and a roof. Appliances that wash my clothes or heat my food and water. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two living areas. A patch of lawn.

And this doesn't include the amazing food we eat, the general good health we experience, and the feeling of security we have.

I live a blessed life of ease and luxury.

But my Iraqi friends don't lecture me for our extravagance. They are grateful for our friendship and the hospitality we show them. And yet, I know that they have seen refugees run for their lives with nothing more than the clothes on their back. They live among the truly poor– people who live in cardboard houses in the dead of winter. Their church meets in a small building furnished with only old couches and folding chairs. And they are not ashamed to say, "Come visit us!"

It is my turn to be grateful– for renewed perspective, for brotherly love that knows no boundaries, and for a shame that leads to repentance and contentedness.

Fresh and Newborn

My newborn laughs in his sleep. It's a rare and surprising occurrence: his little voice suddenly cuts through the dark like a bright, twinkling star. Then, I can't help but laugh myself. His laughter is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

But my baby has a hernia on his right side, and when his intestines are in a kink he literally screams for relief. His cries pierce my heart, and there is little I wouldn't try to do to take away his pain forever.

No one (except the demented) looks at a baby and wishes pain upon him. We don't hope a sad and lonely future for him; we don't picture him someday becoming an alcoholic, a divorcé, or a soldier suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. 

No, there is something special about newborns. Whenever I go out with the baby, people melt and gush at the sight of the little person. This is because when we hold a newborn, we feel like we are stepping back into the Garden of Eden, where everything was fresh, new, untainted, and beautiful. Our relationships were whole and strong. All we knew was hope and love. We looked into the future and we saw only goodness. 

I understand now how my Father in heaven feels. He looks upon his Creation like I look at my baby. He wishes for us a future full of joy and goodness and days filled with laughter. So He did the most difficult act. To take away our pain. To renew our hope and love. And to make us like newborn babies again.

A Quiver Full

Last Christmas, I was invited to a dinner for our church's pastor's wives. It was a wonderful evening of fellowship and delicious food that made me feel honored and cared for. To top it off, after dessert, we were each presented with an Etsy gift card! I knew that I wanted to buy something extra meaningful as a reminder of that special night.

Not having ever shopped on Etsy, I spent weeks and weeks just browsing through the many categories on the website. How can I best spend my gift? Should I get a new hat? I do have a weakness for hats. Baby clothes? I don't really need any. Jewelry then? Hmmm…

Then I saw it. A simple necklace with a small arrow charm connecting the two ends of the chain. The words of Proverbs 127:3-5 came to mind:

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth.
Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!
He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

The necklace was exactly what I needed. I was feeling inadequate and anxious as I awaited the birth of the new baby, on top of already feeling guilt and remorseful for wanting more time to myself or for losing my patience with my children. And oftentimes, I allowed the fog of worldly minutia to distract me from what God intends for me as mom, wife and friend.

But this little arrow serves as a reminder of the many things I have learned this past year...

…that God has gifted me with seven children, and that my role is not simply to feed them and protect them, but to prepare them to "fly" out into the world. This is my main purpose now, in this season of my life, and God has not abandoned me in the midst of it.

…that to succeed as Mom, I don't need to be strong and perfect. To succeed as Mom, I only need to be a weak person in need of God's power. If my children are the arrows, then I am the bow, and it is God's strong arm and perfect aim that will make the arrows take flight and land where they should.

…that I am still growing and learning to be more like Christ, and God is ever patient with me. My children are also learning and growing to be more like Christ (among other things) and I need to be patient with them.

…that all I need to be Mom has already been given to me through the Holy Spirit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and mercy are at my disposal if only I ask for them.

… (last but most definitely not least) that as God is my model of grace and love, I am my children's model of grace and love.

A new school year is starting. I am well-stocked with pencils, crayons, scissors, and paper. And now I am confident that my spiritual tool box is well-stocked as well, with everything I need to make my quiver full of arrows fly!