Tuesday 29 April 2014

The Case of the Missing Stuffie

Places I looked for Baby Bear Blue:
kitchen 
bathroom
L's room 
boys' room
living room
dining room
our room
back landing
behind kitchen door
behind L's door
L's laundry basket
behind bathroom door
in the tub
behind boys' door
boys' laundry basket
back patio
garage
stroller
downstairs
kids' dishes drawer
kitchen sink
fridge
pantry
Niko's backpack

Time spent:
22 minutes

Place found:

The Needs are so Big

kids living without love
without kindness
without wisdom
without hugs
without joy
without curiousity
without safety
without gentleness
without picnics
without bike rides
without cuddles

kids living with hate
with apathy
with conflict
with fists
with bruises
with heartache
with secrets
with fears
with selfishness
with children as parents
with hopelessness
with no memory of anything else

kids living with parents who don't honour them
relatives who don't want them
social workers who don't know them

kids living in filth
in poverty
in hotels
in danger
in shame

kids who need kindness that surpasses what they have known
patience that will hold them as long as it takes
wisdom that helps them confront, deal, and grow
hope that one day they can love and be loved

i am unaware of how to begin
unable to convince my husband
unsure of my family's response
uncomfortable with the size of the need
uncertain of God's plan

but to kids living without
i am living with
with gifts
with passions
with willingness
with a God who can

do something

show me one need

Saturday 26 April 2014

Colin and Shelley

The look isn't meant for me to see, but I catch it as it darts across the room between you.  A half-smile sneaks onto my face, but I quickly disguise it so you don't know I'm onto you.

You are both enjoying the evening immensely as you gracefully navigate hosting in your home, teaching and guiding our drumming, and reveling in the rhythm yourselves.  The few feet of space and the many decibels of drumbeats don't bear the slightest hindrance to your connection.  Your eyes are closed as you beat in time with the group, but you both glance up at the same moment and I see it again.  It doesn't matter who else or what else - you are one.

Later  in the evening you are sitting side-by-side and your bodies are as in sync as your souls.  Without any effort you are drumming the same pattern, hand for hand, your mannerisms mirrored in each other.  You notice it too and catch each other's gaze with a grin.

Your attunement to each other is born of years together.  Of wooing and pursuing, of kids and kisses, of homes and hand-holding, of ups and downs, of supporting and encouraging, of being there.  Not by accident, but deliberately being present to each other.  I don't need to hear your story, I can see it and I smile.  You are one of those couples who makes marriage look so good!

Thursday 24 April 2014

A Letter to My Body

Dear one,

You and I have been together since the very beginning of our lives.  Right at the start, before I knew any different, we got along just fine.

At some point, however, I noticed that you were not me and I was not you.

I gained some confidence in me.  Slowly, mind you, but I did.  And so I separated myself from you.  And now?  Now I recognize leadership and compassion in myself and nurture them.  I love my quick wit and my spontaneous way with words.  I am growing into patience, humility, and servanthood.  I love freely and forgive easily.  And I have come to appreciate these parts of me.  I have become quite comfortable being "beautiful on the inside."  Even if it has been a consolation prize that attempts to hide my issues from myself.

But you?  You were just kind of in the way.  I mean, you weren't hideous and didn't detract from the parts of me I loved, but you didn't help either.  You grew zits well past when it was socially acceptable.  Your thighs have always rubbed together, and it has bothered me as long as I can remember.  Your breasts were okay, but sure never got the attention breasts are supposed to get.  Your chin has this incessant hair follicle that does not give up.  Your feet have become hard, crusted, and a far cry from delicate.  And then most recently, your midsection has overstepped its bounds in a tragic way.

I have never hated all of you, but I have been irked by this or that at various times.  I have distanced myself form you and I have certainly never loved you.  I have become a master at drawing little attention to you, making sure to dress in such a way as to disguise what needs disguising.  To sit in such a way as to hide what needs hiding.  To move in such a way as to cover what needs covering.

I am sorry.

I am sorry that I have neglected to give you the credit you deserve.  I am sorry that I am ashamed of you.  I am sorry that I frown at you in the mirror.  I am sorry that you do not get the respect, honour, or appreciation you deserve.  I am sorry I discredit your Maker by harbouring negative emotions toward you.

You are not just a means to do the things I love to do.  You are not just a vehicle to get me the places I want to go.  You are me.  You are me and I am sorry for the disconnect I imposed on us long ago.  Today I recognize that I was wrong so many years ago.  You are me and I am you.

I can look at many parts of us (you and I) and be grateful for the way God made us.  The gifts and talents and abilities he wove into our being.  But most of those are on the inside.  That part is easy.

Today I claim the outside too.  I decide to believe the Highest opinion of me:  That I am as beautiful as He says.  Because He says so.  Nothing I see in the mirror will disqualify me from being beautiful today.

Lord Jesus, help me breathe in these words until I believe every one of them.

Wednesday 23 April 2014

He says of My Body

Bits of yourself you don't really like
Each declared
Altogether beautiful, my darling
Understand this
There is no flaw in you
I knit you together
Feel the truth of my words
Upon you I have breathed 'good'
Let yourself trust my highest opinion of you

Origin of Words

uncontainable
bubbling over, eruption
bursting at the seams, stuffed to the gills
crammed brimming, filled and spilling
saturating its surroundings 
with goodness and grace
drowning its domain
with anger and rage
restorative
devastating
far-reaching either way
out of the overflow
of the mouth
the heart speaks

Tuesday 22 April 2014

Running

ready to go, as always
same black shorts, same orange hat
start slow, warm up
blood flowing, heart pumping
breathing's steady, here we go
choose a song, pick up the pace
run from my troubles, run from myself
don't think, just push harder
turn the corner, head north
avoid puddles, duckin' and dodgin'
nod to cyclist, cringe at cool breeze
stitch in side, careful breaths
knees jarring, first third
now to the east, speed up again
enjoy the sun, it's just getting good
deeper breaths, longer strides
zone out, forget for a bit
1 2, left right
getting tired, losing steam
don't give up, don't slow down
must be faster, must be fitter
pushing through, marking steps
round the bend, to the south
back in the shade, past halfway
redouble efforts, find a good song
energy building, pain subsiding
hitting my stride, feeling good
sweating, smiling
I got this, last turn
west again, home stretch
kids waiting, supper time
a bit of wind, legs burning
so tired, going to make it
one more song, just keep on
out of breath, final push
stop the timer, home

Monday 21 April 2014

Little Pip

Dear Little Pip,
Your daddy is not yet sure about you, but I feel like you are so real.  I pray for you, for your protection.  That your little heart can withstand what is happening or will happen to you.  Because while I am excited for you to join our family, I know that you will only come because of heartache and tragedy.  So I love you and want to hold you in my arms, all the while knowing how bittersweet that will be for both of us.  Things will never be easy, but I know God is preparing me for you.  While I try to give you what you need, I will point you to the One who can surely fill those holes and smooth those bumps.  I am waiting for you, Little Pip.
Love, Mom

Thursday 17 April 2014

Toes

Gloriously much depends upon
these perfectly pudgy toes
emerging contentedly from cozy
resting deeply in vulnerability

Wednesday 16 April 2014

Default Settings

You are always telling me that someone is funny.

Moni plays peek-a-boo with you over the bookshelf and you come running back to me to report that "she is funny."  A lady on the bus asks you were you are going and you smile goofily, declaring that "she is funny."  Mr. Alan asks to ride on your tricycle and you giggle out the words "Mommy, he is funny."

Don't you see, Kai-Bear.  It's you.  Everyone you meet seems funny to you, because you are extraordinarily hilarious.  It's infectious and reflective.  Your natural tendencies toward funniness bring out the sillies in everyone else.  It's my favourite thing about you.  It doesn't matter where or when or with who or what else is going on.  You have the divine gift to pull goofy out of your pocket and toss it in the air like confetti.

We all know it.  Niko often mentions that you are the funniest.  (As a sidenote, he labels himself the strongest/fastest and Lachlan the cutest.)

Funny is not only what you do best, but it's the lens through which you see everybody you meet.  It's your default setting.

It makes me wonder what my default is, because it may also reflect what is most prominent about my own personality.  If the vast majority of people I meet are pessimistic, maybe negativity is the lens I'm looking through.  If they exude apathy, maybe disinterest is my default setting.  If they complain, perhaps I have my dial set to grumble.

Let the little children come to me...because the kingdom of heaven belongs to people like these.
Matthew 19:14

Monday 14 April 2014

Fine

One day I will need to make money again.  And one day I will want to work again.

But I just can't wrap my head around teaching.  A full-time job intimidates the snot out of me.  I'm not sure if/how my family would survive.  And it certainly wouldn't be healthy for us in the near future.  Substitute teaching could work and I think it would be fine.  I don't dislike it, and sometimes I even like it.  I'm fine at it, maybe even bordering on good.  :)  The hours are fine and if I could get into the kids' school it would actually work quite well.

But, the memories of Lindsay and Alex and Emily and Josh and Marshall.  Sigh.  I miss my work with kids who have special needs.  I miss reading all about disabilities, memorizing the ins and outs of the theory, meeting the kids, learning what makes them tick, letting them teach me, picking their parents' brains, anticipating their needs, building relationships with them, helping them be successful, loving them and their families.  Man, I felt so alive.

I'd almost forgotten.

Last week, a friend told me a story of doing respite with a young woman who has Down Syndrome and going with her to a work dinner.  I was totally into it.  Unnaturally so!  I cared about the guy who couldn't cut up his chicken, the one who couldn't find his way back from the bathroom, and the one who was too nervous to dance.

My heart beats a bit faster when I think about that work and my skin tingles when I recall certain stories.

I want to find a place to work with people who have special needs at a time and in a way that brings in an income and allows me the time I need with my kids and my husband.

I want to be at the center of God's calling on my life.  I feel like classroom teaching would be just missing the target.  It would be 'fine', but long-term?  Long-term I'm not interested in fine.

Friday 11 April 2014

Sweet Voices

The two of you chatting in your room is the most perfect way to drink in a new morning.  A slow start as you read some books, your sweet voices greeting each other with little-boy-conversation.  No baggage from yesterday's fights.  No expectations or preconceptions.

E, can you and me read this?  What colour shirt do you want to wear today?  You should wear that hat backwards.  What are we going to do today?  Can you do it with me?

I am so thankful that you have each other.  I hope your differences in personality, skills, attitudes, gifts, hobbies, interests, choices, jobs, friends, girlfriends, careers, wives, and everything else don't get in the way of this.  Two brothers hanging out together, taking an interest in one another.

May you always be free to chat without inhibitions, preconceptions, and baggage.  May you be simply present to each other.

Thursday 10 April 2014

Wait For It

Wait.

Wait until you're married.  True Love Waits.  No sex before marriage.  Make a promise.  Sign the pledge.  Wear the ring.  Set your boundaries.  Kiss dating good-bye.  Save yourself.

Parents, teachers, pastors, youth leaders, everyone spent a good deal of time and energy convincing my whole generation of the church about the importance of waiting to have sex until we were married.

But then what?

Why did no one spend any time ever telling me what I was waiting for?  Once I'm married, then what?

What do I need to know about sex?  Where does it go after the passionate-can't-stop-ourselves movie portrayal?  What if it's not awesome every time?  What if I don't feel like it?  What if I don't feel beautiful, attractive, sexy?  What does it look like long-term?  What if I don't love it all the time?  What is the goal?  What if it doesn't connect us the way other things do?  Is good enough good enough?  What if I turned him down one too many times and now he doesn't try?  What if I'm pregnant and uncomfortable?  How do we get over being raised so conservatively?  How do we talk about it to each other?  Can we talk about it with friends?  How do we change the message our kids receive?

I waited, but now what?

This course I'm starting is going to be amazing.  I can feel it already.  We haven't hardly begun and I can sense that powerful things are going to happen in me.

I want to love the body God gave me.  I want to love sex the way God intended it.  I want to love my husband in the middle of it all.

Tuesday 8 April 2014

In Him

You're looking at them, but you're seeing me.  I can feel it.

He's having a melt-down in the middle of the store and you're staring.  I know what you're really seeing and it's not the child kicking, screaming, and demanding what he cannot have.  You're seeing me.  The mother who must give in to temper tantrums or they wouldn't be happening.  The mother who clearly does not have any control over her child's behaviour.  Who obviously doesn't set boundaries or expectations.

Or at least that's what you think you're seeing.  

And I admit, I'm seeing it too.  I look at them squabbling over a toy, shouting at each other in the back of the van, deliberately disobeying and I see exactly that mom.  The one who doesn't always follow through, who doles out irrelevant consequences, who isn't always consistent, who can't seem to teach empathy, kindness, or grace.  

I can't help but look at the faults of my children and see my parenting reflected in that black hole.  It's me.  It's something I did wrong.  Or didn't do at all.  Is it too late?  What if I've really messed this up?  

In my children's actions, there I am.  

Or am I?

In him I live and move and have my being.  Acts 17:28

In him.  Not in my children, not in my role as their mother.  Not as a wife, a sister, a daughter, a woman.  In HIM.  

I am their mother, but I cannot control another's choices.  I can guide, but I am not ultimately responsible for every action.  And.  I.  don't.  have.  to.  be.  My children don't need to define me.

My identity is in Christ.  I him I have my being.  In him I live and move and drum and write and run and sing.

Friday 4 April 2014

Dear Oldest Child

Dear Niko,

You are the oldest and I love that I get to experience so many firsts with you.  My firsts as you made me a mother and provided ample opportunity to learn and grow and conquer new skills in my new identity.  And your firsts and you take every opportunity to learn and grow and conquer new skills.

You are the oldest and you set the tone for the two that follow you.  How you speak, how you act, when you laugh, when you cry, what you wear, what you enjoy sets the standard for your younger brothers.  They are, of course, their own personalities.  But in many ways they follow in your footsteps, always trying to keep up with you.

You are the oldest and I put a lot of responsibility on your shoulders.  There are times when it has been unfairly placed there and I am sorry.  You are human, you are four years old, and you are as much a sinner as I.  I am sorry for when I have expected perfect behaviour from you.  I am sorry for when you have been unjustly punished.  I am sorry for when I have worn my disappointment on my sleeve and it has hurt you.  I am sorry for belittling you by comparing you to your brother.

I am especially sorry if I have made you feel like less than, because that is just untrue.

You are more intelligent than I expect and it surprises me daily.  You have more strength than you think, as you help me get the stroller through the snow.  You have more courage than you know, as you venture into unknown adventures.  You have more empathy than ever as you interact with Lachlan, Kieren, and other little ones.  You have more independence by the day, tackling tasks proudly on your own.

You are more and more amazing to me every day, as you and I discover together the person God created you to be.  I am more and more thankful to God for blessing this family with the gift of you.

Love,
your humble and grateful mommy

R-e-s-p-e-c-t

I'm trying so hard to raise my kids well.  I want them to be gentle, kind, and caring.  I want them to feel empathy and respect for each other.  I want them to be the kind of kids other people want to be around.  I feel like we're working so hard towards those things through example, reflection, and discipline.  And yet also trying to balance that with overflowing love and affirmation so we don't spend the whole day scolding and assessing behaviour.  So it's particularly deflating to come home to a babysitters negative report.  It's disheartening to see evidence of wild behaviour, hear tales of fighting, and even confessions of disobedience.  It wounds me so deeply to know my children were not obedient and respectful of another adult or teenager in charge.  My tears are evidence that I care about this and take it seriously - as a reflection on me, if not my children.

Wednesday 2 April 2014

This Pregnancy

Just as with every pregnancy, there is much anticipation.  Excitement coupled with apprehension colour my thoughts and prayers.  

I daydream about you sometimes, wondering what you look like, what you are like, what parts of your life I am missing, how you will fit into the fabric of our family.  I wonder how your brothers will adjust to you and whether they will love you like I do.  I wonder what your struggles will be and how we will deal with issues and baggage.  

I know I'm not ready for you yet, and perhaps I never will be fully ready.  I have no idea how long this pregnancy will be; it could very well be years.  

As I wait and hope, all I can do is prepare my heart.  In the same way that I prepared for the pain of labour and birth, I now read, pray, think, anticipate, and allow God to prepare my heart for the emotional pain that will accompany bringing another child into our family.  Allow Him to deepen my dependence on Him, to strengthen my relationship with my husband, to build trust and confidence in my children.  So that we have something very very good to cling to when you come and things fall apart for a while.  

Because they will fall apart.

Lord, I want to drink deeply of your goodness.  To cling tightly to your grace.  To jump higher with your joy.  To sing loudly of your glory.  To build what we have on a strong foundation, so as to weather the coming storm.

Tuesday 1 April 2014

Evening Cuddle

Snuggled under the airplane quilt that his Grandma made him and clutching his ratty-looking stuffed monkey, he drapes his arm lazily but deliberately around my neck.  My face pressed against his, I feel him blink.  I taste one of his salty tears, a remnant from the daily hurdle of getting into bed.  His voice meshes with mine as we sing together, words he does not yet understand.  "Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me.  Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away."  Every night he picks the same song.  The truths are so profound I can only hope they will filter down into his heart to be understood years from now.  I feel his jaw moving in time with mine as we sing, his raspy voice praising his Creator, his breath tickling my ear in this moment that is never wasted.