This morning I found myself playing a game of chess with my husband in an “off the beaten path” coffee shop. We weren’t planning on going there… just like we never plan to end up at the library or the park or any of the random places we find ourselves. We’re in some kind of strange middle life that feels awkward and well, it is what it is- unprecedented. With Elijah going to preschool half days in Coeur d ‘Alene (a 20 minute drive from our home in Post Falls), Martin working a schedule that is different everyday, and Owen… well he’s now the unstoppable king of the house ever since he learned of his powers to ransack everything in his path at full speed. I’m not trying to complain, in fact, I see lots of new possibilities right around the corner. I’m just still at that place when change is fresh and complicated. I don’t know exactly how to function, how to manage what I used to manage, and well, it’s just a little bit frustrating.
So, as I sat across from the man I love, strategizing just how to capture his king, I realized that life is a little like chess. Our best defense against a world of problems is to be proactive, to see the possibilities and be one step ahead. But what about the times when we’re one or two steps behind? When we don’t realize the opponent’s bishop is about to take out our knight, or even worse our own king? It happens. I guess that’s when I’m glad that life isn’t about winning or having everything figured out. That’s when the true King steps in overlooking our mistakes and giving us grace that we never deserve. When the world would say it’s finished, God says it is only the beginning. That is what gives me hope. He can use my mistakes for something great. He can take me to a coffee shop off the beaten path on a Tuesday morning and give me clarity when I was feeling that all may be lost.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Breaking Down and Building Up
If your heart were a home, complete with rooms of all sizes, what room would hold your emotions? Would it be a room with wide-open space that welcomed others in, like a living room? Or would it be a medium sized bedroom, more intimate, yet also an easy space for sharing? I think most of us keep our emotions in the smallest place possible, like the attic or linen closet, at least I know this has been true for me. But why are we so afraid to show what is really going on inside us? Why do we hold back overwhelming emotions?
Denial is easier.
Is it really that simple? We are so busy that we don’t want to stop and deal with things like feeling mournful, depressed, touched, convicted, or sometimes even joy. The tangible, necessary things always take priority. We’re also concerned with other’s reactions. What will _____ think if I just break down, right here, right now? But what if something life changing is about to happen in that little house- your heart- and you turn off the power? You keep your despair locked in the closet where no one will ever find it.
I guess at first, it gets worse. Then it gets a lot worse, and you are in such a pit of despair that you never want to come out of the attic, or out from under the kitchen sink, or wherever it is that you have managed to put the “real” you, and you begin to live this miserable double life. Your face might appear happy, but inside- your home is falling apart with no hopes of repair.
What we often fail to realize is that allowing ourselves to reach that place of mourning is a good thing. This is the starting point of growth. When you understand that you are pitiful, inadequate…lost, well that’s when the work can begin. Nothing can be done if nothing “needs” done.
I find myself at this point constantly, maybe it’s just been a rough year, or maybe I’m just a convicted emotional person, either way I know that I am nothing on my own. I am helpless, pathetic, worthless. I go into my closet, overwhelmed with my life, and I cry, and I cry, and I cry until God gives me the strength to face what I need to. I’m still not great at letting others in. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to keep my emotions in the “living room,” but maybe someday I’ll move into a small bedroom with a little window.
“Blessed are they who mourn for they will be comforted” Matthew 5:3
Another translation says:
“Those who are sad now are happy, because God will comfort them.”
Denial is easier.
Is it really that simple? We are so busy that we don’t want to stop and deal with things like feeling mournful, depressed, touched, convicted, or sometimes even joy. The tangible, necessary things always take priority. We’re also concerned with other’s reactions. What will _____ think if I just break down, right here, right now? But what if something life changing is about to happen in that little house- your heart- and you turn off the power? You keep your despair locked in the closet where no one will ever find it.
I guess at first, it gets worse. Then it gets a lot worse, and you are in such a pit of despair that you never want to come out of the attic, or out from under the kitchen sink, or wherever it is that you have managed to put the “real” you, and you begin to live this miserable double life. Your face might appear happy, but inside- your home is falling apart with no hopes of repair.
What we often fail to realize is that allowing ourselves to reach that place of mourning is a good thing. This is the starting point of growth. When you understand that you are pitiful, inadequate…lost, well that’s when the work can begin. Nothing can be done if nothing “needs” done.
I find myself at this point constantly, maybe it’s just been a rough year, or maybe I’m just a convicted emotional person, either way I know that I am nothing on my own. I am helpless, pathetic, worthless. I go into my closet, overwhelmed with my life, and I cry, and I cry, and I cry until God gives me the strength to face what I need to. I’m still not great at letting others in. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to keep my emotions in the “living room,” but maybe someday I’ll move into a small bedroom with a little window.
“Blessed are they who mourn for they will be comforted” Matthew 5:3
Another translation says:
“Those who are sad now are happy, because God will comfort them.”
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Happy Fourth Birthday, Elijah!
On September 25th my Elijah will be four...FOUR! I just can't believe the time has gone so fast! Ironically, that exact day was the day Martin proposed to me in 2004, two years before Elijah was born. It seems not much time has passed since then, when we'd spend countless hours walking the park in York, Nebraska, but at the same time it feels worlds away. Now I know things I never planned on knowing like the theme songs to all of the most prominant super heroes, and the names of building trucks like loaders and cherry pickers, dump trucks and cement mixers, which play an active part in our daily lives.
It doesn't seem like I should have a four-year-old. But then again it seems completely impossible not to have him. I love listening to him when he doesn't think I'm listening, like in the car. He talks to himself, relives conversations that we've had or that he's heard in school with character voices and all kinds of drama. Yesterday, he was saying, "No, no Hannah!" in the back seat of the car. I asked who Hannah was. He told me she was a girl at school, but that she was in a different class. This morning I knew exactly who Hannah was when I heard a teacher scolding her and telling her to get back in line. They really are listening ALL THE TIME!
Many days after school i let him change into "play clothes," clothes that aren't school uniform. He has taken on this tendancy, probably from me, that his clothes have to match. He refused to wear his favorite "number twelve" pants because we couldn't find the "number twelve" shirt. Then he saw one of his jumpsuits, you know those sweats that have matching sweat tops... they look like little running suits, any ways... he was thrilled when he discovered that he found something that matched. "I'll wear these, mom!" he exclaimed excitedly and bounced on his bed to pull them on.
He's always making me laugh about something... many times when I shouldn't be laughing. Its a known fact that laughing when you aren't suppose to is ten times more fun than when its expected, like in church, or in my case when I'm trying to be stern and disciplining my child. He's had so many potty accidents that it has become routine to go in the bathroom and get him cleaned up. Its incredibly hard not to giggle when he starts singing while I'm trying to get him cleaned up, or when he turns to me like nothing is going on and says "I love you," or something silly.
Saturday, that silly boy will hold up four fingers instead of three when you ask him his age, and there will be four candles on his DUMP TRUCK cake, but part of me will always see that baby, my first that was born on the 25th of September.
It doesn't seem like I should have a four-year-old. But then again it seems completely impossible not to have him. I love listening to him when he doesn't think I'm listening, like in the car. He talks to himself, relives conversations that we've had or that he's heard in school with character voices and all kinds of drama. Yesterday, he was saying, "No, no Hannah!" in the back seat of the car. I asked who Hannah was. He told me she was a girl at school, but that she was in a different class. This morning I knew exactly who Hannah was when I heard a teacher scolding her and telling her to get back in line. They really are listening ALL THE TIME!
Many days after school i let him change into "play clothes," clothes that aren't school uniform. He has taken on this tendancy, probably from me, that his clothes have to match. He refused to wear his favorite "number twelve" pants because we couldn't find the "number twelve" shirt. Then he saw one of his jumpsuits, you know those sweats that have matching sweat tops... they look like little running suits, any ways... he was thrilled when he discovered that he found something that matched. "I'll wear these, mom!" he exclaimed excitedly and bounced on his bed to pull them on.
He's always making me laugh about something... many times when I shouldn't be laughing. Its a known fact that laughing when you aren't suppose to is ten times more fun than when its expected, like in church, or in my case when I'm trying to be stern and disciplining my child. He's had so many potty accidents that it has become routine to go in the bathroom and get him cleaned up. Its incredibly hard not to giggle when he starts singing while I'm trying to get him cleaned up, or when he turns to me like nothing is going on and says "I love you," or something silly.
Saturday, that silly boy will hold up four fingers instead of three when you ask him his age, and there will be four candles on his DUMP TRUCK cake, but part of me will always see that baby, my first that was born on the 25th of September.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Changes
I'm sitting in the car listening to Owen's deep breathing as he sleeps comfotably clutching his stuffed animal buddies in his car seat. Today is so unlike the past week; there are actually fluffy cumulus nimbus clouds in the foreground of a beautiful bright blue sky. What a contrast and a gift compared to the last grey and rainy days.
I just dropped Martin off at his new job. Yes, he started working at a boys rehabilitation home last week! We're are both excited about it, not just because he is now out of a place that caused him much stress, but also for the potential here to really play a part in changing young boys lives. It seems it was meant to be. I'm looking forward to hearing all about what goes on there and I know he is going to enjoy it.
With all of the recent changes to our schedule, I'm just trying to hang on and keep going. It's a little crazy I have to admit, getting out the door for pre-school in the morning, then coming back a few hours later (usually with a cranky toddler), and also with MArtin's new unsettled schedule. We're staying afloat though, and all of these changes are truly for the better.
Uh oh... Owen caught me... He's waking up now. No more computer time.
I just dropped Martin off at his new job. Yes, he started working at a boys rehabilitation home last week! We're are both excited about it, not just because he is now out of a place that caused him much stress, but also for the potential here to really play a part in changing young boys lives. It seems it was meant to be. I'm looking forward to hearing all about what goes on there and I know he is going to enjoy it.
With all of the recent changes to our schedule, I'm just trying to hang on and keep going. It's a little crazy I have to admit, getting out the door for pre-school in the morning, then coming back a few hours later (usually with a cranky toddler), and also with MArtin's new unsettled schedule. We're staying afloat though, and all of these changes are truly for the better.
Uh oh... Owen caught me... He's waking up now. No more computer time.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Pre-school Already?
I can't believe the day has come... tommorrow Elijah starts pre-school. We've had almost four years of fun together and now he's moving into this new stage of life. It only hit me about a week ago that it is really happening and closer than it could possibly seem. I know that he's ready, I know that he will love it... and though I know that there are many many benefits, I also know that I will miss him.
He's been my buddy and turned into the most wonderful big brother to Owen. He loves his place of knowing all the rules and making sure that Owen is held to the same high standards. I wonder about all the things that will change now as I sit on this last night of what will become many nights of wondering how he will function without me.
that's probably the most scary part- wondering what it will be like without me. No one knows him as well as I do ( and no one ever will until many many years from now). Of course, the whole point of parenting is to shape children to be able to go out away from us independantly and be "all right," but secretly we want them to need us, we want to keep them close forever, however selfish and unecisary that may be.
He's going to be okay. He's going to love it. Life will go on.... it will change, it will be different, but it will go on.
He's been my buddy and turned into the most wonderful big brother to Owen. He loves his place of knowing all the rules and making sure that Owen is held to the same high standards. I wonder about all the things that will change now as I sit on this last night of what will become many nights of wondering how he will function without me.
that's probably the most scary part- wondering what it will be like without me. No one knows him as well as I do ( and no one ever will until many many years from now). Of course, the whole point of parenting is to shape children to be able to go out away from us independantly and be "all right," but secretly we want them to need us, we want to keep them close forever, however selfish and unecisary that may be.
He's going to be okay. He's going to love it. Life will go on.... it will change, it will be different, but it will go on.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Laundry Day
I realized it was time to wash the whites again when I couldn’t find a clean flat sheet for my sister-in-law when she stayed over last week. This hasn’t happened in long time, mostly because we received five or six sets of sheets for our wedding. I don’t usually let the laundry pile up that much; I guess it’s been that kind of month though… the kind of month that feels like one long day. Things that used to be on the top of my list are lost and forgotten.
So I washed and dried all the sheets I could find, including the ones on both of my boys’ beds. I wanted to get this job all done at once. Tonight I had to face folding them and putting them all away… the part of laundry that I hate most of all. I still haven’t figured out how to fold those fitted sheets- with which I have a love-hate relationship. They are, of course, brilliantly practical, yet a ridiculous bulgy entanglement until they actually appear on the bed. I’ve tried and tried matching the seams up, folding down the part that’s curved, so there’s somewhat of a straight edge, but still I end up with this ugly rolled up package that looks like my three-year-old folded it, and I gave it entirely no effort which is the opposite of the truth. So, you can see why I avoid washing sheets every week.
I must also mention that the flat sheets give me trouble as well which I’m going to credit only to the massive size of the sheet. I mean really, have you ever tried folding a sheet that is the size of a small bedroom? I get it all spread out, match up the corners of one side, and then I can’t seem to make it to the other side without getting twisted up or misguided. It’s very frustrating. I’m tempted to give up, turn the entire pile of sheets into one big wad, and throw them in the linen closet- as is. Good luck everyone in finding a sheet when you need one!
However, I didn’t turn my clean basket of whites into a wad… after all, there were socks and underwear in there too! I took a deep breath, sorted it out and did my best as usual to make these large thin pieces of material appear as close to a neatly folded stack as possible. In the end, I was nearly completely dissatisfied by my efforts, but the good news is there are now clean sheets in the closet and an empty laundry basket for me to collect yet another load.
So I washed and dried all the sheets I could find, including the ones on both of my boys’ beds. I wanted to get this job all done at once. Tonight I had to face folding them and putting them all away… the part of laundry that I hate most of all. I still haven’t figured out how to fold those fitted sheets- with which I have a love-hate relationship. They are, of course, brilliantly practical, yet a ridiculous bulgy entanglement until they actually appear on the bed. I’ve tried and tried matching the seams up, folding down the part that’s curved, so there’s somewhat of a straight edge, but still I end up with this ugly rolled up package that looks like my three-year-old folded it, and I gave it entirely no effort which is the opposite of the truth. So, you can see why I avoid washing sheets every week.
I must also mention that the flat sheets give me trouble as well which I’m going to credit only to the massive size of the sheet. I mean really, have you ever tried folding a sheet that is the size of a small bedroom? I get it all spread out, match up the corners of one side, and then I can’t seem to make it to the other side without getting twisted up or misguided. It’s very frustrating. I’m tempted to give up, turn the entire pile of sheets into one big wad, and throw them in the linen closet- as is. Good luck everyone in finding a sheet when you need one!
However, I didn’t turn my clean basket of whites into a wad… after all, there were socks and underwear in there too! I took a deep breath, sorted it out and did my best as usual to make these large thin pieces of material appear as close to a neatly folded stack as possible. In the end, I was nearly completely dissatisfied by my efforts, but the good news is there are now clean sheets in the closet and an empty laundry basket for me to collect yet another load.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
MOTHERHOOD: don't forget your Machete!
I wrote this a few months ago and decided to post it here on my blog in hopes that maybe someone else is out there feeling just like me who can benefit.
I feel small, like I could slip down the drain in the kitchen sink and nobody would notice. Then again, they would notice. They’d notice an absence of nagging, yelling, and emotional tornados from the house. Who is this person I have become? I start out the day trying to be the person I know I should be, but then something happens… and that other person comes out to handle the situation, and then another thing happens and she’s taking over. I step back and don’t even recognize my life. It’s not supposed to be this way. I was going to be the calm understanding mother of respectful children who handled every situation with grace and ease. Is that even possible? I don’t think so. Motherhood has taken me by surprise on this crazy day-by-day adventure.
Most days, I’m hacking through the jungle with a machete, hoping this free-style path that I’m creating will eventually end up back to where I am supposed to be. But where is that exactly? Does anyone know? It’s exhausting- the search, the spontaneity, the mere survival of it all. Just a few more really hard days like today, and I think we’ll either make it back to the main path of balance where mother and child and family work together in harmony… or it will break me and I’ll never get turned in the right direction. I will have fallen so hard that I’ll never be able to get back up again. I know, that’s very pessimistic of me. I’m just begging for some rescue heroes to plow through the deep green overgrowth of my life on a four-wheeler, pull me aboard and show me the way. I imagine myself getting on, tuckering in for a long journey back to sanity and the right path, which will most likely be three feet away. Just like me- to give up when I was so close. But what if they never come? What if things never change? Will I be stuck in the jungle forever with monkeys and wild animals who won’t listen to a thing I say? Maybe I’ll start making my own clothes from their hides…
It’s better at night. At night I can wash away the exhaustion of the day, and after a few minutes of quiet I almost seem to forget it altogether. Maybe that’s how I’m able to keep going. The rest and the time to myself, recharges me for another day of trudging through the unknown.
I never knew it would be like this. I think that is what bothers me the most. I feel so unprepared, so inadequate- which frustrates me to no end. No one told me I would need a machete, much less that I would be making up most of the rules…where the path is, when to eat, sleep, or dance uncontrollably. These were things that felt very structured when I was growing up, like the parents all had the same handbook. When the rules were broken they knew exactly how to handle it. And there was no adventuring in the jungle; we always walked on the trail of balance and perfect harmony. I’m not saying we were perfect children by any means, but my parents somehow knew how to earn our respect gracefully, seemingly without much effort. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe it took a great deal of effort, as it currently is for me. They may have been able to disguise it better than I can.
I just can’t help feeling remorse at the end of the day, like I could have done better. I could have hacked more of the path away, gotten us closer to where we are supposed to be. I could have used smoother movements, more graceful tones, been lighter on my feet. What I have realized is that I can’t change them or their reactions to me. I can only change myself. I can give them opportunities to choose good and that is all. I can’t make that decision for them. I never knew it would be so hard, that it would hurt so much. I guess my biggest fear is that I will fail as a mother, the one thing I really wanted to be great at. My mind wanders to places far in the distance, and I can’t help knowing that what I do now affects their future every bit as much as what I will do then. Is the defiance a stage that will pass, or will it only get worse? Will an unruly almost four-year old become an uncontrollable teenager? I don’t want to believe that’s true, but sometimes it keeps me up at night.
I know discipline is healthy, and completely necessary, I just don’t want to spend ALL day playing rule enforcer! Somehow at this age I can’t escape it. They are both learning constantly and that includes boundaries of all kinds. Lately, Elijah has been testing everything possible, and even laughing at some punishments. I left him in his room with these words to end the day after he had been told several times to go to bed, “I’m going to let you choose. If you want to be good, you can lie down and go to sleep on your pillow like I asked you to. You can also choose to be naughty which will earn you a day of no fun tomorrow. I’m going to leave now and let you decide.” This works much better than time outs or spankings for Elijah. He’s a very smart little boy and deeply wants to do the right thing, so I find by giving him the option he will usually choose it. I think he also doesn’t want me to be right for some reason, so leaving the room allows him to make the decision with his own conscience. I always try to tell him that I love him after he has been punished. It feels much better when I can do this and keep myself in control, then I know I’m not acting out of anger and frustration.
Are you too using your machete? Have you found the path of balance in your life or do you too feel as if you are in the middle of an overgrown jungle?
I feel small, like I could slip down the drain in the kitchen sink and nobody would notice. Then again, they would notice. They’d notice an absence of nagging, yelling, and emotional tornados from the house. Who is this person I have become? I start out the day trying to be the person I know I should be, but then something happens… and that other person comes out to handle the situation, and then another thing happens and she’s taking over. I step back and don’t even recognize my life. It’s not supposed to be this way. I was going to be the calm understanding mother of respectful children who handled every situation with grace and ease. Is that even possible? I don’t think so. Motherhood has taken me by surprise on this crazy day-by-day adventure.
Most days, I’m hacking through the jungle with a machete, hoping this free-style path that I’m creating will eventually end up back to where I am supposed to be. But where is that exactly? Does anyone know? It’s exhausting- the search, the spontaneity, the mere survival of it all. Just a few more really hard days like today, and I think we’ll either make it back to the main path of balance where mother and child and family work together in harmony… or it will break me and I’ll never get turned in the right direction. I will have fallen so hard that I’ll never be able to get back up again. I know, that’s very pessimistic of me. I’m just begging for some rescue heroes to plow through the deep green overgrowth of my life on a four-wheeler, pull me aboard and show me the way. I imagine myself getting on, tuckering in for a long journey back to sanity and the right path, which will most likely be three feet away. Just like me- to give up when I was so close. But what if they never come? What if things never change? Will I be stuck in the jungle forever with monkeys and wild animals who won’t listen to a thing I say? Maybe I’ll start making my own clothes from their hides…
It’s better at night. At night I can wash away the exhaustion of the day, and after a few minutes of quiet I almost seem to forget it altogether. Maybe that’s how I’m able to keep going. The rest and the time to myself, recharges me for another day of trudging through the unknown.
I never knew it would be like this. I think that is what bothers me the most. I feel so unprepared, so inadequate- which frustrates me to no end. No one told me I would need a machete, much less that I would be making up most of the rules…where the path is, when to eat, sleep, or dance uncontrollably. These were things that felt very structured when I was growing up, like the parents all had the same handbook. When the rules were broken they knew exactly how to handle it. And there was no adventuring in the jungle; we always walked on the trail of balance and perfect harmony. I’m not saying we were perfect children by any means, but my parents somehow knew how to earn our respect gracefully, seemingly without much effort. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe it took a great deal of effort, as it currently is for me. They may have been able to disguise it better than I can.
I just can’t help feeling remorse at the end of the day, like I could have done better. I could have hacked more of the path away, gotten us closer to where we are supposed to be. I could have used smoother movements, more graceful tones, been lighter on my feet. What I have realized is that I can’t change them or their reactions to me. I can only change myself. I can give them opportunities to choose good and that is all. I can’t make that decision for them. I never knew it would be so hard, that it would hurt so much. I guess my biggest fear is that I will fail as a mother, the one thing I really wanted to be great at. My mind wanders to places far in the distance, and I can’t help knowing that what I do now affects their future every bit as much as what I will do then. Is the defiance a stage that will pass, or will it only get worse? Will an unruly almost four-year old become an uncontrollable teenager? I don’t want to believe that’s true, but sometimes it keeps me up at night.
I know discipline is healthy, and completely necessary, I just don’t want to spend ALL day playing rule enforcer! Somehow at this age I can’t escape it. They are both learning constantly and that includes boundaries of all kinds. Lately, Elijah has been testing everything possible, and even laughing at some punishments. I left him in his room with these words to end the day after he had been told several times to go to bed, “I’m going to let you choose. If you want to be good, you can lie down and go to sleep on your pillow like I asked you to. You can also choose to be naughty which will earn you a day of no fun tomorrow. I’m going to leave now and let you decide.” This works much better than time outs or spankings for Elijah. He’s a very smart little boy and deeply wants to do the right thing, so I find by giving him the option he will usually choose it. I think he also doesn’t want me to be right for some reason, so leaving the room allows him to make the decision with his own conscience. I always try to tell him that I love him after he has been punished. It feels much better when I can do this and keep myself in control, then I know I’m not acting out of anger and frustration.
Are you too using your machete? Have you found the path of balance in your life or do you too feel as if you are in the middle of an overgrown jungle?
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