With all my heart

As any parent will tell you, tummy pains aren’t uncommon when raising kids. Jacob has them often. Usually, a successful trip to the bathroom fixes the problem. (Sorry for the TMI.)

But Monday, his stomach pains were worse than usual, even after an extremely productive bathroom trip. (Nope, I wasn’t really sorry about the earlier TMI either.) And he was so specific about where the pain was “all around my belly button and on my side,” (while touching his right side, of course), that I made the call to the doc. They scheduled us an appointment for early evening, so I had the whole day to let him rest, watch his symptoms, and pray and trust that God is in control worry myself sick thinking of every possible horrible scenario. (And you know where the worst case scenario fears lead. Always. I swear, in their combined 11 years of life, my children have died 5,327 times in my worst case scenario fears.) (Yes, I realize that this is not a constructive way to spend my time.)

After his fever spiked to 103.3 and he was bent over in wincing pain when I tried to get him to go to the bathroom, the nurse recommended I just take him straight to the ER. After all, if his symptoms were the same at the doctor appointment that was still 2 hours away, they would be sending him there anyway for further testing for appendicitis.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down and made a call to a friend to see if she could watch Annalise. With the rear-view mirror tilted so I could see my red-faced feverish boy alternately head bob and wince in pain, I headed to the hospital, calling Matt and the grandparents on the way. My sick boy had gone from having one worried mom bargaining with God to 2 sets of grandparents praying, a family of 6 praying, and both his parents praying with all their heart as the situation seemed more and more serious.

As I held my silent boy on my lap in the waiting area, I prayed that it would not be appendicitis or something worse. Jacob was still a bit restless, and he opened his eyes as I whispered my prayer. I told him he didn’t need to worry, that this was exactly where he needed to be. The doctors would know what to do, I assured him. Funny, I can’t seem to convince myself of these things when I’m terrified and picturing him on his deathbed.

By the time we got called back to a room, I could tell he was starting to perk up a bit. As you might guess, the absence of noise coming from his face is usually a pretty good sign he is either asleep or feeling pretty awful. (It has to be pretty bad for him to be silent. Just not feeling well means he might be laying down, but the mouth still moves.) After being quiet for most of the day, my little buddy had a lot of stored up words to get out. As I laid him in the hospital bed, he began to use them. Sure enough, his fever had gone down, and he was excited to play with the toys our friends had given him in a get-well-bag. He told me about all the characters in Star Wars, even though he’s never seen the movie. He argued with Matt about how to pronounce Han Solo. He asked questions about every. single. thing. in sight. He repeated over and over how funny it was that “they want to do a test on my pee! I had to pee in a cup! That’s so funny that they wanna check my pee!” And when there was finally a moment of silence – as in maybe 10 seconds – where nothing was being said, he just blurted out one word – the thing that is always on his mind… “Bottom.”

I’ll admit it. It sent me into a fit of giggles. Here sat my boy, previously down for the count at home with a ridiculous fever, the only sounds coming out of him were groans of discomfort and “ow ow OW OW-OW-OW”s when the sharp stomach pain would return. Now, at his most expensive doctor visit ever, he was full of life and ever-flowing words, making us laugh through it all.

On the other side of the curtain separating the two beds, I heard a lady giggle, then sigh and say, “I think I’ll take a break and walk the halls.” By “take a break,” she meant her ears. Not even kidding. Welcome to my world, lady on the other side of the curtain. Only you’ve just experienced 10 minutes. Try 10 HOURS A DAY.

The nurse offered him a popsicle. I asked her how much that was going to run us. “You don’t want to know,” she replied and handed him a blue one. Somewhere, a hospital administrator cackled.

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It was pretty clear at this point that we were done and just waiting to be given the release to go home. Sure enough, the doc headed in and said, “Sounds like he’s doing much better. I’m just going to check him over real quick, then you’ll be out of here.” Except as he felt his abdomen, he felt a bulge around the appendix area, and Jacob winced when he touched it. We couldn’t leave just yet.

The lady on the other side of the curtain returned to her father’s bedside. Jacob and I waited. He talked. I listened. More giggles from the other side of the curtain. The lady who had left earlier whispered to another lady – her mother – “Well, he is sure one very happy boy.” I could hear their quiet conversation about how much he had to say, and that it was all so happy.

I was thankful he was so full of joy, but I was dying of embarrassment just a wee bit. We really had no business being in the ER. Clearly, this kid was fine.

We headed to ultrasound, his mouth still constantly moving to the ultrasound tech about the “fun ride” he was getting as she pushed his bed through the corridors. On their way back, the tech asked Jacob how many siblings he had. He didn’t even hesitate. “I have 3 sisters. Annalise is 6, and the other 2 are Madison and Taylor. I won’t get to meet them until I get to Heaven. How old are they again, Mom?”

He’s never responded this way, so I was quite surprised, but not as much as the ultrasound tech was. It was clear she didn’t know what to say. “It’s ok,” I explained while holding back tears, “We had premature twins before he was born. They would be 8 next month.”

“Yeah.” He continued. “They are 8 in Heaven.”

They are 8 in Heaven. How come I still can’t seem to use the present tense when I refer to them? How come my kids keep showing me up on their wisdom and faith?

Back in our room with the same 3 people still on the other side of the curtain, the ultrasound tech awkwardly tripped over her words about the doctor coming in and us going home. I wondered if she was uncomfortable with the topic of Heaven, or if maybe it just got her thinking. Either way, while she was very well spoken earlier, she clearly stammered in that moment.

A few minutes later, the doctor and a nurse came in to discharge us. “It’s not appendicitis. Probably just a virus.” he said.

In my head, I thought about the insanely expensive doctor visit we just had. How much are these unnecessary tests going to cost us? I wondered. At least it’s not appendicitis.

“Nope!” Jacob stated matter-of-factly. “It’s not, because my Mom prayed it wouldn’t be!”

I just stared at him. In his hazy state, Jacob had heard my prayer in the lobby. While I was relieved it wasn’t appendicitis, my grown-up brain immediately assumed it never had been, followed by thoughts of the useless and pricey ER visit, and a little bit of embarrassment that we came to the ER for “no reason.”

His thoughts – and boldly flowing words right from his heart - immediately went to answered prayer.

I’ll admit, I don’t understand how prayer works. Our own personal tragedy is evidence to the fact that more people praying doesn’t necessarily guarantee desired results. We had hundreds – maybe even thousands – of people praying on several continents for our twins to survive. I also don’t believe that if we had just had more faith, our prayers would’ve been answered. My dad is a funeral director. I’m quite aware of the personally devastating results of unanswered prayer.

But I do know this: We are commanded to pray. In fact, we are to do so continuously (1 Thessalonians 5:17) and faithfully (Romans 12:12). We are to trust God, who is sovereign. And while God does not need our help to accomplish His will, He gives us this opportunity to cast our cares upon Him, to join Him in His works, and to acknowledge our total need and dependence on Him. And I fully believe that if we submit ourselves in prayer to Him, we will witness miracles and the mighty works of His hand.

I also know that in God’s sovereignty, He knows each of our needs. He allows people to cross paths, experiences to happen, things to be said that will bring glory to Him.

I wonder if that ultrasound tech needed to hear of Heaven on Monday night?

I wonder if a doctor and a nurse, and three people who sat anxiously on the other side of the curtain needed to hear the faith of an ever-so-happy 4-year-old boy who contributed his lack of appendicitis to answered prayer?

I don’t exactly know how prayer works, but I know that a little boy got sicker and sicker while his mom worried herself into a tizzy. But then she finally set aside her anxieties and began to pray presenting her requests to God (Philippians 4:6). Around the same time, 11 other people also got word of the sick boy and began to pray, and that sick little boy ended up perfectly fine in the ER. And I know that he used his words to brighten the day of everyone he talked to and spoke his faith boldly where no fewer than 6 strangers heard.

I’m not mentioning any names or anything, but I wonder if a certain mom of a certain four-year-old boy needed to witness that kind of faith and boldness?

Incidentally… while in the ER, I found myself explaining to everyone who came in the room just how sick Jacob had been earlier. I was feeling like a total idiot with a super healthy chatty kid sitting there eating the most expensive popsicles known to man. Three ER nurses responded the exact same way. “Don’t feel bad. It happens all the time. People come in and have been so sick for days. They get here, and they’re suddenly all better.” At the time, it just served to make me feel like less of an idiot. But now I wonder… How many of those people did exactly what I did – waited until they started their drive to the ER to really begin to pray and ask others to do the same? How many people’s prayers began to be answered as they finally submitted their requests humbly before God?

I don’t know why some people are healed and others aren’t. My aunt – who has been in remission 3 times for her Leukemia in the last 13 years – just found out some of the “bad cells” have entered her spinal column. I know that last week, as she had part of her head shaved for the port that was put in her head so the chemo can go directly into her spinal fluid, she was trusting Jesus. And now, as she sits recovering from a surgery that left a “Frankenstein” jagged cut in her head, she is glorifying Him to those she comes in contact with in person and on Facebook. And I know that God has allowed her to be the 79th documented case of this in the world for a reason. For His purpose. He has a big job for her to do, and she has said that through it, God has given her amazing peace and strength.

I wonder, how many nurses, doctors, techs, other cancer patients, friends on Facebook, or friends of friends of friends, need to see that kind of strength come from a woman who has difficulty standing and walking on her own two feet as a result of these cells in her spinal column?

I don’t know what you’re going through, or why. And I certainly don’t know how it will turn out.

But I do know this… For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. ~ Jeremiah 29:11-13, emphasis my own.

Oh, Loquacious One

I’m supposed to be reading right now. It’s rest time with a book for the Priestman household, but I’m breaking my own rule. I’m not reading. Instead, I was on Facebook, and now I’m writing this. I blame the youngest in the household. Partly because I was the youngest for 9.75 years and then lived with a new youngest for about the same amount of time after that, and so I know that youngests are often to blame. (At least the oldests think so. Or – more appropriately – set them up to be so.) But mostly I blame the youngest because the youngest in THIS house hasn’t stopped making noise for the last 30 minutes of rest time. Scratch that. He hasn’t stopped making noise for the last 4.25 years. I can’t concentrate on reading.

I’ve reminded him it’s quiet rest time. He makes a “sorry” face. His noise continues, only quieter.

I pointed out that the rest of us are reading without talking. He stopped reading with talking. And then immediately began reading with singing.

I clarified that we were neither talking nor singing. He quickly stopped his singing. But seconds later, the humming began. Quietly.

None of the noise comes from a tone of disrespect. It’s like a reflex for him. It’s like it’s physically impossible for him to NOT make noise. It’s like a swimming fish. They just swim. They just do.

Fish swim.

Jacob makes noise.

He just does.

I know this, because after the talking, the quieter talking, the singing, and then humming, the humming stops. But then the tapping starts. And when the tapping stops, the clicking tongue starts. And in between time, there are a hundred thousand million questions about what he’s reading, what I’m reading, what Sis is reading, and why raspberries grow this way and strawberries grow that way. He wants to know how telephones work and if dogs go to Heaven when they die and what would happen if instead of putting water on the plants, we put coffee or juice or maybe turned the plants upside down and spit on them 5 times a day. And every other question he asks is far out of my realm of expertise and even out of my slightest bit of understanding.

His every question is bigger than my brain.

Except for the questions that start like, “Mom, know what I would do if I was a strawberry?” Because he is FOREVER coming up with impossible scenarios and having very detailed explanations to answer his impossible-scenario-questions.

To which his very-literal-6-year-old-sister replies something wise and matter-of-fact like, “Jacob, that can’t even happen. It’s TO-TUH-LEE impossible.”

To which he responds with further explanation and even more conviction about why that is exactly what would happen if that impossible situation happened to take place. (And in case you’re wondering, if Jacob was a strawberry, he would “Hop up and eat all the other strawberries. BUTCEPT FOR LUKE. I would NOT eat Luke if he was a strawberry!”) Noted.

The other never-ending comments are about random facts he’s learned about random things. Mostly animals, which he is very interested in and has billions upon billions of questions about, all of which I have exactly zero answers for. These random animal facts come out in full-story form at no particular time, anytime. Several months ago, he was explaining to me how frustrated he was that his Sunday School teacher “just totally interrupted me, Mom! I was right in the middle of my story, and she just totally interrupted! I didn’t even get to finish!” So, I ask him what the teacher had been doing when he started his story. “She was telling us a story. But I raised my hand. And she called on me. And I was telling my story.” I tell him that his teacher probably needed to finish the lesson she was teaching. And I ask him what his story was about. “Oh! It was about polar bears, Mom! Did you know that…” And then I proceed to turn my ears off and my random “Uh-huh”s on, because it is only 9am, but my ears are already exhausted. And while turning my ears off may seem rude to you, I promise you that it is true when I say this: you must pick your battles. If he were telling me about his day, or something he’s concerned about, or even maybe why he likes his Dusty shoes better than his McQueen shoes, I would likely pay attention and give some authentic feedback. But stories about polar bears are not the time to use up my listening.

I’ve been a teacher of kids ages 8-12 for 12 years, and up until 4.25 years ago, I didn’t even know “using up my listening” was a thing. It is. It’s a real honest-to-goodness thing. My listening gets used up on a daily basis.

I don’t really know why I’m surprised. I’ve told this story many times… When Jacob was just about 10 months old, Matt and I took the kids to the Woodland Park Zoo. After a long fun day, we buckled the kids in the car to head home. Annalise, just barely 3, fell asleep before we pulled out of the parking lot. Jacob began to babble – as many 10 month olds do – as we drove out of the lot and all around the UW campus nearby. His babbling continued 20 minutes later as we got on the freeway to drive our 100 miles home. It would take us about an hour and 45 minutes. We expected our bubbly bundle would doze off soon. We were wrong. He babbled and babbled. And then he would pause for just a second. And then he’d babble and babble some more. It must have been just north of Everett that we decided to count how long he would be quiet in between his noise. “1-2-3… Oh, babbling… …1-2-Babble… …still babbling…” I am not even kidding when I tell you this: We never got to 5. NOT. EVEN. ONCE. He babbled the entire one hour and 45 minute drive home in addition to the 20 or so minutes of babbling that occurred while driving around UW.

So no. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Except that I’m a little surprised he hasn’t run out of words already. At some point, you’d think his brain would just stop making questions because it had used them all up, wouldn’t you?

Yesterday, we spent the day at home while Matt shot a wedding. Just like every other day, Jacob’s mouth was in constant motion. While we ate, he asked questions and told stories. While he played, he narrated each and every thing his toys did through song. No one need respond. No one need even listen. No one need even be in the same room. The noise just is.

Annalise sat coloring and mumbled to me, “Is he ever gonna stop making noise? He just doesn’t stop! EVER!” And then she used a word to describe him I’m not so fond of: annoying. While I can see that from a big sister’s perspective, the constant noise would be bothersome, I don’t like the tone or the label annoying gives. So we talked about other, more appropriate ways she could ask him to stop.

Then today, Grandpa asked Annalise about something that bothered her, and asked her if “it got under her skin.” She wasn’t sure what that meant, so he explained, “Something that is annoying or bothers you.” Later, when the kids played in another room, Jacob was singing “America the Beautiful” as best as he can remember – which isn’t very well, since he’s only 4 and hasn’t heard it more than a handful of times. I kept hearing his sister’s response. “Jacob, your noise is under my skin. Jacob, your song is under my skin. Jacob, when you say America like that, it’s under my skin! Jacob, YOU are under my skin!”

I sigh.

I have a very dear friend with 5 beautiful children. While I’m certain she has more mouths to feed, more bedding to change, more teeth to brush, and more laundry to do, and while I can even be reasonably sure she has a higher decibel level in her house just because of the number of vocal cords that live there, I think I may have her beat on number of words that enter my ears and try to be processed in my brain on any given day.

Do I sound like I’m complaining? Please know I am absolutely not. I love my little chatterbox. There are days where the constant flow of verbiage brings so much joy and laughter, and I am ever so thankful. There are days when I learn so much and am amazed at the thought process and ideas a boy of barely 3 1/2 feet can come up with, and I feel blessed beyond measure. And yes, there are days where I feel like – even though I’m still so thankful and still feel so very blessed – my ears might actually just shrivel up and turn into dust if they have to hear one. more. utterance. And if they don’t, my brain certainly will.

Today was one of those days.

I considered a bike ride. But the trailer bike he’s been using is attached directly behind my bike. The last two times we went out, he sang a narration of everything we passed by. I found it funny then, but today didn’t seem like the appropriate time to affix his mouth directly behind my ear.

And so we headed out to the store for a change of scenery. It paused the words, but the singing was unstoppable. I’m okay with that. I think the constant music is an outward sign of his contentment. The boy has a song in his heart, and who would want to stop that? Or the dancing down the grocery aisles that goes with it! It was in the store that I thought back to this morning’s Children’s Church lesson…

8 little sets of eyes looked up at me as I reminded them of all we had learned so far about God providing for the Israelites. He had led them out of Egypt and slavery. He had parted the waters so they could walk across on dry land. He had given them manna from Heaven when they were hungry. Every need they had was fulfilled, and every promise He made was true. But now, here they were, afraid to go into the promised land, the land of Canaan. They complained and whined and questioned God. When they faced the fortified city and the strong people of Canaan, they forgot all that God had done and that He is all-powerful. And when they forgot that, they became afraid. And when they were afraid, they stopped trusting and did things their own way. And our way is never better than God’s way.

As we reviewed all God had done for the Israelites and how they responded with a surprising lack of faith now, Jacob sat with his hand up in the air, waiting to talk. I didn’t call on him right away, because – like his previous Sunday School teacher – I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the story with a tale of giant squid or sperm whales (not even kidding, thankyouverymuch to the show Wild Kratts) or a demonstration of something cool he could do with the gum in his mouth that he seemed to be quite interested in. When he finally had permission to talk, what came out surprised me. “What the Israelites did is kinda like what Peter did. When Jesus was walking on the water, then he got out of the boat and walked on the water, too. At first he did, but then he saw all the big waves and the water and he forgot about what Jesus could do and started to be afraid and then he just started to sink.” Um… yeah. It was actually just exactly like that. Nice analogy that I didn’t even think of, FOUR-YEAR-OLD.

And now, as he hummed and danced his way through the grocery store and sang and drove his matchbox car over everything he could reach on every aisle we went down, only knocking over one thing that thankfully didn’t break, my nerves were shot and my head was mush and my ears had shut off. But I noticed the smiles on peoples’ faces as they passed by. Mostly older faces. Come to think of it, their smiles may have been less about the sweetness of his song and innocence of his play and more of an “Oh this Mama has no idea how much she has her hands full.” In any case, I thought of the smiles, and I thought of what happened in Children’s Church. And I thought about this oh-so-wise boy who has ideas beyond what I think of and uses his mouth so well. And I prayed a prayer I’ve prayed before and I’m sure I’ll pray many more times… May the words of his mouth and the thoughts of his heart be used to glorify the Jesus he spoke of today.

And so, I end with this:

Jacob, my loquacious one, you have been given a gift making people smile, and of words and noise. Daddy and I have a very big job to try to teach you self-control of that noise. A very big job. We don’t want to squelch your spirit or make you something you are not. But we will do our best to help train you to use your noise – at appropriate levels and in appropriate quantities – to bring Jesus to others. It’s going to be one of our biggest jobs ever. But I know what an absolutely unstoppable force you could be for Him. I know first hand. And so does your sister. And Daddy too. Mostly anyone you spend one-on-one time with for any extended period of time knows. And also a few random strangers at the coffee shop and the Green Barn might be able to guess how unstoppable you and your words could be, too. And likely your Sunday School teachers know. And probably also most of Mommy’s Facebook friends. Sorry about that. At any rate, I can’t wait to see what God has in store for you and your gift.

In the meantime, keep making us laugh. Keep asking your questions. Keep singing your songs and humming your tunes. Keep dreaming about your what-ifs and possibly impossible scenarios.

But also remember, unlike your sweet mouth, Mommy’s ears have limits.

Thankfully, God’s ears don’t.

Some days are just like that

Dad and daughter drove off to an early morning coffee date on their way to school. I set the two breakfast plates on the table and called for the boy to join me. He hustled in and climbed up the big chair while chattering away, too-long pajama pants dangling to his pudgy toes.

He stopped mid-climb and mid-sentence and made a face. “Just peanut butter? But I wanted jelly. Or Tunella!”  That’s his word for “Nutella,” a once-in-a-while treat that I have forever regretted purchasing.

I calmly sent him to his room, since he knows the rules very well: Complain about what you’re served? Sit on your bed until you have a thankful heart. That may sound harsh to some, but this is an on-going issue with the boy. He has developed a bad habit of this. To your room is now the immediate consequence, with an opportunity to re-enter and join the meal appropriately. And good grief, the kid asks for peanut butter nearly every time I serve him something else. UGH.

A few minutes later, he moped back in. If you’ve ever seen this boy mope, you know he does it well. Face hung, shoulders hung even more, so much so that it looked like he might actually topple forward. Slow walking with shuffling feet. Head swinging from side to side with each step.

He climbed back up in the chair, put his elbows on the table, and dramatically flopped his long-but-adorably-chubby cheeks into his hands with a sigh.

“So?” I asked. “What’s up?”

“I’m trying to decide,” he said with the saddest voice he could muster.

“Trying to decide what?”

“If I’m gonna choose joy or the grumps.”

I tried not to chuckle. “Ah. Looks to me like you’ve chosen already. But the great news is, you can still change your mind.”

He rattled off a few whiny remarks about his food, and how hard it is to choose joy when you really feel frustrated or angry or tired or don’t feel like eating something.

How thankful I am for a boy who can clearly communicate his every thought. Sure, sometimes it’s exhausting, but in moments like this, I so love that he can articulate exactly what he feels. It makes talking through his thoughts and feelings so much easier.

And it usually provides great teaching moments for both of us…

“Yep, I know, Bud. It’s hard to choose joy when you feel all those things. But that’s why joy isn’t a feeling. It’s a choice.” He looked up at me but didn’t respond – which is unusual – so I continued. “The Bible says to be joyful always. That means that even when we don’t feel happy, we can choose to be joyful…”

“I don’t want to choose to be joyful,” he interrupted with his down-in-the-dumps-voice. “I choose the grumps.” Without me saying a word, he slid off the chair and headed back to his bed, this time not as a consequence, but because he felt the need to sulk. At least he’s honest, I thought. And I can relate. I don’t always want to choose to be joyful, either. 

I decided to eat my breakfast alone and give him time to think and calm down. After clearing my plate, he came back in, face still hung, shoulders still hung more, feet still shuffling along slowly. “Mommy, I just don’t want a peanut butter sandwich.” His face was pained.

“I know. And so you chose the grumps. What happens when you choose the grumps?”

“You get in trouble.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you get something else for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Did you get to eat with me?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t get what you want. You were just miserable. And now you have to eat alone, so your problem got worse. What happens when you choose joy?”

“I don’t know. Because I still don’t know how to do that when I feel so mad.Have you ever seen someone talk with their whole body? Flailing arms, face, torso all showed me the frustration of this comment. I’m sooo mad, and I have NO IDEA how to be joyful when I feel this way.

We talked about what it meant to choose joy. Be thankful for the many blessings we have. Be thankful for a special time with Mommy. Be thankful for getting your favorite green plate and not having to have eggs. Focus on the things that you can be thankful for, and remember that they are gifts from God. We talked about the rest of that verse. Be joyful always. Pray continuously. Give thanks in all circumstances.

He flashed his wide smile, and for the first time since I made his breakfast, his cheeks looked round again. “YEAH! And know what else I’m thankful for? Behind the man-cave (the play area he loves at the Krause House) there are some blackberry bushes. And when it’s Next-tember, I want to go PICK SOME!”

He chomped into his sandwich and started rattling off a list of things he was thankful for. “Mom, know what? I decided. Today, I’m gonna choose joy.”

And my heart smiled.

Cute story, huh?

Well, too bad it didn’t end there. But this is not Leave it to Beaver, and I am not June Cleaver. This is reality, people.

Maybe – hopefully – some of you can relate to what happened next: He chose the grumps every 2-3 minutes for the rest of the morning. Time to get dressed? I choose grumps. No snack? More grumps. Pick up your toys? Epic-ly grumpy grumps coupled with wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And in the meantime, I’m having to choose joy a million times every minute so I don’t lose it. <—– This itself is an absolute miracle right from Heaven, and likely happened only because I was doing my best to teach him about choosing joy, which is kind of hard to do when you’re screaming about it.

After much ignoring-with-a-plastered-smile by me and multiple back-and-forth to the bedroom by him (mostly his choice, unless of course “the grumps” resulted in a mini-fit in which case he went by my direction), I decided I’d help distract him…

I attempted a tickle fight, which resulted in a fair amount of giggles. And just for fun, I brought out the big guns… the squirt guns. (This possibly could have been more to get my own aggression out than to make him laugh, but whatever. Two birds, one stone.) After I totally kicked his 4-year-old-sopping-wet-tail, the grumps returned yet again.

Some days are just like that, right? We have to decide to choose joy in each moment. Not just once when we wake up. Not just after the first frustrating moment. But all along the way.

Today, I choose joy. Even though my head hurts. Even though my favorite shirt is dirty and the kitchen is a mess. Even though I’m about to run out of gas on the way to work and then I’m late and then I forgot my lunch in the messy kitchen and then someone makes a rude comment and I can’t find an important document and everything seems to be falling apart. And not to mention, my head still hurts.

I will choose joy. Because in your presence, Oh Lord, there is fullness of joy.

Joy isn’t about the circumstances I hold, but who is holding me in my circumstances.

I guess I just needed that reminder today.

100

WordPress tells me this will be my 100th post. Woah! I guess I have a lot to say. (No comment from the husband peanut gallery.)

100 seems like a monumental number. Like maybe I should celebrate somehow. I mean, it’s a pretty big deal if you live 100 years or throw a 100 mph fastball. I know, I know, those are actual feats. Writing 100 times and posting for 12 people to read isn’t exactly a noteworthy accomplishment.

Just the same, 100 didn’t seem like a number I could pass by lightly. And this is my blog, so I can do whatever I want, right?

I thought for a while about what I would post for this momentous occasion. 100 pics of the kids? 100 funny comments? (They’ve certainly been providing me with a lot of material lately.) 100 favorite family memories? Whatever it was going to be, it needed to be a celebration.

And then I read this blog post by Ann Voskamp. It’s titled “Why You Really Have to Keep Falling in Love.” (I’d encourage you to click the link and read this short post. Either now or later. It’s a very quick, very powerful read.)  But in case you don’t, here is a summary: Ann writes about a conversation she has with a girl in her twenties who, after telling her to stay in love with Jesus, responds, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved Jesus. So I don’t know what it means to stay in love with Jesus. I thought Christianity was about getting into heaven, getting saved, getting good No one ever told me that Christianity was about staying in love.” Ann’s post is a response to this conversation, where she writes some vitally important truths.

“Looking into the eyes of this hardly twenty-something girl, it’s about as crystal clear as it gets:

Our faith better be deeply connected to our senses and our heart, or a sensual world will destroy our faith and steal our heart.

If Jesus hasnt passionately wooed you the world eventually, definitely will.” ~ Ann Voskamp

As I read, my eyes welled up and spilled over. I’ve been that girl. I know her. I see her now in a thousand different faces. Maybe she’s in you? 

Right around the time I read that post, our pastor challenged us to “Do yourselves a favor. Tell someone how great your God is.”

Also right around that time, my kids got sick, and I stayed home caring for them, which means being secluded from the outside world. I spent a lot of that time thinking. Thinking about an upcoming 4th birthday party (which has since come and gone) and what gift to give. Thinking about being a mom and how important that job is. Thinking about our pastor’s challenge and how little I really do that on a daily basis. Thinking about this 20-something girl who knows that Jesus saves – has saved her - but she doesn’t know what it’s like to be in love with him.

It all struck me so hard. What if my kids grow up and never know? I have to tell them, show them, or the world will tell them something different. Who am I kidding? The world is telling them something different right now. Everywhere they look, they get lies thrown at them as truth. They are already beginning to be inundated with a watered-down version of right and wrong and what it means to be a Christian, and they haven’t even reached double-digits yet.

Annalise and Jacob, listen to me very carefully: Jesus saves, yes. But it’s so much more than that. He isn’t just a way to get to Heaven. You have to seek him, spend time with him, fall in love. And you’ll realize how much more he is.

“Our faith better be deeply connected to our senses and our heart, or a sensual world will destroy our faith and steal our heart. If Jesus hasnt passionately wooed you the world eventually, definitely will.”

Those words keep ringing in my ears.

I can’t make them believe, make them feel. But I can tell them, and I can show them.

I can’t live in fear for them. So I will live on my knees for them.

I’ve spent time, as many women I know have, keeping record of things that bring me joy each day. (This is also spurred on from Ann Voskamp and her book 1000 gifts.) The lists are just a way to unwrap the gifts God has given, as a way to remind ourselves of His great love for us.

But with a sense of urgency for my kids, for the world that is constantly muddying the waters of truth until there is almost nothing left resembling actual Truth, I wanted to write this: 100 Reasons I’ve Fallen in Love with Jesus.

And so, I am writing to him. And I am writing to my children, to anyone who may not know, or to anyone who just needs a reminder of why they once fell in love with Jesus. Read a little of it or all of it. Or even if you stop reading here and the only one that sees this list is the One I’m writing about, just know that I’m writing it because my God is great. He is personal. He is more than just “a way to get heaven, to get saved, or how to get good.” And I wanted you all to know, He is the best reason – really the ONLY reason – to celebrate.

And because I want to keep falling in love.

100 Reasons Why I Love My Great God

1. You are personal. You are not a distant God. I can come straight to you. There is no middle man that needs to do the work for me.

2. Despite you being perfect and holy and me being incredibly flawed (<— massive understatement), you are not repulsed by me. You do not turn away. In fact, “as I draw near to you, you draw near to me.”

3. You love me enough to die for me and pay the penalty for my sins so that I could come to you blameless and holy. My imperfections are washed away, and I can stand in your holy presence.

4. You are the giver of all good and perfect things. Every. single. thing. that is good in my life is directly from you. Thank you? It just doesn’t seem like enough.

5. Your endless creativity. I mean really, I get a little overwhelmed just going in the produce section. (Starfruit? Kumquats??? Cherimoya for goodness sake!) And then I realize, over 7 BILLION PEOPLEin the world (not even counting all the people that came before us or all those yet to come), and each of them are unique. YOU are AMAZING.

6. My own special people. You made them, and they have filled my heart to the brim.

7. You saved me from total deadness. I am alive because of you.

8. You know exactly what I need, all the time. And you will give me nothing less than that.

9. You know exactly what everyone needs. ALL 7+ BILLION OF US. Not one of us is overlooked. 

10. #9 doesn’t overwhelm you. Nothing overwhelms you.

11. When I am away from the ones I love most, you are not.

12. Your voice is never harsh when you pick me up from sin and despair. You are always gentle and loving. And you are always there to pick me up.

13. No matter how far I have or will run from you, I can never escape your hands.

14. You are patient. With me. With my faults. With this world. Oh so incredibly patient.

15. You are never too busy dealing with “the big stuff” to hear my prayers.

16. You chose to become a human and to come as a baby. You are God, yet you humbled yourself so.

17. You were fully tempted and yet without sin. I tend to gloss over that sometimes, but you could have sinned at any time. You were fully human, after all. And you are the only human who understands the full weight of temptation, since you are the only one who withstood it without ever giving in.

18. You went to Jerusalem, knowing your fate. You ate the Passover meal. You went to the garden, knowing they’d come. You went to the cross. You did not send legions of warrior angels to stop it all. You could have at any time. All you needed to do was speak the word. But you didn’t.

19. Judas. You loved even him. All along, you knew what he would do, and yet you loved him. So much that when the time came, no one knew who it was going to be that would betray you. You didn’t treat him differently than the others. (I can barely fake a smile to someone I think maybe doesn’t like me a little bit possibly. I clearly have a long way to go.)

20. You forgive. And you’ve forgiven me A LOT. (And as I’ve learned, those who are forgiven much, love much. Probably why I love you so much.)

21. When I struggle with forgiving others, I can give it to you.

22. You are just.

23. You are faithful to finish the good work you began in me.

24. I can trust that you will finish the good work you began in others, too. When I’m feeling skeptical of them, I know I can fully trust you.

25. You love children and see their pure faith.

26. You were purposeful in who you spent your time with as you walked this earth. It is so evident: You love all.

27. I love my children so much. I really really do. In fact, I can’t imagine much stronger a love. But I have to admit, when they are being naughty, I mean sooooo naughty it feels like they just gave me the middle finger, I don’t mind the thought of sending them to Grandma’s for a few hours days weeks. Yet you have no desire to leave my presence. And when I am soooooooo very naughty, you reach out your hand and draw me to you.

28. You don’t condemn me, but you do correct. It’s an important part of love, and you do it lovingly.

29. You are merciful. Thanks for not giving me what I deserve.

30. Your endless grace, which is greater than all my sin.

31. You fill my heart with joy.

32. You are my only hope.

33. You always keep your promises.

34. Any battle I face, I know I will not face alone.

35. You acknowledge those who are poor in spirit, and give them hope of Heaven.

36. You have not forgotten those who weep, and you give them comfort.

37. You recognize the meek, and you’ve promised them reward.

38. You have promised to fill those who hunger and thirst for you.

39. You promise mercy to those who are merciful.

40. To the pure in heart, peacemakers, and those who have been persecuted because of righteousness, you give a promise none other can fulfill. You give eternal hope.

41. When I was in my weakest state, you held me tightest.

42. When I couldn’t pray and had no desire to go on, you interceded on my behalf. YOU prayed for ME.

43. You are compassionate to all.

44. You aren’t a wallflower or door mat…. when tables need turning, you do it.

45. When lepers had to call out to let others know “what” they were so they could stay far away, you came to them. You touched them. You showed them love that no one else ever would.

46. You have authority over all. You are the God of angel armies, dominions of this world and all else.

47. The wind and waves must obey you. Even death is under your rule.

48. Even in your full authority and power, you allow us to make our own decisions.

49. You love us enough to let us choose you.

50. In all circumstances, you know all. You know best and I know little.

51. You didn’t just go to the cross. You asked your Father to forgive those who put you there while you were there. And that includes me.

52. You defeated death and the grave. The battle has already been won for us all. We just have to claim it.

53. Seasons. You made them. I love them.

54. You are funny. How do I know? Because we are made in your image – including Matt –  and Matt is definitely funny. And also, because of this guy:

The Tarsier. Funniest looking animal ever. Made by you.
(The Tarsier is actually tied for funniest with that monkey you made… the one with
dark fur everywhere except it’s pink inflamed rear. That is, tied for first except to boys
within the age range of 4-39. Then naked butt-monkey wins every time.)

55. You made funny people. Like my kids. They crack me up on a daily basis.

56. You are the source of all joy.

57. You have created breathtaking views, many of which I’m blessed to see in this county.

58. Pleasure was your idea. YOU created it. But may I not settle for pitiful pleasures that lead to emptiness.

59. You came that I may have abundant life – life to the full.

60. I have lost a great deal, but I know because of you, my loss is only temporary. I will get to see my girls again someday.

61. You are good. Always and only.

62. You don’t ask me to do anything you haven’t already done. Obey? Love? Live selflessly? Yep, you’re an expert at it. You lived it every second.

63. Chocolate and coffee. ‘Nuff said.

64. You know a woman’s heart. I love that when Mary found out she was going to have you – a miracle baby – she ran to her old cousin Elizabeth, who was also going to have a miracle baby. You knew she needed someone to share in her miracle. She would not feel alone. (And – maybe also somewhat conveniently – you kept Zachariah from speaking during this time. They could share without interruption. Like I said, you know a woman’s heart.)

65. You will never leave me nor forsake me. Ever. Not even for a second. Not even when I’m tired, grumpy, or really angry at you and throwing a massive tantrum. In my head, obviously. Because I’d never do such a childish thing out loud. Um…

66. Have I mentioned you’re funny? Not just because of the hilarious creatures you’ve created, but because you created man and woman. And then ask them to join together in holy matrimony. And it’s all very hysterical, when you really think about it. Because we couldn’t be more different.

67. Music. While the world does their best to corrupt it, you invented it. It’s powerful, moving, beautiful, and I love it. Especially when I get the privilege of using it to worship you.

68. You rejoice over me with singing. What??? YOU rejoice over ME with singing!!

69. When I am anxious, worn, weary, or riled up, you quiet me with your love.

70. You have promised me victory over sin. It does not have dominion over me. For I am under your grace, and I am a new creation.

71. You desire reconciliation and restored relationships. And you give us all the tools to do it. We are a stubborn, prideful people.

72. Your countless wonders, deeds, and miracles. They are not fairy tales.

73. You give strength to those whose hearts are fully committed to you.

74. Even though there are times I think I have a better way, your ways are always higher than mine. And your thoughts are higher than mine. Thank GOD.

75. You do not want me to live in fear. You take hold of my hand and say to me, “Do not fear; I will help you.”

76. You are a shield about me.

77. You only speak truth. You cannot lie. I can fully trust you.

78. Day AND night. You made them both. I love them both. Sometimes one more than the other. Like day, when the littlest people in the house fill the air with laughter and singing. And like night, when the littlest people in the house are finally quiet.

79. You are my refuge.

80. You have plans for me and my life. Plans to prosper me, not harm me. Plans to give me hope and a future.

81. I give you my requests/prayers/wishes. They are not all granted, for you are not a genie. Yet, you do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine. And your plans are always better than mine.

82. You do not change. Yet you change everything. (And it is always for good.)

83. When I abide in you, I can bear much fruit. You change me.

84. You are slow to anger but rich in love.

85. Others will fail me, break promises, hurt me, put themselves before me, make me feel unloved. But you never will. You cannot.

86. You made a day for rest. You knew we’d need it. It is my favorite day.

87. You want me to have fun. You do not want me to be bored or boring. You created fun, you gave me the desire for fun, and you are the source of joy.

88. I love your creations. The scenery, the animals, the plants, the people… Just not the bugs. I could do without the bugs.

89. You have defeated Satan. He is on a short leash, but he has not authority over me.

90. One day, you will permanently strip Satan of all power and throw him into the abyss. I long for this day. Until then, you have a greater purpose in mind, and you love all enough that you want no one to perish.

91. You do not become tired or weary.

92. You have made me your treasure. And you treat me as such.

93. You are everywhere at all times. Nothing is out of your reach or beyond your view.

94. You are holy. Perfect.

95. You are a father to the fatherless.

96. You have made yourself available to dwell in anyone who chooses to accept you.

97. While you were still God, you humbled yourself to become a man. You came to be an example for us, to point us to the father, and to save us. You have rescued me.

98. You look beyond the external and judge the heart.

99. You were God with skin, and you prayed to God the Father. You were the perfect example of what a prayer life should look like. You lived fully dependent on God the Father.

100. You loved me first and forever. Before I was born. When I was dead. When I denied you.
Now and forevermore.

Your hands

You have called me to this place -
This assignment at this time.
It doesn’t always make much sense to me.
But You are Good
And You are Loving, and You have a perfect plan;
If only I could see all that You see.

…still, I will trust Your Sovereign Hands.

I can’t see how this will work;
Sometimes I’m so unsure.
I’ve worried myself sick yet once again.
And then I hear a sweet clear note -
A sparrow sings to say
Your love is so much greater for all men.

…and then I rest in Your Sufficient Hands.

A flood of fears of the unknown
Leak down my cheeks sometimes.
I stand here wondering what I am to do.
I know not what tomorrow holds
Or what the next day brings,
But I know each day is no surprise to You.

…and I find peace in Your Omniscient Hands.

When mistakes from yesterday
Or the fears from my tomorrow
Blind me to the blessings of right now,
I pray I will remember
Your new mercy every morning
And Your grace that’s still enough for me somehow.

...and I will find joy in Your Loving Hands.

And when I’m feeling tired and worn,
Exhausted by this world,
Tossed by the waves and spun out of control,
I’ll remember what You’ve promised,
And I will cling to you.
You are my Hope, an Anchor for my soul.

…and I am sheltered in Your Steady Hands.

I will give You every moment -
Today and all the rest.
Hands open, trusting you all of my days.
Each thing I do, each word I say
Will be an act of worship
For You alone are worthy of my Praise.

…and I fall to my knees in Your Perfect Hands.

You are my Abba Father
Jehovah Jireh, My Provider -
Adonai, Lord. Shalom, You are my Peace.
Jehovah Rapha, You’re my Healer.
El Shadai, Almighty God.
El Olam – the One True God – will never cease.

And You have called me to this place -
This assignment at this time.
It doesn’t always make much sense to me.
But You are YAHWEH,
My Lord.
My Rock, and My Redeemer.

I’m in your hands – no other place I’d rather be.