Eyes to the Hills

Lifting my eyes. Finding my joy. Sharing it with others.

Busted May 31, 2012

Filed under: Jacob,Parenting Aint for Sissies — thepriestmans @ 12:04 am

So you think you know your kid, right? I mean, you’ve been with him 92% of his life. The other 8% was spent at a babysitter’s, the church nursery, and grandma’s. And 20% of that time, he spent sleeping. So really, only 6.4% of his life has been spent awake and away from you. Every other minute, he’s been with you. Awake, asleep, eating, playing, with you. You know him best.

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You know his likes, his dislikes, and all his habits. And you can imagine that the 6.4% of his life that you’re away and he’s awake is very similar to the time when he’s with you. I mean, you know him. You really really do.

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Then a day comes when you realize that you actually don’t. All this time, he’s been leading a double life. At least during part of that 6.4% of time, he has. Your 2-year-old boy has a whole other life that you know nothing about.

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Let me explain…

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Today when I got to Bev’s house to pick up the kids, Jacob was sitting on the ground drinking milk from a sippy cup. He looked up at me and said something about a ba-ba. I thought he was teasing and joked, “Is that your ba-ba?”

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He smiled big and giggled. “Noooo…” he says.

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“That’s right,” I say, “you’re a big boy. You don’t need a ba-ba.”

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Bev looks at me. “You don’t give him a bottle?”

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Surprised, I look at her. “No. Not for about a year now. Why? Do you?”

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She smiles and starts to giggle. “Um, yeah… Then how do you put him down for a nap?”

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“I just lay him in his crib. He plays and talks and goes to sleep. Why? What do you do?”

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“I rock him. And give him a bottle. He cries for a ‘ba-ba’ if I don’t. And if I give him a bottle and don’t rock him, he cries to be rocked.”

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“Really?? He cries for a ba-ba? And to be rocked???”

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Bev nods.

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I say, “So, he gets a bottle. Do you warm it up?”

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She nods again.

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We both look at Jacob, still sitting on the floor with a sippy cup. He’s been watching this whole conversation. I say to him, “So… Jacob… You get a bottle at Bev’s house before you’ll go to sleep?”

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That kid, my kid, the one I know so well, looks up at us with the biggest accomplished (yet somewhat sheepish) grin, and I’m certain he let out a little “heh, heh.”

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“Jacob,” I continue, “do you ask Bev to rock you when you go to sleep every day?”

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Same big grin. Same knowing giggle.

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Hello, wool. I see you’ve met eyes. My eyes. And Bev’s. Apparently, you’ve been pulled over them for some time now.

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Last spring, just after he turned one, we stopped giving the boy bottles. All summer long with me, he didn’t get a bottle. Back to Bev’s in the fall, and he started getting them. Asking for them. Oh yeah, and he decided he didn’t know how to go to sleep on his own but needed to be rocked.

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Not to mention, he has never asked for a ba-ba anywhere else. Not at church. Not at Gramma’s. Not to anyone. In fact, when playing with and feeding his sister’s dolls, he doesn’t even call them ba-bas. He gives the baby a “bottle.” Aaaannnnndd, he and I have even joked about baby-ish stuff. Like, I tip him back in my arms and say to him, “Go to sweep my wittle baby. Do you want your wittle ba-ba?” And he laughs and says in his baby-est voice, “Ma-ma. Ba-ba. Ba-ba.” And we laugh and laugh, because he’s really a big boy. A big boy that actually says “bottle,” talks in full sentences, and plays jokes. And hasn’t had a ba-ba for a year.

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The boy led a double-life. Big boy at home, baby at Bev’s. He’s just two, but it worked for an entire school year.

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Today, he was busted. Wish him luck tomorrow.

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And then wish me luck for the next 16 years.

 

Mocking Bird May 23, 2012

Filed under: Jacob,My girl,Parenting Aint for Sissies — thepriestmans @ 12:48 am

I think one of the ways God keeps us parents humble is by creating our children to mimic everything we do.

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Just when you feel like super-mom because you mastered the never-ending to-do list all while keeping the family happy… who am I kidding? That never happens. Let me try that again…

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Just when you feel proud for being a parenting rockstar, because your children never fight, for making it an entire day without screwing up in the parenting department… UGH.

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Just when you feel good because you finally had ONE positive parenting moment, you overhear one of your kids on their “phone” say in a remarkably familiar tone, “You have got to be kidding me. What an idiot!” Or the other child drops a toy and says in frustration with a furrowed brow, “dogGONit!”

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Yep, there is no way one can get a big head with the little mini-mes running around highlighting every one of your flubs, parenting or otherwise. And it isn’t just the things you say. Their mannerisms, body language, and how they react to things can often mirror each other and mom and dad. (Although I have no idea where Annalise picked up that eye roll with a sigh thing. Seriously. Just don’t ask her dad about it.)

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What I’ve begun to realize is that as they get older, the mimicking changes a bit.

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A 2-year old often mimics immediately and verbatim – or as close to verbatim as was understood. I say, “Jacob, come here and give mommy a kiss.” He says, “Give mommy kiss?” I say, “Why is your shirt all dirty?” He says, “Because my shirt all doody.” I get frustrated and let out a loud “uuugggghhh!” Jacob does the same, and then looks at me with a big dimpled grin, apparently proud of his ability to remind me that he is always listening and capable of repeating anything. Anything.

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The 2-year old also mimics seemingly mindlessly. At least the chatty 2-year-old does. What I mean is, while his mouth is constantly moving, he can hear something from a distance and add it to the continual chatter.

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Example: While in the grocery store, Jacob was telling me a story about Maggie, the dog at Bev’s house. Despite his sister constantly interrupting him to tell me we should buy this or that, or that we really neeeeeed fruit snacks and chocolate covered granola bars, and even though I wasn’t fully focused (I did slip in a number of “Uh-huhs,” and “Oh, wow!”s so he knew I was “listening”), the boy just. didn’t. stop. talking. You’d think that while one was so busy ignoring his sister and telling every detail of his interactions with a puppy, one would not be aware of other sounds, such as the background music and intermittent advertisements being played in the store. But you would be wrong. Because as he told his never-ending story, he’d take a break to comment on whatever it was the nice lady on the loud speaker was advertising. “And den (then) Maggie wunned (ran) over and… she said choc-o-wat, Mama. Choco-wat nummy. Wight, mama? Wight? It nummy. We should get some of dat too… and Maggie wunned over and fall down wif a big cwash! She cwashed and it was so funny! And… she said da qwackers on sale. Did you hear, mama? Da qwackers nummy, too. Day on sale!….And den Maggie got up and…”

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How does he do that? I can barely hear him and Annalise and pay attention to my grocery list without running the cart into things. He can tell a story, block out Annalise-noise, hear and repeat commercials, and continue his story where he left off, all the while pointing out things he’d like to buy as we pass them. He is the only male I know that can successfully multi-task.

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The 2-year old has an unusually keen sense of hearing. He can pick up on whispered phrases, but he is most talented at catching things said in another part of the house. While he and his sister argue over a toy for the thousandth time, one parent (not mentioning any names) overhears in another room and says in frustration, “My gosh guys, c’mon!” Immediately we hear Jacob shout, “My gosh, guys, c’mon!” Followed by Leesie shouting, “JACOB! DON’T. SAY. GOSH! MOMMEEEEE! JACOB SAID GOSH!”  Great.

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Jacob is so good at repeating everything – at any time and from any part of the house – that I called him my little mocking bird. His reply, “I am not your walking-bird! I Jacobpweestman!“ He then walked out of the room chattering, “walking-bird, walking-bird, walking bird…” Exactly. And how I love you, my little mocking bird.

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4-year-old mocking birds mimic differently, for they are a bit wiser. These older and wiser mocking birds choose phrases they like and try them out at a later – and sometimes very random – time. This is their way of testing a phrase to see if it they want to add it to their repertoire.

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Example: In a fit of anger for being put in time out, my sweet girl hollered from the corner of the hall. “Well… You… YOU… You’re just JEALOUS!” (Like I said, phrases are tested out at often very random times.)

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So where’d that come from? I don’t recall ever using that phrase in front of her – or come to think of it – at all. It isn’t a word I use much, and certainly not in that tone. But she heard it somewhere and decided to try it out. Multiple times a day. For several weeks. And not once was it used correctly.

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“Annalise, can you please pick up your toys?”

“No! You’re just JEALOUS!”

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“Leesie, don’t talk to your brother like that!”

“You’re just JEALOUS, mom!” No. Actually I’m not. I’m really really not.

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Or to Jacob, “Go away! You’re just JEALOUS!”

Good grief.

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I explained to her that: 1) She clearly didn’t know what the word jealous means and was using the phrase incorrectly, 2) She was obviously trying to be mean, and that wasn’t okay, and 3) If she continued to use it, there would be consequences. Not because the actual phrase was mean, but because her intentions were.  (After explaining that one, she tried out the word “intentions” for a few days on me… until she couldn’t remember what word it was anymore.)

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“You’re just jealous!” was also then adopted by brother-mocking-bird, who used it on me a few times as well. It’s very difficult to keep a straight face when a super-cute-toddler-trying-(unsuccessfully)-to-have-a-very-stern–face says to you, “You so jealous, mom!”

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Jealous? Of wearing diapers? Of having to depend on others to feed and clothe me? Of playing all day? Of daily naps? Of having no responsibility whatsoever? Yeah, actually. Maybe I am. Except for the diapers part.

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In any case, I’m glad that phrase finally ran its course and was not permanently added to the 4-year-old’s repertoire.

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It can be very obvious when a 4-year-old mocking bird is trying out a new phrase, even when it is used correctly. They will often say it more than once, and they may look at you to study your reaction to their latest verbiage.

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Example: We were on a walk, when we noticed a lady walking her boxer up ahead. Annalise’s Uncle Tom also has a boxer named Elby. While boxers can look very similar, this one was pretty different from Elby and clearly not him. Nevertheless, Annalise decided it was a good opportunity to test a new phrase. In a bit of a chatty middle-school-girlish voice, she said, “Woah! I saw that dog and thought it looked like Elby. But then I was like, what the heck? How could that be Elby out here? And Uncle Tom isn’t even around! So, what the heck???” Quick glance at mom to read my reaction.

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I was like??? What the heck???? Is she a 14-year-old from the early 90′s or something? And where did she hear that phrase in the first place? What the h…. Ohhhh… Never mind. Turns out I am the 14-year-old from the early 90′s. And she is just my mocking bird. But I would never tell her that. Because she is wise, and sensitive, and she is ever-trying to be her own person. Only while doing so, she ends up a lot like me. How I love you so, my beautiful and wise 4-year-old mocking bird.

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The best (or worst, depends on how you look at it) of the mocking bird mimicking comes, not in words and phrases, but in actions. In moments where you see your little birds doing exactly what you would do. It is the best, because you know how much they really are like you, and somehow, that is comforting. But it is also the worst, because you know how much they really are like you, and that is also very very frightening.

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Example: Jacob loves his little cars. He has oh-so-many of them. More than a 2-year old needs, for sure. He sleeps with them, carries them around the house, and takes them everywhere we go in the car. This morning, we heard him talking loudly in the other room. We weren’t sure exactly what he was playing, but his voice was boisterous, as though he were announcing something. This went on for a few minutes before Matt came to me and said, “Come here. Come see what your son is doing.”

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My son? Why my son? Is he being naughty, so you don’t claim him? This is what I found:

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Not naughty. Just organized and categorizing. Disney cars on the right, other cars on the left/back, larger cars on the ground. And all lined up neatly. (His loud talking was introducing each vehicle “on stage.”)

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Yes. My son. How proud I felt. My boy. Linear thinker. So neat. So organized. Just like his mama, who keeps all the pencils in the container with the erasers at one end, turns all the mugs in the cupboard so the handles face the same way, stacks things in cute organized bins including one labeled “Labels,” and always - always – straightens poker chips when playing Texas Hold ‘Em so the white marks on the rim of the chips make a straight white line all the way down. (Clearly, I just play for fun with friends. I’m not sure that kind of behavior would be allowed in casinos. I don’t care which stack is bigger… just give me the straight chips.)

                                 Unnerving chaos:                                        Better, but still needing adjustments:

                                                                                             

My mocking bird. Organizing his cars. I must get a picture. I grabbed my phone, doing my best to overlook the small gap between two of the cars and stopping myself from straightening the one that was slightly crooked at the end. He will learn. Noticing those details will come with time.

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And then, just as I’m about to snap the shot, my 4-year-old mocking bird jumps up. “Wait! Let me just straighten this car and push these together,” she says while scooting the row of cars over, ignoring the protests from her brother.

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Ah, yes. And there are drawbacks to my OCD behavior. I recall that now. Over-organizing. Wanting things my way. Not being happy with good enough. That’s right… just when I start feeling proud, my mocking birds remind me of my faults and keep me humble.

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But oh, how I love those birds, my gifts. I must do better, for them. They motivate me.

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And so my prayer:

LORD, just for today, give me the strength to be patient and loving at all times. To keep my cool, but to be warm to the little ones around me. When I am proud, remind me that “everything good in me is You, everything else is just me.” Help me to model less of me and more of You. And for my little birds, help me to speak JOY, GRACE, and uplifting words of STRENGTH, so they will do the same. ~ Amen

 

Grace Lavished May 11, 2012

Filed under: Grace,Joy Found — thepriestmans @ 11:00 pm

I am humbled.

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I began to write out my journey of faith just for myself, and I wrestled with the idea of making it public on my blog. (If you haven’t read it yet, this post won’t make sense. Read Tarnished first.) On the one hand, it felt good to write it all out and recognize how far I’ve come from my intense hatred toward God just 5+ years ago. It encouraged me to see how He’s been working in me, all the puzzle pieces lined up and fitting together, rather than each piece floating around in my mind disconnected from the rest. I was writing it for me. But then I thought that maybe it would be good for others to see, too – to encourage those that have prayed so faithfully for us and those that God has used to speak to us, to grow and stretch us during the past year.

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On the other hand, posting this journey meant admitting to the world that I don’t have it all together. (I know. Shocking.) It meant confessing to people I know, love, and respect that my faith couldn’t withstand heartache. (Hmmm… a bit of pride creeping in here? I think so.) It’s humbling – and to some extent humiliating – to know other people have grown in their faith in the midst of a tragedy, while I completely crumbled. Waves crashed, and I jumped ship. Shouldn’t I have been stronger? Why did it take me over 5 years to get to the point where I can trust God and accept that His ways are not my ways (Isaiah 55:8), and that is a good thing? After all, He sees the big picture. And not just my big picture. He sees everyone’s big picture, how they are interlinked, and for all of time. Why was I so stubborn in accepting that He knows best? I don’t want everyone to know about this major fault of mine!

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Ah, yes. Pride. Guilt. Slowly creeping in like the ocean’s tide. I could soon be swamped.

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I decided to write out my journey and think on it for a while before posting. I read it probably a dozen times (and missed all those typos/errors each and every time. Oops.) I didn’t want to post it if it was only for my benefit, but I would make it public if it could encourage someone else. I decided to post it. I prayed it would reach someone. I prayed that God would be glorified. I prayed that I could redeem some of the lost time I spent hating God, and that maybe, maybe some good would come of it.

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The day after posting, I regretted it. First, the waves of pride came again, washing over me as I saw the number of people reading it increase. Then came the even more intense guilt. I failed. I threw my faith out the window. I completely jumped ship. I tried reminding myself that this isn’t about me. It’s about bringing glory to the One who made me and loves me as I am, despite my faults.

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I had the opportunity to have a conversation with my pastor about it. I’m pretty sure I’ve said it once or twice before, but he’s pretty awesome. Seriously. (Oh yes, I did already say that. Here, here, and multiple times on various dates here.) But it’s worth saying again. How blessed we are to be a part of a church where we get to hear him preach nearly every week. He is so real. So transparent. And he speaks Truth. And since writing the last blog post, I have heard from more and more people who also feel – every week – like the preaching is just for them. Clearly, Pastor Phil is being used by God. I am constantly learning from him.

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During our conversation, I told him about my guilt for hating God. I told him how bad I felt for jumping ship the second strong waves crashed. Pastor Phil cupped his hands like a bowl. “In your eyes, you jumped ship. But in His, you were always right here.”

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What an amazing picture. No matter how much I give up on Him, no matter how far I try to run from His presence, I can’t ever escape the palm of His hands. Even when I jump ship, I still land right there, right where He is holding me.

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You’d think that would be good enough for me to get past the whole guilt/pride thing. Um, no. (I may have also mentioned once or twice that I am a bit stubborn.) So while I was greatly encouraged by my conversation with my pastor, the very next day I allowed myself to feel guilty once again. I had lunch with a friend who experienced the loss of a baby similar to our situation. She rejoices at the gift God gave her. She is thankful for a treasure she has in Heaven. She didn’t hate like I did. More guilt as I wish I would have had her faith. Ugh.

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Do you ever have one of those nights where you can’t keep your eyes open when you’re in the living room, but the second you hit the bed, you’re wide awake? Do you ever have an argument with yourself or with God? As I lay on my pillow that night, frustrated about not falling asleep, a thought crept into my mind…

Read Jesus Calling.

No. I left it in the living room. I’m not getting up.

Read Jesus Calling.

No. I’m cozy. I’m going to sleep now!

Get up. Read Jesus Calling.

No! Thank you. I think I’ll lay here in my misery and guilt until I fall asleep. I just missed one day. I’ll read two tomorrow.

You missed two days. Go read yesterday’s today.

Maybe I’m not making myself clear here. I’m. Not. Getting. Up. I will read two – no, THREE - devotionals tomorrow. Promise.

Get up. Read Jesus Calling. Read yesterday’s entry. Read it now, before you sleep.

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It was at this point I realized I was even more awake than when the argument in my head started. I reluctantly – and with irritation – jolted up and into the living room, hoping to quiet my thoughts and allow myself to go back to sleep. My movement was sudden and startled Matt, so he followed me out to see what was going on. Embarrassed for sounding a bit crazy, I thumbed through the book while explaining to him that I just needed to read the devotional from yesterday so I could shut up my mind and get to sleep in peace, that really I didn’t think it was going to be helpful, but at least I wouldn’t be having stupid arguments in my head.

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Here is where the story gets funny. I turned to the day’s devotion that I had skipped. The one I was apparently going to have to read if I wanted a chance at going to sleep. As I began to read, I couldn’t help but laugh. I read it aloud to Matt. We were both laughing.

From Jesus Calling by Sarah Young:

May 9

Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can bring good even out of your mistakes. Your finite mind tends to look backward, longing to undo decisions you have come to regret. This is a waste of time and energy, leading only to frustration. Instead of floundering in the past, release your mistakes to Me. Look to Me in trust, anticipating that My infinite creativity can weave both good choices and bad into a lovely design.

Because you are human, you will continue to make mistakes. Thinking that you should live an error-free life is symptomatic of pride. Your failures can be a source of blessing, humbling you and giving you empathy for other people in their weaknesses. Best of all, failure highlights your dependence on Me. I am able to bring beauty out of the morass of your mistakes. Trust Me, and watch to see what I will do.

Romans 8:28; Micah 7:7

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If you have that book and read the devotional for May 9 and didn’t get much out of it, sorry. That one was written just for me.

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So what now? What comes of the girl who hated God, now loves Him, and is on a majorly steep learning curve to reflect His image? (We’re talking straight up-and-down cliffs, here.)

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This is the part where I work on choosing and remembering. Waking up each morning and choosing to remember that I am human, and I will continue to make mistakes. Yet, He still LOVES ME. He made me, and He does all things well.

Remembering that He is God, and He knows best. For me, for you, and for all of eternity. Oh boy, that one’s a toughy. I have to choose that often. (Yes, I know, stubborn me. Sheesh.) But I do. I have to decide each and every day – sometimes multiple times a day – that GOD is GOD, and I am not.

Remembering that no matter how far I run, jump, or hide, I can never escape the palm of His hands.

Remembering that He – God – the Creator of the Universe has lavished His Amazing Grace upon me. (Ephesians 1:7-8)

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Grace lavished. Upon me. Stubborn. Prideful. Tantrum-ing, hateful me.

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I am humbled. I am in awe. I am so incredibly grateful.

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When I started this blog, I was purposeful in my intent: to focus on joy and the Giver of all good and perfect gifts. I was excited as I started the process. It felt good.

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In her book One Thousand Gifts, (which I am super-slow at reading. Sorry, Rach. Still haven’t finished chapter 4), Ann Voskamp embraces joy in gratitude for the many Gifts from God. At the women’s retreat I attended, Sandi challenged us to do the same, to write down 1,000 gifts. 1,000 “pops of joy” from our Creator, God. Our Heavenly Father. More excitement from me for a challenge that aligned with what God was doing in my heart already.

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Even having started this process on my own, I am a slow learner.  Even having multiple reminders in various ways, I stumble as many times as I attempt.

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But I am lavished in His grace. Each day. Each moment. Each time I stumble. Each time I get back up. Grace lavished.

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Like Ann Voskamp, Sandi, and many other women, I am looking for it in 1,000 ways. How He shows His love for me. Each gift an example of His unending love, His amazing grace. With no disrespect to a friend who coined the term “pop of joy,” I’m recording my gifts of grace. It helps me remember. Since I don’t seem to be so good at that…

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Here are a few of my Gifts of Grace from this week:

  • Two hands, cupped together, reminding me I can not escape His love.
  • Encouraging messages from people I don’t know who read my journey. May God be glorified – answered prayer.
  • Jesus Calling May 9 entry. It was written for me, for this moment.
  • A text from a friend that simply said, “You are worth it.”

I think that last one was another reminder of God’s love for me. When the guilt creeps in, when I feel overwhelmed and discouraged and ashamed and in awe that He – GOD – could forgive and love me, He quietly whispers, “You are worth it.”

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And I am lavished in His Grace.

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Ephesians 1:7-8 ~ “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.”

Romans 8:28 ~ “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Micah 7:7 (ESV) ~ “But as for me, I will look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me.”

 

Tarnished May 7, 2012

Filed under: Grief and Loss — thepriestmans @ 5:26 am

Recently, I’ve read a number of blogs from various people sharing their tragic real-life stories. A couple who lost their baby late in pregnancy. A young mommy-friend who is battling cancer after already having buried 2 of her babies. A mommy and daddy who said good-bye to their baby girl as she went to be with Jesus. And another mommy, her son buried, at the hands of a drunk driver. There are others, too. Stories from friends or from people I knew once upon a time. Blog after tear-jerking blog.

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As I’ve read each of these heart-wrenching tales, I’ve been struck by the calm. The peace. The joy amidst heartache. All of the bloggers referred to the grace of God sustaining them. All of them are choosing not to ask God “why?” but to thank Him for His unending love, praise Him for His sovereignty.

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And I am completely amazed.

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Because I, too, have been on a journey with heartache and tragedy. Had I been a blogger just six years ago, readers would have experienced our highest peaks in life as we learned – despite having been told we would not be able to conceive naturally – that my 22-year prayer for twins was answered with no medical help whatsoever, immediately followed by our lowest valleys as we said good-bye to our baby girls in this world. I could have written out the details of our story, only my blog would have been different than those I have read of late. Mine would have been full of whys, full of anger. 

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Let me just say that I know the loss Matt and I have experienced is not even close to what some people in this world face. I don’t think, by any means, we’ve had the worst tragedy, the biggest heartache, or that we deserve some medal for our suffering. It isn’t like that at all. We have much to be grateful for. I also don’t think that the suffering of one can be minimized when compared to the suffering of another. For example, I don’t like when people say, “I’ve had a couple miscarriages, but that is nothing compared to what you’ve been through,” insinuating that just because our loss was further along, their loss was no big deal. We all have trials. Suffering is suffering. Loss is loss. Heartache is heartache.

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And to be clear, I am not bringing up this heartache to gain sympathy. I don’t need it or want it. What I do need is to fix some wrongs. To redeem some of what was lost. To hopefully bring some glory to God and His unfailing love.

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It’s just that if I were a blogger 6 years ago, you would not have read my thanks to God for His unending love. While I likely would not have been brave enough to write it for all to see, the words in my head and sometimes on my tongue would have (and did) curse God and “his plan.”

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Or, if I wrote at that time, I may have written off God completely. Who needs you, if you even exist at all. Had you read my thoughts at that time, my view of God would have mirrored our roller-coaster circumstances.

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…I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t a blogger 6 years ago…

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Apparently, I did not have a strong anchor to withstand the crashing waves we faced. Oh, I thought I did. I thought I trusted God fully, even while knowing that didn’t mean I was protected from heartache. I grew up the daughter of a funeral director. I saw heartache. Lots of it. I knew trusting God meant trusting through the good and the bad. I knew it meant believing God is a loving God, even when prayers aren’t answered the way we’d like. Knowing the anchor exists isn’t the same as grabbing hold, trusting it in the midst of the storm.

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But let me back up a bit…

Immediately following the loss of our girls, I decided God did not exist. I mean, how could he? How could a god exist and allow such heartache?

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Only I couldn’t swallow that thought. I knew God existed. Without going into the details here because it would take too long to explain each occurrence, I knew God existed because I had experienced Him in my life. It was not a question of if He existed, but why He would allow such pain.

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And there were many whys. Why us? Why this miracle? Why give miracles only to take them away? Why answer a 22-year prayer only to destroy it? Why give hope only to crush it? And yet again? And then again? You are our Father, why torture your children this way? Why ignore the prayers of thousands of believers from around the world and let these babies die? Why not save them and bring glory to Yourself through this string of miracles?

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The big “why” that I couldn’t swallow was: Why twins???? Having prayed for them since I was 5, and I mean really prayed for them – it felt like a personal attack. Me against God. He was out to get me where it hurts, and he succeeded. And I hated him for it. H-A-T-E. I had all sorts of things to say to this God, cruel ruler of the universe.

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But God is not to blame, many people reminded me. Oh yeah? Well, God could have done something, yet he didn’t. In my mind, that made him guilty of murder. Murder of my two babies. The analogy I shared with my family and close friends was that of a lifeguard watching two girls drown. If this lifeguard – the only one capable of jumping in and pulling them to safety – just stood by and watched them die, he would be to blame for their death. Guilty of murder. God was the lifeguard that stood by and did nothing. And I was done with him.

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For two years I felt this way. For two years the “why?”s and the anger towards this God that was supposed to be good stirred up hatred inside of me. By now, we had a little girl to raise. An amazing little creature, who trusted us for her well-being. Who was entrusted to us, and I knew I would be responsible for teaching her right from wrong and things of eternal value. I didn’t want to screw it up, only I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure what to tell her about a God that I wanted her to love, but that I hated. I didn’t know how to explain the suffering I felt while teaching her that God is sovereign and good.

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I asked Matt if he would see a counselor with me. We visited with a pastor from our church at the time, and I told him my feelings towards God and my view of him as the life-guard that stood by. He asked me about God’s promises… did He ever promise to protect us, to keep us from pain and suffering? No, I said, “So that means, we just live in a cruel world. Satan is real. Evil and pain exist. God didn’t promise to protect us from it, but he can use it for his glory. It’s not his fault, it’s Satan’s fault. It’s Adam and Eve’s fault.” The pastor agreed. God is good. Satan is bad. Sometimes life sucks.

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For another two years, that became my new answer. Why is there suffering? How do I reconcile this pain and heartache with a loving creator? God is sovereign. But we live in a cruel world with sin, suffering, and heartache. So life sucks sometimes. But God can use this heartache for His glory.

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And then we began to attend Sunrise Baptist Church, where for the first time in my adult life, I feel like I was really truly stretched in my faith. I was confronted with verse after verse that contradicted my current view of God. The problem was, my mantra “God is sovereign, but we live in a cruel world so life sucks, but God can use it for His glory” contradicted itself (not to mention the Bible.) Because if God is sovereign, as in in-control and all-powerful, then isn’t he all-powerful-all-the-time? Meaning, God is sovereign, all-powerful, and in-control even when a mommy lies on her back for weeks, begging and pleading with him to save her babies; He is in-control even when those babies are born, suffer, and die in the hands of their broken mommy and daddy; He is in-control even when that mommy watches her husband carry a pink gingham casket containing their precious girls and even when that casket is buried along with her 22-year dream for twins. So if he is all-powerful and in-control all the time, then he isn’t just using the crappy stuff that comes about because of this cruel world -  for his glory, but He is in the crappy stuff. He is there, in it, allowing it all to happen in his all-powerfulness. God can’t be sovereign if crappy stuff just randomly happens in a crappy world. That would be Him not in control. But if He truly is sovereign, then He is in control. All the time.

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And here we come to the problem. That puts God right back in the life-guard seat. Watching my babies drown.

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Not only that, but my viewpoint – the “Satan exists, so we live in a cruel world so life sucks” viewpoint – gives Satan way too much power. He is not the one in control. God is. So while Satan really truly exists and really truly is out for evil and to destroy, while life may be very painful at times, I don’t really like the idea of giving Satan the satisfaction of winning here. He exists only in a world that is ultimately controlled by God. 

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So wait, God is in the suffering? As in, he allows it, in his great plan? Well, if you read the book of Job (which everyone will tell you to do when you experience loss. Seriously. Everyone.) You will see that Job experienced tremendous suffering. In fact, in just a few minutes time, he learned he lost all he owned – 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 oxen, 500 donkeys, many servants, and all of his ten children. (Job 1:14-19). Satan was the cause of all this, but he only was able to destroy all of Job’s belongings and family because God allowed it (Job 1:12), God was the one in control. In fact, Satan could not harm Job’s person until God allowed it (Job 1:12 and 2:6). And what did Job do when he learned of his great loss? “He fell on the ground and worshiped God, saying “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:20-21)

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I’ve read this account of Job’s life a lot in the last 5+ years. Lots. The thoughts that usually came to mind when I read it in the first few years were, “Whatever, Job. All perfect and holy. I hate you, too.” No, I’m not kidding. That’s really what I thought. Then in the following years, “Job, you seriously can’t be human. That kind of response just doesn’t happen when people experience that great of loss.” Except it does. Because as I said in the beginning, I’ve read peoples’ accounts, their testimonies, their worship and thanksgiving in the midst of their greatest suffering.

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I vividly remember the first Sunday we were finally able to talk ourselves into attending church after burying our babies. It was months later. I didn’t want to be there. I still hated God. I went. I stood during worship. But I didn’t sing. One of the worship songs that morning was the Matt Redman song, “Blessed Be the Name of the Lord.” You know the one. We had sung it a thousand times before.

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there’s pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out
I’ll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

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I left church even angrier at God. YOU give and YOU take away. Again. His fault. He did it. Even Job says so.

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Except Job didn’t say so. Job said, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.” But he didn’t say, “It’s God’s fault.”  “In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrong.” (Job 1:22)  So Job knew the Lord was in his suffering, allowing it, but he didn’t blame God or charge him with wrong. Even as Job continued to suffer physically as described in chapter 2, he knew it was allowed by God. God didn’t create the suffering, but He allowed it to happen. He had his own purposes in mind for doing so. Ultimately, HE was in control, and Job worshiped Him.

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Fast forward to about 10 months ago…

It was around this time that I had been confronted with so many verses and Biblical truths that I could no longer deny that: 1) God exists. 2) He is in control. 3) He is good. And 4) All these are possible at once. Even though I suffer and you suffer and people have tremendous heartache.

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It was a series of puzzle pieces that were getting put together before my eyes. A quick summary of a few of them, which won’t even scratch the surface of how all the pieces fit together:

  • Every sermon Pastor Phil preached seemed directed at me. Every. Single. One. I can’t possibly summarize them here. But they were all for me. (God the Holy Spirit is working inside me. Apparently He’s not done with me yet.) Thanks, Pastor Phil, for being a vessel to be used so mightily by God.
  • I had a conversation with our pastor’s wife who has experienced great loss and suffering as well. She made a comment that sticks with me. Something along the lines of, “I can’t help but be happy for people who suffer, because it’s only then that they can truly experience the Joy of the Lord.” Thank you, Lisa, for always sticking the right words in my mind to fester in my heart.
  • The women’s Bible study I attend spent time focusing on how experiences God gives us are used to shape us and our relationship with Him.  (i.e. No longer can I be content with “Life just sucks sometimes, but at least God can use it for His glory.” God is in the hard, using it to shape us, and allowing it for His glory. Remember Job?) See also Romans 8:28
  • I was put in a Bible study group with the perfect women to encourage me. They all did in one way or another, but wow… Amy and Judy, the encouragers. Every question I had, frustration I felt, fear that welled up, you combated it with the exact Truth I needed to hear. I am so grateful.
  • I decided to focus on Joy and began a blog to help me to remember to do just that. (Thanks, Matt, Amy, and others for encouraging me to do so.) I decided to believe what the Bible says and shows over and over. That God is good. All the time. And that He is the giver of all good gifts. There are countless verses to reference here, but just to name a few: Psalm 136:1, Psalm 100:5, Psalm 119:68, James 1:17
  • I began reading (again) a devotional my parents got me over a year ago. It sat unused for quite some time, but suddenly I felt compelled to read Jesus Calling. All about remaining in His presence. All about being reminded of His sovereignty and goodness. Ok. Got it. YOU are in control. All the time. And YOU are good. All the time. And just in case I forget, I have a daily devotional leading me right to the perfect verses that I needed to hear that day. Every day.
    Thanks, Mom and Dad, for praying faithfully and encouraging lovingly.
  • I attended a women’s conference where the focus is on Joy. I already mentioned in this post how awesome the conference was and how I left feeling full. Everything I heard there fit in perfectly with everything God had been working on in my heart already. The topic, the challenges, and one of the recommended books? Jesus Calling. Check. Already reading that one. Thank you, Sandi, for your encouraging messages.
  • We finished our Bible study on Experiencing God and began studying Philippians, a.k.a. The Joy book. Of course we did. Because apparently Holly needed to be beat over the head with the same topic until she finally figured out how to experience joy amidst suffering, how to be thankful and trust in God and His sovereignty no matter the circumstance. Read Philippians. Not just in one night. Study it carefully. Take a chapter a week. I dare you not to change your outlook on where your joy comes from.
  • In our Sunday School class, we’re studying 1 Peter. A question of suffering came up. Why is there suffering? Our fearless leader, Jeff, turned the question around. Does God suffer? While I knew the answer, I hadn’t really thought about it before. Or at least not at a time when I was willing to listen. We looked up a number of verses that pointed me to the same conclusion: While I suffered, He too suffered. (Isaiah 63:9). A simple thought, maybe, but it helped me turn my “heartless lifeguard” view of God around for good. As I ached, He ached too. My heart was broken. So was his. I am His child. A Father grieves for the pain their child feels. God suffered with me. Thanks Jeff and Renee for reminding me. At just the perfect time.
  • A Facebook friend posted this story about Malachi 3:3 He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; he will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver. The point of the story is that a refiner of silver knows it is pure when he sees his image on it. So God is working to purify me – help me to be a reflection of Him. Only as I read it, something else struck me: While he waits, He is holding me through the entire process. Feeling the heat from the flames. Waiting patiently for me to reflect His image.
    Thanks, Karen, for posting that when it had touched you. You have no idea how many others you touched by sharing it and making yourself vulnerable on FB.

And that’s where I am now. Realizing that I am about the most tarnished impure silver there is. While others have suffered and continue to thank the Lord for his faithfulness and love, I threw tantrums. I hated. I name-called. I kicked and screamed and denounced God. And all the while, He held me and suffered the pain I suffered. Patiently waiting for me to reflect an image of Him. Oh, how He’s waited. (And by the way, He will continue to wait. Because I will always have more to learn, ways to grow.)

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Thank you, Lord, for your grace. For your patience. For your forgiveness of my stubborn and selfish ways. I want to be a reflection of You, for your glory. I’m just sorry that it’s taking me so long.

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If you’ve read this far, you’re likely one of the people who love us and prayed for us during our loss nearly 6 years ago. Likely, you’re someone God put in our lives to help carry us through the storm. Maybe you were a person who reminded me on more than one occasion that yes, God still sits on the throne. How blessed I am to have had people in my path gently do just that; countless family, a friend, a co-worker, even my boss. Thank you. Thank you for your unwavering faith, for not giving up on God as I did, and for not giving up on us in prayer.

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So now, it’s about time I grab hold of that anchor. More storms may come. They likely will. I cannot allow every wave to send me overboard or capsize the boat. It doesn’t mean it won’t be hard. I’m not saying there is no longer hurt with our loss. It doesn’t mean I don’t have any more questions. It just means that I have decided to trust the anchor I knew was there all along. It means I understand now, finally, that God is in control, and He does all things well. He doesn’t make mistakes. Our twins, their births, their death, wasn’t a mistake. He oversaw it all. And yet, He is good. I have to trust that. I’ve decided to follow Job’s lead and say, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the LORD.”

 

My Sweetest Thing April 28, 2012

Filed under: Jacob — thepriestmans @ 2:37 am

Before you were here, I wondered…

…I love them so much. How can there possibly be more love in there for another?

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But there was.  It multiplied. Bubbled up and overflowed. 2 years ago, you came. My heart melted at your sight. Perfect round cheeks, deep creases on every limb. Dark hair and eyes. Love multiplying. My perfect gift from God.

     

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You were just so little when we had a scare. Lots of tests, lots of pokes in scary places testing for scary things. But you were safe in God’s hands. And we had some time to get to know each other, you and me. Just us, in the big hospital room with the teeniest-tiniest hospital gown I’d ever seen. I got to know you better then. And you got to know me and trusted so fully. My Brave One. And love multiplied again.

  

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Not much longer before you made yourself heard. Constant noises. Happy noises. My Content Boy, joyful heart. Increasing this love in my heart even more.

 

But it seems it isn’t just in my heart. A smile on the face of everyone you meet. You bring joy. You bring laughter. You fill hearts with love.

You are a workmanship of God.

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Moving. Walking, then running, then climbing. My Little Monkey into everything. And still, My Snuzzle Bug. My Curious George. My Van Gogh. His Maspterpiece.  How can this heart get bigger? But it does. Expanding so much, it’s sometimes hard to breathe. The fear of “what if?” But then I remember, you are God’s child. You were made for a purpose.

You are His Masterpiece. And you are My Gift.

   

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Talking. Talking. Always talking. And singing. And laughing. So much joy in you that you decide you must give it away. Something special… your words? your humor? your gentle heart? your smile? your song? Maybe all of these. Many hearts expanding with love. You make it so easy.

 

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And now. Starting my day hearing your voice. Always greeted with a smile. “Good mo-ning, Mama. I love you…  …SO much.” The way you talk. The way you walk to a beat. Your tightest hugs around my neck. Your thoughtfulness. “I frew it in garbage for you, Mama.” Or, “Look what I did! I got da milk out for you, Mama!” So proud. My Helper-Boy. My Teasing Boy. My Dancing Boy.

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Today you are two. If this heart expands more, it will burst. But you will find a way. It is your way. It is the Touch of God in you. You are special. You were made for a purpose. I love you, My Sweetest Thing. I love you, My Gift.

And I praise Him, because you are fearfully and wonderfully made; and His works are wonderful. I know that full well.

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“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart…” ~ Jeremiah 1:5

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” ~ Epheisans 2:10

Psalm 139:14

 

The Return April 24, 2012

Filed under: Jacob — thepriestmans @ 10:53 pm

This morning, while I was in Bible Study discussing Philippians and Annalise was in Kid’s Bible Class learning about God’s power and the importance of obeying him (Naaman’s healing from leprosy), Jacob was learning about Jesus ascending into heaven 40 days after his resurrection. Only I did not know this until later when I picked the kids up from their classes and this conversation took place in the van as we headed to the babysitter’s house:

 

Jacob: Mommy, bloo up da clouds!

 

Me: What?

 

Jacob: BLOO up da CLOUDS!

 

Me: What???

 

Annalise: Mom! I think in his Bible Class, they BLEW UP a CLOUD!!!

 

Me: No, I don’t think they did that.

 

Annalise: YES. That is what he just said!!!

 

Me: Jacob, can you tell me again what you said?

 

Jacob: BLOONnn up da clouds!

 

Me: The balloon went up in the clouds?

 

Jacob: YES! BLOON up da clouds!

 

Me: Did your class send a balloon up to the clouds?

 

Jacob: YES! Bloon up da clouds! Dis (just) like JESUS!

 

Me: Ohhh! You sent a balloon up into the clouds, just like Jesus went up? You’re so right, Jacob! Jesus went up into the clouds, to heaven, right?

 

Jacob: Wight, mommy. And He comin’ back.

 

Me: Yes, Jacob. He’s coming back some day. I can’t wait.

 

Jacob: Yep.  And He bringin’ me BLOON back!!!

 

Oh, how I love that boy…

 

Oh, how I love our church and the Truth taught there…

 

Oh, how excited I am for the promise of His return…

 

…Only if it happens soon, Jacob may be disappointed if Jesus comes with no balloon. Then again, maybe He would. Just for my boy, who is such a gift from God.

 

Acts 1:11  “Why are you standing here looking into the sky? This Jesus has gone away to heaven, and some day, just as He went, He will return!”

Revelation 1:7  “Look, He is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see Him, even those who pierced Him; and all the peoples of the earth will mourn because of Him. So shall it be! Amen.” 

 

Amen!

 

Easter Planting April 7, 2012

Filed under: Easter,Jacob,My girl — thepriestmans @ 1:08 am

The following is a series of pictures displaying an Easter project the kids and I did. NOTE: This is not my project idea. I saw it on FB, and I could not find the original poster to give him/her credit. Be sure to read our step-by-step instructions, though. You may learn a thing or two…

 

Step 1: Gather the Loot.

You’ll need potting soil, shade grass seed, a small pot, large clay plate, some twigs, small stones, a large stone, and water.

We purchased most of loot at our local True Value. Sticks and stones were gathered by Jacob and Leesie on a “nature walk” through the old Cost Cutter parking lot. (We have TWO large stones, because they couldn’t decide. We decided to try out both.)

Step 2: Lay the stones and pot in the plate.

We also have two pots. I wanted a clay one, but it was too big. So we went for the smaller peat pot.

Step 3: Cover with soil and add (choose) large stone to cover the tomb. (Leesie’s stone won.)

Step 4: Sprinkle with grass seed and add hot-glued or twine-tied crosses.

Step 5: Eat dirt. Or at least shove it up your nose. Or make yourself a mud-mask. Or all of the above. (Note, only Jacob is in the following pics, because Leesie’s mud-mask got into her eye and caused some serious drama eye-irritation. NO pictures were to be taken of this pain and agony.)

Step 6: Since you have extra soil and peat pots, plant some herbs. That is, if you can still see.

Step 7: Dump several pots of soil onto the ground. Especially those your sister planted. Because that will make her cry harder.

Step 8: Be sure to get LOTS of dirt in the fabric chairs. It makes a neat dark smeary pattern.

Step 9: Clean up your mess and set up your centerpiece. Water 3xs a day.

Step 10: Enjoy your new centerpiece, and ham it up while your mom attempts to get a good picture of you with your finished project. This is, of course, 7-10 days later, and the mud-mask-in-the-eye-mishap will be all taken care of by now.

And finally…

Step 11: Remember to do this activity on a sunny day next time, so you can make the dirt mess outdoors.

Step 12: Tell all your friends the Good News that He is Risen!

He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay! ~Matthew 28:6

 

5 years, 8 months, 6 days April 3, 2012

Filed under: Angel Babies,Grief and Loss,My Husband — thepriestmans @ 10:29 pm

So apparently I have some sort of weird attachment to hair.

 

First there was this episode where I bawled like a baby for the 1/2 inch of hair that was trimmed off Annalise’s long locks. But they were her baby locks. And this was her first cut. And so I saved a lock of curls in an envelope. But the envelope stayed in my purse, which is really just a catch-all for random toys, kids’ dirty socks, a spoon or two, gum wrappers, and papers of many kinds. Oh the papers!

 

And one day, in a fit of frustration, I dumped all papers – including one envelope containing a lock of hair – into the trash without really going through them much. And when I remembered the envelope, garbage day had passed.

 

And so I bawled like a baby. Again.

 

But now I think I’m finally over the hair loss. Annalise’s, at least. I’m still emotional about Matt’s. But he’s been losing his hair for quite some time, you say. Yes. Yes, he has. I’m not talking about that hair loss.

 

His beard. He shaved it off tonight (goatee still intact). I’m happy he did. It looks awesome. But I still bawled like a baby.

 

It’s just that he’s had that beard for 5 years, 8 months, and 6 days. I know, because I remember the last day he shaved, 5 years, 8 months, and 7 days ago. And I know that day, because it was the day we were going in for an ultrasound of our twin babies.

 

And then we were sent to the hospital. And then I was transported by ambulance to UW perinatal center. And they told us our girls wouldn’t survive because I was going to deliver them that day.

 

But I didn’t. So instead, I was put on inclined bed-rest. And so Matt didn’t shave the next day – 5 years, 8 months, and 6 days ago – because we were at a hospital in Seattle unexpectedly, and he hadn’t packed.

 

And then he didn’t shave the day after that. Or the next day. Or the day after that. And his beard became an outward sign – a tangible measurement – of how long I was still pregnant since the day they told us our babies would be born that day.

 

And soon he had a full beard. And we were proving “them” wrong, because I was still pregnant with two healthy, kicking baby girls.

 

But then 2 weeks and 1 day later, my water broke. And the next day, Madison Faith was born and died. 5 years, 7 months, and 23 days ago.

 

And the day after Madison died, my water broke again. And the next day, Taylor Grace was born and died. 5 years, 7 months, and 21 days ago.

 

And today Matt shaved his beard. It was emotional for him, too, and we talked about it first. There have been many times where he thought about shaving but didn’t, because it was too hard for one or the other of us.

 

Today we agreed. It was okay to let it go. And I love how he looks. But I bawled like a baby, because it reminded me that I am no longer pregnant with our two baby girls. And I didn’t play with them today. Or read with them. Or dye Easter eggs with them. Or tuck them in bed and sing them a song. Or say prayers with them and kiss their cheeks.

 

But I did kiss my two other babies’ cheeks. And I can see Matt’s dimples again. I love them. And I can kiss his cheeks.

 

And now I wonder if Madison had his dimples. She had a wider smile than Taylor’s, and she had my chin. Taylor looked more like her daddy, except she had my dark hair. Madison’s hair was blonde. 5 years, 7 months, and 21 days ago, and I still remember. When you have only moments to make memories, I guess you burn them into your mind so deep that you won’t ever forget. Each detail. Each movement. The perfect little fingers and eyebrows and noses. Twin girls with very different mouths and different hair color, born on different days. One of them – Taylor – already nearly an inch taller than her “older” sister.

 

I haven’t forgotten.

 

5 years, 8 months, 6 days ago, our lives were changed.

 

And so I cried for the beard.

 

I will lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My helps comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. ~Psalm 121:1-2

I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness and will sing praise to the name of the Lord Most High. ~Psalm 7:17

And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you. ~Psalm 9:10

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy… ~Psalm 5:11

 

Full April 1, 2012

Filed under: Angel Babies,Joy Found — thepriestmans @ 11:49 pm

So full.

 

Full of love. Full of peace. Full of thanksgiving.

 

Full of joy.

 

I don’t know where to begin. I started this blog 2 months ago as a way to stay focused on joy. Life’s troubles or mundane-ness can so easily bring me down. And like I said in this post from early February, in the days/weeks that bring the most trials, I need to work all the harder at thinking about the joyful moments and thanking God for them, because HE is the giver of all good things. Although I don’t write every day, I have daily spent time focusing on the joy that day brought. My outlook has changed. I am finding myself feeling more and more grateful. I have found myself spending more time each day – throughout the day – thanking God. Talking to Him. Praising Him. Slowing down to remain in His presence, because “In your presence there is fullness of joy…” from Psalm 16:11

 

And then I went to our church’s women’s retreat this weekend. I don’t even know what to say, except UH-MAZ-ING. Incredible from start to finish. I am so grateful to call this church my home and these people my family. And the topic? Joy. The focus verse? Psalm 16:11 “You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

 

I couldn’t possibly sum up the wonderful things the speaker (our church’s very own Sandy C.) shared. But I can say this… God had a big message, and Sandy shared it perfectly. Interwoven within all of the sessions were so many thoughts that were right in line with what God has been working on in my heart. Confirmation. Ok, God. I’m listening. I hear you loud and clear!

 

Some points that stood out:

- God gives us these gifts because He LOVES us. In all my joy-focusing, I kinda missed that part. I know all good and perfect gifts are from Him. I have already been working on thanking Him for them. And I know God loves me. But I failed to tie the two together. Weird, maybe. But just the same… these gifts of joy – from God, the Creator of the universe – are because HE loves ME. What an amazing and humbling thought.

 

- I need to look for the joy in the hard. Because joy isn’t about the circumstance, it is about the love and presence of God. I have looked for the joy in the bad, but not in the same way. In my bad days/weeks, I’ve looked for the good moments and tried to focus on those rather than on the bad moments. But I need to look for the joy within the hard. Sandy shared some great examples that I can relate to – both being moms of two kids around the same ages… When a child is tantruming and I am at the end of my rope – and then she throws something at me, thank you God, for this reminder of the grace you show me each time I throw tantrums about my situation. (I am now working on finding joy in some of my toughest moments. Where is the joy in the moment when I’m aching for my two baby girls? The promise of Heaven? Maybe. But the ache is so deep. And Heaven can feel so far off. And they were twins. Someday I will blog about it. Maybe.)

 

There were other things. Lots of other moments, thoughts, people, that I loved this weekend. I left feeling full.

 

And then I went to church this morning. Palm Sunday. The sermon: Unveiling the Crucified King. I have heard lots of sermons about Jesus being crucified. L-O-T-S. It’s not that they get old, just that they are usually very similar. Always heart-wrenching and humbling just the same. But I’ve never heard one quite like this. I don’t know what to say, except, if you want to have a (new) glimpse into what Jesus was thinking about on the cross, you should have a listen. (That link will get you to the entire list of podcasts from this amazing sermon series. Listen to them all if you’d like. You won’t be disappointed.) Again, what a blessing to be a part of this church. I am so grateful.

 

So that’s it. My situation hasn’t changed, but my outlook has – yet again. And I’m now full.

 

Full of love. Full of peace. Full of thanksgiving.

 

Full of joy. Eucharisteo.

 

They really should require some sort of license for this job March 25, 2012

Filed under: My girl,Parenting Aint for Sissies — thepriestmans @ 11:12 pm

Another FB re-post from last summer so I have our stories in one place…

 

August 30, 2011

This note is the same Sassy Sauce story I posted a few weeks ago, which was then deleted when I decided I don’t like people judging me, but is now being re-posted because 1) People keep asking me to email it to them and I would rather they just have access to it so I don’t have to find it and find their email address, and 2) I decided I don’t care about the thoughts of those who are going to judge me based on this silly note and a one-time lapse in judgement. I’m a perfect parent every other day of the week. (Ha!)  And because seriously, this story is real-life, and if you can’t laugh at your real-life-self, then you are going to be miserable. I choose not to be miserable. Judge if you wish. Just keep it to yourself… :-)

 

As a kid, my parents didn’t wash our mouths out with soap. Instead, we got “Hot Mouth” when our mouths were naughty. I don’t remember this for myself, but I do remember my younger sister Kylie getting it often for her sassiness. I think I also got it for that, as well as for sticking out my tongue, lying, or biting. (I’m not sure it has effectively rid me of sassiness, but I usually don’t bite. Feel free to sit real close.)

 

Really, anything that involved naughtiness of the mouth (swearing? Never!) was fair game for Hot Mouth. Hot Mouth is simply the tiniest bit of Tobasco Sauce on mom’s finger, which is then put on the suspect’s tongue. Naughty mouth leads to stinging consequences.

 

As a young teen, I thought it was so funny that Kylie got Hot Mouth often. Sassy lil’ thing.

 

As an adult, I figured I’d use “hot mouth” on my own children. Then I married Matt. He was against it. So, it has been more or less banned as a punishment in the house, because we agree on all consequences.

 

As I parent, I don’t find the sassiness quite as funny as I used to.

 

I think God must have a sense of humor and used it when he gave us the spunkiest (read sassiest) little 3 year old on the planet… with a great vocabulary and quick wit (think come-backs and last words.) It’s really unbelievable the things that come out of my darling little angel’s mouth. Thus, I have adopted the mantra, “Strong little girls make strong women. This is a GOOD thing.” Thank you, Polly.

 

Sometimes the mantra changes to “INCONCEIVABLY STRONG little girls make INVINCIBLY STRONG women.” It just depends on the day, really.

 

Needless to say, the topic of Hot Mouth has worked its way back into our child-rearing conversations. Is it a fair punishment? Is it over-the-top? (I’m NOT asking for your advice here… just sharing the focus of our conversation.) I have leaned towards: fair, not sure if I could do it though. Matt is always an adamant NO.

 

Rewind a few months. I have been spending time with a friend-who-shall-remain-nameless with a similar situation and a remarkably similar 3 year old. As we share our common issues and frustrations, we have also shared our current solutions. This nameless friend said she took the advice from another friend with children who are a little older now, and used “Sassy Sauce” to combat the sassy mouth. Sassy Sauce is the same as Hot Mouth, just with a much more appropriate name for the issues I’m dealing with.

 

Hmmmm… Sassy Sauce. Sounds more and more like something I could use. And I certainly am not worse off for having had it as a child, right?

 

I decided to “try it out” by dropping it into a few conversations with friends and family. Conversations usually morphed from discussing kids and our oh-so-strong girl, to something along the lines of, “So a friend of mine has a similar situation with her girl, and she started using “Sassy Sauce,” or Tobasco Sauce on the tongue as a consequence.” Then I’d quickly read the person’s reaction and decide if they thought it was a good idea or bad one. Just putting out some parent feelers and getting feedback. Although I’m not completely sure why I did that, I think it had something to do with gathering support in case I decided to take the idea of Sassy Sauce back to the table with Matt.

 

I did. He still didn’t like it.

 

I bought some anyway. Just in case. (Easy, Matt fans, I told him I had it after I bought it. And I would never use it – or any other punishment – without his permission. We are a team in this parenting fiasco.)

 

As the summer has progressed and my time alone with the kids has continued – time which I am SO INCREDIBLY THANKFUL FOR – I have also had more opportunity to experience the sassiness of my strong girl… and she has had more opportunity to practice it. Which means she is getting REALLY GOOD at it. You may even say she is an expert.

 

…Wondering right now why SHE is getting better at it, but my parenting hasn’t seemed to improve with an equal amount of practice…

 

I mentioned Sassy Sauce to Annalise. Just to put it out there as a possibility. Not even knowing what it is, she was still terrified of it. The second she is sassy, I only have to look at her, eyebrows raised, and she instantly says, “NO Sassy Sauce! Please! I’m so sorry I was naughty with my mouth!”

 

Now mind you, I’ve never said I’d use it. I simply told her that I knew of other mommies that had it and used it when their kids were sassy. That’s it. I never discussed it again. Apparently it made a big enough impact. Either that, or Annalise has been talking to her friends that have experienced it already.

 

Fast forward to this week. All in all, it’s been a good week. But the sassiness is still there and is really draining. So I asked Matt if I could use it, just once, to see how it would go. A teeny-tiny drop of Tobasco sauce. It won’t make her sick, it isn’t abuse… Good grief, some people pour it on nearly every meal. (Again, NOT asking for your opinion of the matter here, just letting you know what I was thinking and the arguments I gave him.)

 

Matt, I’m sure feeling bad that I am getting the brunt of the sassiness as he works so hard with two jobs (which I am so thankful for and proud of him for), agreed…. reluctantly.

 

I didn’t use Sassy Sauce immediately. Instead, I sat Annalise down after a major sassy moment and told her exactly what would happen if she continued to talk that way. Sassy Sauce was now open for business, so-to-speak.

 

This morning, a little sassy mouth was warned that if it was sassy again, it would receive it’s first sassy consequence. Threats never deter Annalise, so she repeated her sassy comment, just to be sure I was telling the truth.

 

I was.

 

The drama that began in that moment – the moment she realized I don’t lie – wasn’t worth it. The drama that continued after the teeniest tiniest bit of Sassy Sauce touched her tongue (and I mean so-teeny-youcan’tevenseeit-tiny) – wasn’t worth it.

 

And then my motherly guilt kicked in. I felt so horrible that I caused my child (what I’m sure was extremely minor) pain in her mouth, that I gave myself some Sassy Sauce just to see what she was going through. (Not bad, really, but I do enjoy spicy stuff.) I could see why it would be frightening to a sweet – because she really IS sweet – little girl.

 

I felt awful. I gave her milk immediately. It didn’t work fast enough. She cried harder in fear (and a bit in drama) saying that “It will NEVER stop hurting! It won’t EVER go away!”

 

I called my sister. Who better to tell Annalise that yes, the stinging will go away, than the queen-of-hot-mouth, KYLIE? Annalise LOVES Auntie Kye-Kye, and I’m sure she could be calmed down by Kylie’s words of encouragement. “This will be a good lesson, afterall!” I tell myself.

 

Kylie didn’t answer.

 

How about I call Grandma? If Kylie is the queen of Hot Mouth, then the deliver-er of Hot Mouth, the queen-mother (that joke was for you, dad) would also have great advice, right? This only caused further howling as Annalise was afraid of her precious Gramma Kitchen finding out she indeed does naughty things and had a sassy mouth. (“What??” Gramma says, “Annalise ISN’T perfect??? -GASP-”)

 

What to do, what to DO??? Panic. Guilt. Tears…. from both of us. What could make this pain go away so we can actually DISCUSS why it’s important not to be sassy? What do I have the can cover the sting of too much spice???

 

Ice cream. (Don’t judge. You have not been in my shoes.)

 

I run to the freezer. I grab the only ice cream that is there… Haagen Dazs Java Chip. I feed the creamy COFFEE deliciousness to my 3-year old. How’s that for good parenting? (Again, not looking for your input.)

 

Stay tuned for future stories of Annalise being sassy and then quickly asking for ice cream. Even as I write, hours later, she is telling me her tongue “still stings a teeny… I might just need a teeny more….” I cut her off. I don’t even want to hear it. I’m already sulking.

 

Why anyone would leave me alone with these children is beyond me.

 

Needless to say, Sassy Sauce will retire. But the Tobasco Sauce will remain… I think I’ll start putting it on my scrambled eggs.

 

 
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