Mommy-O

2011-07-29T07:55:00.000-07:00

DON'T FORGET! Mommy-O has moved to ocieanna.com.

Check out the new post: Walk in Love and a Saturday Morning Hike

See you there!

2011-07-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

HEY! THERE'S A NEW MOMMY-O POST OVER ON OCIEANNA.COM "Real-life Conflict and a Father Who Loves Me"
Stop on by!

New Mommy-O Blog at ocieanna.com Don't Miss It!

2011-06-23T15:47:00.000-07:00

When I Say Stop, I Mean Stop!

Mommy-O HAS MOVED TO OCIEANNA.COM

2011-06-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

If you're looking for a bit of encouragement and to feel like you're not alone on the surprising journey of mommyhood, come visit Mommy-O at ocieannna.com!

Mommy-O's Prayer

2011-06-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Lord, Thank You for this path I'm on. I'm feeling overwhelmed, Lord. I'm so tired and weary. I need Your strength to get me through this day. Please help me to use my time well. Help me to stay in the moment and be a good mom and wife. Bless each of the kids. Help me to Love them tenderly and with patience. "The Lord will work out his plans for my life--for your faithful love, O Lord, endures forever. Psalm 138:8

Call to Battle

2011-06-08T11:43:00.000-07:00

" but our confidence must rest in the Lord alone, for He is the sword and the shield of His people. . . Quail not before superior numbers, shrink not from difficulties or impossiblilities, flinch not at wounds or death, smite with the two-edged sword of the Spirit, and the slain shall lie in heaps. The battle is the Lord's and He will deliver His enemies into our hands. With steadfast foot, strong hand, dauntless heart, and flaming zeal, rush to the conflict, and the hosts of evil shall fly like chaff before the gale." Morning and Evening C.H. Spurgeon

Ah, these words come as a fortress to me this morning. My enemies have waged war against me. Who are these formidable foes, you ask? Who else? Those four little sinners living in my house. Their weapons? Bickering, disobeying, disrespecting, purposeful loudness, unkindness. These are mighty weapons. How can I--weak, afraid, unsure of my tactics--ever conquer such enemies?

But if that weren't enough, the other enemy flanks me--my own sin. Yes, I've been attacked by frustration, impatience, anger, not trusting God's sovereignty, and more. It's hopeless, at least it seems that way.

Yet, my strength for battle--both the one for my kids' character and the fight against my own sin--need not be fought by me alone. No, the battle is the Lord's, and He will never fail.

Lord, I can't fight another moment without You. I need You. "But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, the lifter of my head." Psalm 3:3 ESV

Mommy-O's Prayer

2011-06-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

Oh Lord, I need You. My thoughts and emotions are so pent up, so much burbling under the surface. Please help me to be at peace in whatever circumstance You place me, content to serve my family with joy and grace, leaning on Your strength. How I love them! Help me to delight in them more and more each day.

“No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.” Thank You for Your amazing riches and grace!

Do They Even Like Each Other?

2011-06-03T20:51:00.000-07:00

Aren’t road trips fun?

“Give it!”
“But I want to play with the spinning toy thingy.”
“It’s mine!”

The argument continues until the inevitable, “Mom, she won’t give me the spinning toy thingy.”

What can I expect when we’ve been driving for three hours? Road trips can be hard on everyone, but what gets me is my weird expectation for a perfectly joyous time in which the little darlings will harmoniously get along.

Yeah, that pretty much doesn’t happen. They don’t argue constantly, but from time to time (and it feels like a lot when you’re in the car for so long) they do bicker, fight, whine, argue, and cry. And it’s often when an older sibling (dictator) wants to control a younger brother or sister (peon). The older feels she has the power, but the younger—rather than simply capitulating to her ruler—rebels.

“No! I won’t give you the spinning toy thingy! I don’t have to! You’re not my MOM!”

Sometimes I think they really, truly dislike one another. I wonder if they’ll ever be friends.

The criticism—“That’s not how you fold a towel. Just let me.”

The belittling—“Really? You really don’t know how to tie your shoes yet?”

The sarcasm—“If someone would put others first for once.”

The guilt trip—“It’s okay. I’ll take the smallest piece of pizza.”

Man, oh man, it can be unnerving … and saddening. I long for them to love each other. They need their siblings more than they know, and I want to see them support and stand by one another. Yet, it’s often cutting words and meanness. Like in the van—the war of the spinning toy thingy. Sigh.

But then in the midst of the chaos, something wonderful happened. Somewhere along the way, the arguing had ceased, and little voices simply talked from the back seat. As we arrived to our destination, I heard this:

“I really liked talking to you, Christian.” Gabrielle smiled at him as they got out of the car.

“Me too, Gabby. You’re the best sister in the world.”

Oh yes, that's enough to send thrills through a Mommy-O’s heart.

Then after we got settled in the hotel, all four of them sprinted to the ocean, giggles melded with the seagulls caws and the crashing waves. Not one argument exploded—not even when poor Christian tripped and soaked himself in the chilly saltwater. Nope, in fact, the others helped him up. And I was able to get this lovely photograph of Ben and Gabby gazing at the sunset together.

Well, I suppose they do like each other after all.

Mommy-O Prayer for This Day

2011-05-30T08:16:00.000-07:00

Lord, I confess I've been quick to be angry lately. There is no reason to get angry over the annoyances in my life. It makes my kids stressed and worried and is a bad example to them. Please help me to be patient when I'm interrupted. Help me to respond with love and help me to trust that You'll work it out for me to get my work done in Your timing. I need Your grace, Lord. I can't be a good mom without you. You are a good and wonderful God. "Gracious is the Lord and righteous, our god is merciful." Ps. 116:4

Giddy Gratitude

2011-05-26T11:56:00.000-07:00

I spent this weekend at a writers’ conference. From the time I got there, through the two workshops I taught, to the spectacular dinner and closing time, I had this incredible feeling of gratitude. I kept thinking, I’m so glad I’m here.

And you know what I meant. I wasn’t just glad to be enjoying the conference, I was truly glad to be there. There, breathing the air, moving my limbs, thinking…living.

Since my cardiac arrest in January, this feeling comes over me quite frequently. It’s a rush of joy, even excitement, simply to be walking around. At the conference when folks talked to me, or I entered a room to hear a speaker, or sat down next to a writing friend at a meal, I was filled with happy anticipation. It reminds of a kid going to Baskin Robbins. Yup, that’s how happy I felt, like I got to eat ice cream all day long for two days (without the bloating and sugar blahs—just the fun part).

It was awesome, but on the drive home, somewhere on Interstate 405, the adrenaline high transformed to exhaustion. I was very tired. I’m still recovering from the cardiac arrest, and a weekend of so much glorious excitement requires a few days of rest. My family and I expected that.

But to be honest, as I’ve returned to my normal routine, I’ve been more than just weary. The giddy gratitude slipped away and I found myself feeling bogged down, sullen, even grumpy.

Doing chores.
Herding kids.
Grocery shopping.
Disciplining.
Wiping snotty noses.

Not as thrilling as an action-packed writing weekend. At least that’s what I was thinking as I drudged through my day … but then, thanks be to God, I remembered! All of these things do burst with excitement. Yes, they do! Why? Because I’m here to do them with my wonderful kids. I could've lost these hours and days. Someone else would've been folding their laundry or dabbing away angry tears. It's an honor to serve them. A gift. A gift to relish and treasure. A gift I wouldn't trade for anything.

I’m incredibly grateful for a wonderful weekend, but being a mommy’s way more thrilling than going to a writers’ conference. In fact, it’s even better than ice cream, because the joy of walking this mommy's journey with them is the greatest reason to “be here” of all.

My Favorite Part of the Day

2011-05-14T08:42:00.000-07:00

“But I want to go, too!” my little Abigail pleaded. “Please!” The desperation in her voice rang throughout the cul-de-sac.

It was almost 8:00 PM, but since the sun’s been lingering till a later hour here in the Pacific Northwest, the older kids were allowed to stay outside and run like wild banshees with their neighborhood friends (at least that’s what it looked like they were doing).

But since, first, Abigail’s just little and needs to go to bed, and, second, it was mostly big boys out there, and finally, like I said, it was no peaceful game of lawn bowling going on, I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to go. I delineated all these reasonable explanations to her…

“But I waaaaaant too!” In her dark moment of anger and sadness, she sprinted up the stairs to her room to continue the wailing (tantrum, perhaps? I think yes).

After five long minutes, she appeared, with a somber yet calm demeanor, in my room where I was sorting laundry. “Put your jammies on, honey.” I told her.

She disappeared to her room, and apparently as she started to dig for jammies she found something. She came running to me holding a teddy bear blanket I had just bought for a friend’s baby shower.

“Is this for me?” A big grin twinkled in her eyes.

“No honey,” I said firmly. “No. That shouldn’t be in your room.” I took it from her hand. “How did it get there?”

My firmness was too much for her. Her big brown eyes peeked up at me—so sad, with a look of helplessness. She didn’t scream or protest her innocence, she just said, “I don’t know,” then slowly slumped toward the door.

“Oh sweetie.” I tugged her back to me, knelt to her level, and looked in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Mommy shouldn’t have been so firm.”

Her chin trembled, just a bit, and a few tears welled in her eyes, then in a quick moment her little body clung to me, her arms tight against my neck. I picked her up, and we sat on the bed, with her snuggled on my lap as she sobbed it out.

She cried for a long time, and then she just stayed cuddled, silently, as I rubbed her back and whispered that I love her and how pretty she is. The thoughts of my duties of laundry, dishes, and toys on the floor fluttered to my mind, but I tossed them away. I won’t let go of her until she let’s go of me.

Finally, after about twenty-five minutes, she leaned back and smiled. “Do you want to see my daughter, Mama? She’s just a baby, but I have a new shirt for her to wear, and you know she lives in my room by my bed. I don’t have a crib for her, so I just use a box ...”

Of everything I did yesterday, working, writing, dishes, talking, cooking, eating ... those twenty-five minutes were my favorite. What could be better than being the one she needed in her heartache, knowing my embrace would comfort, giving my heart and receiving her love? These moments will become less frequent as she grows. I’m grateful for each one.

As the Deer Panteth...

2011-05-11T19:26:00.000-07:00

As the deer panteth for the water so my soul longeth after Thee.

The words to an old praise song taken from Psalm 42. I love the way the King James-ish words sound--there’s something comforting about them. And of course, the desperate crying out to Jesus—that hits me.

Especially as a mom, there are times I so long for Jesus it brings tears to my eyes. I often fail to be the mother I want to be, yet I try so hard to do everything I know I should. And even when I think I’m making the right parenting decision, often doubt creeps in. Especially when it comes to discipline.

We have attitude issues in this family, and not just the kids. Both my husband and I struggle at times, which makes it even more difficult to discipline the one who glares at us with eyes full of rebellion. How do we tell him to get his attitude on track when ours can be less than Christlike?

A helping of long-ago advice comes to mind:

It’s my job as a parent to teach my children the truth. The truth doesn’t change, even if I fail to live up to it.

Yes, I know …

But still, disciplining a child’s heart is difficult, full of doubts and regrets, hopes and fears, all mixed up into a soup of confusion.

What can I do but pray? Or more honestly, what can I do but run to my Savior, begging for help and comfort, clinging to Him like a child myself?

I long for You, dear Jesus, like a deer that panteth for the water.

As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So my soul pants for You, O God.
2My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;
When shall I come and appear before God? Ps. 42:1-2 NASB

Dandelions and Daffodils: A Mother/Daughter Memory of Hope

2011-05-04T15:50:00.000-07:00

My four-year-old daughter’s face beams as she hands me a “bouquet” of dandelions. “Put ‘em in you ‘air, Mama.” My sweet girl sure brings smiles to my heart.

But being a mommy of four (six years old and younger) doesn’t always make me smile. It can be a rough adventure—millions of pairs of pee-wee sized underwear to fold, infinite toys to pick up, handfuls of Cheerios to fish from the sofa. And need I mention the mental stress of constantly training those less-than-virtuous attitudes? “Stop screaming at your brother.” “I just told you not to do that.” All together, they create one exhausted mama.

Sometimes I find myself complaining—even whining—about the chores of motherhood. In my darker moments, I long to escape to the time before kids when I could finish the laundry in a couple hours and spend an uninterrupted evening with my husband.

Reflecting on those pre-kid years also invites not-so-happy memories of a year that brought no joy—not a bit. My pastor called it a time of “frowning providence.” I called it the worst year of my life.

Michael and I had been married five years when pregnancy surprised us—we were overjoyed. My mom rejoiced with us, and she and I dreamed I’d have a girl for us to deck out in baby-sized funky fashions. As our little one grew older, I visualized teaching her to rollerblade and inviting church friends to birthday parties. She’d be a considerate teen and then, when she’d experienced just enough life on her own, she’d marry the godly man of her (and my) dreams.

Those dreams crumbled when an ultrasound at ten weeks revealed no heartbeat.
During the heart-wrenching days that followed, my mom comforted me, even though she was fighting a battle of her own …

She was amazing—not only continuing to jig silly dances, sing constantly, and most of all, fill the house with laughter, but also not letting the cancer shake her faith. She’d thank God for the intense pain because it drew her closer to Him. She’d pray for me when I was sad—even though she was the one who was dying.

Mom deteriorated quickly. Soon hospice arrived, and within weeks, mom departed. Bouquets of daffodils decorated the funeral hall. When I see daffodils, I think of her.

As the days and months passed, I felt isolated and lonely, and despite my struggles to contain them, tears flowed.

But then, eventually, came Gabby, and here she is, gifting me with her handful of dandelions. I still miss Mom and the baby I lost, but remembering my pain helps me to be grateful for what I have. And if God’s grace carried me through those dark nights, I know He’ll be with me, holding my hand, giving me strength to pick up millions of underwear, infinite toys, handfuls of Cheerios—and even to train those less-than-virtuous attitudes.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. Psalm 62:5 (NIV)

A Sunny Answer to Prayer

2011-04-26T21:14:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning, exhausted from a full day yesterday, I didn’t feel like I’d survive taking care of the kids by myself. My husband was out of town, and I felt like hiding under the covers. Kids? What kids? Out of desperation, I prayed to the Lord: RESCUE ME!

Trusting for a positive answer to my simple, yet heartfelt plea, I thought maybe some kind soul would call out of the blue and say, “I’ll take your kids all day,” or suddenly a shot of energy would surge through my weary bones.

Well, the Lord didn’t answer my prayer in either of those ways, instead, He made the clouds go away and let the sun shine through. The kids have joyfully played outside all afternoon (AFTER they willingly did their chores—shocker!). And I’ve been able to rest and enjoy the moments they pop in to visit me. Huh, sometimes God answers prayer in ways we never thought of—sunshine like the rays of His love. Pretty cool.

Good Friday and Easter at Our House

2011-04-22T08:51:00.000-07:00

Happy Good Friday! Remember to tell your kids the story of Jesus death on the cross today. To keep it simple and not scary, I'm planning on reading about it in their children's Bible. (I use Catherine Vos's The Child's Story Bible. Highly recommend!)

In our family, we like to NOT talk about the resurrection until Sunday. We pretend we're the twelve apostles and only talk about His death and sacrifice. We discuss questions like, "What do you think Peter did today?" and, "Do you think John was scared?" We sing, "Alas and Did My Savior Bleed," and "Oh Sacred Head Now Wounded." We don't sing resurrection songs or read the Easter story until the big day. It builds anticipation for more than just bunnies and baskets.

Then on Easter morning, I turn on the Hymns Triumphant version of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" loud enough to wake the whole house! It always makes me cry. Later, after church, we'll do the Resurrection Eggs (Do you have these? It's a carton of plastic eggs filled with symbols of Easter along with a booklet to help explain. Great visual for kids.) We end the day with a reminder that even though Easter is a special time to remember Jesus resurrection, every Sunday is resurrection Sunday. And because He is risen, everything He said was true, He has the power to change our hearts, and He will always be with us, just like He promised!

Bonus!
For Good Friday, I'm posting one of my favorite poems by CS Lewis.

LOVE'S AS WARM AS TEARS by C. S. Lewis
Love's as warm as tears,
Love is tears:
Pressure within the brain,
Tension at the throat,
Deluge, weeks of rain,
Haystacks afloat,
Featureless seas between
Hedges, where once was green

Love's as fierce as fire,  
Love is fire:
All sorts--Infernal heat
Clinkered with greed and pride,  
Lyric desire, sharp-sweet,
Laughing, even when denied,  
And that empyreal flame  
Whence all loves came.  

Love's as fresh as spring,
Love is spring:
Bird-song in the air,
Cool smells in a wood,
Whispering "Dare! Dare!"
To sap, to blood,
Telling "Ease, safety, rest,
Are good; not best."

Love's as hard as nails,
Love is nails:  
Blunt, thick, hammered through  
The medial nerves of One  
Who, having made us, knew  
The thing He had done,
Seeing (what all that is)
Our cross, and His.  

A Sinner's Morning

2011-04-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

A sin occurred in our house last night. Of course, the nasty blight of transgression happens every day (by each of us—a lot by me!) but this was a theft and it needed to be “dealt with.”

Ugh. Not the peaceful morning I was hoping for. “Dealing” with my children’s sin is a stinky job. It saps my energy, brings anxiety, and honestly can be confusing. What’s the best thing to say, how do I make them see what they’ve done wrong? Will they confess and be sorry or will they burn with anger and reject me and the God who calls them?

Knowing the unpleasant task had to be done, my husband and I called the offender into our room and brought the charges. “We know you did this.” That’s pretty much all we said. The child’s expression morphed before our eyes. First it tightened with anger at being accused, then the eyes shifted upwards, as if a perfect excuse would suddenly appear through the ceiling, and then … tears welled and the crying began. “I’m sorry, Mom!” the repentant sinner wailed, “I shouldn’t have done it! It was WRONG!”

We commended our dear one for feeling shame over sin and willingly gave our forgiveness (after delivering the consequences) but our sensitive child held onto the shame like a treasured toy. “I’m terrible. I don’t know why I have to be so stupid. I always do the wrong thing…” and on and on.

Here’s where my confusion came in. I had no clue what to do. The problem wasn’t getting the confession, it was helping our child accept and receive forgiveness.

I’ve felt that way before. Have you? I bemoan how I’m a terrible mom, an unsatisfying wife, a lazy housekeeper, a thoughtless friend …These feelings perhaps ignited from a real sin I committed, but I magnified the guilt, mulling in the mud instead of receiving the cleansing bath of grace found in God’s Word.

And it came to me (and not through the ceiling)—the answer lay in Scripture. So I quoted the first one that came to mind. “The Lord is my shepherd.” Ah, perfect. No matter my sin, if I trust in Christ, he is my tender shepherd who loves me. What a picture of restoration. I told my child, who was still reveling in the shame game, to repeat the words aloud. As "The Lord is my shepherd" was said, his shoulders relaxed.

“Keep saying it, sweetie.” And, walking out of my room, although still upset, I could see the peace of God calming and comforting.

Reasoning, propping up self-esteem, even expressing our love and forgiveness only seemed to feed the cycle. My husband's and my words weren’t believed so it didn’t matter what we said to this child. To get out of the whirlpool, it took the stability of God’s love as shown through the precious words of Scripture. He needed the Gospel.

Teaching Firstborns God’s Order of Authority—A Summer Survival Guide!

2010-06-10T11:54:00.000-07:00

My firstborn, ten-year-old son seems to spend his whole life in an effort to dress himself in the robes of a parent.

I often hear tidbits like:

“Now, Christian, we need to clean for Papa. Would you like to come home to a messy house?”

“Abigail, if you don’t eat your dinner, you won’t get dessert.”

“C’mon everybody, I’ve got three activities planned for you.”

“Mama, you need to be a good example to us.” Ack!

After half a week of constant posturing to maintain—and sometimes regain—my God-given authority, I’m tired and wondering how to handle a whole summer with my firstborn underfoot. Well, I may not have the answer, but here are some ideas I’ve come up with as I work through this dilemma.

First, I need to remember my dear boy is just trying to help. I know his “leadership” exudes from a sincere desire to create a more effective home and to guide us all into better behavior. I’m grateful he has this desire, and I want to encourage it. But I must be careful to help him see the difference between helping and usurping authority.

Second, I can thank God for the opportunity to teach my son about God’s order. When my boy acts like he has more authority than me, his parent, he’s not only striving against our family balance, he’s telling God he knows better. “This mom you gave me isn’t doing a good job, so I’m going to do it for her. I’ll take it from here, God.” It’s so important for him to understand that if he honors his earthly authority, he will more readily rest under the Lord’s authority. Handing the reins to his not-so-smart mom (in his mind), is a big struggle for my dear son. But it’s a fight we must win—by God’s grace, of course!

How do I cement a deep respect for authority in my son? Prayer and love.

Which brings me to the third point. I’m beginning to realize that part of the problem could possibly be my attitude—maybe just a little. You see, I too kick against authority. I have a certain way I want my day to go. I want my house to look nice and tidy. I want my children to say “please” and “thank you” and I want everything in my realm to make me look like a got-it-together mama.

I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t always happen. And when it doesn’t, like my boy, I sometimes get frustrated and try to force my will. Fruits go flying out the window—fruits of the Spirit that is—as I make excuses for my less-than-encouraging thoughts, words, and actions.

To simmer down I must remember that I’m not the one in control. We have a saying in our house. “You’re not the king.” I’m not the king. God is. And when I bow my knee to him in prayer and the Word, peace comes—as well as the ability to handle the dents and bruises to my vision.

The same is true for my boy. When he starts thinking he’s the king, the answer isn’t a big ol’ lecture. It’s not to “put him in his place,” or undermine his ideas. It’s to send him to his Savior in the Word and prayer. And as he sits at Christ’s feet, he will grow into the boy who respects authority—both his parents and others.

What Kind of Bride Am I?

2010-03-23T20:06:00.000-07:00

Recently I was asked to do a devotional for a bridal shower. As I thought about what to talk about, I, of course, ran to our great mothers—those great brides in the Bible. As I looked at these wives and their attributes, I began to wonder, What kind of bride am I?

Am I Eve? Do I, like her craving the forbidden fruit, manipulate my husband to get what I want? In the same manner as she listened to the voice of the serpent, do I heed the voice of my own desires or other influences rather than the authority God has given me?

Am I Sarah? Rather than building up my husband’s faith, do I, like Sarah in her fit of laughter, ridicule God’s faithful promises by my own lack of trust? And also, do I meddle into things which are between him and God—as Sarah meddled with the need for offspring?

Am I Gomer from the book of Hosea? A prostitute who ran from the man who God had called to serve her. Am I unfaithful in my thoughts or words? Do I run from my husband when I should be running to him?

If I’m honest, I must admit, yes, I am like these women a lot of times. But I long to do better, to reflect the others we learn about.

Am I Rebecca, Rachel? Beloved of their husbands and blessed of God.

Am I Ruth? Humble. The faithful wife who longs to support and serve the man who loves her.

Am I the Shunamite Woman (Solomon’s beloved)? Her passion for her husband engulfs all her life, and she longs to serve only him. Am I like that?

I hope to more closely resemble the faithful ones. But as I study these ladies, something aside from their character strikes me:

Each of these faithful women has been especially chosen by her husband.

Think about Rebecca, Rachel, and also Moses’ wife. All these women were simple daughters, interested in livestock. There was nothing exceedingly amazing about them. They were not born of kings, they weren’t exceedingly wealthy. Just good, upright women. But the main thing these women have in common is that they watered their herds at a well.

And what happened at the well? A husband, or representative of a husband, sought out each one of these women, Rebecca, Rachel, and Zipporah, courted them, and claimed them for his own. These women were called to be part of God’s family by the patriarchs themselves. Not because of who they were, but because of the simple fact that they were chosen.

What about Ruth? Was she much of anything in the world’s eyes before she married Boaz? We know Ruth was a woman of good character, but in earthly terms, Ruth was less than a nobody. A widow. A foreigner—not an Israelite. There was nothing earthly to recommend her to the noble farmer, Boaz. Yet, in God’s providence, Boaz chose her for a wife. Redeeming her life from poverty and bitterness.

What about the Shulamite woman? The great, beautiful King Solomon (did you catch that? A king!) took this woman—a young country girl—and in his great, overwhelming kindness, he didn’t just wed her, but passionately without reserve, in utter fleshly desire and spiritual delight, he adored her.

Song of Solomon 4

You have captivated my heart, my sister, my bride;
you have captivated my heart with one glance of your eyes,
with one jewel of your necklace.
10 How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride!
How much better is your love than wine,
and the fragrance of your oils than any spice! ESV

Again, we see the kindness of a husband, who welcomes a bride into his arms, despite the woman’s lowliness.

Back to the question. Which sort of bride am I? I still wasn’t sure. I looked in one more place, near another well, an old, old well, yet during a different time.

John 4
5 Now Jesus came to a town of Samaria called Sychar, near the field that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob's WELL was there;

What was there? A well? Have we heard this before? Do you think John knew that in the first five books of the Bible the place to get wives was at a well? Let’s keep reading:

so Jesus, wearied as he was from his journey, was sitting beside the well. It was about the sixth hour. 7 A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” … 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.)

Immediately we see that just like Boaz, King Solomon, and Hosea, Jesus has no earthly reason to pursue this woman. Why?

Let’s talk about the Samaritan woman for a second. What do we know about her?
1. She’s a woman. Not good during that time. A rabbi wasn’t allowed to talk to women.
2. She’s a Samaritan—What does that mean? Less than a half-breed. Rejected, outcast.

We’ll get to more later. But for know we start to glimpse that Jesus is like those former husbands we’ve seen. He goes to a well and talks to a woman, not because she’s extra worthy, but because of something about the man’s character. There’s something the man has been called to do. Something in God’s bigger purpose.
Verse 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

Not only did Jesus lower himself to talk to her, he gives her something better than she has. Let’s skip to verse sixteen.

16 Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come here.” 17 The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; 18 for you have had five husbands, and the one you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true.”

So we come to the other issue with this woman that would make a normal person stay away from her? What is it? What makes her more than a lowly woman, a rejected Samaritan halfbreed? An outcast of outcasts?

She thirsts.

Not for water. She thirsts for husbands. She’s had six. Six. And none of them could quench her thirst. They only left her dry, weary, tired. And thirsting even more.
What does this woman need? She needs a seventh husband. Seven, the number of perfection. She needs the perfect husband, who is Christ. And he doesn’t turn her away. She deserves to thirst forever because of her sin—her many, many sins. She does NOT deserve to have her soul quenched. She does not deserve to be Christ’s bride. Not the beautiful Christ. The lovely husband. She deserves to die in her arid loneliness.

We are that bride.

We are that faithless one, who thirsts for what does not fulfill. Our sins make us outcasts of outcasts, a Samaritan, Eve, faithless Sarah, Lot’s wife, Gomer—despised, rejected. We do not deserve to have a beautiful, strong, honorable husband seek us out and call us his bride.

But then … what happened to the Samaritan woman? Do you remember? Jesus quenches her thirst for husbands with Himself—the most beautiful husband there is. Better than the Old Testament grooms.

Yet, the story is not over, for, “This bride will not come cheap.”

Christ calls her to him, but he must pay a price for her. “Quenching his beloved's thirst will require him to endure the horror of the cross in her stead. For it is there, nailed hand and foot, that Jesus, the source of living water, would cry out, "I thirst." Christ goes to the cross to thirst in his bride's place, taking on her sorrow, grief and sin.”

Dear friends, our groom gives himself to us. He pulls us from our dirty, desperate estate and just as a husband will take his bride’s hand to claim her as his own, Christ takes ours. As a bride is clean, fragranced, adorned in a beautiful dress and jewelry, hair perfectly coifed, so our we as our great husband raises us from the filth of our sin and brings us to him.

And I wonder, what kind of bride was the Samaritan Woman? First, she embodied all those unfaithful brides, but then, after an encounter with Jesus, she blossoms into the Shulamite woman—the wife of King Solomon, passionately in love with Jesus.

The water he gives her overflows out of her abundant love for him. And she can’t help but tell others about him. She preaches the gospel to her loved ones, and you can only imagine the change her life took on. Do you think she continued to live in sin after falling head over heals in love with her new seventh husband? The perfect one?

Of course not. That living water never runs dry. His love for her never runs dry. And then it overflows from her heart—from our hearts. Love for all around us flows uncontrollably and the recipients include … our husbands.

The love for our heavenly husband is fleshed out daily in love to our earthly husbands. For as we adore Christ, we will be patient, kind. We won’t boast or envy. We won’t insist on our own way, or be irritable or resentful. We’ll rejoice in the truth, bear all things, believe all things, endure all things. In Christ, we become the wife he’s called us to be. Not out of resentful duty, but out of overflowing love for our heavenly husband whom we cherish.

So my advice, to the soon to be bride. Fall in love with your savior, and your love for Him will overflow to your groom as well.

*Special thanks to Scott Hunter and Brett McNeill for their help!

How Many Times Have I Told You?

2010-03-02T20:21:00.000-08:00

“How many times have I told you?”

It seems like my mommy job is a never-ending treadmill on futility.

Well, maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement, but seriously, how many times do I have to tell my son to stay out of his sisters’ room? And how many times must I instruct my princess-adoring daughter, Gabrielle, that, “Sweetie,” (my teeth are clenched) “Cindrella wouldn’t make smacking sounds when she eats with Prince Charming”?

We had a spell of this type of “forgetfulness” today. Christian, my five-year-old rough and tumble knight, has a bad habit of putting his fat fists on, and in, things he’s not supposed to …

First thing this morning, he ran to the front porch to “help” retrieve the milk from where the milkman left it. Before I could get there, he’d knocked over the egg carton also nestled with the milk. So fun cleaning up a bunch of egg yolk (actually, not so much).  How many times have I told him to ask for help when getting the milk?

Later, he dumped out my daughter’s big, perfectly organized, box of … beads. Yeah, millions (well, it seemed like millions) of sparkly pink, yellow, and gold beads all over the floor. How many times have I warned him not to touch Gabrielle’s things?

And finally, without thinking it was even wrong, he smiled at me and grabbed my daughter’s newly beaded necklaces (a big pile she’d been working on) and balled them into a tangled mess. I sent him to the corner. When he got out, where do you think the first place he raced to was? That same ball of beads.

Definitely ingredients for a frazzled mom’s frustrated outburst, but the moment that went beyond frustrating was when the same five-year-old repeatedly (and I mean repeatedly) loses his temper. Such defiant words coming from my silly boy’s mouth. Such an inability to control his fists and his stomping feet.

After about six of these incidents today, I just wanted to cry. Will he ever learn? Will his heart ever soften to my instructions?

And then I heard echoes of my heavenly Father. My own sins go far beyond those of my sweet children. I think first of my own needs more times every day than I can count. When my frustration explodes in words that shame Him; when I snap at my husband rather then giving him the benefit of the doubt … It’s like a neverending treadmill of futility—my repeated sins.

Yet, God’s grace and forgiveness never end. I can never sin more than He will forgive. Did you hear that?

I can never sin more than he will forgive.
Even if I ask for forgiveness one minute then rush and do the exact same thing the next, well, Jesus paid for those sins—the first one and the second.

My Heavenly Father never gets exasperated with me—he never says, “How many times have I told you to be patient with the children I’ve entrusted to you?” It’s so hard to believe, but it’s true. He always let’s me climb back on his lap and whisper one more, “I’m sorry, Abba.”

“Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord:
though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red like crimson,
they shall become like wool. Isaiah 1:18

Love Finds You in February Winners!

2010-02-17T14:50:00.000-08:00

Thank you for all who participated in this fun contest. All of we author-types had lots of fun answering your awesome questions!

Sandie’s books to: Martha A. and Katheyeeberly

Loree’s to: Sherry K and Marlee

Ocieanna to: Shelly

Tricia to: Abi

Cerella’s to: Emily

Miralee’s to: Kim & Elyssa

So Shelly, send my your address and I'll shoot a signed Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie over to you!

Thanks to all who participated!

Love Finds You in February!!!

2010-02-06T22:37:00.000-08:00

The "Love Finds You in February" Contest kicks off today and runs until Valentine's Day. If you leave a comment (and your contact information) at one of the following blogs and your name is selected, you'll win a copy of one of the fantastic Love Finds You titles highlighted below.

We’re giving away free copies of eight separate books--not all to one person, either! There will be eight winners, and here's how you can become one of them:

We’re not doing canned author interviews. You’ll be doing the interviewing! Pick as many authors as you like, ask any question you please (such as, something about their book(s), their writing or personal lives), and the author will post the answer in the Comments section. Be sure to bookmark the page and come back often (or have comments forwarded to your email) so you can keep track of the answers. And be sure to identify which author the question is for!

PLEASE NOTE: If someone has already asked the author of your choice a question on that particular blog, you must pick another author and a different question. Questions will be moderated before posting, so naturally, no inappropriate questions will be included.

All of the participating authors will post this same contest on their personal blogs. You can visit each one by clicking on the link listed with each book/author below. That way you can ask a different author a question on each blog, if you’d like (and increase your chances of winning!). You're allowed multiple entries for posting on different blogs... but only one entry per blog.

So let's get started! You can click on each author's

TRICIA GOYER AND OCIEANNA FLEISS

Web site www.triciagoyer.com
Blog www.triciagoyer.blogspot.com
Blog www.ocieanna.blogspot.com

Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana

Julia Cavanaugh has never left New York City. But in 1890, the young woman must head west to ensure that the orphans under her care are settled into good families. After her final stop in Montana, she plans to head straight back east. But upon arriving in the remote town of Lonesome Prairie, Julia learns to her horror that she is also supposed to be delivered into the hands of an uncouth miner who carries a bill of purchase for his new bride. She turns to a respected circuit preacher to protect her from a forced marriage but with no return fare and few friends, Julias options are bleak. What is Gods plan for her in the middle of the vast Montana prairie?

MIRALEE FERRELL
Blog: www.miraleesdesk.blogspot.com
Web site: www.miraleeferrell.com

Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon
In the thriving 1902 lumber mill community of Bridal Veil, accidents happened.
But nobody expected murder.
Against the backdrop of the breathtaking Bridal Veil Falls in a historic Oregon logging community, a schoolteacher finds herself torn between a past love and the man who could be her future. Sixteen-year-old Margaret Garvey promised her heart to Nathaniel Cooper the night he disappeared from town. Four years later, just as she’s giving love a second chance with Andrew, a handsome logger, Nathaniel suddenly returns to town with a devastating secret. While grappling with the betrayal of those she trusted most,Margaret risks her reputation and position by harboring two troubleds disaster strikes the town and threatens the welfare of its citizens, Margaret will be faced with the most important choice of her life.

Love Finds You in Last Chance, California

Alexia’s father has died unexpectedly, leaving her burdened with a heavily mortgaged horse ranch. Marrying one of the town's all-too-willing bachelors would offer her an easy solution, but Alex has no interest in marriage. Instead, she dons men's trousers and rides the range, determined to make the ranch a success on her own. But des pite Alex's best efforts, everything seems to go wrong: ranch hands quit, horses are stolen, and her father's gold goes missing. Alex is at her wit's end when wrangler Justin Phillips arrives in Last Chance with his young son, looking for a job. But there seems to be more to Justin's story than he's willing to share. Will Alex ever be able to trust him?

CERELLA D. SECHRIST:
Blog: www.thecerellalife.com
Web site: www.cerelladsechrist.com

Love Finds You in Hershey, Pennsylvania
“Love Finds You in Hershey, Pennsylvania is a swirl of chocolaty goodness mixed with multi-layered characters and a touch of surprise. In this lively tale of a klutzy-yet-fiery heroine with a will to succeed, Cerella D. Sechrist creates a delicious story of forgiveness, grace and sweet romance. Highly recommended.” -Julie Carobini, author of Truffles by the Sea and Sweet Waters.

Chef Sadie Spencer has learned that in life, as well as in food, sour balances sweet. After returning to her deliciously charming hometown of Hershey with a young daughter in tow, Sadie has managed to rise from the ashes following the death of her husband, the passing of her mother, and the dissolution of her career as a TV chef. With the help and encouragement of her best friend, Jasper, she opens a restaurant and looks forward to savoring the sweet side of life. That is, until a handsome Russian entrepreneur arrives in town, apparently intent on opening up his own restaurant in direct competition to hers. Sadie becomes obsessed with honing the one skill she’s never had – creating desserts – to keep up with her adversary, and in the process, she finds a love that’s simply icing on the cake.

SANDRA BRICKER:
Blog: http://sandradbricker.blogspot.com
Web site: www.SandraDBricker.com

Love Finds You in Holiday, Florida
Award-winning author of laugh-out-loud comedy for the inspirational market. The Big 5-OH! - Abingdon Press - Due on bookstore shelves 2/1/10 Always the Baker, Never the Bride - Abingdon Press - Due on bookstore shelves 9/1/10

Cassie Constantine has no intention of staying in Florida. She's just there to get her late husband's vacation home ready for the real estate market, but the place needs more work than Cassie bargained for. What's more, her widow status is like a target on her back, and the elderly matchmakers around town manage to sidetrack her mission at every turn. Holiday is a landmine of golf tournaments, ballroom dancing competitions and unexpected intrigue. But the biggest obstacle of all? Richard Dillon, the stuffed shirt she's paired with on the dance floor. He makes her heart beat faster than the rhythm of The Quickstep.

Love Finds You in Snowball, Arkansas
So what if she can't hook a fish? This city girl has a plan to snag something else...and his name is Justin. Lucy Binoche is reasonably attractive, intelligent, and fit. She has French lineage and better-than-average hair. So why is she nearly 30and still single? Justin Gerard is the rugged hottie new to her church's singles group. When he signs up for a camping trip in the Ozarks, Lucy loses no time writing her name on the line beneath his. Theres only one problem Lucy's idea of "roughing it" is suffering through a long line at Starbucks. She assumes she can rely on the grace of God and the assistance of her friend to get through.

But at the campsite in Snowball, Arkansas, Lucy bungles everything she attempts as she tries to impress Justin. She can't fish, hike, or ride a horse; caves make her hyperventilate; and hot-air balloons make her ill. Soon, events are snowballing out of control. Will Lucy pretend to be someone shes not just to snag a boyfriend? Or will she discover someone who loves her just as she is?

LOREE LOUGH:
Blog: www.theloughdown.blogspot.com
Web site: http://www.loreelough.com

Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska

A former marine is no match for the spunky Sam Sinclair!

Wounded in battle, Bryce Stone has returned to his home town of North Pole, Alaska, aknd the self-admitted scrooge isn’t happy about living in the town “Where the spirit of Christmas Lives Year Round.” What’s worse, he must postpone his dream of opening a furniture-making shop when his aunt retires and leaves him the family’s cramped and cluttered Christmas boutique. When Bryce underestimates the young woman he’d hired to manage the store, it becomes a battle of wills, and soon Bryce and Sam find themselves fighting for more than just the success of the shop.

Love Finds You in Paradise, Pennsylvania

For as long as anyone can remember, tourists have flocked to the quaint town of Paradise, Pennsylvania, where Amish buggies are as common as shops that sell hand-crafted goods. But to attorney Julia Spencer, this town is anything but a paradise. Raised in foster homes, Julia has succeeded in life only through steely determination and independence. The close-knit

Amish people are a mystery to her. But local veterinarian Simon Thomas knows them well and is fiercely protective of their simple ways, which are increasingly threatened by the outside world. When Julia agrees to defend a local teenager charged in a case involving an Amish boy, she and Simon find themselves on opposite sides of an intense legal and emotional battle. Just when it seems they will never understand one another, God has something to teach them both about the power of forgiveness… and the joys to be found in Paradise.

Laundry Lessons--When My House Looked Like My Righteousness

2010-02-03T11:27:00.000-08:00

"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;
my soul shall exult in my God,
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels." Is. 61:10 ESV

Remember the verse from Isaiah. “Our righteousness is as filthy rags.” Yesterday my house reminded me of my righteousness—full of filthy clothes!

I’ve spent the last year writing two books, Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana and Love Finds You in Victory Heights Washington. The deadline for Victory Heights was Monday and, sisters, for the last week I worked 10-12 hour days.

Needless to say keeping up on housework, and especially laundry, went out the window—or rather into huge piles all throughout the kids’ rooms, my room, and the hallway.

Our physical well-being was at risk (in case an unaware wee one tripped and crashed her head into a lego creation or other strewn mess.) And our spiritual health also hung in the balance (not the prettiest words pour out when a struggling-to-maintain-her-happy-demeanor mama stumbles on a pile of dirty jeans.)

So yesterday, the first day after the deadline, I jumped in with both feet—and elbows, hands, and a bottle of bleach—to clean! For some reason, I thought my kids would be as fed up with the mess as I was. It was TEAM FLEISS time, and we would conquer the house together.

So, while I chucked one load after another into the washer, scrubbing showers and dishes in the down time, I cheerfully gave the kids tasks. “Christian, yank all that stuff from under the couch.” “Abigail, take this sponge and scrub the stains on the wall.” And the ultimate goal— “Gabrielle, those piles of laundry in the hall need to come down!”

Then as sweet Gabrielle lugged her third basket of laundry down the stairs, she began to make a strange sound. Could that be whining?

I was so surprised. My daughter was whining about cleaning? Doesn’t she know this house is a disaster? I’m gonna be honest. A rumbling frustration grew in my chest. I wanted her to willingly help with a smile—like Snow White in the dwarves’ cabin. “Whistle While You Work.”

Even though my crazy fantasy lacked any understanding about kids’ attitudes toward cleaning, I was disappointed, and tempted to snap at her. “Don’t you want to be on Team Fleiss? Don’t you want to stop living in filth?”

But by God’s grace, instead of snapping, I took a moment to pray and think. Maybe my ideal was extreme, but my desire to instill the value of hard work and a clean home was a good one. How could I take this moment to teach her?

Here’s what I told her.

1. “Sweet Gabrielle, after you brought all those loads down, when you looked at the empty hallway, how did that feel?” She shrugged and said, “Good.” Phew, she said the right thing. “One reason we clean is because it feels good to work hard to make it look nice.’ She liked that. So I moved on.

2. “Another reason we keep our house tidy is to bless others. When you brought down the laundry it meant the family will have clean underwear (which is gleeful!) AND nobody will crash to his death from tripping on the piles. All because you did the not-so-fun work. Thank you, Gabrielle.” A big smile spread across her face.

3. Finally, the most important reason. “We also clean with a cheerful heart because it pleases God. Remember that verse, ‘Rejoice always.’? An orderly house pleases Jesus. It means we care about the home he gave us.” My thoughtful girl’s eyes squinted. “Hmm. Okay, Mama.”

So by the end of the day my house no longer looked like my righteousness—not so full of filthy clothes. But the question still remains. How can my righteousness be cleaned up?

Well, my logic to Gabrielle only worked because God is in her heart, making the truth come to life. And the same is true of me. My temptation to snap shows how scroungy my heart is when ruled by my own selfish desires. I need someone to change my heart from mucky to clean.

There’s hope.

Christ takes our filthy clothing and exchanges them for garments of righteousness. Unlike my home, I can’t scrub hard enough to clean my own hearts. But when I trust in him alone, he does it for me. And dressed as his bride, I go out with joy, serving him in all I do—whether scrubbing showers, teaching whining children, or folding piles of laundry. He is with me.

Little Victories

2009-01-29T07:35:00.000-08:00

“Thank you for your kids.” The exact words my two oldest kids’ art teacher, Mrs. Drillovich, said. “They’re so nice and well-behaved. I can tell you’ve done a good job.”

Really? I could feel my cheeks breaking into a smile, and the urge to hug my little angels flowed into my arms as we walked to the car. “I’m so proud of you, guys,” I said. “Thanks for being so good.”

“Wanna race?” my daughter Gabby asked Benjamin, ignoring my smushy words. And they took off.

The squabbling began immediately.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!” my daughter whined as she ran. “It’s not fair.”

The battle escalated as they got into the van. “Mama, Benjamin cheated.”

“You always cheat, Gabby.”

So much for well-behaved kids.

As I go through my days as a mommy, I find life is like this. Little victories, followed by hours of struggle. I want those victory moments to last. I think it’s my latent desire to have a peaceful home where the kids obey, the dishes are done, and a slow-cooking pot roast fills the house with the aroma of love (and a together me).

Funny, but life with kids doesn’t seem to be like that. When Mrs. Drillovich gave the compliment, besides the rush of joy, I also felt the weight of the responsibility that training kids to be respectful, responsible, and productive involves:

>Constant reminders to my daughter to "act like a princess" at the table
>The repetitive "training" I give Benjamin to encourage him stop teasing
Gabby
>The multiple anger-managment sessions with Christian
>The hours of hugs and “wead-a-book” time with Abigail to help her feel loved and secure

These mommy labor hours (and so many more) are what brought about that compliment. And I still relish it as a reward for hard work.

Yet, the compliment also reminded me of one other very important point. It’s only by God’s grace that my kids behaved well in art class. So rather than strive and struggle, I must remember to put all my parenting into His capable hands, running to Him, in prayer and the Scriptures, with each defeat and praising Him with the victories.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” James 1:17 NIV

Rescue Me

2009-01-19T06:08:00.000-08:00

Rescue Me

I live in a soggy state. I guess that can have two meanings. My state of being is soggy. That’s definitely true. Haven’t you noticed that having kids makes you wet? Runny-nose wet, squirted-juice-box wet, “uh-oh-I-had-an-accident” wet. Yeah, my state of being is definitely soggy.

But I was actually talking about Washington State—where I live. We’ve had tons of precipitation that has flooded many of our waterways. The other day on the news I watched as rescue swimmers jumped into a rushing river to help three stranded teenagers to safety.

I’m a rescue worker myself. Aren’t you? My kids don’t need to call 9-1-1 to reach me. One cry of, “I stuck, Mama!” sends me running to release a jammed baby from her high chair. “I need to go potty and my pants won’t come down!” will also nab my attention—and my fingers in quick response to undo a sticky snap or wedged zipper.

And then there’s that screaming cry that implies physical pain. Last night at church my four-year-old son got himself stuck. When my husband followed the sounds of his wails through the foyer and down the hallway, he discovered a chubby flailing arm sticking out of the ladies’ bathroom. Those doors are heavy, and Christian had somehow gotten his arm lodged. My husband bounded to the rescue, released the victim’s stuck appendage, and brought the little guy to safety. Face red from crying, Christian’s sore arm wrapped around his rescuer’s neck in a relieved hug.

Sometimes my rescue missions are a bit less dramatic than those, like when my seven-year-old daughter’s heart requires the healing that only a snuggle from mama can give. Or when my older son needs me to halt my busyness, look him in the eyes, and actively listen. “So you feel like you have too much schoolwork today? That would be hard.” “You get frustrated when the little kids take your Gameboy? I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like that either.” Then end with tickles, because he’s never too old for tickles.

I like being a rescue worker. It’s a privilege to “save” my kids from their “dire” circumstances, but sometimes I need rescuing too. This week was hard. A lot of yucky things happened—I made a mistake on a manuscript I was editing; my latest chapter of my novel did not go well; I had a night of insomnia; I felt a cold coming on; my son and I weren’t getting along; and well, I just felt grumpy.

In times like these I long for someone to sweep me out of the muck and helicopter me to peaceful tranquility. I’d like to say that happened, but it didn’t. Rather than a sudden rush of peace, like my hugs and quiet conversations with my kids, God was simply there with me. And trusting that the week would end, I’d eventually feel better, and that despite my whacked-out emotions, the truth is that God already has rescued me—by loving me unconditionally because of His unmerited grace—helped disloge my stuck and troubled mind from the crisis at hand. And brought me back to a place of gratitude and joy, kinda like Christian's red-faced hug.

"You Have a Wonderful Husband"

2009-01-10T21:27:00.001-08:00

Transition--that's what our church is all about right now. After renting a Seventh Day Adventist building for ten years, our congregation suddenly finds itself needing to relocate. That, along with our dear associate pastor recently leaving to take a call to a new church, (the nerve!) has left us a little unsettled.

Today we toured two possible church purchases. Since my husband, Michael, is the deacon, (that's right, by God's providence, we only have one now, and Michael is it) he guided the tours today.

"As you can see, the roof looks good. Just replaced." "The classrooms comply completely with the state." "Here's how we can afford this..."

I watched him, this man I've known since he was a gangly twenty-something, going to Orange Coast (Junior) College, driving a Gran Torino, sporting a mullet.

And I was impressed. He'd done his research. He knew his stuff. He led well.

The tour ended, and we gathered for an informal "family meeting." Michael directed it with cordial professionalism. He talked about leaving a legacy for our children, using the many classrooms to provide for homeschool groups, or seminaries, or maybe even starting a Christian school. He asked whether the buildings would fit our spiritual identity.

Who knew my Michael was so wise?

But it was his heart that got me. The church we liked best had been there for fifty years. The members had stained the wood in the ceiling themselves. They served the community and the Lord with humility and love. Now struggles with money, regulations, and unforeseen yuck has caused them to sell.

Something about their plight touched my husband, and he suggested sharing the huge church with this flegling congregation if we should be able to attain it. Why not let them continue to serve the Lord in the building they so love? He suggested letting the pastor keep his office space as well.

In this world of selfish ambition, it touched me that he'd think of others--not how to get the killer deal or the "most for our money"--but to serve.

After the meeting a friend came up to me. "You are blessed to have such a wonderful, thoughtful husband. It's not often that someone has a vision." Her eyebrows scrunched with sincerity, and I thought she might cry.

My heart shot to my throat at her sweet and heartfelt compliment, and, filled with emotion, I said, "Ah, he's all right." We laughed, but then she gave me a hug.

Michael showed us Christ today. And as I walk this journey with my once goofy junior collegiate, I'll continue to be grateful for the Lord's work in his heart, knowing that as Michael becomes more like Christ, I and our church body reaps the benefits.

White Lightning--and a Day of Failure

2009-01-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was wrought with the primordial struggle between mom and preschooler--getting him to stay with me.

You see, it was our first day back to our homeschool co-op. The rules are very clear. You must keep your kids with you. They must never roam free--especially little guys like Christian.

Well, we arrived to co-op on time (yea!), and I situated the kids in the meeting room for announcements. I then had to run back upstairs to grab our storage bin--a two-minute task--so I left my four darlings with strict instructions: "Stay here. I'll be right back. I even coiled Christian's chubby fingers around the back of our chair.

I jogged up the stairs, grabbed our purple bin, lugged it back down, and guess what? No Christian in sight. It was now one minute till the meeting began, and I didn't know where my third-born son was.

I don't know why I didn't think he'd be in the bathroom playing with bubbles in the sink, but that's where I found him.

"I sorry, Mama. I forgot. I promise I won't do it again."

But he broke that promise--over and over! After announcements he completely disappeared, only to reappear (after I experienced a brief panic attack) right where he belonged in class. Before lunch I found him playing alone in the gym with his illegal black-soled shoes on. During lunch I had to round him up at least twice ... and after lunch, he even committed the greatest crime at co-op. He went outside to recess without me!

Of course I didn't even notice he'd gone. One minute he was sitting next to me eating his ham sandwich, the next, a young girl was delivering the criminal. "He's uh, not supposed to be out there."

The worst part was when after a full day of struggling with him, the recess monitor also informed me, as kindly as she could, "Just so you know, he's not supposed to be at recess without you."

I wanted to crawl into the trunk of my green Honda Odyssey and hide. Instead I harnessed my little white lightning and had him appologize, which he did with a sincere smile. "I sorry. I won't do it again." I think he fooled her, but he didn't fool me.

What a crazy day I had following my disappearing act around. It was exhausting, frustrating, embarrassing, and even a little discouraging. The discouraging part came from worrying about what other moms were thinking about me. "What a bad mom. Why can't she keep her kid under control?"

I don't know if anyone was thinking that. Since they're all moms too, who love the Lord, probably not. But I still felt yucky.

The truth is I should've been more on top of watching him. I tried, but sometimes even when I try my best, I fail.

So how did the day end? I tickled Christian's round tummy, and we giggled together. Then he snored on the way home.

We'll do better next week, but for now, I'm going to be content with my weaknesses, knowing that my son's happy snores are more important than a day of seeming failures.

"The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs... You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." Isaiah 58:11 NIV

My Christmas Ministry--and Yours

2008-12-24T15:34:00.000-08:00

You hear about them all the time--those amazing ideas to serve others at Christmas.

Sing carols at an old folks' home.
Visit the children's wing of a hospital.
Feed Christmas dinner to the homeless.
Invite the lonely into your home.

And more ...

These are wonderful ideas--great ways to teach our kids to help others. And although my wiggling toddlers would make many of these an experiment in torture, I think it would be great to give more in the future. My husband and I have even talked about spending Christmas serving in Mexico someday.

But something strikes me about the way people glorify volunteering during the holidays. It's like helping in a soup kitchen etc. are real types of ministry and what we normally do is not. But,

This morning, my two-year-old daughter's eyes scrunched in sheer sadness when she spilled her hot chocolate. Her tear-drenched cheeks wet my shoulder as I held her.

Comforting the distressed is my ministry.

My son, Christian, sitting at the island coloring, fell right off his chair (again)and landed on the linoleum. "Let me get you some ice for those bruises, sweetie." And we snuggled in the blue recliner till he giggled and ran off to play.

Healing the wounded is my ministry.

Sweet Gabrielle, seven, loves to hug. Every few hours she checks in, wraps her arms around me to receive the love waiting in my arms. We finish with a few yummy kisses, and off she goes.

Hugs and kisses are my ministry.

And a couple days ago, my oldest was getting picked on by a neighbor girl who is much older than him. He came inside crying. I held him and told him how special he is. "God loves you so much, Benjamin. Let's play a game together."

Befriending the friendless is my ministry.

Finally, every night after dinner we light the advent candles and read from the Bible about Jesus.

Teaching my children about a baby who grew up to die on a wooden cross to forgive their sins--that's my ministry.

What's yours?

Let's not worry about what others think our Christmas ministry should be, because of Christ, we are amazing moms--and that's enough.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

Christmas Program with a Four Year Old. Embarrassing? No Way.

2008-12-12T22:18:00.000-08:00

My little Christian with his cherry-red chubby cheeks stood on stage with a band of other four and five year olds singing the ever-preschooler-popular "Away in a Manger." So cute.

Of course, my eyes focused on my little one, and what was he doing? Well, he had his priorities in the right place. You see, he was wearing his favorite "play ball" knee-high socks. In order to share the coolness of the socks with his church family, he shoved his pant-legs up to his knees. There he stood, socks in all their glory.

I have to say, he sang pretty well. He actually knew the words--even the second verse. "The stars in the bright sky..." And how cute it was when they flashed their little hands above their heads like stars--except that, with his arms pulling his shirt up, the whole congregation could see that Christian's pants were neither snapped, nor zipped. Nice Thomas the Tank Engine underwear though.

That little boy gives me so much joy. He had no clue he should be embarrassed. He just felt excited to share himself with a room full of people who love him.

Sometimes I feel like Christian looked--not quite tucked in or snapped up. But I'm just me, not the perfect mom, housekeeper, or Christmas decorator, but amazing nonetheless. So at Christmas time especially, I try not to worry about sharing only the perfect version of myself. It's time to just give, however imperfectly.

Why? Because my family loves me, and of course, my heavenly Father loves me too.

"The Lord your God ... will take great delight in you, he will rejoice over you with singing. He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy." Zephaniah 3:17

Yesterday's Blessings

2008-12-03T06:54:00.000-08:00

Blessing number one: I arrived home from a three-hour editing stint with a seriously fried brain and a mounding serving of worn out. "Lord," I prayed as I got out of the car, "Help me make it through the rest of the afternoon."

Walking through the door, the first thing I noticed was a clean family room AND a couch-full of folded clothes. Then I heard the sound of the dishwasher whirring. I glanced toward the kitchen--yep, the dishes were done. I kept myself from fainting and smiled at my most wonderful babysitter. My heart exuded thanks. I really needed the help at that moment. A clean and peaceful home is a blessing--and help getting there double blesses.

Blessing number two: "Honey, can you bring home some paper towels and diapers from Costco today?" You see, my husband was laid off from a mortgage management position a few months ago, but rather than waiting around for the perfect situation in the finance world, he took a part-time job straightening bread for a vender at Costco. He rises in the wee hours of the morning to provide for us, then heads back in the afternoon.

This gives him time to pursue other work while still providing help with the bills. I'm so blessed by his hard-working, dedicated attitude. Plus, he did bring home the paper towels and diapers AND a roasted chicken for dinner. Wahoo!

And blessing number three: "Ho-ly! Ho-ly! Ho-ly!" My little singer-superstar Abigail belted out in typical off-key howling yesterday afternoon. "Hoooo-leee!" I laughed, not just chuckled, but a real hearty guffaw. Then she giggled and did it even louder and with odd and varied lip positions. "Hoo-ly," she sang with her lips all pooched out, then "Ho-ly," with her lips smacking. Ah, we laughed and laughed.

After my long hours editing, the comic relief felt good. Plus, the sweet innocent joy of a two-year-old girl screeching with delight about God's holiness--you gotta love that.

Then I remembered my prayer. "Lord, help me through the rest of the afternoon." Like Abigail's praise, I'd prayed with simple trust--childlike--and a loving Father answered.

Self-denial--Really?

2008-11-25T06:56:00.001-08:00

Last night I got together with a good friend at Starbucks. Having tried a variety of the chairs and tables at that particular Starbucks, I knew the best table to choose--the one that has a cushy seat on one side and a regular seat on the other. It's next to the wall, nice and private, and away from the speaker for when the music gets too loud.

So I used my influence to get her to agree to that table... "Does this one look okay?" (as if I had no opinion). She went to get her drink, and I sat down in the regular seat, leaving her the cushy one.

When she got back, she smiled. "You left me the soft seat, that was very unselfish of you, but I guess with four kids, you know a lot about self-denial."

We laughed, and I said something about mommyhood taking self-denial to a "whole nother level."

It does. Doesn't it? Really plunges the depths, testing our ability to give and give and give ...

I have to admit, sometimes it's really hard. Little things like never owning your very own Diet Coke. Honestly, sometimes I don't want to share it. "It's MY Diet Coke, and you can't have it! Mine! Mine! Mine!" I feel like that at times, but I usually end up sharing. Same goes for chocolate or a new perfect pen or even a just a few quiet minutes alone. Stuff that used to be all mine, now is shared with eight grubby little hands.

Self denial also hits on an emotional level. When my older kids pierce me with angry, painful attitudes, I don't always think, "Yea! What a great teaching opportunity. I'm going to help them learn a life lesson." No, more often, especially when I'm tired or overwhelmed, I'm tempted to indulge myself by throwing good discipline out the window and lashing out in sarcasm or manipulation.

How do I keep from getting sucked into this yucky cycle? Well, I learned a really great thing about self-denial. I do it not to somehow change the kids' behavior or make myself look like a good mom. I deny myself simply because that's what Christ did. It's not out of a sense of duty or guilt, but because I love Him, and His love, joy, and peace fill me up. If instead of focusing on the things I'm giving up--Diet Coke, chocolate, or an indulgent self-centered attitude--I focus on serving the Lord, self denial becomes a joy rather than a sacrifice. And when I serve out of joy, those grubby little hands don't bother me. In fact, there's nothing I'd rather do than serve them.

"Serve the Lord with gladness." Psalm 100

A Cheerful Heart is Good Medicine

2008-11-21T06:16:00.000-08:00

Last week I went for my annual check-up. Fun! No really, it was fun. Why? Because my doctor is so cheerful.

He's been our family doctor for years now, and I would never go to anyone else. He greeted me with a big smile and a "How are ya?" He asked, "How are those kiddos of yours?" and also made sure I wasn't too overwhelmed by mommyhood. While he was stethescoping my back, he had to take a phone call, and, after apologizing for the interruption, he grinned and said, "Don't go anywhere." Like I could while donning that paper blouse. I laughed--imagine, a doctor who'll joke with you.

I overheard a bit of his phone call (not on purpose!) and he exuded friendliness to that person too. "Hey Joe, thanks for calling me back." He had that smile in his voice they tell you to have. Yeah, the check-up included all the uncomfortable stuff, but I left with a smile on my face. It felt good to be around a happy person for an hour.

I want my home to be like that. After my appointment, I began assessing my cheerfulness level. I think I could be a lot more jolly with my kids. So I tried it. We've been laughing more, and when I get all serious about the "To Do Lists" in my day, I've been trying to slow down and smile instead of growl. It's not that difficult to do, and guess what? They like their mom better this way--and so do I.

Me Overwhelmed? Weird--or Not

2008-11-09T12:35:00.000-08:00

"The thing is," I told my friend Sarah, "I feel overwhelmed all the time." Sarah is one of those un-assuming, yet remarkable, women whose easy-going attitude and great kids (five of them) inspire me.

What nugget did wise Sarah give me in response? Her brow scrunched in compassion, and she said, "Well, you have four little kids, you homeschool, you edit (something I do to help financially), you have a house to take care of...You're going to feel overwhelmed all the time."

Huh. It took me a minute to let that sink in. I'm going to feel overwhelmed all the time. As she waited patiently, still smiling empathetically, the meaning of her words swirled through my thoughts.

Sarah was telling me that my state of being overwhelmed was not abnormal. In fact, considering all I do, it's perfectly reasonable to feel like I'm drowning.
I looked up from my pondering and said, "Thanks. That's a real comfort."

It was. Her kind and wholly rational words reminded me that God knows how I feel like flood waters are whooshing over my head--all the time. He knows how my stomach turns at the thought of keeping up with the laundry, or how a messy diaper at the wrong moment (like when we're already rushing to be on time)can send me into frantic, crazy-lady mode.

He also knows how I feel like a failure when one of my kids shows his sinfulness by lashing out at me with disrespectful words. Or another one refuses to forgive, holding a grudge for hours. Or when I, rather than exemplifying loving, Christ-centered behavior, instead lash out right back at them.

He knows that these and the many other challenges of parenting overwhelm--all the time. And rather than stressing and struggling like a panicked swimmer, I can trust that this is the heat I'm supposed to be in--not an easy one, but worthwhile. I can rest in Him, trusting His ability to save me--be my strength.

"Trust the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight." Prov. 3:5-6

Look What God Made

2008-10-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

"What's that, Mama?" two-year-old Abigail's little voice questioned as she pointed to the animal in front of her. "Kitty?"

"Nope, sweetie, that's a jaguar."

Monday we went to Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo. It was Abigail's first excursion to any zoo, and it warmed my heart (despite the chilly Washington weather) to see her eyes light up in wonder at the animals. It was also fun to hear four-year-old Christian's roaring--doesn't matter what animal we saw, his response was, ROAR!!!

On occasions like a trip to the zoo, I always keep the phrase, "Look what God made," handy. I want them to know where to direct that awe they feel over the amazingness of nature. "See the speckled giraffe, the powerful gorilla, the purple, poison-dart frog? Look what God made."

I also experience another kind of awe when I gaze at them--an amazing feeling of gratitude. And on Monday, as they delighted in God's creation, I delighted in them, saying to myself, "Look what God made."

My Benjamin, Gabrielle, Christian, Abigail. Even the most awe-inspiring, intricate aspect of God's creation pales in comparison to my kids. What breathtaking spot in nature could attempt to surpass the feeling when Benjamin hands me a note from the heart--"You're the best mom ever." Or when Gabby has a smooching contest with me, or when Christian falls asleep on my lap in church, or when Abigail giggles. They are the most amazing creations in my life. And He's given me the privilege and duty to be their mom.

Look what God made, yeah. He made my kids.

"The Lord your God is in your midst. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy." Zephaniah 3:17 NIV

I Love to Laugh--Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!

2008-10-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

"That does not sound sexy!" I blurted to my critiquing friend last night. Three of us gathered around our favorite table at McDonald's, struggling to tune out the loud voices of the older gentlemen's loud conversation. The point? To give our best opinions about how to make eachothers' manuscripts more griping, emotionally intense, or polished. It's very satisfying as a writer in many ways--and refreshing.

The best part is the laughing. Not a McCrit (that's what we call it) goes by when we're not snorting and guffawing about something. This time an out-of-place phrase a character said in a hot and heavy romantic scene just struck me. We all almost lost our Diet Cokes over that one.

As a mommy, I believe in laughter. It waters my dry land. The days filled with laundry, dishes, organizing, and most of all striving to be the best parent I can be sometimes saps the juice right out of me, but laughing gives it back.

Nothing bonds friends together like a full-bellied chuckle. It's hard to be transparent sometimes, even with other moms. We want to appear like we have it all together, like our backs don't ache at the end of the day, or our kids don't drive us to desparation at times. A good laugh can break down that barrier. Sharing a funny can make us feel free to share the struggles as well.

And how great is laughing with our kids? My 8-year-old son, Benjamin, can really get me going. He or I will mimic something we've seen Christian doing, like saying, "I a knight. I sword you!" And we'll jump and take his fierce knight stance. We'll giggle and giggle. Or my second oldest will tell me some story that I don't understand, and she'll start cracking up. I don't have a clue what it's about, but I join in anyway, because laughing is contagious.

Oh, and the ability to make a kid chortle helps with discipline. My favorite way to melt a kid's mad face into a smile? Say, "Would you like to eat my boogers?" Works every time.

What a gift laughter is. Thanks to the Lord, the source of all joy, for creating us to laugh.

"The joy of the Lord is my strength."

My Shoulders Feel Better

2008-10-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

Since I finished my stint teaching twenty jr. highers everything they needed to know about the Crimean and Civil War, I somehow feel more relaxed. Huh.

I think it's good to have a big goal. I like it--the adrenaline rush, the sense of accomplishment, the knowledge that makes me feel smart.

And I also like gifting my kids the opportunity to experience these benefits of hard work. Their goals of, for instance, making their beds every day, or, finishing their math surely do give them the bliss of a job well done.

Okay, maybe not. But it is beneficial to have them work hard even if rather than blessing me for my wise foresight, they whine, get mad, slouch, procrastinate, and sometimes cry.

Another thing is good too.

A break.

After teaching for six weeks, I need a break. And my kids' hyper-emotions tell me they do too. So this week we've thrown math out the window. Their beds aren't made and I don't care! Yesterday we made thumbprint thank you cards. You should've seen little Abigail. The ink didn't quite stay on her thumb. Instead her fat thighs were decorated with swirlies and squigglies. But we had fun and the cards got put in the mailbox with the flag up. All five of us went for a long walk/bike ride (the older two riding bikes), and eight-year-old Benjamin made the coolest skids in the gravel. Today, my six-year-old daughter Gabrielle got to trade her treasures for the neighborhood kids' allowance money, and I helped Benjamin sell his Cub Scout popcorn. We've been reading books we like, and tomorrow, I plan on playing games with them--Jr. Boggle, Aggravation, Uno! Monday we're going to the zoo.

Sometimes in my frenzy to check off the to-do lists I make for my kids I forget they need a break. We all do sometimes--it helps those shoulders relax.

Giggling with Abigail

2008-10-12T16:36:00.000-07:00

"Go away, bug!" my two-year-old squeaked in church today. A fly had swooped by her ear during the Prayer of the Church. Her commanding words were heard far beyond our pew.

We're trying to train her to sit in church, and I was pretty impressed that she made it that long, so, for the sake of the others trying to concentrate on worshipping God, I took her to the cry room.

But that doesn't mean she can run free. Like I said, we're trying to get her to sit through service, so the rule is she must sit on my lap and be quiet. Well, how do you think that worked out? She's a talker, you see. She loves words and wants to tell me everything. Yet, I know she needs to be quiet.

So we begin a back and forth dialog, starting with the items in her surroundings. "Mahm, toy." My response? "Quiet, Abigail." She says, "Mahm, nose." I say, "No talk, Abigail." She taps her soft little finger on my sweater. "Mahm, button." I respond, "Shhh, Abigail." Then she grabs a book. "Mahm, goggie," pointing to a dog, and "Mahm, goggie," pointing to a donkey. "Abigail, pray with Pastor Randy." Now she looks out the glass to the people in church. "Mahm, Barker." (Our church's pastoral intern.) "Mahm, Papa."... "Abigail, listen to the Bible."

The problem is, she's just so cute and sweet, it becomes a game for both of us, and soon she's giggling. Okay, I'll admit, I giggle too. How could I not? What better place than in church to enjoy her? What better way to glorify God than to rejoice in this precious gift He's lavished on me.

Let's Encourage Each Other with Our Words

2008-10-09T16:22:00.000-07:00

What a day! This morning I went to my MOPS meeting which I haven't been able to attend for, well, a long time. As I dropped off my little girl to the nursery, one of the mommies saw me. Her face lit up and she attacked me with a big hug. "Hi!" she said, "It's so good to see you." The same thing happened all morning. Even the director from up front, when she saw me, paused and squeeked in joy. "You're here!"

How good did that feel? So good. I also just got an e-mail from a lovely lady at my homeschool co-op telling me how much her kids, who are in my class, "love and respect me." Now, I know I probably need more praise than some. (Verbal affirmation is my love language.) But every mom feels encouraged by kind words.

I remember once a few years ago. A lovely young mom was herding her two wee toddlers around the zoo. Her kids were so cute and she was so sweet with them, I couldn't help but comment. "You're doing a great job with your kids." You should've seen her face. She actually teared up. A simple kind word from a stranger.

Maybe it's because our own self talk isn't always the most positive. Maybe it's because we doubt ourselves as parents. Maybe it's because our kids don't always have the nicest things to say. I don't know, but we mommies need positive words. And who better to give it than other mommies--the ones who know how hard it can be. Let's take this challenge and encourage one another. Is there someone you can call, or send a card to? Maybe just remember to bless a mom you know with a "good job" the next time you see her.

So thanks to those of you who've blessed me today. I hope to pass the love on to others.

"Encourage one another and build each other up." 1 Thessalonians 5:11

Time management--ha!

2008-10-08T14:52:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody,

I haven’t blogged in so long. I’m glad to be back. Because of my schedule, I’m going to only write short little blurbs for you, and they won’t be perfectly edited. Gasp! The perfectionist editor in me is screeching, but that’s just the way it has to be.

What’s on O’s mind? Well, a lot about time management. I’ve been teaching a 6-week history unit to a group of twenty jr. highers. It’s been so fun. Such a great age and a nice break from my little ones—four of ‘em ages 2-8. But my quest for perfection does make my teaching stint very time-consuming. What have I learned? Even imperfect class activities still bless my students! (A Flylady concept.) The activities don’t have to be perfect and I don’t have to be an expert in the causes of the Civil War to be able to teach them something valuable.

How does this apply to us mommies? Well, I have to keep telling myself that I don’t have to be a perfect mommy. In my striving to be a good mom, I find myself adding more and more to my schedule—gotta read to the kids or they won’t be smart enough; I must do more activities with them or they won’t be mentally stimulated; they need more play dates or they won’t make friends. And there’s the pressure to organize their dressers, scrub the corners, take them to museums, library story time, soccer, dinner! Not to mention the pressure to take care of myself. All the magazines say I must have “me” time. I must, or I won’t be a good mommy! But when????

Ugh. I can’t do all this. I don’t know what the secret to time management with little ones is, but I do know that I am loved—by my husband, kids, family, friends, and especially the Lord. As my four-year-old Christian commands in his most bossy tone, “One at a time!” Maybe that’s the answer. One moment at time, with my hand firmly grasping the nail-scared hand of the Lord.

"If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. Psalms 139:9-10

Embarassing Moment

2007-03-17T17:08:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the waiting room of my daughter's speech therapy office. Her weekly appointments are at the painful time of 8:00 AM. (Yep, I get all four wee ones out the door by 7:15--and manage the critical pot o' coffee.)

Because of the rush, I wait until we get there to breast feed my eight-month-old baby. Since a few other parents, including a dad or two, usually join me in the waiting room, I cover up with a blanket.

This past week, it was just me and my troop occupying the room. Yea! I could mellow out about keeping my two year old contained. I could let my seven year old be a little louder than normal, and when I breast fed, I didn't have to cover up so diligently.

I started out trying to conceal a bit with my shirt, but then I thought, It doesn't matter. Even the receptionist can't see me. So, I pretty much let it all hang out. For the most part the baby's head covered me, but when my "girls" popped out here and there, oh well. Who'd know? I changed baby to the other breast and didn't even bother tucking myself back in until I got her situated.

After a few minutes, she was done eating, and I sat up to get situated. As my eyes looked upward, I saw it.

The security camera pointed directly at me.

Hmmmm... wonder which security guard got a free peep show?

It’s Not the End of the World

2007-03-15T16:59:00.000-07:00

What I’ve been dealing with lately is stuff that all mommies struggle with. That desire to maintain control. It doesn’t matter what area of life we’re talking about. It could be work, kids, marriage…for me it was home.

I have a link to Flylady.net in my Linkos section. The “Fly” part of Flylady stands for Finally Loving Yourself, and her concept is that if you “bless your house” a little at a time and give yourself permission to not be perfect, you will find the peace of a clean home.

Her most basic tool is routine. She encourages a before-bed routine, a morning routine, an afternoon routine—all just fifteen minutes at a time. Then there are the one-load-of-laundry-a-day routine, the what’s-for-dinner routine and so it goes. Just break it down into little pieces. “You can do anything for fifteen minutes.”

Well, I put this link here because Flylady has been a great blessing to me. I’ve made improvements in the organization of my home (still have a long way to go) and even greater strides in keeping up with the daily cleaning. So in no way am I dissing Flylady.

But …

Keeping up on all these routines sometimes throws me into a frenzy. That’s what’s been happening lately. It goes like this:

Day 1: I miss my before-bed-routine.

Day 2: I say to myself that I’m going to do it tonight. Then I’m tired, or we’re out and about. I don’t get it done, and I feel terrible.

Day 3: I feel even more stressed about getting it done, but still can’t seem to do it.

Day 4: Start saying things like, “Kids, mommy has something she really needs to do now, okay?” Gritting my teeth.

Day 5: I become grumpy and resentful toward anyone (my four wee ones and angel husband) who get in my way. I become the Flylady nazi, “I vill get this done! Or somevun vill pay!”

Multiply this by three or four other missed routines and … you get the idea.

So, I felt the meltdown coming in the air. Knew it was on its way, and yesterday it came a knockin’. Truthfully it wasn’t only because the house was a disaster. The demands of four kids (all sick this week), lack of sleep, and my own stack of commitments may have added to the overload. (Ya think?)

Whatever the causes, I was a mess. Tears and anger intermingled into nonsensical rants. I felt overwhelmed and depressed. Like a failure and outcast. I wanted to throw the mess in the lake and run down to the corner pub to escape into a merry time with the locals.

But since I couldn’t do any of those, I just sat on the couch catatonic waiting for my husband to call, and when he did, I opened the floodgates on him, demanding a housekeeper, and that he give me ten compliments for every negative. Then I called my dear friend and unloaded on her. And then I called one more friend and spilled it to her. (Thank You Lord for friends.)

Getting it out helped a bit and somewhere along the way I remembered something I’d forgotten. It was something my spiritual mother told me. Are you ready?

“It’s not the end of the world.”

Ahhh.

What a blessing those words are! When I don’t get my routines done, it’s not the end of the world. When I forget to plan dinner, and we have to eat soup out of a can, it’s not the end of the world. When I’m so exhausted, I tell my kids to watch TV so I can rest, it’s not the end of the world. When I lose control of any or all the areas I’m trying to nail down, it’s not the end of the world. It’s not the end of the world.

So today’s been better. And actually, the house is a little cleaner. Now that I’m not all psyched up about it, I can just relax and pick up a few things. But I won’t forget (at least for today) that if my routines don’t get done, it’s not the end of the world.

Double ahhh.

(I should mention that another major concept of Flylady is that we implement the routines one a time—she calls it babysteps—so that we don’t get overwhelmed. Guess I forgot that too.)

Seven Years

2007-03-08T07:20:00.000-08:00

Last night we celebrated my oldest's birthday. As he and the other little parrty goers ran through the Family Fun Center (till they were pink and sweaty) it occurred to me—it was a birthday for me too. My Mommy birthday.

Yup, I've been a mommy for seven years now. He was a Y2K baby—has it really been that long? I remember each stage so well.

• Pregnancy—After losing two, I reveled in the honor of carrying a wiggly baby in my bulging tummy.
• Infancy—So many tender memories: the overwhelming love as I held him in my arms, his wee head turned to me for nourishment, the incomparable joy of his first smile and hearty giggle, and those peace-stirring coos.
• Toddlerhood—Yikes! His wobbled steps nearly always ending in a crash, kept me jumping after him, "Careful! Watch out! You'll hurt yourself!" But his sense of wonder and curiosity filled me with joy.
• Kindergarten—My first day homeschooling him was surprising. I was so nervous to be a homeschool mom, but then I liked it. When I saw the neighborhood kids piling on the school bus, a sense of peace and gratitude fell over me, and I knew it was the right decision for us.
• Seven—His triumphs and struggles are different now. Instead of giggling at a game of peek-a-boo, it takes a real joke to set him off. (What do you call a mare at night? A nightmare!) Instead of the never ending Goodnight Moon reading sessions, he now reads his Hooked on Phonics books to me. Instead of teaching him to share, I can tell him why sharing is important—and he gets it (kind of).

What a journey this seven-year mission has been. And I’ve got three more wee ones to raise along the way. When I’m in the moment, I sometimes forget about the joys of being a mommy and only focus on the frustrations—how tired I am, how the kids aren’t doing first-time obedience… but now, as I look back, the struggles seem small, and I can only ponder how fast the sweet time has flown.

So the encouragement for today is to savor each moment of being a mommy. Too soon we’ll be celebrating our eighteenth mommy birthday, and we’ll be glad we took the time with our little ones.