Don't wait until next year!!

We bought our kids way too much this year, and I know it.

I get really excited when I can buy something for my children that I know they will love. And they have interests that I like to feed. Nonetheless, how much can they appreciate it when there is just so much?

As a teenager, it was just me and my dad. Our tradition was to go out and spend a day together. Yes, he would get me a pair of shoes or pajamas if I needed them. But the main idea of it was stopping in the middle of the holiday bustle just to spend time with each other. We would have breakfast, lunch and dinner out, maybe catch a movie. There was a mall about forty-five minutes from our house that we would drive to that one time a year (WalMart was the big deal when it was erected in our very small town).

Just a couple of days ago, my dad and I continued our tradition. Albeit with a five-month old in tow, we took time to linger a while, grabbed a cup of coffee, talked about how we could save the world.

The old-time memories and the ones we're still making are precious to me. I treasure those times with my dad and know that we have something far more valuable than anything I could buy in a store.

So, I'm choosing to do something a little extreme. We got the kids at least twelve gifts each, add in a few that are for all of them. Before bed, after the busyness of our day, I am going to weed some out...or maybe a lot. Why? Because I want them to appreciate what they get. You can tell me all of the "Christmas is magical and it's no big deal and blah, blah, blah," but it still feels like too much. I can think of about five gifts just off the top of my head that are going in to the attic and will be pulled out for a future birthday or a gift for someone else.

I received a Christmas card a couple of days ago and instead of thinking what a nice gesture it was for them to think of us, I thought, "Oh crap! I didn't send them a card; I need to get that in the mail!" Again, the Spirit of Christmas is trying to escape my grasp.

As I was feeling completely overwhelmed yesterday, I thought to myself, "Well, there's always next year to cut back and try to get it right." But why not this year? Why not start a new tradition of a humble Christmas with a few gifts and loads of love?

The kids were just tearing through the house and talking about all of the presents they were going to get from Nana and Grandma and Santa and on and on! I instituted a quiet time. Cindy-lou Who and Super boy are coloring in separate rooms with no talking, Dynamite and Ralphie are asleep along with Dh. The tree is twinkling, the music and tv are off. I've got a hot cup of coffee and am left to reflect on what it's really all about.

Having big boobs isn't all roses...

Not that I would know, but that's what my grandma always told me. She would say that they made her back hurt.

I've shared with many of you about my "food allergy" struggles. I had it narrowed down to yeast at one point. To make a very long story short, I found an allergist who immediately did skin prick testing and found that I had very severe environmental allergies--some of the most severe she's ever seen is what I was told. And the reason I was having such strong reactions to certain foods is because of this thing called Oral Allergy Syndrome. Apparently, if you're severely allergic to pollen, eating things like apples, cherries and almonds can make your lips swell and itch. If you're allergic to grass (which, of course, I am), tomatoes and oranges can do the same.

Because I hadn't zeroed in on exactly what was happening, I kept trying elimination diets. I went on a paleo diet, basically eating vegetables, fruit, nuts and grilled meats. I cut out all salad dressings and would eat plain olive oil on lettuce and/or spinach. It was pretty intense.

I am sharing this in case anyone else out there is struggling with anything like this. I am taking a morning and evening allergy pill along with taking allergy shots twice weekle. It is absolutely no exaggeration to say that my life is mine again. I don't have to call my friends constantly and ask them to pick up the kids from school because I am too groggy from Benadryl. I am able to make plans for the next day and know that I will feel well enough to keep them. I don't have to cake on makeup even though it is incredibly painful to hide the burn-like marks on my face and neck (severe swelling and hives).

I weighed 148 pounds just before I gave birth to my nine pound, four ounce bouncing baby boy. Three short months later, I dropped down to 103 pounds. And this is where my reference to my wise grandmother comes in. People would comment on how I had lost all of that baby weight so quickly and how lucky I was. And all I was thinking is how much I wanted to down a container of Ben and Jerry's! Being skinny isn't always a picnic either!

Now that my God-sent allergist has me on the road to recovery, I am having a love affair with food. I am eating everything and anything I want and have gained eight pounds. I may eventually have to reign myself in, but right now I'm enjoying myself! And for the record, I have always found people with a little more cushion quite snuggly.
If you are in the area and need an allergist, I highly recommend Dr. Annie Arrey-Mensah. You can find more out about her here. Check this out as well if you are an allergy-sufferer.

On Suffering...

A friend of mine's baby boy passed away just weeks ago. He was born healthy and for whatever reason, he is not here with us today.

And I have to ask, "Why?" Why are some called to endure such deep suffering...life-altering suffering? I don't pretend to know why, and my heart aches for an answer.

I have never been a fan of the expression, "Everything happens for a reason." I just don't believe that's true. Or "It was meant to be." Maybe those are the lies we tell ourselves and others to offer some semblance of comfort.

We often try to put ourselves in their shoes. We try to fix it. Put a band-aid on it. Make it go away. But that is not in our power. It is simply ours to walk along side those who are suffering and perhaps carry a corner of their cross.

The best advice I was ever given during a time of suffering was, "Cry your heart out. Allow yourself to grieve and to be sad. Take your time." It was validating to have someone acknowledge that what I was going through really sucked instead of having them try to sweep it under the rug.

There is a suffering that many of us will never know. A deep, hollowing suffering. My friends who are going through that right now, please know I want to help you carry your cross. I don't believe it was God's plan. I don't think that it was meant to be. Many hearts are broken for you tonight.

What's on my mind at 10 p.m.?

My new measuring cup. Because, well, it's kinda cool.

1) I got this fancy new measuring cup that I'm really excited about from Bed Bath and Beyond. (I should've dried it off before I took the picture, but I was in a hurry, as usual). Anyway, you pull down on the bottom and can adjust it so you only need to dirty one item instead of two or three individual measuring cups. Pretty cool! You can check it out here if you're interested!


2) This is the stack of papers that came home from my two kids today.

Can you say, "Dude." Seriously! This is what I have to look forward digging through tomorrow. I know we've talked about the paper piles before and I think I'm doing better with keeping it organized. But Holy Cow!

3) Tomorrow is my dear husband's birthday and we are going out to dinner with dear friends. I am totally geeked about this because we NEED a night out. Life has felt like one unending emergency lately and I am so looking forward to relaxing a little (with sweet Ralphie in tow, of course, because he does not like the bottle!). Happy birthday, baby!

4) Ralphie has a slight ear infection at only three months old. Boo to all those nasty germs that come home with the kiddos from school. I took the baby to the doctor today and she suggested having the older ones change their clothes immediately when they come in the door from school as to minimize the passing of heebie-jeebies. When I explained it to the older ones, they happily ran to their rooms to change...anything for their sweet baby brother. Dare I say, for any other reason they would've been moaning and groaning.

5) Just a couple pics of my kiddos enjoying a day out. At the end of the day, even though I am totally spent, these guys make it all worth it.

Beauty For Ashes

Life has been pretty rough lately. I have been trying to hone in on some food allergies and it's not been easy! For years, I've struggled with chronic fatigue and eczema. Generally, the cycle goes something like this:

1) An adverse reaction to food or an environmental factor

2) Try to drink a buttload of water and eat everything green under the sun

3) End up at the doctor looking like I had an acid bath and getting put on steroids

Ugh.

I've been eating yeast-free, because I know that I am allergic to yeast. Now, I need to figure out what else I'm allergic to.

Anyway, you don't want to hear my health woes. I sound like an 80-year old woman for crying out loud.

Let me tell you about what I'm grateful for despite my circumstances.

Today my husband came home and made me the most god-awful juice you can imagine. He threw some celery, cilantro, cucumber, kale, apples, parsley and carrots in to the juicer (he found this recipe online for combating skin issues). I then drank half of it, but had to stop there b/c I was ready to toss my cookies. But can I just say, how awesome is my husband that he tries to make me feel better? He took a half day off work so I could go to the doctor. I am one lucky duck.

My 3-month old grins so big, his little cheeks swallow up his whole chubby face. How cute is that??

When I told my 8-year old that I was sad because I couldn't find the coffee filters and I really wanted a cup of coffee, he said, "Now I feel sad because you just said you feel sad". Sweet empathy from one so young... (okay, I know that I was whining, but it was still super cute).

It is so easy to find the things that are wrong in our lives. We sure don't have to look hard. There are illnesses, inattentive spouses, pressures at work, never feeling like we have enough time. There are heavy issues that many of us can't even comprehend: crumbling marriages, dying loved ones intense financial stress, the list could go on and on.

But if we allow our lives to become only those things, we will die. Stop giving thanks and we have lost the fight. We are no longer living. We get only one today.

Check out this website for some inspiration:

http://onethousandgifts.com/a-letter-from-ann

A Memoir From Myanmar

This is your brain. This is your brain on...I don't know--hyperactivity? A little bit of crazy?
I am a runner. I wake up running. I run to make breakfast and get the kids ready and do laundry and try to get myself dressed. And that is in the first half hour of my day. I am not busier than others; I just do myself in trying to get as much done as is humanly possible. And then I have to talk to myself (yes, I know it's a problem), "Slow down...be still...remember that God shows Himself in a gentle whisper and not in the storm". Do you know how hard that is? So, as I'm leaping off the third stair from the bottom to make better time to the dryer, those are the words running through my head. But I keep running....
And so tonight, I sit down to read the words I wrote August 5, 2000 on my month long trip to Myanmar (Burma):

I slipped my shoes off and climbed up two small wooden stairs in to a one room bamboo hut. I was afraid I might fall through the floor as I could see through it and it felt like it might give way. There was one chair in the room where they had me sit like a queen--when all I really wanted to do is bury my head in shame. I wanted to cry because my clothes were clean and pressed and my hair had been washed with Pantene. There on the floor lay a man who had been paralyzed from possibly menonjitis or polio. He said he saw God in me and he was so thankful for my coming...I felt so full of shame. He wore a dirty shirt that may have once been white, a tattered blue jacket and a matching pair of pants. He was smaller than I was and he looked so frail. But we prayed and I pleaded with the Lord to heal his sickness. Through faith we can move mountains.
"Oh, I believe, Father, help me overcome my unbelief." Never have I felt this more strongly. Really, is it true what you say? Is it true that if I ask, I will receive? I want to believe so badly.
The man was curled up like a beaten child, but he held out his hands for some breath of hope. And I put my hands in his--probably more scared than he--a simple twenty-two year old girl who lives in a nice house with a nice truck and a closet full of clothes...and there he was in his little one room thatch hut curled up on the floor next to a couple of pots and pans.
I slipped off my shoes just expecting to walkl in to a room with a sick man...
I walked in to a freight train of emotions hurling me over. And I never knew that Jesus lived in the heart of a little man in a little hut full of hope and desperation.
The only thing I've learned on this trip to Myanmar is that I'm very young and I don't know anything. I don't know one iota what is to experience what many are experiencing. I don't know what it feels like not to be able to lift myself out of bed. I don't know what it feels like to be tested by God just to go to church, to have faith that He will provide rice to eat even if I don't work so that I can worship. I am so very blessed. And so very ignorant.


And I am still so very blessed---and so very ignorant. I forget to slow down. To listen. I allow my life to be turned in to a check list. But tonight, I remember. I remember not to take it all for granted. To go in and kiss my little girl on the forehead long after she is asleep. I remember to say thank you.

Back To School Stress

So, I've been getting stressed out about all of the paperwork coming home from the kids' school. I seriously had a stack about two inches thick! So here's what I decided to do:

I took a three ring binder and put in dividers labeled "school calendar", "To Return", "Super-boy", "Cindy-Lou Who", "Sports schedule" and "Miscellaneous". I may add more dividers as more papers come home. I am really hoping this will eliminate the stack on my bookshelf, kitchen table, and microwave cart. Does anyone else have a different/better suggestion?

This has caused me to wonder how moms do it. How do they stay organized? What about all of the stuff left over from last year? How about all of the crafts? I want my kids to have things to look at when they get older, but I don't want to be featured on "Hoarder's". So can you help me out with some school organization tips? Any and all are welcome!

The Love Song of My Life

I don't know which was worse: the fact that I had to do an entire shopping trip with chunky white spit up on either side of my shoulder and running down my dress or that my three year old peed all over the floor in aisle six. It's a toss-up, I guess. Oh, or the fact that my eight year old had a walkman hooked to his shorts and big headphones on listening to the Beatles. I'm sure we made plenty of people mumble in their heads last night. Nonetheless, we got our grocery shopping done and stayed sane enough to laugh about it. I haven't been keeping up with my blog as much as I'd like. Life has been getting in the way...this wonderfully chaotic life. But I am still counting my gifts daily. It reminds me that I am loved by God. Ann Voskamp talks about how each gift is God's way of saying, "I love you". The gentle breeze of the wind, the laughter of my children, a love song. Just a few of the things on my list: Little boy reading to himself~Clean kitchen table~Such loving friends~A morning at the park~Bird songs~Healed boo-boos~Music filling my ears~Kids playing in the backyard~Laughter coming in through the window~Yellow sunlight spilling in daughter's room~A walk in the fresh air~Encouraging words~Sleeping baby on my chest~The building of a life...

Same Crap, Different Day?

There has been little time where I'm not holding a certain, sweet baby lately and therefore, haven't been able to keep up with my blog as much as I'd like. I have, however, continued to count my gifts and am continually amazed at the goodness that surrounds when I look for it.

I was talking with someone the other day and when I asked him how he was doing he replied, "Same crap, different day, isn't that the way it is?" There are days when I do feel like it's Groundhog Day. I wake up and the Snoopy and the Red Baron song is filling up my house; I know it is another day. I make the coffee, change diapers (yes, we haven't quite gotten Dynamite potty-trained yet), take out the trash, etc. Same crap, different day. And yet, I know that each day comes with opportunity for renewal and growth. For learning new things. For becoming more whole. For finding more wonder...

Sleeping children~My neighbor getting milk from the store for me~A husband who listens~The kindness in others~Chubby cheeks~Clean, white sheets~3-year old belly laughs~Train ride through the Village~A day that feels like fall~Remembering sorrow and thanking God for healing~Hot steam rolling off my coffee in the early morning~The sound of crickets outside my window~Piles of laundry~A sink of dishes~A list a mile long~Lemonade stands...

A Leisurely Trip to the Farm

I decided to take the kids out to a local farm last Friday to buy produce. I have pretty much been staying at home as it is so hard to get out the door with four little ones--the youngest being only weeks old. However, I needed to get out and breathe some fresh air.

Generally, I hurry. I hurry to get breakfast done, then the dishes. I hurry to do chores, I hurry the kids. I race against no one but myself. But that morning, I thought, "If we do nothing else today, it's fine. And if it takes all day to get there and back, that's okay too. We are going to enjoy our day". Why don't I go about my day like this more often? It was lingering and wonderful!

Yes, it took two hours to get everyone ready. And yes, Ralphie needed to nurse on the way to the farm so we pulled over and listened to a book on cd. We went about our morning leisurely....soaking up each and every moment.

We picked out peaches, cherries and red potatoes fresh from the farm. As we headed toward the corn, Super-boy remarked, "This is the moment I've been waiting for!". I had no idea how exciting our trip to the farm market was for the kids.

The kids helped me shuck the corn with pure joy. As I peeled back the layers of husk to reveal the corn, I leaned down to Dynamite and whispered, "Surprise!". Super-boy looked at me and said, "Mom, he's a little too big for you to talk to him like that". I don't think we're ever to old to be talked to like that. And that is exactly what I felt in my heart as I chased joy with my kids. Surprise! Joy in the ordinary...

Often, finding joy is not effortless. It is a hunt for goodness, a force of the will to slow down and rest long.

G.K. Chesterton: "The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost."

I want to love the gift of life...each and every day. To let the knowledge that tomorrow is not guaranteed seep in and fill me with gratitude for the now.

My list of thanks continues:
Sweet hand on my arm at church~Celebrating life!~Four healthy kids~Ensalada Caprese~Friends who call on the phone~A trip to the grocery store with my family~Sweet smelling basil filling up my house~Dear friend holding baby boy~Sleeping children~Zucchini and cucumbers from the garden~Smell of candle burning...

Places I hide...

I've been pondering the ways I hide from living...truly living. Living in abundance, chasing joy. I get overwhelmed with the day-to-day--the bickering, the lunch-making, the laundry...all of these things grow tiresome and mundane. Ordinary. And I hide...
I hide behind the computer.
I hide behind sleep.
I hide on the telephone.
I hide behind food.
I hide in the quiet of my own head.
I hide behind anger.
I hide behind distrust in good.

When I try to escape from what I'm truly called to, it's never a pretty picture. But it's hard to be fully present. It's hard to accept that my kids are arguing again and I am called to calmly get down on my knees and teach them love and patience.
These vices do not help me to grow. They don't help those around me to grow. And in fact, they relinquish the God-given control I have as a mother and wife.
So right now, that's what I'm working on...being fully present. Engaging. Listening. Trusting that love and gratitude is so much more powerful than the things I hide behind.
What do you hide behind? Any suggestions on being more present, living life abundantly? Being a joy-chaser?
Thanks for reading, friends.

Things I'm thankful for:
A cool summer night~Writing letters~Pretty stamps~Cool breeze~Opening windows~Feeling good enough to walk to the park~A purple flower in a field of weeds~Husband smiling in the morning~Neighbor walking dog~Sunshine through my window...

When I stop giving thanks, the snake slithers in and flicks his tongue at me. He whispers lies and I believe them. I hear negativity and sadness. But when I choose to see beauty, to be thankful, I am filled with joy. How can that be? Something so simple, but such a difference.

My gratitude continues to grow...
A listening ear~beautiful hibiscus with deep red center~little girl imagination~determination~music~friends who "get it"~husband who helps me around the house~getting to sleep in...

Nine More...

65. Ralphie's head of thick, black hair
66. Shucking corn
67. Forgiveness asked for and received
68. Laughter thanks to Samm and Krystal's blog
69. My Father in Law patting my dad on the back and the two of them laughing like old friends
70. Baby coos
71. Brothers hugging
72. Church with my family
73. Grilling on a Sunday
74. My boys asleep snuggled close

A Day for Dynamite

Today we had a get-together for Dynamite's third birthday. And it rained--hard. I felt like Richard Dreyfus in "What About Bob" as he's staring out the window at the torrential downpour saying, "I think it's going to let up".
We had a wonderful day, regardless. The kids were filled with delight that they were allowed to play in the rain. They were absolutely joyful which made my heart swell.

And so the list continues...

49. Pancakes
50. Breathing slowly
51. A quiet house
52. A mom who cares
53. Helping hands
54. Messages on my answering machine that make me smile
55. Time to shower
56. Dad and his lovely wife who surprise me
57. Children squealing with delight
58. Little feet jumping in puddles
59. Reminiscing
60. Back rub from birthday boy
61. Sister carrying her brother
62. Summer rain
63. Four brothers riding bikes down the street
64. Kids playing happily in the rain

Tonight, my heart is full.

Just a quickie

39. Little boy voice singing Snoopy and the Red Baron.
40. Kids laughing.
41. The cloud lifting.
42. Neighbors coming to visit.
43. An afternoon nap.
44. The way my daughter walks with her head held high, full of confidence.
45. Sitting outside reading a book while the kids draw with sidewalk chalk.
46. Neighbors who buy popsicles for my kids just because they're good people.
47. Kids doing cheers with popsicles.
48. Time for bed.

Does the check-out girl really have to take time to scratch herself?

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Philippians 4:8

I went to the store today to do "big grocery shopping" for the first time since Ralphie was born. I could barely fit everything in to the cart! I said to dh, "Remember when we lived in the apartment and we'd buy a half gallon of milk and it would go bad?". Yeah, those days are long gone.
I knew I had about two and a half hours to get to the store, do my shopping and get home before Ralphie needed to be fed again. (Thankfully, my mother-in-law had the other three!). I was speeding through the store like those people you see who are told they just won a shopping spree for whatever they can fit in their cart in five minutes (I know that's an excessively long sentence).
As I got to the checkout, Ralphie opened his eyes and I thought, "Dear God, we've got to move fast". The lady at the checkout was moving slowly and as I watched her slowly scan, then stop to scratch her nose, I caught myself thinking, "Don't scratch, just keep bagging, sister!!".
And then my gratitude list came to mind...
Ahhhh, it is so easy to express gratitude when things are going my way. I very mechanically forced myself to think about her and what her day must be like. I forced myself to thank God that she was probably moving as fast...as...she...probably...could. Yes, mechanical and forced, it is true. But my hope is that the more I do it, the more it will shape me in to more of the person I desire to be. I'm a mutterer, a griper, a wish-I-wasn't-doing-this-right-now-er.
Thanks for going with me on this journey to delighting in all of the wonderful things that are there for the taking--we just need to open our eyes to them!

25. Stationary from Target.
26. Food in the fridge.
27. Lady at the deli who is on her feet all day long.
28. The voice inside that says, "You better go see what they're doing".
29. Sleeping baby at grocery store.
30. Help with the kids.
31. Sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
32. The ability to take care of my family.
33. Clean folded laundry in drawers.
34. Empty sink.
35. Honesty in others--truth about shortcomings. I, too, am so very human.
36. The beginnings of potty training.
37. Answered prayer.
38. Building train sets.

A few of my favorite things...

A few of the things I'm thankful for today...

9. Airplane tacked to my corkboard that he was so proud of.

10. Golden sunshine streaming in from the window and on to my wall.

11. Coffee with husband before the kids wake up.

12. Cindy-lou Who's picture of her and a friend dancing.

13. Little boy voice at the bottom of the stairs.

14. Toys, toys everywhere.

15. Clean water running cold from my faucet.

16. So kissable baby cheeks against my lips.

17. Gravel under my bare feet.

18. 3-year old cherry-stained mouth.

19. Playtime in bubble bath.

20. Cool rain on shoulders.
21. The binding up of wounds.

22. Sleep smiles.

23. Blue fuzzy slippers soft on my feet.

24. Collecting acorns in a pretty blue bucket.

The Art of Giving Thanks

I sat outside picking weeds this morning with baby Ralphie next to me in his bouncy seat. Dynamite was immersed in blowing bubbles, Cindy-Lou Who was playing in the backyard and Super-boy sat inside listening to an old Smoky Robinson record (yes, record!).

My 94-year old neighbor hobbled over on the other side of the fence to see how we all were doing. "Hanging in there," I said, "Still adjusting...feels good to be outside, how are you?"
"I'm really down in the dumps today and I can't figure out why".
"I hate those days," I replied, "It feels like a cloud settled around you and you can't get out from under it".
"Ahhh", she half-smiled, "You're learning about that young".

Yes, I know those clouds more than I like to admit. Sometimes it is so hard to get out of that "funk" as I call it. I picked up my Bible the other morning and was reading Psalm 103, "Praise the Lord...who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion". That pit is a dark place. There are days I feel emotionally that I've got dirt caked under my fingernails from clawing my way out of that pit.

That being said, I am reading a wonderfully transforming book called, "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It is about, quite simply, giving thanks. Yes, pure gratitude. Why is it so hard for us to see the many blessings that are poured upon us daily? And so, I am diving in to count my way up to one thousand gifts. I will venture to post things I'm thankful for daily, even if I post nothing else.

Here is a blog of which I want to spend WAY more time by the author of this book: http://www.aholyexperience.com/category/1000gifts/

You will be blessed by it! And if you have the time or the desire, get this book!

And so begins my count to one thousand:

1. 3 1/2 week old sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
2. A quiet house with only piano music playing softly.
3. Pulling weeds and getting my hands dirty.
4. Dear friends who bring me yellow daisies.
5. A husband who works so hard to meet the needs of so many little people (and me!).
6. Sunlight cast on the street.
7. Rubberband arms.
8. Sweet smell of candle burning.

Loving the Ugly

I got to take a shower today for the first time since having my c-section on Wednesday. I've been hooked up to a pain pump for the last two days, so there was no getting wet other than to wipe my face off with a hot towel.

Dh and Cindy-Lou Who came up to the hospital to visit Ralphie (if Dynamite can't name his this in real life, I will allow it in Blog World).

I am still weak from being in bed so much and a healing incision. My legs are still a little shaky and I'm walking like my 94-year old neighbor.

Dh walked slowly behind me with his hand on the small of my back and followed me in to the bathroom. There I very tenderly undressed, as not to bump anything. I looked down at my body and, well, I felt vulnerable.

My stomach is pooched out and looks about five to six months pregnant. I am red all over from the pain meds leaving a rash behind. I will spare you the facts about everything else as to keep this blog "decent" and trust that whether or not you've had a child, you know what it is to feel insecure.

Dh helped me wash my four-timed cesarean scarred up body and wrapped me in a towel. He then knelt down to dry off my legs and helped me on with my underwear as I stood there feeling anything but beautiful.

"Look how little you are," he said smiling.

It felt so good to take that shower. I felt renewed, clean and cared for.

Tonight I am thinking about what it is to be loved. To be treasured. To be cherished.

Nine and a half years and four kids later, I may have figured it out. It is not easy, but it is persistent.

Dh and I are both flawed. As I talk about the physical, it reminds that I am also spiritually flawed. We both are. We are human and full of failures. Earthly trials and temptations. Shortcomings.

And yet, showered in grace. Mercy. Love. I believe that God looks at all of those spiritual wounds we bear, and says, "Look how lovely you are".

This is what true love is: seeing the imperfections and choosing to love anyway. Embracing the broken and not trying to fix it, but to love in spite of it.

I'm counting my blessings today. Among them: a fuzzy-headed Ralphie, three gorgeous kids who keep asking their daddy when mama is coming home, the best friends in the entire universe, a mom who just can't help enough, and a dh who loves every broken part of me.

Most days, I feel uncertain. Am I being purposeful enough? Am I enriching the lives of my children? Am I being thoughtful enough? Am I making a difference? Many nights, I lay in my bed and wonder what it's all for and feel a sense of urgency that I better figure it out real quick!

But yesterday morning, I awoke and knew that I was going to accomplish something amazing. I was going to receive the gift of bringing forth new life. I didn't have to wonder if I should have focused more on math than phonics with the kids. Or if I should let Dynamite go without his nap. Or worry about what I was going to wear. My sole purpose was to give birth to my child.

Everything that could've gone wrong did, in fact, go wrong. We arrived at the hospital and a gown was tossed on the bed next to me. "Go ahead and get in to that," the nurse said without making eye contact. Okayyyy...I put the gown on. A few minutes later, a different nurse came in and said from behind the curtains, "You didn't put that gown on yet, did you?"
"Um, yeah, I did."
"Oh, well, I guess that's okay," she said, and then she turned and walked away.
They asked me a plethora of personal questions and inquired about any and all piercings and tattoos (I revealed my barely visible closed-up belly button piercing that sat like a toddler bite on my pregnant stomach).
I heard whispering about being bumped as I sat there with the IV coursing through my veins. I watched the clock ticking away minute by minute. Finally, a streaky-blonde came in and said, "Looks like there are a few emergency c-sections lined up...don't really know if or when you're going to get in there."
I wanted to yell out, "Hey lady! You're messing with My Purpose!"
A few minutes later, my doctor came in and said I could come back the next day or he could ask another doctor if she'd be willing to do it, but she might not be too happy about it. Well, quite frankly, I didn't care if she was happy about it or not. And I didn't care who did it. I just wanted it done.
So, as I sat there with nothing but a flimsy robe on and tubes tangles around me, I said, "I'm not going home."
The alternate doctor in the practice, the one who doesn't really like me b/c she thinks that I bothered her when the room was spinning and I thought I might be dying from a blood clot (yes, I am that dramatic) is the one who ended up doing my surgery. I was a little frightened that she might take out her frustration on me in the OR, but she graciously restricted herself to a few sarcastic comments and hoity-toity looks.
Finally, hours after my arrival at the hospital, I was wheeled back to achieve My Purpose. They tied my arms down (apparently that's just what they do), bent me over and stuck a needle in my back, and gave me funny medicine that made my legs feel like hot water was filling up inside them. There was pulling so hard that I thought my face was going to explode. And then...

There was life. There was a cry that had never been heard before. Soft skin never touched now laid up against mine.

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. A million words in a single drop. I love you, you are mine.

As I lay in bed and the night sky is streaked with purples and pinks, I am reminded that all of the mindless macaroni and cheese lunches come back to this. All of the empty reminders to flush the toilet and brush your teeth, to tie your shoes and do your homework...all of the things I feel my day are comprised of that make me feel like I don't achieve anything...they all come back to this moment. The take-your-breath-away and the if-I-have-to-clean-up-this-mess-one-more-time...all woven together in to one fabric of beautiful, meaningful life.

Dynamite and His Hole Obsession

Today, I went to the Dr. with Dynamite for my thirty-six week appointment. The waiting room was filled with all kinds of pregnant women and their other halves, not to mention a few little munchkins running around.

Now, many of you may not know this, but I have a mole under my right arm. For reasons I'll never understand, my kids have all taken turns being fascinated by it. They want to touch it, talk about it; they have a slight obsession with my mole.

As we were sitting in the crowded room, Dynamite looks at me and belts out, "I wanna see you hole!" Well, I was a little perplexed trying to understand what hole exactly he was talking about. Again, "Mommy, I wanna see you hole!" Ahhh, yes, the mole.

This was a situation where had I tried to shush him, he would've grown more persistent. So, I acquiesced to his demand. With bright red cheeks, I slightly raised my arm so that he could look at the object of his desire. And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he squeals with delight, "I KISS YOU HOLE, MOMMY!"

And with that, he planted one right on my mole. As he pulled away, he looked up at me with the biggest toothy grin you can imagine. As though to say, "Mommy, I just love you hole"

Lovely. People ducked their heads in empathetic embarrassment, but couldn't help but covertly snicker.

Reason #132 why I should get a sitter when I go to the Doctor.

A Funeral and a Breath of Fresh Air

One of my dad's best friends died this week. His name was Fred and he died of cancer.

I stood next to my dad this morning at the funeral service and we sang, "Jesus, you call me friend". And under my dad's breath, I heard him mouthe the words, "Yes, Lord, a friend that sticks closer than a brother". I believe that Fred was one of those friends for my dad, and he takes solace in the fact that his Lord says he is also.

As I stood next to my dad, I felt a sense of strength rise up inside of me. My dad's a pretty tough guy. Not in the sense that he has a membership to Powerhouse. Rather, he's been through a lot in his life and never admits defeat. He's a fighter.

As a little girl, when my dad would pick me up from school after working at the trucking company, I would run to him hoping that everyone would realize this was my dad! Not all kids' dads have grease on their shirts; my dad was a hard worker! Do you see the way he smiles at me and scoops me up? He adores me, for crying out loud!

As a teenager, I put my dad through hell. And yet, whenever we would have dinner with his friends or he would introduce me to someone, he would always talk about my achievements...the good that I was doing. He would make me feel good about myself when I didn't have a whole lot of reasons to.

When I am with my dad, a feeling of invincibility fills me. A feeling of pride. A give-me-what-you-got-world because I'm stronger than you are feeling. And all this stems from knowing that I've got someone unconditionally in my corner.

When I see my dad hurt, I hurt. His eyes were glassy this morning and I know that he was fighting back the tears. But when I see the way he perseveres, I am filled with hope and a desire to live. Not just exist.

And by the way, I think my dad and I said five words to each other this morning and exchanged a hug.

So, that's what I was left thinking about...how I want to affect others. How I want to be remembered and talked about. How I want to bless the lives of those I interact with.

And that we have the opportunity to be that friend who sticks closer than a brother right along with the Big Kahuna (I think he smiles when I call him this, so I won't apologize).

A Space to Call My Own

For Mother's Day, my husband got me a sign to hang on the door that says, "Welcome to the Nut House". I have been eyeing something along those lines for a while because it captures the craziness of our lives.

Author, Jodi Piccoult, says in one of her books that every life has a song...a melody that captures the rhythm of how we live.

I have mentioned before that my song is probably the William Tell Overture.

Which makes me reminisce about a time when life was not so busy. I was twenty-one years old and on a three month trip to Italy. I have a dear friend who lives there and had gone to visit her and her family for a second time.

Upon my arrival, she ushered me in to a very compact what-used-to-be closet. They had made the room in to a bedroom with a little fold down cot. The space probably measured five feet by eight feet. It was smaller than my current bathroom, which, let me tell you, is really small!

When you walked in to this space, the bed/cot was immediately to the right and you had to climb a ladder to get in to it. To the left was a bare shelf where I could store any books and/or journals, including my Italian Dostoevsky novel that I was attempting to read (a very lofty undertaking...I should have started out with The Poky Little Puppy).

I unpacked my suitcase and felt peaceful. Without the clutter of life. This was my space. And I treasured it.

Fast forward to today. I've gone from single to a family of five and a half. I am maintaining t-ball and baseball schedules, volunteering at the kids' school, date nights with my hubby, etc. Life is just plain, wonderfully busy.

And so, when I saw Toni Morrison, Nobel and Pulitzer Prize winner, on Oprah talking about how everyone needs their own space, my ears perked up. My own space? You're talking to a woman who uses the bathroom with a kid on her lap half the time (we're having some separation issues).

I began to fantasize about this space. I started looking through Ikea catalogues at cheap desks. I wanted to create a space to do my writing and work on picture albums. And you'll never guess what happened. As I was driving home yesterday, I spotted a beautifully handcrafted desk at a garage sale for twenty dollars. I immediately pulled over and laid my claim to that precious piece of furniture that meant so much more to me than the wood itself. It represented something to call my own. A place to create and dream.

So as I sit here in my roughly five by eight foot space, I am reminded that you don't have to be single to have your own little corner. You just have to create it for yourself. Thank you, Toni, for the inspiration.

Me wearing my heart on my sleeve...again...

Today has been a day of emotion:

As I looked at my husband straightening my son's tie for his first communion, I had the thought, "We are not newbies anymore". Our kids are growing up. I am the one that new moms are asking for advice (there is no reasoning for this and I make no admonitions of having any of it figured out). I was filled with a recognition of the time that has passed and all that we have been through. We are stronger for our struggles.

I watched my eight year old receive the Eucharist for the first time. He is becoming a young man. He is sorting things out and recognizing that there are good and bad choices. He is daily on the threshold of new experiences and hard knocks. He sees first hand that the good guy doesn't always win and "fair" is not always the title-holder at the end of the day. I felt a sense of pride at watching my son take another step in life's journey.

I also received a phone call that was greatly disturbing. One filled with about twenty years full of hurt that I could never have understood as a child and know that it's not my role to understand as an adult. Anger is a sad thing to watch fester. And as I listened I felt a deep sadness for this person, and a surrender of trying to "fix things". Sometimes it just it what it is.

A neighbor came to tell me that his father who "did all the wrong things" had died. He (my neighbor) couldn't sleep at night thinking of his father in regard to "the after-life". When the ones we love leave us behind, it also makes us very aware of our own mortality...the choices we've made, the people we want to become. If we really believe in forgiveness and mercy and love...all that stuff we profess to believe. I felt appreciation for his raw emotion and the things that bring us to our knees when no one else ever knows.

This may seem like a rambling of sorts, but what I really wanted to put down in words is the stuff of life. In the waking of a day, the emotions that come out run the entire gamut.

Joy and pain. Strength and weakness.

And I guess, really, what Super-boy celebrated today encompasses all of that. The suffering, and the rising from the ashes. The loneliness and the embrace. And I think, regardless of what you believe, that's something we all can relate to.

Feel the burn...

"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world". ~C.S. Lewis

Think back to a time of tremendous pain in your life. I'm not talking about life's little inconveniences. Or even things that are very frustrating, but more of an irritation than anything. I'm talking about deep loss. Grief. When the ache feels like too much for you to bear.

I think I can count the number of times I've felt that kind of sadness on one hand.

And yet, when I think back to those times, there was a sense of feeling. Not just skipping through the day oblivious to the world around me. It has been during those times that my friendships have become deeply rooted...that I have bared my vulnerable soul to those around me and have been either kicked or embraced. It has been during these times when I have been made acutely aware of what is real and what is false.

The pain is, at times, what lets us know that we are alive. Human.

I don't like to hurt, or to be hurt. But I do like the healing that comes during and after. Sometimes we need more than a whisper to drag us out of bed.

Why I got kicked out of the club...

When I read this blog, I saw ME written all over it. I also posted this link on my facebook site, so you may have already read it.

But in case you haven't, the gist is that this girl felt like when she became a christian, she had joined a club in which you acted and thought a certain way. No need to tap in to your own gut feelings about things, it's all been laid out for you. This is how we think, act, feel, dress, believe. Wow, could I relate.

Most of you know that I went to a christian college for my first two years of school. While I met a lot of wonderful people, I began to subscribe to the idea that if I wanted to be a part of "the club", I had to be someone other than who I was.

I tried this for a while. I wore ankle length dresses. I probably said things like, "Oh, sugar!" when I was upset. I only hung out with people who were also part of this crowd. I was very holy, indeed....

Until I felt like I was going to suffocate.

The pressure weighed down on me until I couldn't bear it any longer. I was eighteen and I started smoking, drinking, doing all the things that were absolutely not allowed in "the club". And while I didn't like that lifestyle, it felt good to yell at the top of my lungs, "I will not conform to your feathered bangs and your 10:00 curfew!!". I began to despise "the club".

For years, I had a hot/cold relationship with the whole church idea. Then I got married, had children, etc. and seriously re-joined "the club". This time, I would be perfect. I would do and say all of the right things. I would homeschool my children, buy organic food, wear jean jumpers and little make-up. Surprisingly...but not...those old feelings came back to haunt me. I was going to die of suffocation.

And so, I had to figure out some hard and life-giving lessons:

-Jesus came for the sinners, not the saints.

-I am valuable because I was created with human dignity, and not because of all the "good things" that I do. Because I was created in the image of God, himself.

-I am not perfect, nor will I ever be, and that is okay. I am flawed and remarkably human.

-I am not likeable because a group of people deems me so, but because I like myself at the end of the day.

-I'm sick of trying to please others and only need to worry about what Jesus thinks (and as Jamie points out in her blog, Jesus was a non-conformist. He was always pissing people off and served only one purpose: bringing glory to his Father in heaven).

-You can be yourself and love Jesus. You can be yourself and please Jesus. You must be yourself.


I like make-up...a lot. I get highlights. I donated my jean jumpers. I put my kids in school because it was what was best for us. I sometimes use words that are inappropriate (and for some reason, find it exceedingly funny when others do, as well). I like trashy magazines that fill me in on celebrity gossip. And I have a whole laundry list more of things that others might judge me for.

And yet, in all of this, I feel that I have found a happy place. I like me and I know that despite my wariness of "the club", God thinks I'm alright too.

To Plan or Not to Plan

So, today is day four of the kids being on Easter vacation. We have planned a lot of entertaining/stimulating activities for them. For example, on Monday we just met a friend of mine at McDonald's and let the kids run and wear their little selves out.

On Tuesday, I took the kids to the movie theater to see "Rio". I haven't been to the theater in probably three years. I didn't figure in that almost everyone is out for spring break, not jut my kids, and we ended up sitting in the second row. My neck was crooned at a ninety degree angle for the duration of the movie, but the kids were thrilled.

Yesterday, I had my 28 week baby check-up and a hair appointment, so the kids hung out with my mom, dh and the babysitter all day.

This morning, I had planned on taking them to the science museum, but Super-boy has had a nasty cough for the last couple of days. At about 9:30, everyone was driving each other crazy. They were fighting over a bugle that I very calmly stuffed in the garbage after one child went after the other with it and it was thrown hitting the chandelier. No, our house is not typically that out of control, but it can escalate quickly.

All three children then began to cry and I had the anxious impulse to get everyone ready and get them the heck out of the house. But why?? Why do I so often feel the need to entertain my children and plan to the enth degree instead of letting them find things for themselves to do?

I believe it's because I really loathe disorder. I hate it when the kids are tearing through the house and getting all kinds of stuff out. It's easier for me to take them out and/or plan, plan, plan. Planning is not a bad thing, but I really do think it can be detrimental to their ability to be creative and think of things for themselves to do.

Today, I cut out tv because I felt like it was affecting their behavior negatively. So, here we are at 12:00 p.m. with no tv, no stimulation and no mom trying to direct their activities. What does it look like? Well, Dynamite is downstairs playing with his trains. Cindy-lou Who is making greeting cards and Super-boy is sitting on the couch next to the radio with a big smile on his face listening to Disney songs. And I'm blogging.

It's a pretty picture, one I'd like to re-create...but without creating it, if you get my drift.

Can you share your experience with me as far as what is a healthy balance in planning/not planning activities for your kids? How often do you plan a big outing (i.e. zoo, science center, etc.)? How capable do you think your kids are of thinking of things to do without your assistance?

Thanks for your responses!

Kindergarten Quandaries

I don't really remember much about kindergarten, but it seems that it was playing with blocks, learning the abc's and more of a glorified playtime. I don't remember social pressure, girls picking on each other and feeling anxious about school. Now, that's not to say it didn't happen, but I sure don't remember it. Cindy-Lou Who has begun to feel anxious lately about the school that she once loved so much. The other day, she was very insistent that she didn't want to go to school and was drumming up a pretty convincing cough. Dh said, "It's kindergarten--let her take the day off". Later in the day, I asked her if something was bothering her that made her feel like she didn't want to go to school. She burst in to tears and said she missed a problem on her math test. I explained to her that school is about learning, not perfection. We had a "heart to heart" and with that, she was ready to return the next day. After school the following day, I asked, "How was school?". Again, her eyes filled with tears as she explained that some of the girls told her they wouldn't be her friend anymore if she didn't spend her free time making invitations for a production they were putting together. "Mom, I just wanted a break!" she sobbed. My heart ached for her, understanding the desire to do your own thing, but also wanting to be accepted by others. This scenario with the other girls went on for a couple of weeks before I finally talked to her teacher, who was very encouraging and understanding. The teacher gave Cindy-Lou Who a "Jesus necklace" and told her whenever she feels nervous or shy, to squeeze the necklace and say, "Jesus, keep me strong and safe". (This makes the money that we spend on a christian education well worth-while). She also called a meeting with the girls in the class to talk to them about how hurtful exclusion is and encouraged them to be kind to one another. Unfortunately, that did not discourage the negative behavior. After a couple more days, I decided to talk to one of the parents. I basically said, "These girls are going to be in school together for the next 8 years; how can we remedy this situation?". The father was very receptive and even talked to me later to tell me he had addressed the situation at home. Thanks, dad. At first, my husband had said, "Don't say anything; let them work it out". But that got me to thinking...how often do we do that with our kids without giving them the tools to actually work it out? Do 5 and 6-year olds really know how to work it out? I don't think that they do. I think they need a lot of guidance and an example of parents sticking together and showing them how to problem solve. My hope for my kids as they're learning to interact socially is that they will feel safe, secure and loved. It is also that they will be able to trust the adults around them to make that happen. When a child is learning to tie his shoes for the first time, you don't just toss a shoe at him and say, "Figure it out". You sit down with him, instruct him, possibly teach him a song...it could take weeks, or even months to master this skill. It is the same with problem-solving and social skills. And with that, I will say that I'm lucky to have my kids go to school with other kids who have such great parents. I hope that if we work as a team, our kids will build life-long healthy relationships. Throw in a Jesus necklace and lots of prayers, and I think we'll be on the right track.

Scrapbooking, sickness and other miscellaneous items...

I know this sounds like a shameless plea for sympathy, but it is what it is in the Shriver house today.

The kids have all been battling sore throats, sinus infections and the like over the last couple of weeks. Well, today I woke up feeling hot and vomiting. Ugh. I kept Super-boy home from school because he had a nasty cough and I didn't think anyone would appreciate me sending him. Cindy-Lou Who only has half day kindergarten and Dynamite was in rare form with his climbing expeditions today.

All that to say: it really stinks to be sick with three kids at home. Just because you're laid up on the couch with a throbbing headache, the kids are still making demands like food and water and the ever-present, "Mom, I'm bored, what can I do?". Whenever they ask me this, I tell them they better think of something fast or I'll give them something to do that they won't like, i.e. vacuuming, writing practice, etc.

So, yes, right now things are not that great. However, Saturday, I went to an all-day scrapping event that was a blast! Now, I am not a scrapper. I have an album done for Super-boy's first year and an almost completed one for Cindy-Lou Who's first year (mind you, they are 8 and 6!). I have nothing yet for Dynamite (#3 always gets the shaft. My hope is that I'll be able to complete one for him before #4 arrives). What I decided to do is order my pictures from the beginning of 2011 and start there as not to feel overwhelmed.

It was a day of non-interruptions and great conversation. I think I may need to become an avid scrapbooker just for the days of respite I might be able to secure. And quite honestly, it felt really good to complete something, albeit individual album pages, without jumping up a hundred times shouting, "What was that????".

On Sunday, dh shocked me by saying that he thought the time out for me was really good and he'd like me to try to get away once a weekend! Wow! I told him I would be thrilled for a few hours once a month!

Well, nothing special today. Just some ramblings about what's going on over here. Oh, and for those of you who've been keeping up with the dryer situation, I have a working dryer and my basement is almost halfway finished (and somewhat usable, to my great delight).

This post has me thinking about survival techniques of all of you busy women out there. What do you incorporate in to your days/weeks that are a must for you? These things should rejuvenate, not deplete you. I'd love to hear your feedback!

I hope you all are doing great.

Games That We Play...

I went to WalMart with Dynamite the other day to buy a card for my uncle's birthday. A few aisles over, a child was going berzerk crying hysterically; I could even hear little feet jumping up and down. A woman probably in her fifties or sixties looked at me and proudly said, "I have three kids and eight grandkids, and none of them have ever acted like that!". I just smiled at her and said politely, "Really? Mine have!". She very quickly went back to scanning her cards and obviously wanted nothing to do with the woman who also has dealt with out-of-control children. I looked at Dynamite who was happily stuffing his face with Cheetohs (something I would have never done with number one or two) and said a prayer of thanks that he was keeping quiet.

There is a little something I like to call "The Maternal Pissing Contest" (MPC). I know, I know, it's a bit crass; I should really think of something a little sweeter on the ears to call it. However, I think it really captures the idea perfectly. Some women like to pretend that they have it all figured out. Their children would never act like those children. I'm not buying it for a second.

The unfortunate thing is that this leaves many moms feeling totally inadequate. "Why does everyone else seem like they have it so together and I didn't even brush my teeth this morning?". Or "I bet the Smith's never yell at their child and I am a wild banchee at home!". Dear friend, if you are worried that you are not doing a good enough job, chances are you're doing an outstanding job. You care, you want the best for your child, you are striving to be better, which is what we all should be working toward.

I'll be honest. When I hear a mom bragging, eh hem, sharing how she's got it all together, I just smile and nod, tell her what a great job she's doing. Here's the tricky part though: I used to feel like a loser and compare myself and participate in the infamous MPC. Now, I remind myself that what works for her may not work for me. That I can be an amazing mom even if I don't feed them organic fruit and keep my voice at a pleasant tone all day (if I keep it below a roar, I make a note to congratulate myself).

Raising kids is hard work. We all lose it sometimes...and some more often than others. We all make decisions at times out of convenience verses health consciousness. We all have days that feel like groundhog day. You are not alone. You are fighting the good fight. Pat yourself on the back and have a piece of chocolate. The MPC is never a fun game to play anyway.

Serenity Now....

About six weeks ago, our basement backed up with raw sewage. It is the second time this has happened and is due to lilac bush roots, of all things. Apparently their roots are threadlike and extremely invasive. And it doesn't help the case that we have them dappled throughout our yard. They are lovely, they smell heavenly, but I'm ready to rip them all out with my bare hands...can you tell I'm more than a little frustrated?

So my dear husband has been working day and night to get things cleaned up. That has entailed ripping out carpet, old tile, and laying concrete. We figured while we were at it, we might as well paint the basement and really freshen up the look. So in the last couple of days he has primed and painted the walls with the help of my charitable-with-his-time-father-in-law.

Thankfully, there is a little path cleared for me to get to the washer and dryer in the midst of all of the chaos. So two days ago, when I went to turn on the dryer and it didn't work, I was...perplexed. Hmmm, was it the plug? Was there lint in the trap that was messing things up? I don't know; I'm not dryer technician, but I knew there was a problem.

Dh checked it out last night to come up and break the news that he was going to have to take the whole thing apart. Deep breath. At which point, I told him, nope...we don't need another project. I will take everything to the laundromat.

This morning I woke up feeling a bit of despair. This is a slippery slope for me. One of my greatest weaknesses is negative thinking. So, I got out my Joyce Meyer book, "Power Thoughts" and read a chapter. There she was talking about how we can choose our own thoughts. So, instead of bursting in to tears, I chose to come and write in my blog...to tell you about my struggles today, but to cheerfully commit to remaining positive.

Retraining our minds to think healthy thoughts is tough, at least it is for me. It doesn't come naturally. Sometimes I want to wallow in my own misery. Or I allow myself to be overcome by extenuating circumstances. Sometimes, quite honestly, it feels as though I am clawing my way back to the light.

But not today. Today, I will smile in spite of my frustration and my dirty clothes...a small thing in comparison with those who are really suffering. I will choose not to be overcome by things that are out of my control. And to help me in this process, I will probably say the serenity prayer at least one hundred times:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

Have a deliberately wonderful day, everyone!

Who is God for you today?

Have you ever noticed that you grow the most through the hardships you encounter? As much as I would choose to wish away every difficulty that comes my way, I hold on to the truth that I will come out stronger on the other side.

When we had our late-term miscarriage four years ago, it amazed me that the sun continued to rise each morning, while I was stuck in my suffering. I have never grieved like that. For the first time in my life, I woke up sobbing...I had actually been crying in my sleep. Talk about deep sadness. And yet, life continued on. Kids needed bathing, food needed cooking, my soul needed mending. It took a long time. But time does, indeed, heal. And in the end, I experienced God as Comforter and Healer. I found out what "I Am" really means. There are endless facets to God, many of which are only revealed through deep suffering.

There is a beautiful song by Nicole Nordeman that really captures this idea called "I Am". (Check it out by clicking on the link). I sang this very song at my grandma's funeral. It talks about the unfolding of who God is in our lives as we grow older. In the beginning, He is "elbow-healer and secret-keeper" and gradually, He becomes more...Savior, Redeemer.

For the longest time, I felt as though I could earn my way in to heaven. If I did all of the right things and prayed all of the right prayers, I would surely be able to make it through. I guess you could say I felt "qualified". I was doing all of the right stuff. But through honest soul-searching, I have come to realize that 1) there is nothing I can do and 2) that Jesus is my Savior. Raise the flag! Another new facet has been unveiled. He is not only my comforter and my healer, but he is my savior. I am a sinner in need of saving. I am no better than the man in prison. The Bible says that "there is no distinction for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). I am humbled by this truth and set free by it as well.

One of the greatest things about recognizing that I do not earn God's love is that my motivation for doing good is out of thankfulness, not duty. I am washed over with mercy and grace and because God is so good to me; I want to pour out myself for Him. I want to pray and be in His presence just because. I am not checking off my "I am holy 'if'" list.

Some difficulties in our lives are simply placed upon us; some are self-induced. Regardless, the truth remains the same: the opportunity is there to be made stronger, to be refined by the fire. Peter Marshall said, "When we long for life without difficulties, remind us that oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure”.

The book of Hebrews states that Jesus is the same today, tomorrow and forever. And while I don't want to argue with the Word of God (read sarcasm), Jesus has been different things for me in different seasons. Who is He for you today?