A Christmas Story All Our Own

I hope you all have had a very Merry Christmas and that your lives are settling back down into a normal rhythm of new toys and final servings of leftovers. We had a.... wild? loud? busy? exhausting?  entertaining? Yes, with three boys and a girl, ages eight to three, our day was a combination of all of the above!!

They were up just before 7 am digging wildly into their piles of adventure toys from Santa... binoculars, lanterns, voice changing mega-phones, hand-held laser tag, a pogo stick and night vision goggles, and then the stockings stuffed with fun goodies. They ran upstairs with lights off to try out the night vision and chased each other through the house with laser tag while Scott and I made cinnamon rolls. We need the fuel to make it through the noisy toys, gift piles, wrapping paper and squeals of delight!

After the pit stop and another cup of coffee, it was time to divvy up packages, oooh and ahhh over piles and beg to "go next", "no it's my turn!".  But this year, there was one small change. Each of our kids went on a shopping day with Mimi and bought a gift for each of their siblings and something for mommy and daddy. This small act of ownership over choosing gifts and thinking of others in our family gave them such a sense of the joy of giving...of seeing others excited about what you picked out,  just for them. When their gifts were chosen from the pile to open they exclaimed, "That's from me! You're going to love it!" They chose, shirts, tractors, a baby doll for sister, motorcycle and swords. It was great, mostly seeing their selfless joy. But there was one small gift that deserves mention of it's own.... This is my favorite Christmas story of 2016.

Our five year old, Elijah was the first to go on the shopping day with Mimi. They went to the Tractor Supply where there's always wonderful goodies for farm kids and country living. Norma, my MIL, said he wandered into an isle and came out holding an item with a look of pure satisfaction and said "this is what I want to get mommy". She said, "well, why?" He told her he just knew I'd want it, that we needed a new one, and that I would be so happy when I saw it. He could not be dissuaded. She even tried to get him to choose something else and still give me this "perfect present" after Christmas, but he would have none of it. So, he continued shopping, holding his prized find firmly in his five year old grip.

Before bringing the kids back she took them home to wrap their gifts then helped them place them under our tree. Their efforts to hold their tongue were.... comical, to say the least! But when Eli brought his gifts up he pleaded with me to open it right then and there. Please don't wait, you will love it! Well, there were still ten days until Christmas and I tried to explain how sad I'd be if there was no present for me to open from him on Christmas morning. In the meantime, Norma had called me to let me know she did not know why, but he was adamant about this gift and his pride in finding it was worth wrapping it. My curiosity was piqued.

So, back to Christmas morning and divvying up the gifts... After the first few were opened by the kids, Elijah picked his gift to me and said, "Please mom, open this one next." He stood in front of me, a gentle smile across his face, as I pulled back the paper to reveal... a plunger. I pulled it from the paper and said, "Wow! A new plunger! We sure needed one, didn't we buddy?!" He said, "that's why I picked it for you mommy." as he hugged me and I told him how much I loved this gift he chose just for me!

Before you get any thoughts about how I must clog our toilets, I will tell you, I neither clog them, or unclog them when they are overfilled with toilet paper by a child! I call for Scott... to use the plunger we already have!! (I'm dying as I write this...it was SO funny!) I have no idea why he thought this was the perfect gift, or why he thought we needed a new one, but I can say, with all my heart, this was the best gift I received this year because, strange as it may be, my boy just knew I would love it....so I do.

Be blessed!
~Jules

Wonderful Christmas Time

One of the best parts of the Christmas season with kids, is passing down the traditions and stories and nuances of our own childhood Christmas memories, while continuing, and making, our own new ones each year, hoping one day to have provided memories the kids will treasure and continue the cycle.

Something I noticed this year that I do exactly like my mom did is, I unbox one ornament at a time, we oooh and ahhh over it, the kids ask me where it came from so the brief history is given, then they take turns hanging them on the tree. The glass, and more precious ornaments are put on the upper third of the tree by Scott or myself, and the lower two thirds we redecorate after bedtime for spacing purposes. I love this process. I love that they are as excited as I am with each box that opens with ornaments that range from both of our childhoods, handmade, baby's first's for all four of them, and family groups of penguins and polar bears that grew each year as our family continued to grow.

It is such a fun and exciting time as the whole atmosphere seems to change into a world of wonder and joy. Every box of decorations brings exclamations of "I remember this! This one is my favorite! Mom, where can I put this one?!" It's a catching kind of excitement that really puts their youth into perspective. They aren't too tired to decorate at the end of a day, nor do they care about the mess the styrofoam makes as we unbox each village piece. They don't care if the snowmen are set in just the right place or if the stockings are hung in the right order. Their enthusiasm just can't be contained and at this time of the year, I'm much more tolerant of it then most.

I love that they watch Polar Express and the Grinch about six times the first four days after unboxing the Christmas movies and that the song "Hot Chocolate" (oh we got it! yeah we got it! ) plays on a loop in my head for the entire month. I love that they turn the Christmas tree lights on as soon as they are out of bed and search for our elf, Winkle, in their undies. I love that our counters get sticky with candy cane drool and that their super hero and princess cocoa mugs grace the counters multiple times a week. I love that we have to hot glue baby Jesus back in his manger in front of praying Santa almost every year, because the kids won't keep their hands off of him. I love that every time I sing O Holy Night, they look at me with eyes reminiscent of when they were a baby and I held them as they ate. Those eyes that seem to say, I know you are special, I know you love me, I know you will always love me and that I will always love you. I know that with you, I am safe. I love that I still see that in their eyes when they look at me as I sing to them. And I love the debate of whether or not every Santa they see is the real one or one of his helpers!

I love these things for so many reasons, but the driving motivation to embrace the craziness, for me, is that I know this time will be gone before I know it. They will all too soon lose the wonder of the Polar Express and Winkle. They might enjoy candy canes and cocoa for a while, but will no longer need me to clean up as they go, or to "add more mallows". And probably much sooner than I'd like, they'll realize I don't sing well and be less than impressed by my rendition of my favorite Christmas song, and the truth of Santa will temporarily dash their young dreams.

Fortunately, we also focus our hearts and minds on the truth behind this time of year. We know and celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. We pack boxes with scripture and prayers, toys, toiletries and supplies to send to children in parts of the world and in living conditions my kids cannot begin to fathom actually exist. It's a growing and learning process, but we hope to teach our kids that the greatest part of the Christmas season is not Santa or his elves, it's not presents or lights, but it is Jesus. That's what makes this time of year amazing. "Oh night, divine, when Christ was born."

For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6

May you know the hope that rests in knowing Him this Christmas season. From our house to yours,

Merry Christmas,
~Jules~

A Thanksgiving to Remember

It's been a few days, so I figure it's safe to write about. You know those great holiday stories that end with a gasp and a shout of "No he didn't!" followed quickly by the nearly hopeful, "Shut up! You're kidding me!" Well, we had one such Thanksgiving, and I'd like to tell you the story.

It all started with a visit from old friends, a houseful of family, and a magnificent twenty pound bird. We bought our turkey two weeks ago in preparation of our Thanksgiving dinner for our nearly thirty expected guests. It was to serve as the center piece to an island full of lovingly prepared side dishes for our feast of Thanks. We began the thawing process three days in advance, then cold water bathed the beauty for two hours Thursday morning before she was finally ready. We bagged her, then rubbed her breast, wings and thighs with a slightly melted stick of butter, massaging it into her skin for that perfectly delicious exterior that serves to protect the sweet juicy meat inside. I then coated her buttery exterior with a succulent blend of seasons, taking great care to cover every inch of our soon to be main dish.

Thankful and Blessed

When the preparations where complete, we sealed the bag, tucked her into the roasting pan and slid her into the oven. Within two hours the aroma of our delectable dinner was wafting up the stairs from the basement stove, filling the room full of family and friends who had gathered to share in this feast. Almost three hours later, the time had come. Our turkey was perfect and ready to be presented. Scott took the platter down the stairs, removed the turkey from the bag, releasing all her savory aromas for our expectant guests, and proceeded back up the stairs where we were anxiously awaiting. Conversations were taking place, friends were laughing and sharing. I was on the back side of the door when I heard it.... THUD! I thought someone had pushed over a chair, so I whipped my head around to my friends husband, Ed, and said, "What was that?" His wide eyes stared down the stairs then looked up to me as he said, "He dropped the turkey." His words were almost fake, and thinking of it now, was like a really bad joke. I said, "He did what?!" as I yanked the door back to get a better view. Sure enough, there it was...our beautiful turkey laid broken in pieces, her legs straight up in the air,  meatless, where the perfectly tender morsels had been flung off at impact. With his eyes wide and his hands empty, Scott looked up at me and said, "I dropped it. I don't know how, but I dropped it." 

I could have died!!! I started into the, "Why? How? What in the..." but then I stopped, told him to pick up her mangled breast and get it back on the platter and realized instantly that this would make a great Thanksgiving story....in about a week!!! We started rolling....not Scott of course...he was mortified, but the rest of us enjoyed quite a laugh. As his mom and sister jumped in to clean up the rest of the pieces, I wiped off the buttery juices from his jeans and said, "It doesn't matter. Not at all. There's more than enough food to feed a small army up there and this is going to make Thanksgiving 2016 one we talk about forever!" So, with his tail tucked a little between his legs, Scott emerged up the stairs to a houseful of family and friends all ready to laugh and fill our plates with side dishes! 

Upon closer inspection, we decided most of the meat could still be salvaged, and what's a little dirt or dog hair really going to hurt anyways!? So, with a prayer of thanksgiving and hearts full of laughter, we ate the magnificent feast...bird and all!! 

In the end, none of that really matters at all. What makes Thanksgiving great are the ones you love, far and near, sisters and sons, moms and dads, friends new and old, kindness, laughter and a little pumpkin pie when its all said and done. 

Eph 5:20 Giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

God bless,

Jules

A Thanksgiving to Remember

It's been a few days, so I figure it's safe to write about. You know those great holiday stories that end with a gasp and a shout of "No he didn't!" followed quickly by the nearly hopeful, "Shut up! You're kidding me!" Well, we had one such Thanksgiving, and I'd like to tell you the story.

It all started with a visit from old friends, a houseful of family, and a magnificent twenty pound bird. We bought our turkey two weeks ago in preparation of our Thanksgiving dinner for our nearly thirty expected guests. It was to serve as the center piece to an island full of lovingly prepared side dishes for our feast of Thanks. We began the thawing process three days in advance, then cold water bathed the beauty for two hours Thursday morning before she was finally ready. We bagged her, then rubbed her breast, wings and thighs with a slightly melted stick of butter, massaging it into her skin for that perfectly delicious exterior that serves to protect the sweet juicy meat inside. I then coated her buttery exterior with a succulent blend of seasons, taking great care to cover every inch of our soon to be main dish.

Thankful and Blessed

When the preparations where complete, we sealed the bag, tucked her into the roasting pan and slid her into the oven. Within two hours the aroma of our delectable dinner was wafting up the stairs from the basement stove, filling the room full of family and friends who had gathered to share in this feast. Almost three hours later, the time had come. Our turkey was perfect and ready to be presented. Scott took the platter down the stairs, removed the turkey from the bag, releasing all her savory aromas for our expectant guests, and proceeded back up the stairs where we were anxiously awaiting. Conversations were taking place, friends were laughing and sharing. I was on the back side of the door when I heard it.... THUD! I thought someone had pushed over a chair, so I whipped my head around to my friends husband, Ed, and said, "What was that?" His wide eyes stared down the stairs then looked up to me as he said, "He dropped the turkey." His words were almost fake, and thinking of it now, was like a really bad joke. I said, "He did what?!" as I yanked the door back to get a better view. Sure enough, there it was...our beautiful turkey laid broken in pieces, her legs straight up in the air,  meatless, where the perfectly tender morsels had been flung off at impact. With his eyes wide and his hands empty, Scott looked up at me and said, "I dropped it. I don't know how, but I dropped it." 

I could have died!!! I started into the, "Why? How? What in the..." but then I stopped, told him to pick up her mangled breast and get it back on the platter and realized instantly that this would make a great Thanksgiving story....in about a week!!! We started rolling....not Scott of course...he was mortified, but the rest of us enjoyed quite a laugh. As his mom and sister jumped in to clean up the rest of the pieces, I wiped off the buttery juices from his jeans and said, "It doesn't matter. Not at all. There's more than enough food to feed a small army up there and this is going to make Thanksgiving 2016 one we talk about forever!" So, with his tail tucked a little between his legs, Scott emerged up the stairs to a houseful of family and friends all ready to laugh and fill our plates with side dishes! 

Upon closer inspection, we decided most of the meat could still be salvaged, and what's a little dirt or dog hair really going to hurt anyways!? So, with a prayer of thanksgiving and hearts full of laughter, we ate the magnificent feast...bird and all!! 

In the end, none of that really matters at all. What makes Thanksgiving great are the ones you love, far and near, sisters and sons, moms and dads, friends new and old, kindness, laughter and a little pumpkin pie when its all said and done. 

Eph 5:20 Giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

God bless,

Jules

We Are No More and No Less

One of my personal struggles is knowing who I am in Christ. Not who I think I am or should be, or would like to be, but who He called me to be. All too often, I think myself either greater, or less, than who God says I am... His child, bought with the blood of His son, redeemed, a branch of the true vine, an heir, accepted and forgiven.

It's easy to recognize pride or feelings of being 'better than' those around us, but what about when we demean ourselves? When we accuse, or blame, or diminish who we are? Our pastor, using three balloons, recently demonstrated how both inflating who we are, and reducing who we are in Christ, is a matter of pride. These truths hit hard, because sadly, I can be a great self-loather. I really screwed that up. That thing I said was so stupid. I'm just a bad mom. Nobody's going to want to come. I look so stupid. The list could continue, but you get the gist. Up until now, I never would have considered these feelings a pride issue. But through three balloons I see God is steady, unchanging,  and unwavering, and who He says we are in Him, is just as steadfast. Anything else says, "Sorry God, you messed this one up." It's all about self. At it's root, it's pride.

So, I have found myself asking then, Who am I in Christ? Surly, forgiven and redeemed, I'm not bound to these same thought struggles day in and day out.

Then, this morning, reading my devotional, I found truths to go along with understanding we are no more, or less, than who God says we are. The title is Discovering Who God Made You to Be.  The writer calls it 'courage' to discover who you are in Christ and says it's the beginning of 'great change'. Wow. I love that. It's not easy. But man, is it worth it. She continues with three areas of your life to look at that I want to share, along with the brief comments that floored me in their simplicity, yet seem so hard to put into practice.

     1. Your sin and God's forgiveness- When you accept that you cannot be perfect.
     2. Your heritage as a believer- It is a comfort to know you are a child of the King of Kings.
     3. Your service to God- Find His mission field right in front of you.

It's that first point that goes along with those three balloons. When you accept that you cannot be perfect you begin to see that lofty thoughts of yourself are risky because we all sin and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). And lowly thoughts of yourself are  equally a waste of time. When you accept perfection (in you, your children, your house, your style, your words...) as unattainable; when you know you're going to sin, fail and fall short, only then can you understand your need for forgiveness is constant! Many times a day sometimes! Instead of hovering in the Eeyore phase that follows, you take it to the cross, again, accept forgiveness, and move on. But as the author points out in the beginning, it takes courage.

Are you willing to take that first step and examine your life? I did, and I've found it's not always as pretty as I'd like, but it's real. And it's Christ in me that brings about change.

Be courageous and blessed!

~Jules~

Ladies Around Town Are Extending Our Village

This probably seems a trite matter to consume an entire blog post, but I think it's huge. All three of my sons love to hold the door open for people when we are out in town. Especially women and even more specifically, older women.

I love it. My hearts swells just a touch, every time one of them lags behind and I look back to see why, or when one races ahead to open the door for a mom with a carrier. I've not taught them this, and neither has their father, directly, but this is how they have seen him treat me, his mom, sister, my grandmother, my mom. And perhaps equally as important, the boys have seen the positive response of the aforementioned women each time the door was held open for them.

I get the strong, independent women vibe, truly. I can handle my own, without a man doing any of the heavy lifting, but I'd be lying if I didn't also admit how much I love when a man, be it one of my sons, a stranger in town, or my husband, shows that touch of gentle class. I want to thank whom ever was responsible for passing down manners that are so sadly lost on a generation of young men and women who scoff at the notion.

For these ladies, I want to thank you, not just for your smiles as my boys hold open the door, but also that you thank them for being such gentlemen. And those of you who take it a step further by praising them to me, saying what kind, helpful boys they are, thank you. I want to instill in them that a woman is of great value. Everyone is, and kindness across the board is what we strive for, but in a society hell bent on devaluing everything, I want to raise boys to be men who will one day, Lord willing, choose the company of a woman who appreciates such a show of masculinity. It's one thing for me to tell them how nice it is, but it's a whole other to have you ladies affirm their actions by your gratitude toward them directly.

So, thank you. Today you expanded our village just a smidge, and helped reinforce those behaviors that are hard to teach but very much worth displaying.

In the Trenches

There are some pretty good writer/bloggers out there. Seriously, some of you can bring me to lip quivering tears in the drive thru line at the pharmacy with just a few words and a sweet baby squish picture! I'm impressed. I'm impressed by your wisdom, your confidence, your ability to see past trying times (or at least write about seeing past trying times) to focus on the gift of the here and now.  I love the quintessential 'pretty picture' a well written blog conveys, but I love even more, an honest blog about the tough stuff. Maybe because that's where I am right now, or maybe because that's a more common reality that most prefer to keep to themselves, but that's what I'm drawn to. That stuff, of course, isn't as easy to write, or as fun to read.

I have a wealth of fun, loving, beautifully emotional moments to write about, every. single. day, truly. Sometimes I feel like a hallmark picture with my boys running through the fields, sunshine in their hair as they chase butterflies with ducks and their little sister trying to keep up, all while mom and dad lite up the logs in the fire pit to roast mallows for s'mores. Their happy hearts laughing and beating wildly as they race back to roast theirs just right. Bedtime prayers and coffee snuggles. Boys who love to read and play baseball and make pizza. It can be overwhelming how wonderful it all is sometimes. But, then there's this...

Ernest Hemingway, "Write hard and clear about what hurts."

Enter me, today. I'm in the trenches, defined, in this case, by wikipedia as trench warfare: Trench warfare is a type of land warfare using occupied fighting lines consisting largely of trenches, in which troops (mom) are significantly protected from the enemy's small arm fire and are substantially sheltered from artillery.

Sometimes, this beautiful life gets tough. It's a battle. And it hurts. In no way am I comparing or belittling the life lived by troops who fought literally in the trenches. I mean only to say, sometimes, the life we are called to can have us feeling under attack. Like we are losing some battle we weren't really aware we were fighting.

I am in the trenches, dodging feelings of failure, sideways glances of disgust in the mirror, murmurs of bad names that pierce me from the inside out. All because I'm in a funk of feeling certain I am failing. In fact, the behaviors of my kids would mostly suggest this is true. Name calling, hitting each other, rude, disrespectful behavior to each other and to me. Some of this even over flowing to school. Yikes. That's embarrassing. Seriously. And mostly because these are some awesome kids which, when reflected on me, is great! There's really no conscious breakdown of what I'm doing right to bear such wonderful fruit. But when it goes the other way, that's also reflected on me, and for some reason, causes a tremendous breakdown of what I'm sure I'm doing wrong. What other moms must think of me. The thoughts or conversations they must have about how they would 'jerk a knot in his tail', or 'never put up with such behavior', it's unnerving, albeit potentially more perceived than real, in an already difficult situation.

Scott says this is the dramatic side of me. That I'm too strong to be such a victim in this. Maybe.

Perhaps that's true, on one hand, that I'm too strong (and too busy) to worry what anyone else may think of me, our parenting, or our children. I'm old enough and been around long enough to know not to judge a situation by what you see on the surface. That's a naive mistake. A rookie move. So that should mean I'm also old enough not to give a second thought to those who fall into that category.  Easier said then done, but I'm working on it.

Besides, no one could say anything to me, or about me, that's half as harsh as what I say to myself. Or how I second guess everything I do and say. Or what my kids behavior reflects on me.

The blog up to here was written around the end of May. I got to this point and lost my words, lost direction, lost the point of what I was saying.

At the time, things were getting worse at the school the boys were at, they were in trouble a lot and we were all feeling frustrated. But then, God's provision I suppose, things came to head at the school and we left, deciding then and there to homeschool all four.

You see, I can be a bit of an excuse maker. I want a reason why the boys are acting wild,  why Sophia occasionally cries for her entire two hour nap, or why my son hit his friend in class, or his brother bounces like Tigger, or.....

But when my kids, and my parenting, actually came into question, my initial response was to be incredibly hurt, very angry and extremely embarrassed. But then I realized something. We don't allow bad, rude, or disrespectful behavior. We correct and discipline, we teach and model, we reinforce and reward, and you know what? They are still kids. They are sinners, as we all are. And, there are four of them. But, I love who they are. Sometimes, they are a dream. They are outgoing and polite and adorable and personable. They say yes ma'am and yes sir, they hold doors open for others, they shake hands and say excuse me. Sure, I'm embarrassed when they hit, or talk back or disobey, but goodness, what an unrealistic expectation to put on us all to think that will completely stop. And who of us would ever expect that from any child, or family?

We live in a strange time where our lives are on display (by our own choice of course) and we both love, and admonish, those who share everything. From "Why do you assume people want to read about your life, your kids, your deep thoughts." to, "Oh my, I read your story, thank you for sharing." These are my own thoughts about myself and others who write, as well as words people have said to me.

And it's not just the writing, but the sharing on FB, instagram, and myriad other social sites, that cause us this grief in thinking everyone else is getting it right. People, you might be the one mom with those seriously perfect kids, but for the rest of us, life is real. It's tired kids, bad attitudes, do-overs, learning curves, embarrassing moments, tears, time-outs, potty training accidents, snotty noses.... it's not like that perfect moment captured, and shared, lasted more than the 30 seconds it took to take and post it. Most likely, if you're like me, you fussed at the kids to stop, then yelled, "Wait! Let me take a picture, then knock it off."

The truth is, for most of us, we're doing the best we can within the circumstances we call our own. If you're in a season of perfection with your kids, be thankful, be gracious, be kind, and be prepared for the day it falters. Those of us who are surviving in the trenches today will be there to encourage you, pray for you, and help you walk through the hard stuff tomorrow.

A perfect moment.

I've made my way through this battle. We are in a place of contentment, joy, and peace as we homeschool and settle in to our stride. Not perfection, by any stretch, but perfectly within God's plan for us in this season. Have faith fellow mom's, John 16:33, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." What a cool, refreshing drink to parched and broken lips.

A Life That Matters

I want my words and my life to matter.

Is that too much to ask? I want the ideas in my head to pour out of me in a way that affect those who read it. I want you to laugh along with me, or at me on occasion. I want you to shed a tear, feel my frustration, sense my anger, and share my joy. I want my words to matter.

I want this life I lead to make a difference. I want someone to be inspired, happier, better, changed... because I have lived. Because I have loved. Because I have shared.

I have been mulling these thoughts around for some time, feeling frustrated because my scope of influence is small. Because I'm actually a little scared of sharing my words and thoughts (despite the fact I write and share them publicly!). Because, do I really have anything important to say?

And then the obvious hit me. I have actual people who look to me, my love, my words, my actions to teach them, mold them, encourage them, guide them, grow them. And with that came, "Holy crap! Maybe I don't want my words to mean so much. Maybe I'm not up for the task."

Oh friend, but you are. Can you relate? The Bible tells us that life and death in is the power of the tongue (Prov 18:21). Your words have the power to grow a young boy into a confident, loving young man. Your words can shape the way he thinks of himself,  and the way he thinks of others. Your words have the power to teach him to read, to write, to love the process of learning...or to hate it. Your words can soothe when his feelings are broken, to lift when his spirit is saddened, to strengthen when he is weak.

Your words can light up the face of your little girl, or bring her to tears. You can encourage her to move mountains, or not. To blow through barriers, real or perceived, or to cower at them. To stand firm in her faith, or to doubt it. She watches your every move, and soaks in your every word.

You want your life to matter? Matter to her. Matter to the little men who look to you for love, comfort and acceptance, but also for your pride and praise as they seek to be a bit less "little" and a bit more 'man' every day.

So, I go back....It that too much to ask? Of me, absolutely. Of my Father who gave me this life, this position, this circle of influence? No way.  I see so clearly when my words bite, but even more so, how they give life. I see our day sink or soar simply by the attitude, and words, I approach it with. It's tough to show up every day, ready to 'give life' to those around you, but show up anyways. Grab an extra cup of coffee, put on your best 'mom pants', throw your hair up and show up, just as you are. Remember the power given us in Christ... He has given us everything we need to make this life count. Now go forth and matter, however big, or small, your circle is...go.

Broken Spirit vs Tree of Life

I have a sharp tongue. I've often touted, "My parents were lucky! I never did anything wrong...I just had a smart mouth."

EEEEK!

When I hear sharp, harsh, or smart words come out of my children's mouths, I cringe at how horribly similar the tone sounds to mine when I was a child, or when I respond to them in harshness, instead of loving kindness and patience.

Side note: If you know my kids and hear, or have heard, them say things like 'stupid', 'hate', or other such vile things, don't assume they've heard that from me! I'm not saying I speak in an abusive manner to my kids. What I am saying, is the words of correction I speak, are all too often spoken in a tone of frustration or anger that, if overheard, would embarrass the snot out of me, and frequently causes me to feel disappointment in my parenting.

I just read a paragraph in a book, Shepherding a Child's Heart by Tedd Tripp, that convicted me enough to get me out of the chair, leaving my iced coffee behind, to sit at the computer and type this public confessional...

"Like any area of theological truth, the key to growth is not the cognitive identification of truth. It is the understanding the pertinence of that truth in daily life. You and your children must understand the fear of the Lord in a manner that reorganizes your lives."

I love reorganizing most things, so why not this.  The reality is, I hear it when it starts, I just feel more justified then I do convicted, in the moment, to soften my tongue. However, after the fact, conviction hits pretty hard. They are such sweet, albeit occasionally disrespectful and disobedient kids (like ALL who have gone before them), and they deserve my best. Those moments are far from it. They deserve what God has called us as parents to do, which is to lovingly correct and discipline them, not scold them harshly. So, I'm bringing a piece of my broken parenting to the cross today, to lay down what I once thought was harmless, and replace it with Proverbs 15:4, A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but cutting words break the spirit.

He is My Assurance in the Mess

I recently heard someone say, "I'm not sure how you can be a Christian and have so many things go wrong for so long." These words weren't spoken to, or about me, but instantly I felt they could have been. We've had a rough year. One where we felt we were being kicked while we were down, and it hurt. Over and over again. And each blow seemed to make it tougher to smile then the last. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a little of the difficult, in order to share the present, and my thoughts on this question of being a Christian and having bad things happen.

I've written (could be read: yelled, cried, dwelled, hurt, held on to, talked about, written again...) about an incident with at least one of our kids that happened last April, or at least, that's when we found out about it, that rocked us to our core. It hurt, rightfully so, made us angry, rightfully so...scared us, scarred us, and to some degree, kicked off this tornadic year of bad happenings. There were wonderful things that happened also, like the adoption of our daughter, but sadly, this past year has been marked as a very difficult time, despite those bursts of joy that sporadically  pulled us from this funk.

In the weeks and months that followed the aforementioned incident, I lost weight. I couldn't eat. We didn't sleep. We fussed and fought with each other as we struggled with understanding the thing that was done, and the lack of care with which it was handled, and then dealing with the investigation that followed. It took us a couple months to finally realize we were fighting each other in our hurt, rather than coming together to help each other, and walk through this thing together.

In June, my grandmother who lives with us and with whom I (and my whole family) are extremely close, had a heart attack. She was 90 years old and a mere 66 lbs. It did not look good for her to recover from this event, but amazingly, she did. That is, until October, when again, her health looked too shaky to overcome, but again, she did.

November and December where the months we finally broke down and sought help through counseling about several things we were dealing with, one of which was difficult behaviors we had been dealing with from one of our boys. Something we had battled for so long, but either from duration, stress, or an over burdened heart, we finally received the help we needed. We caught our breath during this time and the holiday season.

In February, my grandmother got sick again...nothing to cause us to fear the worst, but enough to take the winds from the sails of an already hurt, angry, and damaged vessel. Later that month, her recovery still in progress, Scott had a cancer spot removed from his ear. Read about that day in full here if you'd like: http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2016/03/whats-your-emergency.html, but the gist is, enroute from one ER to another after bleeding for eight hours,  he shook violently, vomited and passed out, and I thought I had lost him. That's difficult to recover from. Even days and weeks later, while thankful as all get out that he was still with us, the emotions from that night would wreak havoc on my heart and mind. The next day, Gram's arm was swollen and causing her lots of pain. I ended up back in the ER with her, to rule out a clot, which we finally did the next day, but still having a swollen arm, had appointments and meds to try to find her relief.

Stress. In the midst of the trauma were our kids, still being kids. My body and mind were stressed.

Over the next month Gram continued to have pain off and on and then began to lose weight again. It was at that time, I began to notice that my fully independent Grandmother was no longer washing her dishes. Her laundry basket was overflowing to a pile of the floor, and my once critical of anyone who stayed in their jammies too long Gram, hadn't changed in five days. I called my mom and uncle with the news that things didn't look good. No matter how sick Gram had ever been, she'd never been like this. She was losing her will, her desire, and I couldn't help her. It weighed on me like a pile of bricks I was unable to move. And on top of it, I had a major surgery scheduled and coming up in a few days. My mom was already scheduled to come during that time to help with the kids, so my uncle got on a plane within days to come stay. He said he could hear in my voice that he needed to be here. I guess no matter how hard you try to hide pain, it seeps out. We needed help in more ways then we had been able to see.

At the end of March, with my uncle in town to help with Gram and the kids, I had a hysterectomy. That sucked. All of it...another night away spent in a hospital, swollen tummy, four incisions, pain meds (which I don't tolerate!), and a six week recovery in front of me. However, during this time, my Gram, the greatest comeback kid ever, started making a recovery. She showered, changed clothes, and little by little gained strength and desire. Whether it was having her son in town, or me being down and in need of TLC, or both, I have no idea. But she was nearly back to herself within two weeks and continuing to improve while my mom was in town the following week.

Week four of my six week recovery, we had three more ER trips, first with our daughter who lost consciousness after falling off our concrete stairs and hitting her head, then me with severe abdominal pain, and lastly, making it five trips in just eight weeks, my mother-in-law with chest pains and difficulty breathing. Prior to this, I think I'd only been to the ER once, maybe twice in 39 years.

In April, a year after the investigation began, we got word that the evidence needed to prosecute was not found. I spiraled into anger once again, realizing it was always just beneath the surface, as I awaited the news of an arrest under the facade of a 'process of forgiveness', that would not happen.

And this is just the highlights of the difficulties of our year. This doesn't speak anything of the girlfriends I have whose marriages are broken and under attack, or those who pray to find a love to marry, or the couples we know who are struggling with infertility, or who have lost babies, or the brother, former student, and colleague who all lost their battle to cancer, or...this list could go on and on. There are hurts daily that are difficult, at best, to bear up under.

So, back to the question of  "how can you be a Christian and have so many things go wrong?"  I'm not a theologian so I won't go into the fact that we live in a fallen world, or that things going wrong has nothing to do with whether or not one is a Christian, or about predestination vs free will, and consequences of our actions and of those around us.  Stuff just happens, all the time, to each of us. The better question is, how would you get though this mess without Jesus? Where do you find your strength or assurance? Who does your help and hope come from?

Where am I now? Recently, I heard a message that convicted me in a mighty, mighty way, about the anger I was holding on to, and my unwillingness to forgive which would allow me to move past a very hurtful situation, thus allowing me to better deal with the every day. I was drinking the poison hoping the offender would suffer. It wasn't working. So, I wrote it out. I wrote a letter that may never see its recipients. I cried, a lot, and I let it all go. My heart finally began to heal. I finally took a full, deep breath...maybe the first in a year. I'm lighter, not so heavy burdened all of the time. Gram is much improved, but she's still 91. We take every good day with her as a blessing, the gift of time.

So, what changed? Those difficult things still happened. We all, Christian or otherwise, will have to walk through these seasons of pain and struggle throughout our lives. What changed is when I realized that the Lord is enough, even when it hurts more than words can express, or our anger is big enough to scare us. He knows, He sees, and He is still in control. We don't have to be, thank goodness, but we will do well in the midst of the mess, to find peace and assurance in Him.

An Open Letter to Those Who Write "Open Letters to the Mom Who...."

Lately I have these moments where the words "open letter to the mom who..." runs through my mind  on this strange kind of monologue loop, as I'm sure something I've done, or not done, would be perfect fodder for one of these letters.

For instance, when I take all four kids to TJ Maxx, I hear in my mind, 'To the mom who takes four small children to such a store... I see you trying to keep all eight hands occupied while you browse the coffee mugs...'  *teeth gritted*

Or when I buy a coffee at Starbucks and one of my boys puts his face on the pastry window, I hear, "Dear mom, telling her son to remove his face from the pastry glass, I feel your pain. How could we have known how often we'd tell our kids to take their face off something it shouldn't be touching, or remove from their face the vial things they've pressed to their sweet cheeks....'  *Sigh*

There's the trips to the grocery with three or four of the kids where I hear, 'Dear mom, please keep your kids grubby fingers off the beautifully stocked shelves. I know you need to be here to buy food in order to feed your little ones, and I know you want to get it done while your husband works so you can preserve your evenings, and I know you're doing the best you can, but please, could you get a grip on your children?!'  *I can't even on this one*

The dreaded, 'Dear mom whose pre-schooler hit my pre-schooler, we don't allow such behavior in our home so I'd really appreciate it if you'd talk with your son about keeping his hands to himself...'  *Of course, because in our home, we love and reward hitting hands. (read insanely snarky)*

So, the most recent in this (I know its a little crazy) inner dialogue world I live in, happened at the ball park where our 4 and 6 year olds play on a peanut league team. We pulled Eli up a year early so we weren't navigating three different fields to watch the boys play. He's not quite ready for it but learning and having fun, nonetheless. So, when those sweet little hands got him sent out of the dugout last night (and rightfully so) because 'he won't keep them to himself', my first response was to sit him down in a gruff, timeout, kind of way. But as my hands reached his shoulder to set him down, his body curled and collapsed into mine and he fell into a heep of broken tears. Compassion over took embarrassment and I held him, curled in my lap, sobbing snotty tears all over me. And then the loop began, 'Dear mom who coddled her crying son instead of disciplining him for not keeping his hands to himself, shame on you. You missed an opportunity for a valuable lesson. If he were my son I would have...', or, 'Maybe if you didn't spoil him, he'd stop hitting.' or, possibly there would have been the, 'Thank you for showing him love instead of anger, after all, he is just four.' And I realize there's also those who didn't even notice. Bless you people, I love your non-judgy ways, your lack of opinions, and your own issues that keep you from concerning yourself with others'. There are probably more of you than there are 'open letter to mom' types. I fancy myself as one of you, only pausing to notice the "I feel you, sister" kind of moments, but who knows.

We're probably all a little more opinionated than we should be when it comes to someone else's kid, or parenting ways. Because, the reality is, I could have whooped his disobedient little behind for so many reasons, including, but not limited to, we've doled out consequence after consequence on this, we've talked, we've read books, we've spanked and you know what? Someone would have been unimpressed and he would still struggle to keep his hands to himself. (I'll take this moment to apologize to my parents and my sisters. He is me, made over. I hit, popped, smacked, pushed...all. the. time. as a kid. It wasn't because I was mean or wanting to be hurtful, I just had busy hands that reached and grabbed and played and hit non-stop. I can see now, the pleading in my parents eyes, as they fussed at me again to stop.) As I did, I know he'll outgrow this phase. I know we will fuss and fuss at him, that I will be embarrassed by this again before it's all said and done, and that we will continue to make the best choices for him that we can in each moment. Which last night, included holding him as he cried while I whispered reminders to him that we can't hit, not with hats, gloves or hands.

In conclusion, I am going to write my own open letter to myself.

Open Letter to the Mom at the Ball Park,
   
     Dear mom, I see you with your four little ones. I see how busy your boys are, but also how happy, encouraging and loving they are. I see your daughter running around you, asking for snacks and needing to go pee. I imagine your days, that it never ends. That those three boys chase, wrestle, fuss, laugh, play superheroes and bad guys, that they are both your greatest joy and your toughest trial.

I think you need to hear that you're doing ok mom. Your kids love each other and they love you, even if they do talk back and behave disrespectfully in public sometimes. I have boys too. Mine are grown now, but I remember those days. I remember dreading ER trips almost daily, recalling the conflict of either making them stop, or allowing them to continue knowing skills and muscles and knowledge are growing in their little bodies with every jump, climb, crash or hit. Those days will pass, mom, and will make way for little men that develop their first crush and their first pimple within weeks of each other.

They will learn to keep their hands to themselves...keep working with them. Don't give up on them. Love them through the tough moments. Praise them when they do well, encourage them when they don't. Teach them to apologize, and to forgive, because they will be hit too.

Your little guy, he needed you. I'm glad you held him. I'm glad you scolded him. I will pray for you, and for your family, that you won't get discouraged, that you will find joy, that you won't parent based on what you perceive others expect, but on what you know your child needs. It's tough, it really is. But hang in there...it's all worth it.

Sincerely,
A mom who saw you

Ending a Chapter- Decision to Close

I've written many times about the need for open foster homes and how I hoped our story would inspire even one family to open their home to the possibility. It has been something we have been involved in now for seven years, opening our home to ten children and adopting three. Our years as foster parents has been tough at times, but always a blessing. We've rearranged beds and car seats to accommodate different configurations, we've held on to clothes and toys 'just in case'. But, after much prayer and deliberation, and with a somewhat heavy heart, we have decided it's time to close our home, and move forward with our four little miracles.

We are amazed daily by the family God bound together here, and will always be grateful we chose this path. Adoption is a huge part of our story, and although it's not the focus, we will always share the gift it has been with our children, and anyone who asks, understanding how beautiful it is, and knowing it is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

The big boys are just beginning to gain an understanding of what it means that they were adopted. I know it will be a journey for them as they mature, and their understanding deepens and changes, but knowing it is a gift ,and not a mistake, is something I hope we can always help them see.

While we will talk with them anytime they bring it up, or ask questions (which is so rare at this point), it is overall a fact that goes forgotten within our four walls. Especially when we see how similar they all are, to each other and to Scott and I!

Elijah is a perfect blend of our older two, adopted sons.... He can be as completely wild and on the go as Timothy and as mild mannered and cuddly as Mason. Sophia and Mason look so much alike with their adorable button noses, and all four are fair skinned, redheaded beauties, just like their daddy!

When people first learn that three of them are adopted it's so funny to see them try to mentally figure out which three!! Usually they are wrong, which is fine with me. There need be no distinction anyways. They are brothers and sister and they are ours. Firmly, completely and finally. Nothing else matters.

Their bond is more and more beautiful all the time, even when many days are spent breaking up silly arguments and officiating scuffs. I see them in between those moments helping each other, encouraging each other, cuddling, playing, imagining, talking.... it's hopeful for us to see as they grow in love for each other.

So, I guess my point is, while this blog started as a way to share our foster/adoption journey and how God brought and knit our family together, the story is in no way over. Every day is a new challenge, a new love, a new gift. I will continue writing about what God has done, and is doing, en la Casa Akin, so long as He gives me stories to share.

As always, if opening your home to foster or adopt is something on your mind or heart, don't wait. Call your local DCBS today and get started. You won't regret it. And if you haven't read our story, I hope you will.      http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2014/10/getting-started.html

To my Mother-in-Law

Dearest Norma,

   You and me, we love the same people with an unmatched ferocity. Differing perspectives, but love unmatched, nonetheless. Often we are perfectly agreeable in our opinions and views of the world, but often times we are not. You have that grandmother view, while I'm still full on mommy vision. You are one of the first people I call when I'm in need, angry, sick, or any combination of the aforementioned, and you are one of the first to irritate me when we disagree.

If I never saw another peppermint, I'd be fine with that. McDonald's every time you watch the kids...grrr. Dipping a serving of dessert big enough for a rhino for a child whose tummy is the size of an orange, please!! Shows we don't allow and bedtimes later than we prefer...

But you know what, none of that really matters. Not really.

Today you went to the ER with chest pain. Tonight, you are 'sleeping the night' with an IV hooked up, monitors beeping and nurses running labs every few hours. Oh, what I would give to have you pop up the drive to give these kids a peppermint!

I'm quite certain you will be fine. They haven't figured out what's causing your pain yet, but you are a tough cookie. You are the one we all call...for everything. You're Mimi, for heavens sake. You've got to dust your boots off and get ready for the next big get together. Fried chicken, right?

You didn't call anyone when you were in pain this morning. I happened upon that, actually because I called for something I needed. But I could hear it in your voice. Turns out, you need us as much as we need you. And I'm glad for that.

It's funny, tonight, as I think of the things that frustrate me, they are the exact things our kids will remember with such fondness someday when they are grown. Oh, I'm sure they will still frustrate me, but understand, beneath it all, you are Mimi to them, and Mother (in-law) to me. You are irreplaceable. So, take a rest. Know that we love you. And bring these kids a peppermint tomorrow!!

With love,
Julia

Our State of Confusion

Ok Target. You have made your stand. I'm not exactly sure why you've made this decision, but you have. Maybe I'm wrong, but if I were to guess, I'd think the majority of your store traffic is moms, many with young kids in tow, as I am, nearly every time I enter your doors. Who knows what, if any, backlash you will face, but I have this idea, I'm not the only mom/woman (by birth) who is questioning whether or not I'll come back. Is that worth it to you? To lose the business of your biggest fans? I guess it is, because here we are.

At first, my only concern was for my kids. They don't need to be exposed to gender confusion at their age. And before you bash me for 'hating on transgender people', or 'being a bigot', understand I'm neither. I have no reason to hate others for their choices, but I have have a greater responsibility to my kids, whom I love dearly, to protect them from things I find inappropriate, or harmful.  It seems this should be a societal norm, but for some reason it's not, because you have failed to consider them in this decision. There is no good explanation as a parent that I can give them for why a man is in the women's restroom, or a woman in the man's. And, the more I consider it, and my husband weighs in on my thoughts, the more I see I'm also concerned for myself, and the other women wishing to relieve themselves in private.

Before I make anyone too mad, I realize that most of the transgender individuals who utilize the bathroom of their choosing, instead of the bathroom of their birth gender, are harmless. They have no desire to do anything more than the in and out necessity of the job. But people, for the love of obviousness, you have to see how you've opened the door for ANY man to use the woman's restroom, since you sure can't deny the right to anyone. And lets not forget the men! What will we do when teenage girls use the men's room. Now our husbands, fathers, and sons will be exposed to girls, completely against thier will, and we call that ok? And what about when one of those girls accuses a man of exposing himself to her? Or 'checking her out'? Or worse? What if that man did nothing more than pee? What if he did assault her? Who will you believe?  You've made it ok for the situation to even be a possibility! And I can't even imagine what my 90 year old Grandmother will think, or say for that matter, the first time she walks in to your bathroom and sees a man standing there. For heavens sake.

So, now the questions stands, who's next? I can steer clear of Target, and will as much as I hate to, but what happens when the next big chains follow suit? When the mall, or our local restaurants decide this is acceptable? Are we to avoid every place that supports this infringement on our rights? I don't see how. So what's the answer? And spare me your nonsense about how slight of a chance this may be, that someone with ill intentions would ever use a public restroom to carry out these acts. Check out the statistics on sex crimes against women and children, and now you've given them a private place where dropping our britches is why we are in there in the first place! Where is my protection? Will you post guards, or camera's, in your  bathrooms to ensure nothing like this goes on?  Am I just to hope, each time I use the bathroom, that this is not the time someone in my family becomes a statistic? Come on people. Where's the common sense?

I'm so discouraged by the direction this whole movement is taking, and not because I hate anyone, but because I wonder where, or if, we will draw the line?

Big Little Changes

Something is happening around here. Something beautiful, subtly amazing, natural and so, so sad. It happens to the best of us parents. It's completely the order of things and we would be dreadfully worried and disappointed if it didn't happen. But even still, the realization of it grips at my heart, brings a tear to my eyes, and makes me so, so sad.

My babies aren't babies anymore. The hashtags accompany the posts of most of my mommy friends almost daily, #wherehasthetimegone, #timestandstill, and one of my favorites, #babiesdontkeep. FB memories put it in our face daily, and this truth is a reality for us all. They are growing at an alarming rate and won't stop, no matter my pleads for them to hover at these amazing stages just a little longer.

There was a time I thought Elijah would never leave the arms of his milk producing momma. But he did, in fact, quit nursing after 15 months of near constant attachment (insert tear streaked cheeks). I knew with grave certainty we would go broke having three, or more, kids in diapers or pull-ups for forever but now we are down to our final diaper clad kid, and can finally see, the day will come when we won't buy any more! I never thought I'd carry a purse again, I double dutied the diaper bag for so long, but I carry a purse about half the time now....it's been a slow, sometimes scary transition back to the world of 'I don't have rash cream, extra clothes, snacks, or any other diaper bag emergency contingency stashed here on my arm' kind of mom. Butt's wiped in this house by me, at one point in time were increased by four...I wondered what I would do with all the spare time I'd gain by only having one, once again. Now, butt's wiped by me are down by two....spare time is spent asking if they did a good job wiping, did they flush and did they wash their hands, so no real gain there, other than independence is a small step closer for them. Nap time, sacred nap time, I thought I'd have that two hours a day, every day. I still get some quiet during nap while the two littles rest, but the big boys now use the time to read, do homework, puzzles, occasionally nap, or head outside. It's not the total silence I had grown accustomed to, but we're working it out and they are learning the value of a little quiet and alone time. We have cut teeth in our house nonstop for the last seven years. Seven years without a break! Alas, we are still cutting 2 and 4 year old molars but are also now on the daily quest of searching for loose teeth.We should have bought stock in children's tylenol and orajel!

These are just a few of the basic, fairly surface bits of my day that are shifting.

This list is endless, as most of you well know, but these crazy things are afoot up in our hacienda, and they prepare the stage for my heart as, daily, I see how they are growing and changing and moving baby steps away from needing mommy around every turn and instead, are little boys and baby girls becoming young men and little ladies. With their growing confidence, and knowledge of the world around them, they are learning to move beyond what keeps them comfortable and reaching for that next step. It does my heart well when Elijah still calls for me to 'watch what he can do', or Timothy still needs a hug from his me when he gets hurt, or when a tired Mason still wants to sit and snuggle and a sad Sophia just needs her mommy.  They aren't grown yet, but I've seen this change in all of them over the last few months, and it has me reminiscing about the days I chased three boys in diapers up the stairs for nap, nursed one, rocked all three and shushed them to sleep so as to not wake their baby sister.

You know, I don't rock anyone to sleep any more? I might have internally scoffed just a little when a teacher I worked with when Timothy first came to us said, "Rock him every chance you get, for as long as you can." She said the day will come when you will want to and he will be too big. I've rocked for nearly seven years and now that it has all but stopped in the last few months, I see she was right. My, what I wouldn't give to hear their heavy breath by my ear as they fall asleep on my shoulder, but their long gangly bodies no longer allow it, even if they did. SoSo could but is on such a big girl kick right now, she just wants to get in bed like brothers do, get her snuggle time and go to sleep. It's the unfair nature of the beast, that in the midst, we often feel it will never end, until it does, then we wonder where the time went.

Make no mistake, I am enjoying these years home with my littles, tending their every need and witnessing every milestone, and I know the job is nowhere near done. They are still very much babies in so many ways. It's just a stop and smell the roses, kind of realization when you look around and reflect on the changes. They are little, but oh so big in their world, and in mine as I cheer them on, guide them, correct them, and still hold them tight as I can, when they let me.

My Life

I recently mentioned in a blog post about an upcoming surgery I was having and some trepidation I was feeling about the procedure, recovery and the general 'ugh-ness' of it all. Well, said surgery was ten days ago. I survived it, and only passed out one time while getting the IV. Why, medical types, must you 'talk' about how nice my veins are? Just be efficient, effective, kind, successful the first time, and be on your way. Don't talk tenderly to my arms, as you pat and rub, trying to find just the right spot, commenting over and over how great this is going to be with veins like these. Gasp. Out I go, every time. No matter how hard I try, out cold.

The procedure went well...a little longer than planned, but all good. And they didn't even have to interrupt my pacemaker, which was good news to me. Coming out of anesthesia only took ten hours, but eventually I did, and made it home no issue the next day. Recovery is slow, but it is happening, as the air pumped in my tummy moves, dissipates and releases, and the incisions heal. I am still moving very slow, can't bend, lift or twist, body is aching and my insides are sore.

But amid all this fun happening with my body, I've noticed a few things about my life that I'm, somewhat, unable to participate in right now. Nothing totally new, or earth shattering, but things I've seen from the couch that probably go unnoticed more often then they should. I have a great thing going here. An amazing thing really. I have a wonderful husband who loves me and our kids, who will jump right in and handle 'mom' duties, tend to me when I need help and still get the trash to the end of the drive with four little, jammy clad helpers. He might not have kept their dressers as organized as I do, and three days worth of clothes were strewn about their bedroom floors the first time I made it up, but they were dressed, fed, bathed, princess' hair was combed (ouch!), and no one suffered for the messy floors or dressers.

My boys, they are surprisingly nurturing little guys. They brought me woo-woos, pillows, gave me gentle side hugs, worried when I winced and asked if I was ok with every cough. They were quick to help if I dropped something and sweet enough to tell me they missed my bedtime snuggles. I love the little men they are becoming. They play with the toy kitchen and food and prepare 'sick soup', as naturally as they become super heroes charging through the house and out the door fighting bad guys. Their imaginations are active, they are smart and kind, and I love them.

My girl. She is becoming the rottenest one in the house. She is independant and stubborn, and almost everything she does that we try to help her with, is quickly followed by, "No, me!", or "I do it!". Normally, when I am immersed in my day, this can be very frustrating, even annoying, as it usually slows me down to let her work through things on her own, but these days as an observer of my life, I find it fascinating to watch this little bitty girl, smaller than many half her age, struggle to learn new things, accomplish new tasks, and be slowed by nothing, as she spends her days keeping up with, and holding her own against, her brothers. I have watched her with her babies as she feeds them, talks to them about their behavior or the day ahead, rocks and sings them to sleep, tucks them in and whispers her love to them. It may be the greatest compliment to a mother, to watch her daughter act out her role. (Or perhaps otherwise....thankfully I haven't seen her act out my not so positive maternal traits yet!) I love watching her. I love when she brings her baby to sit next to me, pats my leg and tells me how much she loves me. Having a daughter is like a mini mirror, God's challenge and gift to us moms.

I have had several 'down' days to ponder this fast moving life I lead and find myself thinking about life before them, then the flood of love that entered my life with the arrival of each of them. I know, in the trenches, it's hard to slow down and appreciate the details, but I hope the reminder I've had during this recovery, helps me to pause long enough to enjoy these moments along the way. These days are going so fast. They grow and change over night and when the sun comes up each day, I want to say, "I was there, I saw it all, and it was amazing."

Give Us This Day

We all have them, the seasons of struggle, hurt, loss, conflict, pain... Where you feel it keeps piling on and at each new turn you are sure it is all you can bear.  But somehow, you are able. Somehow, through tears, frustration, pain, you find the hope, the strength, the need and desire and you keep on. Sometimes just because. Sometimes because others need you. Sometimes because, lets be honest, what else would you do? Quit? Leave? For most of us, it doesn't work like that. We are fighters and survivors with strength we know nothing of.

We are in one such season. The short list includes, but not limited to:

Gram. Her health is declining. While none of us knows the hour, we can lean a little on statistics for the hope of many more years, but we no longer have that luxury with her. She's tired. Her body is weak. We all know what is to come, the question is when. Her health has declined about four times since last summer and each time she surprises us all with a mighty comeback, but each time takes a little more out of her. The strain of not knowing is heavy for me, as I watch her sleep more and do less.

Scott. Just a few weeks ago he had a simple procedure to remove a cancer spot on his ear go terribly bad, and now, has an almost identical spot on his other ear. The appointment is next week and should also be a simple procedure, but given the last time, you can understand our trepidation this time around.

A friend. We have friends in a foster care situation that shows the frustrating side of this system. It's not my story to give details about, but reminds me of the time we thought we might lose Timothy. The heartbreak and helplessness that goes with that is indescribable.While this is not our struggle to bear, I am bearing this hurt with her and am burdened for her and her family.

Me. Ugh. I'm having surgery soon. It's a woman thing. It's perfectly routine. I'll be fine. But ugh. The down time required is pretty long and we have a fairly busy existence with these four youths. Not lifting, or running, or zipping about my daily routine for six weeks will be bothersome. I'm not really complaining, but...did I say ugh? I just don't like surgery (I know, who does?). They have to interrupt my battery (pacemaker) when they put me under, I don't respond well to anesthesia, and generally speaking, I'm a big ole baby when it comes to this kind of stuff. I know everything will be fine, but I fret. Will Gram be ok? What if she needs me? Will the kids be ok completely without me for those first two to three days? (Of course, but I'm one of those, 'my whole world will fall apart without me' types. Yes, the Lord is working on my pride. Thank you for your prayers.)

Then there's the rest of life.... the homeschooling first grader, the potty training three year old, our six year old learning to read, baseball season is starting (yay!), sinus infections, laundry for days....the list goes on and on. In the same way the sun comes up each day, life rolls on, busy, wonderful, tiring, exciting and relentless…. whether we are in a difficult season or not. My daughter peed her pants about 15 minutes after I found out my Gram was having internal bleeding. It almost undid me. Peed her pants, ten feet from the bathroom, and I lost it. Life. Sometimes we are superheroes... Sometimes, we barely make it. 

This is where God met us recently. Trying simply to get through the day. Scott looked gently at me and said, "Give us this day, our daily bread". We don't need to worry about surgery two weeks away, we need to get through right now. Help Gram. School Timothy. Feed the kids. And sleep. Sometimes it really is that simple. Lord, just give us enough to get through right now. As manna fell from Heaven each night for the Israelites, He will meet our needs today.

If you are in such a season as this, don't forget the example set before us, 

Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not, into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever. Amen. 

Date Night

Car selfie, he loves that I make him do this!

Scott and I went on a date last night. We've had it planned for about a month now....Actors Theater and Morton's. It was a lovely and delicious evening. 

It was also the first time we've been together in the car where 'it' happened. Where I thought I had lost him. Where Jesus literally took the wheel and a 911 dispatcher became one of my greatest coaches (and I've had some really great coaches!). Where he looked at me and said, "I'm ok, calm down."

It's been two weeks since it happened and for the most part we are back to normal. The first few days, I struggled when he'd drive....what if it happened again? But, it was such an anomaly that the fear faded and my nerves have calmed. I even chuckled a little recalling the story to a friend who hadn't heard...the first time I didn't sob, or get choked up as I said the words.

But, being out together, two things came to mind that keep coming back to me today.

First, as we made our way into Louisville last night, at the same mile markers and exit where his episode occurred, I was amazed again to realize, of all the details I remember, I have no memory of driving, or the traffic around us. I thought, as I looked around at the other cars, we have no idea what's happening in there. What the conversation is, or where they are going, or why. How many cars passed us that night, completely unaware of the fact my husband was going into shock, or that I may, or may not have actually had my hands on the wheel, that I was screaming and scared, or that I was calling 911? All of them, I guess. Why would any of us concern ourselves with what is happening in someone else's car?

It's not like that will change for me. I doubt I will think of, or crane my neck to see, what is happening as I pass others on the road, but it did occur to me, we just have no idea. Maybe as that car slows suddenly, or swerves into my lane, I could refrain from my usual angry driver banter and offer a little grace. A little prayer of, "protect them Lord" as I move along my merry way.

And second, I am deeply in love with this man. I'm sure this is a mostly obvious kind of statement. People that know us well, know that we are that, always sit together, always hold hands, always professing our love, kind of couple. I've had those thoughts of how hard it would be without him, how much I would miss him, but in those reflective moments he's always right there with me, sharing the same sentiment about me.

Those moments, while only a matter of seconds, fall into the very small stack of game changers I've experienced in my forty years. Those things that cause you to look at your life just a little differently. To wake up and really see. We all know, and have probably said things like, 'life is short, make it count', or some other random cliche`, but when I was hit with how fragile his life was, my goodness. This strong man who is supposed to take care of me, keep me safe, lift me up when I fall. He was weak, and vulnerable, and helpless, just like the rest of us. People, life really is a miracle. All of it. And every one of us will someday have that moment when the fragility of our life is upon us. When we are not in control. When either we, or those around us, realize, this could be it. Are you prepared for that?

I know two things after this experience. I know I love the way my hand feels in his. Everything about it says I am his and he will hold me close for all his days. Everything else that goes along with that is pretty great too, but his hands....the way they hold me...I love that. And I know, if he had gone that night, that he would be with his Creator, dancing and singing and praising, and even though the fear of that reality is pretty great, I also know what great peace will come with that knowledge.

John 3:16 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.

If you don't know Him: Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you. (Matthew 7:7)

"What's Your Emergency?"

Our family faced a scary situation this past weekend that has me wondering what God is trying to work in us, or teach us, or if it has any significance what so ever. For the past ten and a half months we have been rocked several times, at least four of them pretty high on any scale. The first was an incident involving our kids last April that I am STILL not at liberty to mention, and have yet to decide if I will when the time comes, the second was my Gram's health when she had a heart attack in July and the subsequent set backs she's faced since then. The third was of a personal nature, but threatened to hurt our marriage, and now this.

Friday morning, Scott had a small cancerous spot taken from the 'bowl' of his right ear, a spot about the size of my pinky nail. After, he had lunch with his cousin, then a dentist appointment since he was already in Louisville. On the drive home he mentioned blood was seeping from the dressing in his ear. By the time he made it home and was removing the bandages, our bathroom looked like a crime scene. His mom is a nurse and, knowing I'm not equipped to handle that type of thing, came up to repack the wound. He bled through the first one in minutes, concerning her, but when the second held up she left feeling like the bleeding had slowed and would soon stop. An hour later she was back at the house to stay with our kids, and we were on our way to the ER to stop the bleed.

We were there approximately three hours and the only attempt to stop it was the application of surgicel which lasted less than thirty minutes before blood flowed freely again. I'm no medical expert and don't have a clue what 'losing too much blood' looks like, but I know he lost a lot, and that it had been going on for about seven hours, getting worse as time went on. The only prayer I could manage through it all was, "God, please just stop the bleeding."

Finally, the decision was made to send us to a hospital in Louisville, about forty five minutes away, up an interstate that is blocked by traffic or wrecks about three out of every seven days. And he was now bleeding through about every two to three minutes. I did not have a good feeling. But, he said he felt fine and was just irritated enough at the lack of effort and/or ability to stop the bleeding, that he was ready to leave. We never saw a surgeon and they never drew labs. Just sent us on our way with a package of gauze and a few hospital towels to sop up the mess.

Now, this part sounds a little ridiculous considering the bleeding that was going on, but would prove necessary within the next thirty minutes. Both of our phones where under 10% battery charge and neither of us had eaten since noon (now almost 9 pm), so we left the hospital and headed straight for Best Buy to purchase a car charger, then I zipped through Wendy's for a burger before jumping on the interstate (they didn't want him to eat in case they needed to put him under for anything). This is important, because with my heart condition (vaso-vagal syncope requiring a pacemaker), my episodes are always worse when my blood sugar is low. With what was to come, it was potentially life saving that we had the charger and I had eaten. So, phone charging and burger being eaten, up the interstate we flew.

I had no idea where I was going, having never been to this hospital, and don't like navigating Louisville in the daytime when I do know where I'm going. So, with Scott navigating and fielding phone calls from his mom who had our kids, we were making our way. That is, until we got into Louisville and he started swaying. I said, "Scott, are you ok?" To which he replied that he was getting dizzy and didn't know if he should put his head between his knees or lay back. I called his mom immediately. I've passed out so many times I wasn't all that upset that he was dizzy, even though he has never had such an episode, I just had no idea where I was going and needed someone to direct me in. However, within seconds, what happened was so much worse than passing out. Conveying this in writing will do it no justice, but as he was trying to get leaned back, his arm dropped off his ear so I knew he'd lost consciousness and I shouted so to my mother-in-law, Norma. My voice got louder and more panicked as he fell forward seizing and shaking as his eyes rolled back and I yelled, "Something's wrong! He's shaking, oh my God, he's throwing up!" She began yelling back at me to get off the road and call 911, but nothing would register. Scott fell back shaking again after throwing up, then fell forward completely limp with his eyes and mouth hanging open. I thought he had died, and was screaming so to his mom, 50 miles away, home with my kids, unable to do anything but yell over and over, "Julia, call 911. Call 911. Stop the car and call 911." I cry now, remembering the panic in both our voices. Her yelling woke our kids up, so now I could hear their cries in the background, over my own crying, when suddenly the only two sounds I heard where the cries of our sons and the numbers '911'.

Understand, that was all within a matter of seconds. Maybe 30. Maybe a minute. I really have no idea, but it felt like forever and I saw everything I hold dear flash before my eyes. The way he feels. The way we laugh. How our favorite thing to do is anything we do together. How much we adore our kids and how long we prayed for this wonderful little family God has given us. How they adore their daddy. How would we make it without him. I struggled to breathe, to make sense of what was happening, to find the key pad on my phone and dial those three little numbers. 911. "What's your emergency?"

The lump in my throat is so tight trying to type this. I have no idea what all I yelled at her but it was some combination of the fact that we were on I65 trying to make it to the hospital, that my husband had been bleeding for almost eight hours and that now I thought he had convulsed and died, that I had no idea where I was going and no idea if I could make it without passing out myself. Then he looked up at me with half hallow eyes and said, "I'm ok. Calm down." My goodness how the flood gates opened then as I told her, "He's not dead!" She said I had two exits to go, could I make it? I said I could if she could tell me where to go. Like a boss, that girl kept me calm (relatively speaking) and guided me to the emergency room entrance then wished us the best as we hung up. Scott had fully come to at this point, looking rough, but alert and most importantly, alive.

As I was preparing to jump out and run in for help, he said, "Jules, my ear stopped bleeding."

WHAT?!?! How? After eight hours it stopped sometime just before, during or after those terrible moments. Ironically, now we were rushing into the ER for a bleeding wound that had finally clotted and an eerie episode of shock just miles up the road, with a fully alert, shirtless (remember the vomit), man and his inconsolable wife. The remainder of the night is really unimportant, other than the fact all his labs showed he was fine and his ear never did bleed again. We were sent home about three hours later, exhausted, confused and grateful. Three hours before, I was wondering how I would ever tell our kids that their daddy wasn't coming home, and now, we were headed that way together, wanting badly to kiss each of their little heads. We had no answers for the events that had transpired, but he was fine and we were tired. Somewhere on that drive, still annoyed that no one could tell me why, after all those hours, it finally clotted when it did, I remembered the only prayer I could pray, "God, please just stop the bleeding" so, I decided to simply give thanks.

It was one of the most intensely traumatic things I've ever been through, and Scott has finally opened up that the whole thing has him pretty upset up as well. He is such a tough guy, unmoved by blood, combat or fear. But, when hit head on with our life and all that holds, he was shook to the core.

What is God working in us? I have no idea, but we will cling to His truth, continue to love with reckless abandon, and give thanks. Over and over and over, because none of this is promised to us. Not a day, or moment, is in our control. He is the object of our affection and our faith. He will sustain and comfort us. He will equip and prepare us. For what...only He knows.