Silence the Tears

I had started a marvelously anguished post last night, all about feeling lonely and inadequate, and weep, weep weep.

I went to bed before I had a chance to finish it, and this morning I deleted it. Not because anything has changed--I still feel lonely and inadequate. It's all perfectly clear in my mind, too--I could probably write several posts on how I've always played second fiddle, first to my sister and then to my husband, and how tiring that gets; how I just feel like I'm floundering in the dark when it comes to this parenting thing, and can't get any help; how I feel so isolated from friends ...

But really, would sharing all that with the blogging world change anything? I might feel temporarily better for having spilled it all out, but it wouldn't solve anything. I wouldn't suddenly become a better mother for talking about how I worry I'm not doing enough with my children; I wouldn't have dozens of friends knocking down my door because I wrote about being lonely; etc, etc.

It would end up being nothing more than a self-indulgence for me (true, there are those who consider blogging at all a major self-indulgence, but that's not my point). And if I write well enough and powerfully enough, it just might end up depressing my readers. Not exactly what I want my blog to be known for: "Oh yeah, Child of Grace, that's that gloomy, angsty blog." I would prefer to have people say: "Child of Grace, that's the blog that always makes me praise God when I come away from it!"

So, I will merely say that, even when I don't feel like it, God is enough. I may be inadequate, but he is more than adequate. Even when I feel lonely and isolated, he is always there. I may always live in someone else's shadow, but ultimately I live in his shadow, and there is no better place to be.

Life may not always be good, my friends. We will always have valleys. There will always be frustrations. Human beings--especially ourselves--will always disappoint.

But ultimately, God is good.

No matter what.

True Love

It sweeps over me unexpectedly, this sudden, fierce love. Without warning, without, even, an apparent reason, the wave comes. Looking at her face, all I can think is: "This is my child. Mine. God's gift, granted me to hold, to love, to protect. She is mine."

It is not tender, this love, though it can express itself in acts of tenderness. It is not soft, not sweet, not gentle. It is powerful, strong, overwhelming. It is a love that will do anything to protect its beloved, make any sacrifice just to see that face light up with a smile and those blue eyes glow.

There is no explanation for this love. There is no name for it, no adequate definition. It simply is.

As I marvel at it, I suddenly realize that this must be the type of love that sent the Son to the cross. A love that is so strong it will let nothing stand in its way. A love that defeats even death. This love that says: "This is My child, and nothing will take her from Me."

And then I realize that this love does have a Name, after all. Its name is Jesus Christ.

And His name is Love.

My beloveds

Bubble Magic

As promised, pictures of Carl and Joy (mostly Joy) playing with bubbles while camping.

Dancing with the Bubbles


Catch it!


How does Papa do that?



Sheer Magic!!!

And back again ...

I put Joy (loudly protesting) down for a nap at 10:30. She wailed and was starting to scramble up as I closed the door. Five minutes later, silence reigned.

I just now checked on her (at 2:30), because she never sleeps this long anymore. She was sound asleep at the other end of her crib from where I had placed her originally, leading me to speculate that she only made it that far before collapsing and succumbing to sleep.

And then staying asleep for four hours. The girl who has only been sleeping for two hours for the last few months.

That, my friends, just might be the most effective description of our weekend I can give.

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I will not be posting anything about the family reunion/camping trip (except maybe a few pictures of Joy and Carl playing with bubbles), mainly because I don't want to lose all credibility as a blogger, and nobody would ever believe anything I wrote ever again if I told you about the trip.

I am quite serious. The high point of the trip--and possibly the only good memory I can take from it--was the aforementioned bubble play between Joy and Carl and my cousin's five-year-old son. My grandmother started smoking again after having quit for good a few months ago. My brother-in-law begged to leave early with Carl and me, even offering to squish between the girls' carseats for the entire four-hour trip. My sister went through half a bottle of wine in one night--and if consumption of large amounts of alcohol was not considered bad for nursing mothers, I probably would have had the other half.

It was painful (and I really hope none of my mother's family reads this blog, but there's a reason I don't have a link to it from my facebook page. I need some place to vent about personal matters without worrying about offending anyone).

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On a happier note, I will most likely be doing one or two posts from the other part of our weekend, the wedding of a very dear friend back home. That was still exhausting, but worth it.

Although I do have to say that seeing a kid you used to baby-sit--and realizing he's the same age you were when you got married--kiss his new bride makes you feel old.

Especially when you have just seen his younger brother holding a girl's hand.

So posts from that will likely take up the rest of this week.

And next weekend we get to travel again for the annual family reunion on my husband's side!

I might start taking four-hour naps after that.

Tired Out

I shouldn't be writing. Joy is upstairs with a massively stinky diaper, and she has a tendency to sneak into the baby's room to play (and pull all Grace's clothes out of the cupboard) when she thinks she can get away with it.

But I'm tired and stressed today, and when Grace is sleeping and Joy is playing contentedly upstairs, I can pretend, for a couple minutes, that I'm not a mom.

Not that I don't want to be a mom. I love my girls. If anything ever happened to them, my heart would shatter. But I'm not going to lie, my first thought this morning, as I brought Grace into bed with me to eat, was "I am so sick of training children." I'm just tired of always having to tell Joy do this, don't do that, say please and thank you, DO NOT pick that scab on your cheek that has been there for over a month because you won't leave it alone and bandaids make you break out into a rash and I am deathly afraid that it's never going to heal now ...

Grace doesn't need so much training, but even already with her we've started the basics--sleep when it's nighttime, only cry when you need something, when Mamma is taking care of your sister you have to wait your turn ...

I always wanted to be an aunt. Aunts get all the fun of playing with the kids without any hassle of training them. It's hard work, being a parent. It's a weighty responsibility, knowing that how your child ends up as an adult is largely based on how you raised him or her. Every little thing we do is scrutinized and imitated. That's great fun when I turn around after dusting the end table to see Joy polishing a coaster with a tissue; not so much when she growls or sighs when Carl and I are frustrated. There's never a break.

I know self-control is an important skill. It's one I'm trying to instill in the girls! But it's difficult when you have to practice it 24/7, knowing that any little slip is going to be disastrous. Just yesterday, when I exclaimed "OW!" after Carl (accidentally) whacked me between my shoulders with his elbow, Joy burst into tears because of my tone. It was an involuntary reaction (Carl has VERY sharp elbows), not even directed at her, but it still affected her to the point where she was upset for the next half hour.

And so, I take advantage of moments, little breaks here and there, when Joy's not doing anything that could hurt her (though if I go upstairs to find that she's picked the liquid bandaid off AGAIN and opened up that scab I just might sit down on the floor and cry), and Grace is sleeping, to stop, breathe, and regain my equilibrium.

After all, eighteen years isn't so far away, is it?

Writing Inspiration

I don't know if this is common to all new moms, or just to me, but I seem to have what I can only describe as a post-baby creative rush right around two months. With Joy, I managed to whisk together not one, but two scrapbooks right before Christmas (one for my parents, one for Carl's mom). This time around, I suddenly want to write and write and write. Earlier this weekend I did another chapter in Weeping May Tarry, my LMM fanfic. I also started a new Narnia fanfic, and am currently working on the second chapter of that. I also started writing part two of my romance novel, after realizing that I was going to have to make it a two-part novel instead of a novel and sequel (length issues).

I just want to write all day long. Unfortunately, I have children and a husband who require at least a modicum of attention, and last week I started deep cleaning the house (and did it ever need it--I think the upstairs bathroom hadn't been thoroughly cleaned since the previous tenant moved in eight years ago), so the writing is spotty.

But boy, is it ever fun to feel all this inspiration rushing to my fingertips again.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go vacuum my couch.

Five Years

Five years ago today, Carl and I got married. ("Got married" sounds such a prosaic way of putting it. "Were wed?" Too contrived. "Became one?" Too eye-rolling. "Were joined in holy matrimony?" Give me a break. I guess I'll stick with my original.)

I was twenty-two; he was twenty-one. He had just barely graduated from college and started a new job; I still had two years left on my BA and was more than happy to be leaving my job of eight years.

We would be moving to a new city, a new state, the first time in my life that I would be living away from home.

We had big plans for our future--Carl was going to get his Master's in engineering in a few years. He was going to work his way up, to become the CEO of his own firm eventually. We thought we might settle in Colorado at that point, build a big house in the mountains.

Oh yeah, and we were also going to have four to five kids (*snort*).

Now, Carl is still an engineer, but is working toward seminary. He wants to get a Master's of Theology, not engineering. Instead of becoming the CEO of his own firm, he wants to get his doctorate and teach New Testament at a seminary. The big house in the mountains of Colorado? Gone, replaced by any place that can hold us, anywhere in the world. (England, please please please.)

And we have two children and are quite happy to stop there, thank you very much.

My goals haven't changed--finish school, become a published author--but I've become more flexible about the timeline. Right now the family is my top priority. School will still be there in a few years. All the writing I'm doing now isn't wasted; even if none of my current works get published, they are all learning experiences.

It's amazing to see how five years has changed our goals and our dreams. On our wedding day, I never could have imagined that five years in the future, I would be sitting at a desk typing these words, with the baby sleeping upstairs and the toddler munching frozen blueberries in her high chair and interrupting me every half-dozen words to inform me that a truck went by. ("Guck! By.") I couldn't have imagined that I would be back in my home state and delighted to be there, in a city I had grown up abhorring. I never would have guessed that I would have happily shelved my goals for a few years to help Carl pursue his crazy, backward dream of giving up the "good American life" to step out in faith and pursue seminary and teaching, perhaps even overseas at some point (England, please please please).

I certainly could not have forseen the growth we would both experience over these five years, how we would go through struggles and trials and joys and become closer through it all. I could not have envisioned loving Carl more now than I did then.

But I do. And I can't wait to see what the next five years bring.

Love you, Babe. There's no one I'd rather be experiencing this "joint venture" with than you.

Reminisce

I was looking through some old pictures today, and came across ones that I took on the Fourth of July last year. I can't get over how much Joy has changed in a year! I can't help but wonder what next year's pictures of both girls will look like. I'm sure I will marvel then, too.

Picture Post

Not much time for blogging today ... my sister is visiting and we're planning on having real life fun, instead of my usual "I only have life on the internet" fun. So in lieu of a post, I leave you with pictures from Sunday, a beautiful day in the park with our beautiful family.

Simple Joys

Some things for which I'm grateful ...

Simple joy gotten out of a disposable pan turned vehicle for adventure

Blue sky and bluer river on a Sunday drive through the Adirondacks

Papa and his girls sharing a "forever moment."

Brave adventurer, exploring on her own ...

... and always returning to Mamma's arms

And at this particular moment, I'm happy for a sleeping baby in her swing, a happy toddler playing with her toys, a good night's sleep last night, and a rapidly-approaching weekend.

What are you grateful for today?

From My Youth ...

For you, O Lord, are my hope,
my trust, O Lord, from my youth.
Upon you I have leaned from before my birth;
you are he who took me from my mother's womb.
My praise is continually of you.
Psalm 71:5-6

I have always felt a little embarrassed about sharing my testimony. It always just seemed too simple. "I was three years old when I asked my mom what it meant to be a Christian, she explained, and I prayed and asked God to forgive my sins and make me his child, and I've been a Christian ever since." I never strayed from the Lord, never had any spectacular sins from which he saved me, just lived a life of simple, steady faith.

People like to hear the impressive testimonies: "I was a vile sinner and God lifted me from the pit." Those are the ones that make us say "Wow, what an amazing and powerful God we worship." My husband's testimony, of God using divorce, teenage rebellion, and a broken heart to bring him to his knees in repentance and faith, leading him to the point he is now, of working toward becoming a professor of New Testament at a seminary somewhere (England, please?), is one that causes people to shake their heads in wonder. Then they turn to me, expecting something equally impressive, and I blush and stammer out my simple words, and see their faces fall as they politely murmur "how nice."

In recent years, though, I've slowly come to realize that I am wrong to be ashamed of my simple testimony. Something DA Carson once said in a sermon, quoting the above verses, first made me think of testimonies in a new light, and the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that we (human beings in general) have a wrong emphasis when it comes to hearing someone's tale of salvation.

Shouldn't we be more impressed by the story of one whom the Lord saved at a young age, and kept safe ever since? Shouldn't our eyes shine with wonder and awe at hearing someone honestly say "I have served the Lord ever since I was a child"? Someone who has seen and experienced the depths of sin, only to taste salvation at the end, yes, that is marvelous, but isn't it more marvelous when a person doesn't have to endure any of that, through his or her faithful following of Christ?

As LM Montgomery puts it in Anne of Avonlea:

"What are you thinking of, Anne?" asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

"Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving," answered Anne dreamily. "Isn't it beautiful to think how everything has turned out. . .how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?"

"Yes, it's beautiful," said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face, "but wouldn't it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding. . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?"

I think Gilbert had the right idea--one way may be more romantic, but the other is more beautiful.

Or maybe, just maybe, there shouldn't be any "more" impressive or "less" impressive. Maybe every tale of salvation ought to bring us to our knees in worship, because every story is another individual picture of God's amazing grace. Because however simple our story may seem, it all points back to a God who is at once more simple, and infinitely more impressive, than anything else.

After all, isn't it all, in the end, about him, not us?

Captured Memories

Just some fun pictures from our weekend north ...

Grace looking ever-so-sweet in her strawberry outfit, nestled snugly in her Papa's arms.

Joy being about as cute as any 20-month-old could ever possibly be

Playing with the ball in Oma and Aunt Lis's little pool. The water was FREEZING--way too cold for swimming, but I held Joy (my legs went numb) and let her splash the ball around. Great fun!

My little flower child, on the way home.

Mamma and her girls. Yes, Grace is screaming. She had just finished eating and was ready to be burped, not photographed.

I Can be Pretty Sneaky, When Required

So, we totally pulled off the surprise. As I was unbuckling Joy from her carseat, Dad came barrelling out the side door, exclaiming, "No way!" followed by Mom who was wailing that the house was a mess and the guest room bed covered in clothes. Then they both cried a little.

Tee hee hee.

Poor Lis had to bear the brunt of Mom's indignation over the surprise. "How could you let me let the house get so dirty?" she asked. "Why didn't you make me clean?" Lis defended herself as best she could (I couldn't figure out a way to get you to clean without giving anything away!") and I finally interceded on her behalf by saying I was the one who insisted on keeping it a secret. I, however, received no censure for my role in it.

All in all, a very satisfactory result.

The ride up was beautiful--driving through the Adirondacks, seeing the mountains through the rainy mist, looking at all the lakes along the way, singing along with the soundtrack from "O Brother Where Art Thou" to keep Joy amused ... Grace is a marvelous traveler; she slept the entire way except for when she needed to eat. Joy still gets fussy after a couple of hours, but at least she was willing to be entertained by music.

We sat around and chatted last night (and drank some of Mom's black raspberry honey mead--mmm), and this morning has been spent relaxing and watching Joy express her delight at seeing Oma and Grandpa again. Oh yes, and eating. Dad has tomorrow off, and hopefully the weather will cooperate so we can have some outdoor fun!

Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday weekend! (Well, all my fellow Yanks. You Canadians will simply have to settle for a wonderful non-holiday weekend. Which is still pretty nice.)

Anniversary Wishes

Today is Lis and David's fourth wedding anniversary. Happy Anniversary, you two! Here's to many more years of laughter and love. (And occasional kisses--ew, PDA!)

Excitement

Mom and Dad? I don't know if you guys ever read this (I know someone from home shows up occasionally on my site meter, but I suspect that's Lis. Or maybe Karen. Or SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW WHO'S STALKING ME.)

Anyway, if you guys do ever read this blog, and if you're reading this particular post, stop. Right now. Lis and I are planning something for you guys, and while I want to talk about it, I don't want to ruin the surprise. Like all those birthday presents Lis spoiled by accidentally seeing them beforehand.

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Okay. I am trusting that my parents (who might or might not even read this, ever) have heeded my warning and are no longer reading.

We're going home for the Fourth of July!!!! We leave Thursday afternoon and won't come back until Sunday. We have not (obviously) told my parents, and Lis and I are so excited to see their faces when Carl and I just show up tomorrow night. I told Lis to have the camera ready.

(Lis--Elisabeth, also occasionally referred to as Beth (by me only) or Lizzie--is my sister, by the way. I don't know that I've ever clarified that on here. And she and her husband (David, referred to as David) have an apartment built on to my parents' house, where they live during the summer and school vacations. I might have mentioned that, but in case anyone was confused, I thought I should clarify.)

I came up with the idea spur of the moment last Sunday. Carl wasn't sure about it at first, seeing as how we're both so tired, and Joy is still fighting with that darn molar (do you know those things can take months to come in? Months.), and Grace is not-quite six weeks ...

But he firmly solidified his title as Best Husband Ever by changing his mind last night and agreeing to go.

I am amazed at how much energy I suddenly have. It's not quite 1:00, and I have my suitcase packed with my stuff and Grace's, am ready to pack Joy's as soon as her clothes come out of the dryer, tidied the living room, done laundry, tidied the bedroom ...

Carl should bribe me with a treat every weekend. I'm like a new person.

Of course, that box of chocolate Mom and Lis sent in the mail might be helping, too.