Mountain Peace

The only advantage to the littles keeping each other awake until all hours of the night (seriously, I think I fell asleep before Grace last night) is that they sleep in nice and late in the morning occasionally, giving Mamma a blessed bit of time to herself. It's been an hour now since Carl left work, and I've had coffee and breakfast without either getting cold (did you know it is possible to drink an entire cup of coffee without having to reheat it? I didn't!), gone through Psalm 33, and am now going to see how much of a blog post I can get written before one or both of them comes down demanding bananas and orange-juice-and-milk (it sounds nasty, but it's the only way they will drink milk, so I don't complain).

We very heathen-ish-ly skipped church yesterday to take a long hike instead. It rained on and off all day on Saturday, and we have learned that if the littles don't get at least one full day of outdoor activity on the weekend, it makes for a much longer week. We figured God wouldn't smite us for skipping one Sunday.

Not only did he not smite us, the hike was glorious. I was not in a very happy mood during the drive (see above re. children not sleeping), mostly due to exhaustion and frustration over Joy's random and violent temper tantrums that have cropped up lately and made this last week miserable for everyone. So I had my doubts about the hike. Once we got there and started walking, things got better. The fact that the littles not only did not start clamoring to ride in the "pack-packs" (backpack carriers) immediately, but were quite insistent on walking by themselves, even climbing over slippery rocks and roots and going up steep hills without help, made it even better. Seeing the mountain laurel in bloom improved things yet again.

And when we reached the top of the mountain, and were there just the four of us, singing praises to God ... well, that just capped things off.

(The littles are now up. As I suspected, the very first word out of Gracie's mouth was "Na-na!" So while they are temporarily satiated with their bananas, I'll try to wrap this up with a point.)

We are learning firsthand, Carl and I, the difficulties of going against the grain. It's hard to talk about without sounding like we're falling into reverse snobbery - "all you little people doing what is expected, while we are SUFFERING for being DIFFERENT. And, of course, more spiritual."

But it's not like that at all. God calls all of us to different lives and different paths, and we know that there isn't one way to live that's more spiritual and/or better for everyone. It just - Carl's a structural engineer. He designs bridges. One of the best and safest jobs you can have in America right now, right? Except he's miserable. God is calling him to change direction drastically. Go back to school for theology. Get his doctorate, probably overseas. Teach at the college level, either here or in another country, we can't even think that far ahead yet. Give up engineering to train others in the knowledge and love of God.

It's awesome and exciting and scary, and while we are so ready to do this, we've been finding obstacle after obstacle thrown in our path. Sometimes it's something simple, like just being tired. Sometimes it's people, people who ought to be encouraging but instead try to make Carl feel guilty, like he's being an irresponsible husband and father by changing careers like this (psst - professors can support families, too, shockingly enough). Sometimes it's things at work being so stressful and consuming that Carl can't think beyond the office. Sometimes it's children being so trying that he can't take any time away from helping me when he's home for studying. Sometimes it's just the overwhelming hugeness and unknownness of it all.

Sunday, standing up on that mountaintop, looking over the wondrous creation God has given to his people, we found some grounding, some reassurance. His peace seeped in and gave us strength. As we hoisted the girls on our backs for the climb back down, I grinned cheekily at Carl and said "This is it, babe, our testing. If we can make it down this mountain hauling these two, we can do anything, even go to Chicago for your school. If not, we might as well give up and settle for middle-class complacency."

We made it down.

Ascribe Glory

Psalm 29

1 Ascribe to the Lord, O heavenly beings, 
ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.
2 Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name;
worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness. 

3 The voice of the Lord is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders,
the Lord, over many waters.
4 The voice of the Lord is powerful;
the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.

5 The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars;
the Lord breaks the cedars of Lebanon.
6 He makes Lebanon to skip like a calf,
and Sirion like a young wild ox.

7 The voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire.
8 The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness;
the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

9 The voice of the Lord makes the deer give birth 
and strips the forests bare,
and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”

10 The Lord sits enthroned over the flood;
the Lord sits enthroned as king forever.
11 May the Lord give strength to his people!
May the Lord bless his people with peace!

I have been studying through the Psalms for quite a while now (and by "quite a while," I mean "I study diligently for a time, then something happens and I take a couple days off, then I forget until my spiritual life gets rocky, at which point I begin the cycle over again." Just to keep it real). I read this one a few days ago, and I keep coming back to it, just to re-read and soak in its glory.

I wanted to share my notes from vv 10-11 (most specifically v 11):

The Lord, the sovereign one over all creation, also loves and protects his people. No matter how dreadful the storms of this world may seem, Yahweh powerfully and lovingly guides his children through them. In the midst of a world that can often seem overset by chaos, there is peace in the reminder of God’s glory, power, and sovereignty.

Such comfort and hope in this thought! This world is so often a sorrowful and frightening place, and knowing that there is a loving father ( if there's one thing I've learned through my Old Testament studies, it's the concept of hesed, which loosely translates to "lovingkindness" and contains the idea of the loving covenantal relationship God (always referred to as Yahweh when speaking of him in the covenantal sense) has with his people) who is not only in control over all the strange forces of this life, but who cares personally for us, covering us with his gentle protective hand, at the same time mighty to save ...

This is the one thing I cling to, the one thing that keeps me going through the many storms of life. As it says in the children's song so well:

Jesus loves me, this I know ...

The God who created and still rules over this world, he created me, specifically and purposefully, and he loves me, no matter what. I can do nothing to lose his love, just as nothing I did earned it. He gives it freely and without price. Or rather - the price has already been paid, by his Son.

What a Savior!

Story Time With Joy

The story of Mr Jeremy Fisher
as told by Joy, age 3 and 1/2
Adapted from Beatrix Potter

Mamma: Once upon a time ...

Joy: There was a frog.

Mamma: What was his name?

Joy: His name was Mr Jeremy Fisher.

What did he do?

He lived in a house. With a window. He opened the window, and he went out.

What did he do then?

He went through the window back inside.

And then what happened?

He had a pink fork.

Anything else?

He had a spoon, too.

What else?

He had food.

What kind of food?

Spaghetti. A lot of spaghetti.

Then what did he do?

He ate all the spaghetti.

Was anyone with him?

No. He was all alone.

He must have been hungry!

He was!

What did he do after he was done with the spaghetti?

Nothing.

Is this the end of the story?

Yes.

Into the World, With Laughter

I peeked in the kitchen as the girls were sitting at their little table, Joy with a bowl of frozen blueberries and Grace almost finished with her apple, both of them still in their jammies. I blinked, and in an instant it almost seemed like I could see them several years down the road, still sitting at that table. Grace had colored pencils and a sheaf of paper, and she was busily drawing an elaborate and intricate map of her own world; while Joy, on the other side, had a long pencil and her hair falling across her face as she scribbled down a story for that world.

I have no idea if Joy will write stories, or Grace like to draw. I don't believe this was a "true vision" at all. I do believe that the girls will continue to be best friends as they grow up, sharing dreams and ideas and projects.

And it was nice, in that moment, to be reminded that they will not always be this small, this physically exhausting. Joy didn't fall asleep until 9:30 the previous night. Grace was closer to 10:30, and then she was up by 6:30 in the morning (darn second-year molars! Though I'm utterly thankful they seem to be moving in more quickly than Joy's did, so I am trying to hold onto that to temper my frustration), cranky ever since.

These days are difficult, but they are laying a foundation for the rest of the girls' childhoods. These are the days that set the pattern. Not that things can't change, but even change is built off the beginning.

I'm glad, even with everything else that I wonder if I'm screwing up, that their foundation is friendship, love, and creativity.

And laughter. Always, lots of laughter.

Thanking God for His Grace

This morning, for a change, Joy got up before Grace. And, also for a change, she didn't run right over to Grace's bed to poke her awake (the few occasions that Joy has gotten up first, she seems to think it so odd that her sister is still sleeping that she immediately must remedy the situation). Instead, she came downstairs, and since Carl had already left for work, it was just the two of us. We snuggled on the couch for a while, resting and talking over our plans for the day and weekend and occasionally giggling as Joy poked me in the throat (gently, don't worry, it was really more like a light tap with her fingertip).

It was nice. Joy has never been my snuggler, so being able to just cuddle together for a little bit this morning was really wonderful.

Then we got up, I sliced up a banana for her, started heating up some quiche for me, and we went out to the porch for breakfast. Before too long, Grace woke up and wandered out of the bedroom with her curls sticking out every which way (there are times I bitterly repent of my desire, before she was born, for a curly-haired child. I had no idea how much work those curls would be), grabbed a couple of her favorite stuffed animals, and came downstairs for her own banana.

It's been a nice, restful morning. I have changed a lot of my parenting practices these last few days, inspired by me once again breaking down this past Friday and getting too overwhelmed by it all, and then again on Monday. This has become far too frequent, and after a desperate, garbled prayer one night before falling asleep, the kind that is one giant run-on sentence with no cohesion, that only a Divine Being could understand, I finally felt some peace. And, just as important, God gave me some practical ideas about how to change, also.

(Isn't it marvelous how he works? It's not just vague peace and love without any kind of direction or anything actually useful, but neither is it just cut-and-dried instructions on how to live. God is both, and more besides. He is truly awe-inspiring.)

So things have been getting better. I'm slowly, by grace, pruning away more of the old, selfish Louise, and hopefully emerging as a better person. I've already noticed an improvement in my relationship with the girls, and I think (though it may be a hopeful delusion) seen an improvement in their behavior in general.

(Side note - Joy is helping Gracie on with her sandals, and just sternly told her not to squirrel - I think she meant squirm. And then she sweetly said "Mamma? Could you please help Grace with her shoes?" Cue the heart-melting.)

Now I'm completely distracted. Where was I going with this?

I don't remember (I also haven't been sleeping well again lately, due to heat and small children waking up early and being just in general too tired to sleep, which always seems manifestly unfair). But I do remember God's words to me, so I'll close with them:

"You are not a bad mother, wife, daughter, friend, and everything else you've been saying. You are my child, and I love you. Yes, you have made mistakes, and have been getting set into bad habits. You are human, after all. Is it pride making you want to be perfect? You will always make mistakes, but by my grace, you will be able to do better. I will help you, and you will do better. Stop fretting."

And by his grace, I am doing better.

Thank goodness for grace.

Say What?

As we were walking through the park this afternoon, Joy with me and Grace with Papa, I thought I heard Joy say,

"I have to go find Papa sexy."

My head immediately whipped around to make sure nobody had heard her, and then I started wondering desperately where she had heard that - Carl and I have been SO careful in what we say around little ears ever since she got old enough to start imitating our words.

"Um, Joy?" trying to sound nonchalant. "What did you say?"

She gives me her patented disgusted stare at having to repeat herself. "I have to go find Papa and Sissy!"

My heart started beating again. Oh. Alrighty then. I let her run on ahead to catch up to Papa and, er, Sissy - and then, I confess, I burst into helpless giggles.

I mean, sure, I find him sexy, kid, but not you!

English Muffins and Love

My mom makes the best English Muffins. She always toasts them just right, and loads them with butter that melts and runs down your hand when you take a bite. They are divine.

I'm sitting on the porch with my coffee, listening to the girls' Pandora station, and Grace is in my lap, bobbing her head from side to side in time to the music. Joy is in the chair next to mine, eating an English Muffin. I did my best, but it's not like Oma's.

A little while ago, I had an experience I described as "a rubber band that has been stretched to its extreme limits for six years finally snapping back into place." It hurt a little, but oh, the relief was exquisite. I finally felt like me again. It didn't come from an outside experience, either, just a frank chat between God and me. It was pretty awesome, actually.

Spending ten days with my family, especially with seeing grand old friends the first weekend, and my extended family the second, served to really root me in that grounding process that began all those weeks ago.

My parents have made incredible sacrifices for my sister and me, for over thirty years. Yet if you ask them, they wouldn't look at it as anything remarkable. That's just what parents do. Even when their kids are grown, they insist on paying for a special night out. They give up their own dreams to work a job that pays the bills so their family can have food and a roof over their heads. They drive five hours to be their daughter's patient for her dental hygiene finals. They come to visit their other daughter and spend the weekend taking care of little chores she can't do on her own. They give up their limited free time to fix our clothes so they fit us right, or adjust an outlet in the basement so we can fill the small pool for relaxing on a hot day.

They make the world's best English Muffins.

I'm not there yet. I still struggle with wanting my own thing, instead of doing what is best for my kids. I am, by nature, selfish and indolent, and always have been. It will take a major work of grace in my life to overcome that. But I'm working on it. One English Muffin at a time, one small sacrifice at a time.

It may take me thirty years, but I hope by the time my kids are grown, they are able to see my love for them shown in such tangible ways as my sister and I can see in my parents.

With their example before me, I really have no excuse for anything less.