When I am eating in a healthy fashion, which I am so far today, although Papa John's is on the menu tonight, and I have no plan, there is a smallish list of healthy wonderful things I like to eat that are delicious and completely healthy for my pregnant (or otherwise) self. So here is one.
Healthy chicken salad on bell pepper
Whatcha need: About 3/4 cup cooked shredded chicken (no pressure, but the tastier the chicken, the tastier the chicken salad)
A cleaned finely chopped stalk of celery
1/2 cup cottage cheese, low fat if you like
A bell pepper, halved with the junk scraped out
Some chopped walnuts, optional
Whatcha do: (in case it isn't obvious)
Mix everything but the bell pepper together in a bowl and stuff it in the bell pepper or maybe two, with a little salt and pepper
I would have hated this whole thing before going off sugar, by the way, but now, though I'm not excited while making it because what I really want is a bowl of crunchy raisin bran, it is really delicious and satisfying, full of veggies and protein for me.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Empty(er) nest
Right this moment, 5 of my children are at 2 different birthday parties, 2 are sleeping and one is upstairs doing a chore. Leaving 4 with me. Sort of. One of the four is deeply engaged in a well earned computer turn, conquering trolls, I believe, and a second is longingly looking over his shoulder.
My house feels very quiet and empty.
In an hour, all but 2 will be here, awake, and hungry. But those 2 will not return until tomorrow. And my house, even teeming with 10 young people, will feel "alone and in the winter" until they return.
Sure, we'll eat less food tonight, there will doubtless be less fighting, and the girls will not have to talk as loud to make themselves heard. Not worth it. I miss them. We all do.
And I wonder again, for the thousandth time, if a day will come when I don't feel like a part of my heart has gone walking around somewhere outside my body.
It's not that I don't have anything else to do. There are socks to match, dishes to do, songs to compose and record someday, maybe even a book to write. There are lots of fun and/or meaningful things I could see doing someday. And be content doing them. But the reality, I suspect, is that my favorite times will always be when my children are with me, and that the times when they are all here will happen less and less.
I just really like them. That's why I keep having them. I like them as babies, as toddlers, as little punks, as preteens, as young adults. They keep getting better and better. I love their faces and smiles and jokes and songs and games.
Thanks, God, for letting me be my children's mama. Thank You for today and tomorrow. Thanks for the hugs and kisses, the sick day snuggles, the battles to learn new things and the confidence acquired in the process. Thanks for letting me see bits of fruit. Make me a wise steward of what You trust me with. They are Yours, not mine. And I am also Yours.
My house feels very quiet and empty.
In an hour, all but 2 will be here, awake, and hungry. But those 2 will not return until tomorrow. And my house, even teeming with 10 young people, will feel "alone and in the winter" until they return.
Sure, we'll eat less food tonight, there will doubtless be less fighting, and the girls will not have to talk as loud to make themselves heard. Not worth it. I miss them. We all do.
And I wonder again, for the thousandth time, if a day will come when I don't feel like a part of my heart has gone walking around somewhere outside my body.
It's not that I don't have anything else to do. There are socks to match, dishes to do, songs to compose and record someday, maybe even a book to write. There are lots of fun and/or meaningful things I could see doing someday. And be content doing them. But the reality, I suspect, is that my favorite times will always be when my children are with me, and that the times when they are all here will happen less and less.
I just really like them. That's why I keep having them. I like them as babies, as toddlers, as little punks, as preteens, as young adults. They keep getting better and better. I love their faces and smiles and jokes and songs and games.
Thanks, God, for letting me be my children's mama. Thank You for today and tomorrow. Thanks for the hugs and kisses, the sick day snuggles, the battles to learn new things and the confidence acquired in the process. Thanks for letting me see bits of fruit. Make me a wise steward of what You trust me with. They are Yours, not mine. And I am also Yours.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Hormones
Quote from daughter number 3 on a particularly tough day, "I told them I have hormones, and they didn't even CARE!"
Hormones are raging at my house, and it's not just me. I have 2 teenagers who have leveled off and are mostly delightful. But I have 3 pre-teens who are each and all a huge mess. And I, myself, am a mess. Together, well, there is a good amount of screaming, crying, and flat out despair. We are all more vulnerable to those particular fabrications of the enemy that creep up mostly when we are tired. As my 4th daughter used to say, "nobody's mad at me".
I'm reaping what I'm sowing, of course. Me. I am one big fat example of not self control. And I do mean fat. Sugar free chocolate is not my friend. Instead of creatively digging into the goodness God has provided in healthy veggies and proteins, my carb craving machine is all fired up and I'm out of control. My attitude is lousy.
I don't know if I've ever felt uglier. My rosacea is pretty bad. Make up helps, but not enough to make me want to do it every day. It just makes me look like a covered up bumpy mess instead of a red angry bumpy mess. I am the proud owner of some very expensive night serum, which I put on when I remember, day or night. But even if it would really work I'm not consistent enough to really fix it. I'm too lazy to wear contacts every day, and my glasses are bent and scratched.
I have often thought I am the biggest loser and the duggars rolled into one, but what I really need is an extreme makeover and clean sweep episode as well.
So in the midst of all this vomitous suckiness, I had my little devotional set at the house of prayer today. 2 sometimes wonderful hours with me, Jesus, a piano, a microphone and a handful of people coming in and out. And for a few significant moments, it was just me and Him. And, incredibly, as it turns out, He still really loves me and likes me and wants to be with me and is pleased with me and isn't firing me and wants me to try again and promises to help me. Isn't that just unbelievable?!
So somehow, tomorrow morning, I hope to convey some of that wonderful, matchless grace of Jesus (sing it if you know it ... "deeper than the mighty rolling sea") to all the other walking hormones. And perhaps, by that matchless grace, we'll all survive the week.
Hormones are raging at my house, and it's not just me. I have 2 teenagers who have leveled off and are mostly delightful. But I have 3 pre-teens who are each and all a huge mess. And I, myself, am a mess. Together, well, there is a good amount of screaming, crying, and flat out despair. We are all more vulnerable to those particular fabrications of the enemy that creep up mostly when we are tired. As my 4th daughter used to say, "nobody's mad at me".
I'm reaping what I'm sowing, of course. Me. I am one big fat example of not self control. And I do mean fat. Sugar free chocolate is not my friend. Instead of creatively digging into the goodness God has provided in healthy veggies and proteins, my carb craving machine is all fired up and I'm out of control. My attitude is lousy.
I don't know if I've ever felt uglier. My rosacea is pretty bad. Make up helps, but not enough to make me want to do it every day. It just makes me look like a covered up bumpy mess instead of a red angry bumpy mess. I am the proud owner of some very expensive night serum, which I put on when I remember, day or night. But even if it would really work I'm not consistent enough to really fix it. I'm too lazy to wear contacts every day, and my glasses are bent and scratched.
I have often thought I am the biggest loser and the duggars rolled into one, but what I really need is an extreme makeover and clean sweep episode as well.
So in the midst of all this vomitous suckiness, I had my little devotional set at the house of prayer today. 2 sometimes wonderful hours with me, Jesus, a piano, a microphone and a handful of people coming in and out. And for a few significant moments, it was just me and Him. And, incredibly, as it turns out, He still really loves me and likes me and wants to be with me and is pleased with me and isn't firing me and wants me to try again and promises to help me. Isn't that just unbelievable?!
So somehow, tomorrow morning, I hope to convey some of that wonderful, matchless grace of Jesus (sing it if you know it ... "deeper than the mighty rolling sea") to all the other walking hormones. And perhaps, by that matchless grace, we'll all survive the week.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Flunking Afro Hair
I struggle, often, especially around African-American strangers, with being a peach mom of a brown daughter. More specifically, I wrestle with being the straight haired, pressed for time mother with soon to be a dozen other children of a girl with marvelously curly black hair that I can either train to be worn "free" and get endless feedback and disapproving looks from said African-American strangers, or I (or eldest daughter) can learn to and devote many future hours to significant styling routines.
Eventually, my course will be determined by her preferences. But for now, it is mostly about not putting too much effort into hair that will have her breakfast, lunch, and dinner smeared into it within hours, counterbalanced with the desire to not have other people think I suck, and should have adopted a child with easier hair.
The very great reality here, however, is that she is my DAUGHTER. She is mine. She is engraved in my heart. Whether or not her hair style pleases others, she is completely and totally my own child. I will try to pull it together on the hair front. But I must never connect that particular skill set with my qualification as her mama.
What other people think of my parenting is not my gradecard. My gradecard is grace and favor and peace from the One Who delights in me and delights to give me good gifts. He is faithful and able to give me everything I need to be the mama He made me to be, for each of my overwhelming and larger than my time and confidence allows children. I am not big, strong, wise, capable enough, nor do I have enough time, but He is, and He does. Hollar back.
Eventually, my course will be determined by her preferences. But for now, it is mostly about not putting too much effort into hair that will have her breakfast, lunch, and dinner smeared into it within hours, counterbalanced with the desire to not have other people think I suck, and should have adopted a child with easier hair.
The very great reality here, however, is that she is my DAUGHTER. She is mine. She is engraved in my heart. Whether or not her hair style pleases others, she is completely and totally my own child. I will try to pull it together on the hair front. But I must never connect that particular skill set with my qualification as her mama.
What other people think of my parenting is not my gradecard. My gradecard is grace and favor and peace from the One Who delights in me and delights to give me good gifts. He is faithful and able to give me everything I need to be the mama He made me to be, for each of my overwhelming and larger than my time and confidence allows children. I am not big, strong, wise, capable enough, nor do I have enough time, but He is, and He does. Hollar back.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
resolved:
I have a half written song called 'new day's resolution', which, ironically, I will likely never finish. It goes,
This is my new day's resolution
I'm gonna write more and sing right
And put some cream on my wart at night
I'm gonna talk less and listen more
And self-control the slamming of the doors
If New Year's Eve is the only occasion for saying, "It's time to try harder," then we are really kidding ourselves, aren't we?
But this isn't about your ordinary, run of the mill, self-improvements. This is about pregnancy/labor/delivery. Yes, I'm only 10ish weeks, but as I am pregnant, there's nothing I'd rather really talk about, so, here are the things I am hoping for with this dozenth pregnancy. (drumroll, please)
This stands to be my healthiest, thinnest, and therefore, lowest blood pressurest (just when you thought the grammar couldn't get any worse) pregnancy. I hope very much to stay on course living without sugar and caffeine, which I don't need, without empty carbs, which I also don't need, and with lots of protein and veggies and water, which I do.
The only way, really, to pull that monkeyshine off, is to stay in very near proximity to my Jesus, Who meets my emotional/hormonal need for comfort on a moment by moment basis. I am trying to read His Word more and What To Expect When You're Expecting and prego blogs and Babycenter.com and Childbirth.org articles and birth stories way less. (I've probably read What To Expect 25 times, parts of it more, could ace a quiz on it).
(less firmly resolved, but convinced of the need) I would really, really, honestly really like to try to move my butt a couple times a day for a few minutes a day, to the tune of 10 whole minutes on the treadmill, or walking up and down my stairs a dozen times, or taking the dog up the block to potty. Even once a day. Would like to try.
About labor, as always, would like to not be induced. This could happen! I can keep my weight down, walk, take the bp meds if necessary, and just let labor start. For those of you who have not quite memorized each of my numerous birth stories, I have only had 2, count 'em, two babies without the glorious blessing of pitocin. That is for sure a goal.
Either way, I am definitely looking for some changes in the labor and delivery. I am resolved not to care if the doctor makes it. I will not focus on the ever pressing question, "Are you feeling any pressure?" ("By the time I feel pressure, there likely isn't time for him to get here without the help of a transporter beam.") I am resolved to focus on each individual contraction as another step toward my baby. I don't care if it takes a couple days. I will not rush or be hurried through one of my favorite things.
And I have regretted every epidural experience but the first. I can do it without it. One contraction at a time, I can do it. I will dance and pray and worship my way through, not asking how long it will take, just enjoying (er, sort of) the journey. I won't get to have many more babies. Giving birth is one of my very favoritest things. I will cherish it. This is something God and I, and my husband, toward the end, do together.
I will eat healthyish in the hospital, and will not, so help me God, gain back all my pre-delivery weight in the weeks that follow the birth. This may mean deciding to pitch, rather than making it my personal mandate to finish off the marvelous vat of pasta con broccoli that my children have undervalued. I don't even know how to tell people what to bring, but I will figure it out by then. Veggie trays, salads without fruits, soups, if desserts, small amounts.
I will nurse whenever and for however long this baby wants to nurse. Even non stop, at first.
I guess that's a lot. I always think, at the beginning of pregnancy, how can I do better? This is how. Here's to the healthiest pregnancy ever (for me)! Cheers!
This is my new day's resolution
I'm gonna write more and sing right
And put some cream on my wart at night
I'm gonna talk less and listen more
And self-control the slamming of the doors
If New Year's Eve is the only occasion for saying, "It's time to try harder," then we are really kidding ourselves, aren't we?
But this isn't about your ordinary, run of the mill, self-improvements. This is about pregnancy/labor/delivery. Yes, I'm only 10ish weeks, but as I am pregnant, there's nothing I'd rather really talk about, so, here are the things I am hoping for with this dozenth pregnancy. (drumroll, please)
This stands to be my healthiest, thinnest, and therefore, lowest blood pressurest (just when you thought the grammar couldn't get any worse) pregnancy. I hope very much to stay on course living without sugar and caffeine, which I don't need, without empty carbs, which I also don't need, and with lots of protein and veggies and water, which I do.
The only way, really, to pull that monkeyshine off, is to stay in very near proximity to my Jesus, Who meets my emotional/hormonal need for comfort on a moment by moment basis. I am trying to read His Word more and What To Expect When You're Expecting and prego blogs and Babycenter.com and Childbirth.org articles and birth stories way less. (I've probably read What To Expect 25 times, parts of it more, could ace a quiz on it).
(less firmly resolved, but convinced of the need) I would really, really, honestly really like to try to move my butt a couple times a day for a few minutes a day, to the tune of 10 whole minutes on the treadmill, or walking up and down my stairs a dozen times, or taking the dog up the block to potty. Even once a day. Would like to try.
About labor, as always, would like to not be induced. This could happen! I can keep my weight down, walk, take the bp meds if necessary, and just let labor start. For those of you who have not quite memorized each of my numerous birth stories, I have only had 2, count 'em, two babies without the glorious blessing of pitocin. That is for sure a goal.
Either way, I am definitely looking for some changes in the labor and delivery. I am resolved not to care if the doctor makes it. I will not focus on the ever pressing question, "Are you feeling any pressure?" ("By the time I feel pressure, there likely isn't time for him to get here without the help of a transporter beam.") I am resolved to focus on each individual contraction as another step toward my baby. I don't care if it takes a couple days. I will not rush or be hurried through one of my favorite things.
And I have regretted every epidural experience but the first. I can do it without it. One contraction at a time, I can do it. I will dance and pray and worship my way through, not asking how long it will take, just enjoying (er, sort of) the journey. I won't get to have many more babies. Giving birth is one of my very favoritest things. I will cherish it. This is something God and I, and my husband, toward the end, do together.
I will eat healthyish in the hospital, and will not, so help me God, gain back all my pre-delivery weight in the weeks that follow the birth. This may mean deciding to pitch, rather than making it my personal mandate to finish off the marvelous vat of pasta con broccoli that my children have undervalued. I don't even know how to tell people what to bring, but I will figure it out by then. Veggie trays, salads without fruits, soups, if desserts, small amounts.
I will nurse whenever and for however long this baby wants to nurse. Even non stop, at first.
I guess that's a lot. I always think, at the beginning of pregnancy, how can I do better? This is how. Here's to the healthiest pregnancy ever (for me)! Cheers!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
indulgence vs denial
So I've been in this season of indulgence. I'm not eating sugar, not having (much) caffeine. But instead of living in a place where I am set apart for the Lord, drawing near to Him, forsaking legitimate earthly pleasures for the gaining of great eternal treasure, instead I've been walking out the equivalent of an "obedient" child *stomping* up to her room, slamming doors and kicking small children out of the way. Oh, I'm fasting. I'm a Nazirite, for crying out loud. I'm set apart, alright. I'm set apart with attitude.
And I'm eating everything but sugar and caffeine. And lots of it. And I'm miserable. I feel lousy. I'm amazing at 3 suit spider solitaire, though.
But that whole spirit vs flesh thing, my flesh has totally been winning. I'm not even trying. Just giving up and feeling crappy. Everyone's been sick. Now I'm sick. My regular clothes don't fit right and my pregnancy clothes don't fit right. And I am absolutely a raging hormonal maniac nearly all the time.
But eating for comfort and pleasure isn't helping me be healthier or stronger, physically or spiritually.
So today was different. I put my flesh down for the day. I feel that empty feeling, but also stronger and less disgusting, more in control in a submitted to God kind of way. Safe.
And I'm eating everything but sugar and caffeine. And lots of it. And I'm miserable. I feel lousy. I'm amazing at 3 suit spider solitaire, though.
But that whole spirit vs flesh thing, my flesh has totally been winning. I'm not even trying. Just giving up and feeling crappy. Everyone's been sick. Now I'm sick. My regular clothes don't fit right and my pregnancy clothes don't fit right. And I am absolutely a raging hormonal maniac nearly all the time.
But eating for comfort and pleasure isn't helping me be healthier or stronger, physically or spiritually.
So today was different. I put my flesh down for the day. I feel that empty feeling, but also stronger and less disgusting, more in control in a submitted to God kind of way. Safe.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
unlikely
i have a cold. not bad. several kids have something also. sometimes just the feeling of children who are not healthy is overwhelming. a recurring diaper rash, a dog who seems to think the living room is the appropriate place to poop, a broken dishwasher . . . all these gnaw away at my shakey perceptions regarding my own competence.
i am pretty hormonal, but am getting used to it. not sure if the people i live with are, but maybe.
we are back to the state of the laundry room floor being about 2.5 feet deep in somewhat clean if rather wrinkled clothes. seems like the laundry room floor is my act-together-ometer. it is how one could measure my margins. it is the first thing to go on a long, ever-growing list. so for weeks i've been in that daily scrape-through-to-find-a-couple-roughly-matched-socks-and-a-pair-of-underwear-or-just-stay-in-pajamas-because-that's-the-next-best-thing-to-staying-in-bed-which-is-what-i-really-want-to-do-anyway state of mind.
i shouldn't really be measuring right now, though. until friday (5 days ago) we were blessed with visiting family off and on for nearly a Christmas month, i'm in my first trimester and i'm sick. being behind on laundry is completely appropriate.
what's not appropriate is giving up. because i have lots of hope. i have lots of joy. and i have a baby growing in my belly. how marvelous.
my cousin is pregnant. i'm excited. sometimes when someone gets pregnant that isn't married, which is her case, we don't know how to respond. but really, that's kind of mixed up thinking, to me. most of the time, when that happens, we already knew they were messing around. we knew the situation was not what we desire most for her. that isn't news. whatever our response was to that life shouldn't really manifest now. (i know that sometimes people find out someone's activity because of a pregnancy, but usually, for discerning people, we already knew there were goings on.)
the news now is a baby. that's wonderful. a baby is wonderful. to get mad now because she is having a baby is ridiculously poor timing. now is a time to rejoice. a baby means God chose to do a good thing in her. He is up to something for her good. He loves her tremendously. i've been praying for her and i'm excited to see what He will do through this new life.
a baby is never bad news. even when created in seemingly difficult or unfavorable circumstances, even when it isn't the way we would have planned it ourselves, even when the person is poor or sickly or unmarried or already has more than a dozen kids or has an incompetent cervix or an incompetent husband. when God makes a human soul, God Who sees the end from the beginning, God Who does what He pleases, God Who does not make mistakes ever, it is always good. always. good.
if God thought it was a good idea to place a child in the womb of my cousin who i love, who isn't married yet, whose future i do not know, but whose good i desire, i can and will greatly rejoice.
and if God thinks it is a great idea to put another little one in my womb and heart, even if we are sick and messy and all i want to eat is carbs and i just want to go back to bed for a week, i will also greatly rejoice.
God is big into unlikely heroes. not many wise, not many noble. He loves making something of nothing. He loves warriors hiding in winepresses, youngest sons out in the fields counted out by everyone else, unmarried virgins, women too old to bear children, Moabitess widows, harlots, tax collectors, stinky shepherds and pagan astrologers. and my beautiful cousin. and me. He's like that.
i am pretty hormonal, but am getting used to it. not sure if the people i live with are, but maybe.
we are back to the state of the laundry room floor being about 2.5 feet deep in somewhat clean if rather wrinkled clothes. seems like the laundry room floor is my act-together-ometer. it is how one could measure my margins. it is the first thing to go on a long, ever-growing list. so for weeks i've been in that daily scrape-through-to-find-a-couple-roughly-matched-socks-and-a-pair-of-underwear-or-just-stay-in-pajamas-because-that's-the-next-best-thing-to-staying-in-bed-which-is-what-i-really-want-to-do-anyway state of mind.
i shouldn't really be measuring right now, though. until friday (5 days ago) we were blessed with visiting family off and on for nearly a Christmas month, i'm in my first trimester and i'm sick. being behind on laundry is completely appropriate.
what's not appropriate is giving up. because i have lots of hope. i have lots of joy. and i have a baby growing in my belly. how marvelous.
my cousin is pregnant. i'm excited. sometimes when someone gets pregnant that isn't married, which is her case, we don't know how to respond. but really, that's kind of mixed up thinking, to me. most of the time, when that happens, we already knew they were messing around. we knew the situation was not what we desire most for her. that isn't news. whatever our response was to that life shouldn't really manifest now. (i know that sometimes people find out someone's activity because of a pregnancy, but usually, for discerning people, we already knew there were goings on.)
the news now is a baby. that's wonderful. a baby is wonderful. to get mad now because she is having a baby is ridiculously poor timing. now is a time to rejoice. a baby means God chose to do a good thing in her. He is up to something for her good. He loves her tremendously. i've been praying for her and i'm excited to see what He will do through this new life.
a baby is never bad news. even when created in seemingly difficult or unfavorable circumstances, even when it isn't the way we would have planned it ourselves, even when the person is poor or sickly or unmarried or already has more than a dozen kids or has an incompetent cervix or an incompetent husband. when God makes a human soul, God Who sees the end from the beginning, God Who does what He pleases, God Who does not make mistakes ever, it is always good. always. good.
if God thought it was a good idea to place a child in the womb of my cousin who i love, who isn't married yet, whose future i do not know, but whose good i desire, i can and will greatly rejoice.
and if God thinks it is a great idea to put another little one in my womb and heart, even if we are sick and messy and all i want to eat is carbs and i just want to go back to bed for a week, i will also greatly rejoice.
God is big into unlikely heroes. not many wise, not many noble. He loves making something of nothing. He loves warriors hiding in winepresses, youngest sons out in the fields counted out by everyone else, unmarried virgins, women too old to bear children, Moabitess widows, harlots, tax collectors, stinky shepherds and pagan astrologers. and my beautiful cousin. and me. He's like that.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
announcing ...
Behold, I bring good tidings of great joy that will be to all people: for unto us a child is to be born. Unto us a son (or daughter) is given. And his/her name shall be called ... Well, we haven't gotten that far yet. Right now we're calling the baby Lucky, since it's the lucky 13th baby. What?! 13 isn't lucky? Oh, well, I don't believe in luck. I believe in Jesus, and that He makes babies and that He calls them good gifts.
So there is great rejoicing in the land. God has said yes to our yes and trusted us with another treasure. How marvelous, how wonderful, and my song shall ever be, how marvelous, how wonderful is my Savior's love for me.
So there is great rejoicing in the land. God has said yes to our yes and trusted us with another treasure. How marvelous, how wonderful, and my song shall ever be, how marvelous, how wonderful is my Savior's love for me.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Waiting
Waiting for presents
Waiting to give
Waiting to receive
Waiting to know
Waiting to reveal
Waiting to see, to play, to open
Waiting to discover
Waiting to come
Waiting to go
Waiting for loved ones to arrive
Waiting for readiness
Waiting for news
Waiting for a hero
Waiting for something long awaited
Waiting for redemption
Waiting for resolution
Waiting for a Savior
For a Messiah
For the second Adam
For a Redeemer
Waiting for forgiveness
Waiting for a miracle
Waiting for deliverance
Waiting for healing
Waiting for Salvation
Waiting
Groaning
Longing
Yearning
Watching
Looking
Waiting
If your kids can't sleep, tell them the story. Adam and the serpent and the fall. The shedding of blood needed for the remission of sins. The increase of wickedness. The need for redemption. The longing and groaning of the creation for the Savior. The man Abraham. Isaac, Jacob and his sons. Moses and the Israelites. Joshua, the judges. The cycle of sin and judgement and repentence and rescue. The desire for a king and the getting of one. The repeated following of king after king in the worship of idols. The wickedness of man and the grace of God toward those who called on His Name. The desperate need of a people of a Savior. The prophets of old speaking for years of things like a virgin birth and a King to come, dying and laying dead for hundreds of years never seeing their words fulfilled.
Longing. Waiting. Messiah.
God become flesh, a tiny secret, a baby. But God told the secrets to unlikely hearers. Dirty stinky shepherds. Foreign pagan astrologers. A pregnant 60 year old barren woman with a dumb husband. Weird.
The most anticipated secret of the universe told to the most unlikely ears. Oh, and Mary. And Joseph. Now there are a couple unlikely heroes.
Tell them about the waiting for and the unlikely "wrapping" of the Greatest Gift Ever!
That'll give them something to think about, while they are waiting.
Waiting to give
Waiting to receive
Waiting to know
Waiting to reveal
Waiting to see, to play, to open
Waiting to discover
Waiting to come
Waiting to go
Waiting for loved ones to arrive
Waiting for readiness
Waiting for news
Waiting for a hero
Waiting for something long awaited
Waiting for redemption
Waiting for resolution
Waiting for a Savior
For a Messiah
For the second Adam
For a Redeemer
Waiting for forgiveness
Waiting for a miracle
Waiting for deliverance
Waiting for healing
Waiting for Salvation
Waiting
Groaning
Longing
Yearning
Watching
Looking
Waiting
If your kids can't sleep, tell them the story. Adam and the serpent and the fall. The shedding of blood needed for the remission of sins. The increase of wickedness. The need for redemption. The longing and groaning of the creation for the Savior. The man Abraham. Isaac, Jacob and his sons. Moses and the Israelites. Joshua, the judges. The cycle of sin and judgement and repentence and rescue. The desire for a king and the getting of one. The repeated following of king after king in the worship of idols. The wickedness of man and the grace of God toward those who called on His Name. The desperate need of a people of a Savior. The prophets of old speaking for years of things like a virgin birth and a King to come, dying and laying dead for hundreds of years never seeing their words fulfilled.
Longing. Waiting. Messiah.
God become flesh, a tiny secret, a baby. But God told the secrets to unlikely hearers. Dirty stinky shepherds. Foreign pagan astrologers. A pregnant 60 year old barren woman with a dumb husband. Weird.
The most anticipated secret of the universe told to the most unlikely ears. Oh, and Mary. And Joseph. Now there are a couple unlikely heroes.
Tell them about the waiting for and the unlikely "wrapping" of the Greatest Gift Ever!
That'll give them something to think about, while they are waiting.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
How we do Christmas
First of all, regarding Santa Claus, we tell our kids whenever it comes up that Santa Claus, or Saint Nicholas, is real, is dead, is in heaven worshipping Jesus. We tell them the reindeer flying, elf employing, North Pole dwelling version is for fun but sometimes gets in the way of people really celebrating Jesus.
We wrap up pieces of the nativity set we have and open each of them, including the manger, minus the Baby Jesus, on Christmas Eve, with our youngest person (not baby) opening the last piece. Then we look around, throw up our hands, and ask, mysteriously, where is Baby Jesus??? Oh, we all realize together, He isn't born yet, tomorrow is His birthday. We leave cookies, milk and carrots out for the imaginary Santa, and go to bed.
During the night, my husband and I (and any any older kids that can't sleep) take all the presents to the tree and fill the stockings with candy and a poptart and/or granola bar in hopes that something breakfasty might enter their mouths between Reese cups.
This year, we'll open the stockings before church, and the rest after lunch. Our children exchange names and "buy" each other gifts from the Awana store. They also divy up the parents and grandparents and buy for them as well.
We don't try to buy the same number of gifts for each, nor do we honestly spend the same amount of money for each. We don't want their lists. They can use Christmas money from grandparents to buy things they want. We are buying gifts for our children, so we choose what we think will delight them and encourage them to be who they are in the things they like and are good at. So exciting to think and talk together about our children and who they are becoming, as they get older.
For the oldest we got a green . . . oh wait, she might read this!
We will read the Christmas story again, and either on Christmas or before, each child will choose a gift for Jesus for His birthday - a Matthew 25, for the least of these, kind of gift. Blankets for a child, a goat for a family, that sort of thing. Samaritan's Purse is my favorite.
The rest of the day will be spent, I hope, playing games together, enjoying each other and our new things, cooking, napping, reading, singing, hugging.
And that is Christmas at our house, in a nutshell.
We wrap up pieces of the nativity set we have and open each of them, including the manger, minus the Baby Jesus, on Christmas Eve, with our youngest person (not baby) opening the last piece. Then we look around, throw up our hands, and ask, mysteriously, where is Baby Jesus??? Oh, we all realize together, He isn't born yet, tomorrow is His birthday. We leave cookies, milk and carrots out for the imaginary Santa, and go to bed.
During the night, my husband and I (and any any older kids that can't sleep) take all the presents to the tree and fill the stockings with candy and a poptart and/or granola bar in hopes that something breakfasty might enter their mouths between Reese cups.
This year, we'll open the stockings before church, and the rest after lunch. Our children exchange names and "buy" each other gifts from the Awana store. They also divy up the parents and grandparents and buy for them as well.
We don't try to buy the same number of gifts for each, nor do we honestly spend the same amount of money for each. We don't want their lists. They can use Christmas money from grandparents to buy things they want. We are buying gifts for our children, so we choose what we think will delight them and encourage them to be who they are in the things they like and are good at. So exciting to think and talk together about our children and who they are becoming, as they get older.
For the oldest we got a green . . . oh wait, she might read this!
We will read the Christmas story again, and either on Christmas or before, each child will choose a gift for Jesus for His birthday - a Matthew 25, for the least of these, kind of gift. Blankets for a child, a goat for a family, that sort of thing. Samaritan's Purse is my favorite.
The rest of the day will be spent, I hope, playing games together, enjoying each other and our new things, cooking, napping, reading, singing, hugging.
And that is Christmas at our house, in a nutshell.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Merry Christmas
I haven't written for a while, and I'm not sure when I will again. It's been a little crazy.
We got a dog. I mean, we received a dog. That is fun and not as life altering as I expected. It is just another creature to love in my house, another mouth to feed, another potty training to accomplish. But there is room in my heart to love him. Plenty.
We're trying desperately to get a little more school squeezed in before we give up completely for the holiday season. Very difficult. Very.
I have enjoyed greatly the anticipation of having gifts to give to my children this year.
I am greatly blessed, and I know it.
Both the babies are walking, one with more skill than the other. The eldest is driving, cooking and painting. The second is carving, shooting, and crafting cardboard into the Roman Coliseum. The third is writing a book and playing the piano and singing. Loudly. The fourth is reading. The fifth is loving the dog. The sixth is giggling and wrestling. The seventh is quoting movies and memorizing scripture. The eighth is drawing. The ninth is biting and hitting and apologizing for biting and hitting. The tenth is uggling and elbowing the 11th out, or dragging the 11th around by the arms. The eleventh is dancing and singing. The twelfth is chasing the dog.
We put up our tree, lights on the banisters, Christmasy things in the window sills. We shopped and shopped and found treasures to delight. I've been planning meals that feel special and holiday-ish.
And the waiting until Christmas morning is tangible. 12 people know something wonderful is happening soon. 2 don't suspect anything. They'll learn, soon enough.
I don't have anything special to write. I love Christmas. I love buying gifts with my husband, for my children. I love that my husband is going to home for 5 days straight. I love decorating and wrapping and giving gifts to people I love. I love that God became a man, a baby, an embryo, a fetus, a fertilized egg. I love that He was a secret in a young woman's heart. I love that Elizabeth knew. I love that He humbled Himself to become a newborn, an infant, a toddler, a teenager. I love that He submitted Himself to human parents. I love that He understands, because He lived it, life here, veiled in flesh.
I love Christmas carols and all the marvelous truth embedded in them. I don't even mind snow carols and Santa carols. But I love the Jesus carols the best. And I love presents and parties and lights and ornaments. But I love Jesus the best. There is no conflict for me about this season. Jesus is Christmas. Christmas is Jesus. The Word become flesh and dwelt among us. The Incarnation. Emanuel. God with us.
I heard a friend say it well recently. Some people don't celebrate Christmas because Jesus wasn't really born then. But if not now, when? Because there are very few things in the history of the universe more worthy of celebrating than God become man. I cannot fathom anything more worth a party than that, except that He died and rose again for us.
And sharing that marvelous gift with my children and giving them gifts as well is delightful. I can teach them in the process that Christmas is about Jesus. God gave Jesus. Jesus gave Himself, His life. They get it. He is the best gift.
Anyway, this has been pretty rambly, sorry, I'm scattered. I have presents to wrap, a house to clean, and I am seriously not caught up on laundry from Thanksgiving travels. I've gotten within a couple loads, but then people keep wearing clothes!
Blessings! May your heart be pregnant with His love, full and overflowing! Joy to the world! Let every heart prepare Him room. Let Heaven and nature sing!
We got a dog. I mean, we received a dog. That is fun and not as life altering as I expected. It is just another creature to love in my house, another mouth to feed, another potty training to accomplish. But there is room in my heart to love him. Plenty.
We're trying desperately to get a little more school squeezed in before we give up completely for the holiday season. Very difficult. Very.
I have enjoyed greatly the anticipation of having gifts to give to my children this year.
I am greatly blessed, and I know it.
Both the babies are walking, one with more skill than the other. The eldest is driving, cooking and painting. The second is carving, shooting, and crafting cardboard into the Roman Coliseum. The third is writing a book and playing the piano and singing. Loudly. The fourth is reading. The fifth is loving the dog. The sixth is giggling and wrestling. The seventh is quoting movies and memorizing scripture. The eighth is drawing. The ninth is biting and hitting and apologizing for biting and hitting. The tenth is uggling and elbowing the 11th out, or dragging the 11th around by the arms. The eleventh is dancing and singing. The twelfth is chasing the dog.
We put up our tree, lights on the banisters, Christmasy things in the window sills. We shopped and shopped and found treasures to delight. I've been planning meals that feel special and holiday-ish.
And the waiting until Christmas morning is tangible. 12 people know something wonderful is happening soon. 2 don't suspect anything. They'll learn, soon enough.
I don't have anything special to write. I love Christmas. I love buying gifts with my husband, for my children. I love that my husband is going to home for 5 days straight. I love decorating and wrapping and giving gifts to people I love. I love that God became a man, a baby, an embryo, a fetus, a fertilized egg. I love that He was a secret in a young woman's heart. I love that Elizabeth knew. I love that He humbled Himself to become a newborn, an infant, a toddler, a teenager. I love that He submitted Himself to human parents. I love that He understands, because He lived it, life here, veiled in flesh.
I love Christmas carols and all the marvelous truth embedded in them. I don't even mind snow carols and Santa carols. But I love the Jesus carols the best. And I love presents and parties and lights and ornaments. But I love Jesus the best. There is no conflict for me about this season. Jesus is Christmas. Christmas is Jesus. The Word become flesh and dwelt among us. The Incarnation. Emanuel. God with us.
I heard a friend say it well recently. Some people don't celebrate Christmas because Jesus wasn't really born then. But if not now, when? Because there are very few things in the history of the universe more worthy of celebrating than God become man. I cannot fathom anything more worth a party than that, except that He died and rose again for us.
And sharing that marvelous gift with my children and giving them gifts as well is delightful. I can teach them in the process that Christmas is about Jesus. God gave Jesus. Jesus gave Himself, His life. They get it. He is the best gift.
Anyway, this has been pretty rambly, sorry, I'm scattered. I have presents to wrap, a house to clean, and I am seriously not caught up on laundry from Thanksgiving travels. I've gotten within a couple loads, but then people keep wearing clothes!
Blessings! May your heart be pregnant with His love, full and overflowing! Joy to the world! Let every heart prepare Him room. Let Heaven and nature sing!
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sweet Things
So I'm not eating sugar, or even sweet things very much right now. Sometimes fruit, sometimes a tiny bit of sweetener on ricotta cheese. But not much.
And yet, my life is full of sweetness. Here is some of it.
Baby girl calling me Mama
Hugs and "uggles" from the 2 year old
Eldest daughter and second son sitting at the piano singing together while one of them plays
Any of my Bigs reading to any of my Littles
The moment my husband comes home
Having a laundry basket full of 100+ pairs of matched socks
The big brown eyes of my fifth son
My children dancing
Realizing that 4th daughter and 5th son, who normally fight, have been playing together for hours
Eldest son leaning down and kissing me and asking if I'm okay
Second daughter's smile
Third daughter's dimples
Squishy baby boy that fits just right in my arms
Third son's bedtime need for my hug, in his bed, and telling me I am the supermom
Fourth son's eyes, so blue I want to go swimming in them
Freckles on their faces
Phrases like, "Can I help you mom?" and "What can I carry?"
The moment at night when all is silent and I am done being Mom for the night (or at least for a little while)
Knowing what is for dinner (or breakfast, or whatever) and having everything I need to make it and time to get it made
Getting out the door on time with socks and shoes and clean clothing on 14 clean bodies (at least I imagine that would be sweet)
Having time with Jesus on a fairly regular basis
Knowing that He is with me all the time, near when I am broken hearted, and waiting on high to show compassion to me
Knowing He delights in me, in my weak "yes", in my bumbling sporadic obedience
Pleasing my mother in law
When my dad says I'm doing a good job
Laying down at night next to the man of my dreams and knowing he feels the same way about me
And yet, my life is full of sweetness. Here is some of it.
Baby girl calling me Mama
Hugs and "uggles" from the 2 year old
Eldest daughter and second son sitting at the piano singing together while one of them plays
Any of my Bigs reading to any of my Littles
The moment my husband comes home
Having a laundry basket full of 100+ pairs of matched socks
The big brown eyes of my fifth son
My children dancing
Realizing that 4th daughter and 5th son, who normally fight, have been playing together for hours
Eldest son leaning down and kissing me and asking if I'm okay
Second daughter's smile
Third daughter's dimples
Squishy baby boy that fits just right in my arms
Third son's bedtime need for my hug, in his bed, and telling me I am the supermom
Fourth son's eyes, so blue I want to go swimming in them
Freckles on their faces
Phrases like, "Can I help you mom?" and "What can I carry?"
The moment at night when all is silent and I am done being Mom for the night (or at least for a little while)
Knowing what is for dinner (or breakfast, or whatever) and having everything I need to make it and time to get it made
Getting out the door on time with socks and shoes and clean clothing on 14 clean bodies (at least I imagine that would be sweet)
Having time with Jesus on a fairly regular basis
Knowing that He is with me all the time, near when I am broken hearted, and waiting on high to show compassion to me
Knowing He delights in me, in my weak "yes", in my bumbling sporadic obedience
Pleasing my mother in law
When my dad says I'm doing a good job
Laying down at night next to the man of my dreams and knowing he feels the same way about me
Things I've learned
So I hope that in 5 or 10 years I will begin my blog with the sentence, "It's been this many years since I lost all that weight and I am still doing well."
Of course, that is not today. Today I can say that since Mother's Day I have lost nearly 50 lbs, one fifth of my body weight. And so, I am not yet an expert on living healthy long term. But I am here and not there, so I can only speak to this. And in this place, here are the things I have learned.
Everything tastes better when you do not have refined sugar in your life.
Even small amounts of sugar or white flour wake up my food-craving engine, and in a matter of minutes I can go from perfectly-content-with-an-appropriate-portion-of-whatever to ravenously-starving-need-to-eat-the-world. It is like the scene from Finding Nemo, when Bruce the teetotaling shark gets a whif of Dori's nose bleed. That's how I feel.
I feel completely different internally about myself and life when I am not controlled by my appetite. I feel smaller and more serious, and yet full of joy and freedom.
A big (24 oz) drink of water picks me up just like a cup of coffee.
I feel very full and satisfied when I eat a meal of good protein, healthy veggies, and a small amount of cheese.
When I have grains, even really incredibly healthy grains, it is hard to stop.
There is a limit to my good decision making capacity. I cannot continue to say no forever in a difficult situation.
I am firmer in my committment to others, be it the Lord, my sister, my husband, than I am to myself.
Being thinner means being colder.
That's what I have so far.
My new goal is to lose another 25 lbs by Valentine's Day, and another 25 by Mother's Day, which would be 100 pounds in a year. And I still won't be at my desired healthy weight, but I will be ever so much nearer than I have been in nearly 20 years. I may be unrecognizable. Hard to imagine. I guess I'll just look like my mom. A good thing.
Of course, that is not today. Today I can say that since Mother's Day I have lost nearly 50 lbs, one fifth of my body weight. And so, I am not yet an expert on living healthy long term. But I am here and not there, so I can only speak to this. And in this place, here are the things I have learned.
Everything tastes better when you do not have refined sugar in your life.
Even small amounts of sugar or white flour wake up my food-craving engine, and in a matter of minutes I can go from perfectly-content-with-an-appropriate-portion-of-whatever to ravenously-starving-need-to-eat-the-world. It is like the scene from Finding Nemo, when Bruce the teetotaling shark gets a whif of Dori's nose bleed. That's how I feel.
I feel completely different internally about myself and life when I am not controlled by my appetite. I feel smaller and more serious, and yet full of joy and freedom.
A big (24 oz) drink of water picks me up just like a cup of coffee.
I feel very full and satisfied when I eat a meal of good protein, healthy veggies, and a small amount of cheese.
When I have grains, even really incredibly healthy grains, it is hard to stop.
There is a limit to my good decision making capacity. I cannot continue to say no forever in a difficult situation.
I am firmer in my committment to others, be it the Lord, my sister, my husband, than I am to myself.
Being thinner means being colder.
That's what I have so far.
My new goal is to lose another 25 lbs by Valentine's Day, and another 25 by Mother's Day, which would be 100 pounds in a year. And I still won't be at my desired healthy weight, but I will be ever so much nearer than I have been in nearly 20 years. I may be unrecognizable. Hard to imagine. I guess I'll just look like my mom. A good thing.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Progress
Here I am, your personal Biggest Loser meets The Duggars, fat mom with a lot of kids trying to become healthier/smaller/more disciplined.
I have now lost nearly 50 lbs. That puts me at hovering just above 200, just above my husband, just above the least I've weighed in memorable history. I weighed something like 154 when I got married 18+ years ago. And I'm pretty sure we didn't have a scale for the first year or two of our marriage. So, although I am sure I knew I was gaining weight, gaining girth, clothes getting smaller, I didn't really know what the damage was, probably until pregnant with our first child.
I don't remember what I weighed at the beginning of that first pregnancy, but I remember I was fat enough to ask another, fatter woman if people would even be able to tell I was pregnant. I weighed 238 the day my daughter was born.
I lost a lot of weight before becoming pregnant again, and got down to either 198 or 189, can't remember which. But that was the last time I was under 200.
And now, here I am, tottering on the brink. I can reach the other side. I will. But then I'm not sure what happens.
What happens when I weigh less than I have in nearly 15 years? What happens when I finally weigh less than my husband? What is my next milestone to shoot for? I have a lofty goal, to weigh 132 lbs. But that is a very long weigh off (pun intended).
I don't know. It's something to think about.
For now, I'm just trying to stop eating crap long enough to get to the first marker.
To weigh less than 200 lbs, at 5 foot 1 inch, would put me in the category of Way More Normal.
To weigh less than my husband, well, would make me feel like a woman. Desirable. I can't wait and never, ever want to go back.
To weigh in the 180's might mean buying normal clothes at normal stores, in sizes without X's.
To weigh in the 160's would put me nearer to my lovely sisters.
To weigh in the 150's I could fit in my wedding dress.
To weigh much less and I could share clothing with my daughters conceivably, someday.
I could be healthy enough to not have high blood pressure, healthy enough to sustain healthy pregnancies.
And yet.
I have come so far, lost so much, and yet, I can blow it all in a day, seemingly. It seems that this many miles into success, that failure ought not be just behind me. But pigging out is so tempting. My daughter looking through her new cookbook frankly depresses me. Thinking about the holidays scares the crap out of me.
I'm afraid to fail, and just as afraid to succeed. So much better to have stayed fat than to get fat again.
And so I find myself again in desperate need of the One who doesn't change.
He said to me, you don't need sugar, you don't need caffeine. So, every so often, I will have a little of those. But mostly, I need protein, I need veggies, I need water, I need to move my body around. I need Jesus. That's my plan.
So help me God.
I have now lost nearly 50 lbs. That puts me at hovering just above 200, just above my husband, just above the least I've weighed in memorable history. I weighed something like 154 when I got married 18+ years ago. And I'm pretty sure we didn't have a scale for the first year or two of our marriage. So, although I am sure I knew I was gaining weight, gaining girth, clothes getting smaller, I didn't really know what the damage was, probably until pregnant with our first child.
I don't remember what I weighed at the beginning of that first pregnancy, but I remember I was fat enough to ask another, fatter woman if people would even be able to tell I was pregnant. I weighed 238 the day my daughter was born.
I lost a lot of weight before becoming pregnant again, and got down to either 198 or 189, can't remember which. But that was the last time I was under 200.
And now, here I am, tottering on the brink. I can reach the other side. I will. But then I'm not sure what happens.
What happens when I weigh less than I have in nearly 15 years? What happens when I finally weigh less than my husband? What is my next milestone to shoot for? I have a lofty goal, to weigh 132 lbs. But that is a very long weigh off (pun intended).
I don't know. It's something to think about.
For now, I'm just trying to stop eating crap long enough to get to the first marker.
To weigh less than 200 lbs, at 5 foot 1 inch, would put me in the category of Way More Normal.
To weigh less than my husband, well, would make me feel like a woman. Desirable. I can't wait and never, ever want to go back.
To weigh in the 180's might mean buying normal clothes at normal stores, in sizes without X's.
To weigh in the 160's would put me nearer to my lovely sisters.
To weigh in the 150's I could fit in my wedding dress.
To weigh much less and I could share clothing with my daughters conceivably, someday.
I could be healthy enough to not have high blood pressure, healthy enough to sustain healthy pregnancies.
And yet.
I have come so far, lost so much, and yet, I can blow it all in a day, seemingly. It seems that this many miles into success, that failure ought not be just behind me. But pigging out is so tempting. My daughter looking through her new cookbook frankly depresses me. Thinking about the holidays scares the crap out of me.
I'm afraid to fail, and just as afraid to succeed. So much better to have stayed fat than to get fat again.
And so I find myself again in desperate need of the One who doesn't change.
He said to me, you don't need sugar, you don't need caffeine. So, every so often, I will have a little of those. But mostly, I need protein, I need veggies, I need water, I need to move my body around. I need Jesus. That's my plan.
So help me God.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
somebody else wrote this
But I'm reposting it here, because, well, it's better than anything I could say.
Real Life Adoption Story For National Adoption Month-
By Kim Green
Our daughter Selah was born last year with only a brain stem (no brain) and only lived 55 days. She was conceived in rape and placed for adoption with our family at 2 days old. 11 days after she was born, her birth mom (a life long muslim) called me and said she wanted to become a Christian- she wanted the Jesus we had. She died on my chest 4 days after the court finalized her adoption. The below is a post I wrote that I thought I'd share on fb too:
********
I'm sitting here bawling right now. I just had the most amazing conversation with Selah's birth mom. I hadn't talked to her since May despite my trying to call/text her, I got nothing back. The last time I spoke to her, there were some family issues, and sadly, I had thought that maybe she left the state. Then out of the blue, I got an envelope from her. In it was a card made by her other two kids and a bill re: Selah I had told her to send me way back in April (said we'd pay- back when we had money! lol!). On the outside of the envelope, was a note saying she missed me so much, so much had happened, and to call her at her new number.
I called her today and instantly, I knew something had changed just by the sound of her voice. It turns out LOTS has happened in the last five months. She had gotten in a car accident and her phone had broken... explains why I couldn't get a hold of her. The good news though: Her other two kid's dad got out of jail, she got married to him, AND she is now pregnant with a healthy little boy. Here is the best part - that part that makes me weep- when S. got out of jail, she told him that she loved Jesus now and had given her life to Him and he needed Him as well. He now too is a Christian and as she put it, they are "all on fire for the Lord" now. She told me that she needed more worship cds because they had worn the others out - lol!
Serious tears.
This is why I am pro-life no matter the life circumstances, the circumstance of the conception, or whatever "impairment" may be detected prenatally. GOOD ALWAYS COMES FROM TRUSTING GOD.
Yes, she was raped - horrible.
Yes, she is poor - horrible.
Yes, the baby was not "compatible with life"- horrible.
BUT... GOD USES ALL THINGS FOR THE GOOD OF THOSE WHO LOVE HIM!
(Rom 8:28)
ALL THINGS.
Even rape.
Even disabilities.
Even poverty.
ALL THINGS.
This entire family, 4 members (soon to be 5), came to Christ through a little girl who never said a word and our family who loved her and her birth family for who they were. Unconditionally. I wish you could have heard her voice- you'd believe too.
Genesis 50:20, "As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive."
Real Life Adoption Story For National Adoption Month-
By Kim Green
Our daughter Selah was born last year with only a brain stem (no brain) and only lived 55 days. She was conceived in rape and placed for adoption with our family at 2 days old. 11 days after she was born, her birth mom (a life long muslim) called me and said she wanted to become a Christian- she wanted the Jesus we had. She died on my chest 4 days after the court finalized her adoption. The below is a post I wrote that I thought I'd share on fb too:
********
I'm sitting here bawling right now. I just had the most amazing conversation with Selah's birth mom. I hadn't talked to her since May despite my trying to call/text her, I got nothing back. The last time I spoke to her, there were some family issues, and sadly, I had thought that maybe she left the state. Then out of the blue, I got an envelope from her. In it was a card made by her other two kids and a bill re: Selah I had told her to send me way back in April (said we'd pay- back when we had money! lol!). On the outside of the envelope, was a note saying she missed me so much, so much had happened, and to call her at her new number.
I called her today and instantly, I knew something had changed just by the sound of her voice. It turns out LOTS has happened in the last five months. She had gotten in a car accident and her phone had broken... explains why I couldn't get a hold of her. The good news though: Her other two kid's dad got out of jail, she got married to him, AND she is now pregnant with a healthy little boy. Here is the best part - that part that makes me weep- when S. got out of jail, she told him that she loved Jesus now and had given her life to Him and he needed Him as well. He now too is a Christian and as she put it, they are "all on fire for the Lord" now. She told me that she needed more worship cds because they had worn the others out - lol!
Serious tears.
This is why I am pro-life no matter the life circumstances, the circumstance of the conception, or whatever "impairment" may be detected prenatally. GOOD ALWAYS COMES FROM TRUSTING GOD.
Yes, she was raped - horrible.
Yes, she is poor - horrible.
Yes, the baby was not "compatible with life"- horrible.
BUT... GOD USES ALL THINGS FOR THE GOOD OF THOSE WHO LOVE HIM!
(Rom 8:28)
ALL THINGS.
Even rape.
Even disabilities.
Even poverty.
ALL THINGS.
This entire family, 4 members (soon to be 5), came to Christ through a little girl who never said a word and our family who loved her and her birth family for who they were. Unconditionally. I wish you could have heard her voice- you'd believe too.
Genesis 50:20, "As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive."
Monday, October 31, 2011
Running out of time
I have heard it is extremely rare for women to get pregnant after age forty without some kind of fertility assistance. Anecdotally, the people I've talked to personally were mostly 42 or younger when their youngest child was born. I think I know of a woman or two who were 43 or 45.
At best, I probably have 2, maybe 3 pregnancies left in me. Or 1. Or none.
I am enjoying my 12 children. Each is unique, amazing, delightful. And I would love very much to have a dozen more. Or 8. Or 2. Or 1.
I am okay with none. But I would prefer to have more.
So (laugh if you like) my 3rd son and I are praying for twins. Having done the virtual twin thing and survived, we think maybe we can pull it off. I would love to have 2 more and 2 more and 2 more children. Or just 2 more.
I also think about adopting out of the foster system. I'm told we have too many children to be allowed to actually foster, but that we could adopt children who are in the foster system who have already had their parental rights terminated.
So, sometimes, when I think of it, I'm praying for those kids out there, who might be born already, that might be mine someday. I pray that they would be protected from harm at the hands of their birth parents, their foster parents, and the enemy of their souls. I pray that God would visit them in dreams, in visions, that they would know Him even before we know them. Hey, if John the Baptist could be filled with the Spirit in his mother's womb, I guess my future children could encounter Him in their early years as well. And just because my kids come from a messed up environment doesn't mean they have to be messed up by that environment.
I know that my diaper days are drawing to a close. Way more is behind me than is ahead of me. And that is okay. I will let those days go.
I know that time with my older kids is also running out. That makes me more nervous for the boys than the girls. Have I prepared them for the future? For being husbands and fathers? For providing for families, for earning a living?
I have helped them to hide God's Word in their hearts, to value what is important, to save their hearts till marriage, to guard their eyes and minds and hearts, to choose friendships well. But have I prepared them for life outside my home? To work their way through college, to pursue a job, to balance life and work and church and school?
I guess some of these things are learn as you go. And I hope, if the relationship we have now continues, that I will be able to help as they learn those lessons.
And I guess that is what helps when I start to feel the "running out of time" panic - I am not really running out of time. I will continue to bear fruit in some way, even as I'm older. I will continue to parent my children in different ways, even as I'm older. I will still accomplish what God has given me to do, because my biological clock does not govern my eternal clock. Sigh of relief.
At best, I probably have 2, maybe 3 pregnancies left in me. Or 1. Or none.
I am enjoying my 12 children. Each is unique, amazing, delightful. And I would love very much to have a dozen more. Or 8. Or 2. Or 1.
I am okay with none. But I would prefer to have more.
So (laugh if you like) my 3rd son and I are praying for twins. Having done the virtual twin thing and survived, we think maybe we can pull it off. I would love to have 2 more and 2 more and 2 more children. Or just 2 more.
I also think about adopting out of the foster system. I'm told we have too many children to be allowed to actually foster, but that we could adopt children who are in the foster system who have already had their parental rights terminated.
So, sometimes, when I think of it, I'm praying for those kids out there, who might be born already, that might be mine someday. I pray that they would be protected from harm at the hands of their birth parents, their foster parents, and the enemy of their souls. I pray that God would visit them in dreams, in visions, that they would know Him even before we know them. Hey, if John the Baptist could be filled with the Spirit in his mother's womb, I guess my future children could encounter Him in their early years as well. And just because my kids come from a messed up environment doesn't mean they have to be messed up by that environment.
I know that my diaper days are drawing to a close. Way more is behind me than is ahead of me. And that is okay. I will let those days go.
I know that time with my older kids is also running out. That makes me more nervous for the boys than the girls. Have I prepared them for the future? For being husbands and fathers? For providing for families, for earning a living?
I have helped them to hide God's Word in their hearts, to value what is important, to save their hearts till marriage, to guard their eyes and minds and hearts, to choose friendships well. But have I prepared them for life outside my home? To work their way through college, to pursue a job, to balance life and work and church and school?
I guess some of these things are learn as you go. And I hope, if the relationship we have now continues, that I will be able to help as they learn those lessons.
And I guess that is what helps when I start to feel the "running out of time" panic - I am not really running out of time. I will continue to bear fruit in some way, even as I'm older. I will continue to parent my children in different ways, even as I'm older. I will still accomplish what God has given me to do, because my biological clock does not govern my eternal clock. Sigh of relief.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Heritage of faith
I'm sitting at my dad's computer, in my dad's chair, reading my dad's Bible. I love my heritage of faith.
I love that my dad and my daughter encourage each other reading their Bibles.
I love that my mom is a crazy flag waving worshiping dancer and that my children love to worship in expressive ways.
I love the memory of my grandparents voices uplifted in worship of the King, "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long."
I love the heritage of my Auntie Evelyn and my Aunt Gin, my Uncle Charlie and my Uncle Jim, all giving years and hours of their lives singing and playing piano and guitar, leading many in songs of praise and worship, and discipling me to do the same. They were heroes in my eyes, and the beginnings of dreams planted in my young heart.
Though I don't remember, I know I have a deep heritage of faith that began in a little country church in Kansas also.
I have grown up into the faithfulness of generations who have served Him faithfully. Not that there are not prodigals in my family, there are. Some walk near, some farther. But the foundation is there for us to build on, or run from.
How very precious, not just in memory, but in the strength that I feel pouring over the Bible my father reads every day, loving the same God, laying the same firm foundation, building his house, and my house, upon the Rock.
Reminds me of Amy Grant's old Christmas song, Heirlooms (which my mother likes a little too much, smile).
Up in the attic, down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes, timeless to me
Letters and photographs, yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter, some bringing tears
Time never changes the memories
The faces of loved ones who bring to me
All that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family is more than an heirloom to me
Wisemen and shepherds, down on their knees
Bringing their treasures to lay at His feet
Who was this wonder, Baby yet King
Living and dying, He gave life to me
Time never changes the memory
The moment His love first pierced through me
Telling all that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious Jesus is more than an heirloom to me
My precious Savior is more than an heirloom to me
I love that my dad and my daughter encourage each other reading their Bibles.
I love that my mom is a crazy flag waving worshiping dancer and that my children love to worship in expressive ways.
I love the memory of my grandparents voices uplifted in worship of the King, "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long."
I love the heritage of my Auntie Evelyn and my Aunt Gin, my Uncle Charlie and my Uncle Jim, all giving years and hours of their lives singing and playing piano and guitar, leading many in songs of praise and worship, and discipling me to do the same. They were heroes in my eyes, and the beginnings of dreams planted in my young heart.
Though I don't remember, I know I have a deep heritage of faith that began in a little country church in Kansas also.
I have grown up into the faithfulness of generations who have served Him faithfully. Not that there are not prodigals in my family, there are. Some walk near, some farther. But the foundation is there for us to build on, or run from.
How very precious, not just in memory, but in the strength that I feel pouring over the Bible my father reads every day, loving the same God, laying the same firm foundation, building his house, and my house, upon the Rock.
Reminds me of Amy Grant's old Christmas song, Heirlooms (which my mother likes a little too much, smile).
Up in the attic, down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes, timeless to me
Letters and photographs, yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter, some bringing tears
Time never changes the memories
The faces of loved ones who bring to me
All that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family is more than an heirloom to me
Wisemen and shepherds, down on their knees
Bringing their treasures to lay at His feet
Who was this wonder, Baby yet King
Living and dying, He gave life to me
Time never changes the memory
The moment His love first pierced through me
Telling all that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious Jesus is more than an heirloom to me
My precious Savior is more than an heirloom to me
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Baby Mark
Eleven and a half years ago something went wrong. My cousin and his wife were due to have a baby, their first, the day after I was due to have my fourth. That was supposed to be mid-July.
What went wrong was that baby Mark was born in March. Early. Too early. Or so it seemed. Defying all probabilities, Baby Mark, weighing in at, I think, something like 1 pound, 2 ounces, entered the ring of life with serious obstacles.
And he defied them all. Brain bleeds, premature lungs, reflux and feeding issues, shunt malfunctions, and frankly, lots of stuff I don't remember or never knew about. I have no ideas how many surgeries the boy went through.
But he went through them all and won.
Until yesterday.
Sunday afternoon sometime, I received a call. It was not the first such call. They haven't been very frequent for a while, and because he always pulled through, we kind of figured he always would. This time he didn't.
It went something like this: Mark has been having some headaches and upset stomach, so they took him to the hospital. He walked in. Two hours later, he stopped breathing, in what they now believe was a stroke. Later, after being transferred to another, better hospital, he had another. He also had 2 surgeries and a seizure that night. At 1 a.m., the call to pray was heavy.
At 4 we prayed. At 7 I learned they would give him 24 hours to show some sign his brain was alive. At 3 or so, his vitals started to drop. A little after 7, he was gone.
Maybe 26 hours. He walked in. Then he was gone.
I'm working on a song, because, that's how I process things. It's what I do.
Something like this:
The first time I held your hand
Smaller than I ever knew a hand could be
I trembled
I slid my ring up on your leg
And marveled at the perfect way
He formed your hand
I held it
Then a million years went by
Till the day I finally held your tiny frame
Didn't breathe,
couldn't believe I held you then
So long I waited for that day
To hold my son
I held you
But I know Who holds you now
But I know Who holds you now
But I know Who holds you now
He's holds me too
I have held you many times
With each surgery
And every wounded knee
I kissed you and I prayed
God would see you through
And hold you
Every time I let you go
with the knowledge that
the One Who gave you life
loves you even more than I
and holds you
See I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
He holds me too
He holds the universe together
He holds the wind in His fists
He holds my tears in a bottle
He holds my life, my heart
And I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
He holds me too
Faithful and good and true
Perfect and worthy
Gentle and wonderful
Is the One Who holds you
Who holds me and you
Okay, it's not done, but you get the point.
Baby Mark, who hasn't been a baby for a long time, has been such a fighter, we just thought he'd keep on fighting. But he lost finally. Or rather, he won, in a different way.
We know he is fine now. No shunt, no more surgeries, no little barely noticable limp, no glasses, no scars.
But for us, it's just, no Mark. No Mark smiles or jokes or hugs. No son, no brother, no cousin. There's just a Mark shaped hole, like a Grand Canyon, right in the middle of our hearts.
I'm far away. Mark was not the center of my world, except on days when the phone would ring in the scary, Mark needs prayer, kind of way. But people I love are dying inside today.
Jesus, You loved and lost and wept. Even knowing the end from the beginning, even knowing healing was coming, and eternity wasn't far off, You wept. Maybe You are even weeping with us now.
You are near to the broken hearted. Please help us feel You as near as our pain, as near as our tears. And in the days ahead, as that Grand Canyon where Mark used to be, was supposed to be, widens, please fill it with Your healing love. And someday, please, give joy for our mourning.
What went wrong was that baby Mark was born in March. Early. Too early. Or so it seemed. Defying all probabilities, Baby Mark, weighing in at, I think, something like 1 pound, 2 ounces, entered the ring of life with serious obstacles.
And he defied them all. Brain bleeds, premature lungs, reflux and feeding issues, shunt malfunctions, and frankly, lots of stuff I don't remember or never knew about. I have no ideas how many surgeries the boy went through.
But he went through them all and won.
Until yesterday.
Sunday afternoon sometime, I received a call. It was not the first such call. They haven't been very frequent for a while, and because he always pulled through, we kind of figured he always would. This time he didn't.
It went something like this: Mark has been having some headaches and upset stomach, so they took him to the hospital. He walked in. Two hours later, he stopped breathing, in what they now believe was a stroke. Later, after being transferred to another, better hospital, he had another. He also had 2 surgeries and a seizure that night. At 1 a.m., the call to pray was heavy.
At 4 we prayed. At 7 I learned they would give him 24 hours to show some sign his brain was alive. At 3 or so, his vitals started to drop. A little after 7, he was gone.
Maybe 26 hours. He walked in. Then he was gone.
I'm working on a song, because, that's how I process things. It's what I do.
Something like this:
The first time I held your hand
Smaller than I ever knew a hand could be
I trembled
I slid my ring up on your leg
And marveled at the perfect way
He formed your hand
I held it
Then a million years went by
Till the day I finally held your tiny frame
Didn't breathe,
couldn't believe I held you then
So long I waited for that day
To hold my son
I held you
But I know Who holds you now
But I know Who holds you now
But I know Who holds you now
He's holds me too
I have held you many times
With each surgery
And every wounded knee
I kissed you and I prayed
God would see you through
And hold you
Every time I let you go
with the knowledge that
the One Who gave you life
loves you even more than I
and holds you
See I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
He holds me too
He holds the universe together
He holds the wind in His fists
He holds my tears in a bottle
He holds my life, my heart
And I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
Yes I know Who holds you now
He holds me too
Faithful and good and true
Perfect and worthy
Gentle and wonderful
Is the One Who holds you
Who holds me and you
Okay, it's not done, but you get the point.
Baby Mark, who hasn't been a baby for a long time, has been such a fighter, we just thought he'd keep on fighting. But he lost finally. Or rather, he won, in a different way.
We know he is fine now. No shunt, no more surgeries, no little barely noticable limp, no glasses, no scars.
But for us, it's just, no Mark. No Mark smiles or jokes or hugs. No son, no brother, no cousin. There's just a Mark shaped hole, like a Grand Canyon, right in the middle of our hearts.
I'm far away. Mark was not the center of my world, except on days when the phone would ring in the scary, Mark needs prayer, kind of way. But people I love are dying inside today.
Jesus, You loved and lost and wept. Even knowing the end from the beginning, even knowing healing was coming, and eternity wasn't far off, You wept. Maybe You are even weeping with us now.
You are near to the broken hearted. Please help us feel You as near as our pain, as near as our tears. And in the days ahead, as that Grand Canyon where Mark used to be, was supposed to be, widens, please fill it with Your healing love. And someday, please, give joy for our mourning.
Friday, October 14, 2011
THIS is halloween
I was walking into Walmart yesterday with my oldest son (yes, I still go there) and we saw peeking out of the back of a car/van/truck/vehicle with a hatchback (what are those things anyway) what looked to be a dead bloody forearm and hand. Isn't that funny? Amber alerts about missing children, horrible months long searches for bodies, and we think a dead hand sticking out the back of a vehicle is a fun joke.
"THIS is halloween," I said to my son.
An hour later we were in a grocery store and there standing by the self check out lane was a lifesized cardboard cut out of what was meant to be a demonized woman. She looked frightening and sick and terrible.
I said, "THAT is halloween."
We can eat candy every day. We can dress up in costumes as often as we like. Halloween isn't dressing up, and halloween isn't eating candy.
Halloween is fear, murder, violence and death.
Look around. Tombstones, dead rotten hands sticking up out of the ground, pretend bloody knives sticking out of someone's back or head, fake corpses hanging from trees, this is what we accept at this time of year. My children received a fun cookbook with recipes for food that looks like fingers that have been cut off.
Why?
Skeletons, ghosts, vampires, witches - none of these things are cute.
I have a rule in my house that we do not pretend to be evil. Not in games, not on the Wii, and certainly not on halloween. It glorifies the sin. It teases the lowest part of our flesh into thinking there is something we are missing out on by doing right.
If there were no God, no devil, no supernatural realm, I still think halloween would be sick and wrong. But there is a God, and there is a real devil, and halloween is a day in which the latter revels.
Death, dismemberment, demon possession, seduction, fear, violence, murder . . . these are things celebrated on that day. This is halloween.
So what do we do? What should we do? As Christians, or even as people who do not love darkness, what can we possibly do?
I have two possible plans:
Plan A: get to a local house of prayer, and just pray and worship all day, fasting sugar.
Plan B: still fasting sugar, and worshipping and praying all day at our house, string lights all over the front of the house and give out flashlights with cards made by my kids saying things like, "Jesus is real so you don't have to be afraid."
Not sure what we will do, but whatever it is, I hope very much to punch holes in the darkness, not just accept it, and certainly not join it. I don't celebrate planting, or spring, or winter, or summer, I see no reason to have a halloween party and pretend like it is a celebration of fall or the harvest. Let's be honest with ourselves and take some ground. There is a battle, whether we acknowledge it or not.
A tree is known by its fruit, and the companion of fools will suffer harm. The fruit of what our culture does on October 31 is death and fear, not to mention gluttony. The enemy knows what that day is, but He Who is in us is greater than he. We have authority to cast out demons, heal the sick and raise the dead.
Don't join 'em. Beat 'em!
"THIS is halloween," I said to my son.
An hour later we were in a grocery store and there standing by the self check out lane was a lifesized cardboard cut out of what was meant to be a demonized woman. She looked frightening and sick and terrible.
I said, "THAT is halloween."
We can eat candy every day. We can dress up in costumes as often as we like. Halloween isn't dressing up, and halloween isn't eating candy.
Halloween is fear, murder, violence and death.
Look around. Tombstones, dead rotten hands sticking up out of the ground, pretend bloody knives sticking out of someone's back or head, fake corpses hanging from trees, this is what we accept at this time of year. My children received a fun cookbook with recipes for food that looks like fingers that have been cut off.
Why?
Skeletons, ghosts, vampires, witches - none of these things are cute.
I have a rule in my house that we do not pretend to be evil. Not in games, not on the Wii, and certainly not on halloween. It glorifies the sin. It teases the lowest part of our flesh into thinking there is something we are missing out on by doing right.
If there were no God, no devil, no supernatural realm, I still think halloween would be sick and wrong. But there is a God, and there is a real devil, and halloween is a day in which the latter revels.
Death, dismemberment, demon possession, seduction, fear, violence, murder . . . these are things celebrated on that day. This is halloween.
So what do we do? What should we do? As Christians, or even as people who do not love darkness, what can we possibly do?
I have two possible plans:
Plan A: get to a local house of prayer, and just pray and worship all day, fasting sugar.
Plan B: still fasting sugar, and worshipping and praying all day at our house, string lights all over the front of the house and give out flashlights with cards made by my kids saying things like, "Jesus is real so you don't have to be afraid."
Not sure what we will do, but whatever it is, I hope very much to punch holes in the darkness, not just accept it, and certainly not join it. I don't celebrate planting, or spring, or winter, or summer, I see no reason to have a halloween party and pretend like it is a celebration of fall or the harvest. Let's be honest with ourselves and take some ground. There is a battle, whether we acknowledge it or not.
A tree is known by its fruit, and the companion of fools will suffer harm. The fruit of what our culture does on October 31 is death and fear, not to mention gluttony. The enemy knows what that day is, but He Who is in us is greater than he. We have authority to cast out demons, heal the sick and raise the dead.
Don't join 'em. Beat 'em!
Forty one tomorrow
He had blue eyes and a warm smile. He was older than me. And he loved his mother. These were the features that drew me to the man I eventually married.
I learned later that he was gentle, patient, and conservative. And a hard worker. Whatever the opposite of a procrastinator is, that was him. If a professor gave a 4 week deadline on a project, he was the guy who had it all but done the first week, and was distracted from his final tweeking the last week by all the people just starting and needing his help.
I remember around Easter of our first year together we were eating at Ponderosa and he started to cry. I said, "Why are you crying?" He responded, "Jesus died, for me." And he had me.
I said, there are, maybe, guys who are more charming, more romantic, better dancers, but all that, I can live without. This passion for Jesus - that's something I can't.
So the man I married was a wonderful, Jesus-loving, tenderhearted hardworker.
But the amazing thing is that he has become more wonderful, more godly, more pleasant, more wise, stronger, braver, and better looking with each passing year. Then he was a young man, a new husband, a new employee. Now he is a good husband (indication: happy wife), a great father to 12 gifts from the Lord, a manager and a leader, a songwriter and worshipper, a man of courage and discernment and passion. He is bold and deliberate. He is a real man.
Tomorrow he will be forty-one. Forty one years of getting better and better. How amazing my husband will be when he is 60!!
I learned later that he was gentle, patient, and conservative. And a hard worker. Whatever the opposite of a procrastinator is, that was him. If a professor gave a 4 week deadline on a project, he was the guy who had it all but done the first week, and was distracted from his final tweeking the last week by all the people just starting and needing his help.
I remember around Easter of our first year together we were eating at Ponderosa and he started to cry. I said, "Why are you crying?" He responded, "Jesus died, for me." And he had me.
I said, there are, maybe, guys who are more charming, more romantic, better dancers, but all that, I can live without. This passion for Jesus - that's something I can't.
So the man I married was a wonderful, Jesus-loving, tenderhearted hardworker.
But the amazing thing is that he has become more wonderful, more godly, more pleasant, more wise, stronger, braver, and better looking with each passing year. Then he was a young man, a new husband, a new employee. Now he is a good husband (indication: happy wife), a great father to 12 gifts from the Lord, a manager and a leader, a songwriter and worshipper, a man of courage and discernment and passion. He is bold and deliberate. He is a real man.
Tomorrow he will be forty-one. Forty one years of getting better and better. How amazing my husband will be when he is 60!!
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