God's Favorite

I feel rusty, sitting here, trying to tap away these thoughts quickly before I'll need to start making dinner.  How did I do this when my littles were little?  How did I blog so freely between diaper changes, and naps, and building block towers?

Oh well.  I will try again.  Because it is important.  It's important for my soul to record these beautiful glimpses.  

Today at the pool, Caleb was lamenting the fact that Maddie was "Grammy's favorite" because she'd received a special gift.  We all rolled our eyes, knowing, of course, that Grammy doesn't have favorites.  I reminded him his birthday was next month, and he was certain to receive a special present from Grammy.

I grinned as I remembered all the times this summer the kids would whine, "Why does so-and-so get such-and-such?!  It's not fair!"  In response I would look at them with wide eyes, brows raised, and state simply: "Because he/she is my favorite."  This was always followed by a stunned silence.  You could almost see the wheels turning.  Then a smile and groan, "Mo-om.  I'm serious!"

I love that response.  I love that they know me so very well believing I would have a favorite is completely impossible.  They are right, of course.  There is absolutely no way I could even consider one child more dear than another.  Of course there are times when the company of one is more enjoyable than another.  Perhaps they are choosing joyful obedience or are sharing without being asked or helping around the house.  However, mere behavior does not have the power to create a favorite.  They are all my favorites.  They are inherently special - because they are mine.  When I look into their blue eyes, I see my own.  How could I not love them?

I was reading my favorite book again: A Thousand Gifts.  The author speaks of years of Bible study and how she was always focused on what she thought of God.  More recently she has focused on what God thinks of her.  Of course it made me wonder: What does God think of me?

Oh how my heart swells.  I am His favorite.  He looks at me and sees Himself.  The beautiful (and sometimes confounding) truth is this: we are all His favorites - special and unique and capable of making Him smile.  I hope that reading this will spread a little joy in your life today.  You (and I) are so loved!


For the LORD your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.                   Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

Happy Birthday, Big Guy

Dear Parker,

As I type this post, I am looking at the photo of the four of you kids taken before Caleb could even crawl.  You are lined up on your bellies, staring at the camera.  Caleb is drooling, Jack is grinning, Maddie is cupping both cheeks with her hands like an angel, and you?  You look as you always do, as if the the wheels in your head are turning, but your lips are sealed.  You are always thinking, considering and considerate.

In the 11 years you've been on this earth, much has changed in your life, but much about you has remained consistent.  You are so brave, son.  I think of the way you jumped right into baseball this season.  It may not seem like a big deal to some, but it really is.  You might have played tee ball once when we lived in Texas years ago.  We didn't play in Singapore because the only league was just too far north (where most Americans lived).  When we got back here and you expressed an interest, your dad and I were on the fence.  We didn't want to quash your dreams, but let's face it, most kids your age have been playing for nearly a decade, and it's a pretty technical sport.  We talked to you and each other and God, finally deciding to let you play.  I was more nervous than you.  Kids can be cruel.  Would they make fun of you?  Would they be put out by the kid on the team who might not even hit the ball?

You went to the evaluations and were placed on a team.  After the first few practices, the coach talked to us about placing you with a younger age group due to your skill level.  The league decided to evaluate you again.  The coach, league leaders, and dad were all there.  They were all so impressed with your coachability.  [Yes, I know that's not a word, but it's my blog, and it should be.]   It's one of the things I love most about you.  It is a skill most do not possess.  I certainly don't.  You have this ability to really listen to others when receiving feedback, positive or negative.  You absorb the information, process it, and make changes.  Son, seriously, this skill is going to help carry you through some rough stuff and leave you all the better for it.

The way you've handled yourself in baseball is just one of the many ways you've amazed me during this year of transitioning back to the U.S.  It has been tough.  You have missed your friends and the familiarity of Singapore.  The differences between east and west are still great even in our very connected world.  I know it's been challenging for you to assimilate all the aspects of your life, and sweetie, I'm so proud of you and how you've handled it.  You are an amazing kid.

You are humble, quick to admit your weaknesses.  You are bold, always willing to try new things.  You are inclusive, never wanting others to feel left out.  You are multifaceted, are able to juggle your varied hobbies and roles (athlete, fantasy battler, video gamer, outdoorsman, friend, brother).   Best of all, you are mine.

Parker, dear, I thank God all the time for making you my son.  I love you, sweet boy.  Happy, happy, happiest 11th birthday.

Love,
Momma

Lost...and Found

Early Saturday morning I decided to visit Goodwill where I'd dropped off donations the day my bag went missing.  Though I had called them on Friday, and they had not seen it, I thought perhaps if I looked in person, it might turn up.  The employees informed me donations are processed the same day they arrive; books would go directly on the shelves.

While searching for my book (I was hoping they just chucked the old journal), I came across another book: I Think I'm Happier Than I Think I Am.  I was intrigued by the title.  When I saw it was written by a pastor, I flipped through a few pages and landed on this passage: "I believe that we humans cannot make real progress toward maturity without letting go of something significant."  Seriously?  I mean, come on.  It's like the Holy Spirit just took the book and slapped me in the face.  $1.50 later, I was carrying it to the car.

I pondered those words all day.  Old verses came to mind:

Consider it pure joy...

Thy will be done...

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord...

Was I really going to let a missing bag and journal undo a lovely Mother's Day weekend?  Whenever I began to feel anxiety about the journal, I reminded myself of the verses.  I reminded myself that God's plans are bigger than mine.  I imagined someone who didn't know God reading my prayers.  Would they write me off as a crazy person,  wondering why I wasted so much ink writing to an imaginary being?  Or would they consider that maybe, just maybe, there was something sacred there?  Would they see the pattern of the chaotic ranting and raw emotion at the beginning of an entry followed by God's assurances and a thankful heart at the end?  God knows I didn't really want anyone to find it, but I hoped if they did, it would at least be put to good use.  

By the end of the day, I was feeling a little more peaceful.  Maddie and I went to a bookstore to buy more Mother's Day cards (since the ones in my purse were gone) and some gifts for the grandmothers.  On the way home, we were passing by the coffee shop I'd visited Friday morning.  "Do you mind if we just pop in and ask about my purse, honey?"  She agreed, and we pulled in minutes before closing time.

"I know I already called, and you guys said no one turned it in, but I was in here yesterday, and I lost my blue bag.  It has elephants on it..."

The employee's brows drew together.  Her lips puckered into a frown as she looked under the counter.  "No, sorry...Oh wait.  Is this it?"

Cue the crazy lady:  "WOO HOO!!!  Thank You [eyes raised to heaven]!  Thank you [to wide-eyed employee]!  Come on around here!  I need to give you a hug!  Can I give you a hug?"  I ran to the end of the counter, and the poor, uncomfortable looking young woman gingerly accepted my bear hug.  [Ugh, boundaries, Jessie, boundaries!]  Oh well, it's not like I'll be going back there after my crazy display.

I have learned a few lessons from this whole experience:

1. Never take a personal journal out of the home.  I've now written in the front of my journals instructions for their disposal when I die.  Morbid, right?  Maybe I'll just burn them when they're full.

2.  Write in code, especially when praying for friends.  No more first names.  My friends trust me, as I trust them, to pray for very private matters.  Not for public consumption.

3.  Trust God.  Even if my bag and book and journal had never been recovered, God knew where they were at all times.  He know everything and has a perfect plan.  I'm just so very grateful our plans aligned this time!    

Lost

I lost my purse today.  I'm not sure if it's lost or stolen.  Regardless, it's gone.  I've turned the house and car upside down.  No luck.

Well, that's not really true.  There are some lucky things.  I have my wallet, car keys, and phone.  Now how, you might wonder, could someone lose a purse but keep all those important items?  Let's just call it God's mercy.

The reason I can't sleep tonight is because of what WAS in there.  There were school registration forms, thankfully still blank.  There was a sheet about Parker's upcoming musical performance at school, bearing his grade, and first and last name.  There was my new favorite book, A Simplified Life.  (Oh, the irony.)  Some cards - Mother's day, thank you, thinking of you, etc.  But most importantly...drum roll please...MY JOURNAL.

That is what has me sweating bullets.  I think and write some crazy stuff, y'all.  In the midst of my repatriation blues, I was recording thoughts that could have me locked away.  I'm not even kidding.  It's where I pray, where I sob, where I praise, where I am completely uncensored.

I used to think I was an open book.  I think I was more open when the kids were teeny tiny.  Then we moved abroad.  Besides being on sensory and emotional overload, freedom of speech was a thing of the past.  I knew that anything I wrote could be monitored.  I knew of a blogger hiding out in the U.S. to avoid prosecution in his country because he had said some pretty unflattering things about the government.  I decided, better safe than sorry.  I stopped blogging almost entirely, save for some travel posts and the kids' birthday posts.

When my online reflections ended, two things happened: I stopped reflecting as much, and when I did, I utilized my journal.  The problem with a journal is that it is completely uncensored.  There is no storyline, no narrative.  Blogging forced me to pause and ponder.  It made me want to articulate my thoughts, feelings, and experiences into something that made sense.  I missed it, and I looked forward to returning to States, to opening up again.

But that didn't really happen.  I came back, yes, but I came back changed.  Someone once described the expatriation experience like play dough.  You come from a country where everyone thinks "red play dough."  You move to a country where everyone thinks "yellow play dough."  Eventually, you think "orange play dough," and there is absolutely no way to separate them again.  Your world view has changed.

I have wanted to write about repatriation and why it feels so hard, but I also don't want to.  I don't want to be misunderstood.  I don't want people to think I don't love the States.  I do.  I just see the world a little [ok, a lot] differently now.  I still don't think I can adequately explain it, and I'm not ready to try.

The only place I felt secure writing about my feelings was in the dang missing journal.  It is raw and oh-so-personal.  I am praying tonight that whoever finds my purse will be utterly bored with the contents and chuck the whole bag!  Meanwhile, I will try to see the silver lining.  Maybe God is reminding me that a journal is not my security.  He is.

You are my hiding place! You protect me from trouble, and you put songs in my heart because you have saved me. 
Psalm 32:7

A Metal Spoon

This morning, Caleb asked for a "metal spoon."  Now there is a dog that needs bathing, blankets that need folding, and dishes that need washing, but I can't be bothered with such things today.  I find myself tapping away at a keyboard, as if that will somehow soothe the beating of my heart and the tears threatening to fall.  My baby asked for a metal spoon, and I am suddenly undone.

For years (ten and a half to be exact), Ikea plastic spoons have been our utensil of choice.  They were bright and colorful and came in packs with matching forks and knives.  They matched the cups and plates - all now untouched in the far right kitchen cabinet.  Untouched and unnecessary.  Like the jogging stroller we just donated.  And the tiny blue bike helmet that no longer fits.

Time doesn't march on.  It races by like a cheetah.  Try to focus, to look closely, and you miss it.  Caleb asked for a metal spoon.

The toy room has evolved.  Little People moved out, and Power Rangers moved in.  Shoe-tying competitions have begun.  "No, I want to do it!" is the refrain heard throughout the day.

These are all good things.  This is progress, right?  Oh, but why does progress have to sting?  How long will my eldest, all arms and legs, allow me to pull him into my lap for morning snuggles where I breathe deep the smell of his hair?  How long will not-so-baby-girl ask me to scratch her ever-lengthening back at night?  When will middle boy lose that tiny front tooth?  When will baby boy graduate to metal spoons?  Today.

It happens in a blink.  So today I will live my life with eyes wide open.  I will strain to see that cheetah and catch it by its tail.  Today I will live moment by moment by moment with my darling, changing, growing dears.

Reflections (Maddie's 9th birthday)

Dear sweet Maddie,

I haven't written your birthday post yet because I pretty much stopped blogging (more on that later).  And, as you know, I've always been a little late writing birthday posts.  Doesn't mean I don't care.  It's just the way I operate.

The older you get, the more difficult it is to describe you.  You change, you grow, you evolve.  Some things have remained constant...You are still way into crafts, you are extremely thoughtful and loving, you are great in school.  You love snuggles and "special time" [one on one] with mom and dad.

You look for ways to show kindness to others.  You created a kindness sticker chart for your younger brothers and offer them praise and rewards when they are nice.  You love our new dog (even though she has chewed through some of your favorite clothes).  You offer your allowance to Parker when he's spent all of his (and still wants more).

You are making new friends.  You've always had your own unique approach to friendship.  I move to a new place, cast a large net, and organize activities.  You slowly and quietly get to know those around you.  You work through whether or not you think they will be good influences and watch how they treat others.  Your choices are wise but limited.

You therefore spend lots of time with the family.  (I'm not complaining!)  I love spending time with you.  I love watching you dress up your dolls.  You sewing skills are truly amazing for someone your age.  I LOVE the apron you made for me!  I love setting up your tiny Calico Critters with you.  I love your fashion shows.  I love watching you practice cartwheels and round offs.

We still battle over your hair (the endless tangles).  School mornings are TOUGH.   "That's not fair!" is a favorite phrase used to compare the ways in which we treat you versus the way we treat your brothers.

But you know what?  Those are "small potatoes" as grandma would say.  Unimportant.  In the grand scheme of things, I couldn't be happier with you.  I couldn't ask for a more wonderful little girl.  You are my angel.  My only regret is that I can't be in 4 places at once.  I would spend more time with you if I could.  You are one of my very favorite people in this whole world...definitely my favorite 9 year old girl!

I love you, sweet girl.  Happy birthday!

Love,
Mom

Just sick enough

I pressed the snooze button on my alarm this morning at 5:45 and closed my eyes again.  It was too late, though.  The list of responsibilities had already begun scrolling across my closed lids.  At 6 swung my legs out of bed and began to record the ever-growing to-do list in the notes on my phone.

In the midst of packing lunches, finding coats that aren't "too puffy," combing hair into a "half pony, okay mom?", fixing breakfast, and finding shoes, a little blond haired boy wandered into the kitchen then turned and headed for the couch.  I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief...one less breakfast I had to make.  I wasn't even going to make him wear shoes for the big kid morning drop off.  Just toss a fluffy blanket over the car seat, and voila!  We were on our way.

Only, we weren't.  The moment the garage door open I heard gasps and squeals.  "Mommy!  Mommy!  It snowed!!!!"  They ran across the driveway to the grass where frozen dew had turned the ground silver.  For children who spent the last three winters living near the equator, this remarkable phenomenon was just as exciting as snow, even when I explained it was merely frost.  We took a moment to bask in the newness, crunching it under our feet.

Then the drama began.  Eldest timekeeper hurried littles along.  "Get in the van.  We'll be late."  Half-pony girl disappeared inside to find a different, warmer coat.  "Come on!" we called.  "Coming!" came the faint reply...

"Come on!" a bit louder.  Huffing and puffing and swinging backpack wildly, she threw herself tearfully in the van.  "Why is everyone yelling at me?"  Crying, fighting, yelling for 2 of the 3-block drive to school.  Sigh.  Tears dried by the time the doors open.  Quick kisses.  Then quiet in the van again.

*Cough*  Oh, yes.  That cough that kept him awake two nights ago and home from school yesterday. That blond head peeking out from under the fluffy blanket.  "Mommy?" he croaked, "Can we snuggle on the big couch when we get home?"

Yes!  Yes, to snuggles.  We had a good hour before we'd need to leave for preschool.  As I settled in next to him on the couch and covered us with a blanket, I began mentally shifting my to-do's.

This couch by the window is our special place.  It's the place where the world slows down a bit.  A place for cuddles in the morning, books in the afternoon, and prayers at night.  It's a place for feet up on the old coffee table, warm, fuzzy throw blankets, and sipping hot cocoa.  It's where our whispers float up to the ceiling as we search for birds in the branches outside and where our belly laughs fill the room when we all try to escape daddy's tickles.  It's my favorite spot in the whole house.

"Let's look for birds," Caleb whispered, turning toward the window.
"Okay," I whispered back, cupping his tiny, round, warm cheek in my hand.  He nuzzled closer, and I could feel his warmth.  Too warm.  A quick check with the thermometer confirmed my suspicions.  A note to the preschool teacher, a note to my morning meeting coordinator, and we settled in again.

Luckily, he is just sick enough.  Not scary, call the doctor or rush to the hospital sick.  Just sick enough to stay home.  Just sick enough to want to snuggle.  Just sick enough to sit still for an entire cartoon, commercials and all.  Just sick enough to make me slow down and whisper and search for birds and cuddle.

So thank you, Lord, for giving us those unexpected gifts.  Those just sick enough days.