Spring Break

Honestly, I didn't expect much from this Spring Break. In my mind, it was going to be hard to top last year's Spring Break

I shouldn't have worried. This year's Spring Break was even better.

We had a great day at the park on Monday.

Tuesday Laney went off with a friend and they boys and I had planned a play date with some other friends. When a virus invaded our friends' home, we post phoned that playdate and had a park play date instead. That was good. That night I got to go have dinner with friends. Evidently, it's been much too long since I've been out of the house without kids:

This was our first attempt. We got tickled looking for Sandi behind me, trying to figure out what Allie was doing, and at the sweet server that couldn't figure out the camera. At least Rachel is in this one.

I wasn't the only one that lost it. Alli did too.

Okay, fine. I had really lost it by this point. 

I mean like really, really lost it. And yes, I'm brave putting this up here. And Allen's favorite line is, "Oh, I can hear that laugh." (I'd also like to point out that no one even had a margarita. This is all natural. Or maybe that's a bad thing)

Okay, we (I) pulled it together. Whew.

 I guess this would be a good time to say that I'm so very thankful for the amazing ladies God has placed in my life.

Whew. That was good.

Wednesday we went back to the new park we loved so much with sweet friends.

Zane was ready.

We rolled down the hill.

And I do mean all of us! It was so much fun, although I was picking grass out of my hair the rest of the day. It was worth it though.

We ate our favorite local take out, and for desert we had donuts and cup cakes.

That was good.

Really good.

Have I said lately how much I love cupcakes?

We read books, rode bikes and scooters, played on the playgrounds, walked and played.

That night we had a "camp out" with our friends. These were the three most excited kids ever. Can't you tell? Oh yeah, by this time they were exhausted from all the fun.

Thursday was St. Patrick's Day.

This is the 3rd annual local (and I do mean very local) St. Patrick's Day Parade!

See, I'm holding it together here. I can behave, when I need (want) to.

We hit Sonic for 1/2 price slushies.

We finished the day at the dollar theater where Mimi met up with us!

Friday we finished up the week by going with Daddy to the science museum.

The kids were thrilled, and I mean thrilled, to find that their favorite game was back after a brief absence. They would play this thing for hours.

We then made a surprise visit to a sweet family we love so dearly. The men sat in the back yard and chatted while the Mrs. and I sat on the front porch with our ice water and fruit and watched the kids run around and around. It was this beautiful, peaceful scene from Americana. I felt like I was in a Normal Rockwell painting.

Then I let the dog out of the house accidentally and the men and kids went on a mad dash through this Americana to retrieve the fugitive. {{So much for the peace.}}

The Mrs. and I jumped in the van and drove to the rescue. That's how we roll. On the journey we found a garage sale and spend the better part of an hour picking through a gentleman's garage. That was an adventure, let me tell you. We laughed and chatted with neighbors from this little town. Walked down the sidewalk and waved at neighbors who called greetings from their porches. I am so in love with this little town.

We nearly outstayed our welcome, we were having so much fun, but we headed home to pack off the two older kids for a spend the night party with my sister.


By the end of all this fun, I had the most monstrous headache I'd had in a very long time. After the big kids left,  I crawled in the bed and let Daddy take care of everything. I decided that I had simply had too much fun. Is that even possible?

{{But there was no rest for the weary. The next day, we were off to the beach. Without Daddy. I needed to get some rest for that adventure.}}

It was an amazing week filled with so much fun. We came away from it feeling thankful for friends and family. Truly blessed.

Sk8Rboy

Sorry, I couldn't help the title. I should have, I know.

Jude and Zane are into skateboarding. They've had the skateboards for awhile, but I guess seeing the skaters at the park inspired them.  They disappeared into the garage yesterday and literally stayed there except to come in to do a bit of school and to eat. 

I am praying my brains out that they don't get hurt. We are still paying off an ER visit from last year. Or two years ago. I lose track. Admitedly it was from illness and not injury, but still. When I see danger, I see $$$. Not the well being of my kids, mind you, but money.

Yes, I'm a bad mother. 

{{I blame insurance.}}

I'm also learning to not hover and drive them crazy about not getting hurt. 

I'm learning.

And I think I need anti-anxiety meds. 

Anyway, these videos are short, and they make me really, really happy. 

Oh, and my vanity must apologize for the state of our garage. It's getting gutted and cleaned OUT really soon. Trust me. I'm about to put on hold my tree-huggingness for a weekend and fill a dump full of all that junk. Soon. :)

Thoughts on yesterday

My mom sent this to me this morning in response to my post yesterday. It's good...

Do you ever struggle with God’s sovereignty? Do you wonder why he has ordained for you to face the things you face? Are you ever tempted to doubt his goodness or question his love? Or do you experience rest of heart even when your relationships are messy and your circumstances are difficult? The following words are about where the rest can be found.

I did it again and again when our children resisted our instruction and correction. I did it again and again when they debated a command or questioned our plans. I did it again and again when they opposed our authority and quested for self-rule. I did it again and again for two good reasons.

To begin with, my wife and I had brought children into this world who thought they didn't need us! Like us, each of them at some point fell into believing they were far more knowledgeable and capable than they really were. Like us, they often assumed that their intentions were noble and their plans were sound. Like us, they tended to think they were capable of determining what was best, even when they lacked important information and experience. Like we often do, they simply felt they were in possession of a better way.

But there was a second reason I did it again and again. Our children were too young to grasp the abstract, strategic, and often theological purposes underlying my instruction. Even if I explained everything in as age-appropriate a way as I could, they would still have no actual understanding. They just did not yet have the categories or the capacity to grasp the parental logic behind the plan or command.

So I did the same thing again and again. I would kneel down in front of them at eye level and say, "Please look at Daddy's face. Do you know how much I love you? Do you know that your Daddy is not a mean, bad man? Do you know that I would never ask you to do anything that would hurt you or make you sick? I am sorry that you can't understand why Daddy is asking you to do this. I wish I could explain it to you, but you are too young to understand. So I am going to ask you to do something—trust Daddy. When you walk down the hallway to do what Daddy has asked you to do, say to yourself, 'My Daddy loves me. My Daddy would never ask me to do something bad. I am going to trust my Daddy and stop trying to be the Daddy of my Daddy.'"

God does the same thing with you, over and over again. He meets you in one of the difficult hallways of your life, kneels down before you in condescending love, and asks you to trust his loving and wise rule, even though you don't have a clue what he is doing.

He knows there are many times when your life doesn't look like there is anyone ruling it, let alone someone wise and good. He knows there will be times when you will wish you could be the author of your own story. He knows that at times you will be overwhelmed by what is on your plate. He knows that his plan will confuse and confound you. And he knows that real rest cannot be found in understanding, because, like my children, there are things, as a limited human being, you simply do not have the capacity to understand.

Real rest is found in trusting the Person who is in control of the things you don’t understand.

He is willing to have the conversation with you again and again, and he has made sure that his Word assures you of his rule again and again. (For just a few examples, see 1 Chronicles 29:11-12, Psalm 103:19, Psalm 115:3, Proverbs 21:1, Isaiah 46:9-10, Daniel 4:35, and Ephesians 1:11.)

Paul Tripp

Link: 

http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/real-lasting-rest

Am I ready for this?

I plopped down in my school chair at the school table, ready for a first day back after two weeks off.

I was ready.

Coffee in hand, schedule out. 

Let's hit it.

Not 15 minutes into school, tears started pouring down my daughter's face. 

I sent the boy off to play {"What? Play? No school?" He happily scampered off.}

What gushed out of my sweet daughter was weeks of pent up feelings, thoughts, emotions and prayers that she had been struggling with on her own.

I had no idea.

As I sat and listened to her, my emotions flooded together. I struggled and mentally cried out, "Oh, Lord. HELP!"

As she shared her heart, what flew against me was that she had wrestled with an issue, just she and the Lord. She asked Him for direction, and He gave it to her.

She said, "Mom. He told me what to do. I finally heard Him..."

She'd been wanting to hear His voice. Wondering when she would.

And what she came to me with was such an assault on my senses. Huge grown up issues that she had been wrestling with and wanting answers to.

And she confronted me, with tears and gentleness, about why I haven't shared things with her that she wanted to know. 

As we talked, I had my open Bible in front of me. I kept touching it for reassurance, sharing with her God's plan and God's Words.

I'm so out of my comfort zone here. Gone are the days of potty training, Sesame Street and sleep issues.

Here we are. Teaching and learning how to follow Christ in all of His ways.

I'm not ready for this.

Or am I?

Have I spent enough time in His Word? Have I prayed enough. Have I meditated on His Word enough? Enough to parent well through these hard days?

Maybe. Maybe I am ready.

It was hard. Hard to look in her eyes and confess through my own tears that I hoped she wasn't sorry that I was her mother. That I worked hard to be the kind of mother that she could love and be thankful for. 

This was not what I bargained for when I sat down in my school chair.

As I look, even know, out the back door at her as she walks in the grass, thinking, pondering and praying, I know that I have to trust Christ to care for her. I know that I am teaching her how to be obedient to Him, to hear His voice, to be in His Word and to serve Him forever. I know that He will continue to carry her like He has the past few weeks. 

And what else did I learn from today?

As I asked her to trust me, to trust that I knew, guided by the Spirit, what was best for her, I heard God whisper to me, "And this goes for you too. I know what's best for you."

As I asked her to trust me, I heard God whispering, "And you have to trust Me."

This parenting thing. It's tough. It makes me rely on Him more. Seek Him more. Pray more. Cling more.

And you know what? It makes me tired.

Is it bedtime yet?


I hear my daughter singing and catch a glimpse of her twirling, in a new hand-me-down dress, past the door of the room where I sit, exhausted in so many ways.

I see the lightness of heart in her. I see the bounce in her step. I hear the lilt in her voice as she sings. Loudly. She feels lighter. A burden shared and then, released.

And strangely I feel more weighed down. I know what she faces. I  know what she's up against. I know what seeks to steal her away. I know what wants to take her joy. I know the devices he uses. What God created that He meant for good that she was questioning me about today. He will try to use it against her.

But greater is He that is in us, than he that is in the world. (1 John 4:4)

I'm so thankful for that. As I go, to pay bills, gather tax documents, clean, cook and direct the bedtime routine, I feel the song sweetly echo in my thoughts...

Perfect submission, all is at rest; 

I in my Savior am happy and blest, 
watching and waiting, looking above, 
filled with his goodness, lost in his love.

I struggle to release my burden to Him who says that His yoke is light. His burden is easy. (Matthew 11:30) He carries the load.

He is my resting place.

Shells

The kids and I love to collect shells at the beach. We walk along, scooping up shells and wash them in the waves.

I was the designated shell bag holder. As the boys would scurry to me, holding piles of shells dripping with wet sand, they would exclaim each time, "Look, Mom! Look at this one!"

I would admire each one before it was dropped into the shell bag. 

I noticed not long into our shell expedition that my shells were only complete shells. I only picked up perfect shells with no broken parts or missing pieces.

The boys picked up any shell that caught their eye, even if it was just a fragment. 

I found myself wanting to say, "But that's just a piece of a shell..." but I didn't. I let them drop those pieces in the bag. The pieces came to rest among my whole shells.

And you know what? That is so me. 

I don't like broken. 

I don't like it when I'm broken. 

I feel like when I sin, or when I fail, or when I fall, or when I stumble, I have to clean my self up and "fix" myself before I come before God.

I feel like He won't love me until I get myself all squared away and "clean" again.

I have a hard time worshiping when I've stumbled. Even when I've asked forgiveness and repented. I feel like God is mad at me. I feel like I have to do pentance until I'm clean again.

It cheapens the Gospel. It nullifies what Christ did on the cross. 

And I hate it.

It carries over into relationships too.

I don't ask for help.

I just shut down and figure it all out.

I'd much rather say, "I really fell apart yesterday, but I'm fine today" than to say, "I'm falling apart. Please help me."

I've never been so aware of this more than lately.

It's hard to be vunerable and say, "Help me." I hate to admit, "I'm struggling."

I'd rather say, "Leave me alone until I get this worked out."

For me, it's even more difficult for me to allow someone to help.

But for the first time in a long time, I feel the pull to allow. To accept help. 

To ask for it.

And even more than that, I've felt the pain of not allowing someone to help. I've felt the pain of seeing what the words "I can do it by myself" can cause. We need to be needed. We need to be allowed to help. We need to hear the words, "I need you..."

It's okay to let someone help.

I want to be able to accept help humbly. I don't want to act like I can do this by myself, because I can't.

I'm learning that just because you ask for help, that doesn't necessarily make you a burden. It doesn't mean that you are a weight. It doesn't mean that you are asking for too much.

I don't have to be whole all the time. 

How much do I love that my boys found beauty in brokenness? How thankful am I that they love me so much in spite of all of my brokenness, both in parenting and in being a child of God?

Hi. My name is Amy. I am broken. And that's okay.

I'm learning to see the beauty in being broken.

A short story

Once upon a time...

...there was a cupcake...

...and I ate it...

...and it was very, very good.

So good, in fact, I am wishing for another one...


The end.

Spring in the Park

Eh, that's a cheesy title, but I'm tired. And I want to go watch "Chuck," although this third season really is not my favorite. 

And it's not really even spring yet. It's still winter. 

I know better than to blog when I'm tired. I get distracted in a big way. I'm going to try to hold it together for this post. 

Gosh, I love this kid.

And this one too.

Jude, "I feel like a monkey at the zoo..."

"Mom, will these things break?"

As soon as I saw these bowl thingies, I thought, "Man, he is gonna LOVE this!"

Nope. He didn't love it. At all. He wouldn't do it.

Quick family meeting. She'll do it.

Ahhhh, nope. She won't either.

Pondering the unconquerable bowls.

This is what happens when you won't pose with your mother. She makes embarrassing faces.

You can't see it,  but the words "You Are Beautiful" are on the side of the building.

By the way, I love this kid too.

Okay, that kid in the Thomas shirt rode up on his Thomas scooter in his Thomas helmet and reminded me of the kid in the movie "Up." I seriously wanted to take him home. He was that stinking cute.

Can I tell you how much I wanted to move that building a couple of inches to the left so this picture would be completely symmetrical? It's killing me.

He fought the pavement and the pavement won. On his cheek. That's why he's holding his cheek.

Can I tell you how much this made me laugh? Why does the pile have to be steaming? Oh. My.

He scootered all over that park.

Refusing to show the wound.

The day ended well.

Adequate

I have this huge post titled "Conviction or Condemnation?" in which I ponder endlessly the phenomenon of not measuring up to standards I place for myself especially when I compare myself to others. 

(This was all started by the cleanliness of a friend's oven. Really.)

Wow. It was kind of nice to summarize all that drivel in one sentence.

The conclusion I was coming to, before I gave up trying to sort it all out with words, was that sometimes those compressions spur me on to work harder, improve in some area and/or re-evaluate if I am putting forth a consecrated effort or simply slacking. 

(And perhaps clean my oven.)

And then other times they just make me feel like crap.

I really should try this sort of blogging more often. I'd like to point out that those are four scant paragraphs on a subject I've been wrestling with for several weeks.

I think I need some sort of blogging award.

Or chocolate.

One morning the Lord handed me this verse:

"Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God." 

2 Corinthians 3:5

It jumped off the page and landed in my lap. 

I was struggling with huge feelings of inadequacy. 

I can't do it all. 

Beth Moore reminded me of it again this week:

"I am too much and not enough."

~sigh~

And then God handed me that verse. Once He hands me a verse specifically, I know I have to do something with it.

So I pondered it. 

It seemed a little strange. God promises us that we are "adequate."

I don't recall recently telling one of my kids, "Way to go! You are adequate!"

"Adequate" to me said that you fell far short of what is good and acceptable, much less excellent.

Just good enough.

Like I get a grade "C" in life.

Great.

But as I pondered this verse, I knew there had to be something more.

I have an unnatural affection for the dictionary. I love to look up words, even words I already know the definition to. It's a weird addiction.

So I looked up the word "adequate." Surely there was a hidden meaning to that word that was going to shed new light on this verse.

Sure enough, this is what I found:

adequate: Sufficient for a specific purpose.

Huh. 

I am good enough.

Well, that's more encouraging. But why, Lord? Why not make me stellar? Why not make me awesome? Why not empower me with amazing shows of wonderfulness?

Because.

 Then I wouldn't have to lean on Him ever second of every day. Because then I wouldn't have to trust Him to get me through my days. Because then I would think that I have something in me that worthy, good, able and... sufficient.

If He gave me too much sufficiency, then I wouldn't have to trust Him second by second to uphold me, guide my step, lead and direct me. 

All of my sufficiency comes from Christ. And only Him.

Being sufficient (in Him) reminds me of this.

If there are times that I do coast, thinking, "Hey, I got this...!" I can be sure that a crash is coming right around the corner. (And it always does.)

I am sure now more than ever that I am only usable by Him when I am clinging to Him in desperation.

So what does that look like long term? I believe that I am going to be crippled, clinging to him in the midst of the storm that I am for the rest of my life. (I am my own hurricane.)

And you know what? That's good. I want my weakness to showcase His glory more. I want to tell people, "I can't do it at all. But He makes me able. Sufficient for this purpose."

Whatever that purpose is. 

Even if it's just getting the laundry done.

Baby Hands

I noticed my daughter studying the four year old's hand the other day. 

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

She replied, "He still has baby hands" while holding his hand in hers. 

I dropped down beside her and studied his hand. It didn't take but a few seconds for him to snatch his hand away, poking out his tongue at us at the same time.  Yep, that's Zane. Never one much for sentiment.

It's true, though. Even as time slips toward his five year old birthday, there are still remanents of babyhood that I can catch a fleeting glimpse of - his cheeks, a few of his words and those hands. 

Maybe we cling to the baby parts of him because he is the baby of the family. As much as I love having big kids, and as much as I love reveling in the ease that having older kids bring, I still mourn the baby days at times. And as I feel those baby hands rub my arm or pat my back, I fully realize that these days are quickly coming to a close.

And I'm okay with that. I don't have to think back too far to remember how hard those days were.

Whew.

God is good. 

I'm thankful to my girl for pointing out those baby hands. I need help in slowing down to notice the little things that will all too soon be gone forever. As I drove down the road and noticed that baby hand out the back window, it made me smile. 

Lord, help me notice and be so very humbly thankful for the little things.

Song in the night

Reading Acts 16 this morning~after Paul and Silas had been beaten and thrown into jail, and

"...about midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns of praise to God..."

Oh Lord, that you would always be my Song. Day or night. Good times or bad. You, Lord, are the Giver of songs. Songs sung in the darkness of night...

"His song with be with me in he night, a prayer to the God of my life." Psalm 42:8

I love what Spurgeon says:

"Any fool can sing in the day. It is easy to sing when we an read the notes by daylight; but the skillful singer is he who can sing when there is not a ray of light to read by...Song in the night come only from God; they are not in the power of men." 

"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul will boast in the Lord... Oh magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together." Psalm 34

Lord, You are not only my song, You are my happy ending.