Ode to Jude

I love all three of my children the exact same amount. 

I really do. 

I love the girl kid for so many reasons. I love her creativity, her love of books, the way she loves to write and draw, her girly love of fashion and fingernail polish, her kind way with people, her sweet smile and her deep thinking that also drives me nuts.

I love the baby kid too. In spite of the fact that he almost killed me in the early years of his life, he is now the most sensitive and kind of all three kids. He's funny and smart. He's the most loving and affectionate of the kids and he amazes me at the things he thinks about. 

And then there's the middle kid. 

He's eight today, by the way.

And since this is the anniversary of his birth, I have been introspective and reflective about this child of mine.

We joke that he was the easy baby and it's true. We got him quite easily, and my pregnancy with him was not marred by the anxiety of a first time mom. We had most of what we needed already and got bags full of blue hand-me-downs from sweet friends. 

An infection sent me into an early labor with him, and I ended up in the hospital in labor late one night, dehydrated and exhausted. After a bag and a half of fluids, it became apparent that he was actually coming three days before his due date. I was tired, but ready.

It was a relatively easy labor. I remember several parts of it vividly: The lady next door to me was having twins, and she screamed. A lot. And loudly. We cranked the praise music in my room until it was blaring down the hall. There was a violent thunder storm and the thunder seemed to rattle everything. I remember my friend Hayes' hands on my back, massaging me through the worst contractions. I remember the dim lights, the soft voices and the eyes on me. 

Finally, I was past exhaustion and the contractions were coming more quickly than I could stand. I couldn't get my breath and I couldn't get on top of them and I was done. I felt scared and out of control. I wanted it over. 

I panicked.

When you have an unmedicated birth, you ask for drugs a lot. One suggestion that we took before hand was to set up a code word for when you really meant that you needed drugs. 

I looked at the sweet nurse that had been so patient and kind. I was slightly crazed from the pain and exhaustion. 

"I want drugs."

She looked at Allen, who started to repeat the rehearsed responses to my requests. 

"No. I mean it. I want drugs."

He patiently started to encourage me when I grabbed his shirt and yelled the word we had decided on months earlier, 

"GRASSHOPPER!!!!!!"

His eyes got huge and he looked at the nurse and Hayes. 

"She wants drugs."

Hayes said to the nurse, "Why don't we start with a quarter dose of Stadol."

She added that to my iv and we waited. 

"MORE!" I yelled.

"Another quarter dose."

And we waited.

"AH! MORE!" I yelled again.

Hayes looked at me in the eyes, put her hand on my arm and said, "One more quarter dose."

I said okay.

A few minutes later, I was so.... happy. And drunk. But I didn't care. I could relax. I actually dozed off between contractions. 

Then I knew it was about time.. I looked around and my mom and one of my sisters and the doctor were gone. 

"Where'd they go?" I asked Hayes. 

"They're in the hall. They don't like to see you in pain." 

The doctor doesn't like to see me in pain? Good grief. 

I looked at the nurse who was at the end of the bed. I sat up and said to her, "I'm done."

She raised her eyebrows and said, "Okay...?" 

I pushed that kid out with one push. 

"Stop!!!" she yelled and said, "Go get the doctor." 

Jude's head was out. The doctor walked in and said, "That was fast."

"Where were you?" I asked accusingly. He laughed. "Let's get the rest of him out, okay?"

He sat Jude on my chest and kissed me on the forehead. "Good job, Mama." 

Allen hadn't moved from my side, and then this picture. The first one:

There was no anxiety this time. I held that baby boy whose name means praise and I did just that. I walked him in the dark quiet of the hospital, and with tears streaming down my face dripping on his tiny swaddled self, I thanked God for him over and over and over again. I couldn't stop. 

My son. 

He was so easy. He was a newborn and with that came all the hard work and exhaustion, but he was so gentle and easy. He would sleep for hours in his baby swing until I would go poke him to make sure he was still breathing. 

He needed me constantly and we were never far apart, but it was a sweet and gentle relationship. I didn't know then exactly how easy it was. 

He was only 15 months old when I got pregnant with our 3rd baby. The loss of that baby and the subsequent complications of that and then my pregnancy with the 4th baby took a lot out of me. I worried that it affected him too much. I tried to be what he needed. I will probably always worry that I wasn't the best mom during that period. I will always hope it didn't affect him negatively forever. 

He grew into a quiet, introspective kid. Gentle still and always easy. 

I still didn't realize how easy until the third baby was born. The stark contrast of them made me realize even more how quiet and easy this one was.

But then I started to see how this can be hard. Even harder than a kid who demands and receives. Jude would fade into the background and never demand anything. He wouldn't push his way to the front and his needs got overlooked. His voice wasn't heard and he was always the one who sacrificed his wants and needs to the "squeaky wheels" of the family.

I'm not sure I compensated for this very well. I would say constantly, "You okay, Buddy?" I asked too many questions to pull him out. I finally felt the Spirit's urging me to be quiet yet attentive. 

Parenting this kid is in fact harder than the other two. Being available in a busy, often time chaotic life for him to come to me, is challenging. To have enough quite for him to speak out. To have the restraint to not ask him questions to draw him out but to create an environment where he feels safe and comfortable to share his heart.

It's hard.

And to trust that he doesn't have to talk a lot. He is okay to be quiet and introspective.

He's a people pleaser. The baby kid will do and be what he wants with little regard of others. (I'm trying to bend that into a constant obedience to Christ.)  Not so with this middle kid. He goes with the flow. He blends and cooperates and complies. I want him to be stubborn in his love for Christ and determination to do what's right. I'm praying in that way. 

I also began to see a lot of myself in him. I tried to teach him that sometimes we have to step outside of ourselves and share and talk and communicate. 

It's ironic. God is teaching me through teaching my son. 

He's the quintessential middle kid. Just like my Dad and so much like my sweet middle sister. I see so many of the same precious qualities in them. 

This kid.

 He's uproariously funny. Possesses a quick wit. Smart and observant. Still gentle. Lover of animals. All animals. So much so that we call him the "animal whisperer." Reserved and quiet until things are just so and then he'll talk your ear off. 

He came to Christ all on his own. Told me shyly one morning that he was now a Christ follower. Didn't want to talk about it at length, but I believed him. He's the kid with a love of the Word. I'll find his Bible in his bed with him in the morning where he read it before falling asleep. He'll show me what he's been reading. He has a sweet love for our pastor and will even do spur of the moment impersonations of him that absolutely wreck us. He told me shyly once that he too wanted to be a pastor, and though that is firmly between him and the Lord, my breath caught in my throat when he uttered those words. I admit to having prayed that way since hearing those words, hoping God would be gracious and use him that way. 

I love this kid who looks just like his daddy and acts just like me. He even has an obnoxious laugh that still catches me off guard when I hear it. I love the time when he and I are alone. I feel  more at ease with him than most anyone. There are times that he and I lock eyes over the roar of our house, and it's as if he's saying, "Whew. These people are insane..."We have a common, unspoken language, he and I. When I offend or ask of him something he doesn't approve of, he will give me what he call the "stink eye." It kills me. 

I pray a lot for his wife. I pray God will give him someone who is tender and can be trusted with the gentleness of this person. Someone willing to care for him carefully and appreciate his tender ways. Someone who will allow him to be strong in his sweet, quiet leadership. I pray God teaches him how to be a strong, unyielding, unwavering, Godly man.   

His love for his big sister at times I think surpasses his love for anyone else, even me. They honestly never ever fight or argue. It's one of the most beautiful relationships I have ever seen. His baby brother makes up for the ease of that relationship. They are almost constantly at odds, but seem to love each other still. The older the baby kid gets, the easier it is. I beg Jude to hang in there. I pray he's learning coping skills that will last a life time. 

I could talk about this enigma of a kid all day. I could write of all the qualities he possesses that I so desperately want for myself. I want to be like him when I grow up. 

I still desperately thank God for giving him to me. I pray I'm worthy to be his mother. I pray that I can parent him well in the complexity of all that he is. I pray that God will use him in the most amazing way. 

I'm thankful that I get to celebrate him today. 

Parenting & Grace

Parenting and Grace

(link)

I have the book mentioned in this article and I started reading it. It sort of messed me up. 

And so this is sort of like Galatians and parenting and everything I've been learning and seeing and hearing and feeling all rolled up into one.

Putting this here for later.

Trees

When Laney was in Kindergarten, we learned Joyce Kilmer's "Trees." I have been driving her crazy reciting what I remember of it. She refuses to play and won't even say it with me.

It really stinks that I forgot that poem. It was a good one. 

The first line will stay with me forever:

I think that I shall never see 

A poem as lovely as a tree...


I was cleaning the kitchen when I heard a distant, "Mom! Come look!"

I walked out in the back yard to find my middle kid in the tree in the back yard for the first time ever. My first thought was, "Cool!" There were always trees to climb at my grandmother's house and I stayed in them. I almost climbed up there with him.

Then all I could see was him tumbling out of the tree to the hard ground. I saw emergency rooms, casts and doctor bills.

And I hate that.

Thanks to our insurance, the emergency rooms visits we've had took years to pay off. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the insurance we have, but there is no dread like seeing a never ending stream of envelopes coming in the mail with hospitals' names on the upper left corner with your name on the front.

And then I got mad at myself for letting money affect my son's joy in climbing a tree.

Or maybe it wasn't really anxiety about the money. Was I worried that he'd get hurt and I feared seeing that pain? Was I inconvenienced by his being in the tree because I felt the need to stand under him to make sure he didn't fall out?

Why is this so hard for me?

As I shoved the little kid up the tree so he could be with his brother, I did laugh out loud at my insanity. I try so hard to be a good boy mom. I intentionally try to let them get dirty, be messy, be loud and let them rough and tumble. I see their love for rocks and sticks and motors and balls and running and gross stuff. And tackling. I didn't grow up around boys and never knew much about them, but I am desperate to be a good boy mom.

And I want them to be Godly men, fathers and husbands one day. I'm absolutely desperate for that.

So how does my not freaking out about my son climbing a tree lead him to be a Godly man? I don't know, but way deep inside me I feel a connection somehow.

I want him to know that I trust him to be careful and make wise decisions. I want to trust him to know how high to go or whether a branch is too weak to stand on. I want him to decide with full confidence if he's making good decisions or not. In that tree or out of it.

And I'm simply horrible at this. I stood there yelling up in that tree, "That's far enough. Not that branch. Are you ready to come down?"

The mom I want to be said, "I love that you are in that tree. I wish I could climb it too! How's the view up there?"

I think I said those things. Later. Maybe. I hope I did.

I have to trust my kids. I have to trust the Holy Spirit in them. I have to let them fall. Both out of trees and in life. Everything in me screams against that. But He's teaching me, and I'm so thankful.

I want, long and desire passionately to be a Godly wife and a fantastic boy mom. {And girl mom, but that seems so much easier. At least in this situation. She climbed in the tree for five minutes and decided she'd rather swing or read}

These boys challenge me. And I'm so glad. 

Pumpkin Patch

We made our annual visit to the pumpkin patch yesterday, but we almost didn't get to go. I inadvertently scheduled another field trip the same day without realizing it. At the last minute we were able to work it out. I was so glad because this is such a special part of the way we love to celebrate fall. 

We were late, rushing to meet our friends, and I yelled for the kids to let me take a picture. They really don't mind doing things like this for their photo-obsessed mother, but they knew they were missing things and were ready to get on with it. I knew that we probably wouldn't remember to do it when we left, so I made them sit quickly for a quick picture. 

The picture from this year made me both happy and sad. 

It made me think back through the years, and so this morning, I took a few minutes strolling down memory lane and gathered the pictures from pumpkin patches through the years. 

I'm not sure who these big kids belong to. Laney, on the cusp of being 10 years old, and the boys, so big. And on a side note, this is the first year it has ever been cool at the farm, even though we go each year. I was very thankful for that. 

Last year, we were really, really hot. This is what I think the kids should look like. Perhaps I'm a year behind in their development. I probably need to catch up. 

This was the last year Laney would wear a "fall" shirt. The last year they were all little. 

This one makes my heart melt. The days were still long and hard, but those faces kill me. 

This year we only made it to the tiny church pumpkin patch right around the corner by our house. That kid in the middle is showing you why. To look at the picture makes me so incredibly tired. And thankful that they are big like that first picture now.

And this is why we didn't go to a pumpkin patch this year. I looked at this picture and had a heart attack. I honestly don't remember most of those days, but how adorable is he? I do wish I could kiss those cheeks one more time! 

 And here were the other two. I love those kids. 

As I tried so hard to encourage a sweet new mom this week, I did so gently. I see now, five years out from these last photos, that the time does fly. But I remember all too well those first days with your first born. The unfathomable exhaustion, the worry and stress, the overwhelming sense of twenty-four hour responsibility, the physical demands on a body just having carried a baby for nine months and then gotten the baby out, not to mention swirling hormones and thoughts only of how to go to the bathroom by yourself  or take a shower at least every couple of days, again, alone. 

I could have cried for her, and given the week that just was, I probably did. 

I so wanted to encourage her, yet assure her that she would blink once and these days would be over. Because it's true. But when some well meaning soul would tell me this in Publix as I struggled to make it through that moment, I didn't believe her. 

Thankfully I found a sweet blog post that perfectly expressed what I could not. I read it tearfully and sent it to her, hoping the the Holy Spirit would use it to comfort and encourage her. 

And I prayed for her a lot. I won't ever forgot how hard those days were, nor will I ever say to a young mom, "Just wait until _____ stage. It's so much harder."

No. It's all hard. Just different kinds of hard. 

But the take away for me is the same. That even as I get tired and discouraged in this stage of life, I will remember that it's over all too quickly. And even as I sit now and see a Saturday full of chores and sole responsibilities today for these three ever changing kids, I know that He is strong in me and that soon I'll be sitting in a quiet house, looking back at pictures of Pumpkin Patches from years past, wondering where the years all went.

And that helps me allow Him to be strong in me and do today well. 

Another parenting post

http://www.rickthomas.net/2011/09/21/incrementally-introducing-your-children-to-the-world/

(link)

There was so much good stuff in here. I keep thinking about it. Nailing it here for the person who can't get into Pininterest...

Parenting

This isn't going to be one of those, "Oh, here are my thoughts, and now that I've typed all of that out, I'm done! I've figured it all out!"

Nope. 

This is one of those "beauty" categories, where I ponder and process until either I get sick of it and live with what I processed some here and some in my brain or I just say, "Forget the whole thing."

Okay, fine. I never say that last thing. I wish I knew how to. Unfortunately, I plow through something until I have some sort of hold on it.

And trust me, sometimes, or a lot of times, I wish that weren't true.

But this whole parenting thing is different.

I'm not wrestling with a subject like the origin of sin/evil because it's something I need to know, this parenting thing is crucial because of the well-being of my children.

And yes, being in the Word is square one. I realize that, and I continue to learn how to do that more and better in part to become a better parent. 

And.

I know that the Lord has provided additional resources to aid in my on-going education of how to be a good parent.

As I grow in the Word, I'll be a better parent. 

And I'm thankful for things He brings to be that help me learn in addition to His Word.

Here are two of them.

I'm putting them here for me, mostly, to be able to come back to. (I'm not a fan of that Pininterest thing. Yet. Or maybe ever. I'm happy emailing things to myself and plopping them into folders to locate later. Or never.) 

And I hope to continue to process these things, either here or just in my brain. Or with you...

Read this first.

(link)

Now this:

Parenting Blindspots

(link)

I'm resisting the urge to outwardly process. Must. Go. School. Children. 

Worshiping together?

In our church, the kids are not only allowed to come to "big church" from the time they are born, once they hit kindergarten, they have to come to big church.

I remember when we were visiting, in the midst of all of my complaints about having to attend this church was the fact that my kindergarten and up kids would be joining me in big church. I so very wisely and kindly commented to my friend as we discussed this, "I don't like that..." 

You see, as a round-the-clock homeschool mom, I had dreams of sitting in a seat amongst other adults with my husband, dressed not in sweat shorts and a tee and cute shoes (most important) with hair and makeup done, devoting all my brain cells to the sermon being taught. 

When I heard that the kids came to church, all that came to a mental screeching halt. 

Oh, great...

And even though the baby was only 18 months old at the time, the thought of that one being in big church with us was enough to fill me with waves of fear and trepidation. 

Of course, we joined the church, because that's what happens when I stomp my foot and tell God what I will and won't do. I also began to see that along with all of my other silly notions about why this church wasn't for me, I was wrong about the kids not being in church with us. There were plenty of beneficial reasons why they should be.

But sure. The older two were the easy ones. Well, at lease when it came to church behavior.  

I was still trying not to think about the baby kid. 

The time was now quickly approaching. It was nearly here. He had to come to church with us.

Unfortunately one of the few only other times he had been to big church was Christmas Eve, which is a fraction of our usual hour and a half long service. So imagine his surprise when, two weeks ago, we attended the first real worship service as a family. He wanted to sit on the front row, and so kindly reminded me that when we attended the Easter service, and he had wanted to sit on the front row, I had dismissed him with a, "not this time, but next time..."

It was now the "next time." 

Have I mentioned the kid has a memory like a steel trap?

Hubs and the girl kid kindly refused to join us on the front row, and instead chose to sit a couple of rows back in our usual spot with Mimi.

So there we were. 

He did fine, until about 20 minutes into the sermon. 

"IS IT DONE YET?" he staged whispered to me.

"No. Shhhh," I whispered back. 

He eyed me suspiciously. I knew this was about to all go down hill.

He waited 5 more minutes and stage whispered, "IS HE ALMOST DONE?"

Did I mention we were sitting on the front row?

It wasn't pretty. 

Thankfully we made it through the service (barely) and in midst of my seething fury, the Holy Spirit stage whispered to me, "WELL, YOU REALLY DIDN'T GET HIM READY FOR THIS..."

I crumpled inside, realized I had failed my kid parentally yet again.

Of course I had packed him a Bible, his notebook, a pen and a few markers, but I hadn't taken the time to explain to him anything or tell him anything about the service or the reason we go or what we were doing or what other around us were doing or anything.

Remind me again why we don't need a license to get a kid? 

We came home, and I swam out of my guilt long enough to go search through my bookshelf for a book that our kind children's minister at our last church recommended to me. It was dusty, and as I held it in my hand, I felt such sorrow in how I had failed my kid. I was too busy and too preoccupied with myself and my own worship experience to prepare my kid for worship.

Not to mention I never really prepared the other two. I just always took advantage of their usual good church behavior. 

*sigh*

So I opened this book and was flooded with all that I should have done.

Ah, but there is parenting grace. Tons of it. Thankfully. Thank you, Lord.

As I dove into the book, I was thankful that at least I picked it up at this point instead of like... never. 

So here it is:

Parenting in the Pew - Guiding Your Children to Worship

I really think this book should be required reading for all parents who take their kids to church. It's really blowing me away. I have laughed, cried, been hugely convicted and thanked the Lord for it. 

Then today, lo and behold, I was doing some quick reading before starting dinner, and this popped up:

Worship Together

Big Church for Small Kids 

The blog posts and the book don't line up perfectly, but they do make a lot of the same points.

And of course I geek out when something I'm doing on my own gets reinforced with something online. It's just sweet confirmation from a kind God who never ceases to show me that He wants to be involved with everything we struggle with. I forget to take seemingly small things to Him, but I feel the tug of Him saying, "Bring it all to me. Nothing is too small. Nothing..."

And quite honestly how huge is how I lead my children in WORSHIP before a living, Holy, wild, untamed, yet compassionate and tender God?

Why did I let this be an issue of behavior and not see it for what it really is?

Oh me. I'm so very thankful for these kids the Lord has entrusted me with. Their patience with me is an inspiration.

I'm begging the Lord to stage whisper to me before I make a huge blunder like this next time. He'll do that, you know...

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.

Push back

I read this article earlier today, and it was an appropriate addition to our week. 

My daughter is pushing back.

Long ago I banned all live television directed at kids above the age of 5. After continuously seeing the horrific sinful decisions these young actors made in their real lives, I decided they had no place in my daughter's life. At all. I know that I can't determine all of her influences, but there was no way I was going to allow these people to get to her at such a young age.

I realize that the previous paragraph makes me sound like a paranoid uber religious fanatic who doesn't own a television and bicycles everywhere. 

Yeah, well.

Long ago I stopped caring what other families were doing, what was deemed right and acceptable by society and what others viewed as unusual.

And I went on with things.

But. 

Now, at the age of 9, my daughter is questioning those boundaries. Fervently. About television. About music.

She begged to check out a Carrie Underwood cd from the library. I felt an uneasiness, but I agreed. (When will I learn to trust the Holy Spirit's instant prompting? When?)

She came home, went to her room, popped in her cd, started to listen, and after a few minutes I felt the Prompting to get into her room now.

As soon as I went into her room, I could tell by the look on her face that she was doing something she knew was wrong. 

This song was playing:

"Last Name"

Last night I got served a little bit too much of that poison baby
Last night I did things I'm not proud of
And I got a little crazy
Last night I met a guy on the dance floor
And I let him call me baby

And I don't even know his last name
Oh, my mama would be so ashamed
It started off "Hey cutie, where ya from?"
And then it turned in,
"Oh no, what have I done?"
And I don't even know his last name

We left the club right around three o'clock in the morning
His Pinto sitting there in the parking lot Well it should have been a warning
I had no clue what I was getting into
So I blame it on the Cuervo
Oh where did my manners go?

And I don't even know his last name
Oh, my mama would be so ashamed
It started off "Hey cutie, where ya from?"
And then it turned in,
"Oh no, what have I done?"
And I don't even know his last name
Here we go...

Today I woke up thinkin' about Elvis somewhere in Vegas
I'm not sure how I got here
Or how this ring on my left hand just appeared out of nowhere
I gotta go
I take the chips and the Pinto and hit the road
They say what happens here stays here
All of this will disappear
There's just one little problem...

I don't even know my last name
Oh my mama would be so ashamed
It started off "Hey cutie, where ya from?"
And then it turned in,
"Oh no, what have I done?"
And I don't even know my last name

What have I done
What have I done
What have I done
Oh, what have I done
I don't even know my last name

It turned into
"Oh no, what have I done?"
And I don't even know my last

It started off "Hey cutie, where ya from?"
And then it turned into
"Oh no, what have I done?"
And I don't even know my last name

my last name

I took the cd, and my daughter dissolved into a fit of tears.  

Boy, I was furious. Mad at myself not listening to that Voice, mad at my daughter for being upset by my taking that crap away from her, and mad that I couldn't tell her all of the exact reasons that I needed to protect her from this garbage and more.

Boy, I was mad.

And so was she.

She looked at me with a tear stained face and said, "Why is Christ-like the only thing I can be?"

I gasped on the inside at her boldness. I felt horror at what she had said. I was ashamed, and for a moment, that familiar voice whispered, you've really blown it with this kid...

I stabbed down that voice with a flaming sword and looked her directly in the eye.

Unafraid.

I am not afraid to parent her in spite of my past failures. I won't give in to those lies. I am worthy to parent her. It doesn't matter what I've done. I do expect her to do better. I expect her not to make those same mistakes.

What ensued was a long conversation soaked in love and compassion in light of my own failures and sinful desires and firmness. 

I thought we made head way.

The next day was better. I thought. She looked at me and asked if we could go back to the library and get some more cds. But, "... not Christian ones..."

Deep breath.

I know she's pushing back. Testing. Feeling the boundaries. Making sure I'm worthy of being her parent.

She always has. Even from day one. 

(God will use that to His glory one day. This head-strongness. This fortitude.)

Making the matter worse is that I can't articulate all that's at stake here. I very nearly sat her down and made her read that article up there. In it's entirety. Maybe it's time I handed her all the facts of life full force so that I can explain to her exactly what hinges on her tiny obedience here.

I know why parents let things go. This is so hard. I get tired of explaining. I get tired of the pushing. I get tired of the constant need to demand that we all walk in holiness.

I'm tired of the conviction in my own life. 

So I retreat back to the Word. And study. And pray. And trust. 

And I keep pushing back. 

Galatians 6:9

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

(and my kid is a good kid. she loves Christ. she has a good heart. she has a desire to do what's right. i in no way want to disparage her or alter her reputation in any way. what i see playing out in her is nothing that i haven't seen in my own life each and every day. she's an amazing kid. she's struggling in the same way that we all are. and these decisions i've made are made in light of what's right for our family and in obedience to God.)

I get it now

I'll never forgot that poor woman. In line at the grocery store, she spotted me with my newborn, my two year old and my four year old. She snorted down at me, "Enjoy these years. They are the easy ones. It only gets harder. Much harder."

Unfortunately for her, I hadn't slept in days. I hadn't showered in that long either, most likely. I was overwhelmed, exhausted and well past the end of my rope.

As I look back at this stranger, this lady who had barged into my weary world with extremely unwelcome sentiments, I found myself growing brave, confrontational. My cheeks grew red, my back bowed a bit and I transformed into someone else.

"Easy? This is easy? I haven't slept in days. I haven't showered in days. I haven't had a full, hot meal in much longer than that. I haven't even gone to the bathroom by myself in years and these are the easy days?????"

I was fairly screeching by the end of it. The cashier's eyes were wide and the lady took several steps backward. Her husband tugged on her sleeve and said, "Honey, let's go."

I remember looking at the cashier with a horrified expression and whispering, "Oh my gosh. I am so sorry..."

The cashier recovered quickly. 

"That was really rude of her. I remember when I was where you are. It wasn't easy. It was awfully hard."

A tear rolled down my cheek, and as the terrified grocery bagger asked if he could wheel my groceries to the car, I looked back at her and said, "Thank you."

She shrugged. "No big deal. You'll be fine. The days will go by quickly."

She leaned in a little then and said, "And the next stage is hard too. They are all hard. Teenagers especially. But at least in those days, you'll get a shower. And you'll get to go to the bathroom by yourself..." She smiled a sweet smile, and I cried all the way home.

To this day, if I see a mom with tiny children, my heart cries for her, just a little. It is hard. 

"Hang in there!" I want to yell. I want to tell her that soon it will be over, and she'll be able to breathe a little more.

I thought nothing could ever be that hard. 

I see it now, though. What comes next. My sweet friend J put it well: 

"In the younger years, it's hard on your body. You can't ever get it all done. You're exhausted all the time, and it's really hard. But as your kids get older, it gets hard on your brain. Your spirit. It just switches from the physical to the emotional..."

Oh.

I've seen it lately. I've seen my 9 year old wrestle with bigger issues. 

"What if what we believe is all wrong? What if the other people got it right, and we are the ones that are wrong?"

"I can't see Jesus. I can't see anything that happened in the Bible. How do I really know it's real?"

"Why can't I have a boy friend?"

"Why can't I watch those t.v. shows?"

"Why can't I listen to that music?"

"Exactly how does the baby get in the Mom's stomach?"

"How am I supposed to know what college to go to? How am I supposed to know who to marry, especially if I can't date?"

"What if the Bible is wrong?"

"Why is being Christ-like so hard? Why is that the only thing I can be?"

Oh. My. Goodness.

I get it now.

I hated those newborn days. I know that breaks some sort of Mommy code, and maybe I'd change my mind if I had a kid that actually slept, but those were hard days. I really didn't enjoy them. I loved my kids more than anything, but I was always relieved when they turned a year old. Whew. Okay.

But this is a different hard. This really forces me to be in constant communion with Christ. To be in His Word. To be in prayer. To be firm, consistent and patient. (And oh how often I fail at the patient.)

This stretches me. More.

I saw a war over my kid today. I saw her yearning for all that would kill her mind, spirit and soul. I've been there. I saw her today, wanting all that the world has to offer. Or thinking that she wanted it.

I wasn't scared. I'll fight for my kids in every spiritual battle that comes. Tirelessly and fearlessly. Not in my own strength, but His. I'm not going to get tired of fighting for what is right.

I know that a lot of this is just part of growing up. But. I'm also wise to Satan and his schemes. And as I saw the tears streaming down my daughter's face today, I felt the war raging. 

I know he wants to destroy my family. I know he wants my kids. I know he would love to see them end in destruction. I know.

You know what I used to do? I used to pray for my teenagers. I knew, on some level, how hard it would be. So I prayed prayers almost as soon as they were born for the days that would be hard emotionally. I prayed in some sort of "pay it forward" fashion. I felt better about those coming hard days knowing that for years, they had been covered in prayer. Multiple times.

I think today I felt those prayers. Prayers that I said for myself and for these kids so long ago. And I am reminded that I need to pray more. Because I've glimpsed the future. And that lady in the grocery line was sort of right. Those days are going to be hard.

At least I will have had a shower. Things seem a little easier to deal with if you've had a shower.

(edited to add:  I woke this morning, pondering these things still, praying over today. God so sweetly and gently led me to 1 Peter 5. A firm reminder of what we are truly battling against: Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. But resist him, firm in your faith...)

Where is your mother?

I used to be really judgmental. I'd hear about something happening to a kid and I think, "Gosh, where was their mother?"

This was a long time ago. Before I lost a kid at Home Depot. And before a neighbor brought a  little girl kid of mine to the front door and said, "Um, she was outside in the front yard..."(I can neither confirm or deny that there may be other stories similar to these...)

So yeah, now when I hear something happened to a kid, I think, "Oh yeah, that could totally happen to me..."

For instance.

The girl kid likes to look at pictures on the computer while I cook dinner. So tonight all three of the kids were giggling gathered around the computer. I've been at this long enough to know that giggling usually means something's up.

They were looking at this picture:

Fine. Yeah, it's funny and all. But I look at this picture and I see the glass and iron bedside tables that are on each side of the bed. I see stitches, broken bones and more monthly payments to another hospital. And more.

(because I'm totally not a huge worrier or anything like that...)

I screeched, "WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?????"

The girl got a small voice and said, "We call it 'Rocket'."

"AND WHERE WAS I???" I screeched again.

"Cooking breakfast," came the reply.

Good grief.

I probably thought they were upstairs cleaning their rooms or something like that. 

Stinkers.

And yes, "Rocket" is no longer an acceptable game at our house.

I wonder what else I don't know about what goes on around here...

Pay me my money!

My nephew taught a 3 year old Zane to say that, and he spent a week going around holding out his hand, yelling at us, "Pay me my money!" It was funny while it lasted, which thankfully, wasn't long.

I've struggled with this whole allowance thing for awhile. Poor Laney. I kept putting it off with her, saying, "I'll get to it. Not yet. Hang in there. I'll get to it..." for years. I wanted to get that whole thing going, but just couldn't figure out what my hold up was.

Finally my sweet girl asked me yet again, and I knew it was time to figure it out. I asked for opinions on Facebook, (hush) and the responses I got were varied and pretty passionate (but totally kind). Seems like money, politics and religion are always things that get people chatting. I liked the responses, and really read and thought about them all, but sadly, nothing there really struck a chord with me. 

I knew without a doubt that I didn't want allowance and chores connected at all. A long time ago, a super wise lady said, "Helping families help each other." Want to ask my kids how many times I quote that to them? My kids do things around the house for the benefit of us all, to honor and glorify God and to show Him that we are thankful and care for what He has blessed us with. (This is hugely convicting to me as I plan my own housekeeping schedule for the school year. How can I teach this to my kids when the house is a wreck?) 

My kids are getting more responsibilities this school year. And it's going to stretch them. But honestly I do need help, and they can step up. I'm careful to thank them and give them appropriate praise, but I don't reward chores. (Or good behavior. I'm so passionate about that. We all obey rules, as unto God, and your reward is the knowledge that you are obeying the most Holy God. No M&M charts here.) 

The one exception is when my kids have twice raised money for mission projects. Then I gave them chores that were usually my chores as a way to earn money. That was great on some many levels. They didn't keep the money, and I got help! But I was not going to do that for usual chores. I knew that. 

Then I thought, in that vein, since my kids liked that, maybe we could have a standing mission project to raise money for. I even considered letting the kids take responsibility for the Compassion Kids we already sponsor for the each of them. They pray for them and write them letters, so why let not let them take over that responsibility?  I don't have a good peace about that, for what ever reason. Maybe I don't want them to resent those kids for "making" them have to do extra chores? I don't know. Still kicking that around.

I also couldn't get around the fact that I wasn't comfortable with the concept of an allowance in the first place. 

I had to ask myself a question. "Why do they need an allowance?"

The resounding response from others has been, "So they can learn to manage their money." 

Really? They need money? 

Uh oh. This is going to get ugly, but as I pondered this endlessly, I couldn't get past that issue. Why give kids money? So they learn to give, spend and save. 

*sigh* 

Okay. I want my kids to give. That's the only stinking reason I can find within my self for earning money. To give it away. (The first person that says the word "shoes" gets punched in the face.) And to care for your family, obviously. But that's the point. The kids don't have to take care of themselves. We do that for them. They do give. They love to give. Really. So I don't want to mess with that.

Spend? Nope. I want to delay as long as possible the correlation that money is meant to be acquired so that it can be spent on tangible goods for ones self. Now I fully get the irony here. I am the WORST at that. Really. Even with Zane's birthday, he got money and we spent it on him. And I know it was his birthday and the givers of that money wanted him to do that. But nowhere did I say, "Hey, buddy, why don't we share this money with Bayan?"  (his Compassion Kid) Why didn't I do that? Because I still have SO much here to learn. Because I'm still trying to undo years and years of bad behavior with money. 

The only reason I can see for my kids getting money to spend is to spend it on "stuff" they want. I hate that. They have enough stuff. (Don't remind me I have enough shoes. I'm sensitive. I might cry.) And we do buy them "stuff" occasionally, but honestly they rarely ask for it. (Okay, fine. When they go to Target, it's like they've never EVER seen a toy, and the purchase of a toy is all that stands between them and certain death. Mainly the little one, but all of them to a degree. And we do love the Dollar Spot. *sigh*) I try to limit commercials to try to help with this. I don't know. We do talk so much about stuff and how we just don't need any more. 

Ugh. I'm getting bogged down just trying to get all that out.

Save. Here's where the firestorm will start. I hate saving. I have for years. And years. Yes, we do have two savings accounts. And one of them recently got wiped out due to Laney's curriculum and "the weekend." (And the other is in danger at the present time also.) And yes, that makes makes me panic a bit, which further shows me that I'm not fully dependent on Christ. But I don't save for college. (They'll get scholarships or work to pay for their own college. If I were a millionaire, that would still be the case. I have about 15 reasons for that, if you're interested.) We don't save for retirement. Is God going to stop providing for me at some miraculous age? (That's a whole other post too...)  I just can't find a scriptural reason to save tons of money. (The "being a good steward" doesn't cut it with me.) Especially when you're 6. Unless you want to save it up and then give it all away.

Good grief.

I'm not even making sense to myself. :)

So I bounced all this around in my head. And I wanted so badly to hear another human say, "Oh, I agree." Because I'm weak and selfish that way. 

And then it happened. 

I was talking to a friend whose upbringing I really respect. I asked her about allowances when she was growing up and she responded, "Oh, we didn't get allowances. We didn't need them." I squealed, at least on the inside. (I didn't want to scare her.) She elaborated and literally expressed everything I had been thinking in my head.

Now I totally get the danger of searching out people who just back up what you are already thinking, but honestly, that's not my MO. I absolutely love finding someone who thinks differently than me, and then arguing the heck out of a subject, so I can learn. (Don't I sound like the most magnificent friend? No, I don't do this all the time. Just with the people who will play with me this way. I do like to talk about things my friends and I agree on, but not as much:) ) 

In this instance, though, it was the Holy Spirit that had put these things deep in me, and because they seemed so much to go against the norm, I really wanted someone to echo what I was feeling on the inside, purely for selfish reasons. And I feel good about all of this now. No allowances.

When my kids do "need" money, I'll be there, to help them. When they get jobs, and responsibilities, I'll teach them. It won't be "too late." And here's my conviction. Where there is privilege and no responsibility, disaster occurs.  Being given money is a privilege, especially if you look around our world and see the poverty in it. Why were we born in this prosperous country? Why will my kids not know hunger or thirst? Why will they never be with out health care? Why will they never really want for any basic necessity? It's a privilege to have money, and until my kids can fully grasp that concept, they won't manage any money. 

I'm so desperate to raise children who solely have the thoughts and will of God in their hearts. In the midst of a country full of capitalism and the pursuit of the dollar and the white picket fence, I want my kids to get it. Really get it. And until they are fully ready to get it, I'l teach them, from the Word and the Spirit, about money, without having actual money. Does it seem weird and hard? Yes. Have you met Jesus? Do any of His ways seem easy? No. And I'm glad.

Am I preaching to myself here? yes. (WHO keeps saying the word "shoes" to me? Stop it!) I'm so horrible at this. And I'm begging God to continue to reform me in this area. Begging. And He is. 

Really, it's no big deal that I don't, and won't, give my kids an allowance. It's just another way where God as said to ME and ME alone to do this. If God is telling you to give your kids $20 a week, then rock on with that obedience to Him. We are each raising radically different children, and our Father is teaching us how to raise those kids, so we walk in obedience to that Voice. Each one of us. That's why our parenting styles look so differently from each other. Our kids are unique. Apart from what Scripture instructs all of us, what we do with and for our kids is as weird as our own kids are. (Mine are super weird.) That's why you can't compare or contrast. That's why we keep our eyes on Christ and walk in obedience to what HE says, even when it looks so SO different from what others are doing or what the world is doing.

Whew. I feel better. I felt like I needed to justify to the world why my kids don't get an allowance. :) Very simply, it's because God said so. For us. 

And I didn't buy any shoes this week. So there.