24 Verses

I had two resolutions for 2011. One was to send out monthly email updates to family and friends. The other was to memorize scripture. Two verses per month, to be exact.

For the last two years, I've chosen a word that I hope will encapsulate the coming year. In 2010, I chose the word victory.  My son had just been born, and the meaning of his name is "victorious" which was by no means accidental. I wanted victory over many things in 2010, not the least of which was depression.  Praise God, He used my focus on seeking Him for victory to deliver me. In 2011, I wanted to focus on developing the fruit of gentleness in my life. I haven't arrived; I don't always act "gently." However, after a year of focusing on it, I am far more attuned to gentleness in others and myself and have a greater appreciation for it. I hope to continue in my endeavor to become more Christlike in gentleness. 

I haven't made a habit of memorizing scripture on a regular basis since high school.  That is an embarrassing fact.  Scripture memory is KEY in the battle of life, and I'm sure I've lost ground in my life due to not fighting with the weapon given to me. I decided that it was high time to do something about it.  I've mentioned several times that I read a blog (http://blog.lproof.org/) written for women. Beth Moore, her daughters and employees are the contributors. Beth Moore did a scripture memory challenge called the "Siesta Scripture Memory Team."  The challenge was to memorize two verses per month.  I chose a verse on the 1st and 15th of the month and posted my chosen verses as comments on the blog posts those days. That was my accountability to actually do it.

I praise God for the Living Proof ministries and Beth Moore. Without the inspiration of the blog, I doubt I would have made scripture memory a priority in my life for 2011. I can say without reservation that scripture memory was instrumental in my life this year.  God used the verses I learned to "get me through" the rough patches. He used the verses I memorized to help me apply things I learned to my daily grind. He used the verses to lift me up, and to encourage others.  I am amazed as I look back over the year to see how God used the verses I learned to bring me closer to Him. Because I wanted to focus on gentleness for 2011, I memorized as many verses having to do with gentleness as I could.

I am still reflecting back over 2011, and not sure what my "resolutions" will be for 2012, but I do know that I plan to keep on with scripture memory for the coming year!

You'd Think...

You'd think with all the time that's passed since last I posted that I'd have lots to say, but somehow when I sit down to write a blog post, all brilliant thoughts flee my brain.

Have you ever noticed that there seems to be a lot of pain in life? I currently have two friends (who don't know each other or even know about each other) who are going through gut-wrenching pain.  All of the love in the world doesn't make the hurt go away, and no matter what I say, I know that my words are useless to them.  It is very hard to watch those you love ache with life.

I was recently discussing with a friend how, when I was younger, I thought that words brought healing.  When someone I cared about was in pain, I searched in vain for the "right words" to say to that person that would help.  My closest friend went through some dreadful health issues and emotional issues in quick succession in years past.  I remember trying so hard to figure out what to say to make things better, and even telling her that no matter how hard I tried, I felt that I always said the wrong thing.  She was exceedingly gracious at all times and assured me that my words helped.  Bless her.  Now I know that she was just being kind!  Words don't help!

I often read the LPM blog (http://blog.lproof.org/) and there was a recent post that asked what is helpful and what is UNhelpful when going through a time of pain (no matter the cause).  I thought to myself, "Nothing anyone has to say makes as much of an impact as listening does."  And the overwheming response of commentators agreed with me.  When I am hurting, I want someone to listen to me.  NOT to say, "I understand!"  Nothing is more of a slap in the face than to be told "I understand" by someone who hasn't experienced what you are experiencing!  Each person is different, and no matter how closely your pain resembles mine, you cannot begin to fully understand the depth of my feeling, because your life circumstances are not the same as mine. 

Another unhelpful thing is to ignore the situation--- and pretend like it isn't happening.  When you go through something terrible, it shapes your days.  You can't (and shouldn't) bury it; those things always rise again another day, and it's better to deal with it now.  It won't help my friends deal with their pain if I ignore it and pretend like it's not there.  (I am not advocating wallowing in it, but that's a story for another day.)

That being said, the words "I love you, I care, I am here for you, I'm sorry this is happening to you, and I will pray for you and with you" are balm to a weary soul.  Sympathy is overrated.  Empathy is the way to go. 

The single most important thing that anyone can do, though, is to give the gift of your presence. This can be as simple as a text message or card in the mail, or as sacrificial as an eight-hour drive to be there face-to-face.  Those everyday reminders that you are thought of and loved through this difficult time are the threads that lead you through the storm. 

I would be remiss if I didn't share the scripture that I find most helps me when I hurt, and that is Isaiah chapter 53.  The only person who I believe understands each and every hurt that we feel on this earth is Jesus Christ, and the proof that he understands (from experience) is in that chapter.  I don't necessarily think that everyone else in the world would find as much comfort from that chapter as I do, but the fact remains that Jesus understands.  No matter which scripture from which you glean comfort, we know that it is the Word of God that speaks, and His presence is with us when we live through trials.

Dear Diary, I finished. Love, Amy

We did it!

My sister flew into town to run the half marathon with me.  We woke up at 5:50am this morning and headed to the race.  Oh, yes, we did it!  There were several interesting things about this race... seeing a guy run without shoes (yes, socks only, people!), having it rain on us the ENTIRE race, and eating GU for the first time were just the highlights!

We had a goal to finish the race in under 3 hours, but we thought we'd like to start out doing 10-minute miles.  Unfortunately, we finished mile 1 at 11 minutes, and it was downhill from there!  It was misting the whole time, but it really started to downpour for a while around mile five and didn't let up for a couple of miles at least.  At about mile three, a woman collapsed and a medic was called.  Several people stopped to help her so Alli and I kept running.  I prayed for her as I ran and I wonder what happened to her.  When it started raining, I started feeling like the race would never end, especially because my feet got wet!  It was honestly miserable.  We kept at it, though, and I was amazed at the number of people lining the streets to cheer us on. 

Mile nine was the hardest for me... I was beginning to think that I was going to have to walk for a while when we passed a hydration station (it was the 4th or 5th up to that point) and someone handed me a package of Gu.  I've never heard of Gu, but apparently it's some kind of magic elixer because once I consumed that, I had a renewed energy that lasted through the end of the race, despite being miserably wet! 

I completed the half marathon in two hours and twenty-seven minutes.  My goal, as you recall, was never to run fast... just to finish the race!   Aaaaand, now that I'm finished, I am happy to announce that at this current moment, I do not ever plan to run a half marathon ever again!  It was a good experience (aside from the rain!), but I don't think it's "my thing."  I'm glad that it's finished!

Dear Diary, I can't run. Love, Amy

I am ecstatic to announce that my much-anticipated half-marathon occurs in two days!

I am far less ecstatic to announce that I caught a cold which turned into a horrible fever and ear infection!  In misery and last-resort-ed-ness, I did go to the Dr. who prescribed a z-Pak and advil cold and sinus.  Today, multiple people have asked me "are you still going to run Sunday?"

Um, YES.  I have worked too hard for too long NOT to run!  Did I mention it's supposed to rain on Sunday?? No??? Well, it is.  Too bad.  I'm running.  Unless the race is canceled, I'm running.  I only hope my sinuses don't ache to badly as the mucus jostles around with each step.  Lord willing, I am running, and after this race I will officially retire from being a runner!

The Look of Dad

Growing up, I got along with my parents.

I know, shocker, right?  I didn't ever have any crazy, dramatic periods of my life where I fought with either of my parents like a lot of teenagers do.  (I don't think any of my siblings did... so the common denominator would be that our parents did a good job... not that I was an a-typical teenager.)  However, there were still moments (especially when I was little) when I got "The Look."  You know what I mean... times when you were getting close to crossing the line, or maybe stepped over a leetle bit, and your parent gave you a look that said, "Watch Out, Missy!" 

My mom's "look" isn't terribly intimidating, but if she squeezes her lips together, you know she's upset with you.  It's a difficult look to describe, but her upper lip gets these deep, vertical wrinkles.  I can't recreate the look, even if I try.  I don't know how she does it.  I haven't inherited my mother's look, although her gestures and phrases sometimes appear unawares.

My dad's "look," on the other hand, is the epitome of all looks.  It's a look to make you squirm, shudder, shake in your boots, and put the FEAR in you faster than anything else!  Dad's look is easy to describe... his eyebrows go UP approximately 9.75 inches and rows of wrinkles appear on his forehead.  I don't know if it's the piercing gaze that is so intimidating or those wrinkles.  Until the day I die, I will always remember the wrinkles. 

For better or for worse, I have inherited the Look of Dad.  Sometimes (not always when dealing with my son, although I think the Look first appeared on my face after he was born) I will just feel The Look on my face, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I was to look in the mirror, I'd probably scare myself.  I am resigned to The Look (I'm used to it after seeing it all growing up), but there is a small part of me that wishes it wasn't quite so masculine a look.  I am a mommy, after all!  However, as I said, my parents and I always got along really well, so maybe The Look of Dad will serve me well after all.  I just hope the wrinkle lines don't become permanent, because they might age me. :)

Airport

A three-hour layover in the Atlanta airport affords many people-watching opportunities.  Sometimes, I really enjoy people-watching.  I have one of those classic overactive imaginations.  What I mean by that is, when I observe the snapshot of a life that is a moment in time, my imagination fills in ALL of the blanks... I make up a story of that person's life, including reasons for whatever emotion is etched on his face at that particular moment.  Yes, that is where my mind goes when I people watch.  Ergo, it can be an exhausting exercise!

Here are just a few dives into my musings...

• A guy wearing a shirt that says, "Live, Love, Regret."  I instantly think that he must have had his heart broken many times over and envision his most recent relationship as something like the one portrayed in 500 Days of Summer.  What else would cause a guy to buy and choose to wear a shirt with something like that on it?
• A mother washing her son's hands in the restroom.  The little boy couldn't have been three years old, and he was screaming bloody murder.  She wasn't hurting him; he just didn't want his hands washed.  The reason it was odd is that usually a mother in this situation has a harassed look on her face.  This woman didn't seem to be phased at all that her son was screaming (he could be heard outside the restroom... it wasn't a quick little screech, but a long, piercing cry lasting many minutes).  Not embarrassed, not annoyed, not even laughing; she didn't seem to hear him or care that he was making others uncomfortable.  I instantly wondered what had happened in her life to make her so calloused and made up a story of her life in my head that included disappointments and a teen pregnancy.
• A dad and son each carrying an ice cream cone, walking to their gate.  The little boy couldn't have been more than seven years old, and they were laughing and talking quite happily.  This story made me smile, as I could see my own husband and son in their shoes in a few years.  I instantly envisioned a happy family life and a very blessed wife and mother.

Ah, see, and those are just a few!  I am full of these kinds of stories every single day!  See how exhausting it is to be me!?

Dear Diary, Runing and I have a love/hate relationship. Love, Amy

Oddly enough, running six miles today felt like a piece of cake, probably because I ran nine miles last week.  I don't know how I did it, but I ran it in less than an hour, too, which seems like a miracle in itself!  Hey, I'll take it. 

I've been told that running is addictive.  Maybe so, but I must be immune to the addiction.  When I first began this running journey back in May, I looked forward to my running time.  In fact, I found it exhilerating!  As time goes on, however, more often than not I am NOT excited to go running.  It has come to feel a little bit like ... work!  Don't get me wrong, once I get going I enjoy it and I feel GREAT afterwards.  Let me clarify that: I feel tired, but have a sense of accomplishment that is highly satisfying. 

Part of the problem is that I have a difficult time finding the TIME to run... specifically, my long runs.  Nine miles is ninety minutes minimum, and as I continue to add miles the time multiplies as well.  The long runs do a number on my shins and joints for a few hours after I run, as well.  That in itself isn't horrible, as I have yet to suffer from shin splints or any other injury (praise the Lord!) due to lots of stretching, boswellia and cherry juice.  Still, it's not something I like to inflict on myself (not pain, exactly, but certainly throbbing and discomfort). 

I am still committed to seeing this through... I am going to run the Prairie Fire Half-Marathon on October 9th, Lord willing! Once that race is completed, though, I think I'm going to go back to walking and other low-impact aerobics as my primary exercise.  I don't want to take the time to fuel a running addiction.

One more word... I have discovered the sheer joy of cute workout clothes.  I bought myself some nike running shorts and tshirts and I must say, it IS a lot more comfortable to run in them than in my usual workout garb (which could only be described as grunge... ten-year-old volleyball shorts and baggy tshirts ring a bell?  I usually look straight out of a garage sale when I work out), so that's a plus. 

Honestly

I am going to be just a little bit confessional here, so pretend like we're sitting at Starbucks.  I'm drinking a grande nonfat caramel macchiato, just so you know. Unless it's between September and December--- then I'm drinking a Pumpkin Spice Latte and my eyes are closed in delirious happiness.  But I digress... this isn't a blog post about lattes.

I have been teaching a Sunday School class at my church... it's for single ladies, and the topic is Insecurity.  Long story short, this journey began months ago with God laying the desire on my heart to teach a Sunday School class.  The subject matter must have come from Him, too, because it has been just what I needed.  I don't know that the class has been earth-shattering for anyone... except for me.  I think He called me to teach this class so I would absorb it for myself.  God is working in my heart and in my relationships (especially my marriage) through this class.  I will just leave it at that.

Recently, my husband and I had a conversation at home.  This is one of those random, unimportant conversations that happen multiple times a day.  Our son needed his nose wiped, and Hubs picked up the [dirty/used] dish cloth from the sink and bent over to wipe his nose.

"You're not going to use that and then put it back in the sink to wash dishes with, are you?" I asked, horrified.  My overactive imagination envisioned the bacteria swarming through the rag and onto the clean dishes, and from there into our food... and our mouths.  Essentially, to me, we'd be eating the snot.

"Really?" he exclaimed, slightly annoyed. "I would never even think of such a thing.  I think you're the only person on the planet who would ever think of such a thing."  Despite being annoyed, he got a different wash cloth out, ran warm water over it, and wiped the Little One's nose.  Then he threw the cloth into the dirty laundry basket.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  To him, the conversation was over, but his comment rankled in my heart.  So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do... I sought affirmation from my facebook friends!!!

To my delight, I am NOT the only person on the planet that would "think of such a thing."  (To his credit, there are a few who were in agreement with him.)  However, this got me thinking.  WHY did I post that on facebook?  It wasn't to make him look bad.  No, that wasn't my motivation.  It wasn't to make myself look good, either.  It was because my feelings were hurt when he said I was the only one on the planet who would think of such a thing, and I didn't want to be alone!!!  I wanted my opinion, my feelings, to be validated by someone!

Now, it was not his motivation to hurt my feelings (and why my feelings are so easily hurt is another matter entirely), we didn't have a "fight" over it, and neither of us were/are upset. (He knows about the facebook posting, in case you were wondering.)  It really wasn't a big deal; as I said before, it was a simple, random, daily conversation that just so happened to impact my day in a certain way. 

There isn't much of a point to this post, as far as a moral to the story. I don't mean to say that I'm right or I'm wrong, but it is an interesting conundrum; why do I (and probably "we" as human beings) want validation so much?  It doesn't seem wrong to want validation.  I guess it's a question for the cosmic void!

Rearview Mirror

Looking in the rearview mirror takes my breath away.
It seems like only yesterday we brought you home and now
you're chattering and observing everything.
I don't want to blink for fear in my next look
you'll be six years old in your baseball uniform
coming triumphantly home from your first game.
I won't want to take a breath for fear my next exhale
will reveal you fourteen years old with earbuds in
sleeping in the backseat on family summer vacation.
I can't bear to hear the ticking of the clock for time passing
means you'll be headed off to college, getting married,
having kids and wearing heartache as we all do.
No, I don't want to know what the future holds.
I just want to hold you in my arms
and bury my face in your sweet babyness
for as long as I can in reality and forever in my heart.

Greek Pasta

1 lb penne pasta
1 15oz can cannellini or great northern beans, rinsed
1 15oz can diced Italian tomatoes
1 9 oz pkg fresh spinach
4 oz crumbled feta cheese

In a large pot, cook pasta according to package directions.  In a large skillet over medium heat, bring tomatoes and beans to a bubble.  Add spinach and cover until wilted.  Stir in the pasta.  Crumble feta over the dish before serving.  Serves four.

I've been making this dish for years.  It's quick and easy, which is a huge plus in my book.  Also, it's very healthy.  I usually buy petite diced tomatoes and season them myself because my husband doesn't like "big" diced tomatoes.  You can make this with any type of pasta, and he actually prefers bowties. 

Runnin'Runnin'Runnin'

I thought I'd post about my running adventure thus far, since I'm still plugging away.  I am planning to run the half marathon on October 9th, and my sister is supposed to fly out and run it with me!  She's training in Florida and I'm training here, but we talk about our runs and how things are progressing frequently.  Accountability never hurts!

On June 18th, I ran an 8k race.  It was an exhilerating experience.  I paced myself behind a couple who looked to be in their mid-forties.  I thought to myself, "Surely I can keep up with them!"  And I did!  In fact, at about the 6th kilometer, I passed them!  Towards the end of the race I was quite tired (8k is 4.98 miles), and it felt like I had already been running for an hour at least.  I was pleasantly surprised to cross the finish line in under 52 minutes!  Of course, that is by no means fast, but my mantra for this running experience is, "I run to complete, not to compete!"  There is no way that I will ever be fast.  Athleticism doesn't run in my family... not even a little bit.  And I have zero natural talent in athletics.  I resigned myself to that fact years ago.  However, I CAN finish a race, and that is what I aim to do!

So far, I'm still injury free, and although I get little aches and pains and soreness from time to time, overall my health is magnificent.  No shin splints as of yet, thanks to proper stretching before AND after running.  One day I felt twinges in my shins, so I took a day off from all exercise and that did the trick--- no more pain.  I guess if I just keep going slow and gradual, I can ease into it.  The best thing so far is that my endurance is MUCH improved.  I can run at a moderate pace for a long while and it doesn't take the same toll on me as it used to.  As of this weekend, I will be up to running seven miles straight.

I am enjoying this running experience, but I will say that it hasn't had the weight loss benefits I was hoping for.  I really thought I'd lose some weight running, but so far that hasn't been the case.  It's not that I need to lose weight per se; I lost my "baby weight" months ago.  But we girls are always hoping to lose five pounds and I thought this would do the trick.  Oh, well.  Not a biggie, but just a side note.  I have noticed that my legs are gaining a more toned look, so I'll take that benefit.  : )

As much as I enjoy running, the extreme heat we've been experiencing has forced me to use the treadmill a lot more than I would like.  I detest running on the treadmill.  I don't know why, but it seems harder to run on a treadmill, and I get bored from being in one spot the whole time.  I love the summer and aside from keeping me from running outside as much as I would like, the heat hasn't bothered me one iota.  (I don't like to complain about the weather for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it could ALWAYS be worse.)  However, (and I never thought I would say this) I have thought recently that it will be nice to run when the weather cools off a bit.  I know, I can't believe I said it, either!

These days...

Recent conversations in my house go like this:

Me: Can I have a kiss?

C: No! *smiling*mischievously*

Me: Please?

C: No! *smiling*

Me: Momma needs kisses!

C: No!

Me: Please, Bubba?

C: No!

Me: *tickling*

C: *laughing*hysterically*

Me: Can I have a kiss?

C: *puckers*

In the end, I always win. J

Dear Diary, I am [not] a runner. Love, Amy

On May 10th, I decided that it would be a good idea to train for a marathon that occurs in October.

I started my journey of training on May 11th by running 3 miles.  I didn't run the whole way; I walked for about 1/2 mile in the middle. By May 20th, I could run all three miles without stopping.  Not bad.  I'd gotten shin splints by then, but after talking to my brother and doing some online reading, I realized that I needed to stretch before and after each run (as well as stretching every day whether I run or not).  Bingo! No more shin splints.

On May 11th, I also spoke to my chiropractor about my grandiose plans.  I told him that I've had some knee pain in the past and after describing the location and severity, he said it sounds like I have early symptoms of arthritis in my right knee (great).  He told me about an herbal supplement I can take to help with that, so I bought it.  Also, I heard about drinking cherry juice to help with inflammation, so I've been drinking a small glass nearly every day.  Bingo! No knee pain.

On May 25th, I ran four miles without stopping!  Progress.

On June 3rd, I started having ear pain in my left ear.  (Wait... what?!?!? I know... bear with me.)

By the morning of the 4th, my ear and the whole left side of my head (including my jaw) was throbbing.  Being the idiot determined person that I am, I decided to go through with my plan to run 5 miles for the first time anyway.  It didn't really go all that well, as I had to walk close to a mile of it.  This might have been due to the throbbing in my head; who knows.  When I got home I told The Hubs that I couldn't hear out of my left ear.  Uncharacteristically, he urged me to go to the Dr, which I promptly did.

I waited for about 30 minutes (half in the waiting room, half in the exam room).  The Dr. came in, looked in my ear for 2.5 seconds and said, "Yes, it looks miserable in there. You have Swimmer's Ear."  My surprise must have be written all over my confused little face because he said, "Have you been swimming a lot lately?" I shook my head, "I haven't so much as stepped a toe in the water yet this summer."  He nodded, "Been sweating a lot with ear buds from your iPod in your ears?" Bingo! 

Who knew???? Aside from the pure sickness factor of having an infection (bacteria is growing in my ear. *shudder*), I would NEVER have thought that such a thing could happen!  The Dr. told me that I need to put rubbing alcohol in my ears after I run to keep it from happening again.  He prescribed "very potent" drops to get rid of the current infection.  Time Dr. entered exam room: 10:47am.  Time Dr. exited exam room: 10:49am.  Not even kidding; there was no way I was in his presence more than two minutes.

On June 6th, I ran 4 miles again (no stopping).  I'm going to try for 5 again this Saturday.  I will keep you all posted (I know you're on the edge of your seat) on my running progress.  I am running in an 8k race on the 18th, and a 10k race in September, so it should be interesting.

P.S. For anyone who is going to ask me how fast I run, let me clarify: I do not run.  I jog, and for most people it is a fast walk. :)  The point (for me) is not to win any races... I plan to finish the half-marathon in October.  That is my goal.  Right now, I'm doing really good to run a 10-minute mile.  And that does NOT happen every day.

Just A Day in the Life...

Every week, as we walk into church, the hubs and I have a silent game plan.  I go straight to our Sunday School class to get seats and cups of coffee for us.  He takes The Little One to the nursery.  We started this strategy when we started taking The Short Person to the nursery because I couldn’t bear to leave him crying, as he invariably was.  He’s better now, except on the rare occasion, but we’ve kept our strategy just in case.  When hubs came in to join me at SS this morning, he leaned over and said, “Bubs may or may not have been stinky when I dropped him off.”  I was slightly appalled; as a mother, if there was even a hint of a possibility that my child was the one stinking up the room, I would check to know for sure, and rectify the situation myself.  Fathers, however, don’t appear to have the same conviction.  I laughed it off and hoped that it wasn’t our son who was causing the stink.

Sunday strategy part two: after SS, I use the restroom while hubs picks up The Little One from nursery and saves a seat in the sanctuary.  (We are teaching The Short One to sit through the service. This is a work in progress. Perhaps the topic of another post someday.)  When I arrived at the pew this morning, it became apparent to me that whether or not my son had been stinky before, he certainly was now. SO, I took him into the family restroom.  The service hadn’t begun yet, so I thought I had plenty of time.

As an aside, I’m very thankful for the nice facility our church provides.  Our church is extremely family-friendly, which has been a big blessing to us.  In the “family” restroom, there is an ACTUAL changing table; not your typical bolted-to-the-wall variety provided in most public restrooms.  There are wipes, Ziploc bags and instructions for sanitation of the changing table after each use. (Another thing our church is well-known for: LOTS of specific instructions.) 

I laid my precious cargo on the changing table, only to discover that the stinky was on his cute clothes (another aside: he was finally able to wear his Easter outfit for the first time--- only a month later!)… and YUCK!  Being the on-top-of-things prepared mom that I am(tongue-in-cheek, people: PLEASE hear the sarcasm), I fished around in the diaper bag for the outfit I keep in there for just such emergencies.  It wasn't anything terribly special or chuch-y, but it was clean.  I pulled it out and set it on the changing table next to the Small Fry and went about the business of cleaning him up.  Not to be gruesome, but it was a doozy.  ‘Nuff said.

If you are the mom of a boy, then you require no explanation for what happened next, but if you don’t have experience with a small boy, allow me to enlighten you.  It is a common occurrence for Tiny Boys to urinate at the most inappropriate times.  The arc of urine is a sight to behold as it appears to defy gravity and all reason.  Once, when my son was probably only two weeks old, I got a shower that makes me shudder to recall.  (IN MY HAIR!--- Stresses me out just thinking about it.  There is nothing to be done but laugh.)  The Little Mister has not had this problem in a LONG time… months, and maybe a year.  However, for some reason, today, he did. And.it.went.everywhere.

His body- soaked

His clean clothes- soaked.

The wall- soaked.

The changing table- soaked.

I can thankfully say that it didn’t get on me.  Or, if it did, I didn’t realize it, so perplexed was I at the situation.  NOW he had no clean clothes!  There was no way I was taking him into the sanctuary in nothing more than a diaper.  After gasping loudly, I went into action.  I had to move the changing table away from the wall to sanitize the wall AND the changing table (for those of you who go to my church and are reading this, I cleaned it very carefully--- took the pad off and cleaned all underneath and between the rails and on the rails… cleaned the pad… I promise! It’s clean now!).  I had to clean off my son, and put all of his clothes in a plastic bag. 

Next, I had to walk into the foyer and ask the usher (who got quite a chuckle out of the situation--- it was obvious to anyone who saw me what had happened, I’m sure!) to get hubs out of the service (it was ten minutes in at least by now).  Hubs said, “Did he not have any clean clothes in the diaper bag?”  I told him what had happened and said that The Son and I would wait for him in a SS room.  So my beloved son and I had church together--- me in heels and a dress, him in a diaper. J

My Son, You Are...

unpleasant odors recognizable
     because they're yours and nearly
     made pleasant for that reason.
eyes lit up, shining brightly, watching
     every move your daddy makes
     begging for more wrestling.
chubby sausage fingers reaching
     touching every germy item.
     on any surface wherever you are
busy, fast steps tromping - no "pitter-patter
     of little feet" here! - in and out,
     here and there, everywhere!
wildly waving plastic bats swinging
     missing, trying again and again
     hitting the ball to daddy's delight.
surprise raspberries when asked for
     kisses; slobbery smooching
     just to make us laugh!
cries and pouts and tear-filled eyes breaking
     momma's heart when she has to tell you "no"
     all smiles when you get your way.
a wrinkling nose at just the right moment
     to lighten a dreary day and make us
     comment on just who it is you resemble.
ticklish toes, knees, armpits and neck;
     trying your hardest to tickle
     mommy and daddy in response!
fuzzy head tucked uder my chin
     rocking, singing, snuggles and love
     sending you far off to Neverland.

There are no words...

So, I went to the grocery store yesterday and had a shocking experience.

Usually, the cashier says something to the effect of, "Did you find everything alright?" and after that, asks how my day is going.  I try to be pleasant (after all, they're told to say the same thing to every customer, so I can't totally blame them for the monotone, lack of eye contact, and noticeable lack of interest in my response to their queries... but I digress) and tend to ask the cashier how her day is going.  This trip was no different, but instead of the polite, "fine/good/okay" or even the impolite but common, "just counting the hours until I get off," I received the following monologue:

"Horrible.  I have the worst cramps in the world.  I've never had cramps this bad before in my life.  It was so bad that I was just crying a little bit ago.  I don't know what to take because I've never experienced cramps like this before! At least, my boyfriend is going to stay up until I get off work at 11 to take care of me. He usually goes to bed before I get home, but he's staying up just for me. <swiping my ranch dressing> My nephew loves Ranch!  He'll put a whole bottle on a tiny bit of salad if you don't watch him. He's seven, and my niece is nine.  She's turning ten in June, but I'm going to miss her birthday because they're moving to Colorado next week.  I'm hoping to see them before they move. I keep asking my brother to let me watch them while they load the truck but he hasn't said anything about it. Here's your receipt.  Have a nice day."

Later, I told Gabe in anything-but-dulcet tones that I would have liked to have said, "I don't want to hear about your cramps!" Is there no delicacy left in America? I was absolutely flabbergasted and didn't know what to say (not that I could get a word in edgewise anyway!).  I was appalled even more that she talked about this not in a conspirational whisper, but in a loud voice for the whole world to hear... especially the BOY who was bagging my groceries as she spoke! A whisper only for my ears would have been bad enough, but to speak about it so loudly that the person behind me in line, the bagger, the cashier a row over and her customer and bagger could hear it... I was floored.  Anyone with an ounce of awareness would have noticed that I was looking all around in embarrassment.  I kept thinking, "her manager is going to walk up and give her the what-for any minute!" I don't know why I am shocked by these things, but I am.

As I was mulling this over on the way home, I remembered a funny story about how I learned that you don't talk about your "cramps" to the general public. I wonder if my mom remembers? Ha. I won't share it here, but suffice it to say that my mom taught me to be a lady in this area at least, and I am glad that she did!  I feel sorry for this girl because it's apparent that her mother was negligent in that portion of her upbringing. 

Aaaaand, the moral of the story is, please do not tell me when you are experiencing any type of female discomfort.  My sensibilities simply cannot handle it.

Even More Unpleasantness...

I am not exactly sure, but I think my son forgets that Momma means business sometimes.  It is so very difficult to be consistent in discipline!  It seems like he chooses the exact moment when I'm in the middle of a task that would be extremely inconvenient to pause (like cleaning the bathroom? Nothing like toilet-water-hands for spankings!) to test my authority.  I took today off work because we are leaving for a trip tomorrow and I wanted a day to clean, pack and prepare.  The two of us have been home all day, busy as little bees (I pause every ten or fifteen minutes to engage in some kind of activity with him--- tickling, throwing the ball, rolling cars, dancing, reading a book, etc.).  However, I've had to spank him twice already!  This seems like a lot to the mom who isn't usually home all day with her son!  And both times it was incredibly inconvenient for me! 

I guess this struggle doesn't ever go away... discipline doesn't come naturally.  Because even though I know better, I sat there looking at my disobedient child, hands wet, just willing him to obey so that I wouldn't have to stop what I was doing for the sake of consistency.  Here I am, again, tempted to overlook what I know I shouldn't, just because the timing isn't just so.  Still as selfish as ever, huh, Amy?  And he, obstinate bundle of cuteness that he is, continued in his disobedience!  Bless him, God is using him to train ME.  So, I stopped what I was doing and spanked that little sinner.  Tears, followed by obedience, followed by hugs and admonitions to obey "right away next time;" and NOW I could complete the cleaning of the bathroom.

Please tell me that you have the same struggle with consistency!  And that I'm not the only one who is tempted not to spank just because the little guy is so stinking cute in his badness!  I have a dreadfully hard time not laughing (I have to bite my lips together so he won't know I'm tempted to do so!) at his disobedience because the look of defiance on his face is just so funny! 

Without A Doubt, My Favorite Sonnet of All Time...

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
--- William Shakespeare, 116

Transparency

I tend to be a mostly private person.  I used to think of myself as “intensely” private, but I’m not quite as dramatic as I used to be (don’t tell the hubs I said that, though… I’m sure he’d disagree!) so I can’t really classify myself that way any longer.  I know there are others out there who are vastly more private than I.

I used to guard my privacy with closed-fisted intensity.  There were parts of my life -hopes and dreams and thoughts and fears- to which no one else was privy.  This was mostly due to a fear of being laughed at or judged.  Which essentially means: mostly due to my insecurity.  As I’ve grown (matured?), I’ve come to realize that privacy can be overrated.

Side Note: I’m not talking about blathering every thought that comes to mind, or telling complete strangers (or even people I don’t know well) my life story.  Obviously, there are social situations where keeping your mouth shut is preferable.  We have to have balance, though!

Sometimes, privacy can lead to loneliness.  We were created as relational beings, which means that it is in our nature to relate to others and share life and life experiences with them.  We were made to connect with our Creator as well as other people.  Of course, this is two-fold.  First, we connect with others for our benefit.  Secondly, we connect with others for their benefit! If we withhold ourselves from others, they don’t have the advantage of all that we have to offer, and that’s a shame. 

Other times, privacy can lead to a sense of superiority.  It is very easy to pretend that life is “perfect” if we aren’t being transparent.  While we all know that no one has the perfect life, it is very easy to look at someone who seems to have it “all together” and be a little bit jealous.  At one particularly difficult time in my life, I was harboring the hurt deep inside.  A friend who came over to my house saw that I was doing a Bible study called “Freedom From Stress and Worry.”  My friend exclaimed, “Do you stress and worry?! You always seem so calm!”  I assured her that I had all of the same faults as anyone else, but on the inside I was dying.  She had no idea just how deeply engrained the stress and worry were in my heart… because it was a secret.

Two years ago, all my private pain was spilled out for all the world to see, and honestly, there have been few things more freeing.  First of all, the judgment I feared never surfaced.  The things that happened were all positive.  People came out of the woodwork to love and support me--- I was sustained by my God, but also by many of those who knew my circumstances.  All barriers were erased; my life was an open book for anyone to read if they cared to know.  That being said, I didn’t go around telling everyone every detail of my circumtances to every person I know (and certainly not on the internet!).  I’m just saying that if you had asked me how I was doing, I wasn’t going to say, “fine.”  I was going to be honest.  And as things in life have improved, I can still be honest when I say that “I’m doing really well today!”

My experiences during that time emphasized to me the need for us as human beings to relate to each other.  My painful experience has given me a huge appreciation for those people in my life who are transparent.  It is encouraging to know that other people have hurt like I have!  Also, my ability to be transparent about my hurt has let other people know that I know how it feels and I can sympathize--- and relate.  This kind of connecting has led to some moments of testimony for me, and I start to think that maybe, just maybe, my pain will be worth it if I can help other people because of it. 

Sometimes, pride gets in the way of relating to others.  For example, if I am a private person and I don't want anyone to know what's going on in my life, I'll hide it.  That's pride, because insecurity is pride at its root.  But sometimes, we don't tell people what's going on in our lives because we don't want to burden them... and this is a mistake!  We need the help and support of others--- those who will help us to bear our burdens as we travel the straight and narrow! 

On the other hand, sometimes I don't ask a person if something is wrong because I'm afraid that it might come across as "prying."  From my experiences, though, I've learned that most of the time when people are going through something, they want to talk about it with a sympathetic ear, and a lot of times they are just wishing someone would ask how they're doing.  They don't volunteer the information because they don't want to burden anyone, and you can see how this creates the colloquial "vicious cycle."  Well, people, ASK.  What's the worst someone can say to you?  "I don't want to talk about it" is pretty much the worst, and that's not a rejection of you.  Besides, like I said, MOST people do want to talk about it... they're just waiting for someone to care enough to ask.  Proof positive--- no one has ever told me to buzz off when I ask them how they're doing.

I would much rather be told "that's none of your business" than to find out down the road that someone needed me and I wasn't there for them.  So, if I ask you nosy questions, please know that it isn't because I want to pry... it's because I really care!

You Can Have Me

If I saw You on the street
And You said come and follow me
But I had to give up everything
All I once held dear and all of my dreams
Would I love You enough to let go
Or would my love run dry
When You asked for my life…

       -You Can Have Me, Sidewalk Prophets

Sometimes I think that America is a very difficult place to live for Christ.  Don’t get me wrong; we have many, many blessings.  Sometimes, however, I think that all of the “comfortable” blessings make it harder for us to serve God.  I don’t mean to trivialize the sufferings of persecuted or martyred Christians, but it seems to me that it would be easier to die once for Christ literally, than to have to choose to die every day figuratively for a long, healthy lifetime.  Again, as I said, I don’t underestimate the difficulty of choosing to die in the face of persecution.  Even as I type this, tears sting my eyes as I think of William Tyndale, being strangled then burned at the stake before mocking eyes.  There have been many, many devastatingly beautiful deaths since the beginning of time, but none so beautiful to God as those that die in His name. 

Still, Christ said that it is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven (Matt. 19:24).  The way I see it, we are too comfortable to recognize our true need.  I hear the words to “You Can Have Me,” and I envision Christ saying to the disciples, “Come, follow me and be fishers of men.”  Those disciples dropped what they were doing and followed Him, giving up all they had.  But do I give up everything for Him?  He has called me; am I willing to give up all that I’ve held dear and all of my dreams?

The latter part of that line is exceptionally powerful to me because my dreams have meant so much to me through the years.  I've been a daydreamer for as long as I can remember, and have wanted so many things out of my life.  I've been convicted lately that I must be willing to give up those dreams for the cause of Christ.  I cannot honestly say that I would gladly give up those dreams.  How selfish and sinful that sounds!  That I would deem my own silly, temporal dreams more important than my God's will is simply ludicrous, and seriously deluded.  Yet, our society screams that it is our "right"--- to live the “American Dream” is our ideal!  This is part of why it is so difficult for Americans to live fully surrendered, victorious spiritual lives.  We are too busy trying to live our dreams.

I have to remember that God’s plan for my life would eclipse my dreams in every way, and “You Can Have Me” serves as a reminder each time I hear it on the radio.

puzzle

her life was frustrating to say the least
she tried to fit in with all the others
timidly, she pushed herself
trying to erase all of the empty spaces
just when it seemed like things were fitting together
she understood that the edges she thought would be seamless
left gaps all her pain slipped through
jagged, loopy, like a sieve
the peace and fulfillment she thought she'd gained
was nowhere to be found
tired and discouraged she put one foot in front of the other
one day she looked up and discovered
her shape and perimeter had changed
she thought perhaps now she'd find her match
more forcefully this time she tried to conform
propelling herself into situation after heartrending situation
for one man she was too much
for another she wasn’t enough
she wanted to make a perfect match but her margins
kept bouncing and swerving like hormonal emotions
blinded by her eager, naïve beliefs
she married a man she thought matched her angles
in the end, though, it was a case of opposite attracting opposite
just when she thought it was a hopeless pursuit
that she was doomed to enduring holes in her happiness
she learned that the One and Only could fill
all the deep fissures, openings and breaks
as she grew to know Him better and better
the disparity between her and all the others
with whom she’d tried to assimilate herself
grew smaller and smaller and the painful distances
between the man she’d married and her own heart
became things of beauty, then virtually nonexistent
until one day she realized that He’d helped her to fit into
the larger puzzle of her life
only when she’d conformed to Him
were all of the empty spaces filled

The Little Chocoholic

I have a little chocoholic at my house!

When I was sick recently, the hubsters bought me a bag of Dove chocolates and we’ve been savoring them slowly the last two weeks.  Last night after dinner I got a chocolate out for him and for me (with the understanding that we’d each let the Little Man have a bite).  My son was extremely interested in the unwrapping of our chocolates, grunting enthusiastically in preparation for what he knew was to come.  Hubs let him have the first bite and he chomped half that chocolate away in one bite!  He made some sounds of wholehearted enjoyment and started making the sign for “more!” immediately.

“You haven’t swallowed the first bite yet!” We laughed.  The chocolate mixed with drool dribbled onto his chin; he was certainly enjoying it!  After he’d had adequate time to enjoy that first bite, I allowed him to have a bite of my chocolate, which also ended up being half of the piece!  I popped the rest into my mouth and savored it as long as I could.

That little guy looked at both his Daddy and me and signed, “more!”  We laughed and said, “all gone!”  He crawled down out of my lap and ran to the cupboard where we keep the chocolate and banged on it with his hand, then signed, “more!”  I said, “No.  No more tonight.  Tomorrow we can have more.”  After a little persuasion, he came away from the cupboard and played with toys while we cleaned up the kitchen.

This morning, when he woke up I picked him up out of his crib just like I do every morning, snuggled him and told him I loved him.  Then I set him down to go about getting ready for work while he played.  That little guy ran into the kitchen and banged on that cupboard where we keep the chocolate, looking up at me as if to say:

“You said I could have more tomorrow!  It’s tomorrow now!”

Dear Joselyn

I recently heard a girl named Joselyn call a radio DJ on a Christian radio station and ask the DJ his opinion on her relationship with an unsaved man.  Joselyn is 24 years old and a Christian.  She said the man was an atheist, but that he went to church with her, as did his two sons from a previous marriage.  The radio DJ did a decent job answering her question (he cautioned her not to marry a man who wasn’t saved), but the conversation struck me very deeply.

If Joselyn had asked me that particular question, I would have taken her out to coffee and brought my Bible with me.  It would have been a lengthy conversation, but I would have told her very firmly that it was wrong to date and especially marry an unsaved man. 

First of all, and most importantly for any true Christian, the Bible very clearly instructs us as believers not to yoke ourselves to unbelievers (2 Cor. 6:14).  The context of this passage is especially poignant, as Paul is talking about the Temple of the Living God, and how it should not be defiled.  As we know, our bodies are the temple of God (1 Cor. 6:19), and part of marriage is the sharing of our body with another.  From the Bible, this issue seems “cut and dry.”  Why is it, then, that so many people struggle with this?

Secondly, I would tell Joselyn that she needs to reconsider her views of marriage.  She obviously has stars in her eyes about the gentleman in question.  Aside from the whole aspect of him not believing in God, he’s been married before and is already a father.  Joselyn, marriage is hard enough without all of those things added to the mix!  Even the healthiest of marriages has its ups and downs, and there are so few truly healthy marriages in the world!  In order for a marriage to be truly good, both spouses must be committed to working hard to achieve it.  There are no “happily ever afters” in this world.  That’s not to say that marriage isn’t good, and it certainly isn’t to say that marriages can’t be happy!  But there will always be those “down” days (or months, or years)!

I would tell Joselyn about a book I finished reading last week called “Sacred Marriage” by Gary Thomas.  In that book, Thomas expounds on the theory that marriage is not designed for our happiness primarily, but to draw us closer to God.  (And therefore, hopefully, increased happiness will be a by product of that process.)  It’s not a very romantic notion in the wont of current cultural beliefs, but it is romantic when you view your relationship with the Lord as the Great Romance of your life.  Even in your marriage, you can be drawn closer to the Lord.  What a concept!  And Joselyn should know that if she is married to an atheist, she would either be pulling away from her husband to grow closer to God, or pulling away from God to grow closer to her husband, because she and her husband would not be walking in the same direction. 

Thirdly, I would address the whole “but I love him!” part of the equation.  It is so very easy to address the issues of the mind, but equally difficult to address the issues of the heart.  I would kindly assure her that I understand the feelings she has for the man in question.  I would validate them with a heart full of compassion, and I hope my words would adequately express my understanding of the depth of her feelings.  I would open my Bible again to Jeremiah 17:9 and show her that God knows better than we do--- we cannot trust our emotions because our hearts will lead us astray.  Those “but I love him” feelings will fade regardless of her choice to stay with him or leave. 

I would hope that Joselyn would consider everything I had to say.  I would listen to her and try to hear her heart.  I would send her off with the rest of her latte (unless it was finished during our conversation) to think about what we’d discussed.  And if she got engaged, I would remind her of our conversation and tell her that marriage is forever.  I would tell her that once she married him that he would be God’s will for her.  I would exhort her that divorce was not an option when she became unhappy and thought to herself, “this was a mistake.”  And I would go to her wedding when she chose to marry the guy anyway, because I would want her to know that even though I disagreed with her decision, I still loved and accepted her.  And when things got rough, I wouldn’t say “I told you so,” but encourage her with 1 Peter 3:1-2. 

That is what I would tell Joselyn if I could talk to her. 

Broccoli Cheese Soup

2 TBSP butter
1 medium onion, chopped
6 cups chicken broth
8 oz. fideo noodles (in the hispanic section of your grocery store)
1 20 oz. pkg frozen chopped broccoli
1/2 tsp minced garlic
6 cups milk
1 lb. velveeta cheese, cubed

In a soup pot, saute onion in butter until softened.  Add chicken broth and bring to a boil.  Add noodles and boil for 3 minutes.  Stir in broccoli and garlic; bring back to a boil.  Boil until the broccoli is tender, about 5 minutes.  Add milk and cheese.  Cover until cheese melts.

Gotta Get Through This

Now is my soul troubled.  And what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour'?  But for this purpose I have come to this hour.  Father, glorify Your name.
                                       -John 12:27-28

Recently, someone was telling me about all of the upcoming stressors in her life.  “I just have to get through these next three weeks and it will all be over!” she said.  I sympathized.  There are many times when we all feel overwhelmed and wonder how we will ever get through it.  I know I’ve expressed the same sentiment many times.

The thing is, there have been times in the past when I’ve come to the end of one of those experiences that I wished would go more quickly and realized that it really hadn’t been all that bad.  Or, it was bad but there was a true and good and worthy reason to experience it.  Because of this, when my son was born I vowed that I would never wish my life away.  I wanted to remind myself – daily, if need be – that “this too shall pass,” and possibly all too soon.  In all honesty, there are always frustrations.  I’m pretty sure as soon as I get through my current stress, another will follow.  I think that just might be this thing called life. 

The other day, I was tempted to say, “I just have to get through this.”  A still, small voice interrupted my pity party to say, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds…” (James 1:2)  Sometimes, the Bible can be so convicting!  I confess that my initial reaction to this verse is rebellion.  My stream of consciousness goes something like this: “Really?  Really?! I mean, who does that?  I can’t say that I’ve ever known anyone to count their trials as joy.  And how am I supposed to do that?  I guess I’m just a weak Christian.  Haha, not as strong in your faith as you thought you were, huh, Amy?  Guess you’re not so holy after all.  God, am I supposed to rejoice in this stress?  Am I supposed to be thankful when bad things happen to me?  This just doesn’t make sense to my mortal mind.” 

However, I know that this way leads to despair.  Logically, if I can’t trust God with my daily struggles, how then can I trust Him for my eternity?  And so, I talk myself in circles because I truly believe in Him and would trust Him for anything.  Yet, how do I “count it all joy?”  That’s not a trust issue, right?  It’s an attitude thing, right?  Perspective?  YIKES!  It’s an eternal perspective!  Meaning, that the thing that seems so awful right now will not seem so bad in light of all of eternity!  I guess that’s how I’m supposed to count it all joy."
    

I have to admit that sometimes the things I wish myself through aren’t all that bad.  Other times, they are terrible.  However, if I simply exist through those tough times, then I am not reaching the full potential of communion with my Savior.  Perhaps those are the times that push me past the realm of the earthly here and now into Heavenly Communion with my Lord.  Even so, Lord Jesus!  Even so.  Give me strength.  Amen.

But He knows the way that I take; when He has tried me, I shall come out as gold. -Job 23:10

String Theory

I read an article recently regarding the String Theory and the 10 dimensions that supposedly exist.  This fascinated me, and filled me with inexplicable wonder and... hope.  There is some part of me that believes there must.be.more. than what I can see with my eyes, smell with my nose, feel with my skin, hear with my ears, and taste with my tongue.  No; that’s not strong enough language.  Every fiber of my being longs for there to be more.

How can I explain this longing?  I have always wanted to be able to fly.  I was fascinated with the story of Peter Pan as a child.  There was nothing I wanted more than to be able to fly.  I didn’t want wings; I just wanted to be able to float.  I dreamed many, many times that I had that ability.  I can still vividly recall the exhilaration I felt in those dreams.  Many people would roll their eyes at all of this, and I know that it sounds extremely odd.  I just always wanted to believe that someday I would be able to fly.  I took this verse literally:

“Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.” I Thess. 4:17

Of course, this wasn’t some nonsensical idea that I could defy gravity; I was never so naïve as a child as to jump off the roof of the house.  I suppose my common sense reigned over any dream I’ve ever had.  In any case, this deep longing is the only way I can describe how I feel about wanting there to be more.  For me, to fly will be heaven.  I think part of it is the freedom aspect.  Another part of it is being alone with my Lord.  And one last part of it--- the sheer beauty of flight.  Who doesn't long for more beauty in life? I still cling to the belief that I will one day fly, and my soul rejoices in the thought.

Out of curiosity, I did some reading on String Theory and let me tell ya, I’m not even going to pretend to understand Quantum Physics or what a string really is.  I envision it a certain way in my mind that makes sense to me.  Whether or not it would make sense to anyone else is irrelevant.  What IS important, though, is the aspect of it that allows for ten dimensions; THAT is what fascinates me.  We "know" our existence to be in four dimensions: length, depth, width, and time. 

I am aware that there are many who would disagree that there are more dimensions than the four.  But humor me for a moment; what if there are 10 dimensions? (Or 11 as some theories assert?) What fills the other 6 dimensions?  Rather than thinking that additional dimensions disprove a Biblical account of creation (let me state right here and now that I believe the earth was CREATED by God in six days), it gives me hope that perhaps those ten dimensions explain some of the more confusing aspects of life.  What a concept!

The thought that there is more than the "known" four dimensions is such a fulfilling and exhilarating thing to me.  I want to believe that flight is possible for me in another dimension!  What if the spiritual realm exists in another dimension?  This might help our finite minds understand the limitation of time that exists for us but doesn't exist for God.  What if...?  What if...?

Mommy Moments

I’ve had a few “mommy moments” lately.  Being a mom is so indescribably precious to me.  On Sunday, I got out my box of pictures of My Sweetums and all of my scrapbooking things and started working on a scrapbook.  However, the Little Mister kept interrupting me!  He needed a drink; he wanted to be held; he wanted to dance; he wanted me to play ball with him; he needed his diaper changed; it was time to eat lunch; etc.  I was starting to get a little bit frustrated, but then I said to myself, it seems a little bit ironic to say to your son, “No, son, I’m too busy scrapbooking pictures of you to play with you right now.  I’m going to need this scrapbook when you’re 30 to remember how sweet you were as a baby.”   So I played with my son!  And if I never get the scrapbook done, so be it!  Spending precious time with him is much more important than having a scrapbook of pictures. 

Lately, we’ve had some problems with him waking up in the night after months of sleeping through the night.  We were at a loss as to why, but last week I realized that it’s because he’s been getting cold!  I beefed up his bedding and it’s made a huge difference, but last night at 3:30am he woke up crying.  We usually let him cry for a little while because sometimes he’ll go back to sleep.  Not so last night; I got up and went into his room.  Poor little guy had kicked off all his covers and he was cold!  So I picked him up and snuggled him for a few minutes.  He stopped crying as soon as I picked him up and snuggled right into me.  I can’t even begin to describe how sweet it is to have little arms squeeze me back!  What a precious, precious time!  I stood there next to his crib and just enjoyed the moment, thanking God for the opportunity to hold my son and show him love.  I thought to myself, when I am 50 years old I will be glad that I got up in the middle of the night when my son was crying. I will be glad I didn’t worry about spoiling him. I will never forget how this feels.  After a few minutes, I lay him back down and tucked his blankets around him again.  I patted his back for a few minutes and he went right back to sleep.  I felt like such a blessed woman in that moment!

Never mind that I had a really hard time falling back asleep and I’m incredibly tired today. J  When he’s 30 years old and has kids of his own, I know I will be glad that I got up with him in the middle of the night.