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.