I love being a mother.
It is my pride,
My point in the universe.
The babies grown up to be
Men and women
Without me.
The baby given away,
The babies died a-borning
Grown up without me
Or gone ahead without me.
They have found their life in me
And gone on.
Whether before birth,
At birth,
Or in grown-up-hood,
They don't need me anymore;
And I am left behind
To wonder
What to do next.
But they have made me
More than I have made them.
Nothing lit up death
More than baby-life.
Nothing brought me lower
Than being scolded by my children.
The paradox of utter self-absorption in pregnancy
To give birth
And then
Utter self-sacrifice in growing up babies
Throws me back,
Stunned.
Being a mother
Has made me
What I am
Without children.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Respect Goes Both Ways
I was thinking the other day about kids asking "Why?" The typical (half-joking) answer is, "Because I said so." But "Why?" isn't a bad question. And, "Because I said so," isn't always a bad answer.
According to Dr. James Dobson, there are three types of parenting: permissive, authoritarian and authoritative.
Permissive parents essentially say, "the child rules". Sometimes he rules simply because Mom and Dad don't want to take the trouble to set boundaries. Sometimes he rules because Mom and Dad are afraid of losing a child's affection or feeling guilty because of hardships in a child's life. A child asking "Why?" and refusing to obey without knowing why and parents always having a reasonable answer for that question (or feeling that they must have one) is a hallmark of permissive parenting.
Authoritarian parents rule by "Because I said so." "Because I said so" is the only reason they ever need for whatever they want their children to do. Once again, sometimes, this is because Mom and Dad don't want to take the trouble to communicate their reasoning to their children. Sometimes it's because they don't want to do the self-examination that any other answer would require. Sometimes, they rule by "Because I said so" in an honest desire to teach their children to submit to authority.
A child brought up by purely permissive parenting will grow up without boundaries and live in fear that there is no one bigger than they - no one guarding them from the world, which they inherently understand is a big and dangerous place. The anger that these children often exhibit is actually a defense mechanism to hide fear.
A child brought up by authoritarian parenting will also live in fear. But they will be afraid because they don't understand why they are supposed to do or not do things and will have no judgment as to how to make their own decisions. They will always look to the authoritarian parent to make those decisions for them, even as adults.
Authoritative parents answer the question "Why?" as often as they can. But sometimes, the answer is, "Because I said so." When a two-year-old has no other response to anything you tell him but, "Why?", he is probably not actually looking for the answer to his question. However, you need to know "Why" you are asking him to do whatever you are asking him to do. And ultimately, the answer to that is, "Because I said so"!
You see, God did put you in authority over your children, to give them boundaries, but also to give them encouragement and the tools they need to be wise, decision-making adults one day. So, the answer to every "Why?" starts with "Because God put me in charge and I love you and want the best for you and making the bed is a small piece of responsibility that you can take and develop discipline to become a wise, successful adult." How's that for an answer to the question, "Why?"
There are occasions when we don't have time to answer "Why?" At those times, a respectful child will accept "Because I said so." But using "Because I said so" because a parent is too tired or lazy to come up with a reason is not respectful to the child. The most successful families are run with respect required on the part of both the parents and the children.
If you are ever stuck on the fence, not knowing whether you should lean toward "Because I said so," or toward answer the question, "Why?" Dr. Dobson always recommends leaning towards being permissive. More damage is done by screwing a child into place than by trusting him and giving him space.
According to Dr. James Dobson, there are three types of parenting: permissive, authoritarian and authoritative.
Permissive parents essentially say, "the child rules". Sometimes he rules simply because Mom and Dad don't want to take the trouble to set boundaries. Sometimes he rules because Mom and Dad are afraid of losing a child's affection or feeling guilty because of hardships in a child's life. A child asking "Why?" and refusing to obey without knowing why and parents always having a reasonable answer for that question (or feeling that they must have one) is a hallmark of permissive parenting.
Authoritarian parents rule by "Because I said so." "Because I said so" is the only reason they ever need for whatever they want their children to do. Once again, sometimes, this is because Mom and Dad don't want to take the trouble to communicate their reasoning to their children. Sometimes it's because they don't want to do the self-examination that any other answer would require. Sometimes, they rule by "Because I said so" in an honest desire to teach their children to submit to authority.
A child brought up by purely permissive parenting will grow up without boundaries and live in fear that there is no one bigger than they - no one guarding them from the world, which they inherently understand is a big and dangerous place. The anger that these children often exhibit is actually a defense mechanism to hide fear.
A child brought up by authoritarian parenting will also live in fear. But they will be afraid because they don't understand why they are supposed to do or not do things and will have no judgment as to how to make their own decisions. They will always look to the authoritarian parent to make those decisions for them, even as adults.
Authoritative parents answer the question "Why?" as often as they can. But sometimes, the answer is, "Because I said so." When a two-year-old has no other response to anything you tell him but, "Why?", he is probably not actually looking for the answer to his question. However, you need to know "Why" you are asking him to do whatever you are asking him to do. And ultimately, the answer to that is, "Because I said so"!
You see, God did put you in authority over your children, to give them boundaries, but also to give them encouragement and the tools they need to be wise, decision-making adults one day. So, the answer to every "Why?" starts with "Because God put me in charge and I love you and want the best for you and making the bed is a small piece of responsibility that you can take and develop discipline to become a wise, successful adult." How's that for an answer to the question, "Why?"
There are occasions when we don't have time to answer "Why?" At those times, a respectful child will accept "Because I said so." But using "Because I said so" because a parent is too tired or lazy to come up with a reason is not respectful to the child. The most successful families are run with respect required on the part of both the parents and the children.
If you are ever stuck on the fence, not knowing whether you should lean toward "Because I said so," or toward answer the question, "Why?" Dr. Dobson always recommends leaning towards being permissive. More damage is done by screwing a child into place than by trusting him and giving him space.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Why Do We Have All This Junk?
No answers today, just observations.
I have been packing to move for two months. In the process, I have pitched or given away bags and boxes of stuff, found projects that needed finishing and things that needed cleaning. Why did it take moving to deal with all of the extraneous stuff around the house?
The first homeschool conference we attended in 1993, the McKim family was speaking. They used to be popular homeschool speakers who, at the time, had fourteen children and I think they had more after we heard them speak. I saw one of her daughter on Say, Yes to the Dress: Atlanta a couple of years ago, getting married for the first time at the age of 45. Mrs. McKim had a workshop on home organization that was a squooshed-down version of an entire weekend of home organization talks that left me feeling breathless and inadequate, even accounting for the fact that I was expecting my second child and she had six adult children living at home to do her massive list. it included daily chores (vacuuming), weekly chores (organizing the kitchen towel drawer) and monthly chores (cleaning the garage! Monthly!)
Now, my dear husband doesn't clean. Anything. Except himself. And emergency child cleanup. But, he is very grateful when I do clean. Well, he doesn't like my process (think angry tornado) but he likes the result and tells me so. Personally, I am more of a project person than a maintenance person. If we could afford someone to clean our house regularly, I would hire them simply because I like a clean house but don't enjoy the process of keeping it clean. I just do it because I am so overwhelmed when I let the house get away from me. Since I am the only one moving the house away from chaos, the garage has been cleaned perhaps three times since we moved in thirteen years ago. Maybe.
I have come to love Swiffer dusters. When I have a Swiffer duster in hand, I dust the top of the door frames. I dust lampshades. I dust table legs. I dust the carpet under my bed where the vacuum doesn't reach. Unfortunately, cute little statues, like Precious Moments figurines, and "vignettes" that my Romantic Country magazine advocates, don't take Swiffing well, so there are some places that just don't get dusting. A year ago, I dusted a shelf in the rec room for the first time since we moved in and my sons' naval models were so dusty that the battleships looked as though their decks were covered with tiny people.
I can declutter! It makes everybody very tense. They never know what they're going to have left after I get going. I have a guitar that has been rescued from the trash four times and hidden in various kids' closets until I find it and throw it away again. I cannot convince them that the guy at the guitar store twenty years ago told me it was a lost cause. However, decluttering falls in the project category, not maintenance.
A lady at church when we first got married had been such a terrible housekeeper that she vowed to her ladies' bible study that she was going to put together a home management program and start teaching it. If she could figure it out well enough to teach it, anyone could do it. Her system was, never have more than three items on any flat surface. It makes them much easier to dust. That sounds great. In our next house, I will follow that rule religiously. That also means, large collections should be behind glass. I have a teak storage unit inherited from my father that we call "the Beast" and it has some glass display cases. That's where the plaster models of my ten kids' feet as babies will go so they won't get dusty. Behind glass really works in the fight against dust.
I have discovered Prairie Style magazine. There have only been about 4-6 issues published, by the same people who publish Romantic Country and I have decided this is my style. It is upscale country without the romantic fru-fru. One woman said, "I don't have anything that doesn't have a use or a meaning." That was convicting! How many things do I have because I thought they were "cute" or "cool" but they don't do anything and no one I care about gave them to me. Now, I just need to get on Pinterest and find a project that can turn all the three dimensional $2 tchotchkes my kids gave me into one amazing art piece.
I have been packing to move for two months. In the process, I have pitched or given away bags and boxes of stuff, found projects that needed finishing and things that needed cleaning. Why did it take moving to deal with all of the extraneous stuff around the house?
The first homeschool conference we attended in 1993, the McKim family was speaking. They used to be popular homeschool speakers who, at the time, had fourteen children and I think they had more after we heard them speak. I saw one of her daughter on Say, Yes to the Dress: Atlanta a couple of years ago, getting married for the first time at the age of 45. Mrs. McKim had a workshop on home organization that was a squooshed-down version of an entire weekend of home organization talks that left me feeling breathless and inadequate, even accounting for the fact that I was expecting my second child and she had six adult children living at home to do her massive list. it included daily chores (vacuuming), weekly chores (organizing the kitchen towel drawer) and monthly chores (cleaning the garage! Monthly!)
Now, my dear husband doesn't clean. Anything. Except himself. And emergency child cleanup. But, he is very grateful when I do clean. Well, he doesn't like my process (think angry tornado) but he likes the result and tells me so. Personally, I am more of a project person than a maintenance person. If we could afford someone to clean our house regularly, I would hire them simply because I like a clean house but don't enjoy the process of keeping it clean. I just do it because I am so overwhelmed when I let the house get away from me. Since I am the only one moving the house away from chaos, the garage has been cleaned perhaps three times since we moved in thirteen years ago. Maybe.
I have come to love Swiffer dusters. When I have a Swiffer duster in hand, I dust the top of the door frames. I dust lampshades. I dust table legs. I dust the carpet under my bed where the vacuum doesn't reach. Unfortunately, cute little statues, like Precious Moments figurines, and "vignettes" that my Romantic Country magazine advocates, don't take Swiffing well, so there are some places that just don't get dusting. A year ago, I dusted a shelf in the rec room for the first time since we moved in and my sons' naval models were so dusty that the battleships looked as though their decks were covered with tiny people.
I can declutter! It makes everybody very tense. They never know what they're going to have left after I get going. I have a guitar that has been rescued from the trash four times and hidden in various kids' closets until I find it and throw it away again. I cannot convince them that the guy at the guitar store twenty years ago told me it was a lost cause. However, decluttering falls in the project category, not maintenance.
A lady at church when we first got married had been such a terrible housekeeper that she vowed to her ladies' bible study that she was going to put together a home management program and start teaching it. If she could figure it out well enough to teach it, anyone could do it. Her system was, never have more than three items on any flat surface. It makes them much easier to dust. That sounds great. In our next house, I will follow that rule religiously. That also means, large collections should be behind glass. I have a teak storage unit inherited from my father that we call "the Beast" and it has some glass display cases. That's where the plaster models of my ten kids' feet as babies will go so they won't get dusty. Behind glass really works in the fight against dust.
I have discovered Prairie Style magazine. There have only been about 4-6 issues published, by the same people who publish Romantic Country and I have decided this is my style. It is upscale country without the romantic fru-fru. One woman said, "I don't have anything that doesn't have a use or a meaning." That was convicting! How many things do I have because I thought they were "cute" or "cool" but they don't do anything and no one I care about gave them to me. Now, I just need to get on Pinterest and find a project that can turn all the three dimensional $2 tchotchkes my kids gave me into one amazing art piece.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
A Letter From Your Birth Mother
I have spoken to a lot of people over the years about adoption. What I have heard more than anything else is a question from adoptees: "How could you give up your daughter?" It seems that, while "adoption is the loving option", there are still many challenges to being adopted, particularly in a closed adoption, as my daughter was. Questions like, "Who do I look like?" "What is my real ethnic derivation?" "Didn't you love me?" "Where do I belong?" are common and heartbreaking for a birth mother like me, who hoped that my daughter would never miss me.
I wrote her a letter, which I never let anyone else read and never sent. For the sake of so many adoptees out there, and their healing, I would like to offer this.
May 28, 1984
Dear Little Darlin',
I don't know how you must feel about this imaginary person who gave birth to you. Either anger at having abandoned you or being willing to give you to somebody else, or blessedness that I loved you enough to give you a real family. Perhaps I should tell you the basics. Maybe you'll understand this/me a little more.
Your father was a dear friend, not a love, but we shared many things in common, and I wouldn't have given up his friendship for the world. I only saw him once after you were born and then we talked about how you had affected our lives. I remember wondering, "How can a 15-second old baby look like a twenty year old man?" Whatever, it was true. Your birthday was six days after his. He loved history and fantasy and when I had contemplated keeping you, he said, "Send me a picture. I want to send it a sword on its 14th birthday." I loved him for that.
At first, he wanted me to have an abortion though he didn't even offer his opinion till he'd heard mine. You'll no doubt be please to hear that that never even was considered. You were starting to live, and you were going to stay that way if I had anything to say about it.
At first, I was shaky when I found out because I was afraid of disappointing my parents. But I was happy at the same time, because I'd ruptured an ovary once and I felt that God was saying, "See, you don't have anything to worry about." I have to admit, that though most people wouldn't think having an illegitimate child something to be proud of, in these days when there are so many couples incapable of having children, I couldn't help feeling a trifle smug.
My parents and I prayed about you (fortunately, they agreed with me on the no abortion) and they figured that adoption was the best thing. I was relieved and happy for several reasons. One of the major ones was realizing what a child I was and how incapable of being on my own, let alone caring for a child of my own. Another big reason was that I would be steward of a very special Christmas gift. God had an important purpose for me.
I had hard times, but overall, I loved being pregnant. It was a happy time, with not a huge amount of tears, surrounded by loving, Christian people.
One thing you should never, ever be afraid of. And that is that you weren't wanted. On the contrary, everyone wanted you. They put you on my stomach and I wanted to touch you so badly, and I had a great deal of trouble saying that I didn't want to see you. Every once in a while, I wish I had, but just because I promised God I would give you up didn't mean I had to be a martyr. The day after you were born, the lawyer called to make sure I hadn't been coerced into giving you up. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. That was the hard time, but after I crossed that hurdle, God took me in His arms just as I wanted to take you.
My mom and dad looked at you and my dad said afterward, "I wouldn't have minded keeping her." It took all my strength not to say, "Neither would I."
My grandmother called to hear how it had gone and said that it was a good thing she hadn't seen you; she would have wanted to take you home.
The choir director at our church, who also taught me piano, was willing to move out of the state to have you.
Your father said to me when I last saw him, "It's hard to keep up the devil-may-care attitude I always try to come across with when there's something I do care about." I think you really made him.
There's an old saying, "Any woman can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom." I'm your mother, not your mom, but as the lawyer told me, you're doubly blessed in having two sets of parents, all of whom love.
Lord willing, someday, I'll have other children, but I don't think any of them will be what you were, because you were mine; no one else really had a claim on you. In my mind, I always called you L.D.: Little Darlin'. I had been pretending about a someone like you since three years before you were born. I imagined traipsing around Germany with you on my back, and going for hikes in the Indiana Dunes and the Northwoods. If you love the woods, that explains it; both your father and I loved the forest.
I expect that you'll be fascinated by anything imaginary; a combination of both him and I couldn't be anything else. And thanks to the loving household that I was told about, I know that that imagination will work wonders.
Mother
I wrote her a letter, which I never let anyone else read and never sent. For the sake of so many adoptees out there, and their healing, I would like to offer this.
May 28, 1984
Dear Little Darlin',
I don't know how you must feel about this imaginary person who gave birth to you. Either anger at having abandoned you or being willing to give you to somebody else, or blessedness that I loved you enough to give you a real family. Perhaps I should tell you the basics. Maybe you'll understand this/me a little more.
Your father was a dear friend, not a love, but we shared many things in common, and I wouldn't have given up his friendship for the world. I only saw him once after you were born and then we talked about how you had affected our lives. I remember wondering, "How can a 15-second old baby look like a twenty year old man?" Whatever, it was true. Your birthday was six days after his. He loved history and fantasy and when I had contemplated keeping you, he said, "Send me a picture. I want to send it a sword on its 14th birthday." I loved him for that.
At first, he wanted me to have an abortion though he didn't even offer his opinion till he'd heard mine. You'll no doubt be please to hear that that never even was considered. You were starting to live, and you were going to stay that way if I had anything to say about it.
At first, I was shaky when I found out because I was afraid of disappointing my parents. But I was happy at the same time, because I'd ruptured an ovary once and I felt that God was saying, "See, you don't have anything to worry about." I have to admit, that though most people wouldn't think having an illegitimate child something to be proud of, in these days when there are so many couples incapable of having children, I couldn't help feeling a trifle smug.
My parents and I prayed about you (fortunately, they agreed with me on the no abortion) and they figured that adoption was the best thing. I was relieved and happy for several reasons. One of the major ones was realizing what a child I was and how incapable of being on my own, let alone caring for a child of my own. Another big reason was that I would be steward of a very special Christmas gift. God had an important purpose for me.
I had hard times, but overall, I loved being pregnant. It was a happy time, with not a huge amount of tears, surrounded by loving, Christian people.
One thing you should never, ever be afraid of. And that is that you weren't wanted. On the contrary, everyone wanted you. They put you on my stomach and I wanted to touch you so badly, and I had a great deal of trouble saying that I didn't want to see you. Every once in a while, I wish I had, but just because I promised God I would give you up didn't mean I had to be a martyr. The day after you were born, the lawyer called to make sure I hadn't been coerced into giving you up. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. That was the hard time, but after I crossed that hurdle, God took me in His arms just as I wanted to take you.
My mom and dad looked at you and my dad said afterward, "I wouldn't have minded keeping her." It took all my strength not to say, "Neither would I."
My grandmother called to hear how it had gone and said that it was a good thing she hadn't seen you; she would have wanted to take you home.
The choir director at our church, who also taught me piano, was willing to move out of the state to have you.
Your father said to me when I last saw him, "It's hard to keep up the devil-may-care attitude I always try to come across with when there's something I do care about." I think you really made him.
There's an old saying, "Any woman can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom." I'm your mother, not your mom, but as the lawyer told me, you're doubly blessed in having two sets of parents, all of whom love.
Lord willing, someday, I'll have other children, but I don't think any of them will be what you were, because you were mine; no one else really had a claim on you. In my mind, I always called you L.D.: Little Darlin'. I had been pretending about a someone like you since three years before you were born. I imagined traipsing around Germany with you on my back, and going for hikes in the Indiana Dunes and the Northwoods. If you love the woods, that explains it; both your father and I loved the forest.
I expect that you'll be fascinated by anything imaginary; a combination of both him and I couldn't be anything else. And thanks to the loving household that I was told about, I know that that imagination will work wonders.
Mother
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Don't Forget the New Crew!
A couple of years ago, Steve and I went to a homeschool conference and came home with the same thought: we can't forget the new crew.
We were so careful of how we brought up the top half of the family: no T.V., little sugar, lots of Bible, lots of reading aloud, family time and all the other things that you know are important and make such an issue of when you have your first children. Unfortunately, the busyness of the older kids and their involvement in the world, simply because they are older, means that the younger ones are both exposed to things at a younger age that the older ones weren't, and that we don't have as much time to make sure we do the important things with our younger ones.
Part of that is just choosing your battles. The older kids are always saying, "We never got to do that when we were their age!" And that's true. The older the kids got, the more there were of them than us and the bigger they were. The worst thing that happened to our family was The Lord of the Rings and that is one of my favorite books and movies of all time. The problem is, it opened the door for PG13 movies that has never closed. Coincidentally, we moved in with my mother and she brought cable TV into the house, which we got used to. Now, the New Crew, as we call them, has decided that if a show is not animated, it's a grown-ups movie, as opposed to the Old Crew, who watched John Wayne and Gary Cooper movies. Partly, it was just easier not to fight, and partly, we decided some things were not worth fighting over.
But, at the same time, there are things we need to review. I recently realized that the New Crew don't know the New Testament! They are pretty good on the Old Testament, but we need a refresher on the New Testament. Right now we are reading through Matthew. We need to have another go around on the Little House on the Prairie Books. We need to throw a baseball around for recess. We need to take the dog for a walk. I need to make sure they practice their instruments, since we aren't going to the public school for band anymore. We need to make beds! I must be the one to get them to bed so that we pray together, instead of relying on an older sibling to do it.
Steve has observed that if the older kids turn out well, life is easier on the younger kids. If the older kids don't turn out well, parents are tougher on the younger ones. That seems to have held true for our family, since the older kids are godly dears. Since we are moving next month, we get a chance to start fresh in so many ways, like cut down to one T.V., cancel the cable, take walks with the dog, get going on a chore chart and pray diligently with my children when they go to bed. And onward with Little House and the book of Matthew!
We were so careful of how we brought up the top half of the family: no T.V., little sugar, lots of Bible, lots of reading aloud, family time and all the other things that you know are important and make such an issue of when you have your first children. Unfortunately, the busyness of the older kids and their involvement in the world, simply because they are older, means that the younger ones are both exposed to things at a younger age that the older ones weren't, and that we don't have as much time to make sure we do the important things with our younger ones.
Part of that is just choosing your battles. The older kids are always saying, "We never got to do that when we were their age!" And that's true. The older the kids got, the more there were of them than us and the bigger they were. The worst thing that happened to our family was The Lord of the Rings and that is one of my favorite books and movies of all time. The problem is, it opened the door for PG13 movies that has never closed. Coincidentally, we moved in with my mother and she brought cable TV into the house, which we got used to. Now, the New Crew, as we call them, has decided that if a show is not animated, it's a grown-ups movie, as opposed to the Old Crew, who watched John Wayne and Gary Cooper movies. Partly, it was just easier not to fight, and partly, we decided some things were not worth fighting over.
But, at the same time, there are things we need to review. I recently realized that the New Crew don't know the New Testament! They are pretty good on the Old Testament, but we need a refresher on the New Testament. Right now we are reading through Matthew. We need to have another go around on the Little House on the Prairie Books. We need to throw a baseball around for recess. We need to take the dog for a walk. I need to make sure they practice their instruments, since we aren't going to the public school for band anymore. We need to make beds! I must be the one to get them to bed so that we pray together, instead of relying on an older sibling to do it.
Steve has observed that if the older kids turn out well, life is easier on the younger kids. If the older kids don't turn out well, parents are tougher on the younger ones. That seems to have held true for our family, since the older kids are godly dears. Since we are moving next month, we get a chance to start fresh in so many ways, like cut down to one T.V., cancel the cable, take walks with the dog, get going on a chore chart and pray diligently with my children when they go to bed. And onward with Little House and the book of Matthew!
Friday, February 12, 2016
Mom, Marriage and Valentine's Day
How do you have a romantic time on Valentine's Day when you have a crowd of kids who need to go places, you're packing to move, and your daughter's in-laws are coming for dinner? You do something different, that's how.
Today is Friday. Sunday is Valentine's Day, but my daughter wanted her in-laws to come to see our house before we moved out of it, so she asked if we could have a couples dinner on the day. I love my daughter, so I said yes. I forgot I love my husband, too. So, after we we started planning the couples day, I thought about my dear husband.
"How about we go out on Friday night and go to the Habitat Store to look for things for the new house before dinner?" He very nicely said yes.
So, today is Friday. Our house is so big, we have cleaning day because I'm more of a project person than a maintenance person. This is it. However, I stayed in bed and finished reading a Ted Dekker book my college daughter took out of the library before she went back to school. I told Steve to go away when he started creeping towards my side of the bed. I finished the book, got up around 9:45, ate a bowl of cereal while the kids watched Phineas and Ferb, and gave them their marching orders. Then, I started cleaning my bathroom. Cleaning bathrooms are the bane of my existence. They need so much cleaning! And you're not usually in them for long unless you are in a hurry to get somewhere else. But, since I spent last cleaning day packing, I had to do the bathroom.
As I was cleaning the bathroom in my nightgown, I realized that I didn't want to smell like this when I went on my Valentine's date this evening, so I planned to clean my personal corners after I did the bathroom. Which I did. However, we are moving and, since I'm the mom, I am trying to use up all the dribs and drabs of cleaning materials around the house. While cleaning my corners, I realized that I had used some kids body wash and I was going to smell like bubble gum for the rest of the day. How romantic. I got out of the tub, was drying myself off and found, to my horror, that my legs looked like a gorilla's. Back in the tub. Once going with the razor, I found that it had been even longer since I'd done my underarms and I thought I might have to take scissors to the hair in my armpits!
Does this sound familiar?
The fact is, this is life for people who are responsible for others' needs and wishes, maybe not for people who have only themselves to worry about. We are moms. This is our life. And we wouldn't want it any other way, would we? I'm down to six kids in school around our house and I already feel like there are holes in the family structure. But, the most important person in this whole deal is the one person I have hardly mentioned in this article: my husband.
At our wedding, the pastor exhorted us to keep our marriage first. That Steve shouldn't let work or sports or hobbies come before me and I shouldn't let kids or crafts or house or friends come before him. And that includes sex. Yes. The "S" word. It is the only thing that differentiates the marriage relationship from any other relationship. It results in an intimacy and vulnerability and even sacrifice that no other relationship on earth provides, not even twins. As evidenced in my story today, life demands so many unromantic things of us; what do I do to counteract that?
I will do what I planned: go on a date with my husband and put on my red silk nightshirt and my black lace panties for bed. And hope the kids go to bed early!
Today is Friday. Sunday is Valentine's Day, but my daughter wanted her in-laws to come to see our house before we moved out of it, so she asked if we could have a couples dinner on the day. I love my daughter, so I said yes. I forgot I love my husband, too. So, after we we started planning the couples day, I thought about my dear husband.
"How about we go out on Friday night and go to the Habitat Store to look for things for the new house before dinner?" He very nicely said yes.
So, today is Friday. Our house is so big, we have cleaning day because I'm more of a project person than a maintenance person. This is it. However, I stayed in bed and finished reading a Ted Dekker book my college daughter took out of the library before she went back to school. I told Steve to go away when he started creeping towards my side of the bed. I finished the book, got up around 9:45, ate a bowl of cereal while the kids watched Phineas and Ferb, and gave them their marching orders. Then, I started cleaning my bathroom. Cleaning bathrooms are the bane of my existence. They need so much cleaning! And you're not usually in them for long unless you are in a hurry to get somewhere else. But, since I spent last cleaning day packing, I had to do the bathroom.
As I was cleaning the bathroom in my nightgown, I realized that I didn't want to smell like this when I went on my Valentine's date this evening, so I planned to clean my personal corners after I did the bathroom. Which I did. However, we are moving and, since I'm the mom, I am trying to use up all the dribs and drabs of cleaning materials around the house. While cleaning my corners, I realized that I had used some kids body wash and I was going to smell like bubble gum for the rest of the day. How romantic. I got out of the tub, was drying myself off and found, to my horror, that my legs looked like a gorilla's. Back in the tub. Once going with the razor, I found that it had been even longer since I'd done my underarms and I thought I might have to take scissors to the hair in my armpits!
Does this sound familiar?
The fact is, this is life for people who are responsible for others' needs and wishes, maybe not for people who have only themselves to worry about. We are moms. This is our life. And we wouldn't want it any other way, would we? I'm down to six kids in school around our house and I already feel like there are holes in the family structure. But, the most important person in this whole deal is the one person I have hardly mentioned in this article: my husband.
At our wedding, the pastor exhorted us to keep our marriage first. That Steve shouldn't let work or sports or hobbies come before me and I shouldn't let kids or crafts or house or friends come before him. And that includes sex. Yes. The "S" word. It is the only thing that differentiates the marriage relationship from any other relationship. It results in an intimacy and vulnerability and even sacrifice that no other relationship on earth provides, not even twins. As evidenced in my story today, life demands so many unromantic things of us; what do I do to counteract that?
I will do what I planned: go on a date with my husband and put on my red silk nightshirt and my black lace panties for bed. And hope the kids go to bed early!
Monday, January 25, 2016
The Comfort in My Story
Yesterday, I spoke on the Gift of a Child at Cowboy Country Church in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. I shared with the congregation all of the things that my child given up for adoption has given me, as well as others whom she never knew. I sat in my seat before going up, suddenly second-guessing myself. "Does this matter to anyone? Does this contribute to anyone's spiritual life?" But, it was too late to back out. The talk will be on the Internet soon, so you can hear it, but what amazed me was hearing how many people were touched by hearing someone else's story of pain and spiritual growth.
II Corinthians 1:3-6 says:
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also abounds through Christ. Now if we are afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effective for enduring the same sufferings which we also suffer. Or if we are comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation."
Transparency is what makes us real. Our weaknesses show the strength of God. We all have things in our past we would rather people didn't know, whether strangers or our children. Perfect people don't inspire people to come to Christ; forgiven, empowered people inspire people to come to salvation. Do you have to share every gory detail with everyone on earth? No. But, sometime, one story could change someone's life.
"I am not my own, for I am bought with a price; therefore, glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's." I Corinthians 6:20.
My story is not mine, any more than my life is. It is now His. And if it can bring comfort or conviction to anyone, then it is His property, not mine.
II Corinthians 1:3-6 says:
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also abounds through Christ. Now if we are afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effective for enduring the same sufferings which we also suffer. Or if we are comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation."
Transparency is what makes us real. Our weaknesses show the strength of God. We all have things in our past we would rather people didn't know, whether strangers or our children. Perfect people don't inspire people to come to Christ; forgiven, empowered people inspire people to come to salvation. Do you have to share every gory detail with everyone on earth? No. But, sometime, one story could change someone's life.
"I am not my own, for I am bought with a price; therefore, glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's." I Corinthians 6:20.
My story is not mine, any more than my life is. It is now His. And if it can bring comfort or conviction to anyone, then it is His property, not mine.
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