Joy to Spare

Over a month has passed since my last post, and I'm afraid it might be even longer until my next. I'm not one to overbook myself... other valuable things have become forefront for now, leaving me no extra time to blog. Until next time...

My life right now is a dramatization of that old poem Footprints. The one in which we see our lives as two sets of footprints (ours and God's), but only one set during the hard times - when God carries us. I am being carried now... going for a ride on His broad shoulders. I truly do not think Daddy could have handled another postponement of his transplant, nor another single dialysis session, and God allows us to endure only that for which he's given us the strength. Now it is my turn to be tested. Sick toddler, ailing husband, mango rash*, daily headaches, extra vigilant cleaning & food prep. I mention all this not to cast a line for sympathy but to give glory to God for sustaining me with the kind of joy and peace that comes only from the Maker of heaven and earth. I have, by grace alone, been mostly patient and even-tempered with the boys through it all. It was an incredible blessing to have someone come and clean the house yesterday and will continue to be wonderful for

Coming home from long trips to the hospital has proved a joyful event. I got a taste of this when, as I recalled in a previous post, Daddy and I returned from a weekend away. Big Bro had actually missed me, hugging and kissing me of his own accord. What new joy I felt! Tonight as the little fuzz-head and I crossed the living room together on our way down for bathtime, I tousled his hair and spoke loving words. Big Bro, in turn, reached over and rubbed my knee. "I have to rub your leg," he said, looking up at me, "because I'm too little to reach your head." His sweet, simple affection is still new, still melts my heart. May I never take it for granted.

Big day today. Daddy now has 3 kidneys. One works great. I am exhausted. I am going to bed. At 9:15. No dialysis. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Big Bro's reached the age of asking hard questions. I struggle to answer them, but somehow he understands. I really think children are more spiritually attuned, although not able to clearly communicate this. I'm starting to get why Jesus said "The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these." The other day he was captivated by a dead seal on the beach. He watched it a long time. He asked what would happen to it, and I told him it would go to live with Jesus in heaven. I'm fairly sure this is not the case, at least not exactly, but it seems to be a reasonable answer for little guys. They're spiritually sensitive, not theologically trained. He has asked about it so often over the past week, the questions blur into each other. "Does God like doggies?" Yes, God made doggies and he loves them. "Does God love seals?" Yes, God made seals too and loves them. "Does God love stinky dead seals?" Well, when the seal goes to heaven it's not

Here is a Ratatouille recipe I found on Allrecipes.com and cooked tonight. After I had assembled it I realized I was a fool for making it for my family - Daddy doesn't like eggplant, mushrooms or tomatoes, and Big Bro & Little Bro don't like over half the ingredients... I prepared quesadillas and set them aside for when my boys balked at my original plan, but... SURPRISE! We all cleaned our plates! (We ate the quesadillas too.) The veggies took a while to chop, and I didn't have the use of my kitchen sink (long story), but otherwise it was very simple. Yield 4 servings Ingredients 2 tablespoons olive oil 3 cloves garlic, minced 2 teaspoons dried parsley 1 eggplant, cut into 1/2 inch cubes salt to taste 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese 2 zucchini, sliced 1 large onion, sliced into rings 2 cups sliced fresh mushrooms 1 green bell pepper, sliced 2 large tomatoes, chopped Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Coat bottom and sides of a 1 1/2 quart casserole

Daddy and I returned today from a three-day vacation on Catalina Island. It was a fun and refreshing tenth anniversary trip with just the right mix of things to do and nothing to do. This was my first time away from the boys overnight (two nights!), so I had never before had the opportunity to really miss them. Truth be told, aside from a little teariness as we drove away, I didn't miss them at all for the first 24 hours. But my fondness grew as the absence prolonged, and by the time we pulled into the driveway this evening, I was itching to bound up the two flights of stairs to see my angels. We shut the car doors and, as we walked to the elevator (racing up the staircase didn't sound like such a good idea when I remembered the heavy bags that accompanied us), we whistled up at the open windows. We were just out of the windows' view when we heard Big Bro, in his most excited voice, gasp, "They're here! THEY'RE HEEEEEEERE!" After the longest elevator ride

I would imagine that most boys and girls spend most of their time indoors. Surrounded by the creations of men. My boys have plenty of enjoyment at home, what with fascinating stories to be read and endless toys to play with. But they tire of these activities and begin seeking strife, food, and television to entertain themselves. Instead of giving into such poor amusements, we prefer to get outside. To most of us apartment dwellers, getting children outdoors means going to the playground. The man-made steps and slides, the carefully contained play areas ("No! The sand stays IN the sandbox!"), the enclosing sidewalk. The plastic bucket and shovel combined with the natural sand and sky make for longer contented play than the totally man-made environment of home. But the playground that God created, which we call Earth, is infinitely better. When we leave all toys behind, when we leave the sterile, manicured garden or park, and tromp around in the dirt, leaves, sticks and spiders

Yesterday found us back at my favorite earthly place, the lower area of San Dieguito County Park. As we strolled in from the street, we were greeted with the refreshing sound of water from the fountains in the duck ponds. We stumbled over the rocky bridge, through the split rail fence-lined driveway, under an endless variety of mature trees, up onto dark, clover filled grass. This particular day the little white gazebo charmed me up to the top of the hill -- no small feat with two dawdling children in tow. In fact, Big Bro was so slow, and Little Bro so heavy, that I lugged my baby up fairly quickly, leaving the little man to wander over to us at his own pace. While mother and baby sat and marveled at the fat black bumblebees gorging themselves on lavender nectar, Big Bro plopped himself down under a tree a ways down the hill. Soon there was yelling, and more yelling -- all indistinguishable except for many encores of "MOM!" and after a minute I went down to oblige him. "

Lately I have been engulfing my children in the natural world as much as possible. We have reaped much joy from our experiences in our God's creation. Not long ago, when I first begun intentionally getting the boys out in real nature (beyond the playground), Big Bro had very little interest in bugs, flowers, trees, clouds, or mushrooms. He treated the great outdoors as nothing more than a grand-scale sandbox. Dig, dump. Tear, throw. I tried to have him study a flower for a moment, but his attention lasted less than a second. Today the boys, together, for at least ten minutes, watched intently as a snail scaled a cliff, watched as its antennae/eyes recoiled and changed course as they encountered roots and grass. Yesterday they both waited patiently, gazing long at a lifeless pea-sized gray ball, until the roly-poly wriggled back out from its defensive position. It didn't take long for my sons, still "fresh from God," to recover from their training in attention deficit

Memorable moments from the last month: Little Bro: - Anything with prominent eyes is an owl to him, and looking at a picture of a puffed-up, spiky blowfish, he didn't hesitate: "Owl ball!" Big Bro and I laughed the rest of the afternoon. - Little Bro listens intently to anticipate the end of mealtime prayers. Beats everyone by saying "amen" first, VERY loudly! "AAAHH-MAAAAYY!" Big Bro: - "Does God make owies?" - When Daddy came home from work: "Mom! Dad arrived!" - In response to a firm talking-to by Mommy: "Your eyes look like turtles." (No, I could not keep a straight face.)

In nine days Daddy will receive a kidney transplant, and my world will change drastically. Although I should be leaping for joy, I am terrified. God wants to lead us out of Egypt, but I, foolishly, like Israel, prefer slavery to the unknown. A similar drastic and terrifying change happened three years ago, though I didn't know it was coming then. Daddy's kidneys failed, and our carefree (as much as you can call life with a six-week-old carefree) existence failed as well. Now I had a newborn to care for and a very sick husband whom I could no longer serve the tasty, healthy meals I had just become good at preparing, but only white bread/rice, bland meat, lettuce, candy, and mayonnaise. Then there were his 5 or 6 twice-daily prescription medications. How were we going to pay for this? We figured out the diet well enough, and the vast majority of the meds were covered by insurance. After a year, we started daily home dialysis, and he felt much healthier. He was even able to eat a

For a couple weeks I have been reading to Big Bro from The House at Pooh Corner. It baffles me that he is interested in it, because A.A. Milne's writing is much more complex than the kinds of things we expect three-year-olds to follow. One of the first stories I read to him was the one in which Pooh invents the game of Poohsticks. They drop sticks off one side of the bridge, then go over to see whose floats out the other side first. One time, the sticks don't come, but then out floats Eeyore who had fallen into the water much farther up the river. A simple plot, but it's not written as straightforwardly (is that a word?) as that. Afterwards, Big Bro acted out the game of Poohsticks just as it happened in the story: he dropped his stick off one side of the bridge, went over to the other side, and I asked if it had come out the other side, and he said, "Yes, but it's Eeyore!" I always knew there would be a time when his comprehension astounded me. This is the fi

A conversation between Daddy and Big Bro from a couple months ago that one of us had written down. Big Bro: What are we doing tomorrow, Daddy? Daddy: I'm going to work tomorrow. Big Bro: Do I have to go to work? Daddy: Well, one day you'll have to go to work. Big Bro: Why do you have to go to work? Daddy: Because I'm a man, and that's what a man does, go to work. And sometimes mommies go to work. We're lucky, our mommy stays home. When you grow up to be a man you'll work. Big Bro: I have a face and tummy and legs. I am a man. Daddy: I'll teach you how to be a man. Isn't that interesting? What is a man? Do you become a real man when you have a man's face, legs, and tummy (and beard and when you're tall and turn eighteen)? Or does a boy have to learn how to become a man? I believe it's the latter. The book Raising a Modern Day Knight has a lot to say about this. I highly recommend it.

For a while, things were going smoothly, or as smoothly as things can go for a mother of toddler and preschool boys. But as children grow, ways of thinking and doing things must change. Both boys have made transitions recently which have rocked my little world. Big Bro's developments: - He has finally called us on our increasingly lax discipline - by way of doing nothing we tell him to, and everything we tell him not to. - He likes to rough house with his brother. Boys will be boys, but how to teach what is fun and what is too rough? Little Bro's developments: - He has learned that doing something naughty gains him attention. Time-outs are a fun game, where he walks out of time-out laughing, and mom/dad puts him back. Nonstop. For 2 minutes. Many times a day. - He can now climb onto chairs - and up to Brother's toys. Brother is less than thrilled. So, I am anxiously awaiting a couple Dobson books on discipline I ordered. But what I really want is Supernanny. No, not really.

I realized today that I know myself better because I have kids. Without them, I might not have ever learned... ...how much I can talk. I never knew an introvert could spend so much of the day talking. Answering questions. Correcting. Explaining. Singing. Teaching. ...that I'm more like my mom than I thought. Those boys bring out the silly in me that I didn't think I'd inherited. ...how much anger I am capable of. I have never been angrier than they can make me. And they're not even teens yet! Having children can indeed help you "find yourself." And when I've "found myself" in over my head, that's where God comes in. The most important thing I've learned about myself by having kids is how helpless I am to get it right without God leading the way in every detail. A frequent refrain for me is "Lord, I'm out. You take over." And time after time, He does.

Tonight I'm taking dinner for a couple with a new baby. Looking at their food preferences/dislikes list, the only recipe I was sure would go over well was vegetable lasagne. Hey! Great! We love lasagne, and veggies... I'll make a triple batch and freeze one. Save time and effort. Delicious, healthy and efficient. Reality check: Delicious, yes. Healthy, yes. Efficient.... no. What I had not prepared for was that this project would dirty every dish we own, create a monster mess, and use up the entire morning. I mean, the ENTIRE morning. Just ask the boys. I spent the first half hour figuring out how to use the slicing feature of the 40-year-old KitchenAid mixer. It took me this long because Little Bro, who is teething again, bawled on and off for three hours, and my brain works at quarter-speed if someone is crying. Many of the dishes involved were not used for cooking, but as entertainment for my neglected children. At one point I turned on PBS to babysit (and we never watch TV

The past few days have been rough. Daddy's minor procedure Thursday led to a major ordeal after a complication, Urgent Care, another complication, more Urgent Care, and now a hospital stay. Add to the mix two tiny people to comfort, entertain, and continually reassure that Daddy will indeed hold and wrestle with them again someday, and... well, it's been rough. Friends and family have stepped in big-time. I actually got flowers for Mother's Day yesterday, despite a miserable-in-bed husband and children too little to know about it! (although Rawr-rawr the teddy bear did wish me Happy Mother's Day this morning - only a day late.) These are the times I feel closest to my Abba, when I most feel the need for Him. He comforts me like no one else can. He cradles my spirit under His wings. I've got peace like a river, love like an ocean, and joy like a fountain in my soul. Yes, even joy. Even now. This is my prayer for my husband as well. Pray with me that his body and spi

Yesterday Big Bro had a time-out for "bonking." Bonking is what we call it when our boys attack each other with their heads. The offending head in this case had pushed Little Bro down. After his time-out, Daddy asked him to come back over to Little Bro to apologize and ask forgiveness. Little Bro was sitting on the couch, and Big Bro walked up and said, "I'm sorry, will you forgive me?" This was the first time Little Bro had ever been asked this question, but he seemed to know exactly what it meant, as he leaned forward with his lips puckered, and Big Bro kissed him. Children are so beautiful.

Big Bro (mostly intelligible): "Mommy, what do you think about when you're alone?" Me: (Did he just say what I think he said?) "What do I think about when I'm alone?" Big Bro: "Uh-huh." Me: (Still recovering from the shock of this kind of question out of my 3-year-old's mouth) "Well, I sometimes think about you and Little Bro, and Daddy, Grandma and Grandpa... sometimes I think about if we get a house, what it will be like... what do YOU think about when you're alone, sweetheart?" Big Bro: "Home." Me: "Oh. Home?" (Hmmm. Is he just repeating what I said about a house? Or does he sit and think about his home and everything that means to him?) Big Bro: "Yeah." Me: (Wow. My little boy who normally only wants to talk about Thomas the Tank Engine just initiated a deep, if not fully coherent conversation with me! This is unbelievable!) That evening: Me: (with goosebumps, and almost hyperventilating) "Oh

Okay, so I stole the title from another mommy blog. But for me these days, this little phrase says it all. Daddy bought me a French Press for my birthday, and although I had heard using those can be bad for you because some of the coffee evil is not filtered out, I am hooked. (Apparently, the extra cholesterol left in your mug is usually not too significant.) I've always enjoyed coffee occasionally - when my mom's visiting, there is a huge pot every morning... I help myself at church events... at a coffee shop with a friend (again, usually mom!). But it's never been a regular thing for me. After I had kids - and could have really used the caffeine - I was pregnant or breastfeeding and didn't want to shoot the little guys up all the time. Whenever I did, my oh my, how wired they would get and couldn't sleep, and my cute furry little gizmos turned into gremlins after noon. But for the first time in almost four years, my body is my own again, and I can load it with as

Big Bro turned three today. I used to record all his memorable moments in a journal, but my hand starts to cramp just thinking about writing down all of today's joy. But I can type. I was towelling off when I heard him wake up over the monitor, his munchkin voice singing "Ring around the Rosy." That's how he began his big day. When I went down to get him, I told him Happy Birthday, and he said Happy Birthday right back to me. That's how it went most of the day. Like Merry Christmas or Happy Easter. The sentiments are reciprocal. Why should a birthday be any different? He came upstairs to find balloons, always exciting. Under the balloons were a new roundhouse and turntable for his trains. He was excited and played until we dragged him (not quite kicking and screaming) away for banana pancakes. He savored his breakfast until he almost popped. By the benevolence of the cheap birthday fun gods, Big Bro's birthday was also First-Tuesday-Free-Museum-Day at Balboa P

Big Bro will eat most anything, especially with a bribe. The bribe is usually fruit. If you finish your spinach, you can have strawberries. If you finish your chicken, you can have grapes. It works most of the time. The other day, we bribed him with broccoli. No, really. "May I have more broccoli, please?" "If you finish your rice, you can have broccoli." It's actually quite common for him to be bribed with a vegetable. Sometimes I start to pat myself on the back, as it's so obviously my amazing parenting that has created this healthy-food-loving child. But then I remember Little Bro, and my ego deflates a bit. Little Bro will eat most things, but not willingly. If he had his choice, he would eat only fruit and bread. What he eats has largely to do with how much energy I have for tricking, distracting, and disguising. If I alternate bites of asparagus with bites of cottage cheese, he will eat it. If I distract him while I feed him a bite of turkey, he will e

I have learned a few very valuable things over the 12 years since I met God. One of my favorites, which has brought so much peace into my life, is what it truly means to not judge others. I think it has taken me so long to learn this one because I needed to have my share of big screw-ups to really appreciate the effects that our fallen world can have on a person. I wish I could remember who said, "Only God knows the whole story about anyone." Before I think negatively about someone, I try to put myself in their shoes. When a car full of rascals pumping way-too-loud, obscenity-filled music passes by my children, I try not to stare daggers at them, but remember what it was like to be a teenager when your world revolves around only yourself and all that matters is figuring out how to be cool and fit in. When the lady in front of me in the grocery line sends the bagger to the back of the store for different eggs, then sorts through her coupons for 5 minutes after her groceries ha

The other day at (you guessed it) the library, the boys and I were back in the board book section when I turned around in panic to see Big Bro walking quickly past the children's tables toward the exit, book in hand. He was saying something to me in his usual quiet voice, and the low buzz from the packed kids' section made it impossible for me to hear him. I sprinted after him, leaving Little Bro alone in the baby book area, fully expecting to return later to see every single book on the floor. I caught up with Big Bro quickly; he was just reaching the end of the children's section, and I asked him where he was going. "I'm yooking for an empty table," he said. What an eye opener. My child is no longer the unpredictable toddler who runs out of the building with no warning. He is now the little boy who chooses a book and goes to find a table so he can sit and read. I am ridiculously proud of him, but it's bittersweet seeing him grow up. Soon enough no one wi

Speaking of taxes (last post), one of my favorite uses for all that money is the library. Another ingenious idea for which I am so thankful! I almost never buy books anymore. I discovered the merits of the library when we lived in Pasadena and don't plan to ever stop. You get to read all the books (watch all the videos, etc.) you want, except: You don't have to shop around for the best price. You don't have to pay for them. If you don't end up liking a book, you haven't wasted any money. The time limit motivates you to finish a book. You don't have to find space for them. You don't have to dust them. You don't have to pack and unpack them when you move. Less clutter, less waste. Sure, there are occasions to buy a book. Sometimes the library doesn't have certain ones, it usually takes a while to get newly published books, and it's nice to own reference books or ones that you re-read often. But for the most part, I am happy to have sparse bookshelv

All I need to know in life I learned from the Bible. But from what I can see, the Bible tells us how to be governed, as Christians, and how to be individuals and church leaders, but not how to govern an entire nation. (Before anyone tries to read "conservative" or "liberal" into my comments, I'm sorry to disappoint you... I claim no political party or position. I am only a child of God who is continually learning what it means to be a Christian first and an American second, and how the two relate.) Taxes... Is it a government's job to ensure its poor are taken care of by taking from the rich and giving to the poor? Or is it only the job of individuals to decide how and whether to sacrifice for the welfare of those less fortunate? I don't know, and I think there are many gray areas here. Education... Is it a government's job to decide what its children are required to be taught? Or is it the job of parents or schools? As a homeschooler, I obviously le

I was washing dishes yesterday when Big Bro came up and said to me, "I tell you a naughty thing." Uh-oh. Is Little Bro playing in the toilet again? Did Big Bro somehow learn a swear word? Has he Sharpie-d all over the wood floor again? My cringing mind cycled through the possibilities in the second before he said, "We don't go in the oven." *Sigh of relief.* That's right, Big Bro, I said. We don't go in the oven. Very good. I cherish these innocent moments in light of what I know I can expect in the future, when "I tell you a naughty thing" becomes, "Uh, Mom... I need to tell you something." As challenging as it is dealing with a preschooler and a toddler all day, I have a feeling I have no idea how easy I've got it!

Our pastor's sermon today was about the rich young ruler who loved money too much to give it up in favor of following Jesus. The money isn't evil, but loving it more than God is. It's not about money for all of us. For some it's pride, for others it's alcohol, the list goes on. My big hangup is sweets. Cookies, cake, brownies, candy, pie, ice cream, chocolate, you name it. Sounds innocuous enough, but an unhealthy preoccupation of any kind is - well, unhealthy. It keeps me from being fully devoted to the things of God and makes me a slave to worldly desire. "If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell." -Jesus (Matthew 5:30) Once a year, during Lent, I give up sweets. Not to punish or make myself miserable. But to remind myself that God is all I need. That He is bigger and stronger in my heart than a stupid box of Thin Mints. (Duh!) I take th

When I think of the ways I enjoy our Father's creation, sights come to mind first. Fat gray and pink sunrise clouds after it's rained all night. Late afternoon haze across the green shadowed hills. And then sounds. Mourning doves, thunder, frog song, little girl giggles. Then taste. Raspberries, olive oil, goat cheese, tears. Touch and smell are last to come to mind, but they are the most special, the most intimate. Those are how I most deeply experience God's ultimate creation, his children. I could sit alone indoors and still see a beautiful sunset or Big Bro's skinny little legs running around outside. I could lie alone in the dark and still hear the crickets' call or Little Bro's gentle coos from the monitor. But I have to be close to drink in the sweet scent of my little boys' sweaty heads. I have to be close to feel my husband's rough, strong hand around mine. Big Bro's warm breath on my arm as we read a book. Wet raspberries on my belly from a

[Apparently, some people are not able to read my mind. Here's my story re-formatted to be a little more clear - the Italic text is the story.] Often the contents of my pockets at the end of the day tell a story. Occasionally it will be a mystery story. Here is one from yesterday: 2 of those little plastic things...... I saved Little Bro from an unpleasant that attach tags to clothing..................... swallowing experience, Garage door opener.......................... and then we got in the car 26 Cheerios & a broken cracker......... and spilled most of our snack Sticker................................................. and dropped things. 5 Kleenex folded into little squares................. Little Bro had a cold, Library card.......................... but we went to story time anyway Sand....................................................... and to the park. But don't forget, this is a mystery story. What you wouldn't guess is that we went to the park that doesn&#

I used to clean every crook and nanny before company. I remember the "how" of it - not having children was a big factor. But the "why" is a bit murkier. Subconsciously, I think I felt that a pastor's wife should appear perfect in every way, including keeping the house in perfect order. Call it a stretch, or an excuse, but now I feel that presenting a slightly messy, slightly dirty home to company is humbler, kinder, and more honest than spending the two hours prior scrubbing like a madwoman. First, there ARE those unexperienced souls who put pastors and their families on a pedestal to begin with, and maybe seeing some dust on my bookshelves or dried milk spatter under the highchair helps show that we're more normal - and imperfect - than they imagined. But more importantly, our handprint-ridden mirror might allow another family to worry less about their own messy house when we come to visit, and leave more time for the things that really matter.

My sons have too many toys. WAY too many. This is not a problem, though, because of the delightful invention of "toy rotation." I don't know what mom first invented this, but I am indebted to her, and to those who have passed on this wisdom to me. Here's how it works. Big Bro has an uncanny memory for things like that one time Mommy let him rub spaghetti all over his head (so why can't he do it every time?). But, take away a toy for a month, bring it out again, and it's like he's never seen it before. Case in point... Two nights ago I put away a couple of toys that I decided the boys weren't ready for -- too many pieces had already been swallowed or fished out of various orifices, or it had to be hot-glued too many times because they thought a wooden toy garage was for sitting on, jumping on, or punishing little brothers with. Don't ask. While putting these away, I saw a few other toys they hadn't seen in a few weeks and brought them out. One p