Talk to me!

My poor Caleb had a really rough day today. I am not sure why, if he were a few years younger I'd swear he was teething. Maybe the pollen has his ears draining or his sinuses aching. I never did figure out why, but he was grouchy, moody, and angry a lot of the day today. I went in to get him up this morning and he greeted me with "I'm not READY to get up yet!" This is after he's been awake for a good 15 minutes, at least. So I cheerfully give him a good morning kiss and tell him that he's welcome to join the rest of us when he's ready to start his day. After tinkering around a bit upstairs, getting the kids' outfits for the day picked out, putting away the pile of laundry that my amazing husband washed the day before (thanks sweetie!), and getting Brianna ready to head downstairs, Caleb was still sitting in his bed. In the dark. In silence. Odd, coming from my little Mr. Smiley who usually enthusiastically greets his sister with, "Mornin' Belle!" as he runs out of his room every day.

So, I gently nudged him out of his bed and enticed him to join us downstairs for some breakfast. I think it was the promise of pancakes that helped, but that is beside the point. We had a decent breakfast hour, all things considered. He actually ate all of his pancakes, wolfed down his strawberries, then asked for bacon. After 5 minutes of debating with him about the fact that we were, regrettably, OUT of bacon, he insisted on checking for himself. At which point I said "Go ahead, check!" He popped over to the fridge, opened the drawer, found no bacon (shocker!), then quickly decided to have turkey pepperoni for breakfast. Ewww. But oh well, protein is good in the morning, right? After breakfast we were all getting dressed, shod, and combed for church when Caleb decided that it just wasn't for him. He wanted nothing to do with putting his clothes on, so he stripped off his pajamas and ran away from me. Repeatedly. The first time I made a joke of it, you know, a little game, thinking maybe he just wanted to play. He didn't. He really didn't want his clothes on- which is unusual since we have never been the "bare bottom" type of household. I think he was just too interested in his remote controlled digging truck. But I digress... so I chased him down and began to show him just how NOT joking I had become. He slithered away one too many times and after a stern warning he was taken straight to time out. As I was telling him "You are in time out for..." he reared back and slapped my face. Oh. My. Stars. Ummm, this is NOT okay, and this is very NOT normal for him. I was FUMING. So I said "You will get an extra punishment for that when your time out is over." And I went to the garage to quickly figure out what that extra punishment would be. After I put out the flames in my ears.

And that was just before church. During Sunday School he refused to do the craft. After church he hid between the door and the wall, just watching through the crack and not socializing like he normally does. After lunch he threw a HUGE tantrum resisting his nap. Thankfully he slept fabulously for over 2.5 hours at nap time, and I was SO hopeful that his evening would turn around and be SO much better than his morning had been. Oh, but was I wrong. Once again I cheerfully greeted him once I heard evidence on his monitor that he was awake. Once again he firmly planted his bottom on his pillow and refused to leave his bed. I tried to cheer him up, entice him out, but to no avail. He wanted to "stay in bed still sleeping" at all costs. Eventually I got busy making dinner and Brianna went outside to help Daddy wash the car, and at some point Caleb heard that there *might* be motorcycles at the neighbor's house. Which FINALLY got him out of his room. But once outside he must have put in ear plugs because there was nothing telling me he could hear a thing I said to him. And even better, at dinner time Caleb decided he didn't want to eat, he was ready for bath. So he refused to come to the table. Now, I really don't have a problem with my kids going to bed hungry if they refuse to eat the food I put in front of them. But I do feel strongly about the fact that we sit down together as a family around the dinner table. So yet another struggle ensued, landing Caleb back in time out. After his time was served and his apologies offered I buckled him into his booster back at the table. At which point he smacked his plate, sending it into his sister's lap and launching his dinner across the room. Yes, he went back to time out, this time bawling. I was pulling out my hair (figuratively of course) at this point, so frustrated and confused. What is going on with him!?!? I wondered. Why has he been so angry and disobedient and contradictory today? I just couldn't figure it out. Something had his mood soured and I didn't know what it was. I was frustrated. I was worn out from the constant disciplining. I was saddened to see him acting this way. I was hurting for him, feeling his frustration and displeasure, but truly unable to figure out why he felt this way. I was questioning my parenting, searching for where I went wrong.

You know, in retrospect, today's outbursts may have been largely about control. He is two. He wants it. I am his mom. I have it. He is trying to wrestle it away. I will not give in. Sure, I give him reasonable choices and allow him some levels of independence. But at the core of it, his Daddy and I are the authority. Or maybe that wasn't it at all. At one point during dinner- in between his many trips to time out- I bluntly asked him, "Caleb, what is wrong, buddy? Why are you having such a rough day?" He wouldn't answer. All he would say was, "No me want to talk about it." And most of the time he'd just ignore me and whine or moan. Now, rationally, I know that I was unlikely to get an emotionally mature response from a frustrated 2 year old. But my instinct was to beg him to talk to me. To implore him to open up, tell me what was wrong so I could help him fix it. He had no way to understand that I could probably fix whatever was irritating him with something completely simple. If he was hurting, I could medicate him. If he needed snuggles, I could curl him up on my lap. If he was hot, I could turn the air on. If he was tired, I could offer him rest. If only he'd tell me what was wrong... if only he'd talk to me!

As I was cuddling him this evening and reading him a book before bed (our night DID finally end on a happy, snuggly, loving note), I got the message loud and clear. And it has been refined and enhanced to me as I take the time to write. God whispered in my ear... sweetheart... talk to me! You see, prayer has never been my strongest gift. I admit, I have struggled with it and need to constantly work on it. But the times that I have deepened my prayer life have been the times I was closest to my Lord... and the times I was at most peace in my heart. Lately I've been letting life get by me. I've kept up with my Bible reading and with my devotionals. But my prayer time has been slacking. At the same time I've been overwhelmed with commitments, expectations, deadlines, and emotional drains. I've gotten into a rut of just "surviving" instead of truly living. And I presume that my mood hasn't exactly been all roses and sunshine. But those of you who have noticed don't have to confirm that too emphatically, please. I can imagine God, looking down at me. First saying "sweetheart... I am your Father. I will always have control." Oh, isn't that a lesson I've had to learn about 15 million times. And then when I get increasingly frustrated, when I start losing it and acting ridiculously like a 2 year old, I can just hear God whispering, "talk to me. Tell me what you need. Ask for my help. I can heal you. I can calm you. I can strengthen you. I can carry you. Just talk to me." Wow. How amazing. My problems are nothing for Him. He can make them disappear with a wave of His hand. And He can carry me through anything He chooses to let me endure. And if I just lean on Him, reach for His hand, I don't have to feel out of control. For His control is far more perfect than mine could ever be.

Broken Pieces, yet again

This is one of my earliest and favorite blog posts. It resurfaces so many times, and has again come to the forefront of my conscience. Usually when that happens, someone needs to hear it's message, occasionally that someone is me. So, enjoy!



I’ve been working on this table for my son, cutting, building, and finally placing a tile mosaic on top. It really has been a fun and rewarding experience, making something special for C. I started with a square, boring piece of wood, a length of trim, some (also square and boring) blue and white tiles, and lots of love. I measured, calculated, cut, stained, smashed, arranged, and affixed these things together and the end result promises to be beautiful.


I think it is like that with our lives, with God as the craftsman. He shapes us, cutting off pieces to create a more interesting and pleasing form, sands us to smooth our edges and make us less rough. He cuts and rearranges things, never leaving them the way we thought they should go, but fitting them together perfectly to fill the purpose he had for them. Just as I applied stain to the wood, our lives are stained with experiences and interactions.


It is a big change, a tough cut, a blemish at first, but what emerges in the end is a more beautiful and pleasing color, a deeper finish that proudly displays our grain, a smooth edge to greet the world with, a complete rim to hold our life together. Then, just when we think we’re looking pretty good, God shows us that He isn’t finished yet. Like my table- once I had the trim on and the legs finished, the stain done and the poly on, it was a functional table. It was more beautiful, it had purpose, it was equipped to do the job it was made for. But I wasn’t finished yet- for I had a more beautiful product in mind. I envisioned a more full potential, not just function, but beauty. And just as I took simple (but functional) square tiles and smashed them into pieces, we sometimes have to face things in our lives that feel like we’re being broken apart. For in the breaking, the beginnings of our future emerge. In enduring the shattered moments we begin to become what we are made for.



As I put the broken tiles together my vision began to emerge- a sailboat appeared, and it was more beautiful than even I imagined that I could make (this is my first mosaic- so my expectations weren’t too high of course). If we give God the broken pieces, if we continue to submit to His will, he will make something beautiful out of them- something far more beautiful that we could have even imagined. But even then the work isn’t done. For next I had to cover the sailboat in grout, smearing the tile with sticky, thick, mud-like grout. It looked awful for a while, messy and rough, but the grout filled the spaces between the pieces, set them together and bonded them to each other, provided a cohesion between them so that they would be more permanently fixed in their beautiful form.


Now I have to go clean the tiles, sponging them off and polishing them each so that their shiny surface can shine through and the beautiful sailboat will be visible once again. God keeps working on us, polishing the tiles of our lives, filling the cracks in our form, perfecting the image He has of us. And He has promised that He will bring the work He began in us to completion. I am sure that the wood I bought, the tiles I picked, the nails I chose didn’t expect to be cut, stained, smashed, or smeared. Had they known they would have probably fought me, begged to be left alone and “complete” as they thought they were. But because they were yielded to my hand, cut and refit, broken and rearranged, they are now something beautiful, something that I love and adore.

As I look at this table in the years ahead I will be filled with love for my son, I will remember the effort, and the thought, and the work that I put into it for him, and I hope that he enjoys the beauty of it. But I will also remember how much I am like that table with God as my craftsman. I will remember how broken I have felt and how shattered my heart has been, and I will praise God for the image He has for my future. It will be a reminder to continually yield to Him, for the end result promises to be more wonderful than I can even imagine.

Have we met?

So, my daughter is dreadfully shy. If you know me IRL you may here me calling her my "brave girl," mostly because I do believe that kids will live up to what you expect of them. The more I apologized for her in public, telling people "she's just so shy," the more she seemed to stuff her head in my thigh and refuse to speak when spoken to. So I have started calling her my brave girl, hoping it will build her confidence and help her learn that she doesn't have to shy away from every new person she encounters. We'll see if it helps...

Meanwhile my eyes have been opened (thanks God) to my own way of greeting people, especially those I don't know. It came from many angles, from MOPs, from church Leadership Team, from work... you know how it is, God realizes he isn't getting your attention with a subtle clue and so He hits you from every major area in your life. :) So anyway, I realized that I tend to gravitate towards those I know well, look for familiar faces when I enter a room, and head towards and chat with those I am most comfortable with. Sure, it seems natural enough, and even sounds okay. But I realized that it isn't okay. First of all, I am supposed to be a leader in all of those areas. Which means that I am responsible for making people who don't know anyone (or even who don't know many people) feel welcomed and comfortable. How am I welcoming people if I'm only talking to the people I know best? Chances are if I know them well, then they probably know several, if not many, other people well too. I shouldn't be out to satisfy my own comfort or search for my own "safe zone." I should be reaching out to people I don't know, getting to know their stories, making them feel welcomed and comfortable. I should be making new connections and facilitating connections between people that wouldn't have otherwise have been discovered.

And beyond my responsibility to offer hospitality on behalf of the organization that I am representing, I need to SHOW my daughter what it means to be welcoming. I need to model friendliness and confident cordiality. If she sees me making a beeline to the people I always talk to, shying away from new faces, walking by those I've not met, how will she ever know how to graciously greet an unfamiliar face? How will she know how to introduce herself to someone new? How will she see Jesus's penchant for welcoming the unnoticed and including the overlooked modeled in my behavior? Because when it comes down to it, that is what I want, right? I want my children to see Jesus through me. I want them to learn to be like Him in all that they do. And I want the rest of the world to see Him too.

So. If I've never formally greeted you I apologize. I'm sorry, have we met? I'm Rachel. It is so nice to see you here!

I'm different

So I was in the drama today at church. Sometimes in our worship we incorporate non-traditional elements into our services: the pastor will show a video, we'll have a drama, or something like that. Anyway, about 4 years ago we used to have drama pretty regularly, nearly every week for a while there. I was very active in the ministry, researching scripts to match the message, helping cast roles, and make props, and acting in many of the scenes. I even coordinated the drama team for a while, just before Caleb was born and I had to step down and focus on having two babies for a while. Over the past few months we've been using drama again and it is becoming more regular. So this week I was asked to act in the drama that was chosen for today's service. It went very well, neither Julia nor I forgot our lines, the timing went great, and I think the message got across the way it should have.

But I realized something huge today as I was waiting backstage, singing along with the praise music, waiting for my time to go onstage. I am not who I was. I am very different than I was back when I was last active in the drama ministry. In a lot of ways, actually. It was harder for me to memorize my lines, for one. And I couldn't just run up to church for a rehearsal anytime I wanted either- now I had to work around naps, bedtimes, and child care timing. But more importantly, I really wasn't thinking about me. I didn't care who was looking at me. I didn't worry whether or not people would think I did a good job. I wasn't stressed or panicked about how I would be seen by everyone watching. You see, a few years ago I would have been engrossed in my lines just minutes before the scene started, worried about looking silly if I forgot a line, but knowing them SO totally well that there was no chance I'd bobble one. I would have been primping, rehearsing in my head, and worrying about "getting it perfect." Well today I was just lost in the music, praising my God. I was standing there- well- dancing there, backstage, eyes closed, face upturned, in the pitch black darkness, singing to my King. Not stressed, not worried, not even thinking about going out there just moments away. Don't get me wrong, I read over my lines once backstage. And I didn't want to mess up - because I wanted people to actually hear the message and get the picture firmly in their heads. But I wasn't at all stressed about how *I* would look. I didn't care about what people would think of *me* today. It suddenly hit me just how much I've grown these past few years.

I thought becoming a Mom would be about raising a kid. Molding, shaping, teaching, loving another little life, directing them in the way they should go. And it is... but I had no idea how much different it would make me. I had no idea how much peace I would find in living outside of me. How quickly and smoothly God would shift my focus outside of myself. And how refreshing and fulfilling it would be to feel this way. See, all those years I was trying to find fulfillment by looking for personal approval or earthly affirmation or human accolades. Little did I know that true fulfillment comes from a far different place. I'm much more fulfilled now that I'm not searching to be fulfilled. And I can't wait for everything else God has to teach me.

I love being different.

I like it better here!

So yesterday morning I took on the kids in a game of Candy Land, followed by a round of Chutes and Ladders. I have to say that I LOVED playing games with my kids! They are just barely old enough to get the concept and really enjoy it, and I was just in heaven. I look forward to many hours of playing board games, card games, and word games with them. But I digress, so back to the story. So we were just a few moves into the first game of Candy Land. Caleb draws the coveted lollipop card- the one that allowed him to jump past 3/4 of the board and go straight to the "yoyeee pwincess!!!" that is just one turn away from the finish. He was THRILLED, and he just adored putting his playing piece next to that Princess of All Things Sugar. Brianna and I chugged along on the board, one little turn at a time, and every time it got to Caleb's turn he'd draw a card as he was supposed to, but then he'd leave his playing piece right where it was. "No me want to move two blue, me want to stay on pwincess!" So I let him. Turn after turn his little blue piece sat still, right there, always with great opportunities to sail ahead and win before we were halfway through the board. But he wasn't interested. He was in a "happy place" a "comfort zone" and he wasn't budging. Just think- he missed the opportunity to win the prize because he refused to move.

 

Don't we get that way in life sometimes? I sure know I do. Find a comfort zone and refuse to budge. Sit in a happy place and resist moving from my haunches. God gives me chance after chance to move forward, to reach for his prize, but "No me want to!" If we don't let God grow us, stretch us, and lead us then just imagine the chances we may miss. So I am going to remember the "yoyeee pwincess" when I feel hesitant to take a big move or make steps forward. I'm going to remember Caleb and how comfortable it was there for him, but how many opportunities he missed and how, ultimately, Brianna overtook him and won instead of him (not that he really cared!) But I don't want to ever miss God's prize for me because I refused to leave my comfort zone.  Do you?

Faster than the speed of time

Yesterday was a wonderful day. My little girl, my firstborn, my baby princess finished her first year of preschool. She and the dozen or so other kids got up and sang songs like My God is So Big and Be Careful Little Eyes What You See. She was SO brave, standing up there the entire time, grinning at me - when she wasn't looking around wide eyed at all of the audience, and singing every word to every one of the songs. I couldn't have been more proud.

She has grown up SO much this year, and I am just more in love with her every day. She started school very shy, very attached to me, and very unsure about making friends. She had fine, wispy hair, a baby face, and short toddler legs. Well, you don't have to take my word for it, just look:

That picture was taken just before we left for her first day of preschool. Well, an entire school year has FLOWN by, and she is turning into quite the little girl. (Sorry, can't bring myself to call her a young lady quite yet.) Those toddler legs have stretched out, her hair has filled in, her face has matured, and she is becoming more gorgeous every day. She still loves her mama and prefers staying home to going anywhere, but she is not nearly as shy and has several friends she wants to invite over this summer. One little girl even came up to her yesterday and said "by Brianna, I love you!" And this is a little girl I was worried was picking on her until I got the real scoop from the teacher. Funny how a 3 year-old's stories can sound so different than reality! So here is my love now, just before her last day of her first year of preschool:

Gosh, I just love that little princess!
And don't worry. I have plenty of bragging to do on Caleb, and on my hubby. So stay tuned! :)

Have you ever...

Have you ever mowed a 3/4 acre yard riding a Craftsman mower with a 2 year old on your R leg and a 3 year old on your L leg? Try steering with your arms wrapped around two toddlers, and keeping the lines straight when your visual field is blocked by said toddlers' heads!

It is truly a blast!

 

Look how BIG you're getting!

I have found myself saying this a lot lately. It seems that time flies by, and all of the sudden my two babies are both looking like preschoolers! Even my Caleb is stretching out and looking leaner, taller, and more like a boy than a baby. What happened!?!

So I was thinking about growing up. How fast it goes. How when it is happening you always want to hit that next stage so fast, reach that next milestone or earn that next privilege so quickly even though it seems like FOREVER while you're waiting. And how now, I wish time would slow down. Now that I'm grown up I want to hold the hands on the clock so that my babies stay small and I get to enjoy these stages before they're gone. I started asking God why He let us grow up so fast, when I used to beg Him to let me be more grown up.

But a message came through. We're not done yet. Not me. Not you. Not your grandma. Trust me, nobody is finished. See, in God we can keep growing as long as we are willing. Think about God's creations, are there many things you can think of that stop growing altogether? Plants send out new sprouts, trees bud new leaves, even we animals grow new hair and fingernails and sometimes 'padding and insulation' if we indulge our appetites! :) But beyond the physical aspects of growth, God will stretch us, grow us, mold us as long as we let Him. We become reborn "babies" of the faith when we accept Christ as our savior. If we study His word and draw near to Him we will grow into more mature christians, learning to defeat the lusts and temptations of the world and overcome Satan's grip on our lives. And even then we can continue to grow, to mature in our faith until we become fathers (or mothers) in the faith, truly knowing our God so closely, so intimately, that we feel like we've never known life without Him. And you don't have to believe me, you can look at 1 John 2: 12-14 if you want proof. ;)

So, today I marvel at how big my kids are getting. I reminisce about how quickly these years have gone. I mourn the passing of their infancy and pray for the ability to cherish every moment of every day as they grow. But I also praise God that He delights in growing me up. That He never lets me get too big to stretch, too shiny to polish, or too smart to learn. And mostly, I praise Him for walking beside me and picking me up every time I fall.

Who am I?

Who am I?
I am just me. Just Rachel. On my own: never enough, but with God: more than sufficient.

I am a child of God. Not perfect, just forgiven. Not "fixed," but an ever continuing work in progress. I am loved by my heavenly father, not by any accomplishment of my own, but by His unfailing grace and mercy. I am a sinner who stumbles, messes up, and backslides more than I care to admit. But I am washed clean every day, refreshed and renewed at every whisper of His name. I am saved from the depths of despair and set firmly on a rock. The wind blows hard up on this rock, but the strength of my redeemer holds me strong. I lean on Him and I am not moved. I am beautiful in His eyes, strong in His power, and alive forever because of His Son.

I am a wife. I am blessed to share my life with P, an amazing husband and father and friend. I am learning every day to be a better wife, but luckily he's not giving up on me yet. We've been through many ups, downs, and ruts together, and God is constantly working and molding us into the team He designed us to be. This year we will celebrate 10 years of marriage together, and that is just the beginning of our story.

I am a mother. After an unexpected struggle and a lot of lessons about patience, timing, and who is really in control (and He still has to teach me this one over and over sometimes...), I was blessed to spend nearly 4 years of my life either pregnant, nursing, or both. Our precious Brianna entered our lives in July 2005, and her brother Caleb couldn't wait long and made his arrival in August 2006. These two loves fill my days with laughter, joy, frustration, lessons (for me as much as for them!), excitement, worry, passion, fear, and more smiles than I can even count. I am honored to be called their Mom, and I am constantly praying that God will protect them, bless them, and draw them close to Him even when I foul up.

I am a photographer. Well, I like to think of myself as one anyway. I mean "photographer" is defined as: a person who takes a photograph using a camera. I do that. I have never claimed to be a professional photographer- that has an altogether different definition! But I love to capture life with my camera. Life. Through the lens. I think my pictures help me feel, help me better define the moments I have lived by capturing and rekindling the emotion present the moment the shutter released. My camera has helped me adjust my focus more than once, to see life more clearly and to appreciate it more fully.

I am a nurse. I have spent the past 17 years of my life in the profession of Emergency Medicine, from one vantage point or another. I started in the back of an ambulance, spent some time on fire trucks, worked as an ER tech, and then settled in as an ER nurse. I love my job a little bit more than I hate it. I love the ways I get to touch lives. I love making a difference, meeting someone in one of their darkest or scariest moments and having the chance to bring them light. I hate how easy it is to let it harden my heart, how easy it is to let the pain haunt me, how easy it can be to forget the moments of light and lose them in the mundane and frustrating.

I am a teacher. I have always enjoyed showing, teaching, helping. I teach a few professional courses, and have taught others through the years. But now I mostly love teaching my kids. I love using big words and helping them learn all about them. I love showing them how to do things and watching them master a new skill or soar past a milestone. I love watching their little minds blossom and explode with new understanding, new connections, and new confidence.

I am a friend. To the many women: sisters, aunts, cousins, coworkers, colleagues, and commiserators who are gracious enough to claim me. I know that each of them has blessed me more than I could ever hope to repay, and I count myself blessed to have them in my lives.

I am a child of God. And that is what makes it all worthwhile. That is what keeps me going. That is what makes every morning a gift, and every evening worth celebrating. Because for all of the surprises that life can bring- the frustrations, the mistakes, the challenges, the struggles- I can always rest in the certainty that is my salvation. God's grace and mercy is new every morning, and it is enough for me.