Just Like Jesus

"Is it long enough yet, Mommy?"

I measure her hair, and I think it is. So I make the appointment and we go.

When the hairstylist looks at me from behind the hair, where she's measuring again for accuracy, she shoots me a look of warning. Wanting to preserve as much of my beautiful daughter's lovely long hair as I can, I jump out of my seat and choke out a long diatribe of how I measured at home and it came down to here. And how fifteen months ago, when my oldest daughter did it, they put it all into one braid in the back and it turned out so cute. So why did she have to put it into six different ponytails and measure each one ten inches. That wouldn't leave much hair! She trains me in the process and says they'll throw it away if it's not long enough.

I want to ask her to just pretend for my daughter's sake. Only it's really for my own.

But instead I ask my six-year-old. "It's going to be shorter than we thought it would be. Do you want to keep growing it and come back another time? Or just get it cut and not give it to Wigs for Kids?" She does not hesitate. She immediately says, "No. I want to give it to them."

So Linda Sue gets out the little rubber bands and puts six little ponytails all over her head. Then, with razor-sharp clippers, she cuts each one. My heartstrings feel damaged as well. Tears welling as I look away, I get a grip. Then I look at my daughter. She is beaming radiant.

And she looks just like Jesus.

Because that's Who He is. The Jesus Who gives to those who don't have from the deep wells of what He has. The One Who gave it all when He gave up His perfect beauty and took instead my ugly nasty sin. Rising even more beautiful.

So I leave humbled by my six-year-old. Who exposes true beauty.

Getting To The Point

Before I had kids, I thought I wanted boys. I was convinced that my husband and I should have 5 kids, all boys, who would run around crazy with life and bring me along for the ride.

But God knew better.  As it turns out, God knows best.  And He gave me two girls instead.  So rather than five boys bringing me along for the ride, I found myself with the calling of pointing my girls to the ride itself.  The only true ride with the only true thrill.

"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." ~Proverbs 19:21

Right now, I hear my girls upstairs with their Littlest Pet Shop friends and a whole band of princesses.  Today they will travel to Brazil.  Or Japan.  It's not yet been decided.  And as I listen to their giggles and their flying Little People airplanes, I am reminded of the fine line that separates their imaginations from life itself.  I am reminded that imagination fuels life.  But, more importantly, it is life that fuels imagination.  And, consequently, I am reminded of my job as the mother of girls -- point them to the very Creator of Life.  Show them how to live.  Real life.

It's not an easy task, this raising girls thing.  This raising kids thing, actually.  I regularly find myself in an overwhelmed state.  Overwhelmed with the drama of a friend's hurtful words at lunchtime.  Or a sister's mean look.  Overwhelmed by the silliness that makes dinnertime last much longer than it should.  Overwhelmed by the growing pains of a tender heart that doesn't understand how a friend's parents could get divorced and send her to another school.

And it's not for the faint of heart.  It's what sends me to my knees wondering what the Lord was thinking when He thought that I, of all people could handle this task.

That's when He lovingly picks me back up and reminds me that He, the Sovereign God of all that is, knows best. 

"You are good, and what you do is good; teach me your decrees."  ~Psalm 119:68

He points me back to His truth.  So that I can point them.

That's what being the mother of daughters means to me.  Trying to figure out how to do just that.  Point them to Life Himself.  And enjoying the ride.  It's why I'm so excited about this brand new blog I've started following called modsquadblog.  It's dedicated to mothers of daughters.  (Because mothers. of. daughters. make a m.o.d. squad.  Get it?)  And today, I'm linking up with them in answer to the question  "What does being a modsquad mom mean to you? 

The Task at Hand

Why it's so hard for me to say yes to my kids when they invite me to play I will never understand.  I mean, it's not like I enjoy emptying the dishwasher or cleaning the toilet.  But the urgency of the always-available tasks somehow offers an excuse to foster my complacency and avoid the nuisance of having to run until my sides hurt or the burden of watching Pocahontas for the three hundred forty-ninth time.

And so, when one of them asks, "Mommy, do you wanna' play with me?" I say "No" more often than I'd like to admit.  And I give in to the selfish complacency that justifies itself.  Pretending to be an important task to be done.  As if completing household chores holds the same importance as bestowing value and worth to my child.  The kind that lets her know that she herself is more important than any task that lay before me. 

It's an age-old problem, really.  The problem of task-orientation that creates a distorted view of life and living.  It's the same problem that turned relationship with Love Himself into ritual and religion.  The one that made shoulds and should-nots out of covenant-living with the very Creator of Life.

I have found that when I really focus on the true task at hand as lover of God Himself, it's more about who I am than it is about what I do.  More about who He is making me than what I am doing or not doing for Him.  The same truth applies in reading my Bible, in mothering my children, serving my husband, sweeping my floor.  And it involves denying myself and my own plan.  It involves being who He has created me to be -- follower of Jesus, wife, mother, keeper of my house.

So last night I gave up the comfort of getting things done.  And I joined their lung-burning, oxygen-sucking game of freeze-tag.  It was about being the mom who shows them, by the way I live, who Jesus really is.  By loving them for real.  And enjoying them for real.

And I think I got more done last night than I did all last week.

Peeling

So, last night was kind of a rough one for me.  At around 2am, my coughing eight-year-old called for me. Loudly.  So I jumped out of bed and ran to her room, where she let me know that she felt like she was going to throw up if she coughed even one more time.  Thankfully, that did not happen.  But I did hang around for a while before returning to my own bed for another four and a half two and a half hours until my toothless wonder of a five-year-old came in for some help opening up the toothfairy pillow to see what she had gotten for her second lost tooth.  After helping her find the money her and sending her back to bed, I had exactly thirty minutes to make up for much of the night's sleep that I had missed.  And this morning is not much better.  Having made a vow to God that I would get up early to spend time with Him and give Him my day before the rest of my family awakes, my faith was challenged this morning.  And I did it.  And. I. am. tired.

Which makes it more difficult to seize the day and make the most of what I'm doing whenever I am doing it.

Because when my body's all rested up, and I'm all rearing to go after a good night's sleep, it is so much easier to live.  I mean live like Jesus designed me to live.  With gusto.  With purpose.  With joy.  With His strength.  For His glory.  Making the most of every opportunity (Eph. 5:15-16).  But days like these challenge my inner fibers in a way that makes me realize the truth of who I really am.  And the things I truly rely on to give me the gusto, the purpose, the joy.

Because the true meat of who I am shines through on days like this.  Unfortunately, it takes some tough peeling away of the stuff I think might give me that real life in order for me to see that only God Almighty, the very Author of Life itself, can provide life as it was truly meant to be.  And that just stinks.  Well, today it does.  Because the peeling is hard.  And I am tired.  (See paragraph #1.) 

But the truth underneath -- the truth of who I am in Jesus Christ ALONE -- is beautiful.  And that is where I need to live.  In that truth.  Whether my body is tired and my kid is sick or I get 12 hours of sleep and I'm feeling great.

The truth is that I am who God says I am. 

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.

For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.

In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. 

In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory."

Ephesians 1:3-8,11-12

The truth is that I was chosen to bring God glory.  To show off Who He is.  "For the praise of His glory."  Every day.  By how I live.  Every. Day.  Be it after a good night's sleep or not.  And the truth is that the only way I can do that is by letting Him do it.  By relying only on Him as my real Source of any of that true kind of life.  The only way I can show off God's glory is by letting Him peel away and reveal all of the non-truth things that won't get me there, even when I think they might.

So when I wake up in the morning after a not-so-good night's sleep, I still have joy.  I still have strength.  I can still make the most of every opportunity.  I might have red eyes and stay in my pj's all day, but I can still live with that kind of life if I do it His way.

Now, to just let the rest of my day filter that truth.  Then maybe I can get a nap. ;)

And while I'm napping, maybe you could let me know how you make the most of your opportunities as a mom.  Just one way that, today, you can show off Who God really is to your children by living like He wants you to...

The Clash

I love variety.  Always, my mantra has been "variety is the spice of life."  Truly.  I mean I love to find new ways to get somewhere.  It gets boring driving the same way all the time.  I love discovering new ways to use things in my home (I love the word "repurposing").  And I love new things.  New scents of shower gel.  New hairstyles.  I love making new friends and finding new restaurants and places to hangout.  But, I especially love finding new ways to arrange a room.  I used to love re-arranging my bedroom when I was a kid.  Something my daughters have inherited.

So, today we re-arranged each of their bedrooms.  And as we did, I did not enjoy the process nearly as much as I normally do.  I struggled.  Because the eight-year-old, (i.e. the instigator of this morning's activity) has a very specific non sense of style.  And it does not match mine.  It doesn't agree with my hgtv taste and all of the things I've learned from that beloved channel.  She wants things her way.  No opinions please.  This is how I want my room to look.  Thank you very much.  My opinion on the new arrangement was politely dismissed.  She stayed her course.  And it bugged me to no end! 

As she described her vision of placing her day bed so it sticks out into the middle of the room instead of conforming to the nature for which it was created (i.e. being pushed up against a wall), my insides screamed "No!!!!"  That's why my husband so annoyingly wisely reminded me last night that I need to let her have her own space.  It's not my room.  It's hers.  Because he knew I would not catch her vision.  He knew we would not see things the same way.  He is such an amazing dad.  Therefore, against my every inclination to take her downstairs and brainwash train her with my Pottery Barn books and hours of hgtv, I calmly asked if I could offer my opinion.  She kindly agreed to listen.  And then decidedly denied the help.

You know what?  I already knew she wouldn't like it.  Because it wasn't her idea.  Sometimes, I feel like she doesn't like things just because it's my idea.  Like she was born to prove to me that she needs no training of any sort.  About anything.  Especially when it comes to something that is hers.  In this case, her bedroom.  Her space.

I hate that we have such different ways of seeing things.  We have always had this clash.  And, realizing that many moms and daughters have a certain mother/daughter clash thing, I am just not okay with it.  I don't want her to grow up to just accept that we will always clash because "that's just what moms and daughters do".  I want to have a healthy relationship with her.  With both of my daughters.  I want to work through it.  I don't want to struggle with my pride everytime we disagree on something.  Because I think that's what's at the bottom of it.  Pride.  Hers.  And mine.  She wants to prove she knows enough.  I want to prove I'm in control.  P.R.I.D.E.

That's why I began praying for a healthy relationship with her back when she was about two-years-old and the clash began to raise its ugly face.  Because I want to be the mom that Jesus made me to be.  The mom that He knew she needs.  The kind of mom that teaches her who Jesus is.  What His ways are.  Why they're the only way to really live.      

And sometimes, I feel like we're improving.  Like the ten minutes every night that she and I started spending together reading through a devotion book for girls her age.  And yesterday when we played Gamecube together while she was sick at home and her sister was at preschool.  But, we always seem to return to the clash.  I know we'll always have differences.  That's relationships.  I know we will never have the perfect one.  We are human.  But I also have to believe that it can be better.  Strong-willed child, strong-willed mama and all.  I only wish I knew how.

Any thoughts?  Anyone else been there?  I'd love some advice...

Chubby Little Fingers

Everytime my daughter grabs onto my hand, I marvel at the wonder of her chubby little fingers.

I love how they grip mine. The game we play as she squeezes my hand three times to say "I. love. you." without words. The trust that they represent as she looks to me to guide her through the risky parking lot at Kohls. 

What is it about chubby little fingers?  Is it their soft skin wrapping?  Or the preciousness of their smallness?  You have to admit that there is something of the tender glory of God that cannot help but be displayed in such small perfection that is a child's hand.  Is it the realization of the potential that such little hands might hold?  Or is it the innocence of what they have not yet touched mixed with the playfulness of what they have?  Maybe it's just the wonder of knowing that these chubby little hands belong to a real, albeit little, person.  In them is a picture of the miracle of life.  The amazing reality that this little human being which started inside of me is somehow real and growing and loving and true.

I wonder if that's how God feels when I grasp for His hand while He walks me through the unsafe parking lot that is this life.  Do I have chubby little fingers?  Do my hands make Him smile?  Does He marvel in the preciousness that my small hands represent?  Does He see the potential that my small hands hold?  Does He savor our game as He feels my heart squeeze His hand three times.  "I. love. You."  Does He want to play it more often?

Oh, to live in the trust of holding on with my own chubby little fingers.

My new Tuesday challenge as of late is to find the beautiful in the ordinary. To learn to be thankful for what I am given when it is given. Because of this awesome blog called chattingatthesky.com, where a beautiful blogger named Emily hosts Tuesdays Unwrapped.

Mission Accomplished

Some of my friends keep asking me if I've built that snowman yet.  Because I've been wanting to learn how.  And because I really want to make use of the pants that changed my life, hoping they change my legacy as well.

So I put on my life-changing pants today.  And we built a snowman.  Huh?  What?  I'm sorry I didn't hear you.  Oh.  "So what?" you ask.  So... the smiles on our faces and the fact that the snowman (actually, she's a girl) bears any resemblance at all to a traditional snowman is proof that snow pants actually did change my life.  Because, as you may or may not know, I have had very little experience as a snowman builder.  AND.  In each of my previous winters as a mom, I have kept my playing-outside-in-the-snow to a bare minimum.  BUT.  Today, we not only built our new friend, we also stayed outside for a very generous amount of time playing and enjoying (yes, enjoying!!) the snow (i.e. longer than five whole minutes).  AND.  I. Had. Fun.  The best part is, though, that I didn't even have to pretend it was fun.  We're talking good, old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness fun here, people.  A memory that will definitely last.  At least, I know it will last for me.  I can only hope it lasts for her too.  After all, she and her sister are the whole reason I bought the pants in the first place.

Lessons From the Salsa Jar

I remember one of my first clarifying moments as a mom.  It involved a beautiful home, an airplane ride and a jar of salsa.  My oldest was ten months.  Our only child at the time.  It was our first airplane ride as a family.  (An adventure all its own, I'll save the sordid details for another post.  Suffice it to say, the transporation part of that trip was chock full of drama.  And I mean the not-good sort of drama, including an ambulance ride, a CAT scan, and a baby who cried for two straight days.) 

The clarification came in a beautiful living room as people gathered to celebrate a birthday.  It happened when, in the middle of said living room, someone decided they wanted some salsa for their chips.

The moments that followed this request will forever be etched in my mind.  As I watched the ensuing panic as the homeowner made every provision possible to ensure that the aforementioned salsa would not be spilled on her white carpet, I realized that, while the deep desire of her heart had been to invite all of these people into her home to celebrate her special day, she was missing the moment.  As if ruined carpet might stain the day.

I realized in that moment how easy it is for each of us to miss what we truly have when we have it right in front of us, because of our desire for perfection in the surrounding details.  Our own little definition of perfection. 

And today, as I sit at home with my two young daughters, cooped up inside for yet another snow day, I'm thinking about how much I had longed for a family of my own.   And now that I have it, I so often miss what I have.  As if dirty clothes strewn throughout the house and "Mommy, I don't like this dinner that took you two hours to make" might ruin the gift that is my family.  So I'm reminded to see what I have while I have it.  And to see it for what it is.  A beautiful gift.  A family.  Dirty clothes, picky eaters and all.

I'm unwrapping the gift that is today along with lots of other awesome bloggers over at Tuesdays Unwrapped.  Hope you check it out.

Change of Perspective

Thankful. Hmmmm. Struggling to find it. All kinds of excuses to not even look for it. . . Winter blues. Too many trips to the pediatrician already this year. The mouse that found its way into the drawer at the bottom of my oven and left me lots of little deposits to clean up.

But...

It's winter. And I have good reason to stay inside and cuddle up with some coffee and a cozy blanket and watch videos all day with my sick kids. And there's so much beauty in the winter. The early-morning frozen trees after a below-zero overnight. Snowflakes. Rosy cheeks and hot chocolate after hours of playing in said snowflakes (when my kids are well, of course).

But...

I have children. Two beautiful daughters who, although they get sick (way too often, in my opinion), love life and help me love it more than I already did before I knew them.

But...

I have a home in the country. Where I have always dreamed of living. Two and a half acres of beauty surrounded by miles of Amish farmland and rolling hills. And. I. love. it. Even with mouse deposits in my bottom oven drawer.

Today is a Tuesday Unwrapped over at Chatting at the Sky, where all kinds of bloggers are unwrapping the beautiful in the mundane. So I've taken up the challenge to unwrap this kids-are-sick and it's-dreary-outside kind of day. And it's changed my perspective. And I can honestly say I. am. thankful.

Thanks for unwrapping it with me.

I've Got Nothin'

Having spent much of Sunday night in the emergency room with my dehydrated five-year-old, I woke up Monday morning, well, exhausted. (Not a good way to start a new day, much less a new week.) Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Spent.

And here I am on Tuesday morning feeling much the same way. Struggling to pry myself away from facebook games and self-pity parties as I watch my daughter (hopefully)sleep away the nausea. Thanking God for what we like to call "liquid gold" (the really expensive medicine that stops her from throwing up, which we would -- and did-- pay any amount of money for). And racking my brain - and my heart - for other things I can be encouraged by and thankful for.

Part of the problem is that I've already been here, done that, and don't want to do it again. See, we did this last March. First the e.r., then nine days later a three-day stay for her in the hospital. All for dehydration. We've run the gamut -- from barf bowls to I.V.'s to pull-up diapers for diarrhea and more. And, quite frankly, I don't want to run that gamut again.

But here we are. Right smack in the middle of the gamut.

And as I'm running -- no, crawling -- through it, I'm searching for something to grasp. Some piece of hope that tells me she's not going to throw up again. That my older daughter won't get it. Even just that God is going to use this to give me some incredible insight or wisdom or depth or something.

But, honestly, right now, I've got nothing but the fact that somehow -- I'm guessing by God's new mercies -- I made it through yesterday.

Lamentations 3:22-23 (New International Version)

22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

The Pants That Changed My Life

I was 10-years-old when I got my first pair of snowpants. I think I was about 15 when I bought my last pair. Every pair I ever owned were for the express purpose of skiing. In fact, they weren't called snowpants in my family. We called them ski pants. But all that changed last week.

See, I lived in Southern California until I was 12. And we didn't get much snow there. Every year we got about, um, none. So I never experienced life as a young child who takes snowpants and snow boots to school in order to play outside at recess. I never even had to take a winter coat to school, I don't think. Until I entered seventh grade. That was the year we moved to northern Ohio and I learned what living in snow is like.

It's cold.

But so very beautiful. In fact, throughout my adult life, the beauty of snow has become for me, winter's saving grace. In other words, the only real things I truly love about winter are freshly fallen, untouched snow that covers trees and quiets life, and watching the pretty snow fall from inside my warm house in my big, thick, comfy sweater while I drink hot coffee and read a book on my cozy couch in front of my warm wood-burning stove. Once a California girl, always a California girl, I guess.

So when winter hit this year, after last spring's 2x4 God-smack, I knew something needed to change. So I could live this life that Jesus gave me (John 10:10) even in the winter time. So I would not just go through this winter surviving but actually living. And that needed change was most likely not going to be my kids' sudden desire to just look at the pretty snow from inside rather than playing in it and messing it all up. Oh no. It needed to be something drastic.

So I got crazy last week and bought myself some snowpants.

And I must tell you -- I am forever changed! I had a blast playing outside with my kids today in the snow! I built my first ever snow fort.

And my daughter was so impressed with it that she asked me to help her build hers! How amazing is that? We made snow angels and pushed each other down in the snow and tried to throw snowballs at each other and rode around on the sled. All things I've done before, but never have I truly enjoyed them without counting down the minutes until we get to go inside and get warm. And it's all because of the snowpants. Amazing invention, these pants.

The best part? When my daughter said "That was the most fun we've had all year!" Of course, we are only eight days in. But still. I'm just sayin'.

Now, if I can just figure out how to build a snowman...

Plowing Season

Proverbs 20:4
"A sluggard does not plow in season; so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing."

That hit me hard when I read it last year for the first time. In relation to my kids, I mean. Young as they were, it was definitely plowing season. And I realized that if I didn't change something soon, I was not likely to find much at harvest time. At least not much of what I'd want to find.

It was early Friday evening, February 20, 2009. I know the date because I had been reading a Proverb for each day of the month. And I remember that it was Friday because I was reading it as my daughters' friend came knocking and ended up staying for dinner. You're probably wondering what's so memorable about that. And so the story begins...

See, Fridays had become a sort of unofficial "family movie night." We would lazily eat some not-so-nutritious meal in front of the TV while watching some form of a "family friendly" movie (i.e. some animated treasure such as Barbie and the Diamond Castle or something of the sort). It was a treat. For the whole family, actually. So when the aforementioned friend stayed for longer than the time I'd allotted in my head for said friend to stay, I was, shall we say, less than delighted. Annoyed is actually a more suitable description. That's when God took the Proverbs 20 verse 4 two-by-four and smacked me upside the head.

"A sluggard does not plow in season, so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing."

By now, dinnertime was quickly approaching, and so was my seven-year-old with the dreaded "can my friend stay for dinner?" question. And I realized that I had a choice to make. I could choose the work of plowing the field I'd been given in this season of my life as a mom. Or I could choose to be a slug. Oops, I mean sluggard. Now, you may think that after being smacked in the head by God with a two-by-four, the choice was all but made. Nope! I mean, yes, the friend joined us for dinner. But my spirit of true hospitality was more than lacking. In other words, I did not serve like Jesus wanted me to. I did not prepare the soil that is my children for the seeds of unselfishness, Godly hospitality, and wholehearted servanthood. I did not show them the true love of Jesus. His real life that is exhibited when I love and serve Him wholeheartedly. I might as well have made the friend go home and sent my kids to bed early.

As I (grudgingly) cleaned up after dinner, I started thinking about what exactly I hoped to find at harvest time. And I thought about how badly I want our home to be the one my kids want to hang out at with their friends when they're teenagers. I thought about my longing to see my kids really love Jesus and follow Him because they know that they know that they know that His ways are awesome and are the real and true LIFE.

And I realized that this is the season. It's plowing time, Bria! Time to get off my butt and plow the soil.

So I gave it to God. I mean I seriously talked to Him about it... about all of the opportunities I'd missed up to that point as a mom... about the accompanying guilt... about how difficult it was for me to enjoy my kids... about what a struggle I'd always found motherhood to be. And how I'd always, my entire career as a mom, felt like my life was on hold until my kids got older and more self-sufficient. As if this motherhood thing were a mere matter of survival -- daily surviving until my husband got home from work, weekly surviving until my next "time off" on any given Saturday, yearly surviving until my next weekend away. Instead of seeing those times away as opportunities to be refreshed, I'd always seen them as necessary respites from my job. Instead of seeing this season of my life as the short plowing season that it is, I'd always viewed it as a means to an end. Get through it so we can get to the good stuff. Namely, the nicely behaved, well-adjusted teenagers that they would one day be. Just get through it. Then I can enjoy it.

Only -- it's not like that. This is not survival I'm called to. It's motherhood. It's life. REALIFE. And when Jesus said in John 10:10 that He came to give "more and better life than (I've) ever dreamed of," there was no exception for moms of young children. He meant that I could have this more and better life right now. If I did it His way. And, on Friday, February 20, 2009, His way meant inviting a young friend to join our family for dinner and loving him like Jesus does.

And, everyday, His way includes making the most of every opportunity to teach and show my kids what Jesus' love is really like. By enjoying them. And loving them. And making right choices in my own life. By choosing to serve Jesus wholeheartedly, willingly doing the things He asks me to do.

Especially when He hits me upside the head with a two-by-four!

p.s. Check out the Saturday Evening Blog Post for some other really great blog posts from January. Enjoy.

That's Why Christmas

I'd been given fair warning before the program started, but I forgot to stock my purse with kleenex before leaving home. That's why I stopped for some toilet tissue before the lights went down. You know, just in case. I didn't really expect to use it. I mean, how many church Christmas concerts have I sat through in my thirty-seven years, right? But I prepared myself just the same.

What I had not prepared myself for, however, was the raw beauty of a single moment in that program. I was not prepared to be moved to tears not just once, but twice as I witnessed it again the next night. Same exact concert, same exact auditorium. But I was. Moved to tears, that is. Have you ever experienced something so pure, so perfectly exactly the way it was supposed to be -- that you get overwhelmed to the point of tears? Not anxious tears. Not even happy tears. But tears of true, deep joy that can only be triggered by something so beautiful as little girls singing "Silent Night". Like the tears that filled my eyes as I watched the perfect execution of Irish dancers as they pounded their feet on the stage in front of me the night my husband surprised me with tickets to see "River Dance". The emotion caught me by surprise that night, just as it did at the church Christmas concert last Friday and Saturday. I had not prepared myself to be overcome with the beauty of the whole idea of Christmas as I listened along with the angels to twenty or so little girls singing sweetly about the best thing ever to happen to mankind.

Twenty sweet, beautiful little voices reminding me that, because of Christmas, because of Jesus, I can sleep in heavenly peace. The only real peace. Twenty sweet little voices telling me that, although it was most likely NOT a physically silent night (i.e. virgin woman giving birth -- without epidural!!!, not to mention mooing cows, baaing sheep and freaked out father), all the troubles of this loud horrible sinful place called earth can now be silenced. Every night. From now on. Because Christmas. Thus -- perhaps one of the most popular Christmas carols of all time.

So, what was it about that particular rendition of the song that I'd heard probably hundreds of times before? What was it about that concert that touched me so deeply? Well, I'm sure it had to do with the fact that my daughter's sweet voice was among the twenty. But, more than that, I believe it had to do with my heart. And the silent peace it knows. And how amazingly, awesomely grateful I am to have it. Even when the tumultuous schedule that is often Christmas tries hard to break that silence. Even when the anxious craziness of motherhood presents a barrier to said silence. Even when my four-year-old ends up in the hospital for three days and my husband's job is much less than stable and the wind blows out the electricity and . . .

But silence!

And that's why Christmas! Hallelujah! That is why Christmas!!

The LIFE That is Motherhood

I'm amazed at the amount of enjoyment I have experienced as a mom recently. I mean, I've held the title for just about eight years, and I've never found myself able to rest in the role like I have in the past few months. If I had to nail down a reason, I think I'd have to say it's the narrowing of focus, the honing of my purpose as a mom, the realizing that being a mom is not just a job. It's my life.

Okay, I read that, and I think it sounds crazy. Of course it's my life! I'm a mom! But, somehow, I've had this mindset since my initiation days into motherhood that this is more like my job, where I put in for vacation time and solicit the elusive "smoke break". And this mindset has convinced me that motherhood is somehow more hard work than job. So I've approached it more as a job than as my life. The one I'm supposed to LIVE, not just WORK through. And, as a result, I believe I've missed something of the true and deep joy that is motherhood. It's almost like I've been spending all these years trying to convince myself and everyone else that I work so hard and so constantly that I need to take every possible opportunity to be away from this work so I can breathe. And, while that is true to the extent that every mom absolutely needs regular breaks, I think I've taken it to some sort of extreme. And somehow I convinced myself that my job as a mom is a sort of waiting game -- I wait until my kids start school full time, and THEN I can fulfill my true calling. The one God has set aside for me. You know, the amazingly unique career that only I can fulfill.

Only, now that I'm taking the time to focus on what motherhood really is, I'm realizing that this is my calling. My true calling. The one God has set aside for only me. Motherhood is not just some incredibly difficult job, which certainly does lack appreciation at times. It is a lifetstyle full of surprises and challenges and absolute fun and enjoyment!

I hope this makes sense. It's not that I've not enjoyed my kids before now. It's just that, as I find and refine my mission as a mom, I'm finding myself enjoying my kids like never before. And my job is more fun too. :)

Wholehearted Singing

Colossians 3:23-24 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving."

I recently read the story of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5. A story I've read many times before. But this time, it struck a chord. Unsure of the reason, I read the story again. Then I read the devotion that some pastors at my church had written on it. And I recognized the chord.

It's the main chord in the song I've been learning this month. The song of wholeheartedness. I've been realizing lately that in several areas of my life I've been doing enough to just get by.

Motherhood is at the very top of that list. I've been seeing a pattern in the way that I mother my two daughters. The pattern is one of almost survival mode. It entails just going through the motions. No intentionality involved. It involves doing the minimum to get through each day. Looking to the end of the day when my husband gets home so I can concentrate on my own life and getting the things done that I "need" to complete. The problem is, if I don't change this course I'm on, I'm going to find myself walking out of a college dorm room wondering what the heck happened to my little girls. And they'll be waving goodbye to me with the minimal amount of real life values and childhood family memories.

I admit this is extreme. I mean, my children are happy and very well-adjusted little girls. But the truth is, if I don't wake up now and start being intentional with the time I have with them, in each and every today, I'm going to end up missing it all! And I don't want to miss it. I want to be the mother they need. The reason God gave them to me instead of someone else. I want to train them to love and follow Jesus wholly. I want to love them like they need to be loved. Like God has purposed me to love them. I want to enjoy this calling of motherhood. Wholeheartedly.

And that's where Ananias and Sapphira fell short. They were pretending. Like I've been pretending. They were trying to fool Almighty God. Trying to appear to be doing something they weren't actually doing. Like I've been trying to appear to be doing the very best job I can at being a mom. Only, the truth is, I haven't been. I've been focused on the wrong stuff -- MY stuff. Everything I want to get done in any given day. Instead of focusing on the job that God has given me to do. The true nurture of my children, whether that be spiritual, physical, mental or emotional. The focus of doing this job called motherhood to the best of my ability. And finishing the song that started with the chord of wholeheartedness.

Odd Day Out

Yesterday was odd.

I was the first one up in the morning. Odd. I made homemade waffles for breakfast. Odd for a Sunday morning before church. All this AND I got dressed up because I wanted to. I usually wear my nice jeans and a sweater. Dressier than normal mom-days, but not "dressed up" by any stretch of the imagination. Well, yesterday I felt like wearing a skirt, nylons (?!?!) and my nice, blue, "dressy" shirt. Very, very strange.

Driving home from church, I wondered about this anomaly, thinking I could chalk it up to the fact that I'd been quarantined with the swine flu for the past 10 days or so, resulting in endless pajama days followed by just as many days in sweats and slippers. The strange enjoyment of wearing the nylons and skirt, I reasoned, could be explained by my need to feel not just human, but pretty, again.

But I hadn't really thought through the oddity of being the first one out of bed as well as wanting to make breakfast for my kids instead of just preparing the everyday cold cereal, with an occasional piece of toast. I hadn't thought it through, that is, until my seven-year-old asked me before bed last night if I could get up early again. She reminded me that, back at the end of summer vacation, I had made that a goal for this school year. A goal, I think it goes without saying, that I have failed to meet thus far. Her question struck me in a (surprise!) strange kind of way. Why would she care if I get up early or not?

At this point in the discussion, I feel the need to explain our morning ritual. My husband is normally the first to awaken, followed by the aforementioned seven-year-old. The two of them read the Bible and then eat breakfast together before waking me up so we can pray before my husband sets off for work. I then lay in bed with my daughter, after she waves goodbye to Daddy, mustering all of my energy in order to pry my eyes open. When I finally get out of bed, due to my daughter's patient prodding, we do all of the normal preparations for the day (i.e. get dressed, etc.). I am not what you would call a "morning person".

So, I've been thinking about it today. And I remembered a book by Jill Savage that I started reading this past summer. My Heart's at Home: Becoming the Intentional Mom Your Family Needs. That book is actually the reason for the goal I had made. I think I'm gonna' read it again. Because I'm starting to believe, with all of my heart actually, that my family does need me to be more intentional with my time. Not that they have to have a homemade breakfast everyday. Not even that they need me to be the first out of bed everyday. But, I think the day starts better when I'm on my game before they are. And, consequently, so does theirs. And I think I'm more focused on my purpose, as a mom, as a child of God, as a woman, when I've been awake for more than, say, one minute.

So -- here goes. A goal re-set. My goal is to be up and out of bed, ready for the day, before my husband leaves for work. I will do this for the remainder of this week. And I'll evaluate on Friday how it's gone.

Maybe soon, it'll be not so strange.

(s)heroes

Cuddling in bed with my youngest this morning, we watched Strawberry Shortcut's The Sweet Dreams Movie. It's actually a very cute video (if you like that sort of girly thing). About never being afraid to dream, not letting anyone steal your dreams. You know, that sort of thing. But as I lay there cuddling with my sweet, impressionable young daughter, I let my mind wonder. Wander, even. What do boys of this age watch on video as they cuddle with their mommies? And -- do those said videos lack the same honor for females that their counterpart videos for girls lack for males?

I mean, truly. Am I the only one who's noticed that, while Dora is a wonderful teacher of espanol, pretty much every single male in any given episode of Dora The Explorer is an idiot or bad guy? Well, ok, Boots is nice. Boots is a boy, right?

So I was thinking about Batman and Spiderman, and the era when they were introduced in pop culture. I wonder if it has to do with the women's lib movement? Did they notice that those shows only had men as heroes? Is that when they introduced Wonder Woman and She-ra? Well, I say, at least they made up for it and didn't present all women as imbiciles. Women can be heroes as well as men. It's an invidual thing.

I realize I could very well be overthinking this whole thing. I just don't know. I mean, their young minds are so impressionable. And they take in way more than I can even imagine. Especially as they watch TV and movies.

I want my daughters to know that they can do anything they set their mind to. I want them to dream of being somebody's hero. Everybody's hero, even. But I want them to know that, while women can be effective at this, so can men. It's not about one sex being superior to the other. It's about everybody doing and being their best. It's about doing and being who God made us, to our full potential, no matter what sex we are.

So -- next time we watch Dora, maybe I should start a conversation about who can be a hero. Or maybe that's too much for my youngling to grasp. I don't know. Maybe I should just stay mindful of it and take every opportunity to reiterate that anyONE (male or female) can be the hero and do the hero things that God gives them to do. Or maybe I should just sit back, relax and learn some more espanol. Because, after all, I have been known to overthink things...

In The Now

I realized the other day my problem with Fall. So many people love it. I do love the beautiful colors, the scent of burning leaves, the crispness in the air and the excitement of the new school year beginning. But that's where the excitement ends. And I've often wondered why. I mean, what's my problem? There is so much beauty to enjoy (in every sense). So why don't I like this season? Why can't I soak up all that I have right now? Well, I think I've figured it out.

Ready?!?

It's because of what I know is coming! Cold days stuck inside. The dirty snow that messes my floors. The cold feet that haunt my husband at bedtime each night. (Sorry, Honey.) Sure, I love the beauty of freshly-fallen, untouched snow and the warmth of cuddling by the fire with my family. And, oh how I do love Christmas! But, again, that is where it ends.

So the other day, I caught myself feeling anxious to be done with Fall simply so we could get on with it and get to Christmas, trudge through the rest of winter, and anticipate the coming warmth of spring and summer. I realized that I've let my drudgery of what I know is coming in Winter ruin the beauty of what I have before me now in the Fall.

Man, what a bummer!

I don't want to be that kind of person. I want to be the kind of person that lives in the now. Soaks it all up for everything it is. No matter what's around the bend. Because that's where the living is.

This mentality seems to have oozed over into other areas of my life, as well. Like when I knew my husband had to leave town for business in three days, so I was unable to enjoy the time I did have with him when I had it. I actually think it's a mentality that a lot of people stuggle with. Like those who leave the baseball game early for the dread of getting stuck in traffic on the way home. This makes no sense, if you think about it. Isn't the purpose of going to the game to enjoy the game? But we miss the full enjoyment if we dread what inevitably happens afterward, namely the traffic issue. And we've let the future ruin the now.

Hmmm...

So I'm gonna' try to enjoy the beauty of this season right now. Who knows? Maybe it will even help prepare me to enjoy the (dreaded) winter when it does arrive.

And I'm gonna' try to apply this living in the now thing to time with my kids, too. Because goodness knows I don't want to end up in the Fall of my life and realize what I missed. I want to think back on all the seasons with lots of great and lasting memories made while I was "in the now".

Mommy Mission

I need to set some goals. I am currently stuck in a rut of sorts. A rut of laziness, I think. I honestly feel like I'm just floundering around, waiting for my calling to come, so I can respond to it next year, when both kids are in school all day, and I have the time to do what I need to do. Uh-huh, right.

Only, pretty obviously, my call is to be a mommy. (Obvious in the fact that God has allowed me to actually be one.) So, what the heck am I thinking?

In my estimation, it seems there is not one verse pointed to mothers that says exactly what to do or not to do. I can, however, find several really good examples of Godly moms, like Hannah -- whose life was lived in total sacrifice and submission to the Lord Almighty. And, as a result, her son Samuel lived in that same kind of submission to Him. Then there's Naomi, another example of one who mothered her grown daughter-in-law, Ruth, in such a way that Ruth longed to honor her as she would her own mother. And I have the number five of the Ten Commandments. "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." (Ex 20:12) I believe this is a promise of God. But I also think that it logically makes sense that if you honor your parents, you'll learn the ways of the land. You'll learn how to live.

Of course, this puts a pretty hefty assumption of responsibility on parents. Namely -- that we live lives that are worthy of honor. And that we, in fact, teach them how to live. Sounds obvious, maybe, but a pretty major challenge, in my opinion.

Dt 11:-21 says, "Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the Lord swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth."

So this is how I do it. And this is what I teach them.

And I absolutely need a plan. So I've decided to set some goals for myself. To hold myself accountable for my job. Since I can't really get fired for not doing my job (being a full-time mommy), I need something.

I used to be pretty good at being involved in and creative at just playing with my kids. When both of my children were at home full time we lived in a different part of the country. Before we moved here, we had several friends with children around the same ages as mine. And this constant teaching seemed to be much more easily accomplished, having the support of other moms in the same phase of motherhood as I. The accountability was much more natural, as I would daily chat with my friends and make plans for creative activities with them and our children. But now that we've moved away from that area, and at the same time have grown out of that phase (with only one child home full-time with me now), I'm forced to be more proactive and independent. I need to get creative. And focused on the calling God has given me and the task at hand. And I absolutely need to take full advantage of this time with my children. Because, without a doubt, it will pass quickly. And before I know it, they will be grown and gone and have children of their own. But for now, I'll just take advantage of this moment.

Lord, help me. Please.

To Smash Or Not To Smash

I had a chance to live in the "more" this morning. Spend time playing Super SmashBros on Nintendo Gamecube or play by myself on the laptop. See -- I really like doing my own thing. And now that I have this blog, I kind of have another one of my own things. So I thought I could check the blog, see if there were any new comments, maybe do a new post, play a little more with applying new gadgets, check facebook, maybe play a game or ten :) of Bejeweled Blitz . . . well, you get the idea.

The problem is that I did that last night while the rest of my family played Gamecube. In truth, I sort of needed that time "alone" (in the same room as they were, but doing my own thing). But this morning, well, it was definitely time to spend with my family. And they needed it too. Time to be a family.

Sadly, it involved a minor struggle within my own selfish being. I love my "me time". And, as a mom who stays home full time, I can almost always justify taking any possible mintue I get that is not entirely sucked up by catering to the needs of my family or my home. But, I think I've taken this a bit too far. Like I've started living like that "me time" is what's going to fulfill my life, instead of living in the truth that doing what God has called me to do (at this phase of my life that is "mommy") is actually where it's at. Well, God's been working on pulling that weed from my life. So -- this morning He gave me a chance to find a little "more" of that life that He came to give. The "more" that comes when I follow His way, His leading, His calling. And He let me have it, just a little of it, as I sat in my chair in the living room, Gamecube controller in hand, and kick some virtual tail as "Samus" in a smashing game of Nintendo.

It was fun. Even more fun than bloging.