On Levi's 10th Birthday

Dear Levi, 

One day you will read this letter and have a sense of what was in my heart on this day that you turn 10. 

You've been a part of this family for a full decade. You need all of your fingers on both hands to show your age. It seems like yesterday that we became a family of four. A decade since Daddy held you and we discussed whether Benjamin or Carlisle would be your middle name. Time flies.

Did you know on the same day you entered the world, I had a friend who took the first steps toward facing a destructive addiction? It's been 10 years since he walked toward sobriety and found hope again. 

It's funny how life is found in different corners of this world on the exact same day. In a hospital room and at an AA meeting. New life beginning in two very different places, under two different circumstances. One physical, one metaphysical. Both required a painful birth, yet life emerged in both places. 

It may seem strange to you, but I count it a blessing that you share your birthday with my friend's own milestone day toward recovery. It reminds me that throughout our lives we are in a process of birth, death, and rebirth.

That's the way of God. Life, and then life again, when it seems death has won. New life from a heart that's been shattered. Rebirth from painful tragedy. Birthdays that celebrate our physical age and our spiritual journey.

Sometimes I wish I could give you a kinder world. A more lovely world that is complete with soft edges and smiling faces at every turn. Cities teeming with life and culture that welcome the refugee and stranger. Streets that are safe to walk down in the broad daylight. Heck, honey, I'd like to give you safe water flowing through the pipes into our home.

There is a lot of pain in this life, Levi. Jesus never promised it any other way. Yet, out of pain life can emerge. Pangs that deliver hope and light and peace, just like labor delivered you into my arms.

I hope, as you continue to grow, you will not fear pain. I hope you will accept struggle as part of the journey, yet I also hope you will not be content to allow the suffering to exist with no fruit. I hope you will embrace the hardships, while looking for ways to bring life to the world around you. I hope you will be a resurrection person wherever you find yourself.

I understand my limitations. I know I can't change the whole world, but I can influence my small corner of the world. I can contribute my part with the hope that life might be brought forth, that life might be better, for those in my path. 

You've already made my world better just by being you. I am better because you exist. I'm a better mother; a better listener; a better friend; a better human. 

While I long for a kinder world to give you, I realize I can start by being kind, and teaching you to be kind. I can soften this world by being a safe place for you to land no matter what, and I hope you can be that for others. I can give you a more welcoming world by modeling hospitality and nurturing that gift in you too. I can't promise a perfectly safe world, but I work to protect you and other children by standing up to injustice, defending the powerless. Maybe you will work toward that too.

And as I do my part, and as you do yours, we might just be able to usher in a kinder, softer, more welcoming, more secure world. One act of life after another. One moment of resurrection after another. Even when the delivery is painful, because we know life awaits on the other side.

Be brave, my son. Always be brave. And be kind. I think that's Jesus in a nutshell. Brave and kind. I think when we do those things we birth a bit of heaven here on earth. I think we look the most like God.

I know it's customary for the one having the birthday to receive the gifts, and you've already opened your Star Wars themed ones. But today, I recognize I have received a gift too. The gift of helping you (and me) learn to show up, be present, and bring life to this crazy, messed up, beautiful, fantastic world. 

I love you, Levi!
Mommy

Four Words that Have Redeemed Our School Year

I had been trying to find a way to sum up this school year in my mind. And I was having trouble. Perhaps it’s because I still have one straggler who has three more math pages to finish before all my kids can say, “School’s out for the summer.” Three pages. Just three. So help me, God.

Life has been crazy and hectic. Our pace vacillates between fast and faster, it seems. I frantically finish spelling lists and copywork pages the night before school begins for the week. Then the proverbial bell rings and we are off on another week, all of us doing the best we can with what we have. Along the way, it has created many different emotions in me.

It’s the second year in a row I’ve been home educating while working a part-time (but feels like full-time) job. A toll that is showing itself to have a high cost. I have felt constantly divided in my focus and energies. Giving what I can to all things, but feeling it’s not enough for any of them.

It’s the second year in a row I have been teaching three different grade levels at the same time. 

I never got it right last year. So I began this year with a new game plan, and it has helped all of us thrive a little more and learn better time management. It’s required more work for me in the planning, but I think it’s paid dividends.

BIBLE consisted of the kids keeping a prayer journal. 

We did a series on the names of God. We learned about manners and etiquette. We read through my all-time favorite children’s bible (again). 

And we started reading a book filled with Bible facts that the kids love. One of my favorite times of the day is sitting at the breakfast table reading our bible material and waiting to see where their questions will take us. I never know. I am often surprised. And I am humbled by their hearts. This time of study and prayer together is tender and sweet, and has also spurred an idea for a writing project for me - to put to paper a prayer exercise I often do with my children.

This year for SCIENCE, the children chose a Chemistry and Physics curriculum. I’ve never loved science and because I am no fool, I tried to schedule science when I was in the office. Times when my husband or a good friend was with the kids. It’s a scary proposition when your children remember more about things like viscosity and atoms than you do as the teacher. We got with some friends and explored the periodic table through cookies. 

We made a homemade smoke bomb. We discovered the pros and cons of various energy sources. And while we only completed 10 of 14 chapters, I feel good about what the children were exposed to and had the opportunity to learn.

SOCIAL STUDIES meant using September to finish up a study on the 50 states that we began the year before. We celebrated the completion of this study with a trip to our nation’s capital. It was a wonderful and memorable trip that we will not forget.

 We then studied world history from nomads to Ancient Rome. And the kids loved it. Absolutely begged me to read more everyday. I love history, but to have my kids loving it too, well, that’s not shabby! We finished that volume early and while the kids wanted to move on the the next book, I told them they would have to wait until next school year. 

(Insert sad kids faces here).

All the other subjects were personalized to the child’s age and ability.

That meant my creative 5th GRADER loved any writing assignment given to her and made some up herself. It meant I sat through tears as she learned about all things fractions. To add, subtract, multiply, divide, find greatest common factors, and solve for unknown with a fractional coefficient. It meant wanting to beat my head against a wall that my daughter who loves writing still can’t spell “available” correctly even after 3 weeks on her spelling list. It meant watching as she began a typing program that now has her typing in better form than I have. That meant watching as my little girl grew into a young lady who gave a full voice recital, and is willing to step in and serve wherever help is needed.

That meant trying to manage my 3rd GRADER’s anxiety just because I mentioned that there would be a writing assignment later on. He didn’t inherit the same affection for stringing words together like his mother or older sister. It meant watching in wonder as he would effortlessly do mental math and easily mastered his times tables. It meant watching this reluctant reader blossom into a bibliophile. It meant hearing complaint after complaint as he began learning to type only to find he now will complete his assignment without any commentary. It meant spending lots of cold Michigan mornings watching soccer games, but it was worth the sacrifice because my shy homebody was playing his first team sport and liking it. It meant watching this boy begin to grow into a young man whose sensitive heart cares about what is right and just.

That meant sitting with my 1st GRADER, day and after day, until she understood the difference between 13 and 30. It meant spending lots of time with place values on decimal street so she could accurately read a three digit number. It meant redirecting my daydreamer time and again so she would finish her work. It meant questioning my abilities as my 6-year old struggled to grasp the idea of three letters forming a word she can decode.  Reading was such a struggle. Like "never saw it coming, what in the world I am doing" kind of struggle. It meant marveling at the details she observed that had passed everyone else by. It meant watching her grow more comfortable using a computer. It meant watching her eyes light up as she went to her first live musical. It meant watching her quietly and patiently support her brother and sister in their endeavors, never wanting to take the spotlight from their accomplishments.

ADD IN TO THE MIX an 11-day trip at Christmas to see family in Kentucky and Missouri. A trip that brought us home to the glass patio doors being shot at and shattered. 

A month later we were back in the Bluegrass State for 9 days while my dad hovered close to death's door.

And then I turned 40. That was surprisingly hard. Don't let the smile fool you.

Throughout all of this, our family like thousands of others, have been living with a water crisis the has no end in sight. I am sure many in our country are tired of hearing about Flint and it’s water issues. Frankly, I am too, but when you live here you can’t forget it. The filters need to be changed, pipes need to be flushed, bottled water needs to be picked up. 

And in the back of my mind, although I will never really know for sure, I wonder if the water has had any effect on my youngest. We’ve been told that children ages 6 and under are a high risk for lead absorption. And we didn’t take all the hype seriously until last September just before the city finally issued their health warning and told people to stop using the water. 17 months after the switch to the Flint River. 9 of those months having a 6 year old consuming unfiltered water. Maybe my 1st grader just has some processing issues. Or maybe, the nagging voice in my head whispers, the water situation impacted her too.

There’s no way to know really. All 3 children had a blood test in October and they tested at normal levels. 

That isn’t surprising since lead only stays in the bloodstream for 30 days and we had been using filters for nearly a month. Nevertheless, the test gave me some peace of mind moving forward.

ALL OF THE ABOVE doesn’t cover the tasks, responsibilities, and stressors of ministry. This doesn’t take into account the toll we all experience from waking up to headlines like Paris, San Bernadino, and Orlando. Lord have mercy.

Bottom line: It would be easy to give in to the temptation to see all the ways I have lacked to do all I expected, hoped, planned. I’m really, really good at beating myself up. Even after listing the ways I can celebrate my children, their character, their accomplishments, and the impact I've had. (But that’s a whole other psychotherapy session.)

I’ve said a lot of stuff here. (Most that probably seems irrelevant to you because it's really for my future benefit when I need to recall specific challenges of various school years.) But if you are still reading, I want you to know that today I found a way to sum up this school year.

Four words have made the difference. Four words that have made it all worth it. Every tear. Every night I lay in bed thinking I was not doing right by my kids. Every questioning doubt I’ve faced about whether I could do this home education thing anymore. Every anxiety I breathed out in a prayer. Every desperate word spoken to Paul at the end of a seemingly fruitless day. It all mattered. Every single bit - the good and the bad. Worth it. Today, four words redeemed our school year for me.

My 1st grader…the one with three pages of math left. The one who struggled to discern 13 and 30, who has fought to decode words like ham, red, bit, cup. The one who has generated more blood, sweat, and tears from this momma than is natural. This one, after reading a 12 sentence story today, looked straight up into my eyes and said, 

“I want to read.”

“I want to read like sissy and Levi do. Big books that are mysteries."

"I want to read.”

Four words. 

And I knew it had all been worth it. Every single second. Every single moment of research. Every single phonics worksheet. Every minute of practicing sounds and blends. Every doubt and tear and stifled scream. All of it. I would do it all over in a second if it still brought her to this place of desiring to learn.

This school year has been hard. And it’s not quite over. But, in a few days, when that math book closes complete, I have a few words I will use to sum it all up now. 

Worth it. 

Successful. 

Proud. 

Relieved.

And over!

Six Words on a Sunday

Daddy, Moriah, and Mommy

October 5, 2014

Some days are special and you never saw it coming.

Today was one of those days.

It was a Sunday morning.

Paul was already at the church building.

I was scrambling at home trying to get me and three kids ready to walk out the door to get to the church building.

Standing in the kitchen, 

slinging waffles and cereal,

Moriah walks in and says, 

"Mommy, can I talk, just me and you, in the bedroom?"

Inside, I was about to lose it.

Doesn't she realize we have places to be?

Doesn't she know I have responsibilities to take care of?

There is a reason why Sunday is the day that will test the very faith of any parent.

I stuffed the impatience

and simply spoke, "Okay."

I walked purposefully into the bedroom, 

joined Moriah on the bed, 

and waited.

She sat, legs forming butterfly wings out in front of her

and quietly said, 

"I want to be a christian."

All of a sudden, 

my "places to go, people to see, job to do" Sunday

got rearranged.

In the blink of an eye, 

my routine Sunday

become special, stand-out, extraordinary.

Six words.

That's all it took.

All it took to make a mundane day mark itself in my memory forever.

Six words.

That's all it took.

All it took to transform an average morning to an unforgettable moment.

My youngest daughter was ready to follow Jesus.

And she just needed a few moments to let me know.

5 years old and ready to walk in child-like faith with the One who knows her best and loves her most.

5 years old and Moriah is reborn on the first day of the week.

The same day the women journeyed early to the empty tomb.

The same day resurrection become a reality for everyone who might follow Christ.

Some days are special and you never saw it coming.

Today was one of those days.

Dear Eliana (On Your 10th Birthday)

Sweet Eliana - 

Is a mother made in a decade's time?
That's how long it's been since you traded amniotic fluid for oxygen.
Ten years since I first saw your face above a green medical sheet 
that acted as a barrier during my emergency c-section.
Ten years since I walked hazy over our threshold for the first time as mommy.

I was so proud of the pink-striped nursery we prepared for you.
Did I ever tell you the first two colors I chose looked like a circus tent dripping in pepto bismol?
Did I ever tell you that your Daddy loves me a ton? I have proof.

See those lovely shades of pink? Those are not pepto bismol. 
He repainted. For me.
I hope you know your Daddy will go the same lengths for you.
He will work hard to help you realize your dreams 
and if there's a time when you realize you messed up, he won't rub it in.
He will go to Sherwin Williams and get more paint (metaphorically speaking).



Transitioning into motherhood was hard for me.
Not completely natural.
I was a foreigner learning a new language; a new way of life.
Nothing really seemed native in the land of motherhood.
Not at first.

But days of adjustments and months of acclimating paid off.
I found I was more at home with myself. And with you.
I still had questions. Lots of them.
Actually, I continue to have lots of questions.
About motherhood. and life. and myself. and faith.
I hope you celebrate your questions. 
Embrace them. Relish them. Carry them well.
Sometimes Jesus is seen most clearly in the uncertainty.



Eventually, life reoriented itself to a normal.
I got more comfortable with imperfection. Mistakes make for good company.
And somewhere along the way I realized God doesn't expect perfection.
I hope you are patient with yourself as you grow.
If you are, you offer yourself an invaluable gift
and God's love is easier to identify.



Baby Einstein turned to Curious George turned to My Little Pony.
Sandra Boynton ushered in Mo Willems ushered in Cul-de-Sac Kids.
Little People were replaced by Bitty Baby were replaced by Lego Friends.
Years passed. You grew. So did our family.
You became big sister. Two times over.

I watched you mother your younger brother and sister.
You've been teacher to them even when you didn't realize you were.
I hope, no matter how old you are, you will show honor to your siblings. 
You were blessed with a great responsibility as eldest. Wield it well.

Because of your care, constant and tender,

Levi and Moriah look up to you.

They stand in the shadow of their big sister with wide eyes and open ears.

And they are protective of you. Not wishing harm to come to you.

I have proof.

Here they are unable to watch as you faced your fear and got your ears pierced yesterday.

Your stress became theirs.

Lives connected by blood but hearts connected by love.

I hope your life will continue to be marked by true friendship - 
when one feels both the pain and joy of another as if it is their own. 
You experienced this first with your family.

Is a mother made in a decade's time?

Only in part for it seems that motherhood is more a mosaic.

A conglomeration of being made from moments of my undoing.

Undone in the face of indescribable joy, fierce protectiveness, bubbling frustration.

Undone as I mix moments of overwhelming failure and unsaid bliss.

Yet, I still stand incomplete.

Motherhood has not matured in me.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But I am being made.

With every moment. Every memory.

I hope you know the joy of becoming.

Perhaps that is what we were made for.

The becoming.

Christ in you - the hope of glory.

Becoming mine. 

Becoming His.

Becoming you.

Happy 10th Birthday, Eliana!
I love you!

-Mommy

Random Things On My Mind

This was a recent conversation between me and my 6-year old son...
Levi: I don't want to go upstairs because I'm afraid monsters will chase me.

Me: Monsters aren't real.

Levi: When I'm scared I don't think of that.

His response is rather brilliant. His self-awareness was impressive.
And he easily explained the problem why many of us, who've accumulated more years then he,
have remained paralyzed in the face of fear.

When face to face with the things that scare us, we often forget what is true.
Truth can be a substantial aid to exercising courage.
Truth dismantles fear, piece by piece.
Truth strong-arms fear.

I wonder what more could be done,
what messes could be avoided, 
what dreams could be realized,
if the battle of fear was fought remembering what is true?

Remembering what is true in the face of fear is the evidence of right thinking and sound judgment and that comes from one place...

For God has not given us a spirit of fearfulness, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.

2 Timothy 1:7

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"My attitude depends on how you treat me."

This appeared on the Facebook page of one of my cyber-world friends.
And I shake my head.
Not because I don't actually live this statement out sometimes.
I do.
There are times when I have been treated poorly and my attitude follows suit.

I shake my head because I never want this proclamation to be the way things are supposed to be. 
I shake my head because this statement relinquishes my power in choosing my own response.
This statement implies your choices will determine mine.
This statement removes my power to choose for myself.
For those who want to blame everyone else for personal troubles, this statement can be a comfort.
For those wishing to do the hard work of maturing and health, this statement is a death knell.

I aspire to treat others based on a standard outside of myself.
I wish to treat others in a way that is not dependent upon the actions of others.
The ideal for human interaction needs to be greater than you or me.
Greater than our own fragile humanity.
Greater than our own propensity toward selfish behavior.

This statement is the thinking of a child.
A playground mentality.
A swingset mantra.
And there is far too much to experience, learn, and do for life to be short-circuited by childish thinking.

Everyone of us must be willing to take responsibility for our own attitudes and choices.
That is the decision of an adult. Of maturity.
Let's get busy growing up.

When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. 

But when I grew up, I put away childish things.  

1 Corinthians 13:11

On Olympics and Hope

They get me every time.
Something about the Olympics make me believe.
And dream.
And hope.

We let the kids stay up late to watch Ice Dancing.
Never mind that my husband would rather be tortured by a period British drama.
Even still, we all sat and watched couples flow across the ice.
Melding with the music and each other.
Footwork, lines and lifts that I can't technically evaluate, 
yet I know beauty when I see it.

I sat flanked by children.
Snuggled close to me as we stared at the TV in the dark.
They weren't particularly quiet.
I wasn't always particularly patient.
But nevertheless it was a moment.

I never intend for this world stage to make family memories
but it does somehow.
Ever since our oldest could understand the idea of sport
and competition and winning and national pride.
Every two years, we find ourselves fixated 
on the two weeks of nightly events 
shown to world through the lens of NBC.
Artistry in motion.
Athleticism at it's best.
Teamwork shining.
Patriotism swirling.
Goosebumps forming.

And every time I think I can walk away unaffected by what I've seen, 
but I am wrong.
When you stare excellence in the face, it's hard to remain stoic.
Even the observer of greatness can not help but be impacted, 
even if it's from the other side of a high-def screen.
A marginal spectator separated by continents
becomes a part of the unfolding story
of these Olympians,
their stories and struggles,
their perseverance and determination.

We watched the Americans win gold in Ice Dancing, 
and then shuffled up the stairs to tuck in tired children.
I kissed the blond head of my little boy,
and I wondered what God has in store for him.
Odds are it probably won't be Olympic gold, 
especially since he would rather stay home than do just about anything.
Except maybe go to the toy store.
But even if his future isn't doused with medals, 
I can't wait to see it unfold.
Entering into the stories of athletes across the globe
has reminded me of the joy of life.
The fullness of life.
The goodness therein.
The hope of tomorrow.

Tonight I was reminded of the value of dreaming.
Big, audacious dreams.
Crazy, spectacular dreams.
Dreams that could find you labeled loony.
After all, someone has to win that gold medal, 
or get that book published, 
or sign that recording contract, 
or invent the next cure.
And it might even be a slumbering child
nestled in Sonic sheets.

The First Snowfall and Being Fully Alive

She runs diagonal across the yard.
A path trails behind her where her steps have separated the snow.

She plays and pretends.
As if no one else is aware or around.
In the middle of the afternoon 
in the middle of a city, 
in the first snowfall of the season that clings to the ground.

She lifts her face to the sky, 
tongue out,
arms wide, 
unashamedly basking in the glory of the moment.

Her cheeks are rosy as she twirls and spins.

She tears off her leopard fleece hat 

as if the only way to take in the full weight of the moment 

is to feel her hair wet and flat against her scalp.

I quick run, grab the camera 
stand at the schoolroom window
and snap photos.
She is oblivious and beautiful.
And then I hear it, the song-words tumbling from her lips.
The phrase she has been repeating in a rising and descending melody.

"I'm free. I'm free. I'm free."

And from behind venetian blinds, 
this momma-heart soars a little higher
because a daughter today has found wings 
that have flown her to simple and elusive heights of  
just being. dwelling. enjoying. reveling.
Today, a daughter has reminded a mother how to live.

The glory of God is man fully alive. 

- St. Irenaus