They're everywhere. Or maybe that's just all I see anymore. Jadon's toys have overtaken the house—the gameroom, the kitchen, our living room's corner. Only our bedroom escaped most of that tornado, but even when I try to retreat there for a little me-time, dirty, smelly socks run me right back out (and they're not mine—because my dirty socks don't smell).
**Disclaimer: Please don't think any of the following words reflect on my love for my family. I love my husband and my son more than any dreams or plans or pressures to have a clean house. Just know that.
I'm so tired. I feel like I'm just barely keeping my head above water. Or maybe what I feel is more like dog-paddling toward a shoreline that I still can't see, no matter how much I squint. I'm running out of stamina.
There's not enough time in my day to straighten the house that gets wrecked the moment Jadon wakes or to call my sister, who admitted she's feeling a little lonely, or to cook that semi-healthy dinner for my family or to jog a few miles to clear my head or to snuggle with my husband on our loveseat, like we used to do, or to practice the bass guitar for our concert this weekend or to write those chapters I've been sitting on for weeks or to finish designing those pages for the job that pays our bills or to even breathe.
I'm just running out of stamina.
Lately I've been looking at the lives of people I barely know, and I've been wishing for the simplicity I imagine they have. I see moms and dads picnicking with their children, and I wish I could take just one hour away from everything and let Jadon feel the park's abnormally green grass tickling the bottoms of his bare feet. I see grandmas walking behind grandchildren on bicycles, and I wish I could somehow make my grandmother mobile again. I see our neighbors and their good friends sipping hot chocolate in rocking chairs on their front porches, and I wish I had time for a friend.
And it seems like I've been meeting more and more moms who get to stay home with their children and raise them to know the Lord, and I feel a little envious that their husband's salary is enough for their family. Then every once in a while, I'll meet the woman who is checking off her list of goals as she rises up the ladder, and I feel a little envious that she wasn't asked to put her dreams on hold.
I could really let this bother me if I dwelt on it. But the thing is, I don't know their stories. They could be treading water, just like me. Some of them may even be drifting away from that shore while they try to keep their head above water.
Our pastor, Scott Heare, talked Sunday about how God really does play hide and seek. God is hiding. Sometimes we find him when we're not looking. Sometimes we find him when we're looking for him. Sometimes we look and look and look, and we don't find him anywhere.
I've been looking for God for a long time. I don't know for how long, but I do know it's been a really long time. I had stopped looking for a while. Until Scott opened my eyes to something.
He said that when we see God, it's because he wants us to see his heart. But when he's hiding from us it's because he wants us to learn something about his mind. He wants to grow us in wisdom about himself, about our circumstances, about the spiritual truths that can change our lives.
I haven't learned what I need to learn yet, so he remains hidden.
So I've been sitting around, since Sunday, thinking about what God might want to teach me by hiding. Maybe I'm supposed to enjoy the sight of tipped-over toys and dirty socks because some people don't have the joy of a family to pick up after. Maybe I'm supposed to embrace the tasks on my to-do list because some people don't have the privilege of doing for themselves.
Maybe I need to really learn what it means to surrender my pales-in-comparison life plan and exchange it for his bigger-than-any-of-my-dreams one.
So I'll keep dog-paddling toward that distant shoreline, God, until I can see you again. Really see you.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
sunsets and sunrises...
The house has just settled into peace again.
Jadon has been crying for an hour and a half, since I laid him down for his nap at 3:30 p.m. For the first part of that hour, I would visit his room, rub his back and gently tell him it was time to take a nap. When he chose not to listen, I just let him cry.
It’s agonizing to hear my baby cry. But I sat here, for the better part of an hour, while his scream chipped away at my heart’s resolve.
A few minutes ago, I visited his room for the last time. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his mouth twisted in a pout. I picked him up in my arms and rocked him until his heavy eyes finally closed. He whined when I put him down, but I softly stroked his cheek and back to let him know I was still there and would be as long as he needed me.
He is quiet now.
So I’m sitting here staring out our gameroom window at a sky splashed with orange and pink and blue and purple and tiny wisps of white. It’s breathtaking. Something in the beauty of a sunset has the power to move me.
I’ve been in sort of a funk lately. Haven’t wanted to go to work or participate in any extra activities or even write. I know I’m a mess when I don’t feel like writing.
I feel dry and lonely and…abandoned.
This happens every now and then, when stress and exhaustion numb me to what’s really important in life. I know it’s just a cycle that will eventually end, but it’s still a vicious cycle—because every day I look in the mirror and I see all the things I wish I could change about myself. I look at the mess piling up in my home and the son I have to leave every day when I go to work and I begin to believe that I’m not a good wife or a good mother.
I look at my life and all the dreams that seem so far out of reach, and it’s enough to make me give up trying.
It’s an awful place to be.
Maybe it all started as we got closer to Jadon’s first birthday. It’s hard to believe he’s a year old already. He’s charming and infuriating all wrapped up into one. He is beginning to get an attitude and likes to throw fits when he’s not able to get or do something he wants. He now stands 31 and a half inches tall and weighs 21 pounds. He says Mama, Daddy, Jake (for Uncle Jake), hey, hi and duck. On good days, he’ll say his own version of “Thank you.” He never says “Please.”
We celebrated his birthday on Thanksgiving Day with a Curious George themed party. Jadon enjoyed opening his (way too many) presents and enjoyed even more playing with each one—especially his drum sticks and the small guitar. He’d pluck the strings of his guitar and look at his daddy and me to make sure we’d heard him, then would smile from ear to ear when we clapped for him. He is our precious, happy boy, safe in our love, secure in our protection.
At his party, I found myself thinking about how quickly time has slipped away. A year ago, Jadon was only weeks old, and Ben and I were stumbling through this parenting thing. A year ago, I leaned on my friends and family to help me get through the emotional period that follows the birth of any child.
A year ago, my grandmother was talking and laughing and feeding herself and was able to hold a baby Jadon in her arms during his first Christmas.
How much has changed in a year.
I’ve always struggled with the passing of time and getting older. I’ve never really wanted to get older—been a little scared of it, I guess. Having a child makes it seem like time speeds even faster than it used to. I don't like that I can't remember how it felt to hold a still, tiny baby in my arms just so I could breathe his baby scent. I don't like that my life has become so busy that I no longer have time to lean on friends and family when my emotions get the better of me. I don’t like that I can’t talk to my Memaw anymore, that she won’t laugh at Ben’s cheesy jokes, that she can’t even use a fork anymore. I don't like that she won't be able to hold Jadon ever again. But I know it’s part of life.
And the sunset has reminded me of something.
Just before the night’s darkness, God shows us something beautiful—so we’ll remember it when the night seems too long. And the sunrise…well, it’s made all the more beautiful the blacker the night. I think Jesus is a lot like the sunrise.
Oh, God, show me the sunrise.
Jadon's birthday breakfast
His first cupcake
Mmmm. That was good.
The table spread
The awesome cake
Amazingly, this did not result in an injury.
Presents, presents, presents!
The family after Jadon's first birthday party.
Christmas is coming!
Jadon has been crying for an hour and a half, since I laid him down for his nap at 3:30 p.m. For the first part of that hour, I would visit his room, rub his back and gently tell him it was time to take a nap. When he chose not to listen, I just let him cry.
It’s agonizing to hear my baby cry. But I sat here, for the better part of an hour, while his scream chipped away at my heart’s resolve.
A few minutes ago, I visited his room for the last time. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his mouth twisted in a pout. I picked him up in my arms and rocked him until his heavy eyes finally closed. He whined when I put him down, but I softly stroked his cheek and back to let him know I was still there and would be as long as he needed me.
He is quiet now.
So I’m sitting here staring out our gameroom window at a sky splashed with orange and pink and blue and purple and tiny wisps of white. It’s breathtaking. Something in the beauty of a sunset has the power to move me.
I’ve been in sort of a funk lately. Haven’t wanted to go to work or participate in any extra activities or even write. I know I’m a mess when I don’t feel like writing.
I feel dry and lonely and…abandoned.
This happens every now and then, when stress and exhaustion numb me to what’s really important in life. I know it’s just a cycle that will eventually end, but it’s still a vicious cycle—because every day I look in the mirror and I see all the things I wish I could change about myself. I look at the mess piling up in my home and the son I have to leave every day when I go to work and I begin to believe that I’m not a good wife or a good mother.
I look at my life and all the dreams that seem so far out of reach, and it’s enough to make me give up trying.
It’s an awful place to be.
Maybe it all started as we got closer to Jadon’s first birthday. It’s hard to believe he’s a year old already. He’s charming and infuriating all wrapped up into one. He is beginning to get an attitude and likes to throw fits when he’s not able to get or do something he wants. He now stands 31 and a half inches tall and weighs 21 pounds. He says Mama, Daddy, Jake (for Uncle Jake), hey, hi and duck. On good days, he’ll say his own version of “Thank you.” He never says “Please.”
We celebrated his birthday on Thanksgiving Day with a Curious George themed party. Jadon enjoyed opening his (way too many) presents and enjoyed even more playing with each one—especially his drum sticks and the small guitar. He’d pluck the strings of his guitar and look at his daddy and me to make sure we’d heard him, then would smile from ear to ear when we clapped for him. He is our precious, happy boy, safe in our love, secure in our protection.
At his party, I found myself thinking about how quickly time has slipped away. A year ago, Jadon was only weeks old, and Ben and I were stumbling through this parenting thing. A year ago, I leaned on my friends and family to help me get through the emotional period that follows the birth of any child.
A year ago, my grandmother was talking and laughing and feeding herself and was able to hold a baby Jadon in her arms during his first Christmas.
How much has changed in a year.
I’ve always struggled with the passing of time and getting older. I’ve never really wanted to get older—been a little scared of it, I guess. Having a child makes it seem like time speeds even faster than it used to. I don't like that I can't remember how it felt to hold a still, tiny baby in my arms just so I could breathe his baby scent. I don't like that my life has become so busy that I no longer have time to lean on friends and family when my emotions get the better of me. I don’t like that I can’t talk to my Memaw anymore, that she won’t laugh at Ben’s cheesy jokes, that she can’t even use a fork anymore. I don't like that she won't be able to hold Jadon ever again. But I know it’s part of life.
And the sunset has reminded me of something.
Just before the night’s darkness, God shows us something beautiful—so we’ll remember it when the night seems too long. And the sunrise…well, it’s made all the more beautiful the blacker the night. I think Jesus is a lot like the sunrise.
Oh, God, show me the sunrise.
Jadon's birthday breakfast
His first cupcake
Mmmm. That was good.
The table spread
The awesome cake
Amazingly, this did not result in an injury.
Presents, presents, presents!
The family after Jadon's first birthday party.
Christmas is coming!
Friday, October 19, 2007
fall brings romance...
I love this time of year.
This morning, as I walked out to my car at 6:30, I just had to stop for a brief moment and fill my lungs with the crisp, clean air. It was still dark, and I could see the stars shining clearer than they have shone in a long time, no visible humidity between them and me. Thank you, God, for fall…and all the memories that surround this time of year.
Some people say spring is the best season because of new birth and blooming flowers and budding trees. My season is fall.
So many life-changing events have happened in the fall. I met Ben in the fall of 2000, when I was a sophomore at Texas State University in San Marcos. We were kids then, 18 and 19, and still had so much to see and do and learn before God would bring us together as more than friends. I remember he showed up to the Baptist Student Ministry, where I was co-worship leader, an hour late and his hair was all disheveled, and I thought, "He's kind of a dork, but in a cute sort of way…" and how we agreed to keep things on a friendly level to lessen whatever pressure we felt from our summer get-to-know-each-other e-mails.
We began "officially" dating in the fall of 2002, my senior year of college, and were soon engaged once God's will was made unmistakably clear. I remember late nights and early, early mornings combing through wedding magazines as I sat in my Editor-in-Chief office waiting for the last pages of The University Star to print so I could go to bed, and the nights Ben would meet me at campus and walk me to my car to make sure nothing happened in the 200 feet I had to walk between the Star office and my parking spot.
We married Oct. 11, 2003, right on the cusp of fall, and moved to San Antonio that year, where I secured my first "real" job as a reporter at the San Antonio Express-News. I remember snuggling on our hand-me-down couch and reading articles together from a marriage magazine—a gift subscription from a college friend—after a long day at work, and jogging from our apartment to a local high school or detouring through neighborhoods and dreaming of our first home together.
Jadon was born Nov. 19, 2006, during our first Thanksgiving holidays spent in a house we could call our own. I remember wrapping him tightly in layers and layers of blankets to protect him from the wind's chill and driving home from the hospital on all the back roads at a maximum speed of 25 miles an hour—because we were carrying precious cargo.
So many life-changing events.
Ben and I just recently celebrated our four-year anniversary and added another memory to the storehouse we already have. A couple in our church booked three nights for us at a lakeside resort in Conroe, Texas. It was a refreshing time of reconnection—time that we haven't had since Jadon was born. While we missed our son and the smiles he brings to our days, we had a beautiful time enjoying each other.
Now I'll remember walking hand-in-hand through Old Town Spring, a place I haven't visited since I was a kid, and playing with toys with which we haven't played since we were little and sitting on a wooden porch swing with our arms around each other. I'll remember watching the sunset from a pier while we munched on roast beef sandwiches and Sunchips and eating strawberry cereal bars on a balcony overhanging the water. I'll remember battling massive tree roots on the miles of trails we biked at Huntsville National Park, and the way I laughed when Ben's wheel caught on an especially large root and sent him flying over the handlebars onto the sand.
So many beautiful moments.
I was chatting with an old college friend on myspace the other day, about purity and marriage and what we expect from the people we would "seriously" consider for marriage. He is marrying a beautiful woman in November, a woman who has forgiven his past and what he did before Christ delivered him at 19, a woman who has embraced the future promised by his new life in Christ. It made me think about Ben and me and how we talked about our mistakes as we prayed about God's will for our relationship, how we discovered that some mistakes were harder to let go of than others, how we fought hard to forgive and forget. Here is some of what I told my friend:
"We had 'the talk' early in our courtship, and I remember feeling just a little bit cheated for a very short time—until I realized that my (future) husband held my heart like it was fragile and special and beautiful, while many other men did not possess the kindness or respect to do that. It was a mistake in his past. I'd like to say it was a mistake that only happened once, but the reality is, he was caught in it for a while.
"But the fact that my (future) husband had made this mistake in the past—for which he had asked God's forgiveness—did not lower him in any way in my eyes and heart and mind. He was pure in every sense of the word, and I believe God made my heart see him that way. He loved the same God I loved. He loved people in a way I'd never seen. He loved me. He listened. He told the truth. He followed through. He had unshakable faith. He fought for me. He let me dance. He was daily reaching for and searching and seeking to live into the truths of God. That was enough for me.
"I don't believe God sees our mistakes as, 'OK, this one's dishonored his father and mother, this one doesn't carve out any Sabbath time, this one wants what his best friend has, this one's not a virgin…' He sees them as forgiven and erased."
We all bring to the table past mistakes. We could still be living in our mistakes. I struggle with mine every day. Jadon has opened our eyes to the human tendency toward making mistakes, though he is so young (11 months today). He has begun hitting us back when we tell him he can't play with something—just to see what we'll do, and his little lip will poke out when he realizes it was a mistake. When he loses his balance while walking (yes, he started walking—or running, really—a week and a half ago), or when Ben pushes him over just to have a good laugh, Jadon will throw himself on the floor, bang his head and release a frustrated scream before he realizes he's made a mistake getting angry. He falls off furniture all the time, though we have told him that climbing on and off is probably not the safest activity in which a baby could engage, and we let him so he will learn to be more careful (that's not bad parenting, is it???).
His mistakes might seem small in light of ours, but God uses simple pictures to teach us. We feel the same remorse that our son feels when we lash out at God because we feel he is holding something back from us. There is a reason Solomon speaks so often about the dangers of anger in the Proverbs. And I believe that God lets us fall sometimes when we take things into our own hands—because He wants us to learn that He's only concerned with our wellbeing and safety.
I believe that with any forgiveness comes shades of forgetting. When Jadon smacks my hand in defiance of discipline, then collapses, crying, into my arms and plants a kiss on my nose or mouth (his aim has improved a little), I know that he is sorry for what he's done. And as I hug him close, his offense fades from my memory. It's the same way with God.
If we could just forgive each other that same way.
In the four years we've been married, I can say that I've forgotten most of Ben's past mistakes—and the ones he's made since we've been married. There are some that creep back in when the enemy finds my guard down, but in times like those, I remember the reason I married Ben in the first place, the reason I would marry him all over again today.
Ben is one of the purest, most holy men in the world, or at least of the ones I know.
That is enough for me.
Jadon riding in a car at Chuck-E-Cheese's with his girlfriend.
He sneaks a kiss when he thinks no one is looking.
Keepin' it real after his sneaky kiss
The family at Evans and Esther's wedding
Group picture at the New Braunfels Children's Museum
I don't think he has a cowboy bone in him.
Visiting space with Mama.
This morning, as I walked out to my car at 6:30, I just had to stop for a brief moment and fill my lungs with the crisp, clean air. It was still dark, and I could see the stars shining clearer than they have shone in a long time, no visible humidity between them and me. Thank you, God, for fall…and all the memories that surround this time of year.
Some people say spring is the best season because of new birth and blooming flowers and budding trees. My season is fall.
So many life-changing events have happened in the fall. I met Ben in the fall of 2000, when I was a sophomore at Texas State University in San Marcos. We were kids then, 18 and 19, and still had so much to see and do and learn before God would bring us together as more than friends. I remember he showed up to the Baptist Student Ministry, where I was co-worship leader, an hour late and his hair was all disheveled, and I thought, "He's kind of a dork, but in a cute sort of way…" and how we agreed to keep things on a friendly level to lessen whatever pressure we felt from our summer get-to-know-each-other e-mails.
We began "officially" dating in the fall of 2002, my senior year of college, and were soon engaged once God's will was made unmistakably clear. I remember late nights and early, early mornings combing through wedding magazines as I sat in my Editor-in-Chief office waiting for the last pages of The University Star to print so I could go to bed, and the nights Ben would meet me at campus and walk me to my car to make sure nothing happened in the 200 feet I had to walk between the Star office and my parking spot.
We married Oct. 11, 2003, right on the cusp of fall, and moved to San Antonio that year, where I secured my first "real" job as a reporter at the San Antonio Express-News. I remember snuggling on our hand-me-down couch and reading articles together from a marriage magazine—a gift subscription from a college friend—after a long day at work, and jogging from our apartment to a local high school or detouring through neighborhoods and dreaming of our first home together.
Jadon was born Nov. 19, 2006, during our first Thanksgiving holidays spent in a house we could call our own. I remember wrapping him tightly in layers and layers of blankets to protect him from the wind's chill and driving home from the hospital on all the back roads at a maximum speed of 25 miles an hour—because we were carrying precious cargo.
So many life-changing events.
Ben and I just recently celebrated our four-year anniversary and added another memory to the storehouse we already have. A couple in our church booked three nights for us at a lakeside resort in Conroe, Texas. It was a refreshing time of reconnection—time that we haven't had since Jadon was born. While we missed our son and the smiles he brings to our days, we had a beautiful time enjoying each other.
Now I'll remember walking hand-in-hand through Old Town Spring, a place I haven't visited since I was a kid, and playing with toys with which we haven't played since we were little and sitting on a wooden porch swing with our arms around each other. I'll remember watching the sunset from a pier while we munched on roast beef sandwiches and Sunchips and eating strawberry cereal bars on a balcony overhanging the water. I'll remember battling massive tree roots on the miles of trails we biked at Huntsville National Park, and the way I laughed when Ben's wheel caught on an especially large root and sent him flying over the handlebars onto the sand.
So many beautiful moments.
I was chatting with an old college friend on myspace the other day, about purity and marriage and what we expect from the people we would "seriously" consider for marriage. He is marrying a beautiful woman in November, a woman who has forgiven his past and what he did before Christ delivered him at 19, a woman who has embraced the future promised by his new life in Christ. It made me think about Ben and me and how we talked about our mistakes as we prayed about God's will for our relationship, how we discovered that some mistakes were harder to let go of than others, how we fought hard to forgive and forget. Here is some of what I told my friend:
"We had 'the talk' early in our courtship, and I remember feeling just a little bit cheated for a very short time—until I realized that my (future) husband held my heart like it was fragile and special and beautiful, while many other men did not possess the kindness or respect to do that. It was a mistake in his past. I'd like to say it was a mistake that only happened once, but the reality is, he was caught in it for a while.
"But the fact that my (future) husband had made this mistake in the past—for which he had asked God's forgiveness—did not lower him in any way in my eyes and heart and mind. He was pure in every sense of the word, and I believe God made my heart see him that way. He loved the same God I loved. He loved people in a way I'd never seen. He loved me. He listened. He told the truth. He followed through. He had unshakable faith. He fought for me. He let me dance. He was daily reaching for and searching and seeking to live into the truths of God. That was enough for me.
"I don't believe God sees our mistakes as, 'OK, this one's dishonored his father and mother, this one doesn't carve out any Sabbath time, this one wants what his best friend has, this one's not a virgin…' He sees them as forgiven and erased."
We all bring to the table past mistakes. We could still be living in our mistakes. I struggle with mine every day. Jadon has opened our eyes to the human tendency toward making mistakes, though he is so young (11 months today). He has begun hitting us back when we tell him he can't play with something—just to see what we'll do, and his little lip will poke out when he realizes it was a mistake. When he loses his balance while walking (yes, he started walking—or running, really—a week and a half ago), or when Ben pushes him over just to have a good laugh, Jadon will throw himself on the floor, bang his head and release a frustrated scream before he realizes he's made a mistake getting angry. He falls off furniture all the time, though we have told him that climbing on and off is probably not the safest activity in which a baby could engage, and we let him so he will learn to be more careful (that's not bad parenting, is it???).
His mistakes might seem small in light of ours, but God uses simple pictures to teach us. We feel the same remorse that our son feels when we lash out at God because we feel he is holding something back from us. There is a reason Solomon speaks so often about the dangers of anger in the Proverbs. And I believe that God lets us fall sometimes when we take things into our own hands—because He wants us to learn that He's only concerned with our wellbeing and safety.
I believe that with any forgiveness comes shades of forgetting. When Jadon smacks my hand in defiance of discipline, then collapses, crying, into my arms and plants a kiss on my nose or mouth (his aim has improved a little), I know that he is sorry for what he's done. And as I hug him close, his offense fades from my memory. It's the same way with God.
If we could just forgive each other that same way.
In the four years we've been married, I can say that I've forgotten most of Ben's past mistakes—and the ones he's made since we've been married. There are some that creep back in when the enemy finds my guard down, but in times like those, I remember the reason I married Ben in the first place, the reason I would marry him all over again today.
Ben is one of the purest, most holy men in the world, or at least of the ones I know.
That is enough for me.
Jadon riding in a car at Chuck-E-Cheese's with his girlfriend.
He sneaks a kiss when he thinks no one is looking.
Keepin' it real after his sneaky kiss
The family at Evans and Esther's wedding
Group picture at the New Braunfels Children's Museum
I don't think he has a cowboy bone in him.
Visiting space with Mama.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Trials and errors
I'm exhausted. My eyes burn, my head aches and my heart is all knotted up inside. So much has happened in the last week, and it still weighs heavily on me.
Our hard drive decided to crash Tuesday.
It was perfect timing. I mean, I had almost finished a 17-page query letter outlining my novel that I was going to send to publishers by the end of the month. I was editing the last 10 chapters of the book before closing it for good. Ben and I had just finished recording number 22 of the 25 songs we're considering for Progeny's next album.
Perfect timing.
I won't even mention the thousands of pictures and video clips of Jadon's milestones...or the time-consuming tax records that I started back in January...or the words to all the new songs Ben and I had written...or all the Web projects Ben has built in the last year.
Mentioning it all just makes me sick to my stomach.
I was driving home from work yesterday, listening to some songs that usually boost my spirits...and I only felt this terrible despair because we had exhausted our last hope of retrieving the files...and I couldn't stop thinking about all the time we had wasted on those projects, all the months we had lost. I couldn't hold back my angry tears or the words that tumbled from my mouth: "Why would you do it, Lord, when all of this work was for You?!!"
He didn't answer me. But with morning's light, I have found a faint glimmer of understanding.
I was reading through my 432-page novel for the last time. Maybe God wanted me to carefully comb through it again, make it the best it could be, before submitting it to publishers. Maybe the query letter wasn't quite as good as it will be now that I've had some practice writing one. Maybe God wanted to tweak some of the songs Ben and I have written for our second album, and He only wanted us to look more carefully at them. Maybe he knew Ben could build better Web sites now that he's done so many.
Maybe He wanted to show us how dependent we are on technology.
I told God that if He didn't retrieve the data on our hard drive, I was going to step away from my book--and Progeny's second recording project--for a year. But I know in my heart that's not what He intends me to do. He wants me to keep pressing on, until I have completed the task(s) He has laid out for me. Lord, let me be more diligent, more intentional, a better steward this time around.
I was telling a friend today that with all the family stuff that's been going on in Ben's and my life, the problems with my job and this on top of it all, I've had to fight not to harden my heart, a self-protection tactic I learned as a young child. I think it's only in the aching, in the really feeling the sorrow in our hearts, that we can truly experience all God intends to teach us in a trial.
And He will use technology. So be sure to back up your files.
In the meantime, I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and a world-class husband and beautiful child with whom I can share it.
Our hard drive decided to crash Tuesday.
It was perfect timing. I mean, I had almost finished a 17-page query letter outlining my novel that I was going to send to publishers by the end of the month. I was editing the last 10 chapters of the book before closing it for good. Ben and I had just finished recording number 22 of the 25 songs we're considering for Progeny's next album.
Perfect timing.
I won't even mention the thousands of pictures and video clips of Jadon's milestones...or the time-consuming tax records that I started back in January...or the words to all the new songs Ben and I had written...or all the Web projects Ben has built in the last year.
Mentioning it all just makes me sick to my stomach.
I was driving home from work yesterday, listening to some songs that usually boost my spirits...and I only felt this terrible despair because we had exhausted our last hope of retrieving the files...and I couldn't stop thinking about all the time we had wasted on those projects, all the months we had lost. I couldn't hold back my angry tears or the words that tumbled from my mouth: "Why would you do it, Lord, when all of this work was for You?!!"
He didn't answer me. But with morning's light, I have found a faint glimmer of understanding.
I was reading through my 432-page novel for the last time. Maybe God wanted me to carefully comb through it again, make it the best it could be, before submitting it to publishers. Maybe the query letter wasn't quite as good as it will be now that I've had some practice writing one. Maybe God wanted to tweak some of the songs Ben and I have written for our second album, and He only wanted us to look more carefully at them. Maybe he knew Ben could build better Web sites now that he's done so many.
Maybe He wanted to show us how dependent we are on technology.
I told God that if He didn't retrieve the data on our hard drive, I was going to step away from my book--and Progeny's second recording project--for a year. But I know in my heart that's not what He intends me to do. He wants me to keep pressing on, until I have completed the task(s) He has laid out for me. Lord, let me be more diligent, more intentional, a better steward this time around.
I was telling a friend today that with all the family stuff that's been going on in Ben's and my life, the problems with my job and this on top of it all, I've had to fight not to harden my heart, a self-protection tactic I learned as a young child. I think it's only in the aching, in the really feeling the sorrow in our hearts, that we can truly experience all God intends to teach us in a trial.
And He will use technology. So be sure to back up your files.
In the meantime, I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and a world-class husband and beautiful child with whom I can share it.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Love should be enough...
This week has been bittersweet.
Most weeks are like that anymore, mostly because of Jadon and the joy and challenge he brings to my life. So I’ll start with that.
I am convinced that we have the easiest, best, sweetest baby in the world (I know you other mothers will disagree!). Our band had a last-minute gig Saturday, at this charming little restaurant in Helotes (Northwest San Antonio). Since the show was so last-minute, we hadn’t been able to arrange for anyone to watch Jadon. But the stage area had room enough for a playpen, so we set it up, put in a few toys and hoped he would do well during our first set. He never complained once! He stood holding the side of the playpen watching us play, sometimes even singing along. He never cried once. The second hour-long set was the same. After our show was over, people kept coming up to us commenting on what a great baby we had on our hands. God has blessed us with the most amazing child ever.
He even started dancing during the song, “Jadon’s Lullaby,” much to the entertainment of our crowd. He knows that one by heart. Mama sings it to him often.
So, with part of the tip money we made, we bought him a new toy that he played with for about five minutes.
Don’t get me wrong. We are still working on discipline and teaching Jadon what he can and cannot touch (computer cords) or eat (floor fuzz) or drop on the floor (papers on top of the filing cabinet). He still gets smacked—often. But he is one of the most laid back, flexible, people-loving babies I’ve ever seen. He’s visited many church nurseries in the last few months, and he will play with or be held by anyone.
My son has turned 10 months old. With each passing month, it gets harder and harder to believe that he is really that old. He is a little man, all rambunctious and rowdy and wild. Yesterday he kept climbing into this saucer chair and then spinning around to face me with this big, triumphant smile on his face, as if to say, “Look what a big boy I am.” I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time because he’s so smart, but he’s growing so fast. I want to hold on to the baby as long as I can, but he is quickly being replaced by a little boy.
Jadon took his first few steps about two weeks ago—without holding on to anything. He still prefers holding on to something, but sometimes he’ll forget to hold on, and he’ll walk a few steps, then remember. He likes to stand by himself, and then squat to pick things up and then stand again. I tell him that’s got to be harder than walking! All those squats!
He’s finally sitting again in the bathtub. A couple of months ago, he was trying to crawl in the tub. Ben turned his back to grab something, and Jadon did a face plant in the water. I think it was a traumatic experience for him, and, since then, he hasn’t wanted to sit in the water but will stand and make us wash him as he stands. But my wild boy has finally forgotten that trauma, and he sat again for the first time this week.
We’ve been working on teaching him to feed himself. Right now he just does it with his fingers, but he’s interested in the spoon and takes it away occasionally. He’ll stick it in his mouth and then make a funny face when he realizes there’s no food on it.
He’s had a few new experiences this month. We’ve taken him bike riding. He loves it. He hates wearing the helmet, but I think it’s the cutest thing ever!
I also let him sit in the grass (previously avoided because we have a bit of a problem with scorpions out here in the Hill Country). He didn’t like the prickly feel, so he tried not to touch it with his arms or his legs. Since he was in shorts, he sat there doing a jackknife (isn’t that the ab exercise we all used to hate in athletics?) until he fell back into it. Then he just lay there looking at me, his face saying, “Please, Mama, come get me out of this weird thing.” Seriously, though, he loves being outdoors. Sometimes I just open the doors and windows and let him stare outside, and he’ll cry when I close them. So silly.
And then, he went to Corpus for the first time. It was a business assignment, so we didn't have enough time to visit the beach, but we did get some cool pictures.
I so miss the baby who used to lie in my arms, content to be with Mama, but I’m enjoying watching this remarkable boy and his daily discoveries.
Ben and I have been talking a lot lately about love. Like what did Paul mean when he said, “Love always perseveres” (1 Corinthians 13:6) and that faith, hope and love remain, “but the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13)? What does it really mean to have no fear in love, to be made perfect in love (1 John 4:18)?
I’ve been watching my extended family fall apart. Just crumble like piles of stone stacked too high. My heart has been so heavy. I was up half the night praying for my two sets of aunts and uncles who are toeing the line of divorce.
I am far from a Christian scholar. But I have to believe that God intended love to be enough, that John Lennon (The Beatles) really did have it right. Love should be all we need.
Why else would He tell His disciples that the greatest of all the commandments was to “love the Lord your God will all your heart, soul and might, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
And what does that mean, really?
Somewhere along the way, I think we have stopped giving the kind of love God always wanted us to give—the kind of love that always perseveres, the kind of love that fosters no fear, the kind of love that’s wrapped up in faith and hope and sacrifice. We give a self-serving love, a more convenient, fair-weather love that stands in the good times but crumbles in the storms. I am guilty of this, too.
This kind of love is destroying our tradition of marriage. We are passing a new definition of love to children who will “take the easy way out,” just like we did.
It really is a slow fade down the slippery slope of destruction. That’s the way our enemy intends it, because then we don’t notice when things begin falling apart. But marriages don’t dissolve in a day. Children don’t become their parents in a day. Generations don’t make the same mistakes in a day.
But we can turn the enemy’s game around. Spin it right around on his horned-red head (that’s bad theology, but isn’t that how every kid who grew up in the Southern Baptist Church sees the devil?). If we would only choose to love more deeply.
Our pastor, Scott Heare, sort of solidified the whole heart, soul and might thing for me during a Sunday sermon weeks ago. He said God wants all our love—the emotional (heart), the spiritual (soul) and the physical (might or strength). We talked this week about strength and how our world sees strength as how much we can bench press or how many burdens we can handle without our eyes leaking. But Jesus showed us real strength in the way he submitted his life to His Father. Real strength is found on our knees.
What if we chose the kind of love that holds a husband tightly when he’s been out too late drinking too much, instead of voicing our disgust on an already-dark night while our children are listening just outside the door? What if we chose the kind of love that offers a safe place to land for a husband who’s gone astray? What if we chose the kind of love that said, “Your healing is more important than mine,” if only for a little while.
What if we chose to love with mercy?
I believe marriages would be stronger for it. God, let it be so in my marriage. For the sake of my children and the generations that follow.
Most weeks are like that anymore, mostly because of Jadon and the joy and challenge he brings to my life. So I’ll start with that.
I am convinced that we have the easiest, best, sweetest baby in the world (I know you other mothers will disagree!). Our band had a last-minute gig Saturday, at this charming little restaurant in Helotes (Northwest San Antonio). Since the show was so last-minute, we hadn’t been able to arrange for anyone to watch Jadon. But the stage area had room enough for a playpen, so we set it up, put in a few toys and hoped he would do well during our first set. He never complained once! He stood holding the side of the playpen watching us play, sometimes even singing along. He never cried once. The second hour-long set was the same. After our show was over, people kept coming up to us commenting on what a great baby we had on our hands. God has blessed us with the most amazing child ever.
He even started dancing during the song, “Jadon’s Lullaby,” much to the entertainment of our crowd. He knows that one by heart. Mama sings it to him often.
So, with part of the tip money we made, we bought him a new toy that he played with for about five minutes.
Don’t get me wrong. We are still working on discipline and teaching Jadon what he can and cannot touch (computer cords) or eat (floor fuzz) or drop on the floor (papers on top of the filing cabinet). He still gets smacked—often. But he is one of the most laid back, flexible, people-loving babies I’ve ever seen. He’s visited many church nurseries in the last few months, and he will play with or be held by anyone.
My son has turned 10 months old. With each passing month, it gets harder and harder to believe that he is really that old. He is a little man, all rambunctious and rowdy and wild. Yesterday he kept climbing into this saucer chair and then spinning around to face me with this big, triumphant smile on his face, as if to say, “Look what a big boy I am.” I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time because he’s so smart, but he’s growing so fast. I want to hold on to the baby as long as I can, but he is quickly being replaced by a little boy.
Jadon took his first few steps about two weeks ago—without holding on to anything. He still prefers holding on to something, but sometimes he’ll forget to hold on, and he’ll walk a few steps, then remember. He likes to stand by himself, and then squat to pick things up and then stand again. I tell him that’s got to be harder than walking! All those squats!
He’s finally sitting again in the bathtub. A couple of months ago, he was trying to crawl in the tub. Ben turned his back to grab something, and Jadon did a face plant in the water. I think it was a traumatic experience for him, and, since then, he hasn’t wanted to sit in the water but will stand and make us wash him as he stands. But my wild boy has finally forgotten that trauma, and he sat again for the first time this week.
We’ve been working on teaching him to feed himself. Right now he just does it with his fingers, but he’s interested in the spoon and takes it away occasionally. He’ll stick it in his mouth and then make a funny face when he realizes there’s no food on it.
He’s had a few new experiences this month. We’ve taken him bike riding. He loves it. He hates wearing the helmet, but I think it’s the cutest thing ever!
I also let him sit in the grass (previously avoided because we have a bit of a problem with scorpions out here in the Hill Country). He didn’t like the prickly feel, so he tried not to touch it with his arms or his legs. Since he was in shorts, he sat there doing a jackknife (isn’t that the ab exercise we all used to hate in athletics?) until he fell back into it. Then he just lay there looking at me, his face saying, “Please, Mama, come get me out of this weird thing.” Seriously, though, he loves being outdoors. Sometimes I just open the doors and windows and let him stare outside, and he’ll cry when I close them. So silly.
And then, he went to Corpus for the first time. It was a business assignment, so we didn't have enough time to visit the beach, but we did get some cool pictures.
I so miss the baby who used to lie in my arms, content to be with Mama, but I’m enjoying watching this remarkable boy and his daily discoveries.
Ben and I have been talking a lot lately about love. Like what did Paul mean when he said, “Love always perseveres” (1 Corinthians 13:6) and that faith, hope and love remain, “but the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13)? What does it really mean to have no fear in love, to be made perfect in love (1 John 4:18)?
I’ve been watching my extended family fall apart. Just crumble like piles of stone stacked too high. My heart has been so heavy. I was up half the night praying for my two sets of aunts and uncles who are toeing the line of divorce.
I am far from a Christian scholar. But I have to believe that God intended love to be enough, that John Lennon (The Beatles) really did have it right. Love should be all we need.
Why else would He tell His disciples that the greatest of all the commandments was to “love the Lord your God will all your heart, soul and might, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
And what does that mean, really?
Somewhere along the way, I think we have stopped giving the kind of love God always wanted us to give—the kind of love that always perseveres, the kind of love that fosters no fear, the kind of love that’s wrapped up in faith and hope and sacrifice. We give a self-serving love, a more convenient, fair-weather love that stands in the good times but crumbles in the storms. I am guilty of this, too.
This kind of love is destroying our tradition of marriage. We are passing a new definition of love to children who will “take the easy way out,” just like we did.
It really is a slow fade down the slippery slope of destruction. That’s the way our enemy intends it, because then we don’t notice when things begin falling apart. But marriages don’t dissolve in a day. Children don’t become their parents in a day. Generations don’t make the same mistakes in a day.
But we can turn the enemy’s game around. Spin it right around on his horned-red head (that’s bad theology, but isn’t that how every kid who grew up in the Southern Baptist Church sees the devil?). If we would only choose to love more deeply.
Our pastor, Scott Heare, sort of solidified the whole heart, soul and might thing for me during a Sunday sermon weeks ago. He said God wants all our love—the emotional (heart), the spiritual (soul) and the physical (might or strength). We talked this week about strength and how our world sees strength as how much we can bench press or how many burdens we can handle without our eyes leaking. But Jesus showed us real strength in the way he submitted his life to His Father. Real strength is found on our knees.
What if we chose the kind of love that holds a husband tightly when he’s been out too late drinking too much, instead of voicing our disgust on an already-dark night while our children are listening just outside the door? What if we chose the kind of love that offers a safe place to land for a husband who’s gone astray? What if we chose the kind of love that said, “Your healing is more important than mine,” if only for a little while.
What if we chose to love with mercy?
I believe marriages would be stronger for it. God, let it be so in my marriage. For the sake of my children and the generations that follow.
Monday, July 9, 2007
seven months have passed so quickly
Wow. Seven months already. It's so hard to believe.
We saw a woman in the grocery store last night, right around the time when Jadon was supposed to be asleep but was trilling and shrieking just to hear his own voice. She has an 18-year-old and a 21-year-old. She said she used to hate it when women came up to her in the grocery store and said, "You better treasure this time because it doesn't last long." She said she'd always think, "It can't pass quickly enough. I'm ready to start sleeping again." And then, she said, the time had ended, and it was much too quickly and she wanted to go back or just remember…but memories tend to fade.
Her point was that all those women were right. And she was encouraging Ben and me to treasure our time with Jadon while he is young and still somewhat dependent on us for his needs, though he is quickly losing that dependency. We assured her that we are treasuring that time.
So, this morning, when the monitor lights flashed and Jadon's voice filtered through the speaker at 1 a.m.—unusual for this baby who has slept through the night since he was two weeks old—I pulled my weary body out of bed and reminded myself that though these times can be difficult, they will be gone much too soon. Ben had beaten me to the crib and stood cradling Jadon in his arms while Jadon writhed and screamed because his gums are hurting so badly. Poor baby. We just sat there and held him, then placed him back in the crib when we were certain he'd fallen asleep.
It's the third time this week that we've gotten a patched-nights' rest. But we are remembering that those quiet moments spent in the dark of Jadon's room, kissing his soft cheeks and tracing his turned-up nose in the glow of the moon, are more precious than a few more moments of sleep.
My little boy has begun crawling. He manages slowly, though he gets across a room quickly—mostly because he'll inch forward and throw himself the rest of the way. It's a funny sight to see. He has begun eyeing things he'd like to put in his mouth and deliberately making his way toward them. Most of the time Mama has to intercede because it's something he shouldn't be playing with. And then he will scream in anger. Yep. He's got that Patton temper. Poor thing.
He's eating solid foods three times a day now, which will ready him for the three meals a day he'll eat when he's older. He's still a good eater and prefers eating from the spoon, which will be good for weaning him off the bottle. We still have not been able to convince him to hold his own bottle and cup…he figures why do it when someone else will? That's his daddy in him.
I read to him often from the Bible and some of his Dr. Seuss books. Ben is the designated story time reader for bedtime, though, because he does great voices and is really silly like that. Jadon absolutely loves it.
We're discovering he's super ticklish. I'm sure most children are, but Jadon wasn't laughing about it until now. He'll scrunch up his nose and open his mouth wide and smile. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen.
Mama is a word in his vocabulary, though I'm not sure he knows it's me yet. But he says it mostly when he's crying, so I wonder if I am not giving him enough credit. Sometimes, when he's sitting playing with his toys and I'm lying near him, he'll pull my arm toward him and bury his face in it and call for "Mama." Precious Mama's boy. I'm eating it up.
I wonder if Jesus was a Mama's boy.
We saw a woman in the grocery store last night, right around the time when Jadon was supposed to be asleep but was trilling and shrieking just to hear his own voice. She has an 18-year-old and a 21-year-old. She said she used to hate it when women came up to her in the grocery store and said, "You better treasure this time because it doesn't last long." She said she'd always think, "It can't pass quickly enough. I'm ready to start sleeping again." And then, she said, the time had ended, and it was much too quickly and she wanted to go back or just remember…but memories tend to fade.
Her point was that all those women were right. And she was encouraging Ben and me to treasure our time with Jadon while he is young and still somewhat dependent on us for his needs, though he is quickly losing that dependency. We assured her that we are treasuring that time.
So, this morning, when the monitor lights flashed and Jadon's voice filtered through the speaker at 1 a.m.—unusual for this baby who has slept through the night since he was two weeks old—I pulled my weary body out of bed and reminded myself that though these times can be difficult, they will be gone much too soon. Ben had beaten me to the crib and stood cradling Jadon in his arms while Jadon writhed and screamed because his gums are hurting so badly. Poor baby. We just sat there and held him, then placed him back in the crib when we were certain he'd fallen asleep.
It's the third time this week that we've gotten a patched-nights' rest. But we are remembering that those quiet moments spent in the dark of Jadon's room, kissing his soft cheeks and tracing his turned-up nose in the glow of the moon, are more precious than a few more moments of sleep.
My little boy has begun crawling. He manages slowly, though he gets across a room quickly—mostly because he'll inch forward and throw himself the rest of the way. It's a funny sight to see. He has begun eyeing things he'd like to put in his mouth and deliberately making his way toward them. Most of the time Mama has to intercede because it's something he shouldn't be playing with. And then he will scream in anger. Yep. He's got that Patton temper. Poor thing.
He's eating solid foods three times a day now, which will ready him for the three meals a day he'll eat when he's older. He's still a good eater and prefers eating from the spoon, which will be good for weaning him off the bottle. We still have not been able to convince him to hold his own bottle and cup…he figures why do it when someone else will? That's his daddy in him.
I read to him often from the Bible and some of his Dr. Seuss books. Ben is the designated story time reader for bedtime, though, because he does great voices and is really silly like that. Jadon absolutely loves it.
We're discovering he's super ticklish. I'm sure most children are, but Jadon wasn't laughing about it until now. He'll scrunch up his nose and open his mouth wide and smile. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen.
Mama is a word in his vocabulary, though I'm not sure he knows it's me yet. But he says it mostly when he's crying, so I wonder if I am not giving him enough credit. Sometimes, when he's sitting playing with his toys and I'm lying near him, he'll pull my arm toward him and bury his face in it and call for "Mama." Precious Mama's boy. I'm eating it up.
I wonder if Jesus was a Mama's boy.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
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