When Daddy Clears the Land

It's late afternoon, and it's quiet in the house. I am alone with a happily nursing baby. The older three children are outside with Daddy while he does some yard work before the sun goes down. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and the loud wails of an unhappy seven year old echo down the hall. I assume some minor injury has brought about this obvious over-reaction, or perhaps the typical "so-and-so took my such-and-such." But no, this time Donny is in distress for a different reason.

"Daddy is cutting down my favorite tree!" he cries. "MAKE HIM STOP!"

The peace of the afternoon is shattered. I spend the next half hour attempting to calm, console, and explain the situation to my eldest child. Donny has a tendency to, well, over-react, and we generally try to discourage such unnecessary drama. At the same time, I don't want to brush off his concerns entirely. Several months ago, when a logging company came to clear the land next to our house, he had a similar day of distress over the felling of the trees. Though that is now forgotten, Daddy taking the chainsaw to a young oak in the yard has brought the tears rushing back.

I attempt to explain that Daddy surely had a reason for cutting down the small sapling; we have to trust him. Even though Donny liked it, it wasn't his tree. It wasn't his choice. Daddy was trying to clear the land completely, and this oak was not part of his plans. We don't plan to live in this house forever, so eventually, we would be leaving it behind anyway. And really, truly, this is not such a big deal. It's just a tree.

As I speak, I can't help but see how my advice applies to my own life. How often do I burst into literal or figurative tears over something that, in the grand scheme of things, really is trivial? A screaming baby, an angry spouse, noisy children who refuse to listen, a throbbing headache, my inability to conquer the laundry mountain - these moments can be for me what the chainsaw was to Donny. Compared to someone else's problem, they are nothing. But in the dusk of the moment, I want to cry out, "Make it stop!"

Eventually, Daddy comes in, brushes the wood dust off his shirt, and sits down on the couch beside the now-calm boy. He explains why he cut down the small tree. In vivid strokes, he paints a picture of the yard he wants to create - a place of plush grass where the children can run and jump and play ball. To achieve the dream, the tree had to be sacrificed.

Again, my heart is stirred with empathy. What dreams does my Father have for me that I am too small and foolish to understand? All my crying and complaining over my petty sorrows is so fruitless, and only blocks me from seeing what He is doing in my life. Sometimes to achieve it, pain must come. Things must die. Sin must be uprooted. And even if the problem seems miniscule to everyone else, it hurts. Yet my Father has a beautiful plan, if only I can look past the sticks and stumps of sorrow to see it.

And so I pray that when the trials of life are crashing around me, and my own selfish sorrows threaten to overwhelm, may I curl up in the arms of my loving Father, and trust that He will work it out for good. Whether my difficulties are real or imagined, something better is coming. My Daddy loves me, and I trust that He knows best.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
~ 2 Corinthians 4:17

And Most of All, For Him

Despite the festive lights glowing around our living room, today was a rather ugly day. The toddler was whiny and drippy-nosed, the baby fussed and hardly napped, the boys bickered, the mom got frustrated, and everyone cried. Screams of anger and pain punctuated the day when one boy hit his brother with a stick, and then when said boy received retribution from a ricocheting rock launched by said brother. We read devotionals, discussed verses, and added an ornament to our Jesse tree as we remembered the faith of Abraham, but my feeble attempts to bring focus seemed in vain. Even with Bible open on our laps, the children were kicking, sitting on each other, pulling my hair, and daydreaming.

As I wearily tucked them into bed, I was tempted toward discouragement, but remembered: this is a mission field. And walking into a room of rowdy, disobedient children to give the gospel - with gentleness and love - was my mission. It is easy, sometimes, to speak God's truth, but so much harder to demonstrate. This morning, we read, Let us love not with words or speech, but with actions and in truth (1 John 3:18). And then we all failed, at nearly every opportunity, to show love to each other. Hearts were hard and tears were many. If nothing else, ugly days reveal my shortcomings to remind me how much I need a Savior, and that nothing matters more in parenting than showing my little ones the Savior's love.

We have been busy lately, as most families are this time of year: celebrating the boys' birthdays, enjoying Thanksgiving feasts with aunts and uncles, baking gingerbread men with Grandma, and decorating for Christmas. In the coming weeks, our schedule will continue to be full of fun and festive activities as we skip through the merry month of December. Yet in the midst of tracing paper hand turkeys and leftover pumpkin pie, the Lord impressed this on my heart:

I am sinful. My husband and children are too. Not just in some vague, "I'm a sinner" way, but in dark, ugly specifics that we seldom admit and may not even realize. Pride, selfishness, the lust of the eyes and of the flesh - they lie dormant in our hearts, periodically manifesting in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Yet God, knowing every wicked thought of our wayward hearts, still sent His Son to die for us. I am so blessed with my family, my home, the opportunity to teach my children, the abundance of food and clothing and other material comforts - but this all pales in comparison to God's grace in forgiving my sin. Of all I have to be thankful for, nothing can compare to the love God poured out on me by sending Jesus.

Dear friends, if you have never heard this truth, or if you have heard it a thousand times, but the good news is drowned out by cheering football fans and red-nosed reindeer tunes, let me tell you this:

Christmas is for all of us, because we all need a Savior. Without Him, we are trapped in the wretched darkness of our own sin. It is only through His light that we can truly live. His blessings are abundant, and there are so many gifts for which to thank Him each day, but in the end, earthly treasures rust, and the world's festive pleasures pass away. Jesus himself is all that really matters, and our only hope for salvation.

For those who know Him, let the holidays remind us to share the light of the One who saved us. We can twinkle with joy through ugly days and dark hours like tiny bulbs on the strand that lights up the tree, emanating light to friends, to strangers, and to the little ones who dance around us in the living room. And as we delight in every meal and gift and yuletide merriment, let us give thanks, most of all, for the One called Jesus, who saves us from our sins.

An Honest Look at the Postpartum Period

Postpartum: of or noting the period of time following childbirth. It is a time of change and adjustment, a time of ups and downs, a time of all things new, yet full of predictable sameness. It can be ugly, and it can be beautiful and special and wonderful at the same time.

It is a difficult time to get dressed. Nothing fits quite right: maternity clothes hang limp, while regular clothes are too tight, and the little bulge that was cute to show off at four months pregnant is not so cute when it's no longer a baby. Thanks to nursing, shirts are too tight and too short, and nursing pads become a required part of getting dressed if one wants to avoid embarrassing leaks. At times my body feels like a leaky, dripping mess all over. Other times, I find a cute nursing tank top or an early pregnancy shirt that actually fits, and I feel comfortable for a little while.

Without the structured demands of homeschooling and regular chores and outings, the days at home are long. Accomplishments for the day are generally limited to showering, making the bed, and feeding everyone something with a shred of nutrition every few hours. (Who says leftover mashed potatoes and peanut butter spoons aren't a meal?) Left to their own devices, the older children are - at best - zoned out in front of PBS, and at worst, dumping out every puzzle piece and train track while they rearrange the living room and argue over who had it and who did it. The baby routine consists of constant nursing, burping, changing, and consoling between unpredictable naps. When the older ones are finally tucked in bed, baby time continues, with moments of sweet snuggles intermixed with wide-awake 4am cries and occasionally pacing a cold tile floor while the rest of house sleeps. Sleep is often broken, and filled with vivid and bizarre dreams. Yet some precious afternoons include naps with newborn and perhaps toddler cuddled close beside.

Emotions are messy. Delight over the gift of a new life mixes with fatigue and frustration. I get choked up reading The Giving Tree to my children. I fall in love with my baby's coos and contented sighs. I take my husband's off-hand comments personally, but treasure our (often-interrupted) times of closeness. Some moments seem insurmountably painful, while in others, I realize that I am abundantly blessed

The camera is always close at hand for capturing the sweet sibling moments and first hints of smiles. After all, with the exception of her three older siblings, this is surely the cutest baby in the universe, and these early days must be documented before they quickly fade away. And quickly they do. I may wish the days away to speed the recovery of my body, but I am in no hurry to give up the sweetness of a warm, sleepy newborn snuggled up on my chest. All too soon, I will be looking back at her baby pictures and vaguely remembering when she was so tiny and new.

And during this time of contradictions, I realize more than ever how much I don't have it all together: as a mother, a wife, a teacher, a housekeeper. How I desperately need God's grace in my life. How without his Spirit working in me, I am an emotional basket case subject to the whims of hormone surges and sugar cravings. How without a daily dose of His Word and continual turning to Him in prayer, it is easy to be overwhelmed or just plain caught in the day-to-day routine without producing any spiritual fruit. Yet God is so gracious, to give me strength for each day when I remember to turn to Him and ask for it. In the midst of changing schedules and new additions, I must call on Him and seek His face. And whether rocking or reading or resting, I must choose to speak words of praise. He is with me through every trial and joy of motherhood, and when I choose to praise Him instead of dwelling on my troubles, the trials of this world seem to pass as quickly as these fleeting postpartum days.

The LORD is righteous in all his ways
and loving toward all he has made.
The LORD is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
he hears their cry and saves them.
The LORD watches over all who love him,
but all the wicked he will destroy.
My mouth will speak in praise of the LORD.
Let every creature praise his holy name
for ever and ever.
Psalm 145:17-21

A Perfect 10

The Lord has blessed us with another beautiful baby girll! Abigail Joy arrived by C-section this morning, 10/10/11. She weighs 5 pounds, 9 ounces and is 19 inches long. I am nauseous and sleepy, but otherwise doing well. Abby is healthy and nursing eagerly. I will share her birth story and more pictures when I am feeling up to it. For now, thank you for your prayers, and for rejoicing with us over this precious gift from the Lord!

Listen to me, you islands;
hear this, you distant nations:
Before I was born the LORD called me;
from my birth he has made mention of my name.
Isaiah 49:1

The Mission Field in My Yard

Come, my children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
Psalm 34:11

"Come my children, listen to me." Yes, that is my earnest plea today, though it so often feels ignored. It has been that kind of day, not unbelievably painful, not unforgettably sweet, but the usual mix of strains and stresses and everyday routine.

School started late, and took extra long while Hayden whined and yawned instead of copying two sentences into his Bible notebook. Donny threw fits when I gave him yogurt instead of oatmeal for lunch, when I told him to go get in the van (there are BEES outside, you know!), and when we sat on the couch instead of his bed to read Bible. And dear Lydia has learned the fine art of screaming whenever someone else dares to stand on the kitchen stool. "Listen to me" seems a gross understatement of the lectures I want to hurl at these seemingly deaf ears.

After a long morning, though, we take a quick trip to the furniture store to check out potential bunk beds, and we stay a few minutes longer to enjoy the free candy and ice cream. When we get home, I insist (despite the protests of the two eldest) that God gave us a beautiful day, and WE ARE GOING TO PLAY OUTSIDE. Amazingly, within minutes they are busy with sticks and rocks and pretend adventures, and I have a few moments to observe, reflect, and (almost) relax.

I feel the breeze of a surprisingly pleasant afternoon and see my children, for a few moments at least, interacting without anyone screaming or whining or executing violence. I realize that somewhere between the sibling battles and the pencils thrown in anger and Braxton-Hicks contractions and Lydia's 4.5 baths (milk spills, yogurt lunch, and a couple potty accidents will do that)...yes, somewhere in there is something I don't want to miss.

The days are long, but yet so fleeting. Lydia is no longer a baby; she is sleeping in her brothers' room and asserting herself with an ever-expanding and impressive vocabulary. Donny lost his third tooth a few weeks ago - apparently Hayden threw laundry at his face, knocking out the tooth which was finally located at the bottom of the laundry basket. He has another loose one, but won't let anyone wiggle it. Hayden is not yet five years old, but is reading and doing math at a level that is advanced even for his six year old brother. Even this new baby, whose growth has been mostly ignored due to many distractions, is bulging out in a gently ungraceful reminder that soon there will be one more little person to love.

I am still outside, with one eye keeping watch on the children and the other skimming a magazine. As I flip through the latest issue of The Old Schoolhouse, my eyes fall on the word "missionary." I wonder, as Don and I have periodically discussed, if maybe we should be missionaries somewhere. I think of our collective love for children and orphans, and my particular heart for babies. If we could just get out of this house and go somewhere, I muse, maybe we could really, finally, do something for God.

The thoughts are fleeting as I quickly realize, I AM doing something for God. This is the mission field God gave me: not to start a Haitian orphanage or bring the Gospel to the streets of Calcutta, but to love the people in my own home. To bring the Gospel to them by reading the Word, explaining the Word, and living the Word. To be patient in correcting stubborn hearts, gentle in teaching the truth, sincere in making my life an example of Christ's love. To be joyful always, regardless of what discouragement Satan may throw my way. This is God's mission for me. Foreign countries, preaching in the streets, and even adoption may sound bigger and more glamorous than everyday motherhood, but the lost souls who need me the most are right here, digging dirt in my yard and spilling food at my table.

The evening is no more idyllic than the morning, as even such simple-sounding tasks as reading the Bible become mountains of challenge when three wiggly children are involved. Fatigue sets in, and my heart aches to see these little ones, who can recite Scripture so effortlessly and belt out songs of praise, demonstrate no love for others, no faithful obedience, no fruit in their small lives. Easily, these observations lead to discouragement. But instead of despairing, I must reach out my arms to the child who won't keep his hands out of my hair, explain the truth to him, discipline with patience, and reassure him of my love. It isn't glamorous; there are no sudden changes of heart to inspire me; no outward encouragement to reassure me that I am doing what is right. Yet I thank God that He has given me this knowledge: I am on a mission from Him. Winning souls to Christ is no easy task. Training warriors for His army requires diligence and longsuffering. I must not just preach, but practice, the proper fear of the Lord. I must love others the way He first loved me. And the place He has called me to do it is here, in my yard, at my table, on my couch, and as I fervently pray over three little beds each night.

To read more about motherhood as a mission field, I highly recommend this post from Desiring God. Be encouraged in your mission to teach your children the fear of the Lord!

How Imaginary Adventures Make Joyful Mothers

He settles the barren woman in her home

as a happy mother of children.

Praise the Lord!

Psalm 113:9

We went to the beach today.

Nevermind that the weather has been decidedly chilly this month. Clouds, rain, and temperatures below 60 degrees have filled the weather reports every day this week. Certainly, it is not your average beach day weather.

And nevermind that packing up a potty-training toddler, a four (and-now-a-half) year-old with food allergies and asthma, and a certain persnickety six year old for the day is more of a chore than I want to undertake unless absolutely necessary. Though we are blessed to be part of the small percentage of America that lives within easy driving distance of the ocean, the comparatively close proximity of salt water does not mean that spontaneous beach trips are the norm. In fact, any family beach trips at all are unheard of before the mainland temperatures reach at least 80 degrees, and at this rate, we will be lucky if we get a few weeks by August that meet such criteria.

But armed with some books, wooden play food, and three willing companions with great imaginations, I enjoyed the delights of the shore today. We feasted on a picnic lunch of sandwiches, watermelon, brownies, and orange juice (which Lydia spilled, but not to worry - the sand absorbed it!). Donny found a sea anemone and a sea urchin in the tidepool. The boys set up tents by the shore, and after a long day of enjoying the sunshine, we drifted off to the sound of the waves. In fact, Donny and I slept right under the stars, and even sleepy Hayden woke up early enough to watch the sunrise over the ocean. We hated to leave, but eventually, we had to return the picnic supplies to the rental house and get back to regular life.

At least, I had laundry to do. Donny said something about needing to help Bob (you know, the Builder) work on Sunflower Valley. Hayden gave Lydia a ride in the laundry basket. People have responsibilities, you know.

I should mention, lest it be unclear, that our "real life" days here are far from idyllic. There are five sinful people here 24 hours a day, which means that impatience, anger, selfishness, complaining, and the occasional piercing scream are all an unfortunate part of our everyday life. Thankfully, God gracefully gives us occasional moments - brief though they may be - where the children stop fighting and the parents stop reprimanding and we can all just enjoy an imaginary day at the beach.

And I confess, the days are seldom when I put off the laundry and the toddler's nap for a few extra minutes just to spend time being fully engaged with my children. I feed them, bathe them, teach them, train them, and clean up after them all day long. At the end of the day, there is little time or even desire left to sit down and just play with them. But by neglecting to enjoy my children, I am missing out on a great blessing. Yes, caring for their needs is accompanied by blessing as well, but in getting to know them at their level and creating memories (even pretend ones) with them, it is easier to find the joy in motherhood. Sometimes I realize that I have checked off all my obligations for the day, but never really took time to enjoy my children. They need me to smile at them and laugh with them and occasionally munch on some painted wood watermelon with them while sitting on a tablecloth on the floor.

In fact, as I imagined myself asleep on the beach, with Lydia climbing on my head and Hayden curled up beside me, with Donny talking nonstop, and even the tiniest of flutters reminding me of its presence in my womb, I thanked God for this great blessing: I am never lonely! Quiet moments may be few and far between, sleep may be sacrificed, and cleaning up puddles of milk, oatmeal, and toileting accidents may constitute a large percentage of my day. But I am blessed to always have someone to love and hug and play with. Thank you, Lord, for dreamy days and a growing brood little people to share in the magic. And thank you for reminding me that you have settled me in my home, not just to keep it clean, but to be the playful, caring, exuberantly joyful mother of my children.

Number Three at Almost Two

While most of my mental energy has been consumed lately with house-related thoughts, there are moments when I am able to step back and enjoy the blessings of the moment. Many of these moments have been spent laughing at my sweet, dramatic, hilarious little girl. Lydia is now 21 months old, her language develops every day, and along with it, her enchanting personality shines through.

Modeling her brother's "gas"

She is sweetly affectionate, always ready to give Mumma or Daddy a "nice hug," and her random statements of "I luh voo, Mumma" melt my heart.  Her verbal affirmations certainly have a feminine touch, as evidenced last Friday, when I woke her up from a sound sleep after I had showered and dressed.  After blinking her eyes a few times to get her bearings, she said, "I like skirt, Mumma!" She also likes hair - Mumma's hair, Daddy's hair, her brothers' hair, and finally her own wild locks.  When, a month or two ago, her hair finally grew long enough for some sort of clip, she cried whenever I tried to do anything with it. Now that we have convinced her that it's "pretty," though, she'll agreeably let me gather her stray wisps into a tiny ponytail.

Without challenge, she is my best eater. Donny is a self-made vegetarian who likes all his foods separate; Hayden is allergic to milk, eggs, and nuts. I am so thankful that Lydia will try almost anything, from soups to chili with rice to pizza (though she picks off the cheese and leaves the rest behind!). She doesn't seem to care for most meat or some vegetables, but her willingness to try new things and her steady appetite are encouraging. She loves apples, pretzels, crackers, cheese, and to wash it all down, a few sips of cow's milk in her "milk-puck." I give her a regular plastic cup with just a tiny bit in it, and most of the time, she heeds my "don't spill" command.  She is also quite skilled in handling a small fork, and will cheerfully feed herself yogurt with a spoon even if only half of it actually makes it to her mouth. And I am amazed at her correct grasp of a pencil or pen; she already loves to (attempt to) write and color.

If we were not selling our house, I would have plunged into full-fledged potty training, but knowing that we could have a showing any day, I didn't think this was the time to risk accidents on the carpet or couch. Still, Lyddie goes on her Little Potty several times throughout the day, and always wants to read a book while she is there. One of her first long sentences was, "Read-Night-Moon-Mumma?" And obligingly, I read Goodnight Moon at every potty break, every day, until the tattered board book finally ended up in the office instead of the bathroom stepstool. If I am going to read the same children's book five times a day, I am thankful that at least it is one of my favorites!

Another sentence that impressed me just two weeks ago was "I can't-open-closet." She was trying to put something away, I'm sure. She is a cheerful and willing helper, eager to deliver laundry or wipe down the table with a rag and "More spray?" I love how tidy she is: one day she spontaneously brought me the plates her brothers had forgotten to clear from breakfast, then pushed all the chairs in to the table and announced, "There, all better!"

Since then, the sentences are spilling out as fast as she can muster them. She runs around and crashes into things, and I tell her, "You're insane!" "I not-insane-Mumma!" she responds with glee.  Even when I had to discipline her for disobedience today, through her choked cries she remembered, "Daddy tol' me all done cryin'" and plaintively confessed, "Mumma, I sad."

A dramatic moment

And she loves to pray, always reminding us if we forget to say grace before a meal.  Last Wednesday, after reading Bible with the family (and climbing on everyone through the reading), she wanted to pray herself: "More Dear God?" She mentioned Donny, Hayden, and Daddy, so we thanked God for all of them, and randomly (but apparently important to Lydia), for the window. She added in a few lines of babble unintelligible to me, but I trust that the Lord knew what she was saying to Him. Sweet Lyddie, I am so thankful to have you as a daughter, and I pray that your heart will always be as tender and prayerful as it is today!

From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise...
Psalm 8:2a

For Love of the Self

One night a few weeks ago, everyone went to bed early. I was left with a quiet house, a Bible, and the Bible study homework that had been gathering dust for a few months. As I snuggled up on a comfy chair, resisting the urge to grab popcorn and a cup of tea (I'm trying not to eat right before bed, which is a very difficult habit for me to drop!), I found myself once again remembering how much I love God's Word. And how convicting it is. In fact, I thought I was doing pretty well, which is simply evidence that I haven't recently been in the Word enough. When we really examine God's standards, we see how far short we fall - and how overwhelming His grace is for Him to give everything for such ungrateful, imperfect creatures.

Today's moment of conviction was tucked inside one of the most familiar passages in my mind: 1 Corinthians 13, the famous "love" passage. I have reflected on "love is patient, love is kind" before, but looking ahead to verse 5, I stumbled upon these provocative words: [love] is not self-seeking. "Self"...that must mean me. Love is not me-seeking. Love doesn't seek MY good. If I love God, I'm seeking HIM. I am seeking His glory. That doesn't leave room to look out for my own interests, preferences, and ideas. It doesn't leave room for my vain thoughts and selfish frustrations and woeful disappointments with the fellow humans in my life.

As I reread those lines, a fleshly little voice whispers in velvet undertones, "That's too hard. Put others first? Sure. But that doesn't mean you have to make their breakfast first. You don't have to smile when your toddler keeps waking up and you're lucky to eek out a broken six hours of sleep. Get your rest, your workout, your shower, your cup of tea, and your favorite slippers. Then you can think about changing wet sheets or convincing your husband to take out the trash. Do it when it's convenient...for YOU."

Isn't that what our society is all about? Me first? "You deserve it" is the spoken or unspoken message of most commercials. "You're worth it." "You've earned it." None of the voices of pop culture are saying, "Actually, you're worth nothing, you've earned nothing, and you deserve Hell." Only the voices of truth dare to admit such harsh statements that throw our teacups and slippers for a loop.

I love the Amplified Bible's extension of this verse:

Love (God's love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking...

Not my love, but God's love in me. Not my rights, but doing what is right. Not my way, but God's way. It all sounds simple and cliche, yet when the velvety voice points out the specifics, I realize how often I seek my own interests, my own comfort, and my own way. To really change is going to take more than my will-power. I may be able to refuse a late-night snack, but I can't stand strong against the subtle temptations of selfishness on my own. "God's love in us" - that is what calms the angry, inspires the lazy, convicts the indulgent, persuades the stubborn, and drives out the selfish. The only way to stop insisting on my own rights and my own way is to fill every recess of my mind with Him. Dear Jesus, save me from the trap of always seeking my own good. In the very details of my everyday life at home, let me surrender my rights and desires to Your perfect and holy Will. Show what it really means to love You more than I love myself.

One Day, Three Emergencies, Five Lessons

It was about 10:00pm on Sunday. Don and I were just wrapping up the second meeting of our new weekly College and Career Bible Study, when we realized that the faint noise in the background was one of our boys crying. I went into their room to find Donny in great distress, and though he opened his eyes, I was knew he was not awake. We have had episodes in the past of Donny crying during the night without fully awakening, but this episode was more intense than usual. I cuddled him, sat him up, brought him into my room and turned the light on, and rocked him, but he was completely inconsolable. He continued to cry, occasionally scream, and would say a few words like, "I need" (without finishing the thought) and "Ow!" (but would not answer when I asked what hurt). I left him on my bed and sent Don in to see if he could help. I guess Donny indicated that his side hurt, which coupled with the screaming, prompted Don to have me call 911. I awkwardly said goodbye to people as I spoke to the dispatcher.

The ambulance arrived quickly, but Donny had already calmed down, and was resting on the bed with Don when the paramedics walked in. When the friendly EMT asked him questions, he responded normally, as though he was finally awake, and the only thing that hurt was his stomach, "a little." There was certainly no indication that he was on the brink of a burst appendix or kidney failure. In fact, he was fine - much to our relief!

A friend suggested the next day that Donny may have been having a night terror, and shared how her daughter had a similar experience (minus the "Ow!" cries). After reading some on the subject, I definitely think that is what Donny was experiencing. Night terrors are characterized by sudden "waking" where the person may open their eyes but does not wake up, and they experience intense fear, screaming, and crying. This would explain, too, why he often cries during the night but never describes any nightmares. Though night terrors can be scary, it is a relief to know that his cries are nothing more than an unconscious reaction to stress and fatigue.

On Monday morning, Donny was happy and healthy, but the ambulance was outside again - this time, parked at the house across the street. The boys watched the trucks intently, and after some time, we finally saw the paramedics carry out Mrs. K., our elderly neighbor, while Mr. K. followed behind. I was suspicious when I noticed that Mr. K. did not arrive home until later that night, and was accompanied by several other cars, but when I saw a large group of people, including Mr. K., exit the house in formal wear on Wednesday afternoon, I was certain: Mrs. K. had died. I found her obituary online to confirm my suspicions; she died at the hospital on Monday. I only met Mrs. K. a few times; they came to our house warming party when we first moved in, but since then our only interactions have been brief hello's at the mailbox, and Mr. K. is usually the one checking the mail. I do not think they are believers, so I welcome prayers for the right words as I draft a sympathy card, that this loss would open Mr. K. and his family to learning the Truth about eternal life in Christ.

But before we knew all this, the ambulance drove away, and we resumed our Monday morning chores. I left the boys folding laundry while I went to quickly vacuum the office, with a brief warning to Hayden as I was walking by that the way he was lying across a chair was not a good idea. A few minutes later, over the noise of the vacuum, Don and I heard sounds of screaming - which sadly, is not an unusual occurrence, since Hayden screams whenever he doesn't like what Donny is doing. I finally turned off the vacuum as Don and I called the boys to come, but no one appeared. We swiftly walked to the dining room, ready to discipline the offending parties, only to find three crying children, the chair Hayden had been lying on tipped over, and his leg wedged between the slats. According to Donny, Hayden had been standing on the chair when it fell, startling Lydia and trapping Hayden's thigh. Don promptly tipped the chair upright and attempted to free Hayden's leg, but it only seemed to become more stuck as Hayden continued to scream. Don quickly found a saw and in a minute (one of those minute-that-feels-like-20), the chair was broken, but Hayden was free.

An investigation revealed a bruise line along his right thigh, so Don set him up on the couch with some ice, and he was excused from laundry folding in order to indulge in a video day. I thought he would be fine in a few hours, but Don wanted to have a doctor check Hayden out, just in case his knee was injured. It turned out that the earliest appointment was at 4:45, and it was only 10:00 in the morning. After straightening out some questions regarding our new medical insurance, Don was advised in the afternoon to take Hayden straight to the hospital for an X-ray. The results were unclear; apparently there was a possible fracture along the growth plate in his thigh. The diagnosis was pronounced: Broken Femur. Sweet Hayden came home an hour later with his leg wrapped in a splint from thigh to toe.

Tuesday was a sitting-down day, but a fun day for the boys, who were showered with gifts of arts and crafts materials as well as a new DVD. (My favorite was the Wikki Stix - what a neat combination of toy and mess-free activity, especially for craft-loving children like mine!) Hayden had to be carried to the bathroom and from couch to couch. We were thankful to get our Thursday appointment with the orthopedic doctor moved to Wednesday morning, and equally thankful to get an appointment with a trusted orthopedic who has worked on Don, his parents, and his sisters in the past!

The orthopedic turned out to be a comical, bow-tie wearing gentleman, but as Don had assured me, he was an excellent doctor. He didn't see any break in the X-ray, and when he unwrapped Hayden's leg to poke and prod him, Hayden didn't even flinch. The doctor told Hayden what a handsome boy he is and had him try walking to Daddy, which he managed with only slight pain. His official diagnosis was not a broken bone, but a Soft Tissue Contortion. I am so thankful that my little boy who loves to run, jump, and swim won't have to spend the rest of the summer in a cast! He spent a day crawling around the house and is now limping slightly, but he seems to be healing properly. There is nothing like a few emergencies to make you appreciate your family's health and mobility!

In fact, our faithful Lord has woven several lessons of varying significance throughout this episode. To summarize:

1) There is a reason to always keep oneself and one's home looking reasonably neat and presentable. You never know when a guest may stop by with a gift, or when three men in uniform will have to race from an ambulance to your bedroom.
2) There is a reason to work out regularly. You never know when you may need to haul 30 to 40 pounds of boy from one end of the house to the other.
3) There is a reason to pray for and reach out to one's neighbors. You never know when they will be gone.
4) There is a reason to listen to one's husband. You never know when he may be right about something. ;)
5) There is a reason to read, study, and meditate on God's Word. As we discussed at our Sunday night study, the Bible tells us to count it all joy when we face trials. We can be excited about our salvation even in the midst of calamity. Our family has been singing Nehemiah 8:10 all week:

The joy of the LORD is my strength!

And He is, indeed, the source of the joy and strength that overcomes pain, suffering, and even death. Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness, for three healthy children, and for the joy of walking with You each day!

A Year of Smiles

Dear Princess Lydia,

It is hard to believe that you are really a year old. Not long ago, you made your long-awaited entrance into the world, and we carried home our first bundle of sweet pink girliness. You spent two months wanting to be held constantly (and crying if we had the audacity to put you down!), but soon developed a beautiful smile that you have been using generously ever since.

With your happy disposition, you have earned the nickname Smiley Face, among others. I call you many variations of your name, including (but not limited to!) Lyddie, Lyddie Bitty, Lyd, Lyds, Lydsey, Lydsey-anna, and Lizard. Until recently, your movement reminded me more of a seal than a lizard, since you moved by pulling with your arms while your body flopped along behind.

You are not walking yet, as your brothers were attempting at this age, but that is just fine with me. I always tell people that I am in no hurry for those milestones, especially the ones that will enable you to make more messes! Yet even though you are a proficient crawler now who can pull up to a stand and climb onto the boys' mattresses, you don't seem to get into too much mischief. Perhaps you are too preoccupied watching your brothers' antics and sampling their abandoned toys to go off in search of trouble.

When I first tried to introduce you to food around eight months of age, you had little interest, and it has increased only slightly since then. At first, you refused to open your mouth for a spoon, and if I managed to sneak something in there, it eventually came back out. From eight to nine months you would gnaw on toast strips, but that was the extent of your food consumption. Now you regularly eat fried egg yolk bits, Cheerios, and apple wedges, and will accept yogurt off a spoon. Most other tidbits of meat, veggies, and breads are tossed on the floor. You have had the same six teeth - four on top and two on bottom - for several months. In recent weeks you have developed an affinity for your sippy cup of water, but nursing is still your primary means of nutrition. You nurse every few hours around the clock, especially to fall asleep. Just last night, you looked at me while nursing and signed "milk" just like I was signing to you. It is so exciting to see you learning to communicate!

You have a crib in our room where you'll briefly repose in the late evening, but you do most of your sleeping on Mumma and Daddy's bed. If a long nursing session doesn't put you to sleep, then snuggling up on Daddy's chest inevitably will. Your bedtime varies, but you wake up sometime between 6:30 and 8am, ready to start another day of discovering the world. When I put you down and you want to be held, you'll cry and bang your forehead on the floor, which has resulted in some bruises. Most of the time, however, you can be distracted with a toy, a song, or if nothing else, I can hold you on my hip while I go about my chores. It is easy to take you anywhere, as you are generally good-natured.

In the past month or so, you have been a bit more wary of strangers, and when passed around at a party you look for Mumma and make "Mmm!" noises to let me know you want to return. You spend much of our time in public snuggled on my front in the Ergo, where you sneak smiles at admirers and then turn away bashfully. You adore your brothers and always perk up when Daddy comes home; in fact, Daddy makes you laugh more than anyone else in the world. Your baby babble can be quite loud at times, while at other times you are quiet and snuggly, or mirthful and silly.

Dear Lyddie, you have made our lives busier, fuller, and so much sweeter. I praise God for giving us this wonderful year! And as you continue to grow, I pray that you will come to know your Creator and to walk in His ways, that your joy may be full.

Here is how you have grown!















With what shall I come before the LORD
and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?

Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of oil?
Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

~ Micah 6:6-8

The Tale of the Cow Mug: A Story of Sacrifice

It is "Good" Friday. Throughout this week's studies of goats, Passover, and the Easter story, one word keeps surfacing as a clear theme: sacrifice. Even the Veggie Tales DVD I selected at the library - "A Lesson in Sharing," which seemed appropriate for the constant squabbles in our home - used the word in the very fitting verse at the end:

Let us not forget to do good, and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased. Hebrews 13:16

The boys excitedly note the use of their new vocab word, and again I find myself trying to explain it in a way that small children can comprehend. Sacrifice, I tell them, is not quite the same as sharing. I attempt to illustrate the difference between sharing a favorite toy and an old unwanted toy. They still aren't quite grasping it, so I explain that God wants our best...not the old mushy grapes from our fruit bowl, not the ones that we were going to throw away anyway; He wants the plumpest, juiciest, most perfect unblemished grapes. Giving away a rotten grape is easy. Throwing away a flawless, delicious piece of fruit that you really want to eat is a sacrifice.

Of course, to almost anyone, a grape is nothing. What we consider a sacrifice is all in our perspective. What would be a sacrifice to you? Giving up an opportunity to sleep in? A vacation? Your TV? (Maybe just one of many TVs?) Your car? Your gym membership? Your career? With all the material abundance our family has been blessed with, it can be challenging to teach our children to truly appreciate their possessions, activities, and relationships. Meal time, in particular, provides ample opportunities for practice. I strive to teach them that it really doesn't matter who gets the yellow napkin and who uses the orange one. They need to say "Thank you" for their not-quite-favorite food instead of complaining that they would rather have something else. And milk, I assure Donny, will taste the same no matter what glass, bottle, or mug it is sipped from. But children, in many ways, are tiny versions of adults, and the selfishness so easily observed in their behavior is just as likely, though perhaps not visibly, to manifest in us.

This winter, my five year old has enjoyed having his milk warmed up at mealtime in a ceramic mug, and one of his favorite mugs is the cow mug. My cow mug, to be exact. In 1999, I received two mugs featuring a print of cows in a field, along with some hot cocoa packets, as a Christmas gift. Since I happened to be big fan of cows, the mugs were lovingly displayed in my bedroom until I got married and added them to my kitchen cupboard. (Don't worry, the hot cocoa was consumed long ago!) They are my favorite mugs, one of which I keep in the back of the cupboard as a spare, of sorts, while the other is my cup of choice for the decaf tea or other warm drinks I periodically enjoy in winter. Since I do all of the drink-pouring in our home, my mug selection has never been in question until recently. Now suddenly, another person is requesting my preferred vessel. And while I constantly remind him that it does not matter which mug I give him, and that he needs to be thankful regardless of the pattern on his cup, I find my own sinful nature hesitant to display such contentment. I reach for the cow mug and claim it for myself whenever I can. And when Donny requests it, I may not burst into tears like my favorite kindergartener, but I reluctantly pour his milk, silently feeling some tiny twinge of resentment that views this completely insignificant act as some kind of sacrifice.

They say that the best way to truly understand a subject is to teach it. And so, I (try to) teach my children gratitude, and contentment, and unselfishness. As I instruct them, I feel the sting of conviction in my own conscience when I desire what I don't have, or hold too tightly to what I do have. Sharing my favorite mug, I must understand, may be difficult because of my selfish nature, but it is not a noteworthy sacrifice. In fact, I should count very little, if anything, that I do for my Lord as a sacrifice. The daily dying to self that makes marriage work and raises healthy children is only my duty as a lowly servant of the King. Whether it means giving up sleep to comfort a sick child or drinking my tea in only my second-favorite mug, no act of love is too much for God to ask of me. It seems ridiculous even to compare it.

If we want to teach our children about sacrifice, we have to look beyond our kitchen table and up at the cross. The Father who gave His one and only Son made the greatest sacrifice in the history of time. Jesus Christ, though He never sinned, willingly gave His life for my selfishness and discontent and every other ugly thing that has ever marred the beauty of His world. That, my children, is sacrifice. May every cross, every lamb, and every mug of warm milk remind us of that precious fact.

Glory in the Sticks

But ask the animals, and they will teach you,
or the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,
or let the fish of the sea inform you.
Which of all these does not know
that the hand of the LORD has done this?
Job 12:7-9

This afternoon was an amazing 70 degrees outside, and it was the perfect day for an adventure in our yard. With Lydia in the Ergo, and the boys dressed in their boots, we set out to explore the woods beside our house.


Believe it or not, in the 15 months that we have owned this home, I have never been to that part of our property…and our land is less than an acre! Our side yard is a wooded corner lot, providing just a taste of forest wonders before one meets the road, and until today I never had the simultaneous time, desire, and appropriate weather to investigate it. Today, after a brief lesson on the proper method of carrying a walking stick (so as not to impale one's brother), our first stop was by the edge of the large ditch that still held water from last weekend’s heavy rains. The boys thought it was the perfect spot to go fishing.


They found a “cuttlefish” plastic soda bottle and some “jellyfish” made of pine needle muck. Watching them play at the water’s edge reminded me of my own childhood, when I would explore the woods behind our house, making up all kinds of stories in my imagination as I crossed brooks, gathered sticks, and played beneath spruce trees. When they were done fishing, we investigated some fallen trees – and even a fallen telephone pole – and gathered some nice dry sticks for Daddy to burn in our next campfire. On our way back towards the front yard, we discovered a completely isolated evergreen; amidst young and old pines, and a few maples, was a random Christmas tree!



Before heading inside, we spent some time in our little strip of front yard (the only place where we have anything that resembles grass). I let Lydia loose on the dead grass, and she was both serious and delighted with her first real outdoor encounter.



We saw the mail carrier deliver our mail, and a few neighbors visiting their mailboxes, including Mrs. K., an older lady who lives across the street. In our brief conversation about the beautiful day and how busy I must be with three children, she commented that it’s nice I can be home with them. Watching my baby girl pluck fistfuls of grass and sneak a taste of tree bark, while my boys entertain themselves by banging sticks against the maple tree, I could not agree more.





I am so privileged to have this job of teaching little ones about the world God made for us, witnessing their wonder and delight, and striving to answer their many questions. I am consumed by the great responsibility that their words, their actions, and their attitudes will be shaped by mine. And I realize that my life must be characterized by constant prayer, both in praise for God’s blessings, and in seeking wisdom for the many decisions to be made each day.

I don’t like bugs or dirt or neglecting chores that need to be completed, so I do not often look forward to taking the children outside. But once we are out there, basking in the waning sunshine, I realize how much I love it. There is something so peaceful and simple about interacting with nature, something that no human-created environment can duplicate. In the style of Charlotte Mason, I have a sense that these outdoor adventures are as much a part of the children’s education as any formal lesson. Any inconvenience of getting outside is forgotten when I realize how worthwhile it is to be there.

Raising children is a backyard adventure. There are trails to blaze, hills to climb, and mud puddles to wade through. It takes time away from other activities that we may prefer, but with the right attitude, we find it rewarding. It may not have the glamorous sound of other professions, any more than exploring our yard sounds like swimming the English Channel or hiking through Yellowstone. It is full of things that seem commonplace on the surface: sticks and stones and trees; crawling and reading and baths and laundry. Yet when we take a few moments to examine the pattern of a leaf, to feel the texture of grass or a smooth stone, to discover the brilliant color of a wildflower, we realize that God’s glory is revealed right here in the small things. I may not be feeding orphans in the streets of India or preaching the Gospel to African tribes, but I am here in the yard, doing the work God gave me, and seeing His glory in the sticks and stones and smiles.

Thank you Lord, for blessing me with three willing explorers, and for Your faithful guidance as I help them discover the world.

Seed-Bearing Fruit

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."
John 15:5

Motherhood, as all mothers know, has some ugly moments - and ugly days. I have shared glimpses (trust me, they were just glimpses!) into such times in my own life in previous blog posts. Any day has the potential for ugliness, for sin to creep in and eat away at the blessings of domestic life, but each day also has the potential to be an occasion of joy and thankfulness to the Lord. And today, I am happy to report, was not an ugly day.

In fact, the day started off with some of my favorite routine activities: snuggling between a sweet baby and her wonderful daddy, an early morning workout, a hot shower, and a hot breakfast. Despite the imperfections (a wet boy with wet sheets that now needed washing, just two days after I last changed them), the morning was altogether pleasant. This was partly due to the fact that both my workout and shower were surprisingly free of the usual (and often frustrating) interruptions.

Instead of leaving the children to their own devices while I washed off, I set up Lydia on her blanket with toys, and the boys close beside, each with a pile of laundry to fold and put away. Laundry is the boys' least favorite of their regular chores, and the mere mention of it often elicits groans, whines, or mysterious disappearances. Upon seeing Donny's chagrined face this morning, I encouraged him to please God, to please Mumma and Daddy, and to displease Satan by folding the laundry with a joyful heart. I reminded both children that God is watching them even when Mumma cannot, and that they would choose between consequences for disobedience or the rewards of completing their task before my return. I dared not expect too much - after all, there are many days when I command, "Fold the laundry," with repeated warnings and reminders, and the task still takes three times longer than it should. Yet I stepped out of the room hoping that today, after my gentle explanation and encouraging reminders, would be different.

And it was! I enjoyed a refreshingly unhurried shower, got dressed, and returned to find Lydia still playing on her blanket, and the boys putting away the last of the laundry they had folded. What joy to a mother's heart, to see her children obey completely! I have a strong suspicion that the time I spent in explanations and encouragement - the fruit of gentleness and patience displayed in me, by the grace of God - was what made the difference between an ugly morning of incomplete chores and a the joyful morning I experienced.

There was more encouragement later, while we ran errands. The cashier in the grocery store recognized us, and told the woman in line behind us how good my children are, and how the boys are always such good helpers with the groceries. It's true; they may have occasions of whining, begging, or spilling their snacks, but for the most part, the boys are great grocery helpers - especially when we get home, and they help me put all the food away!

Now of course, my three children did not suddenly morph into perfect, sinless creatures, or even into completely obedient little soldiers. By the end of day, discipline for bad attitudes and delayed obedience was necessary. Yet by the grace of God, the day did not go sour. I was able to remain patient and calm, correcting what needed correction, and helping my children come to a place of repentance for their sin. And in those moments, moments that could easily have taken an ugly turn, I saw God's hand at work. I saw spiritual fruit in myself: a gentle patience that is so often lacking when I am not connected to the Vine. Had I flared up in anger or collapsed in discouragement, I would not have experienced the peace of walking with God and leading my little ones to His feet. If selfishness had crept in, I would have been too self-occupied to notice the many blessings laced throughout my day.

In a similar way, today I saw fruit in my children, which encouraged me that the praying and Bible reading and verse memorizing and hymn singing and theological discussions are not just producing well-educated hypocrites. It seems that somewhere in their childish hearts, a seed has been planted, a seed that I pray daily will grow and blossom, that my children may come to truly know Christ as their Savior. Today I witnessed the fruit of my labors: children are not born knowing how to put away laundry or be cheerful in the grocery store, but consistent training in the ways of the Lord is effective.

I wanted to record today's events, however unexciting they may seem to some, to encourage myself and my readers not to give up on the ugly days. Get connected to the true Vine, find peace and refreshment there, and watch as the fruit you bear for Him produces seed for the next generation.

Let the Children Come

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me,
and do not hinder them,
for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
Matthew 19:14

Throughout the month of December, in the midst of tree trimmings and family gatherings and stockings overflowing with candy, the Lord has continually pressed one idea upon my heart: these days with my little ones are so very precious. This earthly life is so fleeting anyway, and as any parent will agree, children grow up too quickly. Don shared that one of his coworkers was surprised when, at his six year old daughter's birthday party, someone told him, "Congratulations, you're one third of the way through!" While parenting is in many ways a life-long job, these years of raising young children are a special time that we can never get back. Our children's beliefs, values, and character are being formed and molded before our eyes each day. With Hayden recently turning three, Donny turning five, and Lydia reaching the half-year mark, I am reminded that they will not be little forever, and I must cherish each day that the Lord graciously gives me with them. A verse from the poem "Song for a Fifth Child" by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton has been echoing through my mind:

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

So in recent weeks, I have been more mindful to savor the moments of nursing my smiley baby Lydia, or hugging my snuggly Hayden, or learning the intricate imaginations of Donny's five year old mind. Yet today the Lord convicted me, as He has in the past, of missing opportunities, not to merely enjoy my children, but to teach them to love his Word. After a few years of reading children's Bibles, I read through Mark and Acts with the boys, reading a half chapter or more before they went to bed each night. After Lydia arrived, we struggled to finish the final chapters of Paul's journeys chronicled in Acts. And now that Don is working evenings again and Hayden requires a nebulizer treatment before bed, I often find that I don't "feel like" reading a Bible story. Sometimes there are dishes to wash and diapers to change, other days it's just too late by the time the boys have jammies on and teeth brushed, many days Lydia is fussy right at the time they are getting ready for bed, but whatever the excuse, regular scheduled Bible time continually gets pushed aside.

With this in mind tonight, while Hayden sat on the couch breathing in his asthma medication, I opened up his children's Bible and raised my voice over the loud hum of the nebulizer machine to read, "Jesus loves the little children." While I read the rhyming words of the toddler storybook, I envisioned the scene I have read so many times in the familiar passage from Mark:

People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.
Mark 10:13-16

If you have children, or have ever met one, you know that their presence is not always desirable. If they are anything like some children I know, they will interrupt your conversations, wake up when you want to sleep, crowd your bed or lap or personal space, and pound the bathroom door the second you lock it behind you, insisting that they have to go "right now!" They assault your ears with bickering and repetitive songs, your eyes with messy faces and messy bedrooms, and your nose with noxious diapers and garlic hommus breath. And yet, Jesus - God Himself! - told His disciples to bring those little people to His arms. He put His gentle Hands on them, never averting His eyes from their uncombed hair or despairing over their childish antics, and held them up as an example of faith for us. He commanded us to let the children come to Him. And how, I wonder, can I obey this command unless I take their hands and lead them to His loving arms?

Father God, how often do I miss an opportunity to bring my children before you! When I am too busy, too self-absorbed, too discouraged by their disobedience and noise and mess, you still want them to come to you. You see in children that something that I only catch a glimmer of during their before-meal prayers or their peacefully sleeping faces: an uncompromised faith and trust in you. Let me remember that always, and cherish each moment with them not just because they are my precious children, but because they are yours. Help me to carve out moments to build Lego creations and color pictures and sing songs with them because the days are fleeting. But even if I am never the "fun" mom or the perfect mom, even if I miss opportunities to play, or fail to keep their toys perfectly organized, or if dinner consists of peanut butter sandwiches for several nights in a row, let me never fail to bring my children to you. As you draw me closer to Yourself, may my children develop the same passion to know the living God, and to live their lives in accordance with Your Word.

In the coming year, I pray that I will make the most of every moment, living each day to be more like Christ. In doing so, may I never hinder my children from knowing their Heavenly Father. As I bask in their smiles, their hugs, and their stories, may I remember that every moment counts...and that this moment is one of the few precious ones I have to show them what true Love looks like.

Lydia's First Quarter

Believe it or not, sweet Lydia is already more than three months old. Sometime around two months postpartum, I lost track of her age in weeks. I know it will be just the blink of an eye before I am baking her first birthday cake!

I have to admit, although life is busy with three small children, Lydia is the easiest three month old I have had. In her newborn days, she cried whenever I put her down, but in recent weeks she has been content to stretch and smile while playing in her baby gym or lying on a blanket. For the most part, she only fusses when she is wet, tired, or hungry...or when I (attempt to) clean the grub out of her stinky neck folds. She is certainly the most smiley baby in our family. Though she has been smiling at random times since birth, her first seemingly responsive smile was delivered at five weeks. Since then, the amount of smile time has increased each day, and she now spends long periods enchanting us with her mirthful grins.

Another wonderful improvement has been in her sleep habits. Even in the early weeks, she typically had a stretch of four or five hours of sleep during the night. Then she fell into a pattern of sleeping from 12 to 6, but her wide-awake and often fussy periods in the late evenings left me quite sleepy. Around two months old, she started sleeping for even longer periods, up to eight hours, and now she typically goes to bed around 10pm, may or may not wake up to nurse in the early morning, and gets up for the day around 7:30. After having two boys who wanted to nurse every two hours around the clock for most of the first year, these full nights of sleep have been an unexpected blessing. Her tendency to sleep in makes it easier to get breakfast on the table or get ready for church on Sunday mornings. She sleeps well in her own bed or mine, on her back or (shh!) on her belly, and is quite likely to wake up full of smiles!

She continues to nurse well, to adapt well to different situations, and to patiently tolerate her brothers' affections. We are so blessed to have such a happy, healthy little girl in our family. Here's how the princess has grown in her first quarter!





Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good.
1 Peter 2:2,3

An Inconvenient Life

...And live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. - Ephesians 5:2

Americans love convenience. The easiest road is the best one, we reason. Drive-through windows, fast food, remote controls, cruise control, and diet pills (because who actually wants to exercise to lose weight?) are just a sampling of the many products of our ease-loving society. Do you want to know something about anything? No need to bother with the old-fashioned strategies of 1)Looking it up in an encyclopedia at the library or 2) Calling your parents to ask. Simply "Google" it and learn everything you need to know on Wikipedia. And if by some chance you are not near a computer or other device with internet capabilities, a new service promises to send the answer to any question to your cell phone via text message, for only $.99 an answer. A waste of money? Maybe. But like with ATM and pizza delivery fees, people are willing to pay for convenience.

Just this week, I experienced an easier-than-usual outing that made me consider the convenience factor in motherhood. While the boys spent a day with their grandparents, I took advantage of the relative freedom, and ran errands with no one but my three week old Lydia. It was so much easier to get out of the house with only one little person to bundle, buckle, pack for, and keep fed and happy during the outing - at least when compared to outings with two or three (or more) children. We even left the house at an unusual hour - the boys' lunch and nap time - just because we could; Lydia's naptime is anytime, and I made sure to feed her just before heading out the door. Of course, I still had to keep her need for milk and clean diapers in mind as she and I ventured in and out of the pharmacy and library. In the grocery store, I kept the cart moving through the aisles to prevent any unhappy awakenings. And as I precariously balanced groceries for four other people around Lydia's infant seat, I could not help but think how easy shopping must be for people who have no children to worry about.

In fact, there are many aspects of life that would be easier without the inconvenient cares of a family. When I run out of eggs or my nightly ice cream, it would be nice to hop in the car without a second thought, instead of packing a bag and wrestling three little people into carseats and carriages for a few measly groceries (and in actuality, I am much more likely to live without the missing item than to attempt the latter scenario). It would be easier to keep the floors clean (and oh, how I love clean floors!) if there were no muddy-shoed guests, toilet training accidents, or sticky bananas and soggy Cheerios dropped at mealtime. And having a newborn can be particularly inconvenient, especially if she is the sort to cry whenever one attempts to put her down. My ability to do things that other people take for granted - like sleep, shower, or make and eat dinner - is often squelched by my lack of free hands while I cradle a tiny baby. I cannot go on a cruise (babies must be at least six months old), or plan an impromptu movie date without finding a babysitter, or dash out the door with the careless freedom of the single world. There is nothing convenient about cleaning up spills or being woken up at 3am or comforting a sick child or cleaning up messes from a sick child at 3am.

But honestly, would I trade my family for the sake of convenience? Never. What would be the point in concocting a delicious meal if there were no loved ones to enjoy it (or at least eat the minimum number of required bites)? If I dropped my children off at daycare to get some "me time" or make errands easier, I would miss out on the joys of teaching, playing with, and caring for them. I don't mind exchanging the convenience of free hands and free time for the sweetness of snuggling my precious baby. And though families are messy and time-consuming, I would much rather be loved in an imperfect home than lonely in a spotless one. It might be nice to have a job that ends at 5:00 with no late-night calls, but even with its crazy hours, I love the job that God has given me.

Besides, God has not called us to an easy life. I cannot find a single Biblical reference commanding us to bear or raise children - or do anything, for that matter - according to what is convenient. Instead, He calls us to live a life of love and sacrifice. Some sacrifices are grand and admirable, but much more often (and especially for mothers), they are small and unseen, like running errands with three children in tow - or staying home when it would be nice to get out. If I do them with joy, the mountains of dirty diapers, dishes, and laundry I tackle are not a burden, but a fragrant offering to God. I may not be able to complete all of my projects, or have time to unwind at the end of the day, or go to the bathroom without children banging on the door, but instead of becoming resentful, I can choose to see these little sacrifices as my offering to my family, and to God.

I am typing this with a baby asleep on my lap. It might be easier, and less strain on my back, to blog without a sleepy spectator between me and the laptop screen. But I cannot imagine trading these sweet little sighs and fluttering eyelids for all the ergonomic chairs in the world. And tonight, when the house is in a state of disarray and I am needing a shower and my dinner is cold because Princess Lydia likes to have all of Mumma's attention in the evenings, may I praise God for every inconvenience that gives me opportunity to sacrifice. Just as Christ gave himself for us, I pray that I will be willing to give myself for my husband and children.

Dear friends, spend your money on pizza delivery and text messages if you choose, but let us spend our lives in loving sacrifice for others.

Notes to a Newborn

Dear Lydia Faith,

It was just two and a half weeks ago that you made your grand entrance into the world. Despite the drama of labor and your surgical birth, your life outside the womb has been happy and healthy so far. Your early scowl quickly gave way to a variety of expressions, including sweet smiles and the rooting "popeye" face. You are a great nurser; in the hospital, the lactation consultant noted that you have a very powerful suck, and at your two week checkup, you had already gained a pound and grown an inch! While lying down, you wiggle and roll from side to stomach. In typical newborn fashion, you sleep a lot, sometimes in a deep sleep, and sometimes in a light, twitchy sleep that exists only as long as some warm arms are holding you. You can be quite vocal if your needs are not attended to immediately, but so long as you are fed, burped, changed, and held, you are content.

You are the perfect addition to our little family. Your two older brothers adore you; Donny lets you suck his knuckle, Hayden gives you hugs and kisses, and they both like to visit with you and sing songs to you. I am more in love with your Daddy than ever to see him hold you and know that God has used him and me to create these beautiful children. Everyone is happy to have a girl in the family, and even people we don't know are sending little dresses for you to wear and pink fuzzy blankets to keep you warm. It is fun to dress you in bubblegum pink baby gowns and cloth diapers, adding a softly feminine touch to your infantile innocence. You are the princess, not the spoiled brat princess, but one who is born to royalty and great expectations. We do not yet know what your personality will be like, but we expect you to conduct yourself as a proper little lady. And like the Lydia of the Bible, we pray that the Lord would open your heart to the gospel, that you might become a woman of faith and a worshiper of God.

For now, you are everything a newborn should be: small, sweet, sleepy, soft-skinned, and wonderfully precious. I delight in every part of your little body, from the scent of your softly fuzzy head to your tiny fingers and toes, your penetrating dark blue eyes, your perfect button nose, the nursing callous on your upper lip, your funny folded legs and feet, and even your cheesy-smelling neck folds. I keep you near me by holding you with one arm when we are busy at home, wearing you in a carrier when we are out, and cuddling you close when it is time to sleep. I could snuggle with you and watch your face for hours on end, because I know these days are all too fleeting, and I want to soak up every moment of your babyhood.

You will be an infant for such a short time, and a newborn for even less than that. All too soon you will be a toddler, a girl, and someday, a woman. When that day comes, I hope that you will be as blessed as I am, to hold your baby in your arms and know that he or she is a perfect, precious gift from a perfect, holy God. I pray that you will welcome your own children as blessings, just as we have joyfully welcomed you into our family and our lives.

Sweet Lyddie Bitty, I am so thankful for the privilege of being your mother. You are a precious gift from God!



Yet you brought me out of the womb;
you made me trust in you
even at my mother's breast.
From birth I was cast upon you;
from my mother's womb you have been my God.
Psalm 22:9-10

Raising Little Disciples

Train a child in the way he should go,
and when he is old he will not turn from it.
Proverbs 22:6

I firmly believe, and have mentioned before, that children are blessings. They are precious gifts from God that we are to welcome, treasure, and raise up for His glory.

But though they are blessings, children are still human - imperfect humans who can cause even the most joyful mother to shake her head in disapproval or walk away in discouragement. Lately, I have sadly noticed a tendency to find more frustration than joy in my own children. Though I love them and thank God for them daily, I have become discouraged by the seemingly constant complaining, arguing, crying, and disobedience. Instead of enjoying my children, I confess that I have often been enduring them.

Thankfully, the Lord in His wisdom gave me a gentle reminder: children need to be discipled. Yes, they need to be disciplined also, and we have been faithful in that, but discpleship is something more. It involves a relationship where the teacher instructs the student in specific doctrines, creating a faithful follower. While I do use Scripture to remind my children of how God wants them to act, I have been slack in bringing them to the Word simply to love it and learn how to live it. How can I expect my children to act like Christians without taking the time to teach them how to BE Christians? And if adult Christians need regular time in the Word in order to grow spiritually, why would the same not be true for little ones?

I realized recently that it had been a long while since I had a time of devotions with the boys. We used to spend time every morning reading a devotional book, reciting Bible verses, and practicing obedience. Then a few months ago, when our mornings started to fill up with outings - errands, doctor's visits, and even Bible study - our times of daily devotions were pushed aside. Once we got out of the habit, it ceased to even cross my mind. Breakfast, bath, and laundry are always done, but the Bible was forgotten.

Likewise, Bible time has been crowded out of our evenings. With frequent guests, occasional social gatherings to attend, and now Daddy coming home later, we are often getting the boys ready for bed later than usual. While I would never fail to brush their teeth, we skip Bible story whenever bedtime runs late. Our former nightly ritual has become an occasional treat for calmer evenings. Thus while I have continued my own quiet time, my children have not had the benefit of regularly learning and studying God's Word.

So last night, without regard for the clock, I made a point to sit down and read a Psalm to Donny, explaining what the words meant as I read. And this morning, just as I was about to escort two boys to the bathtub, I remembered. I pulled out the devotional book we bought a few months ago - the one we had only read two pages of as of this morning. Today, the children and I read a short entry about wisdom, a fitting character trait to learn from Proverbs, the Book of Wisdom.

When instructing them in the Word of God, I expect the children to sit quietly and listen and obey directions. When my expectations went unmet this morning, we moved into discipline and discussion of the lack of wisdom they were displaying. It was ugly - as sin always is, whether my children's or my own. But eventually, everyone was calm enough to play a round of The Obedience Game. When met with consistency and patience, the sin nature submitted to the joy of obedience.

The Obedience Game is much like Simon Says: I give an instruction to one or both children, and they are to carry it out immediately with a joyful exclamation of, "Yes Mumma!" I often send them to another room to practice obeying, "Come to Mumma!" Other times, they have to jump, put their hands on their head, or pick up toys. Although we have only played the game a few times since moving here in December, the boys immediately remembered it and were, as usual, eager to play. They happily followed instructions and called, "Yes Mumma!" until we concluded the game for a short bath. When it comes to making obedience fun, this game definitely works for us!

I would like to tell you that the children and I both exhibited flawless behavior for the rest of the day, but that would be entirely untrue. Hayden cried for no reason, insisted on buckling himself into his booster seat despite my warnings that no one would unbuckle him, and then cried over the consequences of being stuck in his seat. Donny made a mess with his yogurt and I got angry. But afterwards, we seemed to find a resolution sooner than we would have the day before. I had hope for my children. And being aware of my own part in the chaos helped me to control my responses.

I think my recent frustration has been that I am constantly reacting to issues instead of acting to prevent them. I have stamped on fires, irritated that the same ones flare up whenever my back is turned, without taking sufficient time to eliminate the cause of the smouldering flames.

I am realizing that it is not enough to wait for a problem (and the wait may not be a long one!) before offering a lesson from God's Word. My children need to be constantly, patiently, lovingly instructed in His ways. If I want them to grow up to be followers of Christ, I must teach them what it means to be a follower, and gently help them toward that goal.

Children are always blessings, but I will only reap the benefits of those blessings when I invest myself in training them. By going to the Word together, all of us imperfect humans can grow towards being the blessings to others that God intended us to be.