A friend of mine posted something amusing on my Facebook page this morning. Murphy's Laws of Motherhood. You know what it's about. If you change your clothes, the baby will spit up on you. If you tell a child no, they will. If you want them to sleep, they won't.
I spend the day working to maintain a practical schedule that incorporates my to-dos and meets my kids' needs. But it can only account for a certain amount of the unpredictable. Really, motherhood is managed chaos. The only thing predictable about it, is that there WILL be unpredictability!
Some days have a little more of this craziness than others though. That was my Monday afternoon. I had a dentist appointment, and I had planned to the minute everything that would need to be prepared and accomplished in order to exit the house and arrive on time. Of course, that would be the day of multiple fits, the dogs refusing to go "potty" and repeatedly tangling their leashes, the baby pooping in his new diaper as we're about to walk out the door and, the icing on the cake (or last straw, whichever witticism seems most appropriate), my toddler falling out of the car while I was occupied getting the baby settled and before I could buckle her in...and busting her lip. She screamed and flailed, and I tried to slow the flow of blood with my shirt, which I didn't have time to run back inside to change. And so I put the whimpering child in her car seat, with her fat lip growing ever plumper, feeling more than a little harried and disheveled (and now dirty!) and...of course...I got behind someone going 45 mph in a 55 mph zone all the way to the dentist when already running late.
Days like that just feel so infuriating! Who ever said life the plain old family life was boring?! It is anything but that! And while sometimes the unpredictability can feel overwhelming and stressful, at the heart of it, and the point of the cute little post on my wall, is that in the middle of all this mess is a family I love and delight in!
Sure, I cringed today when my toddler daughter came running the minute I turned on the water in the kitchen sink, as if I was filling it with hot, sudsy water for the sole purpose of her enjoyment and play. It would be so much easier to have straightforward and uninterrupted dish duty. But right when I was beginning to grit my teeth over all the water she had poured on herself and the floor, she cheered me with a "Beep, beep Mommy" and a little hip bump to move me out of the way as she stretched her arms into the water.
Motherhood has never been boring! Even the repetition of daily tasks is infused with the unpredictable! And it's oh so sweet, even in the mess of it all, to see those little grins and just give in to this "boring" life...and it's mud-holes and skinned knees and sleepless nights and tears and drawings on the wall and Tu-tus and too-big boots and Legos and Hot-wheels and laughter and bugs and grass stains and dog-eared books and hugs...and love!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Night Terror
I've been through the baby stage six times now, and my kids are all great sleepers. I don't run to them every time they fuss in the night. More often than not, they fall back to sleep without difficulty. But my little Renn has been having a rough week. For reasons I was unable to pinpoint, he started waking up multiple times throughout the night, crying uncontrollably. This crying, this has been different. It sounds, desperate. It sounds, not normal. But when my husband or I try to soothe him, he is almost inconsolable. It's been exhausting and frustrating.
I've gone through every explanation I can think of. Congestion? Sinus pressure? Ear ache? Headache? In an effort to rule out anything that might be causing actual pain and require medication, we went to the doctor yesterday. I was anxious. My gut told me this wasn't going to be a physiological thing, something medically treatable. But, in order to be thorough, we went anyway.
The doctor pronounced him a perfectly healthy baby. So...the problem is more than likely behavioral. The doctor suggested that Renn was either experiencing some very intense separation anxiety or experiencing night terrors. Just the sound of that was scary.
I went home and researched it. That's what I do. I get information so I can get a handle on the situation, regain some control. Unfortunately, though children usually outgrow night terrors by adolescence, there is no real treatment for them. They just...happen. This, this is terrifying to me.
I don't have many dreams myself, but when I do, the scariest ones are about losing my husband or children. Some harm befalling them. The scary thing about the possibility of night terrors? Not necessarily the thing itself, but the fact that something could happen to my child that I could do absolutely nothing about. Couldn't prevent. Couldn't help. Couldn't treat. Couldn't control.
I realized how little I understand about life with less-than-normally-healthy children. Nothing. Perhaps I could offer encouragement or sympathy to someone in that position. But empathy? No. What do I know about a child being afflicted with something that you can do nothing about? I know so many who walk that hard road on a daily basis, and I am in awe of them. I cannot even pretend to know what their days, and dreams, are like.
But don't I know that God is sovereign in all our situations? Mine and theirs. That nothing is outside of His control. That He gives grace that is all-sufficient for every circumstance. I know this, and yet I fear to be tested in it.
We kept him in our room last night, not only so that his cries would not wake any siblings, but also so that we could observe him and get a better grip on the potential problem. After listening to his sleep pattern, his noises, his rolling around and his eventual cries, I think it's possible that he's experiencing an extreme separation anxiety rather than a traditional night terror. He seems to work himself up to the desperate cries after coming to the realization of his solitude rather than suddenly erupting in outbursts of screams and cries.
I can't help but feel relieved. To have an idea of what he's going through AND know that it's something we can work through. It's a blessing. I feel a little ashamed of my relief. Why should we receive such a blessing when many others don't? I don't know. But I'm thankful! I'm thankful for the knowledge that no matter what, my children are in the Lord's hands. He has ordained ALL their days. Some day, one of them will face something that is completely out of my hands...and I'm praying that won't be the terrifying day it could be, because I've already surrendered them to His.
I've gone through every explanation I can think of. Congestion? Sinus pressure? Ear ache? Headache? In an effort to rule out anything that might be causing actual pain and require medication, we went to the doctor yesterday. I was anxious. My gut told me this wasn't going to be a physiological thing, something medically treatable. But, in order to be thorough, we went anyway.
The doctor pronounced him a perfectly healthy baby. So...the problem is more than likely behavioral. The doctor suggested that Renn was either experiencing some very intense separation anxiety or experiencing night terrors. Just the sound of that was scary.
I went home and researched it. That's what I do. I get information so I can get a handle on the situation, regain some control. Unfortunately, though children usually outgrow night terrors by adolescence, there is no real treatment for them. They just...happen. This, this is terrifying to me.
I don't have many dreams myself, but when I do, the scariest ones are about losing my husband or children. Some harm befalling them. The scary thing about the possibility of night terrors? Not necessarily the thing itself, but the fact that something could happen to my child that I could do absolutely nothing about. Couldn't prevent. Couldn't help. Couldn't treat. Couldn't control.
I realized how little I understand about life with less-than-normally-healthy children. Nothing. Perhaps I could offer encouragement or sympathy to someone in that position. But empathy? No. What do I know about a child being afflicted with something that you can do nothing about? I know so many who walk that hard road on a daily basis, and I am in awe of them. I cannot even pretend to know what their days, and dreams, are like.
But don't I know that God is sovereign in all our situations? Mine and theirs. That nothing is outside of His control. That He gives grace that is all-sufficient for every circumstance. I know this, and yet I fear to be tested in it.
We kept him in our room last night, not only so that his cries would not wake any siblings, but also so that we could observe him and get a better grip on the potential problem. After listening to his sleep pattern, his noises, his rolling around and his eventual cries, I think it's possible that he's experiencing an extreme separation anxiety rather than a traditional night terror. He seems to work himself up to the desperate cries after coming to the realization of his solitude rather than suddenly erupting in outbursts of screams and cries.
I can't help but feel relieved. To have an idea of what he's going through AND know that it's something we can work through. It's a blessing. I feel a little ashamed of my relief. Why should we receive such a blessing when many others don't? I don't know. But I'm thankful! I'm thankful for the knowledge that no matter what, my children are in the Lord's hands. He has ordained ALL their days. Some day, one of them will face something that is completely out of my hands...and I'm praying that won't be the terrifying day it could be, because I've already surrendered them to His.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
My Valentine
This weekend my husband was cleaning out our closet and found my DD2-14. Military discharge papers. Strange, it was 13 years, to the day. I clearly remember stuffing the few civilian clothes I had into the army green duffel bag. I remember the surreal feeling of my Squad Leader, star man and PT elite (it was all stitched onto his PT shorts to prove it), approaching to wish me well, the first civil words he'd ever spoken to me. I didn't have to stand at attention anymore, but it was hard to break the ingrained habit. I remember walking out of the barracks. They seemed deserted. Everyone else was at class. I remember the long walk down to the gate...and passing through it. I remember feeling so lost and yet so free.
I checked into a little motel in town. Alone with my thoughts and all the time in the world. Time to think over every thing that had led to this moment. It already seemed like a lifetime ago that I had hurried across the apron in the dark, clutching the gray teddy bear he had given me for Valentine's just a few days before. I remember trying to shield it with my body, keeping my head down just enough so as not to attract attention, but walking with enough stature and confidence so that any upperclassman passing by would leave me alone. The bear in my arms was just another thing they'd love to harass me for, but I held onto it with a vengeance as I sped to my barracks before TAPS rang out across the grounds.
Sitting there alone, I waited for him. We were headed to his home state, Indiana, for a few weeks. It didn't help my case at all. I wasn't leaving FOR him, I assured everyone. And I wasn't. He hadn't talked me into anything. I wasn't running away with him, though I suppose that's what it looked like. I just wasn't ready to go home. I wasn't prepared. I knew my parents didn't really understand yet, although eventually they would. And I knew I couldn't expect them to be happy with my decision. I'd had phone calls, emails and messages from former teachers, mentors and other concerned adults trying to reason with me about the consequences of such a momentous choice, as if I hadn't long agonized over it myself. I couldn't to go back...to the disappointment.
I can't recount how many cadets, upperclassmen even, came up to me after it was all finalized and confided that they, too, wanted to leave, but they had Grandpa's expectations to live up to or so-and-so back home living for their achievements. For many, it would be too hard to go, no matter how much they wanted to. They felt it was easier to stay. Their empathy provided little solace. Staying wouldn't be easier for me. The other difference between me and them? I didn't really WANT to leave. I just felt like I didn't have another choice.
Basic, or BEAST, as we called it then, had gone well. I knew my knowledge front and back. I kept up with the guys in my company, even besting a few of them, which didn't do me any favors. One of them sabotaged me during a leadership training exercise by purposely ignoring my commands. But I tried to take in stride, it came with the territory. Academics were straightforward. No real difficulty there. I joined the Glee Club and loved it, even traveling around New England for performances.
Then everything changed, so fast. In November I failed a PT test. By two sit-ups. I still remember that morning, because it was the beginning. True, I should have been better prepared. But it was also 0 dark 30 during a New York winter wearing nothing but PT shorts and a t-shirt, and my muscles seized up. It didn't matter what I had done or could do. It only mattered what I did that day. Of course, when you're a soldier, that's everything. If you can't muster up when called upon, nothing else matters. I understood that, and I wanted to redeem myself.
Then, I got a concussion. I had to stop training, because any physical exertion brought on dizzy spells and a massive headache. Retaking the PT test at that time wasn't an option. I went home for Christmas leave discouraged...but not yet broken.
When I returned, I still couldn't get my feet under me. I struggled for the first time. It didn't make sense, so one morning I hung back from breakfast formation to go to sick call. It wasn't long before the results came back. Every college student's nightmare. Mono. Except, this wasn't just any college. There was no contingency plan for that type of illness then, no protocol. I went to class just like everyone else. I got up when everyone else did, stood in every formation, attended every drill, went to every intramural swim meet. It was exhausting.
The doctor put me on "profile." That meant I was technically allowed to "rest" during certain activities. That didn't go over well. Upperclassmen dropped by my room to make sure I wasn't napping and, if I was, they woke me up. I was hazed for missing one night of "duties." The upperclassman yelled in my face, "If you're not vomiting blood, you show up next time." I remember praying I would pass out right there in the hall and make him eat his words. But I didn't.
The other female plebes started to distance themselves, because I was making them look bad. Most of the male plebes were condescending at best and outright mean at worst. I tried to keep up...but I started falling asleep in my classes. My last remaining stronghold was slipping away. It felt like I was losing everything. I couldn't exercise, couldn't do all my work, couldn't sleep and couldn't talk to anyone about it. If I tried to discuss it with an officer, my upperclassmen would inevitably get in trouble...or hear about it. I was already on everyone's bad side, there was no way I wanted that reputation to be permanent.
I was backed into a corner, and the only person who listened was my husband, who served as a Ring and Crest representative with me. He was the one who finally pointed out that maintaining my health and sanity meant something. He didn't talk me into leaving. He didn't sway me one way or the other. But he did make me feel like there was at least one person in the world who wouldn't be disappointed if I did. He made it okay for me to consider it as an option.
So I did. And he did too. His term of service was complete, and his status following a shoulder surgery was questionable, at the very least making him ineligible for the branch of service he had hoped to pursue. We understood each other and stuck together. I knew people whispered about it, TAC officers asked probing questions about our future plans with knowing glances. But I wasn't leaving for him, and he never asked me to...although, he would probably say he left for me, and doesn't mind saying it. Serving in the military is an honorable profession, but he envisioned a different kind of life for himself and hoped I would some day be a part of it.
God brought him into my life right when I really needed him, and I know he would do anything for me. Drive all night after a 12-hour shift to see me on our anniversary. Move across multiple states to be near me. Work three jobs when necessary so that I could stay home with our children. He would do anything I ask and many things I don't, and I know it. I love and appreciate all that he does for me, and that gray bear still sits on our bed after ten years of marriage. Just having him in my life is truly the best Valentine's Day gift.
Many things have changed in the last 13 years. We've all moved on. I'm content with the life God has for me. It's full of blessings I could never have imagined, and I'm thankful this week for the reminder that no matter what has changed over the years, my husband's love and unconditional support for me haven't changed at all.
I checked into a little motel in town. Alone with my thoughts and all the time in the world. Time to think over every thing that had led to this moment. It already seemed like a lifetime ago that I had hurried across the apron in the dark, clutching the gray teddy bear he had given me for Valentine's just a few days before. I remember trying to shield it with my body, keeping my head down just enough so as not to attract attention, but walking with enough stature and confidence so that any upperclassman passing by would leave me alone. The bear in my arms was just another thing they'd love to harass me for, but I held onto it with a vengeance as I sped to my barracks before TAPS rang out across the grounds.
Sitting there alone, I waited for him. We were headed to his home state, Indiana, for a few weeks. It didn't help my case at all. I wasn't leaving FOR him, I assured everyone. And I wasn't. He hadn't talked me into anything. I wasn't running away with him, though I suppose that's what it looked like. I just wasn't ready to go home. I wasn't prepared. I knew my parents didn't really understand yet, although eventually they would. And I knew I couldn't expect them to be happy with my decision. I'd had phone calls, emails and messages from former teachers, mentors and other concerned adults trying to reason with me about the consequences of such a momentous choice, as if I hadn't long agonized over it myself. I couldn't to go back...to the disappointment.
I can't recount how many cadets, upperclassmen even, came up to me after it was all finalized and confided that they, too, wanted to leave, but they had Grandpa's expectations to live up to or so-and-so back home living for their achievements. For many, it would be too hard to go, no matter how much they wanted to. They felt it was easier to stay. Their empathy provided little solace. Staying wouldn't be easier for me. The other difference between me and them? I didn't really WANT to leave. I just felt like I didn't have another choice.
Basic, or BEAST, as we called it then, had gone well. I knew my knowledge front and back. I kept up with the guys in my company, even besting a few of them, which didn't do me any favors. One of them sabotaged me during a leadership training exercise by purposely ignoring my commands. But I tried to take in stride, it came with the territory. Academics were straightforward. No real difficulty there. I joined the Glee Club and loved it, even traveling around New England for performances.
Then everything changed, so fast. In November I failed a PT test. By two sit-ups. I still remember that morning, because it was the beginning. True, I should have been better prepared. But it was also 0 dark 30 during a New York winter wearing nothing but PT shorts and a t-shirt, and my muscles seized up. It didn't matter what I had done or could do. It only mattered what I did that day. Of course, when you're a soldier, that's everything. If you can't muster up when called upon, nothing else matters. I understood that, and I wanted to redeem myself.
Then, I got a concussion. I had to stop training, because any physical exertion brought on dizzy spells and a massive headache. Retaking the PT test at that time wasn't an option. I went home for Christmas leave discouraged...but not yet broken.
When I returned, I still couldn't get my feet under me. I struggled for the first time. It didn't make sense, so one morning I hung back from breakfast formation to go to sick call. It wasn't long before the results came back. Every college student's nightmare. Mono. Except, this wasn't just any college. There was no contingency plan for that type of illness then, no protocol. I went to class just like everyone else. I got up when everyone else did, stood in every formation, attended every drill, went to every intramural swim meet. It was exhausting.
The doctor put me on "profile." That meant I was technically allowed to "rest" during certain activities. That didn't go over well. Upperclassmen dropped by my room to make sure I wasn't napping and, if I was, they woke me up. I was hazed for missing one night of "duties." The upperclassman yelled in my face, "If you're not vomiting blood, you show up next time." I remember praying I would pass out right there in the hall and make him eat his words. But I didn't.
The other female plebes started to distance themselves, because I was making them look bad. Most of the male plebes were condescending at best and outright mean at worst. I tried to keep up...but I started falling asleep in my classes. My last remaining stronghold was slipping away. It felt like I was losing everything. I couldn't exercise, couldn't do all my work, couldn't sleep and couldn't talk to anyone about it. If I tried to discuss it with an officer, my upperclassmen would inevitably get in trouble...or hear about it. I was already on everyone's bad side, there was no way I wanted that reputation to be permanent.
I was backed into a corner, and the only person who listened was my husband, who served as a Ring and Crest representative with me. He was the one who finally pointed out that maintaining my health and sanity meant something. He didn't talk me into leaving. He didn't sway me one way or the other. But he did make me feel like there was at least one person in the world who wouldn't be disappointed if I did. He made it okay for me to consider it as an option.
So I did. And he did too. His term of service was complete, and his status following a shoulder surgery was questionable, at the very least making him ineligible for the branch of service he had hoped to pursue. We understood each other and stuck together. I knew people whispered about it, TAC officers asked probing questions about our future plans with knowing glances. But I wasn't leaving for him, and he never asked me to...although, he would probably say he left for me, and doesn't mind saying it. Serving in the military is an honorable profession, but he envisioned a different kind of life for himself and hoped I would some day be a part of it.
God brought him into my life right when I really needed him, and I know he would do anything for me. Drive all night after a 12-hour shift to see me on our anniversary. Move across multiple states to be near me. Work three jobs when necessary so that I could stay home with our children. He would do anything I ask and many things I don't, and I know it. I love and appreciate all that he does for me, and that gray bear still sits on our bed after ten years of marriage. Just having him in my life is truly the best Valentine's Day gift.
Many things have changed in the last 13 years. We've all moved on. I'm content with the life God has for me. It's full of blessings I could never have imagined, and I'm thankful this week for the reminder that no matter what has changed over the years, my husband's love and unconditional support for me haven't changed at all.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Day 20
476) the dollop of whipped cream on my little girl's tongue
477) the excited smile when she realized I wanted to share
478) the full-arm stretch as my baby awoke from his nap
479) the answer to prayer, the final Children's ministry position filled
480) the enthusiastic faces of my children going through their Valentines
481) the excellent and much-improved handwriting of my son
482) the cooperation of my two oldest during our drive home from school
483) the good news of additional work for my husband
484) the all-sufficient grace of God
485) the refund check from the doctor's office
486) the goofy smile of my son, accentuated by fruit snack-front teeth
487) the sweet smell of fresh pineapple
488) the sight of my son wearing a too-large Storm-trooper helmet
489) the lovely, white daisies
490) the stately, purple tulips
491) the elegant, cherry-red vase
492) the smooth, creamy, rich, dark chocolate fondue
493) the delicate cubes of pound cake
494) the sweet, juicy, large, red strawberries
495) the dainty, vanilla-cream wafers
496) the squares of Rice Krispie treat
497) the golden, cream-filled cookies
498) the fluffy, miniature marshmallows
499) the salt-encrusted pretzel sticks
500) the rectangles of crunchy graham crackers
477) the excited smile when she realized I wanted to share
478) the full-arm stretch as my baby awoke from his nap
479) the answer to prayer, the final Children's ministry position filled
480) the enthusiastic faces of my children going through their Valentines
481) the excellent and much-improved handwriting of my son
482) the cooperation of my two oldest during our drive home from school
483) the good news of additional work for my husband
484) the all-sufficient grace of God
485) the refund check from the doctor's office
486) the goofy smile of my son, accentuated by fruit snack-front teeth
487) the sweet smell of fresh pineapple
488) the sight of my son wearing a too-large Storm-trooper helmet
489) the lovely, white daisies
490) the stately, purple tulips
491) the elegant, cherry-red vase
492) the smooth, creamy, rich, dark chocolate fondue
493) the delicate cubes of pound cake
494) the sweet, juicy, large, red strawberries
495) the dainty, vanilla-cream wafers
496) the squares of Rice Krispie treat
497) the golden, cream-filled cookies
498) the fluffy, miniature marshmallows
499) the salt-encrusted pretzel sticks
500) the rectangles of crunchy graham crackers
Monday, February 6, 2012
Day 19
451) the sense of smell
452) the post-nursing, morning snuggle with my contented baby
453) the distinct laugh of each child
454) the strange and fascinating ability to dream
455) the opportunity to serve church families in the nursery
456) the many dedicated Sunday School teachers
457) the Children's Worship coordinators and volunteers
458) the impromptu finger-puppet show of my son
459) the marker-ed Goatee on my son's face
460) the sight of my daughter smashing the stinkbug with a heavy roll of duct tape
461) the kitty-cat sheet turned into a Cupid's toga
462) the thoughtfulness of my little one, retrieving the well-loved toy of her brother
463) the light swirl of drifted snow, blowing in the wind inches from the ground
464) the fantastic fantasy world of Harry Potter
465) the Biblical example of Rebekah, both faithful and fearful
466) the aroma of simmering, hearty Beef Stroganoff
467) the feeling of wearing heels around the house, just because
468) the sight of my daughter, covered in a gold throw blanket, pretending to wear an invisibility cloak
469) the rolling boil of water
470) the well-worn, maroon Airborne t-shirt of my husband
471) the twisting curl of egg noodles
472) the bright orange of fresh, sliced-open carrots
473) the sapphire blue of my baby's eyes
474) the ice cream treat for which my husband made a special grocery run
475) the joy of hearing "I love you" every day
452) the post-nursing, morning snuggle with my contented baby
453) the distinct laugh of each child
454) the strange and fascinating ability to dream
455) the opportunity to serve church families in the nursery
456) the many dedicated Sunday School teachers
457) the Children's Worship coordinators and volunteers
458) the impromptu finger-puppet show of my son
459) the marker-ed Goatee on my son's face
460) the sight of my daughter smashing the stinkbug with a heavy roll of duct tape
461) the kitty-cat sheet turned into a Cupid's toga
462) the thoughtfulness of my little one, retrieving the well-loved toy of her brother
463) the light swirl of drifted snow, blowing in the wind inches from the ground
464) the fantastic fantasy world of Harry Potter
465) the Biblical example of Rebekah, both faithful and fearful
466) the aroma of simmering, hearty Beef Stroganoff
467) the feeling of wearing heels around the house, just because
468) the sight of my daughter, covered in a gold throw blanket, pretending to wear an invisibility cloak
469) the rolling boil of water
470) the well-worn, maroon Airborne t-shirt of my husband
471) the twisting curl of egg noodles
472) the bright orange of fresh, sliced-open carrots
473) the sapphire blue of my baby's eyes
474) the ice cream treat for which my husband made a special grocery run
475) the joy of hearing "I love you" every day
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Day 18-Grace for Today
426) the spontaneous invitation for "coffee" with a friend
427) the blessing of good conversation
428) the pleasure of making a long-awaited purchase
429) the surprise of the clean, dusted, clutter-free entry-way
430) the lovely swirl of white flurries
431) the clothing purchases made
432) the opportunity to help friends
433) the emerald green winter coat
434) the freckles scattered across my son's nose and cheeks
435) the salty popcorn treat shared with family
436) the colorful abstract art at the coffee shoppe
437) the refreshment of cool, clean water
438) the excitement of making Valentines
439) the big, warm blue blanket, perfect for couch-cuddling
440) the dog's perked dachshund ears
441) the sound of the wind whipping past the house
442) the full, stocked refrigerator
443) the willingness of my husband to watch movies I enjoy
444) the update from an old acquaintance and family
445) the opportunity to reach out in encouragement and prayer
446) the desire of all my children to offer thanks for their meals
447) the minty freshness of toothpaste
448) the creamy ivy vines climbing the height of my dining room curtains
449) the addition of an exciting, new book for my to-read stack
450) the happy, contented puppy curled up in a furry, black ball
427) the blessing of good conversation
428) the pleasure of making a long-awaited purchase
429) the surprise of the clean, dusted, clutter-free entry-way
430) the lovely swirl of white flurries
431) the clothing purchases made
432) the opportunity to help friends
433) the emerald green winter coat
434) the freckles scattered across my son's nose and cheeks
435) the salty popcorn treat shared with family
436) the colorful abstract art at the coffee shoppe
437) the refreshment of cool, clean water
438) the excitement of making Valentines
439) the big, warm blue blanket, perfect for couch-cuddling
440) the dog's perked dachshund ears
441) the sound of the wind whipping past the house
442) the full, stocked refrigerator
443) the willingness of my husband to watch movies I enjoy
444) the update from an old acquaintance and family
445) the opportunity to reach out in encouragement and prayer
446) the desire of all my children to offer thanks for their meals
447) the minty freshness of toothpaste
448) the creamy ivy vines climbing the height of my dining room curtains
449) the addition of an exciting, new book for my to-read stack
450) the happy, contented puppy curled up in a furry, black ball
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Day 17-Perseverance
I distinctly remember the day I came home from high school and determined that I was going to West Point. I knew it would be an arduous and difficult path, requiring a great deal of hard work. The first step, aside from all the paperwork, academic requirements, exams and tests, was simple. Get into better shape. Sharpen my physical abilities. Increase my stamina. The best way to begin? Run.
So, I did. Every day.
I was never a natural runner. It was always difficult. And if I improved, I adjusted my goal. Run farther. Run faster. Run longer. It was never easy. Anyone who runs or has run should understand. The better you become, the more you push yourself. A race is as much about perseverance as it is about ability. It begins with a burst of energy, finding your stride, settling into a pace. But the middle can get rough. The middle is about finding the desire to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Staying on course. Persevering all the way until the end.
Maybe it's natural for some, but every run was work for me. The race to which Paul refers doesn't come naturally for me either. I woke this morning with no desire to make a "list," to offer thanks today. I just didn't want to do it. In the beginning this was easy. The first week the thanks-offerings flooded from my mouth and poured from my nimble and ready fingers. The middle, the middle is getting hard. It's not yet natural. Will it ever be? Maybe not. What then? Give up? The goal is to pursue thankfulness...so that God may be glorified and that I may become more Christ-like. Giving up is not an option.
And so I am reminded of Paul's words in Hebrews 12:1-3, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
When I consider what Jesus has done for me, how can I grow weary and lost heart? How can I not offer thanks?
401) the circus
402) the blessing of loving, adult siblings
403) the sound of my daughter singing Winnie the Pooh
404) the blessing of friends nearby for play-dates
405) the functional van heater on a cold, frosty day
406) the availability of quality dental care
407) the accessibility of information
408) the happy exchange of smiles
409) the salvaged tree house
410) the book, once lost, now found
411) the bubbly baby babbles
412) the baby bouncing
413) the sweet baby hiccups
414) the provision of adequate clothing
415) the flock of birds flying in graceful unison through the sky
416) the warm, red-plaid flannel sheets
417) the upside-down sunglasses on my daughter's smiling face
418) the tiny tufts of pigtails on her head
419) the organizational skills of my son
420) the invention of Play-Doh
421) the gift my husband has for explaining scientific phenomena
422) the hugs from my oldest son, who is almost up to my chin
423) the spices that season our food
424) the laughter from my children as they chase one another around the house
425) the voice of my husband, singing hymns to our children
So, I did. Every day.
I was never a natural runner. It was always difficult. And if I improved, I adjusted my goal. Run farther. Run faster. Run longer. It was never easy. Anyone who runs or has run should understand. The better you become, the more you push yourself. A race is as much about perseverance as it is about ability. It begins with a burst of energy, finding your stride, settling into a pace. But the middle can get rough. The middle is about finding the desire to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Staying on course. Persevering all the way until the end.
Maybe it's natural for some, but every run was work for me. The race to which Paul refers doesn't come naturally for me either. I woke this morning with no desire to make a "list," to offer thanks today. I just didn't want to do it. In the beginning this was easy. The first week the thanks-offerings flooded from my mouth and poured from my nimble and ready fingers. The middle, the middle is getting hard. It's not yet natural. Will it ever be? Maybe not. What then? Give up? The goal is to pursue thankfulness...so that God may be glorified and that I may become more Christ-like. Giving up is not an option.
And so I am reminded of Paul's words in Hebrews 12:1-3, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
When I consider what Jesus has done for me, how can I grow weary and lost heart? How can I not offer thanks?
401) the circus
402) the blessing of loving, adult siblings
403) the sound of my daughter singing Winnie the Pooh
404) the blessing of friends nearby for play-dates
405) the functional van heater on a cold, frosty day
406) the availability of quality dental care
407) the accessibility of information
408) the happy exchange of smiles
409) the salvaged tree house
410) the book, once lost, now found
411) the bubbly baby babbles
412) the baby bouncing
413) the sweet baby hiccups
414) the provision of adequate clothing
415) the flock of birds flying in graceful unison through the sky
416) the warm, red-plaid flannel sheets
417) the upside-down sunglasses on my daughter's smiling face
418) the tiny tufts of pigtails on her head
419) the organizational skills of my son
420) the invention of Play-Doh
421) the gift my husband has for explaining scientific phenomena
422) the hugs from my oldest son, who is almost up to my chin
423) the spices that season our food
424) the laughter from my children as they chase one another around the house
425) the voice of my husband, singing hymns to our children
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