Last week was really chaotic. I am adjusting to life as a mother of three and have already had the experience of dealing with 3 sick kids all at once. Yes, though Julia is just shy of four weeks old, she has already had her first illness shared, no doubt, by the gracious coughs of her big sisters. Hence the absence of a post last week. And the ridiculously cluttered home I am sitting in right now. And the topic of this blogpost.
As I found myself just trying to provide for my family on a survival basis (meaning getting food on the table at regular intervals), I also discovered I had developed a new catch-phrase, "I love you, but..."
"Mary, I love you, but Mommy can't play right now. I have to make dinner."
"I love you, Colette, but Mommy needs some quiet time right now."
"Jon, I love you, but I can't talk right now."
By the end of the week the phrase was comfortably rolling off my tongue with little thought. And it was clear that despite my attempt to reaffirm my love, it was being received as, "I love you so long as you leave me alone!" Somehow it seemed acceptable to me to declare my love as a reason to be excused from actually putting that love into action. In the midst of trying to just get by on minimal sleep and the bare necessities, I had forgotten that it was because I love them, I needed to be making greater efforts in the difficult times to express it. Yes, there are certain leniencies that my family graciously allows and yes, providing for their physical needs is an expression of my love, but clean laundry says little to a 4 year old, 2 year old, and 3 week old. And if that laundry comes in the way of enjoying one of those rare warm winter days, then the only emotion that is evoked is resentment. I can tell my husband I love him, and hope that he sees it through the lunch that I threw together while bouncing a crying baby, but truly he will know it when I take the time to just listen to him talk about his day.
Love is about sacrifice. We see it expressed best when it was not easy for the giver to love, when it cost something. It is what makes a good romance- when someone continued to love when it hurt. It is why Christ's death means so much to those that understand it. But too often it is when it starts hurting that we hide behind the words of love to slack off on the actual act of it. "I love you, family, but I am just too tired to show it." I do not want my husband and my children to look back and question my love for them because though they heard about it frequently, they may have difficulty actually seeing it.
How frequent our love becomes rote memorization- Get the kids dressed, make breakfast, clean it up, do the laundry, make lunch, clean it up, change a diaper, clean the bedroom, make dinner, clean it up, tuck in bed, kiss, and "Good night, I love you." (Run out the door with a sigh of relief that your job is done) I could do it with my eyes closed... or at least with several children screaming at me! And because it is so routine, somewhere love can get lost by the viewer and the giver forgets to actually put the love into it.
And let's not forget, "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..." So it goes with the life of a Christian- go to church, sing a song, attempt to listen to the sermon, sing another song, remind God that you love Him, and drive back home. (Run out the door with a sigh of relief that your job is done) How often are we telling God, "I love you, but..."
"God, I love you, but I would rather sleep in today than spend time in prayer with you."
"God, I love you, but I don't want to sacrifice my comforts to show others your love."
"God, I love you, but I like things the way they are so don't ask me to change."
"I love you, but..." says little about love. It is precisely what John cautions us against in 1 John 3:18, "Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth." It is applicable in all of our relationships, including our relationship with God. How do we express our love for God instead of just being takers of what He freely gives? How do we change our life from being an "I love you, but..." declaration? By confessing in truth that we have failed to love in action and saying, "Because I love you..."
"Because I love you, God, I will spend time with you in prayer."
"Because I love you, God, I will sacrifice my comforts as you have called me to do to show others your love."
"Because I love you, God, I will seek your love through difficult times when I don't understand the changes that are going on around me."
And let's not forget to change our interactions with our family from "I love you, but..." to "Because I love you."
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Invitation for Everyday Miracles
Shortly after my brother, Brian, and his wife had their first child, he said something to me that really captured what parenthood is like. This was before I had embarked on that journey myself. He said that having a child made you feel like you had just accomplished the world's greatest feat, that you had partaken of a miracle and yet, it was odd to consider that childbirth and childrearing had been taking place for thousands of years, that everyone that was and is, had been borne by someone. Still, you could not help but marvel at your involvement of bringing new life into this world.
It has been my joy to carry three separate lives within my own and each time I have found myself in awe of it. Women often like to share pregnancy and labor stories like men gloat over battle wounds. In the end, when that little life begins with it's first independent breath from the body that carried and nurtured it for so long, it is victory that we feel.
And yet, why?
Why glory in something that is experienced by so many- every nation, every race, every religion, every generation for thousands of years? What do we find special in bringing one tiny life into the midst of the billions already in existence? How do we continue to stand in awe of something that is routinely taking place thousands of times in hospitals and homes across this world, even as I type this message?
Somewhere along the way, we have convinced ourselves that miracles are a rarity. It seems that miracles can only exist outside of the norm or we deem them too "normal" to be miraculous. We choose words such as "coincidence" or "luck," even "accident," to describe miraculous events, so as not to sound extravagant. And when we toss out the cliche "the miracle of birth," we don't actually mean it. How often do we take the time to truly consider the process of reproducing life? For those that have struggled with conception, they know how difficult, and yes, miraculous, each new life is.
It only occurred to me with the birth of Julia what an opportunity pregnancy is. It is an invitation from God to participate in an everyday miracle. And He is offering this invite everyday to each of us, not just in the form of reproduction, but in the way we lead our life. For Him, miracles are His way of life. They are the norm. They are routine. But they are still miraculous!
Consider the disciples and the crowds that followed Jesus when He walked this earth. They expected nothing less of Him than miracles. Should we not expect the same? Our God is the same yesterday, today and forever. But we allow monotony and routine to cloud our judgement about God's hand in our everyday life. He is constantly working through us to bring about His miraculous plan of opening hearts to the love and grace He offers.
I believe that there are miracles happening everyday with the coffee you spilled on your pants right before you needed to leave for work, the conversation you have with the random person in the grocery store, the item you dropped off at the Salvation Army, a positive post you place on Facebook. We do not always see the timing that God is working out, the seed that He is planting, the gift that He is offering, through our everyday routine, but I believe that He is always working through us. And I believe when we start opening our hearts up to Him, we start recognizing the miracles in the small things.
The truth is every life is a miracle, but that miracle doesn't end at birth. God works everyday miracles in each of our lives when we choose to recognize it and credit Him for it. Working with the God of the Universe on an everyday, routine basis... now that's pretty miraculous!
It has been my joy to carry three separate lives within my own and each time I have found myself in awe of it. Women often like to share pregnancy and labor stories like men gloat over battle wounds. In the end, when that little life begins with it's first independent breath from the body that carried and nurtured it for so long, it is victory that we feel.
And yet, why?
Why glory in something that is experienced by so many- every nation, every race, every religion, every generation for thousands of years? What do we find special in bringing one tiny life into the midst of the billions already in existence? How do we continue to stand in awe of something that is routinely taking place thousands of times in hospitals and homes across this world, even as I type this message?
Somewhere along the way, we have convinced ourselves that miracles are a rarity. It seems that miracles can only exist outside of the norm or we deem them too "normal" to be miraculous. We choose words such as "coincidence" or "luck," even "accident," to describe miraculous events, so as not to sound extravagant. And when we toss out the cliche "the miracle of birth," we don't actually mean it. How often do we take the time to truly consider the process of reproducing life? For those that have struggled with conception, they know how difficult, and yes, miraculous, each new life is.
It only occurred to me with the birth of Julia what an opportunity pregnancy is. It is an invitation from God to participate in an everyday miracle. And He is offering this invite everyday to each of us, not just in the form of reproduction, but in the way we lead our life. For Him, miracles are His way of life. They are the norm. They are routine. But they are still miraculous!
Consider the disciples and the crowds that followed Jesus when He walked this earth. They expected nothing less of Him than miracles. Should we not expect the same? Our God is the same yesterday, today and forever. But we allow monotony and routine to cloud our judgement about God's hand in our everyday life. He is constantly working through us to bring about His miraculous plan of opening hearts to the love and grace He offers.
I believe that there are miracles happening everyday with the coffee you spilled on your pants right before you needed to leave for work, the conversation you have with the random person in the grocery store, the item you dropped off at the Salvation Army, a positive post you place on Facebook. We do not always see the timing that God is working out, the seed that He is planting, the gift that He is offering, through our everyday routine, but I believe that He is always working through us. And I believe when we start opening our hearts up to Him, we start recognizing the miracles in the small things.
The truth is every life is a miracle, but that miracle doesn't end at birth. God works everyday miracles in each of our lives when we choose to recognize it and credit Him for it. Working with the God of the Universe on an everyday, routine basis... now that's pretty miraculous!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
A Labor of Love
I like to tackle life with a plan, rationalizing that somehow I will always find myself prepared for anything I could have imagined would happen outside of the plan. God, however, likes to remind me of my dependence on Him (for which I am very grateful) by rarely allowing life to go according to my plan.
The plan for Thursday night was for Jon to rent a U-Haul to pick up the new bunkbeds in Beverly Hills that we had purchased for the girls' bedroom. Although that mission was accomplished, the plan to be driven by my husband to the hospital when I went into labor was not as successful. My husband was an hour away, loading furniture onto a truck when Julia Grace communicated she was ready to make her grand entrance into our lives. So it was Jon's father that drove me to the hospital, my husband already awaiting upon our arrival.
Having delivered both Colette and Mary without the aid of an epidural or pain medication, the plan was to manage labor with the same method of focusing on what my body was accomplishing with the pain, rather than the pain itself. Mentally I was not in the same mind-frame that I had been in for the deliveries of my first two. In the passing weeks I had found myself continually uneasy with the idea of labor. The mechanism experts claim women have to forget the pain of labor was not working for me and the task ahead had been wearing on my mental state for weeks. Coupled with a baby that was positioned with a nose pressing on my spine, I found myself exhausted by the pain only 4 hours into labor. It was 11pm. Calculating that I still had several hours of labor ahead of me and then a night of caring for a newborn, I informed the nurse that I would be needing an epidural.
I knew that I was not entirely comfortable with the idea of an epidural and that I would have some emotions of "failure" to deal with after the delivery. My husband, knowing me as well as he does, questioned if I was certain. I told him yes, because though it was the first time he was hearing it, I had considered for several weeks now that this was the route this labor might take. Being that it was my first time to even consider an aid for pain management, I was ignorant of how long administering an epidural would actually take. As the nurse took time outlining the details- the time it would take for the bag of fluids to drip through the IV, the actual procedure of the epidural, how long it would take for it to take effect- I was panicked with mixed emotions. Thinking that relief was soon in sight, and then watching the minutes tick by in the midst of contractions, I realized that God was communicating to me that He had a plan in store for me. I prayed that if I was not meant to have an epidural, that I would receive a very apparent sign. Meanwhile, I raised my hands in praise with the pain of each contraction, whispering the words of "Your Love, Oh Lord" by Third Day, "I will lift my voice to worship you, my King. I will find my strength in the shadow of your wings." I imagined my hand actually reaching up into Heaven and pulling down the strength that God provides for those that rely on Him.
It was a very cautious and sympathetic voice that informed me I would not be able to get an epidural as I was nearly ready to deliver. I wonder if she was surprised by my relief, but I knew that God had answered my prayer and carried me through the pain so that I could deliver the baby according to my plan. I was awash with what a gracious God we have, who cared enough for my small concern when He manages a world with far greater needs.
Moments later I held in my arms that miracle of life that is my third daughter, Julia Grace. Her middle name will forever remind me that it is by the grace of God that He provides for our every need and cares for our desires too.
The plan for Thursday night was for Jon to rent a U-Haul to pick up the new bunkbeds in Beverly Hills that we had purchased for the girls' bedroom. Although that mission was accomplished, the plan to be driven by my husband to the hospital when I went into labor was not as successful. My husband was an hour away, loading furniture onto a truck when Julia Grace communicated she was ready to make her grand entrance into our lives. So it was Jon's father that drove me to the hospital, my husband already awaiting upon our arrival.
Having delivered both Colette and Mary without the aid of an epidural or pain medication, the plan was to manage labor with the same method of focusing on what my body was accomplishing with the pain, rather than the pain itself. Mentally I was not in the same mind-frame that I had been in for the deliveries of my first two. In the passing weeks I had found myself continually uneasy with the idea of labor. The mechanism experts claim women have to forget the pain of labor was not working for me and the task ahead had been wearing on my mental state for weeks. Coupled with a baby that was positioned with a nose pressing on my spine, I found myself exhausted by the pain only 4 hours into labor. It was 11pm. Calculating that I still had several hours of labor ahead of me and then a night of caring for a newborn, I informed the nurse that I would be needing an epidural.
I knew that I was not entirely comfortable with the idea of an epidural and that I would have some emotions of "failure" to deal with after the delivery. My husband, knowing me as well as he does, questioned if I was certain. I told him yes, because though it was the first time he was hearing it, I had considered for several weeks now that this was the route this labor might take. Being that it was my first time to even consider an aid for pain management, I was ignorant of how long administering an epidural would actually take. As the nurse took time outlining the details- the time it would take for the bag of fluids to drip through the IV, the actual procedure of the epidural, how long it would take for it to take effect- I was panicked with mixed emotions. Thinking that relief was soon in sight, and then watching the minutes tick by in the midst of contractions, I realized that God was communicating to me that He had a plan in store for me. I prayed that if I was not meant to have an epidural, that I would receive a very apparent sign. Meanwhile, I raised my hands in praise with the pain of each contraction, whispering the words of "Your Love, Oh Lord" by Third Day, "I will lift my voice to worship you, my King. I will find my strength in the shadow of your wings." I imagined my hand actually reaching up into Heaven and pulling down the strength that God provides for those that rely on Him.
It was a very cautious and sympathetic voice that informed me I would not be able to get an epidural as I was nearly ready to deliver. I wonder if she was surprised by my relief, but I knew that God had answered my prayer and carried me through the pain so that I could deliver the baby according to my plan. I was awash with what a gracious God we have, who cared enough for my small concern when He manages a world with far greater needs.
Moments later I held in my arms that miracle of life that is my third daughter, Julia Grace. Her middle name will forever remind me that it is by the grace of God that He provides for our every need and cares for our desires too.
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