Interrupting Pirates

           I have five children, and they constantly hound me. As I just laid our toddler down for his nap, Carrie and Gracie popped their heads in to say something that they just had to ask (they seem like they can never plan ahead). They wait till five minutes after my announcement that "I am putting your brother down" for his nap to request some dire necessity like, "Can I have a piece of candy?" or "Can I watch a movie?" They don't really say it outloud because they know I will freak out majorly. They mouth the words very quietly.  Twelve years of this parenting job has given me quite an ability to lip-read.  The problem is that they've only been reading lips for a few years, and they can't seem to understand it when I quietly mouth "no". Why is that? Today, I just gave them my "IS this an EMERGENCY" look. They looked rather crestfallen,  but they slithered away quietly without feigning ignorance at what I was trying to say.
                   This new year is a new start for a new theme: patience. Half-pint's favorite joke in kindergarten was:
"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there? "
"Interrupting pirate"
Interrupting pirate who?" to which the other person interrupted with a big "Arrrrgh!"
I've realized the interruptions of our kids is partly a matter of impatience on their part. It's a feeling that what they have to say is more important than what anyone else has to say at the moment. Where do they get it from: their first-rate interrupting mom. I realized this even more after I majorly interrupted Charles last night, and he brought it to my attention. I always think of it as being really excited,  too excited to wait to speak; but really it boils down to rudely placing more importance on what I have to say than hearing what someone else has to say. I want to speak less this year, and listen more. I want to be understood,  but I really,  really need to work at understanding more.
           James 1:19 says, " Understand [this], my beloved brethren. Let every man be quick to hear [a ready listener], slow to speak, slow to take offense and to get angry. (The Amplified Version) I need to apply this to my own life this year (along with James 1:2-4).
          Charles and I are also starting something else new this year. We are opening our home and hosting a small group for our church. I've dreamed of having a Bible study here since we moved here, but I envisioned it being a group of women and a Beth Moore group on our porch.  Instead, it'll be with my hubby, inside our cozy home. The series is about setting goals (that only God can accomplish in you) called "Transform". I'm excited to see what God will change in me. Please pray that I will truly listen to others sharing and not play the role of the interrupting pirate. Who would want to be in that...Arrrrgh!

Do you want to hear more inspiration?  Here's a link for other mom's sharing their thoughts on fresh starts on the Hearts at Home blog hop.

Union Station

           No one dreams of coming into a train station just in time to line up, dripping with sweat from the exertion of a brisk walk in 80 degree weather whilst carrying an independent toddler in a wrap plus 40 lbs. of luggage. Well, maybe someone would; but I'm pretty sure that it would qualify as a nightmare (I've decided to tag this post as such). For me however, this was no dream.
          It all began very innocently with my mother's dear friend offering to drop me off directly at the train station.  I had taken the Metrolink (from the Amtrak station) to our hotel for the Joyce Meyer women's conference and was prepared to take it back as well. The offer for quick door to door service was too nice to pass up though. In Chicago and Kansas City,  Amtrak departs from "Union Station". This is not the case in St. Louis; and no one is to blame, but me. I was reading the map and asked to be dropped off there. It is, in fact, 0.6 miles apart (according to Google maps). When they dropped me off in front of Union Station, I had an extra 20 minutes;  so I wasn't worried at all about making it inside to my train. After walking the length of the block without spying any signs for Amtrak, I figured I must just be on the wrong side of the building; but my heart began to sink as I found no such evidence.  I asked a security officer for help and realized I still had quite a ways to go. After getting confused from his directions,  I stopped to let the squirmy Mr. Blue Eyes down from my Storkenwege and consult Google Maps. I was relieved to see that the end was in site, but unfortunately Google maps doesn't know where the sidewalk barriers will prevent you from crossing at the stoplights. I had to do a bit of backtracking and Mr. Blue Eyes protested being placed back in my wrap (a few minutes later, I smelled his reason for disgruntlement). This wasn't the moment that I could handle an inquisitive one-year-old old dashing into the road or running down the sidewalk. It took a little doing, but I got everything together. In the meantime, I got a very funny look from someone who looked like a cross between Jamie Kennedy and Opie Taylor...maybe it was the confused look on my face, the wailing of my son, or the shaking of my hands. Would I even make it on time? I began praying and reviewing in my mind some of the things Joyce had said about fears. She had encouraged us to sing a simple song when we were afraid; and so I began signing, "I've got it. I've got it. I've really, really got it." She talked about how we have nothing to fear with the Holy Spirit dwelling in us. We have Him with us always.
           Thankfully,  I arrived just as they were boarding. A couple took pity on me and helped me down the escalator with my luggage (the elevator was, of course, out of order). Because of the long hike,  Mr. Blue Eyes took a three hour nap in my arms while on the train. I was tempted to wake him after an hour and a half (like I do at home), but I felt like I should just wait and enjoy the quiet. It must've been the Holy Spirit speaking because the train ended up being delayed by 2 1/2 hours, and he was still a happy camper at 11:50pm due to the prolonged nap.
             This whole ordeal reminded me of parenting. We think we know where we are headed,  but sometimes just as we think we've arrived and taken a shortcut...we find out there is even more work to do. God has really been dealing with my heart about fear, and I recently started a Bible study on Fridays called "Grace-Based Parenting". It's based on a book by Tim Kimmel. After the first video session,  I was a little discouraged by how vague it seemed. Then, I got the book that I had purchased (used off of Amazon) and almost fell over. He is a wonderful writer! God is using this book to address fear in my life in a different aspect. He talked about different common mistakes in parenting and one in particular caught my eye. He calls it "Fear- Based Parenting". I know that I have been guilty of this at least a few times. The problem that he points out with basing your judgements on your fears is that you are demonstrating to your children how small you believe God to be. He says, " Making safety the priority tells our children that we think God is incapable of doing what He said He would do for His children. Obviously,  God wants us to shrewdly bring our children up within a corrupted world system,  careful to make sure that they don't have to process issues to big for them. Many parents assume that all pressures from the corrupted world are too big for their children. " These fears are a trick from Satan to keep you and your children from experiencing God's power. Of course,  we shouldn't just throw our young children to the wolves; but we need to be intentional about showing them how to turn to God for help in the midst of problems...we can't just shield them from everything. I love that he write that "safe Christians" is really an oxymoron. How can you really protect someone from everything and still reach out to others who need to know God?  He writes that we need to demonstrate a strong hope about the future even while going through struggles because ultimately we trust God to be in control. I'm loving this book, and I feel like it is no accident that God has laid this in my path to read at the same time as the other book I'm chewing on (Living Courageously).
              I won't make the same mistake about Union Station in St. Louis,  and I'm determined to start parenting in the direction and with the confidence that I had hoped to all along. I know one of the purposes God has called me to is being a good mom to my children without all the fears that have been running our lives. To check out what other moms have to say about their purpose, check out www.jillsavage.org

What have you read recently or discovered about your fears?

The Colors on the Canvas

           It's blog hop time...kind of. I realize it's Sunday and not Thursday,  but some of you may be like me and just now getting around to reading through your email's from this past week, only to catch up on your favorite blogs. Some of you may be even more like me, soothing your inner introvert at 3am by blogging in peace and quiet. If it means something to just one of you reading this, then it is totally worth it. After all, it's better to come late to the party than stay at home. The topic for this month's Hearts at Home blog hop was "Love Your Story". 
            I grew up watching ABC's Wide World of Sports on Saturdays and loved the line about "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." The images they showed were always so poignantly perfect for those words. If I had video tape footage of my entire life, I could show you brilliant images for both of those phrases. Those words are my story in a nutshell. Since no such video exists, let me paint a picture for you.
           You'd need to start with some warm corals. They would represent all the love I felt from my mom and my dad. I was wanted and loved in my family,  especially since my mom had lost three babies before me. There were a few sad moments in my childhood, like the loss of pets, that caused a few grumpy streaks of gray in my early childhood,  but not enough to overtake the warm corals.
         My first stroke of blue came on my seventh birthday, when I sang at my best friend's funeral (along with my other fellow first graders). I had heard the shocking news just a few days earlier, and I couldn't believe that he had actually died. A motorcyclist had raced through an intersection, crashed into the back seat of the car he was riding in, and killed him instantly. Thankfully,  my parents both helped me process what had happened and led me to pray to God for help and comfort. So much of my life was still wrapped in love that there was coral added to that blue, which left some soft lavendar at the heart of me.
          Then there was an even more intense stroke of blue, so intense that it bordered on the bright cobalt blue that I am so fond of. Six and a half years after my first loss, my dad died of cancer. My dad was a pastor, loved all things holistic long before that was trendy (he plowed up almost our entire yard to plant various beans one year), and had young children not ready to be without their father. I was just thirteen and my brother was almost seventeen. I turned to God again because that was how I was raised and that is what made the most sense to me. He wrapped me in so much love that my cobalt blue had some rich purple to parts to it.
            The next portion of my life was so dark that you'd have to paint this part with black. Five and a half years later, I was left with another loss. This one wasn't public or even on anyone's radar. In fact, I held this loss as a secret for thirteen years. There are always two sides to everything. God whispered, "Trust me! I'm still here, and I will bring good from this!" (Romans 8:28) Satan sneared at my loss, hoping I'd wallow in self-pity, and believe that no one could love me if they really knew about secret parts of my picture. (You can read about that part of my canvas here.)
            I let myself drift away from God because I distanced myself from "the church", from the hypocrites that I couldn't stand to be apart of. However, motherhood brought me new surprises...a desire for our children to know God. How could I teach them what I was unsure of though? More black snuck onto my picture with the experience of a miscarriage after my first two girls were born, but a soft white glow began to cast it's light on all that black (including my hidden secrets) till it was pushed to the outer limits of my canvas through an event called "The Great Banquet". A few nights after that my secrets came into the open, and I began sharing that part of my story with others (the first time was on the fifteen year anniversary). That's when I finally accepted God's love and began reaching out to others as part of an imperfect church that was made up of us very imperfect people. That love was so warm you'd notice some brilliant red on my canvas as well as the white glow that grew and grew. It overflowed into everything and touched everyone around me. All my life began to make sense in light of this verse: 2 Corinthians 1:3-5.  It says, "All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too."
          Last year, I was challenged to look for patterns in my life while participating in the study "Believing God". We split our life into five sections; and since I was 36 at the time, that meant looking at seven year periods. I found that I had experienced a major loss of a loved one in each period. God has comforted me through them and placed me in the path of others who have experienced the same things. My loss has helped me to help others who've experienced a miscarriage (and had no one to talk to). My secrets have helped me to stop judging others. God's love has helped me to truly love my story and trust that He is enough even when challenges come.
           There may be major losses in the five periods of my life, but you'd be blind to not see the gorgeous green on my canvas as well. He gave me five children to love and be blessed by (and yes, sometimes overwhelmed by...like my recent trip to "Mom's Night Out"). Stand back and take look at the full picture. It's not perfect, or completed yet, but I think that the Painter is beginning to like the way it looks.

Check out more mom's stories at www.jillsavage.org

The Feeling of Falling

           It happened again Tuesday morning.  I neglected to see the water from the melted snow (that refroze overnight) in our gravel driveway.  You know the pathetic person with their feet up in the air on the wet floor sign? That was what I looked like. Last week, I fell twice (once on ice outside, once in my kitchen) landing on the opposite side of my body. At least, I'm equally bruised. I have a history of clumsiness...and falling. I heard last week that the best way to prevent a fall is to waddle like a penguin. Clearly, I need to test this one out or invest in some whole body padding...my hips and elbows are taking a beating.
           History is one of my favorite subjects because I love understanding the "why" behind events (science is my next favorite subject). I felt a little stupid Tuesday that I hadn't seen the ice as I was scurrying around, trying to switch over car seats. When will I learn from my history to slow down, pay attention,  and waddle? The topic of this Thursday's Blog Hop (sponsored by Hearts at Home) is "Loving Your Feelings".
            Last week a local station did a promo for Valentine's Day that shed a new light on my marital relationship. A pastor was proudly announcing a newlywed couple for the first time as "two who became one". I smiled at the words, remembering my own delight at taking my hubby's name. However,  I rarely think of my hubby and I as being "one" nowadays. It's hard to feel connected to him when I have five very real distractions asking for my attention. He is Charles. I am Caroline.  He works full-time time out of the home.  I work full-time in the home. He enjoys beer. I prefer a glass of wine. He likes to fall asleep to the T.V. The sound of the T.V. makes it almost impossible for me to sleep. He loves to learn as he goes. I love to research an idea for years before hesitantly deciding I should still research it a little longer before trying anything new. There are so many ways that we are exact opposites, and yet we have beem declared "one" person.

            Mark 10:7-9 says, "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.'So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

             I always think about this verse in regards to physical intimacy,  but in reality the verse goes far deeper than that. When my hubby is hurting, do I hurt with him? When he rejoices, do I get excited too? When he has a problem, am I there to really listen? If we are really "one", shouldn't the answer to all three be "yes!"? Honestly it's easy  (but not right) for me to look at his problems as just that: "HIS" problems.  It's easy to say that because we have five children that it's just too hard to find time together and really share each other's burdens. Isn't this whole connecting thing important though? Even with lots of little ones?  Shouldn't they see the way you are to treat your spouse?

             Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 says, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up."

            We are married for a reason. He's supposed to help me up when I'm down,  and I'm supposed to help him up when he's down. How do I get my feelings to match up with the reality of our "oneness"?
          Sometimes,  it's just hard to know where to start. Rev. 2:3-5 talks about rediscovering your first love (who knew the Bible has advice on that??). It says to do what you did at first. When I was first dating Charles, I spent a LOT of time with him. We did things together. I learned what his favorite foods were. I paid attention to anything new on him all the way from clothes to a scratch on his arm. The past couple of weeks, I've tried to look back at our history and learn from it.

          We've both been more intentional about spending time together--like really intentional. We've spent hours talking on the weekends (sometimes with a sitter watching the kids and sometimes before the kids get up) and even started watching a movie on Sunday nights, just the two of us. I feel like I have a best friend again.  We've laughed a lot together and we've even talked through a couple of issues to resolve a thing or two. This is easier to do when you actually talk minus children, who are bound to interrupt every ten seconds. I have no shame in putting on an occasional movie to distract my children from interrupting us.

          Another thing that I've been doing a whole lot more of is praying for my hubby. Last week, he shared about an especially rough day. Instead of just seeing it as "his problem", I spent a day fasting and praying just for him. Even when I'm in a heated conversation,  it's amazing what a quick prayer can do. New ideas pop into my head. It calms me down so that I can communicate better. It's hard to be mad at someone that you're praying for. God always seems to gently point out what I should be doing differently or change altogether. 

            I've also been intentional about what I think about regarding my hubby.  When we were first dating, he had just as many annoying qualities about him, but I never noticed.  I was too focused on all the kind things he did for me and the way he made me feel. Charles has always been a generous man, but I've been dwelling on it a lot more lately. Two weeks ago, I dropped my smart phone, and he didn't even bat an eyelid at the substantial deductible we paid to get a new one. He gave all the girls a single long-stemmed rose for Valentine's Day, but I received two dozen! He wanted me to have enough to put them around the house wherever I wanted.  I put a big bunch next to a purchase of his that had initially annoyed me (just in case I was tempted to think grumpy thoughts). He's not just generous with money though. When it has been wet and slick out, he's left his Suburban to drive, so I can get around safely. (Maybe that is a generous money move considering the damage I've done to the van this winter.) What I've focused on has made me feel a lot happier about our relationship. I've had a new sensation of falling again, but unlike slipping it hasn't hurt. It's familiar...part of my history...I love the feeling of falling in love.

What can you learn from your history?  What do you do to love your marital feelings? I'd love to hear your comments below and learn from you.

To learn more about how other moms are loving their feelings, click here to see other blogs.