What They Didn't Know

There once was a green-eyed girl and a blue-eyed boy.  They stood at the altar, a mere nineteen and twenty one, and said, "I do."  There were likely many that scoffed and silently thought, "What do these kids know?  This'll never last." 

It's a fair enough question to ask, I suppose.  What did they know?  Let's be honest, it wasn't a lot.  They didn't know just how many grocery aisle shelves he would have to stock to put food on the table.  They didn't know quite how many late nights there would be to get that degree.  They didn't know that down the road, they would face the loss of a baby. They never would have guessed she'd have cancer at thirty-five.  They didn't know there would be five cross-county moves with teary goodbyes every time.  They didn't know that one day they'd watch their grown kids board planes that would take them across oceans.

No, they didn't know all of this.  They didn't know the pain that life would hold.

But there's more they didn't know.

They didn't know the bliss of birthing three perfect babies.  They didn't know how it would feel to watch those babies take their first steps, catch their first fish, ride their first bike.  They didn't know just how many basketball games, horse shows and swim meets they'd watch.  They never dreamed they'd see the world.  Nor did they know that in each place they'd call home, there'd be lives they would change with their warmth and their love.  They didn't know that there'd be three pairs of eyes always watching and learning, learning from them what it means to live fully and love deeply. 

No, they didn't know all of this.  They didn't know the richness life would hold.                  

But here's what they did know. 

I think even at the altar that day, they both knew that thirty years from then, that he'd still be squeezing her ticklish knee, and she'd still be squealing, "Daaaan!" 

They both knew then that no matter what life would hold, they'd still be looking at each other today with that shimmer in their eyes.  The shimmer that says, "I love you forever. I'm yours and you're mine."          

Happy 30th Anniversary, Mom and Dad.  You're my heroes forever for loving each other like this.   

That Time I Went Blind

Source: etsy.com via Brenda Winber on Pinterest

In just a few weeks we'll be flying to Kentucky.  My sister's getting married.  It reminds me of the last time I flew to Kentucky, two and a half years ago for my brother's wedding.  I was pregnant and had a toddler (not much has changed!).  But rather than flying from the other side of the country, I was flying from the other side of the world.  And I was doing it alone, pregnant and with a toddler.  That's how much I wanted to be at my brother's wedding. 

We stopped in Detroit to visit my in-laws and to celebrate an early Christmas with them.  After a few days with them and my first made-in-America holiday meal in four years, the day dawned for us to fly to Louisville (say it like you have rocks in your mouth).  We had an evening flight, so we slipped in one more play date with the cousin that morning.  While the little ones romped, I started noticing some cloudiness in my eyes. 

I thought, "Hmm. Probably just need to rinse my contacts." But that didn't work.  So I switched them out for my glasses and was thoroughly confused when the cloudiness continued, and a headache began to set in.  "I bet a nap will help," I thought.  My 12 hour jet-lag and my pregnancy said, "Amen!"

I woke from the nap feeling worse than before.  But I had a flight to catch, so we loaded up the car.  I grabbed a wad of kleenex because my eyes were beginning to inexplicably run with tears every ten minutes.     

I knew my mother-in-law was worried sick about me getting on a plane like this, but I knew it was a short flight.  So I told her again and again we'd be fine.  But my own conviction was wavering.  I wondered if the pressure change of the flight would make it worse.  We stood at the ticket counter and the agent asked if I was ok to fly.  Apparently I wasn't looking so good.  We stepped out of line and called an eye doctor.  She said the pressure change shouldn't affect my eyes, but that I should see a doctor as soon as we got to KY.

That reassured me.  The ticket agent said my father-in-law could escort me and my daughter to the gate.  We got through security and found a shop with some eye drops.  I dripped what I thought would be soothing relief into my eyes.  Instead it felt like fire balls drilling through my eyes.

At the gate, we said goodbye to my dad-in-law.  I knew he felt helpless.  "I'm ok," I lied. 

Through the haze of clouds in my eyes, I made it to our seats.  Any light at all felt like the sun itself blazing into my brain.  My eyes watered constantly now.

I must have been a sight, because passengers around me fretted.  Here's a weeping pregnant lady alone with a toddler.  But despite the wreck that I appeared to be, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm on the inside.  My toddler, who had been a tantrum throwing, puking mess on our last flight, now sat quietly in my arms, miraculously sensing that this was the time to be an angel.  She drifted off into a peaceful sleep, for the whole flight.

I held her with my eyes closed, one hand mopping my cheeks.  It was one of those moments in life where, despite the pain, you can breathe deep, because you sense, you know that you are being held by unseen hands.  Fear and worry, these companions know me well, but in this moment, they were gone.  Instead, peace, beautiful peace.     

I asked for wheelchair assistance to meet us at the gate, because at this point, I couldn't see...at all. Two helpers pushed us through the terminal, me in the wheelchair, Ellie in her stroller.  I never saw their faces, but I'll never forget the sound of their voices. An older woman and a young man, their Kentucky drawls slow and sweet.  They stayed with us past their shifts until we could get to our family.  They are the inglorious heroes in life, these helpers of those who cannot help themselves. 



It was a late night at the ER.  But in the end I was diagnosed with keratitis, a rare eye disorder that is treated with special eye drops.  Within about 48 hours, my vision was restored, and I was able to SEE my brother get married.

I'm hoping this trip to Kentucky with a baby in-utero, a toddler, and a four year old will be a bit less dramatic.  My husband will be with me this time.  But I know that I was never really alone last time.

And maybe, just maybe, as we make our way through the Louisville terminal, I'll hear a familiar voice and be able to thank my inglorious heroes.  Or I'll just be the crazy lady eavesdropping on the wheel chair pushers.  
                       

How a Car Seat Made Me See My Green Grass

Have you ever found yourself longing for something that you actually used to...uh, complain about?  I've seen this dynamic play out especially among those of us who have lived in two different countries.  We leave America and then whine about everything we miss from home.  We paint this glorious picture in our minds about how perfect everything is in the States.  When (not if) things go awry in our strange new foreign home, we swear such craziness never occurs back in the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

Then we fly back to the fruited plains of the US and for awhile we bask in the glow of the purple mountain's majesty.  But it doesn't take before we're pining away for the other side of the ocean, making a long mental (or facebook) list of all the things about America that drives us crazy.  I've often shook my head when I see friends do this, chuckling about how in the human mind, the grass is always greener...

Source: thegogreenblog.com via Pinterest

Then I go and do it myself. 

In China, there wasn't a church we could be a part of.  So instead, on Sunday evenings, we'd gather with our team of 10 in our apartments and "do church."  And we'd long for the big community, the big worship, and all the trimmings of big church.  Then we found ourselves back in the US at a big church.  And for the first couple months we reveled in it.  I couldn't make it through a Sunday without tears coarsing down my cheeks as I soaked in the glory of musical worship with hundreds of others.  Everything about our new church was grand and exciting.

Then after a while I found my heart hungry for the deep knowing and being known that we had...back in China.  Back where our little "church" of ten lived life together.  We were each other's neighbors, colleagues, and family.  We did everything together.  We were each other's schedules.  I forget the times that it made me crazy, and instead I get all nostalgic about the richness of that community.  And I compare it to the busyness we and our new community have here.  Where do we fit each other in?

So I bemoaned that for a while.  Then I found myself reading in Numbers about the Israelites complaining to Moses about how they didn't have any meat to eat, how they were better off in Egypt.  When I've read that before, I've thought, "What a bunch of whiners!"  A little harder to say that when the story is a mirror forcing you to reckon with your own selfish discontent.

Isn't that how the human brain so often works?  Somehow all the frustrating dailies of life in the past fade away and the shiny warm memories glow brighter.  I think it's a good thing.  Except when it makes you discontent with the present.  But I guess that's a choice.

Sometimes God allows us to wallow in our wrong choices until we've buried ourselves to rock bottom.  Then we begin the slow ascent of daily choosing the good.  But other times, God chooses to bless our undeserving whiny little socks off, just because.  Both ways are a reality check.  This time, mercifully, God gave me the latter, and it came in the form of a car seat. 

We were sitting with our small group on a Sunday evening, when they said to us, "We have something for you."  Then a huge box appears with a brand new baby car seat.  "Our Sunday school class wanted to do something for you, so we all went in and got you a car seat," they grinned. 

I start fanning myself from the heat of the emotions that burn the back of my eyes.  For us?  Just because?  Here I've been longing for the community we used to have, and then God says, "Don't you see?  I've placed you in a community.  It's new and different and good and beautiful.  While you've been whining, they've been loving you."

The car seat just happens to be green, the green of the grass that is all around me, here and now. 

Busy Bag Party!

Because I want to be one of those fun, crafty, educational moms, and because I usually fail miserably at being this, I've decided to host a Busy Bag Party!  It's a genius idea propogated by Pinterest.  It involves choosing a homemade activity bag idea that those actual fun, crafty, educational moms out there have created, making multiples of it, and then getting together with your friends to trade.  Then you walk away with all these different super cool activity bags for your kids.  My children will then spend countless hours staying busy doing things that make them smart and creative.  (At least, this is how it's playing out in my head.) 

So for the lovely ladies from my beloved Tuesday night group, I'm posting this collection of busy bags for them to choose from for our party.  How fun are these??        

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Source:
http://planetoftheapels.blogspot.com/p/our-busy-bag-swap.html

I Gave My Son a Box of Beans for His Birthday

I'm officially the mother of a two-year-old boy.  Something about this fact has made me an emotional mess.  On the actual day of his birthday, I was fine.  It didn't even phase me that much the night before when my husband, who put the kids to bed while I was out, mentioned, "I said goodnight to our one-year-old for the last time."  The comment made me think, "Hmm.  Maybe I should be getting all sappy about his birthday too."  So I went to tuck my children in, and as I gazed at their sleeping faces all I could think of was, "Do we have anything good to eat in the fridge?"

We had a grand time the day of his birthday.  He was adorably excited about his birthday cake, shouting out over and over again the names of all the sports on it, "Beeball!  Bootball!  Babeeball!"  The soccer ball didn't turn out so well, so I threw that one out and made another basketball.  My husband, not a soccer fan, was totally fine with that. 

We ate in the "train" at the Old Spaghetti Factory, and watched the trains chug by the window.  The children were reasonably behaved, no embarrassing screaming meltdowns (see the parenting low of last week), so we considered the big night out a smashing success. 

 

Then the highlight of the day, present time.  We gave our two year old,...drum roll please...a box of beans!  Yes, it's true.  And no, this is not the part where I'm a crazy mess (I haven't gotten there yet).  This is the part where I'm a genius.  My husband was a bit skeptical, but wisely responded to my idea with a "Sure, babe, if that's what you want to give him." 

You see, apartment living means no yard and no yard means there is no sending the kids out to play.  Sigh.  However we do have a decent sized porch.  I was determined to find a happy porch activity for the kids.  A sandbox would be dastardly.  A rice box would be a similar disaster.  But a bean box seemed doable. 

The squeals of delight (from both kids) upon the bean box unwrapping were reward enough for the quizzical looks I got at the store with my cart full of beans.  The screaming tantrums of the evening came when we had to pull the both of them out of it when it was way past bed time.  The bean box has provide literally hours of entertainment these last few days.  My husband is a full believer now.  And yes, I do have to sweep up more beans than any pregnant woman should have to.  And yes, I have found some beans in some...ahem, unusual places (beans can and do make their way into panties and diapers).  And yes, the next renters will find beans wedged into the cracks and crevices of the porch.  BUT, the kids are having a ball with the box of beans.

I sat on the porch with them Saturday afternoon, the sun peering through tree leaves to make golden spots on their blond hair.  Ellie was announcing a circus through the kitchen funnel/"megaphone."  Aiden happily busted out some moves when it was time for the Aiden dance show at the circus.  We laughed good hearty belly laughs together. I let the pile of laundry sit and the dishes in the sink get crusty, and I just soaked in the magic of my kids.  They meandered from bean box to kiddie pool (the other birthday present), and did what little kids do, pouring and stirring and splashing and chattering.  The extraordinary ordinariness of it all made me want to freeze it, to frame it forever in my heart.   

It's moments like these that make the weariness fade.  These are not easy days with the husband's long library hours, the pinching of pennies, and the three little humans sucking the energy out of me.  But these are also good, good days.  I want to bottle up their chatter, maybe even their cries and save it for the quiet days when they are gone.  While the hours stretch long as I count down the minutes until bedtime, I know the years will fly, and all too soon they won't be my little ones anymore.

So I was feeling all these things all deep in my heart, and then we watched a movie with a sappy scene where a grown son comes home to his mother.  And that sent me over the edge.  I went to bed all sniffly and snotty, carrying on in the dark to my half asleep husband about how the mere thought of my toddler boy becoming my man son made me all achy.  "It will happen all too fast," I whispered. 

Then the very next morning in our Sunday school class, someone shared about how he heard a father of grown children say that he would pay $10,000 to go back and have a weekend with his kids when they were young.  I looked at Aaron, my eyes all big and my throat swallowing hard.  Knowing he was seconds away from having a weepy pregnant lady making a scene, he shook his head and said quietly, "Just think about baseball."       

I chuckled and managed to choke back my raging hormones.  Yes, I'm a crazy emotional mess, but it's good.  Good to feel, good to hurt, good to cherish.  These kids of mine have done this to me.  My son has messed up my world since the day he was almost born in the back of a Beijing taxi.  And I adore him for it.  Happy 2nd Birthday, Son.  Please don't turn 20 too quickly, okay??             

     

Coconut Mango Muffins, Stuff I'm Into, and Parenting Moments of the Week

I've seen other bloggers do monthly posts about what they are currently into.  I always love these, but feared doing my own because it would reveal my utter lameness.  If you don't know me, I'm the last person to go to for what's new and hip.  If you know me, you...already know that.  So it may not be new or hip, but it is nevertheless what I'm into this month.  Here you have it.      

In My Kitchen... I've been sick with a nasty cold, so there's been precious little going on in my kitchen.  But I'm on the upswing, and this taunting recipe for coconut mango oat muffins was enough to get me out of my self-imposed cooking boycott.  And oh man, am I glad I did.

I couldn't find whole vanilla beans where I shop at, you know, that oh-so-gourmet grocery store called Wal-Mart.  And I know that vanilla beans are wicked expensive, so I just substituted 2 tsp. of vanilla extract, and they came out fab.  And oat flour = oats buzzed in the blender.  It says you can substitute canola oil ( minus 1 tbs) for the coconut oil.  I used coconut oil though, so no promises.  I went sweetened coconut the whole way, and I price matched mangos for $0.33 each!  Booya.

Confession: I ate my muffin fresh from the oven with vanilla icecream and nearly fainted from bliss.  Oh, and it was my lunch, so I had another.

In My Ears...   I am sooo out of it when it comes to the music scene, it's laughable.  Really.  So this may be the one and only music recommendation that you EVER receive from me.  My parents (yes, that's how cool I am, I get my music from my parents) went to a J.J. Heller concert, got their CDs and brought Deeper for me to listen to when they came for a visit.  Then they accidentally left it.  And I've fallen in love with it.  So I'm probably not giving it back.

On My Screen... The last movie we watched was Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.  Or I guess I should say this was the last movie my husband watched.  I watched it from behind my eyelids.  There is no way a movie that requires that much brain power and that moves that slowly is going to keep this prego mama awake.  But Aaron really liked it, so that's saying something. About him or the movie, I'm not sure.     

We watch next to no T.V. what with my falling asleep habits and my husband's homework, but somehow we remain hopelessly devoted to the Office. Not sure why anymore.  Tradition I guess.  Just can't imagine life without the Office.  And as stupid as it is, Community makes us both laugh out loud everytime, so that's our other regular.  ("You're the opposite of Batman!"  "You don't even know what that means!")                

On My Blog Roll... Grab yourself a cup o' somethin' and cozy up for some truly wonderful writing.  My favorite posts lately:

I Write a Letter to You, Mama
http://www.emergingmummy.com/2012/04/in-which-i-write-letter-to-you-mama.html

Top Time Management Secrets to Know
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/04/top-time-management-secrets-to-know/

The 5 Biggest Mistakes I Made My First Year on the Field http://www.lauraleighparker.com/2012/04/biggest-mistakes-year-mission-field/

A Mother Letter for the Mamas
http://mamamonk.com/2012/04/19/a-mother-letter-for-the-mamas/

On My Night Stand... Just finished the third Hunger Games.  Yes, a bit late to the party.  Not one for the bandwagon, but after so many people that I trust raved about it, I couldn't resist.  If you're of the more delicate sensitivities to violence, then don't read it, but I have to confess I loved it.  The first was my favorite.  It had been so long since I got lost in a novel, I devoured it.  So original.  The third was my least favorite.  It went a little too sci-fi for me.  But all in all, definitely worth reading.  Now to see the movie...I think I'll stay awake for that one.

Up next on my reading list is the newly released ebook "Mother Letters."  So excited for this one.  I love where this came from.  I love that it is mothers banning together in authenticity to feed one another's souls with real life encouragement.  It was exactly what I needed to come home to after my parenting low of the week. 

Parenting Low of the Week... 

The other day both of my children completely embarrassed and undid me with their public meltdowns. First Ellie then Aiden.  The raised eyebrows and dumb remarks of observers topped it off: “Isn't he cute?” And “He's cranky, huh?” No, this screaming toddler tyrant with snot and marker smeared across his sweaty face is NOT at this moment cute. And hello captain let's state the whoppingly obvious. Yes, he is cranky.

Everything in me was having it's own silent screaming meltdown, shouting lies at myself about what a wretched mother I am that neither one of my children know how to behave, and I obviously don't have a clue what I am doing so who am I to be having a third?

Then another observer spoke up, interrupting my inner monologue. I almost ignored her after the other comments of the day. “You're doing great” she said. I almost choked. And then I wanted to hug her and weep on her complete stranger shoulder. Her words were soothing balm. If you ever wondered what to say to the parent of the tantrum child on the plane or in the grocery store, THAT is what you say. And then say a prayer that the child will de-arch his back while his mother tries to wrestle him into his car seat. 

Parenting High of the Week...

The week was redeemed when yesterday I ran swim suit clad into the kids room as they were awaking from their naps and shouted, "Let's go swimming!"  It was our first swim of the season.  Yes, it is April.  (I heart So Cal.)  There's just something magical about twirling through water with my wet babies in arms.   

       

So what are YOU into this month?  Any parenting moments to share?

 

Daring to Share My Marriage on the Internet

Writing about marriage love on the internet can be dangerous. You get mixed reactions. There are those that roll their eyes with a “Gag me, please. Keep it between the two of you.” And there are those that read of beautiful love and churn with envy. They long for a partner they do not have, or they look at the one they do have and cry, “Why aren't you like this?”

I've done some internet reading on marriage love myself, and I've done a bit of both the gagging and the envying. But here's what has also happened. When someone moves beyond the shiny veneer we like to show people and actually cracks open their marriage door to allow the rest of us to peer in at the beauty that the mess of marriage can bring, I am awed and encouraged. Awed at the power of God to take two broken vessels and make them better than one. Encouraged to grow past my selfishness that is so large and be the honoring, serving, life-giving spouse that I long to be.

Up till now, the dangers have made me hold back from sharing much about marriage. But today is special. Today I dare to crack open the marriage door and let you see what marriage has done to me. But really, this is not for you. It's for my husband. I share only in hopes that you might be awed at God and encouraged to be the person my husband is to me. So peer in and see. Here's a letter to my husband.

My Love,

On your birthday I want to give you that gift, the perfect one that touches you deep and warms you right through. But you know how utterly awful I am at actually doing that. Once or twice I've hit the home run and found just the right thing. But this year as usual, try as I might, I just can't think of what it would be. But here's what I can think of: all that you are to me.  So here's my gift of crafted words for you.

You are to me...

You are to me wisdom. When life is all foggy and my heart all in knots, it's wisdom I long for, and it's to you that turn. I've never known one that sees like you see, clear to the core. You root through the muck and get to the truth. You see clearly, know truly. Our wealth may stack small in the eyes of some, but your God-given wisdom reaps wages better than gold. You are wisdom.

You are to me grace. I remember sitting in a parked car in college, sobbing on your shoulder. Rivers of grace swirled around me, overwhelmed me. I was knowing grace anew. And I was knowing it through you. I didn't know then that for all my days you would be grace to me. I don't know how you do it. How can words of criticism for me not pass your lips? You know every broken part of me, and yet you never try to fix me. You let our Father do the mending. And you let him do it in his own so very slow and gradual way. And if there are parts that never see repair this side of eternity, I think you're even still content, for you love me wholly, accept me without condition. You are grace.

You are to me art. It was you who first called out the artist in me. Before I would never describe myself as creative or artistic. Then I saw how you made art with your life. Always creating, always expressing. And you gently nudged me to find my heart's art. You knew it was there, even though I did not. You knew it needed to break out and find itself. You gave me time to find it and you helped it grow. And now my heart sings. In the sculpting of words, the stirring of spices, the kneading of dough, my soul has found its space. You've even let me into your art of photography, allowing it to become our art. The artist in me is alive, and she turns to you in gratitude. You are art.

You are to me faith. I like to think myself the daring one. But we both know that when it comes to life's most daring leaps, you are the one that dares. You are the one that jumps. Then you turn to quivering me and offer your steady hand. Your faith is neither blind nor naive, but grounded in wisdom, in who you know God to be. And I love you for this. I love the life it's causing us to live, and I love that when this life overwhelms me, your faith holds me fast. You are faith.

This is what marriage to you has done to me. The line that marks where you end and I begin has grown beautifully bleary these last seven and a half years. And oh, that in the decades to come it would blur ever more. Today I celebrate all that you are, that I am yours and you are mine, that each night I fall asleep with your hand on my side.

Happiest of Birthdays to you, My Love.

All yours,

Me