Mr. Golden Sun

The best way I can think of to describe last week is with a familiar children’s song. It goes like this, “Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, hiding behind a tree….These little children are asking you, to please come out so we can play with you…Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me!” Around here we’ve been begging Mr. Sun to come out and play for quite some time and last week he finally answered our call. For the first time in the year 2011 we had enough consecutive days with temperatures above freezing to thaw the ice and melt the snow. So we shed our winter coats and ventured into the great outdoors.

Wednesday was rainy but the kids got to splash around in some slushy puddles. Rain may sound dreary to most of you, but we’re just thankful it’s not snow!

Thursday we spent the morning playing outside with some friends. They have a super long driveway which is perfect for ride-on toys. Check out Johnny getting in on the action…

Friday was a beautiful sunny day! After picking up Josie from preschool I refused to let the kids inside the house. The sandbox had just become exposed after a long winter beneath the snow so the kids were mesmerized by all the muddy possibilities it offered them. For lunch I grabbed a blanket and we sat in the driveway eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches picnic style.

As you can see, if you look closely at the left of the picture, Beast helped himself to a bite of our picnic too.

Sunday we took our first trip of the year to the park. As soon as the car doors opened, Josie and Jamie were sprinting towards the playground. Going an entire winter without a slide or a swing must seem like an eternity to a four and a two year old. The smiles never faded from their faces, even as the sun went down.

It is currently snowing and our front lawn that was exposed yesterday, taunting us with the hope of spring, is white today. Oh, Mr. Golden Sun, please come back so we can play with you!

"Intentional Mothering"

Have you ever asked yourself one or more of the following questions? Am I doing a good job? Am I making the right decisions for my family? Am I doing what God wants me to do with my life? I think we all have. For the most part, I would consider it healthy to play host to a reasonable amount of self-evaluation and introspection on a regular basis. But recently these questions have captured my thoughts and have been holding my emotional health at bay. I have been preoccupied with my own self-worth. Fighting this inward battle has been taking my attention and energy away from where it should be. To put it simply, my priorities are all screwed up.

So when a close friend extended an open invitation to me and my fellow members of a small group Bible study to join her in fasting for Lent, I jumped at the chance. My recent self-assessment has brought into question a lot of my family’s daily habits, which are of course MY daily habits, since the kids’ routines are formulated by my own. I saw the chance to give something up for Lent as an opportune stepping stone towards making important changes in my life and, by extension, the life of my children. It took me a couple days to decide exactly what to fast from but I eventually came to the conclusion that for 40 days I would not drink soda, eat cookies, or consume candy. It is an extreme step for us, to be sure, but I also agreed to give us some leeway. We can have other “treats,” such as birthday cake, ice cream, pastries, and ambiguous snacks such as rice krispy treats, which are technically neither a cookie nor a candy. I felt confident leaving room for these items because they are not on my regular shopping list or baking rotation and can rarely be found in the house, so there is almost no chance of them being eaten on a daily basis. My goal here is to make healthier choices.

But practicing this Lenten discipline is about more than avoiding empty calories. The heart of the matter is that I intend to connect my desire to eat healthier to my desire to mother better. Therefore, I found a book to read as my Lenten devotional to help me connect the dots. It’s entitled Mothering Heights: A Novel Approach for Christian Mothers by Keitha Smith and Susan Brereton. I’ve only gotten through the introduction and first chapter so far but I would HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommend this book to the young mothers out there who are struggling to raise Christian children in today’s challenging world. The authors strive to encourage women to be what they call, “intentional mothers.”

An intentional mother is someone who has given consideration to the value and purpose of motherhood, and who incorporates biblical principles at the core of how she raises her children. Intentional mothers have an understanding that motherhood is a relational role, not a task-oriented role. An intentional mother knows that raising her children does not boil down to an endless list of things to do or accomplish but rather is a living, dynamic relationship that will provide the foundation on which children build their lives.  (Smith and Brereton, Mothering Heights, page x)

The book goes on to describe that intentional mothers are able to withstand the trials of daily life and tribulations during hard times because we have an eternal perspective. We see that we are investing in the treasure that is our children and, in so doing, can rely on God’s approval and enrichment.

For the first time in a long time, I finally have my priorities in line. I feel lighter and less burdened. The feeling lighter part has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve lost about 6 pounds (Note: I have been combining my ‘no sodas, cookies, or candy’ with fewer snacks, smaller portioned meals, and a 20 minute routine on my exercise bike a day.) But I also feel invigorated. I am disciplined and determined and all of these are making me a better mother and a better person. I’ve seen such a change in me and in my household and it’s only been a week and a half. I can’t wait to see what the weeks ahead have in store for us!

Dressed up for church (The boys are wearing homemade bow ties).

Love and Loss

Everyone knows that there are two things you should never discuss in polite conversation: religion and politics. I would like to take this opportunity to add a third thing to the list, and that is death. Broaching the topic of death (or loss) is a surefire way to turn an otherwise friendly, casual conversation into a silent, awkward situation. There’s nothing like a tragic story to dampen the mood. That is why, with the exception of a privileged few, most of you have never heard me talk about this subject. As a rule, I avoid inserting it into my daily dialogue. I even waited until a Saturday to post this on my blog because most people have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than read my sad story. Never the less, I decided to post this because there may be other women out there who are struggling with the same type of loss that I once did, who can find comfort in knowing that they are not alone.

(One year old Josie and me at 10 wks pregnant and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead)

In 2007 I suffered two consecutive miscarriages. I have relived the experiences in my head so many times that I can remember them like they were yesterday. On a typical Friday morning in July I was 10 weeks pregnant and I started having some light vaginal spotting. I went to an OB appointment that same morning so I casually mentioned the problem to my nurse, who assured me that some spotting is perfectly normal during pregnancy. But by Sunday the bleeding had intensified and by Monday morning it had become heavy. Out of concern, I called the nurse and she asked me to come in for an emergency ultrasound, just to be sure that everything was alright. The technician jellied up my belly and rolled the ultrasound stick around for awhile until she stopped and froze, left the room without a word, and returned with a doctor. The doctor sat down in the chair beside my bed and turned the monitor toward me. The image that I saw on the screen is permanently etched into the back of my mind- a tiny , peanut-like silhouette, and no heartbeat.

We would have celebrated that baby’s 3^rd birthday this month.

I dealt with my grief in various ways over the months that followed and then James and I conceived again. Two months later, I miscarried again.

A few of my family members and closest friends have asked me since then if I have “gotten over it” and “moved on.”  You know, now that I have three healthy children. People who have never had a miscarriage may not understand and people who have never been pregnant may think it’s bizarre, but my answer is: absolutely not. I doubt that anyone, even James, knows how much my miscarriages continue to affect my day-to-day life. As much as I love Josephine, Jamison, and Jonathan, I also loved those babies. I loved them from the very minute I knew I was pregnant and I bonded with them for the two short months I carried them inside of me. That’s not something you easily forget. I think about them at least once every day. I miss them terribly even though I never met them. I pray daily that God will watch over and care for my precious little ones until I can meet them in heaven one day.

The following is a little something I wrote in August 2007, a month after my first miscarriage, as part of my struggle with grief.

One week I was pregnant.  The next week I was not.

One week I was buying a little newborn sleeper.  The next week I was hiding it so that it didn’t make me cry.

One week I was avoiding sodas and candy bars because they weren’t good for the baby.  The next week I was stuffing myself with caffeine and chocolate, pretending that they made me feel better.

One week I felt confident talking about motherhood.  The next week I felt unworthy to talk about motherhood.

One week I was celebrating my daughter’s first birthday and thinking that this time next year she would be a big sister.  The next week I was wondering if she would end up an only child.

One week I was reading “My Pregnancy: Week 10.”  The next week I was reading “Understanding Miscarriage.”

One week I was so happy for my friend and I was celebrating the birth of her new baby.  The next week I was jealous and I envied her happiness.

One week the question “How are you feeling?” meant “Are you having any morning sickness yet?”  The next week the question “How are you feeling?” meant “Can you talk about it without crying yet?”

One week I was telling my Mother-in-law when we would know if the baby was a boy or a girl.  The next week I was realizing that we would never know.

One week I was filling my closet with maternity clothes.  The next week I was throwing them in a box in the corner.

One week I had a great relationship with all my family and friends.  The next week they felt distant because there were things I wanted to say but didn‘t know how to say them.

One week I was joyful.  The next week I was sorrowful.

One week I anticipated meeting my new child.  The next week I was struggling to say good-bye.

One week, life was routine. The next week, life was precious.

Life is precious, people, and I pray that you don't have to suffer the way I did in order to see it.