My Birthday Men

This child turned six years old yesterday. I’m a little dazed. He didn’t stay this little. His brain works in ways wondrous to me and many times I’ve been thankful for his father’s interpretation of it to me. I wasn’t that smart at his age! But he’s a keen little soul. I think sometimes we expect too much out of him. Other times we don’t expect enough. He’s an artist. He’s a dreamer. He’s a keeper.

We bought him an Electronic Snap Circuits set. He is pleased.

I told him that he couldn’t possibly be six because I’m not old enough to have a six year old. He didn’t buy it. So I guess he’s six. Funny though, his last birthday happened just before we left from the State’s last year. He commented the other day that this last year went fast. He’s right, it did. I hope next year goes a little slower. Sometime between now and his next birthday I have find time to finish teaching him to read. He’s a clever enough child that my horrible homeschooling habits haven’t hindered him too horrendously.

Dru just had a birthday too. He looked like this six years ago.

He is a good man. I love that he has a tenacious grip on the Word of God. I love the perspective he brings to my life. His commitment to brotherhood and his patience in the face of disagreement has amazed me time and time again. He’s my favorite preacher and teacher, any day, and I get to live with him! He works hard and expects way more out of himself then I think is necessary. He takes care of us  well.  He makes me feel like a queen. He’s made an interesting journey of my life, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I often tell him that I’d marry him all over again, only this time faster. We both know what I mean by that, and you probably kind of get the drift.

I love you, Dru Seth

I snitched this picture off of his company’s website. I think he’s quite good looking.

How Grace Looks Today

Yesterday I wrote this:

Really, it isn’t fair to blame the coffee. It helped. But something about the balmy afternoon stirred those feelings. Like I was fourteen again and walking in the door of the old Stone House. It was something peaceful and precious and happy.
Today I keep having memories about school days.
Jacob abusing my stuffed monkey. Putting lines on the freshly packed snow that was to be his kitchen floor, with my white rubber boots with the pink trim on top—and how upset he was with me for it.
The time LeeAnne and I were goofing around and she ended up with a bloody finger. I was so grossed out I didn’t let on because she’d have made me look at it. I told her later.
We hid from Mr. Zook one time too. Why were we so mean to him?
The time I desperately wanted to go to school in spite of feeling like I maybe had the stomach flu that was going around. I ended up flying down the center isle of the church auditorium to get to the bathroom in time to throw up. We were doing program practice that morning.
The time I burped, very loudly, to Miss Mast and LeeAnne’s horror—and my own actually.
The year we were still playing soft ball in December.
The heavy snow in March one year and how Dad just drove in the lane, through that heavy snow in his big truck, and dropped me off at the school house door. Mr. Zook seemed noticeably perturbed that it would have the nerve to dump three feet of snow in the middle of March.
The time I poked Heather and got caught. Honestly, Mr. Zook, I was ALWAYS good when you were out of the room. That was the first time I ever did that—I got tired of being good all the time. Then I got busted.
I also got busted the time LeeAnne ran into me at the scoring table and whispered, “I can’t make wide turns.” I replied, “You’re crazy.” Miss Mast made us write what we’d said fifty times. I don’t blame her really. We weren’t in the habit of not whispering at the scoring table.
Miss Mast once put me smack between Eric and Elvie (is that still what he goes by?) when we rearranged offices. It was an effort to help me be more diligent—because I was not a diligent student—but it didn’t necessarily eliminate distraction. I periodically had offerings of eraser bits delivered to me from beneath the divider. I didn’t particularly mind the seating arrangement, but I could always tell which one of them had won  the soft ball game at recess. They weren’t usually on the same team. The loser always had to bang around in his desk quite loudly for a few minutes to let off steam. I trust they’ve both overcome this tendency.
Mr. Zook once gave me a C+ on my report card for Phys. Ed. I have since forgiven him.
There was the time we girls decided to do a bread baking contest. Mine won because the judge apparently had a tendency for doughy bread. This was totally unfair to Esther and even at the time I was miffed because it wasn’t a fair contest.
As I sit here writing this my hubby is messaging me. We’re working through some hard stuff this week. I read some, I write some. Two different stories. I find myself incredibly thankful for the stability and happiness of my childhood. I find a kind of refuge in the memories today. I don’t know if that’s good or not. But I thank God for these memories. I thank God that the grace that has been there for me all the days until now,and  will continue to go with us through the future. That whatever happens in this story today, His grace will be just as loving as it was to me as a child. Even if it feels hard today. Because He is the same, yesterday, today and forever. Here we must stand, or like Peter, we sink.
It helps to know that my Mom’s dining room still looks like this:

I guess right now, her pretty table is my reminder of the grace of God which is still available and as sure as ever. Now to live in that promise.

Of Visas and Vientiane

I think we do not like visa runs. I think we do not like Vientiane. It’s really not fair to Vientiane. We go there to do visa work, which is generally stressful proposition with a family. Therefore Vientiane doesn’t bring to mind thoughts of peace and joy, as a general rule.
However, Vientiane in rainy season is a lot more favorable to be in than Vientiane in dry season. Even on the back of a tuk-tuk when you’re getting wet in spite of plastic being drawn down. Somehow, it was a warm, happy wet. Maybe because that happened on our way to the border, leaving the country.
I realized that my family likes sandwiches. Dru likes the Laos sandwiches made on French bread. I have become inspired to learn to make good sandwiches and serve them to my family often.
When you are away from home your realize more keenly the holes in your training. My children eat like birds and complain about the food set before them more often than not. I intend to bring this to an abrupt end as soon as I get home. It’s especially disconcerting to me because both of them seem to be somewhat anemic. Especially Havilah, who can eat six bites while the rest of us eat our whole meal. I don’t think that’s much of an exaggeration. She then proclaims herself full. But she’ll be hungry for five more bits in an hour. Unless it’s sweet, then she’ll have twenty bits. This, my dear children, must come to an end. They’re both too skinny and pail faced to have such habits. I always said I wouldn’t force my children to eat if they weren’t hungry, but five bites doesn’t constitute a meal. Furthermore, both of them are too skinny. I don’t mind feeding them three meals a day and two snacks. But It is not necessary to feed them seven snacks, give or take a bit.
Havilah has some issues concerning willful emotional instability. (Fits or tantrums, some people might say.)
Jube lives in La-la land. It’s fine in small doses but not for always.
Rennie yells and stiffens.
Three naughty children but I have no one to blame but me. I’m a dreadful pushover. I tend to threaten and say things over and over. How dumb!
Visa work actually went okay. We were pretty stressed out there for a bit when we realized that there was one document we had no idea we needed and weren’t sure how to get it. However, thanks to Sheriff Mark Kelsey of our little home town of Hayward, Wisconsin, we were able to get that last document together. Looking back on it now, we didn’t actually lose a day because of my passport needing pages, but it was an inconvenience and an expense of 82 USD to get pages added.
In the end, we’re taking two days of family vacation. Today was spent in much doing of nothing much. The children have colds. So the rest was lovely for them too. Tomorrow we  head to Udantani, or however that’s spelled, to spend some time with Pii Ang. The flight to Chiang Mai leaves around eight.
Monday I will have mounds of laundry to do and a yucky fridge to clean out. I have potatoes growing in the kitchen too. Oh, and children to train.
My computer clock says it is eleven forty-two. I hope this is coherent in spite that.

Savor

I am in that stage of life where everything is busy. Husband is working hard. Baby is teething. Other children need constant in put, love, and correction. I live on coffee and survive headaches, which are a new and unwelcomed thing for me. I want to learn this stage well and enjoy it. I’m learning to relax and be happy in my chaos. I’m learning that I need Jesus all the time. I’m hoping that when this stage is over, I’ll be thankful for it. I’ll look back and say, it was hard, but it was good.

Right now I struggle to notice the moments let alone savor them. I find myself needy. I need to hear from my friends that all my struggles are normal. I also  realize that it’s okay to feel stressed out and needy. It is a state of being that I’m trying to become comfortable in. 

I hope I learn this quickly. I want figure out how to stay in the Word and in prayer—consistently. Then walk in that joy.

But this is hard work. This Mom stuff is the hardest work I’ve ever done. I think it may be the hardest work I will ever do.

I have this theory that those grandmothers who remind us to “savor these moments, they go by so quickly,” would never look to have this intense mommy time back. Because it is hard work. They had their chance at it, gave it their best shot, and I do say, deserve their grandmother stage. You know, where they spoil them rotten then send them back to us. But it tells me that the memories that stick best aren’t about babies who don’t sleep well because they’re teething. They might remember being tired, but they’ve learned not to resent it. They don’t remember discipline and line upon line, precept upon precept. No, they’re remembering those blue baby eyes that sparkled so brightly when nap time was over. Bouncing blond curls. Laughter. Snuggles. Victories. They remember the happy things. They savored well. I would do well to do the same.

On another note. Today I made some pretty. Then I guarded it. Havilah stole the bird and the pumpkin cookie cutter then brought them back guiltily when she was caught. Jube saw a clear pretty table and thought, “Aha! my crafting space is clear! I shall now make a paper sword!” But I said, “No. I want to enjoy my pretty space.” I get the biggest kick out of how Jube did admire the pretty though—and how Havilah can hardly keep her hands off of it. Now, go make some pretty, and enjoy your day. Savor the moments.

 

In this quiet moment.

This is a quiet moment. It might not last long. The children are all down for naps, but there are dishes to wash and laundry to fold. I need these quiet moments though. I didn’t get one yesterday and I realized that this moment  really does help me get through the rest of my day.

Dru’s brother Adam is here right now. It’s fun. With in an hour of him being here, the two of them were singing. People say that they act like brothers. In my mind they’ve always been as different as black and white. So I’m watching them. They are brothers after all. Adam doesn’t like to be asked if he’s fussy any better than Dru does. They both like stupid puns. Even their voices have similarities that I didn’t notice before.

Adam is getting to see our lives pretty much as they are. Even the messy bits we wouldn’t have chosen for him to see. Some of those bits are probably good for him to see though, as he considers moving his family over here.

Dru is as busy as ever—tons on his mind this week. We’re working on baptism plans for Bob and Yai this weekend and also visa work—on top of all the other stuff that has to happen with work and school. And Dru’s phone locked up on him for reasons unknown. His life is kept organized by that phone. Meetings, deadlines, contacts, you name it, it’s on that phone. He’s using mine right now, but it’s not ideal. He’s stressed about to the max right now, I guess. So I’m praying for him more today. You can too, if you think about it.

Today I’m thankful for an ant who goes by the name of Bobby. He’s made of a pop sickle stick, pipe cleaners, pom poms, and googley eyes—all glued together. The children and I discussed ants this morning. We discussed work and where it came from. We discussed doing things with out complaining and arguing. Then Bobby was cobbled together. Today he has begun on a journey all around the living room and kitchen. A job well done and he gets to go forward. Complaining and failing to obey or complete a task, and he goes backward. Right now Bobby is sitting on the sugar jar on the table. He’s six steps away from the starting point at Jube’s desk. This is as far as he’s gotten so far today—beings the children forgot to obey and pick up some toys at one point—along with some other misdemeanors. Jube found it truly disconcerting when Bobby had to move backwards. I don’t know why. There is no named reward in the event that Bobby really does make it back to the starting point.

I do know that I was at my wit’s end. Somewhere a long the line my children decided obedience was optional. I knew that Jube needed something visual, but I was really struggling with what to do. So I packed two bins full of toys and stacked them away. (Children who can’t put toys away without much coaxing, crying, fits, complaining, procrastination, and etc. don’t need to have very many toys, I say.) I totally rearranged the living room, making one corner of it a toy area. I put a way the significantly less toys. Then I sat upstairs in my rocking chair feeling dazed. I got out my Bible and read the ant verses. I did some praying. This morning “Bobby” came to be. So far, he’s a very welcome member of the family, if you ask me.

I’m still struggling to keep up. Still tired. But I’m more okay with it. I’m still feeling humbled by my experience last week. I’m kind of feeling my way around. I don’t have answers really. Neither do I want them. I just need to live this motherhood thing out day by day, in prayer, by Jesus. I’m praying about little things more. Jesus is the answer, really.

Confessions Of The Superwoman Who Wanted To Be

It’s been a hard two weeks. When I blogged last Monday, I was feeling better. Then I got a cold and everything crashed for real. But I learned something.

I learned that I’m proud.

Sometimes I wonder what good I am—how I can possibly be of an encouragement to the world of Christianity around me when I have had everything so good. I know nothing of the hardship of being an abused child. I know nothing of grieving the loss of a close relative. I know nothing of being sexually abused. I don’t have any “dark” sins in my past. You name it, it hasn’t happened to me.

Well, maybe not quite, but you get the idea. This makes me feel rather insignificant sometimes—like I have nothing to share. I’ve sat in ladies’ meetings and felt totally lost as to know how to relate to what was being discussed. Or how to relate to the person sharing. Sometimes I’m like, “Wow, that’s big—I have no clue what to do with that.” Other times I’m like, “So…what’s the big deal?”





Though I’m frustrated at times by not being able to connect, there is a certain thankful feeling pride I have for how good I do have it. I don’t have those “issues to deal with,” I tell myself. I am “balanced”. I minimize my own journey. Really, I minimize my own sin. I don’t much like to go into the fact that my besetting sin happens to be hidden away in my mind where nobody knows about it. Teenaged fantasies that still haunt me today. That’s my journey and it’s yucky and embarrassing. Yet I tend to minimize it. Perhaps I wasn’t sinned against, but my mind isn’t clean, except by the blood of Jesus—and that’s really all any of us have to stand on. I am left with the realization that I’m proud of the fact that the sins I have to deal with are “insignificant.” Sick.

I want people to think I have it together. I despise feeling weak. I hate crying. Period. I don’t like to cry in private, much less in public. I desperately want to help my friends in need, but I do everything in my power to not be needy. Being needy leaves me feeling shame and guilt. I refuse to be in need, even when I am.

I’m pretty good at cramming. Cramming in the Bible study and prayer so that I can get the dishes done. Cramming in the kids so that I can get the laundry through. Wasting time, only to make the important people in my life pay for it. I will appear good. But this usually means donning an impossible façade. An impossible reality for me, and perhaps for any mother at my stage of life.

Then everything crashes. In one week I’m hit with a bad cold. Then the “elusive time of the month” arrives as well. Elusive because I’m nursing a nine month old, which saps my strength, leaving me exhausted. Everything crashed last week and I was left with nothing but my pride.

On Tuesday, I talked to my old best friend on the phone—for over two hours. I wanted to talk to her because I was worried about her. But guess who talked and talked? Guess who spilled? I realized that I really wasn’t put together very well. She was asking, “Have you prayed about it?” “Have you taken your vitamins?” She asked me about my boredom. About feeling trapped in my home. She said lots of good things. Thank you, Melinda.

Later that day, I realized that I was in no condition to have a Bible study because I hadn’t been in the Word and in prayer like I should have been. I sat at the dining room table, staring at my Bible, trying to prepare. I was in no condition physically, emotionally, or spiritually, to teach. I cancelled. I was desperately needy, and I hated it. Suddenly all the stuff I’m usually happy with about myself was stripped away. What was left just looked like a whole lot of pride.

I’m still trying to figure out what this all means. I think it means – at least – that superwoman needs to die. I need to stop trying to be everything and just focus on the important things. I need to sleep more. Do you know how stupid that makes me feel to have to say that? I hate naps! Waste of time. I like to be able to get up early, but I just cannot right now. Weaning this huge baby doesn’t seem to be an option right now. So I need to take my vitamins religiously. It means that dishes sit while I spend time with the kids. It means that if all that gets done in a day is a few dishes and food and clean clothes…it’s okay. It means that I listen to audio Bible while I color with the kids.

This superwoman I want to be has no needs. I need to learn that it’s okay to have needs. I need to figure out how to live with where I am at in life right now—and how to take care of those needs. Those trapped feelings I get? It’s a pity party. Pride. But I realize that I have a need here and I have to figure out how to combat that in whatever way works best for me and my family. If I’m tuned in, I won’t let things get to the trapped stages.

In all of this, I have to learn to be content. I need to choose joy. I need to learn how to THRIVE. Otherwise, I’m going to look back at this stage of life and kick myself for wasting time wishing I was more than I could be. I’ll wish I hadn’t missed what was right before me at the time.

I don’t understand everything my friends have had to deal with in their pasts—or are dealing with now. However, I do understand that I have my own set of weird problems. My own set of needs. My own set of guilt and pride and sin that I have to take to Jesus—daily. Because I do want to do this walking with Jesus thing right. I want to be victorious.



The truth is, I need this stage of life. This tired, hormonal, busy, boring stage of life. Because, right now, it’s important for me to be face to face with the fact that what I can do is not important in the light of eternity. This isn’t about me. It’s about Jesus. What He can do in a day, in a year, in a life, in a child, in me, in whatever we allow Him to work in. So I have to rest. Be okay with feeling and even acting tired. And choose joy, which, ultimately, is choosing Jesus.

Listening Well, Proverbs, and Verse Books.

Last night I was fuming in my kitchen—all by myself because I’d scared my man away when I  yelled and glared viciously snapped at him for turning down my music. I don’t blame him, I was a bear. I was stewing, wondering if I was the only good little Mennonite woman who sometimes feels like she’s just supposed to be fulfilled by doing dishes, raising kids, and washing laundry, mopping floors, and all of those things over and over and over and over. I tried to think about long term results and other stages of life that we’re working towards. It was NOT working. I was mentally blogging many eloquent words—strong and fierce words—about how we’re just expected, as women, to enjoy this sort of thing. I thought about confessing that there are times my home feels much more like a prison to me than a home. Lucky for all of you, three things happened since then that changed my attitude. (Yup, I am a fickle woman.) Oh, and I have made up with my man. He forgave me, as he always does.

Thing one that happened: I went into my air conditioned bedroom. I’m still dealing with the sticky heat totally derailing me and I don’t even realize what’s going on until I get out of it. It’s totally irrational sometimes. I just need to do a better job of realizing what’s actually going on. I’m warm. It will cool down one day (maybe) and until that day, I need to find ways to cope and be happy. And on those cool days, I need to tackle the big projects. In the long run, I don’t know what to do with this heat thing being such a big deal—but it I have to tackle it more gracefully than I have this summer.

Thing two: I just read my Mom’s latest blog post. (I hope you don’t tire of me linking to my mom’s bog, but I am still learning from her and strongly suspect this will never change.) I especially noticed how she said her and Dad have been listening to other people’s stories. I need to listen better. What do the other moms do when life feels like a pointless cycle? I need to stop spewing, even if it is just in mental blog posts, about how I feel trapped and life feels pointless. I’m pretty sure that there are a lot of Moms, who, like me have other dreams and hopes, totally out side of raising children and keeping clean houses. How do they handle these things? When is the time to lay aside other dreams, and when is the time to pursue them, even with the kiddos underfoot? I need to read more, listen closer, and make a point of shutting my mouth and listening when I’m with my friends, to hear what they do and handle life. I need to ask and listen. How do others maintain a eternal perspective reality, while maintaining a day to day reality?

The third thing I did? I just drank my coffee for the morning. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to articulate cravings, outside of those associated with pregnancy, very well. Since returning from Thailand last fall, I have come to really appreciate my AeroPress coffee. Every day. I like it sweet, iced, and with plenty of milk. It is my happy thing. I’ve also come to understand why there are Moms who hide chocolate stashes where the children can’t find them. I periodically get strong urges for chocolate. What’s with that anyway?

So, I feel better now. My house is still needing the floors cleaned up and I have laundry to do. But what I really wanted to do was write. I’m beginning to think that I need to make writing a priority. Something in my brain feels better when I write. It keeps things tidy up there, I guess. So I will. Maybe it will help me feel purpose in life in those times when I feel like everything else is pointless cycle.

Right now I’m reading the book of Proverbs and the book of Matthew with Pii Yai, the lady I’m doing Bible Studies with. I found out something very interesting to me. While I enjoy Matthew, she enjoys Proverbs. While I struggle to understand whether or not Proverbs is true all the time, she is able to discern the difference between a principle and a promise. I think it’s a blessing that comes with being Asian. Who hasn’t heard a Chinese or Japanese, or yes, Thai proverb? While I feel yanked around, because the subject matter jumps from verse to verse, that doesn’t faze her so much. We got together last week and she had no questions about Proverbs, while I did. Her questions were in Matthew. I’m asking questions about why, if the Proverbs are true, there are Christians who suffer for their righteousness, rather than be rewarded. She’s wondering why Jesus spoke in parables. Unfortunately, we only got so far as discussing her questions. I’d still like to talk about mine with her some day. Until then, I have to ask Dru my questions, the same ones, every other day for a week, until I get it. I’m pretty sure one of the reasons God gave me the man he did is because he knew I’d need someone who didn’t mind saying something several times in several different ways until I finally get it.

Even with my failure feelings of last week, I think there is one thing I’ve done right with my kids. Especially with Jube. It was the creation of his verse book. It’s a scrapbook of the Bible memory we’ve done over the years. I was browsing through it this morning and realized that the verses that mean the most to him are the ones I dug out of my Bible, Proverbs no less, in desperation, trying to get him to understand something important. Proverbs 29:1 came out when I couldn’t get him to understand that there are certain kinds of play that just aren’t physically safe! “He who is often rebuked, and hardens his neck, will suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.” I debated about memorizing this one. It’s pretty harsh, but I was scared for him. He was three or four at the time and would scare the bejabbers out of me and the neighbors with his antics in the yard while I wasn’t watching at the time. We had this old rusty fence and gate that he’d crawl all over if I let him. The gate was pretty high and there were these long prongy rusty points on it. I lived in fear of him cutting himself open or impaling himself on them.However, he simply would not obey and stay down and way—until we got out the verse book and pasted a new verse in.

 

Proverbs 12:10 went in when we were dog sitting for friends. “A righteous man regards the life of his animal, but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.”  I always want to be careful with my use of the Bible when I train my children. I want the Bible to be the book they chose to live by as they grow up, not the big scary book Mom digs out when they’re bad. However, I’m thankful for the Word of God, and will continue to use it. That’s what it’s there for. See Second Timothy 3:16.

Havilah has a verse book too, but it is smaller with fewer verses. She’s been slower to memorize and even now she struggles to speak clearly. I’ve just now began to use her book more. Yes, the verse books have seasons, too. We’ll dig them out for a while, then then they get set aside for a while. But every time we dig them out again, I’m so thankful for them.

Now, I shall go get some laundry going and tackle my day. Thanks for stopping by.