Moment by Moment

Lately I've been thinking about living in the present. I'm a very "in the moment" person, so you'd think it would be easy for me to enjoy life since I'm not usually worried about the future. However, I'm so goal-oriented that I often get caught up thinking "What am I accomplishing right now? How am I making this day count?"

Reality looks different from the blueprint in my head. What I consider accomplishments are usually just ticks off a to-do list. Are getting the dishes done or folding the laundry or running errands really accomplishments? What is "accomplishment," anyway?

A definition of the word says it is "an act or instance of carrying into effect; fulfillment." So what am I trying to fulfill? Where do my priorities lie? 

Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him for ever. 

This. This should be my aim. Fulfilling this would be true accomplishment. 

I can best glorify God by giving my life as an act of spiritual service. Dying to myself daily and following Christ. Sacrificing my own will and desires moment by moment to my Savior. And I can only enjoy him as I spend time with him, or as I notice and thank him for his gifts. 

I think that the biggest accomplishments are the little sacrifices. Laying aside my work to play with my son. Putting aside my comfort to discipline him. Ignoring the whining of my weary body to serve my husband. Refusing to believe the lies or give into the temptations of the enemy. Taking time away from my housework to just watch my son at play, or to point out to him the beauty of the winter sunshine and snow. Making a conscious effort to thank the Lord for his gifts, like the fragrance of coffee, or the baby kicking inside me, or the mercy of a situation working out better than I hoped. 

It is a sacrifice for my busy mind and body to savor the moments God gives. I accomplish my "chief end" when I glorify God and enjoy him daily. 

Our baby is coming in June. Before then we will be finishing a remodel of the home we're renting and then moving in there. We'll be visiting Kansas for my sister's wedding. We'll be taking the youth group to a conference. We'll keep working our tails off day in and day out. Several people have asked me, "Are you so ready for the baby to get here?" I'm not a huge fan of pregnancy, I'll be the first to admit. However, I've decided that I really just want to savor life. I want to enjoy being the only one to hold this little person for another 4 months. I want to love the moments with just one little boy running around. I want to settle into a new life in our new home (and with a second family vehicle -hooray!) with joy and not frantically. 

These things are richer accomplishments. 

Just glorifying God and enjoying him today.


 

Five Minute Friday: Small Victories

Small.

This word makes me think of small steps. Little victories.

Like gradually making a habit of doing dishes once a day instead of letting them pile up until I can't see from under them anymore.

Or like the little boy obeying the first time I ask him to do something.

Maybe the little snatch of sunshine or the quiet thank you I whisper instead of a grumble.

I used to think everything had to be perfect. All had to be great. If you can't do something well, try something else.

Now I'm finally, finally starting to get that even the small victories count for something. God doesn't ask perfection. Ever. He just asks for obedience. And "those who are faithful in that which is little will be faithful also in much."

Last night I read, "Every man will proclaim his own steadfast love, but a faithful man who can find?"

I want to be a faithful mom.

Even in the small steps. Especially in the small steps.

Every day I can faithfully do one small thing to make my husband's day lighter, my boy's day more fun, and my own body stronger. Those things will build on each other. Victory comes from God.

______

This post is done as a part of Five Minute Friday, an initiative started by Lisa Jo Baker.

Sometimes Correction...Sometimes Mercy

Just a thought from this morning...

Our little man came to the steps of our bedroom this morning at 6:30, an hour before Nate or I had to be up. Early mornings may be one of my least favorite parts of motherhood. It's not fair that I not only have to care for my son 12 hours out of the day, but that he also gets up long before I'm ready to start my day and I can't even get the sleep I deserve. That's a rotten attitude, but it's what I feel every morning I have to rise before I'm ready.

Today I tried to settle him back in bed. We rocked, and sang, and even looked at books, but he wouldn't go. I disciplined him, but he didn't even care. He just wanted me. Just wanted me to hold him, to snuggle, to be with him.

"I have to teach him that he can't just get up and bug us when we're trying to sleep," the thought kept coming to my mind.

But then like a whisper, the thought filled me: What if he doesn't need a lesson right now? What if he just needs his mommy? What if he doesn't need correction, but mercy?

Sometimes God doesn't convict me with a scolding. Sometimes he teaches me by his mercy. He's there for me when I need him to just hold me, just like he's there for me when I need discipline and correction. He allows me to face trials that shape my character. He also gives moments that are so full of grace I can feel his closeness.

Momma's the boss but Momma doesn't always have to be bossing. Sometimes she can just give herself away to wash little man's feet by snuggling with him at 6:45 am before the sun comes peeking over the horizon.

Motherhood = Servanthood

Just a simple thought I had this evening...

Our days at home have been full of defiance and declarations of independence lately. They leave me worn and discouraged and feeling like I could care less about discipline and good manners. They're also full of just plain childishness that, while not particularly driven by naughty motivation, would still exhaust even the most energetic of moms.

This evening our little guy turned from a happy camper into a growling bear right about supper time and wouldn't let me put him down while I tried to saute zucchini and set the table. He didn't want to eat and then didn't want to play. But I got him involved in his Mega Blocks, which kept him happy for a little bit, until I discovered as he rolled around on the carpet, that his whole back was covered in poop. Literally. (No wonder about the grouchies...must have had a tummy ache.)

So we had a good rinsing off and scrub in the tub and got back to our blocks. Then he pulls out his giant white teddy bear which is his playing companion for everything from basketball to cars to Mega Blocks. Before I knew it, he trotted off, bear in tow, and dumped him headfirst into the still full bathtub. I wanted to just leave the bear in the bathroom to drip dry but he begged me for it, so there I found myself rubbing down his bear with a towel and blowing it dry with a hair dryer while he "helped."

I have to admit, the thought in my head was, "Why am I sitting here blow drying a teddy bear? What is the point?"

Not long afterward, we were snuggled up reading from our favorite "The Jesus Storybook Bible," which, incidentally, he calls his "buh-bye." We were reading about Jesus washing the disciples' feet in John 13:

One by one, Jesus washed everyone's feet. 
"I am doing this because I love you," Jesus explained. "Do this for each other." 

That's when it hit me. I do these things because I love my 21-month-old son. Love is sacrifice. Love does the seeming silly things because they make others happy and takes care of the gross messes because others can't take care of them by themselves.

Being a mother means being a servant. If I can't reconcile myself to that, I will spend the rest of my life being miserable, expecting rewards for thankless jobs and being discontent with the hardships of this servant life.

My Jesus loves me enough to clean up my messes and fulfill my simple requests not unlike blowdrying teddy bears. He came to earth as the Servant King to die for me. Thankfully, just like vacuuming crushed popcorn from the living room and dealing with temper tantrum after temper tantrum is all in a day's work for me, saving the world is in a day's work for him.

The Reality of Christmas

So...I am a cozy, tradition-loving woman whose ideal Christmas fell out of an HGTV Christmas special. Everything perfect. Gorgeous Christmas goodies for all the neighbors. Christmas parties every weekend of December. A warm, crackling fireplace with a sparkling Christmas tree covered in sentimental ornaments.

And I don't think I'm that unusual - especially when it comes to Christmas. Isn't that what most of us wish for?

It's not just a cozy house thing, either. I always feel "lacking" when it comes to the sentimental, worshipful feeling I think I should have when I think about Christ and the "Christmas story." Why don't I tear up and feel warm and generous and thankful inside like I should?

I've been listening to Andrew Peterson's song "Labor of Love" a lot this month. It has struck a chord with me, especially this year, because it focuses on Mary's labor and how uncomfortable Christmas night was for her and yet how God was in control of it all.

Christmas wasn't cozy for Mary and Joseph, or Jesus, for that matter. But what gets me every time is how Luke recorded that Mary kept everything treasured in her heart. She held onto the gifts that God gave her and would remember them for the rest of her life.

I've been working hard at making a habit of counting my blessings - writing them down - to remember the gifts God gives me. Today I was making cookies with my Wild Child and suddenly decided I had to document what Christmas has been looking like in our house this month. You won't find these pictures on Pinterest.

Misshapen cookie dough balls

A new Christmas tree skirt...but rather disheveled. 

The "mantel" with its decorations...and lotion...and game pieces...and random bells that fell off of elf hats...and probably multiple other things hidden in the garland.

The Wild Child taking a moment to poop and
read his Bible storybook at the same time. 

Looking out at the snow through *very* smudgy - not "frosted" window panes, despite what the song says. 

The presents actually NOT under the tree but on TOP of the bookshelf.

This. Whatever this is. Not a clean floor. That's what it's not.

Random ornaments on the TV stand because someone removed them from the tree and now their hooks cannot be found

The poor tinsel

The Wild Child himself

This is what all those goodies and Christmas cards look like before they leave your house

A helper who eats more chocolate than he puts on the cookies

Words aren't enough. 

That, folks, is the reality of Christmas. And it's okay. It's full of precious blessings and unexpected laughter and too much sugar and moments of thankfulness and worship that I choose to give back to God, rather than "feeling" them spontaneously in my soul. Once Jesus was a rowdy toddler. I expect that Mary had just as challenging a time as I do treasuring those moments in her heart, too, until she gave herself the same reality check.

God is good, friends. Merry Christmas.

A Deeper Calling

It has been 6 weeks since I last blogged. Part of me regrets that. The other part of me doesn't care because I've given up letting myself regret things I fail to accomplish. That's been one of the best things I've learned in the past year. However, I've been thinking lately about dreams and that part of me that sits getting rusty while I love my men and care for them.

I was created to communicate. It's as much a part of my DNA as my brown eyes and the freckles on my face. Teaching. Writing. Talking. Praying. Journaling. It flows out of me naturally. Someday I'm going to write a book. Or a children's church curriculum. It's a dream I've had since I was 3 years old drawing the pictures for a Cinderella book my mom had to fill in the captions for me since I still couldn't write. I remember sitting on my playhouse steps as a 10-year-old writing a stories in my notebook. I wrote a fictional book as a young teenager that will never be published for obvious reasons (think - a Janette Oke book written by a teenager). I wrote a discipleship book as an older teen that may never be published either, although for different reasons. From when I was 18 till I left for college at 21 I wrote letters to camp kids on a daily basis. I've filled 15 journals since I was 9 years old. I taught and counseled at camp for around 7 years in many capacities.

None of the desire or ability that led me to write for so many years has left my soul. However, one important element has: time.

I follow a lot of blogs written by moms who have as little time or less than I do. Often my desire to write stirs up and I think and think about it, and try to eek out words again. There is so much in my head and heart that screams, "Communicate me!"

When I dreamed as a girl about writing, I never realized that I would one day be writing a living epistle in the life of a little boy that would take most of the hours in my day, every day.

And you show that you are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. 2 Cor. 3:3

In June my little Rascal will be joined by a second little Munchkin and my days will be even fuller. I don't anticipate pulling out the old notebook again for a while (unless God were to free me from the responsibility of the work I do for others from home and give me that time - or somehow miraculously create more hours in the day). I really did strongly consider starting a book for middle-school-aged kids this summer but never did and the content still swirls in my head.

But something I've been considering is that my life is communication. Everything I do and say is absorbed by my children, as well as those watching me. And I do get the privilege of teaching in children's church every Sunday - possibly my favorite part of the week (although definitely the most exhausting hour of it!), and those children are living letters I am writing as well, in some small way.

Today I've been listening to Hillsong United's song Oceans (link below). The bridge says,
"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior"

My thought this morning was, "In all of the adventures I've had following the Lord, all of the things he's asked me to do, all of the 'great' prayers I've prayed, answers I've expected, I never imagined that the hardest one yet would be motherhood." You know...I've asked God to use me to change lives - to speak truth to those who haven't heard. I've asked him to stretch my faith and use me to show others that a life lived trusting him alone is possible. But I never expected that living in suburban America as a wife and mom could be that place that is "deeper than my feet could ever wander."

As much as I would love to write a book, until it is clearly God's calling for me, when he speaks to me out of the burning bush, it would not be satisfying, nor would it be accomplished very easily, since I would be doing it in my own strength.

I'm not writing this to bring on a pity party, or to complain about motherhood, or set myself up as some wonderful martyr who is sacrificing her dreams for her son. Heavens, no.

It's just that this is the thought on my heart: when God calls you to do something, it may be nothing like you imagined he would call you to, and secondly, when you ask God to use you, he may choose to place you somewhere you never dreamed. But that place he has for you, that mission he has called you to - it will be for his glory, for your purifying, and for the growth and encouragement of those around you as well.

In my mind, publishing something would be the ultimate joy. But maybe my sights are set too low. God's plans are always bigger than mine.

Where has God called you today? Are you working out that mission with joy, no matter how hard, how foreign it still sometimes seems to you? 

An Offering of Worship

I watch my little boy chasing a balloon around the living room. Gasping in wonder, he bounces everywhere the balloon does. He tips over and bumps his head on a chair while missing the balloon. But he just rubs his head and keeps chasing. He drops the balloon and rolls over backwards. The sunshine coming through the window makes patterns on the floor and his shadow chases him around the room as he follows the balloon.

My heart fills with a song. He loves life so much. Everything is a miracle to him. How I long to see through his eyes. He loves purely. Simply. If he wants to be with his momma, you know it. He won't leave my side. If he'd rather play with Daddy, he runs to him and throws him the ball. When his little friends come over, he runs to greet them with delight, arms stretched open wide. He snuggles when he wants to, or when we want to. He's just so free with his expressions of delight or sadness or interest.

So often I'm trapped in my spirit. Worrying what people will think. Wanting to keep others happy. Haunted by the questions of "Is this responsible?" or "Am I doing the right thing?" Preoccupied by the never-ending to-do list of my life.

Lately I've been thinking about Jesus' invitation, "Follow me." He invites us to come walk with him. And not just down the road for a day or two, but for the rest of our lives. To relinquish the grasp we have on things, on perceptions, on responsibilities, on fears, and to just walk by his side.

Someone I was talking to recently said that they felt like Jesus was a boss who would fire us if we did anything wrong. I don't blame that person for their limited understanding. Even I who should know so much better live my life that way too often. I find my life is every day about trying harder. Is Jesus going to be happy with me today?

This morning we overslept and almost missed our 8:45 appointment to the chiropractor. We go every other week, so it's not the end of the world if we were to miss, but it's not ideal. Nate said, "You just go; I'll watch Charles." So I sped off at 8:43 toward the office and realized about halfway there I forgot my id card to swipe for my appointment (Charles had taken it out of my purse). Lately I've felt like I've screwed up every appointment I've had there by being late, or forgetting, or such. The condemnation was pouring over my spirit and I thought about our small group discussion last night.

Being a follower of Jesus isn't about trying every day. It's about dying every day. Jesus said, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me."

There is such a difference between trying and dying. Trying means more. Dying means less. Does the idea of less appeal to you as much as it does to me? Every day I'm cramming more into my life. More activities, more attempts at perfection, more people-pleasing, more priorities, then more comfort-seeking to remedy my stress.

When I look at my little boy chasing his balloon I realize his life is full of less. Less stress and more joy. Less worries and more delight. Less failing and more overcoming. He doesn't know anything about following Jesus or dying to himself yet, but he really has no idols to chase after. He just lives.

What are my idols and why do I carry them on my shoulders? Pursuit of perfection. Approval of others. Comfort. They are nothing. Jesus is everything.

I think of his tender compassion and love for me. How he walked the difficult path of life with perseverance, and died a shameful death with unending love, all for me, for us. I want to cry a little in relief. I don't need to try harder.

I get to die daily. And live in the freedom he extends gladly to me.