In His Time

The previous owner of our house made many questionable decisions, but he did have a stroke of genius when he planted a beautiful blue hydrangea bush right next to the front door.  When we bought the house in the dead of winter, we didn’t realize just what we had, but summer revealed it to be nearly four feet in diameter and covered in showy blooms.  Since I have the special talent of killing almost everything I plant, I was thrilled to have a mature hydrangea that provided me with cut flowers for most of the summer. 

Something happened, though, during the deep freeze of 2013-14, and that spring the bush struggled to put on blooms.  It still filled out, leafy and green, but I couldn’t cut enough flowers for a bouquet.  Adding insult to injury, the neighborhood deer aggressively mowed down the side of the bush near our front door, and James wondered aloud if it was a goner. 

I held my breath this spring.  Again, the leaves came in thick and full, and the side the deer left untouched began to produce blooms.  However, the branches that were decimated in the fall were slower to regrow, and I began to wonder if the bush would be lopsided forever and the blooms were few and far between.  It sounds silly to be so sad about a plant, but those showy blue blooms gave me so much joy every time I entered and left the house, and they brightened up even the messiest room.  To me, they represented how much God loves me: he not only gave us a home we could never afford, but He planted my favorite flowers right by the door.  Like a man pursuing the woman he loves, God had even considered my favorite color.  And then they were gone.  “He gives and takes away,” I reasoned as July rolled past and the plant remained mostly barren.  I cut a few blooms to dry indoors, and figured we were done. 

Right around the time I returned to work, my experiment in trust seemingly a failure, I noticed a tiny bud near the front door.  Just one, and I expected that would be it.  We rarely got showy blooms at the end of the summer in the past.  And yet, as I walked the garbage outside and checked the mail day after day, I noticed one new bloom after another.  Barring another deer attack, the showiest weeks of the summer are going to come when summer is almost gone. 

God likes to work that way, doesn’t he?  He waits until human achievement and reason and science can no longer take credit.  Then…pow.  Think of Hannah and Elizabeth, barren well into old age, when God enable them to conceive.  Only God.  Think of Lazarus.  John 11:14-15 tells us that Jesus was glad He didn’t get there before he died, for now you will really believe.  Our God loves us much that He aims to resurrect our hearts while He puts together the pieces of our lives.  The physical miracle is only a blurry picture of the spiritual one.  My hydrangea is blooming with promise that God is not done yet.  

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.  He has planted eternity in the human heart, but evens so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.  Ecclesiastes 3:11.

Late for Pancakes

Maybe you think you’ve seen someone completely and totally devastated.  I’m here to tell you, you haven’t.  Unless of course, you were in my house on Saturday morning to see the kid who woke up considerably later than everyone else in the house, wandered into the kitchen to find no one but me, glanced at the dining room table to see empty plates, and immediately reached the conclusion that Saturday pancake breakfast had already happened…and there was nothing left for him. 

“BUT I WANTED PANCAKES!!!!! MOMMMY, I MISSED THE PANCAKES!  AND I’M SO, SO HUNGRY!  MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMY.”  There were even the beginnings of some tears. 

He failed to notice that the plates were still empty of syrup, that I was still measuring flour into the bowl, that the griddle wasn’t even plugged into the wall yet.   

“Eli, do you trust your mom?  Do you really think I would make pancakes and not save any for you?  Don’t you know that I make the pancakes especially for you and your siblings?  I enjoy seeing you enjoy them, and I wouldn’t miss out on that just because you slept in.”

He paused, and I asked him again.  “Do you trust your mom?”

He shook his head no.  Of course, I already knew that; his reaction told me everything I needed to know.

“Why don’t you trust me?  Have I ever not been good to you?”

Of course he thinks I have.  I’ve said no to ice cream on days when he had too many sweets.  I’ve taken toys away when they caused fights between him and his siblings.  In my love for him, I’ve had to make decisions that he didn’t like, and he can’t always see my heart, especially if he’s too busy throwing a tantrum instead of listening to my voice. 

I can’t think of anything that’s taught me as much about God’s heart (and mine) as my kids.  In many ways, I am in the same place with God as Eli is with me.  To my heart, He didn’t come through.  He didn’t provide financially so I could stay home.  He barely got us to my first paycheck.  (Actually we are not there yet and it is coming down to pennies.)  He didn’t change my husband’s heart towards me…at least not yet.  He didn’t provide an in-home caregiver so I could keep my kids out of daycare.  And this dream I have of weaving words into a career?  I feel like I woke up too late.  Everyone, and I mean everyone, has already been there, done that.  I waited too long, and He’s already handed out the best He has to offer. 

My heart does not yet trust God.  My heart does not yet believe.  My heart cannot comprehend that God loves me…just for me…with a ravishing love that is only faintly mirrored by my love for my own children.  I cannot fathom that God takes joy in my joy, that He delights in seeing me savor His gifts.  My heart believes God dishes out difficulty for sport…that any joy He provides is purely accidental.  My mind has made a choice to serve God, but only He can persuade my stubborn heart.  As I gaze into His word and the promises He’s made, I’m dependent on His healing…His transformation.  I think…some days…that it is already happening.  Even in the “not yet.”  Create in me a clean heart, oh God.  Renew a loyal spirit within me.  Psalm 51:10

Truth and Life

“I think you are in a position to speak truth and life into the kids you teach.”

I recoiled from my husband’s words, sent in a mid-morning text during the first week of school.

How nice of you to apply the Sunday sermon to me.  What about taking a glance inside yourself? 

So what you’re really saying is that you like my paycheck and want to make sure it keeps coming, regardless of the impact on me and the kids.

I am too overwhelmed and exhausted to learn all their names; how am I supposed to speak truth and life into them?

Who is speaking truth and life into our own kids?  Into your daughter whose screams follow me down the stairs and out the door when I drop her off at daycare each morning?  Into your son, who gets picked up by a daycare van instead of his mom when half-day kindergarten gets out?  And your other son, who doesn’t get to go to real preschool like his brother?

I didn’t respond at all, too stung by hurt and indignation.  To me, acknowledging that God has placed me in this position seems like accepting that it will always be this way.  That God wants my kids in daycare.  That He wants me exhausted and frustrated and heart sick.  That He somehow favors my husband’s quality of life over mine.  That isn’t true.  It can’t be true.  But it sure does feel like it.

But here’s the rub: I know that sometimes God lets us sit in situations that aren’t ideal.  He lets us wait longer than we want to.  He knows the future that we don’t, and His decisions don’t always make sense to us in the moment.  I find myself sitting in one of those places right now, and that doesn’t mean I’m off the hook for obeying Him.  My job as His child is to love, to speak truth and life into everyone I rub shoulders with, including my students.  Being the best teacher that I can be and loving on kids who might not get that love elsewhere does not mean that I am committing to stay in this life, this career, forever.  It does not mean that I love my own children any less.  Loving my students does not mean that I can’t move on when God opens another door.  It just means that, for whatever reason, I am still in room 123, and I still have a job to do here.  And God is still good.  Even if my heart doesn’t feel it.

I have to know that my children will obey me no matter the situation: no matter how frustrated, upset, or tempted they are.  It is a matter of safety and harmony in our household; when I speak, they do.  I am no different.  If I call God my father, I am compelled to obey in any circumstance.  His Word tells me He is good, He keeps his promises, He can do the impossible, He will protect me and provide for me, He loves me passionately, and I can trust him.  To disobey would mean that I don’t really believe those things about Him, and perhaps my hesitation reveals that my heart hasn’t quite caught up with my head.

But I want to believe, and maybe the beginning of believing means speaking truth and life to these teenagers if and until God sees fit to open a new door for me.  Even though I feel like I’m stuck sitting in a place I never wanted to be. 

Impossible

Last night was hard.  Today has been hard.  Circumstances are crappy: the kids are eating crap, they aren’t sleeping worth crap, they meltdown from the moment I pick them up until they (finally) fall asleep.  Sweet Violet was up screaming at 4 am.  All she wants is her mommy.  She doesn’t understand why mommy is suddenly not there.  Months of hard work to create routine, to help Caleb find control, to get Violet on a schedule: gone.  Just gone.  I am broken because all that work really was for nothing.  I am broken because my kids are broken and that is not ok.  (You can tell me it is.  I know it isn’t.)  The teaching part is not the problem; I can do it in my sleep.  The problem is what happens to my family when I teach.  And what happens to the bank account when I don’t.

And because I was tired and all introverted-out, and because Caleb was screaming and refusing to stay in bed and because Violet was screaming because she can’t get out of bed (for an hour and a half, folks), I lost my mind.  I was not glue that holds us together…I was even more anger and instability in our day.  Because my resources were completely tapped out.  When I dropped the kids off at daycare this morning, Violet was screaming and reaching for me and she would not stop.  Her screams followed me down the steps, until the door slammed behind me.  Please do not tell me this is good for kids.  Please do not tell me they benefit from a mom who works.  I know better.

Part of the reason I struggle to hold it together is because I believe putting on a smiling face is saying this is OK.  If I look on the bright side, it feels like saying “This is our forever.”  And I can’t bear that.  But we still have to get through this, with as little collateral damage to the children as possible.  It is my job to acknowledge that this is not what I hope for our family, but it is our right now, we have to get through it, and this is how.  I just need help.  I need that acknowledgement that this is temporary.  Someday our situation will improve.  But what if it doesn’t?

It is flat out impossible for us to find a way for me to be at home next month, or even next year.  I have been up since four AM; it is impossible for my tired heart to hold back the tears.  Everything good is impossible.  And so today, while I wonder what my babies are doing while I sit at my desk, these words are written on my wall:

Jesus looked at them intently and said, “Humanly speaking, it is impossible.  But with God all things are possible. (Matthew 19:26)

Jesus replied, “What is impossible with man is possible with God.” (Luke 18:27)

For nothing is impossible with God.  (Luke 1:37)

Today I am too hurting and broken and guilty to see you, God.  And I certainly can’t see how you look at me.  In spite of my circumstances, please show my heart that you are a God who can and does defeat “impossible.”

Mean Mommy

Last night, Caleb dragged his Razor scooter up to the main floor so that he and Eli could practice their skills in the air conditioning.  They had a nice course set up: down the hallway, turn around in Violet’s room, turn right into the kitchen, circle through the dining room, then down the hallway again.  They were taking turns nicely, and Eli even changed into his Batman costume so his cape could blow in the wind as he blew by.  All was going well until Violet finished eating and I put her down on the floor.  A month ago, when I could put her down and she STAYED there, this would not have been a problem.  But now she takes off as soon as she hits the ground.

“You may not use the scooter in the same room as your sister.”

Caleb ignored me, flying down the hallway where Violet was eagerly heading to meet him.  He grazed her toe, causing an explosion of tears, no actual injury, and motivating a certain mean mommy to confiscate the scooter until baby girl’s bedtime.  That caused another explosion of tears (from a kid whose name begins with “C”) and declarations that mommy is so, so mean.

Am I mean?  No.  My first job is to keep all my kiddos safe, even little ones who crawl places they shouldn’t.  My second job is to teach them to look out for others.  Caleb needed some teaching, so I put the scooter in the garage so he wouldn’t be tempted to go for another ride.  I fully intended to get it out again once Violet went to bed because playing on the scooter is good, healthy play, and they were by and large doing it in an appropriate way.  However, Caleb’s perspective is limited by his age, understanding, and experience.  And his immediate experience told him that Mommy took away his super fun toy.  Therefore, Mommy must be mean.

I am quite certain many of my misconceptions of God come from that same place.  My immediate experience tells me something about God that is totally contradictory to His word, and I believe my experience.  My current reality tells me that God does not answer prayer, He does not give good gifts, He does not keep his promises.  I’m back at work.  The kids are at daycare.  Every day finds my patience spent by the time I get the kids home, my body is exhausted, and the only time I get with my babies is colored by my frustration and hurry.  It is NOT good.  But Hebrews 10:23 tells me that He who promised is faithful.  Matthew 7:11 tells me that God gives good gifts.  1 John 5:14-15 tells me that He will give me whatever I ask.  If I believe God is calling me to be a writer, I have to lean into his promise and keep asking.  If I believe that God wants me to be at home raising my kids, I need to keep praying.  I lack the perspective to know why He hasn’t answered my prayers yet, so I have to continue believing what His word tells me about His character. 

Today I am meditating on these three verses and praying for God to show my heart who He truly is.  And the scooter will probably stay on punishment in the garage.

Adoration

Sometimes I go through my day and just assume that the boys don’t listen to a thing I say, because let’s face it: they certainly don’t hear any of my instructions.  Nevertheless, we’ve started doing “High/Low” at dinner, and the other night while I was trying to think of a low, Eli chimed you.  “Your low was that you have to go to work and you can’t stay with us.”  I guess I’ve been saying that a little too much, huh?  Eli is a noticer; he has been studying me.

Something happens in my heart when my kids notice these little details -  when Eli decides that Cast Your Cares needs to be Mommy’s new song, when Caleb tells me that the waffles I made were the BEST part of his day, when they just want to touch me, even if that means holding onto my ankle and dragging behind me while I try to make dinner.  They soften my heart.  Suddenly it isn’t just about what they want from me.  I’m not just their servant.  They love me.  They want me.  They have watched me and they know me, and usually that’s the key to the pantry or whatever it is they are hoping to get.  Their adoration moves mountains in my own heart.

I’ve been struggling with this concept of adoration, and how to really do it.  Thanks to years in AWANA, I have a fairly good command of what scripture says.  I know God on an intellectual level, but I’ve never focused on moving that knowledge to my heart.  For example, I know that God promises to answer our prayer, but my heart doesn’t really believe that.  It expects that I will be the exception…that what I ask will simply not be part of God’s plan.  And so I read “Ask, and it will be given to you”, and my heart whispers, well, maybe not you.  You still have these problem areas in your life.  And you probably don’t want the same things God does, so it will probably not be given to you.  And then when I ask and nothing happens, my image of God takes that circumstance and turns it into my new reality.  My new version of God.

In the last few days, as my heart breaks and I search for peace, I’ve been turning back to the book I read while I was nursing Violet in those early days: Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet by Sara Hagerty. This is her description of adoration: “Adoration makes walking with God more than just reacting to a series of externals.  Adoration calls the circumstances, no matter how high or low, into proper submission in our hearts.  Adoration roots us in a reality that no amount of pain and no amount of blessing can shake.” (97)

This summer I wrote twenty-five Advent Calendar entries for my church, and as I reflect on the verses and stories God led me to use, I realize He was giving me a road map for adoration.  He was directly addressing the areas in which my own faith struggles.  And so, I have spent some to unearthing my hurts and looking for the hidden beliefs they reveal.  For example, I really do not expect God to do the impossible.  Its, well, impossible.  And yet, I found at least three Bible verse that tell me nothing is impossible with God.  So when my heart screams at the impossibility of our situation, I lean into those verses instead.  My sincere prayer is that God will begin to transform my view of him.

One of my great hurts right now is the fear that God will not give me good gifts; that he’ll only give me more pain.  And yet, there’s Luke 11:9-13.  Keep on asking.  He who asks will receive.  Your father knows how to give you good gifts.  I have the verse copied on a notecard, hanging next to my desk.  When my grieving heart moves to pray because I don’t know what else to do, I speak that verse to the voice that says, “why bother?”  I adore God for answering my prayers and giving me good gifts, and I pray that He will move both my heart and his.  

What I'm Not Selling...And Why

For the last few months, more than a few friends have approached me with a solution to my work situation, and it always involves selling something.  Usually something they already sell.  I’ve dodged a lot of these emails because I can't figure out how to be tactful, and I feel like I need to put my thoughts out into the universe…in case anyone wants to know.  This is why I have chosen not to go the network marketing route.

First, I don’t think God is calling me in this direction.  It certainly appears that many of my friends have found a great solution in network marketing, but I also believe that God gives us peace when we are pursuing his leading.  Every time I think about taking the plunge with a particular product, I am decidedly uneasy.  Also, I have limited time and resources at this stage in my life, and I have to use them in a way that matters.  In my case, I feel strongly that God wants me to be writing.  That might not be a book or a newspaper column, but he’s given me a love for words and I feel him drawing me to that.  Anything else I take on will just be a diversion from my true work.

Second, I currently make up a sizeable chunk of our income each month, and I can’t just give that up based on sales that may or may not happen.  Many of these products are subject to consumer trends that ebb and flow dramatically.  What is hot this month might not be in six.  It simply isn’t prudent to leave a job we depend on for one that may or may not pay the bills next month.

Third, many of the products are things I simply don’t use.  I’ve spent a lot of time paring down our budget and figuring out ways to do things myself and save money; I’m not going to add an expensive product if I can do the same thing myself for a fraction of the price.  And even the ones that I do use and like might not be things my friends like.  Which brings me to my last point:

My friends are more important than a product.  I have plenty of friends who do network marketing well, and I never feel pressured to buy from them.  I don’t mind seeing memes on Facebook, and I always reach out when I need a product.  Younique mascara is legitimately the bomb.  I really do like several essential oils.  Thirty-One could be a problem if I let it.  But I don’t want my friends to recoil every time they see a message from me.  I want them to know that I care about them regardless of whether they buy my crap.  

I don’t want it to seem like I’m being picky…like I only want to stay home with my kids if I get the right offer.  I’m not.  I just want to make sure that I’m running after the things God has for me, and not every other breaking wave.  And if you hear of any writing opportunities, please send those my way.  

D-Day

We are down to one day.  I thought I had a great nanny candidate, but she took another job before we could interview her.  No other candidates have panned out, so daycare it is.  My emotions change by the day, hour, and minute.  On the one hand, I know intellectually that His timing is perfect; He has always come through and in retrospect, I can’t think of a single time when I wish He’d answered my prayers differently.  Personally, though, when I stare at the reality of where my kids will be day to day, I am just not OK.  I wonder if I missed something.  If maybe I wasn’t really following His leading after all.  If I was supposed to resign even though my husband was against it.  If I was supposed to ignore the balance in the checking account and the work we need to do on our house.  I also wonder why, if God intends me to work, he didn’t provide a better care situation for my kids.  Because He knows I looked.  At least, I think I did.  And there I am again…back at wondering if I missed something. 

Sometimes I feel like this is temporary: a part of His plan that will unfold in crazy ways I couldn’t imagine.  But then the pessimist shows up and says that either I have to keep my job because yet again I’ll be supporting the family, because some sort of tragedy is impending, or (worse still) that I am simply meant to do this forever.  That makes me feel really sick.  Throw-up sick.

Every once in a while, I’m relieved at the idea of bringing in a salary, of not worrying about bills month-to-month, of getting some of these projects done around the house and maybe paying down those student loans and my van.  But then I think of my kids…of the days, hours, and minutes that I’ll never get back.  I’m worried about Eli navigating kindergarten pick-up when I won’t be there to make sure he’s safe.  I’m worried about Violet being sick all the time.  I worried about Caleb being guided in the best possible way for his strong temperament.  I know that if this is the road God wants me to walk, He will take care of my kids, but it just doesn’t seem like it.

Then I think of the people who longed for the desires of their heart for so long, and God never came through.  I suppose that is their journey, not mine…but it could be mine and it makes me sad.  Will my marriage always be this way?  Will I ever get to experience real love?  Will I ever get to experience the little privileges of motherhood: school drop-offs and pick-ups, the ability to just stay home with a sick kid without checking my sick-leave balance, the feeling that somehow what I do is good, that I don’t have to perform to be worth the food I eat.

And yet, I know that God didn’t NOT show up in these past months.  He has parented me so much as I’ve loved on my little ones.  He has held me as I navigated horrible post-partum depression and struggled to adapt to the reality of my marriage and the demands of parenthood.  He has instilled in my heart the sense that He is not finished yet, so I should not despair.  He has let me see the beginnings of Caleb’s spirit healing.  He has given me platforms for my writing, and words to put on paper.  He has shown me what it means to love the work you do, even though it is still work.  We have made progress, I think.  I just hope we don’t take one giant step backwards on Monday. 

I have no other choice but to believe.  As I’ve written the advent calendar over the past few months, God has told me over and over that He can do the impossible, He keeps his promises, He uses people in spite of their qualifications, He values and rewards obedience, He loves me deeply, and He is faithful.  I am trying to cling to these promises as the storm in my heart rages on.  

Hope Floats

Thanks to the brilliance of Time Hop (and I mean brilliance), I got a cool little reminder from five years ago last week.  It was cryptic…even I had to consider the timing to figure out what I meant.  “…giving up a dream,” is what I wrote, since at that point Facebook statuses began with “Laura is…”  What dream?  Why so dramatic?  Well at that point, we’d been looking at houses for close to a year.  Our two bedroom, 1000-square-foot on a good day, no-back-yard starter house was obviously not a place we felt we should stay much longer, so we branched out.  We looked outside of Fort Thomas, but never really felt right about the schools.  We looked at no less than 5000 total dumps in Fort Thomas, and a few really nice houses that we couldn’t remotely afford.  We almost built a house in Cold Spring, panicked because of the traffic, then almost bought a market home in Fort Thomas (but not the school district).  Ultimately, we realized we were financially in over our heads and backed out.  And then James found it: a lovely brick ranch on one of the prettiest streets in town.  It was totally dated on the inside, but it was clean and had a large lot.  It was pricey, but we could just barely make it…if we didn’t have a second kid and if no one lost a job.  We went under contract…we haggled over the inspection report, and ultimately neither one of us had peace about the price and the amount of work that had to be done.  We walked away, and I muttered unhappy things about never finding a house that nice on a street that nice in Fort Thomas ever again.  I was crushed.  We would be living on Brentwood with a cliff in the backyard forever.  I really did not see any other option.  I gave up the dream and posted it on Facebook.

Fast forward six months.  A house popped up for sale on the same street, but much closer to the cul-de-sac.  It had three bedrooms instead of four, and it was a bi-level and I said I’d never live in a bi-level.  It was also disgustingly dirty and terribly dated.  BUT, the backyard was far nicer than the other house, and as a short sale, the house was half of what we were going to pay six months earlier.  Most of the work it needed was cosmetic, and the space was perfect for kids.  We went under contract and waited, the way you wait when you buy a short sale.  Two weeks into our wait, I found out I was pregnant with Caleb.  If we’d bought the first house, we’d have been sunk financially.  We waited some more and I threw up a lot, and ultimately we got the keys to a house that, even in rotten condition, was way out of our price range.  And we got it without increasing our monthly mortgage payment from our starter home.  It took a ton of work, and there were two stressful years as landlords while our old house didn’t sell.  (But then it did…to the tenants who got to live in the home for two years until they were financially ready to buy.  And even that arrangement came about because someone did something crappy to us and God turned into good in the just the right timing.)  This house payment walked us through almost a year on one income, unpaid maternity leave, another surprise pregnancy, and still more unpaid leave.  Had we bought the other one, we would be renting and waiting for our credit to recover from foreclosure right now.  And yes, we gave up one bedroom and some pretty cool neighbors, but we got a far better yard, an attached garage, and some other really awesome neighbors.  And most of all, we got two precious babies that were WAY out of our price range.  God took away the dream that would have harmed us and gave us the exact same thing, only better.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord.  “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you.  Plans to give you a hope and a future.”  Several people have unknowingly prayed Jeremiah 29:11 over me recently, and I choose to believe that right now God is planning to prosper me and not to harm me.  Just because I have to go back to school now, just because the kids have to go to daycare now, does not mean it will be that way forever.  It doesn't mean it will be that way for a year.  It doesn't mean that I'm selling out my dream, or that I'm too wimpy to step out in faith.  God is lining up His plan in ways that I cannot imagine.  I choose to believe.  And while I wait, I choose to be wise about the ways I use my time and resources.  

I am still sad. I think God allows that.  And I'll probably hover somewhere between despondent and hysterical in those first weeks when we all fall apart.  Still, He gave me this dream for a reason.  And I don't believe that reason was to dash my spirit with defeat.

Eventually hope just floats right up, right?.