The Beauty of Repetition

There we sat, my little buddy and I snuggled up in our little cabin by the lake, anxiously awaiting the dawning of a new year. We started this tradition last year, a sort of anti-New Year’s celebration.  Not that we were against the New Year, but rather that we started celebrating it in a much different way. The children voted to spend New Year’s Eve 2012 at our recently purchased lake house with only our little family. We welcomed 2013 with the lake lapping at the shore. Their Daddy set off a few fireworks in the brisk winter sky. It was… peaceful…joyful. So we did it again this year. We loaded up kids and dogs and party horns and hats and headed to the icy wonderland of the lake.
 



Our Icy Wonderland

My little guy and I were snuggled up, waiting for the ball to drop, when the local news interrupted our festivities. It was kind of a downer, really. I mean, who wants to hear about the year’s high homicide rate when there is a crystal-encrusted sphere ready to drop from the sky? I thought about turning it off for a bit, but Grant wanted to listen to an upcoming story.  I can count on one hand the number of times our kids have watched the local news, precisely because of the aforementioned propensity of our local news to cover such happy topics as homicides and abuse. Fun stuff. Or not. Great conversation starters, too. The story that caught Grant’s attention, however, was one about the “bridge people” of Tulsa.  The bridge people are those men and women who “live” under the bridges.

He was glued to the television. God had a plan when he placed us at the cabin on a cold New Year’s Eve watching the late night news. The news reporter interviewed a woman living under the bridges, a grandma. The grandma spoke about how cold it gets at night. About her former life and how mental illness always seemed to lead her back to the streets.  The news station announced that they were going to be collecting blankets that would be distributed to those who needed them. Grant was quiet after the story concluded.  In his old age (seven) he has become my quiet thinker. He announced that he was tired and just wanted to go to bed.  We witnessed the ringing in of 2014 in Sydney and Paris, and that was good enough for him.

Blankie

As I lay next to him in his little twin bed, he began to talk. “Mom, I bet it’s hard for those people when it gets so cold at night." His voice became serious as he scratched and rubbed the silky side (or what's left of it) of Blankie, his constant bedtime companion since he was a baby.  "I mean, when you live outside, a blanket is EVERYTHING.” He gazed at me with brown eyes big as saucers and blinked his long lashes as he emphasized, “EVERYTHING! We have lots of blankets at home.  We should give some to those people when we get home.” He went on, “I bet we could give them some other stuff, too.”

“That’s a great idea, buddy, “I responded. “Like what?”

“Well, I bet they could use a backpack for their stuff. Maybe some food.”

I was speechless.  It was my turn to look at him with eyes big as saucers. He didn’t want to give them his old Skylanders that he never plays with anymore or some bubblegum he didn’t like.  He wanted to give them something that they could actually use. He wasn’t thinking about himself, but about what he could do for others. He was seven, and he was finally starting to GET IT!

It was a thankyoujesusgloryhallelujah moment for this mama.  You see, you have to know my kids to understand why this was such a celebration-worthy occasion. Our daughter, Anna, was born an old soul… a giver from the start. She has plans to adopt twelve children, eight dogs, and half a dozen other living creatures. She heard about a family who lost their Christmas presents in a fire and immediately asked me if we could help. She had her friends bring gifts to her tenth birthday party that could be donated to a dog shelter. On a family trip to Guatemala, my then-eight-year-old begged me to keep taking pictures "so that I can show my friends how blessed we are.”

Then there is Grant. My snuggly, dimpled baby boy. He developed a textbook case of colic at around four weeks old.  I used to say that's why God gave him those adorable dimples. The colic lasted until…eh…let’s just say a really long time.  That entire first year is a blur. Grant is fiery and loving at the same time. He is intense. Passionate. In his early years, it seemed that the saying “Hell hath no fury like Grant scorned” might be appropriate. Generous was not a word I would have used to describe Grant. It was brutal. And exhausting. I blamed my husband, because everyone said our boy was ornery just like his daddy was “back in the day.” The honest truth? He’s also a lot like me. Do you remember that part in "Father of the Bride" where Steve Martin (George) is talking to his future son-in-law (Bryan), played by George Newbern, about the long line of passionate people? That's us.

 

George: You know, Bryan, Annie's a very passionate person. And passionate people tend to overreact at times. Annie comes from a long line of major overreactors. Me. I can definitely lose it. My mother. A nut. My grandfather. Stories about him were legendary. The good news, however, is that this overreacting... tends to get proportionately less by generation. So, your kids could be normal.

George: [voice-over] As if that wasn't enough, I went on.

George: But on the upside, with this passion... comes great spirit and individuality... which is probably one of the reasons you love Annie.

Bryan: That's what I love most about her.

 

Matt would often ask me, “What are we going to do with him? Should we do something different?” I was the one with the degree in early childhood education and a master’s degree in curriculum and instruction. I took countless hours of human learning. I knew more than most humans would ever need to know about how the brain of a child “works,” yet somehow it wasn’t working. Until it did.

The only tidbit of knowledge I could share with my husband about raising a strong-willed child that wasn’t already in our arsenal was REPETITION. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Be consistent. Logical consequences again and again and again. My professors had drilled it into my head, but in the daily grind I was starting to doubt the wisdom of their advice. Our boy is hard-headed. Driven. Determined. Positive characteristics when steered in the right direction. He might have been frustrating and defiant, but guess what? He was listening. 

He is now seven, and has become more adept at handling anger when it does arise (which is MUCH less often). He is kind and caring, and impresses us daily in the ways he is growing and maturing. We still have days when I want to scream and stomp and pull my hair out (I only follow through with those actions about half of the time. I, too, am a work in progress.), but I am genuinely proud of the way our young man is growing in his ability to channel his emotions. We don't just want him to experience everything we want for him. More than anything, we want everything that God wants for and from him. .

Mission Accomplished!

In those early years and today, when we prayed with him at night, I thanked Jesus for the precious gift of my son.  Together, we thanked God for our nice, warm house, and food on our table.  We asked God to be with those who did not have food or a bed.  We prayed for God to show us ways we could help. We prayed for Rudy and Estephany, the children we sponsor through Compassion International. Per Grant's request, we prayed for all of the endangered animals. We prayed for those we knew were hurting, and counted our blessings. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. It occurred to me today that we have prayed those prayers with our children THOUSANDS of times now in their short lives. Ten years of praying with Anna. Seven years of praying with Grant. Ironically, while we were using repetition to shape his behavior, we were unknowingly using it to shape his conscience. Repetition. It’s a beautiful thing.

We have also cried out to God in desperation in our private parenting prayers. He listened. He is always listening. He answers, though it is on His timetable, not ours. He never falls asleep on the job, and He is working for us 24/7. For any parents who are struggling today, please take comfort in knowing that your babies are also listening. You are not alone. Take joy in the small victories along the way. My children are seven and ten. Many of our greatest parenting challenges are yet to come. Today, however, I’m taking joy in this small triumph. This gift. Time to gather up some blankets…

"Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." Deuteronomy 11:19

The Forgotten Heroes

The lights dimmed as we sunk into the cushiony chairs. Only minutes before I had been perfectly positioned in my prime viewing location. That was before the lady asked me to move over one seat...and then three more.

 "Sure. No problem," I responded. I hoped she couldn't see that I was actually a little perturbed, even though the rational me knew that it was the right thing to do. My unobstructed view was gone, but "whatever"... I was resting my tired feet after three days of walking around New Orleans.

As the lights dimmed, she leaned over to me and whispered, "Thanks. I'm with Wounded Warriors, and I'm not sure this crew is gonna make it to the end. Have you heard about the movie?"

"Only that everyone says it's amazing."

"Okay. Then I won't ruin it for you."

I gulp. What have I gotten myself into?? We're about to sit through "Beyond Boundaries" in 4D at the National World War II Museum. That fourth dimension is what makes it so powerful and startlingly realistic. With Tom Hanks and a slew of other familiar voices narrating, we are given a play-by-play of my grandparents' war. When the tanks thunder across the screen, our chairs vibrate.  At Christmastime, snow gently flutters down on us from the rafters of the theater. We are inside the jungles of Japan, and the factories of America. It is phenomenal. And heartbreaking. We see the Western Union telegrams delivering the news that no wife or mother ever wants to hear. Tears rolling down our face, the woman turns to me, "It's beginning," she sadly states, and nods toward the young girl sitting next to her.

Yes, I said young girl. She appears to be in her 20s, African American, with a perfectly styled pixie-cut and large dangly earrings that swing back and forth as she crumples under the weight of it all. Her jacket is drawn up to her face. Whether she is hiding from the images or trying to hide her emotions, I'll never really know. Probably a little of each. Her escort asks if she wants to leave, and up and away they go.

The movie continues, and I know that "the bombs" are going to be dropped soon. The woman to my left whispers conspiratorially, "Look at him. He can't stop moving." Sure enough the young man several seats to my left is in constant motion. He's drumming his fingers on his knees as if to will his legs to stay put. Then his feet join in the rhythm. He taps his heels on the floor, alternating...LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT. He looks like any other twenty-something. An attractive white guy in a ballcap, he resembles the boy-next-door. My newfound movie buddy excuses herself, goes to him, and wraps an arm around his shoulder.  Finally, it is too much. As a former pilot describes the scent of burning flesh after dropping a bomb, he is gone.

I expected to see veterans at the World War II Museum, but not these kind. Fresh off the battlefield, scarred with so many unseen wounds. My heart ached for their lost innocence . On the screen, I watched the tickertape parades as the troops came home. Where were these soldiers' tickertape parades? Visiting the museum, I was awed by the ways in which our entire country came together to triumph over seemingly insurmountable odds. The work ethic and dedication of the men, women, and children of that era rightfully earned them the title "Greatest Generation." However, I believe that there are some pretty GREAT people in this generation, as well. So, on this Veteran's Day, I vow to remember and thank not only those who bravely served our country 70 years ago, but also those who are risking their lives TODAY on the battlefields of the world, to protect our freedoms and continue the fight for "justice for all." Their sacrifice and loss is no less than that of the Greatest Generation. Today, these Forgotten Heroes shall be remembered by at least one more wife and mother who is eternally grateful for their service.

Ten Things... For my daughter on her tenth birthday

My sweet Anna Grace,

Today you are TEN years old!  A decade. 3,653 days (including leap years). 87,672 hours. Approximately 5,260,320 minutes on this Earth. In keeping with the theme of TEN, I thought I would share with you ten things that I pray you come to know and remember in the coming years.

1. Anna Grace. Anna means "full of grace." Your name is redundant (both of your names mean the same thing). You will mess up. So will everyone else. May your doubly graced name remind you to both accept and give grace in abundance. 
2. Purpose. Many people spend their lives searching for their "purpose." I say you already have a purpose: Love God. Love People. It is as easy and difficult as that. This will look different at different times in your life, but the purpose remains the same.
3. Travel the world. This will show you both how small you are and how big is the God we serve. You will begin to fathom the awesomeness of a God who knew you (one of seven BILLION people on this Earth) even before you were in my belly. "Before I made you in your mother's womb, I chose you. Before you were born, I set you apart for a special work." Jeremiah 1:5
4. Show compassion. When you were two years old and we were living in Texas, your preschool teachers told me, "If anyone in the class is hurt or sad, Gracie (as you were known then) runs across the playground to comfort them." The world is a much larger, less kind playground. Remember when you see someone hurting, it is still okay to run to them across the playground...or lunch room... or gym... or classroom... or country and love on them.
5. Friends. Choose your friends wisely.  In the coming years, you will see paths diverging as your peers choose different routes. In regards to your closest confidantes, choose the friends who choose to follow Jesus through their words and actions.  A true friend will build you up and encourage you in your walk with Christ. I pray you will do the same. "Walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harm." (Proverbs 13:20) Others will ridicule you for your faith and your decisions. 
6. Love them anyway.
7. Laugh. Give yourself permission to have fun and laugh.  Life is serious enough.  When laughter presents itself, embrace it. There will be plenty of occasions when you are not sure whether to laugh or cry. Laugh.
8. Challenges. You will encounter obstacles. You are a very bright young lady. School has been relatively easy for you. Your homework is getting more difficult. It will continue to do so. Allow yourself permission to learn, and then celebrate those accomplishments.  If you already knew it all, you wouldn't need to go to school. Try to remain calm, take a deep breath, and remember that it is okay to ask for help. It's also okay to not always get it right. This will help you in life, as well. Nobody knows it all.  That's why God gave us each other.
9. Boys.  I have a lot to say about boys, but will save much of it for a later letter. First, keep an eye on the boys who love Jesus, who love people, who are kind and helpful to everyone.  Keep an eye on the other boys, as well.  I'll elaborate on them at a later date.
10. Call your mom and dad.  You don't have a cell phone yet, but I know the day is coming.  Texts are fun and easy, but moms and dads need to hear your voice. Though you are looking more and more like a woman each day, to us you are still the little girl in pigtails with a tiny backpack ready for her first day of preschool.  Humor us. :)

Anna, your daddy and I are so proud of the young lady you are becoming. Your freckle-faced, braces-adorned smile makes my day. You continue to surprise me with your mature insight into friendships and life. You are the biggest animal lover I know. It is a joy and privilege to parent you (yes, even when you declare that I am "ruining" your life- I know you don't mean it and I figure it means I'm doing something right). Growing up is hard.  Emotions get a little crazy as you assert your independence and I learn to let go. That's okay. We're gonna love each other through it. Thanks for being my Gracie Girl.  I'm so glad God trusted me enough to give me the best job ever, Anna Grace's mom.

Love,

Mommy 

One Word... Hope

"Hope is the word which God has written on the brow of every man."

-- Victor Hugo

When asked by Compassion International to write three things about one word this week, it took me all of one half second to decide. HOPE. If you read last week's blog, you know that I used the verse Jeremiah 29:11 to emphasize that God has a plan... for us and for these children.

"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 hope and a future."

Hope frees. The opposite of hope is hopelessness. Despair. Disbelief. Discouragement. When hope fades, the clutches of death (both spiritual and physical) grow stronger. By sponsoring a child through Compassion, you begin the process of freeing that child from the shackles of despair and extreme poverty. You free that child from the bondage of illiteracy and the heavy weight of responsibility and worry that so often haunts these children.

Hope gives. When the shackles are broken, hope gives wings to dreams. It encourages ambition, and fans the flames of aspirations. It breeds confidence and the powerful realization that things can be different. Hope gives these children the opportunity to write a different story. Not only does sponsorship change the lives of children, it also changes the lives of their families. Most every parent wants the best for their children. In a letter from Juan Guerrero, a coordinator for the student center where Rudy (one of our sponsored children) attends, he writes, "I can see the joy on the faces of mothers when they realize that their children will have the opportunity to learn, to have medical check-ups, and to play in a safe environment, and much more." Hope gives joy to parents, often when they need it the most.

Hope saves. Jesus is the hope of the world. Children in Compassion projects receive attention to physical, cognitive, socio-emotional, and spiritual development. They are taught about the hope we have in Jesus Christ, and His unconditional, sacrificial love for them. As Guerrero writes, "I can tell the difference when families know that even in the most desperate situation, there is a God who loves them and wants to protect them and to provide for them.  Families who have accepted Christ in this community have a different perspective. They can see things under a positive light and know that their needs will always be met."

There is a story about a little boy walking along the beach and picking up starfish, who are struggling to survive, and throwing them back in the water. An older gentleman comes along and says, "There are so many. You'll never be able to save them all! What does it matter?"

The little boy responds, while throwing another starfish back into the water, "It mattered to that one."

Please take the time to think and pray about sponsoring a child through Compassion International. You have the power to give HOPE...one child at a time. 

Click on the link below to sponsor a child today...

http://www.compassion.com/sponsor_a_child/default.htm?referer=133388

 

To My Younger Self...

First Grade

As I sit in the corner of the classroom, surrounded by a study carrel and immersed in my own imagination... I write.  I am six years old, and Miss Turner is my hero.  While everyone else is working on I Don't Know What, she lets me slip away into a world where I am most at ease.  She encourages me to enter my first writing contest.  Thirty years ago, she recognized a need to differentiate in the classroom before anyone knew the definition of the word.  She is still my hero, and if I could go back and speak to my six year-old self I would want me to know...
1. ...that I need to hug Miss Turner more.
2....that God loves me and has a plan for my life, and that Miss Turner will unknowingly play a vital role in that.

It was sixth grade.
Please pardon the bangs,
pre-braces teeth, Miami Vice collar, etc.

Fast forward a few years, and I am still writing.  Only now, it isn't quite as "cool" to be smart. I will keep it quiet, blend into the crowd a little more. I will have the most amazing sixth grade Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Rydell, pouring into my life. I will begin memorizing scripture, and learning who Jesus is on a weekly basis. I will learn about a God who loves me, will never leave me, and never forsake me...even in my darkest hours. The summer after sixth grade, when I am twelve years old, my grandfather will commit suicide. With one tragic act, I will experience the most unimaginable depths of loss and grief of my young life. Much later, I will write about this experience in a college classroom. If I could, I would tell that uneasy sixth-grader, "God has a plan." Those scriptures I first learned almost 25 years ago are still the easiest to recall in times of both trouble and joy.

Such great memories with this ragtag bunch!

At the age of fourteen I began battling an unknown illness that would plague me for a year.  We would travel to doctors around the nation seeking answers, and I would miss most of my freshman year of high school.  As my condition improved, I emerged much like the caterpillar who enters the cocoon as one creature, but emerges as quite another.  I had wings. I was confident. I learned who my true friends were, the ones who stood by me even when I wasn't very fun to be around. I gained a valuable life lesson on the beauty and fragility of life at an age when most girls were still seeing how high they could tease their bangs. I met a boy who would take me on our first "date" to his church youth group. There, I would hear for the first time that Jesus wanted a personal relationship with me and I would really, truly ask Jesus to come into my heart. If I could go back and speak to that teenager, I would tell myself again, "God has a plan."

In college, I would begin writing again.  I would use written assignments to satisfy my need for creative expression.  I would meet an art professor who recognized a gift that he had no reason to acknowledge. No, I had not excelled in the art studio.  Quite the contrary, unfortunately. I was a hard worker, however, and somehow still earned my "A". One of our final assignments was to write about an aesthetic experience. Hallelujah! I wrote about an experience in Italy the summer before while visiting the castle where the Mona Lisa was supposedly painted.  He stopped me after class to speak to me about my writing. He wrote on my assignment, "You have an amazing gift.  I hope you continue to use it."  All of these years later, I still have that paper. For the longest time, I wasn't exactly certain why I kept it tucked away. Once again, I would tell my college self, "God has a plan."

During my senior year of college, I would learn that the boy who had asked me to his church youth group back in high school... the boy with whom I had experienced a break-up of EPIC proportions... was living in Guatemala and managing medical missions and relief teams.  God would gently nudge me to send him an e-mail... and the rest, as they say, is history.  During our first year of marriage we would visit the internet café in Antigua, Guatemala, where he first received "the" e-mail.  I would tell that college senior, "God has a plan."

He did. And He does.  He led my husband and I to a country thousands of miles away from our own.  A beautiful country filled with lush, fertile soils and mountain peaks shrouded in fog. A country with the tallest corn I have ever seen, and the biggest, strangest insects.  A country whose people dress in every color of the rainbow... all at once. A Mayan culture whose gentle, sweet spirits match their colorful attire. Then, God decided to mess us up.  He showed us "the least of these." Poverty and violence.  Children whose parents were killed in the civil war, and others who were abandoned. Sadness and hopelessness in the midst of some of God's greatest handiwork. Suddenly, we could not ignore the call of Jesus to care for "the least of these."  Through Compassion International, we have sponsored two children from Guatemala (one boy, age 7, and one girl, age 9) for the past two years. When I write to these children, I am often led to Jeremiah 29:11

"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 hope and a future."

Delivering vitamins and a Bible story to the beautiful people of
Xepatul, Guatemala,
on my first trip there in 2000

I want them to know that God loves them and that God has a plan. His love is deeper than the deepest oceans and is theirs for the taking. I want them to know that the same God who numbered the stars calls them, His children, by name. I pray that they have a Miss Turner, Mrs. Rydell, Mr. Art Teacher Whose Name I Forgot (gasp!) encouraging their gifts and talents and acting as the hands of Christ in their lives. They deserve it. I want them to know that they are our Creator's masterpieces, exquisitely crafted and worthy of His best. Through Compassion, they have these opportunities. I treasure the letters and photos we receive from them.  My spirits are buoyed by the way I see them growing in their relationships with Christ. The updates we receive from their pastors and the directors of their schools reiterate the fact that Compassion changes lives.

Oh, and guess what?  I'm finally writing again.  This time, as a Compassion Blogger working to find sponsors for as many children as possible.  What you are reading right now is one of those blogs.

 

God has a plan.

 

He is still at work, and He isn't finished with me yet.

He isn't finished with you yet.

And He is just beginning His work in these children.

YOU can be a part of the hope and future of these children! Please share this post and click on the icon or link to become a Compassion International sponsor today!

http://www.compassion.com/sponsor_a_child/default.htm?referer=133388

 

 

First Day Jitters, Biker Gangs, and Father of the Bride

My babies started school today.  Nevermind the fact that they are seven and nine. They are still my babies. You mamas and daddies understand. I found myself on the verge of tears last night as I packed lunches, filled water bottles, and set out clothes for the first day of school for my second and fourth grader.

Don't get me wrong, IT IS TIME for them to go back.  We need structure. Our carefree, sleep until whenever, vacation-taking days must come to an end.  An especially rough couple of weeks in July made me question why we were not on one of those fabulous year-round school schedules. The crazy train had left the station and I wished I could hop on and wave to my loves while wishing their daddy "good luck."  But then there were the other times...

You know, the times when we sat down as a family to eat dinner AND EVERYONE STAYED PUT.  For us, this is most easily accomplished at the lake. No one rushes to finish and join friends.  The doorbell doesn't ring with friends wanting to play.  We just sit and eat and talk.  About the big stuff.  Things that matter.  Topping physical nutrition with a sprinkle of spiritual sustenance.  We'll have other moments like that this year, but I'll miss those summertime talks on the deck.

As much as I love the family time at the lake, I will also miss all of the neighborhood kiddos bouncing in and out of our home (and vice versa).  We have a small army of children in our 'hood.  A lot of the mamas stay home, and the kids literally boomerang around the neighborhood...eventually returning home.  I love feeding lunch to half the neighbor kids and hearing about their adventures. The boys jump their bikes on ramps they construct in the dirt piles, go fishing, and make crazy Instagram videos. The girls make water parks in the backyard and hook up the battery-powered Gator to the wagon in order to haul the younger siblings around the 'hood. This was the first summer that both of my children were old enough to roam the neighborhood with fewer parent-imposed restrictions. They were a pint-sized biker/scooter gang who only stopped long enough to refuel and rehydrate.  Showers and baths? Well, that's why God gave us the neighborhood pool. Will I miss the messes?  Heavens, no.  But I will miss the giggles and screams (okay, so not the loud piercing ones) that come with them.

Last night Steve Martin's line from "Father of the Bride" came to mind as I was readying our offspring for another First Day of School,

"I suddenly realized what was happening. Annie was all grown up and was leaving us, and something inside began to hurt."

Something definitely hurt.  The days are long, but the years are short.  I've heard it many times, but its truth hits home more each year.  Some days were are very long.  I still recall the days when we had been up all night with our baby girl or colicky baby boy.  I remember seeing the sun come up and thinking, "This is going to be a looooong day," as Matt would leave for work. It has been nearly a DECADE since those days with my daughter.

And so as they posed for those obligatory photos this morning, and we gave hugs and kisses while they happily scampered onto the busses with all of their neighbor buddies, there was a small pit in my stomach.  This is the last "First Day" that both of my kids will be at the same school until they reach high school. I said a prayer for each of them, knowing they were ready and in the very best of hands. It is going to be a fabulous year, and I intend to soak up every moment.  God has amazing plans, and I can't wait to see what He has in store.

As the last bus pulled away, my husband looked at me and the other parents, smiled, pumped his fist and shouted a celebratory, "Yeehaw!" First Day of Second and Fourth Grade. Check.

Had a great first day!

The Worst Father's Day (So Far)

It is mandatory quiet time in our house. That is because my poor husband, the father of my two dear children, has had perhaps the worst Father's Day ever. Not so awful in the grand scheme of things, but not the best in terms of the Facebook/Pinterest world in which we now live. Pastor Steve Furtick once said,

"The reason that we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else's highlight reel."

Our Facebook-worthy pic of our gloriously wonderful Father's Day

Let's go behind the scenes, shall we?

To start the day, our six-month-old black lab puppy began barking sometime around the six o'clock a.m. hour. So much for anyone sleeping in on Father's Day (nevermind the fact that I was also up at 4:45 a.m. with our semi-neurotic 11 year-old lab who thought he needed to go outside and hunt or whatever)! Matt said that he would "puppy-sit" since he is the morning person in our family. It's just not my gift, although I was willing to try it for him in light of the whole Father's Day thing. Not long after the puppy's awakening, our two little (human) cherubs bounded down the stairs...

It's Sunday which means... we go to church. If we are in town, not sick, and didn't attend a Saturday night service, we go to church. Pretty much always. My children seem alarmed and surprised by this. Every. Single. Week. Kid #1 planned ahead and was showered and ready at a reasonable time (evidently she learned from a devastating debacle a couple of weeks ago- and I learned that it takes time to get the "bumps" out of your ponytail, so give her fair warning). Her dear younger brother, however, alerted us to the fact that showering and church were not on his very busy six-year-old agenda... even on FATHER'S DAY! Cue the screaming and gnashing of teeth. We made it to church, but not without a detour. Okay, so it really wasn't a detour. It was an abrupt stop along the side of the highway during which Daddy informed the children that spitting water from their cups on each other was not okay and neither was complaining about having to stay in Lifekids (our children's church) while Mommy and Daddy served on the host team (Host Team: involves smiling and welcoming everyone as if our household didn't fight its way out the door this morning).

When we arrived at church, one of Grant's good buddies from school and his family were there visiting for the first time. GOD. BLESS. THEM. Seeing his friend, G seemed to turn his attitude around. Everything was peaches again. Fast forward an hour and forty-five minutes later. Daddy chooses our lunch spot, Freebirds (because, OH YEAH, It's FATHER'S DAY!!). Matt thought it would be quick, and allow us more play time at home. As you might be able to predict at this point, this was not somewhere G wanted to eat. Of course! Big sis wasn't on board at first, but when I reminded her of the day, she hopped on. After some nourishment, everyone seemed more even-keeled. Hallelujah!

We followed up our meal with a trip to Southern Ag to check out the leopard geckos because my little man has a birthday in just SIX DAYS! I guess I neglected to mention that the little guy seems to be having a bit of trouble giving Daddy a day when he has a birthday in just SIX DAYS! Did I mention that he has a birthday in just SIX DAYS? If I did, there is a little guy in my house who will be happy to share the news. Every hour or so.

What have we learned from today? Well, I think it has proven to reiterate what I decided a few Mother's Days ago. Lower the expectations. Every day is a gift, and we have two little blessings whom God entrusted to us EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. There are days when everything falls into place and we feel like Supermom and Superdad. And then there are the days when we find ourselves pulled over at the side of the road confiscating Tervis cups and we must remind ourselves that THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS. Just because it is Father's Day or Mother's Day doesn't mean that we get a break from parenting (Unless, of course, you are not around your children on said day. Six years ago, I informed Matt that the only thing I wanted for Mother's Day was an uninterrupted day of shopping. I spent five glorious hours away, bought only a pair of shoes, and returned ready to face another day of mothering my then three-year-old and 11 month-old.). I have learned that the kids didn't get the memo about not fighting on Father's Day. Neither did the dogs (I hear the puppy terrorizing her "big brother" as I write this). Someday we will laugh about this, right?!? Or at least pour a glass of wine, clink glasses, and congratulate ourselves on making it through another day.

Our pastor at Lifechurch.tv, Craig Groeschel, often speaks about how when God calls us to something, he often leaves out the details.  Why?  Because we simply couldn't handle them.  We couldn't handle the raw, unfiltered truth of parenting, so He spoonfeeds us over time. Our two-year-olds test authority because... hold your horses, parents, the teen years are coming! And we just couldn't handle them. Yet.

The truth is that with God and my awesome husband, we will get through this. I am so utterly thankful that he asked me to that high school Homecoming dance almost 21 years ago. I can't imagine a better father for my children or a better-suited partner for this journey. I love him because he fought for me when we were apart in college, because he chooses to work from home to be near us, because he pulls the car over to discipline our kids when needed, and because he loves on them daily in words and deeds. He is an incredible example of integrity, perseverance, and love for our children. He works hard and he plays hard, and we love him to the moon.

Happy Worst Father's Day, honey! Here's to next year!

A bit more accurate pic of how the day unfolded

P.S. As I was getting ready to post this, our puppy chewed up one of Grant's new Keens (shoes) while Anna was supposed to be watching Fern.  Anna was on her iPad.  So long, iPad. Gotta love parenting.  Did I mention that it's been raining all afternoon, as well????

"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate."
Psalm 127:3-5