Memoria Arts~ Life in the Making

This is what I know...

It was one of those days. 

You know the type. 

It started at six am this morning and has been going all day long, and it doesn't look like it's gonna end early, either.

Tough, tough, day.

There is grace, though.

I had this moment of awareness, of clarity:

I was teaching the boys. Ben was working through his lesson mostly on his own, and Isaiah and I were plopped down in the middle of the living room working on his math. He has just learned simple addition within the last few lessons, and he was literally adding them together faster than I could lay down the blocks on the workbook page. Here he is, belly on the floor, feet waving in the air, blithely working through the problems. And I think about this time last year, and how worried I was that he had learning delays. He couldn't even understand sequencing and pattern recognition, one of the basic building blocks of math. Counting from one to ten made no sense to him- they were just random sounds and didn't go in order. This is the self same kid that is rattling off answers now! 

Some times we get so stuck in the here+now that we forget just how far we've come.

It doesn't make this day any less tough, or the responsibilities any less pressing, but I can honestly say that today was a good day.

I ordered in Chinese.

We read every single book out of the library basket at some point today.

Blankets were in abundance for cuddling.

I turned Adele on in Pandora, and we danced, twirled, and jammed the "bewitching hour" away. 

Was it a "perfect" day? Will I be nominated to Mother of the Year by my kids?

No, and I seriously doubt it.

But this is what I know: we've come a long way, and we'll go a ways still. It's the small moments that no one else would notice, the boy on his belly, legs waving over his head, adding. Don't let it pass you by in the small disappointments of life that seem so pressing. They are small beans to the the precious gold of the not-so-everyday accomplishment we take for granted. 

This divided life...

I'm headed on a ramble today...

I keep thinking about Ann's phrase, the 'one piece life', and how it relates to burnout. Oh, and before I forget, Elizabeth had this to say about burnout. Go read. I'll wait.

I've set my phone to mark the Hours- The dawn office, morning office, midday, vespers, complines. It's something new I've started recently; a practice I am finding quite fascinating. My desire to start them actually fell somewhere around the same day or two that I sort of 'hit the wall'. I've done the Divine Hours on and off for over two years, but I've never, ever been daily disciplined enough to really pray through them. It was sparked by Ann's discussion of spiritual disciplines during her Walk With Him Wednesday memes. She's covered a lot of ground since she started doing the series. For some reason, reading last week's post made me realize that I am not spiritually disciplined at all. Oh, I know all these things. I should be reading the Bible daily. I should be doing a lot of things in that vein. And I do. But I rarely string four days together of any habit. I get gung ho about stuff, do it well, and then fizzle out. 

I had been thinking about this verse (one that Jesus actually quotes to Satan while being tempted):

  He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. (Deuteronomy 8:3)

I realized that I was spiritually starving. I would eat just enough to live, but never enough to really 'fill up the tank', to truly be. Is it no wonder then that my defenses have failed and my wall has fallen, and depression and burnout snuck in?

    On the flip side, I'm a mama of five, and quiet does not come often around here. I often let exhaustion or chores or a million other little things crowd out the time. They are pressing things but they are not needful things. I mulled it over for a while and felt like the one practice I really wanted to start cultivating, that I felt like I could do and stick with it for longer than 2.5 seconds, was fixed hour prayer. It felt pretty drastic to me. And I sort of puzzled over remembering when to pray...until I realized I could set multiple alarms on my phone. It even has a bell 'ring tone' that sounds like church bells. So now, at the appointed time, my phone calls out the Hours, and I stop. For about two minutes, I focus on the One thing needful. 

    Those bells have rung out now for nearly a week and a half. If there is one thing cultivating this new practice has taught me, it is the realization that I tend to live a divided life. This is the 'school day', this is when I do laundry, this is when I am a wife, this is when I am a care taker of my home, and this is when  I do things that bring me closer to God. Something about that is so backwards. The Hours teach you this because- well, midday bells ring and I am diapering a child. Vespers ring and I am literally in the middle of making dinner, pot bubbling, chicken sizzling. Smack in the middle of life. Fixed hour prayer creates hard stops in the day while at the same time being smack in the middle of the flow of daily time. It's really made me realize how the physical, quotidian everyday and the heavenly dimension are interwoven with each other. It amazes me how that sudden stop will totally change my direction.

    Tonight, as dinner was coming on (we sort of gently call it 'the bewitching hour'), I was rushed. Worried. Trying to figure out a recipe I hadn't tried before. Hoping that Josiah would nap until dinner was done cooking. Wondering if I had switched the laundry. Worrying about family members who are ill. Kids fussing and grumping because they don't want to clean up. Vespers rang. I'll admit I actually huffed and rolled my eyes at my phone. Whoa. That caught my attention. I sorta muttered "one thing needful" under my breath, went and grabbed my prayer book, eyed the dinner, and stopped. And prayed. It only takes the space of maybe a minute, or two? The dinner certainly didn't burn. It was still bubbling away. The interesting thing about the liturgy is that you will read (and pray) a tremendous chunk of scripture each day, a few moments at a time, every few hours. And I need to hear the Word! As I went back to making dinner, my whole outlook had changed. Things were still pressing but I was not rushing and worrying and fretting. I was at peace. I spent those twenty minutes of dinner preparation worshiping while working. I find myself hoping that more of my moments are like that- one piece, instead of two, five, ten...scattered and unmoored...

 

Transitions, rhythms, and the concept of enough...

    The start of the school year has always marked a new beginning to me since I was quite young. Some may love their New Year's celebrations, but for me, nothing brought more joy than the beginning of school and all the new things that came with it: freshly sharpened pencils, a box of new crayons, the smell of the paper. (I still have a slight love delight obsession with paper. The patterns, the textures, the colors, oh my!)

    It now seems all that more solidified as the 'starting over' point in my mind after the experiences of this last year. I remember where we were headed as a family before everything happened. It wasn't a bad path to be on, all things considered- it was just a busy, getting close to the limit, cluttered sort of life.  I would fall in bed at the end of the day just plum exhausted more days than not.  If I was totally honest with myself, I would feel a failure if three quarters of my epic 'to-do' list wasn't marked off by the end of that day too.

    I remember waking up after the surgery in the recovery ward, with the sunlight just pouring in over my bed. For so many reasons, everything was different, and nothing would ever quite be the same. A profound soul shift. There is something about coming close to death that leaves you marked afterward. I don't think I quite recognized the change at first, too overwhelmed by the emotions swirling around me, but as the moments turned into days and days turned into months, time took on a whole new meaning. Before, time was this thing to be hoarded, bought, sold, crossed-out. Just one more, one more. Afterward, time was a gift. When you know that you almost missed all those moments of life- the first steps, a child beginning kindergarten, a laugh with an old friend- their value isn't as easy to dismiss as it was before. Coupled with the loss of income, everything I thought I ever knew about life underwent a re-evaluation.

    I realize now that I have spent a year apart. It wasn't intentional, to be certain, but looking back, it was exactly what was needful. John Mayer jokes about a 'quarter-life crisis' (a play on the concept of midlife crisis) and I can't help but think there is a bit of truth in the laughter. When you have spent your first twenty or so years in an academic setting and dreaming about the day you 'grow up and get a real job', and that day suddenly arrives, so much of what you thought about it all doesn't resemble reality in the least. In my case, I don't think I had even stopped long enough after graduation in 2006 to really consider what exactly I was going to 'do with the rest of my life' or who I really was aside from the defining factor of grades that measured success. Yes, I was a wife and a mom, and I knew those things wouldn't change, but I don't think I had even stopped to consider what those roles actually were, what they looked like, what they meant in our family life. For that matter, I think there is a crisis of belief that happens around the mid-twenties where you start to realize that who you are and what you believe may not in any way resemble your old self or your family members- you know, those conversations to avoid at parties- beliefs about politics, faith, finances, health. It's a scary place. It's a place emotionally that you might just be tempted to put off visiting, as I did. The surgery changed all of that. I suddenly had to look my fears in the face, take a deep breath, and sort of jump into that unknown new reality.

    The discoveries are interesting to me. One, I am a quiet person at the core. Some of my friends would probably laugh hysterically reading this, because I can talk (and talk, and talk). I also used to be quite the know it all. If this last year has taught me anything, it is that I know so little about the things that matter. I actually got in a (sort-of) fight with an extended family member because I was too quiet at a recent family gathering. They were used to my motor-mouth from my younger years, and mistook my lack of opinion-spewing as some sort of sullen bad attitude. My mother and I got such a laugh after the whole episode because we both knew that wasn't the case at all- but I was saddened that the change would be so noticeable for someone who hadn't seen me in a few years. Even the way I dress has changed. The last year has finally allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin.

    My husband and I were talking about this 'year apart' the other night and this concept of enough came up a couple of times. A year of living without a regular job taught us the concept of 'enough' financially- what we truly needed to get by and all of the things we really didn't need. We've gotten ruthless about debt-elimination now, because a year of living with debt while living without will show you very, very quickly how heavy the shackles really are. I think I learned the concept of 'enough' emotionally- in the sense of time management, in what I could reasonably do any day, and who I really was without all of the time-robbers shrouding that in busyness. By far and away, the biggest 'enough' lesson had to be spiritual- God showed Himself so profoundly in so many ways that our faith was strengthened in ways that never would have happened otherwise, because we would have been too busy to stop and hear and see- we know profoundly the meaning of the words our Lord spoke: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

     I watch the turning of the year into fall with joy and peace. I met this time last year with grave sorrow and anger at many things, unsure that I would ever smile again. Yes, our financial picture is still pretty fuzzy without a regular job to depend on. Yes, things are in that crazy transition of sleep deprivation with a newborn in the house. Yes, we are still dealing with a lot of health issues that don't seem to resolve. It would be easy to get overwhelmed if I thought about it too hard, but you know what? It's enough. It's not about measuring sticks and milestones anymore for me. It's about living, breathing relationships with my Lord and with my family and friends. It's a dance, not a march, and I am thankful that the Lord has taught me this new rhythm. (Of course, if I hadn't been so deaf and hard- headed in the first place....but I hear Peter was pretty stubborn himself, and see what God did with him! Boy, does that ever give me hope.) I welcome the chance to begin anew.

Coming to the hard stops of soul care...

I have a dear friend who has gently been watching over me from a distance.

Yesterday, she asked me how I was doing- really doing. Not the "I'm fine, just great!" question. More like the "how are you and God these days?" question. Followed hard upon with the next question- "are you taking care of yourself?"

In my dear friend's mind, the two are quite intertwined. One can't be answered without the other, because to her, taking care of oneself naturally means that one is meeting with God too. Me? I tend the separate out the two by default- as if one could exist without the other, like somehow one could technically be okay without the God-flow in our lives. And there, I err. And I know it too, that I cannot survive, cannot breathe in the space of my days without the sustaining force of my Lord, and yet- and yet...I starve more often than not. I hold myself back from the provision He has so graciously given me, mine for the taking if I would only stop. And listen. And pray.

Sometimes when my friend asks these hard questions, I shrink within. I know she expects an honest answer, and the honesty is sometimes too appalling. Her gentle touches seem to wound, but they are the best kind- the type that excise the infection from a gash and set it to proper healing. But yesterday, I bloomed with the joy that I could answer positively to both questions. Yes, God and I were meeting. He was there, and I was attendant. And yes, I was taking care of myself, as best as I can possibly could with a brand new babe. She probed a bit further, just to be sure, as she knows I have struggled with postpartum depression in the past. And as we talked, I mentioned that it bothered me that it took me until my fifth child, my miracle baby, to finally learn the art of self care. Of soul care. Was it not important with the other four children? Was not my need for sustenance important all the other days that I have walked this journey? I am not sure why. I am still puzzling over this.

As our conversation drew to a close, I was thinking about why this time was different, why I could honestly answer my friend, without one shred of guilt, that yes, I was caring for myself in both the physical and the spiritual sense.

Sustenance.

I tend to try to do too many things at once. Just one more task, one more minute, one more, one more, one more. Until am I exhausted, drawn out, and unable to function. This is my biggest danger when a new baby is in the house, and I knew it. Saw it for the trap it was, and had been prayerfully considering it all summer long. It wasn't until I read Katherine's post, No NAK , that something clicked in my mind. Here's a small snippet of what she said:

NAK is online slang for "nursing at keyboard." I've made this mistake in the past. I won't do it again. The amount of time I spend nursing my newborn is tremendous. If I used every nursing session as a chance to check email, Facebook or Google Reader I would be on the computer for most of the day and night. Nursing is a special time to bond with one's baby, building the foundation for a lifelong relationship. I can't bond and build anything if I'm balancing a nursing baby on an elbow and knee and staring at a screen. 

Now, Katherine's post was talking about time spent online in general, and this was just a small part of the whole article. But she goes on from this paragraph to say that she has set up her space near her rocking chair as place for prayer. (She's Orthodox.) I think that's what clicked together in my mind as I read this over a month ago now, before Josiah was born. I feel like I've definitely come to a place of balance with my online time, and I don't feel the least bit guilty about my current usage. My thoughts tend to reflect Katherine's in practically all points. But on the other hand, I am horrible about regular prayer times. It is one of those things that constantly discourages me about myself, because as I've said, it's akin to starving!

I resolved at that point that nursing and prayer time, as much as I was able, were to be definitively linked after Josiah was born. I had also decided, in tandem, that no longer would I try to do forty things at once while nursing (you'd be amazed what you can do with a sling or a moby and a willing baby). I would sit down, I would put my feet up, I would have something to drink nearby, and I would stop. The only thing I would 'allow' myself was the chance to read, but even then, only in the early evening hours.

For the last three weeks, that is exactly what I have been doing. Every two and a half, three hours, I stop. I rest. I pray. I marvel at the miracle of Josiah.

And wouldn't you know, I am in a much better head space, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually?

Sustenance.

Ann Voskamp has been doing a series on spiritual disciplines, and this month's focus has been on prayer. Today she wrote an article called prayer: why we struggle (and how not to). Please click over and read the whole thing, the whole series. It is very good. But here is what caught my eye: 

"I never notice it when I just pray after reading Scripture, early or late, when we pray before and after meals. Prayer's short, convenient. It's only when I began to follow the way of Jesus and the early church in fixed hour prayer, feeding my soul at certain fixed times like I eat at certain fixed times, and I was confronted with this consistent struggle to cease working and kneel in prayer, that I realized the true ugliness of my lack of prayer.

It's a startling, wrenching thing to discover that it's not time, or busyness, or pressing concerns that prevent one from prayer. The extent of prayer in one's life is a direct function of whether something else has been set up as more important than God. "

My nursing/prayer times immediately came to mind. It has been very hard for me to come to these hard stops and well, stop. To meet God. It has been a constant struggle actually, to just be still. But even in these short three weeks, I realize how much the better I am for it. And I am shamed by that realization, that statement, that something else has been set up as more important than God. And I question, with Ann, as to why I let my soul starve when the answer is so very simple. Yet I cannot help but see the sort of humor my Lord has, as he has brought me to sustenance through the very act of sustaining- of nursing! As I am nourishing Josiah, through God's grace, the Lord is nourishing me. It makes me smile to think upon it, this gentle irony. Oh that I would learn! His ways are always better. 

Isaiah 66:11-13

¹¹ For you will nurse and be satisfied
       at her comforting breasts;
       you will drink deeply
       and delight in her overflowing abundance."

 ¹² For this is what the LORD says:
       "I will extend peace to her like a river,
       and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream;
       you will nurse and be carried on her arm
       and dandled on her knees.

 ¹³ As a mother comforts her child,
       so will I comfort you;
       and you will be comforted over Jerusalem."

Crash Protection in Parenting

                                                             I had this "aha" moment yesterday, and then I went and read Andrea's post (go read it- I'll wait!). I was so surprised to realize I had passed this huge milestone in my life, but I couldn't quite figure out the how or why. I just knew in this heart-level way that I had shed some immaturity in my life. Reading Andrea's post made me realize the "whosywhatsits", as Ben likes to call it. (Translation: the 5 "w" questions [who, what, when, where, why, and sometimes how]- he called it that one day and it has always stuck. I love it. It makes me giggle.)

I've found crash protection in parenting because of a journey towards 'simple living'.

It's happened over a stretch of almost three years now. It started because of Isaiah's food allergies....he had horrible colic as a baby, and the behavior issues only escalated as he got older. A wise pediatrician realized that we were dealing with some pretty hefty food allergies. The end result is that we now eat almost entirely organic, unprocessed foods. It was a choice that James and I made together- we could have continued to eat in the 'old' way while preparing Isaiah's food separately, but the reality was that it would be too expensive to do so. What little research we had done at the time made us realize that eating 'closer to the soil' was much healthier for all of us, so we made the jump. You know how it goes...your child is diagnosed with something, and you read everything you can possibly get your hands on. Talk about an eye opening time!

It changed things drastically in our home life, for the simple reason that unprocessed food usually takes a lot longer to prepare. No longer could I pop something in the microwave for five minutes or dump a box in a pot...I really had to prepare meals. Looking back, I can see how the food issue began changing everything else. James and I, although parents to three (at the time, Ben was 3, Isaiah was 2, and Lorelei was a teeny tiny newborn), were still definitely 'college kids' in mindset. We were both working on our degrees at the time, and our life really revolved around that sort of catch-as-catch-can lifestyle that college often forced us into, between working full time and everything in between. Our food choices really reflected that, and our time management definitely reflected it- it was not unusual for us both to put in a full day of parenting and working and then do homework into the wee 'sma hours, only to get up at the crack of dawn and do it all over again.

The need for actual factual food preparation and planning changed that, and quickly. Not only did I have to pay attention to when dinner was, I also had to source food far from the typical grocery run. It took a lot of forethought. It brought a subtle order to our days that had not existed to that point. I graduated not too soon after that, and our lives took on a whole different dimension. James was adamant that if it could be done, I was to stay home and be with the children- he did not want me to work outside the home unless I wanted to. He prayed that it would never come to a matter of need for me to work. And, amazingly, it never has. Oh, it's been awfully tight at times, but it's never come down to me having to work. (Of course, logistically at this point, it would cost far more for the children to be in daycare and school than it would for me just to stay home.)

I remember that time of discovery. Really meeting and getting to know my kids for the first time, figuring out what made them tick, realizing I could do all these things with my days, no longer tied to deadlines. It was very freeing. It was a time of learning...how to mother, how to be a wife, how to care for my home. As usual, I went a hundred miles a minute and burned out quickly. Again, the food issues brought me back towards center. I had continued reading and studying about food, it's production, how it affects people with allergies and digestive disorders (like Celiac's)...peripherally, many of the books I read also referred to this idea of 'simple living', of returning to quieter ways, closer to natural rhythms. At the same time, my times of prayer and devotional time had a sort of running conversation with God about what it all meant. Oh, I was getting so frustrated! It seemed like roadblock after roadblock stood in my way between being the mom I wanted to be and where I was. Spinning my wheels, it seemed like I was constantly turned towards verses about seasons and times. [I'd just like to mention that I am majorly dense...2x4s are often required.] Eventually, it was Psalm 90 that stuck and I finally got the point. It is a Psalm of Moses, and when I read it, I realized that Moses was in the desert on the forty year trek towards death. With every passing year, he watched the disobedient generation die out, and he knew that he would never enter the Land God had promised. To the world, that was definitely an exercise in futility- and no one would have thought less of Moses had he quit and gone back to Egypt or something. But what does he ask of God? Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (v. 12) What?!?! Teach us to number our days. I figured Moses knew a bit better than I did, and that became (and in many ways still is) my prayer.  To everything there is a season, and God is always in control.

The thing is, I had no clue what an ordered life looked like, at least at the time. I think I am much closer to some of those answers now. I'll go into what I've learned in areas like being a wife and making a home tommorrow and the next day, but today I really want to focus on the crash protection 'simple living' brings to parenting. The fact of the matter is, American culture is pretty high-speed. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows how hard people work, the long hours, the clogged interstates, the cell-phones, the fast-food drive thrus. Our culture makes it easy to get in the fast lane and never ever get out, and it makes it awfully easy to push our kids into that overclocked lifestyle too. It is not uncommon for a family of four to only sit down to dinner together one day out of seven, and leave ten minutes later headed for a myriad of weekend activities destined to make them 'better people'. I know, we were THAT family.

 Like I said yesterday, it is really easy for those of us designed 'a hundred miles a minute' to get into that overclocked state- a horrible state to be in when it comes to parenting. We're going too much, and too fast, to really listen and pay attention to our kids, to really hear their hearts. It is a very concious decision we have to make to get in the slow lane. The interesting thing is that the slow lane has this way of making a lot of things clearer. For one, you can actually see what's ahead. You can read the signs because they are not flying by in a blur. The chaotic accident ahead that you would have gone flying into in a nasty splatter of metal and glass is much easier to avoid in the slow lane. You have time to stop, turn around, get over. And hopefully, you're not even driving. My favorite bumper sticker has got to be this one: "If God is your co-pilot, switch seats!" As odd as it seems, slowing down gives one more time, not less. Doing a few things with intent and focus reaps much greater rewards than many things done haphazardly, and no where is this more true than in mothering and parenting. I am trying to avoid overanalyzation (another tendancy of mine) to a point, but finding order and discipline (ours, not our kids) in parenting creates vast change in our children. Or maybe it is a change in perspective in ours...I'm not sure. When life isn't overclocked and cluttered with actvities, projects, and places we have to be, we can get to know our children in ways we never would have been able to if we were constantly go-ing. There is space to hear and see and know.

What this looks like in each family is as different as each family is unique. But I definitely think that every family has a balance that should be entered into prayerfully by both parents, with the bottom line being that the children (and family) have space to "be": be with God, be themselves, be with sibilings and parents,be with those in need. And it shouldn't echo the culture, even the "Christian", "churchy" one...it should echo God's call on the family heart. We have to ask God to put those roadblocks and sand stops in our way, to help us realize when we're going to crash, to teach us how to order our days, or we're truly destined to a life of futility.

Andrea has a great conversation on this going on over there...if you like this post, you might want to surf on over and jump in over there too...

What have you learned about simplicity and parenting and how the two relate? 

Crash and burn...

This is Isaiah. Or "Z", as we affectionately call him. The 'z' might as well stand for 'zoom', because that is his only speed. He is always 180 mph during every waking moment. He doesn't ever walk anywhere...it's sort of a loping run...and his speech is cluttered with the various speedbumps of trying to fit twenty words where only five will fit.

It sort of sounds like this:

"BentookmycaranditmadememadandIamveryupsetandheshouldnothavedonethatandwhyishesomeanmommy?[Pause, as mommy tries to decipher where the spaces were to make sense of it all] MOM-mmy. Ben (indecipherable nonsense)....MOM-mmmy, why are you not listening?" (Course, I am listening, but my ears don't work as fast as his mouth does!)

*laughter*

It certainly took some getting used to, that is for sure. 

The thing is, for all of our laughter and nonsense together, I see an awful lot of myself in him. That tendancy to go and go and go and go without rest, the inability to slow down and absorb the moment, the impatience with everyone else that doesn't go 'my speed'....*sighs*. It has taken me years to understand this about myself.

It's also taken me years to understand that God made me 'a hundred miles a minute' for a reason, just as He made Isaiah like that. It has also taken me years to understand that I can't let my 'hundred miles a minute' personality rule me, but that I should, in fact, rule it and bring it under control. Instead of the horse pulling me, I have slowly learned to control the horse.

Crash pads.

It is not with some seriousness that we have often joked that Z needs football regalia to get through his days. Just this morning, he was going at his normal pace through the kitchen, hit a tiny patch of spilled water, and made a spectacular flying leap into the air, landing resoundingly and firmly on his head with a loud thud. And oh, how he cried! This is a normal occurance for him (getting hurt), so he usually gets up, brushes himself off, and keeps right on going, full speed ahead. Not this time. He really had hit his head pretty hard- hard enough in fact, that I am watching him for signs of concussion. As he was curled up cuddling with me (another very rare occurance), I was telling him stories of my own childhood and why it's so important to watch where we're going. I was also thinking of how I could help him make 'crash pads' that help him slow down (emotionally and mentally) when he gets to going too fast.

I realized afterwards that as an adult and a mother, I've passed a serious milestone in my own life. I've finally figured out what my crash pads are! I have finally learned to slow down, hit the brakes, read the signs, and re-evaluate before continuing. Take this pregancy, for example. While pregnant with the other children, I used to go, go, go...literally...until I 'crashed and burned'...so exhausted and so sick that I could barely move, bringing the whole house to a screeching halt. I did not take care of myself. I did not make sure I was getting the rest I needed, or the food or nutrients a pregnant body needed, and it showed. And I certainly never, ever asked for help! Not this time. I have been much more careful to watch out and care for my needs, to rest when I can, to eat better. It shows. Like I mentioned a few days ago, I normally would be a soggy, emotional mess at this point, overwhelmed and tired and on the verge of tears if you looked at me funny...all the time...ask James. He could tell you the horror stories! With the exception of a few hormonal days here and there, this pregnancy has been vastly different. Not only do I 'get through' the days now, I get through them triumphantly, confidently. Oh, don't get me wrong, that bedtime hour can still burn me out faster than you can say "boo"...but neither do I lose it by eleven am either.

I finally learned to listen.

Listen to my body. Listen to my needs. This has changed in so many aspects of my life. Parenting. Money management. Being a wife. Being an artist. I've finally learned to turn off my overclocked engine so that the roar doesn't drown out the needs and words of those I love, the things I love, the roles I love. I am a bit astonished to say that, since January, we have stayed within our budget. Really and truly. We are slowly working on our debt reduction, but here's a caveat...it's pointless (and I can tell you from experience) to try to pay down debt if your money is still a raging torrent running free. Once your money management is brought under control, once you understand the ins and outs of what is actually needed and required, then debt reduction comes much easier! It's like a boat with a bunch of holes in it otherwise. You can pour buckets all day long, but it won't fix the problem. Patch the holes, and you can get the water out for good.

I am not saying that being 'a hundred miles a minute' is a bad thing. Like I said, God designed me (and Isaiah) this way for a reason. Somebody like me is a self-starter. I can see a project through to completion with the stamina it requires with very little outside direction. You don't have to 'hold my hand' through a task. Considering that I am a mom of (soon to be) five, it is definitely a blessing in many ways...if I wasn't 'me', having my kids would be pretty overwhelming on a daily basis...but in many ways, I don't mind the noise, and all the assorted tasks that come with all these kiddos...I'd almost say I revel in it. I like the challenge of getting from point A to point B each day with my kids. But I've definitely realized that to be the best mom I can be for these kids, I've got to slow down and listen and use those 'hundred mile a minute' skills the way God designed them to be used, not the bludgeoning, slip-sliding, concussion-inducing ways I used to misuse them.

How that translates into parenting Mr. Zoom-Zoom, I am not quite sure yet. But I am going to try to make my ears work faster!

Hopeful Parenting...

Lorelei sat across from me, whispy haired, her big sky blue eyes drinking in the sights and sounds.

We had escaped, we two, for a bite of lunch and some errand running. Just us girls.

I was gazing across the table at her, marveling at the miracle.

She caught my eye and smiled big, bites of grilled cheese showing through: "Wuv you mommy." She turned her head back again to the busy place, sipping her chocolate milk. Daintily, not at all like the boys do, slurp, slurp, slurp.

My heart pounded in my chest.

"Oh dear Lord, help me!"

Boys all rough and tumble don't seem so fragile, so easy to bruise. Being a mama to a girl, and my Lorelei girl, at that, scares me sometimes. I remember well my bruised childhood, and I fear for her, fear for myself. This whole woman thing is not easy. It's taken me so long to learn basic lessons of womanhood, and the culture is that much more against her...how do I teach her what it means to be a daughter of the King, a Princess with a calling? All these thoughts circled in my head as we ate our lunch.

I picked up the threads of a conversation to my left. Two moms chatted away, deeply troubled by the direction of their daughters' lives, who were (from what I gathered) nine or so. How lost they sounded! The despair in their voice was palpable. One of the ladies mentioned how she wished someone older and wiser could advise them. Her voice trailed off as she said "My mom was so very distant...I'd never be able to ask her these questions..." The discussion continued, and I felt myself nodding in agreement with some of their thoughts, thoughts that seem common to mamas since time immemorial. But their conclusions I found deeply troubling. They were so different from my own, and it dawned on me that my parenting comes from a place of Hope. It quickly became apparent that the difference between our 'answers' had to do with the fact that I was a Believer, and they were not. I had never recognized that dichotomy before this day. Dare I say that it's a blessing I've taken for granted?

I had never considered before this day what a blessing it is to turn my parenting over to the Burden-bearer. No matter what, I always have the ultimate Parent to turn to, to draw council from through His Word, to beg mercy from when I am utterly undone as a parent, a mama. I am never alone on this journey of raising children. Never alone. What grace!

As their conversation finished up, I found myself near tears. Never have I ever felt so deeply the loss of our culture to post-post-modern thought. There is no "mothering" culture anymore. There is no circle of life that stretches from great grandma to grandma to mother to daughter to sister to friend. There are pockets of it, here and there - I've been blessed in my own life to have that semi-intact- but overall, the culture is wholeheartedly against mothers, against fathers, against child-raising. It does everything it can to tear it all down. Not only was there no culture that would help these women, they probably wouldn't like the Answer they were longing for because they were raised in a culture that told them that there is no Truth!

It brought to mind a conversation with my mom a few days before. She had loaned me a popular "Christian" parenting/homeschooling book, with a warning. " Look, honey, there is a lot of good advice in here...but don't swallow it lock, stock, and barrel. It's not the Gospel truth, if you know what I mean?" We sort of laughed and I went on reading. I enjoyed the book immensely. There were a ton of great suggestions that I wouldn't have thought of myself, and I can't wait to enact some of them in my mothering journey. But there were a few spots that made me downright uncomfortable, advice-wise. It occured to me that the reason is because I do know the Word, and the Truth, and those pieces of advice did not (as my mother warned) line up with the plumb line of the Word. My mother taught me early to discern between knowledge and wisdom, and to measure everything against Scripture.

The two experiences have woven themselves together in my mind, and I have been wondering a bit ever since. How deeply has existentialist, post-modern thought invaded even with the "Christian" culture? How many times have I avoided the hard Truth of the Word in favor of feel-good, 'what's right for me isn't right for you' flavor of spirituality and parenting? Why am I so much more willing to listen to an author who lays it all out nicely and neatly in twelve points, than to listen to the Father of the Universe, whose mysteries are numerous but His Word true, and sharper than any sword? Gracious knows, His is the only council that should matter. All this other stuff is well and good, even encouraging. But if I am not coming back to the reality of the Cross, of the Word made flesh, then where is my hope? If that is not my foundation, all is lost.

Oh dear Lord, help Thou me!
----
Related:
Parenting, The Great Spritual Adventure @ Holy Experience
"Be"-ing a Mother @ The Flourishing Mother
Centering @ Study in Brown

The mommy files...

Bean is getting bigger each passing day...I can no longer deny that I am passing into a new phase in my life, from semi-normal to the 'mama of many' in which every passing stranger feels the need to comment on my super-woman status. It makes me feel so uncomfortable. It's not something I think about. Perhaps it's that many of my friends have just as many children or more, but it doesn't seem strange to me to go the grocery store with my four in tow. It's just what I do. It's just who I am. But the shock that seems to occur (now that my pregnant belly is undeniably obvious) when they realize that another is on the way tests my baser instincts. One, it's none of their business. Two, I don't like getting advice on how to avoid pregnancy (in very frank terms, I might add) in front of my children and I don't like how it makes the children feel bad for being a part of a big family. Three, I am not super-woman, nor will I ever be. I'm just the mama that is called to be mama to these children by God. And every family is different, just as every calling is different. I guess this is God's way of testing whether my desire to be gracious and peaceful is really true or not, because I have had to bite my tongue so often of late when dealing with complete strangers!

That being said, this 'mama to many' thing is certainly an adventure. Just when I think I've got some logistical thing figured out, just the right amount for a recipe to feed the family with a little left over, just how many gallons of milk I need, how fast I am going through laundry detergent, how long I can comfortably go between laundry days...someone has a growth spurt. Or, our schedule changes and we need more snacks on the go. It's almost as if I am still thinking like a mama of two instead of a mama of almost five...and it really cracks me up. I think this tendency is fading now as I grow comfortable with my role, but it still makes for some pretty funny 'uh-oh' moments. Thankfully, the grocery store is within walking distance!

When people act like I am such a super-woman, I can't help but laugh internally, and think "If you only knew..." I wish other moms could understand that I am a lot like them, with the same struggles and triumphs, the same questions and fears. Just because I happen to have more children doesn't automatically mean I have it all together. Far from it.

I'll prove it.

Look familiar to anyone?

The stray sock and mending basket. *ahem* This is truly blogworthy- and James laughed at me when I took a picture. I finally decided in a spare moment to match all the socks I could find. It filled up a grocery bag! (The stack on the left). But look at how many are left orphans! Nah, there aren't six people in this family, no sir.

I won't let you see the state of my kitchen floor. I am all for full disclosure and all, but some things are just too embarrassing. Especially when your one year old likes to eat off of it.

Rule #1 of being a mama to many? Laugh. Laugh often. Laugh much. It's so much better that way!

Some mama posts from around the 'sphere lately:

Release from Worry: A Theology of Parenting (and a wee giveaway)~ Anyone who knows me knows how much I enjoy Ann V.'s blog. Her perspective on parenting is something I cherish. She's having a bit of a giveaway today...go stop by.
Spring Cleaning Party at Simple Mom~ Simple Mom's byline is "Live simply. Stay sane. Life hacks for home managers." It's a daily read for me, and the spring cleaning party is chock, chock full of good stuff for getting the house in order. I'm don't really need to do a huge spring cleaning since our epic battle with clutter in January, but I've already found a few tips I'm putting in place.
Spring Allergies~ Okay, so this one is just sweet and cute, and I love Eliana stories. But I am also including this because I am proud of Elise. Elise is a dear friend, and an amazing writer...I miss her when she doesn't blog. But she made a decision a few months ago to seriously reduce her time online as she finds the new groove with sweet baby Gideon and her calling as mama to four. (We have the same division of kids, two older boys, sweet princess girl in the middle, and baby boy.) As much as I miss her blogging, I am rooting for her as she learns new steps in this dance. Her archives are a treasure trove! You should check them out. I love her "to laugh" category. (Obviously.)

An unexpected side-effect...

I've been musing over the Lenten season about the concept (and definition of) discipline. This came from my desire to cultivate discipline as my Lenten practice- specifically in relation to the study and 'eating' of the Word, and my prayer time. As Lent draws to a close, I've been looking back.

In confession, I have not been as diligent as I desired to be.  I did very well at first, and then trickled away to nothingness, and then, a bit haphazardly began again. This is unfortunately a predictable pattern for me. I tend towards passion, coupled with perfectionism, a volatile mix indeed. If I can't do something "right", according to the expectations I've drawn up in my head, I will quickly abandon it- sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Sort of a play on the "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"- except in my head it is apparently "If you can't do something "right", don't do it at all."  I am sure some of you reading are shaking your head at me and laughing, and I'm chuckling sadly right along with you. It sounds so ridiculous written out bald face like that. For a perfectionist, expectations are dangerous things: so often, the bar I have set for myself in a particular area is unattainable, super-human in scope. There is no way to achieve it in the first place. I doom myself to failure and a never-ending cycle of always feeling 'not good enough' in my own head.

This time, I vowed, with the Lord's help, that I would not succumb to the ridiculous cycle. I saw it coming there, began to descend into despair; a sort of selfish conversation with myself that precluded any relationship with God, to the study of His Word. Thankfully, He stopped me. So much of my cultivating has actually been a process of letting go. What I thought a quiet time looked like has not in any way resembled what has actually been occurring. I was all like "well, I'll wake up early, read, pray, and then go about my day" and "my prayer time will look like this and it will follow this form". Being pregnant with Bean has all but precluded a morning prayer and study time, as I usually feel quite ill. Forcing myself up early made it a million times worse, and ended up in me being incredibly crabby and not the least bit grace filled as the day went on. And prayer time- ha! You try to pray a long drawn out wordy prayer with four kiddos circling your feet and babbling at you. God doesn't need my eloquence. So often they have been short. Even written down, so that I could stay focused. Grammar didn't matter. And, startlingly, neither did I. The more I have pursued a 'prayer life' the more I find myself not praying about myself and my needs, but about others, and even for more obscure things that aren't intensely specific. And the silence! I think so often we feel like we have to fill every moment of prayer with words. But is a conversation with a friend where you fill every moment with your own thoughts really a conversation? I've been learning to be still and listen.

While this cultivation of discipline has not gone at all like I expected (and thank the Lord for that!) there has been one unexpected and pleasant side effect. Time. This seems antitheitical to my mind, but the opposite has been true. The more I have pursued cultivation of discipline in one area, the more it has spilled into others. In order to have time to study and pray, I've had to re-order other areas of my life to put it in priority. I've had to be more disciplined in my approach to other duties. For a chronic procrastinator, this has been fascinating. Procrastination is essentially "I am not going to do what I need to do until the last minute because of what I want to do" out of a sort of false pretense that it will give enough time to accomplish both the fun stuff and the not so fun stuff. But discipline in approach actually creates the opposite effect- if all the 'not so fun stuff' is done, done properly, and done well, there is actually more time for the pursuit of the 'fun stuff'. And even better, there is not the specter of undone things hanging over my head. I can sit down and read and scrapbook or whatever knowing that there is nothing more to be done that night, and that I am free to pursue whatever I want to do. It's quite a feeling, with no guilt involved. My self confidence has increased as a result, which is totally opposite from the 'never good enough' feeling that usually accompanies my days.

I never would have thought that discipine could indeed be sweet and good for my soul. I have 'tasted and seen' and now know that this is in fact, true. Now my prayer is that I don't forget!

Lessons from motherhood...

Rule #1- If it's too quiet, it IS too quiet. Disaster will ensue.
Rule #2- The (in)capacity of a toilet is directly related to how many toys have been dropped in it. See rule #1.
Rule #3- Kid's laundry will mate in the laundry basket like bunnies, and one outfit suddenly morphs into fifteen. Your ability to find a matching pair of socks is inversely proportional to the reproduction rate. (And how does that dirt get so deep?)

*giggles*
Seriously though.

    Musing yesterday about immaturity and how it has related to my mothering skills has really gotten me thinking. I've been reading The Mission of Motherhood by Sally Clarkson, (see the link in my side bar) and she discusses many things that I have been slowly learning myself. Sloooooooooowly. Have I mentioned I am a bit hard headed and a bit opinionated yet? Bet you never would have guessed, right? I find comfort in the fact that Peter was really hard headed too, and Jesus loved him deeply. It gives me hope that it won't take me multiple times through a lesson to finally get it. *deep sigh*
    It really does seem to me like I've learned more this last year than the last six years of mothering combined (Ben, on the left, is almost seven). I can't quite put a finger on why, exactly. Perhaps it is because my oldest is moving into the elementary age- he can speak clearly and express his feelings in a way that he really hadn't been able to before. Suddenly, I am getting feedback on all this mama stuff. Sometimes it's really sweet, but gracious, the first time a child tells you that he hates you and that he wants the other parent....well...it's a whole new world. Perhaps, it's that this last year has been such a cruicible in so many ways. Sink or swim time. No more cruising along on fumes of faith. Suddenly, I had to really decide if I believed this God of mine, really and truly- that He would be true, that His word was true, that He was faithful, that He would sustain me through the darkest waters I have ever seen in my life. Head knowledge, head belief, suddenly had to move down and be applied at a heart level. Intellectualism had to give way to real-life-ism, practical application of what I believed. It was no longer a question of whether I could get along on my own power- we quite simply would not have made it through without God's mighty sustaining hand. It was He that provided and is providing. I understand this, fundamentally, to the core of my being.
    And no where has this been more true than in being a mama. The process has helped me realize that there is a huge difference between intentional and reactional parenting. (Is that true of faith too? Intentional, faithful belief, or a life insurance policy that only reacts to crisis? Hmmmm.) Like I said before, I did not tend to see things as part of larger picture. Instead of digging down to the roots of a problem with a child, I was pretty reactionary. I'd let them carry on for hours, and then, all of a sudden, get so fed up and yell and holler myself, send them off to beds to calm down and learn how it's not right to yell and carry on, and then go right back to whatever it was that I was doing. And then wonder why they weren't "getting it"?! I wasn't starting at the foundation, in the calm moments, and explaining and showing to them which voice was right to use inside, and working with them through out the day on learning the right voice to use. Then it would make sense for me to send them to their beds to think about it! Because they'd know the lesson they were learning. Perhaps losing a child has made me realize that mothering is not a marathon, in a way. It's a short race. A short eighteen years to instill in them a lifetime toolbox of faith and knowledge. Eighteen years in a span of a lifetime is less than a fourth, but that slice of time determines so very much for my children.
    In the early days of infancy and preschoolers, it seems like those days will stretch on into infinity, they will never end, you're never gonna get a shower, and you'll be changing diapers until you're old and gray. But then you blink. And suddenly, that little baby is an awfully big man-child asking some pretty pressing questions about life and love and all manner of things and you realize you can never get those stretching moments of time back. They're gone, and some of the lessons you forgot to teach are suddenly staring you in the face. And he's only a third of the way through childhood! What are the next two thirds going to look like? Thank the Lord for heaven's grace...the next two thirds can look a bit different. God is a God of second chances and new beginnings. It's been a hundred and eighty degree turn for me...The need for prayer and guidance, the study of the Word, is so much more obvious to me now. I know I have to check in with God and learn His ways myself or I am just spinning my wheels...I don't want Ben to hit fourteen and still be struggling because I haven't taken the time to diligently and consistently teach him the ways of the Lord. It's not fair to him. (And while I am mentioning Ben, it's true of all of my kids.) God has giving me the precious and amazing gift of five children to steward, and it is with a deep regret that I realize I haven't been treasuring them properly, treating them with the respect such precious gifts deserve. God clearly had a plan when He decided to bless me with kids, and isn't high time I started asking Him what that plan was?