Some days I feel like I'm in the Matrix, not that I have any illusions that I'd look good in all black leather garb, but sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with the shocking and painful reality that the world is steeped in sin (both my own and others') that I wonder how it is even possible go on. On days like these I wish someone was offering me the blue pill. I want to gulp it down and return to bed, where I would wake with no knowledge of such painful truths. It would be the easy way.
But, it is not the better way. I think truth is the better way, no matter how painful. Sometimes it is painful because you realize it is your own sin that is jacking up the world around you. Other times it is the sin of others that is wreaking havoc in our lives and we are powerless to control it. Either one puts us at a fork in the road. Do I take the blue pill and ignore my sin? Do I hope that this drug of complacency can numb me to the pain I feel from others? Or, do I carefully reach for the red pill and face what God might be trying to reveal to me? Do I decide to grow in truth whether or not others make that choice?
Clearly, the right answer is the latter choice, but it is by far the most costly. Death of self is necessary. Humility and determination are the only weapons we are allowed.
Yet, sometimes I am tempted to feel that it is hopeless. But the Lord reminds me that He is a God of restoration. He can see inside my dark heart and inside the darkness of others' and He knows how to make it right, even if I do not. And, ultimately, if I give myself to Christ, the joys and the suffering both will lead to being more like Him and being able to accomplish more of His purposes...and that is what the journey is all about.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
I Would Like to Take a Moment to Apologize to My Mother
Humiliation. A screaming child, head thrown back, tears streaking down his face. People from every dining table looking at us. I saw no faces as I walked (trying not to run in shame), just a blur of disapproval as I escorted (by escorted I mean grabbed and carried) my child through the restaurant, from the very back of the restaurant mind you, outside to a nice secluded place behind our van where I could administer proper parental attention to such a situation.
Now any who are concerned at this point in the story, fear not. No corporal punishment was used, but there surely was corporal punishment going on in my mind. We had a little "Come-to-Jesus" conversation, in which I expressed my extreme disapproval for his family shaming behavior.
Apparently, our heart-to-heart in the parking lot made an impression. "Mama, you mad?" He asked. Um, yes. How ever did you pick up on that?
After a bathroom pit stop we headed back. "Well that was humiliating," I said. "Yep" he quips. Awesome. You have no idea, child.
But, we went back to the table and he ate that freakin broccoli. "Mama angry," he told Andrew. Thanks, Captain Obvious.
I couldn't really look anyone in the eye after that and felt much better when were able to leave the restaurant and put the whole shameful memory in the past. However, even now I am feeling some residual second-hand embarrassment.
So, I just want to say sorry, Mom!! It's my payback time.
Now any who are concerned at this point in the story, fear not. No corporal punishment was used, but there surely was corporal punishment going on in my mind. We had a little "Come-to-Jesus" conversation, in which I expressed my extreme disapproval for his family shaming behavior.
Apparently, our heart-to-heart in the parking lot made an impression. "Mama, you mad?" He asked. Um, yes. How ever did you pick up on that?
After a bathroom pit stop we headed back. "Well that was humiliating," I said. "Yep" he quips. Awesome. You have no idea, child.
But, we went back to the table and he ate that freakin broccoli. "Mama angry," he told Andrew. Thanks, Captain Obvious.
I couldn't really look anyone in the eye after that and felt much better when were able to leave the restaurant and put the whole shameful memory in the past. However, even now I am feeling some residual second-hand embarrassment.
So, I just want to say sorry, Mom!! It's my payback time.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
In Need of a Sabbath
Recently God has been speaking to me about renewal. For a mountain of reasons, which I'm sure many of you could relate to, I have found myself in a desert season. I've been burned out on ministry and bitter towards people and ultimately wanting to check out for reasons of self preservation.
At a recent retreat with other World Impact missionaries we talked about "Catching the Wave" of what God is doing in ministry: how to do it, what to do when you "wipe out," etc. I shared with some of the missionaries that I felt like I'd already wiped out, gotten churned up in the wave, ate dirt, and am now laying on the beach, a frazzled mess, and not quite sure what to do next. The crisis is over, but I'm feeling dazed and confused and unmotivated to jump back in. Perhaps you can relate.
I thought if I stepped back and took a little time to recover my energy and equilibrium would return, but instead I've gotten a little more indifferent and definitely more confused. However, God has started to speak to me through my clouded state...as He often does in His grace.
I've told myself I'm just lazy when I don't apply myself in the Christian disciplines, or said that I just don't care about things anymore...but I think I've been naming things inappropriately, which hasn't allowed me to deal with the root issues. It hasn't been laziness keeping me from pursuing God, so much as it has been me pulling back because I've been hurt and confused and maybe to some extent I've been blaming God. And, I certainly care about God's Kingdom and serving in the city, but I've forgotten what I'm passionate about in the midst of trying to do everything and meet every need.
As my desert season has extended beyond the time I thought I could muster up the motivation to carry on, I've realized I just can't do it. It's not in me, not without it being put there by God. I always think I have to DO to fix things, but I think God is telling me to stop doing (that's what got me here in the first place) and listen and wait expectantly for the Lord to rain on my dry soul. Hosea 6:3 puts it like this: "Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; his going out is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.”
A sermon I listened to recently put all the things God had been speaking to me in perspective. What I lack in my life is Sabbath. Sure, I take days off but then I usually try to distract myself from my stress and struggles by plopping in front of the TV, or surfing the internet, or eating, or...the list goes on. But that is not the kind of sabbath God commanded us to observe. In fact, I rarely ever think about it as a command. It's not just that I spend more hours of my Sundays trying to "switch off" than seek the Lord, but that I don't have a life set to a rhythm of God's renewal. I don't have a life fueled by sabbath and yet expect to find rest. I try to do more, which results in listening less.
We live in a culture that drives us at a frantic pace, it tells us we can do it all. But, deep down we know life isn't supposed to be like that, it just usually takes a wipe out with a mouth full of dirt for us to stop and acknowledge it.
So, here I am. My soul is dry. But I am expectant. The Lord will come to me as the the spring rains that water the earth. There will be renewal. But I must press on to know the Lord, and structure my life with a rhythm of sabbath.
Perhaps you too, need more sabbath in your life? From one dry soul seeking God's renewal to another let me suggest hitting the pause button on life, finding a quiet place and engaging with God. A good place to start might be with a few songs that have spoken to me lately, and Darrin Patrick's sermon "Jesus & Sabbath":
At a recent retreat with other World Impact missionaries we talked about "Catching the Wave" of what God is doing in ministry: how to do it, what to do when you "wipe out," etc. I shared with some of the missionaries that I felt like I'd already wiped out, gotten churned up in the wave, ate dirt, and am now laying on the beach, a frazzled mess, and not quite sure what to do next. The crisis is over, but I'm feeling dazed and confused and unmotivated to jump back in. Perhaps you can relate.
I thought if I stepped back and took a little time to recover my energy and equilibrium would return, but instead I've gotten a little more indifferent and definitely more confused. However, God has started to speak to me through my clouded state...as He often does in His grace.
I've told myself I'm just lazy when I don't apply myself in the Christian disciplines, or said that I just don't care about things anymore...but I think I've been naming things inappropriately, which hasn't allowed me to deal with the root issues. It hasn't been laziness keeping me from pursuing God, so much as it has been me pulling back because I've been hurt and confused and maybe to some extent I've been blaming God. And, I certainly care about God's Kingdom and serving in the city, but I've forgotten what I'm passionate about in the midst of trying to do everything and meet every need.
As my desert season has extended beyond the time I thought I could muster up the motivation to carry on, I've realized I just can't do it. It's not in me, not without it being put there by God. I always think I have to DO to fix things, but I think God is telling me to stop doing (that's what got me here in the first place) and listen and wait expectantly for the Lord to rain on my dry soul. Hosea 6:3 puts it like this: "Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; his going out is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.”
A sermon I listened to recently put all the things God had been speaking to me in perspective. What I lack in my life is Sabbath. Sure, I take days off but then I usually try to distract myself from my stress and struggles by plopping in front of the TV, or surfing the internet, or eating, or...the list goes on. But that is not the kind of sabbath God commanded us to observe. In fact, I rarely ever think about it as a command. It's not just that I spend more hours of my Sundays trying to "switch off" than seek the Lord, but that I don't have a life set to a rhythm of God's renewal. I don't have a life fueled by sabbath and yet expect to find rest. I try to do more, which results in listening less.
We live in a culture that drives us at a frantic pace, it tells us we can do it all. But, deep down we know life isn't supposed to be like that, it just usually takes a wipe out with a mouth full of dirt for us to stop and acknowledge it.
So, here I am. My soul is dry. But I am expectant. The Lord will come to me as the the spring rains that water the earth. There will be renewal. But I must press on to know the Lord, and structure my life with a rhythm of sabbath.
Perhaps you too, need more sabbath in your life? From one dry soul seeking God's renewal to another let me suggest hitting the pause button on life, finding a quiet place and engaging with God. A good place to start might be with a few songs that have spoken to me lately, and Darrin Patrick's sermon "Jesus & Sabbath":
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restore my soul.
Psalm 23:1-2
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Rock Opera in Heaven
I'm not normally much of a concert person. As an INTJ I usually see concerts like this: You want me to pay what to stand next to a bunch of crazy people all up in my personal space and to hear songs I can listen to for much cheaper (and with more personal space) on a CD? No thanks. But, occasionally I break my concert rule when there is an artist whose music has been very meaningful to me...Jeremy Camp, Addison Road, David Crowder. I can't really think of many others I've paid money to see in the last 10 years.
Recently, because of an unfortunate situation for some of our close friends, we inherited their tickets to the David Crowder Band concert. I love their music and was looking forward to it, but probably not in the way the original purchasers of the tickets were. We headed to the concert, anticipating a fun evening out. The evening did include an awkward and uncomfortably close conversation with an odd lady sitting next to me. How do you really make those conversations end when the person is sitting almost in your lap? However, this was not the band's fault so I won't hold it against them.
David Crowder was just as good as I remembered. Something I love about their music (both in concert and otherwise) is that it exudes a level of joyful praise not often found in other music. When listening to DCB songs I feel like I'm interjected into a praise session that is contagious. The concert was no different.
Crowder has an unassuming air, wearing jeans, a baseball cap, and his trademark beard, he led the band in a truly amazing display of God-given musical talent. Coupling this with the lyrics on screen it made for one awesome worship service.
Halfway through the night, after beginning his song "You are my Joy", Crowder paused and told the audience, "I hope you don't mind, but we have officially entered the rock opera portion of the evening." He explained, for those of us not really in tune with the music scene, that rock opera is full of dramatic theatrics, with big crescendos and long pauses, shredding guitar solos and songs of epic length. I'm not really a "rocker" but how can you say no to that?
About five minutes later, with a crowd of people singing "You are my joy!" to guitar solos and an impressively crazed drummer I thought, "There will so be rock opera in heaven." I have no idea what the extent of heaven will be but sometimes I think we bore ourselves (and others) thinking that in heaven we will stand around singing hymns (I like hymns, but for eternity?) and then maybe take a little walk through the garden...you know, a serene heaven, if not a little blah. But, in that moment, singing that song, I felt a perfect crescendo of praise to our Father and I thought, surely this is what heaven will be like. The glory of God is not a staid pursuit I think. It will take more than any one genre, musical or otherwise, to fully express our praise to God. And it is only through God that we are given the inspiration of these avenues of praise.
Does it blow anyone else's mind that God, who is the object of our praise, is also the source of our ability to praise? No good thing that brings God glory is created apart from the breath of God. That's a humbling thought for those of us who like to "create."
I think worship in heaven will be one big, rock/rap/dance/folk/country/poetry/jazz/prose... extravaganza, maybe complete with a light show (God is the Father of Light after all). Our God is a big God, with many ways of expressing His glory...I look forward to experiencing them all in heaven and am grateful when I get little tastes of them here on earth.
Recently, because of an unfortunate situation for some of our close friends, we inherited their tickets to the David Crowder Band concert. I love their music and was looking forward to it, but probably not in the way the original purchasers of the tickets were. We headed to the concert, anticipating a fun evening out. The evening did include an awkward and uncomfortably close conversation with an odd lady sitting next to me. How do you really make those conversations end when the person is sitting almost in your lap? However, this was not the band's fault so I won't hold it against them.
David Crowder was just as good as I remembered. Something I love about their music (both in concert and otherwise) is that it exudes a level of joyful praise not often found in other music. When listening to DCB songs I feel like I'm interjected into a praise session that is contagious. The concert was no different.
Crowder has an unassuming air, wearing jeans, a baseball cap, and his trademark beard, he led the band in a truly amazing display of God-given musical talent. Coupling this with the lyrics on screen it made for one awesome worship service.
Halfway through the night, after beginning his song "You are my Joy", Crowder paused and told the audience, "I hope you don't mind, but we have officially entered the rock opera portion of the evening." He explained, for those of us not really in tune with the music scene, that rock opera is full of dramatic theatrics, with big crescendos and long pauses, shredding guitar solos and songs of epic length. I'm not really a "rocker" but how can you say no to that?
About five minutes later, with a crowd of people singing "You are my joy!" to guitar solos and an impressively crazed drummer I thought, "There will so be rock opera in heaven." I have no idea what the extent of heaven will be but sometimes I think we bore ourselves (and others) thinking that in heaven we will stand around singing hymns (I like hymns, but for eternity?) and then maybe take a little walk through the garden...you know, a serene heaven, if not a little blah. But, in that moment, singing that song, I felt a perfect crescendo of praise to our Father and I thought, surely this is what heaven will be like. The glory of God is not a staid pursuit I think. It will take more than any one genre, musical or otherwise, to fully express our praise to God. And it is only through God that we are given the inspiration of these avenues of praise.
Does it blow anyone else's mind that God, who is the object of our praise, is also the source of our ability to praise? No good thing that brings God glory is created apart from the breath of God. That's a humbling thought for those of us who like to "create."
I think worship in heaven will be one big, rock/rap/dance/folk/country/poetry/jazz/prose... extravaganza, maybe complete with a light show (God is the Father of Light after all). Our God is a big God, with many ways of expressing His glory...I look forward to experiencing them all in heaven and am grateful when I get little tastes of them here on earth.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Thank God for Quesadillas
I don't cultivate picky eating in my house. It's one of my pet peeves, when people are picky eaters, particularly when they are the type of picky eater who enforces their pickyness upon the rest of us.
You know the type. Everyone's getting pizza? Oh, no. Well, we can only get pizza if you get a pizza with a very little sauce and extra cheese, and please ask them not to season the crust. Otherwise I don't want pizza.
Ugh. It makes me furious. Anyway, not only do I find it respectful to the chef and any group you're eating with to quietly eat food outside your comfort zone, but it is also a matter of necessity in my home. Cooking is not on my list of priorities...eating is...but not cooking. This sounds counter intuitive, but I have done just fine most of my life eating like a "bachelor" as my Dad dubbed it. Cold pasta out of the fridge? Perfect. A sandwich for dinner again? Sure. More Mac 'n' Cheese? Yum.
During my illustrious career of non-cooking I've also come to the revelation that almost ANYTHING tastes good in a tortilla (and heated in the microwave for 30-60 seconds). I would love to kiss the person who invented the quesadilla, although I'm sure the feeling wouldn't be mutual since I've bastardized their beautiful creation for my own purposes. So many options for filling a tortilla...turkey and cheese; chicken, onions, bell peppers, and cheese; squash and cheese; apples and cheese; turkey and cheese and salsa for the Mexican version (haha). You get the drift. Tortilla + cheese + almost anything else = delicious.
There are times when I feel the social pressure to be the wife, and now mother, that cooks great meals, but I just can't bring myself to invest in the art of cooking...aren't there better things to do with my time? Why spend hours investing in something everyone scarfs down in 20 min (let's be real, 10 in my house)?
The other night I made stir fry (from a frozen mix of veggies, frozen fried rice from Trader Joes, and frozen boneless skinless chicken breasts...yes that's a lot of frozen). It didn't taste particularly wonderful. Mostly because I turned the chicken breasts into rubber ( I don't know, it may have had a little to do with becoming impatient and finishing them off in the microwave).
Anyway, here we were sitting at the table, all three of us chewing and chewing and chewing on those blasted chicken breasts and I sent up a little prayer of gratitude as I saw Andrew and Little Man wearing out their jaws on dinner. It's a blessing to have non-picky eaters in your house, particularly if you are the kind of person who doesn't care much about cooking. I'm really grateful that God blessed me with a husband who eats just about anything and never makes me feel bad for sometimes making quesadillas multiple times a week (they were TOTALLY different kids, OK?)!
So, even though at times I still feel intimidated by women who are great in the kitchen, I've learned to embrace my MacGyver-like skills at just getting by in the kitchen. It often involves random ingredients present in the refrigerator, tortillas and a microwave but you sure don't see us wasting away do you? Thank God for quesadillas and non-picky boys. Life's too short to spend in front of the stove.
Hmm, I wonder what's for dinner tonight? :)
You know the type. Everyone's getting pizza? Oh, no. Well, we can only get pizza if you get a pizza with a very little sauce and extra cheese, and please ask them not to season the crust. Otherwise I don't want pizza.
Ugh. It makes me furious. Anyway, not only do I find it respectful to the chef and any group you're eating with to quietly eat food outside your comfort zone, but it is also a matter of necessity in my home. Cooking is not on my list of priorities...eating is...but not cooking. This sounds counter intuitive, but I have done just fine most of my life eating like a "bachelor" as my Dad dubbed it. Cold pasta out of the fridge? Perfect. A sandwich for dinner again? Sure. More Mac 'n' Cheese? Yum.
During my illustrious career of non-cooking I've also come to the revelation that almost ANYTHING tastes good in a tortilla (and heated in the microwave for 30-60 seconds). I would love to kiss the person who invented the quesadilla, although I'm sure the feeling wouldn't be mutual since I've bastardized their beautiful creation for my own purposes. So many options for filling a tortilla...turkey and cheese; chicken, onions, bell peppers, and cheese; squash and cheese; apples and cheese; turkey and cheese and salsa for the Mexican version (haha). You get the drift. Tortilla + cheese + almost anything else = delicious.
There are times when I feel the social pressure to be the wife, and now mother, that cooks great meals, but I just can't bring myself to invest in the art of cooking...aren't there better things to do with my time? Why spend hours investing in something everyone scarfs down in 20 min (let's be real, 10 in my house)?
The other night I made stir fry (from a frozen mix of veggies, frozen fried rice from Trader Joes, and frozen boneless skinless chicken breasts...yes that's a lot of frozen). It didn't taste particularly wonderful. Mostly because I turned the chicken breasts into rubber ( I don't know, it may have had a little to do with becoming impatient and finishing them off in the microwave).
Anyway, here we were sitting at the table, all three of us chewing and chewing and chewing on those blasted chicken breasts and I sent up a little prayer of gratitude as I saw Andrew and Little Man wearing out their jaws on dinner. It's a blessing to have non-picky eaters in your house, particularly if you are the kind of person who doesn't care much about cooking. I'm really grateful that God blessed me with a husband who eats just about anything and never makes me feel bad for sometimes making quesadillas multiple times a week (they were TOTALLY different kids, OK?)!
So, even though at times I still feel intimidated by women who are great in the kitchen, I've learned to embrace my MacGyver-like skills at just getting by in the kitchen. It often involves random ingredients present in the refrigerator, tortillas and a microwave but you sure don't see us wasting away do you? Thank God for quesadillas and non-picky boys. Life's too short to spend in front of the stove.
Hmm, I wonder what's for dinner tonight? :)
Monday, August 15, 2011
Terrible, No-good, Infection-in-Your-Ear, Pee-in-Your-Pants Day
I woke up tired today. I couldn't sleep last night, and mornings with a two-year-old come much earlier than I'd like. Well, I'd prefer mornings didn't come at all but then I'd be dead, and that's no good. The morning was uneventful; however, since his schedule has been all out of whack because we've had family visiting (yay!) and because he's been sick...he cries if the wind changes direction.
We had an appointment for Little Man at the doctors for a possible ear infection at noon, which worked perfectly with getting him home by about 1 or 1:30pm for a nap...then Mama can take a nap too...lovely.
Not lovely. After getting to the doctor's office we're told the doctor had to cancel all the appointments that day and we'd have to wait hours for another doctor to see us, or make a new appointment many days out. Frustrating. They suggested urgent care. Ugh.
Driving away I made some phone calls trying to find a Walgreens Take Care Clinic since the thought of sitting at a local urgent care for 3 hours didn't appeal to me. So, I headed to south city to the nearest clinic since they said there was currently only 1 person waiting! Yay!
Not yay. We arrived and I started filling out the registration on the computer only to have a peepee crisis and have to run off to find a bathroom. By the time we got back to check in there was another person ahead of us and then we were informed that their lunch break was from 1-2pm...which started in 20 minutes. So, we could come back at 2:15pm. WHAT?
OK, this isn't going to be fun without a nap but we'll find somewhere to have some lunch and walk around. Panera was only a few minutes away so we headed to get French Onion Soup in a Bread bowl. Yum. Things are looking up until..."Mama, I have to peepee. I have to peepee..." in his pants. Are you serious?
I grabbed him and rushed to the bathroom leaving our food on the table, hoping that my bad day wouldn't be made worse by someone taking my food away!! Some wet wipes and a change of clothes later we're back at the table and our food is still there! Phew.
OK back to lunch until...my defiant child starts not listening. Several instructions and a warning later I lift him up and place him in a time out beside me where he starts wailing and holding his arm going "Oww!!" What? Do kids know instinctively to do these sorts of things in public to mortify their parents? Is that lady looking at me like I just hurt my child? "Shhh...you're fine." I pat his little head trying to look extra loving to reassure the sceptical onlooker, but the wailing continues. Time to pack up our stuff (peed clothes wrapped in paper towels and all) and rush to the van where he can sob through his time out without scrutinizing glares. Take that, kid.
Well, it's all of 1:15pm. Now what? Guess we'll go to the park across the street. Running and sliding ensues until, "Mama, I have to peepee, I have to peepee!!!!!" OH MY GOSH WHAT IS THE DEAL? He hasn't even had drank much today! I have no more spare clothes and there's no bathroom so we run for the tree line, wrestle into position....nothing. Seriously? His accident has made him overly anxious..
Well, at least it's time to head back to the clinic. We make it back in time to go to the bathroom AGAIN and wait for another 30 minutes. We get called back to see the doctor. Yes, the end is in sight! A prescription for his ear infection and several stickers later we're headed to the car where...he screams bloody murder for 10 minutes because he didn't get to put his sticker in just the right spot before we left. Sigh. What a day.
Redemption came, however, when tonight we were all in his playroom watching Little Man drive his llama around in his car. Then he yells, "No, baby. It's OK. I'm talking to Mama and Daddy!" He's always talking to and ordering around this imaginary baby so Andrew asked him, "Where is this baby?"
"In the carpet!" He shouts. Well of course.
"What does the baby look like?" I asked.
"Handsome. Baby, so handsome."
We laughed until I almost cried and Little Man chuckled, pleased with how hilarious he was.
And there you have it. A terrible day, not so terrible now.
We had an appointment for Little Man at the doctors for a possible ear infection at noon, which worked perfectly with getting him home by about 1 or 1:30pm for a nap...then Mama can take a nap too...lovely.
Not lovely. After getting to the doctor's office we're told the doctor had to cancel all the appointments that day and we'd have to wait hours for another doctor to see us, or make a new appointment many days out. Frustrating. They suggested urgent care. Ugh.
Driving away I made some phone calls trying to find a Walgreens Take Care Clinic since the thought of sitting at a local urgent care for 3 hours didn't appeal to me. So, I headed to south city to the nearest clinic since they said there was currently only 1 person waiting! Yay!
Not yay. We arrived and I started filling out the registration on the computer only to have a peepee crisis and have to run off to find a bathroom. By the time we got back to check in there was another person ahead of us and then we were informed that their lunch break was from 1-2pm...which started in 20 minutes. So, we could come back at 2:15pm. WHAT?
OK, this isn't going to be fun without a nap but we'll find somewhere to have some lunch and walk around. Panera was only a few minutes away so we headed to get French Onion Soup in a Bread bowl. Yum. Things are looking up until..."Mama, I have to peepee. I have to peepee..." in his pants. Are you serious?
I grabbed him and rushed to the bathroom leaving our food on the table, hoping that my bad day wouldn't be made worse by someone taking my food away!! Some wet wipes and a change of clothes later we're back at the table and our food is still there! Phew.
OK back to lunch until...my defiant child starts not listening. Several instructions and a warning later I lift him up and place him in a time out beside me where he starts wailing and holding his arm going "Oww!!" What? Do kids know instinctively to do these sorts of things in public to mortify their parents? Is that lady looking at me like I just hurt my child? "Shhh...you're fine." I pat his little head trying to look extra loving to reassure the sceptical onlooker, but the wailing continues. Time to pack up our stuff (peed clothes wrapped in paper towels and all) and rush to the van where he can sob through his time out without scrutinizing glares. Take that, kid.
Well, it's all of 1:15pm. Now what? Guess we'll go to the park across the street. Running and sliding ensues until, "Mama, I have to peepee, I have to peepee!!!!!" OH MY GOSH WHAT IS THE DEAL? He hasn't even had drank much today! I have no more spare clothes and there's no bathroom so we run for the tree line, wrestle into position....nothing. Seriously? His accident has made him overly anxious..
Well, at least it's time to head back to the clinic. We make it back in time to go to the bathroom AGAIN and wait for another 30 minutes. We get called back to see the doctor. Yes, the end is in sight! A prescription for his ear infection and several stickers later we're headed to the car where...he screams bloody murder for 10 minutes because he didn't get to put his sticker in just the right spot before we left. Sigh. What a day.
Redemption came, however, when tonight we were all in his playroom watching Little Man drive his llama around in his car. Then he yells, "No, baby. It's OK. I'm talking to Mama and Daddy!" He's always talking to and ordering around this imaginary baby so Andrew asked him, "Where is this baby?"
"In the carpet!" He shouts. Well of course.
"What does the baby look like?" I asked.
"Handsome. Baby, so handsome."
We laughed until I almost cried and Little Man chuckled, pleased with how hilarious he was.
And there you have it. A terrible day, not so terrible now.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
A Different Kind of Family
My skin is varying shades of light depending on the season. In the summer I crave the bronzing effect of the sun to scare away the pasty white pallor that sets in over the winter, but even when I do not heed the warning of the medical field and sit in the sun for hours, you wouldn't think I was anything but Caucasian. My soon-to-be son, however, does not have my complexion. His skin is the color of smooth coffee, distinctly different in shade from either Andrew or myself.
Before becoming a transracial family I did not think much of the fact that we would most likely be welcoming a child of color into our home. Race was not an issue for Andrew and I in adoption. I underestimated the fact that this is not always the case for others. Sure, people might be curious when they see us together but this is the 21st Century! I didn't realize that people's curiosity would often lead to prying questions and condescending assumptions.
It has been just over a month since we met our little guy and only 2 1/2 weeks since he moved in full-time and we have already encountered the world's perspective on race. Although the courts have yet to make it final, he is already our son in our hearts and we just feel like a normal family until people stare at us in public...then I more or less feel like a normal family with weird people staring at us.
The fact is that people are very blatant with their curiosity, even in this age of political correctness. Yesterday, while standing in line at the bank in our community a man asked me if our little guy was my son. Clearly he was just a little curious and making conversation, but, really? "What do you think?" I want to say as my big Mom-bag weighed down my shoulder and I'm telling him to stop running around and stand next to me every few seconds. However, I smiled and kindly answered in the affirmative.
A few weeks ago a lady approached us and asked if we had adopted. "Where is he from?," she asked. When we said he was from "here" she almost looked disappointed, expecting us to say Ethiopia or something I suppose. And, on yet another day, a couple told us "It looks like you do so well with him." Um, he's our kid, should we not do well with him? We just smiled and nodded as we walked by.
On one hand the opportunity as a family to live out God's call to be the Body of Christ with no categories or divisions is exciting. I pray that our family will be a beacon of light and love and that we can be a part of breaking down barriers in the world and in our community and, sadly, in the church as well.
But, on the other hand, it makes me feel protective of my soon-to-be son, even defensive. I know there will be a day, sooner than I think, when our son looks at me and asks, "Why isn't our skin the same color?" and one day after that, when he asks again he won't so readily accept the answer, "Because God made us that way." As he gets older, when someone indelicately asks me in public if he is my son, I dread what look I might see in his eyes. Will he be ashamed, thinking there is something wrong with him? Will he be frightened and confused, wondering if the color of his skin could ever make him not my own?
I want race to matter to my son in all of the positive ways and none of the negative. I want him to embrace his beautifully dark skin and celebrate his ethnic heritage and identify with people doing awesome things in the world that look just like him. I also want him to never think he is anything different than an expression of God's awesome creativity and to never feel alienated or of lesser value in the world and the Kingdom of God.
Life's harsh realities won't always allow this to be the case, but I pray that God gives Andrew and I grace as people point out in front of everyone (including our child) that he looks different than us and I pray that God will give our little guy a strength of purpose and security in our love but most importantly in God's love that will never allow him to be shaken.
There are beautiful things ahead for our family and my greatest hope is that we navigate the challenges in such a way that glorifies the Creator of all people, the Artist that uses so many colors to declare His vast beauty. I pray that as our family grows people won't just see how different our skin is but how alike our hearts for Jesus are. I want people to notice that our family is different, but not because we check different boxes when asked our race, but because we are a family on mission for the Lord bringing God's healing and love in a broken world.
Before becoming a transracial family I did not think much of the fact that we would most likely be welcoming a child of color into our home. Race was not an issue for Andrew and I in adoption. I underestimated the fact that this is not always the case for others. Sure, people might be curious when they see us together but this is the 21st Century! I didn't realize that people's curiosity would often lead to prying questions and condescending assumptions.
It has been just over a month since we met our little guy and only 2 1/2 weeks since he moved in full-time and we have already encountered the world's perspective on race. Although the courts have yet to make it final, he is already our son in our hearts and we just feel like a normal family until people stare at us in public...then I more or less feel like a normal family with weird people staring at us.
The fact is that people are very blatant with their curiosity, even in this age of political correctness. Yesterday, while standing in line at the bank in our community a man asked me if our little guy was my son. Clearly he was just a little curious and making conversation, but, really? "What do you think?" I want to say as my big Mom-bag weighed down my shoulder and I'm telling him to stop running around and stand next to me every few seconds. However, I smiled and kindly answered in the affirmative.
A few weeks ago a lady approached us and asked if we had adopted. "Where is he from?," she asked. When we said he was from "here" she almost looked disappointed, expecting us to say Ethiopia or something I suppose. And, on yet another day, a couple told us "It looks like you do so well with him." Um, he's our kid, should we not do well with him? We just smiled and nodded as we walked by.
On one hand the opportunity as a family to live out God's call to be the Body of Christ with no categories or divisions is exciting. I pray that our family will be a beacon of light and love and that we can be a part of breaking down barriers in the world and in our community and, sadly, in the church as well.
But, on the other hand, it makes me feel protective of my soon-to-be son, even defensive. I know there will be a day, sooner than I think, when our son looks at me and asks, "Why isn't our skin the same color?" and one day after that, when he asks again he won't so readily accept the answer, "Because God made us that way." As he gets older, when someone indelicately asks me in public if he is my son, I dread what look I might see in his eyes. Will he be ashamed, thinking there is something wrong with him? Will he be frightened and confused, wondering if the color of his skin could ever make him not my own?
I want race to matter to my son in all of the positive ways and none of the negative. I want him to embrace his beautifully dark skin and celebrate his ethnic heritage and identify with people doing awesome things in the world that look just like him. I also want him to never think he is anything different than an expression of God's awesome creativity and to never feel alienated or of lesser value in the world and the Kingdom of God.
Life's harsh realities won't always allow this to be the case, but I pray that God gives Andrew and I grace as people point out in front of everyone (including our child) that he looks different than us and I pray that God will give our little guy a strength of purpose and security in our love but most importantly in God's love that will never allow him to be shaken.
There are beautiful things ahead for our family and my greatest hope is that we navigate the challenges in such a way that glorifies the Creator of all people, the Artist that uses so many colors to declare His vast beauty. I pray that as our family grows people won't just see how different our skin is but how alike our hearts for Jesus are. I want people to notice that our family is different, but not because we check different boxes when asked our race, but because we are a family on mission for the Lord bringing God's healing and love in a broken world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)