One year ago, Adam and I walked into an orphanage filled with over 100 children in Novosibirsk, Russia, and were met with the most horrifying sound we have ever heard: Silence.

Hidden behind the closed doors that line the long, dark corridors in Baby Home #3, there lay hundreds of children whose hearts have surrendered to the pressure of a broken and dying world. They have looked through the slats in their cribs that keep them contained, and past the tears that blur their eyes for far too long. Day after day, they have seen the same hurried feet walk past them; the busy hands of those who have the ability to heal their heartache never reach out, and these children living within the cold walls of the orphanage lose hope, succumbing to the silence of despair.

How can babies live in silence and bear such an oppressive weight? For Satan’s grip is firm and relentless and they are defeated before they even have a chance to live.

Revelation 12
1 A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. 2 She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth.
3 Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crowns on its heads. 4 Its tail swept a third of the stars out of the sky and flung them to the earth. The dragon stood in front of the woman who was about to give birth, so that it might devour her child the moment he was born.

And I am reminded of another baby that lived so long ago. A baby whose flesh would be torn and the weight of a broken world placed on His shoulders. Surely the majesty of the story playing out before her eyes must have brought all of earth to her knees. For it was during that holy night so long ago, when God and man collided in a humble display of flesh and bone, and the sound of a baby’s cry broke through the silence, that death lost its grip and stumbled backward.

Who could have anticipated that this was how God would redeem his broken children?

We stood inside the silent walls of Baby Home #3 and looked down at the little girl lying by our feet. When our eyes met, she pushed up on her arms and dragged her weak legs behind her. We smiled at her and called her name and this silent girl looked at us and hope shone in her eyes. As we kneeled down to pick her up, we were struck with the reality of living in this upside-down kingdom. Because it’s here we learn that in order to partake in His story; in order and bring hope and healing to this broken world, we must first stoop down low and become broken ourselves.

May you experience the fullness of Christ as you dwell on the truth of that Silent Night so long ago, and partake in His story, so that you may give a voice to those who have lost their own.

Merry Christmas,
Anna

I woke up this morning to the voice of a man speaking in Spanish on my answering machine. I didn’t know what to make of it until I heard the word ‘escuelas’, and suddenly it hit me…

School has been closed for the day!!

I quickly ran to the nearest window. Looking out, I saw 8 inches of pure, white snow and I grew giddy with excitement!

“Oh the possibilities”, I told myself. “We can sip hot chocolate, watch movies, sled, have snowball fights and build snow forts! First things first, though, I need to shovel the driveway and then we can start the day!”

I limped back into the house one hour and forty-five minutes later feeling like I had just been pulled through a knot-hole backwards. To say that shoveling 8 inches of snow off of a driveway and two sidewalks is arduous would be an understatement.

As the boys threw on their hats and gloves and headed out the door, I reminded them to be on the look out for my right arm. It fell off about 5 feet to the right of the mailbox, but the kink in my back kept me from picking it up.

They returned to the house 30 minutes later with my arm and stood on the carpet while nearly three gallons worth of snow melted off of their boots.

“Scat!” I said. “You’re making a mess.”

“Can we get something to eat first?”

“In a minute, just get outside.”

30 minutes later a head poked through the front door and said, “Moooommmmm, can we have some hot chocolate?”

“In a minute. Just get outside!”

An hour later I heard another voice:

“Mooommm!”

“What?!?”

“Can we have some lunch?”

“In a minute. Just get outside!”

Forty-five minutes later an unfamiliar voice yells, “Can we get a fruit snack?”

“Go ask your own mother for a fruit snack!”

“But you are my own mother.”

“If I’m your mother, then where did you come from?”

“I could answer that but then you’d be embarrassed.”

I decided at that point that it would be best if I just locked the door.

I tallied up the damage when the boys finally returned from playing outside. 1 achy body, 1 igloo in my front yard, 2 empty shelves in my pantry, 3 soggy carpets, 2 muddy floors and 4 dryer loads of wet snow clothes.

Is it just me or are snow days overrated?

I suppose I'll just sit on the couch with my kiddos and turn on a movie. Don't start thinking that I'm getting sentimental, it's just that I have no other choice...it's the only dry spot in this house!

You show me a woman who has never experienced irony at the hands of her children, and I will show you a lackluster mother.

Let’s be completely honest here: Kids have a tendency to act out at the most inopportune moments and then shove your reaction back in your face. I have one particular child who does this to me often, and while I won’t name any names, I will tell you that his name starts with the letter I.

This child of mine - who shall remain nameless, but whose name starts with the letter I - has a tendency to argue with me and push every limit set before him, and it drives me absolutely crazy.

“Mom, can I please have a cookie?”

“That’s fine.”

“Can I have two cookies instead?”

“No.”

---------

“Did you finish your homework?”

“I hate homework. Why do I even have to do it?”

“Just get it done.”

“Well, can I only do half of it?”

“Nope.”

---------

“Hey Mom, watch me jump this.”

“Be careful, you might get hurt.”

“I might not.”

“Nice jump, but you did come close to breaking your arm.”

“Can I get a dollar for that?”

“No way, Jose.”

----------

The other day I took the kids to a local bookstore. I told them that they could each pick one book while I searched for a specific book for myself.

“Can I get two books instead?”

“I said one book.”

“I know, but there are two books that I really, really want.”

“No.”

“But Mom, I…”

“Absolutely not!”

A few minutes later, as we were making our way to the checkout stand at the front of the store with books in hand and a tired and cranky toddler in the stroller, my argumentative child has started again.

“Why couldn’t I get two books?”

“I’m not buying you two books.”

“It’s not fair. You didn’t give me enough time to pick a book.”

“That’s because you spent your time arguing with me instead.”

At this point we are now standing in line. Naomi is done sitting in her stroller, Caleb has found some obnoxious pull string toy near the check out stand that keeps buzzing and shooting little foam darts, and my purse has fallen to the ground, spilling its contents all over the floor.

As I bent over to pick up the contents of my purse, my bangs, which I happen to be growing out at the moment, fall into my eyes. With my eyesight hampered, my child, who’s about as persistent as a mosquito trapped in a tent, tries one more time:

“Mom, can’t I just go back and pick 2 books?!”

I saw black. I couldn’t help it. I snapped my head up and searched for his eyes through the strands of hair covering mine and uttered words I never thought possible:

“Shut the hell up right now or so help me God…” (I’m not saying it was pretty, but then again, life rarely is.)

My eyesight returned just in time to see a mother walk by with her calm, well-behaved child at her side. In shame I looked down and noticed the words on the book that I was about to purchase:

“…How Jesus can take everything you are - and everything you have been - and turn you into something special.”

…And then my eyes caught fire.

If that’s not an object lesson about irony, I don’t know what is.

I woke up this morning with you on my mind. Little reminders – God reminders – of you played throughout the day.

I thought about you every time I glimpsed her strong arms and sticky, brown hands or took in her deep voice and quiet laugh. The way she teased us when she looked away, testing our love for her. Was this you as a child? Is this how life has played out for you? Raw brokenness made new?

From one mother to another, I want you to know that I cried for you on this day, the second anniversary of her birth. I wonder, do you notice the scars on your body? Are they reminders of this child that you carried in your womb for such a short time but can't seem to forget? Or maybe you don't want to forget? Or perhaps, do you struggle with the deep, jagged, internal scars that brought forth life but left an ache in your empty arms?

On this day, do those scars break open and bleed fresh? Do the memories rush back, exposing your brokenness in a torrent of painful emotions that make your arms ache and your heart weary?

I prayed today that your brokenness would be made new. That while your arms are empty, God would hold you in His.

Through this invisible thread that connects us I whisper your name in her ear and I see you in her dark brown eyes and long, feathered eyelashes that are so captivating. Then she looks at me, her dark eyes penetrating. Does she understand? I can’t look away.

I woke up with you on my mind this morning. I thought about you and prayed for you. And I want you to know... I see you.

I slept through my alarm clock this morning.

Breakfast was late getting to the table; sleepy kids waiting patiently for promised pancakes.

Dirty dishes forgotten in the dishwasher must now be hand washed. Running water trickles through the dish soap on my hands. I listen as detailed dreams are retold from last nights sleep.

"...I was driving the bat-mobile last night. It was super fast!"

"I dreamed that the girl from 'The Magic Finger' pointed at me and turned me into a duck. I was a little bit nervous."

Today is picture day at school. They both pick white shirts to wear.

8:40am arrives too quickly and we hurry out the door; Isaiah needs to catch the bus, and I am going to bible study to discuss how God uses the mud and muck of our lives to transform us.

We scramble home in time for Caleb to eat lunch and get ready for school.

The phone rings. Isaiah is in the school secretary's office, upset that he has just spilled strawberry yogurt all over his white shirt. Pictures have yet to be taken and my second graders heart is broken.

Holding the phone in one hand and searching through an open drawer with the other, I gently tell him that these things happen and promise that I will bring him another.

"How about the blue one with white stripes?"

Trying to hold back the tears he quietly responded "That would be okay, Mom."

I hung up the phone, then spotted another plain white shirt buried deep in the corner of his dresser. It's slightly wrinkled and almost too small, but Isaiah's heart doesn't allow him to see such imperfections, not even in a wrinkled shirt.

I rushed out the door, two shirts, one purse and a 2 year old in hand, followed by Caleb in his clean, white shirt and backpack.

We arrived at school. Isaiah's eye's lit up at the sight of another white shirt. He says he loves me and then walks confidently back into his classroom, wrinkles and all. He can still take his picture with a white shirt.

I arrive home. Breakfast dishes still in the sink. Lunch spread all over the table. Toys spread all over the floor and laundry still in piles.

I wonder if I accomplished anything I set out to do today. I want to say no as the evidence of hurried-family-mess stares me in the face, but something presses on me...



Today was meant for listening to dreams and healing hearts. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I watch as white, frothy bubbles build up in my pan. Ingredients reacting violently to the consistent heat that forever changes them. A quick stir with my wooden spoon and the froth quiets itself into a beautiful swirling pattern.

I'm mesmerized by the dance playing before my eyes, the beauty in the mundane moments of life.

Cool wind blows outside. Quiet music plays in my ears. Baby sleeps. Raindrops splatter on window panes.

Something catches my eye. A fluttering leaf reflecting beautiful light, swirling gently to the ground.



Harvest has come, filling my plate with God-breathed order.

Belly laughs break the silence.



Blond heads streak past me. Muddy footprints pounded into the floor.



Another flash of brilliant light.

Door slams. Baby wakes. A new word spoken from this quiet child. In this safe place her muscles can stretch and strengthen.

My soul overflows with the bounty of this harvest. My table has been set in preparation.



Won't you join me?

There are two things I am sure of:

1 - Boys are always smelly, even after taking a shower.

2 - Boys are weird.

I'm used to weirdness. I have learned to laugh at weirdness - to embrace it.

But this...this...this... thing stuck to my fridge goes way beyond weird. It's downright disturbing.



Who did this and why?

What purpose could it possibly serve?




And more importantly, what is the meaning of it all?

Ambiguously Yours,
Anna Banana

I stood at the kitchen counter, a head of lettuce recently pulled from my garden resting in my hand; cold tap water trickling into the sink. Pulling at each tender leaf, I carefully rinse off the dirt kicked up by the pounding rain from last nights storm. The outer leaves have taken their toll from the beating sun and the bugs that feed on its offering. My fingers trace the burnt lines and chewed holes. I tell myself that they are of no use to me and my family that will partake of them, and so they are discarded into my bucket of useless scraps.

My bucket fills quickly. Too quickly. Today it overflows and it must be taken care of.

I carry my bucket holding the discards of my life through the fresh cut dark green grass, past my arbor full of flowering clematis. I stand in their shade for a moment, breathing deeply, watching the fuschia petals dance in the light breeze. A happy dance. Earth grown, sunshine beauty. Nourished from beautiful, life-giving soil.



I look down at my scraps. Discards of seemingly uselessness. Hurt. Anger. Frustration. Brokenness. Death. Life’s scraps.

Where did I leave my scent of summertime flowers? How did I lose my love for the dancing breeze?

Resting in the morning shade of my apple tree sits my compost pile. It’s putrid. My neglected scraps have rotted within the center. The outer edges have become dried out and brittle. Crumbling with life’s slightest pressure.

I cannot neglect it any longer. It needs to be churned. New breath into the darkness and stench of the heart. The smell gets stronger. I cover my face. It’s almost too much to take in.

There’s pain in the churning. Violent upheaval. Broken I fall to my knees. Honesty spills from the dark places of my heart.

Only in brokenness can there be found true restoration.

The churning has slowed. Where there was once stench in my nostrils now becomes the smell of sweet defeat.



In my brokenness I am delivered. Through the process of restoration, my discarded scraps have become life-giving soil. Only when my roots run deep in Him can I externalize this truth and nourish others.




My soul has found a quiet resting place. Now no longer tormented, can I bring about a true harvest.

Whatever happened to the days of Tinkertoys and wooden blocks? You know, the kind of toys that weren't hazardous to your health or feet?

The other day Isaiah went running through the house and stepped on the sharp end of a LEGO that had been propped up in the carpet.

In an instant I saw the body of my carefree child contort in pain. Sucking in his breath, he hopped twice and immediately fell to the ground pulling the sunken LEGO from his foot.

And then I laughed. Hard.

It took a moment before Isaiah was able to focus beyond his pain, but when he realized that I was actually laughing at him, he got mad.

As he layed there, red faced and rolling on his back, he yelled "It's not funny Mommmmm!"

Not to be outdone of course, I responded with the authority that only a parent who has experienced this kind of pain can. "Are you sure you want to go there? Because I'll have you know that not only do I have a permanent imprint of a LEGO piece, but a Monopoly boot, a toy helicopter rotor blade and a 2 centimeter hole from a thumbtack crouched in the carpet in your bedroom as well!" And I'm only talking about the damage done to my right foot.

Psshh. Wise Guy.

Signed,
Forever Gimpy

(The Lord My Sanctifier)

"God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,
And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
A gauntlet with a gift in it."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My name is Anna and I have three children.

My youngest child is Naomi. Sweet, gentle-spirited Naomi.

My middle child is Caleb. Mellow, contemplative Caleb.

And then, well...then there's Isaiah.

I don't know what else to say about Isaiah except that he wore straight through the bottom of 4 pairs of tennis shoes last school year alone.

Isaiah is hands down, my biggest source of joy and frustration. Lately though, the emphasis has been put on frustration, and I have resorted to yelling and threatening in order to get him to do his chores, homework or anything not related to skateboarding, riding, jumping, rolling, flipping, flopping and tearing holes in his pants. And guess what? My yelling and threatening has not worked. All it's left me with is a sore throat and a lot of frustration. Meanwhile, Isaiah goes about his business climbing the willow tree near our house and swinging like Tarzan on the low hanging branches.

Can you sense my blood boiling at this point? Good. Because it makes the next part of my story so much better.

After several months of scowling in Isaiah's general direction, and feeling like I was going to loose my mind, I decided that it might be healthier if I were to buy a parenting book instead.

This is what I got:


I love Dr. Kevin Leman. I first listened to him on CD eight years ago, and loved the witty, yet practical advice he gave for effective and intentional parenting.

I just so happened to buy this book at the height of feeling off track and ineffective; worn down from battling chores and homework and everything else. And while my intentions were good, I'm willing to bet that most people would agree that sometimes life gets in the way of our best intentions; laundry piles up, diapers need to be changed, noses wiped, bathrooms cleaned, lawns mowed and healthy dinners served, and well...those intentions get buried and forgotten in the rush of immediate family needs.

What I love most about this book is that it's given me the opportunity to take control of situations without ever having to raise my voice or repeat what I have said, just by following these two simple rules:

Rule #1 - Say it once then walk away. (Kids will learn to listen the first time).
Rule #2 - Allow natural consequences to happen.

Case in point:

One of the homework requirements for Isaiah's class is that he must read five nights a week for at least 20 minutes. Each Friday he is to return a sheet signed by Adam or I that records both the book title and amount of time he read each night. Isaiah prefers to do this part of his homework at night just before bed, as it helps him to settle down. It works for us and always has. But lately he has made this a more difficult task than it needs to be.

On Sunday night at 8pm, knowing full well the battle that would arise, I told Isaiah that it was time to take a shower, brush his teeth and start reading.

He ignored me.

Note to self: You said it once. Now walk away.


At 8:45 (15 minutes after lights are supposed to be off) Isaiah had just finished taking a shower, dancing to imaginary music and rummaging through the toys in his room.

Note to self: Stay calm. Allow natural consequences to happen.

At 9:00pm, Isaiah finally brushes his teeth, climbs into bed and says, "Mom, I'm ready to start reading. Will you start the timer please?"

Note to self: The fun is about to begin. Stay calm while informing Isaiah of his consequences.

No Isaiah, you don't get to read tonight.

What?

Look at the time. It's 9:00. You were supposed to have been in bed 30 minutes ago.

But I have to do my homework!!!

You know when your bedtime is and you know what needs to be done before you go to bed. I reminded you once of what needed to be done but you chose to ignore me. And because you are not allowed to stay up until 9:30 on a school night, you will have to turn in incomplete homework.

WHAT?!? Now I'm going to be in so much trouble!

Yes, you will need to explain to your teacher why it's incomplete.

(Crying and rolling on the floor) But you didn't tell me tha...

I did. You chose to ignore me.

I can't believe that you are doing this to me! It's not fair! I have to do my homework! Please, I'll do anything. You can ground me from my skateboard for a month. Just please let me do my homework. I promise!

I left him hysterically crying in his room, knowing that engaging him in an argument would do no good.

A few minutes later Adam and I heard Isaiah digging around in his closet, followed by a strange, rhythmic crinkling noise. We looked at each other quizzically, then went to see what was going on. We found Isaiah laying in his bed breathing into a brown paper bag as though his world had just come crashing down around him.




Being the kind of person I am, I had to press my lips together so that I wouldn't say what I was really thinking: Face it kid: I'm older, wiser and I just read a really good book!

I will tell you this though: We have yet to have another battle over bedtime or homework.

Amen. And amen.

Until today, I couldn’t quite figure out why the word intentional has been on my mind, but throughout the past several weeks, as various scenarios have played over and over in my daily life, I have been reminded that I have been created for a purpose. In order to fully live the life I was created for though, I cannot continue to live half-heartedly, going from one mindless act to the next.

I need purpose in my life. That is where I thrive.

This fact became most prevalent when I opened my pantry the other day and reached for a Zebra Cake, the flashy equivalent to yesteryears Ding Dong. First of all, I don’t even like Zebra Cakes. The fact that that they were even in my pantry was proof enough of my mindless state when I purchased them at the grocery story. Second, as I unwrapped the sugar-laden treat and shoved it in my mouth, I knew that in 30 seconds, that sweat treat would turn sour and sit like a brick in my stomach.

Why did I choose to eat that Zebra Cake when I knew full well that it would leave me feeling sick, tired and depressed? Why did I decided to read that book while playing with Caleb at the same time, causing me to get frustrated and his feelings to get hurt? And here’s a big one: Why do we, as a society, over-schedule our lives with activities and busyness to the point where we become numb to the possibility of living a life of real purpose?

If I am to feel a sense of achievement in my life, I first need to know who I am in Christ, and where He has me at any given moment. As with each one of us, he has also given me specific gifts and desires in order to achieve that purpose.

Right now, I am a mom to three young children. If there was ever a job that required intention, this would be it. My first purpose for my children is that they grow up knowing the Lord. My second purpose is to teach them the importance of living a life of character and compassion. As any one who has reared children knows, this requires a lot of energy and time…and more energy still. If I am filling myself up on Zebra Cakes that leave me feeling sick and tired, or validating my self-worth through busyness and endless activities, then I can’t quite do the job that I intend to do.

I suppose it’s time for me to rethink my mindless activities and get back to the life that God intended for me to live. After all, while those Zebra Cakes are satisfying for about 30 seconds, in the end, they have no lasting value.

Autumn made an early entrance this year.

I love Autumn, but I am not quite ready for it. After all, Summer didn't arrive until July, and even at that, it never brought with it those long, unbearably hot days that leave you yearning for the crisp mornings that accompany Autumn.

This early Autumn showing means that we need to bundle ourselves up on our morning walk to the bus-stop. As I was searching Naomi's dresser this morning for pants that actually fit her, it occurred to me that she has outgrown her 12 month clothes. Clothes that, up until two months ago, hung loose and long. She's finally growing! I had been celebrating this fact for about five minutes when I decided that I also needed to get dressed. As I grabbed my pants and started to pull them on, something else occurred to me...

Do you know the old saying, "like mother, like daughter?' I had no idea how horribly true that statement really was until this morning when I realized that coincidentally, I have also outgrown my pants...only this time, it's neither cute nor worthy of celebration.

Signed,
Pudgy in Idaho

Several years ago - and by several, I mean over 6 years - a really uncomfortable thing happened to me. I don't mean for it to sound as though this was just a strange occurrence that just happened to fall into my lap. I mean, I could write several stories about the circumstances that I have accidentally found myself in; including but not limited to: the penis incident in Singapore, death on the tarmac in Siberia and the gun in Goodwill. And once I can wash the look of shocked Asian faces out of my mind, I will get to those stories. As for right now though, I want to share about an incident that I walked into, knowing full well that I was going to look like a complete fool.

It all started one day when Isaiah was a little over one year old. He had just finished lunch and it was getting close to his nap time, when I felt the Lord tell me to ask my neighbor if I could pray for her. She was in the last stages of cancer. Bedridden, she spent her remaining days in the warm, sunny front room of her house. Isaiah and I would visit her often, and she would smile as if those short visits would make her pain a little more bearable.

It seems like an easy thing to do; to pray for a dying person. After all, who wouldn't accept a prayer said over them?

Did I mention that she was a Jehovah's Witness?

A Christian's prayer over a Jehovah's Witness is received about as well as asking a Muslim or Jew to eat pork. It's just the truth. And this truth played over in my mind as I walked home from my neighbors house, embarrassed and angry at God for asking me to do such a thing when He knew the outcome would be my own feelings of humiliation.

I quickly shut my front door and then began questioning God; How could You do such a thing to me? Why would You do such a thing to me. And just so You know, God...I'm never doing anything you say...ever again! So there.

And then I called my Dad and shared with him my horrible, uncomfortable, humiliating story. We talked a bit about it, and what it could mean, but it didn't change the way I felt. After all, embarrassment like that takes time to get over.

A few days later, I received a letter in the mail from my Dad regarding our earlier conversation, and upon reading it, my world was flipped upside down. I understood.

Maybe you will too...

Dear Anna,

Your phone call late last week has given me 'food for thought' these few days since. I, too, ask a number of questions...like "why does God call (or command) us to act or speak with no apparent positive outcome?"

Just a couple of random thoughts...

It seems to me that God is not limited in working out a plan for the present or near future only. As He prepares us for a short term, present-time work...He is likely forming us for a greater work in the future. What seems like a huge challenge for us will in retrospect become a reasonable small step in a powerful Christian testimony. You were able to watch Isaiah take his first step. Surely to him it seemed a fearful thing to throw himself off balance just in order to move toward his loving parents a few feet away. After falling, hanging on to coffee tables and chairs...he takes that step that changes his life opportunities in a way he never imagined.

But that is not the end for him...he will learn to run, to jump...leave the earth for a moment under his own power. Next will be playing sports, riding a bike and walking to school on his own. Yet without risking that first step, he would never enjoy the rest.

So, what seemed to be 'failures' in Isaiah's attempts to walk were actually confidence builders. Falling wasn't nearly so painful - and besides, there's more to experience a little higher up and farther out.

I suppose obedience is a bit like learning to walk. We need to recognize that small steps of obedience to God are preludes to running with Him.

Jeremiah, the Prophet, was used by God to challenge Israel to 'train' to live large for God. At one point he says:

"If you only train to run with footmen and have become worn out, how can you expect to compete with horses that are much faster? If you stumble and fall down in an easy place where peace abounds, how will you do when you are stuck in the wilderness?"
Jeremiah 12:5

Could it be we are 'toddlers' being trained to eventually "run with the horses?" God surely wants us to set our spiritual sights high...especially since He is our power to attain lofty goals.

It seems that in the six years since first obeying God's call to pray for my neighbor, I have begun to stretch my legs and throw myself off balance. I'm not there yet - not by a long shot - but I will face, with courage, the opportunities He gives me in order that I too, will one day run with the horses.

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.
- C. S. Lewis

...Who insists on wearing his polyester ninja costume paired with a blue, button-down Batman shirt and red bandana, has no right going to Kindergarten.





Or riding on this bus alone.



No right at all.

My heart just can't take it.

Dear Caleb,

How can it be that you are in Kindergarten already? Wasn't it just yesterday that you would snuggle in my lap, suck your fingers, and we would watch Daddy and Isaiah wrestle on the floor. You wanted no part of that. And now...now, you are just as rough as they are.

Do you remember when you needed my help buttoning your pants or pulling on your socks? What about putting on your shirt and shoes? I used to help you do that too.

I'm not sure that I am ready to let you go yet. School is for big kids, and well...you will never be big enough to me. But I know you're ready, so I will make you a deal: You can go to school if you let me follow along. I know, I know. While you're in school, I spend my time catching up on housework, but I don't see why I can't just sit in the back of your classroom and fold laundry. I promise I won't fold your clean underwear in front of your classmates. Would that be okay with you?

What Caleb? You don't want me to come with you? You want to do this alone? Okay, I will let you go, but I want you to know that if you need me, I will be there in an instant. Oh, and Caleb, I need to tell you just one more thing...your shirt is backwards.

"My second favorite chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk until I faint."
-Erma Bombeck

Adam took the boys on a backpacking adventure this weekend while I stayed home and took on a cleaning adventure of my own. This time, however, I didn't touch the bathrooms or mop the floors. Instead, I took advantage of the boys' being gone, and cleaned out their bedroom.

I am always amazed at the amount of crap that gets stuffed into their closet, under the bed and beside their dresser. Since their absence from the house meant that they couldn't stand over me and insist that I was getting rid of their absolute favorite toys that have been sitting at the bottom of their toy box for the past year, or argue that they really do wear that yellow shirt that is two sizes too small, I was given the rare opportunity to fully purge the so called 'treasures' from their room.

Among those treasures were:
A large bag of milk tabs (don't ask)
A collection of pencil erasers
Torn Pokemon cards
Girls hair ties (I don't know where those came from)
Random nuts and bolts
An acorn shell
And a half eaten tube of blueberry flavored chapstick (gross)

And speaking of treasures, I heard that the boys spent the weekend searching for more treasures. You know, the kind that can only be found in the wilderness.





Naturally, Caleb was a little bit jealous of the awesome frog that Isaiah found, so he set out to find a unique treasure of his own. After combing the ground and weaving through the bushes, Caleb returned holding what he thought was the coolest treasure ever...a blue something or other!

Wanting to share in Caleb's excitement, Adam eagerly looked at the treasure that Caleb was holding, only to realize - with utter shock and disgust - that Caleb's treasure was in fact a feminine hygiene product.

This raises the question: How do you gingerly say 'throw that in the garbage and pour bleach all over your hands right now!", without your 5 year old child insisting that he needs to know why he can't keep it in his pocket?

All I can think is that if I happened to find a collection of those in their bedroom, Adam and the boys would have returned home only to find me laying on the floor,in a fetal position, sucking my thumb.

Now that I think about it, half eaten blueberry chapstick doesn't seem so bad after all.

God's law, Natural law, the laws of Physics, Physical law - I like laws. They are dependable. They give us boundaries to stay within; to keep us healthy and alive. But going to church and attending science classes do not fully prepare us for certain laws that govern our lives. Since I had no choice but to learn these laws that hard way, I will give those of you - who have yet to experience these laws - a forewarning. Trust me, it's better this way.

Did you know that there is something called the 'Law of the Kenmore Appliance'. It's true! This law states that at exactly seven years, two months and 15 days from the date that you bought your Kenmore appliance, it will expire.

Take, for example, my gas oven. When I tried turning on the oven, it filled with gas, but the pilot light did not light right away. When it finally lit, I could have sworn that I heard a mini explosion in my oven. Appreciating the fact that I am alive and would like to stay alive for awhile, I decided to shut it off and call the appliance man.

At the same time, I also noticed that my washer and dryer were not working properly. Call me crazy, but I don't think that it's normal for a washing machine to shimmy halfway across the laundry room. It's just not normal. The same goes for the dryer that neither tumbles nor dries clothes.

Of course there are other laws that need to be discussed. One that comes to mind is the 'Law of the Broken Spring on the Garage Door'. This law occurs at exactly seven years, two months and 17 days from the date of purchase. Beware of this law. It's vicious. It tends to present itself in the early morning when your husband needs to get to work and you find yourself holding up the 300 pound garage door in your pajamas with major bed head, so he can back the cars out of the garage.

There is one law that still perplexes me. As much as I have tried to figure it out, I cannot. So until someone else can explain it to me, I will refer to it as the 'Law of the Bashed in Mailbox'. This also occurs at seven years, two months and 17 days, but luckily for me, I didn't notice it because I was busy holding up a garage door...in my pajamas...with bad hair.

It didn't fool Adam though. He's sharp. A few minutes after I thought he had left for work, he came through the front door and said, "Well this just tops it all off. Someone bashed in our mailbox last night!"

Then he looked at me and asked if I was doing okay. I said "I'm fine. Don't let these tears fool you though, I'm laughing on the inside."

Then I kissed him goodbye and went to the kitchen to warm up my coffee in the microwave. Ten seconds had passed before I realized that the strange buzzing sound was not coming from my ears, but rather, the microwave.

Disgusted, I grabbed my barely warm coffee from the microwave, glared at it and said "Hah! You're two days late!"

"It goes without saying that you should never have more kids than you have car windows."
-Erma Bombeck

Wouldn't it be nice if we actually had these types of signs as we go about daily life, warning us that a difficult situation is about to present itself?

I could have used this warning sign several months ago, but unless it was flashing neon pink lights, I probably would not have seen it.

My problem is that I have spent the past few months with my head down, relying on my own strength in order to get through the day and it hasn't been working. The harder I have tried to get it all done, the more I stumble on my rocky path.

There are times in life when the rocky path is unavoidable. Circumstances beyond my control lead me there, and I must navigate through the boulders and loose sedimentary rocks as I make my way to solid ground. When I let God lead me through the rocky patches, the boulders don't seem quite as big; my feet are more sturdy on the loose ground, and I become more like Him.

But let's be clear about something, because before I can even come close to resembling a tiny shred of God's character, I will have to experience a lifetime of ups and downs, and do so while allowing God to mold and shape me.

It sounds so easy when I read it on my computer screen, but how do you do that when you find yourself bruised and broken in a 'crack in the ground' and it's not because of circumstances beyond your control?

At some point in the last few months, amidst the mud and muck of motherhood, I took my eyes off God and aimed them at my feet. And that is exactly why I am here - because I couldn't see where I was walking, and it landed me in this darn crack.

It started as a slow slide. But with each passing argument between my kids; each appointment that needed to be met; each whine in my face about why 'I don't want that', or 'it's not fair' or 'you never let me do anything', finally wears you down, and you have a hard time speaking kindly to those children who seem to have grown horns and are prancing around wearing little red capes.

Don't get me wrong. Motherhood is fantastic...except for when it's not.

I say all of this because I am sitting in a 'crack in the ground' with a really bad attitude and a strong desire to stick my tongue out at my kids...and I could use your prayers.

Anna Banana

I have always had this idea of how my life ought to be, and the box in which it should fit. I tend to picture my life box to be the colors of honey and almond, with a pretty paisley pattern adorning it. (I really like paisley). But the reality of life is messy. It rarely fits into the box in which I try to fit it. The colors clash, the pattern isn’t quite right, or the circumference of my life has become too big for my small square box. I kick, shove, pound and stuff in order for it to fit my ideal, and yet, all my efforts buy me is exhaustion and disillusionment. And then I get upset that God has not stayed within the boundaries of my box.

Until 6 months ago, my pretty box consisted of, among other things, mountain biking, hiking, enjoying the fresh mountain air, playing with our two healthy boys, and looking forward to doing these things with our daughter. After all, we were praying for a healthy little girl.

But the reality of my life has changed. It has become much too round to fit into my perfect square box adorned with paisleys. Our daughter has Cerebral Palsy. If and when she gets to the point that she is able to walk, it will not be without struggle. Regardless of how hard she wills herself, her muscles will always fight her body. We may never be able to mountain bike and hike as a family, as her physical abilities will be limited. And to be quite honest, it has been hard to come to grips with.

This all brings the question to mind: What is prayer? What good does it do? For me, prayer is a curious thing. We spent over a year praying for a healthy daughter, and yet, at first glance she isn’t healthy – at least in the way that the world understands health. I know now that God’s ideal is much different than ours. We can look at a person who, by a Doctors analysis, is physically healthy, and yet, their heart is full of anger, bitterness and resentment. On the same token, we can also look at a person who lives within the spectrum of ‘special needs’ and see the most caring, loving, forgiving people, despite the harsh stares and prideful comments aimed at them.

I am jealous for the gift God is revealing through our daughter.

This doesn’t mean that I have not struggled, because I have. Don’t get me wrong. I am not, for one second, afraid of what people think of my family. I’m not that petty. Not in this area anyway. No, my struggle had more to do with the unknowns of Naomi’s Cerebral Palsy. I often questioned if what we were doing was just in vain. Was I spending too much time with her and not enough with my other children? Will she grow too big for us to carry her before she is able to walk? What will we do then? Recently, we noticed that she was regressing in many of her movements. Her inner thigh muscles seemed to pull tighter together, causing her legs to scissor. Her muscles became stiff, and she struggled through her motions.

It turns out that she experienced a growth spurt, and while her skeletal system grew, her muscles struggled to adapt to the change, which caused her body to regress a little bit. Once we understood what was happening, we were able to help her, but I couldn’t help but be a little frustrated. After all, how many more unknowns were we going to experience in her lifetime? And how can we make sense of them before she has to go through it?

You’ll never believe what happened next…actually you probably will. But I’m going to tell you anyway.

Last week I attended a bible study, and a woman (Hi Barbara!) asked me how Naomi was doing. I shared with her my concerns about all the unknowns and she said “Well, I’ll be praying that God connects you with a family who has traveled this road ahead of you, and can offer you advice and encouragement during this time with Naomi”. (This is not word for word, but you get the gist).

It is always comforting to hear that someone is praying for you, but I couldn’t help but wonder how this opportunity would present itself. I mean, we were praying for a healthy daughter for nearly 2 years, so I don’t want to aim too high with my expectations. It’s safer that way. I’m just saying!

Four days later I get a phone call from my Dad saying something along the lines of “An interesting thing happened today. Give me a call and I’ll tell you about it.” After returning his call – because I wasn’t home at the time – he gave me the phone number to a woman whose 16 year old son also has Spastic Diplegia Cerebral Palsy (just like Naomi). I promptly called this woman who, over the course of our short phone conversation, has already given me some great advice, understanding, wisdom and hope for Naomi.

Oh, I should also mention that after a short, relatively painless procedure to help ease the tightness/tone that comes with Spastic Diplegia, this woman's son has completed two 50-mile hikes!

I wasn’t asking God to change our circumstances, but through the prayer of a faithful woman, God was able to reveal His faithfulness to me. He knows me well, because that’s really all I needed to move forward.

I will leave you to chew on this quote from C.S. Lewis concerning prayer:

Can we believe that God ever really modified His action in response to the suggestions of men? For infinite wisdom does not need telling what is best, and infinite goodness needs no urging to do it.
But neither does God need any of those things that are done by finite agents, whether living or inanimate. He could, if He chose, repair our bodies miraculously without food; or give us food without the aid of farmers, bakers and butchers; or knowledge without the aid of learned men; or convert the heathen without missionaries.
Instead, He allows soils and weather and animals and the muscles, minds and wills of men to cooperate with the execution of His will…It is not really stranger, nor less strange, that my prayers should affect the course of events than my other actions should do so. They have not advised or changed God’s mind – that is, His overall purpose. But that purpose will be realized in different ways according to the actions, including the prayers, of His creatures.

As for me, I am going shopping for a new life box. I'm thinking extra-extra large will do the trick. And forget about paisley. I want something less conforming. Perhaps tie-dye?
Anna

Adam and I took the kids to a car show recently.

As you can see, Caleb had a blast!



Don't let his scowl fool you. He's in heaven, but he won't let you know it.

Wait a second...What's my car doing here?!?



Nah, I'm kidding. My car is much dirtier than that. Much more cramped too.



Perhaps it's time for an upgrade.

This afternoon, as Caleb and his best friend were eating blueberries at the table, they got a little wacky and dropped a few on the floor. They quickly knelt to start picking them up, but as they realized the totality of the mess in which they created, Caleb was quick to solve the problem. He said, "let's leave this for my mom. She's a really good cleaner. She'll clean it all up."

First of all, I would like to make something clear, because if there is one thing I would like to be remembered for, it's that I was a great cleaner...NOT!

Ironically though, I just so happened to be cleaning our kitchen counters at that exact moment. As I stood there speechless, staring at the yellow rubber gloves that suddenly tightened around my wrists and morphed into a shape that resembled handcuffs, my eyes glazed over and one thought came to mind:

What does it all mean?

Was this the result of pretending not to see the cat vomit that was left in the middle of the living room when I was a child?

Is it because I threw the last few bites of that nasty fish into my toy closet and then told my parent's that I ate all my dinner?

If so, forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

From purgatory with love,
Anna

Now how do I get out of here...

We spent the weekend with our neighbors at a cabin in Cascade, Idaho. It was beautiful. It was relaxing. But as many parent's have found over the years, car trips and children do not go hand-in-hand. This leaves me to wonder; Why do we willingly put ourselves in one of the most stress-inducing situations known to man, in order to enjoy a little bit of relaxation?...stupid comes to mind.

Adam, do you hear that? It sounds like a whistling tea kettle.

I hear it. I think it's one of the kids.

Caleb's whistling, Mom. I told him to stop, but he won't!

Caleb, honey, please stop whistling. It's really distracting.

But I want to whistllllll...OUCH, Isaiah, don't grab my lips!

Then stop whistling, you're annoying me!

Isaiah, don't touch Caleb. Caleb, stop whistling.

****

Mom, Caleb just hit me!

It's because Isaiah's breathing on me and I don't like it.

I have to breathe Caleb. I'll die if I don't.

I don't want you to breathe so close to me. I need fresh air.

Boys, sit on your hands and shut your mouths!

****

After 5 petty arguments having to do with arm-rest infringement and back-washing in the water bottle, 2 threats of leaving the boys on the side of the road and a 45 minute discussion on the need for a larger car with separate compartments installed for each child - complete with ankle and wrist straps - we arrived at the cabin and had a wonderful, relaxing weekend.



















Good times, good times.
Anna