4/29/2013

My Jesus place...


It’s been a long winter, can I get an amen on that one? Here in northern Ohio, winter has felt like an open wound that just wouldn’t heal. Here it is late April and we’re still seeing snow in the air.
Bleh.
My poor little garden has had an unusually long period of hibernation this spring. But as I watch the daffodils struggle to show their beauty I’m reminded that once again, winter doesn’t have the final say. Winter will eventually be conquered, and whether it likes it or not, will eventually have to yield to spring, and the life that comes with it.
As the leaf buds appear on the roses I can imagine them whispering excited words of encouragement to the irises. “You go ahead and be first again this year. When you’re done glorifying our Creator, it’ll be my turn. When I’m done, I’ll pass the baton over to the black eyed susans.” I can just hear the lilies giggling with the flox over the quiet symphony they have planned for me this season. “She’s going to be so thrilled, I can wait to share our talents with her!” Ok, I’m a dork. I know. But this is how I amuse myself  as I tiptoe through my tulips.

If you’ve been to my house you know that I’m a bit geeked out about my garden. For those who haven’t to say It’s sort of obnoxiously huge would be an understatement. Like who needs grass when you can have hostas big. I’m willing to own the fact that the amount of time I spend tweaking my garden is grossly disproportionate to the amount of time the average home owner spends. 2 hours a day, every day for six months sounds about right, give or take.
Before you freak out, I have a good reason. Really, I do. The garden is my Jesus place. It’s where my soul floods and I pour out my heart to Jesus in prayer. It’s a gift that I’ve created for my Creator.  I pray that every car that drives past and gets an eyeful of color turns their admiration not towards me, but to the One who created me, and each of those flowers.
So the next time you drive by my house, please don’t think “wow that lady has way too much free time on her hands” (which is probably true) or “I wonder how much time and money that lady spent to make her garden look like that”. Please take my garden as a reminder of who you are in Christ, and see it the way I do, as an invitation to worship.


And if you’re local, consider this your invitation to come and share a glass of lemonade under my mighty hundred year old oak tree when the roses are in bloom. You won’t be disappointed, I promise…

4/26/2013

Presents for a princess... purple or otherwise


The other day I was sitting at the computer, keys clicking away when out of the corner of my eye I saw a touch of purple creeping around the periphery of the room. I turned to greet my sweet 9 year old daughter, Louisa, and invited her over for a chat. But instead of joining me, she skittering out of sight to a safe hiding spot.
Now my younger daughter is an odd child to be sure, but this was really unusual behavior for her. Curious, I closed down my work station and went searching for my purple princess, eager to find out exactly what was on her mind.
I found her in the next room, hidden beneath a pile of blankets.  Being the loving mother I am, I not so gently coerced my baby girl out of hiding by threatening to dog pile on top of her hideout if she didn’t show herself immediately and tell me what she was thinking.
After a great amount of arm twising and threats of tickle torture, she finally spilled her beans. “Mom, that ceramic doll that plays music,” she says to me thoughtfully, “the one your grandma painted for you when you were a little girl… Who gets that when you die?”
Ah. One of my prized possessions. Irreplaceable really, mostly because my grandmother gave it to me not long before she passed away. So yes, it’s special to me.
But you know as well as I do that my sweet little girl is way more precious to me than anything else in the world (besides her ornery siblings), and it would delight my heart to no end to give her such a precious gift when the time comes.
But the thing was, I had no idea how deeply she wanted it. And if she hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask about it I would never have know how special she thought it was.
And I think to myself, how often have I put myself in this situation? How many times have I hidden the desires of my heart from Jesus because I was afraid to ask for them? How many precious little gifts would He have been more than willing to hand me if I’d worked up the courage to ask for them?
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding under a pile of proverbial blankies and talk to Jesus about what I really want. I might be surprised at how He responds.

4/24/2013

Can't buy me freedom...

If a stranger passing us on the street were to give a casual glance in our direction he would probably see you the picture of a Mama with her healthy, sweet little boy, who looks about six years old. Perhaps the stranger would think my son was a bit on the clingy side, and chuckle to himself about the "mama's boy" before turning his attention elsewhere. Those of you who know him a bit better aren't particularly fooled by that image. The more informed in the group know that my baby is not actually six, but nine, and the clingy-ness that is so prevalent as I bustle around town is actually his very best attempt at keeping his act together until he can get home and have a proper meltdown in private.

Looking at my son, it is not obvious that he is trapped inside a cage. But he is. A cage constructed from fear, anxiety, disregulation, and anger. While true, it is not obvious that he is is fighting for his life as he attempts to claw his way out of his bondage using whatever tools he has available, which sadly, is usually cuddle time with Mom. 

Its easy to feel pity on my son. My poor baby with the sad social history. Years of neglect and abuse all built up to make him a basket case. Boo hoo. But I think if we look closer at his situation we might see a reflection of ourselves in his behavior. Perhaps if we study little Max's reality we could admit to ourselves that he's not all that different than we are. This little guy clings to his mother as a security net. His somewhat pathetic, imperfect Mama who quite often has no desire to hold him, especially when we're out in public. We can all see that while my nurturing does help, I'm not the key to freeing him from his cage. As much as I wish I could, I can not make my son's issues leave him alone. Trust me, I've tried. 

And isn't that so stinking typical? Aren't we all a little guilty of reaching for something concrete to cling to when the realities of life feel like an oppressive cage? Clinging to imperfect people or objects that really can't free us from whatever binds us? In the same way I'll never be the key to unlocking my son's cage, those chili cheese fries will never unlock you from yours. 

And isn't it so easy for us to see the flaws in my son's thinking patterns, while turning a blind eye to our own silly notions? I like to think that Jesus sends us these special kids for moments such as these. I can just hear Him chuckling over me as I make these connections. Mama, you might think your little boy is silly for acting that way, but why on earth are you trying to drown your troubles with those mint m&m's? Silly silly girl

Sorry Jesus. I forget sometimes that you're the one holding the keys to my freedom. My m&ms are pretty tasty, but their main flaw is that those packages just aren't big enough to make my yuck go away. Thank you for being bigger than candy. Amen. 

4/22/2013

Step away from the statistics, a call to authentic community

Can we be honest for a sec? Like take a look at my closet of secrets that I don’t want to tell you about – honest? I’d like to think my vulnerability will help you recognize a truth you’ve recently wrestled with yourself.

I have this thing about numbers, an insecurity really. My life was so much better before I could use statistics as a guide to measure my popularity, my perceived self worth. The number of friends I have on facebook, the number of people who visit my blog, and how many posts they read during their visit. I sort of wish those numerical details had never been introduced into my thought process.
There’s nothing like staring at a small number to make you feel inadequate. Especially when your neighbor is flashing a big number. Because they’re better than you. Hello insecurity.
I consistently remind my insecure self that a small number of people who care is way better than a big number of people who just show up to be counted. How many twitter followers do I have who follow me because they think there’s something in it for them? I’ll like you, if you like me back. Ok, spammer, that’s not the game I’m here to play.
So here’s the deal I’d like to make with you, let’s forget numbers affect the way we interact, and care about each other. Lets invest in each other because we care. Let’s stop skimming each other’s blog posts and really read what each other has to say.
I don’t want you to comment on my blog because you want me to comment on yours. I don’t want you to be a fan of my facebook page so I’ll be a fan of yours. I want you to come here knowing that I’m interested in invested in a community, and I’d love for you to be a part of my circle. And I’d love to be a part of yours. Unless you write about auto mechanics or something I have no reason to invest in.
I can smell spam from a mile away, and so can you. Lets both admit that we’re better than that.
With those guidelines in place I would also like to point out that I have put a little widget in my sidebar to connect you to my facebook fan page. The logic behind the fan page is not to have access to one more way to quantify my perceived self worth with numbers, but a way to connect with people who aren’t in my inner circle of friends (yet).

I’m not about to ask you to feed my insecurity by making my small number bigger, but I am going to suggest that you be willing to invest in someone who doesn’t believe in spamming. To invest in authentic community with likeminded people.
Whether this is a place you’d like to invest or not is up to you. But if this is not a place you choose to invest, please find somewhere to invest for reals. No one wants your spam.

4/19/2013

Things I hope I’m teaching you. But am probably failing miserably at


Parenting is more than feeding your kids and teaching them to tie their shoes. We all know that. There are certain core beliefs that each of us cling to and long to pass on to our children. I call these “big picture" lessons. I imagine if we all compared our "big picture" notes for our kids they’d all look pretty similar, perhaps worded a bit different, but with the same general themes.
I recently sat down with myself and had a little pow-wow. You would think after 10 years of parenting I’d have this plan in place already. Not so much. Anyway, these are my lessons. If I teach my children nothing else, I pray that I would have at least have planted these seeds.
Be Brave
Truly following Jesus means being willing to do things that are not safe, sometimes they are flat out dangerous. I need you to be ok with that. You need to know that having faith requires a great amount of courage. Way more courage than following the crowd requires. Be brave. Do things that other people think are crazy. If Jesus is calling you, close your eyes and jump in. He’ll be there to catch you, I promise.
Be heard
You have a voice. Use it. Use your voice to build, to encourage, to love. Be a fiery furnace. Use your words to set the world on fire. Whether your voice is heard by a world full of people or just the tiny babies in your arms, know that your words will change the course of the future. Use them wisely. Speak for Jesus. Speak for those the weak. Speak for those who will never be heard. Whoever you choose to speak for is up to you. Just be sure to speak up for someone.
Be an investor, not a consumer
Invest in people, not in possessions. Clothes and furniture go out of style. Love never will. It hasn’t yet. Embrace life. Embrace the living. Embrace those that need your warmth and compassion. Make time for people. Your love is the best weapon you have.
Be still.
Be still. Slow down. I’ve been known to say these words to you and your siblings time and time again. Usually they slip out when things are a bit on the chaotic side and there are more questions flying at me than I can answer in the course of my lifetime. Though I might frantically tell you to slow down and be still for my own sanity, it really is in your best interest to not fly through life. Take your time. Breathe. Taste your food. Enjoy what you have.

4/17/2013

The value of friendship

I have another treat for you, today we have another guest post from my new friend Sarah Knepper, won't you join me in welcoming her into our group? 

I love having friends. I believe friendship can help each of us lay our own desires aside as we learn to care for others and bond with people who don’t actually live in our own home. Friends have special ways of making us feel appreciated, loved, and accepted.

Friendships formed in childhood seem withstand time in some instances. I am still close with a few women who have been in my life for over 20 years. I do not see them everyday or talk to them regularly but I know that when we do get together it feels no time has passed. The bonds we formed while navigating through adolescence, college, and young adulthood have given us love and acceptance for one another that can never go away.

As I watch my children form friendships with others my heart overflows with tenderness. Today I watched my daughter hold hands with her sweet friend as they skipped around the playground. I observed by oldest son bonding with his playmate while they left the playground and walked the sidewalks laughing and whispering. And then there was my youngest who has his own “best friend”. Those little boys are like two peas in a pod!

One of my many jobs as a mother is to make sure my children establish connections with others and give them opportunities to bond with children that are like them. I believe it does our youngsters well to meet people from all different backgrounds but when it comes to training up my children, I want them to be surrounded by others who have similar beliefs and morals.

I want my children to be attracted to others who respect their parents and are learning the ways of Christianity. This is not to say I don’t let my kiddos play with children who aren’t believers. I also know we all have times when we make very poor decisions and I know my children are not separate from these ways.

Yet when I think of how I want them to grow up, the decisions I pray for them to make, and the people who I believe will support them in life I am led back to what is said in Romans 15:1-5, 

We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up. For even Christ did not please himself but, as it is written: “The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.” For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope. May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.

Life is a journey for all of us and if I can help my children set a firm foundation in friendship then there is one more element of support on their sides.

Sarah Knepper is mother to three young children and remarried last June. She spent three years as a single mother and has learned Jesus is the answer to everything. She has a Master's Degree in Elementary Education but is home for now with two of her children.

4/15/2013

Included is such a beautiful word


My Max. He kills me. At 9 years old he’s a wopping 3 ft, 10 inches and 45 pounds (aka the size of a six year old) and strong enough to wrestle a bear. Which frankly I’m not convinced he hasn’t done in a former life. Not to mention he’s Russian. Where am I going with this? GYM-NAS-TICS.
The former gymnast in me looks at this child and is ready to sign him up for pre-olympic competition, no questions asked. Reliving my glory days through my baby? Um. Let’s pretend I didn’t go there.
While I can play out fantasies in my head about the perfect gymnast I “discovered” and “rescued” and how America will fall in love with my baby during those athlete spotlight clips they play during the Olympics I do have to remember that my baby is special. With a capital S.
The fact that he could be the star of the team if he’d just apply himself means nothing. The fact that he is physically capable of doing a standing back flip without assistance does not make him interested in trying a straddle jump.
My shining star is trapped inside a cage of fear, anxiety, immaturity, and disregulation. I can’t put him in a session of gymnastics with coaches who assume he’s “normal” because he looks healthy. Overstimulating environment plus unqualified coaches plus dangerous equipment equals a really bad scenario. A scenario that left my baby sitting on the sidelines, unable to participate.
 
Enter the Special Olympics. I’ve seen the commercials of the cute little girls with Downs Syndrome doing their little thing. Heaven bless them. I never thought my physically-able boy would qualify as “special enough” to participate. But oh yes, he is.
Armed with a doctors note and a copy of his IEP in hand, we recently marched ourselves to a local gym to meet up with a group of other special kids, who just wanted to be included.
I’m not saying my baby thrived in this environment. Far from it. His own personal cage kept him from trying many of the skills his coach demonstrated. But this time it was ok for Mama to sit on the sidelines, ready to hold him when panic overtook ability. Mama knew what his little brain could handle, and what it craved, so when the darkness started closing in she could take him off to the sidelines for a little sensory time until everything was ok again.
And  nobody thought that was weird.
Not only was my son included, met with his level of ability, but he was also appropriately challenged. By people who get him, and the fact that he’s not ready for his Mama to sit in the stands and play on her phone.
Maybe someday my baby will conquer his own personal cage and be able to do that standing back flip he’s quite capable of doing. When he does, you’ll all know the Special Olympics made it possible.
Thanks coach.

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