Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
B.C.
Last week, I was taking my anxiety out on the weeds in our yard when Noah poured a fistful of dirt over Aaron's head. Brown tears streaking down Aaron's face, dirt collecting in the corners of his eyes. I didn't even want to look in his mouth. So I carried my now-brown-haired child straight to the bath to be joined by his not-quite-penitent brother.
That's where we were when I got the message. I was sitting on the closed toilet, watching the boys splash water on each other, when I found out my mom has breast cancer.
She'd had a lump before which was benign. The doctor had thought this one was, too. But then he called them in for a surprise meeting, which is really never a good sign from your doctor, no matter how friendly he may be.
Which brings us back to the toilet seat and my dad's message: I was immediately confused. My head knew breast cancer is very common and very curable. They caught hers early, and it does not appear to be aggressive. She should be fine. Fine.
But my body seemed to think differently. Tense, nauseous, shocked. It just heard "cancer" and stopped and sat there. On that word. Wringing it out.
I called my dad to see how they were doing. We were all in shock, and I could tell, but he also sounded... reassuringly normal. I asked to talk to mom, but he said she was teaching.
"Teaching??"
"Yeah. It's Tuesday night."
Josh called Dad a few minutes later to check in, but Dad had to run into a meeting.
And that, in a nutshell, is why I know they're going to be fine -- why I've always known they're going to be fine. We spent the next day on the phone with them, discussing treatment options, but all the while I heard and knew that my parents really believe what they teach. They believe God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all good. Cancer doesn't challenge or change that truth, it just proves the truth's value, its priceless value...its phenomenal value.
A dear friend of mine recently had the opposite diagnosis: a "benign" but life-threatening brain tumor. What should have been harmless wasn't, which meant she faced an all-day surgery with her skull wide open and a terrifying list of risks. But she didn't flinch. Through the shock and tears and pain and turmoil of it all, she has leaned on God and his trustworthiness more than ever before. Not as a crutch, but in his rightful role as her loving God and Savior.
My friend came out of surgery Tuesday in better condition than any of us dared hope. Able to think, talk, and even walk. Her recovery thus far is stunning. And I hope for nothing less for my mom.
In the meantime, I am so grateful that none of us waited for a crisis to figure out what we really believe. To paraphrase Nicole Mullen, we know that we know that we know that we know...that God is good, that it's all part of His plan, and that we can trust Him. Even if it takes my body a little while to get the message.
That's where we were when I got the message. I was sitting on the closed toilet, watching the boys splash water on each other, when I found out my mom has breast cancer.
She'd had a lump before which was benign. The doctor had thought this one was, too. But then he called them in for a surprise meeting, which is really never a good sign from your doctor, no matter how friendly he may be.
Which brings us back to the toilet seat and my dad's message: I was immediately confused. My head knew breast cancer is very common and very curable. They caught hers early, and it does not appear to be aggressive. She should be fine. Fine.
But my body seemed to think differently. Tense, nauseous, shocked. It just heard "cancer" and stopped and sat there. On that word. Wringing it out.
I called my dad to see how they were doing. We were all in shock, and I could tell, but he also sounded... reassuringly normal. I asked to talk to mom, but he said she was teaching.
"Teaching??"
"Yeah. It's Tuesday night."
Josh called Dad a few minutes later to check in, but Dad had to run into a meeting.
And that, in a nutshell, is why I know they're going to be fine -- why I've always known they're going to be fine. We spent the next day on the phone with them, discussing treatment options, but all the while I heard and knew that my parents really believe what they teach. They believe God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all good. Cancer doesn't challenge or change that truth, it just proves the truth's value, its priceless value...its phenomenal value.
A dear friend of mine recently had the opposite diagnosis: a "benign" but life-threatening brain tumor. What should have been harmless wasn't, which meant she faced an all-day surgery with her skull wide open and a terrifying list of risks. But she didn't flinch. Through the shock and tears and pain and turmoil of it all, she has leaned on God and his trustworthiness more than ever before. Not as a crutch, but in his rightful role as her loving God and Savior.
My friend came out of surgery Tuesday in better condition than any of us dared hope. Able to think, talk, and even walk. Her recovery thus far is stunning. And I hope for nothing less for my mom.
In the meantime, I am so grateful that none of us waited for a crisis to figure out what we really believe. To paraphrase Nicole Mullen, we know that we know that we know that we know...that God is good, that it's all part of His plan, and that we can trust Him. Even if it takes my body a little while to get the message.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Jouer (to play)
The Wall St. Journal recently published an article about common differences in French and American parenting styles. It was inspiring. Quiet but consistent authority, delayed gratification, independence,
high expectations -- who would've thought we could learn so much from the French?
Frankly, I have never found it overly tempting to spend all day catering to and entertaining my boys. Their idea of a good time generally involves piling a random assortment of small objects into a vehicle, accompanied by sounds that don't form into any known words. Instead, I usually focus the time I play with them on activities I can enjoy (i.e. building a lego house or pillow fort, reading pretty much anything, walking downtown, watching Wildkratts, etc). But these mutually-agreeable activities do not the day fill. So the boys spend hours each week playing on their own. An excellent skill, right? Yes! But does this prevent me from feeling guilty that I don't spend more time with the dreaded Hot-wheels? Of course not! I am an American, after all.
Not only that, I am morning sick. Still. Between this reality and the French example, I've found two fabulous excuses to celebrate Noah and Aaron's playtime independence. They've always been good at playing on their own -- and playing together IF it was a 2-yr-old-friendly game (i.e. chase). But lately, Aaron has been able to join Noah in more mature, sedate activities (i.e. sitting in a chair for minutes strung together and playing with Play-doh). They still tackle and chase and--thankfully--ask for my participation plenty, but listening to them sit quietly and play with toys at the table brings a special kind of joy to this mother's heart.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Big and Small
Since I'm not feeling well, I've decided to break my own strike by writing about not feeling well. Enticing, eh? This is why I write to you who know and love me...
The last couple months have taught me a lot about imperfect health. For the first time, I've had two close friends experience major health issues -- one a brain tumor, another preterm labor (twins, 25wks). At the same time, I've experienced ridiculously minor health issues that have consistently disrupted my life. The contrast between my minuscule inconveniences and these friends' trauma has been breathtaking and instructive.
It all began in November when I lost my voice for 2 weeks. It sounds almost silly, but it was debilitating. No phone calls. No conversations. One would think I'd get practice listening, but people don't want to talk when you can't respond. Even chance encounters during errands seemed to cause offense. People felt like I was depressed or mad, even if they knew I'd lost my voice. Our home was less cheerful as everyone adopted some of my silence. Even Aaron whispered to me. Not to mention the challenges and dangers of disciplining while mute. In the grand scheme of things, I would've thought vocal silence would be easy - even relaxing. Turns out, that's just how I feel when I have my voice.
As soon as my voice returned in December, my energy exited, leaving morning sickness in its place. This proved rather confusing. You see when I'm not pregnant and get upset, I don't cry, I feel nauseous. It's like a red flag to my brain that something in my life "ain't right." So the recurring nausea that comes with pregnancy made me feel like I was constantly in turmoil. Red flags everywhere. Everything was nauseating, so every decision felt like the wrong choice - whether it was about food, work, kids, you-name-it. And that's just a sliver of my first trimester issues. BUT I knew it was all for a good cause. I wanted to be pregnant. I am excited about this baby. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel with confidence.
Which means I've spent a lot of time these last few months in prayer. Praying for my friends whose troubles are not wreathed in optimism, who never asked for their ill health. Praying for Josh's grandfather who faces continuing complications. Praying for those who live with cancer or back pain or any number of issues that are indefinite, unwelcome, debilitating, and scary.
And God has responded by showing me how His grace is poured out to those who need it, when they need it. Our pastor recently preached about how our nightmares never include God in the picture. When we imagine the worst, we forget His providence in our lives. My two friends are experiencing close to the worst, and yet watching them do it has proven again that God may not be in imaginary troubles, but He is very present in real hardship. He is pouring out His mercy and strengthening those who need Him.
He's reminding me to give thanks for my health, but even more to give thanks for Him.
The last couple months have taught me a lot about imperfect health. For the first time, I've had two close friends experience major health issues -- one a brain tumor, another preterm labor (twins, 25wks). At the same time, I've experienced ridiculously minor health issues that have consistently disrupted my life. The contrast between my minuscule inconveniences and these friends' trauma has been breathtaking and instructive.
It all began in November when I lost my voice for 2 weeks. It sounds almost silly, but it was debilitating. No phone calls. No conversations. One would think I'd get practice listening, but people don't want to talk when you can't respond. Even chance encounters during errands seemed to cause offense. People felt like I was depressed or mad, even if they knew I'd lost my voice. Our home was less cheerful as everyone adopted some of my silence. Even Aaron whispered to me. Not to mention the challenges and dangers of disciplining while mute. In the grand scheme of things, I would've thought vocal silence would be easy - even relaxing. Turns out, that's just how I feel when I have my voice.
As soon as my voice returned in December, my energy exited, leaving morning sickness in its place. This proved rather confusing. You see when I'm not pregnant and get upset, I don't cry, I feel nauseous. It's like a red flag to my brain that something in my life "ain't right." So the recurring nausea that comes with pregnancy made me feel like I was constantly in turmoil. Red flags everywhere. Everything was nauseating, so every decision felt like the wrong choice - whether it was about food, work, kids, you-name-it. And that's just a sliver of my first trimester issues. BUT I knew it was all for a good cause. I wanted to be pregnant. I am excited about this baby. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel with confidence.
Which means I've spent a lot of time these last few months in prayer. Praying for my friends whose troubles are not wreathed in optimism, who never asked for their ill health. Praying for Josh's grandfather who faces continuing complications. Praying for those who live with cancer or back pain or any number of issues that are indefinite, unwelcome, debilitating, and scary.
And God has responded by showing me how His grace is poured out to those who need it, when they need it. Our pastor recently preached about how our nightmares never include God in the picture. When we imagine the worst, we forget His providence in our lives. My two friends are experiencing close to the worst, and yet watching them do it has proven again that God may not be in imaginary troubles, but He is very present in real hardship. He is pouring out His mercy and strengthening those who need Him.
He's reminding me to give thanks for my health, but even more to give thanks for Him.
Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
or, whine, Israel, saying,
"God has lost track of me.
He doesn't care what happens to me"?
Don't you know anything? Haven't you been listening?
God doesn't come and go. God lasts.
He's Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch his breath.
And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don't get tired,
they walk and don't lag behind. - Isaiah 40:27-31
Monday, January 9, 2012
Excuses
I have gotten woefully behind on this blog over the past month, so I thought it was time for a little revealing self-justification...
Top 3 Reasons I've Neglected My Blog
1. Work. In case you didn't know, I ghostwrite copy for publishers - small projects like jacket copy, magazine articles, blog posts, and study guides -- about 10 hours/week. I get to read great books, write creatively, and get a paycheck - and all from my comfy seat at our local coffee shop. I LOVE it. But it does eat into personal writing time - especially during the end-of-the-year publishing blitz.
2. Christmas. Hardly requires explanation. Teacher gifts. Coworker gifts. Family gifts. Cards. Cookies. Parties. Programs. All I can say is thank goodness for Amazon Prime, Costco, and family. They saved me from drowning in "Christmas spirit."
3. Baby. I'm sleepy, nauseous, hungry, heartburned, ridiculously unmotivated, and deliriously happy. Yep, we're pregnant! 11 weeks so far (due July 30). Josh and I have hoped and prayed and planned for this baby, so we are very thankful it is making me slightly miserable. Noah is already telling me I need to get some books about babies (apparently I have a lot to learn), and as we were driving around town the other day, Josh said out-of-the-blue, "I'm so excited we're going to have another child." Me, too, babe. Me, too.
Top 3 Reasons I've Neglected My Blog
1. Work. In case you didn't know, I ghostwrite copy for publishers - small projects like jacket copy, magazine articles, blog posts, and study guides -- about 10 hours/week. I get to read great books, write creatively, and get a paycheck - and all from my comfy seat at our local coffee shop. I LOVE it. But it does eat into personal writing time - especially during the end-of-the-year publishing blitz.
2. Christmas. Hardly requires explanation. Teacher gifts. Coworker gifts. Family gifts. Cards. Cookies. Parties. Programs. All I can say is thank goodness for Amazon Prime, Costco, and family. They saved me from drowning in "Christmas spirit."
3. Baby. I'm sleepy, nauseous, hungry, heartburned, ridiculously unmotivated, and deliriously happy. Yep, we're pregnant! 11 weeks so far (due July 30). Josh and I have hoped and prayed and planned for this baby, so we are very thankful it is making me slightly miserable. Noah is already telling me I need to get some books about babies (apparently I have a lot to learn), and as we were driving around town the other day, Josh said out-of-the-blue, "I'm so excited we're going to have another child." Me, too, babe. Me, too.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
It's a Preschool Christmas
Please Go Away!
Last year, Noah was an angel in his preschool Christmas program. This year, he was a townsperson. Hm... ;) His class's special song (which he practiced often around our house) was: "Please go away! You cannot stay! You must seek shelter elsewhere!" These ladies know 4-yr-olds, because of course they ate it up. But just to prove he's not actually 14 yet, Noah beamed whenever he caught sight of me taking his picture. He's still my little angel.
Come Back!
And just in case I wasn't feeling enough love, Aaron piled it on. He walked on stage with his class, jingling bells with the best of them - for about 30seconds. Then he caught sight of me crouching near the front row, taking pictures, and totally lost it. Tears streaming, calling out for "Mommy! Mommy!" So I got to join his Christmas program, sitting on the edge of the stage with my sweet little mama's boy snuggled in my lap.
Last year, Noah was an angel in his preschool Christmas program. This year, he was a townsperson. Hm... ;) His class's special song (which he practiced often around our house) was: "Please go away! You cannot stay! You must seek shelter elsewhere!" These ladies know 4-yr-olds, because of course they ate it up. But just to prove he's not actually 14 yet, Noah beamed whenever he caught sight of me taking his picture. He's still my little angel.
Come Back!
And just in case I wasn't feeling enough love, Aaron piled it on. He walked on stage with his class, jingling bells with the best of them - for about 30seconds. Then he caught sight of me crouching near the front row, taking pictures, and totally lost it. Tears streaming, calling out for "Mommy! Mommy!" So I got to join his Christmas program, sitting on the edge of the stage with my sweet little mama's boy snuggled in my lap.
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