Tell Me, If You Understand

Recently, in my quest to read the Bible cover-to-cover in a year, I read through the whole book of Job.  It’s certainly a story we’re all familiar with, and if you’re feeling self-pity, I recommend reading it for some perspective.  I've been going through a difficult time lately after experiencing another miscarriage.  It was very early, and physically I’m absolutely fine, but I am still a bit of a mess emotionally.  Having experienced a devastating loss in 2008, I honestly thought that if we ever had another miscarriage I would be prepared and it wouldn't be “so bad.”  Well, on one hand, it’s really not.  The experience itself was much less traumatic, what with me keeping all my organs and various body parts this time.  I knew fairly soon that things weren't okay, and I was able to prepare myself for what was coming.  I also have two amazing, hysterical little boys to focus on now—and I really have been appreciating much more lately what blessings they are.  But the sorrow I felt after a few days really took me by surprise.  I then started to feel, on top of the sadness, guilt and even shame for being sad.  After all, I have two AMAZING kiddos.  Some people, who would give anything for a child, have none.  I decided to tell very few people about the loss, only my immediate family members, my closest friends, and a couple of other people who needed to know for various reasons.  If no one knows, I won’t have to talk about it, and then, basically, I won’t have to think about it.

I changed my mind.  Well, God  changed my mind with His Word (funny how that works).  If you’re familiar at all with Job, you’ll probably recall how his friends and even his wife encouraged him to “curse God and die.”  I can’t even imagine how Job felt.  His whole life was wrong.  His children were dead, his livelihood was destroyed, everything he thought he could count on was gone.  Everyone loves to quote Job 13:15: “Though he slay me, yet I will trust him…”  And yes, this verse has been a comfort for me—a constant reminder that no matter what, Jesus loves me and I need to CHOOSE to trust and obey Him. But the verse and context that really stood out for me during this time was Job 38, when God answers Job in his lamenting.  You can read the whole passage here (and please do!) but for the sake of space I’ll share the brief verses that were most impactful:

Job 38:4-7
“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Tell Me, if you have understanding.
 Who determined its measurements?
Surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
 To what were its foundations fastened?
Or who laid its cornerstone,
When the morning stars sang together,
And all the sons of God shouted for joy?”

I don’t believe God was “scolding” Job for his grief.  There is never any shame in coming to God with our mourning, sadness, burdens.  The Bible tells us that God keeps track of our tears (Psalm 56:8), and in Luke 12 He makes it very clear that He loves us enough to know the very number of hairs on our heads.  In fact, I believe God was comforting Job—giving Job reassurance that even though he (Job) had no understanding of what was happening or why, God did.  Even if Job couldn't grasp the purpose, EVER, of the mess of his life—God did.  Even when Job wished he had never been born, to avoid the torment that would be become his world, God reminded Job who was in control. 

What happened to Job was a thousand, million times worse than anything that has happened to me.  Yet sorrow is sorrow, and grief is grief.  Job was not ashamed to lament before God—why am I? When I lost my first baby, SO MANY PEOPLE came to tell me about their miscarriage.  I had NO idea it was so common.  Nearly everyone I spoke with shared with me their pain, and then how God helped them through that time.  It was so comforting to me.  Why do we, as a culture, turn away from each other, and from God, during times like this? As I read Job, it became clear to me that what God was calling me to do was to OWN and SHARE my grief.  Indeed, where was I when God made the world? How can I ever understand Him, or His purposes? I may not this side of heaven, but I can certainly trust Him enough to obey Him, and praise Him through every circumstance of my life.

Maybe you've never had a miscarriage (and I certainly pray you don’t!) but every one of us experiences pain in some form.  I encourage you to be honest, with God and with others.  "Tell me, if you have understanding..."  Indeed, we should share-- with each other-- if we have understanding.  Take comfort in Him who knows your pain and sorrow, and if you trust and seek Him, He WILL one day wipe every tear from our eyes. Many, many blessings, dear friends!

The Very Worst Homeschooling Mom in the World

*Child-version TMI warning

Recently, we've made the decision to homeschool our children.  This post is not about why, or for how long, or even how we came to that decision.

This post is about my utter failure, and then subsequent triumph, to teach my then-3-year-old how to spell his name.

I became aware of the fact that I should probably be doing SOMETHING to educate my child in February of this year, when we went a cousin's 4th birthday party.  Silas, 3 at the time, couldn't tell you an A from a B, or that things such as letters existed.  He could sing the ABC's, count to 20, tell you all the colors of the rainbow (and even count to 10 in Spanish, the only time I'll ever be glad that Dora exists), but the concept of letters and them having meanings was completely foreign to him.  As I watched his sweet, bright cousin spell her whole name, I made a goal to teach Silas to recognize his name by the time he was 4.

I didn't want to spend any money on any sort of curriculum (come on, he's 3) so I decided to go about it the old-fashioned way: by the seat of my pants, no idea what I was doing.  I introduced Silas to letters-- we did puzzles and sang songs and did flashcards and read, read, read, read (we read A LOT in this house) but it just didn't seem to be clicking.  In March we reached the 1 month mark and he still couldn't sight recognize a thing.  I decided to pare down my ambitious goal and just teach him one single, stinking letter-- the letter "S."

I kid you not, we spent HOURS on the letter S.  We continued with our flash cards and puzzles.  We drew the letter S in various forms-- sidewalk chalk, shaving cream, markers and crayons and even using pull-apart Twizzlers.  I would think he was finally getting it-- I would see an "S" on a sign or in a book and would ask him, over and over, "Silas! What letter is this?!?"

Blank stare.

"You know it! It stands for... SILAS... it makes an "esssssssss" sound like a snake??"

Blank.

I felt like the very worst homeschooling mom in the whole, entire world.  How could I expect to teach my kids math (which I barely understand myself) if I can't even communicate the STUPID STINKING SORRY LETTER S?????

And then, one day in August, a month before his 4th birthday, a breakthrough.

Silas was in the bathroom, and I was doing something else upstairs.  He started yelling, loud and urgent:

"MOM! MOM! MOM! COME HERE RIGHT NOW MOM MOMOMOMOMOM!"

I thought he had fallen or cut himself or that he was drowning in the toilet, so I raced as fast as I could to the bathroom-- only to find him standing, pants down and half-naked, proudly next to the potty, pointing with his finger and a bright, excited look in his eyes.

"MOM!!! MY POOP IS AN 'S'!"

And... it was.

And, being the mother of boys that I am, I wiped his butt, and gathered him in a huge hug.
"IT IS! IT IS! I'm SO proud of you! I am SO happy your poop made an S!"

And then we said goodbye to the S, and flushed it away.

He learned the rest of the letters in his name within the next two weeks.  I owe it all to the potty.

A very proud Silas

Up On the Mountain

For a while now, it’s been my husband’s and mine conviction to let God plan our family.  If you know me, you’ll recognize that it took a lot for me to get to that place—a lot of prayer, time spent in the Word, and a lot of Biblical counsel from Godly men and women.  I adore my children, but mothering hasn’t always come easy to me.  Yet once I did get there—get to that place where I put my total trust in the Lord to deliver the children in our family according to his perfect plan—it didn’t turn out like I thought it would. 

 
Have you ever experienced a situation like this? Where you desire something good, acceptable, and perfect (Romans 12:2)… and instead of everything falling into place, you have to wait? And wait, and wait, and wait?

Just FYI: This post isn’t (really) about my fertility.  Bear with me.

When I chose to turn over the number of and space between children to God, He really did a number on me.  I grew up believing I’d only have 2 (maybe, if things got crazy, 3!) children, because that’s all I knew. (I’d like to make a disclaimer here—this is our personal conviction.  If you are reading this and do not share this conviction, please do not be offended.  I believe this is a non-salvation issue; for us, it has been a sanctification process.  Also, if you have had a struggle to have any children at all, or have not been able to, please know I do not mean to equate what God has taught me with your pain and your journey.  This is merely meant to encourage anyone who wants something “good” and has been told.. patience, Grasshopper.  End disclaimer).  When God changed my heart, He went all out—I honestly went from being terrified to have “too many” children to DESIRING a “quiver full” (Psalm 127).  I longed for a large family, and because it had taken SO MUCH for me to get to that place, and because it was a “good” desire…. I assumed that instantly, I would get it.  I was on that spiritual mountaintop we've all been on—I had found such communion and joy in the Lord, I couldn't imagine ever questioning or doubting ever again, because God has revealed Himself to me! I had finally surrendered! Even if I would never admit it, I really believed, deep down in my heart, that all God needed from me was surrender, and then He would bless me.

Imagine my surprise when things haven’t turned out this way.  I have friends still in their 20’s and very early 30’s who have 5 and 6 children, and will almost certainly have more… and here I am, believing and practicing the same things, and I have 2.  I realize that I am young, and have plenty of time, but patience isn’t my strong suite.  And please know that on this earth, my two boys are THE greatest blessings.  But it is my heart’s desire to have more children, so with every passing month that it doesn’t happen, I start to question what’s going on—with my body, with my life, with my faith.  I started wondering WHY God would put a longing in me for something that he LOVES: children!, if I wasn’t going to have any more children RIGHT AWAY, or even, not at all. 

Recently, I’ve come to see that this struggle I’ve been having isn’t necessarily about the size of my family.  It’s not about how strong my faith is, or how amazing my witness is, or about showing the world how different I am because I love Jesus.  All of these things are GOOD—we should want what He wants, desire for His desires, love what He calls good and hate what He calls evil (Romans 12:9).   

This is something more personal.  It’s between me and God.  It’s about doing what I thought I was doing initially—giving up every ambition and hope, every dream, even if it is good, to the will of God.  In those moments when I reach the “peak,” I believe Him completely. 

And then we come down the mountain, and live life as we must, in fact, as God calls us to—through refinement and struggles and persecution.  Maybe, for you, your desire and hope is a Godly husband or wife.  Maybe it’s a career to provide for your family.  I have dear friends who have a heavy burden to care for the orphan through adoption.  Yet every time they move forward, in faith, God shuts doors and opportunities are lost.  How can this be? How can a God who loves us deny us “good” things?

You see, if I trust Him, I need to give up any expectation or goal or dream to Him.  If I want to obey and serve Him, and be in a right relationship with Him, I need to acknowledge and accept that He is going to use painful situations to teach me.  God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, for goodness’ sake! And he was willing to do that. Through this time of hoping and waiting, I have come to realize that even though I’ve “come down from the mountain,” and my expectations aren’t coming to fruition, God is using this circumstance to refine me.  I have got to get to that place, where I thought I was the first time, of when I say “not my will, God, but yours”—I really mean it.  I need to turn that easy obedience into practiced obedience, and that easy trust into implicit trust.  I need to come down from the mountain, yet remain in the spirit of my experience there. 

He wants us to desire good things. 

Mostly, He wants us to desire Him.

"This I Know"-- my new song obession, by (who else?) David Crowder

Up on the mountain

Where You taught my soul to sing

Amazing grace the sweetest thing

This I know

And then the storm rushing in

And here I am again

This I know

Take me up to where I was

When I never wanted more than You

Lift me up to feel your touch

It wouldn't be that much for You

This I know

This I know

This I know

This I know

Up on the mountain

Where You took me by the hand

Taught me to dance again

This I know

Up on the mountain

Where You took this heart of stone

Put life back in these bones

This I know

Take me up to where I was

When I never wanted more than You

Lift me up to feel your touch

It wouldn't be that much for You

This I know

This I know

This I know

This I know

Today I Baked a Cake: A Poem

A little poem for my faithful readers.  AKA my Grandma.  Ha ha.

My little men helping me in the kitchen

Today I baked a cake
I made it with my sons
It wasn't hard to make
We all had lots of fun

I measured out the flour
We spilled some on the floor
We baked it 'bout an hour
And then could wait no more

I set it out to rest
High upon the counter
I noticed I hadn't dressed
Nor had I even showered

I warned my sons I was watching
I told them not to touch
While I was busy washing
I didn't hear too much

If you have toddlers playing
Their laughter is so dear
But when they're disobeying
Silence you will hear

Alas, my chocolate
Confectionary treat
Was scattered around the faucet
And underneath my feet

"I wonder who did that!"
They said with a chocolatey grin.
I guess now we'll have a chat
About how lying is a sin.


This is a true story.  I made another one.
The end.

Advice to a 19 Year Old

I recently read this blog post which made me laugh really hard.. mostly because it described me to a "T" around the age of 21.  If you're not aware, I have actually been engaged twice-- once, of course, to my wonderful husband of 7 years, and once to.. someone else.  I'm not going to go into it, and I wish nothing but the best for that person, but to make a long story short-- it was a terrible decision, and we would have BOTH been miserable, and ending the engagement was one of the best things we could have ever done.  Anyway, I was reflecting on who I was THEN, when I got engaged at the ripe old age of 19, and who I am NOW, 10 years later at age 29.  If I could whisper in the ear of my 19-year-old self, and give her a little advice, I would say the following:

Summer 2003! Left to right:
Me, Trisha, Erin, Gretchen, Stace
All beautiful sisters in the Lord, all still friends of mine today

*If you feel, in your gut, that it's wrong-- it is.  I love reading advice columns ("Dear Prudie" is always interesting...) mostly because, on the outside, it is pretty obvious what the person is asking for-- permission and/or absolution.  Many of us know what the right thing to do is when faced with decisions, and yet we waver, I believe, because of our inherent sin nature.  James 4:17 makes it pretty clear: "Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is a sin."  Whether we knew we were wrong getting into the situation in the first place and don't want to deal with the consequences, or we suddenly have to do something very difficult and are trying to avoid getting hurt or hurting someone else.  Doing hard things has become a mantra of mine for this very reason-- I used to ignore or put off making a decision if it was going to be hard.  But trust me, the longer you put it off, the harder it gets for everyone involved.

*Don't buy that Ashlee Simpson CD.  Not only is it terrible, but CDs will be obsolete in about 10 years. And then you will be ashamed that you ever owned such a CD.

*It's okay to feel lonely.  Feeling this way is what draws you to the ONLY ONE who will never leave you or forsake you: Jesus (Deuteronomy 31:6) Stop trying to cling to people and relationships that are unhealthy just because you're scared to be alone-- God is giving you this opportunity to learn to lean into and trust in Him completely.

*When you pray, listen.  1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 says, "Rejoice evermore; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you."  Pray unceasingly and yes, ask God for the things you (think) you want and need, but mostly, concern yourself with listening and obeying what He tells you.  I have never audibly heard the voice of the Lord, but I *have* heard His voice. Being in the Word is so crucial-- much more so than having a date tomorrow night or getting an A on that project that's due next week.

Si and I at an ISU football game--
Almost exactly 10 years after the top picture was
taken! How time flies, and things change, PTL!

*Shovel the driveway when it snows, and don't use it as a trump card when you get into an argument with your roommates.

*10 years seems like forever.  Right now, it's MORE than half your life.  But trust me when I say that the next 10 years will fly like you can't believe.  Use these 10 years wisely-- trust the Lord, listen to Him, and be patient.  His plan and will for your life is so much more than you can imagine-- some incredibly hard, hurtful times, yes, but these times will draw you near to Him and you will learn to praise Him in all circumstances.

*Last, but certainly not least-- just so you know, the toilet in the basement is actually NOT a black toilet, it is white, and it needs cleaning.

Never Say Never

I've been told that "Never Say Never" is the motto of one Justin Bieber.  However, I'm more familiar with the phrase thanks to the Neverland Pirate Band.

 A couple of weeks ago, I bribed enticed encouraged my husband to do something he swore up and down he'd never do-- run a road race with me.  It was a lot of fun, even he agrees, but it got me thinking about things that I just KNEW I'd never do before I had kids that are now every-day occurrences for me.  Here is a list of things that I have actually done after having children.  Be warned, this is the truth, which is sometimes not pretty.

1. Forget to change the sheets that my water broke on.
2. Sleep on said sheets for approximately six weeks.
3. Breast-feed, uncovered, in front of numerous unknown people, not because I don't value modesty blah blah blah, but because I forgot my cover and decided I didn't care.
4. Have a colonoscopy and have no problems talking about it with people I do as well as do not know.
5. Forget that I left the TV on E! after watching a Katy Perry special (not even a fan) and realize 20 minutes later that my 3 year old is watching an episode of Sex and the City.
6. Very loudly discuss luteal phase defects and implantation bleeding at Olive Garden in front of our 18 year old male waiter.
7. Go out in public with urine and spit-up (also known as vomit) on my clothing.
8. Know about urine and spit-up before I leave and decide changing clothes is too much work.
9. Get a little addicted to the Wendy Williams show when Silas was a newborn and we didn't have cable.
10. Wear leggings as pants, see #8.

Just to tempt fate, I'm now going to include a short list of things I am 100% I will never, ever, EVER do in the future.
1. Eat my own placenta.

Happy Parenting!

This is a picture of Silas and I at the Freedom Fest Balloon Glow.

As you can tell, he is in the process of picking his nose.

Which he then wiped on me.

Do Hard Things

I am far from perfect.  I'm so far from perfect, I can't even tell you what perfect looks like or where it's located.  I yell, more when I'm tired or hormonal.  I use the TV as a babysitter when I shower (or blog, thanks Jake and the Neverland Pirates).  Sometimes, I let my kids eat those nasty little powdered sugar donuts because they were good while we went grocery shopping.  I'm sure there's a million other things I do wrong, but I'm going to stop listing them because it's making me a bit depressed.  Anyway, I'm not perfect, but there is one thing that I've gotten pretty good at over the last 3 years and 8 months of my life.  Let me explain it to you.

I once read the first four pages of a book called "Do Hard Things" by Alex and Brett Harris (you know, the little brothers of Joshua Harris).  I only read the first four pages because, at the time, I was 24 and had no kids and therefore no cares in the world so accomplishing monumental tasks in my life consisted of making sure I was at work before 9 (or 9:30, let's be honest here) and that my grad school papers were in on time (I know there are a myriad of people who have accomplished a lot of amazing feats by the time they're 24-- including having children, but I wasn't one of them).  Anyway, the premise of "Do Hard Things" involves challenging young people to defy current cultural expectations of their generation and work hard, cast off any sense or feelings of entitlement, set one's goals SUPER high, and go after and achieve those goals-- whether that be climbing a mountain or starting a business or going to college, etc.  At 24, I had accomplished some wonderful things-- I had a job I loved, an amazing husband that God had given me, a house, etc.  Yet I had a fear of failure, as many people often do, and therefore I never set a goal that I didn't already know I could achieve.  I didn't really quit things, I just never did anything very difficult in the first place.

Then we decided to start our family.

If you've read my blog before, you're probably familiar with this post where I share our experiences and struggles with having children.  We have been so, so blessed and are very humbled that God has chosen to give us these two amazing boys, and we pray that someday (really, any day now would be okay, Jesus.... :) he would choose to grow our family.  If you have kids, or have been around kids, or have been a kid, you know that they're an awful lot of work.  And here's the thing about them-- you don't really get to give up. When I first had Silas, my oldest, I was overwhelmed and terrified and probably had more than a touch of PPD, in retrospect.  I felt incredibly incompetent and relied heavily on my God, my mother, and my friends for support, guidance, and love.  It was SUCH hard work, and it was, hands down, the hardest thing I had ever done, both physically and mentally and spiritually.  There were times I went down into the basement in the middle of the night and screamed as loud as I could (don't worry, I didn't startle anyone, as Silas's screams were still louder than mine).  There were times I stuck him in his swing and let him cry himself to sleep as I stared at him because I didn't know what else to do.  So many times, even though I loved him more than my own life, I felt defeated because I just didn't know how to handle this tiny, wrinkly human being-- and my friends were juggling 3 or 4 kids with what seemed like ease.

When Silas was about 10 months old, I went to a week-long Bible camp with my friend Amy.  I'd been to the camp several years before, and always came away refreshed and renewed and excited by the Word of God.  Every other year I had looked forward to it eagerly.  This year, however, I was dreading it.  Why? Because of Silas.  I had to take my still not sleeping through the night 10 month old baby to a dorm room on a not-baby-friendly college campus in a town 2 1/2 hours from home, by myself.  I almost didn't go (seriously, I couldn't even handle a Wal-Mart trip with the kid by myself), but something told me I should power through.  So I did.  I hauled my kid, myself, the pack n play (which ended up being a waste of space because of course he could only sleep ON TOP OF me the whole time, super restful if you're wondering), and ton of other baby junk to Pella, Iowa for a whole week away from my husband and family.  The week I was dreading (I cried on the way) ended up being one of the best experiences of my life.  Not because it was easier than I thought it would be (if anything, it was harder), but because God used the pastors (shout out to Lew and Dave Miller!) to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, not necessarily what I wanted to hear.

The message? Do. Hard. Things.  Well, not that exactly, but the words the pastors spoke about God leading the Israelites through the wilderness, and how we, as believers, may live in the wilderness indefinitely-- and we need to praise God anyway- and not just anyway, BECAUSE we are in the wilderness.  The wilderness is where God teaches and refines us.  He draws us to our knees and humbles us and then pulls us back up stronger and more reliant on him.  2 Corinthians 2:10 is a verse many of us are familiar with- "Therefore I take pleasures in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then I am strong."  I knew this verse, but I had never experienced it.  I was most definitely in the wilderness, with this whole motherhood thing.  I was running away and looking for excuses and reasons to be my "old" self-- my childless self, my selfish self.  But God had chosen me to be a mother, and that self was GONE, whether I liked it or not.  And what I learned at camp was that God was pulling me through the wilderness (I wasn't going willingly) to make me a mother who raises her children in his image, truth, word, and love.  Having and raising my family is hands down the hardest thing I've ever done (and I detassled for five years, folks).  Instead of shying away from the exhaustion and utter fear I was experiencing, I need to cry out to Jesus and embrace it.

At camp I remembered the title of that book, and realized that God was calling me to do hard things-- the hardest thing-- and give up myself, my expectations, my hopes and dreams and fears, and dive headfirst into his calling for me, at this moment in time-- being a mother.  As I laid wide-awake in bed that night, my back aching and my breath short because my 10 month old was sound asleep on my chest, I decided that I would not turn away from the challenges God was calling me to.  I would embrace every difficulty as an opportunity to teach as well as learn, a place to plant seeds in my child(ren) as well as grow myself.  I would trust God even when things were unimaginably hard-- that he had a purpose for this circumstance and would eventually work it for good.

I can honestly say that from that moment on, my life has been different.  The Holy Spirit completely changed my attitude, my mind, and my heart.  I still get frustrated and angry and lose my temper.  Yet I honestly look at every challenge I face as a mother-- from big things like how to raise my children to love truth and righteousness, to small things like how to get them to stop spitting on each other-- I always have a peace that comes from God.  I know that even if this is taking a loooong time (and with little ones, EVERYTHING takes a long time) that there is a purpose for it.  I know and understand that anything worth doing is hard. "And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance, for you serve the Lord Christ." -- Colossians 3:23-24

I may never climb a mountain, or run a marathon.  I may never get my PhD or write a book.  But I know that I will rely on the Lord to raise my children to know him, serve him, and love him.  And that, my friends, is the hardest, most rewarding, and most important thing of all.

Now if you'll excuse me, my children are both yelling because, apparently, they're both trapped in Oliver's crib.  I best investigate, or else they'll both be soaked in spit momentarily (that "how to get them to stop spitting on each other" thing is a real problem).

This is a picture of Silas at around 6 months old.

This also is a pretty accurate representation of how I felt the majority of Silas's first year of life.