Juggling Coffee Cups

The other night as I was unloading the dishwasher, my little helper toddled over to offer her assistance. I have never felt so much stress putting away plates. Chloe’s hands were attracted like magnets to anything sharp and anything breakable. I hurriedly grabbed all of the knives out of the dishwasher and began putting them away, but as I was trying to complete that task, Chloe was reaching for glasses. As I shoved the knives in the knife block, I quickly reached back to grab the glass from her hand. Now that the knives were put away, I scrambled to get all the plates, glasses, and coffee cups before Chloe’s slippery fingers could touch them.

She didn’t understand the concept of the hand-off. Chloe would grab one item, hand it to me, and let go before my fingers had actually grasped it. Lids to pots dropped to the floor, the loud clamoring sound filling the house. Forks and spoons joined them. I did my best to balance the dishes she gave, to juggle what was going in the cabinet and what I was receiving from Chloe’s hands, but inevitably something would fall. My hope was that nothing would break.

Lately, my days feel like this dishwasher incident. As I try to do one thing, I have someone adding to my hands that already feel full. I rush to the cabinet in the hopes of putting away one object so that I can take on another. I know my hands can’t hold everything. I know I’m not an expert juggler. And every day, my prayer is that when something falls from my hands, it will be the lid from the pot and not the coffee cup.

Last Sunday, Matt and I met a nice woman at Publix. She and I were discussing the different kinds of sugar in the baking aisle when Chloe let us all know the extent of her hunger. As I tried to pacify Chloe, holding her in my arms while the other two sat on the bench of the largest, most awkward shopping cart in the world, I overheard Matt telling the woman the ages of our children. The woman locked eyes with me again and told me, “I feel you. I had three children in four years. I know.” But then she went on. “Enjoy this time. Because then they will be teenagers and want nothing to do with you, and before you know it, they will be grown up and out of the house!”

I have been given this advice before, and honestly, I grow weary of it. I’ve developed a term for it–“The Grandparent Syndrome.” The people who seem adamant that I enjoy this time are almost always grandparents or people who wish they were grandparents. Their children are grown, and they look fondly on the years when they had little ones giving them hugs and kisses, telling them that Mommy and Daddy are their best friends. They remember children swinging on swings and sliding down slides and pictures hung on the refrigerator with stick figures and the letter ‘e’ turned backwards. And sometimes, they are looking through rose-colored glasses.

I don’t like being told to enjoy this time because I don’t want to feel guilty when I’m not. Honestly, many days are not enjoyable. Even though they say they do, I’m not sure these well-meaning individuals remember exactly how tired they felt every day.

I think they’ve forgotten wondering how poop got on the door jam in the bathroom and the frustration at not having any more hiding places short of the roof for sweets. They’ve forgotten what it feels like to have the one time of the day at six a.m. which was their time interrupted over and over again and wishing that six a.m didn’t have to be their alone time to begin with! They’ve forgotten what it feels like to juggle coffee cups, shattering some to the floor on days when they lost their temper with a three-year-old or days when they were too exhausted to play.

They only remember the cute faces looking back at them from the preschool pictures they have tucked away in family photo albums, and they miss those chubby arms that used to reach around them and squeeze. They see their beautiful grandchildren and giggle and bake cookies and miss the time they spent with their own children. Except every day wasn’t cookies and giggles.

As if to combat the well-meaning words that sometimes sting, other parents who are not that far removed from my situation have their own words to offer: “It gets easier, I promise.” I cannot tell you how many parents of three close together in age, parents I have never met, will lock eyes with me in the park and tell me these words. They remember the juggling act, and they want to bring hope. And they do. Through their words they are telling me that it’s okay to feel tired and frustrated because there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m not against enjoying this time. In fact, I started writing my ‘Focus On It Friday’ posts because I wanted to make sure that no matter how rotten of a week I had, I always remember something for which I can give thanks. I blog because I want to remember the beautiful moments with my family, the invaluable lessons that they teach me. But I also want to remember the struggles and the harsh growing pains I experienced as I took the journey as a parent.

Not every day is enjoyable. Some days, even some seasons, just suck, and being able to admit that fact is freeing to me. My goal as a mother is to treasure the good moments in every season, not longing for the future, and not holding on to the past. I want to make the best of the present, and during the times when the juggling act gets more challenging than I can handle, I want to become an expert at using the broom.

Because whether I’m enjoying the day or not, I have three little ones who need a mother for guidance and learn from how I handle the broken dishes. And whether I’m enjoying the day or not, I know how blessed I am to be able to take the next breath and unload a full dishwasher.

Overcoming Shyness

Sometimes God gives us a gift, a glimpse into His character on this side of heaven. I received that gift a few days ago.

As I parked the car, my son immediately noticed that she didn’t look quite right; there was something different about her, and her differences made him uncomfortable. I had wondered if Caleb would notice. As far as I knew, my children had never met anyone mentally challenged before, and this young women had suffered from many physical and mental disabilities since birth, leaving her soul in the body of a woman but with the mind of a child.

Caleb and I got out of the car, and as we neared this woman, Caleb whispered, “Mommy, I’m shy.” “You can be shy,” I assured him, “but you still need to be polite. I bet it would make *Linda happy if you said, ‘hello.'” I didn’t push the issue as Caleb walked glued to my leg, and I said my own ‘hello’ to Linda.

Hannah Grace had come out to meet us, and she, too, had a case of ‘shyness.’ We all walked inside the house, Linda following after us, and eventually we made our way upstairs to play. Caleb was enthralled with a race track that had a loop and spent the majority of his time with his cousin trying to get his car to successfully complete this loop. Hannah Grace and Chloe moved from one toy to the next while Linda looked on in the doorway with a smile, happy to observe the children’s play. My sister prompted her to come in the room with the kids, but Linda was content where she was.

The children continued in their fun when all of sudden Caleb looked up and said, “Hey, Linda, watch this!” and he gave his car a hard push around the track. Hannah Grace, following her brother’s example, then exclaimed, “Linda, watch this!” as she attempted a somersault. Linda beamed from the doorway. Chloe, in her own typical fashion, hung around Linda’s legs, looking up sweetly singing, ‘hi!’ and now I had my turn to beam. In their own ways, my kids had started conversations with Linda, had attempted to include her in their play.

I had heard once before that children don’t see color when looking at another person. I know this idea is not true–my son at around the age of two or three asked me why his babysitter has brown skin when ours is white–and I know now that children do pick up on differences in mental and physical ability, too. Children notice differences–they are not stupid–they just don’t let them matter.

I have had my own instances of shyness, and I know other adults struggle with how to act when they are uncomfortable, but I saw firsthand how to overcome this disability–just start the conversation, include the other person in my play.

My hope for my children is that as they grow older, they won’t let their shyness inhibit their ability to include others. They will let their compassionate hearts lead them and start the conversation, whether it be with the elderly, those with special needs, the poor, or those of a different race, religion, or sexual orientation.

Christ wasn’t afraid to start those conversations with others or include them in His life; He didn’t suffer from shyness. And I’m thankful to my children for showing me that I don’t need to suffer from it, either.

*the young woman’s name was changed for this post

Fear

When Matt is away and I settle in our room for the evening, my imagination tends to get the get the best of me. I hear every creak, and my mind begins to play out morbid scenarios. If you were to ask me on those nights, I could tell you my defense plan against a home invasion and where I would hide with our three kids. By the time I get in bed, my heart is pounding, and all I can do is pull the covers up over my face, squeeze my eyes shut, and hope I fall asleep quickly.

I’m sure this frame of mind contributed to the whacky dreams I had the last night Matt was gone. In one dream I was a pop artist trying to perform, but the venue did not provide security for me. My scariest dream that night, however, was a dream full of friends from high school. Two of those friends had a sad story about their current mental conditions, and for some reason they would instantly turn into sociopaths and try to kill anyone in their paths. Unfortunately, I was in the one friend’s path, and I spent most of the dream trying to escape his wrath.

In the middle of the night, I awoke, terrified. I was breathing hard, and it took me a minute to comprehend that I had been dreaming. The strange thing about dreams is that no matter how bizarre and unrealistic the plot is, they can still feel incredibly real. As I was lying in bed, coming to the realization that I was now awake and not running away from my former friend-turned killer, I realized that I had to use the bathroom. But I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear. I rolled over and again squeezed my eyes shut while squeezing my bladder harder.

The next morning after I ran to the bathroom, I began to think about my dream and the power I let fear have over me. I had allowed fear to keep me in bed, even though I had a need to get up and was extremely uncomfortable. Of course, my fear was understandable–I was alone in a big, dark bedroom, and I had already let my mind run wild thinking of the three little lives I would protect if anyone tried to cause us harm. In the daylight, I was more rationale, and, thankfully, fear didn’t control any part of me.

Or did it?

While I was priding myself on my ability to live my life without fear hindering me, a particular incident rushed up to the front of my mind and smacked me in the face. Recently, my husband pressed me on starting graduate school. I have a little tuition money for having served in the Air Force, and I only have a few years left to use it. True to his nature, Matt began searching for different programs that I might enjoy, and he showed me a creative writing program from the University of Georgia. And while I don’t think now is the right time for me to begin a program, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that fear caused me to dismiss Matt rather quickly.

As I looked over this program, intimidation seeped throughout my body. In one moment, I scanned the required courses, and I felt an adrenaline rush! The chance to read and discuss literature again with my peers, to write essays and challenge my mind–I wanted to start now! But almost as quickly that moment of excitement, that positive rush of adrenaline turned to a rush of fear, a moment of flight.

Sometimes when I’m writing my blog, I can’t remember basic grammar rules even though I used to teach high school English. Since becoming a mother, I have lost brain cells as that part of my brain that used to think clearly and analytically is a little mushy. How could I write a graduate level paper? I’ve been out of practice for too long…I don’t want to receive scorn from my professors, pity or disgust at being the little stay-at-home mom who needed something to do.

Part of the admission requirement is to submit a portfolio of writing, one piece having to be so many pages in length. I’ve never attempted to write a novel or anything of substantial length; what would I submit? And even if I got into the program, would I write anything that my professors or peers would think worth reading? Most of my writing thus far has been about my children, my marriage, or my faith, topics I’m not sure academia would warmly receive. I don’t have the great American novel swirling around in my mind–I have my experiences as a wife and mother, a Christian trying to understand God’s will, and they are what I know right now.

As I relived all of these thoughts, these doubts, the other morning, I was ashamed. I have never talked myself out of something because of fear. I’ve traveled to other countries by myself; I joined the Air Force after getting married and starting a career–I’ve never let fear determine my course or paralyze me from doing something I want to do.

And I’m not going to let it today, either.

I still don’t think now is the right time to start a graduate program. I’m not emotionally ready to take on that challenge while raising such young children, and Matt and I have some other goals that we need to reach before I make such a commitment. Yet when the time is right, I’m certainly not going to back away from a program that excites me because I fear that I might fail or not win others’ approval.

Because fear should never have that kind of power in our lives. We should never allow fear to paralyze us, to keep us from taking a step in the next direction. After all, there is no sense lying in bed with the covers pulled up over our faces, squeezing our eyes shut, when the bathroom is a mere fifteen feet away.

Tips from the Pros

The other day I was caught off guard by a message I had received on Facebook: Jennifer–I’m needing advice on discipline with the kids… what tactics do you use with yours? The message went on to detail specific situations with which this particular mom was struggling.

My initial thought to this request was disbelief. Why in the world would anyone ask me for advice on discipline? Clearly this person hadn’t read my blog detailing my many failings!

I was also surprised because we haven’t seen each other in years as we’re in different states. In fact, I’ve never met this mom’s children, but we know each other from a brief time in a small group that Matt and I led. We don’t have the depth of friendship that I would need before I could ask someone for help and admit I’m struggling.

Even if I had that depth of friendship with another mom, I still might not ask for advice. I carry parenting so close to my heart. It is the one area of my life where I feel most vulnerable, carry the weight of my failings most days, yet want to succeed more than anything. After receiving this message, I found it curious that pride and shame at my shortcomings kept me from doing the one thing that could help me succeed with my children–talking to those currently in the trenches.

Sure, I pray every day for wisdom; I talk to my mom, but rarely do I open up and admit to another mom that I don’t know how to handle a certain problem with my children. I’m afraid of judgment, afraid that even though I am friends with someone, the thought will enter her mind that I must not have control of my children. I’m afraid that my children’s antics will become the topic of dinner conversation between my friend and her spouse that night.

And I’m afraid that this rationale is rather silly. Chances are that if I opened up, so would my friend. She would probably admit that she struggles, too, perhaps not with the same issue but in another area of parenting. Instead of carrying our burdens alone, we could help each other with the load. But first we need to share.

I was inspired by this mom’s openness, and as I wrote a response to her, I decided that I, too, would ask for help from the experts–moms, dads, grandparents, aunts or uncles–because there is no shame in it. In fact, if there is one person whom I don’t trust, it is the person who conveys the idea that he or she doesn’t struggle. I have to wonder what that person is hiding….

…so today I challenge you to come out of hiding. In the comments below, ask the experts! What’s one area of parenting where you need a tip? And since you’re also an expert, what’s one tip that you can offer other parents or caregivers of kids? Let’s help each other today and admit that none of us has it all together. And while we know that statement to be true, we also know that each of us has a lot to offer!

I’ll start: For parents with children that outnumber your own arms, how do make sure that one of them doesn’t pull away from you in a store or any other public place?

My one tip is to make sure you are dressed and ready before your kids wake up. The days when I accomplish this little task go so much smoother than days that start off with kiddos getting into mischief because I wasn’t fully ready to supervise.

Getting an Alarm Clock

Six a.m. comes way too soon every morning. As much as I want to convert to a morning person, my mind will never be alert while it’s still dark outside. Unfortunately, that rule is also becoming true for when it turns dark outside at night, and if I want any time to pray or write or just to enjoy an hour while the kids are sleeping, I have realized that my best bet is to embrace that early morning hour.

No longer having infants keeping me from a full night’s sleep, I decided to enlist the help of my husband with my morning goal. “Please set your alarm for six,” I would politely request most evenings. Matt has the alarm clock on his side of the bed and, therefore, all the alarm clock responsibilities. When I asked this request, I hadn’t anticipated not getting woken up at six.

Apparently, Matt doesn’t always set the alarm. Other times, his hand immediately slaps it off upon hearing the buzzing noise while the rest of his body lies motionless in bed, not giving my mind the chance to register that an alarm has gone off. Sometimes Matt does set the alarm, pushing the button that illuminates our wake-up time, but our alarm chooses to act like our children on a bad day, refusing to obey and perform its job. And my absolute favorite is when Matt gets ambitious and sets his alarm for five and proceeds to hit snooze until seven, during which time my mind ignores the alarm because I have no intention of getting up at five. And when Matt finally rolls out of bed at seven, he walks straight to the shower, letting me sleep soundly under the covers until our children bounce in the room.

On days when the alarm clock (or my husband) malfunctioned, I would get furious! That was my time that was stolen from me! Don’t they understand that I will not get this alone time again until six tomorrow morning!!! I need time to PRAY if I have any chance of succeeding at NOT LOSING MY TEMPER TODAY!!! I need to WRITE BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ahem.

It hadn’t occurred to me until a couple of days ago that perhaps I wasn’t getting my time because it hadn’t become important enough to me. “That’s crazy,” I told myself until the part of my brain that controls my minimal amount of logical thought chimed in and inquired, “Why haven’t you purchased your own alarm clock?”

Crickets chirping

Well…to be honest…I don’t want to use my spending money on an alarm clock!!! And, well, if the alarm goes off at six, and I happen to hit snooze, I can’t blame Matt anymore.

Sometimes it’s easier for me to blame everyone else in the world than to take action and fix the problem myself. It’s easier to lament that we would have more family time if we lived closer to Matt’s work and better dates if we had more money instead of taking the time to think up something creative. It’s easier to complain that my children are out-of-control instead of getting on the floor, rolling around and helping to control their energy through a wrestling match. It’s easier to get angry at my misfortune of sleeping past six instead of buying my own stupid alarm clock.

It wasn’t until my time became important enough to me to warrant my action that things began to change. The day I decided to alleviate Matt’s burden of setting the alarm and actually waking up is the day six a.m became my time again.

Thankfully, I joined the 21st century and realized that my cell phone has an alarm clock feature before I went out and bought one. Who knew? And I’m now excited to face the dark mornings before my family opens their eyes (unless of course my husband does hop out of bed at five) and take some much-needed me time.

Now if only I could remember to charge my phone by my bed instead of downstairs.

The Cost of $20

When I got strep throat, I began to fear my $25 copay multiplying if the kids got sick, too. And that was the extent of my worry. Last Friday I wanted to post another “Focus on it Friday” saying how thankful I was for the quality healthcare that my family can receive, but really my thanks goes beyond that.

When someone in my family gets sick, my mind rarely goes past getting a doctor’s appointment and the necessary medicine, but for moms around the world, sickness carries more terrifying consequences. According to a UNICEF press release, 24,000 children under the age of five die every single day from mostly preventable causes. I can’t even wrap my mind around that number.

Frankly, the number is too big, and sometimes big numbers have little effect on me. Then I read a post the other day by Billy Coffey with a smaller number: 20. For $20, I could give one person clean water for 20 years through the organization charitywater.org. Until recently, I had not really understood that there were people who lived in areas where clean water simply was not available and, as a result, were dying. My church began a project to build wells in Mozambique, and for the first time, my mind allowed this need around the world to enter in. But when I read this post, again, I was floored.

I don’t throw money around. I take my family’s budget seriously, and I rarely buy anything on a whim. Matt and I are trying to act responsibly, so $20 is not an amount of money that I would take for granted. Yet, even on a tight budget, I know that $20 is not a lot of money, especially when someone’s life is at stake.

I wrote in a previous post that my mind was in overdrive, that I felt God really working on my heart, and truthfully, I feel a little confused right now. So many ideas are rolling around in my head, and I don’t know where to start, and on some things, I don’t even know what to think. But I do know that God has taken my heart and is showing me the tragedies that break His.

This week a group of bloggers traveled to Guatemala with one of my favorite organizations, Compassion International. They will visit the child development programs set up by Compassion and share about the children whom they meet, children who live in poverty that we cannot imagine. Yet through the good works of Compassion and sponsorship, these children will receive medical care, basic needs, an education–things I take for granted. One of these precious children can be sponsored for $38 a month.

I went to Target today, and I spent a little over $20 on socks for the kids and a file box in an attempt at organizing the influx of artwork that comes in now that preschool has started. My kids genuinely needed new socks as their little feet have grown bigger, yet as I handed over the $20, I thought about a child without water, a much greater need. And as I took a shower tonight and felt the warm water roll off my body, I watched as the drops I wasted ran down the drain. As much as I want to, I can’t fathom a need this great.

My goal is not to cause myself massive guilt every time I make a purchase; however, I think feeling a little uncomfortable now and then is probably a good thing. It’s a good thing to evaluate how I’m spending my 20’s–how many children could I sponsor or individuals could I give clean water for the cost of the cable TV, iphone, or restaurant meals I purchase? After all, when I die I can’t take any of my earthly treasures with me to heaven for eternity, so shouldn’t I want to relieve a child who is living a hell on earth now?

While I don’t believe that God has called Christians to live a life of poverty for the sake of others, I know He would have us think about the money that we have and how we are using it. If you are like me, you might feel overwhelmed with the different problems in this world and not know where to begin. Perhaps, you are already giving to an organization that you love. Maybe you’d love to give but can only give to one cause at a time and need to wait until next month. I’m not asking you to give. I’m asking you to think.

I’m sharing my journey as I think about these issues and opportunities, deciding where to act in the hopes that some of you will take this journey with me. We can’t all give to everything, but some of us can give to some things. Perhaps some of us can find $20 to provide clean water for one person. Maybe others will want to sponsor and build a relationship with a child living in poverty. We all have different journeys, and we can’t change the whole world alone. But we can all think. And maybe today some of us will decide to change the life of one.

Please visit my sidebar, and visit the different links for my favorite posts on the web. Each of the links featured show a different way you can help change the life of an individual in need.

So You Won’t Have to Call

I came back from the kids’ 3 year and 15 month well-visit thinking that perhaps I wasn’t.

“I really don’t feel well,” I told my sister who had watched my son while the girls and I were gone.

“You do feel warm,” she said surprised, as if she initially thought I was being dramatic (Now why would I do that?). “Go upstairs and rest. When Chloe goes down for her nap, I’ll take the kids to the pool so you can sleep.”

And that was that. My sister stayed at the house the rest of the day as I felt worse and worse. Based on the number of times I heard my children reprimanded and the fact that my sister gave up an entire day so that I could rest, I had already decided that I would brave taking all three kids with me to the doctor’s office the next day if I didn’t feel better.

The next morning the phone rang.

“Do you feel better?”

“No, I’m going to the doctor.”

“What time?”

“Noon–but Lisa, I’ll take the kids with me. I wasn’t going to call you–“

“–I know. That’s why I called.”

And Lisa showed up again. She took the girls with her for the whole afternoon while Caleb and I watched movies in bed. Lisa said she knew what it was like to be sick and alone and have to take care of a kid–it was miserable–so if she could help, she wanted to.

The next day my fever was down, but my throat still felt like a piece of bark was stuck in it. I was thankful to no longer feel achy, though. The phone rang again; this time my friend Dee was calling.

“Can I bring you dinner?”

“Um, yes,” I replied, relief washing over me as the chore of cooking was no longer upon me.

“What can you eat?”

At this point, I had only managed to eat chicken broth and popsicles, wincing all the while. My mind wouldn’t even let me think about food.

Dee brainstormed and determined that I might be able to wiggle down some lo mein, Matt could eat Mongolian Beef, and the kids could feast on a pizza. Less than an hour later, Dee showed up at my door with dinner for my entire family.

It was in that moment that I realized what made Lisa and Dee different from so many people. In this world there are those people who say, “Call me if you need anything!” They mean it and are full of good intentions.

But then there are those who don’t wait for the call–they’ll call so you don’t have to.

Lisa and Dee are part of that rare breed that anticipate others’ needs and act, putting aside their own schedules and agendas. I wish I could say that I am part of that breed. I have my moments. I have baked my share of bread and put together meals for neighbors that I didn’t know when I heard about a death in the family or a sickness, but I don’t know if acting as Lisa and Dee do is part of my DNA.

I have learned more by example, and I am still in the process of training myself to anticipate others’ needs. For some reason, I seem to do those good deeds more for those I don’t know, those possibly far away, than those with whom I share life. And while I don’t think I should stop caring about those outside of my circle of friendship, I do think that I should try to ease the burden of those within the circle, as well.

The problem with telling someone, “Call me if you need anything,” is that they probably won’t. I know I don’t. I don’t want to bother anyone; everyone’s so busy. Yet at the same time, I sincerely want people to call me, but I know all the reasons why they won’t. “She has three kids.” “She probably has a hard enough time getting dinner on her own table.” Sure, those reasons are true, but I don’t want my life to solely focus on my life.

Everyone is busy. I don’t know anyone who spends his or her day flipping through the channels while lounging on the couch. My days are full now–I can’t imagine what they will be like as my children get older! Between preschool, housework, church activities, attempts at exercise, I could easily fill my days with good activities. Perhaps I’d feel more refreshed, though, if I spent some of that time easing another’s burden, focusing on those connections that truly matter. What if we all acted like that, anticipating the needs of those around us, not waiting for a phone call but just showing up?

What Lisa and Dee did touched me. People might say, “That’s what family is supposed to do.”True friends act that way.” Maybe so. But many don’t.

I don’t, but I want to, so I’ve started examining myself. What hinders me from acting on kindness? Money? Sometimes. What if I reserved $15 in my wallet each month for the sole purpose of carrying out an act of kindness? Time? Of course. But how can I ever use that excuse when I see the time that others have sacrificed for me…and for something as little as strep throat. Fear of the kids getting sick? Sure, and that’s a good reason, but I can fear the possibility of something happening while the actuality of a friend needing a break from her children is happening down the street.

I have so much improving to do, but I’m going to try because, while I want you to call me if you need anything, I don’t want you to have to.

In Sickness and In Health

As I walked up to the kitchen sink this morning, I was taken aback by the number of little plastic cups and fat medicine tubes covering the bottom. I had cleaned everything in the sink before I called it a night, hadn’t I? And almost as soon as I had had the thought, I remembered that Wendy gave Emmett two more rounds of medicine since I had gone to bed, one at two and the other at six a.m. Now, a little after eight, I was adding my contribution to the pile.

I immediately felt a weariness for her, as I realized that ‘catching up’ on housework during Emmett’s chemotherapy weeks wasn’t a realistic possibility. With a bouncing boy demanding her undivided attention when she was home, lesson plans and grading that would start to accumulate as the new semester began, and the typical chores that keep any wife and mother from feeling like she has any free time, Wendy already had a full plate. Add to her schedule doctor’s appointments and middle-of-the-night meds and feedings, and I could only imagine her level of physical fatigue, not to mention emotional and spiritual, as well.

Before I arrived in Nashville for these few days with Wendy and Emmett, my mind began to ponder something Emmett had written earlier.

It was a blessing to get ringside seats at my brothers wedding, but I listened to the exchange of vows with a new perspective on things. “through sickness and through health” took on a new meaning. I was touched by how we pledge through sickness first, which is the hardest time to love, especially when sickness can be so long reaching, and can disrupt things for an incredibly long time. (Emmett 8/3/2010)

I, too, had to taken the vow to love someone in sickness and in health, yet I know now that I had no idea to what I was committing eight years ago.

When I got married, I was under the misconception that if I loved someone with all my heart, promising to nurse him through sickness would come naturally, with a willingness because of that love. As a young woman at just twenty-two, I couldn’t imagine what that kind of sacrifice would entail, but I was sure that my love for Matt would make me better than I am if that time should arise. I realize now that I was wrong. Loving someone doesn’t make me a better person; instead, his love for me gently points out all my imperfections, showing me exactly how far I have to go.

Since I’ve been married and have had children, I have become more acutely aware of the naturally selfish tendencies within me. Yes, I willingly make many sacrifices for my family, but more often than I’d like to admit, I know my mind focuses on the word ‘sacrifice’ instead of seeing my action as an offering of love. And the more Matt and my children love me unconditionally, the more I am aware of my shortcomings.

When I look at Wendy and Emmett and contemplate the words that they share through their own journey, I am inspired. They share so openly and honestly about their own struggles with faith and love, and, at times, I feel ashamed for my own feelings. They are experiencing a hell on earth, yet their focus is to show others a glimpse of heaven. Their trust in Jesus with their lives is amazing, and I want that faith. I want my focus to shift from inward to heavenward so that my life emulates Christ, no matter the circumstance.

I don’t want to be selfish. I want to pray as Wendy prays: Lord, make me more like you, but do it gently, for I am weak (Wendy 8/16/2010). As much as I’d like to think that my love for Matt would enable me to care for him in a time of sickness, I know it is not enough. I know I am weak and that I easily weary. Instead, I need the love of a Savior who illuminates my imperfections and gently carves away at them, filling the void with Him. I need to be filled with more of Him and less of me.

I came here for a few days to offer a hand to Wendy, but instead, she has helped me. She is a beautiful picture of the love of Christ poured out for those He loves. And I pray that as I drive away tomorrow from this family covered in devotion to one another, their example would serve as a reminder for all that I need to allow God to change in me.

Please join me in praying for Wendy and Emmett and their young son Quinn. You can follow their amazing journey of faith through Emmett’s battle with cancer at teamemmett.com.

The M.O.B Society (Mothers of Boys) was also gracious enough to allow me to contribute to their site today. I would love if you would stop by and say ‘hello.’

More Beautiful With Age

It’s all downhill from here. At least that’s what a new study from QVC initially had me think. The study finds that women are most attractive at age 31, and since that big day is here for me, I best enjoy the year.

I can agree with part of the survey–at 31 I’m happiest with how I look than ever before. I’ve come a long way since last year when, instead of approaching 30 with assurance, I admitted how unattractive I felt, and in all honesty, unhappy. It’s amazing how hormones can warp a mind! But this year, I view myself differently, with more confidence and contentment. I am pleased with the progress I’ve made physically, but there is more to beauty than mere physical appearance. As I read over my post from last year after just having a new baby, I thought to myself, “How could I not find myself beautiful then?” There is nothing more beautiful than a mother holding a new baby.

And while I feel at my most beautiful now, I have no plans to peak at 31. I can’t put my stock in QVC’s survey; I know for a fact that a woman’s attractiveness only grows as she ages.

I look at my mother, a woman who gives of herself over and over, who takes to heart the example of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, and I am overwhelmed by such beauty. When I look at the face of a woman who spent the whole evening helping her daughter care for three children while her husband was gone, a woman who found the energy in spite of sheer exhaustion to laugh at a little two-year-old who scurried downstairs at 10:30 p.m. wearing two shirts, three dresses, and a pair of pants, I know that women get more beautiful with age.

I look at my mother-in-law, a woman who insists on gathering her family to her whenever she can, who strives to keep us all close to her heart, and through her love I see true beauty. When I look at the face of a woman who laughs and takes delight in the chaos of trying to snap one good picture with the grandchildren, a woman who knows that family is the greatest blessing God gives us, even while the rest of us (or just me) grow impatient inside, I know that women get more beautiful with age.

I look at Dot, a woman who exemplifies humility and grace through the unassuming way she serves her whole community, a woman who never draws attention to herself, and I doubt if I could ever attain such beauty. When I look at the face of a woman who has supported me throughout the years with her presence or words of affirmation, a woman who has shown me how to treat others kindly and sincerely, I know that women get more beautiful with age.

And when my husband looks back at a picture of me from our wedding day, I hope he can think, “I thought this day was when Jennifer was her most beautiful…

…but I was wrong. She only got more beautiful with age.”

The Cleaning Routine that Changed My Life

How’s that for an overly dramatic title? No, this cleaning routine did not save me from a horrible addiction and the brink of destruction, but it did give me some structure. No longer do I have to spend my weekends cleaning like crazy (or feeling guilty because I didn’t); my weekends are free to work on other projects or just have fun with my family. So in that sense, starting this routine almost three weeks ago did change a small aspect of my life.

I am not one to use my blog to give tips or advice–more often than not I write about what I do wrong–and I especially do not count myself qualified to discuss cleaning. However, after writing my previous post in which I cited having a new cleaning routine as a benefit of trying to move, I received a request to share. If you are looking for a detailed plan which provides days for sewing and ironing curtains, I have no idea why you thought you would find that plan here. The legless dolly sitting on my nightstand attests to the fact that sewing rarely makes my ‘to-do’ list. You can find those plans on the internet, though, so search away.

Click on the following link to find the fabulously simple plan courtesy of Courtney at Raising Homemakers.

The best tool I have found to getting all of my housework done each week is a:

SCHEDULE

My 2010 Weekly Schedule looks like this:

Mondays – Menu and Market Day
Tuesdays: Toilets, Tubs and Towels Day
Wednesdays: Wash (laundry day)
Thursdays: Dust
Fridays: Floors

This schedule has been so easy to follow since the task matches the first letter of the day.

Doesn’t that plan sound easy? I try to knock out my tasks during ‘Quiet Rest Time’ when my children are rarely resting and only sometimes quiet. I am one who likes structure and tends to show discipline if I have a plan. Previously, I would tell myself that I was going to clean one room a day, and sometimes it happened, but other times it didn’t. Typically, the kids’ bathroom and other rooms they touched got attention, whereas Matt and my bathroom was neglected. Now I have a specific goal in mind for each day.

The plan is flexible. I am not completely insane, yet, so I try to avoid shopping with all three little ones if I can help it; Friday night/Saturday morning is when Matt and I accomplish grocery shopping. Market Monday has become Mopping Monday, instead. I vacuum all the rooms on Friday, but I save the kitchen floor for its own special day. Reserving only one day for laundry would never work since Chloe wears cloth diapers, and we signed up for the energy savings plan this summer that doesn’t allow me to use much electricity from 3-8 p.m. every day. I wash at least one load every day, and Wednesday can serve as a catch-up day for any tasks I didn’t complete on the previous days.

If you come over to my house Tuesday morning, the floor will not look mopped as someone will have already spilled milk all over the floor, the dog will have tracked in dirt, and the baby will have thrown on the floor whatever food she hadn’t finished. By Tuesday night, I will need to scrub the walls and floor of whatever bathroom my son has used. This plan does not eliminate the messes that kids make, but it does ensure that I’ve cleaned every room at least once during the week.

Cleaning is not the most important thing in life, but right now, my job is raising my children and taking care of the house. I want to work hard at what I do. However, in my quest to avoid idleness, I do not want to make an idol out of my home. The plan is not the law, just a guideline. If it can help you, wonderful! If not, don’t worry; I have no plans to start evangelizing the benefits of cleaning or this plan.

Join me tomorrow for Focus on It Friday! Start thinking about something from this week for which you are thankful, and come back and share.