Letting Go...

If you've ever been a parent (or maybe been in the initial stages of love of any type), you probably know what it's like to want to hold or hug something so tightly that somehow you become a part of it. I know if I had squeezed my children as hard as I wanted to at times, they probably wouldn't have survived it. I think most people have experienced this somewhat strange urge - including my children who themselves have often squeezed things they loved to extinction (see Pets or Playthings? ). Maybe that's where the phrase "loved to death" originated. Anyway, I have these moments with each of my children, and I love them.

This week has been difficult for me in many ways, but I think the biggest challenge was that of Levi's MRI. The actual MRI was difficult for him and me, but the most difficult part of it was the worry over whether or not his brain would be found healthy. I have watched in gut-wrenching heartache as my little boy grips his eyes and cries that he can't see. I've watched him try to run half-blind to a trashcan or bowl so that he can vomit from the pain. I've watched him pinch the bridge of his nose so tightly it turns bright red as he cries that, "It hurts, mommy!" I can't do anything to stop his pain. As his episodes have increased in frequency I've argued with doctors and nurses and tried to get him the attention I felt he needed. I've chewed my tongue half raw in my sleep, and my hair is falling out in clumps. I thought I was okay with it, but my body says something is bothering me.

The results came in Friday that he has a cyst in his brain. I was very thankful it wasn't a tumor, as that was our worst fear. However, as I've started to understand what his cyst could mean for him I've begun to let it bother me again. My little guy is exhibiting symptoms of a cyst that is apparently enlarging. This is likely causing his migraines. The cyst will not go away on its own. It will need watched (probably with more MRI's), and probably will eventually need to be removed - if it is in an operable area. The complexities involved in all of this scare me... for him and for all of us. I like to "borrow trouble", and I keep thinking of how this will effect his quality of life and how it will change the rest of ours. Will we keep home schooling? Will he be able to keep being his normal, active self? How will this change our family? These thoughts make me want to hug him tighter and hold him closer than ever before in his short life. He, of course, understands none of that as he squirms to get out of my grasp and back onto his own agenda.

Non-coincidentally (I'm certain) I had some other trials this week that made me realize that when a mother worries too much and tries too hard to control her children's safety or well-being by her own methods, she crushes them. She leaves them incapable (either emotionally or physically) of meeting their own needs. This starts in childhood, but most of the time it continues as a dysfunction long into adult years and effects the lives and happiness of so many more people than this one, worrisome mother can even imagine.

I love my bed. I snuggle into my covers and my cold pillowcase, and I immediately start to pray. This is a largely pavlovian response that started as early as I can remember. Why? Because my parents didn't stay all night to offer me every comfort I could need. I learned to lean on the Comforter of my soul, and that skill has never served me ill. My relationship with my Heavenly Father deepened from childhood and continues to this day, and I look forward every night to that moment when I hit the covers. Bed is not my danger zone. It's my safe zone. It's not my worry zone. It's my worry-free zone.

I say all this to make sense in my own head of the fact that I could "squeeze" (smother) Levi (and the other children), but the fact is, I wouldn't be squeezing him for him. I would be squeezing him for ME. I would squeeze him, because it makes me feel better. The truth is that isn't loving them. It's loving me. It's giving me a sense that somehow if I follow a certain parenting formula that I'll be able to control their level of safety (mental or spiritual or physical), and that makes me feel better about me and about my ability to control their health and safety. It is my responsibility to provide for their well-being, but those things that are outside of my ability to completely control are also outside of my God-given responsibility. If I dip my toe in the pool of fear then I will start to try to control every thing and everyone around me so that they will be safe inside the bubble I've created for them. Not free... but safe. What about when I follow the formula and fail? What if someone gets epilepsy? What if a brain cyst? Who's to blame? The person this is all about... ME. One second I believe a lie, "I'm the best mother in the world." The next second, I believe the opposite of that lie, "I'm the worst mother in the world." This, of course, is another lie but just as effective at making me completely ineffective as a mother.

But why me? "I buy bottled water and organic food? I give them the right milk. I wash their fruit with Fit. I never microwave plastic. I give them plenty of exercise and minimal T.V." The list goes on and on... Those self-righteous ways we have of controlling our destinies by controlling those of our children. Those things that make us feel superior to "worse" parents. Those things we can drop ever-so-nonchalantly in on conversations with other mothers or on FB statuses so that everyone knows we are an amazing parent. But the sense of security I might take in those things comes crashing down when I have children who are ill. What did I do wrong? Could I have somehow prevented this? What is everyone going to think of me? I, me, my...

Like each of my children, Levi is a gift to me and my husband. He is not ours. He is a loaner. Who knows how many people's lives he will impact - no matter how long he is here on this earth? Only God - the Giver of our gift. I will protect him and try to do best for him, but the result is not in my hands. The goal is not to keep him under my thumb forever in order to make me feel loved and secure. It is to prepare him to go out and impact a world that needs love, compassion, and reconciliation with his Maker. If I make an idol out of any of my children (which incidentally is easy to do because they are my "job" and my "love" and most of my "life"), they are taking a wrongful place in my world, and misery will surely ensue. I'm trying to remember Whose they are and to rest in His plan for their days. This will eventually bring the desired result of all my striving - honor - for their Father and for their parents, but it won't be because of the destiny I controlled into being for them. It will be the one that God had planned for them. I hope they will embrace Him above me, because I will fail them. I will not provide perfectly for their needs. I can't. I can trust the One from whom they are on loan, and He knows the plans He has for them... to prosper and not harm.

With the pressure off of me, I am released to give God the glory for their health and well-being and to cry out to Him in times of fear or disappointment. A dear friend with a chronically ill daughter said to me a few days ago that her daughter was a gift from God, and as I watch this mother give "God" to her daughter, it is a far superior gift than giving her primarily herself. Understanding that I will give my children as much of myself as possible, not shrugging off their needs or displacing them, but if I don't begin to meet a smaller percentage as each year passes then they will always be confused about the ability of a person to meet their needs. As we all find - people are entirely disappointing in the true meeting of needs.

This blog is primarily a sorting of thoughts. I have lost children before in a way - not permanently, but when I got divorced, I lost the ability to have my daughters much of the time. I lost half of their special occasions, half of their weekends, half of their vacations for all of their lives. I remember the devastation of that thought, but it didn't hurt half as much as the reality of it does. When they're gone, their safety is completely beyond my control, and I don't even know where they are or how to get to them if I wanted to get to them. It's like part of my heart is missing. No one is immune to such a scenario, as much as we'd like to think we are. One way or the other, the Lord enabled me to release them - not in bitterness or in apathy, but in total trust that they are not my own, and even if they were with me, they could just as easily become hurt in some way as they could with their father. There is a freedom in trusting God for the safety and well-being of my children. Even as I write that I imagine that I'll be judged by some that I am trying to forego some of the responsibility of having children. But it's the only way I won't drive myself crazy with worry. Now... if I can just stay put.

How Celtic Music Changed My LIfe

So it's 9:30 AM. We tried putting Levi in big-boy underwear this morning. We both entered it optimistically - with the enthusiasm that accompanies (for me) the possible end of another diaper era and (for him) the opportunity to wear "Mater" on his bottom.

I started a little Celtic music a bit earlier this morning, as the girls have been into it lately, and it seems to soothe the sometime savage Levi.

As I was preparing breakfast for the other children, Levi disappeared (unbeknownst to me & SURELY a bad omen for a potty training mom). A few moments later, he was trying to get in the door to the house from the garage. Why had he been in the garage? The odor that accompanied his return left little doubt. As I asked him if he had pooped in the garage, he replied, "Where's Mater?" I responded, "Covered in poop." We went in the bathroom to clean him and his underwear up. Ugh... not a job I relish. However, as I noticed the Celtic music playing in the background I thougt, "This doesn't seem quite so bad. It's like washing out underwear at a Renaissance Fair. That prospect, of course, was filled with much more gaiety than the one I was facing."

While I was handling that, Violet had apparently gone through the trash and eaten some unknown leftovers - as is her customary specialty. However, there just happened to be some accordian music on the Celtic CD, and it gave the air of a French dining experience. Trash to... treasure. Debris to... delectable. Waste to... why waste? Refuse to... how could I refuse? I almost felt like joining her.

Even now I can't help thinking that the Celtic bagpipes might even add a little sobering class to a goldfish funeral.

Not A "Failer"

Computers: On a good day, they can be my best friend - a gift seemingly heaven-sent. On the other hand, on a bad day, they can be the most fiendish instrument of torture, ever to bedevil the days of mankind. We just bought an iMAC, and it is an odd combination of heavenly and straight from the bowels of hell. Avoiding the complexities of computer-speak, as I'm sure any men reading this would be compelled to try to solve this problem for me, let's just say I'm not a complete idiot when it comes to figuring out computers. However tonight, following a round of "stump the condescending Geek Squad guy" and downloading shareware in order to reformat an external hard drive that refuses to be reformatted... ugh... you get the drift. I'm obsessed by it. This machine is conquering me.

After retreating to bed with my proverbial "tail between my legs" resounding in my head was a word... "FAILURE"... an ugly word, to be sure, but one that crops up for me every now and again. I don't even know exactly why. I'm not particularly prone to fail, but the thought leads to a feeling which leads to an action which leads to a result, and on the cycle continues. However, this occasion I was reminded of a time about 6 or 7 years ago. I was riding in a vehicle with Brett & Sadie who was, at the time, somewhere between 2 and 3 years of age. I remember throwing up my hands in frustration and saying to Brett, "Sometimes I just feel like such a F-A-I-L-U-R-E!" Now I spelled, because I didn't want Sadie to pick up on such a negative word. Sadie was an early talker - putting 2-3 words together by 7 months of age. At the time, of course, since she was my first child I was pretty sure she was a genius, but I've since come to find her very bright, along the lines of most children her age I would imagine. I don't consider her particularly advanced. However, that night, from a tiny little voice in a car seat in the back of our van, came these words, "Mom, you're not a 'failer'." Huh? I'm sorry, but how could she have possibly had a clue what I was spelling? I'm not even sure her dad had kept up with me.

This incident was brought starkly to my mind tonight as I struggled over my seeming inadequacy to understand such a simple task. I personally believe that God doesn't allow a single thing into my life that He won't use to grow me, remind me, love me, or discipline me. I know many would disagree with me, but it's an approach to life that has given me peace as I walk along what are sometimes discouraging paths. As long as I believe there is a point to my present circumstances, I find myself much more able to endure them with patience and a positive attitude.

The point is, I AM, in fact, a "failer". I do, at times, fail to do things that I should. I fail to thank someone who deserves it. I fail to encourage a child who needs it. I fail to treat my husband with respect or love. I fail to remove a grilled cheese from the griddle before it gets burned on one side (resulting in a scraping of the burnt part into the trash - hopefully before anyone has noticed it was ever tainted). However, if I were to let those types of events define who I am, I would feel like a failUre all the time. What a difference a "u" can make. "Failers" can learn from their mistakes, but "failures" are too beaten down and full of self-pitty to attempt to rise above that little letter "u".

Maybe it was a miracle that my sweet baby girl spoke that truth into my life all those years ago. What she meant so sweetly still resonates with me clearly today. I'm not a "failure". I am weak, but that's by design. I can thank the Lord for it, because 2 Cor. 12:9-10 says, "⁹But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. ¹⁰That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

By God's grace, I am certainly STRONG tonight, and that's a much easier word to sleep on. :)

Wedding Vows

Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary - four years of wedded bliss. It may not seem like many to most married couples, but it is significant to us. It makes me want to stop and reflect on what has gotten us here and will, I am hopeful, continue to sustain us throughout the years to come.

I remember when my little sister was dating the man who is now her husband she called me on the phone, and she said something along the lines of, "He told me he loves me! I don't love him. I didn't know what to say. I know I don't love him, and I didn't tell him I did. I can't tell him I do. I just don't feel it... you know, that fire you have when you're 'in love'. It's just not there." I was single (again) at the time, and obviously had by no means figured out the secret of everlasting love. I just said the first thing that came to my mind... "Maybe the kind of love that lasts is the kind that starts off slowly - just a small spark. Then it can only get better." I had already experienced the kind of "love" that starts with "fireworks", swirling orchestral background music, and intense longing. I was immature, to be sure, but aren't we all immature in "love"? Long story short, it didn't have the power to STAY, and, after all, that's all that counts when it comes to love.

By the time I started talking to Mark Slagter, my little sis and her sweet husband had been married for several months. The love that had been absent at first had grown to a sparkle in both of their eyes that continues to this day. Mark was a man with whom I had no fireworks - hardly even a hint of warmth. Most of the time, I wasn't sure he liked me at all, and the question of why he kept calling me to initiate a contact made almost entirely of painfully awkward silences nagged at me. As the months went on, I realized something that had eluded me in my former immaturity. A man who pursues me is not entirely bad. I tended toward the thought that if a man pursued me with intensity and with little to no encouragement, he must have a funda-mental problem. "Why would he pursue me? After all, I know me, and I KNOW I'm not worth all this attention. What's wrong with him anyway? He must be crazy or something."

My curiosity at how he could meet my indifference toward him with a casual indifference of his own - not toward me, but seeming not to notice that I wasn't noticing him started a spark of interest within me. He was patient and kind to me and respected me in every way you can imagine. Love grew. It's still growing.

Mark's first marriage lasted 3 1/2 years, and mine lasted 7 1/2. A month or so ago, Mark and I were talking about our upcoming fourth anniversary. I said, "I'm nervous about it." He said, "Why? I'm happy about it." I said, "Sure, you're happy. You can celebrate the fact that this is your longest marriage ever! You're vindicated. For me, it's only about halfway to how far I made it in my first marriage. I still have four more years to go to break my personal best." Although said in jest, the element of truth is that I always wonder how much of my divorce was my fault and if I might be accursed when it comes to love/marriage.

I am taking this occasion to write our wedding vows. I'm copying them from the paper, wrinkled from nervous fingers and sweaty palms, from which we read them four years ago today. These are the proof that our marriage began under and is sustained by a Hand bigger than our own. The Hand we so dependently acknowledged that day four years ago, is the same one that holds us together today. Thankfully, I feel I no longer have to "make it work", because I can't. What a relief!

Mark's written wedding vows to me:

First of all, I want to thank our Heavenly Father for the gift of you to me. He has blessed me with you, and I thank and praise His holy name. I'm also amazed and awed by His love and care for us. Marcie, I vow to always lead, protect, honor, cherish, and love you with all my strength. I vow to do my very best to provide support, encouragement, and understanding for all your physical, emotional, and above all spiritual needs. I also vow my total faithfulness and deepest devotion to you. I pledge to never hurt or abandon you in any way. We didn't meet in an ordinary way, but we also don't serve an ordinary God, and it is that God that has brought us to this day. So, as Christ loves His church, it is my hope and prayer that I mirror that love to you. These are my solemn and unchangeable vows to you.

My written wedding vows to Mark:

1 Corinthians 13 states: "Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not jealous. Love does not brag and is not arrogant. Love does not act unbecomingly. Love does not seek its own. Love is not provoked. Love does not take into account a wrong suffered. Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." I am inadequate to love you. I hold that scripture up to myself and realize my utter inability to love you that way. Love is not a feeling. This tremendous feeling I have for you that has grown gradually, day-by-day is wonderful, but it is not love. That feeling may be absent at times. My love for you will never be absent, because it is not a fleeting feeling. It is a steadfast choice I am making today and will continue to make, by God's grace, every single day we live. I trust our Heavenly Father that, by His strength, I will be made able to choose patience when I feel impatient, kindness when I feel unkind, selfless love when I feel jealous, humility when I feel arrogant, forgiveness when I feel angry, surrender when I feel like controlling, hope when I feel hopeless, faith when I feel faithless, and perseverance when I feel like giving up. I choose to love you, Mark, by the power of our living God Who loves you more than I ever could. It is my prayer that, He will use me as a vessel of His love for you, as long as we both shall live.



I am happy to say this is our 4th anniversary. I know if it was up to me, this marriage would never have made it this far. I am thankful for His sustaining power, and I'm pretty sure we'll make it another 4, and then I'll be able to relax a little more. :)

Disgusting, Disgustingness...

I usually make an effort to have something positive to say, but I'm not sure I'll be able to manage the perspective. Let's see...

*WARNING* If you are eating or planning to eat within the next several hours, you may want to put off reading this blog until you don't plan to be hungry for quite some time. If you are dieting, like me, you may want to bookmark this blog for help as an appetite suppressant.

Today we went to the park with some friends to play and eat some lunch. It's such a pretty day out today. (<-- positive) We brought some delicious (<-- positive) food to the park. Some of the children took off their shoes to play in the sandbox, and things were going quite nicely (<-- positive) until... The stench of poop drifted in from the west. As is the case in these scenarios, I began to try to locate the toddler with the odoriferous emanation. It happened to be Levi - but not where you would expect poop to be. No, the odor was coming from his hands -which were now (and had been) on his food. Upon further investigation, poop was also found on his pants and squished between every toe. And upon further, further investigation, it was determined that one of the slides was the source of the poop. At some point, it would seem, an adult or adult-sized person had decided (for reasons beyond my scope and comprehension) that the small slide would be a great place to relieve himself. I say "himself" with fair amount of confidence.

In panic and disgust, I searched vainly within a 1 block radius for running water... turning up zilch and knowing that I could never, in a thousand years, put him in our van this way. I looked in our diaper bag and turned up three semi-dry wipes. My friend let me use their bottled water to try to clean him as much as possible, but, as far as I was concerned at that moment, there might not be enough water in three counties to make him clean again. Fortunately, I had an extra pair of pants in the car and, pink flowers or not, he was going to wear them home.

So, yes... bad. As I was finishing up about half a bottle of hand sanitizer on Levi's entire body, I turned to see Violet - my sweet 15 month old - eating something at the bottom of the taller slide. I thought she had been eating a sandwich and because the filth was on the other slide. I had not realized that, while dealing with Levi, one of the other kids had walked through the poop and tracked a large portion of it onto the other slide. I glanced over to the sandbox where Violet's sandwich was laying and turned to see Violet climbing up onto the larger slide toward the filth. The next few moments took place in S...L...O...W... M...O...T...I...O...N. I tried to run, but it seemed my feet were glued in place. I tried to yell, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Ugh... my worst fears confirmed, and my sweet baby had it on her mouth, her hands, and her pants. No more wipes and minimal water made for a situation that defies your worst imagination. I feel the need to make up a word like "horridity". Yes, I think that fits nicely.

I doused her with water and sanitizer, undressed her, and placed her in her car seat. As I was gathering the rest of the children and our things, two of the 4 other children had the poop on their shoes and thus had to ride home without them. The ride home took what seemed an eternity, as the odor was proliferating throughout the van, and I found myself shouting things like, "Punch it, grandpa!" to the drivers around me. As soon as we entered the house all four children who had even looked in the general direction of the poop were headed toward the showers. Levi said, "I have poop, mom," and as I was trying to get the others in the tub found he needed a diaper change and had gotten his pink flower pants poopy on the inside. And as soon as I took Violet's diaper off, she peed all over the bathroom floor. That is when I used the phrase, "Is there any more disgusting disgustingness possible in this whole disgusting world??!" For the next hour, I scrubbed and washed children, clothes, and shoes - just hoping for the rapture.

I've been a parent for 9 years. I have seen all manner of nastiness from the month old milk sippy cup under the bed, to the moldy something-or-other in the back of the refrigerator, to bi-level bunk bed vomit. As I write, I have snot on my shoulder. But I tell you the truth: What I have seen today has quite possibly made me forget my own name. Post-traumatic stress syndrome has bid me good day. Today I have learned to be thankful for the 4 poopy diapers a day. (<--positive). I have a stench in my nostrils that may never leave, and I've discovered that leaving the house is entirely overrated.

I'll add more to this later - hopefully positive. :) I am smiling as I write, so please don't think I'm upset. I just wanted to sort out my thoughts. I will look back tomorrow and smile... if we don't all get the stomach flu.

The Beginning of Wisdom

Preface: This is not a blog promoting homeschooling (although, in my opinion, all of us school our children at home every day in infinitely important ways), lest any of you get lost in that mire along the way. The purpose of this blog is to encourage the AWE of God.

My children learn at home - like it or not. About half of the time - NOT. My greatest joy in teaching them at home (aside from regaining some of the time we lose as a step-family) is actually watching them gain knowledge and know that it was through little else than my instruction. It's kind of like watching them grow physically though. I know they must be growing, but I don't actually see it, and then one day WOW... they seem so much bigger. We love each other, and that draws them to me. This consequently helps them grow in knowledge, because I hold the key to their learning at this point in their lives. If they disliked me, they wouldn't want to accept what I had for them, even if I was trying my best to give it.

I thought I knew of a verse that said something like, "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom..." When I did a search of the phrase "fear of the Lord", I found MANY verses that state this very truth - Job 28:28, Psalm 111:10, Proverbs 1:7, Proverbs 2:5, Proverbs 9:10, Proverbs 15:33, Isaiah 11:2-3, Isaiah 33:6 (if you don't have a Bible handy, I copied and pasted these verses at the end of this blog - NASB). In short, when I draw close to the Lord, then (and only then) is when I BEGIN to gain wisdom. So many people think that they will observe the universe, "get an education", learn from scholars, read voraciously, philosophize, and if all of these things point to God, then they will consider faith. If you read the repetitive theme from the Bible verses listed above, that is obviously a backward concept. God has something else to say. The fear of the Lord is where true wisdom has to start. The One who claims to be the "Alpha and Omega" - the A and Z - the beginning and end of all learning. A through Z is the very first thing we learn, and it contains the recipe for everything else we will learn. I don't think He is just referring to beginning and end of "time". I believe, by using the alphabetical reference, that He is referring to learning. If our thought processes don't start with Him and end up with Him, then we are getting lost along the way.

God makes it very clear that the "wisdom" of men is foolishness to Him. Yet we insist on trying to start with man's wisdom and mix in some God wherever we can make Him fit. But the point is that He requires nothing less than our broken pride. And unless we are willing to seem a fool to the outside world, we will never gain true wisdom, and we will always be keeping Him at arm's length, lest we seem foolish by association with Him. Unless HE is the One making us wise, we can only obtain a counterfeit, temporal, worldy wisdom - a wisdom that doesn't start with A and ends way before Z.

Psalm 94:11 - "The Lord knows the thoughts of man; He knows that they are futile."

1 Corinthians 1:25 - "For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength."

1 Corinthians 3:18-20 - "Do not deceive yourselves. If any one of you thinks he is wise by the standards of this age, he should become a 'fool' so that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God's sight. As it is written: 'He catches the wise in their craftiness'; and again, 'The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise are futile.'"

My children are going to have the greatest opportunity for learning if they come near to me, fellowship personally with me, believe that I love them, and trust that my heart toward them is truly devoted to their good. If we (me and my children) have missed making that connection, my teaching may be clear and true, but it will not be able to penetrate their vain thinking. Vanity has two meanings - conceit/pride and futility. Apparently, conceit/pride = futility. Just so, if we miss relationship with God, we miss the beginning (and end) of wisdom. Ironically, knowledge begins with a feeling... fear/awe. If we miss the awe, we will never get to the knowledge.

A short word study of the word "confound" on biblegateway.com reveals that the Lord loves to shame and confound the "wisdom" of men.

1 Corinthians 1:26-28 - "Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are..."

If you tend to think you "are" and find yourself nullified by things that "are not", I figure just go with it. You might be on the path to broken pride which might lead to true relationship with God which will surely end in the knowledge and wisdom you wanted in the beginning. And this cannot be taken from you.

****

Job 28:28 - "And to man He said, 'Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom;
And to depart from evil is understanding.'"

Psalm 111:10 - "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom;
A good understanding have all those who do His commandments;
His praise endures forever."

Proverbs 1:7 - "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge;
Fools despise wisdom and instruction."

Proverbs 2:5 - "Then you will discern the fear of the LORD
And discover the knowledge of God. "

Proverbs 9:10 - "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom,
And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding."

Proverbs 15:33 - "The fear of the LORD is the instruction for wisdom,
And before honor comes humility."

Isaiah 11:2-3 - "The Spirit of the LORD will rest on Him,
The spirit of wisdom and understanding,
The spirit of counsel and strength,
The spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD.
³And He will delight in the fear of the LORD,
And He will not judge by what His eyes see,
Nor make a decision by what His ears hear; "

Isaiah 33:6 - "And He will be the stability of your times,
A wealth of salvation, wisdom and knowledge;
The fear of the LORD is his treasure. "

Mom Vs. Wild

We don't have T.V. channels at our house, but I have had the opportunity, on more than one occasion, to watch portions of a T.V. show in which a man tries to make his way in the wild. This man fascinates me - and I feel compelled to watch him despite the increasingly disgusting ways he tries to survive certain predicaments. In the only 1 or 2 episodes I've seen, I've been able to observe him do a range of things from sleeping inside the carcass of a dead camel for shelter to eating goat testicles. Now, this man is, by conservative estimation, a little "off". I always picture his camera crew sitting back eating finger sandwiches and drinking Dasani as they watch him drink his own urine to survive a few days in the Kalahari. I still get the feeling that those goatherds were lying about whether or not eating the testicles actually meant he was "one of them". I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him as he exclaimed (shortly before vomiting the testicles back up behind a tree) how excited he was that he was actually being accepted into such an exclusive tribe. Whether or not he has a camera crew, he has obviously seen that his antics in the wilds are not a necessary part of daily life in this modern world. So why choose such an "interesting" lifestyle?

Last weekend, and very close to my birthday, my husband purchased a used 4-wheeler for us to drive around our area. (This, after I was hoping for a new computer.) After he explained to me how much fun it would be for me to drive this beast around to get away from the house for a few moments here and there and collect my sanity, if need be, it sounded like a better and better idea. Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. We live near a small creek called Pine Creek. I decided I would drive my older two daughters down to the creek in order to explore it together. I dropped the girls off near the bridge, and turned the vehicle around to park it. As I got off and came toward the girls, I noticed that, like most children would, they were throwing rocks off the bridge and into the creek. As Claire threw a large handful of limestone gravel/dust into the air, the rather brisk wind of that day picked it up and propelled it into my eyeballs. It would seem that when gravel dust and eyeball moisture combine they create a sort of impenetrable paste that defies further description. BLINDNESS. I couldn't see a thing. Had I been close to the house, I would have had one of the girls lead me to a clean water source to try to irrigate my eye. Had I been "survivormom", I would have taken off my shoe and urinated into it in order to make some sort of homemade irrigation device to flush the gravel from my eyes. As it was, I just tried to manage blindness, over a mile from home, on top of a bridge.

So it turns out that, since I'm "fearfully and wonderfully made", my eyes knew what to do to get rid of most of the gravel/dust. People often ask me how I keep a positive attitude throughout the days of motherhood that are often filled with trials, embarrassments, and annoyances. I can't help thinking back to that man in the wild. I think it helps to be a little bit "off" when facing circumstances that are beyond my control. When it comes to parenting and losing some of my sanity, I'm not sure which came first - kind of a "chicken and the egg" question I sometimes ask myself. But I imagine that they may have continued perpetuating one another in much the same manner. Survivormom just ends up evolving somehow out of that woman who used to wear a pantsuit to work and have every hair in just the right place. In Matthew 16:25, Jesus said, "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it." I think this principle has applied to my illusion of control over my own circumstances in a way... if I tried to hold onto control too tightly, I would likely lose it, but as I relax and let God direct my days, I find peace through acceptance of my own loss of "control". When properly applied, this helps relieve everyone in our house from having to measure up to my standard of how they should be acting. Sometimes chaos ensues, but I have "more grace" to handle it.

I once read a phrase that was applied to being married to a certain type of man, but I think that it applies maybe more aptly to parenting. To be a mom, one must be "just a little bit reckless and blind in one eye if she is going to enjoy the ride". Well, I guess I can just thank my kids for the "blind in one eye" portion. Although, blind in both eyes can make it difficult to drive everyone back home safely. Mom Vs. Wild, Man Vs. Wild... we both are happier being "just a little bit reckless and blind in one eye". Mom - what an interesting lifestyle!