Mama, Have You Forgotten What Season It Is?

I often think of myself as a Mommy-in-the-Middle. Yes, I'm in the middle of lots of stuff, like laughter and chaos, but I'm also the mother of children ranging in ages from 17-2, with a baby on the way. I'm a mother in the middle of several different parenting stages.

I can relate to the Mom who's navigating those unpredictable waters of adolescence, holding on tight during the turbulent days of puberty, watching with wonder the little ones' discoveries, battling self-control during toddler temper tantrums, or smiling as she hears her baby master an endless number of new words a day.

I know, simultaneously, what it is to wrestle with anxiety about your oldest ones' futures, wondering if you honored the LORD with the time you had, while fighting to be steady in training the younger ones to form good habits and obey consistently. I listen to Mumford and Sons and movie soundtracks while hearing Judy Rogers' songs and Patch the Pirate lyrics in my head.

I walk alongside the Mama who's watching her almost-grown children frame their own lives, as well as the Mama who's joyfully buying onesies for her new baby. I weep with the Mama who looks back on years of parenting and sees the grace God poured out on all of her days, while I share the secret worries of the newer Mama who wonders if there's enough grace for this day.

Sometimes the crossing over of these many phases of childhood stretches me thin, but most days its my own unrealistic expectations that weaken me.

While searching Pinterest I came across some wonderful activities for the Littles. I remembered how creative I used to be with the older ones and how detailed their early homeschooling lessons were. But that many years ago, I was the mother of two, not eight. I had less laundry, fewer dishes, less planning, fewer interruptions. It was a different stage of God's plan for my mothering. Yet, Guilt and Discontent started knocking and asking questions, and I found it hard to ignore them.

"Look what a better job you did with your older children. Why aren't you doing those same things now? Your younger ones are being deprived. Your older ones are being deprived. Maybe you've gotten lazy? What you're doing is not enough."

Ecclesiastes tells us there's a time for everything, but I often forget such wisdom includes what I do as a mother. There is a season, for all mothers, when the most reading you'll do will be from books by Mother Goose or Beatrix Potter. There is a season when you'll not tackle new projects but simply maintain order of what you have. There is a season when you'll splurge on a family vacation and a season when you'll squeak by just paying the bills. There's a season when you'll spend most of your time in correction and discipline, and a season in which you delight in the fruit of the Spirit manifested in your children.

And for some of us Mamas, our seasons overlap, and yet, they're still a season in itself.  No matter how much I long to be the same mother for my younger ones that my older ones had, I can't make that happen. It's impossible to create the same childhood for every child. I can't mother like my friends who only have little ones and spend hours on creative learning and crafts, and I can't mother like my friends who only have older children and read books at lightning speed or have more time for hobbies or volunteer work. I can only mother like a mother who has eight children of varying ages with the circumstances and resources God has set before me. Do I believe His provision is enough?

This is the kind of mothering all mothers should be doing, mothering that's mindful of the season God has gifted us. The temptation is to confuse the seasons. When our children are little, we're pursuing things that are best done when they're older. When they're older, we're holding on to what we didn't do when they were little. (Those of us who have younger and older have to fight even harder to balance it all well and make sure we're not neglecting what is needful for the older ones AND the little ones.)

We exhaust ourselves with expectations that were meant for a season we're no longer in or for a season that hasn't yet arrived. We lose sight of God's providence because we're scrambling to duplicate, as a large family, what a small family has, or as a small family, what a large family does. We sacrifice eternal bounty for keeping up with Mama Jones, whether the keeping up is the number of books we daily read aloud or the material goods or educational opportunities we provide.

And yes, it comes down to contentment. Contentment grows as we embrace the God-ordained boundaries that are fixed to the seasons of our mothering. Contentment flourishes when we focus on His purposes for our days instead of trying to combine a life's worth of seasons into right here right now. Contentment keeps our eyes set on His faithfulness instead of our accomplishments.

Learn from other mothers in different seasons. Make notes of what you want to do when those seasons come. But rest firmly in the truth that God does give us seasons as mothers, and when we walk contentedly in His design for our days, we honor Him well in our mothering, leaving Guilt and Discontent with nothing to say.

With love,
Trisha

Sometimes You Just Want to Be Alone

Especially when chocolate animal cookies are on the line and you have seven siblings.

**Older brother found Cap'n hiding in this closet with the goods, so he helped him to a bit of higher ground to make sure the stash would be safe.

Quick to Gasp, Swift to Ooh, and Eager to Aah

Clairesy and Cap'n in awe of the rain coming down.

Because cameras are everywhere and computer animation is able to create ever more outlandish worlds, we say with  Solomon, "there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9). Seemingly, everything we could see, everything that could surprise, is already behind us. Unfortunately, this cynical attitude also infects our reading of Scripture. We no longer express wonder at the God who has brought the universe into existence or split seas in two. We've heard those things before--and they no longer inspire our awe.

That's not the case with children. They are built for wonder. They are fresh. Their eyes are new. They have not only not seen everything; they have seen virtually nothing at all. Better still, they know how little they are. We look at the stars God made and calls by name (Psalm 147:4) and see balls of burning gases. Our children, uninfected with such modern arrogance, see them for what they are--God's grand fireworks display--and their eyes are filled with appreciation and wonder. We adults look at a butterfly and ponder the biology of its transformation from a caterpillar and consider the mechanics of its flight. Children see the beauty of a butterfly's colors and feel the gravity-defying lightness of its gosamer wings. Children are quick to gasp, swift to ooh, and eager to aah. They see the world for what it is--a dance, not a machine.
~R.C. Sproul, Jr.
The Call to Wonder

Justin Bieber and The Gag Reflex

Justin Bieber card: $4.99

Having to buy the card in public: Great embarrassment and efforts to restrain from vomiting

Jake's face when he opened the card and heard Bieber singing: PRICELESS

Truly, this was a gag gift in every sense of the word.

***This was part of Jake's 15th birthday Scavenger Hunt. Rest of the adventure to follow later.

Pin This on Me, Too, When I'm Gone

Miss Ella, our fifth child, turned 7 last week, and her birthday usually includes my telling a story. The story is about the two of us, but the focus is Him.

I recall how sick I was while pregnant with Ella. My Crohn's was fighting full force in my body, and I was ravaged with inflamed red sores all over my legs, joint swelling, pain that wouldn't respond to medication, and torturous sleepless nights. I gained a mere 8 lbs., and she weighed six and a half of that.

After Ella was born, things got even worse. I had to use a cane to walk. I lost even more weight (truly, I thought I had cancer), and the joint pain only increased. I wondered if I'd ever walk normally again or know the joy of chasing one of my children around the room.

But God restored me. I remember with such clarity the first time I RAN around our house. I felt more victorious than a gold-medal winner.

Lest you think when I'm sharing God's goodness, when I'm actively remembering, misty-eyed, that all the children are still with wonder and awe, think again. But my telling the stories, recounting the wondrous works of God, isn't dependent on attention spans. I trust God will, in His own way, bring these events to mind and fill their hearts with adoration of Him and His mercies.

My job is to be faithful.

All of our lives are a tapestry of His wondrous works. Do our children know them? Do we even remember them?

Speak of them as naturally as you speak of what you're going to do that day. Remind your children it is sin to forget, and as it did for the Israelites, forgetting  breeds ingratitude and a whole host of other sins.

Don't be discouraged by their lack of appreciation for His works. This will come with time. Consider your stories to be tiny seeds being planted in their hearts that will one day flourish, reminding our children that the LORD God is their God, and His mighty deeds abound in the pages of their lives. By God's grace, they too, will faithfully speak of His wondrous works to their children, and so on and so on.

Edward Payson, the father of Elizabeth Prentiss, who wrote Stepping Heavenward, died four days before his daughter's 9th birthday. At the funeral, pinned to his jacket, per his instructions, were the powerful words:

Remember the words which I spake unto you while I was yet present with you. **


He had the same exhortation engraved on his coffin.

If we died today, what legacy of words would we leave behind for our children? Do they know the Scriptures? The glorious truth of the gospel? Would they quickly recall accounts of His provision and goodness and mercy? Would they have a history of Ebenezers to pass on to their children? Would they be rich in their remembering or desperate amnesiacs?

This Mama knows very well what it is to just get through the basics of the day. But speaking of His mighty works isn't another burden to add to our parenting to-do lists. It is what flows from hearts that are under the influence of His grace, hearts that remember where they would be if they weren't redeemed, hearts that love and know His Word and cling to the faithfulness He displays in Holy Writ and in our daily living.

Remember the words which I spake unto you while I was yet present with you.
His Words.
His mighty works.

Yes, by God's grace, pin this on me, too, when I'm gone.

With love,
Trisha

**coming from Luke 24:44

Bite, Chew, Sputter, Sputter

Ahem, sorry, wait just a moment while a bite off a bit of the crow I'm having to eat.

{chomp, chomp}

{sputter, sputter}

Ok, it was hard going down, so I'm hoping this experience will be over soon. This is Facebook Crow, by the way.

Remember the day I said I told my children to promise me they'd never be on Facebook until I was 10 feet under? Well, I'm not 10 feet under (somebody pinch me, please), but I now have a child on Facebook. Yes, he's a man, but he's still my child.

The Ink Slinger can now be found writing on walls, though we've never ever approved of graffiti. And I guess he can be found reading what others are writing on walls, too.

Now, friends are coming out of the woodwork. Who knew that every person we know has a Facebook account?

Of course, the burning question is, If Ink is on Facebook, will Mama soon follow?

Before I answer, let me suspend my crow-eating. It really is hard to keep myself from choking AND write at the same time.

There were several considerations that went into this decision, and to be honest, my first words after Ink set up his account were, "I hope this isn't the beginning of something bad."

I know. You're flashing to the joker's question in The Dark Knight, "Why so serious?" (You just look a lot prettier, as you sit there, chuckling, and saying, "I knew they would give in.") I'll save my "why so serious?" answer for another post.

Without divulging details of private conversations, I will share that Ink made a lot of great connections in Mexico, and Facebook seems like the optimum way to maintain those connections. And I'll tell you that for now, Mama will just be watching the writing on the wall from the sidelines. In fact, you probably don't really want me to join Facebook because if I did, I'd have to eat so much crow, I'd surely choke to death. (And I'd even have a few friends ready to spoon-feed me.)

I know our hearts often revel in hearing someone say, "Never!" and then watching them do an about-face. That's ok. Revel all you want. Send the smirks and smiles my way.

Just go easy on me. Pregnant women tend to cry easily, in case you didn't know.

With love,
Trisha

This is June

This is June:

5 doctor's appointments
3 birthdays
1 scavenger hunt
3 special dinners
Disappearing Ink for 3 weeks
new roof
anniversary of my Dad's death
two dinner engagements with friends
husband preaching a sermon at church
Father's Day
homeschooling (we're not done until mid-July)

The verdict?

I'm very, very blessed. 


And for some reason, a little tired and battling visions of day-long nap sessions.


And maybe this is why I've needed a bit more of this:

Anyone else have a hubby who will go to the store just for chocolate for you?

With love,
Trisha

An Open Letter to My MeMaw Re: That Big, Big Lollipop

Dear MeMaw,

Mama finally got brave enough to open that big lollipop you sent me. She never did say WHEN you mailed it to me, but I have a feeling it might have been a while ago.

I knew something was up when they put me in a high chair, made me wear one of those ghastly bibs, and handed me this massive and colorful round thing. I was hooked after one lick.

Thank you!

In your lovely card, you mentioned sharing this wonder of sweetness with my siblings. This was very, very hard for me to do. Consider exhibit A...a testimony of how desperate we will act when such a lollipop is on the line. I tried to keep it high in the air, but a few of my siblings are taller than I am.

Everyone wanted a lick of this delectable treasure. And then everyone wanted to know WHERE you found such a specialty. I can't say I was able to lick my lollipop in peace, as I think every child should be able to do.

Thankfully, I'm not being reared as a socialist. Otherwise, Mama would have made me cut the lollipop into equal shares and what was mine would have been theirs, too. I'm all for sharing, but I think equal shares applies much better to creamed spinach than tasty lollipops. (And for the record, I did share after some coaxing from Emma, but how true it is, the more you give, the more they want!)

If you thought I had everyone's attention when I was licking the lollipop, you should have seen what happened when I started biting. Suddenly, voices got louder...something about baby teeth and that I'd probably find them useful until my big teeth came in. I'm not quite sure what all the fuss was about. I just kept biting and ignoring the raised voices and what sounded like warnings of some kind. Next thing I know, my lollipop is taken away and slapped between two pieces of wax paper. (Ok, it was gently wrapped, but since I was a bit upset, I imagined a bit more of a dramatic end to my lollipop-licking adventure.)

Then, I was whisked away to the bath. My hands and hair were a bit sticky. After all, isn't eating a lollipop an almost whole-body experience? The bath was nice, but not as nice as that lollipop. My one hope is that it's hidden away between wax paper, and I'll see it another day when Mama is feeling carefree and generous.

(my attempt to smile while hands-free and mouth-full)

I say that, even though big lollipops can cause a bit of sibling conflict, and I have to fight off the meaner sides of my otherwise gentler sisters, and I have to hear lectures about dental care, you should keep those lollipops coming. If I remember correctly, someone very wise once said, "That's what Grandmas are for." I love you.

Your ever-grateful grandson,
Cap'n

He's Leaving On a Jet Plane

Isn't there some song that has to do with leaving on a jet plane? Oh, well, I'm singing this song in my head this morning, dancing around the kitchen, to some kind of tune...

"He's getting on a jet plane. We can't wait for him to be home again."

Remember him?

Yes, that's Ink. It's been rough 3 weeks for him, touring Mexico City, seeing pyramids, going paint-balling (is that a word?), hanging out at the beach, playing rugby, making new friends and priceless memories, listening to an entire church service in Spanish, ordering an entire meal at Subway in Spanish (go Ink!), sampling every fruit possible at the marketplace, watching movies, sword fighting...ok, you get the idea. I know you feel very sorry for him at this point, so I'll stop.

He's also been having his face plastered all over Facebook (ahem, just a bit of hyperbole). Yes, Facebook. Remember, I've never had an account on Facebook, and I've sworn I won't as long as I'm living. This is a conspiracy, I tell you. To put my son's pictures on Facebook...well, that would tempt any mother to join get addicted to  this social networking Goliath.  That means that any of you who follow a certain lovely friend of mine on Facebook have probably seen more pictures of Ink over the past three weeks than I have. Can you believe it? The pressure was on, but I didn't cave in...at least not yet.

Well, this handsome son of mine leaves Mexico today. All jesting aside, I know it will be bittersweet. I think he's made some lifelong friends, and such a time of fellowship with such a godly family and other Christian young men has to have been greatly edifying. God has been so kind, so rich in mercy and blessings, to Ink and to us these past three weeks. (Is there ever a time when He's not?)

Would you please pray there would be safe flights, no hassles with security, and no lost luggage? Oh, and maybe pray that I'll have some blubber-control, at least at the airport. :)

Much love,
Trisha