Category: communicating trust

Music Monday: From Exasperated Lips

Running is a very spiritual thing for me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell by my overly-labored breathing and red face that running comes in no way naturally to me. It is a fight. A battle between flesh and spirit.

Sometimes the flesh wins and I cut the run short, giving up on finding a rhythm or pace in which to endure.

But the majority of the time the spirit wins… overcoming the frustrated and throbbing flesh.

I have gotten the opportunity to begin running again. The weather’s turned just warm enough to not completely burn my throat. The world is a little less hectic. And it just feels like time. In so many ways. It’s just time.

I picked up the old mp3 player . (Yes, I’m still living in the world of record players. 😉 No I don’t have an iPod).

With a new battery, underarmor, and a selected route I hit the great outdoors.

The first mile was the usual “dragging from the tailgate of a car over shards of glass” and then the breathing and rhythm regulated. The body hit the groove. And the slower songs on the mp3 player weren’t as bothersome. I was in the groove. I no longer relied on the bass drum to keep pace.

I skipped a selection here or there when I hit a funk, fell a little off balance and needed the “keep up with me” pace.

My usual mix is a bunch of worship songs from various places and stages in my life. There’s the classic Apex worship. And the deep Job-like raw songs.

But somewhere near the end of my route this one came up. It’s an automatic “crank up the volume and be ready to hit repeat” one. There’s something about it. Those words. That all-out truth. A lifesong.

An absolute lifesong.

I tripped and fell on the median grass while closing my eyes. I couldn’t have cared how stupid I looked. My only audience was smiling. And I was pouring it all out for Him. He’s the reason I run. He’s the reason I want to whip this body into shape. I want to be used. Because He’s everything. And I’ll never be the same.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywzlq2AiAuM]

So if you see me running through the neighborhood, with my beat red face, arms raised and a mud stain on my right pantleg, you’ll know I’ve been listening to it again. Come and join me in singing along… from exasperated lips.

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In the Morning.

Today I am feeling really beat down by orphan care. Between the bickering, twin 2’s constant discontentment and downright screaming today, my Hannah’s undoing of her sleep training (be it due to the added stress of our household, the addition of Twin 2 in our room for the 1.5 months before we moved him out, or her own demise), and now round 3 of lice as discovered once again in my two year old’s hair after the culprit being our oldest foster son. Today I just want to run away. I want to take my biological family and run away. I want to hide from the constant beat-down. I want to hide from the sicknesses of twin 2. I want to hide from the chaos of five kids. I want to hide from the constant battles and struggles. I just want to take “my kids” and run away from all of this orphan care.

I won’t. But I just want to be honest.

Not every day is glamorous. And this Mommying is really hard. And it hurts. And it brings me to tears. And there are moments I just want to run away. It’s hard to love someone so much that you want to run away from them and yet take them with you as well.

Today I want to blame someone. I want to call up his Mom and ask her how she could do this to them. I want to call up his “Dad” and ask him why this was ever okay. I want to yell at someone for the harm they have done to these kids. And I want to cry and hold them and just run away.

And I want to yell at someone for how little of a Mom I have left to give to my girls after dealing with the babies. I want to cry to someone about how much it hurts to tell my four year old that no I can’t play with her AGAIN because I have another diaper to do, or a baby to calm, or I just can’t think straight after another hard night of being up every 45 minutes. And I want to cry to someone as my baby screams at bedtime because she’s overwhelmed and tired and just flat out mad – coping with all the changes. And I want to take my favorite blanket and hide away at the bottom of my closet because it all feels like too much and it all won’t stop swirling.

I may sound like a wimp. I may sound like a fool. But I just wanted to be honest.

This hurts. And this is really hard.

And I want to fall on my face again before God and ask Him why. Why is it so hard? Why does it have to be this way? And what will I possibly do if after seeing my utter raw self these boys go home?

There’s silence.

A lot of silence.

But I know He’s listening. And I know He cares.

Joy will come in the morning…. it just has to!

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Blankey

I love the way she loves on her blanket; kneading at him, stroking the soft satin beside her face as she rubs her eyes.

It happens the same every time, a little rocking for a minute or two, a kiss on the forehead, laying her down, her turning to the left as she rubs her eyes and loves on that blanket.

Sometimes she reaches her hand out for me to pet her head a little, beckoning me to help her settle in for a few minutes. And when she’s done with the petting, after only a short time, she turns to the left, rubbing her face into her dear friend’s soft love.

She wasn’t always a blanket baby. Blankey came in after he came.

She had figured out how to put herself to sleep. And sleep hard. For seven to eight hours straight hard.

And then the phonecall. And then the addition of our little crier.

He’s gotten better now. He’s sleeping four hour chunks now.

And then she got worse.

Conditioned to wake up. Conditioned to need more. Conditioned to be overly tired.

And then came blankey. He was added in at first when snuggling Mommy. He had been a nice addition to the top of the diaper bag. You never know when the wind will pick up and you’ll need a shield. Or a room will be a bit too cold for Ms. “Running Cold” baby girl.

But he took on new meaning. Joining us during mealtimes. Snuggling in amidst the comfort. And then he joined in at play time. Peek-a-boo was so fun! And he started to taste good.

Then came his normalcy at night time. Until we find ourselves today with our beloved friend.

And while there are still many times of unworking the effects of her adjustment to Little Man’s sleep interruptions, blankey has become a constant. An expected. And a friend amidst the nightly changes and adjustments.

And I love the way she loves on him. Snuggling into her dear friend.

And I am thankful… so thankful.

She loves him.

And I love my little Linus.

Image

P.S. Don’t be worried, she has her pacifier in and plenty of air circulation in there. I check. 😉

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6 Little Secrets of a Sleeping Baby

6 Little Secrets of a Sleeping Baby | Science of Mom.

This is one of the smartest and most holistic studies of sleep training I have read in a long time. It’s child driven, developmentally appropriate and self-soothing encouraging since all children need to learnt o cope with stress in life.

It is a conglomeration of my personal sleep training parenting as well as allowing the flexibility of a family defining their sleep needs.

Bravo! Well done!

(there are 6 posts in the 3 month research conglomeration study. This one starts the study.)

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Shooting Range

One of the first few days that we had Big Guy he was up while everyone was napping. Matt had returned from the hospital with Little Man and the house was silent as recovery was spreading among the masses. While Matt worked away at some school work, I took the opportunity to get a few chores done when I noticed my shadow. Big Guy followed me around with his new Nerf guns we got with a few t-shirts for his wardrobe. Taking the opportunity to get to know him, the laundry waited as we enjoyed the window-cling nativity animals shooting range. 😉

Then naturally this had to happen:

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Boom!

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Oh yeah… it was crazy fun.

 

We even did rolling-in stunts.

 

Who cares that I was in a skirt…. I can do swat-team in a skirt. 😉

 

– All for his laugh.

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Beyond Our Understanding

Last night our oldest began to get teary-eyed when I announced bedtime was nearing. He’s still getting into the swing here, you know, since he was only placed here two days ago. Oh wait… did I forget to mention that?

Oh yeah, two days ago we got a phone call a little after 1p and added two new members to our family by 7p. Yep, 6 hours that I’ll never forget. The day had felt so normal. And when I was given the info over the phone I just knew “yes” was the only answer. It was our step of obedience that we’d been praying about for 1 year and seven months from that first heart-pricking. And in one afternoon we met them… the boys that have made us “never the same” and “never wanting to go back” all in one.

He’d cried himself to sleep the first two nights, missing his Mom. Rightfully so. I just agreed with him. It is not fair. I wish I could tell him when she’d come for him. I wish I knew if she’d ever come for him. I ran my fingers through his hair. Nits don’t hold water to love. He’s worth the risk.

Then last night came. And the story emerged. Too much seen. Violence. An emergency phone call. Fear.

I wish I could take it away from him. I wish I could blot out those images that haunt him… I wish I could replace them with trips to the park and Saturday morning cartoons.

Old words drew more tears to his eyes. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to regain self-control, failing. He confided the source of his nightmares… his anxiety about sleeping. His insecurity in what he should really believe.

I asked him if he felt safe here. He answered quickly with assurance. I wondered if that assurance would hold water right after a nightmare.

We prayed. And I stroked his hair more.

I just wish I could take it all away for him.

But I can’t.

But I know who has sheltered him. Who has guarded as much innocence as can be left after all he’s seen. I know who has stood in the gap, shielding him from so much so that he can lose himself in a bad joke, run in reckless abandonment through the house, and blast helicopters with laser beams right before they catapult to the living room carpet.

And all I can do is say thank you. Thank you, Lord, on his behalf.

And then I can just lead him to Your feet, in prayer.

…

Prayer for a peace beyond our understanding.

– Love that boy.

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