Without Apology

I am a strict Mom.

Without apology.

I lay out clear, age-appropriate expectations because I want you to know good and bad consequences follow your choices, learn appropriate boundaries and work out mastering self-control.

I require respect because I want you to understand the value in people.

When you do wrong, I explain your sins because I want you to first be concerned about your relationship with God, then learn to identify your sins so you can combat them through Christ.

When you do wrong, I explain how you can seek forgiveness because I want you to be able to let go of guilt and grow.

When you do right, I compliment you because I want you to take pride in doing the right thing.

When you do right, I point out how your good deed affected others because I want you to know the positive impact you can have on others’ lives. You can be such a wonderful example!

And regardless of your choice, I hold my arms out to you because I want you to know love that is not contingent upon behavior.

I am a strict Mom. Without apology.

I am not perfect. (I do find myself apologizing not for trying to teach you, but for my particular method of communicating the lesson sometimes. You are ALWAYS worth the lesson.)

But I strive to be intentional and consistent.

Because I know you’re watching. And my example is teaching you about Who God is and how He loves.

Discipline is out of love. A love that knows no boundaries, yet comes to where you are and says, “let me help you be the better version of yourself not for your own name, but for the glory of God”.

How in the world could I ever just leave you to yourself? To your own sinful guidance? To your own self-governing ways?

This Mommying is a process. (Thank You for Your grace, Lord.)

But I am a strict Mom.

Strictly out for your best.

Without apology.

Truth Friendship

I am so thankful for a friend who refuses to allow me to make excuses for immaturity in my walk with Christ. I am thankful for a friend who pushes me to move beyond the ample excuses I could easily use on why I don’t have time for the Word, or prayer, or ministry. I am thankful for a friend that is more concerned with the crown I throw at Jesus’ feet than the inconvenience of today’s dying to self. I am thankful for a friend that says hard truths, compelling me toward Christ, in full and complete love. I am thankful that she is so in love with Jesus that comfort in our walks with Christ bothers her. We should always be wanting more of Jesus and less of ourselves. I am thankful that she refuses to allow me, or her for that matter, to rob Jesus of His due glory for our temporary gain.

I am thankful that her heart is so hungry for God that injustice breaks her heart, “the least of these” draws her lifestyle worship, and complacency is completely unacceptable. And I am thankful for a dear friend who would be the first to step up in humility and say, “don’t follow my example, I am the first to mess it up. Just follow Jesus.”.

Jesus, how my heart needs You. Thank You that I can draw near to you through the reflection of Your light in my dear friend’s eyes.

I cannot thank You enough, Lord. She is such a frustration and a challenge and a spurring to me. Such an answered prayer! Thank You for pushing me to discontentment in my walk – not discontent with You, but discontent with me – the very me that needs to die that more of You would be seen. That I might be useful. And truly alive. For Your glory.

Lord, create in me a clean heart, that I may not sin against You. Open my eyes to the things unseen. Oh draw me, Lord. For all the glory and honor and praise are unto You forever and ever. Amen.

Mr. Wonderful

Someone delightful turned 6 this past summer.

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And we had a transformers birthday of fun with the cousins.

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Sweet Big Guy,

We may only get to know you for a short part of your life, but you have blessed us so. You have opened our eyes to unconditional love. And raise a crazy boy who loves crazy boy stuff. You have pushed us to be better friends. And family to one we cannot keep. You have challenged me to listen better. And challenged me to think harder at how to teach someone who I am just getting to know. Your reckless laughter. Your over-the-top excitement. God has protected and sheltered you so. I know you miss your Mom. I hear you when you tell me your heart is broken, I know you want to be there… while you are wanting to be here. I know I tell you to control yourself. And for goodness sakes stop running and rough-housing. I know I even push you to remember 2 step directions and focus on telling one story at a time. I know I ask a lot of you. It’s because I love you. I hope you hear that enough from me. I hope you really receive my hugs. I hope you really receive my “I love you, buddy” reminders.

You have changed me. You have grown me. Thanks for giving me a second chance. Thanks for being willing to talk to me. And share some of your hurts. Thanks for playing with me and rolling down hills with me.

You are a wonderful boy. You love hard. You are so full of life. And you have so much ahead of you.

Run hard, dear one. Run hard after “right”. Ask more people if they pray and remind them that they should (just like you did that lady that drives you to visits). Be brave enough to tell your brothers when they are mean to you. Rise to the challenge of seeing bad examples and choosing to “do the right thing”.

I’m really proud of you, sweet boy. You have risen to the challenge again and again.

You should be proud of yourself.

You are a wonderful boy.

A WONDERFUL boy.

 

Happy birthday, Big Guy.

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We love you so.

13.1

I was asked once what the cure for laziness is.

Hard work.

No really, hear me out. The complete opposite of laziness is working your butt off. So want to overcome your idleness? Pray and work hard.

A friend put up a little status update on Facebook a while back. She was biting off a big one… the Air Force half marathon. I instantly remembered my triathlon training days.

Matt and I have made it a point to place health as a priority in our household. Almost everyone takes vitamins, we try to eat balanced meals, proper portions (which goes an awful long way), be careful how much soda we drink (we don’t usually keep it in the house or buy it at restaurants). But health goes beyond just eating and drinking. We try to provide the opportunity for enough sleep (sometimes it works better than other times), knowing that a lot of our impulse eating choices has to do with a weakened self-control filter, a byproduct of minimal sleep. But then there also comes the active lifestyle piece.

We decided to try to get some 5k’s on the calendar yearly. Realistically with past pregnancies and little kids in the household doing a jogging stroller friendly event is a must. We don’t mind walking during the more “full with child” times of pregnancy, but maintaining activity and exercise in our lifestyle is important in being ready to go and do all that the Lord has for us.

Then I saw my friend’s update. I reminded Matt of my bucket-list desire. We talked it over and within 48 hours we purchased our registration spots.

That’s right… we signed up for the airforce half marathon. 13.1 miles of pain.

My goal: Survival. And no walking. It doesn’t matter how slow I jog… there will be no walking.

Matt’s goal: keeping my slow pace.

I think he’s going to have to work harder than me since his stride is almost twice of mine.

But our training looks different from most. See, when I trained for the triathlon I was not married, and certainly no kids. I stepped back from social groups a bit and found myself running and biking (canoeing wasn’t available. I did that for the first time on race day) in almost all of my spare time. I found a plan online that took me from the couch to a triathlon in 2 months, and did it for 4 months.

Today, well look to the sidebar, friends… *ahem* there’s a bit more riding on my shoulders.

So training for us looks like running at 6am. Or at 9 or 10p when the kids are sleeping. Sometimes it’s cramming in a cardio workout (thank you p90x pain) with a baby on your hip. Or taking turns stretching with a baby teething on our legs.

See, we don’t believe our family should take the back seat. Oh they certainly have to make some sacrifices sometimes because Mommy and Daddy are some seriously smelly people after running on a Sunday afternoon. But we really don’t think our fitness should be at the expense of our children. So we try hard to meet the training needs while also guarding our time with the kiddos and each other.

It’s been going decently… you know, as decently as being dragged from the tailpipe of a car… over shards of glass. But we’re rolling with it. In all honesty I think I have recently made a breakthrough. The utter and complete pain after mile 1 has subdued to a, ironically, comfortable pain that I barely notice any more… well until the next hill comes. I honestly hit a point in my running yesterday that I thought I could go on for so much further than the run’s end. And I hit a lung maturity where I actually stopped breathing out of my mouth (don’t judge) and breathed out of my nose with my fly trap shut for a whole block. I don’t expect that to ever happen again, but it was nice.

We’ll hit the halfway mark this Sunday before Matt leaves for another week of youth ministry. Then I’ll have to run alone. Or, sniff, use the treadmill of death.

I’ve been told by a few people since starting this endeavor that they could not find the motivation to push themselves into exercise. I totally agree. That’s why we were speedy to pay our registration. Cause now we’re stuck. We are running come race day, ready or not. That motivates me to get out there in the heat (sometimes) and the rain (sometimes) and the bugs (all the time). I used to joke that it’s a pride thing now… how ugly am I going to look when I cross the finish line. But it’s really a Spirit verses flesh thing. Christ. Will. Overcome. I believe I can do all things through Christ. Now it’s time to strap my belief into my running shoes.

I am no runner, people. My left knee does not like me. I look like I’ve been hit by a car at running intervals and I feel like it for most of the first and last mile. And my face doesn’t stop looking like a tomato for hours after my run. But I am confident that hard work for Christ and calling on Him in my time of need (during every run) has brought my flesh into greater control than I could ever do from the couch.

In Christ Alone… 13.1.

The Next Seat Up

Well it happened. I switched her pumpkin seat out for the convertible carseat. And as I was preparing to wrestle that seat into safety, a little lump welled up in my throat.

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She’s getting so big.

It may seem a little whimpy, but it is real.

She’s getting so big.

Abi’s third birthday has come and gone. (I promise I’ll get that birthday post up before her next birthday… er maybe before she moves out.) And while Hannah is “Mommy’s baby” … so is Abi.

There’s this little part of me that holds the bittersweet memory… sweet little blondie in my arms. Oh she had her flaws – she would be in no one else’s arms…. EVER. But it was just my Abi Grace. Those piercing blues.

And look at her now.

I see Abi in Hannah’s eyes.

And I see a Rachael I struggle to remember in the wake of her four year old personality. She really was tiny once, right? It’s hard to remember what the normal felt like.

So maybe that’s why Hannah moving to the convertible seat comes with a little sting.

I know how quickly she’ll soon be forward facing.

And then in a booster.

She is my Joy.

And I have learned that Joy comes with some bitter moments at times too.

Just like retiring the little patten-leather church shoes. Size ones come with a slight laugh. They’re so not going to happen anymore.

That little squishy stage has slowly rippled away. 10 and a half pounds at birth has melted into a long, skinny busybody.

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Thank You, Lord, for Hannah’s Mommy-clinging times. Thank You, Lord, for those quiet nursing moments when she lets me just stroke her strawberry locks. Thank You, Lord, for that smile only Mommy and Daddy can get out of those beautiful browns and open-mouthed squeals. Thank You, Lord, that she still comes to find me on those knees, sharing her delighted exploration finds.

Thank You, thank You, Lord…

it helps this Mommy let go

…and install the next seat up.

– I love you, my babies. From four on down to the floor. [And my extras ; ) ].

Always.

So things have gotten hard around here. I’ve hit a roadblock and need to refocus. I’ve lost my drive. I’ve lost my press. And I’ve somehow found myself going through the motions of foster care with lack of sympathy.

A lot has happened since the boys came to our home.

I’ve lost a part of me… almost like shedding a skin. These boys are changing me and sometimes I see the uglier side of myself. That’s what 5 kids 5 and under will do to you, even if they’re not all yours. They’ll drive you to the edge. And you can shine or you can repent. I’ve found my side of repentance and I’ve also learned I can handle far more than I thought I could. But then some news came.

And I hurt.

Mom made a choice.

And I hurt for these boys.

And there’s just a lot open.

And hurting.

And it feels out of control.

I find myself losing sympathy for mom. It’s not something she has done. It’s something she IS doing. Those are two different things. Our new worker spoke with wisdom. “Some parents are comfortable with seeing their kids once a week. It’s enough for them.” I’m scared we’re seeing that unfold.

And that opens a whole new world of hurts.

I’m glad the boys didn’t know we were talking about reunification as early as this summer. Because it would have come as a crushing blow to now be enrolling Big Guy in Kindergarten. Instead he can start his year with the hope of reunification… without the added anxiety… and feeling stuck. And lost.

Somewhere in the middle.

I didn’t know sheltering a child means experiencing the hurts yourself… and smiling when they come into the room. Well, maybe I just didn’t know it’s depth.

I wish I were one of those miraculous moms. You know, the ones with the 9,000 kids AND the foster kids. The ones that don’t sweat it and roll out the nurturing and full self-sacrifice like they were born to do this. I wish it didn’t drive me crazy to hear his shrieking. I wish I could tell the future. I wish I knew if I could fully attach to them now. And I wish this would just end.

I wish there was some way to know if these boys are supposed to be mine. I wish we knew if Mom would ever change her mind… or if the county would just give up and give them back despite the track-record. I wish I felt reassured that some judge is going to see the depth of this case. I wish I felt more in control when 5 kids need me all at once. I wish it weren’t so hard to load and unload 5 kids from the van. Or that it didn’t take serious luggage and at least 45 minutes to make a “surprise” escape from our home… and then we realize half-way there that we left something. I wish I felt more in control of our time-management and I wish I had the luxury to be lazy… or sleep in … ever! … without it costing me 2 extra nighttime nursings, a shower, and my sanity.

But I’ve come to the hard reality that I’m not living in a dream world. And “All IN” is not a one-time choice, but a daily and minutely choice when it comes to loving someone else’s child… through their repetitive mistakes.

I am no longer who I once was.

I cannot go back.

Even on days that I really want to.

And while this often feels like chaos. And the tears are real and really hurt.

And while I wish I could hit an escape button and somehow work myself out of this mess many times.

I am learning in the most difficult struggle I have faced to date that God never gives us more than we can handle. But we certainly cannot handle it without Him.

It’s hard to ask for help. EVERY DAY.

It’s hard to lay down the pride and pick up the baby, even though I know he’ll still be screaming in my arms and I have a headache. It’s hard to play go-between ensuring everyone’s happiness… or close to happiness. It’s hard to work on the beginnings of disciplining a child without knowing if you’ll ever see the fruit… or even be able to finish part of the lesson.

Orphan care feels too close sometimes.

And it feels too sacrificial sometimes.

And sometimes I just have to cry. … and let it all fall off my back for a few minutes.

But the morning comes, (too early and feeling too late sometimes), and the Lord equips for one more day.

And I find that I can readjust my white-knuckled grip… clinging to the cross.

God, hold me.

I need You in all of this.

I can’t do this.

You can.

And You are.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. Or the next few moments for that matter.

But i do know this.

You have been.

And You always will be.

Always.

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