Oct 19, 2011 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
Because of our transition from Scotland to South Africa, and then from South Africa to North Carolina, we knew the Bear was probably a little behind on his vaccinations. The Tank was following the South African schedule (every country does it differently) but we knew the Bear would need different things coming here for preschool, and never got around to getting him up to date before the move since we weren’t sure what was what, and I guess we had kindofalotgoingon.
Although the preschool was very gracious in allowing the Bear to venture in with my promise that we’d be taking care of his vaccinations soon, I felt like it was time to bite the bullet {where does that expression come from? Who bites bullets?} and get it done. I don’t fancy pain when it’s my own, but seeing my children in pain brings all kinds of strange discomfort my way.
After a sign in and a hang out and some paperwork and some more hanging out and some chatting with a little boy and his dad (neither of whom spoke English) in the waiting area, we were eventually called back, and a couple of nurses had some important news to deliver: the Bear needed seven shots. He wasn’t just a little behind.
He was still in the first 100 meters of his swim and this was a triathlon.
Call me what you want, {ninnymuggins?} but I felt like the best choice was to get it over with. I didn’t think the Bear would be interested in me dragging him back again the next week for more, especially since he’d know what was coming the second time around.
{Taken just before the first Bear Bear & G-pa outing a couple of weeks ago!}
My eyes were welling up as shot number one finished and the Bear was nothing shy of mortified. His last shot was too long ago for him to remember, so this was a new and wretched experience.
At shot two, things got interesting. The Bear wriggled an arm out from my grasp, grabbed at the needle to get it away from him, and in the process poked the nurse administering the shot. To put it dramatically (because this is a blog, people!)
My son stabbed a nurse with a syringe last week.
I had no idea it happened.
She continued to administer another in that leg and two more in the other, and then left at the pause before the last two vaccinations would poke the Bear’s wee arms.
After a few moments I asked the other nurse if the first one was coming back, and she explained that the first nurse was “rinsing out” and she’d be administering the last two herself. Otay.
So the Bear got the last two — more tears, more awful sadness, more me feeling wretched and full of remorse… and then it was done.
Only, it wasn’t.
We were back out in the waiting room, me consoling the Bear it was over, scrambling for something happy in my purse (thank you, lady at the bank for the lollipop last week!!!), just waiting for the printout of his updated vaccination records so that we could be on our not-particularly-merry way.
Only, we couldn’t.
The nurse said she needed to speak to me about something, and asked that I step into a side room, sort of a conference room, where the head nurse joined her. Since the Bear stabbed a nurse with a syringe that he had already been poked with, they requested permission to draw blood for testing to see if the nurse may have possibly contracted any infectious diseases from our darling three-year-old.
Oh, yes.
They mentioned some things about the nurse’s health and her job and you don’t have to do it, but we sure do wish you would but you can refuse you just let us know what is going to work for you.
They very hesitantly and gently made the request and repeatedly assured me of my right to refuse. By the end of the conversation I was emotionally beside myself. I’d had a Mountain Dew at lunch (special treat, whoo hoo), so my blood sugar had been on a big wave, ripping curl twenty minutes before.
I was now under water with sand in my teeth.
When I thought about this poor nurse who knew we’d just returned from South Africa and was probably very nervous and scared, my heart went out to her. But then I thought about this poor Bear whose Mama just promised him this drama was done. I didn’t want to be a liar.
We could’ve come back another day but did we want to?
Eventually I decided we would let them draw blood, but I first called Hero Hubs to ask his opinion. He asked a few good questions, which I asked them and then answered, and he agreed with the decision, and said he’d be on his way home from work right then. We decided to wait until he got there for them to take blood.
The Hubs was half an hour away but the time passed very quickly. Bear hadn’t the foggiest what was going on, but my heart was sore. When we took the Bear back through to the room for the procedure and he began to understand what was going on, he was very hesitant and I was very thankful HH had come.
HH held him still while they drew blood from his arm.
We had flashbacks to his circumcision, and his painfully clear blue eyes at two months old.
His eyes were painfully clear green this time, full of tears, and I had a million thoughts in a single moment.
The strangest thought to meet me there was thankfulness.
There are people who are sick, or whose children have chronic health problems, or have very painful or potentially terminal illnesses, and these types of moments are a routine part of life.
How fortunate am I that I’ve only seen this little boy in such pain twice in his three years of life? And praise the Lord for the blood he is able to give — healthy enough that this simple procedure will perhaps be a little sore tomorrow, but it’ll be over.
For the peace of mind {and perhaps job security} of a nurse serving the community, if I could reason it out for him plainly, he might make the same choice.
The Lord looked on while His Son shed blood for the good of humanity — and I wonder what His eyes looked like, how they could ever still hold compassion in the midst of such pain.
And praise the Lord He wasn’t my son.
I’m not Mary. And I don’t want to be.
My son gets to receive the free gift her son shed His blood for — and not just for peace of mind, but for peace of soul. That we could be at – one, the task of atonement completed.
Back in the lobby, two lollipops and thirty-some ginormous stickers in tow, the Bear was already recovering from the ride on the drama llama. A little sore and mopey the next morning, but fine at preschool and happy in the afternoon.
His Mama has renewed thankfulness for life, health, and the gift one Father was willing to give, the gift one Son was willing to pay for.
And though his thighs still look a little like pincushions, praise the Lord again, seven shots didn’t take down our Bear.
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Oct 18, 2011 | Baby Photos
Just in time for the baby to almost no longer be seven months, I have seven months photos to share with you! We actually did take them on the day he turned seven months. There’s just kind of a lot going on. You know. Still cute if they’re a little late, right? Well anywho.
Here’s a darlingpreciousangelpumpkindumpling getting ready for his close-up.
Gimme da camera!
Convincingly coy.
Gammy likes it better when this isn’t in my mouth, Mama.
Well maybe I want it.
Nah…I’m going for a more grown-up, sophisticated pose.
Wait, I forgot! How many months is this?
I made it seven months? Right on!
And see? I’ve turned into such a fun-loving guy!
Yay for me!
In three continents (four countries), with three addresses, and fourteen different places I’ve laid my head for the night, I’d say this little life is off to a pretty fun start.
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Oct 17, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
A couple of weeks ago, I spoke about trusting God, even when a season feels like a straitjacket. Those words resonated with a lot of people. I suppose for everybody at some point life feels that way — you’re in a season that has you sitting still, and it’s often the case that the best you can do is just trust “it ain’t forever” and keep on keepin’ on. There are often great things happening under the surface, and the restraint we feel is often part of a bigger process, whether we’re aware of it or not.
But part of the process of making it through one of those seasons is knowing when the season is done. And sometimes that’s easy to see — you get fired from the job you hated, or you get the promotion you’ve been praying for that will reduce financial stress. The sign changes and the speed limit is no longer 25. Other times, like the butterfly, you are a part of the process of wiggling your way out of the chrysalis that has held you in place while the change was taking place.
So how do you know when it’s time to wiggle?
2 Kings 7 tells this fantastic story that is almost Shakespearean humor to me. Syrians laid siege on the city of Samaria and people were quite literally starving to death. In those days, lepers were banished to live outside the city because people didn’t want to touch them, for fear of being “made unclean.” {Long explanation for that, let’s save it for another day.}
So these four lepers were living outside the city, and when times are tough and people don’t have food for themselves, it’s pretty likely these dudes were on the verge of extinction.
Until they came up with a plan.
“Muchachos,” they said to one another, “why are we just sitting here waiting to die? Obviously, if we go into the city, since there’s no food in the city, we’ll die. And clearly, if we just stay sitting right here, we’re gonna die. So why don’t we head over to the Syrian camp and surrender to them? If they keep us alive, well then sweet potatoes. But if they kill us, what’s the difference, right?”
What these dudes didn’t know was that the Lord had been at work while they were busy reasoning things out. He’d caused the Syrians to hear the sound of a big army coming, and they thought the Samarians had hired some folks to come fight on their behalf.
“The Egyptians and the Hittites are coming to lay the smack down!” they’d shouted to one another. And they took off running scared, leaving all their stuff right there in the camp, shedding layers of clothing so they could run faster.
When those lepers showed up in the camp, it was a ghost town. So {this is the part I really love picturing in my mind} they start raiding the camp from tent to tent. Check it out, guys, there’s food over here! Bro, check out this rocking new garment I just found! I’m gonna go bury this booty in the ground and come back for more! Whoo-hoo! Who’s thirsty???
Eventually they think to themselves, Dudes, we are being totally not cool. The people in the city are about to keel over starving because they think this army is still here. We better go tell them the good news before we get in trouble for being selfish punks.
So these four lepers, who nobody expected anything from, told the city the good news, and in a way, they kind of saved the day. The king sent some of his men to go check out their story and make sure it was true, and then people went out and plundered the tents — the siege was finished and the famine was, too.
Now what if those guys had just decided to stick it out and hope for the best? What if they didn’t decide to get up and at least attempt to change their fate? The time was right for them to make a move.
Call it grace, they made their move, and many people benefited from that decision.
Another story is told*, about these prisoners of war, being held hostage, imprisoned for months. Who knows how badly they’d been treated, what atrocities they’d suffered through in this dark corner of the world.
Some Navy SEALS arrived to rescue them. They flew in by helicopter, stormed the compound and found their way to the room where the hostages were being held. In this filthy, dark room, there these hostages sat, curled up in a corner, terrified.
The SEALS entered, stood at the door, and called to them. “We’re Americans, c’mon, let’s go! Follow us, we’re gonna get you out of here!” But the hostages wouldn’t follow them. They hid their eyes on the floor, fearful, not believing this was real, not believing these rescuers were really Americans who’d come to save them.
There were too many hostages for the SEALS to carry out, and for a moment they didn’t know what to do. Finally one of the SEALS had an idea: he put down his weapon, took off his helmet, and curled up tightly next to the other hostages on the floor, so close that his body was touching some of theirs. He softened the look on his face and put his arms around them. {He did what none of the prison guards would’ve done — do you see the beautiful redemption in this?}
He stayed there for a little while until some of them finally looked at him, and then whispered that they were Americans, there to rescue them. Will you follow us? he asked.
He stood to his feet, and one by one the hostages did the same, eventually every one of them was willing to go. At the end they were safely aboard an aircraft carrier, free from the horrible place where they’d been held captive for so long.
Like the lepers, they had to get up to get free.
You’ve heard the saying that sometimes we stare so long at the door that’s closed we don’t see the open window. And a season can be a closed door, or a period of time where you feel held captive by the circumstances of life.
But one of God’s first promises after the Earth was flooded was about seasons:
“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, winter and summer, day and night shall not cease.” {Gen. 8:22}
We can be certain of the fact that seasons will always change. There will be a time to plant, a time to reap, a time to kill, a time to heal, {is turn turn turn in the back of you head now?} We can be certain, from the very mouth of God, that no season is going to last forever.
Maybe the straitjacket that’s holding you is still tightly around you, cinched and closed; maybe the process isn’t over, maybe the chrysalis isn’t complete. But be careful to stay alert and mindful: the strings may have already been loosened, the door may already be unlocked.
The Sermon in a Nutshell: Be mindful, be on the lookout, and be ready to face your fears. Recognize that you might have to get up to get out of what’s holding you. There is the distinct possibility that the only thing holding you in the season you’re in is you.
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*I’ve adapted this true story from the book Blue Like Jazz. (Thank you, Don Miller, for sharing it!)
Oct 14, 2011 | The Good Word
The other day, in the middle of that slice of hectic, phones ringing, babies sleeping, big boys grasping for attention, Mama feeling like nothing but Mama, a headache… you get the idea… I received a card in the mail from a dear friend. The timing absolutely could not have been better.
She reminded me of my value, and where the enemy had been trying to whisper {to a girl who’s just gotten home from a long tall adventure} Did it matter? Did it make a difference? this friend stood in the gap and spoke loud and clear to my soul, a big and resounding YES!
And receiving affirmation for being something other than Mama was exactly what my soul needed.
My friend’s card had a painting on it that brought me back to this wee house on the Isle of Skye!
As I pondered it the next morning, these words came to mind:
Let him who is taught the word share in all good things with him who teaches.
Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life.
And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith. {Galatians 6: 6-10}
I love the way the Message puts it:
Be very sure now, you who have been trained to a self-sufficient maturity, that you enter into a generous common life with those who have trained you, sharing all the good things that you have and experience.
Don’t be misled: No one makes a fool of God. What a person plants, he will harvest. The person who plants selfishness, ignoring the needs of others—ignoring God!—harvests a crop of weeds. All he’ll have to show for his life is weeds! But the one who plants in response to God, letting God’s Spirit do the growth work in him, harvests a crop of real life, eternal life.
So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up, or quit. Right now, therefore, every time we get the chance, let us work for the benefit of all, starting with the people closest to us in the community of faith.
Although with regard to the natural world, none of us would expect to plant pumpkin seeds and reap pears, still we forget that we are also sowing with our words and our actions every day. We can choose to sow kindness and gentleness, generosity, patience and respectfulness, or we can grab seeds from a different bag: unkind words and disrespectful actions, harsh attitudes, selfishness and unbridled anger.
When you choose to sow kind words, you can expect to reap a good harvest in due time. The surprising thing was that I’d spent some time just that morning sending a few emails to encourage some folks I’d been praying for. I can’t say that these two things are directly connected, or that the harvest will always come so quickly — but we can cling to the principle that what we plant is what we’ll harvest. Remember:
“A generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.” {Proverbs 11:25}
{My three-year-old demonstrates all this for me so clearly — if I act frustrated and stomp my foot about it, I’ll eventually receive that same behaviour back, perhaps ten-fold. But sometimes it can also just take a little effort of sowing joy, setting a mood of sweetness and peacefulness, to receive back the same.}
So what have you been sowing lately? Are there perhaps areas where you’ve been frustrated — could it be because you are reaping a pumpkin after sowing one? What seeds have you been grabbing from your planting bag?
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Oct 13, 2011 | The Good Word
I just had one of those days. The kind of days where you’ve almost got the baby back to sleep after thirty minutes of shushing and two diaper changes, and the phone rings loud and proud and your efforts are rendered useless. The days where that wee tyke decides a couple of thirty minute naps oughta justabout do. The days where your firstborn decides it’s time to pick on brother, knock him over, see if he’ll cry if he scratches him on top of the head, even throws a book at him.
Good thing it was a soft toy.
You know the days… where it feels like everyone wants to ask for your help with something and you sure wish love was never ever ever spelled T-I-M-E.
The baby who’s only pee-peed in your direction twice in his life, six months ago, decides to give you his third ever squirt when you’re aiming for a quick change because dinner is ready and on the table.
Your wonderful mother offers to watch the little ones so you can get in a quick gym session, and a wee ways into the workout your head is pounding with such a headache you want to give up and head home.
In the brief moment where you’ve gone to the bathroom for two Tylenol and you’re on a search mission for your water bottle, the older one is complaining you’ve forgotten to deliver part of what he needs for his activity at the kitchen table and he’s strapped into a booster seat and can’t get down to get it himself, and the phone rings and during that conversation the baby wakes up from a thirty minute snooze and you were trying hard to just get started on dinner but now you’ll have to do something with the baby and ten minutes have gone by and those two Tylenol are still in your palm waiting for a glass of water.
But throughout the day the reminders were constant: Stay in the Moment.
A card arrived in the mail in perfect timing, filled to the brim with words of affirmation I needed to hear that had nothing to do with being a good wife or mother.
And as the roller coaster of the day continued the baby offered countless sweet faces and smiles — priceless glimpses into what heaven might be like: Without guile. Beautiful innocence and profound joy.
I put the Bear down for a nap and as I leaned in close he stared into my eyes, told me he liked them, and asked what colour they were, then touched and complemented my hair, and was so sweet and gentle it was hard to believe he’d had a stern talking to just a couple of hours before.
My brother, concerned for the boys whose toys are still in South Africa sent a gift for each of them; the baby’s arrived yesterday and the Bear’s today.
My Mom was willing to rock a teething baby, and ending up doing so for about an hour, so that I could hit the treadmill with a book to uplift my soul.
And in all this, God met me today.
The first song out of iTunes to help me through dinner reminded me that it is all about Him. And the second song reminded me of the wonderful God who is the antonym of me, but whose precious, grace-filled redemption is like a beautiful flower pushing its way up through dirt. {Me being the dirt, you know.} And there was God.
I sprinkled a little plate of olive oil with balsamic for dipping bread, and the tiny scattered dots of balsamic found their way to one another to make a perfectly happy face. Not just smiling. Laughing. And there was God.
I got an email from a friend who is facing several very difficult situations at the moment, and I was reminded how small these frustrations really are. I decided to turn my thoughts away from my selfish focus, write her some words of encouragement, and pray for her. And there was God.
And as the day was coming to a close, these words of mine from eight or nine months ago found me again:
It seems in my case, the discomfort of being pregnant can distract me from the miracle that’s happening because of it. And I think life is a lot like that: the discomfort of the moment that we’re walking through distracts us from the glorious birth around the corner. And it also distracts us from the mundane-beautiful of the moments we should be savouring, because it won’t be like this for long.
And there was God.
And those were exactly the words I needed to hear.
Love it. Live it. Look for Him in it. You always only ever have today.
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