24/7

Just when we thought we'd kind of graduated out of the constant ear infection/strep throat/croup phase of life with kids, we've had a few unexpected doctor trips lately. Nothing serious. Someone fell from the top of the slide. Then the other someone had a terrible sore throat. (With absolutely no regard to the fact that we just spent half our future nursing home fund getting his tonsils taken out and leaves me wondering just how many denture replacements and tapioca puddings that kid owes us.)

But on our latest waiting room adventure at urgent care, I was remembering when the kids were toddlers and we were at the doctor a LOT.  (I'm pretty sure Luke's asthma alone scored our favorite pediatrician a pretty sweet boat.) And I got to thinking about how awesome it would be to have an on-call doctor who was there for you 24/7. And you wouldn't have to set up camp in a loud, germy waiting room blasting Dinosaur Train waiting breathlessly for those magic words....the doctor will see you now. Even typing those words kinda floods me with a weird sense of urgency slash relief. Hurry and grab the sippy cup, the socks and shoes, the purple crayon, the carrot sticks you knew they wouldn't touch but had to pack so other moms would say hey at least she tried before you pulled out the real snack, the half eaten cheese puffs (see real snack above), the wet wipes you packed with the cheese puffs because come on it's not your first day, right? And then you are ushered through that magic door to get the magic medicine so the kids will once again get back to the MAGIC SLEEP.

But what if, no joke, you had unlimited access to a private physician and you could hear those magic words at any time of the day or night? Ear infection or a kid who just hates library day at school? The doctor will see you now. Scarlet fever or just a rash from the new sunscreen? The doctor will see you now. Is the baby's poop supposed to be that color? The doctor will see you now. Is it weird if there's a goose egg on TOP of the goose egg your superhero just got while scaling the changing table to see the baby's funny-colored poop? The doctor will see you now. Imagine the relief to skip all the annoying steps and get straight to the answers without the waiting, the worry, and the Dinosaur Train re-runs.

And my mind switched gears and I got to thinking about our unlimited, full time access to our Heavenly Father.

He's always there.
He has all the answers.
He's never annoyed with our requests.
He's always right.
He honestly cares.
He's on call every minute of every day and night.

When I wake up out of sorts, the doctor will see me now. When I paste a big smile on my face and give a hard kiss good-bye to the child who doesn't want to go, the doctor will see me now. When I rush back to my car so I can sob into the steering wheel all the anxiety I know my boy daily carries through that classroom door, the doctor will see me now.  When I scroll through my feed and suddenly my own life seems a little monotonous and less than, the doctor will see me now. When I snap at the people I love the most, the doctor will see me now. When I swear eating two doughnuts will make me feel better and of course it doesn't and when I'm disillusioned by a friend who's moved on and when I'm nervous about a test result and when I'm devastated by a family member's news, the doctor will see me all those times too. In all those moments no matter what my complaint, the doctor sees me.  To hold me and help me, to encourage and stretch me, to discipline and cradle me. To patch up my skinned knees and to reach way down to the soothe the deep hurts that no one else could ever heal. It's a wonderful thing to just let that sink in.  He's just a thought away. And He will never, ever get tired of helping us. Suffering from some heartache, anxiety, or hurt of your own? 

The Doctor will see you now.

A Love Like No Other

It happened a few months ago after church. I was cleaning up goldfish crumbs and trying to find matching lids to the play doh containers after Sunday School when the boys needed to use the bathroom. "Go together," I said. Which is my standard answer. When you get two kids born shock and awe style, there's hard stuff. Like having two kids in diapers, not taking a shower alone for three years straight, and getting kicked out of the library for being too loud. (True story there.) But one of the PERKS of having kids so close together is that they can keep an eye on each other. One can do his thing while the other can run back if there's some kind of problem. You know. Like if your brother filled the sink to the top to see if he could make the bubbles slide down the side like the Mississippi River and then turned off the tap without ever washing his hands. Important stuff like that. How was I to know that today there would be an ACTUAL problem to report on.

After ten minutes, I stopped and realized how quiet it was. I wondered how long the boys had been gone and my heart skipped a beat.  That mom instinct told me it was too long, right? I was just rushing down the hall to find them when they came tearing around the corner sobbing hysterically. They were both crying so hard I couldn't understand them. They were sweaty and flushed and in a true panic. "What in the world happened?" I asked them over and over. Finally, they calmed down enough to tell me in spurts that they had been locked inside the bathroom.  I guess the door had gotten stuck and they were in there pounding and kicking and pulling as hard as they could but they couldn't get out. Then they started screaming and yelling and pounding but none of us heard them. I guess this must've gone on for about ten minutes. Which doesn't seem all that long. Unless you're 5 and 6 and stuck in a bathroom. As they started to calm down, I noticed that they weren't so upset about being stuck. But they were in a complete panic because we hadn't come for them! Every time one of them would start re-telling how they were stuck and couldn't open the door, they'd get to the part about "and we knew you would come but you didn't and we thought you would leave without us!" and my poor little guys would start sobbing again.

By then the husband found me sitting in the hall with two distraught boys on my lap, and we assured them over and over that OF COURSE we were coming. And that we would NEVER have left without them. Didn't they know that? Daddy would have broken the door down to get to them! Mama would have sat by the door all day and all night holding their little fingers under the gap til the firemen got them out. Nothing would keep us from them. We would never, ever leave them. And nothing could make us!

Our whole little soggy group went home and got distracted with lunch and play time. But my mind kept going back to how very scared they were in there. And to think they thought I wasn't coming! I had to blink back my own tears. It had truly hurt their little hearts so much. That thought of abandonment so much worse than the fear of being trapped.  And I remembered our own Father. How He watched while His only son was taken away and beaten and tortured and left to die.  But so much worse. How He DIDN'T watch while His son took on our sins.

He turned His face away.

From His own son. And when His son needed Him the most! Can we imagine it? Could I have stood outside that door, knowing that my children were being hurt and not gone to them?  What force could have been strong enough to keep us from running to them when they cried out to us? What door could have kept us out? What army wouldn't we have fought our way through? What ocean or desert wouldn't we have crossed? Because I'm their MOM. And he's their DAD. And those are OUR KIDS.

But God did the unthinkable on that dark afternoon. He turned His face away. He heard His heartbroken son ask him, "Father, why have you abandoned me?" But He remained silent. In an incredible, unfathomable act of love He turned His back. When everything in Him wanted to speak the word and have Jesus in His arms again, He left Him there.  It was a demonstration of love unlike the world had ever seen.

And He did it all for us.

Since the kids took our lives by storm, we've begun to understand the Father's love in a whole new way. And as a mom, the precious gift of His very own son amazes me more than ever. As we gather our kids around us this Easter, I hope we can all remember not only how much we love them. But how much we have been loved! On a very Good Friday many years ago.

"He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all--how will He not also, graciously give us all things?"  Romans 8:32

Dinner Time

Can we just talk about dinner? I've shoved off the guilt of feeding them Chick-Fil-A, pizza, and IHOP for the last three nights in a row. You can stop. I feel your judgment. I really do. But if they can sit way over there on that side of the booth eating pancakes (and by eating I mean dribbling syrup on every surface, stuffed animal snuck in from the car, and occasional passerby) and I can sit way over here pretending it's not happening while I daydream about my clean kitchen that is NOT going to need to be scrubbed down for six hours by HAZMAT officials...then this is totally happening. Let the preschool teachers snicker when they sing the days of the week song and my kid is the one who refers to the day after Monday as "Kids Eat Free Tuesday." No shame in that sister!

But that's all behind me now. We've gotten to Thursday night and if the children don't eat something vaguely resembling real food cooked in a real kitchen apparently something terrible will happen. So I set myself up for success. First step.  Me handing out electronics to everyone in the house. A tv, an ipad, an iphone, a laptop. If it can be charged or plugged in, you are watching it, playing it, yelling at it, arguing over it, or posting from it for the next 30 minutes. This used to be my guilt-free time by the way. As in, "Okay everyone it's learning time! Go get those educational tools and get busy while I make you a balanced, organic, healthy dinner!" Doesn't that sound nice? Until some nut job came along and labeled it. Now it's SCREEN TIME. And it's very, very bad. And it needs to be monitored and encrypted and timed and all my stuff needs to be in sync with all their stuff so I can coordinate their learning from my curriculum app and get daily dings on which kid missed 6+3 and how many more minutes the older one played Angry Birds than learning about the environmental effects of eucalyptus rainforests.  I do not like Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time and if I ever meet him, I just might have a brand new label to call him! But back to business. Their little hands are busy and it's time for me to make this happen. There's chopping. Carrots, celery, maybe a little green pepper. You really gotta bring your A-game here because if the pieces aren't tiny enough, you're totally busted. Someone will yell "Is this a carrot?! Are we eating CARROTS?!" And then little people will start coughing and gagging and things will go downhill fast. So I'm chopping. Quarter size, nickel size, dime size, pea size, head of a pin size, still edible but not able to be seen by the naked eye and thus cause an ebola-like outbreak at the table size. Bingo! You start the chicken, set the table, find the real napkins. You revel in the relative peace and quiet and think of a few more creative names for Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time just in case you ever actually bump into the guy. And then it's dinner time.

Enjoy that phrase now. Dinner time. Just like in the old days when the moms nursed their young while churning the butter and teaching little girls how to stitch their samplers and and somehow still cranked out a beautiful farm to table buffet every evening. And all without any Pampered Chef accessories mind you! Calling my little family to dinner makes me feel nurturing and proud and successful. We might have eaten leftover Dominoes on the couch 6 out of 7 nights last week, but tonight darn it there is DINNER TIME. It's an accomplishment y'all.  No wonder those butter churners used to ding dong that little triangle when they yelled it. At this moment, I know just how proud they felt.

The EDUCATIONAL TIME is over and our little family has gathered to count our blessings and enjoy this meal together. I think ahead to the compliments that might be passed my way.  Tasty, delicious, yummy, awesome. But instead there is silence. Stone cold, nerve-wracking silence while children stare at their plates.  You might want to savor that silence, such as it is, because after the silence comes the wailing.

What IS this?
Why does it look smashed? 
Why are we eating new stuff? 
My tongue is too wet to eat sticky parts.
Why can't we have chicken nuggets? 
AND WHAT IS THAT LITTLE ORANGE THING???

I'm prepared for this. A little whining isn't going to throw me off. I meet every question with a patient answer, a cheerful smile, and a little wink of encouragement. We can do this! We can sit here and eat this simple but tasty meal like four regular people. But the wailing gets louder. Someone needs ketchup. The orange parts make his milk taste funny. The yucky part is getting squishier and the green beans have bumps on them. Bumps! I'm trying to hold it together. I mean I made a list, I shopped (with children!), I pre-heated and chopped and sauteed. I put out real napkins for goodness sake! I spent an hour and a half planning and cooking this meal.  And these people so do not appreciate it. So instead of basking in their gratefulness as the Mother Nurturer, I'm doling out threats and bribes and blinking back tears of disappointment. The husband finds me later dumping half eaten plates down the sink as I calculate how many Oreos will make me feel better and he puts his arms around me. He's grateful for the meal. For the chopping and the shopping and the cooking. But mostly he's grateful for the trying. "We keep at it," he whispers to me. "You're doing an amazing job!" But the Mother Nurturer is officially over it. The rational, grown up part of me realizes that kids are naturally messy, ungrateful, and forgetful. That they need to be taught to help out, be thankful, and remember their blessings. But deep down inside, there's a tiny little volcano of resentment that's bubbling up. Not things I act on. Or even admit.  Just little thoughts I struggle with. Please tell me I'm not the only horrible mom who has.

No one knows how hard this is. I'm tired of fighting for one peaceful meal. One uninterrupted shower. One night of no fits at homework time. And how about some basic appreciation? Seriously just one simple thank you. A bedtime routine without a fight. I pour out myself into mom-hood and lately I feel like I've been getting nothing in return. I love them to death and nothing will stop me from putting their needs first. But please tell me after all this selfishness and ungratefulness, there's some kind of reward at the end of the tunnel. 

And not that day or the day after but the next week, I was reading. And this paragraph jumped out at me.

"If you love those who love you (back), what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them (back). And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to get back the same amount. But...do good, and lend to them EXPECTING NOTHING IN RETURN, and your REWARD will be great..." 

Luke 6:32-36

And I read that and thought to myself what an awesome ministry that would be. If I could just find someone and determine to love them that way. Serve them, donate to them, sacrifice for them, love them, and be there for them but expect nothing in return. How awesome would that be? I could be like a big 'ole arrow pointing them straight to God. So I'm writing in my handy dandy little prayer journal and asking God who that person could be. It would need to be someone that couldn't or wouldn't pay me back so I could practice the "expect nothing in return" part. And it would need to be someone I had lots of opportunities to interact with. You know, someone I saw all the time. Someone that needed love and encouragement and maybe even mentoring. And then hello you know where this is going. Right in the middle of that thought, I remembered those darn bumpy green beans. And I didn't want to remember them. I wanted to forget that whole awful debacle called dinner and the many others like it. I wanted to think about a fun, exciting, new ministry reaching out to someone with this special kind of unconditional, expect nothing in return kind of love. But I couldn't forget the bumpy green beans. Or the dinner. Or the resentful, selfish thoughts that were zinging through my heart as I dumped little piles of dinner down the drain. God pierced my heart with the knowing and there was no escaping it.

The someone's who needed this kind of love were living in my house. 

I had been loving them but I had been counting the cost.  Making a mental list of what I was giving up so they could be cared for. Longing for the thanks and appreciation I felt I should be getting in return. And battling discouragement as I walked this beautiful but exhausting momma journey with no reward to point to at the end of the day.  But here God was telling me if I only love when I know that love will be returned, I'm doing the same thing anyone without Him would do. What any decent person tries to do. But as His child, He expected more of me. He expects a different kind of love. The kind of love I could never achieve on my own. He expects Luke 6:36.

The bad news is that it's horribly difficult. Not to roll my eyes when I make a dinner no one particularly raves over. Not to count how many times my phone conversation or my shower or my lunch is interrupted.   To give of my time and my schedule and my relationships without expecting anything in return. To be a mom without needing to see immediate results.

To bask in God's love and acceptance until it's enough that He alone knows about my little sacrifices!

But the good news is that God is totally up for this. That He loves me enough to help me to love my husband and my kids this way. And He promises the reward will be great! And His presence right here beside me with His promise that it's not all for nothing is enough to keep me going. His joy is my strength! And it can be yours as well. So hang in there momma. If you're feeling a little unappreciated and a lot exhausted, try out Luke 6:36. Ask God to help you love those little monkeys in a whole new way.  Bumpy green beans and all.
    

Measuring Mercy

Just a for-real post. Lately, I feel like I've been impatient and unloving with those I love most. And people that don't live in my house, forget it! I've caught myself being unkind and selfish. Enjoying the free forgiveness and everyday new mercies God rains down on me while smugly telling myself that others...well they've kinda been asking for it after all.  Justice for them but mercy for me. What's wrong with that picture? So, so much.  So anyway, these thoughts have been pokin' around in me til this came out. Hoping the picture it paints will help me remember how undeserving we all are and how merciful a Father we have!

Measuring Mercy
God was walking next to me
As He said He always would.
But I jerked my hand away from His
And told Him I was good.
I thought I'd walk ahead awhile
And see how fun it'd be
To do just what I wanted
And take some time for me.
I knew He didn't like it
But He sadly watched me go.
I found the path more difficult;
My steps began to slow.
I wandered to a desert place
Thirsty and in tears.
Losing hope and struggling
And drowning in my fears.
Then out of nowhere there He was
Reaching out to me.
"I've been walking just behind you
And hoping you would see,
How very much I love you.
Come walk again with me."
There were no angry lectures.
No smirks at my defeat.
He overflowed my empty cup.
My drink was long and sweet!
I took His hand and walked again
Along the desert place.
Then suddenly we stopped again
And saw another face.
A tired traveler, sick and weak
And struggling to survive.
He had no food or water;
He barely was alive.
My Father gave my hand a squeeze
And nodded toward my cup.
The one with sparkling water
He had lovingly filled up.
I couldn't think He meant it!
To share my only ration?
Selfishness welled up in me
Drowning all compassion.
"But Lord, he was so foolish
To wander off today.
Let him get what he deserves
And let's be on our way."
I would have turned my back on him
And left him there to die,
But loving hands laid firm on me;
I looked into His eyes.
"I found you far away from home
And took you as my son.
I made you my new family
And still you chose to run.
But though you were ungrateful
And left my loving arms,
I stayed a step behind you
And kept you from all harm.
The second that you needed me
And turned to see me there,
I grabbed your dusty, empty cup
And poured in all my share.
And now you see a fellow man
In need of water too.
Your cup is overflowing
And at zero cost to you."
My heart was struck by what He said;
I saw my ugly pride.
To think that I deserved it more!
I hung my head and cried.
How dare we share by teaspoon full
With those we meet each day?
We know He's given all to us.
And how He had to pay!

Matthew 18:23-33
"Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants.  When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything. And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, Pay what you owe. So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you. He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. Then his master summoned him and said to him, You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?" 

He'll Show Us How

I don't remember the first time I met a Japanese person.  Or a Guatemalan or a German or a Persian or a Somalian. I grew up in Northern Virginia where everybody is from everywhere and I was surrounded by every nationality from as early as I can recall.  You can drive down a street and see Korean Barbecue next to Dunkin Donuts across from El Pollo Loco which just happens to be jammed up against a building boasting the best Thai and Peruvian Chicken in town.  You drive into neighborhoods that transport you to different countries entirely.  And I love it.  You'll never get me to say I miss rush hour or the way an inch of snow brings the beltway to a dead stop for 3 hours, but I do miss the melting pot of people.  To me it's just the feel of home.

And I never knew that diversity better than when I worked my first job at McDonald's.  There I was. A very naive and incredibly  nervous 16 year old kid with my mauve McDonald's shirt, matching visor, and those horrible big black shoes that were supposed to protect my toes from third degree burns if the the french fry oil happened to boil over.  All ready for my first day. It was kind of horrible! I was struggling through, trying to learn how to dump the dirty mop bucket, find where the extra cups were stored, and how the heck to key in a McChicken sandwich with no mayo. And the customers? I remember this one guy waiting while I tried to delete all the wrong stuff on the screen and find the total button and then try to add in the drink I forgot.  He rolled his eyes and said, "Lemme guess. It's your FIRST DAY right?" I pretended to reach down and pick up a piece of trash off the floor so I could blink away tears.  It kinda makes me smile now, but then. Oh my heart! But good came out of it.  Because to this day, if I see someone struggling to learn a job, watch out.  I'll be your cheerleader.  Giving you encouragement and expressing my thanks and giving you your own personal little self-esteem party on checkout 6.  Til it becomes awkward and the husband quietly slips away to wait by the door.

What got me through were my co-workers.  They were helpful and patient and really genuinely kind.  Of about 50 people on the crew, my sister and I were the only American born team members.  Everyone else, like the good northern Virginians they were, were from everywhere else.  I remember my friend Tam from Vietnam.  She was this tiny little lady who walked with an extreme limp.  I would see her struggle  with the big trash bags and offer to run them out, but she'd always say, "I got it honey. I got it. Tam very strong." Proven by the fact that she walked about 3 miles every day to get to work.  And always so happy.  Her smile never bigger than when she talked about her son getting straight A's and applying to go to the American college.  Carmen made the best dang pancakes you ever ate. She was from Nicaragua and spoke very little English. But she knew enough that when a customer got done yelling at me one Saturday morning she  whispered "No worry. Stupid customer!"  in my ear the next time she walked by.  I laughed and gave her a high five.

But more than anything, our crew was made of Muslims.  Dear people representing many different countries. Sharanjit was from India. She was quiet and calm and a great boss.  I saw her fish a dollar out of her own pocket now and then when a kid was 80 cents short.  She was kind like that. And beautiful. She stopped in once in her traditional clothes looking like a Disney princess just back from a magic carpet ride.  Her jet black hair down her back and her bright fuchsia lipstick matching all the brilliant pinks and oranges and reds in her clothes. Sharanjit was friends with Rebecca who spoke a few of the same dialects as her.  They would rattle off to each other and I would just be entranced. Rebecca was hilarious. She and I had this thing we would do to put ignorant customers in their place. They'd march in and when they were politely greeted by Rebecca in perfect English, they'd stand back and point at me. "I'll wait for her! I want someone that speaks ENGLISH."  Well despite the fact that Rebecca spoke four languages in addition to English, she wouldn't bat an eye. She'd offer a polite, "Of course sir."  When he was finished ordering, she'd come up next to me and say, "Ruthie?" And then she'd TAKE OFF.  Talking a mile a minute in whichever dialect she picked and nodding at the man and smirking a little and acting like she was saying all kinds of things about him and I'd nod a lot and finally give a dramatic eyeroll along with a "seriously I know" at the end of it all.  And there that guy would stand, trying to figure out if we were insulting him or not and wondering how the heck this white girl spoke fluent Tamil with her boss.  It would usually fluster them enough to get them out the door and then Rebecca and I would just die laughing. "Good job Ruthie!" she'd say. "Now go sweep and mop."  Rebecca was 6 months pregnant with a long-awaited child when I left for college that fall. When I popped back in at break, she smoothed the head of the stuffed bear I was holding but wouldn't take it. "No Ruthie. My baby died." I stood there in shock while she took the next order. She wasn't an extremist. Or a religious nut. She was just a momma.  Tearing out the next receipt with tears in her eyes.

Sonny was a cool guy. Between stocking the napkins and re-packing the freezer, he'd tell me bits and pieces of his story. How hard he had worked to get to this country legally.  How proud he was to share a tiny efficiency apartment in Boston with a friend. Until one day he walked through his front door to find everything gone.  He had been robbed and there was literally nothing left.  "Every shirt. Every pants. Every paper," he told me. And then he went on to say how lucky he was to have a cousin living in Virginia so he could try again. Not sure what his given name was, but I thought his American choice of Sonny fit very well. Vishal was a hoot.  He asked me to marry him at least once every shift. At first I thought he was just having fun, but then one of his friends told me if he didn't get his temporary visa renewed soon, he was going to be sent home.  He was persistent and I felt sorry for him. I'd say, "Vishal my friend, we have nothing in common. We don't even know each other!" And he'd answer back soberly, "I know that I love you my rose." I'm pretty sure I still have at least one of his written proposals stashed away somewhere, complete with sketches of roses and his declarations of undying love.  Fareed was the big boss.  He was manager of our store and one other store.  I don't think the man ever slept.  The hours he kept were insane. He'd give me life advice every time he dropped by.  "You're too quiet Ruth.  You have an education and important things to say. Speak up!" He said he'd give me a raise if I would come to him on my own and demand what I deserved.  It was like asking a mouse to roar. I just couldn't do it.  Eventually, he not only gave me a raise, but he also entered my name for a $1000 college scholarship. Showed up at the Hilton McDonald's banquet in a tie and everything to present it to me himself.  He taught me a lot. Regesh was a dear man.  He came in at management level and didn't even know how to scoop fries.  He was so humble and sweet that first day. "Please," he asked me quietly.  "Will you help me learn all this?"  I learned later he came in as management because he held two engineering degrees and one business degree back home.  None of which transferred to his new country.  So there he was, this brilliant accomplished man,  struggling to reconnect the Sprite hose out back and listening to customers belittle him when their Big Mac wasn't to their liking.  Embracing his new life with so much dignity.

But probably my very favorite of all was Freidun. He was from Afghanistan and he was the most melodramatic, expressive, hysterical guy I'd ever met.  Tall guy but so so skinny.  He had a little black mustache and a big goofy smile. He liked to show off his new English curse words but he wasn't always sure how to pronounce them.  So he'd come to me and go down a long list of words to be sure he was saying them correctly.  I would blush as red as the French fry boxes and mumble that I wasn't sure. "Ok ma'am no problem." I was always ma'am to him.  When he was squeezing by it was a big booming, "Secuse me Ma'am. Secuse me!" One day, I couldn't help but laugh out loud and tell him the phrase he was looking for was "Excuse me!"  He loved that he made me laugh and for the rest of the time I worked there, he would never let a shift go by without reaching around me with a jolly "Secuse me Ma'am!" and a twinkle in his eye.  One night, there was a carnival going on outside that got a little rowdy.  Around 10pm, a man ran full speed into our McDonald's and locked himself in the bathroom.  Close on his heels were about four police officers, their hands on their guns and yelling for everyone to get out.  Well the customers beat it out of there but we didn't know what to do.  I ducked down behind the counter while the police swarmed in front of the bathroom door demanding for the man to come out and put his weapon on the ground.  The word weapon was enough to do me in right there.  I kept thinking that I really, really did not want to die next to a box of apple pies. As I sat there hunched over and shaking, I felt Freidun squeeze his skinny little body close to mine and place his hands over my head.  "Don't worry ma'am. I protect you."  And you know?  I believe he would have.  Given his life to protect mine.  In fact, I know that he would have.

Do we need to stop the jihadists?  The extremists that are kidnapping and raping children and murdering thousands and sneaking into countries with the sole purpose of destroying them? Absolutely.  And God help them if we find them because He will be their only hope.

But I guess I just wanted to remind myself that people are people.  And for every Muslim terrorist, there are thousands of decent, peace-loving, dear Muslim neighbors that would hunch over a scared teenager and protect her with their lives.  I admit that I can't completely figure out how to hate the terrorism without it effecting how much I love our Muslim neighbors. Or how to show our Muslim friends Christ's generous compassion while telling them we will hunt down and kill the terrorists that live among them. There are plenty of articles floating around debating the balance between fighting for our survival and fulfilling our call to compassion.  I'm sure people much smarter than I am can take on the issue with confidence.  But for me, I just wanted to remember that the billions of people in this world are all made in the likeness of God.  Created by Him and for Him.  And if we listen closely enough, He will show us how to walk this tightrope with grace and strength.

The Worry Train

I remember the days when the baby only let me sleep 4 hours a night and the 1 year old woke up daily from a great sleep ready to go. And go and go and go. And I worried that I let him watch too much Wiggles and that he didn't play outside enough and that the baby would think we didn't love him. Because he WAS kinda hard to like sometimes. And I worried that the husband would forget what I looked like. The real me. Because he only saw zombie me and I was too tired to tell him how much I adored him. Worry after worry that were just tearing my heart out. And I remember one morning thinking..."If the kids would just sleep one night. One whole night! I wouldn't have to worry about all this stuff and I could just be happy." 

And then there was a blur of days and weeks and months. And I looked up and the kids weren't babies anymore. And I noticed the Wiggles hadn't permanently brain damaged anyone, the big one spent hours chasing ants down the driveway, and the baby had carved an indelible place in all our hearts. And the husband. Well he had seen me all along. And when he pulled me around the corner to kiss me senseless when he got home from work, I sighed with relief. We had made it. All the way through the valley of the shadow of babies and toddlers. And we were still us. I could stop worrying.

SAID NO ONE EVER.

Of course I couldn't stop worrying. I just traded in my old worries for newer, bigger, scarier ones. Too much Wiggles? I laughed at my own stupidity. Breaking their brain was nothing compared to hurt feelings and screen time fights and first cavities and choosing preschools. Or the big Kahuna. Giving them the wrong answers! I gulped when Wesley asked why people stop being married and what soldiers do at the war and why God made tornadoes. Not sleeping was lookin' like a piece of cake from here sister! But I manned up. I learned that milkshake medicine helps when your friend says you're weird. I secretly swapped out juice for flavored water. I toured schools like nobody's business and I googled stuff. A lot. 

And I remember the day I stayed in the car for a minute while the boys ran into the house and I thought to myself in that quiet moment. "My stomach hurts from all this worrying. If I could just..." Just what? Just get them safely to middle school? You know that place where all the puberty mixes so well with the sexual experimentation and recreational drugs. Or just get them to high school? Because I'm sure worry will be the last thing on my mind when they're driving home from the football game with all their buddies on Friday night. Or maybe if I could just raise them in a world where there was no dysfunctional families or nuclear threats or natural disasters prompting questions I couldn't answer because I didn't understand them myself. And then it finally dawned.

There is always gonna be something to worry about.

I understand that's not breaking news for anyone else. But it was for me. And incredibly demoralizing news at that. Because I hate worrying! So when all this stuff is going down with my kids and I'm tied in knots and I realize that there's no gettin' off the worry train, what in the world was I supposed to do? I knew the answer but I didn't like it.

Matthew 6:25-26
"Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life...Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns (NOR INTERFERE UNNECESSARILY, NOR SPEND HOURS GOOGLING, NOR CRY OVER ENDLESS HYPOTHETICALS), and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?"

There was my answer. In black and white. And from God Himself. His thoughts on the matter?
Stop. Just stop. Stop worrying. Let me take care of you. So I let that sink in and I waited for some great tsunami of relief to overwhelm me in waves. But it didn't happen. And I knew why. It was embarrassing to admit then, and it still is today. It was a secret I had never admitted to anyone. Not even to myself.

I didn't really hate worrying. I actually liked it. 

In fact, I loved it! I spent a lot of time doing it. It was my go-to cope for when the hard stuff came. And maybe the most shocking confession of all. It made me feel better! I understand logically that makes no sense. Worry can't change a diagnosis or fix a marriage or fill up a bank account or (cringe) protect your kids. So why do I do it? Because it makes me feel like at least I'm doing SOMETHING to help. And that lie? It comes straight from the enemy. He'd like us to think that replaying scenarios, and working out endless what-if's, and wearing out our fingers on search engines is what we should do. Is all we CAN do really. But as always, he's feeding us a lie to keep us from the truth. To keep us leaning on our own understanding instead of leaning into God's everlasting arms.

Because here's more of what God has to say on the subject.

"Do not be anxious about anything...but let your requests be made known to God." Phil. 4:6
"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..." Psalm 55:22
"Cast all your anxiety on Him for He cares for you..." I Peter 5:7
"I will fear no evil for you are with me..." Psalm 23:4
"When I am afraid, I will trust in you." Psalm 56:3
"The Lord is my Helper, I will not be afraid..." Hebrews 13:5
"When the cares of my heart are many, your consolation cheers my soul." Psalm 94:19

So I'm not even about to say that I've got this thing down. (This morning I spent ten minutes worried the big one would forget to turn in his lunch order and go hungry.) But I'm trying. And when I get it right and refuse to believe the lies of the enemy and turn to my Father instead, He is always there. So here's to trying again. Learning to trust Him with our biggest stuff. Cuz it sure beats worrying. And middle school is comin' for us momma!

Because Sometimes You Just Know

I might be on my own here but I'm gonna ask anyway.  Do you ever serve a meal to your kid?  A nicely balanced, nutritious little plate of food with the correct amount of fruit and veg and protein. With a little treat on the side that makes their eyes light up. And a Lightning McQueen cup filled with nice, cold milk.  And you ask Mr. Picky Pants if he's good.  If he needs anything else. If he can imagine even one more thing that he could possibly want.  But no. It must be El Nino or something. Because it rarely happens, but today he's a happy customer.  The apple slices aren't touching the carrot sticks and the ketchup is in its own little bowl far away so the grapes won't even think of rolling into it.  The cheese slice is the one from the approved purple package and the ham has been patted dry with a paper towel. BECAUSE IT'S NOT YOUR FIRST DAY AT THE RODEO SISTER! So you grab your salad (or your chicken nugget and oreo) and you sit down.  And you enjoy that moment. The sitting. The thing you used to take for granted. 

(Do you remember the days long, long ago when you could just sit down whenever you wanted to? Like it was a free country? No asking permission. No brushing off crushed cheerios from the cushion. No untangling two or more children from between your legs so you wouldn't crush their little skulls when you did it. Just sitting. Wow that was nice.) 

But anyway there you are.  Sitting and enjoying and lifting the fork. And please. You know what I'm about to say. Cut and copy your kid's favorite form of drama and paste it right HERE. Because somewhere between the sitting and the chewing there is the SITUATION.  We call it fork radar at our house.  Everyone's happy as can be til mom sits and picks up her fork. They're good at it too! That built-in sonar system is not messin' around. They can be upstairs in the play room or across the street at the neighbor's house.  But wherever they are, they know when you pick up that fork.  So here's the tricky part. Do you  A) shove in a couple bites before you check it out? B) Sit and finish quickly with an ear out for more trouble? Or C) drop the fork and run because somebody's body part is stuck in the potty tunnel and it won't come out. Well any momma worth her salt knows the level of the crisis is based on the scream. And she, like the undercover Wonder Woman that she is, can mentally triage the situation and get it right 9 times out of 10.  My husband loves my secret powers.  We'll be sittin' there talking and I, like a fool, pick up a fork. And hear the scream.  He looks at me with a question in his eye and I say, "Nope we're good" or "Hang on a sec. Better keep listening" or "Run!" and it's like a party trick just for the two of us because he can't for the life of him figure out how I do that and it's all kinds of entertaining to him. Til he has to pull a body part out of the potty tunnel which is always kind of a buzz kill. 

And the fact is, I can't really explain it to him either.  It's a mom thing for sure. When you just know stuff about your kid and you're usually right.  I remember one time when Wesley was a little bug and we were sitting in church.  And about 15 minutes before the sermon was over, I said to the husband, "I gotta go check on the baby." And he said with all the maddening logic of a man, "Babe they'll put his number up if there's a problem." And I said back, "No, I just feel like he needs me now." And we had a little whisper-yell argument in the pew til he agreed to step out with me and go check.  And doggone it, if we didn't round the corner to the nursery wing and see from a distance that a worker had taken Wesley out of the baby room and was walking him up and down the hall to try to calm him down while he was screamin' his little lungs out. And I didn't say the words 'I told you so' out loud but I vibed them as hard as I could at the husband who only shook his head and smiled.  (Partly because we were in church and you never know when a deacon's gonna round a corner and catch you fighting with your wife and you have to smile and pretend that she's the cutest lil thing ever and not getting on your nerves at all but mostly because he's way nicer than me and doesn't have a mean bone in his body.) But I know if you're a mom, you feel me.  You have your own stories about knowing stuff about your kids and you have no idea HOW you know it.  You just do.  And I love that.  I love that God wired us to our babies.  We can look at their faces and know if someone hurt their feelings at school, if they have a headache, if they need to drink more water, if they're embarrassed to tell us something, if they're missing daddy, if they're scared about their dentist appointment next week, or if they're about to go karate crazy on their brother the next time he interrupts them.  And I look at my own Father. And he looks down at me.  His daughter.  True, I was adopted but I'm in His family just the same as if I was born to Him.  And He knows me that way.  That special, intimate, unexplainable way. I love the verses where He reminds me of it. 

Ruth, listen to me.  "The very hairs of your head are numbered. Don't be afraid." Luke 12:7

Ruth look at me. "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." Jeremiah 1:5

Ruth go ahead and cry. I see every tear. "(Lord) You have collected all my tears in a bottle." Ps 56:8

Ruth I'm here. "Do not be terrified...for the Lord your God goes with you..." Deut.31:6

Ruth I'm not leaving. Ever. "He will neither fail you nor abandon you..." Deut 31:6

So maybe you're past the fork radar stage and on to boyfriend battles and curfew crises. (Heaven help me. Just typing that makes me need a Xanax.)  Or maybe you're still at that place where the baby can't roll over yet and praise Jesus, he's trapped in that bassinet til you're finished with your salad.  But wherever you are, remember how loved you are.  How cherished and precious you are.  You're His daughter and He knows you the same way you know those little monkeys who've destroyed the guest room in the amount of time its taken you to read this paragraph.  Know them and love them like only a momma can. But take time to feel His love too!