in the changing of seasons: a final post

 June 26, 2008. 

The day I wrote my first post on this blog. I was sitting in a hotel room in New York, prepping to fly to London. As the flight took off the next day, I thought, "That's it. It's over. I've ruined my whole life and I'm going to die somewhere in Africa, alone and abandoned." (I've always leaned towards the dramatic.) 

And the truth is, I did ruin my whole life. For weeks, I had been taking most of my stuff to the local Goodwill. I made so many trips that at one point, the intake guy commented, "Are you getting a divorce? You're here everyday with tons of stuff." 

"Nope. Just selling my house, giving away everything that won't fit in two suitcases, leaving my dog behind and moving to a different country. You know, totally normal."

I ruined my "house in the suburbs, little red sports car, single woman with a dog" life. 

I ruined my "culturally-specific, privileged majority, America is the Best" life.

I even ruined my "western interpretation, American Bible" life.

But the reality is, God told me to get on that airplane. I was scared, nervous, afraid... and fully convinced that God had told me to do it and He was going to figure it out. I was totally naive about what I needed to survive in another country. I didn't know that I packed the wrong books and the wrong shoes. I didn't realize that I would need a sweatshirt for the beach at night and a manual-charging flashlight for the rolling power outages. I showed up with the wrong things and the wrong ideas about what life in Tanzania would be like. But God was faithful. He helped me make friends and learn the Swahili words for green pepper and pineapple and figure out how to make coffee over a gas burner. He helped me listen and learn, realizing that He does, indeed, speak every language and that pieces of His Spirit can be found in every culture all over the world. 

God did, indeed, ruin my life.  

And I am forever grateful for it. 

14 years later, I am about to get on another airplane. 

This Saturday, Hubby and I are headed to Tirana, Albania for a vision trip. We get to meet with the team living there, explore some historical parts of the country, figure out if we can feed our food-allergy family with the groceries available, and tour the school where our children could attend. If all goes well... I guess even if it doesn't go particularly well... if the team thinks God is in this and if we think God is in this, then we will start making many trips to our local thrift store, getting rid of anything that won't fit in two suitcases per person. 

(But this time, we don't have any pets to leave behind... much to the relief of my parents. wink. )

Our family has all the big feelings right now. Our oldest keeps having stomach aches, "I'm just so nervous" he keeps saying. So we made sure our Google Homes were set up so he can video call us or leave us messages anytime he wants. Our youngest says she is "big, giant sad" because she will miss us and also "a little nervous... and also maybe a little scared of the dark." Middle assured us, three times during our hour long family meeting, that he won't miss us because of all the fun things he will get to do and all the fun people he is looking forward to hanging out with... "Did you hear that Mom? I'm not going to miss you. Did you write it down on the prayer list? Well don't... because I'm not... going to miss you." (If you see him, please ask if he needs an extra hug. He is apparently (not) going to miss us an awful lot.) ;) 

And I have been a wreck. 

It's SO MUCH easier to follow God onto an airplane and let Him ruin your life when it's just your life He's ruining. When you are asking your husband and children to do the same, it's a whole different level of life ruination. 

And I pray that they will, one day, also be forever grateful for it. 

Since I started this blog to chronicle all the ways God ruined MY life when He called me to be a cross-cultural witness in Tanzania, and, as a family, we are embarking on a journey to let God ruin OUR lives, I think it's time for a change. This will be the final post on "in Times of Spring." Thank you for following along on this wild ride of change and unexpected miracles. It started as a way to tell the story of a single girl following a faithful God. And it's ending, full of faithfulness, heart break, miracles and unexpected joys. We pray our new stories will be just as full. 

If you'd like to follow along, we will continue blogging our story here at theschlattfamily.blogspot.com. 

in a pit... with a toddler... on a snowy day.

So I find myself in the unenviable position of living in a pit of despair. 

It sounds dramatic, I know. 

But I have never been a person who is known to be lacking in drama so there you go. 

I want to blame it on the weather... because February. Grey, rain, more grey, more rain. 

But I can't.

I have to blame it on my toddler. 

If you have never experienced daily interactions with a two year old, it goes a little something like this...

Don't eat that. 

Don't put your finger in there. 

Please don't put that in your mouth. 

Stop hitting your brother. 

Don't climb that. 

Don't sit on that. 

Don't use that to climb that to sit on that. 

Please stay in bed. 

Please go to sleep.

Please go back to sleep. 

Please go back to bed. 

I love you, too. 

and then you do it again the next day. and again the next day. and again the next day. 

If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, then parenting a toddler is borderline psychosis... knowing you will not get a different result but still doing the same thing over and over again. Because if you stop saying "Don't eat that, don't put your finger in there, please stop hitting your brother," then somebody is going to get poisoned and you're going to end up at the Emergency Room and ain't nobody got time for that! (Plus, you know, you love the kid. So there's that...) 

And, in the midst of all this just-trying-to-keep-your-toddler-alive, you have to plan healthy, home-cooked meals because vegetables are important, and have age-appropriate development activities so the kid won't be too dumb, and read at least 12 books a day so the kid will be an early reader, and limit screen time so they won't grow up to be a lazy ass, and make sure you give them plenty of eye contact and hugs so they won't become a serial killer. 

And, oh yes, essential oils. 

And it's easy to buy a plaque from Hobby Lobby that says, "Excuse the mess, we're making memories" or "My only goal is to keep the tiny Humans alive," but eventually someone has to cook dinner and do the dishes. Because, eventually, you do run out of forks. (And your kids look at you weird when you make them eat eggs with a spoon. I heard that somewhere...) And in the three minute time span that it takes you to put away the food from dinner, your unsupervised toddler will decide to get out of bed create chaos. And when you discover that she has un-planted everything that you planted in new pots just the day before, you will scream and use the words "Just wait until your Daddy gets home!!" Then you will put her in the pack n play and go downstairs and clean the kitchen. 

So yes, life with a toddler, specifically a 2 almost 3 year old, is monotonous and frustrating and can lead to a pit of despair. 

But there's also this... the pink wind spinner that she insisted on buying when she asked to go to the craft store the other day...

So even on the greyest day, we have a bright pink, happy spot in our garden. 

And there's this...

When she puts on her Princess Anna dress and a Superhero mask to play Batman and Robin with her brothers... 

And there's this...

When she dances with her Daddy in the kitchen and her joy lights up a room. 

Life with a toddler is not easy. But strong women do change the world. They just have to survive the toddler years... :)

in America: Why I am Grateful for this Country but can no longer say the pledge of allegiance

So here it is, Memorial Day. We're at the beach and Husband has the boys in the sand and the Toddler is taking a nap here in the condo so I'm taking a minute to write down some thoughts about my Passport country and why I can't say the Pledge of Allegiance anymore.

I know, I know. I should just post a picture of the flag and say how grateful I am for the troops and Go America! and all that. But I've been thinking a lot about this lately and I figured now is the time to process out loud. or something.

Here's my picture... And I am grateful for the troops... But I'll get to that later.

So the Pledge of Allegiance. First of all, let me say I'm sorry to my friend, L, who, years and years ago, stopped saying the Pledge of Allegiance. And I was all like, "Ack! Are you serious? Where's your patriotism?" But she was right. God doesn't call us to be patriots or nationalists. He calls us to be Citizens of Heaven (Phil 3:20) and to live peacefully with the people around us so that we will be a blessing to them (Zechariah). Like the story of Naaman and the Servant Girl. (1 Kings 5) Like the story of Joseph in Egypt (Gen 39 and 41). But the Bible is also filled with stories of people who were NOT good citizens... who blatently ignored the laws of the Land: like Daniel (Daniel 6) ; Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego (Daniel 3); Rahab (Joshua 2). In our current view, it's easy to see them as Heros of the Faith who stood up for God and refused to compromise on their beliefs. But, in reality, they were criminals. They broke the law, they defied decrees, they lied to the King. In fact, the wise men who were setting up Daniel knew that the only way they could catch him out was to put conflict between the law of the land and the Law of God (Daniel 6:5). So that's why I can't say the Pledge of Allegiance... I can't "pledge allegiance to the flag and the United States of America." Because I've already pledged allegiance to GOD (Father, Son and Holy Spirit.) And when the Law of God comes into conflict with the Laws of the United States of America, then I will be a criminal and a law breaker.

Within the history of the United States, Christianity, as a religion, has enjoyed certain perks. There has been prayer in schools, "See You at the Pole" events, an opening prayer for a Congressional session...  For goodness sake, even some of our Presidents use a Bible while taking the Oath of Office! (Not all of them, though... https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oath_of_office_of_the_President_of_the_United_States#Use_of_Bibles ) But, we are NOT a Christian nation. Our Constitution doesn't make Christianity the official religion. We are, in fact, a pluralist nation. It's the First Amendment!! (Believe it or not, Freedom of Religion comes before Freedom of Speech, in fact.) But I will not take this privilege for granted. I will not use it to pretend that this is a Christian nation. I want to remain keenly aware that I am a sojourner here... and as such, it is my responsibility to use what privilege I have to bring blessing, be a peace maker (Not a peace keeper, mind you), to use my voice to support those with less privilege, and to support others who are also sojourners in this land.

But I refuse to take this privileged position for granted. So I cannot pledge allegiance. But I am grateful.
Grateful for this nation where, as a woman, I still had the opportunity to pursue education.
Grateful that I can openly celebrate Christmas and Easter without fear of retribution or imprisonment.
Grateful that I can travel wherever I want, whenever I want.
Grateful that I can march, protest, write a letter to a lawmaker, have a voice in politics. (Although, as a moderate, it's a quiet voice in a sea of extreme noise, but that's another post for another time.)
Grateful that this nation still maintains a deep sense of Justice. (I believe every culture shows some aspect of the Kingdom of God... and I believe this is America's.)

*Side note: I know, Justice is a hard word for us right now... when racism is still so prevalent, especially within the Judicial system; when the gap between the rich and the poor is wide and uncrossable; when people are dying from easily medicated diseases because they can't afford the prescription. But if we didn't believe in Justice, then we wouldn't care. We wouldn't have a riot when another black life is lost to a "routine police investigation." We wouldn't fight to overturn court decisions... we wouldn't even appeal! We wouldn't throw up our hands and say, "WTF?" when a city poisons half its population with contaminated drinking water. In all these cases, if we didn't care about Justice, we would say, "Meh. Stuff happens."*

and I'm grateful to the men and woman who are willing to stand in the gap and serve in the military. I've had the privilege to know and have conversations with some Army Chaplains. One I recently had with the Chaplain at our local veteran's center, concerned how he spends most of his time. He said there was always the weekly church service, but most of his time was spent counseling the men and women who were serving. Giving them a place to talk about, vent, and examine the choices that they were making: how serving in the military and obeying the commandment "Thou Shalt not Kill" seemed impossible.  (This American Life also had a similar interview on their show "10 Commandments".) After this conversation, I realized, it has been fairly easy for me to obey that commandment. I have never experienced anything that has put me in the position of needing to defend myself to the death. I have needed to physically defend myself, to verbally defend myself, and to intellectually defend myself. But I haven't experienced anything that required me to kill someone else to keep myself or my family safe. But there are people who have. And I know that there is a pacifist conversation going on right now.  (And before you roll your eyes, even pacifists had a role during WWII: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civilian_Public_Service) And I support that conversation. But the bottom-line is, somebody had to stop Hitler. He rolled right over most of Europe until a tiny, little island in the middle of the Atlantic stood up and said, "No more. No further." And they fought with everything they had. And when the US military joined the fight, it took a spectacular loss of life to stop the tragic extermination that was occurring. Someone had to stand up, hold a weapon, and say stop. Someone had to weigh the brutality of the concentration camps against the life of the soldier in front of him. Someone had to stand in that gap between "Thou Shalt not Kill" and "Rescue those being lead away to death (Proverbs 24:11)."  And I want to say Thank You. Thank you for standing in that gap. To my cousins, my grandfathers, my friends, my former students: Thank you.

in His own Words (part 1)

Last year, in this post, I wrote about realizing that I was mad at God. And at the end, I promised that I would write again to explain where He and I are right now. And I never did. So now I am.

Once upon a time, I became a Christian.
I grew up in an evangelical home.
I was baptized at the age of 5.
I went to church every Sunday. (well, my siblings will tell you about the time I refused to go to church and my parents and I had a very dramatic standoff involving me sitting in my pajamas in the church parking lot... but MOSTLY I went to church every Sunday.)

And I gotta tell you, I loved Jesus. Like, I was excited to go to church. (most of the time ;) ) I liked reading my Bible. I was that kid who won awards for memorizing Bible verses. I gathered prayer requests from my bunk mates at summer camp. I wore the "I ♥ Jesus" t-shirt to school. (No, like I really did that. It looked like this:

When I was in 5th grade, I wrote an essay about how I wanted to be a Missionary when I grew up. I took French in High School because I had heard that Bible-believing Christians were a tiny minority in France and I wanted to go there and tell people about Jesus. (That's a true story.)

So, I liked being a Christian. I liked hanging out with Jesus. I wanted to be close to Him and do the things that He did. (Okay, yes, I did have a WWJD bracelet... but it wasn't because it was cool, it was because I actually read the book "In His Steps" that the whole trend was based on... like, I found my mom's 1960-something copy of the old book first published in 1896... So like, I was legit with my old book copy and everything... (ahem.)

The types of churches that my family attended were pretty... tame churches, for lack of a better description. People loved Jesus, and prayed for healing and sent out missionaries and raised their hands in worship, but the Holy Spirit wasn't really talked about. He was kind of like the weird uncle that people love to hear stories about (Did you hear how Mrs. Church Lady had cancer and people prayed for her and she went to the doctor and the doctor was like, "Whoa, no more tumor! Jesus is cool!") but nobody really wants around because he's going to say something awkward at Thanksgiving dinner. So, in the denominations that my family attended, the way to be close to Jesus was to:
1. read your Bible
2. have a quiet time (it should be everyday, but at the very least every other day)
3. write in a journal
4. go to church.

We even had our own "memes" about it... before there were memes... when you would just wear a clever saying on a shirt or put a sticker on your guitar case. (I'm pretty sure guitar-case stickers were the meme generators of the late 90s.)

  

Oh wait, that's something else...

Then, I got to Tanzania and I started working with a Pentecostal church...where EVERYBODY raises their hands, and people speak in tongues and healing happens IN SERVICE on SUNDAY morning! (What?) And the Holy Spirit is like the cool kid that everybody wants to be friends with even if they've never really met him. ("Oh, HS? Yeah, I know him. I was praying the other day and like 40 people just fell on their faces and like worshipped and there was healing and deliverance and stuff. It was awesome." ) And suddenly, the way to be close to Jesus was to hang out with the Holy Spirit, and pray for people, and use your gifts in worship... and speak in tongues.

But, here's the thing... I don't speak in tongues. (At least, not in the usual way... ) And my own life story involves God NOT healing me, no matter how much we prayed/worshipped/shouted at Him. (I mean, He had something else in mind... like a marriage and a family and stuff. But whatever.) So even though I was surrounded by "Holy Spirit People," I still didn't really know HOW to think about, let alone interact with the Holy Spirit. So staying close to Jesus now meant asking the Holy Spirit to help me read the Bible, pray about it, Hallelujah. But it was still MY job to stay close to Jesus.. My job to "move with the Spirit" (WTF?) to find God's will for my life... MY job to cooperate with whatever God wanted to do, whenever He wanted to do it.

And then God made me a mother... to two high energy boys and a little girl who NEVER stops moving! (like literally, never. Even in the womb it was like, Who's having a party in there?)

And now, I can't even go to the bathroom by myself. So finding time to pray? I can "lift up" a few things while I do the dishes, maybe... (But I'd rather watch old episodes of Stargate SG-1 just so I can hear an adult talk to me.) And reading my Bible? It's great, except if a kid sees me reading a book, he's going to be like, "Hey Mom, can you read me Curious George?" And I'm going to be like, "No, I'm reading my Bible." And he's going to be like, "Oh, I'll get my bible and you can read to me, too." And then he's going to go into his room and find his Bible and drop it on the floor and wake up his brother who is going to cry and come downstairs and insist that I snuggle him and then ask me to change his poopy diaper. And then the baby will start to cry while I'm changing the diaper because she also needs a new diaper and some breakfast. And I'm going to be so glad that I got up early to have some quiet time!!!

And when I finally get some time away on my own, I would love to WANT to go to Starbucks and sit with my cup of coffee and my Bible and read for hours and feel totally fulfilled. But I don't! When I get a break, I don't want to study!!

So last year, I told God, "Sorry. I can not find the time to sit quietly with you. I've tried. I've tried to involve my kids, or get up early or go to bed late. But none of it works. And I know if I feel far from you, "I'm the one who moved" so it's my job to find my way back. But I just can't right now. So, I'll see you when my kids turn 18."


And I thought that was it, you know? "God, I'll see ya in 18 years."

And then God spoke.
And He changed things.
He changed everything.
And He made me realize how much of HIM I was actually missing.

(But now my children are awake... well, they were already awake and I made them watch Daniel Tiger so I could finish this... well, they were awake watching Daniel Tiger last week when I finished this post and now they're getting ready to wake up again while I rewrite the last two sentences. So, I'll have to make this a two part blog. Stay tuned for the exciting continuation... or don't, or whatever. Because I'm sure you've got stuff to do also. ;)

in Seminary

(cough, cough.) wipes away dust and cobwebs. creaky door swings open.

Anybody home?

I know. I know. 

Last time I wrote a post I said I'd write again a week later. 

I know that was 8 months ago. 

But Seminary is no joke, y'all!! It is a time-sucking, family destroying, killer of souls! 

Okay, maybe it's not. 

Well, sometimes it is. 

But mostly it's not. (well, it's finals week... so right now it is.)

I saw a friend at church last week. She asked how my family was doing and if the hubby and I had had our bi-annual, "end of semester" fight yet. I cracked up! Because yes, yes we had. 2 weeks ago. And then we discussed the idea of having a Spouses-End-Of-Semester-Support-Group. :) 

Because Seminary is hard! Like, really hard. Like so hard that our school offers free and reduced counseling for couples and families, as well as a number of marriage strengthening classes and retreats. This is not a, "Well, I just graduated from a Christian University and I can't find a job so I guess I'll go to Seminary" type decision. (Please, please try to find a job at McDonald's first!)

But sometimes, you just can't help it. Sometimes, you work a job for ten years and all you can think about is teaching people about Jesus. And you take all the classes and attend all the trainings that your church offers. Then all you can think about is helping people who want to teach people about Jesus. So you spend lots of time talking to people who teach people about Jesus and you realize that you need more training. And your wife tries to talk you out of it, and you take a few online classes so that "our life doesn't have to change all that much," and you get permission to work remotely and finally, one day, you admit to your wife, "I think we need to move to Wilmore." And she sighs and says, "I know. God has been telling me the same thing." And then she cries in Jimmy Johns. 

Or something like that. 

And then working and studying and babies and small townhouses and papers and biblical languages... and a few weeks ago, I was done. I was ready to tell M that we have to quit school because the kids need a dad and I need a husband and we're tired of sharing him with his classmates, teachers, homework and books. So I prayed. And I pleaded. "God, if you want us to stay, you have to give me a vision for what's next. You have to give me a reason bigger than a degree." And God, in his mercy, did. 

At the end of April, I was out with my girl running some errands on a Saturday morning. And since it was only the baby in the car, I was able to listen to NPR. (Yeah for hearing adults talk!) An episode of This American Life called "Heretics" was playing. In it, a young pastor starts his ministry feeling like it's his responsibility to "get as many for Jesus as possible because everyone is headed for hell." Now, he preaches from a place of feeling like nobody is going to hell, because Jesus died for everybody and it doesn't matter whether you believe in him or not. Hearing this, I thought, "No wonder people think Christians are crazy. This guy is using the Bible to say BOTH that everybody is going to hell and nobody is. I'd think we were crazy, too! ugh! Bad theology!!" (I should clarify... it's not the fact that he changed his mind.... because faith has to be a living, moving journey... or it dies. I felt like he started from a place of bad theology and ended in a place of bad theology. What happened to the middle ground, people?)

And the next morning, God brought that moment back to my mind while I was worshipping in church... it felt like He was saying, "Bad theology doesn't just lead to bad choices. Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name." 

You see, M and I have long been fans of the saying, "Bad theology leads to bad decisions." 

For example: 

"We can't really afford this car but God isn't stopping us from buying it so he obviously wants us to have it." (or God's way of telling you not to buy it is that you can't afford it...) 

or "I need to find a different church because there are no single people here and the Bible says "it is not good for man to be alone" and "be fruitful and multiply" so I need to find a church where I can get married." (or there's a whole part in Corinthians about how good it is to NOT be married...)

or "I'm not allowed to tell my husband, "No" because 1 Corinthians 7:4 says "the wife does not have authority over her own body..." (um, I don't think you read the whole verse... it says the same thing about the husband's body belonging to the wife and that whole section of the letter is talking about not manipulating each other with sex. So, there's that.) 

But this seemed different... this seemed bigger: Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name. 

Bad theology makes pastor's say, "Give all that you have to my church and God will abundantly bless you." 

Bad theology can be used to justify holding up signs and saying horrible things like "God hates gay people." 

Bad theology convinces a husband that he is allowed to beat his wife because "the wife does not have authority over her own body..." 

Bad theology has created an image of Jesus that is manipulative, hateful, superior, takes advantage of the poor, suggests women stay in abusive marriages, only blesses hard work, and requires strict adherence to church tradition in order to be saved. 

and I gotta tell you, that's not who Jesus is. 

and it breaks my heart that that's the only "Jesus" that some people see. 

M is in school so that he can be a teacher. He doesn't want to preach, he doesn't want to lead a church. He wants to help the people who do those things. And now I understand why... because Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name. And if a PASTOR is the person teaching the Bad Theology... well, then that's all sorts of bad-ness. 

So that's our vision. That's our purpose. We're not in seminary so we can get a degree. We're in seminary so we can learn the difference between good and bad theology; how to use the original language of the Bible to put it's message in the correct context; and how to help others learn the difference between good and bad theology within their own cultural context. 

Because GOOD theology can introduce people to who Jesus REALLY is. 

And that's a vision I can get behind. 

in the family way... the post that I didn't write last year.

It's been over a year since I wrote a blog post. I was going along there pretty consistently for awhile but then something happened... something very unexpected, very wonderful and very unplanned. We got pregnant. And then lots of things happened... sickness... and school... and Hebrew... and new doctors... and new friends... and a daughter.

And now there are 5 of us.

It's not a great photo... but it's us:
Sleep deprived, sweaty, upset and in love. 

And it took me awhile to figure out what I wanted to say about all this... and then I didn't know if I was allowed to say it... and then God put me on the spot one day during church.

Our Pastor was teaching on something from the Bible that had great impact to our lives and was filled with important and enlightening truths... or something (church these days =  comforting a baby and shushing a toddler). In the middle of all this exposition and encouragement, he asked us to to take a moment to be silent, then tell God whatever we wanted to tell him. So I did:

"God, I'm mad at you."

Wait, what?
Oh no, so that's in there.
Dang it.

And then I remembered about three c-sections in less than 4 years, a husband who is working and in school full-time, three kids 3 and under, SO MANY DIAPERS, never a moment alone, never losing the baby weight because there are always more babies... and, most importantly, how we were trying NOT to get pregnant.

So I realized that I WAS mad at God.

And then I felt terrible!! Because so many friends, family, strangers on Facebook have been disappointed in their pursuit of trying to start a family. There are so many women who have cried and cursed God as another fruitless month goes by. And here I am, drowning under so many blessings and angry about the timing. It seemed foolish. It seemed ridiculous. It seemed selfish.

But there you are... I was mad at God last year when we found out that we were pregnant. So I didn't write about being "in the family way" like I did for my other kiddos.

So here you go Baby Girl, this one's for you.


Last year, I got pregnant.

And then we found out that we were having a girl!

So we rearranged our house and gave away lots of boy clothes and figured out how to put three kids in one bedroom. Then we had a c-section.

And now we have a daughter!!!

And she is gorgeous and wonderful and smart and a true blessing and light to our lives!


And yes, she is adored by her brothers. :)

 


And God and I? Well, we're working it out. But that's another post for another time. (Hopefully, next week. But kids are crazy and who knows what could happen between now and then.)

inspired

My D is only 34 months old. But he faces fear like a CHAMPION! Seriously... this kid is legend (wait-for-it) dary! If there is something that he is afraid of, (or a thing of which he is afraid?) he screams this ear-splitting, high-pitched wail and stomps his feet while he turns in a circle, then runs in the opposite direction as fast as he can. Seriously...he even makes his brother cry.

But that's not the amazing part.

This is.

D insists... cries, stamps his foot, throws a fit until I turn the car around... on returning to the site of his flight and facing the thing which scared him. Seriously. This 2 and a half year old insists on facing his fears.

For example: Dogs scare D. (We lived next door to an untrained pit bull for the first 18 months of D's life. We had to instill a healthy fear of dogs in order to keep him safe.) Most of our family has small dogs. He has learned how to handle those... from a safe distance, while they're in a cage. But big dogs? No way, no how. He trembles. He screams. He shakes. And if one sneaks up on him at the park while he is climbing a rock and looking the other way... the whole community will hear his high-pitched panic. (Sorry about last Thursday everyone. ;) But he insists on facing the dog. He insists on trying to pet the dog. If he sees a plastic version of "Spot the Dog" at Target, he will first run away in fear. Then, he will traverse the aisles, his toddler size 9 converse plodding methodically behind Mommy keeping time to the rhythm of his mind, thinking about it. And after we find the diapers we are looking for, and after we use the self-checkout, and as we are walking to the car... he will stop. And he will stand. And he will square his shoulders and squeeze his fists together and say, "Mommy, I need to pet the doddie (doggie)." And he will turn around and march back in before his mother has a chance to say, "No, wait, stop." And he will get about 10 feet into the store, start to lose his nerve, bring both hands to his mouth and growl (causing his mother extreme concern when she finally catches up with him after using diaper boxes as a barrier to part the sea of humanity that washes through Target's automatic door.) Then he'll straighten up, literally square his shoulders and march his toddler legs right up to the doggy. And after a few more minutes of consideration, he will reach out his hand and pet that doggy! And the whole time he will wear a T-shirt that says, NOT ironically, "Tiny but Tough."

and his mother will drop the diaper boxes, find her phone, capture the moment digitally, write a blog post and cry. Because that's how she wants to be.

in Respect

This is D...

This is D's "hat"...

In fact, it's not just a hat. It's a football helmet. It's a baseball cap. It's a prince's crown. It's a bargaining tool in the constant, daily toy battle with his baby brother.

He claims it's his football helmet.

A Prince's crown with sword. 

(It's actually the bottom part of a Bob the Builder's hard hat that he got for his birthday last year. Not that that matters to a two year old.)

He's kind of a hat kid. 

Well... they're both kind of hat kids. :) 

Okay, so maybe it runs in the family.

But, ahem, anyway. D's hat.



One evening, a few weeks ago, Mike was traveling for work. He had flown to DC for project meetings so it was just me and the boys for a couple days. When that happens, we Google Hangout with Daddy at bedtime. We sing, we laugh, we sometimes read books. Before we hang up, Mike always prays. This particular evening, D, as usual, was wearing his hat. When Mike started praying, this head-strong, stubborn toddler removed his hat. Yes, that's right, he REMOVED his hat!! A 2 year old... taking his hat off to pray.

Now, this wouldn't be so ridiculous if Mike wore hats, or we attended church softball games on a regular basis, or we went to church with a bunch of cowboys who routinely removed their Stetsons. But he doesn't. And we don't. And even though we live in horse country, no one wears a cowboy hat to church. We have no idea how D knew that this is a sign of respect, appropriate to the moment.

My only guess is based on something that happened at church that same morning.

Worship at our church is incredible! We love it. We love it even more when we get to church on time and we don't miss the first few songs. :) But that Sunday morning, even though we were running late, we were still hit with authentic, Spirit-filled worship as soon as we walked in the door. (Spirit-filled worship = the worship team spending less time playing perfectly and more time listening and responding through improvised melody.) We found some empty chairs, settled the kiddos, D standing next to me, B strapped to my front in the Ergo, and joined in with song. After a few minutes, Mike stepped away from our chairs and knelt down in response to what he was feeling. At our church, this isn't something that causes much distraction. People are free to worship and respond however they like. (Within reason... after all, we don't want anybody to lose an eye because their neighbor was wildly flinging his arms.) But when my husband knelt down and bowed his head before God, my toddler followed suit. He joined his Daddy on the floor, on his knees, head bowed.

My son is learning to respect Jesus because my husband respect's Jesus. And that is an incredible thing.

And also a terrifying responsibility.
They will love what we love. They will repeat what we repeat. They will see people how we see people. They will see themselves how we see ourselves. They will see God the way we see God.

And with God's help, they will be nothing like better than us.

in a Selfish phase... but not really

Some days, I feel like a great mommy! Like tonight... the dishes are done, the cloth diapers are soaking, the boys both went to sleep without screaming, I made myself a cup of tea and I actually wore real clothes today! (I mean like shoes and socks and everything!) Mama win!

And then somedays, D refuses to help clean up, and screams "No!" at me all day long, and then he spills his milk on the floor and I scream at my toddler for being clumsy and he cries and then I cry and then B cries because everybody is crying and that stresses out his little 10 month old heart.

That's right... I scream at my 2 year old for spilling his milk... and I make him cry.

Mama Fail.

We do live in Kentucky now...

Usually on those I-make-everybody-cry days, I have no coping skills. I am stressed, I am nervous, I am burnt out. I don't have the ability to stop myself and say, "It's okay. We'll clean it up." All I can think is, "You did that on purpose to defy me! AHHHHHH!" Not a rational thought by any stretch of the imagination. And I have come to realize that, most of the time, those are the days where I haven't thought about myself at all. Yes, you read that sentence right... on the days where I take no time for myself... no 30 minutes of morning Yoga, no lingering at the breakfast table to finish my cup of coffee, no admiring myself in the mirror while I try out a new eyeshadow... those are the days where I am the worst kind of mommy. The days where I've tried to only be a mommy, I'm the worst mommy. 

Monday night, at Women's Communion, our fabulous speaker, LE said, "You can't pour from an empty cup." 

So so true. Often, lovely women and devoted friends and family have filled my cup for me... the 6 weeks following my c-sections, for example. I am literally not able to do anything but sit and nurse a baby. So other people have to gather, take care, clean my house, feed my family and fill my cup. But most of the time, I need to be responsible for making sure my cup is being filled. I'm just now starting to figure out what that means...

Growing up in a Christian denomination that leaned toward legalism, I've always interpreted that phrase as reading your Bible and praying. "You want to be filled up? Do more devotions. Spend more time with Jesus. Getting bored with all that? Here are 17 verses taken totally out of context and vaguely related to perseverance." And then, once you were filled, you better be headed out to the mission field so that you can pour yourself out because "to whom much is given much will be expected." (Another oft quoted Bible verse taken totally out of context and used to "encourage" young Christians struggling with their faith lives.) 

But I've learned a fancy new term... Self-Care. Which, surprisingly, means taking care of yourself. And, being the brilliant scientist that I am, I am learning that if you don't take care of yourself, then you can't take care of other people. WHAT? I know. 

 

So here I am... doing Yoga, drinking decaf coffee (thank you, anxiety), and trying new eyeshadows. And being a better mommy because I'm selfishly (but not actually selfishly) taking time for myself. 

*And yes, somedays people are sick and no sleeping is happening and we have run out of coffee. And on those days I am grateful for Netflix. Because sometimes, Netflix makes me a better Mommy.*

in Conversation: things you shouldn't say to a mom of two kids... or any person... ever.

Not the post that I was intending to write this week. However, after an... let's say, interesting conversation in the cafeteria at lunch today, I decided it was time to look back at all the comments that were flung in my direction after announcing that I was pregnant with my second child only 9 months after giving birth to my first.

While still pregnant...

"Wow... Congratulations, I guess." Then, in a whisper, away from Michael... "You're happy about this, right?"

"Don't you think it's rude to get pregnant so fast when your (insert distant relative here) struggles with infertility?"

"How many babies are you planning on having?"

"Did you lose all the baby weight from the first one, yet?"

"You must really like sex a lot."

and my personal favorite... "You're pregnant again? What do you want your own reality TV show?"



The first time we brought B to church...

"I didn't know you were pregnant! I just thought you hadn't lost the baby weight."

"Does D like him? or has he tried to hurt the baby, yet?"

"He looks JUST like his brother."

"He looks NOTHING like his brother."

"Two boys? It's time to start trying for that girl!"

"Are you guys finished or do you want another one?"

"You must really like sex A LOT."

and an oldie but a goodie... "You had another baby already? What do you want your own reality TV show?"

In public with two kiddos...

"You really have your hands full."

"Are they BOTH yours?"

"My daughter/cousin/sister-in-law/best-friend-from-kindergarten had two kids close together like that... She said it was the hardest thing ever."

"Your boys are so cute! Do they look like their Dad?"

"Both of your boys are so cute, I could just steal one of them!"

"You're going to wait to have more kids... right?"

and still... "Two kids, 17 months apart? What do you want your own reality TV show?"

and from the cafeteria today... "I recognized your boys, but last time you didn't have any makeup on, your hair was kind of messy and you were in jogging pants. You looked really tired. That's why I didn't recognize you this time!"


Next time you see me in public and I look like a hot mess but both of my boys are alive and I'm still speaking to my husband... please consider the fact that it has probably taken every ounce of energy I have to just get out of the door without forgetting a snack/bottle/diaper/Thomas the Train engine.
        ...And my husband has probably asked me to "Get out and meet some people" in this new community that he so desperately wants to be a part of but is having a hard time finding the space in his schedule what with all the working/studying/fathering/husbanding.
        ...And it's probably such short notice that the best I could do was to change two diapers, make sure everyone has socks, change the baby's outfit again after he spit up/drooled/pooped all over himself, and hope to God that nobody will notice that I haven't showered in three days.
        ...And if you still feel the need to speak to me after the initial, "Hi, how are you? My name is____," (and please speak to me after the initial "Hi, how are you, my name is ___."); maybe you could just ask if I'm reading anything exciting right now. Chances are, there is a book open on my Kindle that I truly intend on finishing before my boys reach puberty.

...and maybe stand downwind... just in case. :)

in Transition: part 2 (our moving story)

Mike started school in September 2014, when I was a few months pregnant with B. At the time, we decided it would be a terrible idea to try to move. (And it would have been.) But this summer, when Mike and I looked at each other the first week of August and said, "We think we should move to Wilmore," we figured it would take a miracle of God to make it happen. After all, we needed an apartment in student housing, approval from Mike's company to work remotely, and, perhaps our biggest hurdle, we needed to sell our house in Ohio... quickly.

Three weeks later, we had an apartment, approval and our house on the market.

5 weeks later, it was sold.

Our house in Ohio... the day it went on the market. 

And we started packing a moving van.

D with our friend, Harry.

All the Grandparents came to help pack and hold kiddos. 

Packed up and ready to go!

Seriously... we needed lots and LOTS of help!
(Thank you also to the Daltons, the Wellers, and Danny R.)

We also had our car packed tight... with a baby gate in a car carrier strapped to our luggage rack. Mike drove the truck... I drove the heavily loaded car with both boys. We took our last family picture in front of the house, prayed for our travels, kissed grandparents goodbye and set off for our new adventure. 

And then things got crazy.

30 miles outside of Columbus, something in the car went KATHUNK, then rattled against the back window. I called Michael, "Something's wrong with the car top carrier! Help! Meet me at the next exit!!" Then another noise, WABOOSH! Kathunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.... Still on the phone with Michael... "Okay, the whole carrier just came loose... I've got to pull over... I don't know what to do....!" Heart beating, shaking, trying to drive carefully and not freak out the boys... I look in the rearview mirror and, miraculously, see the image of my mom's van! Still on the phone, "It's my mom! My mom is behind me! Oh my gosh... just keep going, Michael. it'll be okay!" I pulled off to the side of the highway, she pulled off behind me, and we moved the whole carrier into the back of her van. We discovered that the ratchet strap had come loose... the strap that held a 200 lb couch without slipping last weekend, popped and unrolled when holding down a baby gate. So yeah.

Thinking that that was our "crazy story" for the trip, I set off again with both boys still calmly sitting in the backseat looking at books/chewing whatever he could get his hands on.

20 miles later, just North of Cincinnati, B started screaming. I pulled over and executed Mommy-power-move-#3:quick diaper change in the backseat. Back on the road, half an hour later, B was still screaming as we crossed the bridge over the Ohio River and hit Kentucky. I pulled over and gave him a bottle in the parking lot of a mall, threw a snack at the toddler, then got back on the road. Our 3 hour trip now passing the 4 hour mark. 5 miles past the exit, B started screaming... again. Unfortunately, this is the part of I75 where there is nothing but hills, trees and trucks for 30 miles. There is nothing I can do. B is screaming, D is singing (loudly so he can be heard over his brother) and I am just trying to get us to Wilmore safely!

We started approaching the Owenton/Corinth exit... and I prayed. "Jesus, whatever darkness is trying to prevent us from reaching Wilmore, I tell it to go now in Jesus name." From the backseat, the toddler says, "Bye Bye," and the screaming baby falls fast asleep. Silence and peace for the first time in 4 hours. and I ugly cried for the remaining hour it took us to reach our new front door.

Later, when Mike and I had the chance to talk about it, I found out that he had faced some spiritual oppression as well... the man who never has a panic attack, had three on the drive down. The man who is not afraid of bridges, barely made it over the Ohio for fear of driving off the road. And when he reached the Kentucky border, it lifted.

We began our adventure here in Wilmore by fighting a battle. A battle that, we have since learned, is not unusual for families moving to be a part of the Asbury community. A battle that we want to be continually aware of and prepared for... a battle that we are training to help others be prepared for... Lord help us.

in Transition

Yeah, it's been awhile since I've been able to sit down and write... or think.. or feel... or do anything besides chase my kiddos. Seriously... now that B is never where I want him to be crawling, he and D like to go in opposite directions as often as possible. But more on him later (insert mommy guilt about not giving him equal time on the blog.)

Anyway...  I've had a baby, sold a house and moved to Kentucky since the last time I stopped by to vomit my thoughts onto paper the screen. That's a lot.

I mean a lot, a lot.

Yeah, I had a panic attack as soon as we turned onto our road coming back from Christmas holidays. (but more on that later as well.)

My very wise sister said to me, "Of course you had a panic attack! You've been through so much transition your body doesn't know how to handle it!" She was right.

So here I am again. Trying to find something that connects me to who I was before.. before I was a wife, before I was a mommy, before I was Katie. Something that was true about me then, and is still true about me now. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm still a child of God and all that... we'll get to Him later.)

So please bear with me as I reconstruct some things that have happened the past few days, weeks, months, years... I have lots of stories to tell and I've decided that I'm going to find the time to tell them. Even if it's 9:30 on a Thursday night and I'm about to close down Starbucks. :)