Ella

The sick and the injured

October 8, 2010

The little man had just fallen asleep. We were on day three of a fever, and he was taking an unusual morning nap. The phone rang at 11:00 am. It was Caroline’s sweet teacher telling me that she had fallen off the monkey bars and landed flat on her back. The general consensus was that she was okay, the fall had likely just knocked the wind out of her and she was sore. So because she is five, and because she was very upset, we picked her up and brought her home.

Then the phone rang at 1:00 pm. Ella had fallen off the monkey bars and landed on her arm. I said “no, you mean Caroline, and I already picked her up”. They said “no, we mean Ella”. I said “seriously”? They said “yes”. So I said “okay my little wounded battalion, back in car, another soldier is down”. Later I called the doctor because Ella’s arm did indeed seem legitimately hurt. I spoke with the nurse who asked me a series of 8 questions. The last question was “are any of her limbs severed?”. As I answered “no”, I wondered why that was question 8. Shouldn’t that have been question 1? I really should have answered “yes” just for fun, but I wasn’t presently in the mood for such games.

We spent the next day in the orthopedic office, only to find out her arm wasn’t broke. For the most part I was relieved it wasn’t broke; but I will not deny that there was a small part of me that was sort of hoping there was a legitimate reason for all the time, money, and arm strength I was exerting while wrestling Thomas in a doctor’s office much of the day. The good news was that she would be fine to return to school tomorrow, and after a long week of sickness and injuries, the next day would calm down. I really should know by now that the next day never calms down…Ella woke in the night with a fever. And so the saga continues, and I am in the process of learning to be grateful. For each day is a day that the Lord has made, even the sick and injured ones.

Filed UnderA mother's heart, Caroline, Ella 10 Comments

The Smiles Box

September 13, 2010

My girls dug down deep into the collection of empty cigar boxes that belongs to their Big Pop, each searching for the perfect box for their project. Gran Jan and Big Pop are two of my children’s most favorite people alive, and on this particular Saturday morning they were turning cigar boxes into “Smile Boxes” with these sweet Grandparents of theirs. We can always count on Gran Jan to come up with a great project for them, and this one might be one of our favorites. They were making boxes that would hold all their special memories…memories that would make them smile. The goal would be that whenever something sad would happen, they would open their smiles box and be reminded of all the happy, joyful memories that had made them smile in times past. They would be reminded of all their blessings, and all the love that had been shown, and then they would be happy again.

It wasn’t long after this project was complete, that my Ella suggested they also make a “Sad Box” so that they could write down all the sad stuff too. In her 7 year old brain, it logistically made sense: if you have a “happy box”, you also need a “sad box”. And though we all laughed, I couldn’t help but think that this is actually how so many of us live out our lives. We walk around holding our “sad boxes” and our piece of paper and pen in hand, just waiting for the chance to record something sad and file it away. We protect it’s record like a mother protects her child, so that at the necessary and apropos time, we can pull it out as evidence of our unfair life inflictions. We take a “woe is me” approach to our days, and habitually record all the ways we have been wronged by those around us. And in a low moment of self pity, we pull out our “sad boxes” and go through the list of evidence. When we reach the end of our list, we sit and survey the wreckage. Clearly, we can rest our case…we have been wronged and our “sad box” runneth over.

Are you wondering how I have such ability to explain the process so clearly? For so many years, I had great practice at it. I did this daily, and I didn’t even know that I was doing it. It was just the way I processed life. I am so grateful to be able to say that my “smiles box” is so much fuller these days than my “sad box”. I wish I could say I didn’t even own a “sad box”…but sometimes it will rear it’s ugly head and beg me to pick up that pen and record a bad circumstance, or even worse, to recall one from the past. That box would love nothing more than to be full of life’s wrongs, and for me to sit on the floor and wallow in self pity with all my little scraps of paper scattered around me on the floor. The “sad box” wants me to be a bottom dweller, feasting on nothing more than a plate full of lies.

I was reminded this week about two guys that had every reason in the world to carry around a “sad box”. Unfortunately, even if they had wanted to, they would not have been able because their hands were in chains and they had been severely flogged and beaten. Paul and Silas innocently sat deep within the walls of a highly guarded prison cell, after having been publicly beaten without a trial. And though their theoretical “sad box” could have been full, they sat praying and singing hymns to God, and God loves to reward such faith. His ways are many and He rewards each of us differently, but for Paul and Silas, he shook things up by sending a violent earthquake breaking every one’s chains. By their faith, they were free, and so are you. You are free to not carry around your “sad box”. It is nothing but a heavy linked chain that you are dragging around with you, and friend…may I be so bold as to say that it doesn’t look very pretty on you. And you should further be reminded that Jesus is walking right beside you saying “You know you don’t have to carry that thing around with you, right? You know I have already broken that chain, right?”. Won’t you close up your “Sad Box” and start living in the truth that Jesus has already packed full a “Smiles Box” for you…and you don’t even have to do anything to earn it. The box is a gift from your Father, that He has freely given His children.

Filed UnderCaroline, Ella 7 Comments

The shepherding is too short

September 1, 2010

When my husband and I decided that we were going to try and have children, what we really had decided to do was to try and have babies, not children, and certainly not adolescent children. My role as a mother up until now has mainly consisted of things like baby swings and lullabies, Noggin (because “it’s preschool on TV”…right?), and cute Bible stories about Noah and his animals and a lot of rain. Simple nurturing, the natural kind of mothering that one can expect to do when they decide to have children. And though it of course wasn’t always simple, we have thus far been wrapped up in the kind of parenting that has seemed relatively black and white.

Well things are starting to get a little grey around here. My firstborn is approaching 8, going on 18, and she is determined to get there at a brisk pace…a pace that often leaves me winded. I am starting to get questions that I do not want to give the answers to. My husband up until now has loved to throw out a “who wants to plan a trip to Disney World?!?!?” when we would get hit with a question that was dabbling in an area we felt the girls were not ready to discuss. The distraction has amazingly enough always worked, and he and I would giggle at the mac truck that we had so ingeniously stepped out of the way of. Well guess who is not all that interested in planning a trip to Disney World anymore. And so now I find myself in the middle of the road, staring down the headlights of a mac truck…or more specifically, the dark brown eyes of my eldest daughter.

She is asking hard questions. She has been taught all about heaven and the wonders of it all, but now she wants to know all about what happens to people that choose to not believe in Jesus. She wants to know answers to questions that make me uncomfortable in my own skin, while discussing with my daughter. She wants to know about things like divorce, and children whose parents die, and how some mothers have babies when they are not married. Real life questions. Legitimate questions, but nonetheless, questions that I wasn’t thinking about when I decided to have babies. But as it turns out, these little people we birth are indeed just that…little people. They have their own personalities and ideas, and as they grow older, I am seeing my role as their mother from a different perspective. These children of mine, really are not mine to cling to, but rather His that He has called me to shepherd for a time. And oh how short that time is.

Who else out there is answering hard questions? I would love to hear from you. And to those of you out there that are still using Disney World as a distraction, enjoy it while it lasts my friend, because you have a mac truck headed your way sooner than you think.

Filed UnderA mother's heart, Ella 20 Comments

The motherhood mystery

August 10, 2010

I am learning everyday that motherhood is a mystery. You think you know what you are in for. You watch other mothers care for their children and figure “easy enough”. You rock someone else’s baby to sleep and you think to yourself “I can do this”. And then the time comes for you to push out that thing that has been squirming around in your belly for 9 months and you’re in shock. At least I was. What do you mean this baby came out of me? What do you mean she now belongs to me and my husband? So many questions. So many questions that I thought I had the answers to, right up until I was actually holding my child.

We named her Ella Grace, and the name “Grace” was because we knew we were going to need a lot of it. She is such a beautiful gift to us, one that once we received it, we wondered how we ever lived without her. I tell Ella that she reminds me of a rainbow. She is always a surprise, and always radiant. She is unpredictable, often just barely out of my reach, and full of color and life all the time. She also happens to be the exact replication of my husband in every way…in appearance and personality. And so in some ways I feel like he knows her more than I do, he gets her, he understands the way her brain works. Sometimes I even rely on him for interpreting her actions, because there are times when I just do not understand them. He always can, and I love that. I am still learning though. I am getting to know her more and more everyday. We curl up next to one another in bed at night and talk and pray, and it’s as if she and I are the only two people in the world. Everything Ella does she does with passion and determination. She is intense like that. And just when I think I have her figured out, she throws me a curve ball. Oh how I love that girl!

How about you? Is motherhood somewhat of a mystery to you? Has the gift of a child been a different gift than you thought it was going to be? No less lovely, just different. Talk to me…

Filed UnderA mother's heart, Ella 13 Comments