Oh blogging, you've certainly fallen to the way side these days. Between trying to get some homeschooling done, fighting waves of nausea, resisting the urge to lay in the floor and sleep while the kids run amuck and laying down each time the little ones are napping, blogging seems to be getting the short end of the stick.
I have much to blog about and little inspiration to actually put it in writing.
I'm frustrated that I'm 12 weeks and yet the nausea and vomiting has only seemed to worsen in the last couple of weeks. And while I'm thankful that I'm not barfing every hour like I have with previous pregnancies, I am also eager to have some relief from constantly feeling green.
But I'm trying seriously hard to not complain and enjoy every second of this pregnancy and treasure it for the miracle that it is.
The kids are saying so many things that are hilarious (especially Aaron and Olivia) and I really should carry a pen and notebook with me where ever I go because I forget them so easily.
Over the weekend we were talking with the kids about Hurricane Irene. I was in the kitchen finishing up dinner and Luke was sitting at the table with the kids talking about the impending rain that was headed our way. Elizabeth was getting really upset, worrying that our house was going to blow away.
After Luke calmed her fears, he said, casually, "I was in a hurricane once when I was a kid." (His Mom was stationed in Puerto Rico for a while.)
With bewildered astonishment, Elizabeth asked, "Did you DIE?!?"
Originally I thought it was Ashlee, but when Luke and I talked about it later he told me it was really Elizabeth. Which makes it even funnier to me.
Ella is saying more and more words that are decipherable which is also hilarious. And, I've got a few really funny and cute videos I'd love to upload.
But for now, laundry and diapers and laying on the couch is calling my name.
In no specific order.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
You sure have your hands full! (Part 2)
If you've not yet read Part 1 (and the comments - which were superb) then do that first.
I've heard every single one of these in the last 2 months:
"Why in the world would you want to have another one?"
"Was it planned?"
"You do know how it happens, right?"
"What are you thinking?"
"Better you than me!"
"Oh! I could never do that. More power to ya!"
"Do you just love being pregnant or something?"
"What do your other kids think? Are they jealous?"
"OH.MY.GOD. Seriously?"
"Are you just going to tell the doctor to give you a hysterectomy after this one?"
"So this is it, right? Y'all are done now?"
And those are just a handful of the negative responses I've heard since it's become public that we're expecting baby # 7.
There have been a lot of positive comments too, though. Luke and I took all 6 kids to the farmer's market on Saturday. As we sat and ate dinner in the resturant, a sweet gentleman came over, shook Luke's had and said, "I have 6 kids, all grown now. Had them all within 10 years. I remember those days. God bless y'all."
But those interactions are few and far between and I must admit that the negative ones sting quite a bit and linger more so than the positive ones.
And the shocking part of all of it, for me anyway, is that most of these negative and or slighted comments come from other believers. Christians, who are suppose to know and understand the Bible. Folks who should know all those verses that say children are a blessing, a reward, a gift!
After reading many of your comments and an email from a dear friend, I want to say this:
Having lots of kids doesn't make me more Godly than any other mother who may or may not have a handful of kids, 1 or 2 kids or no kids at all.
Someone living in obedience to God's desires for their life is what makes someone Godly.
Not for one split second do I think that because we homeschool, because we have lots of kids or because we are being called to the mission field that we are closer to God, more God-minded or that we have a more direct line to heaven.
Jesus is the direct line. There's nothing special about us. There's truckloads of special about Jesus.
With all of that said, here's what I've resolved in this tiny little, barely functioning brain that I have.
Children have the capacity to bring out the worst in people. Especially if they're your own children.
It's true. I act and do things in front of my kids that I would never do in front of other people. I yell at them, say things that I wish I hadn't said, think horrible thoughts and wish, somedays beyond all things wishable, that they would just stop needing me.
I use the bathroom in front of them, let them see me naked, unshowered and smelly. They don't care if we have PB & Js for dinner, two nights in a row.
Our culture knows that real parenting requires less of your own wants and a more self-less lifestyle, one that most of us (myself included) don't desire to live.
This, I think, this is why people cannot fathom why we'd want to have 7 children.
Why would we keep adding to our already weighty load? Don't we know that when they're big enough to send to school we get our lives back? (heh. yeah. right.)
As a culture, I believe that we do not adequately value children. We see them as a cultural norm. You find a spouse, get married and have babies because, well, that's what people do. (And yes, I know not all women/couples desire to have kids. I'm just speaking of the norms.)
As a sweet friend of mine said this in an email she sent me,
"You know we all fill up our time to the brim with stuff--we all do. We all have our hands full of something..."
Mercy is she ever right. Some people fill up their time with community service. Some with work. Some with school. Some with less than Biblical activities like drunkenness or sexual immorality.
Just like my sweet friend said, "we all have our hands full of something." I guess I just wonder why of all the things to have your hands full of, motherhood seems to take the heat more than any other thing. Maybe it's because motherhood is often so visible.
I mean, it's hard to hide six kids. ;)
I hardly ever hear anyone telling someone who works 50+ hours a week, "Boy you sure have you hand full! Don't you know why that happens? Please tell me you'll never work that many hours again!"
And while we validate work, or community service or even a regular 'ol busy lifestyle, we often devalue and criticize a family with more than 2.5 children.
In fact, I have many more thoughts on the things people say about children in front of their own children. But, I think that's going to be another post for itself.
So, what do you think, now that you've had some time to mull it over? Do you think we are a culture that embraces children, values them and treasures them? Or are we simply a culture that tolerates them?
And how can we be the face of change if your opinion is the latter?
I've heard every single one of these in the last 2 months:
"Why in the world would you want to have another one?"
"Was it planned?"
"You do know how it happens, right?"
"What are you thinking?"
"Better you than me!"
"Oh! I could never do that. More power to ya!"
"Do you just love being pregnant or something?"
"What do your other kids think? Are they jealous?"
"OH.MY.GOD. Seriously?"
"Are you just going to tell the doctor to give you a hysterectomy after this one?"
"So this is it, right? Y'all are done now?"
And those are just a handful of the negative responses I've heard since it's become public that we're expecting baby # 7.
There have been a lot of positive comments too, though. Luke and I took all 6 kids to the farmer's market on Saturday. As we sat and ate dinner in the resturant, a sweet gentleman came over, shook Luke's had and said, "I have 6 kids, all grown now. Had them all within 10 years. I remember those days. God bless y'all."
But those interactions are few and far between and I must admit that the negative ones sting quite a bit and linger more so than the positive ones.
And the shocking part of all of it, for me anyway, is that most of these negative and or slighted comments come from other believers. Christians, who are suppose to know and understand the Bible. Folks who should know all those verses that say children are a blessing, a reward, a gift!
After reading many of your comments and an email from a dear friend, I want to say this:
Having lots of kids doesn't make me more Godly than any other mother who may or may not have a handful of kids, 1 or 2 kids or no kids at all.
Someone living in obedience to God's desires for their life is what makes someone Godly.
Not for one split second do I think that because we homeschool, because we have lots of kids or because we are being called to the mission field that we are closer to God, more God-minded or that we have a more direct line to heaven.
Jesus is the direct line. There's nothing special about us. There's truckloads of special about Jesus.
With all of that said, here's what I've resolved in this tiny little, barely functioning brain that I have.
Children have the capacity to bring out the worst in people. Especially if they're your own children.
It's true. I act and do things in front of my kids that I would never do in front of other people. I yell at them, say things that I wish I hadn't said, think horrible thoughts and wish, somedays beyond all things wishable, that they would just stop needing me.
I use the bathroom in front of them, let them see me naked, unshowered and smelly. They don't care if we have PB & Js for dinner, two nights in a row.
Our culture knows that real parenting requires less of your own wants and a more self-less lifestyle, one that most of us (myself included) don't desire to live.
This, I think, this is why people cannot fathom why we'd want to have 7 children.
Why would we keep adding to our already weighty load? Don't we know that when they're big enough to send to school we get our lives back? (heh. yeah. right.)
As a culture, I believe that we do not adequately value children. We see them as a cultural norm. You find a spouse, get married and have babies because, well, that's what people do. (And yes, I know not all women/couples desire to have kids. I'm just speaking of the norms.)
As a sweet friend of mine said this in an email she sent me,
"You know we all fill up our time to the brim with stuff--we all do. We all have our hands full of something..."
Mercy is she ever right. Some people fill up their time with community service. Some with work. Some with school. Some with less than Biblical activities like drunkenness or sexual immorality.
Just like my sweet friend said, "we all have our hands full of something." I guess I just wonder why of all the things to have your hands full of, motherhood seems to take the heat more than any other thing. Maybe it's because motherhood is often so visible.
I mean, it's hard to hide six kids. ;)
I hardly ever hear anyone telling someone who works 50+ hours a week, "Boy you sure have you hand full! Don't you know why that happens? Please tell me you'll never work that many hours again!"
And while we validate work, or community service or even a regular 'ol busy lifestyle, we often devalue and criticize a family with more than 2.5 children.
In fact, I have many more thoughts on the things people say about children in front of their own children. But, I think that's going to be another post for itself.
So, what do you think, now that you've had some time to mull it over? Do you think we are a culture that embraces children, values them and treasures them? Or are we simply a culture that tolerates them?
And how can we be the face of change if your opinion is the latter?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Link it up
I wrote my final post for the Summer Session blog. It was about Revelation.
I know.
You can read it here.
I quietly stalk the Block family. They're moving to Guatemala with 7 of their kids in the next week to do full time mission work. This post that Amy wrote sums up exactly how I feel.
This post by my friend (and fellow AIM appointee) Leah is awesome. And I agree with her 200%.
I found this post via my bloggy friend Holly. It broke my heart and made me angry all at the same time. It should be against human law for a child to live, starving, in an orphanage.
This post by Missy had me laughing out loud, literally.
Finally, I'm feeling more horrible in the evenings rather than in the morning. Which is a HUGE answer to prayer since I typically feel pukey all day long and spend 99% of my time hovering over the toilet. Yay for God answering even the simplest of prayers for me not being a pukefest.
He's awesome.
-----
What have you read lately that's link worthy?
I know.
You can read it here.
I quietly stalk the Block family. They're moving to Guatemala with 7 of their kids in the next week to do full time mission work. This post that Amy wrote sums up exactly how I feel.
This post by my friend (and fellow AIM appointee) Leah is awesome. And I agree with her 200%.
I found this post via my bloggy friend Holly. It broke my heart and made me angry all at the same time. It should be against human law for a child to live, starving, in an orphanage.
This post by Missy had me laughing out loud, literally.
Finally, I'm feeling more horrible in the evenings rather than in the morning. Which is a HUGE answer to prayer since I typically feel pukey all day long and spend 99% of my time hovering over the toilet. Yay for God answering even the simplest of prayers for me not being a pukefest.
He's awesome.
-----
What have you read lately that's link worthy?
Friday, August 12, 2011
You sure have your hands full! (Part 1)
She sits strapped into her booster seat, her pudgy little fingers squeezing the handle of her spoon tightly. Applesauce oozes through them as she scoops heaping spoonfuls toward her mouth, inadvertently dipping her dimpled elbow in her bowl.
Half the contents of her spoon dribble down her front while the other half goes partly into her mouth and partly on her chin.
Applesauce is painted all over the table, all over her hair and a thick coat covers the bottom of her bowl.
"Here, Ella, Mommy help," I say, scraping another spoonful from around the sides and bottom of her bowl.
"Naaaaaa-uuuuhh!" she exclaims defiantly. Not because she doesn't want another bite but because she doesn't want me to give it to her.
------
Her big brown eyes stare up at me while she sits on the potty. "Where does the pee-pee go?" I ask, very frustrated. She was potty trained before Aaron yet for some reason, she's reverted to daily accidents.
"In a poddy," she says with a smile. She expels what is left in her bladder and smiles up at me, proudly.
"I di it Mommy! I get a chocky tip Mommy!"
I stroke her face and tell her I'm proud of her and her tiny frame swells with pride. She's more pleased with my adoration than any piece of candy.
Later, she tells me before she has an accident. I make a mental note to praise her more often, even for the trivial things.
-----
I can't blame him for being upset. All they want to play is girly things and he's the odd man out most of the time. I'm eager for Aaron to get a tad older so that they can go play boy things together. He sits with a furrowed brow, upset that they just want to play dolls and he wants to play Toy Story.
"Bubby, have you asked them if you can play with them but not be a girl doll?"
"They don't like me anymore. All they want to play is games I don't like!" He's hurt. I squat down, look him in the eye and say, "Well, maybe you could play a boy game by yourself. Want me to get the blocks so you can build a fort for your army men?"
His face softens. It's not his first choice but it will do. Soon, his sisters are playing blocks with him and the doll incident is all but forgotten. Until tomorrow.
-----
He's whining and crying. Again. It's hard because I feel like that's all he ever does. Whine and cry, whine and cry. I ache to hear real words come out of his mouth. Real 3 year old words.
"Moooooooooommmmmmmm. I anna nodder juuuuuuuuice."
"I'm sorry Bud. You've already had one already. Maybe after nap."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo...... Moooooooommmmmm I anna nodder juuuuuuuuuuuice!!!"
I crack my neck by leaning my head from shoulder to shoulder. Tension releases.
"Buddy, I've told you. Not now. You've already had one cup."
Wails ensue. Fits progress until he's a flailing snake on the floor.
"Please go to your room if you chose to throw a fit."
Increased crying as he trots down the hall. He cries for over 20 minutes and my patience are pushed to their limit.
-------
"Elizabeth, can you please comb your hair before we leave?"
"Mom! I already did!" she insists.
I glance at her hair which is plied on top of her head with numerous bobby pins and barrettes. On one side, a huge blob of hair hangs out, sliding down the back of her neck onto her shoulders.
"Well, I think you missed a spot. Can I help you?"
"Fine! I'll fix it again." She turns and goes back upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with and equally frazzled hairdo.
I sigh, knowing that if I correct her styling again she'll break down into a puddle of tears and say that I don't think she's pretty.
I decide to save that battle for Sunday morning, when it's important.
-----
Her red hair whips into Ella's face as she shoves her face as close as humanly possible to another person.
"Juggy, juggy, juggy! You a precious girl! Yes.you.are!"
Ella protests and flings her body away, knocking Ashlee's cup over. Water glides across the table and falls onto the floor below, soaking everything around it.
"Ashlee! I've asked you numerous times to please not play with Ella while we are eating. She cannot eat and neither can you. And now, your drink has spilled. Again."
She looks at me with blue-green eyes, full of sorrow.
We clean up her water and everyone resumes their mealtime conversations. Less than 4 minutes later....
"Ella JOY! Ella JOY! Shuggy, shuggy, shuggy! I giddy, giddy, giddy! You love sissy! Yes you do!"
Ella screams, eager for Ashlee to stop squishing her body against hers.
Forks hit the floor and food flies across the table.
"ASHLEE! Please! Stop!"
-----
I've been thinking a lot about how to react to someone who tells us that our hands are full. After writing the above scenarios (all which have happened in past 48 hours) I can't say that I disagree. And with baby number 7 on the way, I can see how our hands will only get fuller.
Yet while their comments carry truth, I'm not really sure how to respond to people's remarks. While there are certainly times when I need a break from my children, and times when my patience is so thin you could blow bubbles through it, I truly cannot say that I'd rather my life be any other way.
I love my kids. I love being their mother. I love that we're a crazy, chaotic wild mess and there's always someone needing something.
I had a sweet, well meaning lady ask/tell me the other day that if I was just going to have the doctor give me a hysterectomy after we had baby number 7.
No lie.
She's a nice lady. I respect her as an elder woman in our church. I just think the thought of 7 kids blows her out of the water. And why shouldn't it?
I mean, it's a lot of kids.
I had great plans to make this a post about my feelings about people telling us our hands are full. But after writing all that is above, I'd like your input. What do you think when people tell you,
"Man! You have your hands full?"
or
"Better you than me!"
or
"If we'd have had our 2nd child first, we'd have stopped! But never seven!"
I want to have an answer to those questions that are glorifying to God, yet also honest and not necessarily canned. I want to make people think about what they are saying and why they are saying them.
Your thoughts?
Tune in for Part 2 sometime early next week as I read your thoughts and continue forming my own.
Happy Friday!
Half the contents of her spoon dribble down her front while the other half goes partly into her mouth and partly on her chin.
Applesauce is painted all over the table, all over her hair and a thick coat covers the bottom of her bowl.
"Here, Ella, Mommy help," I say, scraping another spoonful from around the sides and bottom of her bowl.
"Naaaaaa-uuuuhh!" she exclaims defiantly. Not because she doesn't want another bite but because she doesn't want me to give it to her.
------
Her big brown eyes stare up at me while she sits on the potty. "Where does the pee-pee go?" I ask, very frustrated. She was potty trained before Aaron yet for some reason, she's reverted to daily accidents.
"In a poddy," she says with a smile. She expels what is left in her bladder and smiles up at me, proudly.
"I di it Mommy! I get a chocky tip Mommy!"
I stroke her face and tell her I'm proud of her and her tiny frame swells with pride. She's more pleased with my adoration than any piece of candy.
Later, she tells me before she has an accident. I make a mental note to praise her more often, even for the trivial things.
-----
I can't blame him for being upset. All they want to play is girly things and he's the odd man out most of the time. I'm eager for Aaron to get a tad older so that they can go play boy things together. He sits with a furrowed brow, upset that they just want to play dolls and he wants to play Toy Story.
"Bubby, have you asked them if you can play with them but not be a girl doll?"
"They don't like me anymore. All they want to play is games I don't like!" He's hurt. I squat down, look him in the eye and say, "Well, maybe you could play a boy game by yourself. Want me to get the blocks so you can build a fort for your army men?"
His face softens. It's not his first choice but it will do. Soon, his sisters are playing blocks with him and the doll incident is all but forgotten. Until tomorrow.
-----
He's whining and crying. Again. It's hard because I feel like that's all he ever does. Whine and cry, whine and cry. I ache to hear real words come out of his mouth. Real 3 year old words.
"Moooooooooommmmmmmm. I anna nodder juuuuuuuuice."
"I'm sorry Bud. You've already had one already. Maybe after nap."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo...... Moooooooommmmmm I anna nodder juuuuuuuuuuuice!!!"
I crack my neck by leaning my head from shoulder to shoulder. Tension releases.
"Buddy, I've told you. Not now. You've already had one cup."
Wails ensue. Fits progress until he's a flailing snake on the floor.
"Please go to your room if you chose to throw a fit."
Increased crying as he trots down the hall. He cries for over 20 minutes and my patience are pushed to their limit.
-------
"Elizabeth, can you please comb your hair before we leave?"
"Mom! I already did!" she insists.
I glance at her hair which is plied on top of her head with numerous bobby pins and barrettes. On one side, a huge blob of hair hangs out, sliding down the back of her neck onto her shoulders.
"Well, I think you missed a spot. Can I help you?"
"Fine! I'll fix it again." She turns and goes back upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with and equally frazzled hairdo.
I sigh, knowing that if I correct her styling again she'll break down into a puddle of tears and say that I don't think she's pretty.
I decide to save that battle for Sunday morning, when it's important.
-----
Her red hair whips into Ella's face as she shoves her face as close as humanly possible to another person.
"Juggy, juggy, juggy! You a precious girl! Yes.you.are!"
Ella protests and flings her body away, knocking Ashlee's cup over. Water glides across the table and falls onto the floor below, soaking everything around it.
"Ashlee! I've asked you numerous times to please not play with Ella while we are eating. She cannot eat and neither can you. And now, your drink has spilled. Again."
She looks at me with blue-green eyes, full of sorrow.
We clean up her water and everyone resumes their mealtime conversations. Less than 4 minutes later....
"Ella JOY! Ella JOY! Shuggy, shuggy, shuggy! I giddy, giddy, giddy! You love sissy! Yes you do!"
Ella screams, eager for Ashlee to stop squishing her body against hers.
Forks hit the floor and food flies across the table.
"ASHLEE! Please! Stop!"
-----
I've been thinking a lot about how to react to someone who tells us that our hands are full. After writing the above scenarios (all which have happened in past 48 hours) I can't say that I disagree. And with baby number 7 on the way, I can see how our hands will only get fuller.
Yet while their comments carry truth, I'm not really sure how to respond to people's remarks. While there are certainly times when I need a break from my children, and times when my patience is so thin you could blow bubbles through it, I truly cannot say that I'd rather my life be any other way.
I love my kids. I love being their mother. I love that we're a crazy, chaotic wild mess and there's always someone needing something.
I had a sweet, well meaning lady ask/tell me the other day that if I was just going to have the doctor give me a hysterectomy after we had baby number 7.
No lie.
She's a nice lady. I respect her as an elder woman in our church. I just think the thought of 7 kids blows her out of the water. And why shouldn't it?
I mean, it's a lot of kids.
I had great plans to make this a post about my feelings about people telling us our hands are full. But after writing all that is above, I'd like your input. What do you think when people tell you,
"Man! You have your hands full?"
or
"Better you than me!"
or
"If we'd have had our 2nd child first, we'd have stopped! But never seven!"
I want to have an answer to those questions that are glorifying to God, yet also honest and not necessarily canned. I want to make people think about what they are saying and why they are saying them.
Your thoughts?
Tune in for Part 2 sometime early next week as I read your thoughts and continue forming my own.
Happy Friday!
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Blood is proof
If you’ve been around kids much, you know how it works. They fall off their bike and for a split second, they’re fine. Until, that is, they see the blood. Once they see those red droplets spring to the surface of their skin it takes their little fall to a whole new level.
The same is true for busted lips. Our kids seem to be in a phase of frequent injuries. Maybe it’s because it’s summer, or maybe it’s because they’re all so young, but injuries are a daily occurrence. Someone will trip over something and smack their mouth on a toy, or the floor or their own knee. A little whimpering begins as they walk to me holding their mouth. It’s not tragic until I pull back their lip for a closer inspection and the pool of red liquid spills out, and they see it. Suddenly, they’re rocketed to a whole new level of pain and suffering.
I understand it. As a mother, when my kids fall down or slip I don’t typically rush, gasping for air, to their side. I found out many years ago that my level of reaction directly impacts their dramatic response to boo-boos, especially if it’s a minor scrape or bump. Most times when one of our kids takes a spill, I casually walk over to them and I try to remain calm while inspecting them, asking them quietly, “Tell me where it hurts.”
But even on my most amazingly calm mothering days, once I see blood in a large quantity my heart flips, my stomach turns and suddenly my outlook on their injury changes. My heart thumps a little harder.
Seeing blood sort of does that to you, doesn’t it? I know movies that are rated R because of graphic and violent content often have copious amounts of blood and gore involved.
After all, people can die and there can be hardly any visible blood at all. I’d wager a guess that most deaths occur without the horrific shedding of blood.
So what makes Hebrews 9:22 so relevant then?
“Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”
The writer of Hebrews has just finished a lengthy section on the old covenant and the law. In verse 18 he says, “not even the first covenant was inaugurated without blood.”
It seems that blood is required by God, no matter which covenant His people fall under, to forgive and atone for sins.
Why is that? Why blood? Why not the hides or skins of animals? Why not a lock of hair? Why not bars of gold or precious jewels?
The truth is, blood is life.
Blood is proof.
Living things need a certain volume of blood to sustain life. Without blood, our life slips quickly from us. Blood provides a certain proof that damage has been done to the body, that injury has occurred, that pain and suffering have most likely been involved.
Jesus could have died in many other forms. God could have ordained for him to die in numerous other ways: leprosy, cancer, malaria, dehydration or a simple infection.
But instead, God chose to hang Jesus on the cross. He chose for Christ’s sacrifice to be made public. He knew that blood needed to be in the equation so that all could partake in the transforming power of forgiveness with the shedding of blood.
Christ’s blood was proof. Proof that the sins were atoned for once and for all.
“For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God.” (Hebrews 9:13-14)
Christ’s blood is a purifier. It is an atoner. It is the final proof that life was lost, sacrifice was made and new life has been given.
No lock of hair, skin or hide, sacrifice of goat or bull could ever prove what the blood of the Living King has sealed for eternity.
Blood is final. Blood is redeeming. Blood is proof.
------
This entry was cross posted over on our church's summer session blog. Are you reading along? If so, how's it going? Only 2 more weeks!
The same is true for busted lips. Our kids seem to be in a phase of frequent injuries. Maybe it’s because it’s summer, or maybe it’s because they’re all so young, but injuries are a daily occurrence. Someone will trip over something and smack their mouth on a toy, or the floor or their own knee. A little whimpering begins as they walk to me holding their mouth. It’s not tragic until I pull back their lip for a closer inspection and the pool of red liquid spills out, and they see it. Suddenly, they’re rocketed to a whole new level of pain and suffering.
I understand it. As a mother, when my kids fall down or slip I don’t typically rush, gasping for air, to their side. I found out many years ago that my level of reaction directly impacts their dramatic response to boo-boos, especially if it’s a minor scrape or bump. Most times when one of our kids takes a spill, I casually walk over to them and I try to remain calm while inspecting them, asking them quietly, “Tell me where it hurts.”
But even on my most amazingly calm mothering days, once I see blood in a large quantity my heart flips, my stomach turns and suddenly my outlook on their injury changes. My heart thumps a little harder.
Seeing blood sort of does that to you, doesn’t it? I know movies that are rated R because of graphic and violent content often have copious amounts of blood and gore involved.
After all, people can die and there can be hardly any visible blood at all. I’d wager a guess that most deaths occur without the horrific shedding of blood.
So what makes Hebrews 9:22 so relevant then?
“Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”
The writer of Hebrews has just finished a lengthy section on the old covenant and the law. In verse 18 he says, “not even the first covenant was inaugurated without blood.”
It seems that blood is required by God, no matter which covenant His people fall under, to forgive and atone for sins.
Why is that? Why blood? Why not the hides or skins of animals? Why not a lock of hair? Why not bars of gold or precious jewels?
The truth is, blood is life.
Blood is proof.
Living things need a certain volume of blood to sustain life. Without blood, our life slips quickly from us. Blood provides a certain proof that damage has been done to the body, that injury has occurred, that pain and suffering have most likely been involved.
Jesus could have died in many other forms. God could have ordained for him to die in numerous other ways: leprosy, cancer, malaria, dehydration or a simple infection.
But instead, God chose to hang Jesus on the cross. He chose for Christ’s sacrifice to be made public. He knew that blood needed to be in the equation so that all could partake in the transforming power of forgiveness with the shedding of blood.
Christ’s blood was proof. Proof that the sins were atoned for once and for all.
“For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God.” (Hebrews 9:13-14)
Christ’s blood is a purifier. It is an atoner. It is the final proof that life was lost, sacrifice was made and new life has been given.
No lock of hair, skin or hide, sacrifice of goat or bull could ever prove what the blood of the Living King has sealed for eternity.
Blood is final. Blood is redeeming. Blood is proof.
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This entry was cross posted over on our church's summer session blog. Are you reading along? If so, how's it going? Only 2 more weeks!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Das Not Funny! Friday: Catfish bait
Oh mercy y'all, it's been way too long since I've written a Das Not Funny! Friday post. So many funny things happen around here every day. I laugh and try my best to remember them for longer than 37 seconds. Rarely do I ever remember them long enough to make it to the computer to get them down.
Paper is a lost cause around here. Do you know how many scraps of paper there are in my house thanks to my "crafty" kids? I think they're starting their own confetti making business.
Anyway, over the 4th of July we spent copious amounts of time at the lake. My Mom relayed to me the following interaction between she and Lucas.
Typically, as soon as the oldest 4 kids have on their life jackets they commence jumping into the lake from the dock, splashing wildly then swimming to the steps and repeating until they're water logged. One afternoon, the older 3 were sunscreened and lifejacketed up and the girls were already splashing and swimming. Lucas paced back and forth, up and down, side to side on the dock.
"Lucas," my Mom urged, "go ahead and get in."
"Meme?" Lucas responded, "Will you check my butt? Sometimes, you know, I don't wipe so good."
Lucas begins tugging at his swimming trunks while standing on the pier, stooping over for my Mom to get a good look.
"Lucas," she says, "let's go inside and I'll check you, okay? But not out here."
They walk inside and as soon as they enter the house, Lucas begins tugging at his swimming trunks again, struggling with the strap of his life jacket that is still securely snapped between his legs.
"Come on, Buddy, let's go to the bathroom." my Mom says, wondering why Lucas is so suddenly concerned with the cleanliness of his backside.
The make it into the bathroom, unbuckle Lucas' life jacket and he whips his shorts down, stooping over for my Mom to inspect his bottom.
"All clean Buddy!" my Mom says.
"Oh good," Lucas sighs, "because catfish, they like really stinky stuff. And sometimes, I don't wipe so good and my butt gets really stinky."
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Sometimes, actions speak louder than words
Philippians is rich with practical, life-applicable truths. Four short chapters with numerous famed scriptures, so common that often casual church goers or even non-believers can loosely quote them.
To read the rest of this post that I wrote for our church's Summer Session, click here.
To read the rest of this post that I wrote for our church's Summer Session, click here.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Happy 7th Birthday Elizabeth!
I hardly know how it happened. I blinked a few times and somehow, seven years went flying by.
At her first breath, she changed me. I went from being just a regular woman to being a Mother.
Just like that, I was everything to somebody. And the tiniest person I'd ever held became everything to me. I wish I could say that in the last 7 years I've taught her lots of things. But the truth is, in 7 short years, she's taught me most of the really important things I hold closest to my heart.
My baby, my very first baby is 7 today.
And what a treasured joy she is to me. At 7 years old, Elizabeth has the most tender heart of any child I know. She loves fiercely, freely and wholly.
She's easy going, laid back and yet, totally detail oriented.
She's always wanted to have a collection of some sort. I think she's finally found her niche with her collection of bracelets/hair ties. Seeing her arm full of them makes me laugh because she is such her mother's daughter.
I find myself performing the constant balancing act of allowing her age-appropriate freedoms and still keeping her closely tucked under my wing. She's determined to be independent, almost as much as I'm determined to protect her fragile, gentle heart.
Laughter regularly spills out of her, both because of herself and because of others. She's joyful and loves nothing more than a night with her family, some good laughter and maybe a few cupcakes thrown in for good measure.
And she is really, sassily silly. She knows how to make me laugh even when I'm in the worst of moods. She can turn on the goofiness and both of us are laughing in no time, enjoying the sweet release that only a hearty belly laugh can bring.
She's a deep thinker, who loves the Lord with intention. She challenges Luke and I so much in many aspects of our faith because of her trust, understanding and belief in His power.
How I love this biggest girl of mine for so many reasons! Far too many to put into a simple post. She reminds me so much of myself, but then on another level, makes me stand in awe at the young girl she's grown to be.
I'm so proud to be her Mother and so blessed that God chose us for her parents. She hasn't stopped changing me since that first breath nearly 7 years ago to this very hour. And I pray that she never does.
Happy 7th Birthday Elizabeth! I love you so very much!
At her first breath, she changed me. I went from being just a regular woman to being a Mother.
Just like that, I was everything to somebody. And the tiniest person I'd ever held became everything to me. I wish I could say that in the last 7 years I've taught her lots of things. But the truth is, in 7 short years, she's taught me most of the really important things I hold closest to my heart.
My baby, my very first baby is 7 today.
And what a treasured joy she is to me. At 7 years old, Elizabeth has the most tender heart of any child I know. She loves fiercely, freely and wholly.
She's easy going, laid back and yet, totally detail oriented.
She's always wanted to have a collection of some sort. I think she's finally found her niche with her collection of bracelets/hair ties. Seeing her arm full of them makes me laugh because she is such her mother's daughter.
I find myself performing the constant balancing act of allowing her age-appropriate freedoms and still keeping her closely tucked under my wing. She's determined to be independent, almost as much as I'm determined to protect her fragile, gentle heart.
Laughter regularly spills out of her, both because of herself and because of others. She's joyful and loves nothing more than a night with her family, some good laughter and maybe a few cupcakes thrown in for good measure.
And she is really, sassily silly. She knows how to make me laugh even when I'm in the worst of moods. She can turn on the goofiness and both of us are laughing in no time, enjoying the sweet release that only a hearty belly laugh can bring.
She's a deep thinker, who loves the Lord with intention. She challenges Luke and I so much in many aspects of our faith because of her trust, understanding and belief in His power.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Miracle after miracle
Today we had our first visit to the OB/GYN for the new baby. It was an appointment that, for me, seemed to be the turning point for a lot of the things on the horizon of our lives.
You see, normally I don't start feeling the yuck of pregnancy until I'm about 9 - 10 weeks pregnant. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth I remember, vividly, the 1st time I threw up. Christmas day 2003.
I'd felt FINE up to that point and was certain that I'd be one of those women who felt nary a moment of sickness while I blissfully carried a child inside me. (I have those friends and sometimes - like when I'm hovering over the toilet - I hate them.)
My Mom made the best Christmas morning pancakes and I justified my overconsumption of them with the fact that I was eating for 2. Washing them down with a nice, cold glass of milk seemed to be the best idea I'd ever had. Until approximately 30 seconds later when I threw every bit of it up. Upon exit, the milk was still cold, y'all.
Awesome, huh?
With Ella I, again, thought that maybe I'd side-step the months of toilet hovering thinking that maybe she was a boy. I was coasting into week 10 and had only felt momentary nausea, but nothing to stop me dead in my tracks.
Then it hit me like a freight train and the next 14 weeks I puked so much that Ashlee would hover over the sink, make wretched noises and feign "growin' up."
So when the pregnancy sickness hit me this time right at about 6 weeks I was shocked and then perplexed and then stunned. The only other time I've ever been sick that early was when I carried the twins.
With Lucas and Ashlee, my body's 6 week alarm went off and the months of toilet hovering began. At the time I didn't really think much about why I was sick so much earlier than I was with my previous pregnancy. At my 13 week ultrasound, we found out why. Baby A (Lucas) and Baby B (Ashlee) put to rest any of the questions I had about why I thought I was dying due to lack of food.
Flash forward to about a month ago. I found out I was pregnant this time super early. Weird things were happening with my body and I just knew. When the nausea kicked in at 6 weeks, I naturally began to let my mind drift to the what if.
Twins? Again? Could it be?
So today came as sort of a turning point for Luke and I. I called my OB last week and all but begged the receptionist to ask the Dr if I could have an early ultrasound. Truth is, if we were having twins our July 2012 departure date for Africa could.not.happen.
(I have several markers for another multiples pregnancy. Previous multiples. Over 30. Some other marker I can't remember now. Drastic memory loss (ha, kidding). Multiple pregnancies. A SUPER early positive pregnancy test.)
Some days, I was okay with that. "If we have twins and can't go, I'm okay with that," I'd think.
Other days, or maybe in the same day, I'd think, "But if we have twins and we can't go, what does that say about the certainty with which I felt our calling? What does that say about all I know about how the Lord speaks to me?"
Over the last month, I've questioned God. A lot. I've questioned if He is who He says He is. I've questioned if He'll do what He says He'll do.
I felt today had the potential to be one of those turning-point days in my relationship with the Lord. If I saw two babies on the screen then surely something was wrong at the core of my relationship with God.
One baby and my heart would be crushed a little, knowing the joy of twins and longing for that again.
Maybe it's stupid to stake so much on an ultrasound or on the number of babies in my womb. In fact, it was.
But I still learned much about my God today.
As the wand swept across my abdomen and ONE tiny baby was revealed I saw a miracle. The flicker of that sweet one's heartbeat flashing back at me.
A miracle. One after the other. With each little flicker. One that I pray I will never take for granted.
I never ceased to be amazed by the mercy, character and love of our great God as he pours upon us miracle after miracle after miracle....
You see, normally I don't start feeling the yuck of pregnancy until I'm about 9 - 10 weeks pregnant. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth I remember, vividly, the 1st time I threw up. Christmas day 2003.
I'd felt FINE up to that point and was certain that I'd be one of those women who felt nary a moment of sickness while I blissfully carried a child inside me. (I have those friends and sometimes - like when I'm hovering over the toilet - I hate them.)
My Mom made the best Christmas morning pancakes and I justified my overconsumption of them with the fact that I was eating for 2. Washing them down with a nice, cold glass of milk seemed to be the best idea I'd ever had. Until approximately 30 seconds later when I threw every bit of it up. Upon exit, the milk was still cold, y'all.
Awesome, huh?
With Ella I, again, thought that maybe I'd side-step the months of toilet hovering thinking that maybe she was a boy. I was coasting into week 10 and had only felt momentary nausea, but nothing to stop me dead in my tracks.
Then it hit me like a freight train and the next 14 weeks I puked so much that Ashlee would hover over the sink, make wretched noises and feign "growin' up."
So when the pregnancy sickness hit me this time right at about 6 weeks I was shocked and then perplexed and then stunned. The only other time I've ever been sick that early was when I carried the twins.
With Lucas and Ashlee, my body's 6 week alarm went off and the months of toilet hovering began. At the time I didn't really think much about why I was sick so much earlier than I was with my previous pregnancy. At my 13 week ultrasound, we found out why. Baby A (Lucas) and Baby B (Ashlee) put to rest any of the questions I had about why I thought I was dying due to lack of food.
Flash forward to about a month ago. I found out I was pregnant this time super early. Weird things were happening with my body and I just knew. When the nausea kicked in at 6 weeks, I naturally began to let my mind drift to the what if.
Twins? Again? Could it be?
So today came as sort of a turning point for Luke and I. I called my OB last week and all but begged the receptionist to ask the Dr if I could have an early ultrasound. Truth is, if we were having twins our July 2012 departure date for Africa could.not.happen.
(I have several markers for another multiples pregnancy. Previous multiples. Over 30. Some other marker I can't remember now. Drastic memory loss (ha, kidding). Multiple pregnancies. A SUPER early positive pregnancy test.)
Some days, I was okay with that. "If we have twins and can't go, I'm okay with that," I'd think.
Other days, or maybe in the same day, I'd think, "But if we have twins and we can't go, what does that say about the certainty with which I felt our calling? What does that say about all I know about how the Lord speaks to me?"
Over the last month, I've questioned God. A lot. I've questioned if He is who He says He is. I've questioned if He'll do what He says He'll do.
I felt today had the potential to be one of those turning-point days in my relationship with the Lord. If I saw two babies on the screen then surely something was wrong at the core of my relationship with God.
One baby and my heart would be crushed a little, knowing the joy of twins and longing for that again.
Maybe it's stupid to stake so much on an ultrasound or on the number of babies in my womb. In fact, it was.
But I still learned much about my God today.
As the wand swept across my abdomen and ONE tiny baby was revealed I saw a miracle. The flicker of that sweet one's heartbeat flashing back at me.
A miracle. One after the other. With each little flicker. One that I pray I will never take for granted.
I never ceased to be amazed by the mercy, character and love of our great God as he pours upon us miracle after miracle after miracle....
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