Steady

“What makes an ‘uh’ sound?”

“A ‘u’, that says ‘uh.’”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, what are you trying to write?”

I listen to my older boys as they work together writing cards. Day after day we practice sounds, working our way through a textbook and sounding out signs and words we read while out and about. My heart swells, I am so proud of their efforts to learn and be independent. I kiss their sweet heads more often and hug them a little longer these days. My first babies.

The leaves of Fall have come and are on their way out. Tarp-full after tarp-full has been raked and dragged out back to the ever-growing pile. The blue jays are picking away at the gutters and the squirrels are storing up acorns. The same scenes every year are magnificent and comforting.

Weeks ago we spent a couple days in hospitals with Kash. A UTI that reached his one kidney; grounds for getting really bad, really fast. He lay on the hospital bed in and out of sleep and fevers, in and out of pain and anger and fear. He couldn’t tell us where it hurt and why. Couldn’t answer our questions. Always on high-alert and pleading, “ah dah, ah dah!” All done, all done. Praise God, at least he had those sounds to tell us he wanted to go home. They strapped a board under his arm and wrapped the IV tightly to it so he couldn’t pull it out as he thrashed. He screamed and screamed, his terrified eyes begging us to understand.

My mind raced back to the previous to hospital trips we’d had with our now-middle child, Caleb. Was he scared? Absolutely. But he knew we were right there, and that comforted him. There was chaos but his world was still steady.

How different life is for Kash. I’ve counted seven different homes he has lived in, for various amounts of time. Some long, some very short. Some probably trying to be stable, but unable, and some quickly passing him off to the next. How does a delayed, nonverbal child process trauma and insanity?

Josh stayed at the second hospital with Kash while I went home for Levi and Caleb. When we were finally able to drive up and get them, I admit I was nervous. Did Kash believe we had done all this to him? That we’d made him wallow in pain and purposely terrify him in a hospital? It had sure seemed like it. Would he be angry to see me? Would he even want to go home, to our home, or would he be anticipating another drive to somewhere new?

I parked in the parking garage. We had bought special donuts to share with Daddy and Kash and I prayed they’d at least spark a smile. We walked around and waited outside the elevator doors. Finally, Josh came out carrying Kash. What a long few seconds it was, watching Kash’s confused little face as I smiled and tried to determine what emotion he was feeling - if he even knew what he was feeling. They came closer and stopped next to me and the other boys, and slowly… Kash leaned out of Josh’s arms and into mine. I hid a tear and held him as we walked back to the car. Lord, thank You.

Something changed for him in the hospital. He began following me around like a lost puppy. Anywhere and everywhere I went, he went. His little hands held on to the kitchen sink as I did dishes, his long lashes and nose sticking out from under his full head of hair, watching intently. “Uh pah, uh PAH,” he would ask every few minutes. Up, up. Had he ever been snuggled and nurtured as a newborn? There are so many gaps. I held him close.

He jumped ahead a bit developmentally, and we were stunned. Then came some of the hardest days yet. I thought it would be hard to beat the intense struggle of that first month he was with us, but I was wrong. Night after cruel night; day after day he and I limped to the finish line. Days when Levi would rub my back and Caleb would come to me with pained eyes, “Mommy, don’t cry anymore.” I held them close.

Someday my older boys will understand. For now, they just know that there are days when we all struggle and there are days we all are light as a feather. They know that Kash pushes me in ways no one else has, and they are the first to remind me - “Don’t be easily upset, Momma.” We go for walks and breathe in deep. We open windows and sing worship music. We stop mid-meltdown and ask Jesus for help, and oh how He does. We find things to laugh about and places to jump and climb and explore. One day at a time, our spiral is moving upward.

Someday, Kash will talk. And maybe someday, he will share his story. There are many more things I don’t share here than things I do. His story is his, and I pray the Lord saves his soul and gives him joy in his testimony.

The blue jays find seeds and fly away. The squirrels bound across the yard, mouths full of acorns. The earth keeps spinning; its rhythmic, routine course. Such comfort our Creator instilled in our universe. I hear all three of my boys laughing and giggling… my heart swells.

“You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power;
for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created.”
Revelation 4:11

This Is My Home, These Are My People

This is my home, these are my people.

This is the staircase with an extra stair and loose post, treads worn from traffic.

These are the floors that are daily walked on by feet of all sizes, leaving prints of mud or water or tiny sock fuzz.

This is the living room, where friends gather and forts are made and plants are watered. The sun shines bright on little faces watching trucks and cars, people and dogs. There are waves to neighbors and excited peeks to see if Daddy is home.

These are the books we read and re-read, shelf upon shelf upon shelf. We gather ideas, connect thoughts, giggle and share funny faces. These are the stories we tuck away, the people we learn from.

This is the kitchen, the heart of our home. This is where owies are mended, emotions are dealt with, bellies are filled. This is where lessons are taught and handwriting practiced, where more books are read and recipes learned. This is where herbs are potted, and remedies are made and administered. This is where gifts are made for friends and strangers, where conversations of every kind are had and countless prayers are said. This is where God provides and multiplies.

These are my children, who love life and learning. These are the ones who fill our home with laughter and creativity, who leave PVC pipe mazes in odd places and who tuck in their stuffed animals at quiet time. These are the ones God knit together, giving me the gift of motherhood. The ones He uses to sanctify me and make me more like Himself. These are the ones I in turn am able to teach and train in His ways.

This is my husband, the driving force of our home. This is the man who seeks the Lord and His will, who sets the course for our family and whom we happily follow. This is the man who is constantly learning and sharing what he learns, the one who teaches and listens and guides. This is the man who shares in our joys, dries our tears and makes us laugh. This is my husband, who shows me and our children more about Christ. This man makes our lives so rich.

These are the days that begin early, when the Lord graciously pries open my eyelids to teach me His ways. These are the mornings coffee is made while it’s dark and Scripture is read before little ones awake. These are the mornings God shows Himself mighty.

These are the days of sanctification, of roots going down deep. These are the days the Lord teaches and instructs, convicts and forgives. The days He fills with joy and peace and satisfaction. These are the best days, the days He has given us.

There are many rooms to this house, for nourishing, serving, growing and praising. These are the places and the faces He has surrounded me with. The gifts He has sweetly given. This is my home, and these are my people.

Wings || Guest Post

Written by my dear friend Katie, mama of five and faithful follower of the Lord. Katie girl - thanks for letting me share your words. ;)
You can get a glimpse of her beautiful life here; you’ll be encouraged.

***

I reach a point during the day - usually before 10am - where I wish I could grow wings and fly away.

Far away from the constant screaming. The fighting between siblings. The noise and clamor.

And when there is a brief moment of peace, there will always be the never-ending questions from inquisitive little toddlers. Multiple demands for juice. And the diaper changes. The many, many diaper changes.

I find myself only saying the words, “What is it?” “Don’t do that.” “Stop it.” “Not right now.” “Please wait.” I forgot what it is like to put complete thoughts and sentences together.

My heart is racing purely because I am on high alert. The adrenaline is rushing through my system at the sound of each shrill scream. Who is hurt? Who hurt who? Who needs discipline? How should I discipline? “Give me wisdom, Lord.”

My head is pounding. Another pregnancy migraine. I wish I could rest. And so I lie down on my unmade bed, hoping the children will realize I need a moment. Maybe the show I put on for them will keep them distracted for 30 minutes. But they find me. Rest is over. “Give me Your solace, Lord.”

I set the four kids up with dominos and Magna Tiles in the play room. They are playing peacefully. I slip away for 2 minutes to take a quick shower before the speech therapist arrives. But not even a minute in, I hear the toddler crying, and big sister close behind her. I get out of the shower, dripping wet, ready and armed to comfort and correct. “Give me gentleness, Lord.”

Crisis over for now. I glance at my phone, purely out of habit. Maybe something will distract me. There is a message on my blog from a woman who just found [my Facebook] page. She is reaching out with questions. I wish I had the answers for her, but I don’t even have the headspace to open up the message. If I turn my back for one second, or set my attention on my phone for longer than one moment, I don’t know what might happen. Chaos. And so I stay focused. In the moment. My eyes fixed on the children and their needs. The message will have to wait for later. “Give me purpose, Lord.”

My mind is working overtime, all the time - but then why am I drawing blanks all day? Why can I not be creative with the kids? I have no energy. It takes every bit of it out of me just to stay calm, present, in the here and now. Lunch on the table, dishes washed, children clean. I play peaceful piano music in the living room, desperate to bring an atmosphere of peace and calm to my home. But the music becomes just another annoyance, another noise to bear, and I end up shutting it off after only one song. “Give me Your peace, Lord.”

As I write, a child is crying. I don’t know why, but can probably guess.

Yes, I wish I could fly away and be at rest.

But here is where I am.

In the noise, in the chaos, in the unsettled.

I am undone.

My world is not right side up right now.

And yet in this place, I worship. I bow down, I lay down every burden, and I lift up my voice. I let go. I cry from the depths of my soul, “God, You are good! I love You! I worship You!” My voice weakens as the tears close up my throat. I drop to my knees, and am overcome by an immense, overwhelming realization that God loves me and is enough for me. In my mess. In my weakness. He is there, and He is ready to uphold me with strength in my soul.

He gives me wings. His wings of courage. Peace. Joy. Strength. My feet do not budge from this earth, but my spirit is lifted high. In this place of worship, I break free from every burden that would wish to weigh me down. Every lie from the enemy that would make me question His love and care for me. Every wrong attitude that would cause me to look at my children and despise my motherhood.

I have to go back to this place every day, this secret place with the Lord. My prayer closet. My resting place. It doesn’t look like what it used to. It is not always a physical place, but a place I go to when my heart is overcharged, and spirit overwhelmed.

Before children, my times with Jesus were carefully carved out every day. Some would call it “morning devotions” or “quiet time.” I sat in my clean bedroom, candle lit, hot tea in hand. Open Bible and pen ready to journal all the things I had on my heart. My mind was fresh and clear. There was no noise or clamor outside my bedroom door. Those days are but a distant memory to me.

But now. Now, the desperation I have for God to speak to me, to comfort me, to uphold me in the middle moments brings me to a different kind of “quiet time.” In this place, He meets me while I wash dishes. While I change the 10th diaper of the day. While I break up another argument. While I want to hide my face in the covers, blocking out the noise. While I simply do the next thing.

Have you met with Him today? Has your trouble made you run into His arms? Is He your hiding place and your shelter from every storm?

In this this place, you will find your wings to fly. Perhaps not away from your trouble, but towards sweet Jesus. Let Him be your song in the night. Your light in the darkness. Your joy in the mourning.

You can bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, and do all things through Christ who gives you strength.

"I said, Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and find rest… As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and He shall hear my voice. Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous be shaken."
Psalm 55

Silence is Golden

Silence. We often run from it; it’s uncomfortable. We tend to like noise and distractions.

For over a month now, I’ve been largely off of social media and news platforms. The noise was getting to be too much, and I felt a prick in my conscience to let it go.

Besides being freed up thought- and time-wise, I’ve come to appreciate silence. It actually is golden. It’s in the silence that the Lord has taught me and molded me; how grateful I am.

I’ve wrestled with my health. One issue in particular, that leaves me flat on the couch some days and has kept me from having the many children we’ve always desired. The pain is multifaceted. My tears always fall before the Lord - I know that He hears me. I still don’t have the answers to my whys and hows, but I am content. Finally. God saw fit to give me this body, knowing the challenges I’d face, and it is for His glory. I pray for healing, through His special touch or through doctors He equips. And if not, He is still good and will carry me through the rest of the years I have to manage it. With this perspective, I can genuinely thank Him for this body.

I’ve struggled to stay at peace this year. We dealt with a horrible accident that I wouldn’t wish on an enemy. Life and death flashed before our eyes. The day after that, a neighbor family lost their little boy. And not long after that, a friend lost his grown son in yet another horrible accident. This with all the regular news and verbal fistfights and pure hatred in our world… I couldn’t and can’t bear it all.

Yet that’s the point, and the Lord was gracious to show me that amidst our family’s trial. I couldn’t hold up under the weight of it. Peace was fleeting; I tried to hold on to it but it slipped through my fingers every time. In my desperation, I begged God to carry me. Take my burdens. Show me what He means when He says His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matt. 11:30). And somehow… somehow He did. He showed Himself so strong to carry it all. All! He lifted my chin and reminded me that not one thing happens outside His good will. And at this point in my life, I know better than to question whether His will is good or not. I have seen over and over and over again how His ways are better than mine (Isaiah 55:9). He renewed my strength as I put my hope in Him (Isaiah 40:31). He helped me put one foot in front of the other when all I wanted to do was crumple into a heap. And as the days went on, He sustained me. There was no point along the way that I caved and lost all hope - no, He remained sufficient. He still remains sufficient.

Silence is golden.

As I look at the world and how broken my beloved country is, I still have hope. He sustains me even in this. Our world is not going to Hell in a handbasket. God has been revealing sin; He is exposing the darkness and bringing light to it. We shouldn’t be surprised when the light illuminates cobwebs and skeletons. Things get messy and we see evil. But then - He cleans and restores. People are finding that there is no fulfillment in things or other people; life without Jesus is empty. The harvest is plentiful - may the Lord raise up more workers!

Silence is golden. Friend, lessen the distractions - I promise you don’t really need them. What you need is Jesus Christ. Turn to Him, turn to Him, turn to Him. Just as He is teaching me, He can teach you. He can make sense of your life and trials. He can satisfy and keep you going. He is Lord of lords and King of kings. We have none to fear but Him!

Take your burdens and joyfully give them to the Lord to carry. Focus on the tasks He gives you, the people He puts before you, and give thanks. He is good, all the time. And all the time, He is good!