The other day I heard suspicious thuds coming from the upstairs bedroom where the children had been playing quietly. I quietly crept up the stairs and observed from the doorway. Livia had her back to the boys and was involved with the Christmas tree in the corner (actually, I think she was repeatedly plugging and unplugging it into the wall. So much for thinking my kids were SAFE.) The boys were throwing things at her. Apparently a [toy] chainsaw and a tape measure had been thrown, (which explained a LOT) along with every pillow we own.
"What's going on in here?" I had to ask.
"Oh, Mom!" the boys exclaimed. "We're playing with Livia!"
"Really?" I questioned.
"Yeah. We're Egyptians and she's the Edomites and we're doing battle."
After a bit of correction, all was forgiven. After all, I had to smile that their Bible lessons are taking root and they are trying to play together "nicely." Ha.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
In the THICK of it
Some days I KNOW that what I'm doing matters. Meeting physical needs takes most of my time- getting the kids fed, cleaned, clothed, and helping them use the restroom takes literally most of my day. But that's worth it. I mean, they can't do these things on their own yet. So though it's physically tiring (maybe simply from the repetition), it's just a given.
But some days (today, of course). . . I'm also aware of the eternal nature of my "job" as a mother. Today was intense! It was training the 5 year old in respect. (why, for instance, it isn't really appropriate nor respectful to take off your shirt during children's choir practice.) It was training the 3 year old in FIRST time obedience. (why, for instance, it's not okay to slowly get to your feet and meander to your mother when she has already asked you sweetly several times to COME, let her brush your teeth.) It was a grueling stand-off with the 1 year old, a sheer battle of wills. (and today's score shows that I'm losing. She, for instance, refuses to make eye contact when I've asked her to look at me. She also refuses to drink from her cup unless I totally relinquish cup-control to her. Obviously, these are not good things to go toe-to-toe with her on. But STILL! These are mere examples.)
Ultimately, it was all about the gospel. All of these issues stemmed from the heart-issue of self-righteousness, of thinking that we are our own little gods and that we really shouldn't have to bow our knee. . . to anyone. Oh, let me take this lesson to heart! For it is my lesson, too. Let me lead them in humility. Let the gospel be real and obvious in our home.
But some days (today, of course). . . I'm also aware of the eternal nature of my "job" as a mother. Today was intense! It was training the 5 year old in respect. (why, for instance, it isn't really appropriate nor respectful to take off your shirt during children's choir practice.) It was training the 3 year old in FIRST time obedience. (why, for instance, it's not okay to slowly get to your feet and meander to your mother when she has already asked you sweetly several times to COME, let her brush your teeth.) It was a grueling stand-off with the 1 year old, a sheer battle of wills. (and today's score shows that I'm losing. She, for instance, refuses to make eye contact when I've asked her to look at me. She also refuses to drink from her cup unless I totally relinquish cup-control to her. Obviously, these are not good things to go toe-to-toe with her on. But STILL! These are mere examples.)
Ultimately, it was all about the gospel. All of these issues stemmed from the heart-issue of self-righteousness, of thinking that we are our own little gods and that we really shouldn't have to bow our knee. . . to anyone. Oh, let me take this lesson to heart! For it is my lesson, too. Let me lead them in humility. Let the gospel be real and obvious in our home.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
THE grace
A gem of a moment with R tonight:
I told him to stop scooting the stepstool across the floor. He immediately did ONE more scoot, crashing into the wall and falling back onto his bum. Then I took him aside for training. Before I could say anything, he looked at me very seriously and said, "Mom. I'm sorry I scooted the stool. Will you forgive me?" (and you KNOW he has those EYES. . . )
"R, did you disobey Mommy?" I asked. (thinking, "wow. we're clearing this up pretty quickly!)
"No." was his response.
So I launched into my schpeel about how I have to spank him when he disobeys and how not obeying the first time is disobedience and how God hates lying. . . etc., etc.
By this point he was crying, because I had said the work "Spank."
"You don't have to spank me!" he said. "I already fell on my bum and THAT was like a spank!"
But it wasn't.
"Mom, can you give me grace this time?" he asks. (melting my heart, and causing me to wonder how many times I can extend grace and still have it be grace.)
I picked him up as I was mentally weighing what I should do. I'd already spanked him for lying today. I'd already spanked him for deliberately disobeying. But he's sick. And I did let him off the hook for "accidently" locking us all out of the bathroom. And he was already crying and had already asked for forgiveness. . . though he does seem to think that those words are enough to "fix" any poor choice. . .
"Mom? Did you give me the grace yet?" he asked, {looking around for it}.
And then I did. I snuggled and loved this adorable boy who is growing so quickly in his understanding of obedience and consequences and grace.
I told him to stop scooting the stepstool across the floor. He immediately did ONE more scoot, crashing into the wall and falling back onto his bum. Then I took him aside for training. Before I could say anything, he looked at me very seriously and said, "Mom. I'm sorry I scooted the stool. Will you forgive me?" (and you KNOW he has those EYES. . . )
"R, did you disobey Mommy?" I asked. (thinking, "wow. we're clearing this up pretty quickly!)
"No." was his response.
So I launched into my schpeel about how I have to spank him when he disobeys and how not obeying the first time is disobedience and how God hates lying. . . etc., etc.
By this point he was crying, because I had said the work "Spank."
"You don't have to spank me!" he said. "I already fell on my bum and THAT was like a spank!"
But it wasn't.
"Mom, can you give me grace this time?" he asks. (melting my heart, and causing me to wonder how many times I can extend grace and still have it be grace.)
I picked him up as I was mentally weighing what I should do. I'd already spanked him for lying today. I'd already spanked him for deliberately disobeying. But he's sick. And I did let him off the hook for "accidently" locking us all out of the bathroom. And he was already crying and had already asked for forgiveness. . . though he does seem to think that those words are enough to "fix" any poor choice. . .
"Mom? Did you give me the grace yet?" he asked, {looking around for it}.
And then I did. I snuggled and loved this adorable boy who is growing so quickly in his understanding of obedience and consequences and grace.
Glory in Service
"What?" I asked my darling husband tonight. .. "are you DOING?! It's after 10 pm and you are ringing the doorbell and waking the kids who aren't sleeping!"
That should give you an idea of my night. Even though I thought I may work on the 2007 calendar Christmas gifts, or finish my book, or clean up the kitchen, or make a few phone calls, or actually SIT DOWN. . . I haven't. I've been dashing up and down the stairs like a crazy woman, calming sick children.
Get Livia in bed. Bring the boys downstairs to read books. Dash back upstairs to pat Liv's back and calm her down from her coughing fit. Back downstairs. Take boys upstairs and put to bed. Promise I'll be back to check on them in 15 minutes. Rhyle comes down 6 minutes into the 15 because he "had a bad dream." Take him back to bed. Pat Livvi's back. Start another 15 minutes. Rhyle is calling for me and I give in and go back around minute 9. Bring him downstairs for medicine, then back upstairs. Check Owen. Pat Livvi. Back downstairs. Dash upstairs during Rhyle's coughing fit. Ignore Livvi's whimpering and pray she can handle it. Come back downstairs, thinking I've finally gotten everyone settled. 5 or 10 minutes later I'm sprinting back upstairs to Rhyle, who is crying and coughing and thinks he's about to "have spit ups." Bring him downsatirs. There goes Livvi again. . . Seriously. And I'm sure I'm leaving out a LOT.
But, truly, it is all worth it. These past. . .well, many nights of helping sick children. Isn't this what it's all about anyway?! I love mothering when it seems easy. When my clean, pressed, presentable children behave beautifully and fill me with pride. (Like this morning at church where Owen sat by himself and did magnificently while I sat at the piano for the entire service.) I love mothering even MORE however in moments like these, where I get a glimpse of the holiness of servitude, of being like Christ because of Him. I'll not bask in the glow of a martyr; I'm too tired and plain for that! But I will admit that I treasure these times when I'm given the opportunity to REALLY love my family: because I can, because it's right, and because even though I'm weary, I'm called to this. Elisabeth Elliot calls this "glory in service."
That should give you an idea of my night. Even though I thought I may work on the 2007 calendar Christmas gifts, or finish my book, or clean up the kitchen, or make a few phone calls, or actually SIT DOWN. . . I haven't. I've been dashing up and down the stairs like a crazy woman, calming sick children.
Get Livia in bed. Bring the boys downstairs to read books. Dash back upstairs to pat Liv's back and calm her down from her coughing fit. Back downstairs. Take boys upstairs and put to bed. Promise I'll be back to check on them in 15 minutes. Rhyle comes down 6 minutes into the 15 because he "had a bad dream." Take him back to bed. Pat Livvi's back. Start another 15 minutes. Rhyle is calling for me and I give in and go back around minute 9. Bring him downstairs for medicine, then back upstairs. Check Owen. Pat Livvi. Back downstairs. Dash upstairs during Rhyle's coughing fit. Ignore Livvi's whimpering and pray she can handle it. Come back downstairs, thinking I've finally gotten everyone settled. 5 or 10 minutes later I'm sprinting back upstairs to Rhyle, who is crying and coughing and thinks he's about to "have spit ups." Bring him downsatirs. There goes Livvi again. . . Seriously. And I'm sure I'm leaving out a LOT.
But, truly, it is all worth it. These past. . .well, many nights of helping sick children. Isn't this what it's all about anyway?! I love mothering when it seems easy. When my clean, pressed, presentable children behave beautifully and fill me with pride. (Like this morning at church where Owen sat by himself and did magnificently while I sat at the piano for the entire service.) I love mothering even MORE however in moments like these, where I get a glimpse of the holiness of servitude, of being like Christ because of Him. I'll not bask in the glow of a martyr; I'm too tired and plain for that! But I will admit that I treasure these times when I'm given the opportunity to REALLY love my family: because I can, because it's right, and because even though I'm weary, I'm called to this. Elisabeth Elliot calls this "glory in service."
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