Helicopter Parent

I never intended to be a helicopter parent.  Ok, I doubt anyone ever intends to be - I just didn't think that would ever be me.  But as Judah is just days away from starting Kindergarten, I think I hear the whirring sound of the blades starting to whip.

I've always tried to teach him to do things for himself.  I've often observed from a distance while letting him figure things out on his own.  But that's the thing... I have always been able to observe.  I thought I had already let him go, to a certain extent.  He's been in preschool since he was three months old.  A couple of days before I went back to work, I was curled up in Steven's lap crying a river and telling him I didn't think I could do it.  I did, and it didn't take long for me to realize that we had the best of both worlds.  I was able to work, and he was able to attend a fantastic preschool with so many wonderful ladies who taught, nurtured, and loved him.  Two years later, Kirk started the same journey, and just last week, Annaleah joined them.  So, this shouldn't be a big deal, right?  WRONG.  I'm a mess.

He has always been just down the hall from me.  I know his teachers well and can ask any question at any time.  He has even been my music student for most of his life.  I know what happens in the classroom; I can look out on the playground as I pass by; I know all of his friends and their parents.  How can I suddenly not know what he's doing all day?

Will his teacher know how innocent he is?...how he knows very little about the world but so much about God that he astounds his parents?...and that he thinks everyone is loving and kind? Will she know that all bugs are "God's creatures" and that he won't want to throw away a piece of paper because he gets attached to everything?  Will she know that he gets overwhelmed by tasks that seem too big?  Will she see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he analyzes and deeply mulls over what she is teaching?  Will she be able to tell that he misses his friends he has known since birth and that he has cried over missing his 4K teacher?  Does she know how long we waited for him?...how we thought we might never have him? Would she care to know that I cried when he was four-days-old because it was the only time he would ever be four-days-old and I just wanted to freeze time?  Obviously, I didn't manage to do that... because here we are, a few days later, at Kindergarten.  So, forgive me, teacher, principal, cafeteria lady, etc., if I seem to be hovering.  I'm trying really hard to let him grow and learn on his own.  But that's my baby you have there.

Kyriou

Next month, Kyriou would have been born. We named our baby, whose gender was unknown, a Greek word that means "of the Lord" or "belonging to the Lord." Many people didn't know the tragedy we experienced earlier this year. It was during a busy time (really, what time isn't?) and we pretty much kept on trucking. Does that mean we're strong? Not really. It means we're actors. But now, maybe because it's Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, I'm making you aware. As Christians, we believe in the sanctity of human life. We mourn over abortion because babies are being lost. Babies. Not tissue or fetuses or even "pregnancies," but babies. Generations of Christian women before us have often relegated miscarriage to hushed tones behind closed doors. I'm not faulting them, but I know that I am being hypocritical if I do not acknowledge to you that a member of my family has died. Will I answer the question, "How many children do you have?" with, "Four...two here, one in heaven, and one in my womb"? Probably not, although some do, and I think that's great. But in deeper conversation, I'm not afraid to talk about Kyriou because he or she is a real person who lives on even though I haven't met him or her yet. In our case, we are blessed to have another baby on the way who wouldn't have come to be if Kyriou hadn't died. Bittersweet. But, as in all things, God is sovereign. He doesn't always make sense to us, but He is always God, and He is always good.

My friend, Tasha Tollison, has two sweet babies in heaven. She made me think about all of this before I ever experienced it on my own. So, if you have been quiet about your own miscarriage, consider visiting her Facebook page Arrows for Your Quiver.  And as she suggests, give your baby a name. It helps. Our boys talk about Kyriou and know they have a sibling they didn't get to meet. It's important to acknowledge the life. I wasn't trying to be secretive before but, well, now you know. 

Because He Lives

         "Because He lives I can face tomorrow
             Because He lives all fear is gone
             Because I know He holds the future
             And life is worth the living just because He lives."

There's nothing particularly earth-shattering about those lyrics to an old hymn, but it was while singing them that God spoke to me, yesterday.  When Christians go through something difficult, we often remark to each other, "I don't know how people who don't know Jesus get through this."  It's true.  There's nothing like that "peace that passes understanding" which only comes from the Holy Spirit.  We feel His presence giving us strength and His guidance when we don't know what to do next.  We also know that those of us who follow Jesus will be with Him in heaven, one day, and that is certainly a comforting thought.  But while those things are amazing reasons that I'd rather have Jesus than anything else, it was something else that hit me like a ton of bricks, yesterday...  I have a purpose.  What I do with my life, as I try to follow Jesus and do the things He wants me to do, has eternal significance.  This world is not my home.  There is great blessing and joy and excitement here, but it's not what I'm living for.  No matter what happens to me in this life, my day-to-day, year-to-year purpose is to do the will of God - to worship Him and lead others to do the same.  That's it.  Everything else is just icing.  If I lose a job or a family member or an appendage, but I still have breath in my lungs, my purpose hasn't changed.  In fact, I'm counting on God using those things for His glory.  Does it mean that I won't grieve?  Of course not!  There is a time for that, and Jesus grieved deeply.  But it does not give me the right to be debilitated.  There is work to do, and I want to do my part.  I have been bought with a price, and my life is not my own.

He Is Risen!...

...He Is Risen Indeed!  This call and response is repeated each Easter at my church, and on many Sundays in a church of my childhood.  I love Easter Sunday.  Churches are full of people who are there for all different reasons.  Some are there every week.  Some try to come often but see Easter as being on the "must do" list of days.  Some only darken the doors on the "big two" - Christmas and Easter.  Some are there begrudgingly at the request of a family member.  Some may not be sure why they are there, but as a tradition, it feels like the right thing to do.  But in that mass of people, most seem to understand that Easter is a celebration of the greatest day in human history.  To those of us who know Jesus in a personal way, Resurrection Day is a matter of life and death.  For that matter, how each human sees the resurrection is a matter of life and death - whether we know it or not.  There is an overwhelming sense of joy to unite with other Believers and testify that because Jesus died for us and was raised again, we have life beyond the grave.  Our destiny was changed the day we put our trust in Him.  He took the punishment that should have been ours.  What a reason to celebrate!  

But what about tomorrow?  Won't He still be alive tomorrow?  Will I still be reconciled to God because of Jesus' sacrifice, tomorrow?  Won't He still be the awesome Savior who defeated sin and the grave, tomorrow?  What about next Sunday?  When a smaller crowd of us gather next week, won't He still be Lord?  Why don't we have that same exuberance every Sunday and every day that we live as redeemed children of God?!  Complacency?  Unfocused living?  I'm not sure what the answer is, but I want to tell the world, by my words and actions, every day, that I serve a Risen Savior.  And while I'm at it... for those who are familiar with our sanctuary services at FBS, and meaning no offense to anyone in particular, but I want to be a 9:00 Christian, and not a 10:30 one ;)

Happy Resurrection Day.  Happy Resurrected Life.

"I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." - John 10:10b

Today and Yesterday

Today, Judah opened the doors for me as we left school/work/church. This is significant for two reasons. One is that it is maybe the first step in his formal southern gentleman training. The second reason it stands out to me is that yesterday, he couldn't do it. He's tried a few times and I either step around the stroller and help or someone else steps up to assist when it becomes obvious that he's not quite going to make it on his own. This happened just yesterday, in fact. But today, he did it by himself. Two doors - each in turn opened and held proudly for his mama. He and I both commented on his great strength. But the point is, I witnessed a milestone. I've witnessed many, but only a few have struck me with the idea that today he can do something that, literally, YESTERDAY he could not do. It is such a blessing to watch someone grow up. It is simultaneously miraculous and heartbreaking. The things that I wish he could do now, one day, he'll be able to do them, and my baby will slip away a little more. Today, I'm going to savor what he can't do, because tomorrow he may be proudly standing beside his next accomplishment saying, "I can do it, Mama" and needing me a little less.

Mother's Day and Why I Need to Say I'm Sorry

Mother's Day is coming, and I feel the need to ask forgiveness.  There are two groups of young women out there who don't have children, and don't particularly enjoy this day.  The first group are those who have chosen, at least for now, not to have children.  That should be ok with the rest of us, and we need to leave you alone about it.  I'm sorry some pester you with questions.

The second group is the group of which I used to be a member.  You are the moms without children.  You are the single ladies who want to start a family, but haven't found that right guy yet.  You are those who long for a baby but repeatedly see that negative sign or have already been told you won't be able to bear children.  You are those who have lost babies.  As my mother-in-law once said, "Empty arms are empty arms no matter what the reason is."  It is to this group that I ask forgiveness.

Why?  Because I am going to celebrate Mother's Day.  As I hold one child on my lap and another kicks and squirms right behind him, I am thankful.  Don't get me wrong - I will continue to think of you often.  For those of you that I know, your faces and circumstances will flutter through my mind all day, and all season.  But while I will feel sadness for you, I don't want to feel guilt.  That is an inappropriate response to the God who has changed my circumstances.

Now, I know, having been where you are, that you don't identify with me.  I'm on the other side of my miracle.  But please, hear me out.  I want you to know that, someday, you will very likely look back on this day on the other side of your miracle.  How do I know that?  Because the list of those who were in your position, in my circle of friends and acquaintances, is shrinking!  I know, I know... each time someone new announces a pregnancy you think, "Well, that gives me a little hope, but when is it MY turn?!"  And, for some, their miracle doesn't come in the way they wanted it to.  But when it does come, you will look at that beating heart on that monitor or that child placed in your arms or that picture sent to your email, with an awe and wonder that I think most parents don't experience.  I still get a little jealous when I hear of a newlywed getting pregnant and then carrying that perfect baby to term.  But, in a way, I'm not jealous at all.  They will be happy, but never fully know the elation of finally seeing that positive on that little stick.  They will rejoice with that first cry, but not as much as if they've imagined that scenario for years, wondering if it would ever come.  They will enjoy that little voice saying "Mama," but it won't be the same as if they thought they might never hear it.  And I hope they will relish that first little Mother's Day card or gift that their child probably had little to do with - but it will mean a little more to you that this time, YOU are the mother, and YOURS is that child.  And when that happens, you will celebrate.  And you should.

I have celebrated, and I will celebrate.  I will think of you and pray for you.  I also think of those whose age or life stage has guaranteed they will never be a Mother, in the traditional sense.  But, Lord willing, your time is coming.  I'm sorry for your wait.  But hang in there, because the celebration will be that much sweeter, my friend.

You turned my wailing into dancing;
     You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy - Psalm 30:11 (NIV)

Already

A little over a year ago, we were about to meet a new life and start a new Life.  We had planned, shopped, received, cleaned, set up, read, researched, hoped, wished, prayed.  We were ready.  We were looking forward.  Now, just 13 months later, we still look forward, but we are also looking back.  Already.

Already, a trip away no longer requires thoughts of bottles, a pump, coolers and containers for milk, or even baby food.  Just a few months ago, I was studying what foods to start first and how to make my own baby food.  Now, we are already practically finished nursing, and our boy loves to eat big people food. Today, I put away a never-got-filled bottle that was waiting to be used but is no longer needed, as well as a bottle drying rack that has taken up space on our counter since the day he got home... you know, just the other day.

Already, I have packed away more clothes than I originally washed, folded, and put on hangers and in drawers in preparation for our growing arrival.  Already, we have put away a swing, jumper, activity mat, and other things that it seems we just set up so recently.  He's too big for them, now.

Already, his first birthday - the party, the cake smashing, the pictures, the presents - has come and gone.  Our "firsts" have already turned into "seconds" as a year was completed and another rolls on.

Already, we had to set up a baby gate to keep him from going upstairs- a gate that we, sadly, didn't research before registering for because even though we knew we'd need one eventually, it was so far away.  But this mover is already climbing.

Already, he needs a bigger carseat.  He hangs over the end of the infant seat, and it's getting too heavy to carry.

Already, our baby is starting to talk.  He signs to us to communicate his needs.  He smiles and laughs to indicate what he likes.  He tries to copy what we do.  Already, he's not as much a part of us, but is becoming his own person.


Everyone likes to say, "It goes by so fast," and, "Cherish every moment."  Some people might need these reminders.  Not me.  I need someone to remind me that great things are ahead.  That he's getting to a fun age where we can do more as a family.  That more exciting milestones are ahead to enjoy.  Already, my baby is being replaced by a toddler.  Toddlers are fun, but they're not babies.  And toddlers turn into preschoolers who turn into big kids.  You may be looking at your high school senior and wondering where the time went.  I'm looking at my baby boy and wondering the same thing.  Already.