Little Men

     We are up at the cabin this week!  (Huge, contented sigh)  We look forward to coming up here every year, beginning the day we return home.  But a comment my very dear aunt made to me yesterday got me thinking.  As we were catching up on everybody's everything, she said that one of her grandsons had gone through an awful gun phase. "I hate guns!" she said.  "Guns are bad! I just kept telling him, 'Guns are bad!'"  Now, in her defense, I don't know what kind of gun phase Junior went through at that age; hopefully he wasn't just running around pretending to blow everyone's head off.  But I thought that she was probably missing the understanding that her little grandboys were exercising their God-designed boy-muscles.






     Some families decide that toy guns (or toy weapons of any kind) won't come into their house.  I respect that and have never wanted to offend any of our friends who have made that decision.  My stance has been that little boys are hard-wired to be warriors.  God did that.  What do little boys do when they have no gun or sword to play with?  You know what they do.  They find a stick or a toilet paper tube or their fingers.  Hard-wired.  With that, comes our responsibility to teach them that "shooting" their mother in the head is dishonoring their mother.  And there's the whole gun safety/respect for guns training that can never be over-emphasized, but I really want to address a different issue here.


Grandpa Nelson was a Veteran.


     Little boys are really little men.  And men are powerful creatures, as God designed them to be.  Boys long for the power, the adventure, the heroism that should come with manhood.  But for all of that to happen, boys have to learn  how to attain those things honorably.  Aren't we all sickened by what angry men do with guns?  Don't we cringe when we see men abuse their power by taking advantage of those who are physically or emotionally weaker than they?  Even a child recognizes these things.  So, our knee-jerk reaction is to say that power, and strength, and risk-taking are bad or dangerous things.  What follows is a world, a nation, a society, a church, a family full of men who are... pansies.  They are weak and passive and think that it's wrong to fully be a man.  Ouch.  I know I may step on toes when I say that, but look at the converse of that man.  Have you ever recognized a man who used his power to help someone who was in real need?  Or who heroically laid down his life to save someone else or defend his country?   What part of that power, or strength, or risk-taking would you be willing to strip away from one of those men?  Not one iota!  Our hearts swell with admiration for men like that!  Do we not want our family, our church, our society, our country and our world to be FILLED with those kinds of men?  Of course we do! 




     We live in a fallen world, but God gives us reason to hope that men can indeed become everything God wants them to be.  He gave us Scripture, full of stories of great men of God, proverbs about raising sons, letters about how a young man ought to live, and examples of the life of His perfect Son, Jesus Christ.  Our Maker doesn't want harsh, ruthless, arrogant men; nor does He want effeminate, shut-down, disconnected men. So when we raise our boys, or when we attempt to encourage the boys around us, we want to esteem all of the virtuous character traits we see in them.  We want to teach them what it means to be noble and honorable and forthright.  We want to give them examples of heroic men of virtue.  We can actually help them desire these traits by telling stories of their great-grandfathers, uncles, church elders or great missionary men who were heroes in their families, or churches or countries.  We should teach them to first notice and then defend the "underdogs" they come across. We can find admirable qualities in their fathers (especially if they are our husbands) and point them out in front of our boys.




     Our little men need to be loved strongly and also with gentleness and compassion.  We encourage, we train, we disciple, we mentor our boys.  Then when it's time to unleash them as young men, no one will fear what they hold in their hands, and this world will feel safe being held by them.



White Knuckling

Here it is.  The harder I work, the better person I am.  The more I accomplish, the more approval I'll receive from... whoever cares.  The more I stay on top of the mountains in my life (and there are many), the more worthy of this role of wife-mother-house-keeper-inn-keeper-teacher-church-person-friend-and-all-purpose-getter-doner-etc  I am.  And most of it is unsuccessful attempts to reach for perfection.  So, I grab on harder, stay up longer, get up earlier, and white knuckle my way to what I hope will be success, or utter burn-out.  It's tiring to even write this.



Fake.
Our kitchen in an adoption home-study photo. 
And once I let the children out of the closet, no one has seen it look like that since.

 Real.
 My awesome family, cleverly standing in front of most of the dirty dishes
(which also extended to the other counter on the right, not seen in photo).


Actually, I have to say that God has (successfully) been working on me in this area.  In His goodness He allowed me to reach that nasty burn-out stage several years ago.  It was awful.  Horrible.  Hateful.  Never want to go there again.  And now, strangely, whenever I seem to approach break-neck speed, I get these little physical reminders that a crash is coming, and I back off.  Who'd o' thought?  I actually learned how to notice that I can't handle life in the fast lane.  My nerves have thanked me a number of times.  So has my family.

 

 A happy little baby playing in our laundry room... I mean, bedroom.


But, YIKES!  What does that look like?  It usually looks like a messy house (gasp!).  I've read stacks of books that will organize, systematize and simplify my life in 52 weeks and 1200 easy steps (even with 7 kids? ).  But I'm not wired like those women, and the effort it takes for my disorganized brain to minute-by-minute implement those fail-proof strategies (and they are great strategies), makes me an irritable mother and a resentful wife.  Not such a great trade off.  After 4 decades of life with me, I guess it's time to just accept my brain for what it is.


  
December

February. That's all I have to say.


Don't get me wrong, I am still constantly trying to improve efficiency in our home.  I still want to train my children, to please my husband, to honor my commitments and come across "polished" sometimes.  But only when it works.  And by that, I mean everyone in my home has to survive the process and then come out still loving each other!  That's really how I measure success.  If my husband doesn't even rank on my list of priorities, then I need to completely rearrange my priorities.  If I can't get the house clean without hollering at my kids, then I need to stop and rethink my modus operandi.  If I am so frazzled by trying to plan the perfect curriculum for my childrens' education that I'm not teaching them well, then "second best" is best.  If I'm not living out my everyday life with some grace, and a Fruit or two of the Spirit, who am I living for anyway? 


The face... old family tradition.

Two more birthdays with store-bought
 (rather than homemade) cake. 
It's a silly thing, but it can chisel away at my
Happy Suzy Homemaker Wanna-Be status.

So while I do still battle with those perfectionistic tendencies, they don't control me like they used to. I'm not a slave to impossible standards anymore. I'm not even a slave to all possible standards anymore. Usually.
                                                                                                               

A Beautiful Broken Heart

It’s a beautiful thing for us to have our hearts broken over the things that touch God our Father’s heart.

Not too long ago I was browsing the internet looking again for a recording of some music we heard in Russia in 2008. The day before we finally picked our little boys up from the Baby Home, we were with them for an afternoon visit. Their caregivers let us take them outside to play while all the other children were inside getting ready for their naps. It was a warm day in June and the boys had been riding little plastic scooters around on the bumpy asphalt that surrounded the orphanage. They must have decided that their usual route down the sloped sidewalk toward the building was getting boring, so they took their scooters over to the empty play area for the toddlers. There was a very large wooden playpen near the sunny side of the building and next to an open window.


They thought it would be a good idea to put their scooters inside the playpen, and then they proceeded to climb inside as well, driving their scooters around in that little 4x4 play yard. We assumed we were watching them get away with something they ordinarily wouldn’t be allowed to do, and we were about to try to get them and their toys out before someone saw what they were doing. But then one of their “mama’s” inside that open window saw them coming to play, so she placed a cd player in the window and turned on some music. The boys instantly stopped what they were doing, and sat on their scooters, transfixed as they listened. Then they started to sing along. I have never been so glad to have had the video camera on and running while all of this was happening, because I can’t describe how beautiful the moment was. I knew as I watched this little scene unfold that it would be one of the memories of Russia that would be seared into my soul (there were a few of those!).

The music, we found out, was of a Russian children’s choir singing the songs of Chebrurashka (a favorite Russian children’s character). It was so very beautiful – so haunting, the way Russian music is, and the boys sang so innocently, so purely. It didn’t send them into a wild, dancing frenzy, or bring out their “air” guitars, or cause them to start clowning around. It was just a moment of perfectly sweet childhood and there were a thousand thoughts for us to think in that moment… So, since we’ve been home I’ve been on a quest to find that elusive music, which brings us to tonight.  

I found it, in all places, on YouTube. There were a number of black & white video recordings from 1973 of the Russian “Big Children’s Choir” singing the very songs we were looking for. So as I sat on my bed perusing through my music choices our girls were walking past in the hallway and the unusual sound brought them in to see what I was doing. We all sat there watching these vintage episodes that must have run on USSR television. Kind of surreal. Our oldest, 14, started singing along with one of the songs in English, as we have an English-dubbed Chebrurashka video at home. The girls left after a few minutes to go get ready for bed and I kept searching for more songs. Then she came back in the room. “I don’t like that music.” She was very focused on my face as she said it. “Why not?”  “I just don’t like it.” She kept her eyes on me. I was confused. She loved the boys’ Russian videos, their Russian music, and I knew she liked Chebrurashka. What’s going on here?? I also knew that look on her face, but I couldn’t quite figure this one out. “Help me out here a little, sweetheart. What’s the matter?” “I just don’t like that music!” More intense staring. “I don’t do anything!”  What?! Then the tears started to come. I pulled her over to me. She said, “I can’t do anything about those children! They’re trapped! They are locked up in an orphanage and no one knows, nobody cares, and I’m too young to do anything about it!” She started to sob. Oh, Jesus. Be near.

Precious daughter, God will use you. Your heart has been broken and that makes you tender and ready to be shaped in His hands. I want you to be used by God, even if that means “losing” you to some mission field on the other side of the world. Have your heart broken, over and over again, because those children who are locked up, forgotten by the world, have a Good Shepherd whose heart is broken for them. Go get them! Bring them the message of a Savior who loves them (and then bring them home).

I hope she dreams about Russian children tonight. I hope I do too.

Standing

I've had an opportunity recently to evaluate my convictions. Really, that's a nice way of trying to avoid describing the situation that lead me to evaluating my convictions. Both Dennis and I were a little blind-sided by the whole thing. Once the "situation" passed, we had a long drive home with lots of time to replay it in our heads. I was trying to sort it out. Sometimes I don't know how I feel about a "situation" immediately. I knew I didn't like how it made me feel, but the rest of it was still shockingly blurry. It wasn't right, I knew that too. Actually, it made me mad. It's one thing to have a "situation" with unbelievers, non-Christians. We don't expect a transformed life from someone who doesn't know Christ. But from people who claim to know Him? Actually, maybe I was sad. Sad that some people are still living in bondage and don't even know it. Sad that they will never know much of the joy that Jesus wants them to experience. Sad that it might separate us here on earth.

Five hours later I was still evaluating. It looked more like stewing, actually. It definitely smelled of stew. It was 11:09pm and I wasn't sleeping. That's no time to make stew. I was wrestling with God too, because I knew I should somehow let it go. But it was righteous indignation! On and on it went, sometimes unrighteously, to be sure. Then I realized that there was a song in the background noise of my brain. It was a hymn. Hmm. That sounds familiar... oh yes. We sang it in church that morning.

     Jesus my Lord will love me forever, From Him no power of evil can sever, He gave His life to ransom my soul, Now I belong to Him; Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me, Not for the years of time alone, but for eternity.

Then the Holy Spirit spoke to me, reminding me that it was Him alone I should be living for. That "...anyone who loves father and mother (or fill-in-the-blank) more than me is not worthy of me..."  He reminded me that "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me."

Dennis hadn't gone to bed yet so I came downstairs to talk to him. He was farther down the road of forgiveness than I was, and it was calming to work through it with him. At least things like this tend to unify us. We feel fortified in our endeavor to lead our family toward Christ.

I wish it was only the world that presented challenges in our daily following of Jesus. It shouldn't be others in the family of God, but many times it is. Either way, we wouldn't need convictions if everyone in the world agreed with us. We wouldn't need to take a stand for anything if everyone was traveling in the same direction. We would not need strength if we always felt supported. And I'm not so much talking about the little things. That may just be a matter of over-looking an offense. I'm talking about those big, life-transforming, eternally significant, weighty things. The things we might think every Christian would care about or at least agree with.

I think I'm learning how to never mind those things.  It's that whole Matthew 10 bit. That's the way we should expect this life to be. I'm learning that carrying the cross of Christ is hard, even lonely, but so much more worthy an effort than carrying around our burdens or offenses.

Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me, not for the years of time alone, but for eternity!

Chickens!

I really want chickens. Bad-ly! I’ve been talking about this to hubby for several years now and it appears to be close to happening. Four years ago we replaced the corrugated tin roof on our empty chicken coop because of a hail storm. Big hail. Three years ago we replaced the windows and repainted the outside of the coop a happy shade of barn red. Two years ago we cleaned out the inside, repairing woodchuck damage to our dirt floor. Big woodchucks. And last year we placed the fence-posts that will surround our chicken yard, to protect our little sweeties from ravenous dog packs and foxes and such. Don’t want to hastily rush into a big decision like chickens. We’re talking about a good sized “flock” of 8 or 10 birds here. I guess this summer we could actually put up the chicken wire. Build a gate. A gate that opens under the hand-painted sign bearing the name of our chicken coop: Villa Villa Coopa (think Pippi Longstocking).

The other thing I would like to do is decorate the coop. You know, with paintings of hens on squares of barn board. The kids will each make a painting of their dream bird and we’ll hang them up inside the chicken coop. It sounds very Americana to me. I might even make gingham or calico-print aprons for us girls to wear when we go out every morning to collect the eggs. When we go out into that beautiful early morning summer sunshine. Of course, if it does happen to be raining, we will just wear some adorable pink polka-dotted rubber rain boots with our homemade aprons.

I’m sure the boys would dutifully don their knee-patched denim Osh-Kosh B’Gosh overalls, lace up their leather work boots, toss a stem of oats, or wheat, or something… into their mouths (while whistling) and head out there to take their turn cleaning out that chicken coop. I can just picture them feeling all manly, very responsible and grown up as they pull their shovels down off the wall. We’ll all be proud of them. They’ll chat with the hens, playfully teasing them about… whatever a boy would tease a chicken about.

It’s all so dreamy. Fresh eggs, a cute little chicken coop full of happy little chickens, aprons, paintings, oh - and friendly neighbors who pop in to buy eggs! Of course the eggs that don’t sell we’ll just bring to the famer’s market. We’ll probably make a fortune. Who wouldn’t want chickens?

Our Declaration of Independence

When we are first married the thought of coming alongside our husbands is a joy. They need us. We complete them. We so clearly see the beauty of two becoming one in marriage and agree with God’s design. We are there to encourage and support our husbands, to go through this life of little adventures together. The effort to do the work of being a wife is almost weightless. It’s so cute when he loses his car keys; I’ll help him find them. It’s endearing to know that he wants me to come with him on this errand; it will be like a little date. It’s almost charming when he gets angry like that; he’s a very passionate man. You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Then, with something like the words to the Declaration of Independence, “…the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of natures God entitle [her],…[she] should declare the causes which impel [her] to the separation…but when a long train of abuses and usurpations…evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is [her] right, it is [her] duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for [her] future security…”  (blah, blah, blah) we believe we stand justified in not coming alongside our husbands anymore. In an effort to save ourselves, we pull back enough to allow us to live our lives our way, and them to live their lives their way. It’s better than the struggle. We are tired, we’ve been hurt, we are overwhelmed with our other responsibilities, we’ve tried a gazillion times as it is, and when is he ever going to…

Did God’s design fail? Does His plan not work? It doesn’t matter if it’s a crisis situation or just the doldrums; we have to go back to doing this “marriage thing” His way. I am a wife (not just a cohabiter in this house). I was created by God as a female, grew up enough to become a woman, and willingly stepped into marriage, publicly committing to it. And although my commitment was to this marriage and to this husband, it was ultimately a commitment to God, to His way. Even if I can’t believe that my effort will make a change in my marriage, I can stand by my promise (while abiding in Christ) to be a wife who is honorable in God’s sight. I can strive to be a woman, standing next to my husband, who is beautiful to her Savior. I can put all my heart, soul, strength and mind into loving God, genuinely, and trust Him for the results it will have on this other child of God I married (my husband)– who is incomplete, who does need a helper, who was not created to be alone.

All of us desire healing and all of us need to be made pure. Marriage is one of the things God uses to purify us before Eternity, and God will hold us (together) until He heals us.

Shopping With Daughters

I don't know if it is harder to raise godly daughters right now, or godly sons. Having both at home, it seems to me that I would like to hide all of them away until God wipes out the mess around us and starts over with something pure. Then I could send them out into the world, knowing they would be safe, that it could be faily easy to make good choices. But that would be Heaven, wouldn't it?  We're not there just yet.  So, in the meantime, God, give me wisdom and discernment.

I took the girls out shopping the other day. They'd been begging for a chance to spend the money they had saved on some new clothes. I'd been putting them off, partly because I hate the thought of trying to help them find something... decent. I remember when they had moved out of sixe 6X. I was devastated. This meant that it was time to start navigating through the world of "Diva Star" t-shirts and other clothing apparently meant for godesses. Last I heard, there was only one Center of the Universe, and He doesn't go shopping. Life in the mall wasn't going to be sweet and safe anymore. Okay, it never was, but... it was going to be worse.

As we walked from rack to rack and store to store, they kept looking at me saying, "Seriously?"  I was grateful that I didn't have to tell them "no."  I could see that God had been working on refining their own navigation systems.  They were feeling a little underwhelmed at the choices. There was a dull, glazed-over look on their faces.  I was glad.  There wouldn't be any $80 jeans, no pink shirts with skulls and hearts (why am I even seeing these?), nothing that looked painted on, and they weren't overly concerned with spending ALL of their money.  We left with a couple of cute things for each of them and most of their money still in their pockets. 

I don't mean to over-spiritualize this shopping trip, but I had peace. Peace knowing that they were content with something simple. Peace that their hearts were longing for something good instead of something flashy. Peace that our Father God is sovereign and that He is faithful in moulding and building a sense of beauty into our children in a world that is often harsh and shallow.     

A Little Attitude Adjustment

I'm pouting a little today.  I've concluded that it feels as though God hasn't lined up all the circumstances of my life quite fairly.  I've had sick kids all week.  Sometimes four at the same time, all with fevers, all needing care, while a hungry baby cries in the other room, two of the "well" siblings won't stop looking at each other, and over-thawed, raw meat sits on the counter waiting for someone to cook it. The phone rings in the middle of all this and it's my husband, cheerfully asking me how my day is.  My day?!  I don't say what I want to say. Actually, I'd rather just hang up on him for being so cheerful and for not knowing what it feels like to be Stretch Armstrong for 16 hours straight. I have no way of measuring success this week, apart from being able to report that none of the kids have died. Yet.  Of course, we are getting almost no school work done, I've had to cancel piano lessons, Cadets, and life in general, even for the ones who could go if someone could take them, but no one can.  There is no one to bail me out.  My husband is 45 miles away, and he's in a good mood!  That's not fair.

My Dad always told us, "No one ever said life was going to be fair."  I didn't like it when he said it then and I don't like it now, even though today no one is waiting in the wings to dole out unwanted words of wisdom.  But he planted a seed early in my life in hopes that I would reap it's fruits later on.  Ultimately, it was my Heavenly Father who placed faithful parents in my life to model the sacrifice good parents make without complaining.  They cared for us with a servant's heart in our times of need, without ever making us feel as though we were a burden.  I realize now that they were no doubt as human as I feel tonight.  I guess I'm grateful to have Dad's words bouncing around in my whiney brain.  It's the medicine I need. 

We're Done

How many times have I answered people's unasked question about how many children we were going to have with, "I think we're done." Actually, sometimes they did ask. Regardless, my answer was always somewhat apologetic. After our first 4 children, who came into the world in a slightly intense period of less than 6 years, I felt like we were done. Two girls, two boys, even number, fits neatly in a minivan. I knew I would always bear a sadness in my heart at the thought of not being pregnant again, not having a baby in the house again, but life is that way sometimes. There's an end to everything.

Then God started to work on that sad heart of mine. Truth be told, He'd been working on it since Dennis & I had gotten married. I had never been completely convinced that it was my job (or my husband's) to decide how many children we should have, but the world  we lived in (even the Christian world) didn't agree with me. Being a first-born people pleaser, I admit that I succumbed to the world's standard. However, after a couple of years God softened our hearts toward orphaned children and we decided we wanted to adopt. What a blessing! What a joy! Two more precious boys! We knew now that it didn't matter how large our family was, we would adopt until our house began to burst at the seems, or until we were too old. Whichever came first. Of course, we really couldn't adopt if I was pregnant or had a new baby, and since the need is so great, we would just grow our family through adoption. After all, God had blessed us with four wonderful children by birth, and now we couldn't wait to be blessed with more children by adoption. We'd had our turn having children the "biological" way, and I was almost 40 anyway. People roll their eyes at women who don't stop getting pregnant. They refer to people like that as puppy factories, and the like. They throw out statistics about over-populating the earth and talk about you behind your back. They over-scrutinize everything about your family, looking for dirt on your kids' faces and evidence of hand-me-downs. Oh, God, are you asking us to be one of those families? The Christians don't even approve... 

God is so patient with us, isn't He? Whose am I, anyway? Do I belong to the world? Was I not created by the Creator? Who has got it right, Him or them? In 101 ways God showed us the beauty of His plan, reminding us that if we commit ourselves to His way, He will make all things beautiful in His time. So in faith we have placed the size of our family in His wise hands, wishing we had done this from the beginning. To many people's surprise, and our joy, He brought us a treasured new baby last May. Certainly people rejoiced with us, but some assumed he was an "oops," several wondered if our timing was right and if we could handle another one, and certainly this was the last one, right? Only God knows. But we hope there will be many more, both by birth and adoption. We will not bring people's opinions with us into eternity, but our children, His children, will live forever.

Here Am I, Send Me

My first post... I've been sitting on this blog spot for quite a while because the "burn" God had put in my heart to do this had been nearly quenched by my many inadequacies. Maybe you have these inner conversations on occassion, "What are you doing? You don't even have your life straightened out yet. Do you mistakenly believe that you have ANYTHING to offer anyone else?" These not-so-friendly conversations go on, sometimes for quite a while. But that battle for the mind is fought with the Sword of the Spirit, the Truth of God's Word. His Word says that His strength is made perfect in our weakness. It says that we are to encourage one another and build one another up. Knowing those two things, I post. So, here I am Lord! Send me!