That One Time We Went to The Nutcracker...

 

(All events are my recollection of what happened. Others in the family have their own memories about that day, but they can write it on their own blog;))

As the Christmas season unfolds, I'm realizing how much Jace is soaking in of all the excitement that comes with all things Christmas. It's making me really want to put some effort into his experiences and start some traditions with our family. The other night was the first time he sat through a whole entire movie and it was The Polar Express! I love that his first movie was a Christmas movie! I foresee making us all watch The Polar Express every year under a pile of blankets, until he's old and I'm dead.

This desire to create traditions reminds me of some of the things we did when I was younger. There are some great, warm memories but there are also some failed attempts at Christmas family fun. Like that one time we went to the Nutcracker...

The night started off with the 5 of us going out to a Thai restaurant for dinner. My brothers and I were already not amused at the idea of seeing a ballet and muttered under our breath the whole time about how we should've been going to a Sonics game instead. Possibly due to our wish of attending a sporting event, we dressed the part. As we walked into all the glamor that the Nutcracker is, with the beautiful building and everyone dressed to the nines, it was as if the turn table scratched, the party stopped and all heads swung in our direction. I was basically in sweats, Joe was in a Chicago Bulls coat and Emmi was in an LA Raiders parka. Not only were we the few 'non-white' people there, but it was as if we were dressed like street people at the Presidential Ball.

We had no choice but to carry on and so carry on we did. After climbing over elegantly dressed rich folks, we finally took our seats. Since Joe is the middle child he always ends up in the worst spot, so fate would have it that he would sit approximately one inch away from the fancily dressed, old woman next to him. She was obviously a seasoned Nutcracker goer and not a fan of us.

The show began and we were instantly confused. Mice having sword fights and men in super tight tights leaping around? My then very mature brothers not so affectionately started calling it "The Buttcracker" in honor of the skin tight outfits that showed off everything. They then read in the program that the lead ballet dude's real name was Stankov. So, it quickly turned into "Stanko Buttcracker." I'm sure the old lady was even more thrilled and loved us more than before.

As if the night wasn't already going fabulously, Joe started to feel a little sick. As he sat there watching the leaping and twirling, he started to look a little sweaty. Then a lot sweaty. He suddenly could barely hold up his body and was practically laying his head on the old woman's shoulder. In an attempt to ease his tummy, one of my parents (who will remain nameless, lest CPS gets a hold of this) decided to buy him a VERY expensive peppermint hot chocolate. As my brother seemed to get sicker and a little weirder, someone realized the peppermint was not just flavoring, it was actually Peppermint Schnapps. Unbeknownst  to the parent buyer the hot chocolate was spiked and my brother was definitely underage. We shuffled him out just in time to witness his glamorous Thai food puke fest in that fancy, gold-plated Nutcracker parking lot (okay, it wasn't gold-plated, but may as well have been). So there we were: brown, dressed like gangsters, and up-chucking on everyone's parade.

Needless to say, it was an attempt at making a tradition, that failed miserably. I'm pretty sure the Nutcracker security has all our faces on their most wanted list.

So, while I'm finding new ways to start fun family traditions with my new family, the Nutcracker hasn't been added to our list of things to try, nor probably ever will.

Because the Nutcracker has been tried, and it was too good the first time to ever try again.

When Christmas Loses its Magic

When I was growing up, Christmastime always had this magical element to it. There was just something whimsical in the air that made everyday exciting. The lights, the tree, helping mom put the ornaments on. The possibility of trading school days for snow days. The Christmas outfits and cookies for Santa. Knowing he wasn't real but still kind of hoping maybe he was. Family time, board games.Sleeping in sleeping bags out in the living room and watching Christmas movies with my brothers. There was always this cozy, secure, protective feeling the holidays brought. As if life wrapped me up in a giant-sized, holiday down comforter that I just cozied my way into and wanted to stay forever.

I don't remember how old I was, but I was still fairly young on that Christmas morning when my grandfather died. I didn't know him. He lived in India and at that point in my life I had met him twice and once was when I was too little to remember. So, my memories of him aren't many, if any. But, that Christmas morning was the very first time I saw my indestructible dad and uncle cry. It was the year Christmas kinda lost its magic and I thought it might never come back.

It took a few years before Christmas went back to the way it was, but ever since then, my heart gets a little heavy around the holidays because I know that it's not always all it's cracked up to be. This expectation of magic is hard to hold up when you're in the middle of the things of life. Pain doesn't pause when Black Friday starts. This year, I'm thinking of a friend who is celebrating his first Christmas without his dad, a wife without her husband. I'm thinking of a friend who just went through traumatic, physical pain and is learning to live and function through that. I'm thinking of friends who are watching their families fall apart and others who have shattered, broken hearts.

There is all this pressure to join in with the glamour of the 'holiday spirit' when reality might be you have to change the station when you hear "Joy to the World" because it's just so hard to find joy in your world right now--or the next carol-er at your door is gonna get punched in the nose.

And yet, the real Christmas story was not a glamorous one. A teenage mother gave birth in a barn and a king wanted to kill her baby--who happened to be the Savior of the world. The real beauty of this season is that it reminds us that grace stepped into a world of pain and suffering so we wouldn't have to endure it alone. We have a God who brings comfort and peace when Christmas lights and songs cannot.

The one who created the world didn't come with glamorous, flashing lights. He chose to come in a posture of humility and vulnerability. He created a place for all of us to fit.

So, whether this is a magical season or a difficult one---you fit beautifully in it, just as you are.

TWO.

2 years ago you were born on Thanksgiving Day. Your face is my daily reminder of all the beautiful things my heart is constantly whispering its thanks for. It was 2 years ago when we first got to look into each other's eyes as I cried my happy tears and you cried your first sounds. But, I feel like I've known you forever. You can't possibly just have 2 years tethered to my 28. You were a part of me long before and seeing your face just breathed life into the gaps of me that were waiting for your air.

I'm so proud of you, Jace. As I see you shed your baby face and grow into that little boy body my heart beams with pride and cracks just a little because I know my days of scooping you into my lap won't be forever.

But, I love who you are and who I see you becoming. This little boy who loves people. You pay attention to them--the things they like, the things they do, even the color of their eyes. And you remember those things for the next time you see them. Don't lose that. Someday, people will love and appreciate you for looking into their eyes and taking the time to care about who they  really are. You aren't a surfacey person, you are interested in depth. You are full of compassion. You say hi to everyone at the grocery store and give them your real smile, the one that paints across your whole face. You proved to be a great international traveler and loved all things India. You love sports and make boy grunts and wrestle with your dad, but you also sing "Jesus Loves Me", you remind us to pray, you love babies, and you kiss mommy's forehead when she doesn't feel well. You're the perfect blend of all things wonderful.

Buddy boy. As we take another trip around the sun, I can say this will be a big year for us. It's been quite a joy to have you all to ourselves. One little guy to give our heart and soul and attention to. One little guy for all our kisses and bed time stories. But, this year, you will become a big brother. And all these things that were only yours you will be sharing. I can't tell you how excited I am to think of you with your own friend for life.One of the first thoughts that came to me when I found out I was pregnant was your face. Tears filled my eyes as my heart burst knowing all the joy that was coming your way. Though it may be hard at first, this is going to be one of the best things to happen to you. Having 2 older brothers and cousins (who were more like sisters) I know.They are my only 'friends' that are in all my memories growing up and in all my visions of the future-- truly lifelong. I can't wait for you to experience that. All the inside jokes only you guys will get, all the weird, quirky things that will tie you together and make you laugh. All the things in life you will endure together and lean on each other through. It will be unlike anything you could have ever hoped for.

Til then, you get us all to yourself and I am cherishing these last few months of your only child days.

We're still dancing between the galaxies and playing hopscotch among the stars, but every day it's all getting a little brighter and our universe is looking more marvelous.

Happy number 2, baby boo. I love you more than you'll ever know.

On Earth As it is in Heaven

There are certain moments in life when heaven softly falls down and covers the earth you are standing on, like a blanket of snow. 

Those moments range from things like saying goodbye to a loved one for the last time, welcoming a new child onto the earth, standing in a torrential downpour in the mountains of Mexico, or even a stranger offering to help you change your tire. 

Regardless of the gravity of the situation, these moments can never leave you the same because suddenly, the same isn't quite good enough. When you've realized the ground your feet are kissing is actually Holy Ground, your world demands a sudden change. 

When I was in India, this very thing happened to me. We were in a little village called Bendigeri. The moment we stepped foot on that soil my lungs exchanged earthly air for heaven's. 

The children there overwhelmed me. With not many "things", according to my western standards, I learned so much from the love radiating from their hugs and smiles and laughter. From their kindness to strangers, like the little girl who offered me her bed if I wanted to stay to their hard work ethic in the scorching heat as they made bricks. I learned quickly that they didn't need a lot of "things" to enjoy the lives they were given. 

Since the moment we left, I haven't been able to shake them. Their faces light up the warmest memories in my heart. They gave me so much in my few hours with them that have changed my lifetime, I can't not give them something back. Here are a few of the many who left their mark:

This is Kavita. She is in the 5th grade and is 11 years old. Her mother died giving birth to her and her father remarried and left Kavita in her grandmother's home, while he moved on with his new family. Since then, her grandmother has been taking care of her, but is now unable to work due to her age and health. Kavita and her grandmother are currently struggling to make ends meet and afford basic needs such as hygiene products and school supplies.

This is Yeshawanth. He is in the 5th grade and is 11 years old.

He has one older sister and one younger sister. His father is blind so his mother is working in agriculture to support the family. She makes very little money and is struggling to provide basic needs for her family as well. 

This is Deepa. She is in the 4th grade and is 10 years old. She has an older sister in 7th grade and a younger brother who is 3 years old. Her father did electrical work and in 2001 he fell from an electrical pole and hurt his leg very badly. He has not been able to work ever since. Her mother is now responsible for taking care of the whole family and doesn't make very much money. They are also struggling to afford basic needs. 

This is Prashant. He is 16 years old and is mentally disabled. His father had a heart attack while he was driving and passed away. His mother is now alone, working as a daily labor worker and is earning very little money. She is having a hard time paying for the extra care and treatment he needs.

This is Nagamma. She is 24 years old. Her father hanged himself and since then, her mother had been taking care of her. Nagamma is now studying for her Bachelors of Education, but her mother has been diagnosed with Tuberculosis. She is now struggling to continue her education because her money and time are going towards taking care of her mother.

These are just a few of the many people in the village who are struggling to get by. On top of that, their church/school/only real "building" in the village was destroyed by a flood.

Jesus has been so kind to stir up this passion in me and then to give me the opportunity to plug up this hole in my heart and DO something about it. My MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group has decided to take up Bendigeri as our International Service Project this year. We have contacts over in India to send money to that will buy the kids who are in need: school supplies, hygiene products, possibly a keyboard since the kids love learning worship music but don't have a keyboard, and possibly help to fix their community's church, depending on how much money is raised. 

With the holidays coming up, it's the best time to look at all we, our friends, family and children have been blessed with. It's a good time to give up coffee once a week and give that money to someone who might be in need or to encourage our kids to set aside allowance money to bless others. We can show them pictures and stories or take them to places where they can understand how blessed their lives are and how they can bless others. I know there are plenty of local places that take donations like clothes, food, time, or money. Choose one that tugs on your heart strings. But, let's start being intentional with what we've been blessed with and and intentional with our little generation as we instill in them the joy and privilege of giving--not just taking.





So, before you make your wish list and get lost in all the hustle and bustle of the holidays, let's remember how much more there is in what we give! Let's be a part of doing His will...on earth as it is heaven. 

If anyone is interested in donating to this little place in India that has stolen my heart, email me at lisahanchinamani03@yahoo.com or send me a Facebook message! They would appreciate any amount of money you can give.

Some of the kids in the village 

The church/school before it was damaged by the flood

Young boys helping make bricks

Conquering a Milestone

There are a few milestones in life that I have been terrified of ever since I was little. My driver's license test (I failed the first time and still can't parallel park, so should have stayed at failure status, but I fooled someone at the DMV, so joke's on them). My SAT's (been there done that, no one cares). Getting my wisdom teeth pulled (they are still there, I'm still scared, this is well overdue, might need an intervention). Giving birth (rightfully so). Being pregnant while having a toddler.

I'm currently living one of the very things I've been afraid of all my life.  And it. is. scary.

I am Miserable with a capital M. I throw up at any given hour of the day and if I'm not throwing up I'm wishing I am throwing up or wishing I am unconscious. I can't even describe to anyone who doesn't know this feeling, what it's all about. It's unlike anything in life. I mean imagine if someone threw you into the bottom of a boat or strapped you into the world's worst roller coaster and said "Goodbye. This is your new life for the next 3+ MONTHS. Oh and we're throwing a toddler in with you." But, it's 10 TIMES WORSE. It's unlike anything comparable to anything. And the heartburn! The heartburn that keeps you up all night long because it literally feels like your esophagus has caught on fire and it takes everything in you not to call the fire department to bring all their hoses and put this thing OUT OF MY MISERY.

The worst is when I hear other moms say how they never got sick. Pregnancy was so glowy and beautiful and lovely. In what world?! Sign me up! I want that pregnancy. I mean, I feel like I am actually Eve in the garden and I am receiving the full wrath of childbirth pains solely on me. It's good I don't believe in reincarnation or I'd have to believe I was a seriously awful person in some other life.

And my body. I just recently lost all my baby weight and then some. And now here we are. 3 months in and I already have a "bump" the size of a basketball. Every thing feels uncomfortable except for Owen's sweats. I just fit back into my skinny skinny jeans and now I'm back into MEN'S sweats?! I mean. Do I get to catch any breaks at all?

And then there's Jace. God Bless Jace. He's a good kid. But, when I was pregnant with him I just slept every chance I got. Now. I can't. Because of him. He's here now, out in the world, and so I must entertain him. Poor Jace's life consists of the iPad, and granola bars, and mommy laying on the couch pretending to watch him play but really taking 2 second naps every time he's not looking.

It's just. SO HARD to be ALIVE.



And then this.

We saw this. And we saw a flickering heartbeat. And it became real. Because one time I saw this.

And it became this.

And my world was never the same again.

A human is growing inside my body and every second cells are forming and creating and designing a baby that will change our lives and our world forever. This baby will make Jace a big brother and Owen and I parents of 2 and the thought makes my heart so wildly and insanely happy.

Well, that I can confidently say, makes conquering this terrifying milestone so worth it.

So, baby. Whatever you're doing in there to make me sick, I'll let it slide, because I'm counting on you to shine your light into the spaces of our hearts that we haven't even discovered yet.

And really, I'm just so honored that I get to be your mama. It makes everything else pale in comparison.

Even the puke.

(And no, the irony is not lost on me that my previous post was about not complaining and enjoying each moment of life.)

In this Moment

I woke up this morning feeling grateful. Grateful for my husband, my baby, our warm cozy house, the food we were going to eat for breakfast, the cars that had gas in them, the huge family I hung out with last night that I get to experience love and laughs with. I was breathing in the fresh air of gratitude. But, not all mornings are like this. Some mornings are spent annoyed that there are dishes in the sink, or that Jace won't eat his breakfast, or that my master bathroom isn't a little bigger, or my house doesn't look like a Pottery Barn catalog. Some days I waste. Because I'm too busy complaining to see that my fortress is made out of greatness.

Every moment we get on earth is our last of that very moment. Every breath, every hour, will be gone as soon as it came. And though it seems like life is long and there's always tomorrow, it's not true. There's not always tomorrow, and in the grand scheme of things 80 to 90 years isn't much compared to eternity.  We get one shot. Just one. How often are we wasting our moments being selfish, feeling entitled, comparing, being angry, wanting more, giving less?

In one of the book's I'm reading right now, the author says if your household makes $35,000 a year you are in the top 4% for wealth in the world. $50,000? Top 1%. If you're reading this and live in America you have a very different human experience than most of the world. We have so much stuff. And yet we are constantly being told we need more. If we can't be grateful for what we have right now, we can't live in real joy, it doesn't exist without gratitude.  If we are constantly waiting to obtain something more, we will never be truly happy in the present.

Technology has been a big contributor to us wanting more, but has also given us the ability to take ourselves out of our present. With all the ways we are bombarded by information through TV, the Internet, our phones and our apps, we are more and more slipping into a false world and are less and less connected to our very present, real world. Joy also can't exist in moments that we aren't even in.

I've been thinking about the village kids in India a lot lately. Thinking about how much delight were on the faces of kids who had never seen much 'stuff' in their lives. They understand what it's all about. Living in bliss doesn't come from having a lot of things, it comes from being aware and thankful for this present moment, because just being in it is enough. I've been thinking of that little girl who offered me her bed in case I wanted to stay with them. How can someone who has pretty much nothing to offer, be able to offer so much? It's because it was not out of duty, but out of a heart overflowing.

I want that. I want to live like her. To love this moment so much that I can reach out and love a stranger like that. To not be consumed with the things I don't have, but to be overwhelmed by things I do have. To not be entitled to my possessions or my love, but to be willing to give them away to whoever might be in need. To not look at myself as just a little girl with nothing to offer, but to offer the world whatever it is I have to give.

And I need to remember to smile. There may have been language barriers, but I won't forget any of those smiles. I think it would have been a very different experience if I had been walking around watching these kids be upset and hating that they were working in 100 plus degree heat, or that they were running around on the hot ground with no shoes on, or that their clothes were dirty and ripped. It changed my life to see the sheer happiness radiating from their faces. To me, their circumstances seemed less than ideal. To them, it was another day to be grateful. Another day to taste real joy.

I want this for myself, for my family, for my friends. I'm trying to learn to quiet the voice that tells me it's never enough, and appreciate the here and the now, which is always enough.

This big, beautiful life offers so much more to appreciate than to criticize.

So, that's what I'm going to do.

Live in real joy.

And real joy,

lives right now,

in this very, present moment.

Real Talk: Perfectly Imperfect

It all started when we were asked if we would be interested in doing a photo shoot for a book that's being published next year. I imagined the 3 of us dressing up really cute and posing next to burned down barns or running through fields of sunflowers, or doing something whimsical.

On Sunday, I got an email to schedule the shoot and found out that on Thursday, a photographer would be in our HOUSE from 2 pm until Jace's bedtime taking pictures of us 'living our daily lives' including, but not limited to, pictures of me jogging with Jace in the stroller. In the sun. While I'm sweating. Documented in a book. For the rest of time as I know it.

Ok, so Sunday starts panic mode. Sleepless nights. Crazy dreams. Like I had a dream that all of Jace's shoes were in the garbage can and so the photographer took pictures of me fetching his dirty garbage shoes out of the dirty garbage can and putting them on my child's feet. And I was mortified because I knew that everyone was going to see that Jace wears dirty shoes from garbage cans.And my mom was going to disown me. And this was a night. mare. Like, I woke up sweating and my heart was racing and I couldn't go back to sleep in fear of what my evil subconscious was going to stir up next.

I just felt so much pressure. I needed to tidy up our 'daily lives'.

So, whenever Owen leaves for work in the morning, Jace gets so sad and doesn't want him to leave and sometimes clings onto Owen's leg and cries. But, for some reason, when Owen gets home from work Jace runs away screaming! We can't figure it out but he needs like 5 minutes to warm up, it's like he's mad at him for leaving. So anyway, I just had this picture in my head of the photographer ready to take sweet 'welcome home, daddy' pictures but instead gets Jace running away screaming 'NOOOooooooooo!!!' So all week, the hour before Owen got home we practiced "what do we say when daddy gets home? We say, 'YAYYYY, DADDY!!!'" It worked. I trained him like a little monkey.

Then there's the house. I scrubbed every inch of the house. My window sills were polished with wood spray stuff I never knew I had! We got a picture for our dining room wall that has lived bare for the 2 years we've lived here. I took the leaves out of our dining table to make it look like it was for a small family instead of for the United States Army, and I made sure we all sat together as a family for dinner all week instead of Jace in his high chair, me at the counter and Owen eating while pacing around the kitchen.

I bought flowers for MYSELF. I never have ever bought flowers for my house. I don't even like when Owen buys me flowers. What girl doesn't like her husband buying her flowers, you ask? A practical one! I'd rather he spent $20 on a shirt for me than flowers. Buying the flowers was somewhat of a challenge because there were barely any options in the $6 range I was willing to pay. But, I found some. I got to the cash register and the clerk said 'these green flowers are so pretty!' They're green? I thought they were white! I bought green flowers? Are they weeds? Did I buy weeds for my table? But, I did it, I bought flowers for our dining table and I have to say I love them there. I wish they were fake so they didn't have to leave me.

As I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's I sent a picture of practically every clothing item I owned to my cousins and sister-in-law to pick out the right 'casual at home shirt'. They all told me to calm."I mean, is the photographer really gonna take pictures of your windowsills? And maybe having some imperfections will allow others to feel the freedom to be imperfect."

That hit the core of my heart for 1/10th of a second. But, then I decided I was not going to let myself be the poster child of imperfection. Someone else could be a martyr. Not I. So, perfection it was.

Thursday morning, my sweet, little boy woke up with the snottiest nose and was a crazy, cranky, temper tantrumy ball of mess. Why? Why me? Why NOW? He usually wakes up with the biggest smile and so happy to see us. Nope. Of course not the day that will be documented for the rest of eternity. Perfection was now out of my control.

Ok, so the day happened. It was fine. We lived. We actually had fun and the photographer was really nice and it was easier to be normal than I thought it would be. We didn't have to fake it through. And when Jace screamed for rice at dinner and refused his enchiladas, I didn't even care. Because perfection, it doesn't exist. At least not for us.

Imperfection. It's so underrated. What a boring world perfection would be. I like our little world the way it is. We've got real. We've got raw. We've got messy.  And a whole lot of love.

We are perfectly imperfect.

It's the best we've got.

And it's completely enough.

(But, if someone's going to come take pictures of our imperfect, there are some things that are completely acceptable to fix first! Right?)

Our new artwork and green flowers:)

Brave and Strong

I don’t have a lot of miles behind me on this whole mom-hood journey thing. But, as I watched my mom friends post pictures of their littles on their first day of school, tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my not yet 2 year old and thought—why can’t he just stay this little and innocent forever, right here with me? The world can be harsh, and I just want to keep him in this safe little bubble we've created. As I witness each of his milestones, they are equal parts sweet and bitter because I'm watching him succeed as he inches closer into independence and further away from needing me. 

I may not have a lot of experience, but I know in these past 2 years I've become the strongest and yet, most breakable version of myself I've ever been. There is a process to becoming a parent. Whether it’s going through 9 months of pregnancy to get to the intense pains of labor or whether it's through the emotional sweat, tears and unknowns through an adoption.We are forced to become stronger. Ever heard of mama strength?—when moms lift trucks up with their bare hands to save their children—yea that. We get that when we become mamas. We are unbreakable. 

And yet, we are so very breakable. 

I saw a 5 day old donkey last week who was basically no different than an adult donkey, he was born ready for the world. It made me think, when Jace was born he came out absolutely helpless. It was my job to transport him, feed him, clothe him, bathe him. He was nowhere close to as functional as he will someday be in his adult life. 

His vulnerability has made me vulnerable. I innately care for someone so purely, freely, and selflessly--a love so hard it hurts. Like when something is so hot it's cold or you laugh so hard you cry. This feeling is so intense it can't wholly be contained in one emotion, so it spills out on to the next. I'm so grateful to finally know this part of me, and yet so scared of how exposed it has left me.

Preacher Dean Sherman uses a phrase that I love--  ‘grace cut to fit’. We might not understand how someone else can go through something we aren't, or how we could ever go through something that might be in our future, because we only have grace for each moment as it pertains to us individually--cut to fit. So to my mama friends. Whether you just drove with your baby in the car for the first time or are sending your kid off to college, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger.  Whether you have one kid or seven kids, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger. If you work a 9-5 and entrust your babies to someone else, then come home and throw dinner together and help with homework and clean the house, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger. If you stay at home and being a mom is your full time job where there are no breaks and there doesn't seem to be an adult conversation all day, and you have sacrificed using that college degree you worked so hard for, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger.

And to the world. We need to be careful with each other. Because no matter how old we are, behind every person is a fragile mama who is pleading for you to be gentle with her exposed heart that is out discovering the world--or, there is a big void where that kind of mama should have been. Either way, we should be taking extra care of each other. 

Because being alive--it's a vulnerable thing.

We're all just learning to be a little braver and stronger.

One day at a time. 

We get to Dance

I was sobbing that first Sunday after finding out I was pregnant with Jace. Sitting in the balcony at church everything inside me was turning over at the unknown. What about my job? What about my 8 month young marriage? What about my friends? What about my crappy car not suitable for a baby? Or a condo that suddenly felt too small?

I sat there squirming in my seat during a worship song and suddenly all the noise in my head stopped and I clearly heard the lyrics "the cry of my heart is to bring You praise from the inside out." I couldn't help but sing along.

It was at that moment I knew this wasn't about my convenience. If I really wanted to live a life that brought God glory (and I did), I had to let go of all my worries and trust that this was right that this was good. That from inside of me where this baby now took residence, to outside of me where everything all of a sudden seemed disastrous, I could move forward with confidence and joy.

This week I've had a lot of unknowns. Unknowns give me anxiety. They leave me feeling out of control about the future and my circumstances, and I hate that.

As I was cleaning the kitchen this morning, mulling over all the 'unknowns', a familiar song came on my Pandora station, "and the cry of my heart is to bring you praise from the inside out, Lord, my soul cries out."

That little life that was no bigger than a peanut when I first sang that song with intention, is now a curly-haired boy dancing his heart out to that very same song. Spinning in dizzying circles while flapping his arms around and encouraging me to 'dance mommy!'

So I dropped everything and I danced like crazy with the boy that was once my mystery--now my everything.

Sometimes, we feel like we're standing on the edge of a cliff and we are too scared of what happens next. Too scared to jump in, to let go, to soar--because the water might be too cold or the waves might be too rough, or what if there's a freaking.shark.in.there?!

But, often, when we do--when we move forward into what seems like chaos or seems too scary or seems insurmountable-- those are the moments that change us for the good. Forever. If we never move, we might stay safe, but we'll never get to experience real joy and freedom.

Just like my little boy reminded me today--the letting go, the trusting--it's all worth it. Because often times, after we've made it through the hard stuff,

we get to dance.

Choosing Compassion

There was a very short article on the Internet about the accident my family was in. There were no specific details, mainly that there was just an accident.

The comments that followed made my jaw drop. Not one of them showed care or compassion for people who had just been in a traumatic situation.

One person said "It wouldn't be a holiday weekend without some bonehead rolling his or her car over on a major travel route."

Another kind citizen said "...if you are going to get in a 5000lb weapon on the same roads I travel with my family-then put your damn phone down and drive. Not one text you have ever or will ever send is more important than my daughter getting home alive."

There were plenty of other people who shared their opinions on the matter, but the interesting thing is, no one had any facts! The article never said anything about anyone texting and reality was, no one was texting! My brother WAS paying attention, which probably helped them all survive. This wasn't a case of people being flippant and driving like maniacs or not paying attention. This was a family with kids that happened to be on the freeway that morning.

We do this to each other. We see or hear of a situation and we fill in the gaps with our own theories and ideas. Sadly, when we are removed from a situation, our compassion for people can often come up short. 

When we see a single, teenage girl who is pregnant.

When we see a person who is overweight.

When we see people of different ethnicities and tie prejudices to them.

When we see a man on the corner of the street with a cardboard sign.

When we see a child screaming his head off at the grocery store.

We do this. I do this. We fill in the story in our heads and decide why someone is the way they are and we go on with life, never stopping to know the full story. From afar, we assume the worst, like "the bonehead must've been texting."

It's different when we're up close. When we see people for who they are with our own eyes, compassion seeps in and we act and react from a place of understanding. Just like all the people who witnessed the accident that day with their own eyes, they stopped their lives to love and care for the strangers who needed it.

I want to be those people. Not the ones sitting behind a computer screen making outrageous accusations and judgments about people and their circumstances. I want to look at people as if I'm in the trenches with them. To stop the urge to fill in the blanks that I don't know and to react with love and care.

People need my grace more than they need my criticism.

I want to choose compassion.

Because at the end of the day,

it's what I need, too.

"With [the tongue] we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people lwho are made in the likeness of God. 10 From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers,1 these things ought not to be so. 11 Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and salt water?"--James 3:9-12












 

Gratitude

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Katie's hat sitting upright through all the damage. It says "Life is Beautiful".  It's so true.

July 5th, 2013

All I needed was to feel the rise and fall of Jace's chest under my arm tonight. So, in the middle of the night, I ungracefully scooped him up from his crib and brought him to our bed and decided I didn't care if I didn't sleep a wink. I just wanted to feel him breathe all night long. Thankful that his cousins are breathing in their cribs tonight.

I can't turn my brain off. There's so much to think about. So much gratitude swirling around.

Grateful they are all at home tonight. All 4 of them. They're home.

Grateful for the goodness that I forgot still exists in the world. Things may be dark, but His love cannot be quenched.

It's the woman who was driving northbound and saw the accident going southbound, so jumped the barrier ON THE FREEWAY and left her 8 MONTH OLD BABY in the car to help strangers--strangers that happened to be my family.

It's random Amazon Greg who was helping Joe and holding Ethan and a teddy bear on the side of the road until we got there to pick them up.

It's Tracy who watched the whole thing happen and said her life is changed. Who took pictures and held the boys and calmed Katie down and reminded her over and over that it makes no sense they are alive--it's a miracle.

It's the blankets Katie says she saw wrapped around the boys while they were flipping, as if put there by Jesus' hands.

It's the airbag Joe felt pressed against him to hold him back--yet the airbags never went off.

It's the middle window where Declan was, the only window on that side of the car completely untouched by the crash.

It's the first responders who got there before we did.

It's the family that came by the dozens ready to help, care, comfort, feed, pray.

It's the friends that proved to be no different than family.

As I was laying in bed, the scene would not escape my mind. I kept picturing the car rolling and Jesus rolling with them in the chaos, putting his hand up against those backseat windows to protect the boys.

But then, I thought of Psalm 18:2. "The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer. My God, my rock, in who I take refuge, my shield...'

This is not a picture of Him being tossed around in all the chaos. It is firm, it is stable, it is unshakeable.

His firm, stable, unshakeable hand was their shield today. It's the only thing that makes sense in spite of the destruction and chaos.

Thankful that He was there today. Standing beautiful in all our mess.

A Father's Heart

Every night, ever since Jace was a newborn, I can hear Owen talking to him, while overlooking his crib. Right before he prays over him, I hear Owen saying "Daddy's very proud of you buddy. I'm so proud of you."

I never really thought anything of it.

When we were in India, Owen and I had some deep conversations and without the distractions of normal life, we got to become best friends again. We had endless hours to talk and laugh and remember why it was we chose each other for this one, wild life. I remember one day, he told me how some kids go their whole lives without ever feeling like they could be good enough for their dad, without ever feeling like they made their dad proud. So, from day one, Owen decided to take a stride and make sure his son would never doubt how proud he has always been of him. No matter what kind of day it is, at the end of it, Jace will always have this security.

That's just a glimpse of the heart of my husband.

The road he is building for Jace to walk on is built by stones of hard work, selflessness, kindness, humility, patience and love. It's been such an honor and privilege to watch him create this safe place for Jace that is also filled with adventures and lots of belly laughs. Our hearts are full.

We are so blessed to have such a strong, solid man who knows who he is and doesn't waver. His confidence helps us brush off our insecurities. His kindness makes our days so full of joy. His adventurous spirit pushes us to be bold. His servant's heart makes us want to serve others. His faith challenges us.  His love makes us feel like nothing in the world can break us.

Happy Father's Day to you, Owen!

Our son is watching your every move. I see him becoming more and more like you.

And for that, I thank you.

Roots and Boots

Shortly after my last post, I decided to seize what was left of the day, change myself AND Jace out of our pajamas, and go for a little walk.

We were stopping at every flower, bird, and tree in sight until we turned the corner and there was a neighbor (we had never met) mowing her lawn. I took a second to admire this woman mowing her lawn because a) I've never mowed any lawn in my entire life, not even sure I've touched a lawn mower and b) she wasn't some young, athletic woman, she was actually kinda old.

The second she saw Jace, her whole face lit up and she stopped the lawn mower to come over and talk to us. She introduced herself as Ann, asked us about us, was so friendly and so warm and then dove right into her story. Who she is, how she is and why she is that way. We poured over a conversation that pierced straight through my heart.

You see, when Ann was my age, she was exactly who I stay up at night dreaming about now, only my face is on her face. She is the people I idolize. Ann was a nurse (which was my original career path when I started college). Toward the end of her career she was a Professor at the University of Washington teaching nursing to college students. But, before that, she was a free spirit. The wind whispered and she floated away with it, taking her gift of healthcare to reach the corners of the world. She told me about all the different continents and countries she visited. She walked on the grounds of Asia, Europe and South America, to name a few. Each wrinkle on her face had a story to tell. You could read them. Rich stories about her experiences with the nations, with all the different people in the world she got to meet and all the cultures she got to immerse herself in and all the friends she made that were nothing like her but she clearly loved.

She loved her lifestyle.

When we got to talking about Owen and Jace and the conversation went back to her, she told me she didn't have a husband or kids. She never married. There were opportunities, but the timing was never right. She was a free spirit. She wanted to keep moving. And it was a price. She didn't sound like she had the burden of regrets because she seemed like she loved what she had made of her life. She loves her memories, that is certain.

I'm glad I decided to seize what was left of that day because all week those dreams of mine where my face is on hers, they were different. I realized that while the price she paid may have been worth it to her, I can't say it would have been worth it to me. Sure, diapers and crumbs on the floor, and the monotony of daily life aren't always as attractive as trotting the globe and meeting new people, but I'm here now and nothing in me wants to be anywhere but here. Not necessarily here as in on my bed in this house in Edmonds, Washington, USA. But, here. With this husband and this beautiful baby and these family members and these friends. Here.

I don't think Ann was one tiny bit wrong in what she chose to do with her life. The world needs people like her, willing to pull up their roots and bring them wherever they go. To take their gifts to bless others who are less fortunate. I love it. I love and admire and envy what Ann did with her life. She's clearly a strong woman. She's who I've always wished I could be.

But, I'm realizing, I, too, am who I've always wished I could be. I am a wife and mother and someone's best friend and someone's sister and daughter. When I was younger, I used to lie awake at night and dream of this me. I love this me. While the world needs the strong women who are gonna strap on their boots and get dirty, the world also needs compassionate mamas who are willing to plant their roots and lay down their dreams and ideas of a "perfect life" to wipe snotty noses and kiss owies all better because those babies will someday be the caretakers of this world. For now, they are the center of our own little world and that is enough to get us up every morning and remind us that they are so worth it. Most days, it couldn't get any more perfect than this.

They say, "The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world."

I think I get it now.

Being a Champion

Today has been one of those days. The second Owen closed the door and walked out of the house I realized I had 9 more hours until he returned again. NINE. HOURS.

I sat on the stairs staring at nothing, while Jace played with his toys and I thought about the next 9 hours and all the things I didn't want to do. I didn't want to take a shower. Didn't want to clean. Didn't want to wipe Jace's snotty nose 8,000 more times. Didn't want to feed him or myself. Definitely didn't want to work out. I looked at the random toddler shoe on our console table and knew that in 9 hours, it was still going to be sitting there because I didn't want to move it.

At some point during all the staring, I realized that the day was going to happen whether I liked it or not and I could choose to be a loser or a champion. I chose champion.

Somehow, I managed to get myself to workout. Jace's new favorite thing to do while I do crunches, is sit on my stomach yelling 'Bike! Bike!' And out of the 1,000 times during the day I ask for a kiss he only complies about 1% of the time. For some reason, while I was working out, he wanted a kiss every. five. seconds. And I never even asked. But, my workout got done. Somehow. Despite all the adversity. Champion.

Then, I sat on the couch and stared at the wall some more not wanting to do anything. Jace is super good at entertaining himself, so he kind of encourages my laziness. I figured that I needed to do at least one thing today that made me a good mom, so I decided to read him a book about shapes. If I died today, I wanted people to at least be able to say "she was a good mom. There's evidence that she was educating her child. What a champion." The only thing he gleaned from this book about shapes was that there were eyes in the book. Yes. I would say "circle" and he would point to a person's eye and say "eyes". "Square". "Eyes". "Triangle." "Eyes!" I don't even care. I'm glad he knows what eyes are. I'm a champion mom. Put it on my tombstone.

The snot. The snot would not stop. It's green and thick and crazy. And does snot stink?? Something stinks, I thought. He had 2 baths yesterday, so it couldn't be him, unless it's the snot. Maybe it's me. So, I got my lazy self to take a shower and I put my pajamas back on when I finished. That's what kind of day it is. Nothing says 'ambitious' like putting your pajamas back on after taking a morning shower. Champion.

And then I found THIS!

My 1.5 year old child thinks I'm so lazy he went and found our duster (don't even know where that was, good find, buddy!) and was sweeping our floors with it mumbling something under his breath. I think he was telling his toys how pathetic his mom is and how he has to do everything around here. Or something.

Ohmygosh. TGIF. We'll try again tomorrow. No, no. Tomorrow's Saturday. All bets are off. We'll try again on Monday.

India Part 4--The Part that was Missing

Before I got pregnant I secretly wanted to be pregnant. I knew I wasn't, but this weird part of me would daydream that all my closest friends and family would throw me a surprise party to tell me I was pregnant! I wished they knew something I didn't know. Yes, I'm aware this makes no sense. I told my friends about this daydream and they all thought I was crazy, so I know it's not something normal people do. There's a point to this. It's a pattern in the way I think, it sometimes doesn't make sense. 

Similarly, after that phone call on that bleak October day, I hoped that there was something more my family knew, something I didn't know. That he was still alive. I would daydream that the next time I went to India they would all surprise me. That I would find out, of course, of course, he didn't die. 
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It was the summer between 5th and 6th grade the first time I grew attached to my cousin, Raju. I don't remember a lot of details, but I remember his contagious joy. I remember being obsessed with him. I remember I would get mad at him every time he left us to go meet his "girlfriend", because I had to hang out with him at every waking moment of the day. He was one of those people you just wanted to always be around because he made you feel worthy and special. He made you laugh and smile. He had the kindest eyes. He was warm. So warm. 

The summer ended and it was time to leave. I cried and cried for months after we left India. I kept a picture of him and his family on my headboard and every night before bed I hugged that picture and cried. Cried over the oceans and lands that were now separating us. 

Between my junior and senior year of high school, we went back. I still remember when the doors of our bus opened (after a long plane journey) and there he and his brother were with those big 'smiley guys' smile. It was like years hadn't passed. We picked up right where we left off. This time he had a wife and baby, but the way he treated me stayed the same. I still felt special. Was still attached to his personality and kindness. I cried days before we left because I couldn't possibly leave again. I couldn't. He was one of my favorite people on the face of the entire earth and I couldn't leave again. That last day our family spent in Goa sightseeing and picnicking on pretty lawns in front of beautiful cathedrals, I cried and cried. We even had a celebrity sighting we all were freaking out about (especially me because everyone knew I was obsessed with this Bollywood actor), and yet I didn't care as much as I should have because we were leaving again.

I remember hugging him and not wanting to let go. I remember thinking in my head 'What if I never see him again? What if this is the last time?'.  The tears didn't stop. How could we live so far away from family, leaving years hanging in between visits?

2 years later I woke up to a flashing red light on my cell phone that indicated I had a message, but for some reason, it looked more like a warning. I remember how that red light set off panic through my veins. I remember screaming. Screaming from the depths of my self. I remember the family getting together. I remember the sobbing from grown men. I remember the prayer, the one that gave everyone peace but turned my heart hard towards a God who would allow this. I remember talking to my mom. She told me life would go on and some day it wouldn't hurt this bad. But, I wanted it to always hurt this bad. If it didn't hurt this bad, that would somehow mean we were moving on. That him not being here was normal. And I never wanted this to be normal. I asked the God I was mad at to leave the pain, because I never wanted to accept this new reality. I would never accept it. So, the pain could stay as long as I was staying. 

He was on his way home from a prayer meeting when a drunk driver hit him head on. He was thrown from his motorcycle. There was blood. Lots of it. The details I received were graphic, and the images in my brain haunt me still. That perfect smile, those kind eyes, destroyed by death.

The families gathered, and together they grieved. They grieved together in India as the news unfolded and years passed. And then there was us. Grieving thousands of miles away longing to grieve with them. I felt like the burden was weighing me down, sinking me into the depths of despair. If I couldn't have him, couldn't I at least have the gift of grieving together?

It's been 10 years since that day I hugged him for the last time. 10 years since I had walked out of the house and closed the door on that summer none of us will ever forget. The one where a huge room full of cousins would stay up, long after the parents went to sleep, and play games--daring each other to do ridiculous things. Where we spent evenings sitting on the roof catching the breeze and talking about life. In 10 years, I had time to graduate from high school, graduate from college, intern abroad, travel Europe, do missions in Mexico, missions in North India, fall in love, get married, have a baby. A whole decade has come and gone since I saw him last. It feels like a whole lifetime.

A part of me thought maybe, just maybe I got the story wrong. Maybe he was actually there in India, waiting to meet my husband and my baby. Waiting to pick up where we had left off, just as we had the last time.

After we arrived in India, weeks passed and he never came. I would sit on the balcony and watch motorcycles drive by and my heart would skip to my throat for a second, just for a second, I thought he had come. 2 weeks later, they took me to the place where his body is. I won't ever forget it. Pulling into the parking lot, my whole body was shaking. Staring at my feet walking on the ground of his cemetery, everything in slow motion. I had simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this moment for 8 years. I wanted so badly to just be in the proximity of him/his body, and yet I dreaded seeing his grave with my own eyes.

And there it was. I broke. My body gave up to all sense of reason and all sense of composure. I sobbed the most honest tears I've ever cried in my life as I stood at the feet of where his body lay. There was no "surprise he's alive", and once I walked away, I could no longer hang on to that tiny, irrational bit of hope. His body was here. My own eyes saw his name printed on that cross. And I wept.

I won't forget that day. The day I found out, nor the day I visited him for the first time since he left us.

I'll also never forget as I knelt at his grave I caught the most beautiful picture out of the corner of my eye. Raju's son, Bobby, was holding my son as they scattered flowers on top of the soil that covered his body. I watched as Bobby leaned Jace over to set a rose down on that precious ground. And I realized as our weeks passed in India, Jace grew more and more attached to Bobby, kind of like the attached I was with Bobby's dad. That picture made sense to me.

The pain is still there and still strong. I'm not ready to ask the Lord to heal me from this pain, I still feel like I need and want to carry it with me. I'm still broken. We crossed miles to get to India and I left without ever getting to see his warm smile.

But, that picture. That beautiful picture of our sons won't leave my mind. Maybe Raju and Jesus were hanging out that day. Maybe their hearts broke when they saw how broken mine was. Maybe they smiled when they saw our sons together--or maybe our sons together was their smile.

Yes, of course. I did see his smile before I left India.

It was just as I remembered it.

It was beautiful.