Josh Turns One

Today was Josh's first birthday party.  How is it even possible that an entire year has gone by since I gave birth to him?

I remember this time last year, waiting for him to come, wondering what it would be like to add another child to our household. I remember savoring the last few days before his birth, playing in the backyard with Abby, getting her a special playhouse to celebrate becoming a big sister. I wondered how much life would change once our baby was born.

I remember the first few days after we brought him home. I'd rock Abby in the glider before bedtime, barely able to get through our nightly song without breaking into sobs. I had a whole mix of emotions. Joyful to have my new baby, but feeling so guilty about taking attention away from my firstborn, and so unsure of what the "new normal" was going to be like.

I remember feeling nervous about bonding with my new baby. How could I possibly love him as much as I loved Abby? For two and a half years my heart had belonged only to her. We hadn't known if we were having a boy or a girl before he was born. I wondered if loving a boy was as easy as loving a girl?

And here we are, a year later. It's impossible to capture that year in one blog post. I wish I could find a way to communicate how full my heart is. I can honestly say that every single day I have at least one moment where I look at my children and wonder how in the world I could be so blessed.

This year has been harder than I expected. But more rewarding than I could have imagined. Abby has grown into a caring, compassionate, generous, and loving big sister. She doesn't mind when her brother pulls her hair with all his might. She just laughs and says "Oh Joshie" as she delicately removes his hand. I catch her whispering to him when she thinks I'm not listening "Joshie, you're my best friend."   But she's also struggled with sharing attention, toys, and time. Sharing is no easy task for a three year old, and sharing with a "grabby" baby who doesn't understand taking turns is even harder.  It often feels like there's not enough of me to go around. The kids inevitably need fed, changed, or bathed at the exact same time. Or there are the times they both throw a show-stopping tantrum together, and it's like a chorus of wailing, and I just want to lock myself in the bathroom.   But then, moments later, they both crawl into my lap and we all cuddle, and the whole world is perfect for those few minutes.

Josh has grown so much this year. I wasn't sure what it would be like to have a son. Now I know it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Now that he is a year old we're starting to catch glimpses of his incredible personality. He's a fierce little man. We call him "the tiger" because he's always growling at something or someone. He often has a "thoughtful" look on his face, his brows furrowed. I think he is going to be my thinker. His hair is totally out of control. It stands up on end like he's stuck his hand in a socket. He's not afraid of much, and chases me around the room as I vacuum trying to catch it. He's vocal about what he likes and doesn't like, and he loves his sister with a depth that you'd be surprised at. His whole body smiles when she comes into a room, and he's noticeably mellow when she's away. Their bond is something I never expected, and yet it's probably one of the things that has brought me the most joy since he was born. When I watch the two of them, I worry less about their future, because I know they'll always have each other.

As my children grow up, I always have mixed feelings about birthdays. I am filled with such joy at the people they are becoming. And yet I always have a twinge of sadness that the time is flying by so quickly. I have to always remind myself that they are only mine for a time, and to try and soak up every minute that I have.

Happy birthday Little Man. I never knew I could love you as deeply as I do. When I look into those deep blue eyes, my heart belongs to you. Your laughter fills our home and brings me unspeakable joy. Watching you learn and grow is a privilege that I try never to take for granted. I love who you are and who you are becoming.

Faith Like a Child

My three year old daughter has been asking me a lot of questions lately.  From questions about the reason we have weather to questions about how flowers grow.  It's as though when she turned three she woke up and realized that there are reasons behind everything, and she needs to understand all of it right now.

"Mommy, why is it raining?"

"Mommy,  why is the sunshine still up when I go to bed?"

And just the other day, "Mommy... how do babies get inside your belly?"

That one took some quick thinking. Thankfully,  answering "God tells us when the right time is for a baby to be in there" with some additional muttering and changing of the subject was enough to satisfy her.

But it's her questions about faith that have been surprising and challenging me the most.  Ben and I have been taking Abby to church since she was born, and we read the Bible to her every night before bed. We've taught her some praise songs and how to say some simple prayers. But lately, she has been much more interested in the songs and stories, and really wants to understand what it's all about.

Just last week Abby and I made a new calendar for the month of April. We do this every month, using a large piece of paper from a sketchbook, and we draw out a new calendar. This year April is special for two reasons. Her little brother is turning one, and Easter also falls in April this year. As we started to mark the special days Abby asked me, "Mommy, what's Easter?"

I answered her, "It's when we celebrate that Jesus died and rose again."

"Mommy, what's died?"

Ok. That's a hard one.  See, three year olds have no concept of death. The only way that Abby understands death right now is when she sees a dead bug on the ground and we call them "goners." So explaining to her about death and resurrection is well... complicated.

Then she asked me, "Why did the people hurt Jesus? Why did they rip his shirt? Were they bad people? Where did Jesus go when he died?"

Wow! I had no idea she had been listening that closely! But, I have to be honest, sometimes it's hard to find ways to answer her. Were the people who hurt Jesus bad? Well, yes and no. They shouldn't have hurt him, but they're no worse than the rest of us. Where did he go? Well, the creed says he descended into hell and then rose again... how do I put that in three-year-old terms?

 I have to take what she knows, and then explain a concept that people have struggled to understand for thousands of years in a way that she is able to grasp. I talked to her about how we all make bad choices, and how just like when she makes a bad choice at home and I have to give her a time out, that when she makes bad choices God also has to give her a time out, but that instead Jesus took the time out for her. She understands the concept of making a bad choice and receiving a punishment, but the idea of someone taking a punishment FOR her is difficult to grasp.

I don't always satisfy her with my answers. Sometimes she looks at me doubtfully, clearly wondering if I know what I'm talking about. But, just when I think she's getting discouraged,  she asks another question. "Mommy, is Jesus alive right now?"

That's the part that impresses me the most. Even when she doesn't get an answer that she completely understand, she still keeps listening and thinking and wondering. She keeps trusting me to tell her the truth.

And when I look at her, I think I finally start to understand what childlike faith is. What Jesus was getting at when he said, "I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it." (Luke 18:17)

I've heard lots of sermons on this verse. Messages about how we should be as trusting as a small child, simply believing blindly the way that a child does. But I don't think it has anything to do with a blind or overly simplified faith.   My daughter isn't blindly believing anything. She's listening,  processing, and asking questions. She believes that there are answers, even if she doesn't understand them fully right now. She trusts that I will tell her the truth. And she never lets a complicated answer deter her from asking her next question.

And her pursuit of the truth has me looking in the mirror at my own faith.  Hers is the kind of faith that I want to have. I think that's the kind of faith that God wants me to have. He wants me to ask the tough questions, even when I don't like or don't understand the answer. He wants me to come to him and ask him why children get cancer, why mothers lose their babies, why tragedy is allowed to happen despite the prayers of thousands.  

See, that's where my faith struggle has been lately. I've taken it on faith my whole life that God is good. But then I read about a four year old boy, diagnosed with brain cancer just a few weeks ago, given no hope for a cure. Or about a baby girl born with a heart condition, waiting on a transplant, and despite the prayers of thousands, passing away before she ever received that new heart. And I start to ask, is God really good? If he is, why does he allow these tragedies? 

My gut reaction as an adult is to turn away from Him. To pretend that I don't have those kind of questions. I find myself skipping my devotion time and avoiding prayers. Instead of drawing closer to God, I put distance between us. I worry that maybe there aren't answers to the kind of questions that I have. 

But that's not the faith of a child. That's not what my three year old daughter would do. When she wants to know or understand something, she just keeps asking. Over and over. For as long as it takes to get an answer. 

I think that's the kind of faith I need. 

I may not always understand His answer. I may not always agree with His answer. But I have to keep asking. I have to keep turning to the One who made me, who knew me before I was born and who laid the foundations of the earth. The kingdom of heaven belongs to those with the faith of a child. A faith that asks the hard questions, seeks to understand, and trusts the One who has the answers. 

Set the bar low

Just before Ben and I got married, I remember his Uncle John pulling him aside to give him a piece of relationship advice.

"Ben, set the bar low."

Now, you have to understand, Uncle John is the youngest of three siblings, and a dad to four kids of his own. If anyone knows how to instigate, it's him. And he takes the job of giving bad advice to Ben very seriously. After all, what's an uncle for if it's not to get his nephew in a little trouble?

"No, really Ben. You've gotta set the bar low. You think you need to get her flowers and candy on your first Valentine's Day? Forget it! Don't even mention that it's Valentine's Day.  You think you need to take her out for a nice birthday dinner? No way. Get her a card if she's lucky. It would be even better if you just ignored her birthday all together.  Trust me. Years down the road, you'll see it start to pay off. After all those years of disappointment, she'll be thrilled just to have you remember the day. If you start off too big, you're just setting yourself up for failure."

I remember Ben telling me about this "advice" shortly before our wedding. I rolled my eyes and told Ben, "You'd better not even THINK about following that advice." I knew it was only a joke, but I was still annoyed. 

Set the bar low. At the time it sounded like the worst advice I'd ever heard.

Then I had kids.

There's that old cliche "having a baby changes everything." Well, to say that that's true doesn't even do justice to just HOW much EVERYTHING changes. I remember when Ben and I first got married, we moved into a little one bedroom apartment in West Chester. 900 square feet all to ourselves. I used to have Mondays off from work, and would spend the day cleaning our apartment from top to bottom. All it took was an afternoon, and all of the laundry, vacuuming, and organizing was finished. I remember feeling a distinct peacefulness settle over me once everything was clean and in its place.

Fast forward five years, and now I've got two kids ages three and one. My house is a wreck. Everywhere I go I'm tripping on baby dolls, crayons, princess dresses and pacifiers. As soon as I clean up one room, I go to the next and the kids are already in the process of taking out every single toy they own and throwing it haphazardly around the floor.  Or, I'll take out a load of clean laundry, and as I start to fold it my one year old will dutifully take every folded piece out of the hamper as I put it in, gleefully flinging it over his shoulder.

I can't win. For the first couple of years, I tried to fight against it. If vacuuming made my daughter cry, I'd hold her on one hip for a half an hour getting the vacuuming done till my arm ached and my back was out of joint. Even if I'd had little to no sleep the night before, I'd drink an extra coffee during nap time so that I could clean the dirty bathrooms. Ben would tell me I was crazy, and that I needed to go easier on myself. But I couldn't. I'd go to play dates where the houses were immaculate, and it looked like no child ever left a toy laying out. I'd work like a slave the night before hosting friends, making sure no trace of our real life was left out by the time the doorbell rang.

And I found myself unsatisfied. Unsatisfied with our house. Unsatisfied with how much Ben pitched in. Wishing I had money for a maid. Wishing the kids would just stop playing with all these toys so my house could look put together!

And then... one day... out of nowhere.... Uncle John's words came back to me.

Set the bar low.  

Suddenly, the advice didn't sound so bad. I decided to give it a try. Over the next few weeks and months, I just simply started to clean less. I didn't pick up all of the toys every night before bed. I didn't hang up all of the kids laundry in perfectly matching outfits in the closet. I'll admit, sometimes I went more than two weeks without turning on the vacuum. The other morning I came downstairs and our dinner was still sitting on the dining room table, with half eaten food on the plates.  It wasn't my proudest moment... but you know what? I didn't really feel that bad about it.

I realized that all that time spent cleaning and worrying and making my house look "just right" was time and energy wasted, when I could have been spending it actually living my life and enjoying the people that I love best.

Most days, if you drop by my house, it will look like a hurricane came through and tossed every single item that I own onto the floor. There are laundry piles, and sticky floors, and a messy kitchen. But... I'm not yelling at my husband anymore. I'm not yelling at my kids over toy messes anymore. I'm a lot happier.

I've set the bar low. If I have a few minutes and enough energy during nap time, sometimes I'll clean the bathroom. But if I don't... who cares? The world will not come to an end over a dirty bathroom.

Now, understand... I still wish my house were clean. When I get a room totally cleaned up, I still get that wonderful sense of peace that settles on me and makes me feel good deep down in my soul. But... I've set the bar low. If the room stays that way for 30 seconds, that's a good day. If I can actually walk out of the room and back into it, and it is still semi-clean... that's an even better day. But  I'm no longer expecting to actually live in a clean house. So when disaster strikes in the form of an overzealous toddler, I shrug my shoulders and join in the fun.

I recently bought a new piece of art for my wall to help remind myself of whats really important. I look at it every single day and read it like a mantra:

Someday my house will be clean. And there will be no toys to trip over. And my floors won't be sticky or muddy. My fridge won't be covered in artwork and fingerprints.

And that's the day that I will miss my kids with all my heart and wish that their childhood hadn't flown by so fast.

So for now, I'm setting the bar low. I'm expecting just a little, but receiving so much more. I wouldn't trade this part of my life for anything.

So thanks, Uncle John. I actually think you had it right. Aside from the whole forgetting my birthday and anniversary thing...