A Worthy Life

a German girly boy wearing garish spandex

I went to the head doctor today.

" 'Bout time", the world finally exhales.

Because, even after appointments/treatments by the handful of specialists, two acupuncturists, my beloved massage therapist, the bevy of dietitians, and a very skilled plastic surgeon, my health woes persist. (Find the one I haven't yet had the privilege of encountering. ;o)

I have to admit, the prospect of going to see the neurologist (technically one who deals with all things pertaining to the nervous system, but brain/head doctor sounds so much more titillating (specifically because there was a lot of definition #2 going on) and ominous (am I allowed double parentheses, make that, triple parentheses??)) did keep me up a bit last night. I wondered if he could read my mind or worse, see straight through my double layers with x-ray vision.

Hardly one to be unprepared, I psyched myself up for the visit with a brilliant strategy. You know the old go to for public speaking, when you envision your audience sitting before you naked? Yeah, well, I didn't want to try that one because I was pretty sure the good doctor was going to be a man well up in his years and trust me, I see enough sagging skin every time I happen by the mirror after my shower.

Plan B: My husband and I have personally known three friends that were/grew up to be neurosurgeons. One was a dear friend of my husband's, one we only hear news from occasionally but a wonderful man born and living in Germany. The one time I talked to him via phone, his English was good but heavy with a German accent. Ammunition #1.

In university I kept close to a tightly knit group of friends, for better or for worse. We loved each other but couldn't resist a good heckle at another's expense. One of our friends called in 'sick' to an event we were all obligated to go to but where else would he show up? The gym, in tiny spandex shorts, surrounded on the ellipticals by gals dressed exactly the same. The image of him in his girly workout gear was one that brought us many laughs in days to come. Ammunition #2.

As a teenager I was befriended by a med student who went to my church, one well on her way to finishing her specialty in neurosurgery. A mostly serious woman, she would often encourage me to set my ambitions in education high and pursue a degree in law or medicine. She thought I had what it took. She was a fashionista in her own right as well. Scoring designer duds at rock bottom prices at her favorite store, T.J. Maxx, she mixed and matched her quality pieces with an eye for a truly unique style. A style only she would wear, pairing mustard yellow A-line skirts with purple polka dotted shirts. Ammunition #3.

When the secretary escorted me to my appointed room with the doctor awaiting my arrival, I quickly steeled my nerves against intimidation. Simply by imagining my good doctor not naked, but as a German accented girly-boy wearing a garish combination of tiny spandex and purple polka dotted tie. 

Worked like a charm!

a letter from my Dad

I awoke sluggishly, nothing new. Sauntered to the computer, hoping for an awaited email response. Instead what I found welcoming me to the new day was a message from my Dad.

My precious papa: as skilled as he is with drywall and power saws, the man cannot use a computer. Like, at all. No emailing, no googling, no facebook, no cnn.com. How the man survives is beyond me.

So when he wants/needs to compose an email, he sits down and writes it out with pen and paper for his lovely and computer savvy wife to type and send. As I read his note, a vision of him sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing his shaved (kind alternative to 'bald') head, thinking his thoughts onto paper, was vivid in my mind. 

His words were simple and precise, expressing his love and intentions with perfect clarity. A warm hello, a complimentary word, a genetic slice of humor, and a witty p.s. His words brought sudden light to my day, a day that threatened to run into the many, passing as nothing remarkable, filled with nothing memorable.

I had resolved to start the day a different way today, pausing to read another letter from another Daddy, filled with many promises and encouragements found within the many letters of His Word. I'm finding more and more my days are filled with huge challenges, both physical and emotional. I find myself running on empty before dinner is even begun. I knew the reason: I was not starting my days in the Light. I wasn't taking the time to refuel at the beginning of each new day with the Bread of Life. I was trying, oh so trying, to be and do and make and teach and become and bless all on my own and falling short each and every day.

With a reminder from my dad on the blessing of a timely word of encouragement, I headed into my Bible to hear words from my Dad at the first opportunity. Today my reading was full of interesting and historical bits of information. Informative, yet lacking the peppy punch I was looking for. Until I came upon this. Turns out my dad and I share a gene with our other Daddy, a unique sense of humor. Certainly not His intention at the time of writing but on a regular day in January, in the year of our Lord, 2009, it definitely made it one of comedic remarkableness and absolutely memorable.

Because, when you get a letter from your dad/Dad, doesn't that serve just as well to bring a smile and some strength to your day?!

i like 'im chunky!

Today is Eliana's birthday party, a swim party at her request. (The options her mama could afford were: a) swim party; b) swim party; c) swim party.)

Papa don't swim. But for all those who ask why not (him and chlorine don't play well together) and for all those who wonder what he's been hiding all these years (mmm, mmm!), I offer you just a teaser of what it'd be like if Papa ever did go swimming:

He'll blush when he sees this (at least, I hope that's his reaction. I am a little nervous that he might have a little more to say about that, but that's neither here nor there. I'm willing to take one for the team!) but the kids and I all agree that this is Papa! Humongous trapezoids with bulging biceps and huge pecs accentuated by tiny curly q's of chest hair...that is my hunka, hunka burning love!

From now on, to be affectionately referred to as: Moto Moto, "the name so nice you say it twice."

;o)

I survived

My husband came home a day early, my in-laws arrived safely in India, my children were nothing but angelic ;o), and so, I survived!

Thank you to those of you who prayed for me, who called, who emailed, who loved me through another week.

My self-portrait of the week is far better than the "losing-my-mind" image I imagined. But then, you didn't actually think I'd show you a picture of me lookin' all scary and psycho, did you?! Remember, it's my blog and I reserve the right to attempt keeping up the facade of me making you think I'm normal. (Does that even sound normal?!) :o)

strong enough for sorry

Shrill screams of hysteria and hilarity broke through from the bitter outdoors and into the warmth of our home. The neighbors had answered the girls' invitation to come over and play, saving the mama from having to brave the elements herself and entertain at the risk of frosty regret.

A solid pounding at the door brought me to the front to welcome a sorrowful face into the house. My eldest looked at the floor and said, "I kinda did something naughty."

Now, in some instances for some mothers with certain children, this confession would have caused instant alarm. But this mama knows this child and yet another confession is all in a day's work.

My dear daughter was gifted with and/or has developed a very sensitive spirit. "I kinda did something naughty" is a close companion of, "Mom, I think I did something kinda naughty" or it's other counterpart, "I was kinda thinking something naughty". Each comes hand in hand with a sincere and sorrowful 'sorry'. 

This time it was about hitting her friend in the face with a snowball, sending said girl home to seek comfort from her mother. I quickly tried to make light of the issue, explaining that such missiles gone awry are a common part of snow wars. It was no fault of hers, it was an accident.

Eliana was not so easily consoled. "But it wasn't an accident."

"So, you meant to hit her in the face, you wanted to hurt her?"

"Well, not really, but it wasn't really an accident."

"Just go say sorry to her and see if she's ok. Explain to her mom that you want to check on her and be sure that she knows that you weren't trying to be mean. Then come back and talk to me."

She went out, came back, wavering with accepting an easy solution or facing the true depth of her wayward heart. No matter that I was allowing her a way out, a quick pardon for a childhood transgression, she wanted to face the truth of her error.

Ok, time to get serious. Time to use this gift, this softness and sensitivity of spirit, and teach her a valuable life lesson.

I shut the front door. I looked Eliana in the eyes and said, "Ok. Ellers. We all make mistakes. We all do naughty things. We think them. We lash out sometimes at people we like. None of us are perfect. We will mess up.

"The challenge is, how are we going to deal with it? Are we going to excuse it or hide from our responsibility? Are we going to let it get us down, thinking we just can't help being naughty. Or, are we, going to face it head on.

"You messed up, Els. You did something wrong and you hurt someone. But here's your moment to decide how you're going to deal with it. Are you going to brush it off, like no big deal. Or, are you brave enough, are you strong enough to ask forgiveness from the one who you wronged. Remember how mama sometimes does something naughty, yells or says crazy things? And then, I have to come to you or papa and say, 'I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?' "

She listened carefully, with intent, wanting to hear the straight talk and deal with it like a big girl. Her resolve strengthened as she listened. She smiled at my facial dramatics and slowly began to feel the guilt and uncertainty lift. She now had her answer. She wasn't some naughty freak of nature, but just a human being having to make amends for a very human condition, sin.

Feeling she was going to be strong enough for sorry, she made her way to her friend's house. Within minutes, she was back, her burden had been lifted. Moments after I hugged her and released her back to Old Man Winter, her friend was back and the snow wars resumed.

America is beautiful

I love the spirit of this inauguration, the repeated pleas to God to help us, and the reminder that America is indeed a wonderful land to live and belong to.

There is a new song written especially for this time in our history and it is beautiful! You can download it free today at oprah.com. I think it is poignant that two of the artists involved in this song were not born in this country yet recognize and proudly give voice to the freedom and opportunity and beauty that is America's.

For the land of opportunity, seize this your opportunity to be beautiful together!

a cause greater than yourself

Today we welcome a new president and with him comes change, certain and specific. The speeches and prayers during the inauguration alluded to a better future for our country and a renewed hope for it's people. One phrase that stood out to me was one oft repeated by both candidates throughout their campaigns, "Serve a cause greater than them/our/your selves."

Another man takes the lead in serving our country, believing that we can be better, believing that we can make positive changes, and believing that his contribution will represent the voice of the people.

But what about the rest of us? Those who do not serve in the armed forces, those who have no calling to political office, those of us without uniform or title yet make up the heart and soul of our countries. What cause do we serve?

On hands and knees again today cleaning up after my kids, I thought about that. One of my favorite lines of all time is found in William Ross Wallace's poem*, "for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." Mothers, you have a great calling today to lead your youth, the leaders of tomorrow, by example and by teaching them to serve others.

Woman, how divine your mission

Here upon our natal sod!

Keep, oh, keep the young heart open

Always to the breath of God!*

Fathers, today your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to model integrity and humility, kindness and strength. First, to your wife through love and respect, as a model of equality. Then, to your children, who will imitate what they see and hear. And then, to go forth into your role in your career and community, leading by your show of loving others more than yourself, sacrificing your time and interests for the greater interests of others.

Men and women, everywhere around you are people you can influence, youth you can mentor, neighbors you can support, and causes you can volunteer for.

Boys and girls, there are plenty of opportunities for you as well. Kids you can befriend, adults to whom you can give a smile, and older folks to whom you can give a helping hand.

As we go forward into a new day, one lasting at least four years, our president's success rests not only on his example but on the backbone of his country, you and yours, me and mine. Let us all continue to made decisions everyday to serve causes greater than ourselves, causes that secure "the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity."

God Bless the President and God Bless the United States of America!

happefy'd

 My new favorite word: happefy'd.

Here it is in a poem by the 16th century Puritan poet, Anne Bradstreet:

Thou mighty God of Sea and Land,
I here resigne into thy hand
The Son of prayers, of vowes, of teares,
The child I stayed for many yeares.
Thou heard'st me then and gave'st him me;
Hear me again, I give him Thee.
He's mine, but more, O Lord thine own,
For sure thy Grace is on him shown.
No friend I have like Thee to trust,
For mortall helps are brittle Dust.
Preserve O Lord, from stormes and wrack,
Protect him there and bring him back;
And if thou shall spare me a space,
That I again may see his face,
Then shall I celebrate thy Praise,
And Blesse thee for't even all my Dayes.
If otherwise I goe to Rest,
Thy Will bee done, for that is best;
Perswade my heart I shall him see
Forever happefy'd with Thee.

~Upon my son Samuel, His Goeing for England, 1657

I love, love the intimate manner in which Anne speaks of her son, her "son of prayers, of vowes, of teares". Each night I pray with each of my children, often giggling together as we rejoice in the rememberance of the day's blessings.

But plenty are the days when tears flow uninhibited as I reflect on my fears and concerns for my son, for his heart, soul, and mind. Each night I echo the same line that Anne gives such eloquence here, Thou "gave'st him me...I give him Thee. He's mine, but more, O Lord thine own."

As a mother we have the precious privilege of raising those whom God has gifted to us into men and women, the rare delight of leading them into the arms of God, and the challenging test of returning them to Him. Anne's total assurance in God's will, in His providence in regards to her son, is a beautiful thing to behold. Her peace in prayer, whether her son be returned to her or not, comes because she is at rest in her God. Such hope and rest and trust and peace comes only from being happefy'd with God.

For my children's health and safety, growth and maturity, I submit them with fervent pleas before my God. And then, I get up from my knees happefy'd, at peace myself that He who has begun a good work can complete it until the end.

My son of prayers, of vows, of tears:

 

a prophesy

My head is throbbing, my belly is rumbling, and my body is so, so exhausted. :o(

My hubby's leaving us (for a biz trip), my in-laws (babysitters) are leaving the country, and yet all four kiddos are staying with me. :o}

This is the kids now. This will be me by the end of the week. ;o)

a diary of my firstborn's seventh birthday

I woke up early today. grr.

Faced the frigid cold. yuck.

Froze my fanny off. brr.

Got frostbite on my fingertips. blech.

For the little girl who first warmed my mother's heart. (my heart, not my mother's. ;o)

I heard quiet chatter coming from her room and walked in with a loud "Happy Birthday, baby girl!"

"Thanks, Mom!" (something tells me 7 year olds have outgrown 'mama'.)

We braved -38 degree temps for a breakfast date at Cora's. I chose my favorite omelet and her eyes exploded with excitement when her banana/chocolate crepe arrived, drizzled with icing sugar and loaded with whipped cream. She hugged me after we ate, "Thanks for taking me, Mom!"

Her one request for her birthday was for me to make her something on my new sewing machine. 5 hours, 2 prototypes, and 3 pin pricks later, I knocked out my first skirt, off the cuff.

Then it was time for a photo shoot with the birthday girl in her birthday suit, er, skirt.

So sassy, yet so sweet!

Her eyes, her smile continue to melt her mama's heart.

Her proud mama and papa look on as she leaps into a new year.

Super sophisticated...what happened to my baby?!

Tonight we'll party like it's her birthday because it is her birthday! Then she'll open her last present, a new sewing machine (almost) just like mama's. I hope fulfilling her top request is enough to get her eyes to explode just one more time today.

My Eliana Grace. My daughter, my helper, my inspiration, my friend.

I love you deep, I love you wide, I love you high, I love you low, I love you THIS much, Ellers!! Happy Birthday, love!