A Worthy Life

my grace, my hope, my christian man, my joy

This post is sponsored by these faces who made today's celebration possible...

Tonight I am readying for bed with a full heart. I am grateful to have mothered these eternal gifts for the years that I have, relieved that my husband has full faith in my heart and ability to mother them, and reminded how my own mother has shaped and influenced me for this role.

Perhaps because of all of this I'm finding writing this post difficult because I somehow long to document every blessing and lesson I've learned in motherhood and have ever had modeled for me. I long to celebrate that I am no longer this mom, that I have learned that before I am asked to share my special day, to offer it up gladly, willingly to share it this year with a single mom and a mother far away from her children. I wish I could convey the honor of being absent from my husband tonight so that he could accompany his mother in a late night trek across the border for a one hour visit to a dying friend when in his heart he would rather be home. I want to tell the world how my own mother has defied all odds by mothering triumphantly and sacrificially when her mother never did the same for her. I somehow want to trace out the entire trajectory of my mothering days so that I can continue to appreciate and celebrate what all that God is doing in and through me along this journey.

And yet there are four people who have shaped me in this swollen silhouette of mother more than any others. They are the ones responsible for me becoming mama.

Eliana, my eldest, my oft repeated prayer for a baby answered, has taught me so much about grace, the unimaginable blessing that comes even when I don't deserve it. This weekend while on a family jaunt, her papa pointed out a Ferrari, explaining the incredible value this car has. Answering quickly, she said, "Papa, that is what men buy because they think it will impress mama because she is so beautiful. When they see her with you and us, they want to be with her. But mama only ever wanted you!" Naive perhaps but oh the grace! when your child sees you, always the real you and still believes you to be the most beautiful woman in the world!

Eden is my constant whisper of hope. She is the one perhaps most like me as a child, wiry and wily while walking a fine line between humor and utter foolishness. That was so me, and the frustration I've heard in the voices of so many loving teachers I hear now in mine - willing her to focus her energy, begging her to choose wisely, and matching her every apology with the sincerity with which she gives it. She is my reminder that God was faithful to me, that He will be faithful to her. Her goofy self-captured home videos exude with life and an ever entertaining perspective on her world and I know that she has been perfectly composed for incredible purpose.

Jacob is my Christian man, a tiny body heavy with a heart for God. There is none who sings worship louder, none who proclaims the truth louder than this future pastor and engineer. Somehow he recognizes that it's not enough to preach the good news, you have to live it out in daily trenches filled with aching souls. His spirit so tender and sensitive teaches me to have the same by refusing to be hardened by the cruel realities of life. He is certainly his father's son but his mother's pride and joy.

Emmanuelle is joy. Period. A tornado of energy and passion, she pushed her way into the world too early but in so doing proved that nothing, not even her mama's protective womb, could keep her from her life's mission. She is still the baby, still small enough for midnight cuddles tucked into a bed only built for one. When I take this life, this calling too seriously, she is my comedic and dramatic relief that pulls me back into moments of bliss and beauty amid scattered markers and mayhem.

Tonight my life and home are full of the miracles of life, the gifts of a benevolent Father who knew how each would breathe into my heart the sweet reminders of amazing love. Tonight I am worn out with blessing, my ears still ringing with the honor of hearing, "Goodnight, mama!"

vacation hangover

I fell back into reality this morning with a loud thump on my bedroom floor after my body refused to rise on it's own. It's not our first day back after a week alone without the kids (alone, without the kids...can I get a hallelujah?!) but it was the first day I was making a solid attempt at a full day's work. I tried yesterday but after a good start and a noon trip back to the gym I passed out in bed where I spent the rest of the afternoon semi-sleeping.

Life is tough but returning to life after a blissful week of alone/girls'/husband time? Near impossible. Thankfully my children are cherubs in a dress rehearsal for heaven so they had me missing them and hugging the living daylights out of them the moment I hopped out of the taxi! ;)

Two amazing things happened on this trip:

one. two old, dear girlfriends flew out from their new homes in California and hung out with me for a full day while I was in Vegas. Bosom buddies, these are girls that will be dear hearts for life and they made this old lady feel like the richest woman on the strip with an entourage who had their hearts set more on catching up than on site seeing. Together we toured the street, taking in the Eiffel Tour and a Dutch garden, drawing in quick breaths before launching in to the next laugh or stuffing our faces full of rich treats. I love these girls, friends you can invite up to your hotel room and swap clothing and accessories with comfort, even with your husband bearing witness to it all! Mon and Kat, you are part of my story and I cannot wait to see what adventures are still being birthed in our tales together!

two. I had my husband's undivided attention for 3 whole, beautiful days (not an easy feat for any man when in the city of sin!). Never since our courtship days (for two virgins, the honeymoon is really only about one thing, c'mon!) have we had such fun exploring and discovering more of our world and each other. Over long, leisurely dinners we talked without pause. We walked hand in hand, proudly displaying our commitment and affection for each other; reminiscing about the past days, longing for those yet coming. In a world of so many, many billions, to have found one who not only loves you, but continually chooses you day after day even with distraction and temptation all around, that is a gift. No phone calls, no emails, no child whose need is pressing. Just us. Grocery shopping for our suite, hiking dusty trails, sneaking into a Vegas show, conspiring in shopping for secret souvenirs for the kids, finally letting loose in faux profanity high atop the Hoover Dam (not usually a potty mouth but I had to use the dam bathrooms!), drinking in the beauty of nature and the goodness and grace of my Jesus to have brought us here together to these moments...every bit of it a gift.

Not that every day was perfect. I managed to not speak for almost an entire day, an exercise in restraint modeled often by my husband, as a lesson to the same that I.need.resolution. and quick goodnight kisses are not adequate band-aids to what oft plagues this woman's heart. But when I did finally speak? I failed that model of manly restraint and let loose in an effort of forced resolution on my terms. (And yes, I may have used dam in that conversation even though we were no longer above Hoover.Dam!)

Above photos, drinking it all in through my iPhone: O'Hare airport, always lovely; me, waiting for my trip in the clouds; is there anything more beautiful than our world?!; no, really. is there?; snow-topped mountains; our mugs in the elevator; my buddies; traveling to France together; now we're back in Holland; for real, see that beautiful bike and tulips??; Monet, come.to.life!; our afternoon at the Mirage pool; Vegas at dusk; where the fancy schmancy vacation while in Vegas; Nike: "Erect no artificial walls that might limit potential, stifle creativity, or shackle innovation."; inspiration for my garden; Sirens at TI; Louis Vuitton colorful product staging; Paul Frank store; the strip from a distance; New York New York; old mining town for kids' play; gorgeous!; hike up to the Emerald Pools in Zion National Park; Zion from a distance; Zion up closer; Dam I'm high up!; best chocolate factory @ Bellagio; in Venice; sneaking into Dancing with the Stars; maybe the highlight of the trip: getting m&ms personalized with the kids' names!; most of the high-priced stores held little appeal for me but Stella McCartney could be my bestie any day!; Lady Liberty, in jellybeans.

 

an ignorant man

Over March Break we drove back to my hometown to celebrate a few big happenings in my family, one of which was my dad's 60th birthday. Did I mention it was a big ol' surprise?! :)

By some miracle, we managed to keep the surprise even with 8 grandkids in on the secret. They helped blindfold him and drove him over to the party location with gma, giggling at the number of passing cars who pointed and smiled.

My dad, at his core, is a humble man. He will bristle and even argue if you ever mention this directly to him but it is the one constant description that friends and family will give. As guest of honor at his own party, he was no different.

When asked to share a few words, this is what he said:

"I stand before you an ignorant man who has received abundantly of God's great mercy."

I've heard others say what a marvelous treat it would be to hear the eulogy at your own funeral. Loved ones gushing with emotion, waxing eloquent on your better qualities, laughing away your gaffs and flaws as though those were precisely what made you so loveable in the first place.

But who among us would want that single statement, "an ignorant man", offered up as full compilation of our entire life and character?

My dad would.

Perhaps because so many of his struggles have been public, his years of debilitating depression that took it's toll on his business, his marriage, his family and finances. Perhaps because of his final admission that he could not fix himself on his own, even with days filled with prayer and self-abasement. Perhaps because he knew that many, so many within that room had been his lifeline, his literal line back to life and figuratively too, helping him figure things out once he was back.

Or maybe it's because he used to have it all. A successful business, beautiful dream home, and loving family. But once lost and then re-found he discovered that his hands were not meant for building only his own plans but instead found immeasurable joy in giving away any gifts (and often to my mother's chagrin, any and all spare cash) His Creator had bestowed to him.

In brokenness, he found healing. In service, he has found great reward.

My dad's greatest investment was not in building for himself a lasting legacy but instead in building within others a hope that would last. Whether by offering manual labor to those who couldn't pay, inviting stranded servicemen to our home for the holiday, or (again to my mother's wise chagrin) picking up disturbed and deranged homeless men to sleep in the same house as his four teenage daughters, his life choices were never measured by how they might lead to his success but rather how his life lessons might lead to success in others.

While his choice of words may not have been spoken by his adoring wife or proud children, they truly are all any of us can really offer as explanation for where we are in life. Apart from the great mercy and grace of God, where would I, where would you be?

Dad, I promise that my eulogy some far away day for you will be far more eloquent and, I can only hope, much more humorous. But for now, your words speak adequately to the journey of your life, my life even for those eighteen years we shared our every day. Your life and example are worth far more than you know, it is measured in the lives that you already have and still continue to touch.

Because of God's great mercy to me, I am blessed to be called your daughter.

when you're waiting on a miracle

Six years ago today I started having mild to moderate contractions, this four days after being hospitalized at 24 weeks with severe hemorrhaging.

"It's just cramping because of your blood loss. Pop a few advil hon and you'll be fine," was the nurse's cursory dismissal.

After multiple attempts to get her to take this seriously (I was, after all, extremely hi-risk after 6 months of blood loss) and her proof that my contractions didn't even show up on her nifty contract-o-meter, she reluctantly checked to see if I was dilated.

Minutes later, Emmanuelle Joy was presented to a room full of experts and specialists who had insisted that our swift hellos would give way to a lifetime of goodbye. Expecting the worst, they were a reluctant captive audience as Emmanuelle belted out the first notes of her lifesong.

Her cries were our joyous miracle giving birth to melody.

Emmanuelle's journey began in trial but has progressed with a steadily increasing amount of promise and joy, true to her middle name. Today her face in a million frames line the gallery of my heart's walls. Her presence daily reminds that joy does follow our times of mourning, that there is redemption past the perils of our souls' dark days.

Perhaps as we celebrate her life and journey as the gift it was presented to us as your day is starting with loss or despair or loneliness. Perhaps you wonder if joy will ever be more than a wishful longing, if it's visit will ever linger there with you.

You believe that any life change for you will take a miracle. And you've grown weary waiting for yours.

My first thoughts this morning as I woke to celebrate our miracle on her birthday was for those such as you. Six years ago seems almost like yesterday, so clearly can I remember my pain, my anxiousness, my cries that were stuck in the labor pains of desperate hope.

I remember. And I know for many, these trials remains and your song still carries only in somber, woeful notes.

Could I encourage you today to keep singing? To keep pouring out your heart of agony and longing to a God who alone can promise hope in any darkness?

When your breath is hard to hold because your heart is full to breaking, breathe out and up. Your hope is above, you are not forgotten, you are not alone.

He who has the whole world in his hands has you upon His heart. He whose eye is on the sparrow can also see you. He who can hear the thundering cries of all those who mourn can still hear you.

In Him there is peace and joy, gifts in your waiting room of hope, His covenant rainbows as token that miracles can and do come.

And the greatest miracle in any trial is a heart that is transformed through the suffering. While you are waiting on a miracle, allow His embrace and words of truth whisper hope that love has come even while the answers are still on their way.

sew ten

In January, the girl who turned me mother turned ten. A huge milestone for both of us. For me it was the sober realization that I have less years while she is still under my roof than when I first brought her home; for her it was the jubliant realization that she has less years while she is still under my roof than when she first entered.

Her gift this year was a big one, an iPod that she contributed part of the funds towards. But she insisted too on a party since she has chosen quieter celebrations in years past and I couldn't refuse a girl on the brink of double digits.

On one condition: that she celebrate without expectation of getting and that she consider giving her getting away.

She agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. On each of the invitations sent to friends, there was one special request. In leiu of presents, would they please consider instead a donation to a charity of Eliana's choosing?

We went over three charitable causes together: infant onesies for our friends aboard Mercy Ships in Africa, food for our friend's orphanage in Vietnam, or Clean Water for Haiti. Having already been involved in the first two, she opted for the third, excited by a new project to learn about in a country whose name was familiar because of last year's earthquake.

Earlier in the week, she read aloud to me from Kisses from Katie while I folded laundry. Reading about parents so desperate to quiet the hungry cries of their children that they would feed them mud pies to fill their rumbling tummies, her heart continued to soften towards those without the same comforts and provisions as herself.

The day of her much anticipated party finally came and with it $145 given from among her six friends. Recognizing that instead of an assortment of soon forgotten toys lost among the abundance of things already owned that she had instead used her anniversary of life to sustain the life of others, she was fully content to enjoy the moments celebrating with her friends for who they were to her and not for what they could give to her.

As I watched my little girl fade into the blossoming maturity of a young woman, my mama's heart swelled with pride. It's challenging to raise children that buck the consumerist norm, to teach contentment with less than all that they say you need to be happy. My husband and I, we can give so much more to our own children than what our parents could provide for us.

But one thing both our childhoods taught us is that stuff never conveys love nor the lack of stuff the doubt of love.

Just because we have the means doesn't mean it's all for us. I want my children to learn at a young age what I still struggle with at mine - to hold our resources loosely, allowing God to have back what He has given so that others may live, that others may have, that others may know that because God so loved the world He is raising up a people who love and serve Him by loving and serving others.

This is the heart I so desperately want to have, this is the heart that my daughter is so beautifully learning and modelling for her still growing mama.

Eliana's Sew Ten theme was inspired by this lovely party found here.

mr. valentine

Mr. Valentine, mine:

Every year I fail at sending out the family Christmas card. I thought this less stressful holiday might be a bit more apropos for sending howdy-do and how-are-you notes to our friends. So I started my love letters weeks early; I didn't want my words rushed or my gesture a mere hasty afterthought.

(You know how I pity those husbands rushing through the grocery checkout line with a fist full of roses and a box of chocolates shoved securely under pit, scribbling obligatory words on papers bent up on dusty dashboards.)

I secretly hoarded gifts for the kids weeks ago and conspired successfully to finish all my festive preparation while their fingers danced along the ivories and skipped among the wires during music lessons. When they came home to merry surprises and sang their thanks through squeals and giggles, I knew they knew they are loved.

When you came home, I was cycling downstairs in your office. You were the second one to interrupt my workout, after our offspring who came to proudly display your tokens of affection to them wrapped in silver paper.

In your arms were a dozen roses and, ever the practical man, a new tee for me to christen with tomorrow's sweat and tears.

In return, I sighed a mandatory thanks though it was obvious I was anything but grateful.

It isn't you babe, it's me.

It's just that I love this holiday for it's darling ideals of love and friendship and long to celebrate it at this it's shallow intent. Bring on the chocolates and heart shaped sound bites, all hail to hugs and honorary loves!

But I hate it too, hate that it has concocted contrived obligation from what should be spontaneous, frequent celebration of who we are, of who we know each other to be.

You know now that I hate roses, this a few dozen of dozens of bouquets later. (Sorry, roses. It's me, not you.) And yet, roses, red ones, is what you my love gave to me. It didn't matter to me that they weren't the cheap grocery store variety, what mattered was that you still didn't know something about me that I felt you should.

You scrambled to make right what had somehow gone so wrong. You promised that you would get me something else, something more, something, anything that could convince me of your love.

I said I already knew and hoped you knew that I knew that you loved me.

We don't need this day of roses and red, don't need the notes of love written on a deadline. What I need, what I want from you I get every single day.

You give yourself to me, your time, your devotion. You build me up, make me believe my wild dreams are possible, that together there is nothing we can't do. You work for me, you pray for me, you stand with me. You serve me, sacrifice for me. Your look alone, it whispers things I never would have believed before I met you.

All I want is more of the same. More years, not a day. Years to continue this conversation of hearts, this sharing of ourselves, this sharpening of each as we brush against the other.

Now do you understand? It wasn't you, wasn't even so much the roses. It wasn't that your gift, your sincere desire to make my day special wasn't enough. It's just that at that moment on that day it seemed compulsory, the required enactment of billboard propaganda.

This love, our love, cannot be contained in heart shaped sound bites, "a minimum of sound to a maximum of sense." I want no minimum, no annual deposit. I want the maximum, a daily profusion of our commitment in word and deed.

Last night you whispered in the dark, wondering what my favorite color was. My favorite number. So many of the things of which you realize that even in a decade of sharing we have never plumbed the depths of.

I'm excited to tell you, longing to know yours.

In the meantime, all I ask of you is patience. While we continue to discover and reveal this lover beside us, let us celebrate where we are today and continue to share our hopes of who we long to be one day together.

Though not finished nor delivered yesterday, this is my letter of love from this mutinous heart to yours, hopefully at just the right time.

xo, d

Adding mine to other marriage letters here, too.

celebrate good times...c'mon!

A week ago we started back to music lessons, piano for the big girl and guitar for the Irish twins. It was mid-way through a very challenging week for mama (see last two posts!) and I knew we needed something to buoy our spirits and boost our energy.

Sugar always does the trick just fine. :)

I worked on the cake while the kids were lollygagging elsewhere in the house and at the big reveal at dinner time the squeals were well worth the time spent on the guitar pick bunting. I snapped pictures during the process, thinking I would do a fancy tutorial like you see on some Superwomen blogs.

Until I realized that would be an assault on your intelligence.

You glue a few picks to a mock guitar string suspended between two kebob sticks. Done.

Easy. Breezy. Beautiful. 

No superwoman needed. :)

whipping it

Our VBS crazy-hair-day version of Willow Smith's whip-it hairstyle, a little worse for wear in volume due to the splash pad. But just the kind of hairstlye we're rocking as a family this Canadian long weekend...freestyle. Lifting my songs of another kind this morning and then heading out to hang with new homies and relish time together with my peeps/family. :)

Happy Civic Holiday Weekend!

an an(n)a to her eli

If you have ever had the distinct honor of meeting my firstborn, there is a good chance you were asked if you wanted to be best friends. Like, 10 minutes into your acquaintance.

She's a bundle of joy with love to spread around and always on the lookout for her next best friend. While outgoing, she's a little shy on first introductions to new scenes. She'll usually hold back a little, watching and waiting. Keeping an eye out for that new special friend and wondering if she will be approached first.

This year she entered a new group at AWANAS, a group where all the bigger and cooler kids hang out. Or at least those a little older than her oldest sibling. With some of my other kids, I might be worried with how they might be received or if they will be able to handle the transition well. In Eliana's case, I just wait at home for her return when I'll get to hear the play by play rundown of the MOST.EXCITING.TIME.EVER!

After a few weeks, I heard one name repeated over and over. Anna this. Anna said that. Anna likes me! Anna wants to sit by me. Anna is going to call me!

And did Anna ever! Our phone has not stopped ringing since their bff-ship was solidified over the first phone call. Now their almost daily chats are filled with sibling complaints and Webkinz online trading. Anna is the perfect compliment to Eliana and with her boundless silliness and phone loyalty able to bring a smile to our Eliana like no one else.

Last week, Anna helped us celebrate Eliana's entrance into the last single digit year of her life with a first official sleepover, a trip to the salon for a haircut (think Edna from Invisibles :), and Voyage of the Dawn Treader in 3D.

In Eliana's world, best friends come and go. This combo of Eli and An(n)a is a match made in heaven. It's one I think the we'll see a lot of, maybe for years to come.

To the Elis and Annas around the world, to bffs past and present: Laugh until it hurts and when life hurts, be the one to bring laughter back.

*In honor of my own bff, my mother, whose companionship has granted me some of life's greatest joys, even when life hurts.

a new year

This is the time of year people tend to make resolutions that are going to radically change their lives. I tend to think those people are nutty and slightly deranged. Not because they actually are, of course, but because with my unique set of life circumstances anything involving a scheule and a regimented course of action would make me nutty and fully deranged.

Plus, I never know what aspect of my life needs changing the most so I often presume that any or all of what I do and how I do it, what I think about a certain subject, or what I prefer or pursue is liable to be slightly suspect and always open to debate and/or change. I consider myself a student of life, always pondering, always researching, especially when it comes to issues of the soul.

So, while I don't make resolutions per se, all of the above books are recent purchases or gifts that I have wanted to further aid me in my quest for learning. Hopefully, the end result will be a life change or a life changed, without the torturous process of running on a treadmill in an overheated gym for an hour every day for the rest of the year.

1. Why We're Not Emergent: Because this past year I have been introduced to the most varied perspectives on the Christian life than ever before. From acrostics involving flowers to radical movements including gold dust, I am seeing that the body of Christ is a rainbow of diversity when it comes to certain issues. I'd like to know what I believe and why I believe it (hopefully, because God's word says so!).

2. Big Truths for Young Hearts: Not sure who I bought this one for, the kids or myself. By presenting biblical doctrines in a systematic way, I hope this book provides answers to the questions we seek together as a family.

3. Gospel Powered Parenting: I'd like to say I'm doing ok as a parent, having always tried basing my own model of a parent on God's example as a Father. As my children grow, my role as protector begins to give way more and more to that of one who equips. Sometimes a little insight goes a long way in helping me gain balance between the two.

4. Heaven for Kids: I tried finding answers to our deepest theological questions (such as, "Will I be able to fly on a pterodactyl in heaven?") in this book's predecessor but was thrilled to see there is actually one geared more towards kids. And, for the record, I think there is a high likelihood of me flying bareback on a dinosaur in eternity!

5. Radical: Our family's motto (among others), taken from scripture, is to use our money to buy friends. We tend to make this truth come alive through practicing hospitality, providing for our parents, sharing what we have with others, etc. I'm a little scared to read this book as I think it will challenge us to greater giving and more contentment with what we have.

6. Just Do Something: Loving this book's subtitle: How to Make a Decision without Dreams, Visions, Fleeces, Open Doors, Random Bible Verses, Casting Lots, Liver Shivers, Writing in the Sky, etc. Having already read this one, I can wholeheartedly endorse it! Instead of worrying about landing on the mythical bull's eye of God's will regarding your life's decisions, seek first Him and His kingdom, and then just do something!

7. Choosing to SEE: These next two were gifts from my mom. Since I was ten, I have had an infatuation with orphans. Reading this story of a mother's journey through adopting three daughters to tragically losing one, I was encouraged at the reminder that God does indeed work all things for His good, even if it does come at the cost of personal heartache.

8. Dangerous Surrender: Though I'm prone to get sucked into a woe-is-me cyclone of defeat and discouragement, my outlook is always changed when I consider others before myself. The author does exactly that as she lays aside her personal dreams of worldwide ministry and travel and accepts the calling God brings her to as He confronts her with needs (of those suffering from AIDS) greater than her own.

9. Unbroken: A consistent name on many bestseller lists, I thought I was in for a great fictional literary treat set during World War II with this one. It is more than I bargained for, with a scoundrel, suspense, and surprises with each turn of the page. The greatest surprise? That it was the true story of redemption written by an author who has herself struggled with a crippling condition. Sending it to my grandpa, himself a survivor of WWII.

10. The Shadow of the Wind: Trying to expand my library of fiction, this was bought after the suggestion of a friend. One review claims it a brilliant mix of mystery, a fairy tale, and love story rolled into one.

11. The Book Thief: Having recently immersed myself in WWII history with Unbroken and finally watching HBO's Band of Brothers, this book is next for me. Set again during WWII, it centers on a nine year old girl taken to live with foster parents in Germany. The twist is that this book is narrated by Death himself. Appropriate, considering how ever-present he seemed to have been during this dark time of history.

12. God Attachment: (not pictured) I talked just this week with a friend who professed that as a child their view of God was made up largely by how their own father related towards them. This, in turn, led to misconceptions about the true nature of God. Whether a believer or cynic, all of us think about God and, if He exists, are interested in understanding how we can experience Him. This book clears away our past preconceptions and prepares the way for us to seek Him and find Him.