Heaven...Just a Glimpse...

We are often told to imagine what Heaven would be like, and I think I'm guilty of missing the mark. I have always imagined the esthetics of it: lights, sounds, colors, music, instruments...the endless worship...

Usually, it's the thought of "endless worship" that both fascinates and terrifies me.
How do we DO that?!? Like, does it ever get boring?

Think about why we get bored...because we are distracted and burdened by life, because we are over-entertained, and because we have lost the ability as a society to be focused and contemplative.  We get bored because we live this life.

There is no boredom in Heaven.

So, I'm on the worship team at church, and my mind was blowing up, because as weird as it sounds,  when I am in that setting of communal worship, I see colors in my head. It's basically worship-induced synesthesia,  and it sounds NUTS, but I swear, it's the truth. I see worship in colors. I wish I could paint what roars through my head, because it's amazing, and today, it was intense. I felt like my entire being was about to explode,  but I know "it's only a shadow" of what's to come. My brain cannot wrap around that level of intensity, and neither can my body.
Worship ebbs and flows, and during an ebb, our pastor said, "Imagine what it's like, when you're not tied down to things,  like a calendar."

My heart kinda blew up (& trust me, I know how that feels, for real).

Imagine worship that is not tied down to a time frame.  It's not tied down to a Day of the Week. It's not tied down to a bladder or feet that hurt, or hands that can't play anymore. It's not tied down to a brain that doesn't focus, or musical abilities that never came (I can't play the darn piano. It's aggravating).

It's not tied down to a budget or bills or schedules or CALENDARS or parenting failures or any of the things that tie us down to this distracting, anchoring world.
We will have "no strings to hold us down."
No strings.
No limits.
No boundaries.
No deadlines.
No budgets.
No time.
No chains...we are so used to the chains of this world that we don't even realize, until we look at eternity, just how heavy and limiting they are.

No chains.
True, absolute, incomprehensible freedom....

What would we ever want to do then,  then to worship the One Who gives us that freedom, for eternity?!?

I can't imagine my life without the restrictions of physical responsibility....without bills or boundaries,  without calendars and 24-hour time blocks. Just the thought, just a glimpse of a life without these chains?
My heart...

Jesus loves us so much that He gives us an eternity of perfect freedom, with Him...
There's NOTHING "boring" about that.

An Open Letter to My Son: You Are Not A Dinosaur

*Nothing in this blog is written with the intention of offending anyone. It is simply my observation of a recent social situation I found my son in, and that I found myself in. This is a real-life event that was revolutionary to me, and this is my perspective of it/response to it.

Dear Son: 

I’m not sure you’ll ever read this…but you might. Maybe someday, you’ll realize that your mama talked about you online, and you’ll decide to root through the archives to find out what I said…and I hope you do. Because in spite of the mistakes that I have/I will made/make, I think the biggest thing you will glean from these archives is that I love you with my entire heart and soul, and that my hope for you is nothing less than a personal relationship with Jesus…and that I am endlessly grateful to Him for you, your sister, and your Daddy…But, I digress:

Son, I want you to know that in spite of your best efforts, You Are Not A Dinosaur.

I know, I know—To be a T-Rex, in all of his roaring, short-armed glory, would be a wonderful, exciting thing. You get to be the biggest thing on the playground! You get to be the center of attention! You get to command the room, to be the most frightening, coolest, awesomest thing around!!!

Buuuuuut, you’re not a T-Rex.

You’re a you.

And while you’re pretty much the center of my world, to everyone else you’re another person in the room…and in some situations, your roaring and stomping about is kinda scary/annoying/weird (although I think it’s adorable).

Over the weekend, I had the chance to watch you in a different social circle. You were the only boy in your age group; the only boys in the room were older, and they were related. You haven’t learned about “cousins” yet, because we don’t live near our families. We don’t come from what’s called a tight-knit family, and although we’ve been fine with that up until now, I’m beginning to wonder if that should somehow change (I have no idea how, being as you are considerably younger than most of your cousins on either side, and/or we live too far away). I watched you play with the little girls that were close to your age, until they decided to run off like little girls do, and play amongst themselves. Then I watched you try to break into the group of boys/cousins that were older than you…You went up to them; they carried along with what they were doing. You tried to be a dinosaur and to chase them (it worked on the little girls), but they paid you no mind. You went over to them and roared louder; they still paid you no mind, and one of them actually kicked you.

You weren’t hurt (physically), and he was duly reprimanded; you continued playing like nothing had happened, and I kept my distance, following you around the room in case you decided to jump off of something/attempt to injure yourself.

I realized something in that moment.

I realized that you were echoing what was in my heart…I had wanted to talk to a group of women that were my age, but they formed a tight circle, and I continued to be on my own. If I could have roared like a dinosaur (something that, in my head, translates to, “Hi! Will you be my friend? I don’t know anyone around here very well, and I’m a tad lonely, being as my husband seems to know/like/be liked by everybody, and I feel like a total freak show, so could you just talk to me so this cafeteria doesn’t give me a high-school flashback?!?”), I might have…It is EXHAUSTING, to be in a group of people that you’ve known for several years but don’t really know, and to smile and act like that’s all okay, when what you really want to do is just leave and never come back, because it all feels like a complete waste of TIME.

In my heart, I was roaring.

In my heart, I felt totally rejected…and when I saw you trying to get the attention of the boys by roaring like a dinosaur, it broke my heart. You’d roar, and your bright eyes would dart back and forth between their faces, looking to see if they’d heard you….looking to see if they would accept you into their circle, and to see if they would play with you.

Sure, you were fine (it seemed), but I was not. Feeling rejected for myself is one thing, but seeing it happen to you? I’m not cool with that.

I realize that you’re 3. You’re not drawing the same things from perceived social rejection like I am at 38. You’re not looking at things through a lifetime of being a perceived extrovert (when you’re actually totally NOT). You’re 3. You have a lifetime of rejection ahead of you, because you’re a human being, and that’s what we do to each other, regardless of whether or not we’ve slapped a “Christian” label on our shirts. You will spend your lifetime making friends, losing friends, being made fun of, making fun of people, and learning the ropes of relationships. I can’t learn these things for you, especially since I haven’t learned them well enough yet myself.

I wanted to pick you up and carry you out of that cafeteria. I wanted to hold you, to tell you that it’s okay—you don’t need to be friends with those boys, anyways; you’ve got ME. And later on in the day, I called my own Mama, and told her about my own perceived rejection, because even when I don’t have or can’t make friends, I have MY MAMA.

Oh, son…You are so bright and shiny, and the world is so new to you. I know that learning the ropes of social situations will be a process for you, and I’m certain it will be an intense process for me to observe. I have to wonder if I will ever stop wanting to collect you and hold you, and carry you out of the room when your attempts to make friends go south.  I think of all of the times my mom had to rescue me from the cliques and the bullies and the peer pressure I faced even in my Christian school, and I wonder how different/same it will be for you as a boy…I think of the times my mother didn’t intervene, and let me learn my lesson (or when I didn’t tell her what I was dealing with, because I figured she had enough to handle).  I think of the unsolicited advice my mother probably got (granted, with all of the sancti-mommies online, I think unsolicited advice is a greater issue today than it was in the 80’s), and/or the comments other parents made at her methods of parenting (“You’re not letting her drive when she’s 16?!?  What’s wrong with YOU?!?”).

(Sidebar: Unsolicited parenting advice is yet another form of mom-shaming. You don’t like that my son sits in his stroller while we eat dinner in an establishment that doesn’t have a high chair, instead of running around like a hellion? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. I can see that you don’t agree with my methods; I really don’t care. Thank you, but no thanks.)

I’m going to do my best for you. I’m going to try to watch you learn your lessons; I’m going to try to take the necessary steps back, to let you jump when you need to…but I will be close enough to catch you if I have to.  People may tell you I’m hovering. They might even be so stupid as to tell you that I’m so close because I’m afraid to lose you, because your sister passed away (if anyone EVER says that to you, let me know, because I will handle them. Harshly.). 

Son, I love you more than words. I will be here when no one is impressed with your dinosaur impression, and you can roar all you like. I might even roar with you.

I will not tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, the best in the world. I will tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, and the best in MY world. The World will show you that you are simply YOU…that you are not a dinosaur, no matter how much you want to be. You are just another little boy, growing up and figuring life out with millions of other little girls and little boys, who have mommies and daddies who have different rules, different goals, and different priorities.  I can’t make that any easier for you.

What I can do is to point you toward the Lord…I can love your Daddy, and in this unstable world we can provide a stable home for you to grow up in. We can love you, kiss your boo-boos, hug your little chest, and let you cry when you need to. We will laugh and play with you, and you will continue to be the center of our world; hopefully, you can carry that love and stand on the foundation we will lay in your life. That foundation can carry you through the rejection of friends, girls, whatever…you will always know you can come home and be the biggest dinosaur in the room. And you’ll always know that if you need us to pick you up and carry you out of a situation, we will…We will discipline you as needed, we will make mistakes, we will forgive and ask for forgiveness, and we will all grow in this process…

Our family is just….well, we’re a bit different, and you’ll figure that out. In our social circles, lots of mommies don’t go to work; lots of kids go to school at home; and lots of families have lots of kids. We don’t do/have any of those things, for multiple reasons that I constantly second-guess. There are things you won’t get to be a part of, but there are really cool things that you WILL get to be a part of, and we will do our best to keep you as involved as possible. Your family is really unique, and you’ll learn to appreciate what makes us special, and what makes us perfect for you. You’ll also learn that your family is fierce, incredibly loyal, independent, co-dependent, colorful, hilarious, messed-up, and awesome on every side…just like a lot of families. We’re all going to be here for you, and we can all roar, together.

Life is all about learning. We never stop, whether we’re 3 or 93. Just like this weekend, there will be so many times that I will look at you and learn about myself (good and bad), just as much as I try to teach you by my own example (also good and bad).  We all have times where we feel overlooked and uninvited, and we all have a dinosaur in our hearts that just wants to be acknowledged and loved…We all want to belong.

My little guy…my brave boy…how I love you, and how I wish I could learn it all for you, to keep you safe and unharmed. I wish I could take all of your hurts for you (and therein lies an entire volume dedicated to the grace of Christ), and make life as easy as possible. I wish I could make all of your friends for you, and filter out those I don’t want you to know…in my Type-A mindset, I wish I could make all of your plans and run your life to be as bump-free and methodical as possible. We all know that’s completely impossible and unhealthy. You have to grow, learn, discern, process, evolve, and eventually, break out on your own, away from our carefully-cultivated nest and out from under my ever-vigilant watch.

I’m absolutely terrified/exhilarated/petrified of that day…

But it’s coming…

And every day is one day closer.

You are going to be so amazing…I can’t wait to see what God has planned for your life. These things, these worries I have, and this journey you’re on, are so far beyond you right now…you have so much to learn and to grow into.  Take your time. Go slow.  Be free to be loud/annoying/weird to the world.

When you’re grown, you’ll learn that you are not a dinosaur…

But for now…

Roar as loud as you want.

The Inevitable...

I suppose it was inevitable...
I have a pretty wicked shopping addiction. Fortunately for my husband, it's the worst when I'm at thrift shops, yard sales, or resale shops. I'm also pretty practical about reusing and up-cycling (everything can be reused or sold). I haven't always been this way--okay, I've always had a serious shopping problem; it's just that until the leaner years (thanks, Mr. President), I wasn't as into the thrifts shops. I also put everything on plastic, which I'm in the process of paying off...again...
Anyways, I love to shop, but I love to sell...and I also love to give when I can. With both Hannah and Jericho, I was blessed with a considerable amount of new and used clothing. The clothing I was given has been passed along to several other new mothers, or has been upcycled at a favorite shop of mine, and traded for more secondhand clothes for my son.
Of course, Hannah didn't get to wear much; we had a huge amount of clothing that I had washed and sorted (so it couldn't be returned); I can't begin to remember all of the people we gave it to, but they all knew it was given with love, and with a broken heart. I'm glad that their little girls got to wear the ruffles and bows...and truthfully, I'm glad I never ran into anyone wearing one of Hannah's dresses. I think it would have shattered me.
With Jericho's clothes, it's been delightful to see where they've gone. One friend of mine brought her son home from the hospital in a particularly cute outfit of Jericho's. It was so cute to see our babies in the same monkey-suit! And since her baby was like, twice the size of mine, he looked even funnier in it.
As many things of Hannah's that we could reuse, we did. We had the nursery bedding packed away; she never used it, and it was a gender-neutral jungle design that Jericho loves. There were yellow onesies, white onesies, Blues outfits, some Cardinals gear--we kept what we could, within reason. I didn't get rid of the very last of her clothes until I found out Bug was a boy. We kept books, CDs, certain toys...we had hope that we'd have another baby, and I'm thankful we kept what we did.
So, it was inevitable that one day, I'd run into something of hers that I'd forgotten was hers, and that it would sucker-punch me in the gut.
And it did, 3 days ago.
Books are friends, right? And I firmly believe one should never gift a book without an inscription.
I grabbed a book for Jericho's nightly Bible time and story time, and there it was, from some dear friends and prayer warriors of ours..."For Hannah: Love, The Renauds, 2006"
I stopped breathing for a minute; tears welled up, and I couldn't help but cry...
But there was my boy,
Looking at me...
Big blue/brown eyes staring up at me quizzically...
Tiny hands touched my knees...patted my legs...
He is my now.
Even though I was sitting in what was her room, in the only piece of furniture that we kept--the rocking chair--even though the words on that page had me split-second thinking of what we missed out on---
He is my now.
I looked at him and dried my tears. I kissed his head, and said, "It's all right, Bug. This was your sisters. And now I'm going to read you the stories I didn't get to read her...but it's okay, because she's living them as we speak."
I know he doesn't understand, and I have no idea how David and I are going to approach the subject when he asks (I'm sure he will; her pictures are on the wall, and it's only a matter of time). What I do know, is that all I ever want him to know is how much we loved her, and how much we loved him; how much her tiny life changed ours forever, and how much we learned...and how faithful God is at keeping His promises, and in never wavering in His heart's desires for our lives.
The occasional sucker-punch never hurt anyone, right? Sometimes it's what it takes to remind us how far we've come...and how much the blessing right under our noses really means to us...
I love that boy.

Educating the Tiny Human in the Light of the Big, Scary "F"

There are things that as a parent, I have to wonder about even now. My little guy won’t see kindergarten for a long time, but when he gets there, what will he encounter?

One of the programs at my office exists to help children with learning issues. Some of these issues are related to vision; some are related to processing, and some are related to motivation. Although it’s foreign to me, some kids just don’t like to read.

That is one of my worst fears for my son.

Books opened up my universe. They expanded my imagination, they blew the doors off of my house. Books were my escape. To this day, I hate getting rid of books (even if it’s just to download the electronic version of the same story); I tell my husband, “But they’re my friends!!”  He laughs at me.  He didn’t have the same experiences I had growing up. He didn’t have a teacher that read to him every single day, or a parent that made sure the homework got done. I had teachers who hugged me and challenged me to do more, be more, read more, see more—I set records for books that I’d read, and when it came time to take those pesky ACTs, my reading comprehension score more than made up for my paltry math score.

Too bad I don’t get to read for a living!!!

Anyway, one of my current job responsibilities involves processing the outside medical records before the attending doctor reviews the chart. In doing so, I frequently come across schoolwork, and it almost always makes me emotional.  Today, page after page with a huge, red-lined, circled “F” marked the pages on this little person’s work. 

My heart breaks for this one.

Actually, my heart breaks for a lot of them, but this one stands out.  I understand the need for a grading system. I understand why that big, red “A” on my papers made me smile; I remember the pride of the gold star. And maybe it’s different for some kids—maybe they don’t mind the big, red “F.” Maybe they don’t feel the sting, the humiliation, the sense of worthlessness. Maybe they’re used to it.

I’m not.

Being branded with an “F” is the earliest kind of bullying, to me. It’s the earliest form of the destruction of self-esteem…it’s the earliest form of belittling, of knowing that you don’t measure up.

I had a year in school, during which I did my homework , but I didn’t turn it in. I can’t remember if it’s the same year my parents were married, or if it was the year before; I know my teacher was Mrs. Gately, and that she was kind. I also can’t remember if that was the year we first realized that I couldn’t see the blackboard? All I know, is that I got my first “D” on my report card, and I literally wanted to kill myself. Seriously.  My little world ended.

I was out on the playground, and I was so distraught that I stupidly dropped myself through the monkey bars. In doing so, my head went backwards, and I smacked it on one of the bright, yellow bars. Right between my pigtails.

I’ll never forget how much that hurt; I didn’t black out, and I didn’t cry; I was so shocked that all I said was “Ow!”  I don’t believe the latchkey worker noticed how badly I was hurt. I remember my mother’s face, when she saw the back of my head later that evening, and that she immediately got on the phone with someone who got a verbal beat-down. I remember the enormous knot on the back of my head, and I remember my mother not caring about my “D.”

I didn’t get into trouble. All she cared about was my head.

That’s one moment in my childhood that shines brightly, in feeling that my mom understood me—that she thought I was important because of who I was, not because of my grades.  I didn’t get another bad grade until high school, and it was legitimate. I was doing all of my work; I was simply lost in pre-calculus. Intensive tutoring brought that grade from a “D” to an “A” in one quarter, and my grades remained good until my Freshman year of college, when a social life became my Waterloo…but I digress.

I’ll never forget that first “D.” I was crushed and scared of being punished. I knew I could do the work—I just didn’t feel like turning it in. I have, to this day, no idea why I didn’t turn my work in. Not a clue. But I remember that grade, and the dread that went with it.

Do these children feel that? My heart breaks for the child that gets beaten down with the big, red, circled “D” or “F.” Do they understand the importance of the grades? More than that, do they understand that they are worth so much more than a letter on a page? Do they have parents that love them enough to challenge them, and understand them enough to know when to back down or when to get help?

This is making me re-think the education of my child. How will we approach it? How will we approach the bad grade, or the good grade? Will we succeed in teaching him that his grades do not define him; however, the work ethic he learns while pursuing academic excellence, will follow him throughout his life?

I hope he loves to read…

I hope he loves to learn…

If the big, scary, red letter “F” ever dares to appear on his schoolwork, I hope that he feels it…but not too much. I hope that it does bother him, because I want him to want better…but I want it to be for him, and not for me. I don’t want him to seek the “A” for “Mom’s Approval.” I want him to chase the “A” and find joy in not only the achievement, but in the quest. It’s a treasure hunt, of sorts, and I want him to see the fun of it.

I don’t believe in Outcome-Based Education. I don’t believe that everybody wins, and that everybody should get a medal for participating. Sometimes, my son will win; sometimes, he will lose. I hope that every time, he tries—to me, that’s the most important thing. I want him to understand competition, success, failure; but I don’t want him to be defined by it. If he tries, if he puts his heart into it and does his best, then I don’t care about the letter on the paper. If that little heart that tried so hard is crushed by the big, scary letter “F,” though, I may have to confront a teacher. I don’t believe any child that tries their hardest deserves an “F.” “D,” perhaps. But if they’ve tried, they haven’t failed; it’s only when they roll over and give up that the letter “F” is appropriate. That’s a failure.

I have so much to learn as a parent, and even more to learn as my son’s primary educator. May my biggest goal always be to teach him to love to be taught; to always reach for the next level; to keep trying until he gets it; and that the journey to education is a prize, in and of itself…May his heart never be frightened into apathy by the big, scary, red letter “F”…May his failures only serve to motivate success…and may we as parents be an encouraging, sometimes driving, force…