tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9558821688222920462024-03-13T13:55:21.111-07:00Three Princes Someone once told me that life can be boring, and that you have to make it fun. I'm going to give it my best shot.sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-65511509592981914762015-10-09T10:39:00.001-07:002015-10-09T10:46:57.633-07:00When They Fall: Teaching Our Kids About Life and Pain and PerseveranceI rode in a bike tour last fall. Around the halfway point, I turned a corner, and saw a mom and her son off their bikes. They were pulled off to the side. The mom was a little older than me, and her son was about 12 years old. I could tell his age because he was tall and lanky and all-legs like these boys get around that time in their life. Just trying to be a regular human, I stopped to ask if they needed anything, a phone? A bike pump? A selfie?<br />
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After a few seconds it was clear that the boy, while taking the sharp corner, had taken a dive into the gravel. His bike was dumped off to the side and I'm sure the fall was a doozy. They both sat on the grass assessing the scrape on his knee which, I could see through his ripped pant leg, was a decent one. <br />
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I only stopped for a second to ask the questions but they assured me they were fine and that they were just going to sit for a bit, then decide what to do. But I knew what was happening. I knew she was knee-deep into a parenting moment that would be a game changer with her almost teenager. I knew she was in the thick of it and I could see it on her face. Torn between wanting to swoop him up like a child, pack him in the car, and drive home for juice and cookies, and treating him like a young man, I knew it wasn't that simple for her at this stage in the game. I could sense the pressure she felt: the pressure to make a decision on how hard to push him and how best to raise this young one up while she still had precious moments left with him. <br />
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For days to come I imagined their curbside conversations. I imagined the things she said to him. I felt a spiritual connection to her as a woman, a mother, stuck in a place of having to make a hard decision on how much she pushed, how much she coddled, how much she let him make his own decision. I pitied her. I envied her. I wanted to be her. I wanted to crawl in a hole for her. I felt all the things we women feel when we suddenly find ourselves in one of those defining moments as a parent. <br />
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I imagined her saying: "I know your knee hurts. And this stinks, Son. This isn't what we counted on happening. But here we are. I KNOW you can do this. I know it will hurt a little bit but I BELIEVE in you". <br />
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I imagined her saying "We have had hard times before, haven't we? We have gotten through other falls, other scrapes, other hard times when your dad left. We can do this together. There absolutely will be ache in your knee for the rest of the way, but you are strong and able."<br />
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I imagined her saying "Do YOU think you can do it? I know you are capable. But if you want, we can call home and get picked up right now. I will never be disappointed."<br />
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I imagined her saying "The ride to the end will be hard. I won't sugarcoat it, Boy. But I think you are brave and fierce and even if you cry a little, I will be right beside you. You tell me if it's too much". <br />
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I imagined her saying "Let's go home and order a pizza. Who cares! It's just a silly race."<br />
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I imagined her saying "I love you whether we finish, or not". <br />
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I went on to finish my ride on that crisp, fall day. I usually ride on my own because the solitude is something sacred to me these days, and I have learned that you can always find strength within your own head. The inner dialogue of all the years of my parents' encouragement, praise, and positive words ring through my ears, and I find it good. All the years of hearing Great Play, Look How Fast You Are?, and I Think You Played Great lift my spirits as I push on in the last kilometres -when I'm cold and wet and tired and in pain. <br />
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The next time I laid eyes on the mother-son duo was at the finish line. After they had locked their bikes up, and were heading indoors for some refreshments, I saw her with her arm around his shoulders. He didn't look like he had been pushed too hard, or pressured to finish. He looked a good tired and he looked proud of himself and he limped a little. He smiled bashfully the way tweens do when spoken to directly by adults, and I could tell he really felt like he had accomplished something - scraped up knee and all.<br />
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But did he feel pain? Did he get challenged that day? Did he have to make a decision? Did he find a locked box of strength and perseverance that his mother helped him unlock on that cold October day? Did she help him find the key in the first place? The answer to all of the above is Absolutely. <br />
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Would I have felt any different if I had seen them drive by in their car, warm and dry, knowing they didn't finish the race? Absolutely not. She knew what to do. She knew what was right in that moment. She trusted her instincts.<br />
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These are course-correcting moments. These are moments that our kids remember. Heck, these are moments I remember. But your child? <b>Your child is able, strong, fierce, and resilient.</b> I can't tell you whether or not it would be best to push your child, or swoop them up and take them home. <b>But she knew, and you know too. </b>You will know it when you are there. You will see it on your child's face and you will know it in your heart. And sometimes it's not about that exact moment in time, sometimes it's about a child building up a reservoir of strength to draw on for the next time he falls. Sometimes it's about creating those "remember that time" moments that allow us to see we can do hard things when we need to, that life has falls and scrapes, and that a little pain can be overcome. It's about learning that there is a time to wallow, indeed, a time to sit on the curb and feel sorry for yourself, and a time to get back up and finish what needs to be done. <br />
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<br />sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-24181889481220290482015-09-09T17:23:00.002-07:002015-09-09T17:23:07.581-07:00To The Warrior Women: We Made It. Now Somebody Wake Me When It's Christmas.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn't eat lunch. I sat there at the table with the kids about an hour before they were going off for their first afternoon of school. And I know! I pretend like I'm a big tough cookie, but we are all just human. And how are you supposed to deal with feelings that a) you have never felt before, and b) don't even know how to explain? Is this sadness, happiness, guilt, loss, or pride? Your guess is as good as mine sometimes!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For some, watching their children go off to school for the first time makes them feel sadness specifically.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For others, they say
it’s bittersweet. And truth be told I'm not exactly sure if I could land on what I felt today but there were certainly flecks of that within my heart.
There are and were traces of sad and bittersweet and worried. Feelings like that briefly
landed on me like a butterfly who stopped to rest his wings for a minute, but
then continues on her way. <b>Right now, when I dig through the rawness, if I lift it up and look beneath, if I’m truthful, the main sentiment I
feel is joy </b>– pride and joy that we actually made it to this stage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So in turn <span style="font-size: large;">this post is for
all of you Warrior Women out there </span>that have put their time in parenting
multiples, or multiple small children at the same time, and got to this point:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">WE. ACTUALLY. MADE. IT.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So sit down with a coffee (or a RedBull I don't judge) and let me remind you….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it – the families that built themselves in 18 months
or 2 years, or those who waited 12 years and then got 4!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were all couples enjoying getting to know
each other, or waiting longer than we wanted, and then suddenly we were a WHOLE FAMILY. A WHOLE
THING. HOLY SMOKES.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it – the families that hung on for dear life for the
first few years of having multiple babies in diapers at the same time. We made
it as we learned as a couple how to navigate stress and crisis and burnout and
exhaustion like no other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it – the couples that had to learn how to love and
fight and compromise and serve each other while knowing there was NO PRACTICAL or
realistic way our spouses could come first when there were three bottles to
heat up, two babies that need to be burped, and one that is throwing tantrums.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it – the relationships that experienced crisis and
restoration, and then crisis and restoration again, <b>and then learned how to work to get
to the sweeter spot on the other side where it is good and better and kinder.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I made it and you made it-</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the moms who would lie awake at night worrying that we didn’t give
ANYONE enough affection, worrying that we didn’t do right by the children, or
our husbands, because we didn’t have enough hands or enough energy to do anything
but the bare minimum. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And let me remind
you the “bare minimum” was a job for five –you know it and I know it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it, the moms whose only prayers at night included “a
little sleep God, just a little sleep”. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it, us women who went through post-partum depression
and anxiety and psychosis and OCD and made calls to crisis lines at 5am cuz we
just weren’t ourselves and we were scared and we were in hard spots for too
long and we didn’t know what to do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it as we learned to rely on others for help.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>We made it as we learned how </b></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>to find the words</b></span></i><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b> to ask for help, even when the asking didn’t feel
glamorous.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it as we learned to rely on God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our kids made it too! And aren’t they just wonderful little
human beings?? And not even one seems like they may want to skin a squirrel
alive or sacrifice the neighbours pet! So Yay! </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yay for us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This right here is my happy place. I know it is yours too. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My family, my kids, my home. <b>This is what I
signed up for and this is the good stuff.</b></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted this family, we wanted this family, and I am so grateful for
them. I look at them all today with their little lunches packed in their bags
and their bright new school shoes, and I feel nothing but joy and excitement
about us and them and where we are now.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have no regrets at all, but that right there? That whirlwind? Those
last 5 years? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Whether people want to hear it or not: they were hard! Some of it
was dang near impossible.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so to you Warrior
Women out there, you know who you are, you moms out there having multiple
children in a short span, whether planned or unplanned, the ones struggling
uphill every day with multiples, or two sets of multiples, </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4 children under 4, 3 children under 3, </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6 under 6, I know you are out there because
you message me and you TELL ME how hard it is: You will make it too.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They will all jump in the car on their own
one day, trot off to school, </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and then you
will feel the same jubilation that I feel at this time in my life – like we
survived! We arrived! We did it!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now there!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now let’s
go on a month long cruise! Somebody get me one of those drinks in a coconut!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now on this first day of school, as I watched the most
handsome boys walk off with their very oversized backpacks and very cute eyes
looking back at me for a bit of reassurance, </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel nothing but joy for us. It’s bigger
than an end of an era.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a beginning
again!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">feel nothing but happiness about this new
stage and new chapter in our life. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
I am mainly just excited we all made it in one piece. </span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sabrina Jaspers is a
blogger. She likes chocolate almonds and sour keys and the sound of her
children cleaning up their Lego. Now that her boys are starting school you can
find her staring at the ceiling watching dust accumulate for the foreseeable future.</span></i></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-27472619923941740952015-06-21T19:55:00.002-07:002015-06-21T19:59:39.298-07:00"You Don't Just Live Here"<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said it like it was the most plain-as- day thing that you
ever say to someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t just live here you know”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w0qSy8aiCKs/VYd4hmQYf1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/73-_j89BO3g/s1600/pamaingles.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w0qSy8aiCKs/VYd4hmQYf1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/73-_j89BO3g/s320/pamaingles.png" width="249" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It rolled off my
tongue and out of my lips, and then I realized the sharpness of it all after it
was already out there and laying on the floor in front of me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This sharp tongue of mine is a THING BTW, a
thing that has been around for decades, and a THING I’m working on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband was about to start a new job. A job he took for
so many good reasons, but also so he could be more present at home with us and
not be on the road travelling so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Have I told you how blessed I am to have a dude who wants to be HERE?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who wants to be present even though HE, LIKE
I, knows that a good majority of the time it can be maddening/crazymaking/
herding cats-like? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the days go by fast around here and w<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">e have fast conversations. </span>Things keep moving. Laundry keeps going, meals keep getting
made, and the coffee just keeps on flowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has things he does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
things I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sometimes we switch
these things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We get into that routine
where the each day blends into the next and there are days when I’m not even
sure I’m doing anything nice for him anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Folding someone’s underpants doesn’t ALWAYS seem like that extra special
something, AMIRITE?? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t just live here, you know?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>He was starting this new job and needed lunches
made and HE had said he could make them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said it was no big deal and he meant it because he is one of these guys that
does A LOT of things for us, does a lot of things for us and for himself, and
he is very independent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So of course my
first thought was “One less thing to do. Suh- Weet!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But when I stopped doing the Dougie around my kitchen, something
clicked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t JUST LIVE here. He
is my husband and I should try to find ways to support him, just like he
supports me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should try to find things
I can do for him, ways in which I can serve him, like he serves me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t misread what I mean, this isn’t
some divided gender-role thing where woman should do this, and man should do that, oh
no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no pre-conceived notions of who should scrub a toilet, or change a diaper. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What I meant in that moment was “You don’t Just Live Here.
You aren’t a TENANT here, and this is not room and board. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can SUPPORT YOU, I can offer help to you, do
something nice for you, and be helpful to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These husbands of ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I get the feeling a lot of us are walking around forgetting that our
spouses have feelings too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They aren’t
our roommates, or our pals, or our colleagues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They aren’t the weird man on the bus that makes whistling sounds with his
nose, or a waiter we can look straight through. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took VOWS and looked them in the EYES and
said in front of GOD that we would love and honour and support and take care of
them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did all that in front of our
family and his family and OURSELVES!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
that means somethin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I get the impression that the vast majority of
people don’t think of their spouses as HUMAN. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some
point your spouse can become either an idol or superhero of sorts, or the devil
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And neither of those are true,
ya see. Neither of those are realistic ways to think and neither of those are
helpful. Sometimes we forget that they too wake up each day with thoughts,
insecurities, stresses, and dreams of a good and decent household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes we forget that people wake up as
HUMAN BEINGS with real sentiments and real feelings and that not one of us is
invincible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they too feel beat
down by life, running-the-hamster-wheel tired, trying to figure out thow they
will get through another day with three thousand tasks to complete. Sometimes
we forget that they are just flesh and bone too. And my guess is a leg up now
and then, a nice gesture, a cup of coffee poured for them, an offer to help
them once in awhile would go a long long way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
(*my obsession with Little House on the Prairie is like none other BTW. There I said it. It's not healthy ;))<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-75037872127775548352015-05-07T06:54:00.001-07:002015-05-07T06:54:34.594-07:00Where It All Began (And A Bit On Resilience)
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the ultrasound technician told me there were two sacs
and two heartbeats, I should have asked her to check my heartbeat as well. I’m certain it had either stopped right there, or pounded straight out
of my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t recall too much after
that, except that my pants weren’t even done up when she left me in the room, alone.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t quite think I was expecting a
hand-hold, or a warm hug, but a girl doesn’t forget something like that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived home to find my unassuming husband changing our
firstborn’s diaper on the change table. I walked in without so much as a hello
and waved two fingers directly in front of his face. “TWO”, I said, with a
terrified look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember he gave a
nervous laugh and then he told me he was happy and that we would be OK. I had
no intention of believing him however so for the next twenty-four hours I slept
off and on in a state of shock and disbelief. My oldest had not yet had his
first birthday, and we felt unprepared for three small children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d be lying to you if I said the first year was easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the first three months my husband and I became
efficient baby-tending machines. We divided up the night into two four-hour
blocks because that’s what two oldest children married to each other do: team
up, make a plan, and get efficient!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days
and days went by without us ever leaving the house. Exhaustion and overwhelm
was at an all-time high.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’ve learned that life has a way of changing us for the
better. Life has a way of breaking us down so that we are rebuilt and re-made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any mother who has been given more than what
she thinks she can handle can relate to what I’m saying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have this vivid
memory of me peeling a banana with one hand at the kitchen counter while I
consoled a crying baby on my hip. I was trying to get a snack for a hungry
toddler and that’s when I had this moment of clarity that I, like every other
mother that I have ever run into, was strong, able, creative, and
resilient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I could peel a banana with five fingers dangit! I could carry two
babies on my hips while my toddler held onto my pant leg so we could cross the
street! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my husband? He had become a
superhero. One time, when tornadic level winds were tearing roofs off of houses
nearby, he picked two sleeping babies out of two separate cribs, one with each
hand in about 10 seconds flat. He still doesn’t remember how he did it, and I
don’t know either. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He, along with me,
had become so much more than capable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The difficult phases of parenting force us to become parenting
rock stars in our own lives (not to mention we have our very own small groupies!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are forever changed and that is the reward
of a taking the hard road. We gain skills we never thought possible, strength
that we never thought we needed, more endurance than we could imagine, and an
understanding and connection to other parents that extends across race and
culture, religion and sexual orientation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And all of this is done with a heart that now beats on the
outside of our chest! That baby of yours, school-aged child, teen, or grown
adult:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the reason you are
changed and you are just so thankful. They are the reason you are all the good
things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QK4IPFwn6xE/ULbKDrVamEI/AAAAAAAAAAU/N1mM2lSo49k/s1600/20120727_184544_Antonio_Devine_Hassel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QK4IPFwn6xE/ULbKDrVamEI/AAAAAAAAAAU/N1mM2lSo49k/s320/20120727_184544_Antonio_Devine_Hassel.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-76968822957059496882015-05-03T19:28:00.003-07:002015-05-03T19:28:32.953-07:00I Need You So Please Let Me Take My Kid To The Bathroom
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When was it that we all stopped trusting each other? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere in between “absolute crazy” women leaving
their children in prams outside of grocery stores in the 1950’s and today where
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“blinking while parenting” is a
faux-pas, we all went stark-raving mad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I went rogue the other week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in McDonald’s with my three boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone had Happy Meals and can I add
everyone was just HAPPY. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly one of
my 3 year old boys tells me he needs to use the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other two were just about to dive into
their long-awaited meals when I this happens, of course. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now if you are a parent of a few littles, you
would be aware of this unfortunate chain of events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve just sat down and your purse and coat
are hanging on the backs of chairs. You’ve placed individual napkins in their
perfect position for each child. Everyone has the same amount of ketchup in
each paper cup. You’ve navigated the line up with the children at your feet
assisting you with the order (I use the term assisting loosely).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that you are sitting, now that you have
just exhaled for the first time in 20 minutes, you are faced with this dilemma!
There’s absolutely no way you can gather everyone up again and head to the
bathroom without losing your fool mind, and there’s absolutely no way you can
let this particular child go to the bathroom on his or her own due to their age
and ability. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve handled this situation in a variety of ways. Several of
these ways highlight my pristine decision making skills in the heat of the
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My personal favourite was the
time I asked the two year old to “just hold it” because the washroom was an
entire hike across Minneapolis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
this particular Walmart store spanned across a state line to be precise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was my favourite experience because it
resulted in me purchasing new underwear (for the boy, of course. Did I need to
clarify that?),<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and sweating profusely while
crouched in a tiny bathroom stall. I even apologized to the little guy because “just holding it” is not always
reasonable when you are 2. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most recently, I have a five year old, and he is quite
capable of going into a bathroom on his own these days when I have the twins
with me. But like all things, this is a calculated decision that needs to be
made while hyperventilating into a bag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who went in before him? Is he safe? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there more than one exit? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if that door leads to Narnia?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And worse yet: What if he touches HUMAN POOP?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-otNqLTgCTdo/VUbYDvCL1cI/AAAAAAAAANM/EdXFu-u-Bt4/s1600/Calvin-Hobbes-on-Parenting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-otNqLTgCTdo/VUbYDvCL1cI/AAAAAAAAANM/EdXFu-u-Bt4/s1600/Calvin-Hobbes-on-Parenting.jpg" height="132" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve come across these situations a thousand different times,
in a thousand different ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In grocery
stores, restaurants, and church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somebody somewhere is always having to go and decisions need to be made
regarding safety. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the other week, I went rogue and it felt exhilarating!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sitting there with the children who
were happily eating their meals when one child was needing to use the
facilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was weighing out my
options of taking them all in, or leaving some behind, when I noticed her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a mother at the table directly
beside me with two young girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were dipping their French fries into their little dip containers with such
elegance that I began to question my own eating manners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked her if she could watch my boys for
two minutes while I took another to the washroom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said yes. And guess what? We went. We came
back and everyone was still eating happily. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This felt so liberating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This felt like I had broken rules and really done
something crazy. I felt exhilarated by the freedom of having received help from
another person, another mother, in a public setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much that I’m sitting here writing about
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know why this has to be a new feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our grandmother types are either watching us
muddle our way through this life while we insist on doing everything solo,
without relying on any other human being for our entire parenting gig, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or they are watching us from Heaven talking
about what idiots we all are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Listen, I’m not one to play Russian Roulette with my
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there is a spectrum of Free Range to
Helicopter, I’m somewhere right in the middle. I pick and choose where I hover
and I pick and choose where I let my chickens run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See what I did there?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But a little common sense goes a long way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Certified Creeper in the corner is,
perhaps, not your best bet to entrust your children to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But another parent with children who is
probably in the same boat as you is a good start. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He or she probably just need a leg up too,
like you do. The dad that just needs to change a baby in the bathroom really
quickly should see me with my children and be ok to ask me to keep an eye on
his girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mom needing to take a small
person to pick out an extra straw at the condiment bar should be able to do so without
worrying about the others she left behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The mom doing the school drop-off should be able to run to grab that
lunch she forgot in the car and feel confident that we can watch her child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the way we have lost this
ability to trust another human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And not
just a human, we have lost the ability to trust another parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all in this together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that we need to take risks with
regards to our children, no no! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
that mainly this was never a risk in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-2038263231354024492015-03-08T12:28:00.003-07:002015-03-09T05:58:37.227-07:00When I Went To Church For The First Time and What I Want People To Know<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I joined a church at age 27.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I assure you this feels like a lifetime ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A husband and three children under my belt, I am feeling
like I am just now starting to have the ability to look around at church. And
now that I have a few minutes to breathe, I look for you.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">YOU who may come into church for the first time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wuAGHMutsyg/VPygQVf5zOI/AAAAAAAAAM0/MDX8SlNBKXA/s1600/Light-Stock-Church-People.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wuAGHMutsyg/VPygQVf5zOI/AAAAAAAAAM0/MDX8SlNBKXA/s1600/Light-Stock-Church-People.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">YOU who are green as grass and don’t know where to go.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YOU who are not sure
if you belong, not sure if you REALLY should have agreed to come either. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe you made a deal with God in the wee hours of the night
last night, when you got yourself into that jam - again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe someone asked you to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you are lonely and couldn’t handle one
more day alone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you are curious. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the reason I look for you now is because <i>I was you</i>. And I
know what it’s like. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I want others
to know what it’s like too so we can all learn from each other, and find fellowship with one another as we should. So here goes:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If there’s no one to tell me where to go, I’m stressed. If
everyone knows where to go, and I’m standing there looking around, I’m
immediately self-conscious. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We already
feel vulnerable as heck, naked-standing-in-Time-Square-scared at the thought of
sitting amongst Christians as it is, so anything to make me not stand out would
be super swell. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone to point me in
the right direction, potentially a greeter, someone to tell me where childcare is, or give
me the general rundown of how things go, and I’m a happier, more settled
camper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who could sit near me, or
bring me to a seat where I know I am allowed to sit, makes me more comfortable
as well because I am honestly not sure of this situation in the first place. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want people to know that my language may be different from
yours. The tone of my voice may be louder than yours. What I consider offensive
language will be different than yours as well. All of this depends on my
upbringing, culture within my home, and socio-economic status, and your ability to be comfortable with me depends on yours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need you to be ok with that as you get to
know me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Befriend me anyways as I learn, and as the
Holy Spirit softens me. </i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I may dress different from you. And when I come in I hope my
attempt at “dressing for church” was sufficient. I may even look around to see
if there are people dressed LIKE me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
will make me feel more comfortable if I see similar people and that is just the
truth. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have not likely come to church with you because you wave to
me over the fence or in the drive way, or you brought me banana bread that one
time two years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Real relationships that
can get to the level of really seeing if someone would like to sit in a pew
with you and hear God’s word is not just waving to someone on your way to Sunday
service. Those who come with you will be those who feel like your long lost
sibling, or a close cousin. They are the ones you go to baseball games with and
attend their sister’s yearly BBQ’s at the trailer up in Mount Forest. You fix their
car, they fix your eaves troughs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They come
into your house and you go into theirs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is more of a ‘We hang out regularly, watch the Bachelor together every week,
and “hey do you want your kids to come to our kid's bible camp?” (The one that I’ve
already been talking to you about for 3 months because I’ve told you every up
and down and glitch along the way)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will understand concepts first. And any bible verses that come
after this will then fit into those concepts. Concepts such as God as All Powerful,
God as Creator, sin and GRACE are all concepts we need to wrap our heads around
first and this takes time, and time, and more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to hear about these first, and
UNDERSTAND THEM before I can delve into the depths of the bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bible verses may mean very little if I don’t
have a platform from which to understand them. These concepts are best
explained to me one-on-one in a way I can understand and relate to in my real life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am more likely to
come to a casual event before I will sit in a pew. I can come to a youth group social event, but I'm not ready to come to church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pews and hymn singing are scary, but pizza and
pop I can handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Ease me into this. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">People who walk into churches for the first time aren’t
usually looking for God. Most don’t ever come into churches for the “right
reason” and we need that to be OK. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> As a newcomer, I am</span> looking for a sense of belonging, looking for a community, and looking to be
loved just like every other human being on the planet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may see it on others who belong to a
church family, or remember the feeling from Sunday school visits as a child. Or
heck, maybe the idea came from TV! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever the reason, I am looking to fit in,
and I’m usually looking for a community – Please bring me into your circle, and take me into
your family, and give me a role where I can feel useful. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lastly, I need you to know we are already looking for a flaw
in the system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are sniffing it out before
we have even set foot on the premises (not accessible? Not enough youth
programming? Too traditional/too modern? WHAT IS THAT SMELL?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the way we are built. We are looking for
a way out, for an excuse to NOT come back, just as much as we are looking for a
reason to come. It’s an inherent struggle. One of the best things you can say
to me as a new comer is this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No church is perfect.
This one certainly isn’t. Neither is the one down the road. But we do our best
by the Grace of God and we would love to see you again. Do you have any
questions for me? </span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or</span></strong></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It's hard to get here, isn't it? Getting out the door to church can be a struggle with kids. I know the feeling, but it's good to be here. I always feel more filled when I leave. And I'm so glad you came. </span></strong></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or </span></strong></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It can be intimidating coming for the first few times. I was there once, I know the feeling. Can I pick you up next week or meet you in the parking lot so we can walk in together? Can I help you to your car?</span></strong></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No one ever comes for the first time for the right reason. I know I certainly
didn’t.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But we are looking for someone
to give us a reason to come back.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meet
us where we are, love us anyways in all our crusty glory, and let God take the reigns.</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(I had a wonderful experience at our church. Lovely people took us in as their own, had us over for lunches weekly, and befriended me and us right away. I only want that for others as well. )</span></em></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-14530992520123845222015-02-26T08:23:00.004-08:002015-02-26T08:25:09.856-08:00Postpartum Anxiety, Postpartum depression: Are you NORMAL?I don’t mean any harm. I don’t mean to offend. But when I see serene pictures of brand new moms with their brand new babes with tagged photos of “so in love” and “loving every minute”, my immediate reaction is: bull. <br />
<br />
I’m a real treat, aren’t I?<br />
<br /><br />
If you are a woman to whom mothering came easily right out of the gate, seriously, bless you. I’m so thankful for people like you and to know you ACTUALLY exist because mostly I feel like you are a miraculous fictitious pixie. One that only prances around in my dreams throwing Ativan….err, I mean fairy dust into the air ducts.<br />
<br /><br />
Because when the truth sets in for me, all I’ve ever met are women struggling uphill EVERY DAY to bond, nurture, figure out, feed, and care for their newborn, all the while trying to hang onto any shred of human dignity that we have left, all the while our bodies are doing things we dare not even mention, and all the while Lanolin stains are becoming our new camo. All of this we put effort into concealing usually because we think no one has EVER experienced this before, we think we are alone in this, and then we spend the rest of our energy trying not to sob all over every passer-byer that knocks on our door. Mail lady? Perfect. SHE KNOOOWS ME.<br />
<br /><br />
Some people seem afraid to say that newborns are hard and scary and that the whole situation is raw and real and that there are times when you aren’t sure you even LIKE the baby, let alone LOVE the baby, and why can’t we talk about that? The first few months are intense and insane. I know I struggled a great deal. More than a great deal actually. I was very scared most of the time. And I know we aren’t very well going to post pictures on Instagram of us weeping in a Post-Partum blur (hashtag so weepy, hashtag hospitalgradepump?) but I sure do think it would do us a lot of good to start talking about this openly, and start giving women the freedom to express these fears and emotions as they ride them straight through the first year. Openness leads to connectedness. And connectedness reduces isolation and stigma, and sharing stories can also lead to women finding the right support. <br />
<br /><br />
So if you have a new baby and are asking yourself:<br />
<br /><br />
Am I normal if I feel generally overwhelmed? Yes you are. You couldn’t be more normal.<br />
<br /><br />
Am I normal if I cry every day? Yes, you certainly are. Your hormones are resetting themselves and quite frankly the whole situation is totally overwhelming to most of us. <br />
<br /><br />
Am I normal if I don’t feel bonded to my baby and it’s been more than a few weeks? Yes! It does not come natural to a lot of women and that is the TRUTH. If it goes on more than a few weeks, talk to your doctor about your concerns.<br />
<br /><br />
Am I normal if breastfeeding is just too insanely hard and I would like to throw in the towel? Yes, I haven’t met a woman yet who this came easy to. NOT ONE. You do what works for YOU given the situation you are in, your mental health, and the support you do or don’t have. Sometimes you just have to make a decision. <br />
<br /><br />
Am I normal if I feel anxious and can’t sleep for five minutes even when given the chance? Yes. My goodness. The insomnia can be debilitating. Sometimes it subsides naturally after a few weeks, sometimes it can go on longer. Your body is learning to be attuned to a baby that is on the outside of your body. Hypervigilance and alertness is your new world – it gets easier and you do learn to sleep usually in time. <br />
<br /><br />
Are you normal if you are scared most of the time? Yes. Oh man. So much yes. <br />
<br /><br />
A lot of what I’m talking about can be classified as Post-Partum Anxiety which is very very common. Most of the symptoms I’ve outlined will decrease over the first few weeks and months. Sometimes they don’t- so talk to your doctor and do your research on Post-Partum Depression and Post-Partum Anxiety and tell people what you are experiencing. You are SO SO normal. sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-40779596526875597942015-02-01T17:27:00.000-08:002015-02-01T17:27:01.092-08:00We Are All Somebody's Child: A Post On Inconsistencies In Parenting<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_54ced1c9200de7e12202657">
It's silly, really. Night after night I hand out multi-vitamins and vitamin D "gummies" to my kids, and realized I, myself, don't take a multi-vitamin. <br />
<br />
I realized, then, that adults sleep-train their kids to sleep better, but drink coffee at 8pm, lie awake staring at the ceiling at 12am, check our phones for notifications when we wake at 3am. We buy the best organic pureed babyfood -heck, we MAKE and grind and blend our own babyfood, and buy ourselves a muffin and a coffe<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show">e on the way out of town. We ensure our children get naps, or quiet time so that they are rested, and yet we plow through days and weeks without ever taking a proper rest. We five-point harness our children, but text while we drive.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
On the other hand, we analyze, stew, stress, and read about our children's temperaments, and then we throw pencils at the wall out of frustration, all without making the link. We limit our children's screen time, but check our phones on an average of every 6 minutes. We force our children to be polite, say Hi to grown-ups, and not cower behind our legs, and yet we skip grocery aisles to avoid <br />
conversations, and use self-checkouts because "we're simply not in the mood". We label our children "spirited" and "sensitive" without giving much thought to just how frigging hard it is being a kid who is dragged here, there, and everywhere these days, going from program to program.<br />
<br /><br />
If we took care our ourselves, like we care for our children, and simultaneously, if we showed our children some of the same leniencies we allow ourselves from time to time, maybe we would all be a little more balanced. We are all just grown children, after all. We are all somebody's child.</div>
</div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-58089173436727736352015-02-01T17:20:00.000-08:002015-02-01T17:28:48.970-08:00Santa Claus Walks Into A Bar....So, Santa Claus walks into a bar. He happens to bring with him a sack filled with the most wonderful gifts that anyone has ever laid eyes on. There is most definitely a Smart Watch in there and most definitely tickets to the upcoming Leafs game. A person at the bar, let’s call this person “Pat” because truth-be-told it really doesn’t matter the gender of this person, decides to roll Santa for his sack of gifts and then physically assaults him as well. Santa’s “bar star” days are over, as he is now lying unconscious on the floor on a bunch of peanut shells. But I tell ya now, SANTA DESERVED EVERYTHING HE GOT, HE DANGLED THOSE GIFTS OUT THERE FOR ALL TO SEE. HE DESERVED IT. <br />
<br /><br />
I fill with rage when I hear these types of comments. <br />
<br /><br />
We don’t really know why Santa was at the bar, do we? Does it matter? Maybe he took a wrong turn both geographically, or emotionally. Maybe he wanted to take a risk, go somewhere he hadn’t gone before, do something a little cray-cray. Maybe Santa didn’t have anywhere safe to go. Maybe he was just so lonely that to be anywhere with humans was better than being alone… again. Or Maybe Rudolph was being a prick. Maybe Dasher had gotten into the sauce AGAIN and had said one too many horrible things. <br />
<br />
MAYBE he just owned the decision and was all like “I am SANTA, I will go where I please”. <br />
Again, I don’t know why Santa decided this, and in all his pre-diabetic gloriousness, I don’t really care. I do know for certain we all make mistakes – I know this from my own life. We all make decisions on the fly, and sometimes we even make calculated, ‘good’ decisions that go awry on the best days, but I can assure you of one thing: he didn’t ASK to be assaulted just because he was there. He didn’t deserve to be physically violated by anyone at all simply because he had something someone else wanted. I’m whole-heartedly surprised we still have to have this conversation in 2015.<br />
<br /><br />
You see, I’m raising young men. And you better believe I’m raising them to understand that, under no circumstances, do they have “needs” or “urges” that are just out of their control. I don’t want to ever, ever have to type that out ever again. NEVER. I will teach them that they are HUMAN, just like women are HUMAN, and that all of our lives and bodies are worth being respected and valued. The same men whom we are raising up as leaders – are we are also implying that, if a carrot was dangled in front of them, they would succumb to it like a barbaric, starving vegetarian who has never seen a carrot before? Is that what you think of men? Is that your lived experience? Because it’s certainly not mine. Think of the young men reading the comments of “boys will be boys” and “well, why was she there?” and “what was she wearing?” and “she should have known”. Consider how they internalize this message, this message that they are indeed monsters in disguise. Then go ahead and consider the young women, the young, recently assaulted women (because they exist in both my community and yours) who are reading these comments. We are further injuring people. <br />
So let’s have it then, shall we? I’m ready, are you? <br />
<br /><br />
I am tired of the shame-based conversations that are popping up as a result of the Bill Cosby and Jian Ghomeshi cases. And I’m not even here to talk about whether these specific individuals did or didn’t do whatever is in the media. Honestly, I DO care about each of their lives. One way or another a myriad of lives are shattered everywhere you look. And the dark reality is that there will always be perpetrators, and there will always be victims, but I’m here to talk about the conversations we are having afterwards, online, and on public forums about these cases, because these remarks are affecting people. <br />
<br /><br />
The tragic realities are that this world is toxic and that I can tell you that for sure. There are evil things happening everywhere you look. There are people that are ill, like really, really ill. There are people that want to hurt you, to hurt me, and to hurt our children, and that will never change. Again, as far as I see it, there will always be perpetrators and there will always be victims. But the conversation ABOUT this needs to change. The words that come out of our mouths AFTER we hear of something happening need to change, whether it be in the media or in your own home. I think of the parable of the Good Samaritan. A man sees another man who had been robbed, stripped of his clothes, beat down and left for dead. The Samaritan showed mercy by taking pity on him, physically bringing him to an inn, bandaging his wounds personally, and paying the innkeeper for any expenses that might be accrued. It makes no suggestion that we should first QUESTION into the REASON the man was in this precarious situation in the first place. The man doesn’t ask why was he robbed? What bad business had he gotten into or why on earth was he travelling alone in a bad part of town?? You see where I’m going with this? The only conversations that should be going on after someone has been violated need to be compassionate, and sound a lot like “NOBODY deserves that”, “NOTHING about this was your fault” and “how can I help you”. <br />
<br />
When you teach a victim that he or she “contributed” to an assault by way of choice, clothing, location, and, if and when, they internalize this (and they will), what happens to their self-worth? And when their self-worth and self-esteem are low, what are the chances of them loving themselves enough not to put themselves in a risky situation in the future? And when your brain is telling you that you aren’t worth anything, and it was all your fault, how much booze and drugs does one need to quiet that voice inside? Please think about that for a second. Mull that over. There are consequences to shaming. Real life, real lived consequences. Then think about what you want for your children and their children because these beliefs are passed down generationally. No one deserves to be assaulted, violated, OR unconscious against their consent. No one is “asking” for it, ever. This harmful conversation needs to stop. sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-6516305710000876422015-02-01T17:15:00.000-08:002015-02-02T07:00:00.950-08:00Do You Recall?<em>(I posted this on my blog facebook page, and it somehow went viral. Suddenly 8000 people read what I wrote and I can't help but wonder "why?". Do we like nostalgia? Do we yearn for perspective mixed with nostalgia? Does this connect you to your childhood? I'm curious now. )</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
Do you recall, as a child, those late night car rides home from a family get-together, or Christmas party? The ones where you drifted in and out of sleep on the way home, while your parents drove, having slumped over in your seat, or bench, with the lap belt digging into your hip bones? Remember the way the turning signal ticked-ticked-ticked at intersections, how the car came to a purr at a standstill, or the way the street lights shone on your face through the windows, when you finally arrived back into the city-limits? My husband says he remembers the way the cool air touched his face when he was carried from the car to his bed, in a sleep-like state, by his mother and father. He remembers despite the fact that this was probably only a few seconds long. <br />
<br />
<br />
Do you remember the way it felt to have someone take off your boots, one by one, or the actual feeling of being physically tucked into your bed? I don’t claim to assume everyone had a storybook childhood, but if you did have a childhood that you would consider positive, or one with a general sense of security, do you remember such things? Or similar things of this nature?<br />
<br />
<br />
They say childhood is inherently magical, and I think they say this because the mundane details are what we remember the most – a good tree for climbing, the smell of a pool in the summer or the way the chlorine clung to your hair, the way the raspberries tasted straight off the bush. I think we tend to forget this as adults because not one day goes by where I don’t stress about whether I am playing with/interacting with/paying attention to my children enough. Am I giving them enough “face time” during a 24 hour period? Am I an attachment parent? A discipline-focused parent? Should I incorporate more “French-style” parenting while reading handbooks on “highly sensitive children” and “bringing up boys” and beating myself up because I HAVE NOT TAKEN THEM TO LEGO LAND?<br />
<br />
<br />
You know, I couldn’t tell you five gifts I got as a child at Christmastime. And I’m sure this is all much to my parent’s dismay since I know they gave this a lot of thought each year. But do you know what I remember more? I remember the daily interactions. The way my father came into my room every morning before work to give me a kiss goodbye, bending down in his starched to high heaven black suit, while smelling like the fresh Brut cologne he just sprayed on himself ten seconds before. <br />
And the way my mom was always up before us on school days, the sound of the kettle boiling, while she sat in the exact same spot at the kitchen table ensuring we, as teens, in all our beautiful hormonal attitudes, actually had something to eat before running off for the bus. These are the visuals, smells, memories I can remember the most, so to any parent out there who is doubting him or herself (and as a reminder to myself, who are we kidding):<br />
<br />
<br />
Your presence, your comfort, your security –that’s enough. The $24.99 Frozen doll, the one you will conveniently misplace the batteries for, that will be forgotten.<br />
<br />
<br />
Whatever you are doing –whether it’s carrying small (or big) kids into the house in a sleep like state this holiday season and making sure they get home safely -it is enough. The prayers, kisses, tummy rubs, the multitude of reassurances that there is no monster, no really there isn’t, NO REALLY monsters are just make belief, no here I’ll SHOW YOU – it’s enough. The brushing hair, washing small limbs, or getting one last spoonful of something into a small tummy – It’s enough. It’s always been enough. YOU are enough. And that’s what they will remember. <br />
<br />
<br />
Presence, comfort, security. <br />
<br />
<br />
Have a good night, all<br />
<br />
<br />
-Sabrina Jsabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-22153319740826106042015-01-01T18:27:00.001-08:002015-01-01T18:32:43.729-08:00"He MAKES Me Lie Down In Green Pastures": A post about learning our limits<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Picture me as a friend, sitting across from you in a coffee shop, sipping on a cup of hot coffee, saying
something like: what did you think would happen when you ran yourself ragged
for days, weeks, and months on end? Did you think this would end well? (I would
say that with a smirk, of course, while not making eye contact and
non-chalantly rifling through my purse for a receipt that doesn’t exist)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you think your body would hold up when
you pushed past exhausted, and went straight into running-out-of-steam
mode?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you think you wouldn’t get sick,
or get pneumonia? Did you think you wouldn’t catch that flu?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If we were sitting across from each other I would then go on
to tell you about the time this past December where I got a migraine so bad
that I ended up removing myself from a party we were hosting, dry heaving in a
plastic bag, while my husband carried on hosting 15 people in OUR house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell you this was not one of my finer
moments, and then I’d tell you I think it was all due to stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell you more details about this
incident, including how my husband worked out of town for three weeks (home on
weekends) leading right up to this party and all of the December craziness.
Then when he finally got home, I had my own work to catch up on, get-togethers
to attend, shopping to finish, and school performances to race off to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time Sunday came around, which was the
day I was hosting, I felt really unwell and rundown in the morning but I pushed
through to church anyways, then power-cleaned my house for a few hours
afterwards in preparation of our family coming over. If we were sitting across
from each other, and you had just taken a sip of your latte, I’d go on to tell
you about how the migraine came on slowly, and then peaked at dinner time, while
I tried to sit at a table with all my out-of-town family, but ended up excusing
myself to lay in a pitch black room for a few hours while my mom and husband
and aunties cleaned up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell you I
should have paid better attention to myself that day. I’d tell you I shouldn’t
have packed so much into the few short days right after my husband came back
from travelling because I was already mentally and physically exhausted. I’d
tell you I should have asked for help on the last week of being on my own, but
instead I turned it down when it was offered to me directly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell you I learned a lot about myself, and
my own limits, that weekend. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then
I’d tell you it was all very humbling. (I don’t HAVE limits, I like to tell
myself, I am social worker extraordinaire, Queen of the Twin universe!) </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And if I was lucky enough to still have you listening, I’d
tell you your body and mind, just like my body and mind, have limits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I truthfully think we were created this
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our bodies tell us when something
is up, or off in so many other ways. We are fairly aware when something we ate
bothered us, we are vaguely aware of sleep deprivation when it rears its ugly
head, and we are starting to be more aware of hunger cues nowadays versus
simply wanting to shove that Triple layer bar in our pieholes for the sake of
all things condensed milk. But when it comes to stress or mental exhaustion, we
don’t pay as much attention, do we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are all lacking in awareness in this department. And even if we are aware,
sometimes we choose to ignore the signs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If we were still friends by this point, I’d share with you
about a passage in the Bible that has stuck with me for months after a friend
and mentor shared with me her insights<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Psalm 23, we read “He makes me lie down in
green pastures. He leads me to still waters”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It says it right there. God will MAKE you lie down. He will
LEAD you to stillness. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s sort of like he
KNOWS us. ;)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bible tells us we have limits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least that’s the way I read it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do believe if we don’t pay attention to
ourselves, if we are running ourselves down, pushing through for our own
emotional reasons (must keep working, must not stop, must be champion of the
free world!), or for financial reasons of course, God will send us down and
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Bible, in so many different
passages, talks about being “still”, and yet what do we do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We check our emails at midnight, and tackle
the chore list as soon as we get home. We push through fatigue adding shots of
espresso inside our coffees (guilty as charged!) and we stop listening to our
bodies and minds on so many levels. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As humans we have limits,
both physically and mentally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we are
built to only be able to handle so much chaos and so much toxicity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our bodies also react to stress, grief, and
trauma. And we are also built to require times of stillness, quietness, and
rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to Christianity, the
majority of the religions of the world will agree to this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we don’t listen, do we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t pay attention and we run ourselves
ragged, and then we find ourselves with mono, pneumonia, migraines, or the flu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also find ourselves overwhelmed,
exhausted, anxious, and tense. <br />
<br />
Admittedly, there are times in our lives that are busier than others and part
of that is just life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christmastime is
one of them for most of us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence the
reason I have found myself having this conversation multiple times over the
past few weeks as many of my friends, family, and myself have succumbed to
something that knocks us on our arses for a few days, or a few weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll say it again. We have limits, both physically and
mentally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are not weak for stopping
your run away train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are not weak
for stopping to sharpen your axe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
are not weak for asking for help, taking a day off, saying no, or saying YES. You
are not weak for asking for support, or counselling. You are not weak for
taking a leave of absence for physical health or mental health reasons,
including grief, trauma, or illness… or none of the above. And you are
certainly not less of a Christian for it either. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The verse where God says he will MAKE me lay down, and LEAD
me to still waters really helps me understand that He knows us in the first
place, but more importantly, He knows we won’t do it willingly, he knows it
will be difficult for us to stop. And it is, isn’t it?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Psalm 23</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">A psalm of David.</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">1 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is my shepherd, I lack nothing.<br />
<sup>2 </sup> He makes me lie down in green
pastures,<br />
he leads me beside quiet waters,<br />
<sup>3 </sup> he refreshes my soul.<br />
He guides me along the right paths<br />
for his name’s sake.<br />
<sup>4 </sup>Even though I walk<br />
through the darkest valley,<sup>[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+23#fen-NIV-14240a" title="See footnote a"><span style="color: blue;">a</span></a>]</sup><br />
I will fear no evil,<br />
for you are with me;<br />
your rod and your staff,<br />
they comfort me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">5 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">You prepare a table before me<br />
in the presence of my enemies.<br />
You anoint my head with oil;<br />
my cup overflows.<br />
<sup>6 </sup>Surely your goodness and love will follow me<br />
all the days of my life,<br />
and I will dwell in the house of the <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span><br />
forever.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-39834072316008454712014-12-28T12:28:00.000-08:002014-12-28T12:39:17.256-08:00Finding Contentment at the 'Back of The Pack'.<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was sitting on the steps of the pool, with my butt in about a foot of water at a local indoor pool, while a nervous twin beside me played with a watering can. He was hesitant to go in
the water in any real way. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was watching the other
boys play in the water with my husband when I took a look at the situation and
realized that I was staying behind with the smallest one, with the nervous one,
the one that wasn’t as sure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since this situation
can be fairly typical with three boys (one of the three is usually unsure), it
was a natural decision for me. I would stay over here with
this one while my husband took the others forward.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day our family went on a long walk and by the end of
it, as the others pushed forward, I was holding the hand of another small child
at the back of the group. This time the other twin had gotten tired and needed
a little help. I ended up carrying him the remainder of the way. That's when I had a moment of clarity. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In these situations, I often think about the form that packs
of migrating animals take on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often it
is the case that the mothers stay at the back of the line in order to encourage
and ensure their young, or sick, get to their next destination safely, without
harm and without predators attacking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Watching too many traumatizing National Geographic shows as a kid, I have visuals of mother elephants with </span>their tired young at the back of the herd using
their trunks to nudge their young ensuring they get to the next
watering hole safely. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I think I’m not all that different from them. Sometimes i think wouldn't it be cool to eat peanuts all day and not worry about good fats or bad fats. Sometimes I just think it would be easier if I had an extra long trunk with which to move people around. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are many things
I want to do currently, and have wanted to do since I was a youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Of course, like most humans, </span>I have goals -professional goals,
personal goals, and so does my husband, and truth-be-told we butt up against
these goals all of the time as we look around and make decisions for our family
on where we are going to spend our time, attention, and money – and in the end,
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we always land on these kidlets of ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put them ahead of us, and we stay behind. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To get specific, staying behind has meant choosing one primary income for our household instead of two.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Staying behind has meant being a one car household no matter how inconvenient. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Staying behind has meant turning down promotions that don't work for our family. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Staying behind has meant choosing a house that fit our current means, not one that was out of our means, even if the latter was beautiful. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so for us, in this household, we have decided together that
I would take on that primary role with the children, something I always wanted
to do. And now these children ARE my goal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ARE my focus. And the truth is we
absolutely have given up personal goals in order to do this, but do I regret
any aspect of it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can say, truthfully,
absolutely not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not regret, and
have not regretted, the opportunities to hold three little bums over extra-large
toilets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t regret boring days, filled
with nothing at all except taking cereal bowls and dinner plates out of the cupboard for the
thousandth time, putting something edible on them, and then cleaning them all
back up again. I don’t regret the long wintery afternoons of looking out
windows and botching a batch of cookies, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and I don’t regret watching these kids go
through each and every phase, even when those phases are hard and exhausting. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I am 90, and driving my husband to drink (heavily)
because I never stop talking about Friday Night Lights, Matt Saracen, and the ‘good
old days’, I know I won’t regret this time either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s how I find contentment....because my future (hot) self knows I won’t regret this time
we spent together with our children, no matter how frustrating, and no matter what other aspects of
myself got put on the back burner. I also know these children are a gift from
God, and that lens helps me stay focused each and every day. It keeps me grounded. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But there you have it, we as parents with small children, we
are at the back. You can find us back here wiping tears, blowing noses, sorting
out personalities, tending to skinned knees, and ushering them in the right
direction.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also seat
ourselves at the back of churches, movie theatres, and assemblies with our
babies and strollers, don’t we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re late
for dinners, appointments, and school busses. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re behind in bills, laundry, and taking
care of our own health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simply put,
there’s nothing about us that’s ahead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
said it already that in the animal kingdom “Often it is the case that the
mothers stay at the back of the line in order to encourage and ensure their
young get to their next destination safely.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are not all that different
from them, are we? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the key for me is
that I am behind WITH them and FOR them, so is my husband, and so is everyone
else around us. Just like the mothers of the animal world, we are ensuring they
get to their next destination, physically, emotionally and spiritually, safe
and well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Figuratively, and literally, I am behind. Figuratively, and literally, most of us with young children are behind. Behind in life and behind physically with the children. I think about the difference between when I was a child, and now. When I was a child, I used to be a speed swimmer. I used to win heats and earn medals. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I sit back and let others speed past me with their academic achievements and career advancements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I sit in the bleachers, watching others participate, handing out donuts, and watching others win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am learning to be more and more ok with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is my choice to be at the back of the pack. I don’t mind
being back here. But it is also back here that I have the greatest view of all
-a view of beautiful children moving forward and a good and respected spouse
leading us all in the right direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Isaiah 40:11</span></span></b></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">He tends his flock like a
shepherd:<br />
He gathers the lambs in his arms<br />
and carries them close to his heart;<br />
he gently leads those that have young.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-83518394625076839292014-11-24T10:33:00.003-08:002014-11-24T10:36:08.372-08:00Part 2 Awful Beautiful Life(part 1 of Awful Beautiful <a href="http://my3princes.blogspot.ca/2013/09/awful-beautiful.html">HERE)</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>Awful Beautiful Part 2</u></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve always talked about those moments of clarity – the ones
where you have the ability to see exactly what you have been blessed with,
without the burden of day to day tasks and the foggy-i-haven’t-slept-in-days-newborn-baby-is-sucking-the-life-out-of-me-brain
that clouds that clarity. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week I was driving the boys home from a playdate. It was
cold and snowy outside, and my husband had put in a new Christmas CD into the
cd changer for me. We were cruising along the Hamilton Mountain, heading home,
but in absolutely no rush. The two youngest fell asleep in their cozy hats and
jackets with the heat on full blast, and my oldest sat in the back peering out
the window quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The music was on and
it was, finally, one of those moments where I was realizing: we are here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what you hope for as parents, the
times of being all together, cozy, and going from one place to another,
enjoying Christmas Carols, and relishing in the fact that your cup is
full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it's SO full it’s almost too much to
take in sometimes. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day I headed to Walmart with all three kids. I don’t go
very often with all of them anymore but they had been asking for a trip there
for weeks (as if that’s a THING!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
pair of winter boots for one of the boys was on the list of items to get, as
well treating them to lunch at McDonald’s - oh the small joys of being a kid
(and a parent, who are we kidding, CHEESEBURGERS FOR EVERYONE) </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once we arrived at Walmart, we had to spend a few
minutes negotiating who exactly was going to go in each specific square inch of
the buggy. If you are not familiar with this process, this alone takes a good 4
-5 minutes of negotiation, who fits where, who won’t plummet onto the concrete,
who has the ability to hang onto the back and not go all holding onto one hand
grasping at people’s behinds as they go by (this happened once by the way, and the
rule of thumb is never look back, always keep walking). You would THINK it would be fairly
straightforward, but I assure you, nothing is straightforward over here
because, as parents well know, what one wanted LAST time is not what they want
THIS time, and what one wants this time is now SPECIFICALLY what the OTHER one
wants this time simply because the other one wants it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Does that make sense? Does your head hurt yet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here’s an Advil” is what I would like the Walmart
greeter to hand me, along with a smile, a cupcake, and a large sampling of their best Cab-Sauv.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Please and thank you. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, back to my point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had our nice cute lunch together. After lunch I promised them they
could peruse the toy aisle, so this is where I let them all out on foot. They
stood at the Hot Wheels bin discussing each and every hot wheels car they did
and didn’t have and I was about to take a picture it was so cute. That’s when I
realized one of the boys had a concerned look on his face. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh heck naw. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You guessed it. Someone is pooing in the Hot Wheels aisle.
Right there in their pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sweet mama. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Deep breaths. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my mind I am back in the car like I was yesterday,
basking in the beauty that is my children. Singing Christmas tunes......MARY DID YOU KNOW???!!! Hmmmm hmmm hmmmmmm. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I’m squatting in the Walmart bathroom, calculating out
what to do with a pair of size 2 underwear that I’d rather not talk about .....ever
again. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While I’m sweating it out and conveniently doing this in the “small”
stall (the large one was occupied), I am intermittently trying to ensure the other
two don’t run away out of the bathroom and towards the bike aisle (“are you still there? Stay near Mom! I
want to be able to HEAR you! NOAH?? NOOOOOOAAAH???”) Now I am laughing to myself about
the ridiculousness that is sometimes my job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They count on me, and I know that, and I will help the poor lad who has
an accident in his pants anytime and anyplace, and I wont make a big deal of
it, but I WILL remind him when he’s 25 of the toll this particular event took
on my sanity when saying he is saying something to me about me not being the
boss of him, I will kindly remind him of the time he pooped himself right there
in the Hot Wheels Aisle. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There. Take that. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We eventually got everyone back in the car where I sanitized
my hands to high heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived home
and all was well. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day I took them with me to a meeting at someone’s
home and they played so wonderfully I couldn’t have been more proud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were well behaved and polite and I was
like cool, man, I can dig this. Proud Mama right here. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Two nights ago one of the boys through a piece of hotdog at me “just
for fun”and proceeded to hiss-laugh (hee hee heeeeeeeee) with his broken tooth
showing the whole time, and I think I was supposed to discipline him or
something, but instead I covered my mouth and laughed like a moron, and then
asked my husband to deal with it……… and he laughed too because it was far too much funniness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we all laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are sort of like that. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My life is
a rollercoaster of beautiful moments and flat out awful moments, and sometimes
everything in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can barely keep
up. And I would not want it any other way. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have a wonderul day. <br /><br />Sabrina</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-22660096007331520572014-11-05T17:54:00.001-08:002014-11-05T17:54:59.043-08:00"Molder of Men": Thoughts on Raising Boys, FNL, and The Grace of God
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every once in awhile it hits me: we are raising three men.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully though,
these epiphanies usually coincide with one of them spreading their butt cheeks
and then sticking them to the front window before I realize what’s going on.
That’s when the horror, mixed with the general concern for hygiene and
well-being of the elderly man across the road walking his poodle kicks in, and then the actual severity of the task escapes me. And sometimes I’m so thankful for the funny distractions because I become
dangerously close to eating a fistful of Pepcid AC (she says casually, while closing her drapes)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t overstate the importance of this: these young men
may marry one day and, God willing, will sit across
from some woman and will have to be sitting upright as opposed to slinking beneath the
table under her feet to avoid the noodles that have "something gross on them", and
talking at normal decibels <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>regarding
normal every day topics, not repeating “Criss Cross, Applesauce, FARTY PANTS"
seventy-five times a day. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when I think to myself, somewhere between now, at
ages 4.5 and pretty much 3 years old (p.s. the twins are turning THREE and I DID NOT AUTHORIZE THIS), and 18 years old these
boys need to be able to pay a phone bill, get through a dinner where they may
not love the contents offered, dress themselves to look appropriate for a job
interview, and get through a sentence in public without talking about human
excrement. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seems simple, doesn’t it?</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gah!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband is very passionate about the making and molding of
men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so much in the Coach Taylor
kind of way, but still of the same essence. Less throwing Matt Saracen into the
cold shower for being a whiner, and more kicking Tim Riggins out of the house
because he thought he took advantage of his young daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That shower scene was a bit much, but we
loved it all the same didn’t we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
we all poured out a little apple juice after that episode. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ANYWAYS, My husband
is passionate about men being leaders, and men who are not afraid to step up to
the plate of fatherhood, leadership, and responsibilities. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And calling for men to cherish women, love
them, encourage them, and be by their side day in and day out even through the
hard parts. Even when it would be easier to leave. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I’m so thankful he is ON IT because I just had a fairly
serious conversation with my oldest son about the happenings at school today,
where he finished the story by licking the bottom of his foot and then laughing
like a witch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh sweet Mother of Nutella.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Help a sister out. Tell me this all
comes out in the wash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know why people say now “By the grace of God, Go I”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because if they end up honourable men who I am
proud of, I can’t honestly say it will have anything to do with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did assist them in learning how to make bums
out of playdough yesterday, so this is not going in the direction I had hoped, but they thought that was the coolest and I'm so happy I left that legacy with them. We do, after all, have a lot of fun together. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I am not daft. The task has not escaped me and I certainly know I need assistance here. Most importantly, I know where it’s coming from. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that's key. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> [[Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me. Psalm 54:4]]</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have a good night all</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Sabrina</span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-23105463403425074062014-10-28T10:47:00.004-07:002014-10-28T10:52:36.482-07:00I married him for his pumpkin carving skills. I married him for his pumpkin carving skills, his ability to create the best Instagram photo in airplanes, and for the way he accidentally threw, what seemed like, a thousand pumpkin seeds across the kitchen the other night.<br />
<br />
<br />
This is married life. Laughing day in and day out at the small things, poking fun at each other on a daily basis, and capturing the funny things on camera, if possible, to be used for social media purposes, of course. ;)<br />
<br />
<br />
I kid about the embarrassment part. That's not really cool. But if one asks permission first and the other party says yes because they have a good sense of humour, then run with it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Like a dope-injecting 100 meter sprinter. <br />
<br />
<br />
He was showing the boys a thing or two about pumpkin carving the other day. He started with the small pumpkin (the first of three), who was later named "Toothy" by the kids for his magnetic smile; the one with a large tooth protruding out of his face. Only problem became: the hole in the top was too small to fit anything. He acknowledged this from the beginning and so I, in my usually annoying way, offered a few solutions, but he insisted this would turn out OK. <a href="http://my3princes.blogspot.ca/2013/04/climbing-in-windows-and-superhero-dads.html">I stood back watching the boys be in awe of their father</a> while I putted around the kitchen washing the seeds. <br />
<br />
Then came candle lighting. He found some tea lights. But we no longer have an elongated bbq lighter, only a regular lighter, so the issue became how were they going to light the little wick at the bottom without the scent of burning flesh wafting through our living room. I, again, trying to assist this matter and avoiding hospital visits, offered a few solutions I thought would work.<br />
<br />
<br />
But the boys had better ideas. <br />
<br />
<br />
Like going caveman in my living room. <br />
<br />
<br />
Before I knew it there was a newspaper rolled up, lit on fire, and flames everywhere. But they were committed to this endeavour and so were huddled around the pumpkin attempting to light the candle through it's various holes.<br />
<br />
<br />
That's when my living room smelled like a campfire. And there were ashes everywhere. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://my3princes.blogspot.ca/2013/01/the-day-i-made-cinnamon-buns-and-set.html">Like that time I tried to cook cinnamon buns and set my oven on fire.</a> <br />
<br />
<br />
I thought: Can somebody call 1-800- CHIMNEY SWEEP??<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh wait...<br />
<br />
That would be me. <br />
<br />
<br />
In the end, pumpkins ended up lit, children were happy with their creations, and we all had some good laughs. <br />
<br />
<br />
Bryce went to wash his hands after a job well done. He grabbed a tea towel that was on the counter. <br />
<br />
The one with about 150 pumpkin seeds drying inside the fold. The one that I didn't tell him about. <br />
<br />
<br />
It rained pumpkin seeds across our entire kitchen and dining room. <br />
<br />
<br />
It was like our wedding all over again.<br />
<br />
<br />
#nostalgia <br />
<br />
<br />
I'm making up a gift registry now. <br />
<br />
<br />
Moral of the story: Always keep a vacuum, a bbq lighter, and a sense of humour handy on a day to day basis in your marriage. <br />
<br />
<br />
And if you can't locate our registry, we will take a cheque. <br />
<br />
<br />
Just make it out to Sabrina. <br />
<br />
Have a good day all, <br />
<br />
Me<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-64716668695756878232014-10-21T11:01:00.000-07:002014-10-21T11:08:21.495-07:00Learning To "Put On Love" as a Parent<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember hearing a talk show host say: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I know I need to learn life lessons, but God,
please don’t teach me any big lessons today!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For some reason that stuck with me. I heard it over a decade
ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The statement seems to imply that
we are afraid of the challenging moments (we certainly are) that may bring some
sort of enlightenment on a subject (don’t let it be too hard pretty please), or
clarity on something we are struggling with (Ugh, I don’t want my life to
change THAT much!). </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This story is a parenting story I’m about to share. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so interesting to me how you can get so
lost in your parenting ways that you don’t stop to think about what you are
doing. I remember texting a friend the other day and saying I wished I could remember
to pray in the heat of the moment when I’m getting flustered or angry, or when
the day is starting off less than ideal around<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>the house, but unfortunately I don’t usually remember. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added, that the problem seemed to be, that
when I am in the moment, I don’t get to a point of having the forethought to
ask for help, so then the whole interaction goes down with me relying on my own
inability to manage the situation. And on and on the cycle goes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the worse and worse it gets. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had a few hard weeks here with one of my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been a bit accumulative – some behaviours
in this child were presenting as stronger and more frequent and I was in a bit
of a panic as I danced my way through each day getting more and more mad at this
child, and more and more disenchanted with my own parenting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to put things concretely for you, in a
way I know you mothers understand, I had totally lost my cool over a period of
a week – like lost my fool mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
day I got up I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">already </i>mad at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day that I got up I was already in the
negatives in terms of what behaviours I could handle, including but not
limited to such things as hitting each other, hitting me, screaming, throwing
tantrums, throwing objects, and just generally causing mischief wherever he
went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And truth be told, there were
probably a dozen time outs a day, and a multitude of spankings that were not
making me feel great about anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you have been here, if you have been in this exact spot, if
you are home day to day with children on your own, you understand the thought
process of realizing you can’t possibly go any harder on them because that
would be just cruel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it WAS awful. And
every day I went to bed, thinking: how am I going to do that again tomorrow? He
is my son, and he needs to know I love him and right now I’m treating him like
a criminal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do I do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then on about the 6<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> or 7<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> day
of bleary eyed parenting, I prayed about it. Just a simple prayer: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God I need help. I don’t know how to parent
this child right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s frustrating
me beyond what I understand and I need help. </i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That next morning, I started off on a not so great foot – he
threw a tantrum at 615am in the morning that woke the others and I raised my
voice to him in a way I probably will never forget. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was ugly and mean. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I, myself, was turning out to be ugly and mean. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when everything changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stepped back from myself and realized how I
had been treating him. I had this moment of clarity where I realized I needed
to change this situation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then hugged
him and told him I was sorry and we would get up anyways and go have cereal –
despite it was way too early to get up, and I usually wait until past 7 to
bring everyone downstairs for breakfast. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuffed my frustrations aside, and decided
to act differently. We then all went down the stairs in a peaceful way. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">About 15 minutes after that, I was thinking about how, from
this point onwards, I was going to handle things differently but how was I ever
going to do that? And what did that even look like? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then the bible verse “Put on Love” ran
through my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it had never been clearer.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And over all these
virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Colossians
3:14</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like God whispering in my ear. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love is not an emotion. It says it right here:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s something you have to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">put on</i>. It’s something you have to wear.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s something you have to deliberately
act out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love it not just something you may
feel for someone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love is a discipline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an act that you do deliberately to another,
despite your own emotions and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">despite
what they do for you</i>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the act
of staying with, caring for, tending to, and thinking of another person despite
what nice things they do for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is the way God loves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is absolutely reckless
in His love because He loves us and gives it out freely despite us paying
absolutely no attention to Him, forgetting to pray to Him, and pushing him
aside time and time again, minute after minute, hour after hour. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when it all came together for me as a parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my own spoiled brat syndrome that my
children should behave themselves and listen to me every minute of the day
because I am their mother, and this is just the way it is, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I realized that I need to love my son, in the action and attitude sense
of the words, despite how he is acting and despite how it’s making me feel.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that he didn’t need to change
first, I did. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knelt down beside him in his breakfast chair and told him
there would be no more timeouts today and no more spankings, and would that be
better? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In his 3 year old voice, the cutest voice I’ve ever heard,
while he held a spoon dripping with cereal and milk, he simply said </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ok, Mummy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
timeouts today?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I could have cried right there, but I didn’t. He had been
through so many tough days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kissed him
on the forehead and plugged on getting cereal for the other boys…. and feeling
a bit different. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve decided that
this is what it’s all about. Life lessons that feel crummy and then change you.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I took the time to listen or ask, I would
have gotten my answer. We are to cloak ourselves in love, meaning we are to put
it on purposely - like a cloak- wear it daily, and purposely conduct ourselves
from that standpoint, even if underneath we don’t always want to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if it’s the last thing we want to do. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every day of mine has been different over the past few days.
I feel differently about my parenting. I am making better attempts to put on
love, even when they don’t listen, even when they hit each other, or hit me,
even when they all won’t get in the car and I’m late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know the way I FEEL when they won’t get in
the car, but I’m trying to still ensure what they see and experience is still a
caring mother, and not an angry human being. And I think that’s what putting it
on might look like in real terms. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
might look like me zipping up jackets with my mouth closed, using gentle hands,
as opposed to hastily shoving arms in arm holes and talking to them about how
late we are and why do you never know where your shoes are???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You get the idea. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The days here have been sweeter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days here have been kinder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days here have been downright
amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is still mischief and discipline,
but it’s been being handled in different ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I pray I can stick with it and not forget it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a
learning experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a
life-altering, heart-changing thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But mostly it’s a Christ-thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
write this not because I claim to know what I’m doing but I do claim to be an
ever-changing, ever evolving person, and if I learn something, why keep that to
myself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are in this together.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Much Love, </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sabrina</span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-80952740384282172362014-10-09T15:21:00.004-07:002014-10-09T15:50:06.973-07:00I Want To Be Her and I Want To Remember: (Graciousness and Understanding Found On Road Trips)<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one point in time, I was sitting in the back of the Flex
with the boys and was acting out songs with a Winnie the Pooh teddy bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His arms were going this way and that way, and
the highlight of this act became when I would throw him up in the air and catch
him upside down, bum facing forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
boys would laugh hysterically in a way that only made me think I should have
been a puppeteer and had, therefore, missed my calling. Either that, or we had all totally
lost our personal marbles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m
pretty sure it was the latter. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A ten day road trip with children is no cake walk although
we do enjoy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half way through Day One
of the trip I had already thrown in the proverbial towel and climbed into the
back to moderate fights/find blankies/sing songs/lose my fool mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point in the future I do hope to
remain in the front reading a book or doing something relaxing like listening
to music, but patience is a virtue, and at that point, I’ll make their wives
sit beside them to deal with their multitude of requests. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until then, I surrender to the back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Day Four, we had been driving a long stretch along a most
beautiful piece of road in Northern Minnesota, when we came across our usual
restaurant stop: Northern Lights café.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It looks like nothing to sneeze at from the outside, and is just a
regular diner for all intents and purposes, but the back patio literally hangs
over a hillside of wild flowers that looks straight out onto Lake
Superior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s really a beautiful spot,
and a bit of our best kept secret. Most importantly, it always seems to cross our
path at the most perfect time – when we are all busting at our mental and
physical seams to get out of the car and stretch and refuel. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Usually our trips involve finding rest stops with picnic
tables and open grassy areas so that the boys let out all their energy every
few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They run around like looney
toons running from tree to tree or fence to fence with huge smiles on their
faces and there is never any containing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But this time we stopped at a restaurant and, on this particular day,
there was no containing this in the restaurant either, and I knew this was
going to be an issue, but we all needed food, and so desperately. So in we went. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We chose to sit outside. It was a beautiful sunny day
and the sun danced off the water and the fresh air of the lakeside was
fantastic when you have been sucking in air-conditioning mixed with little boy toots
all day (Too much information? Nah!) We found a nice spot on the patio with five
seats at an umbrella table. The only other people outside were another couple having a quiet lunch with two glasses of crisp white
wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see their wine glasses
sweating with delight from where I sat and decided, as I wiped the drool off my
chin, I would order the same -it had been one of those days.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We talked to the boys about the rules of sitting down, and using
quiet voices because others were eating, but honestly, I can’t even blame them
to some degree and they are usually fairly good listeners, but this day was NOT
going to be that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been in
the car too long and there was not going to be any sitting going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>I cringed</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We could not contain them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
up and down out of their seats, wanting to smell the flowers that were around
the perimeter of the patio, they were running around the tables and skipping
and hopping and climbing the wooden fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the whole time I held my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I looked at this couple, in their sixties, having a quiet lunch and
clenching my teeth out of stress because I just knew we were disruptive. And we
weren’t just a little disruptive -I’m pretty sure Adam would have swiped a French
fry right off their plate if he had been able to sneak in there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to slink away so badly and I could
smell defeat. I thought: we shouldn’t have come here. We shouldn’t have expected them to
sit right after a long haul in the car like that. It was too much on this day.
We pushed them too hard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should have taken
them ANYWHERE ELSE. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">About 15 minutes of me stressing, ordering meals, and trying
desperately to reel them in a bit, the couple turned to us and asked how our
trip was and had we done this drive before and where were we from and weren’t
out boys handsome and what are their names? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Exhale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big
HUMOUNGOUS exhale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then she said it. <br />
<br />
She said:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I remember those day and I give you credit</i>”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She added: “I have boys of my own and I know it isn’t easy
travelling with small children”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
smiled and said thank you so much and told her about the long drive we had just
done and how they have a chronic case of ants in their pants, one that there is
no topical cream for, unfortunately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
she told me they are no bother to them and they enjoy watching them and they
were from California and they were visiting THEIR adult sons and were told to
drive this beautiful stretch of Minnesota, and so they were here stopping for
lunch –<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and they were in no hurry</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We sat like this, talking across a small patio section,
while the kids ran around the tables, and even went up to their table to
inspect what they had had to eat. There were some high-five exchanges in there
and I couldn’t have been more relieved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
when I realize that I want to be like her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She made me comfortable when I was stressed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She empathized with me. Frankly, she could
probably see it seeping out of my pores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe it was the immediate and spontaneous grey hairs sprouting from my
head as I sat there, maybe it was the glass of white wine at noon that gave it
away, or maybe it was the fact that she had witnessed me ask them to sit down,
to no avail, and then maybe she just knew because she had been there before,
like she said<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she remembered what it was like and
extended that memory to my situation in a way that was so deliberate.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was purposeful about extending me an olive
branch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make no mistake: this was no
simple friendly conversation between strangers, I am sure of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She deliberately opened up her private space with
her husband to my boys, so that there wasn’t this waft of tension about them
breaking rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I breathed a little
easier for the rest of our lunch. We all ate, and we all engaged in friendly
conversation between travelling families, and then we all went on our way,
feeling connected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And me, specifically, feeling connected to other women via a healthy dose of warm converstion and understanding. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t want to forget this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I hope to be like her: gracious and kind, open and understanding,
even if for thirty minutes of my life at a time. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For now, in this season of my life, I find it challenging to
look up and around when I am always having to look down at the boys, but time
will pass too quickly, and then I too will have the time and ability<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>to look up and around, and then the challenge will be: Will
I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-61179700545585735032014-09-28T10:17:00.002-07:002014-09-28T10:17:10.599-07:00When Pastors Walk (GUEST POST)
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday my husband, out of nowhere, tells
me <u>he has written a blog post</u> and it’s sitting on our desktop ready to be
posted! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost asked him if he had a fever!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you feeling alright?” is what I should
have asked him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m not surprised he
wrote this and for those of you who read this blog that are in our immediate,
or larger, church community, you’ll understand why this is pertinent and fresh on his mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now I’ve decided maybe we are a blogging
family. Maybe I’ll nab him for another guest post in the future where he can tell you all
about how perfect I am ALL THE TIME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Enjoy. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>When
Pastors Walk<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></strong></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><strong>by Bryce J (KING of the 3 Princes)</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I found out that our Pastor
has accepted his call to another church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This, in and of itself, shouldn’t be earth shattering, or rotation-stopping,
but rather almost expected. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admit though, I didn’t expect it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Pastors go, their job is to
preach the Word and go where they feel God is calling them, where their talents
can be best used to grow and guide a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Churches (congregations), like people, have different needs at different
times and our Pastor’s talents are, now, needed elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And what talents they are!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From fierce, biblical preaching,
to guiding young people on the doorstep of marriage, to explaining the gospel
to new Christians, to comforting the grieving, and guiding those on the
doorstep of glory; God has used this man in an amazing way for us…and for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My wife has told you before how
key he was in her coming to Rehoboth; our church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has shared with you how much he was there
to answer the difficult questions from her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She said “That can’t be” and he would say “Yes, and here’s why”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always with proof from scripture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What she hasn’t shared with you
was that, as someone who grew up in the church and lived my whole life as a
reformed Christian, probably didn’t see the Gospel for what it was without his
guidance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His ability to separate traditional/cultural reasons for doing things
in the church from biblical reasons, opened my eyes to the truth of the Gospel.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe in Christ, repent of your sins, you
will be saved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything else is just
wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted religion becomes
complicated, and denominational differences can divide. But as Christians, we
should all have one thing in common; Jesus Saves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My point is, Reverend Henry
VanOlst, was placed in my life for as much as reason as he was placed in my
wife’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God used him to bring my wife to
Christ, and me closer to the real gospel. Not one made up of rules and
regulations, but true freedom in Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We will miss him, badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But he goes with God and he goes
where he is needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he can do half as
much for his new church, as he did for me and my wife, it will be worth the
loss we feel today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And this is a loss we should be
celebrating, in a way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This new church
gets to have an amazing man to lead them, guide them and help them on their
journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Christians, isn’t that what
we hope?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t we want others to be
helped in the same way we have?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eyes
opened, souls settled, Christ revealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If there is anything I can say with certainty about this move, they will
get this with their new pastor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not saying that it is VanOlst
doing this by himself, rather God is working through him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have seen it as a congregation and I know
we truly wish the same to his new one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a song that I love,
where the lyrics I find comforting right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is likely used more in situation where we lose brothers and sister in
Christ to glory and though Reverend VanOlst still walks among the living, him
leaving does feel like a loss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The lyrics go like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it comes out
easy<br />
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On top of the world<br />
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘cause in every
moment</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jesus Christ is Lord</span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Even in the middle of the joys of life<br />
There is always grace enough today to<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Won’t you praise the Lord?</span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the world on your
shoulders<br />
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it seems too
hard<br />
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘cause in every
moment Jesus Christ is Lord<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even in the middle of
the long, dark night<br />
There is always grace enough today to</span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Won’t you praise the Lord?</span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you can sing it at
the top of your lungs<br />
Praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like every moment is
a song to be sung<br />
Praise the Lord:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though it might take
blood, sweat and tears in your eyes<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is grace for
today so praise the Lord<br />
There is grace for today so praise the Lord<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Praise the Lord<br />
Won’t you praise the Lord?<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is grace for
today so praise the Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-The City Harmonic</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me summarize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish Reverend VanOlst the best in his new
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray God blesses the new
congregation as he did ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He now
knows the impact he had and my wife and I, and I pray he can impact someone
there too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I guess the world won’t actually
stop turning. God’s grace will see us through to a new pastor and guide us as a
congregation for his glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
probably being dramatic, but don’t let it underestimate how I’m sure we all
feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mixed emotions, sadness and joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord, for
men who are pastors!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord, when
God calls them where they are needed! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the Lord, even
when it hurts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Bryce J</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-31181958561109091762014-09-21T12:42:00.004-07:002014-09-21T12:42:39.812-07:00A Note to Our Pastor.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Pastor will kill me for writing this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’s kind of like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He doesn’t want the attention. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I just found out he reads my blog from time to time. He
poked fun of me yesterday about it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
I think that’s the greatest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’s like that too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Pastor is known for both his wonderful preaching, his
attentiveness to the congregation, but also for his sense of humour, and his
ability to crack jokes. A lot of my interactions with him in the hallways of
the church involve me laughing my tail off, bent over belly laughing at some
zinger he just said. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’s like that too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He got a “call” from another church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you aren’t familiar with that term, it
means another church in a different community has requested he come to THEIR
church in order to be THEIR pastor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
that means we would lose him.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I need and want and
WILL be respectful of his choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has
a lot to think about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not an easy
decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I will let him go if I have
to</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I just let him make that
without saying a few things. He is totally going to have my head by the way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You see, I came into this congregation <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">green as grass</i>. I knew nothing. I was nervous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was critical and suspicious, and I certainly
wasn’t so sure about this “whole bible thing”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over multiple individual meetings, where we looked at scripture and sat
and discussed Christianity, he listened to my cranky questions of “prove it!’
and “but how do you KNOW??” And yet he was patient and consistent and he walked
with me through that time, providing as much support as I needed. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We love him dearly.
And so how are you supposed to let someone make a decision to leave like this
without fighting for it?</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last time he got called, and then decided to stay, I
stood in the line up to shake his hands with tears in my eyes- I was so happy
he stayed –and yet I let a thousand words go unspoken in that handshake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m like THAT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can type away to my heart’s content, but
can’t say anything in person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>TOO MANY
FEELINGS for this gal. Far too many feelings. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So for one person with one handshake and glistening eyes, I
hope he knows that there are a thousand words that could be said instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A THOUSAND for each person. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But what honestly can you say?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can I say: He stood by me when I was cranky and hardened and
wasn’t sure what I believed, and he guided me through that time, and guided me
through the bible, and seemed to know exactly what passages to show ME
specifically? He was patient and unwavering and solid as a rock which is exactly
what he needed to be with ME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know for
any new person coming into the church you will be just as attentive, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and just as understanding to their needs, and
so please stay. Can I say that?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can I say:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He guided
our marriage before we were even close to getting married and he provided
advice to us that still runs through my mind on a regular basis?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He helped us start the foundation of our
marriage and guided us in the right direction, so please don’t go? Can I say
that? Am I ALLOWED to say that?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then he married us.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then he and his wife came to our hospital bedside after
our children were born –offering encouragement and words of advice and prayer
when we were bleary-eyed and overwhelmed. Nobody forgets that. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then he sprinkled water on all three of our babies, baptizing
and watching our children as we are hoping to heck that we can DO this -take on
this task of raising Christian children. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then he takes care of the congregation –trying to tend
to everyone’s needs. There are probably ten thousand things I don’t know that
he does, and it doesn’t matter because I know they aren’t easy and I know some
of them are and were probably heart-wrenching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But he is always there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So how am I, or how are we, supposed to let him go?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And without a fight?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a good thing I was born and raised in Hamilton because I
still have some gusto left in me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
blame growing up in the city. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And once again, I
need to and want to and WILL be respectful of his choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a lot to think about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not an easy decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we will let him go if we have to</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.
</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But We don’t want to.
</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We love you, Pastor!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Jaspers. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-51506155394901551622014-09-19T18:49:00.001-07:002014-09-19T18:49:39.884-07:00Real Life & Real Moments: Today
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today nothing of any importance happened. And yet it was a
perfectly nice day. We hung around the house for the morning. I actually got my
act together and baked some blueberry muffins. We had lunch, and then we all decided
to go for a walk in the sunshine --myself, my oldest on foot, and the twins in
the wagon. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a convenience store a few blocks down the road that
we occasionally go to for a treat – a freezie, a sucker, or today it was a
strand of blue licorice. These boys are easy to please, I tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day it will be a Big Mac Combo with a side
of acid reflux but for now a 25 cent candy is a special treat. And I will take
the latter. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somewhere along that walk, it must have been that the wagon
ride was too bumpy for my Adam because he started telling me he puked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, just like that, without even thinking, I stuck my hand
out and he pushed the puke INTO the palm of my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a little gift.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There you go, Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Here’s my puke. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So beautiful.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So poetic. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was crouched on the sidewalk of a busy street, with my hand
holding onto this puddle of vomit, when I decided the best thing to do would be
to wipe it on the grass, and then keep trucking like nothing happened. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because what, honestly, are you going to do? Dems the breaks
I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got to the store and they got their licorice. The twins fed
each other instead of feeding themselves and I had two people, who walked by,
laugh to themselves as they saw what was going on. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we got home I decided I would mow our grass in the
front lawn because it was starting to look similar to a protected habitat area
somewhere in the Northwest Territories. I fully expected to see a family of Loons in there by
this point, or maybe some dude in camo hiding behind my overgrown hostas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The yard was getting to be a BIT much, to say
the least. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got home and I got the mower out. The boys then grabbed
their toy lawnmowers and trucks and got ready to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the wasps are out in full swing, and can we all just be real
honest and say that they are about enough to give me heart palpitations?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find bees in the spring to be lazy and
passive, but these fly right up to my eyeballs and I have no room for that in my life. </span></div>
<br /><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyways, </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within five minutes of us coming back from the store, these
bees had decided WE had something sweet to eat because they were getting ALL UP
IN OUR FACE.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I kept my cool, as you all know I do so well, and
proceeded to flail around running away from the bees, and at one point, I kid you
not, I stripped my cardigan off and started waving it around frantically to shoo
a bee away.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my front lawn.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Insert Jerry Springer comment. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But YOU DON’T KNOW ME. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that bee was AGGRESSIVE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the boys start panicking too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cuz I’m really a good example like that. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think the other day I ran into the road while a bee was
chasing me and my mother was like “Um, greeeat, Sabrina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Real Great Example.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got what we needed done and then we went back inside.
That was the fastest lawn care I ever did. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call me for all your super frantic lawn care
needs. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t call me actually. I'm not giving you my number. ;)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t judge me either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was scary. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the day was a nice quiet day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the twin’s napped I rested on the couch
for a bit and fell asleep for an unexpected five minutes. Then awoke to my son
kissing me on the forehead, whispering to me, asking could I wipe his bum...... all while he has pants
down around his ankles. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok, I'm awake. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Real Life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Real
moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have a good night, <br />
<br />
Sabrina<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-69779939784161713842014-09-09T18:52:00.000-07:002014-09-09T19:12:59.853-07:00Everyday Thrills: the Parenting VersionI was sitting on the stretcher, with my smallest twin Gabriel on my lap, while we were being wheeled down long hospital corridors by a nurse. Gabe had just undergone dental surgery, and had just come to after being under anesthesia, and now we were being transported back to another room, and on route we were taking corners LIKE. A. BOSS. I made a comment to the lady pushing me that this is about as thrilling as my life gets -riding the gurney around the hospital, and she responded swiftly with a "Tell me about it, Sister". And we laughed for a good five minutes. Like actual belly laughs. I have no idea who that lady was, and I'll probably never see her again but man was that a good few minutes. <br />
<br />
<br />
There's nothing like laughing with perfect strangers. <br />
<br />
<br />
While I would love to tell you about all the details of the day, including the part where I basically had to starve my smallest and thinnest twin for a day in order to fast before the surgery, I have decided I am going to remain in my happy place, and this exact happy place consists of me being in my bed as I type this, with the laptop, drinking iced cold Perrier. <br />
<br />
<br />
I told you....I am THRILLING. <br />
<br />
<br />
But what we lack in thrilling in our family, we make up for in crazy and noisey. <br />
<br />
<br />
Then there's fear as well: a good healthy dose of fear makes up for any lack of thrills you may have in your life. Fear that they are going to eat a mushroom right out of the grass. Fear that they will break a bone playing any normal game that they play on a daily basis. But there is to be no bone breaking this year in my house. That is the rule because <em>ain't nobody got time for that</em>, anyways. <br />
<br />
<br />
My husband dropped me and Gabe off at the hospital today, and after he gave me and Gabe a quick kiss, he turned to me as well and said "Be Brave". And I was like I don't wanna be brave! <br />
<br />
<br />
Having your smallest child, the one who weighs a whopping 27 pounds, to be exact, go under anesthetic for even the smallest procedure, is enough to make any parent require bladder protection leak guards. <br />
<br />
<br />
I'm Kidding. Are those a thing?<br />
<br />
<br />
In all fairness, it wasn't that rough, and it is small potatoes compared to the realities of some families, and I am so aware. But it is a little nerve wracking seeing them on the operating table with the little gas mask on and all the medical staff buzzing around. "And where <em>exactly</em> is Mom's gas mask?" is what I should have asked, while dramatically throwing down my bags and laying across the back counter. <br />
<br />
<br />
No but, really?<br />
<br />
<br />
I left there when he finally went to sleep, then they showed me to the waiting room where I put down my bag that was holding the comfort blankies, teddy, dinky cars, and juice boxes. I walked to the nearest coffee shop, ordered a coffee, and proceeded to suck back the entire thing in about 2 minutes. I hadn't eaten anything, along with him, all day. I think I have scar tissue on the inside of my throat now. <br />
<br />
<br />
On the plus side, I found out I am still literate. <br />
<br />
<br />
In the waiting room, I read part of a book I have been working on for about two weeks. And in a forty five minute span, with no cell service, I put a bit more of a dent in the book. <br />
<br />
<br />
Also, the coffee shop was in the university health sciences building and while I was standing in line with a multitude of university students that were a mere 15 years my junior, I got to thinking maybe I fit in just fine. I had my hair in a pony, I was wearing cargo pants (does this surprise anyone?), and an extra long zip up jackets, you know, like the YOOOUTHZ wear. I thought if only I had ear buds in I would FIT RIGHT IN. <br />
<br />
<br />
Later on I took a selfie with Gabe, after the procedure was finished, to send to my mother in law to show he was doing fine. It was that picture that promptly reminded me that I am 33 years old and a parent of three boys. Hashtag crowsfeet. <br />
<br />
<br />
The day was a challenging one. My small fry did so well though, especially with his fasting. And as soon as the cords and monitors were off of him (and a extra large freezie was inhaled), he was back to his spicy little cute self. <br />
<br />
<br />
He was a brave boy. He was probably the cutest thing I have ever seen wearing a miniature hospital gown with puppies and butterflies. He did so so well, but that was enough excitement for me for a parenting day. Now I will sit here and feel blessed it went well, happy that we have these resources to be able to get the medical attention we need, and kinda stoked that I got to ride the stretcher for a bit today. It was no Leviathon, I tell you, but the outcome on our end was better than experiencing terror with a side of heartburn. <br />
<br />
<br />
Have a good evening everyone. <br />
<br />
Sabrina<br />
<br />sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-79840255073992490342014-09-05T19:04:00.003-07:002014-09-05T19:22:16.245-07:00The Blog Post That Has No Purpose. Or Point. So Don't even bother.....<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This morning I woke up to my son, who was positioned two
inches away from my face, telling me very emphatically that “THERE IS A CRICKET
IN THE SINK AND IT IS NASSSTTYY, MOM! NASTYYYY”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok, I'm awake. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He follows this statement by coughing in my face…..twice. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things are getting so funny around here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Crickets are the new thing as of a few days ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They stoned one to death outside yesterday,
all three of them, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and I had to pretend
not to cringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found the remains on
the patio, along with some large stones laying around it, and some blood squirting
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such a beautiful sight. I sure hope
today is the day the neighbours come by! </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I waver back and forth on whether I’m supposed to
teach them not to kill/maim/torture bugs because, you know, that’s just <s>sociopathic</s>
wrong. Or teach them bugs have feeeeeeelings too –very small bug feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea what I’m doing, if you can’t
tell. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My strong preference is to teach them that bugs are awful
and gross and EXTREMELY FRIGHTENING TO MANKIND.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And because of this, they cannot enter my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m leaning heavily in that direction.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also LOATHE the idea of doing laundry and finding a snail
in a pocket. Or a caterpillar carcass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
will NOT. I CANNOT. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I think it better to teach them to be frightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That should go over really well in their
future years in school, right? RIGHT?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe somewhere in between is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe less maiming/slaughtering, less keeping
as pets, and more looking on lovingly like the cool/horrifying/venomous things
that they are.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a separate note, my son was airing out his butt with the
fan today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought it was the coolest
thing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I laughed so hard. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I put my head in my hands and looked at my husband.
Sometimes we do the shoulder shrug thing, asking each other with facial
expressions: is this OK? Is this acceptable? And then it’s clear as day, we
both have no idea either. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I think I need to go stay at someone else’s house,
from time to time, just so I can gain some perspective on what is
normal/acceptable behaviour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because our
house is GOOFY and I kind of dig it/heart it/just love everything about it, but
I can’t have my children wandering over to other people’s homes and talking
about how they sit on each other’s heads for fun, spit apple peels all over the
carpet, or eat the butter off their toast, and then leave the toast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Butter is good fat though, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>RIGHT?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Parenting is hard. And funny. And awesome. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sigh. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The 9 day road trip, the one we just went on recently, was amazing.
Ahh the family road trip –what a beautiful thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It becomes a balance of looking out into the
vastness of what is Canada, and feeling very at ease, with a cup of coffee in
your hands, along with perfecting the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mini-van
climb</i>, where your butt is in the air more than on the seat, and you find
yourself rifling around the backseats more than you’d like for a dinkycar/taco/ cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m kidding about the cigarette. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t smoke. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But you were
with me though, right? I know you were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We tight like that, right?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fun times had by
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another post about the road trip another
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have a good evening, </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sabrina</span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-16097866280253442972014-08-08T16:48:00.003-07:002014-08-09T07:31:30.063-07:00Got TWINS?As I rode by, I saw two baby bottles sitting on top of a parked car that were obviously forgotten there; the milk was rotting in the sun. I thought: <em>they must have twins.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
My husband texted me every day one week because I left the front door to the house wide open three days in a row after I had packed up the kids in the car. Yes that was me. I have full hands, a full heart too and no brain: <em>I too have twins.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Today I road my bike up a hill I had absolutely no business riding up. I almost didn't make it. Almost gave up, but I like the challenge now so I do it anyways. <em>I must be raising twins.</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
I saw a picture of a new twin mom holding two babies in her arms at once, like she had done it her whole life and it was such a beautiful image. She has no idea what she's doing and knows exactly what she's doing at the same time. If that's at all possible. S<em>he has twins</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Another twin mom messaged me and told me she was so grateful for all the meals she has been getting from our larger church community. Our church knows how to help, and I thought yeah, they got this! They have done this before: <em>that church knows twins</em>. <br />
<br />
<br />
If you haven't slept in days and you laugh and cry at the drop of a hat, and are equally happy and terrified and crazy at the same: <em>you must have twins.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
You have been molded and shaped into one powerful lady, and that man you married, he has turned into a superhero. Y<em>ep, you TWO have twins.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Grandparents shop garage sales for endless items at 6am looking for two of everything and have become more hands on that they ever thought: <em>they have grand-baby twins.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
I was told a story of a friend who stopped by their sibling's house, a house with a new set of multiples. It was described as "babies sleeping with bottles propped near their mouths and everyone sleeping in the middle of the afternoon". Yes that sounds fairly accurate: <em>They had twins too.</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
I thought up this blog post while I was road biking tonight with buses flying two feet away from me. It's the only place I can actually think. Go figure. <em>I have twins</em><br />
<br />
<br />
As I'm writing this one child is emptying my water bottle onto the kitchen floor and the other is wiping it up with a tea towel. Atleast it's a team effort. <em>They are twins. </em><br />
<br />
<br />
And Lastly, I am blessed beyond measure, a different person than I was before, tired a lot of the time, and full-blown off my rocker some days all because...<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>I have twins.*</em><br />
<br />
<br />
**(Share with parents of multiples, twins, or expectant twin parents. If you are an adult twin and you are reading this, bless you. My advice to you is when your parents are elderly make sure their care home has those automatic adjustable beds with the remote control, and a Margaritaville. )sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-34332457006261405092014-07-25T06:39:00.001-07:002014-07-25T06:46:17.377-07:00Within The Spaces: Behind the Scenes at Campfire!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The campers are having the best time. A girl is eating
spaghetti with her face, not her fork, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while her peers hold her hair and watch. Later on,
others are standing on picnic tables singing campfire songs at the top of their
lungs with the biggest smiles I have ever seen. I see young male staff and
counsellors encouraging boy campers in their musical talents with no hint of ego
or 'machismo' anywhere to be found. I see girls doing group hugs and laughing and
shrieking with delight. Hair is being braided, crafts being made, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>kids are being crazy, everyone is having a
blast and then suddenly the staff go around clanking pots and pans together for
so they can soon announce the next part of the program and everyone is excited!
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was at Campfire as a volunteer for the past two days. I
thought I was going to have a heart attack at the noise level achieved morning
noon and night but I find a new normal is achieved after a few days, a normal
that still has me humming the coolest version of Kumbaya I’ve ever heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Now that I’m back home I get the sudden
urge to sing Days of Elijah at the top of my lungs while I pretend to ride a
cloud around my kitchen and I’ve also recently made the decision I need to
learn the bongo drums. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it will
be a family endeavour. Drum circle anyone?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have never seen anything quite like this place. The kids
program is ram-packed, crazy awesome with always something happening and
something to do. But going as an adult helper, an objective person, a volunteer
who is new to camp, it’s easy to see there are spaces as well, but those spaces
are far from empty. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What may appear to be empty spaces in both place and time on
camp property are filled with behind the scenes work. And they are filled with
an abundance of examples of God working over-time through staff, counsellors,
campers and volunteers for the well-being of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing I can write or say that can
do justice to the amount of heart and sweat and work and prayer that goes into
making it run the way that is does –unless you set foot on the property and see
it for yourself, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and I highly recommend
you do so. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it’s the spaces
I keep thinking about. It can be wide open fields, a quiet picnic table, the
outdoor chapel with wind and silence whipping through it in between uses, the
wraparound porch with Muskoka chairs for sipping hot coffee and good
conversation. Or the quiet walks with only the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>sound of birds and your own weary thoughts on how to best support a
homesick camper to accompany you. It can be sitting on the grass, sandals
kicked off, toes feeling the crisp fresh air while you sit with a friend and have
a good and deep conversation about your next steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s within both those types of spaces,
place and time, that get filled with opportunities for encouragement and
strengthening between staff and counsellors and volunteers and campers. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The spaces and breaks in between activities are filled with meetings
and prayer with staff and volunteers of all ages, some having met each other
only a few hours prior, sit hand-in- hand in asking God for help with the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>physical, mental, spiritual and emotional
well-being of campers and all those involved in the days and weeks ahead. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The spaces at quiet picnic tables are filled with words of
encouragement, ‘wrap sessions’ to ensure staff and counselors are doing well
and not feeling too fatigued, and support and check ins to ensure everyone has
the strength and endurance to do the best they can for the kids for another
day. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spaces in the unused dining hall between breakfast and lunch
are filled with dedicated chaplains putting lessons together in order to bring
bible messages to the kids and then later that day a quiet space on the deck is
used by the same chaplain for his own personal prayer because, he tells the
kids later, he is just so dang nervous about it that day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The spaces are filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Filled with both planned and unexpected gems. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Filled with staff in professional roles
working well into their day off to ensure the safety of all the campers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Filled with volunteers going above and beyond
to create the coolest arts and music performance night I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closed door spaces are filled with hearts
being shared and tears being shed about how much they care for these children
and want to see them have a great experience, sometimes to balance out the hard
realities of home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those same spaces
are filled with hard and tough and real conversations about how to do the best
thing they can for a camper and have the absolute best outcome. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And in addition to all that, the spaces are even filled with
people coming from different continents just to see what Campfire is all about
because they too have heard, they too have been told, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and they too know that there is more here than
meets the eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now they too want to
get in on the Campfire awesomeness. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have never seen anything like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spaces are filled like an intricate ant
farm with hard work and connecting tunnels and teamwork that never gets seen by
anybody above ground. All the campers know is a crazy wonderful time!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Campfire is filled to up and over the
brim of what you think it includes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Filled with more than I can put into words and
more than the campers see. The Holy Spirit is working every minute of every day up there<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> and they</span> say
there is no place like home, but I assure you there is no place like Campfire!
And I too am feeling filled, up and over the brim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <a href="https://campfirebiblecamp.ca/">https://campfirebiblecamp.ca/</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-955882168822292046.post-39001814788323142682014-07-20T11:11:00.000-07:002014-07-20T11:15:24.766-07:00He Lets Me Comb His HairHe lets me comb his hair. <br />
<br />
<br />
It's one of the only things left that he will let me do on his behalf. And I don't want to take it for granted. <br />
<br />
<br />
He's a jumper, a climber, an "I'll do it myself-er". A "Watch Me", "Look how many steps I can jump down", and "See how fast I can go?!", he moves as fast as a freight-train. He wants to make pictures for people. He takes one piece of paper and sticks ten Spider-Man stickers on it and wants me to mail it to grandparents. He asks me to teach him how to count backwards. He asks me about bird poop. He wants me out of the bathroom when he is in there. And day by day, there are less lap-sits, and fewer snuggles. <br />
<br />
<br />
But he still lets me comb his hair. <br />
<br />
<br />
He's going to school in September. He is excited about Kindergarten. He is talking about getting new shoes and how many sleeps it is until he goes. He puts on his own shoes then asks if they are on the right foot. He does most of this on his own now, and they are most certainly not on the right foot, but he still lets me comb his hair. <br />
<br />
<br />
He lets me comb it before church on Sundays while he stands there looking more and more like his Daddy every day. He lets me comb it after bath time when he is damp and clean and smelling like a sweet mixture of sweat and soap. And we stand there while he watches me do it in the mirror and comes especially close to purring like a kitten. This is the opportunity to tell him how handsome and special he is and how smart you know he is, and then I ask him in the most vulnerable way a mother can ask a child: "Do you still like when I comb your hair, Noah?" and he always says Yes. And then I grin like an absolute fool for the next half hour. <br />
<br />
<br />
In your youth, it used to be that a 17 year old boy had the most potential to make you feel vulnerable, break your heart on a daily basis, but equally launch your heart straight into outer space with one small kiss, but I'll tell you the truth: Raising boys is not for the faint of heart either. This is heart on the outside of your body while you try to be an actual grown-up and pretend like one sentence your child said didn't just slice through you like a dagger, and then carry on to make lunches when you would much prefer to be laying on the floor. They need you and then they don't need you and you're walking this fine balance of aiding them AND launching them off into school-aged children and I find on a daily basis I struggle with knowing how much to help and how much to encourage independence. But when all is said and done, I don't need to over-complicate things, as I usually do, because he still lets me comb his hair. <br />
<br />
<br />
In this house there are no necklaces to gently drape across collarbones or hair to lift softly off the nape of necks. No long hair to brush at night. No flowers to twist into small satin strands of hair. I don't see dresses twirl or have a small hand in mine for dainty nails to paint. But when all is said and done, I do have freshly bathed boys to towel off limb by limb, duck-lip kisses to receive, and small knees to bandage up. <br />
<br />
<br />
And they still let me comb their hair. <br />
<br /><br />
<br />sabbyjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10154309601495530803noreply@blogger.com0