The Weight of a Gift

Last evening, I saw a true show of extravagant, crazy love. It wasn't new and it wasn't earth-shattering. But it may have been the very first time I truly saw it.

I had been grumbling for a while now that there is not single thing in the house that is my own. Nothing that personally belongs to me and me alone. This desire strikes me as extremely selfish and yet extremely urgent at the same time. I rush to explain it. The thing I own wouldn't define me, I say. I make excuses, searching in the deepest recesses of my emotions for the reason for this unwelcome desire that seems to consume me.

Well, I cannot complain any more. My husband bought me a notebook computer - one bigger, faster, better than I wanted. One that slightly embarrasses me and slightly scares me because of the money we spent on it. One that, if I had been working, I would have struggled to pay him back for. Except, I don't work. And I have no way of paying for this laptop I didn't deserve but so graciously accepted. I didn't need it, per se. It was a gift, in the purest sense of the word.

I always thought people who said they didn't deserve things they received were lying, that their humility was false. Yesterday, I rethought that idea. Yesterday, as I went through the emotions of trying to reconcile receiving this gift - defined by dictionaries as something bestowed or acquired with no effort on the part of the recipient to earn it - with somehow paying for it or even deserving it, I realized: I don't think I had ever felt this way before. Ever. In my entire life.

The converse of this ugliness is that after receiving a gift such as this one, I still feel like I have to earn it, make up for it in some way, so that the scales are balanced on some cosmic level known only to me. I never thought I would be one who had a hard time accepting love, that I was one who feels she must earn it. But I am.

Psalm 103 comes to mind. It says God has crowned us with lovingkindness and tender mercies. I thought I understood it, but I guess I don't really. For all my entitlement, I suppose I am still lacking in understanding the true depth of God's love, a small measure of which I saw through my husband's lavish spending on me yesterday.

Perhaps that's why the world has trouble understanding the gospel of Jesus Christ. Sometimes the weight of a gift is just a little more than we can bear to understand.

Earth Mother

As the smell of freshly baked bread fills my home and I sit here with my cup of decaf coffee, completely at peace with how my life is unfolding, I wonder how I fell so easily into domesticity.

Since I have been a wee little one, I have always wanted to teach and write. Odd how sometimes we take the playful desires of a child and turn them into careers. That's what happened to me, I think. As soon as my mother saw me play "teacher," she began to prod me in that direction. I was only too happy to go along because I enjoyed the subject matter but if you had asked me if that's what I wanted to dedicate my life to, I would have shrunk and said, no. I want a husband who is happy to come home to me and children that drive me crazy all day. 

I know I do it, too. Oh, Bombie likes to read, maybe she'll be a librarian. Okay, so you know I'm kidding but only slightly. Why the push to concretize and harden what is pliable, beautiful and God-given in our children? 

I enjoy teaching, learning, research, reading, study - and my passion is translating that into something tangible that can be grasped by someone else. A moment captured, however fleeting, an insight shared, wholly untouched by anything extraneous, gives me a deep sense of joy. I cannot explain it any other way. 

And maybe that's why I am enjoying domesticity. Freshly baked bread tells my husband something about how my day has been. Putting away laundry with the children playing by my feet or having them do chores speaks about a life truly shared on a moment by moment, ordinary level. All the minutiae of keeping a home and blessing it with my presence and my undivided heart all day long is to me the very root of what a family is. It is giving myself, my deepest, best, most precious self - in its entirety - to them. 

I have no desire to go back to work, to sow hours which others can reap and hand weary leftovers to my family. After years of searching, I am truly home. 

I am all that... and more... I am His

In these last few days leading up to Christmas, I'm sitting here collecting the moments of this last year and piecing them together and I have only to look at the events that have unfolded to know that much of me is diametrically in opposition to the other. I have lived a schizophrenic life and in no other year has it been more apparent than in this one. Part homebody, part get-go businesswoman; in love with simplicity, yet enamored by the luxury money can buy. Easily incited, and yet immediately quieted by the right words. Truly solitary in soul and yet needing roots, connections, branches thrown into the ether to be known by, to hang on to for balance, for structure, even for contention.

I am being reminded that much of me is dross.

Going through old prayer journals reminded me of how much I've changed and how much still fights tooth and nail with God. Some of the first few words Bombie has learned are, "No! My!" Sometimes I think God gave me children to remind me how hard it must have been for Him to love me. Bombie teaches me more about the intrinsic nature of sin more than mounds of theological literature. She lies, she manipulates, she complains, she rebels. And she's only two. No one who has a two year old believes in the intrinsic goodness and innocence of childhood. Something about her - like about all children - is broken and it doesn't take a Christian long to know what.

Something about me is broken, too. I suppose I have always known that. But this was the year The Lord decided to begin to fix it. I cannot fathom a God that waits for my approval, but He did. I accepted Christ this year in January and was baptized in October. And He has held me together ever since. He is piecing me together day by day, hour by hour and sometimes minute by painful minute. There are so many times this year I have gone to Him simply grateful for Him, for His Spirit, for the reminder that whether I know it or not, He lives and He lives in me.

Perhaps the biggest change I've experienced this year is that I've begun to see people differently. I see them less as victims of their circumstances or as survivors. I see them less as needing to please me, support me, validate me. On the flip side, I also see less of a need to love myself, to forgive myself. Someone wrote that if we could do all these things, we would have no need of God. And maybe that's what the world is all about anyway. Every television show screams messages of loving yourself first. The idea that he who wants to be first among you should be everyone else's servant seems ludicrous. And may be so. But today I feel crowned.

Yes, much of me is still dross. But He is my Refining Fire. I am schizophrenic but He is wholly holy. I have no need to learn to love myself because He has called me His beloved.

For this Christmas, I will rest in that.

I'm Singing the Blues...

Well, not exactly "singing" but I've had a touch of the baby blues. I always thought I knew what to expect but this time it hit me with no knowing. As it turns out, I went to Kaiser for Hucksley's two week appointment after picking a huge fight with James and his mother for a bed (mattress) that I saw as an extravagant purchase. I should have known better. When I couldn't check email that morning without crying I should have canceled. But I thought getting out would feel good. Ugh.

This is how it happened. I was a nervous wreck already about taking TWO kids out. I knew I could handle one, no idea what to do with two. What if one flipped out, etc. So I'm already crazy to begin with, then there's NO PARKING to be seen for miles in that stupid parking lot. So I drive around until I see a spot and take it. To top that the double stroller won't hold the infant seat, so I'm wondering what the heck to do with the infant. Ugh. If I hadn't just had a baby I would have had the brain chemistry to figure out that I could have just left the seat and taken the infant in the back. But no. Here's what I decided I had to do: carry the car seat and make Bombie WALK to the pediatrician. All well and good so far because I carried her through the parking lot and then made her walk inside the building.

The problem really arose when we got done with the appointment and left. That's when it occurred to me that I had no idea where we had parked. So here I was with a car seat and a ten pound baby in one hand and a twenty-five pound toddler in another. Ugh. Can I say UGH again? I was left circling the parking lot like that for an hour. Talk about disorientation!!! And poor Bombie has just learned to walk so I carried her most of the way because I was terrified of the cars.

Well, we all survived of course, but that was the low point of my baby blues. I chalk it up to mainly waking up EVERY HOUR to feed the newborn so James finally moved him into another room and we all sleep better. Thank goodness.

I have realized however that I need to really examine what's going on when I can't or won't pray. When I started hearing Him and talking to Him again I know it was over. I know Christians say this all the time but God doesn't stop communicating with us or sending us love. It's just that sometimes we stop listening and accepting it. That's how I felt throughout these baby blues. I think they're over now.

Let's hope so!

Frugal Living at its Finest!

I wrote about the recent crisis we're going through briefly on my other blog so I won't go into details here. Suffice it to say, my husband and I have had to both look deep within ourselves recently and our general relationship with money. I can safely say that Sunday May 31st 2009 was the worst day of my life. That was the day James and I had a serious discussion about what we were going to do to turn things around for us financially.

It was pretty damn scary.

It was also however pretty damn liberating because in a single evening I realized what was most important to me. In the midst of a crisis, everything became crystal clear. In order of importance, I ranked our family, our (and our children's) futures and then even our dearest possessions. To support those, we came up with a pretty serious plan. No frivolous spending, no "splurges," no going shopping for entertainment. I promised to keep a tight budget in the home. He promised to do whatever he could do support us with his job. (He already does everything he can, so obviously the majority of this onus was on me!)

We talked about how he was never taught about handling money responsibly by his parents and I shared how when I was born my parents were doing so much better financially that I never had to bear the burden of hard times. My brother - born more than a decade before me - saw poverty first-hand. And he still lives extremely simply. I should learn that.

"Should" has now almost become "have." After the scare of losing one's future (retirement) and one's present (this lovely, lovely home) one begins to respect it a lot more. No longer do I complain about loading dishes in the dishwasher. No longer do I complain about mopping the floors and keeping the home clean. No longer do I complain about cooking dinner. I'm just grateful things are working out for us. And I'm beginning to realize that even though my parents didn't exactly sit me down and give me the tools for managing money, they showed me how to live frugally simply by living that way themselves. Sure, they splurged every once in a while on things that mattered to them, but their everyday lives were a lesson in living simply and within their means. (Which is why, at 69 my father saves money out of the interest he receives from his investments and retired at 65. He was able to send me to study in the US with his retirement money and can travel to see his kids across the globe any time he wants!)

So I've become a coupon cutter and an expert at making dinners from scratch. I search frugal tips on the internet and turn off lights when I leave the room. I hang-dry our clothes and thank God for all I have and all I am. Tomorrow, here we come! Who knew having a baby would make me this much better as a person?

Happy Half Birthday, Bombie!

Dear Bombie,

You are six months old today. What a day to turn half a year - Valentine's Day! While you were still kicking around inside me last year, your Dad and I celebrated our last non-children Valentine's Day. We were both a little concerned about becoming parents, wondering who this new being was going to be and how she would change our lives.

And now, one year later, I think we were silly to worry. You have brought so much joy to our lives that I think Valentine's Day is the perfect half birthday for you. Because before you were born, we only experienced half the love we do now that we have you.

So don't grow up too fast. Because we want to hold on to these years as long as we possibly can. My baby. My little bombie.

Love,
Mommy.