tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198413132024-03-07T15:23:16.797-05:00Sacred MotherhoodDiscovering God Through the Journey of Mothering Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.comBlogger269125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-55301721752050203962015-07-13T08:00:00.000-04:002015-07-13T11:09:53.474-04:00From The Inside Out<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Summer.
It’s the best of times. It’s the
worst of times. Great for unstructured,
free play, staying up late on weeknights, hours spent outside in the sun. Not so good for unstructured, free play,
staying up late on weeknights, hours spent outside in the sun... You get the idea. Too much of a good thing can actually be a
bad thing. This is something I have
realized after about a month of summer vacation. Something else that has come to fruition
around this time are bad attitudes. I have a lot in my arsenal to keep boredom at bay- paints, puzzles, books, tablet games, water toys and even workbooks- but even with all these, the kids
inevitably become bored sometimes.
That’s when the ‘tude starts and disrespect creeps in. It’s not just from my soon-to-be seven year
old, either. My sweet toddler can be a “threenager” as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I can’t blame it all on boredom
though. Unfortunately, it will always be
there, lurking in the background, no matter what season it is:
misbehavior. And as a mom, it is my job
to confront this problem head on. I’ll
be honest, my children’s disobedience is awfully inconvenient. I would much rather slap a band-aid on the
problem and continue on my merry way than take the time to get to the root of
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">All too often, I fall into
the trap of being defensive instead of offensive when one of my kids
misbehaves. I sacrifice the long-term goal of their behavior improving for good for that short-term gain of momentary peace. If I’m constantly reacting
to my child’s disrespect with disapproval, and correcting the problems when
they arise, it’s not solving the heart issue at hand. I really </span>shouldn’t
react to their bad behavior as if I’m surprised by it, either. I mean, why am I shocked at all that
unregenerate children display disobedience?
And why do I always get so offended by it, thinking that I’m a failure
as a mother when they talk back or mistreat a sibling? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Bible says there is none righteous, no
not one. Even my soft faced, little <strike>hooligans </strike> angels. We all have a bent towards
going our own way; in other words, towards sin. Reward
systems, time outs, natural consequences, and of course avoiding Red Dye #40 all
have their merits as good behavior modification, perhaps outwardly, but only
the Spirit of God can change their hearts on the inside. I want my kids to obey
not just because they’ll avoid something unpleasant, but because they love and
respect me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What brings us to a place where we lay down
our desires and surrender our wills?
This only comes from a day-to-day, growing and active relationship with the
Lord. So it is with our children. As Christian parents, we need to always point
them back to Jesus. That‘s where they
find their ultimate worth and acceptance. He’s the One who heals our deepest
needs. My main responsibility as a
mother should be to lead them to Christ, through my words and actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the ways I can do that practically is
to train my kids to hide God’s word in their hearts. If, as a follower of Christ, I believe that
His word is my standard for living why don’t I use it to discipline my
children? 2 Timothy 3:16-17 says “<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">All</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Scripture</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">is</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">God</span><span style="background: white;">-breathed<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>useful
for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the
servant of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>God<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>may
be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”
I’m not just talking about reading them Bible stories. I mean we should </span>help them memorize
verses that will be applicable to their real life situations, like Matthew 7:12, Colossians 3:20, Ephesians 4:29 and Proverbs 20:22. Verses such as these speak truth to our children and equip them for godly living.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now surely if I’m quoting scripture to them
all day long without actually living it out myself, they won’t be very
motivated to change. More times than I
can count, if my child is struggling with anger or frustration, I’ve modeled it
before them in some way. I need to
evaluate myself before the Lord and ask Him to renew my thoughts, words and
actions. Am I in God’s Word daily? Am I walking in the Spirit? I’ve found that when I have a heart change,
it leads to positive results in my children’s behavior as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, while my children are still growing developmentally and spiritually, I also need to be patient with them. They need to know I love them deeply, even in spite of their sin. If there are rules without a relationship, it will produce rebellion. After all, how much does Jesus love us in spite of our sins! While He loves, He also always prods us to repent by showing us a better way. He doesn't continually punish or nag. His heart for us leads us to<i> want</i> to obey. When we know in our core that we are seen and known by the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, we are transformed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is comforting to know that while you and I are called to "train up a child in the way he should go", God is ultimately responsible for his (or her) heart. He is the one who draws them deeper and walks beside them on the path He has laid out for them. However, in the process of raising and disciplining these little ones, we are refined at the same time they are. As we seek God for answers in how to best reach and correct our children, we become more and more dependent on, and also obedient towards Him. That's the amazing and humbling thing about parenting! </span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-11111732031166703182014-10-24T16:43:00.001-04:002014-10-27T16:55:54.643-04:00Harvest<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.85pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.85pt;">It was the end of a long day, and I
was (to put it mildly) out of patience.
Gregg had come home only minutes before, after working late, so I was
trying to get the kids ready for bed. Both
of them were running around, instead of doing what I asked them to do, and I
lost my temper. A little while later, my
husband came upstairs and asked my six-year-old why “Mommy had to yell”. Immediately, I felt remorse. I didn’t </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.85pt;">have</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.85pt;">
to yell. Sure, I was feeling frustrated
and stressed out that they weren’t listening (AGAIN), but I could have given
myself a time out to pray and take a few deep breaths before attempting to
manage the chaos unfolding around me. My
husband had asked my son to give an account for his behavior, but suddenly I
felt the need to give one for mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quite honestly, I was just tired of
being needed. Of giving and going
non-stop all day, with absolutely no guarantee that anything I am doing will
actually give me a return on my investment.
I found myself struggling to keep from being weary in doing good. It can be difficult to find <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">joy, peace and blessing in the midst of
fulfilling the responsibilities that God has given us as mothers. Constant reminders to “speak kindly”, “use
your words”, and “hold Mommy’s hand in the parking lot” go unheeded. I get discouraged easily by bad attitudes and
disrespectful speech, and exasperated upon walking into the living room and
finding toys littered all over it after I just cleaned them all up! I really wonder sometimes if it’s all worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">It takes a lot of
time, thought and energy to lead and teach children, and often I feel like I am
using all my energy just to keep the kids from killing each other and
destroying the house. How can I possibly
fulfill any higher purpose than that? It
is easy to forget our unique ministry opportunities while raising small
children when we get bogged down with all of the routine, and also seemingly
mundane, tasks of motherhood. These
menial tasks don’t appear at first glance to be anything holy. But each are all different ways that we serve
“the least of these.” Being with our
children, day in and day out, presents us with multiple chances to share Christ
with them and with others as well. A
sibling squabble or a fight between one of our kids and his/her friends can be
opportunities to teach our children about grace, forgiveness, and handling
conflict in a godly way. Disrespectful
attitudes and rude speech can be used to tell them about how Jesus wants us to
treat others. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reality is that
our children are only this young for such a short time, and we only have a
little while in the long scheme of things to impress our values and faith upon
them. They are bombarded daily with a
worldview that is diametrically opposed to the Word of God through two main
pipelines, secular entertainment and secular education. As their parents, we are also their first
line of defense against ideologies that
distort God’s truth. By availing ourselves to them now, however
inconvenient it might seem, we can provide them with a solid biblical
foundation which they will need when they encounter ideas that conflict with
their faith.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not surprisingly, Jesus educated His
disciples and those around Him in the pattern and method set forth in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Deuteronomy+6&version=NIV" target="_blank">Deuteronomy 6</a> </span><span style="line-height: 17.85pt;">and other
Old Testament passages. Jesus taught and instructed as He walked by the
way, as He ate, as He drank, as He lived. He engaged people in discussion
and conversation. He was available to answer questions. He
developed relationships and used every opportunity and every circumstance to
point people toward His Father, to challenge them and encourage them to more
faithful, godly living.</span><span style="line-height: 17.85pt;"> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 17.85pt;">The way that God commands parents to educate their children
is to talk with them and be available when their children have questions.
Parents should be instructing their children throughout the day, during their daily
activities and in all the circumstances of life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So how do I move
beyond just being available and actually reach my children’s hearts? For any ministry to be fruitful, we must
abide in the true vine, Jesus. I will
become weary in doing good if my eyes are focused on only what I can see in the
here and now, instead of on Him. I can’t
bring enough on my own. I will never
have enough time, energy, patience or love for my kids. Trying harder is not the answer; surrender
is. That night I lost my temper with my
kids over their disobedience, I was operating out of self-reliance, seeking
self-indulgence, and motivated by selfishness.
And that much self is just too much.
When I draw from His wisdom and strength, I am able to sacrificially
give to my children, knowing that I may not even see any true results for years
to come. Galatians 6:9 says “For at the
proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.85pt;">I love this quote
from Andy Stanley: “The greatest thing you accomplish for the Kingdom of God
may not be something you do, but someone you raise.” As a mother, this may very well be true about
me. My emphasis should be on faithfulness
in service, however, not perfection. Faithfulness is being willing to show up to
do our work for His glory, day after day (after day). When I strive to please Him, my perspective
also changes. I start to realize that
the monumental happens in the minutia, in all of the nitty, gritty details of
raising children with demanding physical and emotional needs. Not that I suddenly begin to love every
minute of it, but I then trust God with my resources and energy believing that He
will use and bless what I offer.</span>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-10635829535149393772014-07-21T16:59:00.000-04:002014-07-22T16:09:46.492-04:00Imperfect But Surrendered<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently, a few people have asked me how I do it. By "it", I mean they were referring to how I
parent while looking like I have my stuff together. Let me tell you, that is one of the funniest things I have ever heard because I know the truth. Sure, I can try to keep up appearances by saying “What? Oh, this.
It’s nothing!” Or... I can tell them the real story. </div>
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The truth is (and I let them
know this) that most days I am barely holding it together. In fact, on any given day my five-year-old mouths
off to me and my toddler runs around the house naked from the waist down because she
simply can't be bothered to put her underwear and pants back on after
using the bathroom. The downstairs living area of our house has toys, books, art supplies and snack crumbs strewn everywhere. I am the frazzled mom in the supermarket, telling my kids to stop running all over the place and grabbing the candy in the checkout aisle. There are dishes overflowing in the sink and piles of unfolded laundry spilling out of baskets. <br />
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It doesn’t take very long after beginning my day for irritation to start rising when I hear my name being called by little voices. While I pour myself into our children daily- reading to, wiping, disciplining, feeding, answering- I feel like it’s never enough. There was always something I could have done better, said better, done more of, etc. Often I am scrambling to come
up with something for dinner, reacting badly to disobedient behavior and
comparing myself to other moms, thinking “how does <i>she</i> do it?” </div>
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My 2.5 year old daughter is now old enough where her speech
delay is sometimes very painfully obvious, and I don’t always deal with it
graciously. After six months of speech
therapy, she has made great progress, but it’s still awfully frustrating not to
be able to carry a two-sided conversation with her and still having to ask 100
questions just to try and figure out what she wants. She has the intelligence (and attitude) of a
three-year-old, but the language development of an 18 month old, which makes me
sometimes baby her unnecessarily. The
constant switching gears between her lack of words and my son’s opposite, never-ending
need for dialogue can be unnerving since there simply is no happy medium.<br />
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While I interact verbally with my son throughout the day, bouncing back and forth among whatever topics are of interest to him, I don't always feel like I connect with him emotionally. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with his constant stream of questions and need for physical activity. It is a struggle to really understand him, and I feel like it comes more naturally to me to love on my daughter. Maybe it's because she receives the affection more readily, or maybe because she's the youngest and well, a girl, like me. Whatever the reason, I know I punish my son more often than her and that's not fair to him. I take his challenges to my authority much more personally, and I flat out lose my temper sometimes when he talks back. Instead of gently correcting him, I end up lecturing and threatening instead. </div>
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So, if I appear like I am doing <b>anything</b> well, I assure you, I
am not doing it in my own strength. My
husband’s work/travel schedule over the last year has meant that I have often
had to do this parenting gig solo, and it has forced me to lean on Jesus like
never before. This has been a great
opportunity to depend on God in continual prayer. The beauty of not
knowing what you are doing and knowing you are not qualified for a task is the
desperation to stay connected to God who does know. You know the saying: He doesn’t call the
equipped, He equips the called. </div>
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Ultimately I am able to display the fruits of the Spirit
(joy, patience, gentleness, kindness) when I abide deeply in Him. But when I mess up, as I am inevitably bound
to do, that is when I can teach my children the crux of Romans 3:23, which is really the
crux of the Gospel- “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of
God.” I can remind them (and myself)
that each one of us needs a savior. And
then humbly ask for their forgiveness. Trust
me, my children do not labor under any delusions that I am perfect. They see my shortcomings every single day. They see Mommy lose her cool, get stressed
and overwhelmed. They see all the broken,
sinful pieces, but if I model the preeminence of God in my life, then
my children will see too how to live out their faith. Deuteronomy 6:5-7 says “Love the LORD your God
with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These
commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. <i>Impress them on
your children</i>. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the
road, when you lie down and when you get up." If they know
that I am a sinner saved by grace just like them, no better and no worse, they
will be less likely to walk away from that faith when they are older.</div>
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A heart that desires to please God can be used by Him to
accomplish His purposes, far greater than eloquent speech, or a spotless house, or beautiful Pinterest-worthy crafts, or even perfectly obedient, well-mannered children (none of which I possess). I don’t have much to offer, but He meets me
in my weaknesses when I am surrendered to Him and enables me to do something I could never do on my own. <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank">Ann Voskamp</a> says it wonderfully, “You cry and
wonder if you are insane to try to educate these children, to
disciple these little hearts, while laundering, cooking, cleaning, managing a
household, and still being a wife, a sister, a daughter, a missionary in your
community, a servant to Christ and in your faith community. And He smiles
and says that He walks with you, has grand and glorious purposes, and He
understands radical and crazy!” Comparing
my house and my kids to others' is
poisonous, and the Enemy loves to use that as ammo. God has given me unique talents, gifts and
resources so that I can carry out the unique mission He has called me to. Most days I really have no idea what I’m
doing, but I’m clinging to the One who does know.</div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-89153866213718642172013-12-16T17:41:00.001-05:002013-12-17T09:38:29.077-05:00Whispers of JoyI'll admit it. I haven't had much Christmas spirit this year. I always look forward to the start of this season, which in our house begins the day after Thanksgiving. We put up our tree and decorations, and also do some gift shopping on Black Friday. That weekend, however, started off with our daughter throwing up and the kick off to the Christmas season was very quickly dampened. Eventually her sickness spread to the rest of us, and we realized we had all come down with a nasty stomach bug. Add to that several days of freezing cold temperatures with grey skies, then an ice storm followed by a snow storm and two children with runny noses and bad coughs, and my "holiday spirit" was buried deep beneath a foot of snow along with the kids' backyard toys. Those things didn't exactly leave me dancing in the streets, singing "It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year". <br />
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I tried hard to find it again, that elusive feeling. You know, the one you had as a child, where everything was magical and glorious at Christmastime. The snow transformed the neighborhood into a winter wonderland, instead of an icy nightmare. The beautiful tree with all of its sparkling lights and glittery ornaments made the house warm and bright, instead of something you're afraid is going to come crashing down on a two-year-old. Christmas songs and movies delighted; the whole world seemed open to endless possibilities. That joyful feeling kept escaping me, however, no matter the cheesy Christmas movies I watched or the decorating I did or the keeping up with the Elf on the Shelf charade. The feeling alluded me even when I listened to familiar, classic songs and bought presents for loved ones.<br />
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I was getting our toddler ready for bed the other night, and "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing" randomly popped into my head. I began to sing it to my sweet baby girl, the words getting caught in my throat as I was hit with their magnitude. "Hark, the Herald Angels sing; glory to the newborn king. Peace on earth and mercy mild, <i>God and sinners reconciled</i>. Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies. With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem." Then I felt it: joy. Pure joy over the gift of Jesus coming down from Heaven to be born into the most humbling of circumstances, so that I could be reconciled to the Father. "Mild He lays His glory by, born that men no more may die. Pleased as man with men to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel..." These words from one of my favorite carols spoke to me that night in just the way I needed, reminding me that my joy- during the Christmas season and all throughout the year- is found in Christ. Because of what He did, because of who He is, and what He was willing to give up for me.<br />
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I can feel happy admiring the lights on our Christmas tree, or passing down traditions to my children to celebrate this time of year, but true joy only comes from knowing Jesus. It's not a "feeling" I can catch and hold onto either. I need to be deliberate about focusing on Christ, otherwise my spirit is squelched when I discover that a gift is on back order, or when I run out of propane and can't bake the cookies in the oven, or when it takes me an hour to bundle up two small kids just so we can run an errand that will only take 15 minutes. <br />
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The Christmas spirit I've been trying to track down gets lost a little bit more each year under the pile of grownup responsibilities and life's inconveniences. The magic and wonder get squeezed out by laundry, diapers and dishes. I find that since I am so intent on making sure my children have wonderful memories of this time of year, I am really not having much fun at all myself. That kind of Christmas spirit always leaves me wanting. Intentionally focusing on the birth of our savior fulfills long after the belief in Santa and flying reindeer is outgrown. As the cutesy children's song goes, "All the tinsel and lights and the presents are nice, but the real gift is You."Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-10598934865910770462013-12-05T16:54:00.003-05:002013-12-06T16:18:38.132-05:00What Makes a Parent<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About two weeks ago I came across a post called "<a href="http://www.mommyish.com/2013/10/29/10-reasons-to-have-an-abortion/" target="_blank">10 Reasons to have an Abortion-
Illustrated by Adorable Cats</a>”. When I first saw the title I thought,
surely, this is a joke. Oh, how I wish it was. This article was
published on the parenting site Mommyish. I find it ironic that a site
devoted to parenting would actually promote abandoning your responsibilities as
a parent via the disposal of your unborn children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, some observations about the article itself: Among the
typical life endangerment/health of the mother reasons for abortion, the
author, Eve Vawter, also lists such things as your age (too young or too old),
birth control failure, missed career opportunities, not wanting a relationship
with the father and just plain old not wanting to have a child. So
basically, according to this list, any reason is a good reason to have an
abortion. You can just choose to destroy another life whenever the mood
strikes you. This a human being we’re talking about, though, not a
surgically removable barrier to your dreams, expectations, or
conveniences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is very telling that Ms. Vawter stated she “would rather look
at cats than whatever comes up when you search photo websites for
‘abortion’.” In other words, she didn’t want to be disturbed by these
photos or have to confront the reality of what she was so callously
endorsing. If she had actually googled images of abortion, I doubt she
would have written the post in the first place. You can sugarcoat it by
putting up photos of cute, cuddly kittens in their place, but the reality is
that abortion is horrific. Violent. Gruesome. The pictures do
speak for themselves, and they illustrate a story that is quite literally the
opposite of what it means to be a parent. As a parent, you protect your
children at all costs, even before they are born. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I browsed Mommyish’s website and found several other articles in
the same vein as “I’m a mother and personally pro-life, but politicially
pro-choice.” The gist is that you can value the lives of your own
children, but you’re also totally cool with another person’s decision to
devalue theirs. To each her own, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The above mentioned post is a testimony to our schizophrenic way
of treating each other’s child rearing practices with disdain, while remaining
silent on the abhorrent procedure of vacuuming a tiny baby out of his or her
mother’s uterus. We have a lot to say about the harmful effects of
“crying it out” and feeding our kids genetically modified foods, but voice
little concern about poison injections to a baby’s heart while in utero.
Heated discussions ensue over vaccinations, but there doesn’t seem to be much
public outcry over babies being ripped apart in the womb. Why is it that
before a child is born we can’t say anything about the way they are treated,
but afterwards they magically become our “business?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What were once private issues within families have now become
public. What was once regarded by society as barbaric and outlawed is now
relegated to a private matter between a woman and her doctor. Evil is
good and good is evil. The prevailing ideology these days is that a
mother gets to call all the shots; she decides, for whatever reason, whether
the child growing inside of her is worthy of life. This type of thinking
elevates her above God, who alone creates all life forms. Since she is a
god in her own mind, she can pass judgment both on the baby inside her womb and
on the actions of others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The truth is that defending the “right to choose” is incompatible
with motherhood. A mother, by definition, nurtures life- whether she
births a child or adopts one. She does not destroy, nor does she support
the destruction of a life. You can’t advocate for someone to be able to
kill their offspring without simultaneously undermining your own importance as
a mother. Abortion and motherhood, contrary to what modern feminism tells
us, are mutually exclusive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The giving up of ourselves on another’s behalf is the very essence
of mothering. It isn’t always easy. It definitely isn’t always
fun. It is certainly not a popular idea in today’s self-absorbed,
self-serving culture. Abortion, on the other hand, embodies everything
that is diametrically opposed to self-sacrifice. It is the result of the
radical feminist thought that women only find meaning and happiness through the
personal pursuit of autonomy and freedom. It is marketed as a way for
women to liberate themselves from anything that makes them feel morally
obligated to someone else. It stands in direct antithesis to the family
and denigrates a child before he or she is born. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a parenting site to write about abortion, they must realize an
important truth: abortion is a choice that a<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>parent</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>makes. When your choice as a
parent affects others in negative and cruel ways, however, a humane society
restricts or prohibits the choice. That society does not support or celebrate it. That society does not employ the use of euphemisms to defend the indefensible.
You either foster a respect for life with your words and actions, or a
culture of death. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While this article both upsets and bewilders me, it also reminds
me that I am not my son or daughter's god; I am their mother. They
ultimately belong to Him, and I have simply been entrusted with their care.
As a mom, I carry out God's purposes. Even with all my failures, if
I am obedient to the calling of loving and protecting them, I have done enough.
When I understand my role in its proper context, I can parent without
guilt or anxiety. If I believe that it all depends on me, however, I will
make choices based on fear and self-preservation.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-76454968413705730882013-11-26T08:00:00.000-05:002013-11-26T11:08:43.438-05:00Being SeenDoing a "spot check" after your five-year-old goes Number 2. Wrestling a two-year-old who doesn't want her diaper changed. Reading that story for the 100th time. Calling to make appointments and straining to hear the person on the other end of the line over the shrieks of two children. Vacuuming while a toddler screams because she is terrified of the huge, monstrous sucking thing and feeling guilty for cleaning. Breaking up fights, cleaning up messes, answering endless questions in between washing and drying four loads of laundry, emptying the dishwasher and cooking three meals.<br />
<br />
Just a day in the life of a stay-at-home mom.<br />
<br />
The never ending sacred dance of comforting, wiping, disciplining, and loving. Trying to control your temper when you are met with an unexpected mess of magic markers all over an outfit, or when your oldest gives you attitude over a simple request. Being molded and shaped into the person God wants you to become, even while you are molding and shaping their young minds and hearts. One exhausting minute at a time.<br />
<br />
You wonder sometimes if what you're doing really matters.<br />
<br />
This scripture came to mind recently: "But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and <i>your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you</i>." (Matthew 6:5-7, NASB, emphasis mine). I was in the middle of a crazy week and pulling double duty since my husband was away for work. There was a birthday party for one of my son's classmates, baking for the school craft fair, a friend's baby shower, and a MOMS Club board meeting, not to mention the usual chauffeuring back and forth to school, dinner and bedtime. The long week ended with Gregg's flight being delayed due to bad storms in the Midwest, causing him to arrive home six hours after we had anticipated.<br />
<br />
I could feel that old familiar anxiety rise up after the sun had gone down and he still didn't have a firm boarding time to text me with. Resigned, I put the ground beef that I was planning to use for dinner that evening back in the fridge, prayed, and got out the frying pan to just make some scrambled eggs. In the middle of all this, I remembered that God <i>sees me</i> and is with me. When I'm lonely and frustrated and doubting myself. When I pray with my children and teach them to love Him with all their heart, soul, mind and strength. <br />
<br />
While I am in the thick of cleaning up the same messes, racking my brain for creative and healthy meals, correcting, soothing and struggling, I could easily overlook the moments that God breaks through my hectic day and reminds me He is there. When the two-year-old lays her sleepy head down on my shoulder right before her nap, and I stroke her hair and back while gently rocking side to side. When the five-year-old writes the numbers he has been learning in school on a piece of a paper and proudly shows it to me. And then I am thankful that I get to be here for every single, solitary moment- real and raw as they are. This roller coaster that I ride daily with them is totally worth it.<br />
<br />
"Your greatest contribution to the Kingdom may not be something you do, but someone you raise." - Andy StanleyMarisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-56746163749607728832013-08-23T09:31:00.001-04:002013-08-23T09:31:32.625-04:00Being a Mother is Smarter Than You Think<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently read about some new research being conducted by Satoshi Kanazawa, the controversial former Psychology Today blogger. A Reader in Management at the London School of Economics, Mr. Kanazawa has “begun to present scholarship asserting that the more intelligent women are, the less likely they are to become mothers.” I'm sure there are thousands of women out there who would take issue with this statement. They know as well as I do that neither the length of my job title, nor the size of my paycheck is a reliable measure of how well I utilize my intelligence. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />So, mother= dumb? Or put another way, intelligent= childless? I have to say, I am a bit insulted but not at all surprised. This is the same anti-child rhetoric that radical feminists have been spewing for the past five decades. They have all but said that motherhood is synonymous with slavery. If you have children, your life as you know it will be over. Okay, changed forever, yes, but not OVER. Betty Friedan wrote<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i>The Feminine Mystique<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i><span style="background-color: white;">in 1963, examining and confronting the role of women as stay-at-home mothers, and the seeds of discontent were sown. She argued that women had been coaxed into selling out their intellect and ambitions for the paltry price of a new washing machine.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />Fast forward to 2013, where there is a movement several years in the making among women who are already mothers (many stay at home full-time or run part-time businesses out of their houses) to unveil the realities of motherhood. There seems to be a sense of indignation over someone not telling us that this was going to be so hard. In an effort to expose the truth that we don't have it all together, we have let it all hang out there: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Honesty is a good thing; it helps us understand that we are not alone in our struggles. While we shouldn't labor under the false assumption that everyone else is doing it all perfectly, I wonder if we haven't contributed to undermining our roles by talking about all the negative aspects of mothering.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />I have certainly been guilty of this. I jumped on the bandwagon shortly after Colton was born, with a desire to debunk the romanticized version of motherhood we often hold before we actually have children. I was open about my struggles with post-partum depression, and the hard work of caring for a baby and then a toddler while my husband was away at work for 12 hours a day. Many women thanked me for being real and shattering the isolating illusion that being a mommy is nothing but pure bliss. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I was caught off guard when I began to realize just how negative I had become. I was doing more complaining about the daily tasks of mothering than pointing out the simple, ordinary joys. When I saw a pregnant woman browsing the baby aisles at Target and passed her with my two kids who may or may not have been dangerously on the verge of a total meltdown, I'd think "Just wait. THIS is what's in store for you." When people asked me if I'm having more children, I would be quick to say I'm a member of the "two and through club". </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The message in our culture today is children are an inconvenience; wait to have them until you're "ready", or better yet don't have them at all. It was subtle and happened over time, but I found myself perpetuating this very same message. When a friend who was childless would tell me she couldn't wait to have kids, I'd encourage her <i>to wait</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>because once she had them her life would be completely changed- she wouldn't have the freedom to do whatever she wished, whenever she wished. I thought I was doing her a favor, but I was really doing her (and myself) a disservice.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />When I write and speak more about the tantrums, the stomach viruses, and the sibling squabbles, I am conveying that being a mother is tiresome, loathsome, and something to be avoided at all costs. There are so many beautiful, sacred moments in the ordinary that I miss when I am focused on those details. I forget that my kids are two precious individuals God has entrusted me to raise, who miraculously grew inside me from one cell into a complex human being. After all, the idea that children are a blessing is as old as time. It is also biblical. And something I've sadly forgotten. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 11.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />We definitely shouldn't try to live up to an impossible standard or ideal as mothers. That takes our focus off of our unique talents and circumstances, including the special children that we alone have been given to care for. Mrs. Friedan complained about this all throughout her book. This is one of the things the women's lib movement in the 60's and 70's was trying to liberate us from. However, f</span>ifty years later, what remains is that stay-at-home mothers<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>still</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>believe that there must be something wrong with them if they do not find great satisfaction in every moment of parenting and taking care of a house. What we are left with is that the value in raising children and managing a household has been stripped away, because they proclaimed that women can't find meaning in these tasks. They also succeeded in getting two generations of women to deny the distinctive, inherent qualities that set them apart from men and uniquely position them as life-givers and nurturers.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 11.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The term "housewife" or "mother" is what you make of it. You can either see it as a misery or a joy. We glorify God and experience His blessing when we accept and joyfully embrace his created design, function, and order for our lives as women. Society is all too willing to feed us the line that we should abandon the home in pursuit of our so-called real ambitions. We are sold a bill of goods that to give up our careers or other aspirations for raising children is, quite bluntly, dumb. The "war on women" is more like a war on mothers. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not unintelligent, though, to recognize that children are only this young for such a short amount of time, compared with the rest of one's life, and that during these crucial years our role as mothers is vitally important in shaping and molding their minds, values, and morals, along with instilling a sense of stability. As I muddle my way through these early years of mothering, I take heart that my actions, though not always glamorous or acknowledged, will one day produce a godly young man and woman. That is where I get my fulfillment, if you will. This is worth sacrificing all those other achievements for.</span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-85877343223881658472013-08-15T17:30:00.001-04:002013-08-17T15:08:37.534-04:00Refusing to Buy Into the Hollywood Version<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my favorite bloggers, Lisa-Jo Baker, wrote a <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/07/when-you-think-your-love-story-is-boring/" target="_blank">post</a> a few weeks ago in response to the June 29th "Teenager Posts of the Week" featured on The Huffington Post Teen Edition. The unnamed girl stated, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>“My love life will never be satisfactory until someone runs through an airport to stop me from getting on a flight.”</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lisa-Jo's post was so popular with readers that it ended up going viral and appearing back on HuffPo's website, this time for its parental audience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can tell you that my husband has never run through an airport to stop me from getting on a plane. But he has run through an airport to catch a flight to go on a business trip that provides a roof over our heads and food for us to eat. He has left a meeting early to come home and take care of the kids, when I was ill with the flu and could barely get off the couch. He has been patient with me as I recovered from two c-sections, and was right there beside me in the OR when both our son and daughter entered the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are more than a decade now from the evenings when I would catch him staring at me from across the table. To be honest, I do miss that time period in our relationship. Our love has grown much deeper than those romantic dinners through the years, however. He tells me over and over that I'm beautiful, with no make-up on, even during times when I feel like I'm at my worst. He still saves me the last piece of cake, or the last cookie, because he is considerate of me. He offers t<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px; text-align: justify;">enderness, listening, and protection on a daily basis.</span> He has held my hand and prayed for me during rock-bottom moments, when I didn't have the strength to pray myself. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uHN3MjUSBOQj8BW5Jj7suevGDYsQTEO67g2ZXRv5OKehHRxK0fU8yXvXWWLxibJbCTElC-f6PYIKalLAAAvBtjSCiRZNeXMmeIGkuWU2jD1PmqsyZ6do8GIW2uemu2T71UHW/s1600/59286_1609765129236_4743800_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uHN3MjUSBOQj8BW5Jj7suevGDYsQTEO67g2ZXRv5OKehHRxK0fU8yXvXWWLxibJbCTElC-f6PYIKalLAAAvBtjSCiRZNeXMmeIGkuWU2jD1PmqsyZ6do8GIW2uemu2T71UHW/s320/59286_1609765129236_4743800_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last day of our honeymoon, 1/21/03</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">The Bible articulates numerous reasons for the purpose of marriage. The following three are the most important, in my opinion:</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">1) Companionship </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">2) Procreation </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">3) Holiness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 21px;">Marriage provides us with lifelong friendship, sustains life on earth, and brings us closer to God through the process of sanctification. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px; text-align: justify;"><i>It is not for the purpose of our happiness</i>.</span><span style="line-height: 21px;"> When you subscribe to the view that the main purpose of marriage is to make you happy, it's easy to see why so many marriages fail. As soon as the fun stops or the momentary "happy" runs out, people quit and the marriage collapses. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.7; text-align: justify;">Marriage is God’s design, and His purposes must be pursued in order for you to be truly happy. His end is holiness and He will use all things in a life devoted to Him to fulfill that end.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 21px;">Our marriage has definitely not always been happy, happy, happy (as Phil Robertson would say). </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">We've survived countless moves, two episodes of post-partum depression, and three separate periods of unemployment. G</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">oing through life's trials together has sanctified us and strengthened our relationship with one another and with God. When you can go through some pretty tough circumstances and come out on the other side with your marriage intact, being even better than before, that's a powerful testimony to the redemptive work of the Lord in your lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">No, he's never run through an airport for me. But yesterday, he raced home from Newark Liberty to be with his family who he had been away from on a job for almost a week. He played with our kids outside until dinnertime, even though he was jet-lagged. And later that evening, he held me tight and told me how much he missed me. That's my version of romance. The ordinary, forgiving, brace the storms of life together, kind of "ever after" you just won't find in fairy tales. </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHiAC9SRlgubieWI_DX88JQ0nDSYNnjudwwfW_hkuhWsqgxTVS_L3lQjUUVjtwF54s7iW8m_fjybGli0ilrfBLmAdsaZyjXc4zjdNKr6ONWsH2orgYFTkqBzYozxfiLOSA1nu/s1600/944505_10201717043753062_1933303287_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHiAC9SRlgubieWI_DX88JQ0nDSYNnjudwwfW_hkuhWsqgxTVS_L3lQjUUVjtwF54s7iW8m_fjybGli0ilrfBLmAdsaZyjXc4zjdNKr6ONWsH2orgYFTkqBzYozxfiLOSA1nu/s320/944505_10201717043753062_1933303287_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ten years and two kids later.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-13024867823199047352013-08-09T11:04:00.000-04:002013-08-09T11:03:00.500-04:00Let's Hear It For The BoyAs Colton's birthday approaches, I have already been thinking about what I will post on Facebook that day- probably something like "five years ago, I became a mother." Then my own words stop me and I think, is that accurate? Did I really only become a mother the second my son came out of me? Or did I become a mother months before, when he was conceived. Or nearly three weeks later, when I held a positive pregnancy test in my hand. <br />
<br />
With my suspicions of being pregnant confirmed, I immediately went into the mode of doing everything I could to ensure the life growing inside me would thrive. I switched from soda to juice and water, ate a better diet, started taking prenatal vitamins, and began exercising. I started preparing for his arrival by reading baby books, researching the best baby gear, and long before I even knew that the baby was a "he", I blogged almost daily about every detail of the pregnancy. I dreamed of who my son would become and who he would look like.<br />
<br />
A unique person with his own DNA, his personality began to take shape even before he was born. As a preschooler, he doesn't go along with the crowd. In the womb, he remained breech right up until his due date. The coding for his father's engineering mind and my facial features were already there. <br />
<br />
The law did not consider him to be a person with certain inalienable rights until 1:33pm on August 14, 2008. Up until that time, it was strictly up to me to protect him. That was my job from the moment I knew I was pregnant and continues to be throughout the rest of his childhood into adolescence. Even when he turns 18 and becomes a legal adult, he will still be my responsibility if he lives under my roof. I will still worry about him, pray for him, give him advice. In other words, I will always be his mother.<br />
<br />
Though the physically demanding, practically non-stop work did not begin until he was outside my womb, he could not have gotten to that point unless I recognized that I was already a mother and began sacrificing parts of myself for his sake.<br />
<br />
Colton continues to develop and thrive as his fifth birthday draws near, due to the investment made into his life by me and his daddy. We make sure he eats the right things, gets the sleep and exercise he needs, learns values, receives discipline, and understands that he is loved and special. And, if I may be permitted to brag a little, he is a pretty amazing kid. This is not to pat myself on the back, but to proclaim that he is an extraordinary child who I have the blessing and privilege of raising.<br />
<br />
He is kind to others, quick to help, and embraces life with tenacity. He is definitely ALL boy, turning his sister's toys into lawn mowers, gear for monsters or super heroes, and garages for his cars and trucks. I love how blonde his hair gets in the summer, and how the sun on his cheeks accentuate those deep, blue eyes. I am so proud to be his mother, and I can't believe he is going to be five next week!!!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeFGQL4ZJnLA696kzMHMDCEmdxJcsl-VZvMiDAHrbiUt6cj7BwsqlquPtagq2icDBcMEn_mL1wXhGZNQYTz3_3MO_qxZmBzD8abRFHkghKzNlM7aiAbktVmRA8V5GKI9l5A1R/s1600/P8040003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeFGQL4ZJnLA696kzMHMDCEmdxJcsl-VZvMiDAHrbiUt6cj7BwsqlquPtagq2icDBcMEn_mL1wXhGZNQYTz3_3MO_qxZmBzD8abRFHkghKzNlM7aiAbktVmRA8V5GKI9l5A1R/s320/P8040003.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colton enjoying his favorite treat at the Sussex County Fair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-57263108033757752182013-07-30T17:28:00.000-04:002013-07-31T10:47:39.149-04:00Phases of Motherhood<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other night, my son and I brought dinner to a friend who recently had her first baby. She was very
grateful to receive a meal and a visit among one of the most hectic,
challenging, joyful times in life. As we
talked, she mentioned trying to figure out what was best among the various
approaches to parenting a newborn she heard from others. I could tell she was a little overwhelmed. I wanted to give her some advice, but I know
she has to figure it out on her own. A
one-size-fits-all approach just doesn’t apply to child rearing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Plus, just because I am well beyond the newbie stage doesn’t mean I
have all the answers either. I’m really
just a few steps ahead in this journey called motherhood. The crushed
Cheerios in the carpet, toys taking over every room in the house, holding my
breath instead of completely losing it on my kids phase. One in which I am trying in vain at mealtimes
to get one kid to sit down and the other to eat a vegetable. Where I am simultaneously holding a
conversation with another mom at the play ground while I watch two kids who are
off in different directions, doing mental gymnastics to keep track of when they
each last had a sip of water, went to the bathroom/had a diaper changed and how
many donut holes they consumed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s crazy, but crazy enough I'm pretty comfortable here. In
fact, it can be somewhat of a stretch now to go back and remember what it was
like to have a newborn and be in completely unfamiliar territory, feeling
desperate and isolated as a new mom. I’m
in the thick over-growth of a new forest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instead of counters littered with baby bottles and cans of formula,
every square inch of our fridge is adorned with crayon scribbled and water
color painted pictures. Instead of
infant cries and coos, there are toddler and preschooler shrieks in conjunction
with the music from kids’ tv shows. My kids
now play by themselves together, but fights over toys inevitably ensue, interrupting
a single household chore at least 10 times.
When I put Rory in her crib at night, I can be 99% sure that she will
sleep straight through the next 12 hours, and it won't be all that long before
she trades in the crib for a toddler bed and diapers for Disney Princess panties. Colton is now one of the oldest kids in my
moms’ group, and I am the one passing down his old clothes and toys instead of
being on the receiving end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are new worries and challenges here, and while they aren’t
helpless newborns anymore, some days I still feel unequal to the task of
mothering two little ones. Their needs
have actually seemed to increase as time has gone on. Now they need discipline as well as their
physical needs taken care of. It gets
discouraging and frustrating when my four-year-old doesn’t obey, and nothing I do
seems to help him change his unpleasant attitude. It’s draining when my toddler constantly
disregards my “no”, bent on doing what she wants. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, this phase often means banging my head against the wall when
my daughter is super clingy and I can’t figure out what’s wrong because she
only says 10 words, which put together make no sense. It means exasperated sighs when I’m
downstairs in the basement doing laundry, and my preschooler yells from the top
of the stairs and I come running, only to find out that he just wanted a
different television show on. It also means
wanting to hide in the bathroom for five minutes of alone time, if I can just
get the door shut before Rory rushes in there to “help” me. It most definitely means thinking I will go
crazy if I hear the word “MO-MMY!!” one. more. time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This stage in between feeding, rocking and changing non-stop and
teen rebellion is a lot of stinkin’ work.
But it’s also exhilarating. And, for
me, ultimately better than the newborn phase.
It’s fun to watch both of them learn new things and play together. I still have so much influence over what they
watch, do and eat. Their disobedience is
small right now, and their faith is big. Their hearts are soft and innocent, making
them a perfect place for Jesus to live.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love having them press in close while I read them stories, see them dance and "sing" to songs, and experience life through their eyes. I know one day I will look back on these days in which the pages of "If You Give a Moose a Muffin" play out repeatedly, and my heart will ache for when they were that little. Then I will be "that older lady" telling another mom to try to treasure these moments, even though you feel like you're going to be swallowed up in them.</span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-23324550877144860022013-07-03T08:00:00.000-04:002013-07-03T09:07:13.679-04:00A Woman's Right<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been thinking a lot lately about rights since the abortion
debate was once again thrust into the media with last week’s filibuster by
Texas Senator Wendy Davis of a bill that would hold abortion clinics to the
same standards as ambulatory care clinics and require abortionists to have
admitting privileges at hospitals, as well as ban all abortions after 20 weeks. Pro-choice supporters showed up to help
defeat the bill, championing the cause of women's rights so loudly that it caused
chaos and confusion in Texas’ State Capitol, and the bill was not signed into
law before the deadline for the special session had passed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seems odd to me that the same group who lobbies for women's
health is the very same group fighting against legislation that would
effectively make abortion safer for women, but that is not what this post is
about. It is about rights. Or what we think we have a right to, at
least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reigning ideology today insists that a mother
determines whether or not she wants to be one, and whether or not she perceives
a child worthy of life, even as it develops in her womb. She makes these
decisions at an incredibly emotional and vulnerable time, with the support of a
prevailing belief that there is empowerment in ending that child’s life within
her. This has been, in fact, defined as
her constitutional “right”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the last 40 years, the feminist movement has done
a very good job of persuading women that they should be ashamed and even fearful
of traditional women’s roles. It has instilled a great fear of having to
give up oneself for the sake of a child.
It has even instilled the fear of pregnancy itself, going so far as to
say childbirth poses more danger to females than abortion. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For many women, childbearing and rearing is a
wonderful, joyous thing. But for many
others, it represents death. Even in the
best of circumstances, motherhood demands your all. You give up control over your time, your
finances, your needs and your wants to put those of small children ahead of
your own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Motherhood is not celebrated or embraced in our
post-modern culture. Instead, it is
reviled. There is very little support
for mothers these days. Our communities
by and large are no longer the welcoming, safe havens they once were and the
statement “it takes a village” is a thing of the past. Sadly, many churches turn away the unwed
pregnant girl instead of offering resources and hope. By contrast there seems to be a multitude of
organizations, such as Planned Parenthood, presenting a way out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">In her book <i>What
Women Fear</i>, Angie Smith writes that when sin entered the world back in the
Garden of Eden, fear was ushered in right along with it. “[Adam and Eve] acted out of fear, and so do
we. We do it in all kinds of ways, and
while it’s different for every person, the heart of it is the same. We are responding to the lie of Satan each
and every time we run. Fundamentally, every
single fear comes from the lie spoken by the enemy in a garden designed to be a
haven… Is God really good ?” </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have experienced the sheer panic which accompanies the
realization that you now have the soul-crushing responsibility of a brand new
baby. Even as my son grew older, I
experienced fleeting moments where I thought my world was crashing down around
me. Just when I thought I had mastered
those, I gave birth to my daughter and experienced that same all-consuming
feeling of fear. Only this time, it
appeared to double since I had the responsibility of <i>both</i> a toddler and a newborn.
How much more must this fear be present for women whose pregnancies are
unplanned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward to present day, and my children still regularly
trample on my freedoms. My right to
privacy is infringed upon by their barging into the bathroom without knocking.
My right to peace and quiet is walked all over by a four-year-old asking
"why" questions that stretch down around the block and back, the ear piercing
crying of a one-year-old, numerous tantrums and meltdowns over any number of
things, fights over toys, songs being sung at the top of my son's lungs, and
the list goes on and on and on. My right to my own body was infringed
upon by a tiny baby taking up residence inside of it on two separate occasions.
Then there's the right to advance my career or financial/social status,
which I basically kissed goodbye when I became a stay-at-home mom. My world revolves around the constant needs,
wants and demands of small children who have absolutely no regard for what I gave
up for them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of this can feel threatening if I lose sight of the fact that Jesus
gave up His rights as Lord and King when he came to earth and lived among
needy, dirty people who demanded all He had to give. He was entitled to
glory, honor and praise but He laid it all down for us. “Who, being in very nature God, did not
consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather,
he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in
human likeness. And being found in
appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death- even
death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:6-8,
NIV) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>He made Himself nothing</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's that kind of self-sacrificing love which inspires me to serve
not only my children, but others around me who are in need of grace. It is that perfect love which drives out
fear- the fear of losing myself in motherhood, of being required to give up too
much and get little in return, even of giving up control over the way my kids
turn out. When we have a relationship
with Christ and understand His sacrifice for us, we bring everything under His
lordship. Everything we are holding onto
so tightly we are then able to let go of and entrust to Him. We let Him order our steps and faithfully
give up that which we feel we are entitled to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The very law designed to protect women’s rights ironically also
impedes their liberty, since true freedom is only found in Christ. Giving a woman the right to terminate a
pregnancy is not, in and of itself liberating when she feels her choices are
very limited to begin with. For her, it
is often the decision between the figurative death of herself or the actual death
of her unborn baby. Women should be
empowered to carry out the work of nurturing and caring for a child, a mission
of many pregnancy resource centers. This
is something that politics alone cannot accomplish; it must come through a
genuine encounter with a Savior who has already walked the road of sacrifice
and suffering. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5RA2GH9A7TByo2MHOxsf3ppuMhyUSVQAa_HIC0SiH1pjHW_Oin917-dDUobFZNy-wtZ_ZWeqIEpvaMBAWLQp2W79mvrHVAV-2wfV48Zk2_PqfJA30eCRFCP7bJ_Ea_BbrCdb/s300/FreedomInChrist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5RA2GH9A7TByo2MHOxsf3ppuMhyUSVQAa_HIC0SiH1pjHW_Oin917-dDUobFZNy-wtZ_ZWeqIEpvaMBAWLQp2W79mvrHVAV-2wfV48Zk2_PqfJA30eCRFCP7bJ_Ea_BbrCdb/s300/FreedomInChrist.jpg" /></a></div>
</div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-2453558614089634712013-06-29T10:49:00.000-04:002013-06-29T19:58:47.906-04:00Childhood Revisited<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once in a while, it seems rather strange to me that I am all grown
up now and a mom. It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was playing dolls with my sister and swinging carefree on
our swing set in the backyard. Now I am
not merely playing house anymore; I am desperately trying to find a way to
manage my own real life household. Sometimes
when the kids are getting out of control, there are messes to clean up and
dinner needs to be made, I look around and wonder “now who’s going to take care
of this?” Then it dawns on me and I
realize, oh that would be <i>me</i>!</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I am comfortably past the phase where I stumbled around in that
new mom sleep deprived stupor, I still long for the days when I was someone
else’s responsibility instead of the other way around. It makes me appreciate so much more
everything that my mother did for me. I
took it all for granted: the trips to the playground, library and pool, the
three square meals a day, a freezer and cabinets stocked with our favorite
treats, new clothes every season, etc.
As a kid, I didn’t realize how much time, effort and money went into
every single childhood and adolescent memory.
How much preparation went on behind the scenes of every vacation,
birthday party and play date. I just sat
back and enjoyed it, for the most part.
There were times when I would let my ungrateful attitude show, however,
and my mother would in turn make no bones about how displeased she was with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My own kids are way too young to recognize everything it takes to
parent them also. At 4 ½ and almost 21
months, they have an extremely limited ability to appreciate all that I do for
them. If I am doing any of this for recognition
though, I will be very disappointed. I
will become bitter and resentful towards my children, and they will become a
burden instead of a joy. Jesus said “Come
to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I am finding this verse to be very applicable currently, with two small kids who are in
constant need of my attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sit here and type this post, they are both sitting at the
kitchen table playing with Play-Doh and I could just about harm the inventor of
this substance right now. The bucket of
this brightly colored gooey stuff usually stays hidden away in the play room
closet for a reason. As I survey the
mess they have made, I am on the verge of crawling out of my skin. And thankfully, they are blissfully unaware
of how I am suppressing my OCD tendencies just so they can have a morning of
innocent childhood fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They often plow right through my orderly, structured world with their sticky fingers, loud voices and talent for destroying any room
they happen to be in, in less than 60 seconds.
It is overwhelming at times. I
feel downright weary some days, with all the work that goes into parenting. All the behind-the-scenes prayer, fretting, prayer,
frustrated sighs, tear-filled conversations with friends and did I mention
PRAYER that they are totally oblivious to and might never even thank me for
someday. This right here is
unconditional love; it is not reciprocated.
What I do for my children will not be returned in kind, no matter how
long I live. Nevertheless, I do it all
because I love them and want the best for them.
I know not to expect anything in return.
This is how God loves us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His love is completely unselfish and perfect, since there is
absolutely nothing I can offer Him. He
desires that we love Him for who He is, too, instead of what He can give
us. Of course, God also wants us to
remain in a posture of gratitude for everything He does for us just like I want
my children to be grateful. This doesn’t
mean I lord every little thing over their heads and demand that they appreciate
my hard work and sacrifices, however. I
shouldn’t act like a martyr in our home, feeling as though they somehow owe me. Motherhood is about serving, just like any
other ministry. It behooves me to
remember that Jesus came to serve, not to be served. Especially on those days when I feel more like
a maid or cook than a mother, when I am wistfully remembering my carefree childhood. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0United States38.272688535980969 -74.179687512.750654035980968 -115.4882815 63.794723035980965 -32.8710935tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-79142252688609489692013-06-24T08:00:00.000-04:002013-06-24T09:14:10.429-04:00More Than a Fairy TaleThis blog is titled "Gregg and Marisa's Married Life" because back when I started it, we didn't have kids. I can't imagine our lives without Colton and Rory, but I'll be honest, I do miss those child-free days. When our schedule didn't revolve around nap times and we could just decide to go somewhere on a whim, without having to plan three hours in advance to get two little ones and a diaper bag packed up. When we weren't practically shouting over the voices of a preschooler and toddler to have a conversation.<br />
<br />
I turned 23 the summer we met, and he was 25. Those ages seem so young to me now, 11 years later. Back then, we had our whole lives ahead of us and were starry eyed with dreams of our glorious future together. Before the gray hair and the stretch marks. When we were still in that "eat, sleep and breathe" one another phase. <br />
<br />
I used to be the girl who just walked over to him and wrapped myself up in his arms for no reason. I was the girl who, when we were apart, would miss him so much it felt like the breath got knocked out of me. I was also the girl who went out of her way to make him his favorite meal or dress a certain way that would capture his attention. <br />
<br />
Now I'm the woman who yells, "No jumping on the bed!", "Stop bothering your sister/brother!", or "Put that back!" I'm the woman who is frantically trying to contain the plethora of toys to one room. I'm the woman who is too emotionally spent at the end of the day to enter into any kind of meaningful conversation with another adult. I'm the mother wiping, consoling, disciplining and wrangling two kids under the age of five wishing she could turn back the sands of time to have one uninterrupted night alone with her husband. And not just to have it, to <i>treasure</i> it.<br />
<br />
But somehow I spend more time planning birthday parties and play dates than I do date nights. I'm too busy hugging and kissing my kids to share some of that affection with their father. I'm so focused on the needs, wants and desires of our children that before I know it, I'm neglecting those of their dad. I get so bogged down with the daily, mundane tasks of child rearing and household managing that I sometimes forget to cultivate the relationship that started this family in the first place.<br />
<br />
If I want to teach my kids anything, they must first know that they can rest securely in the fact that their mother and father's marriage is healthy. I don't want them to reach their twenties, ready to go off on their own and start their own families, without having had a good example of what marriage is. Not just having been taught that you stay together for the long haul, but that you also keep finding ways to love, communicate with and serve one another. That you shouldn't lose sight of each other somewhere between the very first cry of your firstborn and the "I do" of your last. I don't want to arrive at the empty nest phase and discover that we were merely roommates all those years.<br />
<br />
I need to start being intentional about the most important earthly relationship I have. Marriages between one man and one woman that actually last are going the way of the dodo bird these days. I don't want to be swept up with the extinction. My children certainly deserve better than that. So I will mother less and play the role of wife more. I will carve out that time for the one who I couldn't wait to spend all my days with. I will extend the same unconditional love to him that I pour out in abundance on our children. And I will put myself into his arms for "no reason" again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEr6uXFJj-fpRDGhqJQjJJUGqXMPfoUvUVjVpcQvH33lVqn5Ch2Hj1s0PPGefeGMAgLVoRESzJoyIdDe_5PqadcSHhuYEGVYOr7wx346j-69YNJBMXiVzqI9iKKv3hNgy_kjor/s1600/firstdance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEr6uXFJj-fpRDGhqJQjJJUGqXMPfoUvUVjVpcQvH33lVqn5Ch2Hj1s0PPGefeGMAgLVoRESzJoyIdDe_5PqadcSHhuYEGVYOr7wx346j-69YNJBMXiVzqI9iKKv3hNgy_kjor/s320/firstdance.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our wedding day, January 11, 2003.</td></tr>
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Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-34829421568619384872013-06-10T11:07:00.000-04:002013-06-12T15:09:10.104-04:00The Post That Will Likely Get Me "Unfriended"I can empathize with the woman who would do anything to prevent her child from suffering. There is an overwhelming instinct within me to protect my own two children from life's struggles. Unfortunately, because this world is broken they will face pain and sadness, and sometimes there won't be anything I can do about it. As a culture, we go to great lengths to avoid suffering. If a child is having an unusually difficult time in school, we are quick to get him on medication that will take care of the problem instead of letting him struggle through what are usually just normal growing pains. If we don't have enough financial resources, we put purchases on credit cards and take out loans to buy stuff that gives us a life of comfort, not wanting to delay gratification. When we are facing hard times of any kind, we often pray for God to just take them away. <br />
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Our society is not in the regular habit of dying to ourselves. What draws many people to Jesus is the same reason that many others reject him. He willingly endured emotional and physical suffering to save us, and requires us to deny ourselves as well. "Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends". (John 15:13, NASB). This fierce opposition to pain and suffering is how we as a nation can be horrified and outraged at the shooting of innocent children in a Connecticut elementary school, while at the same time endorsing abortion.</div>
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We have gone so far as to delude ourselves into believing that ending a life of suffering is actually somehow humane. We have taken God out of decision making, so that we can choose for ourselves what is right and what is wrong. 40 years ago when deciding on Roe vs. Wade, the Supreme Court threw up its hands and said that if medical professionals, clergy and ethicists could not agree on when life begins then neither could they resolve the question. They deferred to the mantra that is even more popular today of "what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me."</div>
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Quality of life is often championed over sanctity of life. Women like <a href="http://sgirl79.blogspot.com/">Stacy Delisle</a> and <a href="http://angiesmithonline.com/">Angie Smith</a> come to mind as examples of brave women who chose the opposite. Both were given extremely poor prognoses for their unborn children, but chose to continue carrying them anyway. Despite possible great emotional and financial hardship, they decided to give their babies a chance at life, no matter how slim that chance was. Angie's daughter Audrey lived for one hour and Stacy's son Isaac lived for 16 minutes before going to be with Jesus. Though brief, their lives had weight. They mattered to God. </div>
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Their mothers were not given any special guarantee that the choice they made would result in a happy ending. They listened to the doctors, watched the ultrasounds and decided to believe in the sanctity of life instead of the fear that their lives would never be the same. The voice that said the baby would be better off. The lie that every situation is unique and nothing is cut and dry. They knew that it was their responsibility as mothers to protect and preserve the lives inside of them, regardless of the supposed quality of those lives. "Quality" is a subjective term, and the last time I checked only the Creator has the right to determine that.</div>
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If a person were to stop the ventilator of a tiny baby who was dependent upon it to breathe, we would call that murder. But because a baby hasn't passed through the birth canal yet, we feel we can call it "mercy", "kind" or any other feel-good label and justify that it is somehow noble to take the life of a child. People blur the lines between right and wrong, using terms like "viability of fetus" and "incompatible with life" when God has always been very clear about this. Every life is important to Him, and He created every one in His image.</div>
Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-74050452212230680752013-05-25T15:50:00.003-04:002013-05-25T15:54:23.758-04:00True Mom ConfessionsThe other day I stumbled upon this website: <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/">http://www.scarymommy.com</a> It's a place where you can leave comments, or confessions, anonymously about your motherhood experiences. Because they are completely anonymous, people feel free to be honest without fearing judgment or negative repercussions. As I read the first few, I have to admit I giggled to myself and nodded in agreement. But then, as I continued to read, I began to feel more than a little disturbed. Here are just some of those "confessions":<br />
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"Everyone is always impressed that my four-year-old can read. Honestly, he taught himself because I'm too busy to play with him. But, I take all the credit."<br />
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"She's potty trained, but I put her in a pull-up when she wears a snow suit. I'm that lazy."<br />
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"I get ridiculously excited to do our taxes every year. It's the only thing my MBA has proved useful for as a stay at home mom."<br />
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Now, I'll be the first one to say that parenting is HARD. I can easily relate to the woman who posted that she joined a gym just for the free childcare so she could read magazines and blogs in the locker room in peace. Or the one who fantasized about dropping her son off at the lost-children sign in the mall and pretending he wasn't hers. I get it.<br />
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There is something to be said for being real and not pretending every moment spent with your kids is fabulous. Because, let's face it, it's not. We are raising tiny neanderthals who think the world revolves around them and training them one exhausting minute at a time to become productive, responsible adults who hopefully also love and serve Jesus. It's no easy task.<br />
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However, I feel like we are caught in a trend of mommy martyrdom. As if the world and our children owe us something for bearing and taking care of them. We act like they get in the way of us pursuing our dreams, having "me time", or romantic encounters with our husbands. We start treating them with contempt. I hear it from the mouths of mothers every day in stores, parks, moms' groups and yes, even from my own. That annoyed, irritated tone which conveys to a child that they are an interruption and your (fill in the blank) is more important than they are. I'm not saying we should indulge our kids by giving into every request, or that play time by themselves isn't important. They <i>should</i> learn how to delay gratification. But our attitude seriously needs to change. This is the under current running through all of the confessions I quoted above and countless others on scarymommy.com. <br />
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Long after they've lost interest in all those childhood toys and had fun on all those great family trips, they will remember our attitudes towards them. Did we treat him like a nuisance, or like the blessing God gave to us? Did we act annoyed when she made messes or mistakes, or extend her grace? Were they burdened with the expectations we placed on them and our despondency over our supposed mundane role as mothers, or were they delighted in and celebrated for being exactly who God created them to be?<br />
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Mothering is an opportunity for us to participate in the miracle of shaping small human beings with no regard for personal space, no awareness of social cues and hearts bent on evil into reasoning, rational, emotionally and spiritually healthy men and women. It is our calling to shepherd our children's hearts toward Jesus in all of the seemingly monotonous, irritating "distractions" throughout the day. He refines us too, in the process. When we confess those longings, frustrations and regrets to Him and lay them down at His feet, we can parent with grace and humility, and perhaps even enjoy the children we have been entrusted to raise, instead of simply enduring the daily drudgery of cleaning up messes, changing diapers and breaking up fights. Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-78931064002721114052013-05-14T14:47:00.000-04:002013-05-16T09:54:04.021-04:00Not "Just" A MomThis year on Mother's Day, I didn't get breakfast in bed. Instead, I got my preschooler snuggling into bed with me and my husband at 6:45 that morning. As I kissed his cheek and put my arm around him, he said "Happy Mother's Day!" and told me excitedly that he had made a card for me the night before with Daddy's help. This past Sunday, I didn't get pampered. Instead, I got a huge smile from my daughter that was meant only for me as I lifted her out of the crib. There was no parade held in my honor, no declarations about how much I do for our family. Just quiet undertones of recognition from my children, found in their giggles, laughter and hugs. Gentle reminders that I am blessed to be not just a mom, but <i>their</i> mom. <br />
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Two days before, I attended a Mother's Day Tea at my son's school. The children sang songs and we were treated to a special snack that they helped make. Then all the moms were invited to take a look at the bulletin board in the back of the room, where the teacher had written what each child appreciated about their mom the most on construction paper flowers. Colton's read "She plays and does games with me". He could have chosen a million different things to say, but that's what stuck out in his mind the most. It was an acknowledgment of the time and energy I invest in him daily. When it's not convenient. When I am <span style="font-family: inherit;">exhausted. When no one else sees. When it seems fruitless. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">Rachel Janokovic wrote a post at Desiring God Ministries about motherhood that resonated with me:</span><br />
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<em><strong>Motherhood is not a hobby,</strong> it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. <strong>It is what God gave you time for</strong>.</em></div>
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<em>Christian mothers carry their children in hostile territory. When you are in public with them, you are standing with, and defending, the objects of cultural dislike. <strong>You are publicly testifying that you value what God values, and that you refuse to value what the world values</strong>. You stand with the defenseless and in front of the needy. You represent everything that our culture hates, because <strong>you represent laying down your life for another—and laying down your life for another represents the gospel.</strong></em></div>
"Objects of cultural dislike" seems pretty harsh at first, until you consider that the abortion industry has now wiped out 1/4 of an entire generation of Americans and that society pushes more and more for children to grow up faster through media, education and clothing. Kids' childhoods are being diminished and even obliterated today in the name of progress. <br />
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There are many days that I wonder if what I'm doing really makes any difference at all. Sometimes all those menial, monotonous tasks and hours spent in child's play don't appear to have lasting value. They might not seem like much to the world, but I know that they matter greatly to at least two people. Two beautiful, precious kids that God has given me to mother. I'm not just someone who feeds and clothes them, does their laundry and shuttles them around from one activity to another. I am someone who invests in their lives and raises them to be contributing members of society.<br />
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And that is not just something. It is everything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of the best reasons I love being a mom.</td></tr>
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Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-83271108273950513572013-05-05T16:33:00.000-04:002013-05-05T16:33:08.814-04:00Thank Heaven For Little GirlsEver since I can remember, I wanted to be a mother. And a mother to a daughter, in particular. Don't get me wrong; I LOVE my son. I even love the fact that he is all boy. However, being a girly-girl myself growing up with a sister and being raised by a single mom, it is definitely a stretch for me to parent a child that has a Y chromosome. He usually wants to do some high energy activity involving bad guys vs. good guys, or monsters, or any combination of cars/trains/trucks when I'm at the pace of sitting down to color. He will have none of it though, and that's okay because he's his own person and has blessed and challenged me in a million different ways...<br />
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But this post is about his sister. Mostly because I don't want to miss this glorious, innocent stage of her childhood before she becomes a drama queen that has more time for boy-bands and keeping up with the latest fashion trends than she does her mama. When I found out we were having a girl in the spring of 2011, I wept tears of joy. I had convinced myself that I was carrying another boy and made peace with that, so when the ultrasound technician told us she couldn't find any obvious, um, boy parts I was in a little bit of shock. The tech also told us this daughter of ours was going to give us a run for our money because of the way she was moving around so much.<br />
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And give us a run for our money she did. After the initial two week stint of sleeping and eating like a dream, Rory kind of realized she was now living outside of the womb and put up one heck of a fight. She wouldn't nap anywhere but in her swing, or sleep at night for more than two hours at a time. The crying was almost unbearable. At her two week appointment, she had already developed thrush and was diagnosed with an umbilical hernia that eventually went away on its own. She started a weird pattern of throwing up her bottles that usually lasted about 24 hours each time. Every 4 to 6 weeks on average, she began another cycle which had us switching from milk-based to soy formula and then back again. At two months she got her first cold that lasted for 8 weeks, resulting in conjunctivitis, a double ear infection and an upper respiratory infection. And oh my, was she clingy. I couldn't even pull the shower curtain closed to take a shower without her having a meltdown. She also pooped no less than 8 to 10 times a day, necessitating in a full outfit change. Every. Single. Time.<br />
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I was seriously beginning to wonder if I had fallen victim to the saying "be careful what you wish for". I loved my daughter, but to be perfectly blunt, if she had been our first I'm not sure there would have been a second.<br />
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And then she started sleeping through the night. Only after three nights of letting her cry it out, of course. Her mysterious bouts of vomiting became less frequent. She began reaching all those important milestones that made her transform from a helpless baby to a little person with a personality. <br />
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Today at 19 months, she is a tenacious toddler with the desire to explore everything and a smile that could melt your heart. Somewhere in between baby and child, she still has that "brand new" smell that I want to bottle up and store forever. She still has those soft, baby fat arms and legs that you just want to squeeze. And don't get me started on those cheeks! <br />
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I love that her hair is long enough now to pull back in tiny, colorful elastic rubber bands that come in a package of 500 because of how easily they break. I love the swishing sound that she makes as she runs because her bottom is still diapered. The impish grin she gives me as she's about to do something she knows she isn't supposed to. The way she copies everything her older brother does.<br />
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I find myself wanting to savor her each night before putting her down to sleep. Because I know she is our last child. Because she's my daughter, planned and prayed for. Loved unconditionally, just as my Heavenly Father loves me. There is no doubt she is one of the greatest gifts I have received from Him, and I hope that she knows how valuable she is to us and to Jesus.<br />
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<i>"You're a little piece of Heaven, you're a golden ray of light, and I wish I could protect you from the worries of this life. But if there's one thing I can tell you, it's no matter what you do, hold to Jesus- He's holding onto you." Hold Onto Jesus by Erin O'Donnell </i>Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-70778519086674056932013-04-13T14:55:00.001-04:002013-04-13T14:55:57.184-04:00Motherhood Measuring StickThere's a post that has been burning inside of me for months. Something I have hesitated to write. But now it is making it's way out and I can't contain it any longer. I'm about to "out" myself. <br />
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There is often a disconnect between the mom I am and the mom I want to be. Or make that the mom I think I ought to be. A lot of times, I feel like Julia Roberts' character Isabel in the movie "Step-mom". In the opening scene, Isabel is frantically trying to get her live-in boyfriend's two children ready for school. She struggles making them breakfast, getting them dressed and even finding the youngest child who has hidden himself in one of the kitchen cabinets. She realizes that she hasn't washed the daughter's shirt for "purple shirt day" and as she suggests that she just wear orange instead, the girl rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disgust. Then in the middle of all the chaos, their real mom shows up and says "I can take it from here, Isabel."<br />
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Just like the step-mom, I live in the shadow of a better, more organized, more patient mom. The one I've created in my head. She shows up whenever I'm feeling defeated, frustrated or just having a hard time keeping up with the demands of two small kids and all the household responsibilities. She whispers to me that I'm a failure. She looks at me with contempt, saying smugly "Why can't you get it together?" She follows me around throughout the day, constantly criticising everything I do and the way I do it. The way I responded to my son- too harshly, not firm enough or just not enough period. The way I am often distracted when playing with my children, instead of being in the moment and just enjoying them. The fact that laundry is still sitting downstairs in the dryer when it needs to be folded and put away in drawers so each family member has what they need at all times. The list can go on and on and on until eternity. <br />
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The so-called "real mom" is who I measure myself against. Somewhere between Michelle Duggar and June Cleaver. I imagine that she would never choose to be on Facebook when she could be engaging her children in creative, structured activities or crafts found on Pinterest. She would always keep the perfect balance of maintaining a well-organized, clean home and taking care of the kids. She would be ever patient with the litany of requests, both those spoken and those communicated through whining, and she most definitely would never, ever raise her voice or lose her temper.<br />
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I have always been a perfectionist. I guess it comes with being the oldest child, especially growing up in a family that tried to maintain a wonderful outward appearance while crumbling apart on the inside. I've carried that legacy, or should I say bondage, right into my own family. I have never felt so inadequate as the day a nurse handed me my newborn son, and I looked at him and literally thought "Now what am I supposed to do with this?" You would think that nearly five years later and with another child under my belt, I'd have it figured out by now. Or at least under control.<br />
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About three months ago, when I was lost in these self-defeating thoughts, I mercifully heard the Lord say to me, "You aren't enough, but you don't have to be. You don't have to be everything to them, because I AM." I had been listening to the lies of the enemy, in the form of my alter-ego mom, for far too long. The lies that say I have to have it all together for my son and daughter to grow up the right way, and that if I make too many mistakes I will consign them to years in therapy. That cold day in January, the voice of truth finally broke through. Now, this isn't to say I no longer struggle with doubt and discouragement. I still have plenty of days when I beat myself up for not being or doing enough and thinking that everyone else does it better. But I have started admitting my weaknesses to God so that He can be my strength in those areas. I have invited Jesus into the chaos of my every day life, when I feel like I can't stay on top of the messes or I'm going to blow my stack, so that He can meet me there and remind me that He will "take it from here". <br />
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Then there's no perfect mom pointing out all my faults. There's only grace. That is what my kids need the most from me anyway, when they too make mistakes. Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-73119031589892338802013-02-24T16:00:00.002-05:002013-02-24T16:00:59.483-05:00Just Passing ThroughIt's been one of those weeks. A rushed mornings-late bedtimes-yell in anger-worship at the altar of Keurig- seriously consider selling my kids to the gypsies- kind of week. My son has had more tantrums than I can (or care to) count. I have, in turn, lost my cool more times than I can count. The hook-on chair at the kitchen table still reeks of baby puke after my daughter coughed so hard the other night that she threw up her dinner, because I haven't bothered to take it apart and throw the fabric in the washing machine. My husband and I have been like two ships passing in the night. We looked forward to a night out alone at an awesome concert in the city that he won tickets to, but couldn't find a sitter since my mother-in-law is out of town and it was a weeknight.<br />
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Yesterday morning, Gregg left before the sun came up to present a workshop at a church over an hour away. Colton woke up when he heard the shower start and wouldn't go back to sleep. That was NOT how I wanted to start my weekend. It was cold and raining out, and I probably should have just declared it a pajamas-and-movie day but I got the three of us out the door to go to an indoor event that the town's rec center was putting on. On the way home, I committed the unpardonable sin of stopping at McDonald's for lunch when only the night before I congratulated myself on having made a flavorful, inventive dinner for my family from scratch using only organic ingredients. Oh how the mighty have fallen. <br />
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Everywhere I looked, I saw imperfection, mess and disappointment. I heard words and phrases in my head like "inadequate", "out of control" and "hopeless". I asked God why I couldn't have just one week where the kids weren't sick, my oldest wasn't constantly challenging every word I said and things seemed to work out in my favor. Then I heard the answer. Because this world is not my home. Because this life isn't meant to satisfy. It is broken, but thankfully this is not all there is. Jesus came so that our peace, our satisfaction would be found alone in Him. He still comes, every day and every time I need Him to show up in my ordinary life as a mom. I've found this week that even my disappointments and struggles can point me to Him, because they serve as reminders of how much I need a Savior. He experienced weariness, too. The pressing in of people with great needs. The sorrow over how broken this world is. And He overcame the cross so that we could have hope of something more. <br />
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I don't really observe Lent, not in the traditional sense anyway. I don't commit to give up anything, and I don't stick to only eating fish or pizza on Fridays. But this year, as I count down these 40 days to Easter, I will be meditating on the meaning and the power of the cross. I love the song "There Will Be A Day" by Jeremy Camp, especially the part about the beauty that is in store outweighing the hurt of life's sting. One day we will see Jesus face to face. That gives me incredible hope. Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-84735156815328879462013-01-27T16:21:00.002-05:002013-01-27T16:23:23.461-05:00A Place For Everything, and Everything In Its PlaceI've always considered myself a pretty organized person. It was at the top whenever I was asked to list what my strengths were. Growing up I kept my room neat and tidy, papers were always kept in tabbed three-ring binders, and there was a system in place to keep track of everything important.<br />
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But now, after having two kids, organization is just a long word that starts with the letter "O". I <i>try</i> to be organized. I make lists, monthly menus, and put important dates and appointments right on my Google calendar. Still, despite all my best efforts, I find that I can't really get my act together. I walk into a room and forget what I came in there for multiple times a day. Colton's preschool projects, mail, and other papers threaten to take over the kitchen table. I haven't put anything away in the filing cabinet in months. Our basement is starting to look like it could be featured on Hoarders. Dinner is often a last minute thought, and I cannot for the life of me make it out of the house on time. Ever.<br />
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My life is really not that complicated. I'm not over-scheduled. I do the same exact things, every single day, with little variation. Why, then, does organization seem to elude me? I think the answer lies not in my ability or will power, but in two small but fierce opposing forces. My children.<br />
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I begin a task on my list and Child #1 starts a litany of requests for tv watching, eating a snack, playing, etc. I tell him to wait until I'm done and go back to the task at hand. Then I am interrupted by Child #2 needing a new diaper. Then I need to discipline Child #1 for taking a toy away from Child #2. And 30 minutes later, I've finally emptied the dishwasher. Often I feel like I'm being pulled in a dozen different directions all at once, which makes focusing on anything nearly impossible. <br />
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It's just the nature of having two little kids who are always around when I'm trying to clean, or cook, or blog, or whatever. Inevitably, after picking up and organizing the play room the two tiny tornadoes will trash it again in no time. There will be two chubby hand prints on the freshly cleaned mirror. The recyclables will be emptied all over the kitchen floor since my 15 month old thinks that the recycling can is her own personal treasure box. <br />
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What I am learning is that I need to be okay with it. The house cleaning and the laundry will always be there, but my children will not always be this small, nor will they always be around. Someday, though it seems like YEARS away now, they will grow up and move out. And my house will be clean and organized again. <br />
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This isn't to say that I should just neglect our living space, either. Our family needs a safe and relatively clean haven to dwell. However, I can't make organization my idol or get so wrapped up in having things "just so" that I see my kids only as mess makers instead of the beautiful blessings God has given me. I need to be content in and grateful for the season of life He has placed me in, even though it may be disorganized and messy. My best laid plans of having a clean, orderly house will continue to be thwarted daily by a preschooler, toddler, and medium-sized dog who sheds like crazy. Thank goodness the saying "cleanliness is next to godliness" isn't actually true, right? Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-84708116845984961742011-10-17T14:15:00.004-04:002011-10-17T15:39:54.652-04:00She's Here!!My little girl is two weeks old already, and I'm just now getting around to posting her birth story. It feels like I've known her forever.<br /><br />She was due last Tuesday, but decided to show up ten days early. At my 37 week appointment, I found out that she was no longer breech. My OB confirmed it with an ultrasound and I was so excited about the possibility of being able to try a VBAC, provided I went into labor on my own before the 10th, my scheduled C-section date. A few days later, I began having irregular contractions that lasted throughout the whole week. That Friday, September 30th, I saw the doctor for a routine visit and mentioned the contractions. She casually said that it could mean something might happen soon, but wasn't overly concerned and didn't check for labor progress.<br /><br />That evening around 5:30, the contractions started becoming more intense and closer together. Almost two hours later, I decided that these may be more than just Braxton Hicks and called my practice's answering service. While waiting for the on-call doctor to get back to me, I called Gregg who was almost an hour away at a meeting for one of his financial clients. The cell phone reception on his end was very spotty, so I wasn't sure if he could hear me say that I thought I was in labor. I heard back from the doctor right away and told her that my contractions were about two minutes apart and were starting to get difficult to breathe through. She told me to come to the hospital to get checked out, so I called Gregg back and relayed the message.<br /><br />At this point, I started freaking out. I wasn't expecting her to come for another week and a half, and I still had a lot on my to-do list. I hadn't even packed a bag for the hospital! I didn't know what I should do first and ended up just succeeding in picking up the living room which was littered with toys, brushing my teeth, and getting Colton changed since he had a poopy diaper. I hadn't packed any of my stuff when Gregg arrived home, so I just had him bring my camera and laptop with us in case we ended up staying and having the baby then.<br /><br />We got to the hospital just after 9:00pm, and my in-laws met us at the ER entrance to take Colton back home and stay with him overnight. They settled me into triage right away and began monitoring my contractions. I tried to get comfortable and remain calm during the next hour. Gregg and I watched some tv and talked a little bit, while intermittently watching the fetal monitor. Eventually, I was checked by one of the residents to see how far along I was, which hurt a lot. It turned out I was only 1 cm dilated and 10% effaced. Sometime in this time frame, my OB showed up. One of the nurses started an IV of fluids and said my doctor would be back to check on me in an hour. By 11:30pm, the contractions were starting to feel like bad period cramps and it was hard to concentrate on anything Gregg was saying.<br /><br />Just after midnight, my doctor checked my progress again and I was still only dilated to 1 cm and my cervix wasn't softening. The baby was also very high up yet. The doctor explained that she couldn't give me anything to move labor along, since I had had a prior C-section (which I knew). The chance of uterine rupture was too great with the kind of intense contractions pitocin brings on. She basically gave me two options: go home and continue to labor, even though it would probably take another 14 to 20 hours before I would get to 10 cm, IF I even progressed to that point on my own, or have a repeat cesearan. We asked her what her medical opinion was, and she said she thought we should have this baby tonight. Someone else had just gone into the OR, so it would be a little while before I could have the C-section if that's what I chose. She left us to talk it over.<br /><br />Gregg asked what I wanted to do, and I started crying saying that I wasn't ready to have her yet but I didn't want to go home and take my chances. When my doctor returned, I told her I wanted to have the C-section. I was given something to take the edge off my pain which made me feel as though I was drunk. Then we both filled out and signed a bunch of paperwork, and shortly after 2:00am they brought me down to the operating room while Gregg got into his scrubs. I got helped up onto the table and one of the nurses let me lean into her while the spinal was administered. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it had when Colton was born. The anethesia took effect almost immediately, making me feel heavy and even drowsier. The rest of the next hour was kind of a blur. I know that Gregg came into the room after they had prepped me and put the shield up. He sat to my left, holding my hand. I felt a lot of tugging and pressure as they delivered her and I remember my doctor saying, "Look at all that hair she has!" I was so relieved to know that she was actually, in fact, a girl. I didn't really suspect otherwise, but there was always a chance the sonographer could have been wrong at my 20 week ultrasound.<br /><br />Rory Lynn was born at 2:51am on October 1, 6 lbs. 12 oz., 19 inches in length. I began crying when I heard her cry. One of the nurses brought her to my side once she was all cleaned up and bundled. After Gregg left to go with Rory to the nursery, the doctor stitched me up and I was so exhausted at that point I kept fading in and out. It felt almost like I was upside down, because of the angle of the table and the drugs they had given me. Once they moved me to recovery, I fell fast asleep. When I woke up, Gregg was in the room and I asked right away how Rory was. Then all of a sudden I had this horrible taste in my mouth, said I was going to be sick, and promptly threw up my dinner from the previous night.<br /><br />Around 5:oo that morning they wheeled me from recovery to my hospital room, and I got to hold my daughter for the first time. She was perfect and so beautiful. For the next few hours I slept, in between getting checked by nurses and continuing to puke. By about 9:30, Gregg's parents brought Colton in to meet his baby sister. He looked huge to me compared to Rory. My in-laws took several pictures of the four of us and traded off holding the baby. Later that afternoon, my mother and step-father came to visit. Gregg ended up going back home that night to stay with Colton so he could keep his routine the same as much as possible, and after snuggling with Rory for a little while, I asked her nurse to take her to the nursery so I could get some sleep.<br /><br />Over the next few days, I expected to feel hit by this wave of depression like I had right after Colton was born. But it didn't come. In fact, except for the pain from the surgery (which wasn't nearly as bad as the first time), I felt pretty great. Like I was in love. Everything felt right with the world. My daughter had arrived, safe and sound, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I felt like our family was truly complete, and that this was what I had been put on this earth to do: give birth to these two precious children and raise them. It's only within the last couple of days that I've experienced the inevitable baby blues. Lack of sleep, emotional instability, and trying to juggle the needs of a three-year-old and a newborn while also trying to not let the house fall down around me has left me pretty spent. I'm also feeling guilty about having, essentially, turned Colton's world as he knew it upside down. For three years, it was just me and him. Now he has to share me, and I hate that.<br /><br />But I know Rory will eventually be sleeping through the night, Colton will be a great big brother, and I will get a routine down. I am so grateful that my husband took off two weeks from work to be here helping me. He is the most wonderful, amazing man and father. Taking over without complaining household chores and baby & toddler duty. Still loving me fiercely even after seeing all of my organs laid out. Every time I look at our daughter, I know that we created her together. God has blessed us immensely.Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-34524465292942729592011-09-02T16:09:00.004-04:002011-09-02T17:18:58.859-04:00Fall Second ChancesSeptember already! This is my favorite time of the year, when the summer weather gives way to cooler autumn days. Growing up, it was always a little bittersweet. It meant the end of summer vacation, but a return to school where I would see all of my friends again on a daily basis and soak up all the learning I could.
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<br />For me now, the beginning of fall weather signifies that I am getting closer to meeting my baby girl. I'll be honest, I am ready to be done with this pregnancy. DONE. Not because I'm prepared to have a newborn tomorrow or anything; I'm just in a lot of discomfort nearly all the time. Sciatica, shortness of breath, restless legs, my tummy being stretched further and further like a rubber band, lack of intimacy with my husband because he can't get around this huge belly, etc.
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<br />Stick a fork in me.
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<br />I had physical discomforts towards the end when I was pregnant with Colton, too. The difference is, I didn't have a three-year-old to look after at the same time. He's a pretty amazing kid, but it's still a demanding job parenting a toddler. He has officially entered the "But why?" and "What's that?" stage. The tantrums have decreased, thank goodness, but he's become a little bossy and if I had a penny for every time I had to remind him to say please and thank you, I'd be a millionaire.
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<br />I've been trying to do at least one baby related thing every day, to take my mind off of the pain and focus on the joy of actually having my little girl, whether it be visiting my WTE October 2011 Message Board, or organizing the nursery. I finally sorted through all the gifts we received at the "sprinkle" and categorized clothes by size, so I'd know what she still needs. The crib was delivered to my in-laws' and we're going to pick it up this weekend! I can't wait for it to be all set up. This past Saturday, we converted Colton's crib to a full size bed and moved the crib mattress and glider out of his room into the baby's. He's been doing really well with his new bed so far. He was so excited to sleep in it the first night.
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<br />This morning, I had my 34 week appointment and found out that Baby Girl is still breech. Not that I was surprised. She's been moving around exactly like Colton did, and I continue to get kicked in my girly parts on a regular basis. The doctor didn't have to tell me; I already knew there's a slim chance of her turning at this point. She recommended scheduling a repeat C-section today, instead of waiting until my next appointment at 36 weeks. She told me I could choose any (week)day between my 39th and 40th week. When I went to check out, the receptionist asked if I had any preference for one doctor over another to do the surgery. I chose my two favorites and the 6th of October was offered first, but since I was adamant about the section being early in the morning and this particular doctor wasn't available then, I went with the 10th instead.
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<br />I am a little disappointed that I probably won't get to try a VBAC, and I even possibly will never get to experience what labor is like. But all I really care about is that my daughter arrives healthy into this world, however the delivery. I know that it doesn't make me less of a woman or a mother. And I'm not just saying this. I really do feel this way. It's taken me about three years to come to terms with, but I am completely okay with the idea. Plus I know what to expect from another c-section, and recognize the things I can do differently to make it a more pleasant procedure. I also feel empowered that I was able to make my own choice about which doctor and what time I want the cesearean, and that it will be as close to my original due date as possible. It has always bothered me that my previous c-section was scheduled an entire week before Colton was due. I won't be, nor was I then, just a passive patient on an operating table. I will be actively participating in the birth of my child.
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<br />For me, it's kind of like getting a "do-over". I know enough now to make informed choices about what types of medication to receive, rooming in, and feeding. I'm also going to ask that the baby be brought to my side right after they clean her up, even if I can't hold her right away. So, I'm excited. If everything stays the same, we are anticipating Baby Girl's arrival on Columbus Day. Only about 5 more weeks to go!!
<br />Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-46174704035232479172011-08-12T17:27:00.001-04:002011-08-12T18:46:40.878-04:00Summertime and the Livin' is BusyI'm finally getting around to posting after almost two months. To say this summer has been busy would be an understatement. We moved into our house at the end of June. It is so much bigger than our condo and we're only paying $100 more in rent. I love that Colton has a playroom and a backyard to run around in. We unpacked and settled in pretty quickly. There's definitely more to clean, but I'm enjoying the extra space!
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<br />I've also been busier than usual with MOMS Club since being elected Vice President at the beginning of July. I'm responsible for coordinating service projects and finding speakers for our monthly meetings, as well as attending the board meeting once a month. It is incredibly rewarding and we have a wonderful executive board this year who has a lot of great ideas and focus.
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<br />Of course, I'm just busy daily taking care of a soon-to-be three year old and growing his baby sister inside of me. I'm now 31 weeks pregnant and feel like "Large Marge". I get pain in my lower back, hips, legs, and feet frequently. I'm also feeling Braxton Hicks at least once a day, usually in the evening. Baby Girl is moving around almost all the time, mostly at night when I'm lying in bed. It sometimes feels like she's trying to kick or punch her way out. I've started going to the doctor every two weeks and will until my 36th week, when I begin going every week until my due date.
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<br />The nursery is starting to fill up with stuff. Two Saturdays ago, my mom and sister threw a "sprinkle" for me and I ended up with a ton of super cute girl clothes. She is going to be one well dressed baby! The crib and dresser are being ordered at the end of this month, courtesy of both sets of grandparents. I'm excited for her arrival, yet also apprehensive about the changes that will take place in our family. I wonder how in the world I'm going to take care of two children. It seems like one is hard enough.
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<br />I know I'm not going to go through this alone, however. I have plenty of support from my friends in the MOMS Club, several of whom just recently had their second child. My sister is also pregnant and due in January so our babies will be two or three months apart (depending on whether she delivers early again)! It will be really awesome if she also has a girl.
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<br />Colton turns three on Sunday, and we're having about 50 people here tomorrow for his birthday party. After cleaning the house and filling goody bags for 18 children, I am exhausted. I'm looking forward to it though. Colton is excited to have his friends over to "have cake and sing the cake song (Happy Birthday to You)". I can't believe my little boy is going to be three! It feels like just yesterday that he was a tiny newborn. Now he's speaking in paragraphs and using the big people potty. I don't know where the time went…
<br />Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-38894840883657156242011-06-18T17:04:00.004-04:002011-06-18T18:18:16.397-04:00Back From VacationI figured that since I actually have some spare time in between vacation and moving, I would write a quick post. We are back from Sesame Place and had a GREAT time. Colton loved going on all the rides (even a roller coaster that I thought he would be scared of) and meeting the Sesame characters, especially Elmo! The look on his face when he saw Elmo for the first time is one I will remember for the rest of my life. He was so happy to give Elmo a hug and a high five, then take him by the hand to try to take a walk.<br /><br />Due to my condition (a.k.a. pregnancy), the only rides I could go on were the carousel and Big Bird's Lazy River where I just sat in a giant tube and floated down the water, but it was still fun seeing Colton have a blast and experience everything through his child's eyes. I remember Sesame Place being a lot bigger, but that was more than 20 years ago. We had pretty good weather while we were there also- not too hot or too cool- and because we went before school lets out, it wasn't that crowded. It rained for a little bit on our third day, so we decided to drive out to the Crayola Factory and spend a few hours there. Our last day was finally hot enough to enjoy the water rides, and Colton couldn't wait to splash around in the toddler sized tidal pool area. <br /><br />We left on Wednesday and as soon as we pulled onto the highway, Colton fell asleep. Naps were not a regular occurrence during our trip, but he did fairly well anyway. We tried to head off a meltdown on our second day, which was our longest day in the park, by leaving after lunch and going for a drive. Colton ended up sleeping for about an hour, and then we went back.<br /><br />Because we had season passes, we could come and go whenever we felt like it. We also didn't pay for parking since we upgraded them. The passes also gave us a 30% discount on food and merchandise. The really nice thing is that we can go back at another time for just a day, if we want, up until October 30.<br /><br />On Thursday, we slept in and ran some errands during the afternoon. We stopped for lunch at Panera Bread, which turned out to be ill fated. Gregg and I both ended up with food poisoning. He had it worse than I did, which I only attribute to the fact that I'm pregnant and am currently not (ahem!) regular. Thank goodness Colton didn't also get sick, but it wiped the two of us out for the following day. My throat and chest still hurt from all the vomiting. I was worried about it affecting the baby, so I tried to stay as hydrated as possible even though I couldn't keep food down. She seems to be doing fine though, kicking the tar out of me when she's awake.<br /><br />In other news, we decided on a name for Baby Girl! We're not revealing it until she's born, like we did with Colton. I am surprised that we were able to choose a name at 23 weeks when we couldn't decide on Colton's until 38. I go for my 24 week appointment next Friday, and then shortly after that I'll be in my third trimester already. I can't believe she'll be here in less than four months. :)Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841313.post-78607430221433238622011-06-07T17:13:00.003-04:002011-06-07T18:07:57.703-04:00Everything but the White Picket FenceI was thinking recently about the fact that I am right where I want to be at this stage of life. In my early 30s, with a great husband I've been with for almost a decade, and a mother to a beautiful little boy and a baby girl on the way. I have supportive friends, a great church, and live in a nice community. Things haven't always been easy during these past several years, and there have certainly been a lot of twists and turns along the way, but the pieces have pretty much fallen into place.<br /><br />And I don't deserve any of it. I am blessed, to say the least. After we found out we were having a daughter, I thought that the only thing missing from our lives was a house. We've been looking to move out of our condo since the beginning of March. It has been wonderful living here, but as I mentioned in a previous post, since our family is growing, we need more space. For a few months, it seemed that every place we looked at was either out of our budget, too outdated, or in an undesirable location. I know that it's somewhat slim pickings around here, because we're renting instead of buying, but I was beginning to get discouraged.<br /><br />Last Monday we went to look at a rental property advertised on Craiglist that's located in the next town over. After seeing it, I knew it was the place for us. 3 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a full finished basement with an office, updated interior, newer appliances, and a nice yard in a kid friendly neighborhood. It was a little out of our price range, so Gregg emailed the people renting it out to ask if they could possibly lower the rent some. They wrote back saying they would be able to, that they had other applications in for the full amount but thought we were a great fit for the place. So after criminal and credit checks were done, we were offered the house yesterday! We are stopping by tomorrow night to sign the lease and put down the security deposit.<br /><br />I am really looking forward to living in a house again. No neighbors upstairs or in adjoining units, making all kinds of noise which freaks the dog out. I can just let Tess outside in the backyard to do her business, instead of walking her in bad or cold weather. Colton can play in the yard, splashing in his water table or riding one of his toy vehicles around. The previous tenants actually left behind a swing set and an outdoor playhouse, too. He'll also have a designated play room where we can stash most of his toys, instead of them crowding his bedroom or taking over the living room.<br /><br />I'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed, faced with the task of packing while being 6 months pregnant and taking care of a 2 1/2 year old! I just want to hire somebody to do it for me. I know that we're only moving 10 minutes away, instead of out-of-state like we've done before, so it shouldn't be that bad. And we are going to hire movers, instead of enlisting the help of family and friends. I just hate packing. And then unpacking. Blech. In the middle of all this, we also leave for vacation next week! We are going to Sesame Place in Langhorne, PA for a few days. We haven't had a real vacation in seven years. I really think Colton is going to love it, since it's geared for small kids and has all of his favorite characters.<br /><br />That's it for now. I'm not sure how much updating I'll be doing these next few weeks... it's going to be a very busy June!Marisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12852867947847137993noreply@blogger.com1