St. Patrick's Day with children

I have a boy who breaks out in eczema at the mere mention of food dyes, and yet sometimes there is a craft, a snack, a celebration so marvelous that he looks at me cross-eyed and nods, smiling,  I'm willing to itch like crazy for the next 48 hours to indulge in these toxic rainbows! 

All that said, St. Patrick's Day is so much more than rainbows and leprechauns, artificial food coloring, four leaf clovers, my mother's candied corned beef and cabbage, hot soda bread, gold foil covered chocolate coins, and the stone there on our table that we call "Blarney." Indeed, March 17th is a day to celebrate missions as we remember Christendom's first cross-cultural missionary.

One of our family's favorite traditions is to read aloud together the story of young Patrick's life, chronicled in the AMAZING children's book, The Story of Saint Patrick. "Buried beneath the St. Patrick’s Day symbols of shamrocks and leprechauns lies the story of a man determined to share the message of salvation with the people who made him a slave."  But the story doesn't end there, the last few pages tell of a martyr's death, then brings the reality of persecution to modern times. Yes, it's a bit heavy, but it's told with such simplicity that my children have been moved to understand rather than left confused.

Smack-dab in the middle of Lent, St. Patrick's Day reminds every member of our family what it means to be ambassadors of Christ — bold and loving, brave and faithful.

For the last few years we've just brushed the surface with our young, green-clad sons, keeping the focus on the going and the sharing that missionaries do, rather than the danger and the cost.  In recent years, however, words like persecution give way to martyrdom and ISIS.  This year, in light of what is happening throughout the world, we will go a bit deeper over our bowls of mint chip ice cream, talking together of the ways God has used persecution to spread His Gospel throughout time. And we will pray for the men and women we know who are actively going out into regions of the world that are hostile against the message of Christ today.

For a wonderful online education in all things St. Patrick, visit Celebrating Holidays to delve into the rich Christian history, the captivating legend, the traditions, the hymns, and the recipes that bring St. Patrick's Day to life.

Leprechaun traps and shamrock shaped pancakes are fun, no doubt, but don't miss this wonderful opportunity to talk about the heart of Christian Missions with your children... making sure that they know that missionaries are not just the men and women who go overseas, missionaries are the men, women, boys, and girls who tell others about Jesus's great big love whoever they are.

Yes... As you build your rainbows with colorful Twizzlers, remind the children of God's Promise to keep pursuing mankind with the wonderful news of His Love. He does that, the pursuing and the loving, through you and me and our little ones, right where we're living today. And those golden Rolos, underneath it all, remind us where our treasure lies.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

postscript - Walmart carries these rainbow colored twizlers, bags of rolos, and plastic tie baggies.

Teach us how to pray...

The Spit-Up Covered Glory of Each Day

Hormones swinging out, then chasing right back in; Each baby brings with him this offering. Emotions climb up high, then calm back down, Our newborn cries, we nurse, but dare not drown.

But sometimes we do, and then wipe our eyes Blow our nose, and go turn off the house lights Succumb to sleep, two hours at a time Waking to sing one. more. time. "baby mine."

A new day starts, then twelve more pass at once Did I shower or ever stop for lunch? How can I be so elated and sad? Those hormones, sleep, and food would make me glad.

But sometimes they don't, 'cause sometimes they can't. Today blends with tomorrow in a rant About the ugly and the true. But O! O, O, O! Let us breath and know, know, know,

The spit up covered glory of each day. Sweet pea scented, baby powder dusted, glorious reflection of swaddled grace Turned up to receive our love, face to face.

And sometimes we do stop, to smell the truth. The roses, posies, sweet pea scented truth Of love, tucked deep in the baby wrinkles Where tears of joy and exhaustion mingle.

How many times did I fall asleep nursing my newborn in the gliding chair there in the nursery?  Waking with a kink in my neck and a baby covered in milk.  It was all so messy and delicious.  And in the night, when I'd awake and nurse my child again, I often asked the Lord "How should I pray?"

"One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us how to pray..." - Luke 11:1

The Lord's prayer spilled like water into wine from his lips, and found it's way into The Word.  We read it there, memorizing lines and praying them in rote.  But only when we slow down to savor each word, do we get the simple beauty of prayer. Mothers, wives, grandma's with a laundry list of requests for your laundry list of loved ones... “When you pray, say: “‘Father..."

Nursing in the middle of the night, packing lunches before the dawning of a new day, spending hours on the floor with puzzles and legos and crayons, "Father, Your Name is Holy."

The music plays loud from my third born's room, "Build your kingdom here" and I whisper the words heavenward, "Your kingdom come."

Beside the rocker, during those early days, was my bible, my daily bread, and beside that bread lay my  journal.  I recorded prayers and scriptures and the last time I fed my son and which side I nursed him on.  I chronicled it all, including confessions.  "Forgive me my sins."  I prayed through every line, in different ways, every day, without ceasing.

Even the first verses I committed to memory as a new mom were listed there:

“Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?  If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

He taught us to pray, and we do, but sometimes we forget how much like a conversation it can flow throughout our days, throughout our sleep-deprived nights.  And sometimes we forget to ask, for our loved ones and for ourselves, and His Word reminds us how.  But life is busy chasing children and cleaning house, until we stop and read it further down the page:

“So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened."

There is so much to a woman's prayer life.  From the simple act of recognizing that He is God, to the bold entrance we can make through the front door of His Grace, making requests and clapping our hands in faith.  It's all too much for me to understand. Which is why I'm blown over with gratitude when other women record their scripture prayers for the rest of us to lift as our own.  Have you done that?  Read through a book, like Stormie O'Martian's "The Power of a Praying Parent", or the new, heart-reviving prayers in Erika Dawson's collection, "Pray Truth: Praying God's Word for My Husband's Heart"? At the end of the book I sometimes start immediately over, because they've led me to the footstool and shown me how to pray again.

It is easy to forget to pray, but O there are women who remind us how...

Let's pray.

"Dear Lord, You are Holy over our sleepless nights and poured-out, spit-up crusted days and taxed marriages and  full hearts.  Build Your kingdom here in our home and in our family relationships, as you've purposed them in Heaven.  Forgive us when we are selfish in our exhaustion, and in your forgiveness remind us to forgive others. Lead us into right choices, even when we feel the pull of temptation strong.  Hem us in, Lord.  Hem us in.  And then be sure, Father, to take all the glory for your own self.  For it is yours entirely.  And I am tired and ready now for bed.  Go before me into the next day, and teach me again, fresh in the morning, how to pray. Amen."

When boyhood turns to manhood

Today, just before dusk, he loaded up into the sidecar of his Daddy's motorcycle and rode up and out of the driveway.  His helmet bouncing like a bobble-head as he turned to wave one last time.  With a tent and two sleeping bags in the compartment behind him, and chocolate milk and donuts at his feet, father and son drove past the bougainvillea that shouted after them over the fence, as the night blooming jasmine added her parting thoughts.  And I stood there as they rattled out of sight, left alone in the fragrance of it all, thinking how my youngest is growing into a man before our eyes.  They all are.  

But the littlest, who thinks himself the biggest and always has, he turns 7 on Sunday!  So his Dad took him camping up in the mountains beyond our home.  They set up camp in the headlight of the motorcycle, then father taught son to start a campfire (without older brothers elbowing their way in).  Come morning they will hike together and throw a ball back and forth, breathing deeply the crisp mountain air.  It may sting their lungs on a cool winter's day, but it's a good kind of sting.

When they tire of the ball they will break down camp and drive into the small orchard town for lunch and a slice of apple pie. Then comes the gift; father will take son to the knife shop and help him choose his first pocket knife. And eyes will glint like the blade. Manhood.

Last weekend we took our family up another mountain for another growing up celebration.

We climbed the Southern California mountain range seeing only a dusting of snow.  The oldest had the dream of snow boarding, the middlest talked incessantly of hot cocoa, and the youngest man-child was breathless and silent, praying there'd be enough to ski upon.  And there was.  We rounded the last bend and there before us were pathways of snow, helped by the machine that turns water to ice.  And we cheered.

Checking little people into their first ski lessons we learned that Asher's class was sold out for the day, so his dad and I shrugged and took him up the bunny slope together.  It was an awkward first three minutes and then he was skiing.  All six years and 51 weeks of him, pointing his tips straight down the mountain.  When he built up speed he snowplowed to the right and then to the left.  Controlling each turn, slowing down to avoid other skiers who had fallen, and making it to the foot of the run before the rest of us.  He took our breath away and inspired tears to traverse the slopes of my cheeks multiple times because it was all so ridiculously beautiful.

I have had many bouts of doubts about raising these boys into men.  I had this picture in my head that masculinity meant every Saturday at the ball-field, but my husband isn't a ball-field sort of dad.  "Don't worry," he always said, "they will grow up to be men.

Men aren't made in the company of little boys.  Men are made with their fathers, doing masculine things."

On the chair lift we took a picture and drank in the view together.  Then our biggest /  littlest said, quite matter of fact,  "Do you know why I'm so good at this?"

"No, Asher, why are you so good at skiing?"

"Because I believe in myself."

His father nodded then said, "Happy, (for that is his nickname) lots of people believe in themselves, but..."

"No, you don't understand," Asher interrupted, "God made me good at this, and so I believe I can do it. And so I do it. With Him this is possible."

We nodded and sat in silence some more.  And there was time for it all because we were taking the chair to the top. All the way to the top with this boy-turning-man who believed in himself, because God gave him this unique ability.  Near the top Asher spoke again, "You know how I used to want to be a professional surfer and tell people about Jesus?... Well now I'm thinking I could be a professional snow skier and tell people about Jesus."

Do you ever worry that you aren't doing enough or doing it right or doing it like the other parents are doing it there on your cul de sac?  I do sometimes.  But my husband reminds me faithfully that these boys will grow to men, and that it will not be by accident. Tonight I believe him.  

Do you have any rites of passage that you walk your boys through?  An age when they get their first pocket knife or go on their first father / son adventure?  A party just for them when they hit a certain age, to celebrate their growing up into a man? Might I suggest the wonderful, inspiring book, Raising a Modern Day Knight: A Father's Guide to Guiding His Son to Authentic Manhood, that encourages these ritual celebrations.  It casts a vision for the growing up adventure our sons are on and invites us to participate purposefully.  There is no one way to do this celebratory journey, except to commit to traveling it intentionally beside them, up the mountain, with pocket knife securely fastened to their belt.

For more posts on joy and challenges of raising boys up and into men, follow The MOB Society on Facebook.

Savor motherhood

I tore myself away from the laundry smelling void of anything - void of fragrance because the artificial smells give my oldest son a painful case of eczema.  Raw and sore and needing a hot shower and ointments late at night.  So I put down the nothing smelling socks and undershirts and followed my nose outside where all three of them were riding scooters down the driveway this afternoon.  Orange trees bearing, lemon trees budding, and the jasmine just starting to open her aromatic petals.  

Engulfed in the fragrance I sat on the cinderblock wall and drank it all in. The whooping and the hollering and the squeals of, "Watch me, Mama!"  All of it fragrant.  So I inhaled deeply, until I was drunk on their joy.

Now don't you for a moment put me on some motherhood pedestal where this pulling away from chores to bathe in their laughter comes easily.  For all the times I do sit and enjoy my little people, there are a hundred and ten times I find another room needing my attention.  For all the times I carry out fragrant-less chores from room to room, there are people bursting with the flavor of life running in and out of the front door.

But the confession is more than that... their colorful lives that smell of citrus and sunshine often times get in the way of my grey existence when I have an agenda to get through.  And then, on top of that, I have these dreams.  Dreams of having some alone time and writing out a story and making something beautiful on a canvas to adorn the walls here in our home.

But then I hear then singing.  Loud and sure.  I hear them strumming and singing and splashing in the backyard and I know that I must give in to real life in their midst.  Because their muscles are growing larger and stronger and their eyes are shining brighter, and their heads are taller than they were yesterday.  And I don't want to miss this.

There are countless blog posts floating around the internet today about the top things our children need from us during this tender fleeting stage, but this past week I've been aware, (aware to the point of heartsick!) of the ways I keep rushing past my own need to savor my children before they are grown.  I am daily aware of my temporary needs to get rest and a workout and a laugh with friends, but there is a deeper need than that right here in my home.  Though I feel it or not, my deepest need, here in the midst of motherhood, is to taste and experience each day that smells of earth, each kiss that smacks of maple syrup, each laugh that shakes the eucalyptus leaves.  I need to live, truly live it with them.

Today as my youngest wrote "Be My Valentime" again and again on 19 envelopes, I thought, "This may be the last time a boy in my home says Valentime.  Valentime.  And I just couldn't bring myself to correct him.

So when he addressed his last note and turned to ask me for a game of dominos, I just had to say Yes.  There he was, all cozy in his jammmies and holding the bear he breathes soft nighttime breath into night after night, so I put down the dishes and said, Yes.  Because there is power in our yeses.  I already knew that was true.  I knew that they needed our Yeses to believe they are loved, I just didn't know how much I needed those sacred yeses too!

Yes.

Yes, I will savor this moment with you before it has passed us by altogether, like dominoes falling one day after another.  Yes, I will leave those dishes till another time.  Yes, I will come out and watch you skate and come to your room to see the fort you've made.  Yes, I will sit down and have a mug of cocoa too as you tell me all the names of your Hobbit Legos.  And, yes, I will sing you one more song tonight.

Yes.

I want fragrant memories of these years together, and those can only come from having lived fragrant days by their side.  Not driving them from one place to another, not talking at them while forgetting to listen to them, and most assuredly not by breathing the same air in our home whilst forgetting to stop and really breathe them in... deeply.

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

So I got down on the floor today and sat on cinder blocks and wasn't ready for dinner. And I touched their soft skin, already prickly with "man hair."  And I told them made up stories about what college is going to be like and how tall they will grow to be.  And I told them that their wives will all smell of peaches in the summertime and how they will take their families to the beach with all their kids.  Their kids will all be cousins together. And there was so much giggling. All of this falling one into the other, like dominoes being played out on dusty hardwood floors.

Yes.

So goodbye and goodnight and farewell, because I have people to love here in my home.  And you have your people there in yours.  So let's close for now.  Without 10 things they need from us, remembering only this one simple thing that we desperately need.

Yes.

Because we need Yeses too!

when brothers have different love languages

It was a quiet moment, void of conflict and competition. Two of the brothers set up army men together as I slid a pan of zucchini muffins into the oven.  It was then I heard the nine year old with a lisp ask, "Caleb, is wrestling your way of showing love?"   

"What?" The question came fast but was met by silence.  "Did you just ask me if I wrestle when I want to show you that I love you?"

"Yes? Do you?"

I held my breath and vowed not to disturb their conversation with my clanging of pots and pans or unwanted motherly insight.  In the stillness I caught my first born's gentle answer, "Yeah, I guess I do.  And I wrestle when I feel like we're having a happy moment together, it kind of bubbles out of me."

The younger brother then shrugged his understanding and said, "I like to be quiet with you.  I feel love when I'm doing this kind of stuff with you."

All eleven years of Caleb smiled just then, and he looked up to find me teary-eyed, because we'd just been talking about his tendency to push his brothers to play the way he loves to play, and we talked of possible ways he could meet them in their happy places.  His heart swelled, my heart tightened, and his little brother's heart overflowed with five simple words, "this is so much fun."

“Love is something you do for someone else, not something you do for yourself.”

- Gary Chapman, The Five Love Languages

So often the differences between us all cause friction instead of tender dialogue.  The boys who thrive on noise disturb my sensibilities and the man who is always going, forgets how much I like to simply sit with him.  There have been long days I haven't experienced being loved at all.  Likewise, the boy who wants me to play legos with him is waiting for love just the same.

It's only when we each stop our self-gratifying agenda to be loved, that we can truly give love.  True Love.  It's a sacrificial affair, this kind of loving each other.  Especially when we're all so different, with different needs, and different personalities, and different ways we show and experience love.  It's like we're all speaking different languages right here in the very same home.

This is family: A place where everyone speaks a different language.

There are many things about parenting that no one prepared me for. Teaching my children to maneuver lovingly through relationships is just one of them. Here in our house of three brothers, a mom and a dad, I'm learning that God gives us family to learn some of these skills. It's like He mixes us all up in our families of origin, sometimes in uncomfortable ways, in order to mold us into the people He wants us to be on the other side of these growing up years. The sensitive one gets to learn to cope with more aggressive personalities, and the strong-willed bull-dozer must learn to slow down and give in. Even mom and dad get to humble themselves to communicate our devotion and admiration to each of the uniquely diverse personalities we didn't expect to birth. It's all one big package of beautiful and difficult, intended to grow us into a loving and generous people.

When brothers have different love languages, and husband and wife have different ways they experience love, and mother and child find their communication stifled by different love needs too... we can either shut down and simply survive these years together, or we can dive into real love and learn to thrive together. A thriving love gives beyond one's own needs and comfort.  A thriving love is based on sacrifice.  The way Caleb stopped his rough-housing nature to meet his little brother in quiet and gentle play.  The way I made a special dinner tonight for my husband, when scrambled eggs would have filled me up just fine.  The way I close my lap-top to read a chapter of a book to the little one, and step over the piles of laundry to play on the floor with his brother.

"Greater love hath no man (woman, mother, father, husband, wife, grandpa, grandma, or child) than this, that he lay down his life for a friend (son, daughter, husband, wife, mother, brother, grandparent, or grandchild..." (John 15:13 - parenthesis added)

I know what it is like to misinterpret another's different personality as a personal attack.  Even mothers of young can feel assaulted by their toddlers because their wants and needs and energy are counter-intuitive to who she has always been.  They change up her system and the regular ways she once knew peace and security.  But she must commit, then recommit each moment if necessary, to loving them in new ways, regardless of the sacrifice, over and over and over again.

“I would encourage you to make your own investigation of the one whom, as He died, prayed for those who killed Him: 'Father forgive them for they know not what they do.' That is love's ultimate expression.”

- Gary Chapman, The Five Love Languages

The difference here is this... our loved ones aren't doing anything wrong, and in need of forgiveness, when they are simply asking us for love.  They are just expressing who they are, speaking their language, asking for love, as we are being who we are, speaking out own mother-tongue, requesting the same.  And all of us together (all three or four or five...) don't always fit together harmoniously.  And that's okay.  Like I said, we're learning real love here in our homes.

There is no safer place to learn it!

And so tonight I am contemplating the ways each of my beloveds experience my love.  Physically, emotionally, playfully, quietly, with touching and gift-giving, laughter and one on one time.  And I'm taking a lesson from my eldest, to not just talk about these things, but actually do it.

Blessings upon you and yours, as you grow in love together.

Resources

Gary Chapman's, The Five Love Languages and The Five Love Languages for Children are easy to read and promise to change the way we give and experience love within our home.

Here's a simple "Love Languages Quiz" to help you discover your children's primary language today!

The MOB Society put together this great series on showing love to our sons, one love language at a time.

And the children's story, A Perfect Pet for Peyton (also by Cary Chapman) helps children understand love languages too!

Application

Take a moment to seek The Lord's deep understanding of who each family member is and jot down a few notes about each one.  Then make a game plan.  "Matt needs me to spend quality time with him, so today I am going to run errands with him.  Caleb needs touch, so tonight I'll hold his hand when we watch a movie.  Asher needs words of affirmation, so I will begin our day communicating the appreciation I have for him when he gets himself dressed and is the first one to the breakfast table.  And Brody wants the same gentle play and quality time from me that he loved getting from his older brother.  I will give him that today."

Pray

"Thank you Lord for putting our family together just the way You did. Though it threatens my equilibrium some days, You purposefully crafted us together, and I will worship you by loving them well today - By the powerful flow of your Holy Spirit, Amen."