Stopping to Smell the Flowers

"Her name must be everything she is," said her mother.
"Her name must be absolutely perfect," said her father.
And it was.
Chrysanthemum. Her parents named her Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum grew and grew and grew.
And when she was old enough to appreciate it,
Chrysanthemum loved her name.
She loved the way it sounded when her mother woke her up.
She loved the way it sounded when her father called her for dinner.
And she loved the way it sounded when she whispered it to herself in the bathroom mirror.
Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum is one of my favourite Kevin Henkes books! I love the way he captures the perspective of a little child - the simplicity, the charming self-centeredness, and most of all, the overwhelming need for love and security. Before I became a parent, I'd read passages like the one I quoted above and think, "I'm going to be that kind of parent. The one whose kids know she loves them just by the way she says their names." After I became a parent, reality hit. Believe me, I still want to be that kind of parent. I'm just finding out that wanting it and being it are two different things. Especially when I'm tired and stressed and frustrated. Too often I hear myself saying their names impatiently. Sometimes my voice is dripping with sarcasm. Or disappointment. No matter how much I say "I love you" I know that those other, life-sucking moments are speaking loudly.

We've been busy lately. Busy with lots of good things, but busy nonetheless. The last few days I've hit the "crying-over-spilt-milk" stage of tiredness! Quivering lip because I couldn't light the barbecue. Struggling to keep my composure when the ground beef got a little too crisp. Clear signs that it's time to recharge! So I was incredibly encouraged when I sat down for a little facebook/catching up on blog reading time last night, and read Jen Hatmaker's latest post - On Empty. She wrote so eloquently about exactly how I was feeling. Spooky. And so wise. In her words -

The night is upon us; our hands are spent from work. The only sane thing to do is rest. God sometimes does His best work while we entrust ourselves to his overnight keeping. Our responsibility is laying down the tasks, setting aside the duties, which is much harder than it sounds. There is never an end to the work; just an end to the day. Sometimes the very hardest obedience involves stopping for the night.

I read this while fretting about all the stuff I still needed to do before I went to bed. Good timing! Then, this morning, when I woke up still tense and tired, I read Ann Voskamp's blog entry - The 1 Reason Why You Have to Slow Down. I'm starting to think God's trying to tell me something! Okay, I know He is. If I want to recover my joy and peace, and be able to be fully present for my family, I'm going to have to slow down. I'm going to have to take a few minutes to count gifts. I'm going to have to cross a few non-essentials off my to-do list. And focus on the really important stuff, like making sure my children know how precious they are, and how much I love spending time with them. And I will make sure they know this not just by my words, but by how I say all my words. By the delight on my face when I look at them. By showing them the joy I feel in their presence.

As I write these words, Logan walks into the kitchen and says, "Mom! I made an amazing surprise for you! Come see!" Not sure what to expect, I walk into the dining room with him. All proud, he shows me where he coloured with marker on the hardwood. In what universe is that an amazing surprise?! Actually, in his. So, I take a calming breath, smile at him, and say, "That is certainly a surprise! You know you're not supposed to draw on the floor, though. Here's some paper. Can you draw another surprise on the paper for me?" I walk back into the kitchen. He draws on the paper, happy. I slow down and give thanks for him. And for the wisdom of the words I read in the last 2 days, encouraging me to slow down and re-focus. Marker wipes off the floor; harsh, unloving words leave harder-to-clean messes. I also give thanks for Rylie's cold - not for the fact that she's feeling yucky, but for the fact that we've been forced to slow down and stay home more the past few days.

The words of Ephesians 6:4 have been rattling around in my head: "Don't exasperate your children by coming down hard on them. Take them by the hand and lead them in the way of the Master." (MSG) Who is the Master? Jesus. And what is His way? Love. A love that pursues, restores, redeems, makes whole. I will strive to love my children in a way that brings wholeness today. In order to do that, I'll have to slow down and play. Looking forward to it.

[in?]fertility

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom. "Wanted" isn't nearly strong enough for what I felt! Forget teen mom - I used to daydream about having a baby in elementary school. I'd imagine elaborate scenarios in which babies I knew would get deathly ill and only my presence by their crib would give them the will to live. I practically stalked new moms at church, hoping like crazy they'd see me lurking behind them and ask me if I wanted to hold their baby. It was a bit of an obsession, to say the least! In addition to wanting a baby, I naturally became fascinated with the idea of romantic love. Traditionally, one needs a man to experience motherhood.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I entered my 20's without any prospect of marriage. I allowed myself to become discontented, which led to turning my back on God and getting involved in a relationship with no real prospects of motherhood. When I finally got right with God, got out of the relationship, and met Brian, I had surrendered many of my expectations to God. I was so grateful to be back on track with Him, and experiencing His presence in my life like never before, I figured I'd be all right even if I never got to be a wife and a mom. And I have no doubt that I would have found joy and fulfillment had that been my path.

In the middle of my newfound contentment, however, I met Brian! We were married within the year and my dreams of being a mom were brought back to life. It soon became clear that conception would be difficult, so our hearts turned towards adoption, and the rest of the story is familiar. It all happened so quickly, and we felt God leading us so strongly, that I didn't really take the time to explore any unresolved grief over my infertility. There were physical factors that had prepared me to expect difficulty getting pregnant, and adoption had always been something I wanted to do regardless of biological children, so I didn't dwell on it for too long.

Lately though, as I've been practicing gratitude in all things and believing that we are to find a reason for joy even in the midst of difficult circumstances, I've been thinking about my infertility. And my thoughts have taken an interesting turn. In the past, I've always summarized my feelings on infertility by saying, "Sure, there's a part of me that will always be sad I didn't get to experience the whole pregnancy thing, but I'm so incredibly grateful for the kids we do have that I'm not hung up on it." I'm wondering if there's more to it than that. More than just "infertility sucks but we've got great kids so it all balances out." What if we had never adopted? Would I still have been able to be grateful? Find joy? I have to believe that there would have been a way. That the promise of Psalm 30:11 applies to this: "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy." (NLT) We don't merely dance while we're mourning, or put joy over top of everything else. (Although this kind of intentionality and discipline can be a part of it.) It seems that the source of our mourning can literally be transformed into joy.

One of the movements I've been following is called "People of the Second Chance." They ran a recent campaign called "Labels Lie" and I started thinking about the label of infertility. Is that a label I need to wear for my whole life, or is this something that can be transformed? Redeemed? Replaced with a truer identity? If labels do lie, then could I be considered fertile?! According to the free online dictionary, fertile can mean more than just being capable of reproduction. It also contains the element of growth, maturity, and productivity. It is often used to describe things other than reproductive ability, as in "She has a fertile imagination." I wonder... I think about my life. I have grown a LOT in the last few years - spiritually, emotionally, relationally. A feeling of increased maturity has accompanied this growth. Then there are the little ones in my care. They are growing and maturing. I must be providing fertile ground for their growth. As for productivity - I have written a lot in the last year! I am involved in a brand new adoption and foster care ministry in our church, and we're preparing to teach the Empowered to Connect material to a group of parents in a few weeks. My days are marked by a certain productivity, even if much of it is forced by the physical and emotional needs of the kids! I feel productive, most days. As I explore these definitions and reflect on my life, I realize that "fertile" is a more apt description than "infertile."

As I start to embrace my fertility, I realize that much of what has happened in my life would not have happened without my inability to conceive. There's the obvious - we wouldn't have the 3 great kids we do! But there's more. I wouldn't have trusted and depended on God in nearly the same way. Once again, surrendering 'Plan A' forced me to trust in God's goodness and His plan for my life. I am closer to Him as a result. Had I conceived biological children, I likely would not have seen my family grow from zero to three children in less than 1 year. This has forced a daily dependence on God as I deal with the demands of parenting 3 so close in age. I have been humbled. Many times. And I have learned to be more patient, not to mention more gracious with others! I have learned about sacrifice as I daily put the needs of others before my own. I have felt the thrill of being a part of something much, much bigger than myself as I've watched the birthing of a new ministry. I've felt completely overwhelmed with the knowledge that God has placed me here and now to accomplish His purposes in the world. I get to be a part of a growing movement that will see more families open their homes to children who need them.

Joy and gratitude flood my soul as I consider my infertility! I could laugh out loud over all the ways my life has been made fruitful. Fertile. Full of growth!

You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever!
                                                                             Psalm 30:11,12 NLT