Playing Catch Up: From Four to Five

It's been quite a long while since I last blogged on a personal level. Life became a little chaotic before it turned completely upside down, and "upside down" happened last fall. I'll write about that sometime soon. "But first, let me take a selfie."

Meet Tucker



Tucker Isaac arrived early, but right on time at the beginning of May. He wasn't due until mid-June. He and I had issues with my blood pressure, which wasn't anything new for me. Both of his older siblings experienced preeclampsia with this mama, too. The difference with this little guy is that we had a curve ball thrown our way. Tucker's placenta played out six weeks early and he began losing amniotic fluid. We were so fortunate that my maternal/fetal medicine doctor spotted the decrease in fluid during a routine weekly ultrasound. I was admitted into the hospital to monitor both my blood pressure and fluid levels. While the BP was doing pretty good (as long as I wasn't moving), the fluid levels decreased even after receiving a 24 hour IV. The decision to induce was far more popular with my husband and I than with the doctors. After several nights of being separated from my family, he and I were both of the "poop or get off the pot" mentality. However, Tucker was short of the ideal 34 weeks the doctors had hoped we'd get to. In the end, we won.

I'll spare you the induction, labor and delivery details (for now), and just let you know that Tucker is very healthy (see the pic above!), having grown tremendously from his 3 lbs. 14.6 oz. birth weight. He is a sweet boy, a very good baby (thank you, Jesus!). And it's time for him to eat and get to bed now, but I look forward to sharing more of the story with you soon. There's a lot to tell, that's for sure.

Until then ...

he grew up in a weeks' time

My little guy started pre-school last week. I thought I'd be a little upset, but strangely, I was very cool with it. For whatever reason, I sort of mourned his ripe age of four a few weeks ago when his big sister started fourth grade. I was already lamenting the start of kindergarten 2012 a whole year prematurely. That sadness made me see very clearly that if left in his current daytime environment, he would not be ready to start school.

I prayed, begged, and put out as many feelers as I could to find a pre-school, or at least someone who would work with him on the basics. An answer came quickly, much to my amazement and delight, and he is now in week two of a stimulating, encouraging environment. My husband and I saw immediate changes in him:

• He's calm.
• He has an interest in sitting down to draw, write, and color.
• He has always been inquisitive, but his questions are becoming more mature and thoughtful.
• His attention span seems longer as it appears he has learned how to focus, somehow.
• He now has patience that he didn't have before.

How can all of this be? I can only say that God's hand is in it. From the circumstances of who his teacher is and a history our daughter's share, to the Christian learning environment I longed and prayed for, to the refinement of my son's behavior, that's the only explanation there is. It was time, and the Lord provided.

So now for something super cute. My little guy is sitting here with me, coloring away. Abruptly, he stopped coloring and I could feel him looking at me. I looked up and he said, "if you eat too much, you get a baby in your belly." I stifled a laugh and asked who told him that (assuming it was something crazy his big sister passed along), and he said it was the four-year-old girl he's attending pre-school with. Those two must be having some deep conversations!

With a Joyful Heart,

the window seat, please ii

I have my modest desk not in the middle of the room, but directly in front of a window. It's comfortable and minus the house next door, the view is fine. I'm in the trees, nose to nose with the squirrels in the oak tree; inspiration washes over me.

The proof of a father-daughter wedding dance 10 years ago keeps me company and reminds me of home. My window seat. Home.

Smiles,

the window seat, please

When I was a little girl I dreamed of a big room with a big fancy desk right in the middle of it. The desk faced the window and it's the place I would sit and make magic, watching the beauty outside from a cushy chair.

I almost had that dream come true in my childhood bedroom, but the nook with the window wasn't quite wide enough to hold my desk. I did situate it such that I could type on my word processor and still get a view of the creek. Poetry flowed and I'm sure it's thanks to having the view as inspiration.

I'm not sure if it was intentional, but my daddy built a big-girl-sized toy box for me when I was barely a teenager -- a toy box that fit perfectly in that nook. While I couldn't type from the toy box (why were laptops invented so late?), I sure could cuddle up on it and read a book. It was my favorite spot and many hours were spent there, just Stephen King, Mary Higgins Clark, John Grisham and I.

As I take this time out from cleaning my own home and yes, rearranging the house to try to find the perfect window seat, I'm reminded of how precious the simplest things are. A toy box with my name carved into a heart on the front; a view of the world from the safety of my home. The inspiration of God's creation is boundless and I'm blessed to see it and love it the way He intended for me.

Thank you, Daddy, for the gift that brought me to tears that Christmas morning close to 20 years ago and still does today.
I love you,

my missing reader | my legacy

We all have that one person we wish would pay attention to us a little more. Who is that one person you'd like to capture and intrigue?



Courtesy WomenInTheBible.net

 Maybe it's unrealistic or unfair, but I get bummed when I think about the way I sometimes spill my guts here in my very public journal and know that my husband never sees it. Sure, he knows I blog, but he has no desire to read what I write. To his credit, he gets to listen to my mouth, so why willingly subject himself to my thoughts on a screen, too?

Probably 95% of the content on this blog has not been verbalized from my mouth. These are my thoughts, my heart in words. To know that my husband is not clued in is sometimes painful. I see this blog as an extension of myself. It's something that my children will be able to access in the days, weeks, and years after my life is done. They will be able to see a different realness of their mom that they may not have otherwise seen.

Everyone wants to leave a legacy. What will mine be?

I want to be known for my creativity, my heart for others, my passion for raising the best children I have the ability to raise, my unending dedication to my marriage, my fun-loving side that my colleagues get to enjoy (*smile*), and my drive to be more and do more every single day.

I want to see the day that my kids realize that they can have their own special moments - the kind that only a brother and sister can experience. The kind my brother and I have, where we can simply flash each other a look that says it all while never uttering a word from our mouths. I want my husband to never have a doubt about my faithfulness to him - to know that our vows before God have never and will never be broken. 'Til death do us part, babe.

Consider the things you want to instill in the next generation and the way you want to be remembered. Then set out to make your desired legacy a truth for those around you.

Gettin' Her Groove Back: 15/60

give time

I was blessed to spend time with my parents today. We invited them to visit so we could honor my mom for her birthday. It was a relaxing day free of schedules and pressures (for some of us anyway; James was working at church most of the day).

The kids entertained and we caught up on the events of days that have been slipping past way too fast. It was an easy day. Simple conversation. Warm, fuzzy love.

At least twice my daddy thanked me for my time today. For allowing them into my normally busy Saturday. I was humbled. Their Saturdays are just as busy as mine, and besides, have I kept them at arms' length? If so, it hasn't been intentional. It's just the pace right now.

If you're reading, Daddy and Mama, I love you, and you're welcome to enjoy any Saturday with me that you ever desire.

Happy Birthday, Mama!

Gettin' Her Groove Back: 14/60

i'm a helicopter mom

There's no more denying it, I'm a helicopter mom.

Courtesy The POWerful Word

I don't think that's true in the way Wikipedia describes it - hovering over all things school related - but it is true with regard to losing control of the welfare of my children.

Annnnddd queue the emails.

Yep, control freak. That's me, when it comes to my kids. To say that I don't trust other people might be a little too harsh of a statement. I think it's really that I would rather be the one responsible for the car accident they may be in. I'd rather be the one cleaning up their puke when they're sick. I'm their mom and being responsible for them is my job.

This itch to manage doesn't overtake me until they're gone overnight out-of-town, such as they are this weekend. I trust their grandparents and know they are perfectly safe, however, if something happens while I'm two and a half hours away, I'm. Gonna. Freak. Out.

So now I've shown you not only that I am a controlling helicopter parent, but also that I am a pessimist who is just waiting for THAT phone call. Whew. It's stressful to be me.

Gettin' Her Groove Back: 7/60

the quiet of us

Sometimes it's nice to just be together - quietly.

James and I took the kids to their Wednesday night church fun and then we skipped out. Gino's Pizza is a laid back joint where we fit in well with our jeans and sweatshirts. Tonight, dinner was less about the destination and more about the quiet.

I've written about time depravity and how it's hard to have time for anything extra in life. Today I got lucky. I worked from home. Without the commute, we were all together by 5 p.m. We knocked out homework and the kids had their dinner before church. I could not let the chance for a calm 90-minute breather with my husband pass me by.

Our conversation was sporadic. We settled into our booth, he with some freebie paper and me with my Blackberry. After we got our vices out of our system, we talked about work. First his, and how he can't find a reliable plumber. The most recent installed a water heater for my boss (of all people) and now it's leaking. Then me, with the ever-growing list of projects that will keep me leashed to my desk until May 1st. And then we ate.

I've experienced strange silences with my husband from time to time. It's odd to be two, no more often than it happens. Typical dinners include kids bickering and finicky appetites, so when that's gone, there is an unusual silence that we feel we must fill. Tonight I let that go. The mix of silence with simple, casual conversation was freeing. Nothing too deep for tired minds.

Putting this zonked noggin' to bed,

Gettin' Her Groove Back: 5/60

make time stop

There are seasons of life. I guess I'm in the season that's typical for a married, working mom.

Courtesy

http://www.womenwindow.net/

• Forty-hour weeks
• Three hours of family time each night - spent doing homework and bathing
• Weekends playing catch-up on housework instead of family fun
• Fast-food or delivery to avoid 8 p.m. dinners

 It's a routine rooted in demands and expectations. There isn't any wiggle room.

How is it that the impressionable years of our children coincide with the furor of building a career? It's not fair, to be blunt (and whiny). Do we not have to work to provide? We can't very well put it off until later, lest we sacrifice their college education and a roof over their head. Yet while we're making the way for their future, we're missing out on their today. Our today. It's all very painful right now.

I must be PMSing ...

Gettin' Her Groove Back: 4/60

you know what to do. do it.

Have you ever taken a step back and looked at yourself?
I've heard it said that you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have. That's a relevant comment in all facets of life, not just the workplace. However, what do you do when 'looking the part' painfully smashes into reality?

Don't read more into this than what it is. My job is fine; I feel (fairly) secure. What I'm alluding to is the 'walking the walk' mentality. Many of us know the right words to say, but when the rubber meets the road, do we actually put those words in motion?

I can spout good stuff at you all day - scriptures, positivity, reasons to look on the bright side - but when I encounter challenging moments, that good stuff and positivity, often times, flies out the window.

Copyright John Bell

I'm known (in my immediate family) for having a little bit of road rage and I experience a twinge of it daily. I don't know if a majority of people traveling the same road I am are illiterate or if they just choose to break the rules. I feel confident it's the latter. What about "Do Not Block Intersection" don't they understand? Or how about the general rules of the road, like slower vehicles should travel in the right lane? Or, it's illegal to pass in the right lane? Or, it's illegal to change lanes while going through a stop light? (These apply to Virginia, anyway.)

I digress on the traffic frustration ...

Another aspect of my life that is better in words than in action is parenthood. I know I'll get nowhere yelling at my kids. I know it's better to count to at least five (preferrably 10) before responding to some comments or missteps. Do I always heed what I know to be true? Heck no. I know my kid will prosper in her school life if I am able to spend uninterrupted time with her, being available for her every answer and quip. Am I? Nope. I'm a working mom and none of the four of us pass through the door until 6 p.m. every night. Can I change anything about that? Maybe. Have I tried to adjust my schedule to change it? Ahem. No.

Courtesy Wallet Pop

Much of this boils down to a question I often ask of myself. Am I too career-minded to be a good mom? Actually, I don't beat myself up over it. Yes, I'm passionate about my job and want to excel at it. I want man's praise (yes, Lord, I know I should only seek your praise). I'm convinced that the first seven months of my son's life is really all the stay-at-home-mommying I was good for. I don't think I have the patience for any more than that and I know that it wouldn't be as gratifying for me as I see it being for some of my friends. So I trek on with my career and do the best I can to be mom, wife and housekeeper (yes, in that order).

Bottom line, we all know how we should act but a majority of us act contrary to that knowledge. It's not just me, right? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?

precious life and love

Life is a whirlwind. We get caught up in our moments and time passes in a blink. Don't take those moments for granted.

In my weeks of blogosphere silence, I've come to know that two marriages have folded, a life has dangled dangerously close to the edge, one has actually fallen over it, and two other lives flirted along the guardrail.

During this season of reflection and appreciation, life tends to mean more than any other time of the year. This is when families draw close and love is shared until cups overflow. Christmas is when some of the most precious memories are made, and I say to you tonight that this Christmas will be an unforgettable one to those lives mentioned above.

For the family that is broken, this will be a Christmas where a mother's strength must rise above her heartache for the sake of her sons. For the wife who watched her husband walk away, this will be a Christmas to surround herself with family, friends, and those who can bring her just enough joy to get through it.

Just as much strength is required for the family watching their son fight cancer, the car accident victims who are nursing battered bodies, and the father with two small boys who will share their first Christmas without a wife and mother.

It is absolutely not acceptable that we take life for granted. In a flash our friends, mothers, fathers, and children can be taken away from this earth. Everything we "know" can be taken away. A world upside down. Reality inside out. Shaken and stirred.

My prayer for every set of eyes reading this is that you will embrace your loved ones, say "I love you" and thank the Almighty Giver of Life for every breath He gives you.

I can't pretend to know what heartbreak each of these on my heart is experiencing, so it's easy for me to tell them that God is near the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), that He will never leave or forsake them (Hebrews 13:5), and that He only wants to give them hope (Jeremiah 29:11). Yet, that is what I have to share and know to say. It is what I know. I know these things to be true. Please, cling to them. Recite them. Tuck them away into your heart and know them, too. He is the only remedy for brokenness.

Much Love and Many Prayers,

plucked and illuminated

I sit before this screen and don't exactly have a plan of what to type.

Ann Voskamp's Life in the Upside Down Kingdom has my mind racing. Her plea for fellow bloggers to "Please. Keep. Writing." keeps running through my mind. What's more, her analogy of Koester's "Moulting Ducks" to mother's nesting their children is haunting me.

I, too, fail to pluck the best of myself for my family and instead gather up the fallen pieces of what's left of me to make their home. It's not fair to them. I encourage you to read her entry, especially if you're a mama.

Back to the upside down kingdom ...

It's encouraging to read that one so accomplished as Ann does not track her web traffic, receive comments on her blog, or give any mind to what the world's view of "success in blogging" is. She injects, "Your calling isn’t to be a blogger. Your calling isn’t to be a business owner. Your calling isn’t to be a success. Your vocation is always and only this: to be a servant of God."

Am I being a servant of God?

During lunch I read through The Radical Question: What Is Jesus Worth to You? by David Platt. It's a quick little diddy pulled from his book, Radical: Taking Back Your Faith from the American Dream, which I have yet to read. The quick one - What is Jesus Worth to You - shook me up.

Platt calls for us to give great consideration to Jesus' actual words, his calls for real action, like the conversation found in Matthew, chapter 8:

"Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, 'Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.' Jesus replied, 'Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.' Another disciple said to him, 'Lord, first let me go and bury my father.' But Jesus told him, 'Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.'” (Matt. 8:19-22)

Asking a man to not bury his father but leave it for someone else to do is not nearly as bold (in my mind) as the man actually doing it. Jesus asks more than that - for a man to sell every possession and give the proceeds to the poor (which the man determines is too high a cost). I'd like to think I know some souls willing to do that, but I'm just not so sure. Could I even be that faithful? Am I really being a servant to God?

I'm reminded of another section from Matthew ...

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."  (Matt. 6:19-20) 


and

“No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money." (Matt. 6:24)

It must be God's desire to hear us pray a prayer like this ...

“Two things I ask of you, LORD; do not refuse me before I die: Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God." (Proverbs 30:7-9)

At the conclusion of this day, I'm left with feelings of inadequacy for being a servant of God. Perhaps these passages are where nuns and monks have gotten it right. Without a family to raise, it's easy enough to sell everything and leave everyone to follow Jesus. However, as it was recently pointed out to me by Ms. Beth Moore, every person in this generation has the responsibility to raise up the next to know Jesus Christ, whether its through their own child or another.

For tonight, I tread lightly the thin line between normal living and radical living. We're striving for simplicity in the Higgins household. Cutting back the frills and donating a lot of things to Goodwill lightens our heart for Jesus and blesses others in need. Faithfully tithing and serving are cornerstones of our life. Will we walk away from life as we know it to become a missionary family? God has a calling for each of us and He reveals only a few steps of our path at a time. In short, who knows? Only the All Knowing knows.

Ever praying for illumination and striving hard to pluck the best from my breast,

let the 'bah humbug' begin

Does the stress of the Christmas season weigh heavily on you? It does on me. That and the shorter days and cold weather. I'm a sunshine girl and so blah winter doesn't suit me well.

It's barely November and I'm already trying to keep "the holidays" at arms length. Don't get me wrong, I adore shopping for everyone and even decorating. I'm a giver if there ever was one. I love the smells of Christmas and of course the feasting of Thanksgiving (can ya tell?), but for whatever reason, the stress of family pulls me down before I can even get going.

Living away from our families is a disadvantage during this season. Because no one sees us on a regular basis, they all want more of us in these next 52 days. Tough business there. This is where my selfishness shines brightest, I'm ashamed to say. For the same reasons they want to see us, I don't want to be seen: my kids are little once and I want these holiday moments alone with them while I can. Yep, shame on me. I know. One day it will haunt me and I'll be the furious grandmother.

So how do you handle this stress? Do you even feel stressed at this time of year? Sound off! I wanna hear it!

Click here for information on Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), a common form of depression that heightens in the winter months.

no room for santa

Has your child asked you the Santa question? My oldest asked it of me this morning in the car. I wasn't sure how to proceed at first, so I just turned the tables on her instead.

"What is Christmas all about?"

"Jesus," she replied.

"So if Christmas is about Jesus, how does Santa fit in?"

"He doesn't. Santa's not real? I've been thinking he wasn't real since I was seven."


Christmas 2009


(She IS seven.)

"No, honey, Santa's not real."

"You and Daddy don't like to get up early, so I thought that's why Santa might be real."

(She means, when on earth would her sleepy parents possibly get up to put gifts under the tree?)

(Long Pause)

"You and Daddy and Nana and PopPop and Grammie and Pappie will still give me presents because you love me. Wait, did you and Daddy give me my pink bike?"

I'd say she's on to a thing or two, wouldn't you? She knows that JESUS is the reason for the season, and she knows that love sometimes equals gifts. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?

pondering tonight ...

What must it feel like to hold the hand of God while holding hers? Is there strife? Torn emotion for which to cling tighter to?

What must it feel like to see heaven's awesome rays while a living angel stands next to you? Do you fight for heaven on earth or the true paradise that awaits?

What must if feel like to hear harps playing your entrance song while others sing your praises in life? Which chords are you more drawn to?

What must it feel like to know you completed the race in more ways than one? Do you wish you would have stopped mid-way or are you rejoicing for the beauty you saw en route?

What must it feel like to grasp your true love knowing he's headed to the angelic life we all long for? Do you feel selfish and beg him to stay or are you thankful for the time you had and bid him farewell?

What must it feel like to wrap yourself in his shirt, breathing in his scent? Are you afraid the fragrance will be lost and breathe it in that much harder or do you preserve it forevermore?

What must it feel like to touch his pillow, his wallet with you in it, his favorite pen? Will your house become a museum dedicated to his legacy or will you box it away to help the hurt?

What must it feel like to read his name, forever archived with that fateful day? Will September 5th be blacked off your calendar for years to come or is it a day of celebration for a life well lived?

These things I ponder and pray I don't find the answers to for a very long time. Rest ever peacefully, Sean. Cling tight to God and those who love you, Jen. Praying for you and for those of us seeking understanding. May God bring about a peace and heal the open wound we're left with.

ain't no stoppin' us

The kids and I had a grand (albeit sweaty) time cleaning up the yard today. We raked dead leaves, fallen twigs, nuts and gravel from around the sad azalea beds and yard. The front and side yards were complete when we stopped for cinnamon buns that my husband brought home for breakfast. It was a comfortable day even though my shirt was soaked in sweat.

With breakfast done, we headed out to tackle the back yard. We had previously located (in the worst ways) two yellow jacket nests. Little did we know that we'd stumble into a third today. My back to her, raking more piles for her to hoist into the large trash can, I heard Caitlin scream. It was a sharp, piercing, ceaseless explosion of pain. I turned to her to see a bee clinging to her arm, as if it were actually stuck. Turns out, it was.

Funny how fast things happen and you don't remember exactly in what order or how. I can't remember if I actually pulled the bee off her, swatted it off, or with what. I have to assume my bare hand. If left a good portion of its abdomen and the stinger behind. I know that I scooped her up in one arm and carried her to her daddy. I have no idea what my right hand was doing (probably still holding to the rake), but I specifically remember putting my left arm behind her and grabbing her under her arm, hoisting her to safety.

James pulled the stinger from her arm and we hurried her inside. All the while, I was feeling little pierces on my thighs. A yellow jacket cousin had buzzed right up my shorts and stung me four times. Cait and I were sad sights. Large red whelps formed immediately and daddy deemed the yard unsafe for anymore clean up. Thank the Lord above that Jackson was not near us when the bees unleashed their fury.

After ice, acetaminophen, and plenty of tears, Caitlin calmed down and the stinging has subsided. My legs ache and for a while I had sporadic cold chills. We're okay. It's the kids coming in two weeks for Neighborhood Bible Club that we're worried about. A pest control representative paid us a visit and said they will aggressively pursue the 'jackets and their sometimes basketball-sized underground nests.

It's unreal that our yard has at least three of these nests and possibly more.  All I can think is that God must have something wonderful in store for our NBC for these attacks to persist.

Jesus, bring the rain and we will continue to praise you!

Photo: The Bee That Stung Me, by Casey Higgins

love like no other

The love siblings share is precious and as equally full of heart as it is jealousy and contempt. It's raucous, sweet, competitive and unmatchable. It's years of moments, tears of shared punishments, and the grief of each other's existence ... brothers and sisters have a relationship like no other.

As I sit here watching my kids play hard in the backyard, my heart is overflowing with a love for them as well as my own brother. I remember "baby tractors," HORSE basketball tournaments, and the day he had a bicycle accident that let me know I was much stronger than I gave myself credit for. We were careless, mischievous, protective, and more than willing to instigate trouble for each other.

I want happy memories for my kids - of their childhood, each other ... us. These blinks we call time are but a flash in the pan. Never will we have it to do over.

I wish I could watch this scene outside my window every day from now until eternity. They're magical, full of life, and full of love for each other. What a miraculous blessing siblings are.

"Hatred stirs up dissension, but love covers all wrongs." -Proverbs 10:12
Photo by Casey Higgins

teachable moment

I was stunned when my daughter confessed to me today that she'd been tempted to steal. As it turns out, she's envious of what other little girls her age have. We're not indulgent parents, so oftentimes there are plenty of material things other kids have that she doesn't.

I took that moment to have her think about why she wants what others have. She pondered it a while and came up empty.

I remember what it's like, and in fact, I still have those moments of envy. They are much fewer and way farther between than they used to be. While I've learned to be satisfied with either A) what I have, or B) what I can actually afford, having a seven year old claim the same understanding is another story. After all, it's taken me more than 30 years to grasp it myself.

Carefully, I encouraged my daughter to pray about being happy with the things she's already blessed with, and pray for God to continue to bless her with things and moments that bring her enjoyment.

When envy has a foot-hold in your heart, it's really hard to shake it loose.

One way my husband and I have worked to instill a giving heart in our children is to regularly go through the toys and have them choose items to donate to others. We very intentionally DO NOT replace those toys with new ones. Outgrown clothes are also handed down, and we contribute to clothing drives, canned food drives, Angel Tree, etc.

Being an example is key to instilling a giving heart in young ones, and my husband is a great example for our daughter. She said of him today, "When we were leaving Wal-Mart the other day, a man asked Daddy for $15 for a bus ticket. Daddy didn't have $15 so he gave him $20." As an aside, my mouth hit the floor that Daddy is quite THAT giving right now, but she went on to say, "And when we were walking away Daddy said, 'he better not be going to the liquor store.'"

Boy, oh, boy.

At any rate, be diligent with your kids. Encourage them with the things they already have, and find ways to put a new spin on old things. Verbally reinforce the daily blessings you're experiencing in your family. Children will always want what others have, but we have a duty as parents to raise them as grateful beings. Never forget that we're raising the next generation. Changes to society begin at home.

Photo Courtesy and Suggested Reading: http://www.sheknows.com/articles/812173/5-lessons-for-kids-about-charity

jump-the-gun anger ::: restraint

Have you ever been so mad that you feel it - this rush of chaotic energy right under the surface looking for a pore to violently rip through? That was me today. It was scary for a minute. I can't recall the last time I was that angry.

My husband came home to find neighborhood kids throwing rocks at my dog. She was tied and couldn't retreat their charge. Over text, I was going ballistic. "I'd beat those kids myself," I punched into my phone. I was outraged. Where are their parents? Why would they think it's okay to bully my sweet black lab? He found her cowering against the door, trying to escape the walnut-sized limestones being hurled at her. Poor, sweet Daisy.

It was just the last straw for my day, that's all. Or, I thought it was the last straw for my day ...

A relationship is sort of being mended, I guess you'd say. The guilty party won't say she's sorry and the victim won't point out the wrong of the guilty. I'm neither person. I see it as perfect timing for a whole laundry list of things that need to be said to finally be said. Alas, it's not my territory.

So my real last straw was that my husband will be child-less most of the day on Father's Day. It wasn't my doing and he says he's fine with it. Guess I shouldn't care then, but I do. He's the one who typically doesn't hold grudges; I'm the one who does. I'm still not over him being wronged and I'm still mad at the person who hurt him. I certainly don't want my kids with her yet; I haven't gotten over the mistreatment. Apologies have not been offered and I don't just "get over" things so quickly.

God has words for me on this matter, but tonight is not a night I want to read them.

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His "laundry list" of commandments for me is lengthy.

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." -Ephesians 4:31-32

"For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." -Matthew 6:14-15

"And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses." -Mark 11:25

"And as you wish that others would do to you, so do to them." -Luke 6:31

"Know this, my beloved brothers: let every tongue be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God." - James 1:19-20

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And that, ladies and gentleman, is a spirit check. It's humbling.

I wish I knew how to let go of this particular anger and angst that has built up in me for so long, and how it is that I can easily forgive anyone but this one. Contrary to what I'm sure is the popular belief, this person claims a great deal of my thoughtlife as I battle what to do, what not to do, how to act, what to say, ponder over actions and reactions, and pray for guidance in forging a successful relationship. Sometimes I feel like this is the one true place that Satan has his toe-hold in my life. This is my button. My trigger. The one topic and person that will send me over the edge. He knows it. I know he knows it.

As TobyMac would say, "Hey Devil, go on! Get yo' junk outta here! I don't need you!"

obeying the fifth

It's safe to say that something said more than once must be something worth heeding.

Your mom likely told you more than once not to touch the stove burner because it was hot. Eventually, you touched the burner and realized that yes indeed, burners are hot. It didn't feel nice at all, did it?

Just as your parents only wanted the best for you, God only wants the best for you. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" (Jeremiah 29:11) He created you out of love, wants you to experience love, and wants you to give love.

When considering marriage God commanded that "no man should separate" what He has joined together. (Matthew 19:6, Mark 10:9) "No man" would include families, would it not? Families intervening in a marriage is no more permissible than a stranger intervening. In fact, God tells us numerous times that "a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh." (Genesis 2:24, Matthew 19:4-6, Ephesians 5:31)

Having a parent that attempts to force a wedge between a husband and wife makes it really tough to honor God's fifth commandment, "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." (Exodus 20:12) How best can this scenario be handled?

John W. Rittenbaugh notes in The Fifth Commandment, "this commandment falls on the child, but it begins with the parents through child training and example. If parents neither provide the correct example nor teach the correct way, they can hardly expect their children to honor them."

To take a step back, neither my husband nor I would disrespect our parents or each other's parents. However, one reaches a point where a mutual respect from one's parents is expected. Is it okay for a parent to speak condescendingly to her adult child? Hardly. This is where we're struggling.

Lin Burress of Telling It Like It Is suggests that the parent-child relationship is temporary and the marriage relationship is permanent. I recently suggested this to a friend but from a different angle - raising a child is your job and you do the very best you can. However, that child will leave to start his own life one day. Your allegiance, therefore, is to your spouse, as it is he that you chose to spend your life with.

The aforementioned blog also suggests that when the parent-child relationship does not take a backseat to the marriage relationship, the marriage is in serious trouble. Additionally, the husband is to "cleave" to his wife - "closeness that there should be no closer relationship than that between the two spouses, not with any former friend or with any parent."

And so it seems that parents should remain worthy of honor, refraining from clinging to their children and disrupting a marriage. That, along with other honorable attributes, are qualities of real Christians and would make bestowing honor on a parent an unquestionable action.

So as far as our story, we will continue to give respect and pray that our parents are easy to honor. The mere act of child rearing is deserving of honor and respect from the begotten, but when the begotten is a grown man with his own family ... well, perhaps the parent needs to extend a mutual respect to him and his wife if she hopes to maintain a healthy parent-child relationship.

Loving My Husband,
Casey


Notes:

• Please see Loving Our Parents by Dr. Gary Chapman of Conversantlife.com, from which the first image above was borrowed.
• For some humor and points this wife appreciates, see What to Do if Your Mom and Your Wife Don't Get Along by Cory H.
• Also from Ms. Burress, see How to Get Along With the In-Laws: Dealing With In-Laws and Extended Family and How to Be a Good Mother-In-Law.
• The second image was borrowed from Mother in Law Advice (a site for MILs).