Christy Cabe

25 Years.

I panicked. I should have known what to do, but instead I was frozen in fear. My dad was shouting at me to call 911 and even though I was almost eleven years old, I just couldn’t remember how. So instead, I traded places with him and I held my mother on the kitchen chair as he used the phone to desperately alert the help we needed.

I held my Mom upright in the chair and I was terrified. What was wrong with her? Why was she falling over and not responding to us? Could she hear me telling her how much I loved her and that I thought everything was going to be okay?

After a painfully long wait we finally heard the sirens of an ambulance as it pulled into our driveway. To this day, I feel a pit in my stomach when I hear an ambulance wailing.

The sounds of that night changed my life forever.

I can hear the murmurs of neighbors who had gathered outside in the dusk to watch the tragedy unfold.

I can hear the doors of a police car close me in as my dad, brother and I followed the ambulance to the hospital in shock.

I can hear the silence in the awful little room where sat and waited for news. It was small and sterile and soon held neighbors and a close friend who sat beside us.

And I can hear her words. The doctor who came into that room and told us the news… news that shakes me to the core even today.

“I’m sorry. We couldn’t save her.”

I can hear the crying of those who had gathered.

I can hear my thoughts as they flew through my head and swirled in confusion and painful, piercing shards of realization.

I try not to do it, but sometimes I hear the sound of my grandma wailing as she walked onto the front porch of our home a few hours later.

I can hear my grandpa crying. I didn’t like it then and don’t like to hear it now.

I can hear the sound of my dad talking through his sobs as he called family to deliver the awful and life-altering news. My mother had died suddenly at the age of 34 from a heart arrhythmia.

I can still hear it all. Even though it’s been 25 years.

25 years. How can that be?

Instead of being almost eleven years old, now I’m almost 36. My life has changed drastically since that night… and because of that night.

Time really does march on even when our worlds are rocked.

And though it’s been a long time, I haven’t forgotten the sounds or the emotions.

I haven’t forgotten her either.

In fact, I can still hear her sometimes too. It’s not as easy as I wish it was, but I can. I can hear her laugh and I can hear her voice.

I can hear the sound of the lid popping off the plastic tub as I open it and look through her things. I love to look at the pictures, flip through her Bible and open her purse.

I can hear the healing that comes as I tap on this keyboard and process this loss in my life… so many years later. It helps my heart to remember her.

It’s been 25 years since that awful night. My life has been changed forever because of all that I heard and saw on March 24^th, 1989.

And as difficult and painful as it is to remember, I don’t want to forget.

What A Mess.

I jolted upright in my bed awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of crying. I clumsily got up and walked down the hall in a stupor. The crying was coming from the Pepto Bismol pink bedroom of my girls. As I entered I continued to hear wailing sounds, saw two pj clad girls writhing on their beds and I smelled vomit.

What was happening here?

I kept blinking my eyes and tried to get a clear view of the situation. Had my girls gotten sick at the exact same moment? Who had tossed their cookies? Why were they both crying? What time was it? Why did it smell so awful?

I was so confused.

I continued to stand there assessing the damage. I tried to shake the fog of sleep out of my head.

The reports were coming in now and I was beginning to get word that one daughter had gotten sick and had made quite a go of it and had sprayed both beds. The other daughter was (understandably) crying because her pillow had been hit. As I continued to stand there looking back and forth from bed to bed the crying children got up and walked past me downstairs to get a drink of water. Thirty seconds later the youngest came back upstairs and said, “But Mama, where is our water?!”

At that moment I wasn’t really sure either.

Motherhood is like that for me. At times I see it with bright clear eyes and I feel like I’ve got things figured out for the time being.

Other times I have no idea what is going on.

Just the day before I had a brief moment where I felt like I not only had my head above the motherhood waters, but I was actually swimming along quite nicely. I had the laundry done, the house cleaned and my children were playing together outside in the sunshine. Yeah, I felt pretty good. I’ve got this.

And then the Pillow Puking happened and started a chain of events causing me little sleep and much frustration. One kid sick on the couch, laundry in nasty piles, a little one wanting another breakfast and a son asking me questions about the Iroquois Indians for a school project.

I go from feeling like all is calm and under control to feeling stretched thin. Sometimes in a matter of minutes. Okay… seconds.

But I’ve been learning that it’s just going to be like that. I’m never going to have it “done.” I’ll never be “all caught up.” It’s not like I can accomplish all the needs and demands of motherhood and then just sit back and feel the wind on my face as I smoothly sail through these years.

On the contrary, it’s a bumpy, smelly, mess.

I don’t want to wait to feel good about my life and my role as a mom until my kids are grown and the laundry piles are small and simple.

I don’t want to feel like I’m failing just because my kitchen table is covered in toys.

I don’t want to base my worth on appearances-whether it be of my home or my family, but instead I want to realize how much the mess is worth to me.

So I roll up my sleeves and hold my daughter’s hair as she looses her lunch once again. I act like I care deeply about Native American festivals and I put peanut butter on crackers for yet another snack time.

This place is a mess and there’s much work to be done. That’s the way it’s going to be.

And what a privilege it is to be the mom of this mess!

The Masterpiece.

The cry derailed my train of thought and interrupted my task of emptying the dishwasher. I looked up and watched as my two daughters, who were painting with watercolors at the kitchen table, dramatically expressed their feelings. My 5-year-old daughter had tears streaming down her face and her 3-year-old sister was crying as well and sat crossing her little arms in stubborn indignation.

I sighed and rested my hands on the countertop where the bowls and plates sat waiting to be put back into the cupboard so that they could rest in peace. I was wishing for peace as well. Playing referee to these two can be draining.

When the crying didn’t stop I sent the youngest, who seemed to be the cause of the problem, up to her room and I followed a few minutes later to have “a talk.”

“What’s the deal, Kenzie?” I asked her as she wiped her tears while sitting on her bed. “Why are you so upset and frustrated with your sister?”

She drew her breath in quickly several times while trying to speak. Finally she said, “But Mama! Karly said she was painting a boat but I don’t think it looks like a boat at all. I think she’s painting a rocket ship!”

I had to do the old “parent trick” of looking sideways and pretending I suddenly had to scratch my cheek so that I could cover the smile that spread across my face. What could I say, it did look an awfully lot like a rocket.

But Karly had said that she painted a boat and who was I to disagree?

So I gently explained to little sis that even though she was right in thinking that it did look like a rocket, it also looked like a boat too. And more importantly, Karly painted it. It was Karly’s masterpiece, and if she said it was a boat then we need to encourage her for painting a boat.

It was Karly’s workmanship, created to be a boat no matter what the rest of us thought it should be.

The paints have long been cleaned up and the dishes have been through the wash cycle and back into the cupboard countless times since that moment. But I’ve continued to chuckle to myself about Kenzie’s honest assessment of Karly’s painting.

And actually, that moment has made me think about something more.

I’ve thought about the fact that I am a masterpiece too. I was created and I am supposed to be something specific. Not a boat or a rocket ship… but me. I am God’s masterpiece, and no matter what anyone else thinks I should look like or should be, I am His creation.

Ephesians 2:10 says,

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

The word “handiwork” in this verse is the original Greek word “poiema” which, according to Strong’s Concordance means, “that which has been made; a work: of the works of God as creator.”

I’m God’s masterpiece. I am called to be who He created me to be.

Sometimes I worry about being what others think I should be. Am I still valuable if I’m “just me?”

I have friends who juggle both careers and motherhood and they don’t drop the ball in either role. I don’t work outside the home. Does that make me less valuable than they?

I know children who are amazing and committed athletes and musicians. My kids have never had a single piano lesson. I’m not the mother of a prodigy. Am I less significant than those who are?

I have a college degree, but much like my computer, which falls asleep when it’s not touched for awhile, my skills and practical application of my schooling feel like they’re dormant and hiding behind a blank screen. Does this mean I’m unsuccessful?

So once again I go back to Ephesians 2:10. I was,

“created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance.”

God has prepared works for me in advance so that all I have to do is be me and be obedient to Him. If I’m made in Christ Jesus then I certainly have been equipped to accomplish what He calls me to do because Jesus is full of power and never-ending grace.

I don’t have to force myself to be a rocket ship if God created me to be a boat.

I can just be me because that is who God made me to be. I am significant and beautiful in His eyes. He will go with me and help me to accomplish what He has prepared for me to do. And it’s extra beautiful because it’s all for His glory.

That watercolor boat was Karly’s workmanship, created to be a boat. I am God’s workmanship, created to be me.

No matter what others see, my Creator knows just who I am.

And I am His masterpiece.

One In A Million.

My son’s bus came to a sliding stop this morning on the ice rink/road near our home. As my boy started to make his way up the steps and on to school, I jokingly reminded him of his teacher’s name. I was only half-kidding. Due to snow and cold weather our local schools have been closed as much as they’ve been open this winter. It’s been crazy.

Crazy… and kind of fun.

Did you hear that? It’s the sound of many of my local friends clicking the “unfriend” button. It seems from the status updates of many that I am alone in my enjoyment of this crazy snow and winter schedule.

In case anyone is still reading, let me explain.

I’ve not loved it all.

I’ve been frustrated with the lack of schedule. I’ve been bored with the monotony of the same scenery, same people, same things to be done day-in and snowy day-out. I’ve been challenged to keep a kind attitude and gentle voice when disciplining my kids for the umpteenth time over the same disagreement. And I’ve been just plain cold!

But there are many things that I’ve actually enjoyed about being snowed in with my people. Granted, I’m a stay-at-home mom and so I’ve not had the difficulty of juggling a work schedule with these snow days. For those who have, kuddos for making it happen! You are amazing. But, like I said, I’ve just had more people at home with me lately.

And, I live in a heated home with people that I actually like to be with quite a bit. So, more time with them has been a bonus for me.

I know, I’m probably losing more of you. You’ve had enough and simply can’t stand to hear any more of someone stopping to smell the proverbial roses.

But just indulge me a tiny bit longer. I don’t want you to miss it.

I don’t want you to miss the beauty in all of this snow. Yes, I know it’s a pain. I’ve personally helped push a stranger’s car out of a snow drift (Have you seen my muscles? If so, you’re doubting that last statement… but I had help!) I’ve slipped on ice and had a sore body. I’ve been delayed and stuck. It’s not all been wonderful.

But I’ve seen beauty in it.

Yesterday I was outside with my kiddos as they worked on building yet another snow fort. While they were busy playing I had my face about two inches from the snow, just staring at it as the sun was bouncing off of it. And it took my vaporized breath away.

When I stopped to look at the snow, and I mean REALLY look at it, I could actually see the individual snowflakes piled on top of each other making up the frozen tundra that is now our yard.

And it was beautiful.

ALL of that snow and I could see one little flake. One in a million. One in a billion.

One. Beautiful. Snowflake.

Now, I’m not a photographer, but I got my camera and snapped away. My photos don’t do it justice, but they will give you the idea.

Beautiful. Each snowflake is beautiful. And usually we miss them. We miss the forest for the trees. We see how this snow has wrecked our schedules, cars, and sanity, but we miss the beauty it has sprinkled along the way.

The beauty of more time with those whom we love the most.

The beauty of anticipation of routine and of Spring.

The beauty of quiet, slower days that force us to stop the chaos and be still for a moment.

The beauty of gratitude for things we usually take for granted, like school teachers and calendars.

The beauty of the snow.

The beauty of one single snowflake. One in a million.

I’d Lost That Loving Feeling

Dear Reader,

Each month I blog for my church’s women’s ministry about a topic that is assigned for that month. This month the topic was INFERTILITY and MISCARRIAGE. It was a tough one! I have experienced three miscarriages, one just this past October. I was unsure if I should share such a personal story, but I decided to start writing and see what happened. As I typed… and deleted… and cried and typed some more I felt the healing process begin. Through writing and sharing my story with other ladies at my church I have actually been the one who has been blessed. I guess that’s how it often works!

I hope you too are encouraged and that you will seek to find joy and peace today — no matter your circumstances!

Thanks for reading!
Christy

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I knew it from the first moment I looked at the screen. The ultrasound technician was silent, but I didn’t need her to tell me what was so obvious in front of my own eyes. As she desperately tried to find signs of life on what should have been a wiggly, busy, tiny baby with a rapidly beating heart, my heart was breaking into a million little pieces.

And for the third time, my husband and I tasted the bitter loss of miscarriage.

The tears flowed heavy and often over the next several days. I was so very sad and my heart continued to break as I watched my three children grieve in their own little way. They had wanted this little baby to join our family too. We all missed this little person that we didn’t even have a chance to meet. It wasn’t fair.

Yes, of course I took great comfort in the hugs and kisses of my children. Their presence was a balm to my wounded soul. As they wiped my tears or cried along with me at the dinner table when my hormones were raging and my efforts to conceal my pain were useless, I felt extreme love and gratitude for them. But even surrounded by our three precious children, I knew I had lost another one. A life was gone and off-handed comments of, “Oh, maybe you’ll still have another one!” felt empty, as if this life was so easily replaced.

And I got angry. I was angry with almost everyone and everything, but most of all, I was mad at God.

How could He allow this? Was He trying to teach me something? Had I done something wrong? Was I to learn from this?

I wanted a baby, not a lesson.

The anger and frustration from this loss built in me, and my tears were hot on my cheeks. It didn’t seem fair that I had spent weeks dealing with morning sickness and had worked hard to hide the fact that I was always on the edge of queasiness. I had fought the super-fatigue of the first trimester and dealt with the guilt of needing to nap during the day while I allowed my preschool-aged daughters to watch too much TV. My body had already started physically changing and, as if I needed another reminder of what had been, it held on to the weight that I had gained.

Emotionally, I had allowed my anticipation and excitement to grow along with that little baby in my womb. I had been constantly daydreaming about its arrival and wondering if it would be a boy or a girl and what name we would give it.

And even though I was only 10 1/2 weeks along when I had that shocking and awful ultrasound, I was 100% in love with that child.

It hurt to the core and my anger toward God came to the forefront.

Intellectually, nothing had changed for me. I knew God was sovereign. I knew God was good. I knew God loved me. I knew all of those “right things.” But I didn’t feel them. Emotionally I felt empty and alone.

If God loved me, then I felt like this was a rotten way of showing it.

Through the long days of physical healing that followed I had a lot of time to think. And feel. It seemed that my emotions were winning every battle and though my rational thoughts of what I knew was true were trying to come to the forefront, my anger and bitterness were pushing them back down.

I realized after a day or two that I couldn’t trust my emotions. I was a wreck. I wasn’t in control of my feelings and though I was trying to rally them to help me feel what I desperately wanted to feel… God’s love… it wasn’t working. I was going to have to call upon what I knew was true instead.

It wasn’t easy. My feelings of loss and hurt and pain were so strong that my efforts to see glimpses of God’s love were strained and difficult. But little evidences were there. I decided to take mental note of them and store them in my mind as ammunition against my anger. Perhaps over time I’d have enough to once again feel God’s love, though for now I’d have to be content without the feelings, and take what I could get from the knowledge alone.

And God didn’t disappoint.

Don’t get me wrong, I certainly didn’t feel all warm and fuzzy or enveloped in His love. On the contrary, I felt like He was distant and even harsh. But I kept looking with my eyes since my heart wasn’t playing along.

And I saw.

At first my teeth were gritted and my arms were crossed. They stayed that way for several days. I took a lot of deep breaths and used a lot of tissues as the days ticked by and the list began to lengthen.

I still didn’t feel God’s love the way I wanted to feel it. But I was seeing it.

In fact, the evidence of God’s presence and His love was obvious to me in a way I’ve never known before. His love did not feel gentle, but oh it was there! It seemed undeniable. It wasn’t the easy, sing-songy “Jesus Loves Me” kind of love, but the love of an all-knowing, Almighty whom I knew with my mind that I could trust.

I felt as if He’d taken me through a dark place of brokenness, emptiness, anger and desperation so that His love and His truths… HE would stand out in stark contrast. And He did. He was so obvious in the darkness that at one point I actually wondered if He was enjoying showing off!

I had to make a choice. Would I surrender to what my eyes had seen, His love and His presence in the midst of the darkness, or would I continue to wait for my emotions to shape up and start feeling the way I wanted them to feel.

And so I leaned on what I knew to be true.

For days my emotions continued to lay in shambles. I was still angry and I said and thought things that I didn’t mean. But God was okay. He could handle it.

For days my heart was hard and stubborn. But as I saw God’s love so evident around me, eventually my heart started to warm and I began to desire a contrite heart. The softening of my heart wasn’t immediate, but I could tell that the thawing and molding was happening in God’s hands.

To this moment, my mind cannot figure out what the point of this loss was in my life and where it leaves my family’s plans for the future. But my biggest desire now is for peace and joy in the midst of the unknown. I want to be ok with simply trusting God completely for the future, though there is nothing that feels simple about the process.

And in my surrender I knew this truth from 1 John 3:1,

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!

I’m a child of God. I am His precious little one that He loves and delights in as I love my own children. No, His love is even more powerful than that. His love has been lavished on me and He calls me His child.

This loss was difficult. It hurt. It still hurts. But when my heart is broken and my emotions are all over the map, I can rest in this truth.

No matter what I am feeling, I am His child, and His love is there.

I’m Going To Dream Small This Year.

I’m a day late and at least a dollar short.

It’s January 2nd and I haven’t made any official resolutions or goals yet for 2014. I’m still in “Christmas Break Mode” and I consider the fact that I did laundry today a pretty big accomplishment. Well, I haven’t folded it yet, but I did move it from the washer to the dryer. Yep, time for a break.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling a little anxious about not having any huge goals or big dreams for this new year. The world seems to be telling me that I need to dream big, shoot for the stars, be a pioneer in my day, blaze the trails and do it all with gusto. Even my spam emails are asking me if I want to eat healthier, lose weight, travel more and save money. I feel like I’m supposed to accomplish something epic before the ball drops again (the ball in Times Square, not me ‘dropping the ball’ …although that’s possible too).

But do my hopes and dreams for 2014 have to be so grandiose? If everything has to be so epic these days then nothing really is epic at all. I think I sometimes get caught up in thinking that if I’m not doing something that’s perceived as magnificent or worthy of sharing on Facebook then I’m not succeeding. But, I don’t think that’s true.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating being lazy and complacent this year. I’m simply feeling stirred to do the small things well.

And as I’m doing the small things with excellence I may actually do something seen as big and honorable that others would admire, but I may not. I could make a mark on society, but I probably won’t even make much of an impact on my neighborhood. And I think that’s ok.

I’ve been studying the book of Matthew this year in a Bible study. We’ve been reading a lot of Jesus’ teachings and I’ve noticed that He likes to bring up a particular verse. It’s from the Old Testament and was written hundreds of years before He even walked on the earth, but I’ve found it’s still applicable to me today. Hey, if it was important to Jesus, it must be good.

Hosea 6:6 says,

For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.

This convicts me. Jesus repeatedly tells the Pharisees and His disciples that he wants their obedience, not their fancy words or displays of upholding the law. Jesus doesn’t seem as interested in a vision, big dreams or having a list of accomplishments, as he does our hearts.

So, with that in mind I’m going to try to dream small this year. I’m not going to aim to do anything epic or monumental and if I do, then may it just be a consequence of a heart that loves God and loves people.

I want to do things that society would view as small, but that God views as big.

Things like being kind to someone when I don’t feel like it or being joyful in the midst of a hectic schedule on a gloomy day.

Things like being patient when my child has asks me for the fourth time, “What comes after 39?”

Things like noticing that the lady behind me in line at the grocery store has a fussy baby and tired eyes and then asking her if she’d like to go ahead of me in line because I can stand to wait a bit longer.

Things like listening at the school committee meeting with an open mind and willing hands so that I can help make a difference in my community by simply serving where I’m needed.

Things like taking the time and energy to train and teach my children to be independent instead of frustratedly doing things for them all of the time.

Things like extending grace to my husband when I feel frustrated that he forgot to take out the trash and instead thanking him that evening for all that he does for our family every single day.

Yes, things like that.

They are small dreams.

Basically I’m just hoping to love God and people better… and love myself less.

I’m pretty sure my goals for 2014 are about as opposite of epic as you can get. And I’m glad about that.

I’ve got small dreams for 2014 and I am ready to get started.

And I guess I’ll have to fold that laundry in the dryer sometime this year too.

13 Things I Learned During the Christmas Season of 2013.

The cookie tray is down to a few sugar cookies that could possibly break your teeth. There are also a variety of rogue sprinkles on the tray reminding me of all that’s been created and enjoyed. It feels to me like the Christmas season has gone by extra fast this year. I love Christmas and I’m sad to see it go, but I spent some time reflecting today on all we’ve done and what I’ve learned these past 4 weeks. And so I give you, my second annual post-Christmas ponderings.

13 Things I Learned During the Christmas Season of 2013:

13. You can never have too many sprinkles or too much icing on a sugar cookie.

12. If you take your observant five-year-old daughter to the Nutcracker to see her first ballet, you may need to be prepared to do a quick anatomy lesson after seeing a man in tights. Of course this is depending on how well the Sugar Plum Fairy does at staying directly between your daughter and the said man in tights. But let’s face it, ballerinas spin around a lot. What can you do?

11. I might have a green thumb after all. I actually kept the amaryllis that my sister-in-law gave me alive over Christmas, and it actually bloomed. It’s a Christmas miracle.

10. What’s the deal with these colorful rubber-band bracelets?! We were a little “late to this party” because our nine-year-old has been claiming for awhile that these bracelets are silly because they are just little rubber bands hooked together. But then suddenly, he changed his tune and he wanted a loom for Christmas so that he could make these bracelets. This requires finding 887 tiny rubber bands all over your house as well as seeing enough rubber bracelets on your child’s arms that I’m pretty sure he’d be buoyant in a pool of water, even while wearing his snow boots.

9. Peanut Butter Balls, Buckeyes, call them what you will, but I could not stop eating them. And if you made me ones with crunchy peanut butter that was absolutely irresistible, you are forbidden to ever make me those again because I can’t say no to them and I’ll eat myself sick. (You know who you are.)

8. Costco doesn’t take credit cards and if you dare to try to pay with a Debit Card and you don’t remember your pin number, well then, you’re OUT OF LUCK! Even if you’ve been shopping with one of your children for over an hour and have a heaping cart full of food and gifts your cart will be whisked away in Seinfield Soup Nazi fashion (‘No Groceries For You!’) and you will leave the store with nothing but the feeling of utter defeat. And though one of you will want to go home and pout, your child will encourage you to go to another store and buy everything on the list… again.

7. Christmas song lyrics are sometimes confusing to small children, but this does not stop small children from singing Christmas songs with “amended” lyrics. For instance, my three-year-old continues to belt out her version of a verse from Joy to the World with these words, “He rules the world with tooth and gum.” 9 out of 10 dentists agree.

6. If you have two daughters that love clothes and those two daughters have two baby dolls that receive doll outfits that match your daughter’s clothes, then you will spend approximately 64% of your Christmas day changing a plastic dolls clothing and shoes as well as helping your actual child change clothes. Again. And again.

5. If you’re playing a game of “Steal the Gift BINGO” with your family members and you want your little brother to take the gift you opened, a measly 99¢, so that you can snag the more valuable $5 McDonald’s gift card, you can present the less valuable 99¢ as a “free iphone app” and your little brother will go for it. Well played, Kordy.

4. If your Carbon Monoxide Detector starts beeping and says you need to seek fresh air immediately, you’d better do so as well as call 911. When you do so, the nice firemen will come in their huge firetruck and will help you. And even if you’re miles away in a store when this happens and your husband calls you and tells you what is going on, you may begin to feel symptoms of Carbon Monoxide Poisoning… until your husband calls you and tells you it was just a faulty detector and everything is fine. And then you feel better.

3. It doesn’t matter if I’ve checked my list twice or twenty times, at least 2 Christmas cards that I mail will come back to me due to a wrong address.

2.If you’re at a bowling alley with your family and friends and your bowling ball gets stuck in the ball return and if the guy who comes over to help you happens to bring up the fact that he recently took a bullet to the elbow (because this naturally ties in with losing your bowling ball) and he asks you if you want to see the wound, it really doesn’t matter what your answer is or the fact that there are small children all around, he’s gonna roll up his sleeve. I’m just saying.

1. Having the privilege to teach a group of preschoolers at church (including my own daughters) all about the true story of Christmas is simply the best. And even though we had a little confusion about the angel’s name being Gary instead of Gabriel and the Wise Men bringing Frankenstein to baby Jesus, I think I got the main idea across to their sweet little hearts. There’s just nothing better than watching their eyes grow large as we talked about the best Christmas gift EVER being Jesus. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Socks…Really?!

This is the time of year when children rip into presents with eager joy and anticipation.

It’s also the time of year when we see a particular phenomenon occur during these times of gift opening.

You’ve seen it.

The child, with tongue pressed to their upper lip and eyes wide open, lifts the lid of a box and pulls out… socks. Then the child, whose valuable time has clearly been wasted, swiftly lifts the socks and drops them onto the floor in one smooth and rapid motion while already reaching for another wrapped box, which they hope contains something they actually want.

I mean seriously, what kid is thrilled to get socks for Christmas?

But goodness knows they need them.

Take my son for example. I’m not sure how he does it, but he can wear a pair of new socks a few times and suddenly they have holes on the bottom of them so large that at that point they are really more a pair of leg warmers instead of actual socks. How does this happen so quickly? I don’t understand. But after cleaning out Karson’s sock drawer recently and throwing away enough holey socks to poorly cloth half his elementary school’s feet, I decided we’re buying him socks for Christmas.

A lot of socks.

I’m the parent here and I know what my kid needs. But, I’m embarrassed to tell you that the sock situation around here has gotten so ugly that Karson actually asked for socks for Christmas. Yeah, it’s that bad.

But regardless, I do know what my kids need. And sometimes my husband and I give them things that they don’t want. Take punishment, chores and non-flavored children’s Tylenol for example. But, we know what’s good for them and we do it all out of love. Even the socks.

As Christians, sometimes we give our “wish list” to God through prayer. We have specific wants and needs and with wide eyes and eager hands we wait for Him to come through granting each of our requests.

But sometimes we get socks.

Sometimes the circumstances of my life are not what I had in mind. I think, “Lord, I think you misunderstood. This isn’t what I wanted. Did you check my list twice?”

But He knows. He’s the parent here. He’s my Heavenly Father and he knows exactly what I need.

Matthew 6:25-34 talks about this. Jesus is telling us to stop worrying about what we will eat, drink and wear because our Father will take of us. He says,

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Our end of this deal is pretty simple. Not easy, but simple. We are to seek first His kingdom and His righteousness. Our focus is to be on Christ and honoring Him with our life. And we should trust Him for the rest. He says, “and all these things (meaning the things we need) will be added to us as well.”

We can trust God to take care of us and to give us what we need. And He delights in often giving us what we want as well. He’s such a loving and trustworthy Father.

So as I watch my son open his socks this year I’m going to smile inside thinking about how my Heavenly Father knows what I need too.

Socks may not be very thrilling, but sometimes it’s necessary to give and receive them.

Don’t even get me started on underwear.

What Are You Wearing?

When I was pregnant with my second child, my son was about three-and-a-half years old. And you know what they say about kids that age… “Inquiring minds want to know.” Right?

Karson had all kinds of questions about the baby that was soon to be joining our family. One day he asked me what kind of clothes the baby was wearing inside my belly. I smiled and told him that actually the baby didn’t have any clothes on at all.

“You mean she’s neck-ed!?!?” Karson exclaimed.

And when I confirmed that yes, she was in fact naked, he erupted into hysterical laughter. Apparently, when you’re a three-year-old boy, this is very funny stuff.

Karson went on to tell several people over the following months that we had a baby in the family that wasn’t wearing anything. Most of the time this was funny… and a few times a little awkward.

Our baby was coming into this world with nothing. Not a piece of clothing or material possession to her name. And she wasn’t the first to do so.

This reminds me of Job 1:21,

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”

When do we start to forget this? Or perhaps the better question is, why don’t we try to remember it?

Somewhere in life we start to believe that our material possessions define our worth. We forget that life is about praising the name of the Lord, and we start to think it’s all about us. We want more. We feel we need certain things and perhaps think we even deserve them. We become discontent.

Contentment seems to be a hard thing for many of us to grasp. Maybe we get a grip on it momentarily, but then there it goes, fleeing quickly and leaving us wanting more.

Contentment equals godliness. That’s a pretty big deal.

Paul speaks of this when he is writing to Timothy in 1 Timothy 6:6-11:

“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs. But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness.”

And Paul knew what he was talking about. He had found the secret to contentment. He said so himself in Philippians 4:12-13:

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

Christ gives us strength. It is through him that we are satisfied. It is through Christ that we find true contentment. Every other blessing and thing we are given on this earth is just a bonus.

Let’s face it. We all entered this world “neck-ed” as could be. Maybe we need to be reminded of that.

But what are we wearing today?

May we learn to clothe ourselves with Christ’s strength as we pursue true contentment.

And actual clothes aren’t a bad idea either.

After the Cancer Diagnosis: 5 Things I Learned When My Son Got Really Sick

I have to admit that sometimes I still cringe when people refer to me as a “Cancer Mom.”

I never signed up to join that club. The cost to join is enormous. But, join it I did on February 9^th, 2007 when my then-two-year-old son was diagnosed with leukemia.

To say that the journey of helping a child through cancer treatments is a long, tough road is an understatement. It’s just plain rotten.

And, though it’s been several years now since my son finished his chemotherapy treatments in 2010, I still can clearly remember the questions and emotions that arose within during the deepest trenches of his journey.

I’m far from an expert, but I am a Cancer Mom. And so today I share five things I learned when my son got really sick.

1. The learning curve is steep, but you can make the climb!

The overwhelming days right after diagnosis

I’ve never felt more overwhelmed or confused in my life than the first few days of my son’s diagnosis.

I do not have any kind of a medical background, so when the nurses would say phrases such as “Ped’s Hem/Onc” and “We’re going to do an LP to administer IM,” I wasn’t sure if we were still speaking English. It’s okay. You’re not alone.

There is SO much to learn about blood counts, medications, clinical trials, doctors, Child Life… even where to park at each visit to the hospital—it’s overwhelming. But, you can do it! There are no learners more eager than parents wanting to help their child.

ASK QUESTIONS! Write them down and take notes. You may even feel like you’ve earned a medical degree by the time it’s all over… but come to think of it, I never have received my diploma in the mail.

2. Your doctor’s name is not Google.

I love to read and follow various blogs and news sites. And, when my son was first diagnosed I was so tempted to “Google” every symptom he presented. I wanted to know statistics and treatment plan expectations, etc. I think research is wonderful and statistics are helpful overall, but when you’re running on little sleep and your heart is broken, it’s better to get your information straight from the doctors and nurses that are caring specifically for your child.

Sometimes too much information at your fingertips can only lead to confusion, fear and frustration.

3. YOU are your child’s biggest advocate. Speak up!!

Healthcare professionals are superstars. They are invaluable, awesome heroes who help us throughout our child’s illness. But they are human.

Sometimes the people taking care of your child might be making a decision they feel is best, but you have a hunch that there is a better option. SAY IT! You are your child’s biggest advocate and you must speak up. Doctors and nurses appreciate parents and guardians who take a proactive role in their child’s care. Listen, ask questions, listen some more, and then share your opinions and follow through with the care plan.

4. Make the most of it.

If we’re being honest here, we all know that being a parent of a child with cancer is no joyride. At times it’s just plain crushing to your spirit. But, there are ways to make the most of the journey—even if it’s not how you would have designed your moments of joy.

My son loves trains and so for three years of our life we rode the People Mover train between Riley Hospital for Children and other nearby hospitals in the IU Health system. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s free, and honestly, it’s less than thrilling, but to my son that was something to look forward to each time we went to Riley. We found joy in that crazy monorail.

At home, there were nights when my son would wake up starving at 2:30 a.m. because of being on steroids. I never dreamed I’d be making mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets in the middle of the night for a chubby, bald, demanding toddler. But, looking back, I remember some of those moments with actual fondness. Sitting across from a little boy who couldn’t shove the food into his mouth fast enough in a quiet, still house was actually kind of precious. We talked together and made memories.

It is possible to make the most of even the darkest nights.

5. Find something to be thankful for every day.

Some days it may be really hard to find something to be thankful for if you’re watching your child suffer, but it’s not impossible. And, I’ve found that gratitude takes up a lot of room in your heart and tends to push out some of the less-attractive emotions.

Look around. What do you see that you are thankful for today? Is it something as simple as a short hug or conversation with fellow cancer parents down the hall? Is it the fact that we have access to world-class care and medications in our country – and right in our home state? Is it the sparkly sticker that a volunteer stuck on your child’s hospital gown, earning a smile from your precious patient?

The fact is, no matter how bad you have it, there is probably someone who has it worse.

Even if you have to phone a friend for help, try to find something to be thankful for every day.