I pray for my girl to be generous…………and get mad when she shares her lunch with the dog

I pray for my daughter to be bold, to question authority………….and am frustrated when she practices by questioning mine.

I recieve the word that she will bring change…………and am shocked by her fascination with the remote control and the button on the computer that brings the screen back. Can’t you just leave well enough alone? No, she can’t. This one brings change.

I want them to be strong self advocates……….and am annoyed by them asking for the one they really want rather than the one I gave them.

I have so many big dreams for my two girls, I pray big prayers over them as I pretend I am simply brushing the hair out of their eyes. I love them with a depth that brings me this much closer to God.

But it is exhausting, this raising strong daughters business. Everything you are hoping for when they are 18 and out of your house….. it is so hard to manage some days when they can’t even pee by themselves.

When I first started at 1027 church, I was still pretty sick. Fibromyalgia was still an everyday part of my existence, I was still waiting on the healing that would come. Back then we met on Sunday nights. We were splitting a space with a morning church, and were even small enough to all have dinner occasionally. Nights worked better for me too. Often I would wake up feeling rough, but 4-8 was always my “feel good window.”

When we moved into the middle school we worship at now, we also switched to the traditional Sunday mornings. I wasn’t thrilled. I knew the reality of this switch, I was either going to have to miss more Sundays, or make it work for me.

On especially painful days I would show up to church, dirty hair in a ponytail, high school speech sweatshirt on. I would be wearing flip-flops, or no shoes at all. The pressure was too much on my feet, and I would be carrying my yoga mat. I couldn’t fit my broken body into the movie theatre style chairs. Christian would sit in the aisles and I would roll out my space on the floor.

I was affirmed that I was in the right place when my pastor commented on my strange habit a few months later. He thanked me. He told me he liked what it communicated. Said it lent authentication to that “all are welcome” thing. Even the weirdo who sits on the floor, please feel free to be who you are.

I stopped sitting on the floor when I was healed. But lately, I have picked back up the habit. It is easier to wrangle the Peanut and Rooster on the floor in the aisle than in the rows of seats. Some other mothers have joined me, and there is an impromptu play group most Sundays on the left hand side during worship. This way the Peanut has more room to spin, hands in the air. This is the way she prefers to worship. Sometimes the Rooster and I hear the message from our little space on the carpet.

Sunday the girls were particularly docile (you are not as surprised as I am) and I didn’t really need to sit on the floor. But I did it anyway, found a place on that now familiar carpet. It turns out, I am now more comfortable there.

I think that this is what the upside down kingdom that Jesus was always talking about looks like, this space on the floor. Everyone is invited, there aren’t so many rules (mostly just be gentle and kind) there isn’t even a direction you are supposed to face. It is messy, but joyful. It can feel confusing. It isn’t at all about me.

Sitting on the floor rocking my oldest up and down. “Not this way mommy” if I try side to side. I could look up and see my sister holding her name sake. A testament to the healing power of Jesus in our relationship. Oh, how He loves us….oh, how he loves us…oh. And I am more comfortable on the floor. I am more comfortable where everyone is invited, feel constrained and awkward in the space I used to covet, I don’t want to fit in the places where everyone doesn’t fit. Let’s all just hang out on the floor.

When I first moved to Atlanta, we knew exactly one person here. She managed to secure jobs for both of us. She lived on faith street in an up and coming part of town. She rented the house mostly because she wanted to wake up every day living on faith. She believes in signs. She told me we needed to move to the East side, that we would fit right in there. I told her I would think about it but secretly planned on staying in the part of town our first apartment was in. She was wrong. But I liked the idea of living on Faith and when we were ready to look I searched for houses on Faith street.

She is back in town and those who have known us both in our previous lives are surprised we have struck such a deep friendship. (Both of us are a touch offended by this, wondering what someone must think about me to believe I could not be friends with her.)

She moved back into the town that she claims as home (we have that in common too, our deep love for this city) to finish her dissertation about saving the world through sustainable farming. Now that she is a doctor of saving the world, she is looking for a job, but it isn’t everyday someone is hiring a superhero.

We had the opportunity to hang out on Saturday. She helped me baby wrangle at the Decatur Book Festival. You know you have a solid gold friend when she willingly escorts your shirtless toddler through a busy restaurant to clean up a dirty diaper….and doesn’t even mention to you that there weren’t any wet wipes in the diaper bag.

On our way home the kids fell asleep in the back and we had a heart to heart in the car. “It is just that grace is so heavy sometimes.” She spoke through grateful tears. It is funny how grace works. Her burden feels light in my arms, my burden lifts her spirits. We both cried grateful tired tears, because sometimes this life is hard…..and sometimes it is enough for just one other person to understand.

I’ve been resenting my burden a little bit here recently. I feel like I filled my plate too full, but at the same time with just the things I am called to. I may have taken a tone with God once or twice this weekend. “This is your light burden? What is your heavy one? Sheesh, I feel like I am being crushed under here!” I warned my first period this morning that I was in a foul mood. It was just all too much when you factored in the traffic and the weather and the meeting I was late and how people in this city I love CAN’T FREAKING DRIVE IN THE RAIN!

I checked the schedule because I couldn’t even remember what we were doing. And I am supposed to be in charge. Suddenly it all fell into place. My favorite literary device with my favorite story. It was the full Mrs. Norman experience by the time my principal walked in with his silk tie and his friend in a fancy suit. It turns out an elimination round at the national college speech tournament is better preparation than four years of a teaching program. I had those kids in the palm of my hand (even the ones who insist they are too cool for all of this) and the principal noticed. I got a serious pat on the back at lunch.

These days my family has doubled. We are living on the east side of town. My friend was right, we do belong here. I live on a street with a name that befits all the older black ladies that have become my neighbors. But right now I am living on faith. It is hard sometimes, and sometimes I can’t even manage to put one foot in front of the other without tears. I don’t want to sugar coat my place right now. Not every moment in my life ends with my boss telling me I do a good job. At 3:30 I am still left wondering how in the world I will make it until 10:30 when Christian gets home….

But this is what I am learning, from that friend who is still living on faith (just not the street). One foot in front of the other and the road meets you. Sometimes crying about it with a friend is just what you need. If you share your burdens with the people God gives you…it lightens the load for everyone.

Dear Rooster Head,

You are about to turn one and I can hardly believe it. A year ago this weekend I was headed into the hospital, sure I would be coming home with a baby in my arms. I returned home, you still firmly in my belly. Even contractions didn’t phase you.

As we head into your first birthday I have been thinking about how we should mark this first year. As cliche as it may be I want my girls to grow up in a better world, a place that is just a little more just. I want it to be a better place because you are here.

I want to empower you. I want you to understand that your life can make a difference, write into your story hope and generosity. I want to give you, my daughter, a prophetic act that matches the prophetic word I received for you before you left the womb. This one brings change. Change.

Love, this makes me nervous on days I am not fully committing to the Lord. How, God, can you expect this tiny being to bring change? People, (including your mother) often cry out for change, but are unwilling to change ourselves. Change can bring so many beautiful things, more justice, more mercy, more peace. At its very best change brings more Jesus. But sometimes it can bring resentment, frustration, contempt. I want to protect you from those things, even when I know that perhaps that is not my job.

No, my job is to teach you about you and your God. About the change He can bring in our hearts, and how that change can be reflected into the world we live in. About how He wants to do a beautiful work in each of us, but especially you. About how God can multiply a work, if you are willing to hand it over. I want to help with that work in you.

So little Rooster, on your first birthday, I am giving your day away. I am asking, for you, that people not buy you anything. No pretty dresses, no adorable plush toys, no toys that light up and whistle. No,  instead I am asking that they make a donation to Charity Water’s September campaign. (Mommy wanted you to come in August, but alas you refused. Perhaps you did know better.)

The work that is being done in Rwanda is incredible. It proves the gospel: that forgiveness breeds redemption, that there is no such thing as too far from God, that love is always the right choice. More than I want fun new toys and pretty new clothes, I want you to be a part of what God is doing. I want to give you just a little piece of this great work.

I have been wrestling with some big things this first year of yours. Wealth and privilege, power and responsibility. I have come to the conclusion that the gospel says this: take what you have, and give it away.

Our goal is $365. One dollar for each day of your little life. Rooster, that is enough to give 5 people clean drinking water for the rest of their lives. God can take your one little year….and forever change the lives of 5 people in Rwanda. I want that for you. I want you to be a part of it.

I believe in you, Love. I believe in your capacity to bring change. I am so lucky to be a part of it.

Love, Your crazy mom

If you would like to contribute to the Roosters first birthday campaign click here.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Both the kids were asleep and Christian was babysitting with a dead phone when I got the news. There was nothing to do but fling open the back door and stand on the deck whisper screaming so no one would call the cops. I had already decided that I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t make the cut, that I hadn’t heard the Holy Spirit whisper, that I was kidding myself.

But it turns out all those lies I was telling to myself. Those were lies, straight from the pit as I used to say. I texted some of the women in my life, called the first one to respond. I danced around my living room and let my dog use his one good eye to look at me funny. I waited up for Christian so I could tell him like it was really no big deal.

The next day I felt sheepish about it all. I have freinds with reall writing careers, MFAs, and books with their names and pictures on the back. This is one essay on one blog. It doesn’t really even matter. I started keeping it to myself, down playing it when I mentioned it. Your husband is busy and no one else really cares.

But the Spirit broke through, this is a big deal. This does matter, you do matter, Abby, your work matters. So last night when I got the girls we went to Trader Joe’s. Frozen chinese and sparkling wine. The Peanut pushed along the little cart as I put in the groceries. She reached for the 45 dollar bottle of sparkling wine “how bout this one?” “That’s nice honey, maybe when mommy gets a book deal.” We chose a peach one, 5.99. It was delicious. Christian has class until 10 on Tuesdays, so I put the girls to bed while the oven preheated.

I pulled out the fine china. When we got it for a wedding present I always assumed we would use them more. I topped both plates with rice, and everything else finished cooking just as Brooke walked in the door. We drank to the start of something.

I know that I have been called to lead my celebration, but to be honest I don’t always want to. Somewhere along the way I picked up that I should wait until someone else notices, someone else thinks it is important. I have always been a little jealous of people who had no qualms about shouting their own names. But in this season, with the babies, the school, the extra section of 9th grade english, God is calling me to honor myself. Celebrate when I accomplish something.

God wants me to throw my own party, and he wants me to invite Him as the guest of honor.

PS The essay series I have been accepted into is this one. It runs all week and then on Fridays and Saturdays for the next couple months. Mine didn’t make it into this week, but it will come later. Each essay so far has been truly beautiful. You really should check it out.

I am having trouble believing that it has almost been a year since my Rooster entered into this world. We have her pudgy newborn photo hanging on the wall underneath her sisters, and I stare at the picture of the infant that reminds me of a wrinkle dog. Her soulful eyes still stare into me, like they stared into that camera when she was just 24 hours old. The way they searched my heart while she was still inside of me.

Strangers on the street have stopped me before, to ask me about this babies eyes. They are nothing like I expected, lighter that I ever imagined. I have come to expect the ginger high lights, but somehow in my mind my dark eyes still power through to my girls.This idea is so firm in my head that I am sometimes still suprised when I look into her face, tipped up at me, calling “mama.” The Rooster’s eyes are somewhere between brown and hazel, they have the uncanny ability to reflect the space around her.

She has the uncanny ability to reflect the space around her. The emotions, the vibe of the room. This weekend we were at a mostly adults party, and she used every moment the Peanut was distracting me to crawl into the middle of the adults standing around and suprise them by appearing in the middle of the conversation circle at their feet. She would clap her hands and then wave bye-bye, looking back every so often to make sure she was still being noticed. It was delightful; she is delightful.

In the Rooster, I see my best self looking back at me. She believes in my goodness, she sees it right there! She is mischeivous in a way that harms no one, that brings a smile to your face. She loves nothing more than crawling from out behind her sister and jumping on her. Let the Wild Rumpus Begin! It is because of the Rooster we have instituted the rule :no wrestling in the bathtub.” She still thinks it would be fun….even if it isn’t allowed. She knows which buttons make the computer screen jump, and cannot understand why her father and I wouldn’t think that is as hilarious as she does…

She is my greatest reminder, that God’s plans are bigger and kinder than mine. I cannot believe I would have planned things any differently, even when it is hard. I part of me is sad, that it seems like it will be a long time until I get to hold another baby that is my own. I wonder if the adoption I dream of will be of an infant, if I will have a chance to rock those babies of mine. But I know that this has made me treasure this babyhood, even as she charges out of it.

Only one more year of this first year. Rooster, let’s make it a good one.

It is a new school year….and has been for two weeks for me. Christian started his school year last week. This school year greeted us with a barrage of set backs. A retirement of the Volvo station wagon, and a grown man getting Hand, Foot, Mouth disease just to highlight a few.

It always takes a minute for my family to adjust to the new school year, and these set backs also perfectly conincided with the Rooster refusing to sleep at night by herself. (“Let’s cuddle, Mom, All night! It will be awesome”….not awesome. Kid is a night sweat-er.) Long story short, it all became too much and I may have started snipping at my husband on the way out the door to women’s bible study.

I knew I didn’t want to fight because we were about to read James and isn’t that the part of the Bible about controling the tongue? I didn’t want to fight not because the Bible says I need to watch my mouth and respect and love my husband, but rather because I didn’t want to have to be convicted and then admitt that I am a jerk in front of the majority of the ladies at my church….Boy am I an A+ christian…..

Anyway, my plan didn’t work out and the pot boiled over, so much so that the Peanut was sitting at the table telling us “We don’t talk like that! Mommy, No talk like that!” This is hilarious because I wasn’t even aware she has heard me say that to her. She certainly doesn’t change her tone in response to it. But apparently she knows how we aren’t supposed to yell talk. In fact she may have gotten down from her booster seat “you okay mommy, you okay daddy?”

Yeah baby, we’re okay. Once talking kindly to each other and able to assure our oldest we in fact were okay, I drove to the new donut place to pick up my contribution to Saturday brunch. As I was waiting for the order I noticed the girl who was carefully placing my selection in the box. She had gone to my church for about 6 months and interviewed me for a paper she was writing about this community she was not a part of. She remembered my name and asked me about my kids. I remembered just how much I liked her. I felt the spirit pull at my heart. “I love this one, and I am trusting you with her. Love her well.”

We didn’t get to the tame the tongue part of James this week. Turns out that is chapter4. Instead we talked about the first chapter. Th part that tells us to “count it all Joy” when we face trials of any kind…especially the kind that seem to come out of nowhere. Especially the kind that won’t matter eternally.

And I will be honest with you. At first I was totally annoyed by this verse. I am really sorry James but I will not be singing zippity-do-dah while my baby barfs all over me and infects my husband with boils, and I will not be skipping down the halls when the car repair place called to tell us that the only thing wrong with the car was the computer chip that tells you what is wrong with the car, but that essentially totaled it. No I will not be joyous about this!

But that isn’t what James is saying. James is saying, my dear this is temporary. Do not let it distract you from bigger things, eternal things. You will one day be well rested, but right now I want you to love that sweet girl anyway. You will one day be unconcerned about car repair. This stuff doesn’t have to matter. You are right, it does suck butt. With Jesus it still sucks, but there is an end. There is an eternal perspective.

Christian’s reading load is insane this year and after just a week I am feeling the frazzled nerves of a PhD widow all over again. It sucks butt. But it is temporary. I know that this sucks, but it isn’t forever and I am sure it is the best thing for our family for now. Even when it sucks.

James isn’t telling me to put on a happy face. He is telling me this isn’t the end. There is a but…a big one

The school year has started. And like what feels like every year before I have gone to a training where they throw a ton of new information at me, say something like “I know this is a lot, but hopefully in years to come we will not have so much new material….only there is yet to be a year where there ISN’T all new material. Georgia has adopted standards that over half the country is using so here’s to this year being the first year they mean that.

I had a colleague my first couple of years who would greet you with “Happy New Year” that first week. And it is. Teaching is cyclical in a way that very few proffesions are and it is the top of the cycle for me. To be honest I am already exhausted. I am hoping this is more because we ran out of coffee than anything else but I really can’t believe that I ran at this pace all last year. I was starting to get burned out already when the Lord left me a multitude of signs that his grace is both sufficient and extravagant.

-We went to the grocery store and there was a spot in the first row with a two seater steering wheel cart next to it. Empty and waiting just for us.

-I got zero dirty looks in response to the fact that the Rooster took her part of the cookie we were all sharing and smeared it all over her face and into her eyebrows (She is a much messier baby than her sister was) only kind comments about how cute she is.

-The Rooster crashed immediately

-The Peanut didn’t fight bedtime and when we went to go brush teeth she called the toothpaste “poo-taste” bwahahahaha.

-We saw J, M, and S tonight so their mom could go to work and she blessed each one about ten times.

-I set the timer for ten minutes and that was all it took to get the house marginally picked up.

I don’t know why the Lord has claimed this time in our life for what feels like a break-neck speed. But I do know He has me strapped in tight. I need only hold on to Him….and remember to use poo-taste every morning and night.

I got the scissors out this summer and with the grace of God am cutting like a maniac. The strings that is. I realized recently that my life has gotten as tangled as a marionette being puppeteered by a toddler. Everything I do has some sort of string attached.

I made you that meal because you are my friend and would do the same for me.

I got up with the babies and let you sleep in so I could sleep in tomorrow.

I listen because I want it to be my turn next.

I check your blog please check mine.

Even the compliment someone gives me are likely responded with your shoes are so cute too!

This is not to say I don’t mean it, (I do, don’t worry girl. Your shoes are cute.) But the strings I have attached to my own words and actions are getting so tangled up in the attic of my heart that I am starting to attach them to others as well.

Maybe others do have strings, and maybe they don’t. Either way it is not my concern. Because this summer I have been reminded that this is what I know: While we were still sinners Christ died for us.

Because he loves us, not so that we would love him, not so that we would respond a certain way, but so that we could live in the freedom of being truly and deeply loved.

I have been living in the tangled lies of getting mine. Only scratching those backs that have the arms attached long enough to scratch mine. And my strings are getting so tangled I can barely scratch anything anymore without the immense effort of pulling against those strings.

So I am taking the scissors with the sharp blades of truth: God gave me my freedom, freely. I am free to give. And I am snipping those strings and stretching out my arms and my heart to their full capacity, the way they were designed to work.

I am finding that I don’t need those strings. God is becoming in charge of making sure I get mine. His grace is sufficient, it is extravagant, it is freeing me from my tangled mess of strings.

I don’t need those strings I have been carefully attaching. My God has given me my freedom, no strings attached.

This blog is in response to the prompt Sarah Bessey offered. There is so much truth to be found on her blog. Go check it out. What is saving your life right now?

Her hair runs wild and free all over her head. At her first birthday it was still firmly in the “peach fuzz” camp…and now it explodes in every direction curly and glinting with ginger and light. The hair that didn’t always show up in pictures tumbles over her forehead and into her eyes, down her nose and occasionally into her mouth.

It was so easy when the hair we were discussing was hypothetical. “Either her dad can do it, or I will cut it into a bob!” I used to declare. I assumed her hair would be as straight as mine and bang trims would be had every couple of weeks with special hair cutting scissors, her sitting on the bathroom counter feet swinging, thumping the cabinet doors. Her forehead dampened by the spray bottle. Hypothetical hair is so much easier to deal with.

Hypothetical two-year-olds are also easier to deal with. I have probably done less judging than most people when it comes to my pre-parenting days. My early days in the classroom taught me holier-than-thou statements that start with “I will never” don’t go down as easily as they spill out. But I am already doing things I had hoped to avoid. I yell too much, My patience drains quickly. I do not remain calm and tell her what I am going to do and then do it. The advice I give parents from toddler to teen. Advice that I still think is pretty good, hypothetically. Just like that bob that would turn into a fro the second I chopped it the way I once declared.

Her personality runs as wild and free as the hair on her tiny head. She is smart and funny and very very sure of herself. “I can’t wear those” she declared when I dared present her with shoes that did not have glitter on them “those too big.” (They are in fact perfectly sized.)

I don’t want to cut off these personality traits, like her ringlets they are beautiful and belong to her. I know that like her hair, they would likely not be tamed by a blunt cut, but become something completely unmanageable. But I cannot let her think it is acceptable to demand things from people or speak unkindly simply because you can. I have had students who have never learned they don’t always get their way. It is a much easier lesson to teach at two than at twenty. I love her too much to let her do whatever she wants.

That advice: 1. Say what you are going to do. 2. Do it. 3. Repeat. It works. I am a better teacher because of it. But it doesn’t take into acount the curl of the second guessing. Do I need to choose this battle? Does she really understand? Am I expecting too much. too little? It does not take into account the speed at which this wild haired little girl is able to push my buttons. A year ago I would not have believed it myself. It does not take into account (I am ashamed to admit) how much I care about what the people around us are thinking.

I have learned that less is more when it comes to this unfamiliar hair. Too mush brushing leaves the springy curls lifeless and sometimes frizzy. Too many bows distract from the natural beauty. Instead most days I sweep her hair off her forehead with a clip or tiny covered elastic. Just enough to keep her hair out of her eyes, so the world can see her bright smile and the hilarious way she scrunches her tiny eyebrows when she is contemplative, or set too firmly in her ways. It makes her look like a grown man.

On special occasions, if she will let me, I part her hair roughly down the middle and secure those curls in two pigtails. They look just like two cocker spaniel puppy ears. Soft and bouncy and bounding into the fun of it all. I never get the part as straight as I hoped, and the two always come out slightly cockeyed. But the effect is adorable.

I am slowly learning to shape her behavior in the same way. I want her actions to compliment her strongest personality features, rather than subdue them. I want her to continue to run wild and free as the hair down her back. As her mother it is my job to make sure that those unruly bits are gently brushed back from her face, and everyone can see how truly extraordinary she is.