Today is Ariel’s birthay.  Five years ago today, just about the time I write this the life of the most delightful girl I’ve ever known hung in the balance as light and dark clashed in the heavenlies.  The doctors’ report:  prepare for her death.  The Lord’s report: [I] have taught children and infants to tell of [My] strength, silencing [My] enemies and all who oppose [Me].  Ps. 8:2.  She had been born with Meconium Aspiration Syndrome, whisked away from me before I could hold her, and put on ventilators.  By this time of her first day, her lungs had collapsed twice, and the airlift team from the best children’s hospital in the Northwest was on the ground at Madigan Army Hospital, preparing her tiny body for transfer.

OJ and I had been married for only 14 months at this point, filled with excitement over the birth of our first baby, the baby we couldn’t wait for, though everyone said to give ourselves a year before conceiving.  We were filled with zest and excitement for life and the kingdom of God, raring to go, considering returning to our alma mater to minister to the students there through Residence Life so OJ could get a Masters Degree.  We were all optimism, and the thought had never crossed our minds that sorrow could take our hearts and destroy them right in front of us.  When the staff finally made us understand how sick Ariel was, I think there was a gasp heard all over the country, maybe even the world, and hundreds of knees hit the ground.  Her precious life…a cry rose up to God from all around.  My father wept in Chicago, my sister alerted the intercessors at the House of Prayer in Kansas City, and OJ made a phone call to our pastor and leader in Tacoma, leaving a message on their answering machine.  “Brian, our baby’s really sick…please…”

OJ and I had already been so transformed and impacted in our brief time in Tacoma, we knew it was a special place.  In fact, we were chomping at the bit to get back to our former lives and tell them all we had learned.  We’d already probably offended most of our friends with loud proclamations and preaching, certain everyone would want to hear the good news of freedom in Christ.  We were who we were.  We had pulled our car up to the take-out window, and gotten (we felt) enough for ourselves and everyone we knew.  We were getting ready to pull out and attempt to deliver the goods when Ariel’s birth happened all wrong.  There was a place in our hearts God wanted to access fast, and there’s no way there except by severity.  Desperation.

I remember the moment that the spirit of despair landed on me.  I was semi-prone in the hospital bed when OJ brought back the news of the second collapse of her lungs, and I remember the moment.   I remember the panic.  I remember the fear, which was knowledge of a sort.  There had been a little whisper of a question somewhere deep down for the hours previously, but at that moment, I knew she was going to die.  There was no more talking or listening or hearing for me.  I was not me anymore.  I was just there.  I was in that state when OJ was rolling me past the maternity ward doors to the NICU.  They opened and Brian came walking miraculously through, having been passed through a multitude of military checkpoints with no valid pass.  I couldn’t look up to see his face, but I remember his hands, which were at my eye level in my wheelchair.  They were shaking, and I heard him say, “We asked the Lord every which way, and every time He said this baby’s going to live.”  Those words were like drops of water in my mouth, cracking and burning with dryness.  That was the day I became addicted to the clear voice of Lord, and my ears became dull to anybody else’s opinions.

OJ left me in the care of my midwife, and took my mom and Brian to Ariel’s room.  Numerous hospital staff buzzed around in addition to the blue-smocked chopper team, and a nurse spoke to Brian as he entered, “You have to help these parents understand that the baby’s going to die.”  Elizabeth had called and someone had pressed the phone to my ear so I could hear her sob, “Listen, Suz, listen to this…”  She held her phone out to the prayer room, where hundreds of intercessors were lifting my baby up in prayer, and Misty was singing, “Ariel, breathe…Ariel, breathe…”  Ariel, Lioness of God, name for Jesus’ beloved city…Ariel was a burden that would not lift, and those praying, I later came to find out, literally could not relent.  The Spirit was carrying a cry in the room that only increased, and no one could move on.

While OJ, Brian, and my mom warred for her inside the NICU, I sat whimpering in a separate waiting room.  The room was quiet and dark and then something like a silent wind blew through, and my soul passed out of a cave.  A thousand weights lifted off of me, and physically I lifted my head, not realizing till that moment that I hadn’t previously been able to.  In a moment, I went from knowing that Ariel was dying to knowing, with certainty, that she would live.  I looked at the midwife and said, “She’s going to live!”  She said soothingly, “That’s right, honey…”  And I corrected her, “No.  You don’t understand.  She’s going to live.”  I asked them as soon as they walked through the door, “What happened in there?  Everything is different.”  They replied, “We rebuked the spirit of fear…”  That was the day that we put on our armor, took up the sword, and became freedom fighters.   For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.  II Tim 1:7

We bowed our heads to pray together, and my heart began to remember the things the Lord had told me about this baby throughout the months of loving her in my growing middle.  Sweet things, like that she would have red hair.  Powerful things, like that she would be used for salvation in Israel when He spoke Zech. 12:10 to me, long before I knew that my little one would be pierced and that I would know a taste of mourning for my firstborn.  Encouraging things, like that we were a family marked by joy and she would be full of laughter.  It was that last remembrance that tightened my stomach, and I nearly yelled out loud as I understood the scheme to destroy our little family’s joy just as it was getting started.  To sideline us, stop us, gut us.  I remember being righteously enraged, and proclaiming Psalm 8:2 over her.  I remember a peace so profound, and a joy so deep coming over the room that we literally could not pray any more.  All there was to be done was done. I remember looking at one another, wondering what to say, when they came to bring us to say goodbye to her before the airlift.  Babies often don’t survive that trip, they told us.  That was the day we broke ties publicly with the report of men, boldly telling our girl that she would be just fine…

There are a hundred other stories, like how they told us she would be weeks in Intensive Care and instead she was home within days, and of bringing Ariel into the midst of our church Body a week later…how we all wept and cheered for the miracle in our midst.   But there’s one more that I only just learned recently since moving to Kansas City.  Many people have remembered praying for Ariel, that night all those years ago, one being the prayer leader of the session.  He recalled it clearly, and told me of the burden of the Spirit, about not being able to get the people to stop praying, about the unction on it.  And so for more than an hour, they sang and prayed and beseeched the Lord God Almighty…and then suddenly, he said, it lifted.   All there was to be done was done. I asked what time it all took place, and sure enough, it was just about the time we were sitting in that little room, smiling at one another.  That was the day Ariel was born.

After Judah’s bloody nose:

“Judah, your face is all bloody.”

“NO, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“NO, IT’S NOT!!!!!!”

“Well, Judah, you can’t see it because the blood is on your face, and your eyes are on your face.  But we can see it, because our eyes aren’t on your face.”

On marriage:

“I’m gonna be a wife, but you can’t marry me, Judah, because I have to grow up.  And then another grown up man is going to come and ask me, and then we can be married when we’re both grown ups.  And you have to grow up and ask another person who is grown up and then you can be married.” -Ariel

“Yeah.”  -Judah

From Ariel, sitting with Judah working on a leapPad…

“I think Jesus is in outer space…”

Don’t worry, babe.  It’s multiple choice.  Easy.

While you’ve been gone…

1. …did I unexpectedly find the Happy Meal caramel dip all over

a) Judah’s sheets

b) Judah’s water bottle

c) or the duvet cover?

2. …did my heart skip a beat because

a) the kids were screaming like banshees on the patio over a bug

b) I checked on Judah during his nap to find the bed empty and the front door swinging open

c) the neighbor told me she saw coyotes in the back yard

3.  Did I apologize to the store’s proprietor because of

a) shirtless and/or shoeless children

b) children covered in dirt

c) Judah with suspicious marks/bruises all over from a severe biff on the sidewalk the day before?

4. have I coerced extra cooperation from the kids with

a) jelly beans and lollipops

b) a trip to a petting zoo

c) pancake breakfast

5.  Which family member has melted down over missing Daddy?

a) Judah

b) Ariel

c) me

6.  storms have provoked us to…

a) put on kids’ swimsuits and run around in front of the house

b) take shelter in a shed at the arboretum and pretend to be hiding from bad guys

c) make fun of wild turkeys running from the rain

7.  things we have waiting to show you

a)  a picture of baby Moses with orange crayon scrawled across him and one or two reeds poking out of the river

b) a dead bat

c)  a music video by Ariel & Judah

8. someone learned

a) North, South, East, West–and the location of the Western states

b) how to use a sippy cup

c) not to take all the kids to Target without a binky and some backup

9.  things for you to figure out when you get home

a) why your employee made off with your truck (it’s back now)

b) why there’s a sewage smell halfway down the basement stairs (and no where else)

c) why the kids needed floaties for Glorie’s new 2′ pool

Good luck with the quiz!  If you get all the answers right, we will shower you with jelly beans and/or lollipops!  We are so excited to see you!!!!

“Judah is a lion’s whelp.”  –Jacob, Jewish father

We can relate.  Jacob had 11 other sons to take care of, which is something for us to keep in mind in our particularly tired moments.  Judah David is like several tons of explosive force packed into a 35 lb. body.  He’s the only person I know with a barrel chest and chubby cheeks.  He was born ripped and ready to go.  The adventure does not stop from the moment he wakes up and yells, “Daddy, get me BREAKFAST!!!”  Don’t think we haven’t worked with him on the bossiness factor, we have.  And he’s doing great at getting it.  But giving orders comes as naturally to this guy as breathing.  If we had his DNA analyzed, I think it would come back X-Y-B-O-S-S.  We have conversations about “Who’s in charge?” at least four times a day.  For years now.

It’s a trip to spend the day with someone who cannot verbalize even the smallest detail without speaking emphatically and throwing in a few extra decibals, but also needs tons of hugs and kisses.  “Mama, when I’m BIG I’m gonna go to PRESCHOOL and be with ARIEL???”  Yes, and we might have to give the other kids some earplugs.

Parenting him has been more educational than I could have imagined.  We’re committed to keeping his force intact, while equipping him to submit to authority as forcefully as he can lead others.  I understand many dynamics we’ve come across in prayer for people so much better.  For instance, for many young men we have prayed for, rejection from dad and manipulation from mom were major forces for distorting the design God had for them.  I have more understanding for how that happens.  Trying to shape his force is intensely challenging. (As I write this, Judah has brought over a little lawn chair and set it up on the couch to watch the truck video I have playing on the computer screen.  “No, Judah, that is not safe.”  He has tried to play drums on my head.  “No, Judah, we don’t drum on Mama’s head.”  Followed by kisses on my head.  He tried to watch the movie a little longer, then experimented with barrelling his head into my side to see if he is strong enough to push me to the side.  “Hey, Judah, let’s pause the movie.  I need you to push those big wooden chairs across the room.  Thanks, Buddy!!”)  It requires me being more forceful than him, without any loss of tenderness.  Not more forceful in volume or selfishness, but in certainty and authority.  It doesn’t come naturally to me, and hugely stretches me.

Note:  From the time Samuel came home from the hospital, Judah has called him “BAMuel.”  Why?  Probably for the same reason he calls himself “BEEF.”  You can say it loud and strong.

And the truth is, while I get stretched to walk in my authority, it’s ultimately simply not enough for this young man.  Shaping him requires the big guns…he needs DAD.  He needs Dad to be intensely interested in him, insistent on his obedience, devoted to his cause, and consistently disciplining without any anger.  Last night, we had a freedom class in our house with some amazing people of God.  OJ asked the question of the men in class, “Which of you had someone, a father or discipler, who said to you, ‘I see who you are, the unique greatness of your design, and I am going to walk alongside of you and fight everything that would block it, to make sure that you walk into it fully?’”  I don’t think we’ve ever asked that and received an a confidently affirmative answer.  Most parents (great parents!) are just trying to keep their little warriors from burning things down, so the parenting emphasizes reigning in, reigning in, reigning in, rather than harnessing and empowering.  Even though many men have had wonderful Dads, this fullness requires such wholeness from Dad, it is rare on the earth.  It’s something that has to be received first, in order to be given.  So the lack of it is a self-perpetuating cycle.  But this is what God will restore to those who are hungry for it.  Mal 4

Before Judah was born, the Lord told us that he would be extremely forceful, drawn to power, and very driven.  I remember at seven months telling our pastor, “He seems so mild.  Maybe we heard wrongly.”  They wisely said to wait a few more months because you often don’t see the personality until age one or two.  And sure enough…wow.  We also heard that he would have a hero’s heart and want to follow his daddy everywhere.  Now, I know that’s true of all boys to some extent, but I have never seen anything like this little guy for needing his Daddy.  In the night, I can’t comfort him.  Since he was a small baby,  it has had to be Daddy.  He doesn’t speak about “Daddy,” but about “MY Daddy.”  “Where’s MY Daddy?”

For me, this has brought single parenting into a whole new light.  (Update: In the last paragraph, I told Judah not to jump in the crib while Samuel is laying in it, not to to “pat” Samuel’s head that hard, and not to throw the rubber blocks at him, as 8 month olds cannot catch.)  What would I do with Judah without DAD?  What would Judah do without DAD?  The thought instantly clarifies the horror of the injustice.  A Judah without a Daddy is like a pistol without a safety.  What would a single mommy do?  Only one choice:  disarm that thng.  The same effect can be in place in a two parent family, if Dad’s walking in passivity (which, having prayed for hundreds of people now, I can confidently say is a CHRONIC problem).

Sometimes I am completely at a loss.  Panic approaches.  I’d better reign him in now, lest the grumpy lady at the grocery store say, “Can’t you keep that kid quiet?”  How can I possibly contain this little force?  Without the wisdom of God, I would turn to what sometimes seems like the only option.  Even the strongest little guy has a God-given “weakness” for the women in his life.  Think of Samson.  Women manipulate their men and/or little men because it works.  It sneaks into discipline so easily.   “Think of how that makes Mommy feel.  Look at how exasperated I am.  Look at how hard you just made my life.  Can’t you just…???  You had better do that now, or else I will…”  I confess, I have done it.  Ick.  But it distorts the little developing soul, and creates an iceberg of buried anger that is not easily melted in the rebellious teenager, numb young man, or insensitive young husband who is passed to his new wife to sort out…  Thank you, Jesus, that it is so easy at two to say, “Judah, Mommy is SO sorry.  Will you forgive me?”  Bye-bye, iceberg.

Excuse me for a moment.  “Judah, don’t lay on Samuel.”

Sometimes, well-meaning folks get frustrated with Judah.  Sometimes even on our behalf.  They see his force and misinterpret it.  Or they see his sin and rightly interpret it, without eyes to see what he will become with careful discipleship.  Or they think our discipline should have made more progress by now, and they could do it better.  This is a very simple way to bring out the lionness in mommy, although she is old enough to gulp down her growls.  Sometimes I just want to ask, What do you think Winston Churchill was like as a child?  Or Abraham Lincoln?  What about Simon Peter?  Great men always make a stir, and it’s gonna be a pretty messy stir when said great man is two.  And yes, we could do better.   But God is faithful to people who are desperate, and cry out for his help.  We are not joking when we talk about “carpet time.”  Prayer life with a lion cub is very, very real, and the fruit or lack thereof is no mystery.

But God has been faithful to hear our noisy cries.  While we often have dark circles under our eyes, inside you’ll see a bright sparkle.  Having a boy?  Without hesitation, we’ll spill all over ourselves to tell you from our experience with a lion cub…”THEY’RE SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!!!”

Judah at 18 months - a video from the vault.

This may be a cheesy name for it, but I’ve been thinking for the past couple days about this assignment, which I take with the utmost seriousness:

⁴ “Listen, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. ⁵ And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. ⁶ And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. ⁷ Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.  Deut 6:4-7  (NLT)

So…my job is to figure out how to get As Much Scripture As Possible into my kiddos.  Thus, “Mission: AMSAP.”  At home, on the road, going to bed, and getting up.  That pretty much covers it.

Someday I’d like to write more deeply about this, about the hope of raising godly children and the promises of God over our kids; it’s a deep passion of mine.  But tonight, I’m just going to ask for help on a very practical level.  I know I’ve got some mommy friends out there (Hi, Kates and Carrie!), and we’re all searching for ways to write the word of God on their little hearts.  I heard a woman speak so practically a few weeks ago, with a bunch of materials displayed at the front of the room.  But get this!  She wasn’t a ’speaker’ or a ‘presenter,’ she was a mom who had done it, raised fiery kids brimming over with the Word, and her “display” was the dogeared books that she’d read her kids for years, CD’s and movies from her home collection.  And I took notes like MAD!  That wasn’t just valuable to me, it was a goldmine.  One of her ideas was to put on CD’s of the scripture (starting with the adventure stories of the OT historical books) for her boys every nap and nighttime, when they were little. So simple!  She used a production read by actors using the New LIving Translation called Bible Alive. So Ariel got a CD player for Christmas!

The point is, the practical stuff is gold.  So I’ll share what I find, and please share with me what you find!!!  I’ll provide updates on Mission:AMSAP periodically if there’s something worth sharing.

If you began to read this blog hoping for wild adventures in travel and evangelism, and feel tricked into reading a preschool periodical, I apologize.  This is currently my main mission field, although not our only mission field.  Three little disciples who share our last name and penchant for verbosity…  This will not be the only adventures in travel and evangelism we have to share, but in this season, it’s our forte. But if you’ve ever met Judah, you’ll agree that the adventures are still pretty wild.

On that note, I was trying to find some new music today.  Scripture songs.  You know you love ‘em!  I’ll bet most of you will start humming the same tune I am as I write these words:

“This is the day, (this is the day) that the Lord has made (that the Lord has made), I will rejoice…

Okay, so maybe that little ditty doesn’t bring back the remembrance of transformational encounters with the living God, but His word never returns void, so even if you learned that in the basement of a veteran’s hall with sheets hung on clotheslines to separate the sunday school classes by age (a window into one of my childhood church facitilities), that truth will never ever die for all eternity.  And any day we actually choose to believe it immediately is instantly transformed.  How about that for a nursery rhyme?

So today I was searching for nice (free, I’ll admit it) downloads of scripture songs for kids.  It didn’t go so well!  Here’s a sample of what I found:  01_behold_a_virgin_shall_be_with_child_mathew_1-23.

Umm…didn’t go over real well with the munchkins.  In fact, I couldn’t get them to even listen.

But then there’s the Bentley brothers.  I can’t peel the kids away from this, and it cracks me up, too:

They’re on a fabulous site called jellytelly.com, produced by Phil Vischer of Veggie Tales fame.  The Fabulous Bentley Brothers are making songs for every book of the Bible, and they always start by listing the previous books, as you’ll see at the beginning of the clip.  My niece Glorie’s been watching these for a while, and now recites effortlessly the book order.  And she’s two.  Once again, GOLD!

So I’m searching for gold, friends.  I’ll throw out one more thing that I love, and then leave you to hit the comment form or shoot me an email with your finds.  Here’s my favorite children’s book.

I cry every time I read the kids Blind Bartimaeus’ story out of this book.  Getting emotional right now, just thinking of it.  in fact, I can’t think of a better source for a closing line.
“…But best of all, Bartimaeus saw Jesus.”

Nighty-night!

…from the driver’s seat.  I had been introducing the concept of a “gentleman” to Judah.

“Men are big mans, Judah, and when they are gentle to us then they are a gentleman.  You have to be gentle, Judah.” (Ariel)

“Yeah, but I’m gonna be a man an’ shoot fire at them with my hose.”  (Judah)

“I think you mean a fireman, Judah.”  Me

“Yeah.” J

“No, Judah, because when people are on fire then that’s dangerous for them, so the fireman has to shoot water at them with his hose so that the fire is not so hot, so they don’t get burned as bad.  So you’re not gonna shoot fire out of the hose, right?” A

“Yeah, I’m gonna shoot the water out of the hose and the fire out of the hose at the people.”  J

Ariel restates her explanation.

“But Ariel, that doesn’t make sense!”  J

“NO, JUDAH!  IT DOES MAKE SENSE!!!  YOU’RE WRONG!”

At this point I intervened.  I think the world looks different from 40″ tall.  There’s a lot out there, and not all of it makes sense. 

Sometimes we search Youtube for classic sesame street clips, things we remember and want to show the kids.  So around the house, the kids and OJ have been singing the “What’s the Name of that Song?” song.  I’d never heard it, but it’s nothing if not intriguing, so after we got the kids in bed last night, I thought of it as I pulled the computer on to my lap.  I pulled it up:

OJ came over to see what I was doing, and sat down beside me.  The big mistake was doing all this before we were sure the kids were asleep.  I heard little footsteps, and Judah, who’s famous for his “concerned” look, had the most concerned look ever.  I immediately started giggling guiltily, imagining the scenario playing out from his two year old perspective. Oh, the betrayal, to have been put sternly to bed night after night, not knowing what it was being missed out on…well, now he knows.  Mom and Dad put him to bed and then secretly watch Sesame Street.

“Guys?  What are you doing, guys?  Why are you watching kids’ Sesame Street when you’re grown ups?  Why are grown ups watching kids’ Sesame Street?”  He was pained…Ariel came running out.

“What’s going on?”

There was nothing for it, but to invite them up to finish the clip, and then put them sternly to bed AGAIN, trying to convince them there would be no more Sesame Street for ANYONE until morning.  Ha!

This blog is dedicated to all the Daddies who have laid aside their machismo for the thrill of mastering the bulb syringe, explaining proper potty procedure, and finding the white leotard in time for somebody’s wee ballet class.  You are the best of the best.  Happy early Valentine’s Day.

OJ is a master of literally millions of things…you name it, he’s probably good at it.  Preaching, computers, games, OT trivia, painting cars, discipling kiddos, poetry (although it’s been awhile since he had leisure time for that…), and to top it off, he is a whiz in the kitchen!!!  Ask anyone who made the best fwamburger they ever had, and hands down it will be OJ, if they’ve ever had a fwamburger made by OJ.  Yep, there aren’t many things that OJ can’t master, but if I had to pick one, it might be best termed suave, pronounced with an “ay” sound at the end. OJ’s not super-duper suave.  He’s a man’s man.  He will never (thank God) be accused of being a metrosexual, asked to recommend a great dj, or given the Cosmo design award (if there is one).

Case in point:  I have bought OJ cologne in the past.  By “in the past” I mean, during our marriage.  I liked it okay, and it was not a big investment.  That would have been dumb.  To make a big investment, I mean.  Either because he might not have liked it, or because spending alot of money on men’s cologne is just dumb.  I do have an opinion on that, but I’ll respect your right to disagree.  Anyway, he never wore it.  I don’t think he ever thought to.  It just didn’t occur to him.

But having three kids by the age of thirty does funny things to you.  You realize, in your few coherent moments of non-child reality, that the aging process is going about 43 times faster than you think it’s supposed to.  This may happen while you are walking through the drug store.  Perhaps your youth flashes before your eyes as you accidentally catch a glimpse of yourself in the little reading glasses mirror.  And you think, “Who is that bedraggled person?  They need some sleep.”  Then you realize that it is you.  And you may quickly return to the task at hand (”Now where do they keep the pedialyte?”), or you may stand in front of the reading glasses display and think for a moment.  As you think, you may be singing along to the Classics playing over the radio.  Hopefully, not enough synapses are firing for you to realize that your high school songs are now on the “classics” station, and that is why you are singing along.  It would just be too much at one time.

Or, it could be that at that fateful moment, you catch a glimpse of a sporty yet mature figure beckoning to you to share in some of his manly magnetism from the nearby Old Spice kiosk.  I think that may be what happened to OJ.  Anyway, he came home that night with, you guessed it, that masculine equivalent of Jean Nate, that “Is that your grandpa that just walked by?” mysterious scent, the clean, classic Old Spice.

Now, I’m generally of the attitude that if my hubby likes it, then I like it.  Because I just like him…that much.  But I knew in that moment the whiff hit my brain, that if I acted excited about the Old Spice, it would be a downright farce, and totally immoral.  It was a marriage tester, that moment.  The stuff hit the fan, as it were.  I had to be honest.  “Is that Old Spice I smell?”  I won’t relate the painful moments after that.  I felt awful.  I wanted to like it, just for the sake of this manliest of men, my husband, a king in a world of guys…testing out the concept of cologne.  I wanted to encourage, bolster, and support, but I couldn’t.  I sought for words to heal his wounds.  But there were none.  Eventually, we just held each other.

This is getting kind of long.  The end of the funny story is that Ariel came into our bathroom this morning while I was getting ready for church.  She knocked some stuff over (it’s a tiny bathroom), and came across the O.S. in picking it up.  “Mmm…” she said.  “This smells good.”  Wow!  A chance to encourage OJ!  I was so glad someone could genuinely endorse his choice, in the innocence of youth!  I sent her off,  saying,

“That’s Daddy’s cologne!  Go tell him you like it!”    And listened to hear it go down.

“Daddy, your colon smells good!” I heard her yell as she hunts him down.  It was enough for OJ.  A minute later, he appeared…  “See?  Did you hear what Ariel said?”  He then offered some to her, for her special church toilette, at which I had to draw the line.  She was readily accepting, when I intervened.  “Please do not put Old Spice on my little girl.”  Words I never thought I would have to say, and hope to never say again.

All that to say, I think I may have a bead on the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day, for the most wonderful, handsome, extraordinary husband in the world.  I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for the right sporty yet mature figure, advertising a scent that leaves a lasting impression.  Something that says, “If you like Football, you’ll love Pigskin.”  Or, “If you like Hot Wings, you’ll love Sizzlin’ Stix.”  Something that just yells, OJ!!! BUT NOT SIMPSON!!!  Yep, it’s out there, and I’m gonna find it.

…my little children, for whom I am again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in you!  Gal 4:9

What does it really take to parent?  What does it mean to offer consecrated children unto the Lord?  Is it a baby dedication service with our best outfits?  I believe those are powerful and meaningful, but they’re like a wedding.  The vows are not a completion, but a prediction, a prescription, a statement of intention.  They are not just lost if they’re not followed through on, but actually become a sore source of anguish.  In other words, on that joyful day, the work is just beginning.  Birth is the same.  What toil, what joy…what a picture of what is to come daily thereafter.  Until when?  Until the character of Christ is formed in them…”I have no great joy than to know that my children are walking in truth…”

Right now, the boys are both asleep and Ariel is taking a rest.  I’m listening to her sing, “Jesus loves little ones, through and through, like me and you…”  She takes a break every couple minutes to yell, “Is my quiet rest done yet?”  Oh, the irony of the moment, as I yell back, “No!”  How many years will I labor to form the concept of “quiet” in their little brains?  Feel free to leave a comment on that one if you are an experienced parent.  :)  The sweetness of her song makes up for it all, but I know this peaceful moment will be brief, and if I am not ready for the next one, it will find me disgruntled.  This verse has to be forefront; I have to expect to labor.  

Sometimes it’s just in the natural.  Like yesterday.  My memories of the morning are blurry, but something like this.  Woke up with joy to realize the older ones were climbing into my bed, waking me for the first time, instead of the baby’s cries.  He slept through the night???  I should feel alive and alert and fantastic!  Hooray!  Everybody needs breakfast, and so the bowls of cereal go on the table while baby wakes up and wails…maybe it was all eating at the same time that caused the simultaneous poops that came a little later.  The oldest on the potty, yelling, “Wipe my bu-unns!”  That little phrase was funny when we first taught it to her, having been informed by grandpa that children are not physiologically capable of reaching far enough to clean themselves until a much later age.  Not so funny anymore.  The second was walking around in denial, claiming the far-reaching stench was not from him…and the third, announcing without words his urgent need for freedom…  All at the same time.  

Shortly thereafter,  I remember sitting in my nursing chair, calling #2 over to me.  He’s potty training, a notion that is reinforced every time we have to change one of those bombs, and so running around in training pants.  I thought maybe the pants were wet…confirmed when he came near.  I tell him we’ll change them as soon as I’m done.  He tells me they’re not wet.  Next thing I know, I’m waking up seated in the nursing chair, saying, “Oh…gotta change the training pants…”  I don’t know how much time had passed.  So much for feeling alert and fantastic.  Coffee anyone?  I’ll stop there.  I would call that labor.  

But all the while there’s a much deeper labor going on my heart, through the exhaustion, exhilaration, hysteria (our kids are so funny, I cannot begin to describe it…), there’s a groaning deep in my spirit, constantly crying out to the Lord…Oh, God.  How?  Oh, God.  Let the character of Christ be formed in my children.  Oh, God, my hope is in you.  You said you would give wisdom liberally to anyone who asks.  Oh, God.  Pierce their hearts with this little verse.  Oh, God, make this spanking effective to yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness.  Oh, God, forgive me for my exasperation.  Oh, God, they are yours, yours, yours.  I can’t do this.  But you said whatever is done for the least of these, I do for you.  So here goes, my act of worship.  This diaper change for You, this meal for You, this biting of my tongue for You, this sleepless night for You.  Be magnified, Holy One.  You are worth it.  Them, transformed to your image, is worth it.  I can do this through Christ who strengthens me!  Your power is real, or else I would still be in bed.  

Well, now there’s a little redhead on my left, and a little blue-eyed boy on my right, reading out loud.  Yes, two different books.  Can I concentrate?  No, but how precious they are!  How He must love us to come as a wee babe and labor among us for thirty-three years, finishing with the gruesome work of the cross.  How loved we are, to be called the children of God.