For some reason Christmas time does bless us with that little window of insight, slows us down long enough, perhaps, to evaluate the process of our family aging before our eyes, and makes us nod in agreement that time truly does not stand still for us.  Was last year a difficult one for you?  How exactly does our God world view change our responsibility to our response to what happens to us throughout the course of a difficult season?  We know better than to grin and fake it, to not shut out friends who can help shoulder our burdens, to not hide from the world.  We know that we need to get on with it, we know why we are here, and we know the gift of each day given to us.  Our days are indeed fleeting. Our children are growing.

The holidays have the ability to give us a snapshot mentality to literally see the children and family that we live for aging before us and make us immensely grateful for the time we have been given.  So here we are, a few weeks post-season with the world listing resolutions and personal diet goals and decluttering and storage ideas for all of your newly acquired stuff (which in and of itself is NOT necessarily a bad group of things to be working on) but is that really where you, teacher of the family, keeper of your home, should be putting the most focus?  I encourage you to find time, now that life is returning to whatever your normal is, and sit quietly, pen and paper in hand, and discuss with the Lord what he expects of you this year.  It may indeed be time to focus on you, as we generally are others focused as Moms.  But for each and every one of us, if we don’t take time to go to Him prayerfully and ask what He needs from you, you will be right back to the old unsatisfying slate of agendas that you have created for yourself and your family that no matter how well you stick to the plan, never will satisfy that God shaped need in your life, no matter how busy you are.

On that evening so long ago, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school. I don’t remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite!

When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I’ll never forget what he said: “Honey, I love burned biscuits.”

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she’s real tired. And besides – a little burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!”

Life is full of imperfect things, and imperfect people. I’m not the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. But what I’ve learned over the years is that learning to accept each others faults – and choosing to celebrate each others differences – is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.

And that’s my prayer for you today. That you will learn to take the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at the feet of God. Because in the end, He’s the only One who will be able to give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit isn’t a deal-breaker!

We could extend this to any relationship. In fact, understanding is the base of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child or friendship!

“Don’t put the key to your happiness in someone else’s pocket – keep it in your own.”

God Bless You. Now, and Always.

So Please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burnt one will do just fine.!.!.!.!  And PLEASE pass this along to someone who has enriched your life. I just did!

She attended hunter safety courses this year with Dad and is off with the the boys to deer camp armed with lots of down time reading material and hot chocolate.  There is much to prepare, multiple coolers as there is no electric, food, lots of layers of clothes (2 feet of snow fell last week)!  Warm boots are required ‘cause it’s a long cold trip to the out house (no running water)!  In no time, they were off and I found myself gleefully preparing what to do with my down time (I know you girls think I should have learned that lesson by now)!  Happily, I donned my flannel jammies and hopped into bed planning a wonderful night of uninterrupted sleep. I got one hour.

I awoke with the undeniable urge to pray.  And I did.  All night.  He had other plans for me.  I cried out every burden and desire in my heart.  My fears and stresses were poured out to Him.  It was not a rant.  It was not a well thought out prayer like when you have time to compose your thoughts in a prayer circle before your turn comes.  No.  It was a cleansing constant stream of prayer about everything in my life; my fears and desires for my family, protection over my children, to guide us with our business, to heal and bless our marriage, all laid out to Him.  I am refreshed this morning.  I climbed out of bed without the normal list of things I must accomplish running through my head.  Instead I felt that I must record what happened to me last night.

What a gift He has given me!  I cannot explain how much physical weight I felt pressing on me that is simply gone this morning.  I am so grateful.  It is all that He asks of us.  He asks for our burdens and we are so apt to cling to them.  We fix everything ourselves, why would we want to give that to Him?  We are so accustomed to just plugging ahead anyway and He asks for our burdens and we refuse to give them away.  There is a song out currently by a man named Bryan Littrell (Yes, he was a member of the Backstreet Boys, and now he is Christian artist) that says simply, “I’ve been holding on, and now I’m letting go.”  It is so simple, isn’t it?  It is all He asks from us and we are so led to cling to it in the delusion that we can fix it ourselves, or that it really isn’t important enough to bother Him with.  It is burden and it weighs us down and keeps us from the freedom to be the wives, mothers, daughters and friends that He needs us to be in this world. 

Jesus reads from Isaiah in Luke 4: 18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me , Because He has anointed Me To preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed…”.  He is our hope this Christmas.  My Christmas wish for my girls this season is that you have a sleepless night with a chance to let it go and give it to Him.  After you have gone about the business of teaching the children the meaning of Christmas, after the decorating and baking is complete, and the house is in order, I pray that you will allow Him to give you His gift of peace by letting go instead of holding on.  May all of your houses be blessed this Christmas with His love. 

Merry Christmas!

As an adult, you make cognitive choices daily, tell the world why you “can’t” change, harden your heart deciding not to change habits, and we slowly watch our bodies descend rapidly to a state as his ”fallen” children that He had never intended for us.  Where are you in your journey with feeding your kids?  No one said it was easy, in fact it’s supposed to be “thorn and dirt” difficult since the fall!  No mention of cheesy poofs and yodels!  Perhaps the time spent as a Mom in kitchen prep is a teachable thing He may use in our busy lives to open our eyes and hearts to learn from Him.  This is not a judgement!  All of us lean toward convenience foods occasionally, and junk foods, too.  All of us.  But if that is your constant, you are off the right track- you must take an inventory of what you choose to put into your children’s bodies (and your own!)  

No!  It’s not easy.  It’s mostly not fun, either.  There’s cleanup, and no time.  I know!  Many excuses.  The end result is disease and illness and malnutrition!  Dark circles are a sign of malnutrition, not a need of concealer, ladies!  Our kids’ doctor said his chief complaint from parents is this: “but my kid only wants to eat chocolate chip cookies!”  Then throw them out!  Eventually the child will get hungry and eat what he is given!  I understand your shock if this is all you have known.  Many of us were never instructed properly.  There are many affordable choices to add more fruits and veggies to your diets.  If you are spending on junk food, this does work into your budget.  Remember to make small changes.  Try a produce store, if you’ve never been.  You will be simply stunned at the box of food $20 at the produce stand will buy you!  Learn to steam veggies to keep the vitamins in.  Start to offer fruit on the table twice a day.  If it’s there, they’ll grab it!  Or just throw it in a blender!  You’d be amazed to see your child drink “hulk juice”, (a blended salad!) green and gooey, but all things go down more easily in a colorful straw from the dollar store!  Any change is better than none.  Knowing better, and choosing against His intentions daily, hourly, is a sin we should all confess to Him to ask to be released from.  “It’s our nature” is not an excuse. We are choosing wrong.  We can choose a better way.  As Moms who love the Lord we understand the concept of a better way.
Be encouraged.
Be motivated.
Be blessed.
Be changed.
This I pray for us all.

Let us labor for an inward stillness–
An inward stillness and an inward healing.
That perfect silence where the lips and heart
Are still, and we no longer entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
But God alone speaks to us and we wait
In singleness of heart that we may know
His will, and in the silence of our spirits,
That we may do His will and do that only

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This poem struck me with its implied parenting message. So often our days are controlled by our children. We spend each waking moment filling some need, fixing some problem, answering many questions, feeding hungry mouths that we never have “me” time to unwind. And when they are finally all asleep, we flop on the couch, depleted of all energy but that required to press a button with our thumb and sit numbly watching fake life in a stream of light and sound. While diverting, time spent watching television does not necessarily provide us with the rejuvenation our bodies and souls so desperatlely need!

I imagine that most of us might find a moment of silence daunting… do we really want to be introspective? Do we want to think about our lives? Do we even remember what it means to consciously think?

Even though at first it may be awkward, forcing ourselves to dwell for a moment in silence, with no thought to, “entertain our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions”, can lead to such peace of mind; such renewal of body and spirit. We can find ourselves in that silence, we can get back on track to being a real person again. Taking time to meditate in the quiet of the morning, during a child’s nap or even in the evening after the house is finally enjoying its own silence can enrich our lives and renew our personal meaning. Our ability to enjoy the sometimes challenging journey of parenthood will take on greater meaning and we will become the parents we desire to be.

I am interested in hearing from you! Your answers can be posted using the reply form below.

1. Do you have any success stories of implementing meditation into your life? Please share your experience and how it has helped you.
2. For those of you accusomted to meditation, what recommendations do you have for people trying to create that habit in their lives?

Thank you so much for your comments and suggestions!

Then my second daughter came along.  I was warned of the difficulties of 2 vs. 1.  But I found that #1 helped out with #2.  She’d bring me diapers, help entertain, and find the elusive matching baby sock. 

Then I became pregnant with #3.  People said that as parents, we would now be outnumbered.  Plus a person only has two hands to hold and two knees to sit on.  But again, #1 and #2 are more than willing to help with #3, a boy.  And, even though it’s not easy, I am capable of holding three children in my lap.  But this is just a minor example of where the demands of parenting prove to be difficult. 

There are some days that I barely get all three fed and the breakfast dishes cleaned when I hear little voices repeating the daily chorus of “I’m hungry.”  I give them an option.  Do you want this or that?

#1 shouts, “This!”

#2 shouts, “That!”

#3 shouts his favorite word, “No!”

Of course they don’t agree.  I fix this and that.  #1’s plate gets this.  #2’s that.  #3 gets both this and that ’cause he eats just about anything. I turn to get drinks.  I have not even made it the two steps from dining room to kitchen before I hear: “Eww.  I don’t like this.”

But you asked for this!  I say.  But you shouted for this! I plead.  There’s inevitably an excuse.  But this “this” has cheese.  Or… but I only like Daddy’s “this,” and this is the other kind of “this.”  Or… but today’s Tuesday and I never eat what you put on my plate on Tuesday. 

Meanwhile #2 is emphasizing how yummy everything is and how good she’s being for eating it all.  Today.  #3 has eaten three helpings in a flurry of motion and now he begins the process of throwing the remaining bits on the floor or tucking them into his shirt.  As I return to the kitchen with #1’s plate, I hear her call out, “Mom?” She points out sweetly that she’s thirsty.

Well, if you had eaten what I gave you then you would already— Oh, it’s no use.  I quickly whip together a completely new lunch option for #1 and place it in front of her.  As I turn back to get the drinks, I hear #2.  “Hey!  I want some of what she has!  And I’m thirsty.”

And it goes on like this.  And it drives me crazy.  And I want to pull my hair out.  My hair.  My hand instinctively goes to my head even as I write this.  I can’t pull my hair out.  I’ve already cut it off. 

My daughter (#1) had a spontaneous brain bleed on May 29^th and almost died.  Her head was shaved for brain surgery.  My husband and I cut off our hair in support of her.  Wouldn’t you if your baby looks up at you… tears in her eyes from the pain, tubes and wires entering and exiting her, a soft white wrap on her hairless head… and she looks at you and asks why? why did her hair have to be cut off? 

We’ll grow it back together.  We’ll scratch like crazy as it grows in.  We’ll wear matching bandanas and complain all summer that a hat on your head is “way hotter” than a head full of hair.  And when our hair does grow in, we’ll go the salon together and make a day of it.  Because she’s my daughter.  And I’m her mom.  And the same goes for #2 and #3.  They’re my babies, and yeah, it’s tough, but we have each other and I love every minute of it.

You don’t have to shave your head to support Annie. Kathy’s Cards for Annie’s “Patches” card: http://kathys-cards.com/products.php?cat=annies_cards 
Read about what happened to #1:  http://laurieharley.com/Annie.htm
Annie’s Facebook Support Page: http://groups.to/supportannie
Annie’s Art Studio: http://annakate.info <- Yes, she really sells her artwork.

This summer, I lost my way as a parent. Between moving and leading a top-to-bottom renovation of our new apartment, between writing grant applications and taking care of legal issues related to my nonprofit, I took a few wrong turns, caught up in the To Do’s and Didn’t Do’s scratched onto my notepad. Thankfully I have not one, but two canaries on my shoulders. When they stopped tweeting, I knew it was time to pause and reevaluate.

The first canary is this blog. When I write, I nourish a small patch of my soul. I often dismiss it as insignificant; I say, “So what if I didn’t jot down a few paragraphs this week?” But reflecting on and writing about my life enables me to keep one of my canaries alive and singing. It seems a like a small thing, but I know better than to dismiss the “little things;” a quiet cup of coffee in the morning or a late evening stroll can mean the difference between a contented person and a frustrated one. Blogging matters to me. I need to do it every week. My last post preceded our move in early July, an absence which I felt in my bones, on the surface of my skin, and in the joints that hold me together.

The second canary is my relationship with Ayla. When we’re in a good place, I feel that I can surmount any obstacle that hurtles down our path. But in recent weeks, we’ve strayed into strange territory. Instead of hugs and kisses, I’ve been getting whacked on the head by my child. Ayla’s been thunking me with toys, books and sippy cups. She’s also bitten my shoulder, my knee and my thigh on more than one occasion. I tried to pass it off as her “hitting and biting” phase but it was fiction, not fact. The truth was that Ayla was reacting to the distance between us, the distance that made it possible for me to spend the summer multi-tasking instead of parenting. As I efficiently checked things off my To Do list, I was killing off my second canary.

Then it all came to a head earlier this week. On Sunday, Ayla led a poop-and-smear fiasco in our beautiful new apartment (I’ll spare you the details on this one). When I looked at what she had done, I flew into a rage. I took hold of Ayla by the shoulders and yelled. All the while, I knew it had nothing to do with her—I was unleashing my personal frustration about the never-ending renovation and the overbearing weight of my workload on my innocent child. Ayla looked at me with a mixture of shock, fear, and… disappointment. Even still, I finished my angry rant. Then Ayla burst into tears. [If the day ever comes when Ayla’s eyes harden in response to my anger, I’ll know I’ve lost her.] After that, I stormed around cleaning up the poop and then I too burst into tears. That when I knew my second canary had asphyxiated. My relationship with Ayla had taken a turn for the worse.

Last night I was able to bring much-needed oxygen into our relationship. Ayla and I attended a swim party and BBQ with friends and neighbors. I shook off my list of incomplete tasks and focused my attention on Ayla. In the pool, Ayla immediately responded to my shift in energy. She laughed and kicked and splashed joyfully; and then, without notice, she let go of my hands and began to explore the pool on her own, buoyed only by a pair of shark-shaped floaties. It was astounding to see Ayla take this developmental leap so effortlessly, so quickly after I re-entered our relationship.

After playing with our friends and eating a succulent meal right off the grill, Ayla and I retired on a lounge chair set upon a small patch of grass. I held her in my arms and she nursed quietly, as a handful of stars appeared in the sky and peered down at us. She fell asleep in my arms, both of us bathed in starlight.

I felt like a coalminer again, as though I had raced through the miles of dirt and rock and finally reached the center of it all—the place where the energy of all life throbs and pulses through the walls. In that place, I reconnected to Ayla. Even though I was afraid, I took a giant leap towards her, allowing myself to touch the raging current of love that connects us as parent and child. When we got home, I couldn’t bear to let either of us sleep alone, so she curled up beside me and we cuddled and nursed through the night. In the morning, Ayla woke me up, not with her usual cries for milk but with kisses, planted on my face, my shoulders and on the tip of my nose.

Now comes the hard part. Figuring out how to move forward while keeping my two canaries alive and singing. Maybe I need to take a leave of absence from work—the maternity leave I couldn’t, or didn’t, take after Ayla’s birth. Maybe there are other projects that can survive a delay, or rescheduling so that I can spend more time with Ayla. She’ll be starting preschool next year; this fall may be our last chance to savor long days and nights of play and exploration together.

I’ve already forgiven myself for getting lost. I know it won’t be the last time this happens to me as a parent. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I must heed the ebb and flow of the canary’s song. When it falls silent, it’s time to step back and gain some perspective; when it sings, I know that I’m moving in time to the rhythm of life.

If you would like to read more from Taz, visit her Labor of Love site.

Perhaps it was the beauty of the day with its cool pre-summer breeze and sunny afternoon , but most likely it was the picking of the pretty yellow flowers in the backyard that prompted the sudden proposal. “Mom, let’s get married,” he said holding the big bunch of yellow beauties. A few days before, I had noticed the shock of yellow in the corner of our backyard that we refer to as “the swamp”. I knew it was some kind of weed, but I had no idea the magnitude of it until I was right up on it. It grew high and had coiled, thick, purplish vines with the sweetest little yellow flowers with orange centers. I had asked Riley about coming with me to cut the flowers and he happily agreed. We grabbed a scissors from the kitchen and meandered our way to the swamp avoiding doggy land mines to reach the mammoth weed. He didn’t know, nor did he care what it was, he was just as enamored with the yellow flowers as I was. And, I suppose, that is was prompted his desire to wed. So, there it was, actually the third proposal of my life (but that’s another whole story!) and I thought, do I decline? Should I let him know that typically moms do not marry their sons? Or that the Department of Social Services could be called if word got out? Or at the very least, what will the neighbors say?! Instead, I shrugged my shoulder and replied, “Sure, why not.”

marry me

Just as any smitten bachelor, he was elated with my response. We walked hand in hand carefully back through the yard (doggy doo would NOT be the scent you want to remember on your wedding day) and went inside. With my allergies being what they are, an inside wedding was definitely preferable. With such an impromptu ceremony we had to do some improvising, so for music I hummed what I thought at first was the wedding march, but turned more into The Newlywed Show theme song. Riley didn’t notice. He was too busy holding the big bouquet of yellow flowers as he held my hand and we marched around the upstairs.

This bridal procession lasted only a few minutes as we circled in and out of my two teenagers’ rooms. There were groans and sounds of disgust. The 16 year old in his judgmental tone said “You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” and my 13 year old girl just rolled her eyes and said, “Mom, that is SO gross”. But Riley and I were undeterred. No one was going to spoil our wedding day even if family didn’t approve (hmmm… seems I’ve said that before in my previous ceremonies).

We stopped in his room where we stood together and I further improvised having to perform the nuptials myself. “Do you Maureen, take this boy Riley to be your son, to have and to hold, to love and cherish all the days of your life?” “I do,” I answered. “Do you Riley take this woman to be your mom for the rest of your life, to love, honor and obey?” Riley hesitated, as I’m sure his nerves got the best of him, as it happens in many marriage ceremonies. So, after a small nudge, he finally repeated the words “I Do.” He had warned me earlier right before the ceremony that we would have to kiss and so this was the moment. I stated, “Then you may kiss the bride.” On cue, Riley handed me the bunch of flowers as he puckered up. A quick peck and the ceremony was over. Against the backdrop of Spiderman and Lightening McQueen, I married my four year old son.

As I reflected on the ceremony later in the evening, I realize there are a few lessons here:

First, weeds can be beautiful. I’ve always loved dandelions and used to get very upset with my dad when he would mow them down. He would grumble about the lawn, but I thought ours was the most beautiful on the block – no one had as many pretty yellow flowers as we did. And if he let the lawn go, I was lucky enough to have my share of wishmakers to just dream away and ask for all the things I ever wanted. What could be better?

Next, there is the ever-so-sweet innocence of a four year old in love with his mother (as contrasted by the teenagers – more on that later). How could I say no to his proposal? He’s in love with me and I’m going to savor every moment while it lasts. Because it won’t be long before holding my hand will not be cool, and kissing his mom will be an obligation, and picking flowers with his mom will be so lame. Until that happens, I will marry him every day if he asks.

And lastly, there is the opportunity to disgust your teenage children. Why is there such pleasure in that? I haven’t quite figured that out, but I do know that all of their disdain is just show. And I know deep down there is security in knowing that your mom can be playful and have fun and most importantly, to love that much. I think it reassures them to know that they were once loved that much when they were four and that same love never goes away. It changes as they change and alter their way of receiving it, but that it is always there. And it reminds them that there is life after puberty and just maybe they can one day be uninhibited and not socially paralyzed by what their peers or any possible onlooker might think of them. I sure hope so anyway.

So, my suggestion is to stop and smell the weeds and marry your children when the opportunity arises. There’s one marriage you’ll never regret (refer to earlier proposal comment). But that’s another story….

Maureen Day is the founder of “Heaven Born” (www.heavenborn.com), a non-profit project where books and hand-made pillows are given to women who have suffered an early pregnancy loss. The simple book gives information on handling the emotional challenges an empty-armed mom will face and the pillow provides a tangible source of comfort.  Our mission: Comfort Moms, Honor Babies.