Thoughts about progress

"Hey!  I did it all by myself!!!!"  I love it when my people start doing things all by themselves.  Getting dressed, for example, even if it means that they are wearing striped leggings with a printed skirt and non-matching shirt/sweater combo.  Trying new foods, new accomplishments at the playground, dry nighttime pull-ups.  We are making progress. 

Progress is a funny word.  Progress implies moving forward.  We think of it as a good thing.  Unless we are talking about a disease.  The disease progressing is not good.  A few months ago I went with my dad to a doctor's appointment.  She described his disease as being on a train that is going a certain direction.  In the medical realm there is no way to turn the train around or to make it go in reverse.  "The best we can do is to try to slow the train down."  Progress here has a totally different meaning.

Last summer my dad struggled a lot with feeling dizzy.  His blood pressure would drop way down and sometimes he suddenly would need to stop and hold on to something, or sit down.  Then, one day in September my parents went out to breakfast and my dad momentarily passed out.  Unfortunately for him, when this happened he had been standing up.  Down he went.  It was a little bit scary for all involved, but my dad quickly recovered and they were able to leave the restaurant and my mom took him into the doctor for an evaluation.  It wasn't immediately clear to them why my dad's blood pressure was dropping but they gave him some tips to try to manage it, and they advised us to have chairs available all over the place so that he could sit down in short order if he needed.

Well, it turns out that if you fall over somewhere and there isn't an immediate explanation as to why you are falling down, the state thinks its probably not a good idea for you to drive. (For the record, I concur with this government regulation.)  So not long after this episode my dad was officially asked to turn in his license.  No more driving for Grandpa.

Not long after this, my dad had an appointment with a new neurologist.  The doctor listened to his symptoms, and looked at his medication list.  He advised my dad to wean himself off of one of the medications and see how he did.  Within a couple days of being off the medication, he stopped having dizzy spells.  He started being able to ride his bike for longer stretches.  Overall, he felt a lot better.

Okay, now I want to take a moment to talk about "progress" in terms of medicine.  I have 2 people in my very close circle that are in the medical field.  Both of them have spent years and years studying how the body works, and then reading really super boring journal articles and studies that have been done with different pharmaceuticals to see how effective they are at treating different diseases.  They look at foods, vitamins and minerals and try to understand and see patterns with things that seem to help our bodies fight disease.  But our bodies are really complicated and people with seemingly similar symptoms don't always respond in the same way to the same treatments.

I have cringed listening to people talk condescendingly about their healthcare provider not being able to figure out what is wrong with them.  I just would like to take this moment to point out that these people have put A TON of time and effort and emotional wherewithal into trying to understand the human body and how to aid in fighting off disease.  They deserve some respect for that.  I have witnessed first hand people who read the medical journals in their free time, and spend family dinners talking about things that would make many of you want to either cry or throw up.  (I have almost done both of these on more than one occasion.) Despite all of their efforts, THEY STILL AREN'T GOD, and it's quite unreasonable for us to have that expectation... of anyone for that matter.

In short, it became clear that the medication that my dad was taking was the cause of his dizzy spells, and that he did better not taking it.  There are some people who might benefit from this particular medication, and we don't begrudge the doctor who originally prescribed it.

So, now that I have that out of the way, lets go back to talking about my dad.  After he had resumed feeling generally awesome for quite some time, he started making a case for having his license back.  Some of us weren't so sure about that idea, but it wasn't really up to us to decide.  There were really a lot of hoops to jump through if that is what he wanted. But Grandpa was pretty determined.   He had to get a doctor to sign a paper saying that he was medically cleared to be re-evaluated.  He got that letter.  Then he had to submit it to the DMV and request an appointment to take the driving test.   While he waited, my dad found a YouTube video called, "How to pass the driving test."  He probably watched it a hundred times.  He had two last minute conflicts and had to reschedule that appointment TWICE.  But his day came.  A couple of weeks ago he took the driving test.

And HE PASSED!!!  After a little more than 6 months with no licence, Grandpa is a licensed driver again.  We celebrated.  I think that in a small way we felt like the train that doesn't go backwards, went backwards anyway and it felt like progress.

the beauty of counting to eleventeen

A couple months ago as I was preparing dinner I listened to the kids playing.  I could hear enough snippits of their interactions to know that they were playing hide-and-go-seek.  The game had been going along for a while when someone decided that my youngest should have a turn to count. He is always happy to have a turn.  Unfortunately for him, he's not super skilled in the counting department. I listened.  He counted.  "1. 2.  3.  Here I come."  It actually took him less than 2 seconds to get that out and he went running down the hall.  I could not hear the interaction that followed, but he was sent back.  I heard him count again.  "1. 2. 3. ...5...8. 9. 10."  And off he went again.  This time I could hear some frustrated voices.  "You aren't counting long enough!!!"  So he tried again a third time.  "1......2......3.....5.......9.....10...(Now insert very long pause.  He is smart.)  
ELEVENTEEN!!!!"  And he went running with gusto down the hall to find his sisters. 
Nobody argued with the kid who counted to eleventeen.

My school aged kiddos go to a school that has a diverse population.  This year there are 2 different moms that I would love to chat with, but they don't speak English and I am not very confident in my Spanish speaking abilities.  I would smile and say "hello" and they would shyly smile back but that was as far as our communication went.  Until a few weeks ago.  I gathered up some of my courage and I initiated a conversation in Spanish.  We talked non stop for the few minutes that remained before school let out.  I am certain that I made numerous grammatical errors.  I probably said something like "eleventeen".  But guess what?  I don't think she cared. 

I went home and I thought about this other mom and how often she has to gather up her courage to do her best with a language she can't speak very well.  All the embarrassment of knowing that you are making mistakes and wondering if you are really being understood.  Suddenly I realized that I had this little window of opportunity to absorb that for her.  I could be the one to bumble around in a language I don't speak well.  I could be the one to make all the mistakes, and allow her to nod reassuringly and offer the words that I was searching for.  What if my willingness to be weak was a blessing to her?  What if it was empowering?

As the fall was coming to an end, our family took advantage of a few extra days off for conferences and we went to the beach.  As we were gathering up all our stuff to go, my dad offered to start loading the luggage in the van.  I thanked him but declined.  I explained to him that I wanted to quickly vacuum out the van before we left.  A few minutes later I was aware that my dad was getting out the vacuum and preparing to vacuum the car. 

So kind.  But I cringed.

The far back seat of the van regularly has enough crumbs to sustain our whole family for an entire meal or two. I always intend to get back there, and "follow up" on what my kids believe to be a sufficient clean up job, but I rarely make it to the third back seat.  To say that the van needed to be vacuumed was a severe understatement.  Anyone who has ever known anything about my dad knows that he is a very strong Type A personality.  Growing up, room inspection was serious business.  I watched him vacuum my van and I was tempted to go back to my childhood days of "room inspection."  I was not passing inspection.  My van was a disaster.

My dad kindly and patiently vacuumed the van as we gathered the rest of our stuff.  He then helped us to load up the van.  He didn't say anything about our crumbs or the mess.  He smiled and told us to have fun.  I thanked him for his help and we headed off.

As we drove to the beach I thought about my feelings about my dad vacuuming the van.  One thing that I have come to appreciate is that even though there are things that my dad can't do anymore, he is very eager to do anything that he can.  Maybe my willingness to be weak, or in this case, my willingness to accept help is a blessing to him. 

What if I limited my own interactions to the places I feel comfortable?  What if I only did the things that I know I do well?  What if I never allowed myself to need help from the people around me?

Friends I think that this is where grace is rich.  Grace is rich in the places that lie just beyond the edge of our own capabilities.  When I can say, "This isn't something I've mastered.  I need help." we put ourselves in a place to receive grace.  I saw it in the eyes of another mother, encouraging me with thankful eyes.  Her nods and her broad smile spoke grace to me.  I saw it in the hands of my father, reaching the vacuum into the far back seat of our van, using his type A skills to get every measurable crumb into its proper place.  It's not room inspection anymore.  Just grace.  I can rest in that.

Romans 12:16 "Live in harmony with each other.  Don't try to act important, but enjoy the company of ordinary people, and don't think you know it all!"  (New Living)

So I have a new resolve.  I want to live more of my life on the edge of my own strength and allow myself to be empowered by His strength.  I want to reach beyond my own capabilities even if it means counting to eleventeen.  I want to be willing to not be perfect and admit the places that I need help and accept it.  And I resolve to eagerly extend grace as well.  To offer help where I see that it is needed.  To acknowledge the effort that it takes to walk outside of our comfort zone and use encouraging eyes. 

I want to walk in places of rich grace.

The banner we stand under: "dearly loved"

Hello dear friends!  The holidays are over.  We celebrated well with family and friends and now we are getting settled back into the routine of school and life.  I realized as we celebrated that this is one of the first years for quite a while that we haven't spent at least some time in the little city where I grew up. In years past we have traveled up to spend Christmas with my parents, and now they are already here!  Yay!!!  But then I realized that I really missed all the little moments of seeing lots of other people from our church there.  I tasted just a little of what has been hard for my parents. We had a lovely Christmas but I think that we all tasted a little bit of the loss in the midst of the festivities.
We are all making new friends in our new environment.  We love our neighbors and we are thankful to be here.  But the richness of life that comes with 36 years of friendships isn't replaced in 8 months.

I have learned one of the key components to harmonious community living is being able to identify and respect the things that are important to each other.  Fortunately for us most of the areas of what could be tension have been easily remedied.  For example, we keep 2 different kinds of coffee in the house.  We also have a coffee pot AND a pour over system.   Everyone might have an opinion on the best way to do certain things and we all have preferences but we are all pretty flexible and it works out well most of the time.

Sometimes it doesn't.  I probably don't really need to elaborate more than that.  Sometimes it is hard to be flexible and sometimes we aren't considerate of what is really important to the other people.*  There are 7 people who live in this house and more than half of us are "First Born Children". We may or may not have really strong opinions about THE RIGHT way to do things and sometimes I have found myself being really stubborn about a ridiculously insignificant detail.

So with that as the back drop I will share with you my favorite Christmas gift.  I had a plain canvas and I painted it black.  Then I painted in white the words "dearly loved" on the canvas.  It wasn't perfect but I was pleased with the outcome and it seemed appropriate that my best wasn't perfect.  I am not perfect at loving people.  I gave my imperfect painting to my parents for Christmas. 

Scott Krippayne wrote a song called "What if". 
... Love will erase the fear...
What if you lived like you were loved? 
 What if you did all the things your heart's dreaming of?
What if you sang your song at the top of your lungs?
What if you lived like you were loved?

It's thought provoking.  Do I really live like I believe that I'm loved?  Can I walk forward in confidence, knowing that it's okay if I fall on my face because the love of the Only One who really matters is unshakable. 

This was my favorite Christmas gift.  The reminder that we are Dearly Loved.  This is the banner that we stand under.  Love is a gift.  A gift that God gave first.  We give love and we receive love because HE first loved us.  So freely.

We live in house where people have different "right" ways to brew coffee and we have different opinions about other things too that are still too sensitive to write about and might never be funny to some of us. We have different priorities and different ideas about what is important in the moment.*  But we stand under the banner of "DEARLY LOVED" and at the end of the day that is what matters. 



*In the midst of writing this I was able to assist in building a Star Wars Lego Star Ship with space for 2 bad guys. This was an important priority for someone who I love.  :)

The mess of God's story. A Christmas reflection

We had recently set out our Christmas decorations and the girls were playing "Nativity".  We have a couple sets that we let them play with and they walk their Little People through the Christmas story details that they know.  This particular day they also brought down their play food and incorporated that into the story as well.  I was in the kitchen working on dinner, and this is what I overheard in the living room:

"Hey Wise Guy!  Can you hand me an avocado?"
"I think we are out of avocados.  Do you want a.... (surveying play food) doughnut?"
"We aren't out of avocados!  There is one right by your other foot... wait! doughnut? Yes!  I want the doughnut."
"Wise Guy!  We better pack up the rest of this food for our trip."  Child wraps food into a tortilla to be loaded onto a camel.

 I find traveling snacks a very essential part of any journey and apparently I am passing this trait on to my children and they are helping their "Wise Guys" load up camels full of felt fajitas and hand-knit baked goods.  I'm not sure where my kids got the idea to call them "Wise Guys."  I am making a mental note to educate them in calling them "Wise Men."  It sounds more respectful.

Listening to the way that they play out the story makes me think.  In a funny sort of way, it makes the story come alive.  There are so many details that we don't know.  What kind of traveling snacks did the wise men eat?  What about Mary?  In her latter stages of pregnancy did she have cravings?  Did Joseph run out at the last minute and buy some kind of favorite dried fruit for their long trip to Bethlehem? How long did he plead for a room, and then a space... and then ANY kind of space....   I can just picture him saying, "Hey sir? Yes, I know that you are out of rooms, but I think that my wife is about to give birth on the street out there and it would be really awesome if we could just stay in your shed.  I'm not even kidding."

I wonder if along the way there were ever any times that Mary or Joseph second guessed God's plan.  "Oh wow, God?... remember how we are having this really important baby?  Are you sure you wanted him to be born here in this stable? I kind of had a different idea about how this might work out."

Can we all agree that the wise men made a very unfortunate stop to ask directions?  Oh oh, yes, I know that the consequences of that had been prophesied long before that... but the point I am trying to make is that when we look with just our physical eyes, the story of Jesus' birth is a loaded story of a couple of very difficult journeys. Journeys that take a few turns that certainly wouldn't have happened if we were the ones writing the story.

Sometimes I feel like there is a lie that has crept into our hearts...  that if there is something that God wants us to do then He is going to "open the doors" and if the "doors" don't open for you pretty easily, well then, it's probably not really what He wanted.

I am making an observation.  The best God stories are really messy, and not at all the way that we would expect or plan. Not many doors just open smoothly.  Sometimes God calls us to blaze a trail, and trailblazing is actually a lot of work.  It's often messy, sweaty, and not very beautiful at all to the naked eye.

But for people who know what to look for, we can see the beauty in the story.  This is story of a very young and very poor couple moving forward in a story that didn't really make sense.  They were walking into the unknown and closed doors, but it didn't matter because God was with them.  I think that when you are confident that God is with you, a lot of things don't matter anymore and you can do things that you might not have thought you could.  Giving birth to a baby in a barn, for example.

So friend, if you are living a journey that seems wrought with difficulty, take heart.  Emmanuel.  God is with us.  I pray this is the truth that grips your heart this season.  We celebrate because He came near.  I pray that you will be strengthened as you walk your hard road or you face another closed door or your path takes a twist that seems so far from what you would have planned.

He is with you.

Something you dread with someone you love... a thankfulness post

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!!!  In honor of Thanksgiving want to share one of my favorite life lessons.  I'm thankful for life lessons.  :)

For a few weeks we have been talking about the overgrown blackberry bushes that run along the front of our property.  They were starting to over take the street in front of our house and then all the leaves blowing around in the street were settling at the base of all the bushes and it was a giant mess.

Last week we had a free morning, and it wasn't raining so my husband and I decided to tackle it together.  With, of course, the help of my 3 year old.  His job is primarily comic relief and responsibility for making sure that we don't get anything done too quickly.  We happen to have a smaller rake and he carried it around and talked about his special "brake".

So....   it was a nasty job.  Blackberry bushes are really a pain to deal with.  Literally.  When we were done we were both all scratched up. There was far more debris than could fit in our yard waste bin, and we ended up loading up the back of my husband's pick up truck with leaves and blackberry branches so that he could take it to the dump.  It was work.  But guess what?  We had fun.  We worked together and laughed at being tangled in the blackberries and helped each other.  We gave the 3 year old some places to use his "brake" and we had a good morning. 

You know what I'm thankful for?  Doing something I dread, with someone(s) that I love. 

I first had this realization when I was in high school.  I had an amazing youth pastor.  We had a really neat youth group with a strong sense of community.   We did all the usual crazy youth group activities together... funny scavenger hunts and weird youth group games. I was recently reminded of an unsponsored youth group escapade that involved switching the letters on our Dairy Queen sign from "We have pumpkin ice cream" to "We have nice rumps".  Good times.  We also did a lot of really meaningful things together too. Service projects that involved picking up trash, serving breakfast to homeless people, we went on several life-changing mission trips. I remember at one point realizing that my appreciation for these people was so deep that I would rather dig a ditch with the youth group than spend an afternoon at the mall. In high school. I really felt that way.

This, my friends, is how I learned that I was truly in love with my husband.  I realized that I would rather travel out to the middle of Nowhereville with him, than be anywhere else without him.

Loving relationships are empowering.  Having someone by my side who loves me and wants to walk with me through the ups and downs... that gives me strength to do things that I didn't think that I could do.

So thankful for the people in my life who have said, "This is hard. Lets do it together."

Healing and Wholeness

So a few weeks ago it was suggested to us that maybe we should pray that my dad be healed.  In January my dad was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia.  My dad is 75.  I hear about a disease with the word dementia and I think of that as being kind of an old person disease.  I'm not saying that 75 is old, (especially because my dad reads this blog) but it is three quarters of the way to being 100.  100 is kind of old.  Getting older happens to everyone. EVERY DAY.  We are all getting older.  And I have some thoughts about how we pray and what we hope for people who are getting older. 

A few weeks ago I was made aware of a friend of a friend who has a 6 year old who sustained a traumatic head injury.  I prayed for that family and for that little boy and I prayed that God would bring healing to his brain.  I listened to a suggestion that we pray for my dad and I realized that I felt almost guilty to ask God to heal my dad.  If God is going to heal someone, well, there are kids with cancer, or serious injuries or illnesses... and my dad is already 75.  Maybe we should just accept that as the gift that it's been and pray for the more "important" things.  As if God is limited in his power to heal.  Like we might use up something that could have been used for someone else.

I thought about it for quite a while.  We do want healing for my dad.  But more important than physical healing, we want spiritual healing. We want spiritual wholeness for all of us. And sometimes spiritual healing happens in the context of physical suffering.  I can tell you that, because I feel like that is something that we are experiencing already. 

But we do want for my dad to live in all the fullness that God has for him in all the days that he has.  And I really believe that God wants that too.  And I suddenly felt a conviction that we should pray for my dad. 

Last week, on October 29, we celebrated that 11 years ago, Timothy and I met.  We had our first meal together at Taco Bell.  We celebrated and Timothy made a really amazing Mexican feast that was really nothing like Taco Bell.  :)  Nobody complained.  Then after dinner we explained to the kids that we were going to pray for Grandpa.  We reminded them that Grandpa has a disease in his brain that makes his brain not work quite right.  I fumbled around in telling them that getting old and dying is a part of life, but that we want to pray for Grandpa and ask God to allow him to live in all the fullness of life that He has for Grandpa.

So we did.  We gathered around Grandpa and we prayed.  In their own way the kids prayed for Grandpa and for his brain, and thanked God for giving us Grandpa and that he is so kind and loving.  We all prayed and asked God to bring healing in whatever ways He wants, and that nothing, not even a disease would prevent Grandpa from being all that God wants for him to be in this season.

It was really a beautiful time for our family even just to pray our hopes for wholeness for Grandpa. It felt like a football team huddle, with a reminder that we are together in this and that together we know that we are on the same team, and our game plan is really to praise the Lord for His goodness to us, regardless of the outcome.

I think sometimes I hesitate to walk into something like that with my kiddos because I am afraid that they might get disappointed or confused.  I don't want to create a platform for my kids to be disappointed with God.  Especially if I have low expectations for anything to change.  But all of this really is revealing of my small faith.  And if we never walk with them into a situation where they might be disappointed, then I don't have the opportunity to navigate that with them. 

Tonight it has been one week since we prayed for Grandpa.  As far as we know he still has Lewy Body Dementia.  But since then, he hasn't suffered from the dizziness that had been so debilitating.  But more importantly, we have had some really good conversations as a family and with our kids about paying attention to what God is doing, because we know that He wants fullness of life for all of us.   

Can you fix this?

One of the beautiful things that we have been able to experience since living with Grandma and Grandpa, is that Grandma has a sewing machine and she knows how to use it!  She enjoys quilting, and she is willing to mend.  Even before we lived together my kids learned to save their favorite garments with little tears or ripped seams, because... "Grandma can SEW IT!!!"  Now that we share a house, everything with even the slightest tear is immediately delivered to her sewing corner.

A few weeks ago we were driving down the road we saw a car (At least I think it had been a car) by the side of the road that was obviously totaled.  My youngest looked at the car and offered, "Maybe Grandma can fix that."  One of his siblings immediately responded by saying, "Um, NO. Even Grandma can't SEW cars!!!" 
Right.  We were looking at something that would make a skilled body shop mechanic cringe, much less Grandma equipped with her ever-handy sewing machine.  I wonder if when Jesus talked about "the faith of a child" if He was thinking of the faith of a 3 year old child.  Boy howdy, that kid has faith!  (Smashed up car? No problem! My grandma has a sewing machine...)

It is very endearing when a child with pleading eyes and complete faith comes and offers up something precious, yet broken and says, "Can you fix this?"  Has this ever happened to you?  An irresistible request to work at a nearly impossible task... and for the sheer love of the child, you agree to try to find a way... (even if it means a late-night search on Amazon or ebay in hopes of finding a suitable replacement that is almost as good as mending?)

When I was growing up, my dad had a reputation for being a "good fixer."  (He actually still does, but he may or may not actually want that information in print, so don't tell anybody.) When we were younger we would take him our broken toys, but as we got older it was our computers and our college student vehicles making funny noises.  My dad has the ability to keep half dead vehicles alive for a really long time.  He joked that it was his love language.  Even though he joked about it, I realized later it did make me feel loved.  Driving a car that was well-cared for made me feel well cared for. 

I look at my kiddos and the little mended places of their favorite clothing items and it makes me smile.  Those little places of mending represent the fact that someone stepped in and cared for the things that were special to them.

I have another Father who is a really good fixer.  You can't always see it, but there are little mended places in my heart that remind me of His touch.  Some people would call them scars, and they would be right, but the truth is that scars are places of healing.  Someone who loves me took the time to sit down and mend something that was broken, and now when I look at these mended places, it reminds me that I'm loved.  And when I take time to remember all that He has done, I am all the more eager to gather up my emotional mending pile and offer it to Him.  He's a really good fixer.