This morning I finally started getting back on my best routine. My best routine as in "if I'm not up and moving before the children I won't be at my best". As in "if I want to have a good day I'd better get my lazy carcass out of bed." As I was out of town for about six weeks attempting to be of some help to my Mom and grandparents, I got out of the habit of running. There was much to be done and not much downtime so I was running pretty hard, especially with the three kids to look after as I cooked and cleaned and tried to help, but there was also a reunion. Me, Ben, and Jerry. Mmm. My favorite is "Whirled Peace". At least (censored) pints made it down my gullet and to my rear while I was in Heavener. All the more reason to get back to my best routine.
So I pull myself out of bed at six thirty. Okay, my husband, who knows what's best for me and what I really want, pulls me out of bed. Thanks for that, Eric! I stumble past the still not quite empty suitcases from the trip and into the bathroom. Ugh. Wet swimsuits. Gotta do something about that. No, not now. Gotta run. Bleary-eyed, I brave the half-unpackedness to locate my shorts... not those, they don't fit right... dig a little more... yeah, those. Find a sleeveless shirt... not that one, doesn't match... but really, does it matter? Nope. Okay, now socks... oh yeah, those made it into a drawer! Score! Trudge to the kitchen, look longingly at the coffee. Not now, dear caffeinated friend, but later for sure. Water. Need water. Okay, got water. Flop to the floor. Enter Jedi... sure, I'll let you out. Back up, let the dog out so he can quit dancing up and down with his paws crossed. Back down to stretch. Lean down, pull feet in... there's a staple in my shoe.
Not just any staple. This one is old and big. It's the kind you use to stick carpet padding to the floor, as evidenced by the chunk of padding that's still hanging on. I noticed this staple about five weeks ago as I sat down in one of the many doctors' waiting rooms I frequented with Nanny and Grandad during the trip. Mom and I had spent the day before at her new-old house, the house where she grew up, pulling carpet padding and digging staples out of the long-forgotten hardwood floor. You'd be amazed what you can do with a wide putty knife and a flathead screwdriver. I showed Mom and we both snickered about it and I'm sure made some snarky comments and laughed harder as we usually do, then for some reason I got up and kept going. I likely had to, either to get a bottle, change a diaper, or maybe the nurse called us in. Who knows. But I left it there, with intent to remove it at home.
Before we left with our little five-person and four-paw family for my hometown on June 30, we thought we were going to work on Mom's house and enjoy visiting family. Instead, through medical and other (we won't go there) emergencies, it turned to five and a half or six weeks of cooking, cleaning, referreeing, doctor's offices, hospitals, nursing, and just plain trying to be of help. Before we left, I'd told our beloved life group that we were going to move my Mom into her house while we were gone, and I meant that.
Now that's not a bad thing on the face of it. It's not bad at all. There's nothing wrong with wanting to help your parents. I did try. I pushed to be down there and clean, pull, scrape, and fix. But working on Mom's house was my plan, or at least what God used to get me in the mood to work while I was up there... I'd have gone anyway, so I can't say that's what He used to get me there. The point is that it just didn't turn out like I wanted it to turn out. Life is like that. Oh, sometimes it goes exactly according to plan, but the tricky part is realizing and being cool with the fact that life always goes according to God's plan. I've been in both places recently. In the spring and at the beginning of the summer, I was doing so amazingly great! My life was as perfect as I can imagine it being, and I realized this one morning as I prayed through the prayer list on my run. "God, I just love my life!" I said. "I just can't imagine it getting any better... we have awesome friends, Eric's job is simply wonderful, we're in good health, our kids are great and our family is complete, our church is absolutely fabulous and we look forward to being there every chance we get! Thank you, Father, for this mountaintop!" Then the sick feeling hit, as He spoke to my heart... "Beware, child, where your peace and joy lie. Mountaintops are short, pointy things."
Then our friend and pastor resigned the next day, and that was just the beginning.
It's so hard to see with our fleshly, human eyes and hearts that these things are good. As I told him after I found out, I wanted to run to their house and grab them both and jump up and down and throw my best two-year-old tantrum. NO! NO NO NO! You can't leave! You're great friends and I love you guys, and what if the next guy is a jump-up-and-down-and-scream-er? NO! But that wouldn't be right. As much as I love the Griggs family and I know so many others do too, all our love combined isn't even a drop in the bucket toward how much God loves them. He has given them another place to serve, and another setting in which to read the next chapter He's written in their lives. New characters, new plot, but the same theme. The same goal. The same purpose.
To glorify God in all they say and do. To study God's word for doctrine, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness. (2 Timothy 3:16) To encourage others to love like Jesus. To allow God to use them to speak to these new characters as they spoke to us in love and encouragement and when necessary, in Godly discipline as the Word teaches.
We are to do the same. We, as a church family, as a life group with a large hole, are to do the same. To stick to God's word and together as we seek to become like the church at Berea. To roll with the changes.
Why? Because God says. He knows what's best. My husband, who seeks to love me like Jesus loves us, knew it was best for me to get myself going. He knows my state of mind is better, my body is better, and I have more energy when I'm excercising. He knows I enjoy life more. He's right. Thankfully, I wasn't a stinker and listened. If I hadn't I might have missed the staple.
After noticing the staple several times... and it's obvious if I look at the bottom arch part of my shoe... I decided to leave it. It's ugly, rusted, big, and has a dime-sized chunk of yellowish padding stuck under it. But it is a great reminder, not only to pray for my Mom as she cares for her parents without the love of her life, but that things don't always go according to plan. And that's a good thing.
So Godspeed, Clayton, Tammy, Haley, and Spirit. Godspeed and may God bless you as you've been a blessing to us. Thank you for your love and encouragement through the last few years, and for allowing God to use you all. Your smiles will be missed, but we are joyful and thankful for your new adventure and for all the lives He will use you to bless! The Senzigs love you.
By the way... the staple's still in my shoe, and for now, it'll stay.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
In the Beginning...
...there was the first post. It was composed on a particularly frustrating day of mothering, mostly of a child with autism.
Today was a day when I look up in frustration and say, "Really?! Seriously?!" My Ryan, our almost five year old who has autism, started screaming pretty much as soon as he got home from school. He walked in the door, asked for his mallets ("want your mawwets?"), and soon after asked to watch his favorite video at the moment. As usual, I take his "mawwets" off the entertainment center and hold them out, reminding him to use the magic words every mother teaches their children to use. He bops off contentedly, waving his treasures in the air as I start his video. The video comes on, and after skipping past the usual previews, I take off for the kitchen knowing that the kids are happy. A few minutes later, here comes Ryan. "Want some banana, " he says. So I give him a peeled half of banana and he happily trots off to the living room. Couple minutes pass, and he returns, this time with "putcha poop inya pants". Okay, not unusual, we go to the bathroom. In the midst of our bathroom experience, Ryan asks for ice cream. Trying to be positive, I respond with my usual answer... that he can have ice cream if he eats all his dinner. Sounds reasonable, right? Not to Ryan. He screams in my face.
Now, most moms would yank their kids up and make sure they learned a lesson in what ever way they're fond. I respond to Ryan with my usual (mostly pseudo-) calm request that he calm down. After finishing our trip to the bathroom, Ryan still can't stop screaming, so I tell him to finish his fit in his room and head off to the kitchen, stopping to turn off the video on the way. Upon discovering that his video is off, Ryan starts asking for it over and over, but not in the same room as me... and screaming before I can even get in the room to meet his request. So no video. Ugh. There goes calm time. I try calmly explaining why I won't/can't turn on the video, but he just screams. Okay, back to your room. Please calm down and come out when you can stop screaming. This is pretty much the entire rest of the next hour.
When I say screaming, I mean bloody-murder, someone's-cutting-off-my-arm screaming. Shrill, oh my WORD his throat has to hurt screaming. This time it only lasted an hour. After about thirty minutes I was struggling to keep my cool, so I call on my friends, using one of my Facebook (one of my favorite mommy tools). I ask for prayer, not just for me, but for my Ryan and for Richie, my sweet 23 month old who just got his feelings hurt when his hero screamed at him simply for walking in the room they share. They join me in asking for patience, love, joy, and peace to share with my Ryan's little troubled soul.
By the time my amazing husband walks in the door tired from his own day, I'm like that Pink Floyd song... comfortably numb. That sounds bad, but it's a gift. See, I need to be a rock for my boys and my princess. Remember that I have a 23 month old son and a 3 month old daughter in addition to this confused, precious little guy. I don't want to be remembered as a "rageaholic". As the daughter of someone who couldn't control his temper (drunk or sober), the last thing I want is for my kids to see me as something scary. So the numbness is a defense... it's a gift from the Lord to allow me to be calm and comforting to one child and then turn to the next and read a book and tickle his feet. Then turn to the next and nurse, hold, smooch and coo. Not that I don't feel anything, that's not it. Numb to the fear that gives birth to anger that gives birth to rage... yet able to feel the warmth and sparkle of my children's smiles and happy eyes.
Peace.
The peace that passes understanding.
The peace that rises above the feelings, because emotions aren't terribly reliable.
The peace that the Lord gives me makes my life so much more liveable. Not survivable. LIVE-able. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel the frustration and fear and all those negative things that come along with parenting. I most definitely feel them, and at times (like this afternoon) I'm nearly leveled by them. But I'm not. I'm struck down, but not destroyed. Persecuted, but not abandoned. As I step back and look at my relationship with Ryan, I realize that my need to be a calm, peaceful rock for my boy is much more important that just teaching him to not throw fits and be demanding. It is key to teaching all my children how God loves me, because He does! He puts up with my screaming fits when I don't understand what He's saying, or trying to get me to do, or... the big one... WHY. Oh, and I do ask that one.
To tell the truth, I kick and scream more than Ryan. I know enough of God's Word to know what He expects, yet I consistently do just the opposite. But when I cry out in the middle of the night, He still answers. He still grants me that peace. He still holds me in His arms and gives me rest. He still gives me His words of comfort through not only His Word but through friends and other loved ones. He meets my needs and then some... more than I could imagine... consistently.
So thank you. Thank you, Lord, for loving me even through my fits. Thank you, friends, for allowing Him to love me through your smiles and shared laughs! I am thankful, tonight, not just for my sweet family and friends, but for a Savior who loves me and is my rock, and never tires of my cries and requests. Remember, friend... He's never tired or yours, either.
Thanks for walking this first step of the journey.
Today was a day when I look up in frustration and say, "Really?! Seriously?!" My Ryan, our almost five year old who has autism, started screaming pretty much as soon as he got home from school. He walked in the door, asked for his mallets ("want your mawwets?"), and soon after asked to watch his favorite video at the moment. As usual, I take his "mawwets" off the entertainment center and hold them out, reminding him to use the magic words every mother teaches their children to use. He bops off contentedly, waving his treasures in the air as I start his video. The video comes on, and after skipping past the usual previews, I take off for the kitchen knowing that the kids are happy. A few minutes later, here comes Ryan. "Want some banana, " he says. So I give him a peeled half of banana and he happily trots off to the living room. Couple minutes pass, and he returns, this time with "putcha poop inya pants". Okay, not unusual, we go to the bathroom. In the midst of our bathroom experience, Ryan asks for ice cream. Trying to be positive, I respond with my usual answer... that he can have ice cream if he eats all his dinner. Sounds reasonable, right? Not to Ryan. He screams in my face.
Now, most moms would yank their kids up and make sure they learned a lesson in what ever way they're fond. I respond to Ryan with my usual (mostly pseudo-) calm request that he calm down. After finishing our trip to the bathroom, Ryan still can't stop screaming, so I tell him to finish his fit in his room and head off to the kitchen, stopping to turn off the video on the way. Upon discovering that his video is off, Ryan starts asking for it over and over, but not in the same room as me... and screaming before I can even get in the room to meet his request. So no video. Ugh. There goes calm time. I try calmly explaining why I won't/can't turn on the video, but he just screams. Okay, back to your room. Please calm down and come out when you can stop screaming. This is pretty much the entire rest of the next hour.
When I say screaming, I mean bloody-murder, someone's-cutting-off-my-arm screaming. Shrill, oh my WORD his throat has to hurt screaming. This time it only lasted an hour. After about thirty minutes I was struggling to keep my cool, so I call on my friends, using one of my Facebook (one of my favorite mommy tools). I ask for prayer, not just for me, but for my Ryan and for Richie, my sweet 23 month old who just got his feelings hurt when his hero screamed at him simply for walking in the room they share. They join me in asking for patience, love, joy, and peace to share with my Ryan's little troubled soul.
By the time my amazing husband walks in the door tired from his own day, I'm like that Pink Floyd song... comfortably numb. That sounds bad, but it's a gift. See, I need to be a rock for my boys and my princess. Remember that I have a 23 month old son and a 3 month old daughter in addition to this confused, precious little guy. I don't want to be remembered as a "rageaholic". As the daughter of someone who couldn't control his temper (drunk or sober), the last thing I want is for my kids to see me as something scary. So the numbness is a defense... it's a gift from the Lord to allow me to be calm and comforting to one child and then turn to the next and read a book and tickle his feet. Then turn to the next and nurse, hold, smooch and coo. Not that I don't feel anything, that's not it. Numb to the fear that gives birth to anger that gives birth to rage... yet able to feel the warmth and sparkle of my children's smiles and happy eyes.
Peace.
The peace that passes understanding.
The peace that rises above the feelings, because emotions aren't terribly reliable.
The peace that the Lord gives me makes my life so much more liveable. Not survivable. LIVE-able. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel the frustration and fear and all those negative things that come along with parenting. I most definitely feel them, and at times (like this afternoon) I'm nearly leveled by them. But I'm not. I'm struck down, but not destroyed. Persecuted, but not abandoned. As I step back and look at my relationship with Ryan, I realize that my need to be a calm, peaceful rock for my boy is much more important that just teaching him to not throw fits and be demanding. It is key to teaching all my children how God loves me, because He does! He puts up with my screaming fits when I don't understand what He's saying, or trying to get me to do, or... the big one... WHY. Oh, and I do ask that one.
To tell the truth, I kick and scream more than Ryan. I know enough of God's Word to know what He expects, yet I consistently do just the opposite. But when I cry out in the middle of the night, He still answers. He still grants me that peace. He still holds me in His arms and gives me rest. He still gives me His words of comfort through not only His Word but through friends and other loved ones. He meets my needs and then some... more than I could imagine... consistently.
So thank you. Thank you, Lord, for loving me even through my fits. Thank you, friends, for allowing Him to love me through your smiles and shared laughs! I am thankful, tonight, not just for my sweet family and friends, but for a Savior who loves me and is my rock, and never tires of my cries and requests. Remember, friend... He's never tired or yours, either.
Thanks for walking this first step of the journey.
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