The Baby Book

I am knowingly and willingly part of a parenting generation that feels the need to document everything about our kids -- birthdays, holidays, first steps, eating a popsicle, going potty, wearing mommy’s shoes, messes, sleeping in car seats. With our back pocket technology, documenting both the milestones and the mundane has become reflexive. But generations past have had little to show from their childhoods -- a hand-written baby book or a handful of pictures from their first decade of life.

My grandmother had a baby boy (my dad) in 1949.

I had a baby boy in 2014.

The documentation differences in those 65 years are extreme.

I found my dad’s tattered and frayed baby book back when I was in college. In the book, my grandmother had documented everything about him: every height, weight, funny goo-goo and gaa-gaa, and even a lock of his hair. When I found this book in an old box in a storage area, I ran to show my dad, thinking he’d want to pour over it and read about himself as a young child. Instead, he glanced down at it, smiled, and said, “You keep it.” I walked away baffled by his response, but glad to have the book in hand, a small piece of history in an otherwise undocumented life. 

Recently, I dug out dad’s baby book again and set it next to my son’s to compare the lives of these baby boys so many years apart. And as I wrote and journaled about my son’s weight and height and new words and hair locks, I wondered if he’d one day read the details and be fascinated, or be like my dad and dismiss the whole thing?

And then it dawned on me, the reason why my dad didn’t care about the details in his baby book. He didn’t care about his childhood baby book because all that matters is that he had a baby book--a record of how precious he was to his mom at that time in his life. He can take one glance at that book and know he was loved, adored, and tenderly cared for. And if you’re reading this thinking, “Baby book? What baby book? My children will never know they were loved because I failed to document my kids’ lives in a baby book!”, don’t worry. Your twenty-first century social media posts, other people’s social media posts, and if nothing else, your phone’s photo library will certainly speak for itself. Because it isn’t really about the heights and weights and first teeth poking through; those things are just arrows pointing to a love so unspeakable that can never be accurately documented. 

The Bible talks about a mother’s love being so dear, so strong. And it talks about the Father’s love as even greater. We are loved so well by Him, so perfectly. And while he does know every hair on our head and has numbered each of our days, he also has arrows pointing to his love -- the way the sun rises each morning, the embrace of a loved one, the kind words of a friend, and above all, the sacrifice of his Son’s life for our sins. So, whether or not my son takes an interest in his baby book when he’s grown doesn’t matter to me now. He has one! He is loved. And my prayer is that my love will simply point him to the One who loves perfectly.  

Sierra Drive

A few weeks ago my maternal grandfather passed away and it became official: my grandparents are all gone. He was my last living grandparent and now that he is gone that chapter in my life is closed. I look back and realize I was fortunate to know all of my grandparents so well and to have had them in my life for so long. They were all sweet, beautiful, kind people and like Tom Brokaw has said, truly the “greatest generation”.

After my grandfather's passing, one of my aunts found in his Bible an article I had written and given to him back in June of 1998. I didn't realize he had kept it all these years (and in his Bible, no less). My aunt gave it back to me and I read it now smiling at my young writer-self from twenty years ago. I was trying to be flowery with words, I presume. Nevertheless, my grandfather apparently loved it. I do remember him saying that I should keep writing and that he hoped I would one day become a published writer. Well, I’m not a writer, but I do have this here blog. And because he loved it and I love him, here it is (sort of) published. 

This road I travel down is so familiar. Countless times I have made the drive. However, my seat has changed along the way. Once, my only view was of dashboards and treetops. And then it changed as I learned how to drive down this road. Through many years this road and the houses on it have remained relatively unchanged. Each house has had a story and I have heard many of them. I have learned many lessons along this road. And now I reach the end of it. The end of the road. A circular dead end. A cul-de-sac and a house on the left. No, no house here. A home. As my car grows closer I realize I am not traveling lightly. I carry more memories than one heart can bear. Oh, how I love this place.

I pull down the driveway and an all too familiar question looms over me. It doesn't loom, it screams. It is not framed in a nice little comic strip bubble. No simple little thought here. This question of my mind is always there demanding an answer from me. It pounds on my head, it beats on my emotions, and it thrashes at my heart. This question requires my psyche to pull from all time and space for an answer. The question is always there.How many more times do I get to travel down this road? Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one who hears it. After all, it was a quiet question at first. It started as a whisper. It began as a faint calling from somewhere I could actually ignore for a time. But, now I have no option and no choice but to acknowledge it. Does anyone else hear it? I wonder if it calls to the others who come here. I wish it would scream at those who visit a little less often. Maybe it screams to all of us but the pain of its answer is to hard to bear. With the acknowledgement of its presence, I can push it aside. I am here now. I'm going to make the most of it. 

The embrace of the two people who lie within this home is simply angelic. It's like a warm blanket, a steady rain, an answered prayer. They are angels. To view them as mere humans is basically impossible for me. They are my grandparents. My good and perfect gift from a loving heavenly Father.Somewhere in the back of my mind I know they are normal people. I imagine that they are capable of undesirable behaviors. I'm sure they have bad moods. Flaws? If they exist, I haven't seen them. In my life I have never heard anyone give a criticism or slight to either of them. Everyone they meet falls instantly in love with them. I feel unworthy to be called flesh and blood.

My grandfather to me is wisdom. He is peace and serenity. He is strength and nobility. He is a handyman! There's just something special about a man who can fix things. He is a hard worker, a provider, an athlete, a comedian, and a sleepyhead. I love it when he slowly nods off while reading the newspaper. Amazingly enough, the paper never seems to fall from being held right in front of his face as he slowly falls asleep. He's got talent.

My grandmother to me is Mommia. What's in that name? Love. My grandmother to me is love. Today I held her hand on her 70th birthday. As my sister and I stood there next to her I saw time. I saw life as viewed in the context of time. Life in the sense of a circle. A chain. A never-ending process of generations. For a minute there I got wind of something almost Native American. The spirit that was passed from her grandmother through four generations down to my sister and me. A spirit and a legacy. We've all taken different physical forms but the spirit within goes unchanged. 

How did I get here? Why me? Why am I so blessed to call these two people grandparents? 

As I say goodbye and back out of the driveway, the question comes at me again. How many more times? With reluctant resolve I give the question an answer: I have no idea. I have no idea how much longer I have with them. I don't know how many more times I'll get to travel this old road and walk the cherished steps to their door. My answer to the question is I don’t know. Forget realism. I don't care about the inevitable. I care about my time. I care about making the most of it. I care about treasuring every detail that is them and making it a part of me that is unforgettable. 

Every story; how they met, how they fell in love, and how she used to paint my nails. I want to hear it all just one more time. I refuse to remind them that they've told me this one or that one before. I want a vivid picture that lasts forever. I want to tell my grandchildren the same stories. After all, they are remarkable stories from remarkable people.

Halloween Fallout

I hate Halloween. The only thing I like about Halloween is large volumes of candy being dumped out on my living room floor at the end of the night. I hate Halloween because I hate evil, fear, and even seemingly funny spookiness. I’ve pretty much always felt this way. But now I hate it even more because here it is the end of December, nearly 2 months since Halloween, and my three-year-old is STILL talking about it. Specifically, he will quietly whisper at random times that he sees a ghost. He’ll whisper, “I see a ghost, Mommy”. You would think this would freak me out a bit (like the little kid in Sixth Sense) but it does not. It makes me mad. Really mad. This all started because of stupid Halloween. Because Home Depot and Sam’s had giant, waving blow-up ghosts on sale for people’s front yards. He saw them, he couldn’t take his eyes off them, and of course, he asked me what they were. And I told him. I said, “Oh, that’s a ghost, it’s just pretend, it says ‘heyyyy!’.” Clearly, that didn’t help him dismiss the idea. Clearly, something other than friendly pretend ghost stuck with him as he continues to say he sees ghosts TWO months later. That season is over and so should thoughts about ghosts. This morning when he woke up he said, “In my dream I saw a ghost by that playground. It touched me. It was scary.” Ugh, II hate Halloween. I’ve tried telling him light-heartedly that ghosts aren’t real. They are pretend. I told him if he sees a ghost he can tell it to go away. My husband and I have prayed over him but honestly we don’t know what to do or say. It makes me really frustrated that our culture has such a stupid holiday that would introduce terms into my child’s vocabulary and psyche such as GHOST at the age of three. Can somebody help a sister out? How should I handle this post-Halloween fallout? I can’t make our culture change nor can I undo what’s been seen. But seriously, can the month of October and all things scary Halloween have an undo button? I'll keep the cute kid in the Thomas the Train costume, though. 

Cancer Center Reflections

It's been five years since I worked at a cancer center providing care in the area of oncology nutrition. In my five years since leaving, I've often had random and unexpected late night thoughts and memories pop into my head. Apparently my time there left a lasting impression on me. I guess it's not surprising. Many people can't even work in the cancer environment to begin with, much less walk away after eight years of employment without a few things to ponder. 

Here are a few of my cancer center reflections, in no particular order of significance or relevance:

• Everybody is looking for a magic bullet. Some people, especially the poor, uneducated, and elderly, will spend a lot of money trying to find it and a lot of money when they think they've found it.
• Fit people who eat healthy and regulary exercise still get cancer. 
• Your body can hurt in ways your never imagined it could hurt.
• Most people take things like chemo and radiation seriously and keep their treatment appointments. However, some don't. It's surprising how many appointment "no shows" there are, even when life is at stake.
• Family members really want to help. The loss of control and lack of ability to "do" something is extremely hard when someone you love is sick. Food is an area where family members often focus their energy. Often their efforts result in frustration.
• You can't make people eat.  
• Doctors get a bad rap. Sometimes they aren't on their best game. But most of the time they really care and are trying their best.
• Some cancer centers are really fun places to work. Fun in an unlikely place. 
• Sometimes the most random symptoms indicate cancer. (Sometimes the most random symptoms don't.)
• People always underestimate their alcohol, fat, and sugar intake. A good rule of thumb is to always double whatever they tell you.
• People who stay positive in the midst of pain and fear are amazing. And they often truly fair better. The power of positive thinking is real.

Each reflection on my list has a story go with it. If you'd like to hear the story, let me know in the comments below. 

Little Known Facts

I recently found myself saying this sentence, "If Lindsey Buckingham ever came to Birmingham and I actually got to see him in concert I would probably cry just like I cried when I saw Adele." As soon as I said those words it occurred to me how unusual they sounded coming out of my mouth given that I am probably the least likely Lindsey Buckingham fan. I can count on one hand how many people know about my late 90's obsession with Buckingham Nicks and Fleetwood Mac. Those people probably include my mother, my father, my sister Maggie, and my friend Aron. It's possible even they have forgotten that phase I went through. My husband may know I like Fleetwood Mac, but to cry seeing Lindsey Buckingham in concert would probably surprise him. I doubt he realizes my love goes that deep. But, to see Lindsey Buckingham on a stage doing one of his truly genius guitar solos would be a major life moment for me. The entire band of Fleetwood Mac on stage right in front of me, well, that's just too mind-blowing to even imagine. My obsession with their music got so bad in the late 90's that I eventually had to box up and put away all of my CD's. I was way too immersed in their music and in their lives. I had read Mick Fleetwood's band autobiography and analyzed their songs way too much. The only other music that has had the same affect on me is Adele's. So, in Atlanta in 2016 when she rose up out of a stage literally right in front of me I couldn't help but have tears in my eyes. It was just too unreal. And I'm not even a big music person! I spend 99% of my music listening time either on mainstream pop radio or the latest and greatest praise and worship band. For me to have such "big love" for a 68-year-old guitarist is definitely a little known fact. What is a little known fact about you?

The Santa Saga

I really thought Santa was real. For many, many, many years of my childhood I thought Santa was real. And the Easter bunny. And the tooth fairy. And when I say that I thought Santa was real, I mean that I really thought Santa was real. I bought the tale hook, line, and sinker. I really believed a ripe, jolly old elf flew through the sky on a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer and entered my chimney-less home via my front door and left me gifts under the tree. Christmas was a magical, exciting thing for me. Now, either my parents were really good liars or I lived during an era where the magical was conceivable. Maybe in the 1980's, kids like myself without a lot of worldly exposure could readily believe such fairytales. But, kids are kids right? Or have things changed? We so often as parents base our parenting on what we experienced and how we experienced it. It feels safe to repeat what works and do the things for our kids that were fun and exciting when we were kids. This leads me to my current dilemma. I'm beyond excited about Christmas and can't wait for my child to have gifts to open as we celebrate Jesus, the best gift ever. Oh, wait. There's more. There's Santa. What the heck? What the heck am I supposed to do with Santa? It feels so weird (and honestly I choke over the words) to say things like "sit here on Santa's lap and tell him what you want for Christmas" or "Santa will bring you presents on Christmas day". Really? Am I really supposed to say that? Ughh..it's so hard to utter those words. Why is it so hard? I had the most magical Christmases ever!!!!!! (imagine Buddy the Elf here) I got SO excited about Santa! I loved leaving him cookies as I went to bed with giddy excitement and visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. My mind was wild with imagination and anticipation. Over time, I realized Santa wasn't real. I realized it's pretend. "Haha, funny, oh well" was the extent of my reaction. I wasn't mad at my parents. I didn't feel lied to, deceived, or really very disappointed. As long as you still get gifts who cares, right? And most importantly, I did still understand that Jesus was real, not pretend. I was able to separate fact from fiction. So, now I find myself with a three-year-old and right smack dab in the middle of an internal conflict about Santa. Should I just repeat what my parents did and go ahead with the Santa scheme? As a teen, I would hear about kids whose parents told them Santa wasn't real. I thought that was a horrible travesty. Why would they do that to them and ruin their childhood? In my head, I still agree with my teen self. Yet, here I am struggling to speak words about Santa to my three-year-old. It's a crucial age because he will literally believe anything I tell him. If I get excited about something, he gets excited about it. I am so torn over what to do. Should I do Santa with and for my child but just tell him its pretend? If I had been told it was pretend would I have had the same magical experience? Or, should Santa play as little of a role in our Christmas as say, Mickey Mouse?

These are my options:
1. Blow it out with Santa. Talk about him. He's real. He's coming. All the presents are from him.
2. Play the "Santa game" where we say he's bringing gifts but we know they're really from mom and dad.
3. Operate as if Santa is a fun Christmas character with no more impact than Mickey.

Under all three scenarios, the story of Jesus and the manger scene should still take top priority. Though I struggle with calling him baby Jesus (because he's not a baby anymore) and celebrating his birthday (this isn't his real birthday), but that's a blog for another day. Anyway, Christmas is bugging me this year now that I have a child and I really need help. I'm going to pray about what God would have me do.

Several days have gone by since I wrote the words above. I have prayed and made a decision. What do you think it is? Leave me a comment below and let me know what you think.

Are We Stupid?

Last night, my husband was praying before we went to bed. As he prayed, I was coughing. Not only was I coughing, but I was listening to my son cough on the baby monitor. In that moment, I felt very frustrated, annoyed, and angry. We had already gone through many nights of coughing and I had an overwhelming sense of dread as I knew it would be another long, miserable night of coughing and sleeplessness ahead. My husband prayed for both of us to have our coughing eased and for a peaceful nights sleep. As he prayed, I couldn't help but wondering, are we stupid? Are we stupid for praying about coughing? Stupid for praying in general? Are we stupid for talking out loud to the air and actually thinking that somehow that might result in less coughing and more sleep for our family? If I'm honest, it feels pretty stupid. It feels pointless. It feel futile. We're not going to miraculously stop coughing, right? I wish. And yet, even though it feels stupid, we do it anyway. Why? Are we hedging our bets? Throwing a coin in the fountain? Betting it's better to be safe than sorry? Maybe. But, ultimately I think it's because we believe. We believe God is real. We believe he is in the air and listening (Psalm 34:15). We believe he cares (Psalm 55:22). We believe that often we don't have what we really want simply because we haven't yet asked him for it (James 4:2). And we believe that whatever we ask for in prayer we will receive (Mark 11:24). That's a big one! So, we obey, and we pray. Now, is prayer meant to change our circumstances or is it meant to change our heart toward our circumstances? That is a question for another day and better answered by some amazing Bible scholars. I recommend Tim Keller's book Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God or Bill Hybels book Too Busy Not to Pray. I've read those books. I'm still not clear on the mechanics of how prayer works exactly. But, one thing I know for sure. I'd be stupid not to pray. I'd be stupid not to call out to a loving God who is listening, who cares, and who longs to be gracious to me (Isaiah 30:18). And just as a follow-up, we did cough a lot during the night. But, today, we have had wonderful, long, cough-free naps. :)

Journaling Tips

I recently saw a Pinterest post with tips on how to be a better journaler. The link was to the blog of a very creative lady with a funky, artsy journaling style. She would draw pictures to represent her thoughts or insert hand-drawn boarders and doodles around the pages. Though I can't really do that, I did glean one cool idea she had.

She suggested lists! Making random lists of things in your life can help with journaling, she said. For example, making lists of things you love or things that are currently around you can enhance your journal-writing. You can make a list of things that are currently making you happy or conversely making you sad. Cool idea (and my journaling definitely needs some pep!). So, here I go.

Here is a list of the things I've seen around me in the past few weeks or so:
-a very big baby niece (what happened to that teeny newborn?)
-a pool (its nice to have an apartment again for this reason)
-apps like Instagram (a better way to see my pictures, very into this right now)
-the Bosnian language (Zdravo! Kako se zovete?)
-lots of new psoriasis patches on my legs (boo!)
-a bottle of Nasonex/Flonase (yay! miracle allergy medicine)
-bright colors on my nails and clothes (spring/summer trend this year)
-the inside of a gym (love the new gym at work)
-Starbucks in my hand (there's one inside the gym)
-pupils (been doing a lot of teaching and investing lately)
-girlfriends (want a boyfriend but thankful for all the girls in my life)
-cereal (just counted 6 boxes in my pantry...I may be a little bit obsessed)
-a new pottery barn bedspread (I heart PB...especially on sale)

That's all for now. What list shall I do next?

Am I crafty?

Crafty people have always intimidated me. I've always felt very un-crafty and generally lacking in the domesticated, craft-making skills department. But then several years ago I made a relatively simple scrapbook and my craft confidence grew. Nowadays sugar and salt scrubs are the craze and they've got my craft wheels-a-turnin. If you're reading this, guess what you're getting for Christmas this year?!

I'm now on the hunt for Mason jars, essential oils, and scrub recipes. That led me to the DIY area of Pinterest where I stumbled upon A TON of ideas. There are some really crafty ladies out there yet their simple, easy DIY crafts have left me feeling not-so intimidated. Moreso, excited!

I won't give away all my Christmas present ideas, but check out the beautiful vintage votive candles at http://www.annabooshouse.blogspot.com/. I'm also entering her Giveaway contest. Can you imagine getting one of her lovely crafts all the way from the UK?! Now, if I win, what will I send her back???

I'm in seminary!

No, that doesn't say I'm inseminated. Though that thought has crossed my mind a time or two. ;) Instead, I'm in seminary - The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary to be exact. It's in Louisville, Kentucky and I'm enrolled in the Online Graduate Program with intent to complete a Certificate in Missions through the Billy Graham School of Missions.

Why am I in seminary and what am I planning to do with this certificate? I have absolutely no idea. But I feel like it's progress in moving toward what I feel like God is leading me to do which I think is full-time mission work. Lots of uncertainty and further need for prayer in that last sentence. The course I'm currently taking is called Intro to Missiology and I am really loving it so far. Five textbooks to read, two chapel services and two lectures per week have really got me excited again about all things related to missions. I can feel the fire beginning to ignite in my heart again for the lost and for the One True God to be worshipped among the nations as He deserves. Through this course I've become convinced that Let the Nations Be Glad by John Piper should be required reading for every Christian, not just seminary students. Seriously.

I'm also for personal reasons concurrently reading a book about singleness called, Did I Kiss Marriage Goodbye? Trusting God with a Hope Deferred by Carolyn McCulley. It is blowing me away so far. It's chock-full of Truth that at this point in my life, at age 34, could not be more needed.

So, all that to say, I'm excited about this fall and all that God is teaching me. Even though I don't know the plan yet, I'm excited to wait patiently for it to be revealed. God is faithful.