I was reminded yesterday of an oh-so important task of mothering little ones:
Get down on the floor. And I don't mean on your knees in prayer (although we should also do that). What I mean is this: walk into the room your children are in, and get down on the floor.
Try lying down in the middle of the room. They will not leave you alone for long. Pretty soon each child will be on you, wrestling, tickling, or wanting a ride on your back. Or-- if you have a daughter: trying to turn the event into a game of house. "Let's say I'm your mommy and you're my baby and you're taking a nap..." [Always a nice game to play, I think.]
Or this: get down on your hands and knees and pretend to be a lion or a bear, replete with growls (as ferocious as you dare), and hunt them down. My children all run squealing into a corner. Then when I meet up with them, I burrow my head in their tummies and tickle them. (When my youngest is afraid of the growling, I ask him to join me. He can be a lion, too! And we'll get them together!) Or go with the sleeping theme-- pretend you're some animal, sleeping on the floor. And they'll gather up the courage to creep up to you, with whispers and many urgent, "You go. You go first"'s and then just when they get to you, surprise them with tickles.
Yesterday I sat on the floor and we ended up in a pillow fight. I laughed harder than I have in weeks. I loved it. And they did, too.
I tend to be a pretty task-oriented person, dutifully making and checking off my lists throughout the day. And some days I am so on TASK that I have forgotten to just BE with my children. Yesterday was a great reminder to me. It was so good to laugh with pure delight at their antics. To tune out the waiting dishes, meal preparation and straightening up and just enjoy them.
For all I know, everyone else has this same kind of crazy fun in their house, too. But if perchance you don't, I encourage you to begin!
Our home study visit
Yesterday was the first of our home study visits, and it went great. It was very low-key. We sat in the living room with the two caseworkers, munching on snickerdoodles and chatting about adoption (our motivation to adopt, what our preferences are for age/race/gender, how open we are to special needs/drug-affected babies, etc). And then we wrapped it all up with a tour of our home, Ella and Isaac leading the way, showing the ladies all of the things they wanted to highlight (and most especially, their bunk beds and the chickens!)
Our caseworker also scheduled our next appointments, and they are all for NEXT WEEK! On Wednesday they will do our individual interviews to cover family history(first with Mark and then with me), and on Friday they are coming back to do the *final* visit. It sounds like they will write up our home study within the next 2-3 weeks. WOO HOO!!!
What's next? We need to work on a cultural plan, as we are open to a transracial adoption. After the home study is complete, we will begin the process of getting licensed for foster care, which is a process that will take 1-3 months (or so they say).
And in addition to all of that, we continue to pray! We're praying for this child or sibling group that God has prepared for our family, for the birth family, for the caseworkers involved, and for discernment on our part when they begin calling us with possible placements.
Our caseworker also scheduled our next appointments, and they are all for NEXT WEEK! On Wednesday they will do our individual interviews to cover family history(first with Mark and then with me), and on Friday they are coming back to do the *final* visit. It sounds like they will write up our home study within the next 2-3 weeks. WOO HOO!!!
What's next? We need to work on a cultural plan, as we are open to a transracial adoption. After the home study is complete, we will begin the process of getting licensed for foster care, which is a process that will take 1-3 months (or so they say).
And in addition to all of that, we continue to pray! We're praying for this child or sibling group that God has prepared for our family, for the birth family, for the caseworkers involved, and for discernment on our part when they begin calling us with possible placements.
Join us...
... if you'd like, as the dialogue continues regarding having our children sit with us in church. If you click on the link above and scroll down to the comments, you'll find it.
I realize there are a lot of passionate thoughts surrounding this topic (mine included), so if you choose to comment please do so in a spirit of humility and graciousness.
~Stacy
I realize there are a lot of passionate thoughts surrounding this topic (mine included), so if you choose to comment please do so in a spirit of humility and graciousness.
~Stacy
Update
For those of you who have prayed with us for some forward movement on our current adoption, a HUGE thank you! God hears and has answered.
We received a call yesterday from our caseworker, who wanted to schedule our first homestudy visit (finally!) She said, "I know this is probably a long shot, but I will be up in your area tomorrow, so...." I of course said, "Tell me what time and we'll make it work!" So... our first homestudy visit will occur today at 1pm.
Thanking you again for your prayers...
We received a call yesterday from our caseworker, who wanted to schedule our first homestudy visit (finally!) She said, "I know this is probably a long shot, but I will be up in your area tomorrow, so...." I of course said, "Tell me what time and we'll make it work!" So... our first homestudy visit will occur today at 1pm.
Thanking you again for your prayers...
Sunday mornings
We are the family who files into church a couple of minutes early, greeting those around us with smiles and hugs. We make our way to some seats, usually in the center section, close to the middle but a bit further back. Our arms are laden with children and bags. Bags that have been carefully packed at home, filled with children's Bibles, notebooks, and a few crayons. My purse contains the snacks and drinks that we'll pull out later, after worship. Daddy ushers in the oldest two, I carry our youngest. Little coats or sweaters are removed and tucked near the bags that have been placed under the chairs in front of us. We purposefully situate the seating: child, daddy, child, mama with child on lap.
During worship we stand, daddy holding one boy, mama holding the other. Our daughter stands on her chair. Voices and hands are raised in praise. Ah, yes. My favorite part, these songs of worship.
The sermon begins and the bag is unpacked. Here, son, here's your Bible. And here's yours, honey. Color crayons? Yes, here. And here's your notebook. Shh. Please whisper, okay? Don't kick the chair in front of you. Please sit still. Turn around and sit on your bum, honey. Legs forward. Sweetheart, don't forget to keep your dress down, okay? Remember to be modest. Shh, shh... quiet. No, no snacks yet. Just wait a bit for those.
Daddy holds a child and some crayons, aiming to keep noise and distraction to a minimum. He motions for drinks. Okay. Here. Please be quiet, buddy. A few moments of peace while drinks are downed. Boys are gazing up at the ceiling vents and lighting, sitting fairly still. Cups are passed, now empty, to mama, who is trying, in vain, to take notes. Yes, I see that. Good coloring, sweetheart. Our youngest points out the animals in his picture Bible and begins offering up their sounds for my approval. Yes, honey. But please remember to whisper. Crayons are dropped, falling into the row behind us, out of reach. They're passed back over a moment later, a grateful whispered thank you from my lips.
I lean over to Mark. Maybe see if this one needs to the bathroom? A little shuffling ensues as daddy gets up and quietly slips out with our second-born. Bibles are set down, mama reaches over to catch them from falling, too, as children wriggle about. Shhh. No, honey. You can't go with. Sit here with mommy. They will be right back.
Back from the bathroom come daddy and son. Time for snacks. I wonder for the millionth time exactly what snack I could bring that would be noiseless. Little fingers are greedily reaching for more. Handfuls now taken, and the snack is spilling onto laps and the floor. Mama bends to still a hand and whisper a reminder: Only take a couple at a time, okay? At this reprimand a pout forms on one child's reddening face. Mama freezes. Please, no. Shh, buddy. But it's too late. Someone does not like to be told no, and he belts out a loud, angry cry. He is whisked up into my arms and hurried down the aisle. I am vaguely aware of the pastors voice and a blur of faces, but VERY aware of this wailing child and my own flushed face. Shh, shh. Quiet, please. I am embarrassed, rushing out. And then, safely out of the sanctuary, through the foyer, and into the bathroom. Child is set down. Mama takes a deep breath. Trying not to discipline in anger. I kneel down, speaking firmly but quietly. Others are in the bathroom, too. My boy? He cries in anticipation of what is coming. It does come, and then it's a sorry and a hug, and a reminder to go back in quietly with mama.
And in again we go, walking quietly, (Lord, may it be invisibly?) back to our seats. Tucked back into the row, near daddy and the other children. Sighing with relief that no one is crying at the moment. My face is surely still flushed. The snacks have disappeared, the pastor is wrapping up. I pick up my journal, glancing at it. The date at the top of the page stares back at me. No notes today.
I might feel better if we weren't so alone in this. To my knowledge no one else in our entire large church has their children sit with them throughout the service. (Why would they, after all? There's a perfectly good children's program right downstairs!) It would be easier to send them there. Our children could be as noisy as they wanted. I might get to hear an entire sermon; to take a full page of notes. Mark and I could sit beside each other and listen without interruption. And we could altogether avoid the stares. And the embarrassment. We could avoid the comments, too: "Children need to run around and get their wiggles out." Or, "This is too long for children to have to sit so still." Then there are those who don't say a word at all but whose thoughts are written upon their frowns. Or those whose faces or voices tell me nothing at all but I wonder, "Just what are they thinking?"
I need to be reminded that it matters not what people think. Our intention; our desire, our responsibility, is to teach our children:
My prayer is that as we sit on Sunday mornings with our children gathered around us, we are indeed teaching them.
We are teaching them how to express their love for God as we reveal how we express our love for God. Sometimes with eyes closed or hands raised. Sometimes with heads bowed in silent prayer, sometimes with voices raised in joyful song.
When there is time given for people to stand who need prayer, I move out of our row to go pray for someone. As I lay a hand upon them, I feel a little hand clasp my own, and I see that my daughter has come, too, to pray.
When there are testimonies shared and baptisms watched and celebrated, we pull our children onto our laps and teach: "Do you remember, honey, what baptism means?" And I tearfully lean over in a whisper to Mark, "Can you imagine them missing this?"
When the offering bag comes by, my children let go of their tightly clenched quarters and drop them in, and they are taught to tithe. Sometimes my daughter also drops in a card she has made especially for Jesus. My eyes well up with tears at the gift, and the certain joy of the recipient.
When communion is given, we bend our heads and whisper: "Do you remember why we take this? This is to remind us of Christ's body, and this, of his blood. Jesus loves you so much, sweetheart, he died for your sins."
When a missionary comes to speak and shares story upon story, I am glad our children are beside us to hear and learn and be moved by these stories of far-off places and of devoted believers giving their lives to share the gospel.
Lest you think they are the only ones being taught, let me assure you: I am being taught, too.
I am given a good lesson in humility as I head to the back with a flushed face and a screaming child.
There are times I sit with tears in my eyes as my daughter raises her hands in praise, singing slightly off key but as loudly as you've ever heard; and I am taught of unabashed love, and I wonder at my own distraction and sometimes cold heart.
And I learn anew as I watch all of these lessons find their way into the hearts of my children.
Like I said, it would be easier to send them downstairs. But then I would miss these things. And they would, too. Where else, if not here, would they get the opportunity to witness these things?
I'll take a screaming child out any day.
During worship we stand, daddy holding one boy, mama holding the other. Our daughter stands on her chair. Voices and hands are raised in praise. Ah, yes. My favorite part, these songs of worship.
The sermon begins and the bag is unpacked. Here, son, here's your Bible. And here's yours, honey. Color crayons? Yes, here. And here's your notebook. Shh. Please whisper, okay? Don't kick the chair in front of you. Please sit still. Turn around and sit on your bum, honey. Legs forward. Sweetheart, don't forget to keep your dress down, okay? Remember to be modest. Shh, shh... quiet. No, no snacks yet. Just wait a bit for those.
Daddy holds a child and some crayons, aiming to keep noise and distraction to a minimum. He motions for drinks. Okay. Here. Please be quiet, buddy. A few moments of peace while drinks are downed. Boys are gazing up at the ceiling vents and lighting, sitting fairly still. Cups are passed, now empty, to mama, who is trying, in vain, to take notes. Yes, I see that. Good coloring, sweetheart. Our youngest points out the animals in his picture Bible and begins offering up their sounds for my approval. Yes, honey. But please remember to whisper. Crayons are dropped, falling into the row behind us, out of reach. They're passed back over a moment later, a grateful whispered thank you from my lips.
I lean over to Mark. Maybe see if this one needs to the bathroom? A little shuffling ensues as daddy gets up and quietly slips out with our second-born. Bibles are set down, mama reaches over to catch them from falling, too, as children wriggle about. Shhh. No, honey. You can't go with. Sit here with mommy. They will be right back.
Back from the bathroom come daddy and son. Time for snacks. I wonder for the millionth time exactly what snack I could bring that would be noiseless. Little fingers are greedily reaching for more. Handfuls now taken, and the snack is spilling onto laps and the floor. Mama bends to still a hand and whisper a reminder: Only take a couple at a time, okay? At this reprimand a pout forms on one child's reddening face. Mama freezes. Please, no. Shh, buddy. But it's too late. Someone does not like to be told no, and he belts out a loud, angry cry. He is whisked up into my arms and hurried down the aisle. I am vaguely aware of the pastors voice and a blur of faces, but VERY aware of this wailing child and my own flushed face. Shh, shh. Quiet, please. I am embarrassed, rushing out. And then, safely out of the sanctuary, through the foyer, and into the bathroom. Child is set down. Mama takes a deep breath. Trying not to discipline in anger. I kneel down, speaking firmly but quietly. Others are in the bathroom, too. My boy? He cries in anticipation of what is coming. It does come, and then it's a sorry and a hug, and a reminder to go back in quietly with mama.
And in again we go, walking quietly, (Lord, may it be invisibly?) back to our seats. Tucked back into the row, near daddy and the other children. Sighing with relief that no one is crying at the moment. My face is surely still flushed. The snacks have disappeared, the pastor is wrapping up. I pick up my journal, glancing at it. The date at the top of the page stares back at me. No notes today.
I might feel better if we weren't so alone in this. To my knowledge no one else in our entire large church has their children sit with them throughout the service. (Why would they, after all? There's a perfectly good children's program right downstairs!) It would be easier to send them there. Our children could be as noisy as they wanted. I might get to hear an entire sermon; to take a full page of notes. Mark and I could sit beside each other and listen without interruption. And we could altogether avoid the stares. And the embarrassment. We could avoid the comments, too: "Children need to run around and get their wiggles out." Or, "This is too long for children to have to sit so still." Then there are those who don't say a word at all but whose thoughts are written upon their frowns. Or those whose faces or voices tell me nothing at all but I wonder, "Just what are they thinking?"
I need to be reminded that it matters not what people think. Our intention; our desire, our responsibility, is to teach our children:
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
My prayer is that as we sit on Sunday mornings with our children gathered around us, we are indeed teaching them.
We are teaching them how to express their love for God as we reveal how we express our love for God. Sometimes with eyes closed or hands raised. Sometimes with heads bowed in silent prayer, sometimes with voices raised in joyful song.
When there is time given for people to stand who need prayer, I move out of our row to go pray for someone. As I lay a hand upon them, I feel a little hand clasp my own, and I see that my daughter has come, too, to pray.
When there are testimonies shared and baptisms watched and celebrated, we pull our children onto our laps and teach: "Do you remember, honey, what baptism means?" And I tearfully lean over in a whisper to Mark, "Can you imagine them missing this?"
When the offering bag comes by, my children let go of their tightly clenched quarters and drop them in, and they are taught to tithe. Sometimes my daughter also drops in a card she has made especially for Jesus. My eyes well up with tears at the gift, and the certain joy of the recipient.
When communion is given, we bend our heads and whisper: "Do you remember why we take this? This is to remind us of Christ's body, and this, of his blood. Jesus loves you so much, sweetheart, he died for your sins."
When a missionary comes to speak and shares story upon story, I am glad our children are beside us to hear and learn and be moved by these stories of far-off places and of devoted believers giving their lives to share the gospel.
Lest you think they are the only ones being taught, let me assure you: I am being taught, too.
I am given a good lesson in humility as I head to the back with a flushed face and a screaming child.
There are times I sit with tears in my eyes as my daughter raises her hands in praise, singing slightly off key but as loudly as you've ever heard; and I am taught of unabashed love, and I wonder at my own distraction and sometimes cold heart.
And I learn anew as I watch all of these lessons find their way into the hearts of my children.
Like I said, it would be easier to send them downstairs. But then I would miss these things. And they would, too. Where else, if not here, would they get the opportunity to witness these things?
I'll take a screaming child out any day.
Big truths
For our family devotions, we are reading through Big Truths for Little Kids, by Susan & Richie Hunt. (Susan Hunt authored another of my favorite family devotionals for preschoolers: ABC Bible Verses.) We have loved these books!
Last night's story told of a little girl, Cassie, who was going to bring one of her worn, well-loved teddy bears to a tea party. She was afraid her friends might make fun of her bear and didn't want her bear's feelings to be hurt. Cassie's mama took the opportunity to tell her that her teddy bear didn't have feelings. God created people to have spirits within them, not animals and toys.
After reading the story to our little listeners, we reviewed by using the questions the book provides at the end of each story. I happened to be reading that night, as daddy was still eating, so I asked them, "How are we different from animals?" They were quiet and thoughtful, so I thought I'd help out a bit: "Like how are you different than Missy [one of our chickens]?"
Ella said promptly: "Oh! They peep and I talk."
Mark and I, smiling: "Right! But what is it that God put inside of you that Missy doesn't have?"
Ella then said, "Missy doesn't have a spirit."
Right. A few minutes later, she closed our devotion time with this prayer:
Dear Jesus,
I thank you that, um... we talked about Bible verses. I thank You that You made us different than animals. They don't have spirits and they have fur and they peep. And I don't want to be like them, I want to be like You.
Amen.
Last night's story told of a little girl, Cassie, who was going to bring one of her worn, well-loved teddy bears to a tea party. She was afraid her friends might make fun of her bear and didn't want her bear's feelings to be hurt. Cassie's mama took the opportunity to tell her that her teddy bear didn't have feelings. God created people to have spirits within them, not animals and toys.
After reading the story to our little listeners, we reviewed by using the questions the book provides at the end of each story. I happened to be reading that night, as daddy was still eating, so I asked them, "How are we different from animals?" They were quiet and thoughtful, so I thought I'd help out a bit: "Like how are you different than Missy [one of our chickens]?"
Ella said promptly: "Oh! They peep and I talk."
Mark and I, smiling: "Right! But what is it that God put inside of you that Missy doesn't have?"
Ella then said, "Missy doesn't have a spirit."
Right. A few minutes later, she closed our devotion time with this prayer:
Dear Jesus,
I thank you that, um... we talked about Bible verses. I thank You that You made us different than animals. They don't have spirits and they have fur and they peep. And I don't want to be like them, I want to be like You.
Amen.
Seasons
There are seasons with each of my children that have been difficult. I'm not talking about the potty-training stage or the two-naps a day stage when you really can't go anywhere at all or even the stage where the formerly napping child doesn't need that nap anymore. I'm referring to those seasons when a particular child is a challenge-- whether it be their attitude (or my attitude in combination with theirs!), disobedience that never seems to let up, excessive whining, pushing the boundaries, or continual emotional melt-downs.
I talked with my friend this morning on the phone and she said there were times when her children were younger and one of them would just really push the boundaries for a week or two, as if to challenge, "Did you really mean this?" My response to her was, "Oh. Well, this child has been pushing the boundaries every day, every minute, for more than a year." (At least that's what it feels like, but then again I have been known to exaggerate.)
So. Needless to say, I'm in the throes of one of those seasons with one of my children. Hence the post on weariness yesterday.
When Mark comes home from work, he'll ask, "How was your day with _____________?" And I do not disappoint: I have kept a running list in my head throughout the day. "Well, this happened and then this, and then I said this but our child did this instead and, and, and..." I just sort of dump all of it out. It is not a happy list.
On Saturday, then, when I was in tears and Mark and I prayed together, God reminded me of this. I whispered to Mark as we crawled into bed, "Honey. Do you see what I've been doing? I've been tallying up every negative thing, when what I really need to be doing is tallying up each praiseworthy thing."
And then on Sunday morning, that word of exhortation from a dear elderly woman: "live out your mothering in thankfulness and praise."
I asked God to soften my heart; to help me see the praiseworthy things in my child. Because, truly-- there are days it has been difficult for me to come up with one. And do you know what? God has been so faithful in answering that prayer!
The past two days have been so much better. When I have had the opportunity to steal a moment, I've grabbed my journal and scrawled a list of things I was thankful for about this child. Throughout the day I find myself taking mental notes or snapshots of what is happening that is good. Or cute. Or even just normal, and not naughty. I actually say to myself: ______ is being so cute right there, putting on those boots. Or, that was a very sweet smile our child just gave to daddy. Or, Wow! This one has been playing so quietly in here for the past few minutes!
I am being purposeful about setting my mind on the things that are right. Excellent. Praiseworthy. Lovely. They are there. And they've been there all along, it's just that I haven't been looking for them. Now I am.
Ah... God's Word is so GOOD! And helpful. And such a wonderfully gentle kick in the behind when I need it.
I talked with my friend this morning on the phone and she said there were times when her children were younger and one of them would just really push the boundaries for a week or two, as if to challenge, "Did you really mean this?" My response to her was, "Oh. Well, this child has been pushing the boundaries every day, every minute, for more than a year." (At least that's what it feels like, but then again I have been known to exaggerate.)
So. Needless to say, I'm in the throes of one of those seasons with one of my children. Hence the post on weariness yesterday.
When Mark comes home from work, he'll ask, "How was your day with _____________?" And I do not disappoint: I have kept a running list in my head throughout the day. "Well, this happened and then this, and then I said this but our child did this instead and, and, and..." I just sort of dump all of it out. It is not a happy list.
On Saturday, then, when I was in tears and Mark and I prayed together, God reminded me of this. I whispered to Mark as we crawled into bed, "Honey. Do you see what I've been doing? I've been tallying up every negative thing, when what I really need to be doing is tallying up each praiseworthy thing."
And then on Sunday morning, that word of exhortation from a dear elderly woman: "live out your mothering in thankfulness and praise."
I asked God to soften my heart; to help me see the praiseworthy things in my child. Because, truly-- there are days it has been difficult for me to come up with one. And do you know what? God has been so faithful in answering that prayer!
The past two days have been so much better. When I have had the opportunity to steal a moment, I've grabbed my journal and scrawled a list of things I was thankful for about this child. Throughout the day I find myself taking mental notes or snapshots of what is happening that is good. Or cute. Or even just normal, and not naughty. I actually say to myself: ______ is being so cute right there, putting on those boots. Or, that was a very sweet smile our child just gave to daddy. Or, Wow! This one has been playing so quietly in here for the past few minutes!
I am being purposeful about setting my mind on the things that are right. Excellent. Praiseworthy. Lovely. They are there. And they've been there all along, it's just that I haven't been looking for them. Now I am.
Ah... God's Word is so GOOD! And helpful. And such a wonderfully gentle kick in the behind when I need it.
