Walking the Marble Halls

I recently spent several hours on the campus of my state capital. That in itself is not too big a deal. but, I wasn't alone; I had five children with me, all under eleven. The day was wonderfully educational. I learned several valuable lessons (I'm sure the kids learned something, too).

First. I learned that our state capital is most definitely NOT family friendly. Parking is terrible. Any spaces relatively close to the building itself are reserved. Residential parking is available for an hour a day, and (if you can find one) visitor spaces are available for $1.50/hr. $1.50 adds up quickly (especially when it takes 15 min just to get unloaded), and an hour can be incredibly short.

Also, capital buildings are filled with very serious looking people (mostly men) who ave completely forgotten what it is like to be a small child. Not only have they forgotten what is like to be a child, I think many of them have forgotten that they were children, or that they are suppose to represent the children in their districts as well as the lobbyists in the marble halls.

Finally, I learned that the marble halls (which can be quite intimidating) are really not so scary. And even in such lofty places, filled with powerful men (and a few women), real people still walk. It was a truly amazing experienc; one I hope to repeat again some day. Next time, though, I want to do it on a sunny day (when I don't mind walking several blocks), before nap time, and with plenty of snacks; for my children, and for those who have forgotten what being a child is like.

Learning Curve

My eleven month old son loves to climb stairs. Unfortunately, he is not very coordinated, so he is as likely to go down the stairs involuntarily as he is to go up. Consequently, we usually sit beside him as he crawls. Some of the time, however, we really don't have time to sit on the stairs while a not quite one year old practices his climbing skills. So, we push a stand-alone baby gate in the way.

This technique has worked quite well for several weeks. Today, however, our eleven month old made a discovery; the gate moves! So, he deftly pushed it out of the way and began to ascend the stairs without an escort. Life as we've known it is about to change; bummer!

On the bright side, our little guy, who has been plagued by so many struggles in his short life, is no dummy! I guess the change is good, in the end. I certainly don't want him stuck behind gates his whole life. I'll follow Ann VosKamp's lead and choose my son's mobility and ingenuity as something I can celebrate today.

Understanding and acceptance

It appears after almost eleven months of struggle, that we have some answers as to why our baby boy has struggled so much with life. He has some sort of brain injury. The specialist called it "static encephalopathy." In layman's terms; Cerebral Palsy. The reflux may be secondary to the CP and does explain the frequent sinus infections. JJ's fussiness/irritability can most likely be traced back to the CP, as can his thermo-regulation issues. Even his sensory issues can be traced back to the CP.

Though no parent wants to be told their child is less than perfect, I am very relieved. JJ's life will never be easy (whose is), but God knew that from the beginning. Like Bethany Hamilton, I don't need easy; I just need possible. Now that we have answers, finding ways to cope is very possible. And that is something I can accept and celebrate.

God's goodness isn't dependent on circumstances, and in these less-than-perfect circumstances, we choose to celebrate God's goodness, too. What a gift!

Blooms in the desert

One of the most amazing lessons I have learned, on this journey through dry loneliness, is that I am not alone. That, and the realization that what I have been looking for is right in my own back yard.

My dreams have always included far away places and people in need. Motherhood was not a dream or desire. Even getting married was more about having a partner to change the world with than settling down and raising a family. God has gifted me, burdened me, and called me to full-time Christian service. But the service I thought I wanted didn't require diaper pails, laundry baskets, and nursery rhymes. How wonderful that God knows what we need even when e don't recognize it.

My children are my most precious disciples. Sharing life together, in a community others only dream about, is priceless. Our life isn't perfect (especially when it comes to birthdays; I'm really terrible at birthdays), but we do have fun. And as I embrace God's plan, my desert is becoming a much more beautiful place.

Rain drops in the desert

Rain doesn't usually fall in a desert. By definition a desert receives less than ten inches of rain a year. Deserts are dry and dusty places, void of life and beauty (at least to the casual observer). But, deserts hold their own unique beauty. And when rains fall, deserts spring to life; flowers bloom, grasses grow, cacti swell to unimaginable sizes. Desert dwellers know how to make the most of rain drops in the desert.

Because deserts are arid places, the natural flora and fauna are prepared for dry times. They must be, or they will die. Some plants sink roots down (sometimes several feet) to tap into deeply buried underground aquifers. Other plants have adapted in more creative and resourceful ways. Peoples native to arid lands know all the tricks for finding water in less-than-obvious places. The desert is, for them, a comfortable and welcoming home.

Christians tend to be surprised by deserts. To store up water in anticipation of days without rain or long periods of dryness does not come naturally. Instead of sinking roots down deep, or learning how to find water in unexpected places, discouragement, even frustration marks our journey. How easy it is to miss out on the blessings and beauty such an experience can provide.

As my sojourn in the desert continues, God is beginning to open my eyes to some of the treasures in this seemingly barren land. Like a plant who has learned to store water in anticipation of long periods without rain, I am learning to embrace my sandy home. It is not what I have chosen (or even desired), but it is where I have been "planted." Now we'll see if I can bloom.