I'm preparing to leave for She Speaks, a speaker/writer conference I've wanted to go to for the last few years. I am so excited that I have the opportunity to do so this year. I have to write a 3 minute talk about my story and a five minute teaching talk about a bible verse. The bible verse was easy, anything about my story in a few minutes is impossible.
It doesn't help that it has been really, really hard taking care of the girls alone lately. Because it's summer and I have them all the time and going to North Carolina was so much work, I'm feeling tired and overwhelmed by it all. I am so small and yet I feel like I live a giant life, I want to shine a light on my God who is infinitely bigger than my giant life. I should be able to say that, but instead I only feel incredibly inadequate.
This morning, I was giving Abby her bottle. Yes, she still gets a bottle. It's the only way she can drink enough. I even have to cut the nipple to make it come out faster because otherwise she wouldn't get enough fluids. Anyway, Abby NEEDS to know the plan all the time. She drives us all a little nuts with it. Ma (more) ma (more). Everyday, over and over we tell her what's up! Her version of "more" is one of her few words. We respond to her "ma" with: you want to know where everyone is? You want to know the plan? "Ya" she says. Tell me more Momma, where is everyone? What are they doing? Tell me again Momma, "Ma". So I'm feeding her and telling her about our day and she keeps asking for "ma".
I'm already feeling tired of doing it and it's only 8:30 in the morning. I ask her "you always want more Abby, don't you? More-- where is everyone? More-- what are we doing today? More-- what's the plan? More-- what's for breakfast? More, more, more, more, more, more. You just want it all, don't you?
She looked up and answered me. "Ya."
That's it. Simply Yes. I want more. I want you to tell me what I want to know. I'm not sorry I want to know, I don't feel at all bad about asking a thousand times a day. I want to know it allll.
Part of me is envious of the simplicity of her need and her answer. I'm feeling overwhelmed. Why is it that I can't just say, I need something...anything. I need a minute. I need prayer. I need grace. I need forgiveness for feeling so ungrateful when God has been so faithful. I need "more" sometimes.
She needs something and she asks for it. She expects to receive it. She's not disappointed if it doesn't come, she just tries again..."ma".
Emily doesn't waist much time on the words, she just screams at me. "Ask me nicely, Emily. I want to help you." Ahhhhhh! It's this sort of NOW! She's still asking with expectation, just a little louder.
Maybe sometimes we all just need a little more. Maybe we just need to know how to ask for it. Pray for it. Expect it.
Maybe if I work at it for a while I will be able to squeeze my big life and my even bigger God into 3 minutes. I don't think I can do it alone, so tonight I pray for just a little "ma", Lord. "Ma" of you, less of me. "Ma" of your words, less of my thoughts. More remembering how blessed I am to be able to speak at all, more being grateful for "ma".
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Last Time
Emily and Abby are twelve now, which means that my little girls are really sort of big girls. I didn't actually realize that was going to happen. Abby is about 10 pounds heavier than Em and she is also a little longer. They are both still small for their ages (50 and 60 pounds), but Jeff and I are tall so the girls are looonnnggg.
Yesterday we spent the day at my Sister in Law and her husband's lake house. It's beautiful. I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but I am generally a determined girl. I think I can do just about anything until I'm proved wrong, and it just stinks when I am wrong.
I decided my girls, who have no balance and can't always hold their heads up out of water, could still swim in a lake with me like they did when they were little. There is a dock and the water is way over our heads. Since Abby was willing to go out with me I started there by putting a life vest on her, a life vest on me and a one on Grandma. I thought for sure we would be able to float and hang out with Abby in the water and it would be a great day.
I jumped off the dock into the water, Grandma jumped in the water....we were both secretly questioning the wisdom of our plan at that point as we each had no really control over where we were in the water with our hands busy reaching for Abby. Our helper lowered Abby in the water, which was really a whole lot higher than I realized and she actually sort of dropped her in. So now we are three floating ladies in about 20 feet of lake water. Abby's head of course wants to drop face first in the water, Grandma has her by the waist, I am holding on for dear life to the front of life vest keeping her head out of water. There is no doubt now that this was a really bad idea.
We somehow made it over to the ladder, but we couldn't get her up. We sent for Grandpa to rescue us; he was in the house with the wise Emily who had refused to come out. Then a boat went by and the waves came, knocking us into the dock and boat. That was when a bad idea became a dangerous situation that could really cause my daughter harm. Grandpa showed up then and pulled Abby out of the water, and thankfully life moved forward.
The first thing I said when we all were up on land was "I guess that's the last time we do that".
Last times make me sad. There are so many losses in the life of disabilities. The loss of so many parts of my child, the loss of my dreams and plans for them, and then the physical losses. The ability to move through life in the way I want to; the ability for my daughters to move through life and enjoy what is on this amazing planet. Each time one of those experiences become impossible, which seems to happen more and more as they get older, I feel a little afraid as the world gets just a little smaller for us every year. It's hard for me as a mother to not be able to offer them what I think of as a full, rounded life. What I must give them above all else is safety and security.
It is hard to see a chapter close for my disabled daughter as her younger sister cannonballs into life and begs for more.
I know in light of eternity, a day in the lake is not even a blip on the screen. I am thankful yet again that my hope lies in knowing that I will spend forever with my girls healed and healthy. I will see them run, jump and speak. I will see them whole; mind, body and spirit. I will spend eternity in the presence of the God who created them and never again know the ache in my heart of a last time.
Yesterday we spent the day at my Sister in Law and her husband's lake house. It's beautiful. I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but I am generally a determined girl. I think I can do just about anything until I'm proved wrong, and it just stinks when I am wrong.
I decided my girls, who have no balance and can't always hold their heads up out of water, could still swim in a lake with me like they did when they were little. There is a dock and the water is way over our heads. Since Abby was willing to go out with me I started there by putting a life vest on her, a life vest on me and a one on Grandma. I thought for sure we would be able to float and hang out with Abby in the water and it would be a great day.
I jumped off the dock into the water, Grandma jumped in the water....we were both secretly questioning the wisdom of our plan at that point as we each had no really control over where we were in the water with our hands busy reaching for Abby. Our helper lowered Abby in the water, which was really a whole lot higher than I realized and she actually sort of dropped her in. So now we are three floating ladies in about 20 feet of lake water. Abby's head of course wants to drop face first in the water, Grandma has her by the waist, I am holding on for dear life to the front of life vest keeping her head out of water. There is no doubt now that this was a really bad idea.
We somehow made it over to the ladder, but we couldn't get her up. We sent for Grandpa to rescue us; he was in the house with the wise Emily who had refused to come out. Then a boat went by and the waves came, knocking us into the dock and boat. That was when a bad idea became a dangerous situation that could really cause my daughter harm. Grandpa showed up then and pulled Abby out of the water, and thankfully life moved forward.
The first thing I said when we all were up on land was "I guess that's the last time we do that".
Last times make me sad. There are so many losses in the life of disabilities. The loss of so many parts of my child, the loss of my dreams and plans for them, and then the physical losses. The ability to move through life in the way I want to; the ability for my daughters to move through life and enjoy what is on this amazing planet. Each time one of those experiences become impossible, which seems to happen more and more as they get older, I feel a little afraid as the world gets just a little smaller for us every year. It's hard for me as a mother to not be able to offer them what I think of as a full, rounded life. What I must give them above all else is safety and security.
It is hard to see a chapter close for my disabled daughter as her younger sister cannonballs into life and begs for more.
I know in light of eternity, a day in the lake is not even a blip on the screen. I am thankful yet again that my hope lies in knowing that I will spend forever with my girls healed and healthy. I will see them run, jump and speak. I will see them whole; mind, body and spirit. I will spend eternity in the presence of the God who created them and never again know the ache in my heart of a last time.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Hummingbirds
We are spending our first week in North Carolina with Jeff. He is getting ready for work and I am having my coffee, starting my day. I love my quiet few moments in the morning to wake up, reflect and prepare for the day. We have been here a little more than a day, and already we are moving to the same rhythm we always have. It's as if being apart for two months, knowing we have many more to go, is just an unnoticeable missed step in a complicated dance. I'm thankful for that, but as usual, I am surprised at how completely God has prepared our hearts for this time, and how He has moved our life into this rhythm that makes it easier to endure this time apart.
Yesterday was my first full day here, and a hummingbird flew into the garage of the house we are staying in. Hummingbirds are so tiny and so busy, whenever I see them, I find myself wishing I was as constant and consistent with my tasks as they are with theirs. This poor little fella flew around that garage for a good part of the day and couldn't find his way out of the giant door that lead to freedom for him. Night fell and we noticed him perched at the top of the garage, tired and confused. He simply didn't know the way out, and inside there was nothing for him.
My cousin decided that of course the little guy needed help. Three adults and one hummingbird. A broom was put up in the air beside him, which he promptly stepped on to. Feeling very brilliant for the rescue, we took turns looking at the tired little guy and holding him. It was a rare privilege to hold such a quick little bird still in my hand. Deciding it was time to free him, hands open and arms lifted, we waited for him to gratefully fly away. He lifted off, paused for a moment, and then flew straight back into the garage. We repeated this "rescue" three times before we realized he was attracted to the light that was on in there. He is a daytime bird and it was dark outside. We turned off the light, closed the door, and finally he flew away.
I've thought a lot about that little bird today. I've thought about how often my faith is like that little bird. How lost and confused I feel sometimes, thinking I am going towards the light and security when I am really heading in the wrong direction. I've thought of God taking me in his hand when I've gotten my own self in trouble; when I'm in the wrong place. I think about Him gently bringing me out, showing me the way. Is He as disappointed as I was in the bird when I end up in trouble again. When I fly to false light; to my own sense of security. How often I've tried to find my own way out when the hand of the one who sees the whole picture tries gently to hold me and place me in safety.
As a believer, I am a day time girl too. I know the light. The true light. I know the hand to hold onto, the only hand that can safely hold me. I know that even when he gently sets me in the dark and I don't understand that He is still with me. I am learning more and more to trust that the light of this world is a false light, and Jesus truly is the only way. Am I doing enough to be sure that others I try to lead to the true light really see it too? Do I think it's enough to help them out of the dangerous place and never really notice if they are flying back in?
I feel challenged by that little bird. Do you?
Yesterday was my first full day here, and a hummingbird flew into the garage of the house we are staying in. Hummingbirds are so tiny and so busy, whenever I see them, I find myself wishing I was as constant and consistent with my tasks as they are with theirs. This poor little fella flew around that garage for a good part of the day and couldn't find his way out of the giant door that lead to freedom for him. Night fell and we noticed him perched at the top of the garage, tired and confused. He simply didn't know the way out, and inside there was nothing for him.
My cousin decided that of course the little guy needed help. Three adults and one hummingbird. A broom was put up in the air beside him, which he promptly stepped on to. Feeling very brilliant for the rescue, we took turns looking at the tired little guy and holding him. It was a rare privilege to hold such a quick little bird still in my hand. Deciding it was time to free him, hands open and arms lifted, we waited for him to gratefully fly away. He lifted off, paused for a moment, and then flew straight back into the garage. We repeated this "rescue" three times before we realized he was attracted to the light that was on in there. He is a daytime bird and it was dark outside. We turned off the light, closed the door, and finally he flew away.
I've thought a lot about that little bird today. I've thought about how often my faith is like that little bird. How lost and confused I feel sometimes, thinking I am going towards the light and security when I am really heading in the wrong direction. I've thought of God taking me in his hand when I've gotten my own self in trouble; when I'm in the wrong place. I think about Him gently bringing me out, showing me the way. Is He as disappointed as I was in the bird when I end up in trouble again. When I fly to false light; to my own sense of security. How often I've tried to find my own way out when the hand of the one who sees the whole picture tries gently to hold me and place me in safety.
As a believer, I am a day time girl too. I know the light. The true light. I know the hand to hold onto, the only hand that can safely hold me. I know that even when he gently sets me in the dark and I don't understand that He is still with me. I am learning more and more to trust that the light of this world is a false light, and Jesus truly is the only way. Am I doing enough to be sure that others I try to lead to the true light really see it too? Do I think it's enough to help them out of the dangerous place and never really notice if they are flying back in?
I feel challenged by that little bird. Do you?
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