looking around

One year ago my sister and I met and secretively made our way westward to Ohio. Along the way we called Mom from Kris’s phone. Via speakerphone we began taking turns talking to her. At first she couldn’t figure out why she was hearing both of our voices and was a little confused. Why were we together when we live 3 hours apart? Finally we told her we were on our way to her house to celebrate Mother’s Day and her 65th birthday which, last year, fell on the same day. She was delighted!

Mom was diagnosed with cancer four years ago and last April discovered that it had metastasized. Because of the cancer in her chest cavity there was fluid buildup on her lungs and breathing was difficult at times. Since these birthday-Mother’s Days only come every few years, we wanted to make sure we didn’t miss our opportunity to celebrate with Mom. And in another year, well, we just didn’t know if Mom would be here. 

Turns out we were right. 2012 was our last year to celebrate with Mom. Nineteen days before Mother’s Day and 20 days before her 66th birthday, Jesus came and ushered Mom into the Next Kingdom. 

So Mother’s Day this year feels just a little strange. Mom isn’t here to love on or send flowers to or even call. Although I did have a dream last night that I could still text her. It was pretty cool. She even texted back. From Heaven. Then I woke up. 

I’m already planning ahead for Mother’s Day this year. I have several good cries already scheduled. Cause I know it will happen. There’s just an empty place when I think about Mom. 

In reality, I feel a little cheated. To my way of thinking, sixty-five was way too young to die. She should still be here. For Dad. For her kids. For her grandchildren. For the women who loved her listening ear and who needed her wisdom. 

But then I remember the evening I was praying for her several months ago. My spirit was crying out to Jesus on her behalf. I began, “Jesus, if you don’t come and heal Mom. . .” Immediately David’s words came: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. 

And then this thought from the heart of God: He wants my Mama. 

Please don’t hear that lightly. Hear it with intensity. He WANTS my Mama. God deeply desires her. He wants her in His kingdom. 

It was on that night that I knew I needn’t ask for her healing in this lifetime. I knew that God Himself wanted her. Intensely. And so I began asking God, with tears, that His timing would be perfect for her homegoing. 

And He answered so beautifully. She ran to meet Him in her sleep, just like she’d asked Dad to pray for. For her, the Next Kingdom is reality. 

So this Mother’s Day, in between my scheduled cries, I’ll be looking around and forward. Cause I’m a mother too. And Mom wouldn’t want me to cry too much. She’d want me to celebrate motherhood. My own motherhood. The motherhood of the women I love. My daughters. 

Thursday afternoon my girls treated me (and themselves!) to pedicures!! We’ve done things like this with my mom and sister and in other configurations with friends, but never before just us four. It was fun and beautifying and together. I’m choosing to look around. 

When we got home we all went for a walk together and then decided to have an impromptu tea. Fresh sprigs of spearmint tea and bags of rose tea. Papaya. Lemon cake in tiny slices. Cucumber sandwiches. Apple and pear slices. 

We talked. We laughed. We sipped tea. We just enjoyed together. 

As we sat and sipped I suddenly began to really see the dishes in front of me. A white embossed teapot from sister many Christmases ago. Tea cups and saucers, once my grandmothers, given to me by my own mother. A pink plate with a daisy and “Life is good” from my friend Heidi. A simple white plate from Danelle. Delicate Belleek china cream and sugar bowl covered with tiny springs of green clover, carried home from Ireland for me with love from Esther, one of my other sisters. Another white teapot, a gift to Elsa from Nana. 

Dishes that remind me of women I love. Some here, others already in the Next Kingdom. My heart was warm. My eyes were wet. It was a little looking back and a lot looking around and forward. 

Yes, on Mother’s Day I’ll probably look back a little. I won’t be able to keep from it. But mostly I want to look around and forward. 

I want to mostly just look around. I’ll see the man I sometimes call Hobbit: strong, caring, adventurous, loving me so well. I’ll see three ladies: the one who loves to be busy constantly and whose sketches amaze, the one who cares for all things hurting and marches to her own drumbeat, the one who is my shadow some days and other days has to be called away from her books. I’ll see two boys: the one we call the Energizer Bunny who hunts and the one we call Farmer who helps load pigs. This is what is around. And it’s full of goodness and love. 

It’s ok if you look back a little this Mother’s Day, but don’t forget to also look around. Do a lot of looking around. And linger a little. Soak a little. It’s good. 

drops of faith

It’s Sunday morning. A cold, snow blanketed, church-has-been-cancelled Sunday morning. And I’m distracted by God’s Word. Again.

The last week has been a struggle.

Chronic pain is miserable, but when the chronic suddenly gets worse, the miserable gets worse too. I’ve had shoulder pain for nearly 9 years. Reaching into the back seat of our mini-van to help two toddlers during a pregnancy caused the initial strain. Then I developed calcific tendonitis. I’ve had a cortisone shot in that shoulder and weeks of physical therapy. The pain diminished for a time, but then returned. Not a permanent solution. Now it’s moved to a frozen shoulder.

Pain does something to me. And let me just say here that I’m always a little afraid that I’m being wimpy and whining about nothing. But during a massage earlier in the week, the massage therapist said, “Doesn’t that hurt???” “No. Keep going.” She remarked that I have a very high pain tolerance. And that’s coming from someone who causes pain on a regular basis. :o)

Back to the pain doing something. . . I’m finding that it’s causing me to have a deeper compassion. I’m loving my children more. I’m caring on a different level.

Another thing I always think about is: What will happen to my faith?

When I was in my late teens I had a severe trial of faith. And when I reflect on it nearly 20 years later (no, I’m not 40 yet, although my hair might cause anyone to question that statement), I wonder if I even passed that test. I was angry at God. It seemed He’d abandoned me. Through the passing of time God has brought healing to my heart and helped me to understand His presence. But it seems every time I walk to the brink of a new chasm of difficulty I wonder if I’ll pass the new test. Will I have the faith to trust that God will carry me over the chasm? Might He build a bridge for me? Will He part the rushing waters? Perhaps an eagle to ferry me across? And, if this is the “valley of the shadow of death” and I must pass through it, will He be there with me?

So often as I stand at the chasm of the latest difficulty, the demons of doubt and despair and mistrust and fear rush up behind me threatening to drive me over the edge. I doubt the greatness of His love and wonder if He’ll even care enough to show up and rescue me.

Standing at this chasm of pain God’s word to me has been “wait.” I don’t know yet what His healing will look like for me. I don’t know when it will come. But somehow at this chasm He’s given me faith to know that He is listening to my pleas for help. He sees the tears I cry. And He’s giving me endurance.

Today I’m made aware of the fact that faith doesn’t often show up in great ocean waves. It’s more like the drip of a leaky faucet. One drop at a time. A little here. A little there. Just when I need it to keep me moving forward.

Nope. My pain is not gone. I’m learning from it. I want to embrace it and be able to articulate the lessons to my children. My amazing husband has been so loving and helpful and caring during this season of pain. The children have been helping with everything from cleaning to meals to helping me comb my hair (something that is currently impossible). I think perhaps they’ll learn a new measure of compassion and care as well.

So, when I think I can’t handle another second of pain God lets loose another drop of faith. And grace.

And I’m humbled to recognize that I can’t even have faith on my own. Everything comes from Him.

Even my drops of faith.

So, do you want to know what distracted me? Check this out from the Message: Psalm 20.

"God answer you on the day you crash,
The name God-of-Jacob put you out of harm’s reach,
Send reinforcements from Holy Hill,
Dispatch from Zion fresh supplies,
Exclaim over your offerings,
Celebrate your sacrifices,
Give you what your heart desires,
Accomplish your plans.
When you win, we plan to raise the roof
and lead the parade with our banners.
May all your wishes come true!
That clinches it—help’s coming,
an answer’s on the way,
everything’s going to work out.
See those people polishing their chariots,
and those others grooming their horses?
But we’re making garlands for God our God.
The chariots will rust,
those horses pull up lame—
and we’ll be on our feet, standing tall.
Make the king a winner, God;
the day we call, give us your answer.

May God shower you today with extra large drops of faith. . .

about a walk in the dark

Sunday.

The child was sick. So I let him take his normal nap. But then he was up for a while and wanted to take another nap. So I let him take nap number 2. Hmmm. Bad choice.

So at 10pm this is the face I see:



Well, ok. Not this face exactly. This was his birthday face with ketchup on it.

Happy as a clam he was. Full of energy. Wrestling with Papa on our bed. Not tired in the least. This is the kid who is exhausted at 8:30 every night.

So Papa Hobb(it) gave said child the option of going to bed or going on a 1 mile walk with Papa and Mama Hobb(it)--- our sometimes nightly ritual after the small Hobb(it)s are in bed.

He chose the walk.

It was a dark walk. But there were stars to see. And a possum ambling along the soybean field going in the opposite direction we were going. And the sillouette of the trees making a dark shape against the sky that looked just like an alligator with it’s mouth wide open, showing rows of sharp teeth. At least it looked exactly that way to the 4 year old Hobb(it).

He was pretty sure he wanted to turn around. His legs were suddenly tired. But he made it the whole way to the end of the driveway (a whole 1/2 mile). Papa Hobb(it) had offered to carry him home, but he walked it all on his own two very tired 4 year old legs.

Will you believe me if I told you he went straight to bed with no complaints at 10:25?

I can’t wait to hear the stories he tells the other Hobb(it)s in the morning about his late night adventure with Papa and Mama. On a walk. In the dark. All about the possum. And the alligator in the trees. With rows of sharp teeth.

We made a memory. He’ll talk about it for a very long time.

I just hope there’s not a repeat performance tomorrow night.

Zip-off pants and angry tears on the floor

This morning Son 1 sat on the floor dissolving in angry tears. He’d zipped on one leg of his zip-off camo pants, but was struggling to zip on the second leg. He kept saying over and over, “I can’t get it!!!” He never bothered to ask for help. And I was standing right beside him.

Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.

So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”

Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.

Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.

As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.

The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.

All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.

Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.

I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)

Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.

Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.

Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”

Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”

After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.

Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”

Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.

My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.

Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?

a bedtime conversation

The scene: Tobin and Tristen (age 5 and 3) have been freshly bathed and put to bed. Mama is tucking them in. 

Tristen: "I'm thirsty."

Mama: "Honey, you can't drink any more water tonight or you'll pee in your bed."

Tobin (from the top bunk): "And if you pee in your underwear you'll get radishes between your legs."

So maybe I'd better explain.

During the hot summer I had smallish children who put off visiting the bathroom for as long as possible. This foolishness resulted in many an accident. Which resulted in chaffing on their poor little legs since they didn't bother to tell Mama about the accident since playing outside was far more important than one little accident and changing clothes in the middle of the day. 

Surely none of your angels have ever done this.

Anyway, poor Tobin was greatly confused with the English language. The "rashes" on his legs somehow morphed into "radishes". 

May all your "radishes" be in your garden. And NOT on your legs. 

hApPy tuEsDaY!!!!

the mimic

We're at that stage in childhood when one of the most annoying things you can do to a sibling is to mimic every move they make. 

So tonight at the supper table the 10 year old big sister is mimicing the 5 year old little brother.  I should have seen the danger signs based on the age difference, but I didn't see this one coming. 

He crosses his arms. She crosses hers. He moves his leg. She moves hers. And there it ended. 

She looked over as he moved his hand toward his face. She began to do the same. Then a look of total horror and astonishment came over her face as she watched little brother stick his finger in his nose to search for some unknown treasure. 

She couldn't bring herself to mimic that and burst into laughter. I guess she'd been bitten on this round of "mimic". It might be a while before she tries it again. 

Funny  children! I'm sure I never did anything like that, right Mom?? 

nO MorE diAperS!

*sigh*

The three year old is FINALLY toilet trained. "I'm a big guy now" he reports. All this mother can say is Praise the Lord!! I honestly was praying about it. Son one trained rather easily and fairly fast. Son two has been a very different story. 

And if you were thinking of asking me for my potty training advice, don't bother. I don't have any. None of the advice I received this time around worked for me. So I just waited until he was ready. 

I feel a need to celebrate. We are now diaper free for the first time in 10 years and 10 days. Wahooo!! I think we'll have banana splits. Care to join us?

A day in the life. . .

• It's Thursday, but it feels like Monday for some reason. 
  
  
• Daniel spoke for high school chapel at Belleville Mennonite School this morning.
  
  
• That left me in charge of math. I hate math.
  
  
• The play dough I made for the boys several days ago is ruined. They pulled it out this morning and it stuck in nasty stickiness all over the kitchen table. I had to use a spatula to get it off.
  
  
• Even after mixing extra oil and flour into the nasty mixture, it was still sticky. I threw it in the trash. Hopefully the trash guy doesn't see it. 
  
  
• Oh, and while I was dealing with that nastiness, sweet daughter, age 9, was toiling over a math pyramid. It made sense to me, but not to her. 
  
  
• Then the mischievous 2 year old took the dish soap from under the sink. I asked him to put it away. As he obeyed, he lifted the bottle high over his head, upside down, squeezing the bottle as he went. Palmolive in a nice neat trail across my kitchen floor. 
  
  
• Sweet daughter, age 8, offered to clean up the mess. Thank you Lord for helpful children.
  
  
• Sweet daughter, age 6, had to be reminded many times to finish her simple addition. A promise of "no lunch until you're done" did the trick. Amazing how the thought of no food motivates some children. 
  
  
• And did I mention the several phone calls that came while I tried to rescue the nasty mixture. Or the phone calls that came while I listened to sweet daughter, age 8, read aloud. 
  
  
• Or the cries of delight that came from the upstairs bathroom as the three youngest played in water in the bathroom sink. Mischievous son, age 4 and mischievous son, age 2 each had to totally change their clothes. Do I throw the clothes in the dryer since it was just water, or do I put them in the laundry for later? 
  
  
• Then I hear, "Oh Mama!" This time it was mischievous son, age 2, who had discovered the sheer delight of an orange marker. His pants and arms now have not-so-mysterious streaks of orange. 
  
  
• And we haven't even had lunch yet. 

Potty training advice

Well, I guess it's not really advice. More like a warning. 

If you have a 2 year old who is being potty trained and you find him in the bathroom having removed his own training pants, the very first step is to put him on the potty. 

The very next step is to check the floor for puddles. 

I followed step one. I did not follow step two. 

P.S. Paper towels make for easy clean-up. And my bathroom rug is in the washer as I type. 

Cookie Day!

I mixed the dough and chilled it several hours so it was ready for rolling out and cutting.

I rolled the dough out and let the girls cut out the cookies.

Tobin tried to have a nap, but ended up joining us part way through the decorating process.

The girls love being creative with their cookies. I did have to put a limit on how many decorations could go on a single cookies. There were times you had doubts about there really being a cookie underneath all the red hots, white chocolate chips and multi-colored sprinkles!

Oh yes. We did decorate with a few conversation hearts as well. 

And besides all that, they are really yummy cookies. Even Papa said so. And he isn't a huge fan of plain old sugar cookies. I think it was because I substituted the vanilla for almond flavoring.

 He says it's my Asian influence. 

I stand amazed!

Ok, so it was a Mommy moment. 

This morning I stood in church holding my hymnal in my right hand, with a two year old boy standing beside me. He was standing on the pew, and my left arm was wrapped securely around his waist to keep him standing and not wiggling. He was belting out the song in his heart with as much gusto as he could muster. It sounded nothing like "I stand amazed." In his two little hands he held his very own hymnal. Upside down. 

I glanced at the platform and caught the eye of my pastor husband. It was all we could do to keep the smiles on our faces and prevent them from frolicking down the center aisle. 

"I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene, and wonder how He could love me, a sinner, condemned, unclean.

How marvelous! How wonderful! And my song shall ever be: How marvelous! How wonderful is my Saviour's love for me!

He took my sins and my sorrows, He made them His very own; He bore the burden to Calvary, and suffered and died alone." 

How marvelous! How wonderful! This is my Jesus. I stand amazed. 

Two year olds and bread

Today was bread baking day at our house. And I firmly regret that I have no pictures to prove it. I generally make two batches at one time since our family of 7 hungries can go through at least a loaf a day, sometimes a loaf and a half. 

The first "oh my" came when Tristen (age 2) grabbed a glob of dough and put it in his mouth when I wasn't looking. All the children beg for little bits of the soft yeastiness on bread day, but this time I'd turned my back and was talking to Daniel. This time the eyes in the back of my head must have been closed. Poor baby. He started gagging on that nasty lump of dough and had to be rescued. 

Then, after putting the last of the six soft loaves into their little beds to rise, I ran to the living room to check on something else, leaving the aforesaid sweet little man alone at the table with the aforementioned six soft loaves resting. When I returned to the kitchen I discovered nearly one whole cup of flour dumped on top of parts of two loaves in their loaf pans. 

Somehow baking seems to take longer these days. Everyone wants to help. "Can I crack those eggs for you Mama?" "You stay away! I'm stirring the soup this time!" "Can I finish that up for you Mama?" "Why don't I ever get to help?" Oh my. 

A good friend told me she has a different child help each day with her various cooking jobs, that way it eliminates too many children in the kitchen at once. I've toyed with the idea many times, but today brought it to mind again. I think I really will have to try it. Five children. Let's see, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday!! 

Ok, I promised everyone cookies before bedtime. Although around here the dough usually disappears before it ever makes it to the oven. 

Mothers should NEVER be sick.

My nose is running a marathon.

We've had colds and sniffles, coughs and fevers at our house over the last several weeks. But so far it's only been in the "childhood" sector. Not anymore. Yesterday the sneezing began. Last night the sore throat. Today the marathon.

So today is the day I want to put my jammies on and snuggle under a nice warm fleece blanket. But I'm a mama. And I homeschool. And today was the day I promised two girls, ages 9 and 7 that they could cook dinner. 

Now, cooking dinner is all well and good, but this requires much mama-intervention in order to succeed. But we did it!! Dinner is actually in the crock pot, and all we need to add is a salad and a dessert. I think we'll do something easy like rice crispy squares rather than the elaborate cookie ice cream sandwiches they planned on making. I just don't have energy for that today. Some other time, please.

After the girls are finished with their reading (soon, I hope!) I'm going to lay down for a while. 

Like I said, mothers should NEVER be sick. And definitely not homeschooling mothers. 

Tea time for young ladies

Several weeks ago God brought me an idea. 

I really needed a way to connect with my girls in a girlie sort of way. I wanted something that would give me a platform for conversation. Conversation that goes both directions. So, our tea time evolved. 

First of all, tea time happens when there are no boys around. Mostly this means we have to wait until the little brothers are down for naps. I began reading aloud the book "Beautiful Girlhood", knowing full well that parts of it will be over their heads, and we may stop at some point and re-evaluate, but I wanted to let them know that I understand the difficulty of the changes that take place when crossing over from childhood to womanhood. 

Sometimes I'm even tempted to consider writing my own curriculum and call it "Awkward Elegance" or something. Hmm. Can't think about that too long. 

Anyway, we read a little, explain a little, drink a little tea, enjoy a little chocolate. Basically I want to create an every-week (or every other week) environment that gives them a platform for sharing their hearts with me. And I want to do it now, before they are teenagers. I want to have the open sharing firmly in place so that when difficult questions come up we already have a place in which to share them. 

I know some moms do this at bedtime or on dates away from the house, but right now this seems to be my best option. Today as soon as I announced "Tea time!" the girls ran to collect dress up clothes. I did the quickest thing I could and plopped a hat on my head. 

Listening to my children has not been one of my most stellar qualities. What they don't know is that this "tea time" is more for me than for them. I want to listen. And I want to be able to speak into their lives. 

Today we had blueberry green tea using my Grandmother Good's china. We also had swiss chocolate. 

Nothing deep was discussed today. In fact, after tea was cleared away, we played a rousing game of Dominoes. Some days in the spring we may have lemonade on the front porch. Next time it might be hot chocolate on the living room floor. 

The place and the goodies don't matter a whole lot since I am creating an atmosphere of openness for heart conversations that I pray lasts a long time. Because this mama has an awful lot to learn.