Ten minutes ago, this was Violet.
Fast forward to now.
And he died for all,
that those who live
should no longer live for themselves
but for him who died for them and was raised again.
(2 Corinthians 5:15 NIV)
The truth of God’s word is always much grimier, grittier, and involving more elbow grease than I first assume. I know for certain that the practical application of living for Christ is in living with my children. My part in the perfect circle of a sacrificing life involves cheerios. No, seriously–cheerios. Sippy cups, stories read for the fifth time in a row, tiny frequent meals, messes, trips to the potty, wiping noses, coloring with chewed-up crayons, and cheerios broken into quarters so Henry won’t find reasons to choke on them.
Violet told Henry he was being ridiculous
There must be a rulebook somewhere about these…
Rule 1: When talking to parents about the appearance of their baby, you must comment on who they look like. Because trust me, those parents are really concerned to know whether or not you think Johnny has Daddy’s eyes, so take your time and really scrutinize that little face.
Rule 2: If you are a grandmother or at least a “grandmotherly type”, it is your duty, nay–a fulfillment of your destiny if you make a guess at the age of the child. It is easily considered a social obligation for a woman over a certain age to look knowingly at the baby and say something like “Awwww….wook at you, you little cutiepatootie! You must be just about three months old!” Also, please don’t be deterred when the parents laugh at you and say something disrespectful like, “No, actually he’s almost nine months…”
Violet: Look Daddy! A dog!!!
AJ turns to see the head of a Lab hanging out the window of the car next to us while we wait at a light.
AJ: What a nice dog! Is he saying “Hi” to you?
Violet: Um, Yeah!
The stoplight changes to green…
Violet: Bye bye Doggie!
AJ: Bye bye Doggie…
AJ: I’m such a dad–I just waved at a dog.
I don’t have a blog thought for today so i am sinking to the unthinkable. I wrote this post on my old blog (www.splendified.blogspot.com) a few years ago. It still describes so much of my frailness.
i’m gun-shy of God
i am Jacob’s hip.
i’m strong enough to strive
and shaky enough to slip.
i’m gun-shy of God.
gun-shy of getting shattered at the whim of God.
True love is love without conditions. When I hear “unconditional love” i kind of check out mentally because i’ve heard it a thousand times before. AJ and I were at a beautifully tender wedding this weekend where the officiant spoke about marriage being built on love without conditions. Just simply changing the phrasing there seems to make it grab my attention a little more. He also talked about how true love is about the covenant, not the chemistry. True love is about the covenant, not the chemistry. Say wha?
Dear Hollywood, it has recently come to my attention that you may be wrong about love…
Fast forward to Tuesday when I listened to a friend give a devotion on parenting and children. Being a mother is a ridiculously complicated, ever-changing, life-molding task, where absolutely EVERYTHING is at stake. What’s more, we don’t get to try it out first. Ha! You think you get real-life experience as a mom by babysitting or having younger siblings? Think again, my friend. In the course of her devotion, my friend compared parenting to marriage–except that in marriage we get to date first and see if this person drives us crazy or not. We also usually don’t have to change them, or force-feed them, or argue the logistics of which shoe goes on which foot. I think you can see where this comparison is going.
So I have to remind myself of this. True love is about the covenant, not the chemistry. True love is not about all the rainbows and giggles and playing games in a clean house that come only once in a blue moon, true love is about the sacred trust I hold as a mother to my children–whether or not I find them drawing with a permanent marker on something irreplaceable.
Fast forward to today. I’m not going to lie–we had a rough morning. Finally, we headed out the door to a friend’s house so that our children could entertain each other while we had adult conversations where we could link more than three words in a sentence. I had already failed miserably as a person and a mother too many times to count, which of course did nothing for my sunshiny mood, but as we drove off with steam still escaping from my ears, I heard my sweet girl pipe up from the back.
“Mommy not yucky! Mommy niiiiiice.”
Because true love is love without conditions.