Attached

I've really been searching for a redeemed perspective to this whole "Mom attached" phase.  I understand it is a developmental mark and therefore should be something that reassures me.  Yet hearing my child scream for the entire 2 minutes of my bathroom escape, or for the 5 minutes to prepare her lunch, or the 10 minutes to grab a shower, makes it...difficult.  

"Ummm...where do you think you're going?"  

Being the verbal processor that I am, most of my convictions come when I'm sharing my heart with someone.  Just the other day I happened to be explaining this whole "phase" to my mom and I had said something along the lines of:

"It's like she constantly needs to be reassured that I love her or something!  Even though I just got done tickling her, smooching her, and cuddling with her..."

The very moment those words left my mouth, I felt a pang of guilt.  Wow, Lauren...what a terrible thing...to reassure your daughter of your love, over and over and over.  Why is that such a burden to you?    

Babies have this innate way to make fools of adults, shame the wise, and humble the proud.  They just don't know their secret power.  The very moment we get aggravated by something they are doing, we are most likely guilty of the SAME exact thing!

"I'm going to play and keep one eye on you at the same time..."

We as adults (at least myself), are constantly seeking approval...all...the...time.  Whether we verbalize it or just long for it deep inside, there is this forever "attachment" to being loved, feeling appreciated or being accepted.  We either incessantly ask other people "Do you think this is okay?" or we let the thoughts of "I hope she isn't mad at me" consume us.  

"Don't you go making any fast moves, Mom!"

At how intense I thought my daughter's attachment was to feeling reassured, mine is that much stronger.  And I know better than to think I'm not already IMMEASURABLY accepted, loved, and appreciated.  Whenever I allow myself to be attached to the approval of others, may I remember the truth that I AM approved, loved, and accepted.  And that's coming from someone who has perfection as His standard!   

The prize winning look as I go into the kitchen, or the bathroom, 
or any other room for that matter.

I don't have to freak out when I don't sense His presence.  Cause I know better.  He loves me the same that he did 5 minutes ago, accepts me the same as he did 10 minutes ago, and longs for me to embrace that every waking moment.  So bring on the shrill screams, Nora.   For with each one, you are allowing our Heavenly Father to reveal to me how ridiculous I look when I forget His love for me.  Like your precious Jesus Storybook Bible says: "God loves His children - with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love."

But this look is my absolute favorite...aka "Daddy's home!"

I feel like an astronaut.

There is nothing more nauseating to me than feeling like I am spinning wildly out of control. It could be as literal as being flung around by an amusement park ride and as emotional as desperately searching for joy. 

The deep breaths.  Inhale...exhale...finding a clear train of thought in the midst of tantrums.  Surrendering to the fact that my new neighbors probably think I'm neglectful from how much my child screams a day.

The delirium of singing lullabies to my husband, thinking it's my daughter that I'm soothing for the 5th time that night.

The reality that I have talked more about bowel movements (not mine) in the last month than I ever care to in a lifetime.  

The out of body experience when I allow bitterness to rule and my city walls of self control have seemed to crumble.

Unraveling.  Spinning.  Wildly clinging for something to hold me still, for I'm getting sick. For right when I feel like I can stand again, something else comes and spins me around.  If you've ever seen the movie Gravity, I feel like I'm Sandra Bullock (an astronaut) frantically clinging to something that will keep me from aimlessly floating and drifting off.  

You see, they only had about 90 minutes before that same flying projectile would take it's orbit and hit them again.  For them it was destroyed space craft that flung them into the abyss.  For the past 2 months, our flying projectiles have been ALL the emotions that come with teething, constipation, transition to a new house, and extreme mommy attachment.  Oh yeah, and all at the same time.  

  Spinning, grasping, longing.

The beautiful thing about experiencing something like this as a family is that always one of us is stronger than the other.  And it's in those moments we cling to.  In the moments when Nora is the strong one, Dave and I lay comatose at an early 5:00 while Nora sits up between us beating her hands on our bellies.  Stay happy, sweet child...as you let us rest, we are regaining our strength.  Or maybe Dave is the one a little less frazzled and comes home to stand in the middle of her moodiness and my impatience.  

But see that's just it.  I don't want to live life just spinning wildly in between the time frames of flying projectiles.    The phases that baby's journey through can surely feel like you're in a constant orbit of no sleep, tantrums and nursing strikes.  When you finally recover from one round, there is more coming your way.  It's either more teeth, another new environment, bigger personalities, or stronger more persevering lungs.  

In the middle of all this, I can't help but think of this quote from dear Ann (seriously I feel like she's my friend, so she gets a first name reference):

The spirit to spirit combat I endlessly wage with Satan is this ferocious thrash for joy. He sneers at all the things that seem to have gone hideously mad in this sin-drunk world, and I gasp to say God is good.  The liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God's glory, and I heave to enjoy God...and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor.

-Ann Voskamp One Thousand Gifts

So...even though my knuckles feel white today.  I will rest knowing that when I draw near to God, He draws near to me.  When I allow it, He is the gravity that pulls me toward himself saying "Look, just look at my glory!"  

So while every now and then I will also spin, flail, gasp, scream...and then get hit again with the same thing as I did yesterday, I will gaze at His glory.  For it is bright, overwhelming, and draws me in.

    

Drip, drip, drip.

Drip.  Drip. Drip.

Oh how I'm resisting the urge to be an Israelite right now. Resisting the urge to completely forget where I used to be.

But right now all of this dripping in my kitchen is making it far to easy to forget. If I am a so called Israelite and my last apartment was my Egypt, then this dripping in my kitchen is my hunger in the desert.    An "affliction" only caused by one thing...forgetting.  Forgetting that this side of heaven life isn't supposed to be perfect.  Forgetting that He is always with me and it's me that needs a corrective lens.  He may not be a cloud by day or fire by night, but He is beauty in ALL things.  The ordinary, the simple, the slow.  Even the droplets of water currently collecting in my mixing bowl.  

So in this new oasis from mold, I haven't found perfection.  Praise the Lord.  I'm up for the redeeming challenge of searching for His beauty before I let out another complaining sigh.  For He is working in the loud things like quick apartment moves and in the quiet moments where my daughter pinches her little fingers to grab.  I just need to open...my...eyes - and give thanks.

Gilgal

Just FIVE days ago I wrote my last blog asking for prayer that God would show up fast to show off His glory.  Just FIVE days ago Dave and I were in search of apartments, hoping to find refuge from our mold infested home.  

I've heard this phrase once before:

"Instead of telling God how big your mountains are, tell your mountains how big your God is."

It's funny on the flip side of things, but now I can actually say that I was able to do that.  Call it delusion or actual faith but I found myself in tears talking to the mold...and the pollution...and maybe even the wafting cigarette smoke in our hallway.  Talking with absolute certainty that they would not defeat me and that I will in fact be rescued.  

God not only showed up fast but He showed off His glory immeasurably MORE than we ever asked or imagined. 

Day 1: Saw the number in the window.

Day 2: Visited the apartment, took pictures and fell in love with it.

Day 3: Signed the lease.

Day 4: Landlord moved ALL of her stuff that we didn't want/need out of the apartment (almost unheard of)...and by noon that day!  We moved enough over to spend the night there :).

Day 5: Moving company moved the rest of our things into our new mold-free house.

 In China it is almost unheard of that you can find what you're looking for in a fast way, but then for the lease to be signed within days is just crazy. It is common for a landlord to want to keep all of their furniture in the apartment, no matter how gaudy/tacky it is.  It is not rare for the landlords to be picky about hammering nail holes, painting with different colors, and other things that completely alter the look of the place.  This landlord didn't care about any of that!

There is so much more that He blessed us with that go down to the small details of our apartment that just blow us away.  Dave and I have this scrap piece of paper that we keep running over to and jotting down "one more awesome thing".  

So on that note, I declare that a new decoration in my house should be a pile of rocks.  And I shall name that pile of rocks "Gilgal".  I need a visual reminder to help me recount the ways God has provided.  When I even begin to worry and stress I will glance over at my little pile.  No seriously.  After I press "Publish", I'm heading outside for a rock.  

Can't...breathe.

If this week could have a theme word it would be OPPRESSED.  

Toxic air.  It's surrounding me... I'm caged by it...drowning in it.  When I'm inside, I battle pounding migraines from the mold that has spiraled out of control.  Something we tried to fix before, but has now come to a status that demands our eviction asap.  When I'm outside, I battle the unknown harm from wading through hazardous levels of pollution that masks as innocent fog.  

Nowhere to go and as a stay at home mom, I feel trapped.    

Our little family of three was out last night for two hours walking through the maze of apartment complexes in search of phone numbers in the windows.  A number meant a place for rent...a place to breathe...a place of rest for my weary mom heart.  In my "seeking for refuge" delusion, each number made my heart skip a beat like an airplane to someone alone on an island. 

 Right now we wait.  And in this waiting for an affordable price, realistic location and mediocre standard of cleanliness, I sit.  For there really is nowhere to go.    

So when I feel like my mental state sinks from the limited options of either moldy spores or hazardous pollution, I will recall that I AM IN FACT SINKING.  As David Crowder would say:

If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.

His love is just as overwhelming as my inability to breathe.

His grace saturates me more than the unseen spores.

For when there really is no where to go, you are forced to sit.  And a warrior who sits is able to take advantage of his shield.  Thou Oh Lord are a shield about me, you're my glory and the lifter of my head.

So my head is lifted.  I long for His glory.  He is my shield, and is above all, in all, through all.  May my fears fall at His feet for he sees me as a "better mom" when I surrender what I cannot control than justify my worry and anxiety with a phrase of "looking out for my daughter".  

I am stomping on the enemy's puny little head today when I say:

I AM looking out for my family when I let go of my justified anxiety and trust God with what I cannot see.  

God is glorified when he leads us through the toxic air of this sinful world.  For he makes all things beautiful in His time.

So if you're reading this and all you're thinking is "Man, they need to get out of there" or "Do they realize what this could do to their bodies?", just know that we're already consumed with those realities.  Instead of alerting us to the technical issues that only bring more fear and less dependency on God, please just pray.  

Pray that God shows up soon to show off His glory.

Apologizing can crush hearts

It's amusing to me how one of my initial language desires when learning Chinese was one of my "filler words" for awkwardness.  

"I'm sorry"

I guess I felt that if I couldn't learn anything else, I wanted to learn how to be polite.  The phrase that brings comfort after accidentally brushing up against someone, forgetting a person's name, changing my mind when ordering food or requesting a small favor. 

When hearing what I actually wanted to use the phrase for, my Chinese teacher gave me a blank look and just said "We don't really apologize for things like that.  With those things you didn't do anything wrong." Hmmm...

Why am I so insistent on clinging to the proverbial cushion to my conversations?  How many times do I actually say I'm sorry for things that do not warrant an apology?  

When I first came to China and was getting used to having a guard open our gate for us, I remember my conversations to that man looking something like this:

"Duibuchi...mafan ni....duibuchi...feichang xie xie.....zaijian" with a BIG smile.  

(I'm sorry...don't mean to bother you...so sorry...thank you SO MUCH.....bye :) :) :)!)

This man sat all day to open that door for people.  Why do I need to apologize for asking him to do exactly that?  Was it a nervous rambling that was responding to his grumpy exterior?  Was it my personal fear that he might not actually open the gate for me?  Was it my subconscious chatter from 21 years of being raised to be "courteous?"  Or was I just proud that I new some Chinese, so gave him an earful of practice?  

No matter what the truth behind the motive, this mindless babble needs some serious revisiting.  Cause I'm a wife and a mom...and nervous babbling can hurt hearts.

Now having a baby, I find myself already unearthing the subconscious apologies.  Saying "I'm sorry" because my daughter gives strangers a poker face no matter how hard they try to make her smile.  Apologizing when the only sound she knows to make is an ear piercing deafening scream.  Or when she's grumpy in public.  Or is the only one crying in the baby photo shoot.  The list goes on.  But why oh WHY am I apologizing?  

When Nora is old enough and makes willful sinful actions that warrant an apology, then sure, I will encourage her to say she is sorry.  Even if she accidentally does something that may have hurt someone, I will hopefully model and train her to apologize.  But may I never apologize for her because she is "embarrassing me."

I can get away with it now because she's a baby and doesn't fully understand my words.  But I want this to resonate with me before my words can cut into her sensitive little heart.  I don't want to apologize for my daughter's awkward fashion choices when she's a teen, her driving skills, or sloppy way she eats food at the table.  I don't want to apologize if she has fears of Chinese people touching her, wants to wear all of her clothes backwards for a year, or enjoys picking her nose and eating what's inside.  Yes, some of these things may need a bit of redirection.  But that can be in private...where no one needs to notice that I "disapprove."  For I would be humiliated if I saw someone look at their friends and apologize for me.

So for those things that don't really warrant an "I'm sorry", may I respond to them instead with a smile, a grace-filled exhaled breath, or no acknowledgement at all.  For that's who she is.  And for right now...it's normal.  

While this post is getting long, I didn't want to leave out the beautiful blessings that are helping to mold me into the mom I want to be.  While in China I get to live in a foreign community of women who have kids.  I get to watch how they shine Jesus through their love that endures all, bears all, and believes all...and quietly...with no apologies needed.  And it's beautiful.

The mother who breathes calmly without a hint of agitation as her toddler screams at the top of her lungs.

The beauty in gentle whispers spoken to toddler ears, reluctant to share toys.

The eye level re-direction toward a young son's inner rage.

The subtle shake of the head that is acknowledged across the room.

Even the nose kisses given after a ferocious chin bite.

It's the beauty in these moments that remind me we don't need to apologize when our kids are strange, moody, or unpredictably disobedient.  For we are all unashamedly enduring it together.

Fattened ox OR love

I flipped open my bible, unsure of where to exactly start reading.  My eyes immediately jolted to what was already underlined and highlighted on the page. 

Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred with it.

I didn’t even need a complete minute for those words to sting and resonate with me.  This is Solomon’s version of the Mary and Martha story.  The one who invests in hearts versus the one invested in the perfected tasks.  We've all heard it and grasp how we should be like Mary.  But for people who like lists, tasks, perfection, and presentation, we find so much joy in imitating Martha…preparing the fattened ox, NEVER accepting a dinner of herbs to stand in the way of our reputation.  I struggle right at this moment.  While I’d like to say that I can bring a proverbial “fattened ox” to the table with love at the same time, it's in the unmet expectations for that to be thrown out the window really fast. 

Moments when the darn oven will never pre-heat, my dear husband forgot the main ingredients at the market, my daughter’s crying the entire time I cook, or all of my measuring spoons are at the bottom of the sink piled high with dishes.  At these moments I have to choose……fattened ox or love? 

Fattened ox or love.  I hear it chanting in my head on too many occasions now, and I can’t seem to ignore it. 

Sometimes we all just need to cuddle in the chaos, eat corn flakes (cardboard) for dinner, or walk to bed on a carpet of clothes.  Maybe even turn off the kitchen light knowing there is a counter and sink full of dishes, or refuse to fix all the slanted picture frames on the wall.  

For all you stay at home moms out there, 4:30 is my mass crazy run around time of the day.  It’s the time to do a “quick sweep” of all the craft supplies and fabric, actually look in the mirror and see what I look like, and get dinner started before my man walks in the door.  If time escapes me and he walks in to the disaster strewn everywhere (much like my hair), I find myself incessantly apologizing even before “I love you” is off my lips.

“Who cares?  Just come and lay on the bed while I change my clothes so we can catch up about the day.  We can get started on dinner together after that.”

That man sometimes…I tell ya…he doesn't even know how much his words are sent from Jesus.

So yeah, if you ever come over my house and the place is a wreck and we're eating cereal for dinner you can say to yourself "she chose love today."   Perfecting Christ’s love in my heart last a whole lot longer than that fancy recipe.