WHEN THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD

I struggle with entitlement in many areas of my life.  Let me just come right out and say this often includes driving.  I feel like I have a right to get where I am going in a certain amount of time and how dare all of those other drivers get in my way.  Don't they know that children are screaming in my car and I am probably running late because of the unforeseen opportunity to change an exploded diaper?  Or because I didn't get up in enough time out of laziness?  Both reasons should be totally valid.

Let's transfer this entitlement attitude to the drop-off line at Lily's school.  Most mornings we arrive between 7:45-7:50, and the line is not long at all and moving very quickly.  It is always single file at this time.  However, if we arrive after 7:50, it is a bit more clogged, because school starts at 8, so the pressure is on.  There is room for two lines of traffic, but most people still end up using just the one lane, forming one longish line.

However, I realized a few weeks ago that some people try to use the second lane in the mornings, which actually just cuts everyone else.  At first I thought they were heading around the line to park and walk inside, which is obviously totally valid.  After carefully watching (because I can be a psycho about stuff like this), it dawned on me that no, those people were just taking advantage the extra space to cut off everyone else as they merge.  It made me irrationally angry, and I vowed to myself to never let anyone drive around me again.  A completely rational response.

Friday morning, we got there around 7:52, and the line was backing up a bit.  I decided to camp out right in the middle and not allow anyone to pass.  Apparently I was feeling entitled and high justice, because even when someone started honking at me, I stayed put and continued driving right down the middle.  Quite frankly, the honk didn't even bother me, because I felt so completely justified in what I was doing.

Fast forward about 2.5 minutes, because in reality, the whole thing does not take long at all.  Lily is hopping out of the car, and I am beginning to pull forward when I realize that there is a woman standing right outside of my window waving at me.  I swallow my shock and roll it down.  She goes on to inform me that she was honking at me to get out of the way.  I told her that I didn't want her to go around me.  She said there are two lanes and I should understand that I was breaking the system and would cause other people to be late.  I told her that I understand how it is supposed to work.  She walked away.

Neither of us was rude - though it could be argued that both of us had been rude in our actions leading us to that moment.  My heart was pounding in my brain as I drove away from the school.  I was so taken aback and a bit flabbergasted.

Several things hit me as I pondered this encounter throughout the day.  First off - I probably need to just stay in the right lane and allow myself to occasionally be passed.  In the grand scheme of the morning, it really only costs seconds - maybe a minute or two.  While those time increments can feel gigantic to me, they are not, and I can put other people before myself, even when it feels like they are disregarding everyone else.

That issue comes down to me dying to self a little more each day, each moment.  I quite liked sitting in the middle of the drive, controlling the line in my own little (or rather imposing) way.  But, that is not the job God has given me in life.  Every other driver on the road represents a soul - a real, live person who will live forever in eternity.  I can acquiesce my rights to others - even if they have no idea what I am doing.  I know, and God knows, and that is what matters.  Easier said than done.  Only ever done by God's grace.

The second issue that I grasped within moments of driving away is the fact that that woman and I were NEVER going to see eye to eye.  Even if we had an hour to sit down over coffee and thrash this out, we were not going to agree on how the car drop off line should work.  We come at it from fundamentally different places, and though our exchange lasted less than 30 seconds, no amount of time would have brought us to agreement.

How much of life is like this?  Far too much.  How guilty am I?  Far too guilty.  I want to explain without having to listen.  I hate being misunderstood, but I am willing to make snap judgments without all of the facts.  All of this comes so naturally, and without the Holy Spirit, I am powerless to change my responses.

Every day, there are new opportunities where the rubber of my faith has to actually meet the road of my day to day life.  Somedays, I can keep on driving and live with more of God's grace.  Other days are like giant train wrecks of self and sin and wanting to do it all my own way.  I don't have a pretty little bow to put on this, because it feels messy, and I fail at it so often.

LATELY: HIGHS & LOWS

This day has gotten a bit harried.  It started off with having someone confront me in Lily's school drop-off line (more on that at a later time), and it kept going with William crying all the way to therapy because I had taken away the water cup that he had been deliberately throwing and spilling all over our house.  This afternoon I am so excited to be going to the IF Gathering.  I just have to get there . . .

Here's a quick run down of some of our highs and lows!

High:  We've had a fair bit of sunshine in the past couple of weeks, which warms my soul in the winter.  I also love the way it streams through our front windows in the late afternoon.



High:  Eating some lunches and dinners at CFA.  John typically works one night a week, and we always eat dinner there on that night.  We also stop in randomly for lunch.  Seeing daddy at work and knocking out a meal time all at once is how we like to roll.

(We also like to walk through the kitchen and say hi to all the employees in the back.)

Low:  The twins are just at a hard stage.  They are CONSTANTLY making mischief and messes, and I cannot keep track of it.  They are also getting more teeth, so Violet is back to being a drool fountain.  William keeps his hands in his mouth most of the time trying to touch the new teeth.  He gags himself doing this more often than not.  He has actually spit up several times doing this, and Violet thinks its funny, so then she will start gagging herself.  There have been many occasions recently where both twins are gagging themselves as we are driving.  It always feels like exactly what I need at that moment.  (sarcasm font)

This is from a couple of days ago when I found V rummaging through the trash can and eating a few chip crumbs out of the bag.  Delightful.

High:  When Violet insisted on wearing John's sports coat.  Seeing her walk in this was priceless, truly.  I only wish the picture did it more justice.

Low:  Wednesday night was a low.  There was a lot of poop.

High:  Going to gymnastics with lots of friends.  I'm so grateful to be able to hang with friends as our children do gymnastics at the same time.  I caught this sweet moment with Lily and her friend.

High:  We had a great Superbowl Sunday last week where we managed to eat lunch with friends and play in the rain and then party with friends for the big game.  I made a cookie cake for the first time, and it was a hit!



(you can see William trying to get at his teeth in this picture.)


High:  Last night, Lily lost her first tooth!  It had been wiggly for a long time, and last night, when I asked if she wanted to pull on it, she asked me to pull it out for her.  So I did.  She didn't cry or whine or complain a bit - she was just so excited!

Low:  Then I realized that I had done no preparation for being the Tooth Fairy - even though I had plenty of warning.  I put pressure on myself to make things "magical," which is a bit psychotic, and I felt disappointed in myself that there was no glittery stationery for a cute note or any thing else.  I did let all of that go and come back to our current reality where I just haven't made time for all things.  We did manage to rustle up some gold dollar coins, which she was delighted with this morning.



Hope your week was good and that your weekend plans are something to look forward to!

THE HARDEST JOB EVER

Someone once told me that you should determine the number of children you want to have by first determining the number of children you want to serve.  Because that is what you do for your children.   You serve them and love them and pour out your everything for them.  And they take all of it, without question and often, without thanks.

Tonight unraveled slowly and then all at once.  We got home from therapy right at 5, and I started trying to put dinner on the table.  I changed plans midstream.  Then, I decided to sort of make up what we were having (black bean quesadillas with butternut squash), and it took longer than I imagined it would - probably since I kept changing my mind.

I was letting the girls watch TV, so they were mercifully occupied.  The babies have no interest in television, so they were roaming around looking for trouble.  This mainly took the form of William opening drawers/cabinets and emptying the contents at full speed and full volume.  He LOVES the sound of a large plastic plate or tote hitting the kitchen floor.  I love it less.  Violet was joining in on the fun where she could by rummaging through the trash can.

This made dinner prep super fun for all involved.  We did manage to finally sit down.  And - it was tasty, so that was a bonus.  Violet got sick of eating pretty quickly.  She can now get out of her chair and wander around our banquette, which she promptly did.  Then she got down and came over to beg food from John and I, even though it was exactly the same food she had just abandoned on her own tray.

As I looked down, I realized that there was poop overflowing out of her diaper and up her back.  We weren't sure how long it had been there or where else it had been.  John and I left the table to try to clean her up.  Meanwhile, both girls were talking about how they didn't like grapes (not true) and how their stomachs were so full that they might explode like Violet's diaper.  When I went back to check on everyone, I saw that Lily was standing on the bench and that her skirt was covered with Violet's poop, since she had helped Violet get down.

John and a cleaned up V came back to the kitchen where he and I went right on eating our guacamole.  John kept saying, "I am still smelling poop."  After looking over Violet again, we couldn't see any, but then we looked down.  Somehow, we had managed to miss the giant pile of poop in the middle of the kitchen.  The pile that both twins had been walking through.

As Violet bent down to pick some up, we scooped her up for another cleaning while she screamed in protest.  As it turns out, she doesn't like having poop wiped out of her mouth.  Go figure.  Lily appointed herself for the task of walking through the house to see where else poop had been tracked.  Bella sat at the table continually talking.  William walked around looking for something else to mess up.

All in all, we were ready for bedtime.  Really ready for bedtime.  Because I am an awesome parent, I asked Lily if she could put PJs on Violet, not knowing if that was something she would be capable of for several reasons.  As she tried to wrestle Violet into footie pajamas, she said, "This is the hardest job ever!"

Parenting really is one of the hardest jobs ever.  Doing it well is even harder.  And after all of that, we still had to clean up dinner and start a load of poopy laundry.  The work is unending, truly.



Bottom line - I'm thankful that I'm only serving four little blessings at this current time.  I can see that it is sanctifying me on every level.  I have to constantly die to myself and lean on the Lord.  I do not naturally reach the right conclusions or have the right attitudes.  But - by his grace and strength, I can keep going and keep serving and keep loving.  It's worth it.  All of it.  I'm thankful to be able to do the hardest job ever.

NEW SERIES ON RACE

Last summer, I blogged a bit about how I didn't know what to say about Ferguson.  I still can't sum up anything concise, but the conversation about race has been a rather constant one in our home since that time.  On Friday night, we went to see Selma, which was really, really good.  Afterwards, instead of heading home, we went out to debrief the film over a beer and Pizookie (cookie "pizza" with ice cream).  I think most conversations would be better if had while consuming those things - don't you think?

In case you haven't seen Selma, I want to highly recommend it to you.  It is the true story of a protest march from Selma, Alabama to Montgomery, Alabama with the goal of helping to gain black voting rights.  I had never heard the story - or if I had, I did not recall it at all.  It is amazing.  Both John and I felt like it did a really fair job of depicting the fact that though Martin Luther King, Jr. was not a perfect man - he was a hero.  It managed to paint a gripping picture of the complex issues of that day and gave the stories of the brave people who stood up to do something about it.  Parts of it are very hard to watch, and they should be.  It is difficult to realize that all of this happened during my parents' lifetime.  It is really recent history.

As I said in the post about Ferguson last summer, this issue has become very personal.  When we started our adoption process, we knew we would be adopting black children.  We thought they would be African, and instead, God gave us African-American children.  Those are actually pretty different things, in all reality.

We were prepared to visit Africa and embrace the culture of Ethiopia, and we looked forward to it.  We thought we would have only a small part of their personal history and that connecting the dots for them would be a challenge.  Instead, God brought us children with a birth family nearby and now in our lives.  We know a lot of their history, and because they are African-American, we are now working to embrace that culture.  

To be really honest, I think this is harder.  It comes with personal bias.  We all have our own narrative with racial issues, and especially here in the South, it is usually complex.  But - it is critical that we do this and do it well.  I recently read this article about 3 black adoptees who were raised in white families who all felt like their families tried to raise them with "colorblindness," basically ignoring their race.  They all craved to understand their roots, and I can see that if we as parents don't do a good job of really understanding what is means to be African-American in our day and time, then we would do our children a massive disservice.

I've also realized that it takes a lot of humility to do this work.  I have to lay down things that I've always assumed.  I have to be willing to listen with an open heart and mind to really hear.

I'm going to do a series of posts as we continue through this journey.  John has already agreed to write several, and I'm hoping to solicit a few guest posts as well.  It is a vulnerable place to write from, and I'm sure that I will get many things wrong along the way.  But - I feel like it is worth the time, effort and emotional energy.  Thanks for reading along.