With Astonishing Poise

The waiting is almost over.

For months we've sat with our hands clenched in our laps, holding our collective breath.  Way back in May, this day seemed ages away...and that was a good thing.  The challenges seemed overwhelming and the barriers unsurmountable.  There were hot, stinging tears and not a few moments of desperation.  (For both Norah and me.)

The desire and dedication were clearly present, but there is no way to simply determine your way through to conquering a new skill, especially that pesky kip.  Fighting gravity and your physical limits is a nefarious combination that can threaten to bring you to your knees, waving a white flag.

"I can't do it."  Resignation threatens with a groan.  "I quit."

But she hasn't quit.  Day after day, she stares at that chalk-covered bar and faces her foe.  Up on the bleachers I sit, helplessly willing her with every ounce of my own body to get it this time.  Sometimes she is still left dangling under the bar, pointed toes brushing the mat.  But more and more often, she finds herself up and over the bar, an infectious smile on her face and a growing confidence.  (I confess to having uncharacteristically whooped a few times, much to her embarrassment and delight.)

This weekend she has her first meet and the anticipation hangs heavy in our house, a painful mixture of hope and release.  She will still be my favorite gymnast whether she makes it through her routine or not,  but my stomach knots with anxiety, preparing myself for a potentially disappointed little girl who misses her own mark.

Knowing my Norah, she will walk out to the bars on Sunday, back straight and head held high with confidence.  She will salute the judges and leap from the springboard to the bar and defy her doubts, maybe making it through the flips and maybe not.  Regardless of the outcome, I am excited to see my girl finish just as she typically does, with astonishing poise.

And I'll learn a life lesson from one of my kids.  Again.

That's my girl on the middle beam, arms spread wide.

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Inspired by the words "anticipation" and "leap".  And the sweet girl in the picture above.

Under a Cloud

We sat, listening to the drumming of the raindrops on the roof.  After a week of rain, the ground was spongy, the sun was elusive and we were ready for a glimpse of the sky.  But still it poured.  And not the pitter patter of a springtime shower, but the thumping and thundering of a storm pent up, unleashing it's weighty burden on us. An unrelenting veil of water washed down over everything.

We laid in bed, praying for a break in the storm.  Not the deluge that gurgles through the gutters and sputters into the yard below, but a respite from this storm of our hearts.  This season of waiting out our own personal tempest has taken its toll:  sleep is elusive, tears burst forth unexpectedly and we're ready for a glimpse of a rainbow -- a reminder of God's promise that He hasn't forgotten us.

Under these clouds of doubt and worry, we weather the steady drips and drops of life.

Another bill in the mail...drip, drip.
Another trip to the grocery...drip, drop.
Another critical comment about our house on the market...drop, drip.

In spite of feeling like our prayers have gotten lost in the storm above, blown away and scattered in the wind, we are reminded again that God is good.  He will see us through this storm and His faithfulness is surer than any illusory rainbow; His reward for patience and endurance is more precious than a pot of gold.

Yesterday the rains persisted and we kept our umbrellas near at hand.  Today, however, the sun is shining and the clear sky nearly blinds our eyes.  In the same way, our storm will pass and on that day the piercing brightness of seeing God's goodness revealed will make every drip and drop worth it.  In fact, His radiance shining through our fragile gratitude will be a beauty to behold.

image courtesy of Unsplash, Creative Commons

The waters saw you, God—

    the waters saw you and reeled!
        Even the deep depths shook!
¹⁷ The clouds poured water,
    the skies cracked thunder;
        your arrows were flying all around!
¹⁸ The crash of your thunder was in the swirling storm;
    lightning lit up the whole world;
        the earth shook and quaked.
¹⁹ Your way went straight through the sea;
    your pathways went right through the mighty waters.
        But your footprints left no trace!
²⁰ You led your people like sheep
    under the care of Moses and Aaron.
Psalm 77:16-20

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Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - 315 words inspired by the picture above, the storms in Northern Colorado and our own stormy hopes.

Linking up with Trifecta - inspired by the word:  Rainbow 

3: [from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] :  an illusory goal or hope 

Recalculating

“Recalculating,” chirps Mechanical Myrtle from the GPS.  I groan, frowning as my destination disappears from sight in the rearview mirror.

“I think you were supposed to turn back there, Mom,” my son announces from the backseat.  “That’s the way Dad took us.”

“Yeah.  You missed it,” chimes in another voice, and I feel a twitch beginning in my right temple.  Taking a deep breath, I peer up at the glass-faced buildings, trying to get my bearings.  I’m a country mouse in the big city.  This is why I didn’t want to move.

“ ‘Calculating, ‘calculating,” sings my baby girl as I turn on my signal and wait to merge into the left lane.

“Shh, Sweetie.  Mommy needs to think.  You’ve been to Daddy’s office, but this is my first time.  I don’t even know what it looks like.”  According to the map, I was supposed to turn left.  Maybe I can retrace my path.

“Turn right in 100 feet,” Myrtle announces.  “Turn right.  Turn right.”

“I can’t turn right,” I mutter, “I’m in the left lane.”

“Recalculating.”  I fight the urge to scream while hot tears burn my eyes.  Blinking rapidly, I try to read a street sign as I drive past it.

“You went the wrong way,” squeaks another child from the back.  “Again.”

“Just give me a minute.  I think I can...nope.  That’s a one way street going the wrong way.  This is so frustrating.”

“There’s Daddy’s building again!  Turn here!”

“Arriving at destination...recalculating.”

“Hush, Myrtle.”

“You should pull in right there, Mom.”

“Hush, Buddy.  Let me drive, please.”

I swing into a parking space down the block and put the van in park.  As I turn off the ignition, the floodgates open and all the tears I had been holding back erupt.  

“Good job, Mom.  That’s Daddy’s office right there.”

Grabbing a tissue, I wipe my eyes and feel a little hand pat me on the shoulder.  With a quivering smile, I look back at my kids’ anxious faces.  Pull yourself together.  Take a deep breath.  “Okey-dokey.  Let’s let Daddy know we’re here.  I’m excited to see his new office.”

“With the purple wall!”

“With the purple wall.”

Back up ten months and you find me braced against the kitchen sink and wiping away similar hot tears.  My chest is tight, and my heart is sad.  His words echo in the silence between us.

“I don’t want to work there anymore.”  

I can see in his eyes that he is just as afraid as I am about what those seven words mean for our family.  Nodding, I want to allay his fears, to be strong for him, to assure him that we’ll be okay, but deep inside I feel my world tremble.  For ten years we’ve been in this community and for ten years he’s worked for the same company.  Ten years worth of memories and friendships.  Ten years to grow our family and put down roots.  But it’s been five years since the first stirrings of change:  the first road signs of discontent and a desire for something more.  

Five years ago, he brought up the subject of a new job and I’m ashamed to say I played the “what about the kids?” card.  While it’s true that I was anxious for our kids, I was actually more concerned about me.  Selfishly, I was happy with the way life was, even if it meant that my husband spent forty-plus hours a week at a job he didn’t like.  Couldn’t we be enough for him?  Can’t he just tough it out?

And now here we are again, having the same conversation, but I know in my heart that this time it will end differently.  For Brett’s sake, it has to end differently.  For the good of his family, he has been a faithful provider in a dead-end job for five years longer than he wanted to, and now it is time for a change.  It is time for him to have an opportunity to be satisfied and challenged in his job.  It is time for him to experience a sense of pride in himself and his work, and it is time for me to be brave for us both.

“I think that you should start scoping out your options.”  I gulp, hoping that he doesn’t hear the quaver in my voice.  “Of course, I hope that you’ll look for possibilities here in town,” I swallow hard before continuing, “but you need to feel free to pursue any prospect.”

“Cast the net wide.”

“Right.  Cast the net wide and we’ll see what God has planned.”  I can barely get out those last words; my throat constricts, and I clench my jaw.  What could be better than our life here, God?  Why would you ask us to give this up?  Relief washes over his face as he pulls me into his arms.  The sobbing starts, and I can’t stop. Life as we know it is recalculating.

The following months jumble together:  résumés sent, interviews scheduled, career changes made, boxes packed, tears shed.  In spite of feeling God’s peace about the decision to accept the new job, our future is foggy and we find ourselves second-guessing our choice.  Are we doing what’s best?  Did we hear You right, God?  Focusing on moving our family across the state, we begin chipping away at our lengthy to-do list and do our best to capture moments with friends and family.  All the details click together, every facet, that is, except for the big one:  the house.

We flip the calendar and find ourselves in the middle of summer with our home still sitting on the market.  Months ago we had envisioned ourselves, by this time, settling in to our new community.  Instead we twiddle our thumbs in our mostly-packed house and anxiously anticipate Brett’s weekly visit from across the state.  While he loves his new job, we don’t love the new family arrangement -- thirty-six hours a week with our Daddy is not nearly enough.  And yet, what can we do?  Daily we remind ourselves to wait, hope, and trust that God still has a good plan for us, even if it’s not the plan we would have designed.  If only we had a road map to follow.

After a month of living apart, I’m ready to accept a new strategy, a plan I had rejected earlier.  We recalculate life again and make plans to move into a rental, clean out the house, and hopefully let the dust settle before the kids start school.

“That top box will go up to the bunk bed room, but the other three will stay in the garage.”  I stand in the driveway and direct the movers as they deliver our almost-ten-thousand pounds of life into our much smaller rental.  “All of those dining room chairs stay in the garage.  And the table, too.  That box will go to the kitchen.”  

With each labeled box carted off the truck, I feel a tumult of emotions:  relief at having our family reunited and confusion about this u-turn in our plans.  Every carton that has a pink sticky-note is something we need for our temporary stay here, while the remaining boxes are stacked in the garage near our over-sized sofa and wait until our house sells and we buy something here.  Every cardboard box I unpack will have to be repacked in twelve months. Wasn’t there an easier way to do this?  Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?  I’ve no choice but to keep trusting that God is in the midst of this move and He will give me the courage to make this place our home, in spite of my own uncertainty.

Today I sorted the last of the “pink sticky-note” boxes.  We have the basic bits of life unpacked, and we’ve even hung some of our favorite art work on the walls.  With just a few personal touches, the living room reminds me that this is home.  The kids are setting down roots in school, and each day they walk home with new stories and new friends.  Our days have fallen into a comfortable routine, and I’ve mapped out new routes for shopping and errands.  We even have new cards at the library and fresh books on the shelf, ready to be read.  

Most importantly, I see my husband every morning and every evening, and the joy on his face when he recounts his day at work makes this crazy move worth it.  

Life is full of recalculations.  We can choose to stay on a dead-end road, driving straight to nowhere, or we can follow the road signs that God has placed in our path, even if it seems that at times we’re going the wrong way.  While I most likely wouldn’t have chosen this particular road we’re on right now,  I am grateful to be on this trip together.

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I wrote this for an essay contest with RealSimple, prompted by the theme, "A Time I Was Brave".  I would appreciate your feedback as I will be sending it off next week.  Thanks!

Awash in Change

My tears scare the kids.
Blame red eyes on shampoo.
Showers -- my haven.

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Linking up with Trifextra with a haiku.  Now, don't go worrying about me...we're 94% good.  The remaining 6% is why I'm so clean these days!

Doing It God's Way

Do you remember the Bible story about Gideon?  Here's the link if you want to zip over and have a quick read, otherwise I'll give you a little rundown.  When we first meet Gideon, the Israelites are in trouble and this "mighty warrior" is hiding in the winepress threshing wheat.  Hmm...looks like Gideon was lacking in the confidence department.  While all the people are hiding in the hills, trying to stay out of the way of the Midianites, God hears their prayers and sends a prophet to assure the people that He is taking action.  And that He intends to use Gideon to do the job.  (Not quite what Gideon had in mind.)

Over the course of several days, God convinces Gideon that He indeed intends to answer the prayers of the people and restore their homes to them.  Gideon (also apparently lacking in faith) requires a series of "proofs" from God; little tests to make sure that he hears God clearly.  God consistently directs Gideon and patiently endures his many questions and requests for proof, resulting in Gideon eventually taking God at His word.

Finally, Gideon rallies an army to fight off the Midianites; as a true mighty warrior he prepares to lead his troops into battle.  But now it's God's turn to make requests of him.  While Gideon stands proudly amidst his thousands of soldiers, God says quite simply, "There are too many of you.  If you win this battle, you will say that it's because of your strength."  In a matter of moments, God whittles down Gideon's great battalion to a mere three hundred men.  Gulp.  (Again, not quite what Gideon had in mind.)

And God's not done yet.

"You will send each man with a trumpet and a torch covered with a clay pot.  This is how you will drive out your enemy."

Can you hear the crickets chirping in the silence that followed that series of instructions?  (Most certainly not quite what Gideon had in mind.)  A trumpet and a torch against the swarming army down in the valley, equipped with all manner of weapons?  I'm quite certain that Gideon felt a bit squeamish and perhaps even a bit like he would much rather head back to his winepress and hide some more.

In the end, God's way works.  In the middle of the night, the small army surrounds the multitude of soldiers and when they blow their trumpets, shout and break the pots, the sudden noise and lights throw the enemy into confusion and they annihilate themselves.  (Not the battle Gideon had in mind.)

The Israelites are stunned and then they erupt in songs of rejoicing and celebration, praising God for the victory.  The victory that could only be traced back to God.  God had heard their prayers for help and then provided the help that reminded His children of His sovereignty and power.  And His love.

I've been identifying a lot with Gideon lately in the midst of our battle to sell our house.  While the Bible contains no details about the who and when of the buyers of our house, (trust me, I've been searching!) I do know that my God is faithful and true and He will not abandon us.  We know deep in our hearts that this move to Denver is God's plan for us, even if the process has been longer that we had anticipated.  (Not quite what we had in mind.)

Being planners, Brett and I had mapped out much of the summer and it included us settling in over in Denver and finding our feet before school starts.  We have watched the days slip by and now as we see the middle of summer behind us and the start of school looming in the nearer future, we cock our heads and scrunch our brows, puzzling at this place where God has us.  Treading water and waiting and wondering.  (Certainly not what we had in mind.)

But I know --- God is orchestrating the many details of our move and when the time is right, He will set in motion His plan and we will stand back as the pieces fall into place and say, "Wow.  Only God could have done this.  And only He gets the praise."

I would love to write this from the other side of the victory and have the whole story, but Gideon didn't have that luxury and he was still willing to stand with his trumpet and his glowing torch stuffed in a clay pot, trusting God.  Following in his footsteps, I will wait for God to work out His plan in His way and in His timing -- with a kazoo in one and and a sparkler in the other -- and then we will celebrate, unable to keep our praise contained!

(That's what I have in mind.)

En Pointe

"Okay, sorry about that.  What were you saying?"

"You know...never mind.  I know you're busy.  I can talk to you later."

"Hey, it's not a problem.  I got him a snack and I've locked myself in the bathroom.  What's up?"

"I was, uh, just calling to see how your day was going."

"Liar.  It's the middle of the day and that means you had to sneak out to make this call and you wouldn't do that just to say 'hi'.  Now out with it.  Before the little rugrat finds me."

"It's just that...I hate my job."

"Mm-hmm..."

"I am feeling more and more desperate for a change.  I've exhausted every opportunity for advancement here and I feel like God wants me to move on, but...It's like I'm in the midst of some dance and I don't know the steps.  A crazy combination of the limbo and the fox-trot."

"I'm sorry.  This is such a rotten situation."

"I spend all day wondering -- Do I quit?  Do I go back to school?  Do I stick it out?  My head is spinning."

"Hmmm...Do you remember that class we took with Madame Croix?"

"The dance class?  Uhm, yeah.  Isn't that where you tore your ACL?"

"Yes, but I also met Tom in that class, so it's had its redeeming qualities.  Anyway, I remember her going on and on about how ballet dancers, when they are pirouetting, have a focal point so they don't lose balance."

"Didn't she call it spotting?"

"Right.  Perhaps you need to do some spotting.  Get your focus back on Jesus and let Him work out all this dizzying future stuff.  Maybe write down Hebrews 12:2 and stick it somewhere you can see it often.  Uh-oh.  He found me."

"Tommy?"

"Yep.  And he really enjoyed his graham cracker.  Ugh."

"Thanks for hearing me out.  I'll let you go.  Call me later?"

"Thursday night.  Same time?"

"Yep.  Love you."

"Love you back.  Come here, little boy."

image courtesy of dalbera
(via Flickr Creative Commons)

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Linking up with Trifecta: 33-333 words inspired by the single word exhaust (to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely or to try out the whole number of <exhausted all the possibilities>.)

Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the picture above.

Beloved

Another 5 Minute Friday ... one word, five minutes, no editing.  Ready, set, go!

Beloved

Coming down from the sugar highs from yesterday, we encountered some bumpy landings.  Boxes full of notes from friends, cautious words carving out safe Valentine wishes.

"You're swell!"

"I think you're amazing!"

"Stay cool!"

But real love isn't this tidy and neat.  When we truly love someone, sometimes it's messy and hard.  Perhaps even a little yucky.

High expectations of romance comes face-to-face with the reality of life.  Instead of kisses, there are tears.  Instead of snuggles, cold shoulders.  Instead of warm words, stilted words hidden within sad sounds.

The biggest challenge faced is not being the lover, but being the beloved.  Because to be the beloved you must be willing to BE LOVED.

Be loved in spite of insecurities.

Be loved in the face of unknowns.

Be loved instead of turning away.

I'm grateful today for love that loves us ... even when we feel unlovable.

The Turquoise Umbrella

Ella leaned against the sink, scrubbing glued-on scrambled eggs from plastic plates.  It was two o'clock in the afternoon and the fact that she was just now tackling the morning dishes gives you an idea of the day she'd had.  Frustration fueled her scouring.

Over the gurgle of the running water, Ella thought she heard a knock.  She turned off the faucet and paused to listen.  Silence.  Grabbing two more eggy plates, she flicked the stream of hot water on and went back to work.  Knock, knock.  There it was again.

Ella turned off the water, listening.  Nothing except the gurgling of the rain gutters.  She looked over the back fence and watched the rain streaming from the ceiling of grey clouds.  "To have a few moments outside to enjoy this rain," she thought.  She eyed the slimy dishes and the crusted pan and sighed.  

Then she heard it again.  A faint knocking sound.  She grabbed a towel and tripped over a jumble of toys on her way to the front door.

"Who's there?"

A turquoise umbrella floated in mid-air and bumped against her screen door.  Perplexed, Ella looked toward the street wondering to whom this mysterious umbrella might belong.  She saw no one and nervously dried her hands.  She rocked on her feet a moment before deciding to investigate.

As she pushed open the screen door, the umbrella floated back a few feet and then stopped, bobbing under the covered porch.  Was this a trick?  A joke?  Where were the wires?  And the hidden camera?  Ella smiled, just in case, and reached out toward the wooden handle of the umbrella.  She half expected it to fly away, but it didn't.  In fact, the umbrella, seeming to sense her hesitancy, wafted toward her, slipping into her trembling hand.  

Immediately, Ella felt the heels of her slippers raise off the porch step.  Feeling just her toes on the ground, she gasped and let go of the umbrella.  She stepped back clumsily and reached for the doorjamb.  The turquoise umbrella bobbed, but stayed under the eaves of the porch.  Ella worried her lip and considered going back in the house, until she spotted something on the handle - a phrase etched into the wooden grip.  She took a deep breath and reached one hand toward the umbrella while squeezing the doorjamb with her other hand.

She pulled the umbrella toward her and read the carved letters:

A Heavenly Perspective.

Her heart skipped a beat as she loosened her grip on the doorjamb and grasped the turquoise umbrella.  She felt utterly weightless as she glided toward the street.  The falling rain cascaded around her, but she was protected under the canopy.  

She spotted several other colorful umbrellas hovering around nearby houses.  A yellow one drifted near the door of her neighbor.  Ella laughed at the look of surprise on the other young mother's face.  She waved as she ascended over the maple tree, soaring toward a patch of blue sky.

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To moms who ache to fly away ... and who hunger for the encouraging reminder that mothering matters.

Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt:  500 words inspired by a photograph of a sea of umbrellas.

Midnight Collision

Sitting on the floor in the dark, my right leg falls asleep.  The tingling prompts me to readjust my position.  I lean forward, rest my elbow on her bed and listen to her sorrowful heart.

Norah sits amid a jumble of sheets and talks in a voice too loud for this time of night.

"I just can't sleep.  I've been trying and trying for, like, three hours and I can't.  I'm so tired, but my mind won't let me."

"Shhh.  I know.  Lay down and I'll rub your back."  Again.

"I tried laying down.  Just like you told me.  I laid there and breathed and could feel my body start to melt and then my eyes popped open and it was like my brain said, 'Hey!  What time is it!?' and then I was awake again."

"I know.  Let's try it again."

"I did it and it didn't work.  It's been two hours!"

"Sweetie ... let's try once more."

Grudgingly she lays her head on the zebra pillow. Peeking at the clock, all I can see is the red glow against the wall.  She's turned those angry, accusing numbers away, attempting to dismiss the slow loneliness of her sleeplessness.

I attempt to encourage her ... you will fall asleep, you're okay, relax, Jesus is here, I'm with you.  Even in the dark those words shed no light on her restlessness.  Her frustration and anxiety are evidenced in her shaky voice and trembling hands.

"Lay back and let's count again."

"I counted back from 300 and it didn't work."

"Come on, Honey.  Lay down."

I stifle my own mocking yawn and lay my hand on her chest.  Her breathing rises and falls slowly and rhythmically.  I hear her whisper, "199 ... 198 ... 197 ...196"

There in the dark I come face-to-face with just how much Norah is like me and our mutual stubbornness challenges the quiet.  There on the floor I meet head-on the reality of my own selfish sleepiness as I long for the comfort of my bed.  There at Norah's side I collide with my limitations as a mom and I grieve the many challenges of life from which I will be powerless to protect my children.

Nestled between her numbers, "182 ... 181 ... 180 ..." I hide my own hopefulness.

"Jesus, be with Norah.  Bring peace and rest.  Quiet her heart and mind.  I trust her to you.  Again."

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Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt was the word "Collision".  This painful episode is true ... yet another moment in my mothering in which I wish I had learned the Vulcan neck grip.

small things {snuggles}

small things #49 ... snuggles

Poor little Lydia was tired.  She was running on fumes.  She was grumpy.  She was a mess.

Much of the day had been spent with me asking her to do things and her saying, "no".  Nothing wears me out more than a too-tired-to-obey toddler.

With an hour until dinner time, I decided to try to distract my baby girl with some snuggle time and maybe a book.  If we could burn up some time cuddling, maybe she wouldn't burn out entirely.

I headed for the futon and invited her to join me.

"No.  I wanna play a game."  Her eyes flashed at me.

"Come here first.  I want to give you a hug."

"No.  I wanna game."  She glared.

I patted my lap and asked her again.  "Come sit with me a minute."

"No!  I.  Wanna.  Game."  She stomped one foot defiantly.

I had an image flicker in my mind of the number of times God has patiently called my name and patted His lap, inviting me to sit with Him for a bit.  And all the times, I've stomped my feet and said, "No!  I wanna do my own thing."  In the same way that God knows what is best for me, I knew my girl needed a cuddle.

"Come here, please," I said more firmly.  Less of an invitation and more of a request.

Liddy's lower lip scrunched up and she squared her shoulders.  She wasn't coming willingly.  Her determined little chin quivered and she shuffled a few steps in my direction.

I softened my words and held out my hands to her.  She hesitated and then leaned into me.  Not quite on my lap, but close.  As I put my arms around her, I felt her body tense and she mumbled something about not wanting to sit with me.

I pulled her onto my lap.   And the screaming began.

For the next several minutes, she writhed, kicked, shrieked, growled and howled.  It was loud and awful.  She yelled, "Stop it, Mommy!" repeatedly as I sat there with one hand across her lap and the other hand rubbing her back.  As I "forced" her to cuddle with me, hot tears ran down her red face and her hair clung to her damp forehead.  I rocked her and whispered to her as her tantrum rolled.  (Yes ... this is the same sweet girl who held my hand as we napped.  ...sigh...)

Her older siblings each peeked up the stairs; worried, curious eyes asked silently, "what's wrong?" I smiled and nodded at them, trying to reassure them that Lydia was okay ... or at least she would be soon.  (I had mini-flashbacks to similar "cuddle" sessions with my other babies and the venomous faces they would make at me as I held them.  Not my most favorite mommy-memories.)

Soon, sweet Liddy's protests quieted, to be replaced by deep, trembling sighs and wet sniffles.  She buried her drippy face into my shirt and let me fill with love all those ugly, angry places she had emptied with her tears.

"You are a sweet girl.  You are kind.  You are loving.  

You are smart.  You are so strong.  

I love you and Daddy loves you.  

You are funny.  You are silly.  You are special.  

You are precious to me."

As she looked up at me with her teary, bleary eyes, we talked about how Mommy was the boss and how much I love when she does the right and helpful thing.  She nodded and answered, "Yes, Mommy."

Finally there was a smile and a giggle as I stole a few more snuggles and kisses.  Then she started in with squealing and laughter as I wrestled her for, "one more zerbert ... one more tickle ... one more smooch!"  As she scampered off my lap, she was a rejuvinated little person with her love-tank topped off.

Again, I was reminded of the renewal and refreshment that comes with putting aside my "I wanna do's" and sitting a bit with Jesus.  Why do I fight Him so?  Why do I dig in my heels and put up my wall?  Why do I throw my own little tantrum when He asks me to obey?

Without fail, my times spent with God produce the same peace and quiet.  He tops off my tank as well with words of love and truth.

"You are a sweet girl.  You are kind.  You are loving.  

You are smart.  You are so strong.  

I love you.  

You are funny.  You are silly.  You are special.  

You are precious to me."

Lydia spent the rest of her day blessing me with kisses and hugs.  She told me all about how much she loves "the people" (us) and how much "the people" love her.  She smiled and giggled shyly when I stole a kiss at bedtime.  The toddle transformation was tremendous!

Snuggles ... sometimes they're sweet and sometimes they're sweaty.  But they almost always yield a special intimacy.  With my kids and with God.