One More Month of "Normal"

Last November, we were living in NC for about a month and a half as Richard worked on his helicopter license. I started attending a MOPS (Moms of Preschoolers) group while we were there. It was very encouraging for me during that time and I met a lot of great women.

One very sweet young mom asked me a question that has stuck with me ever since. After learning of where we were going and what we were doing, she asked,

"But how do you make life "stable" for your little boy? We're working hard right now to provide a stable home and environment for our son... how do you do that in the Jungle??"

For a moment, I felt baffled because I didn't know what to say. Immediately, James 1.5 popped into my head: "Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives to all generously and without criticizing, and it will be given to him."

For wisdom I prayed. Hard. I wanted to answer well because I could tell she was really searching.

And as I opened my mouth I felt like the Holy Spirit was speaking through me with this answer:

"We will just raise him to know that the only true stability in life is Christ. Beyond that, nothing is stable. Our health, our home, our jobs, our vehicles... all of it can pass away. But Jesus... He's not going anywhere."

Here we are, less than 4 weeks out from our international move and I find myself in our last month of "normal". And I ask myself, "Is Jesus my stability? Am I OK without these "things"? Will I survive without my family and friends?"

And as each day passes, I find myself relishing each "normal" thing as it comes and goes:

A trip to the grocery store for a few things.
Rocking Elliott in his rocking chair and laying him in his crib-converted-big-boy-bed.
Folding laundry in the laundry room while Elliott plays with Capo (our boxer) in the back yard.
Facebook messaging with friends.
Trips to Chick-Fil-A, Moe's, and Target.
A text to my mom.
Loading the dishwasher.
Turning down the air conditioner.
Pulling out of the driveway.
Stopping by my mom's house.

All of these things and more have been my "normal" for my whole life. And now that I am in the last few weeks of them, suddenly the past almost four years of support raising don't seem like they were that long. Suddenly each thing that I used to just do seems like a luxury that I hold onto for a little bit longer:

Taking a warm shower.
Filling the water pitcher from the kitchen sink.
Cooking dinner.
Flushing the toilet.
Going to our home church.
Dinner with friends.

And it's emotional. But it's beautiful.

That seems to be the ebb and flow of this journey:

fun and hard
exhilarating and exhausting
exciting and challenging
up and down
old and new
beautiful and scary



The other night as I rocked Elliott to sleep, long after his eyes had closed and he slipped off to dreamland, I continued to hold him and think of all the memories contained in the four walls of this home turned house-almost-sold. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of opening wedding gifts in the living room, cooking meals in the kitchen, laughing as we watched movies on the couch, bringing Elliott home from the hospital, playing games in his bedroom floor and laughing so hard we cried over dinner with friends.

And again I felt the Holy Spirit whisper sweetly to my soul, "This is good. This is how it was planned and it is good."

I found a peace in my heart that I had missed before. Somewhere in all the packing and e-mail writing and planning and running-around-like-a-chicken-with-my-head-cut-off, I had missed this still small voice whispering to me all along saying,

"Those are the beautiful memories I gave you. I want you to cherish them and love them. But don't hold on so long you miss what I have in store for you next. It's beautiful, too."

And that's when I felt it for the first time. I've known for years that this was the journey we would take and I've been excited but for once I had an overwhelming peace that it was OK for this chapter to close. This one of security and comfort.

And I didn't get a peace that said this new chapter would be easy or comfortable. He didn't promise there would be no heartache or pain. But He said, "I'm with you. And it's beautiful. Trust me."

And I cried as I rocked Elliott, but the tears were tears of joy and praise that this Almighty God would look past my fears and doubts and worries and somehow allow little, faithless me to be a part of His work. And I felt so small and humble and weak, but He felt so big and worthy and strong.

So I choose to enjoy these little moments of "normal" until our "new normal" comes along.

And, though I will no doubt fail, I choose to let Christ be my stability.

Because He's not going anywhere.

What I Learned from Finding Nemo

What do you do with a two-year-old when it's storming outside?

Why, you curl up with a bowl of popcorn and watch "Finding Nemo", that's what!

That's exactly what Elliott and I did today while the earth soaked up the much needed rain pouring from the skies.

As I sat there with my little man watching this kids movie, I started to notice a theme. I'm sure most of you have seen it and you know that "Marlin" (Nemo's dad) is quite the worrier. All through the movie on his quest to locate his son, he is fretting and getting worked up when something doesn't look like it's going to work out. Meanwhile, his winsome friend "Dori" is always singing and swimming all around, completely optimistic that everything will in fact happen like it's supposed to.

Well, today God said to me, "Ashley, you are Marlin. And I want you to be Dori."

I am on this journey that God has chosen for me and I'm constantly being tossed about by worry and doubt all the while God is saying, "Enjoy NOW. It's what I've given you."

Jim Elliot, missionary martyr in Ecuador, once said, "Wherever you are, be all there."

Easy to say, very difficult to do.

Pray for us. This is a good, but challenging journey we are on, especially during this transition time.

Pray I can be a "Dori": enjoying the moment as I let God do what He does best--write a story that glorifies Him.

Thankful Thursday: This Little Guy

I am so thankful for this. little. guy.

Some days, being a "stay at home" mom is tiring. Some days, I just want an itsy bitsy little break. Some days are monotonous. But every day, this little guy makes me laugh. And every day, I am thankful for him. And every day, I wouldn't trade this life God has given me for the world.

The days are long, but the years are short. Gotta enjoy 'em while they last!!

That Was Kinda Nice

The other day, I was reading this really great (random) book that I found called How Do You Tuck In a Superhero? The author, Rachel Balducci, is the mom of 5 boys (and one girl now) and tells story after story of life with boys.

When I was done with the book (which I finished in just 2 days), I found myself teary-eyed and praying.

That's when it happened. I asked God for something in faith and I realized that I just don't do that very often. Usually, my prayers are pitiful little cries to "please do this" or "please don't do that". But this time was different.

This time, I straight up asked God to give me something. And it felt good to do it. That's when it hit me: that's how God wants us to pray. He wants us to trust Him and love Him enough to shoot straight with Him. And what's even more, He wants us to ask Him for the desires of our heart because if we're seeking Him, those desires will be from Him and it will please Him to answer them. (Got that?)

So I asked God for this: to give me the joy and the privilege to raise our family in the Jung|e. Where it's "dangerous" and "unpredictable". Where it's hot and tiring and lonely at times. Where we'll be learning new languages our home will be open to whomever, whenever. Where we'll no doubt have sickness and injuries. But where our joy will be full and our lives will be spent healing and teaching and serving.

And suddenly that's all I wanted and I found myself in tears asking God to find me worthy of such a great calling as to raise Elliott and whatever other children He may bless us with in the Jung|e so that they could grow up to see that we serve a BIG God who loves the |ndians just as much as us.

I sing a song with Elliott, you probably know it, called "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands".

I adapt the verses to say different things and one is: He's Got the Indians in the Jungle in His Hands.

My earnest prayer is that God will equip Richard and myself with the humility and servant hearts that are necessary to raise our children to know that we are all equal in God's eyes.... and that's a beautiful thing.
.

Don't Pray for Health or Wealth

I used to pray for Elliott like this:

"God, please protect Elliott. Keep him happy, healthy, and strong. Keep him safe and I pray that he will one day meet a beautiful, godly lady and that you'll bless him with a family and that they will serve you and live to be 100 years old." (Yes, I really did pray that he would live that long.)

I thought God would respond to that prayer a little something like this:

"Of course I will protect your precious baby boy. Of course I will keep him happy, healthy, and strong. Of course I will keep him safe and bless him with a wife and children and he will live a full and long life. I'll do that just for you, Ashley, my sweet child."

But, quite frankly, that's not what He said. Like, at all.

Since the day Elliott was born, I began a journey that has involved my whole being: mind, body, spirit, and soul (can I get a witness, fellow parents?). It's been tiring, challenging, encouraging, exhausting, fun, exciting, energizing, refreshing, exhausting, transforming, stretching... did I mention exhausting?

I think that more than anything, though, being a parent has begun a spiritual transformation in me that I never anticipated. Maybe that's been the main source of the feeling of exhaustion that I've faced time and time again.

Sure, the late nights and long hours in the beginning wear you down when you're up every hour, on the hour to those cries of hunger or thirst or that cry that you can't seem to figure out. Of course it pushes you to your physical limits when your husband, child, and yourself are sick and it's 3am on a house boat in the Amazon Jungle (ok, maybe that one's a little specific....) Who wouldn't be worn out after working all day then chasing a one year old all evening trying to get dinner ready and keep the house at least functional?

Physically, I get tired.

But it's those spiritual lessons, the ones that I seem to be in need of learning over and over again... those are what really take a toll. If I'm honest, though, I'll admit that it's not really the lesson that tires me. God's Truths don't exhaust me. His "yoke is easy and [His] burden is light." (Matthew 11.30) No, the part that wears me down is my pride, my wholehearted resistance at times to what His Spirit is saying to me. Things that, in my ignorance, I don't want to hear.

When I was praying for Elliott like I said in the above prayer, I longed to hear a response like the one I mentioned. I wanted so badly for God to tell me--promise me--that He would protect my child from hurt or harm. That He would keep him safe and make him happy.

So when His response instead was, "Pray according to My will, not your own." I was frustrated. This was my child that God had entrusted to me so I needed to know he would be safe.

Still God's reply each time I prayed that way was, "Pray according to My will, not your own."

I didn't understand. Shouldn't it be His will, too, to protect my baby? Shouldn't He want that too?

My mind goes back to the Gospels where Luke describes the scene in chapter 22 when Jesus is praying to His Father shortly before He was to be taken and crucified.

39. Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. 40. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” 41. He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, 42. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me;”

But He doesn't stop there. He continues:

"Yet not my will, but yours be done.”

Matthew gives us another insight in chapter 26. Jesus didn't ask God once, but twice:

42. Again, for the second time, he went away and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.”

So there it is. Jesus is about to face the most grueling death one can imagine. He was going to feel real pain--real, tormenting pain. Yet His prayer was, "Yet not my will, but yours be done." 

God spoke to me very clearly on this one evening as I rocked Elliott to sleep. It was almost as if He was looking at Elliott with me when I felt His Spirit say to me once again, "Pray according to My will, not your own."

Again, I didn't want to hear that.

Why was I so resistant?

Because I know what my will is. I know that if it were up to me, Elliott would never hurt, never cry, never be in pain... and neither would I. But I don't know what God has. I don't know God's plan for his life.

For a long time, I still refused to pray that way. I didn't want to let go because I was afraid that as soon as I did, something bad would happen. Something out of my control.

Then I took another look at the example that Christ gives us when He was praying to His Father. He didn't pray, thanking God for the pain He was about to suffer. He didn't pray that God would carry through with the plan. He prayed that God would take it away. But the key is, he went on to say, "Yet not my will, but yours be done."

It hit me. It's OK to pray that God protect my child and keep Him healthy... as long I'm willing to accept that He may not do that. And that is faith. That is faith because I'm trusting in the fact that God is good and God is sovereign. That indeed He does have a plan for Elliott's life and it's a good one. It may not look like what I have in mind, but if it were up to me, Jesus wouldn't have had to die on the cross. To my human mind, that's not fair.

But to God, it was good.

God sees the big picture. He sees a humanity that is utterly lost and broken. A people that need a Savior and redemption. A people that are empty and fallen. And He loved us so much that He didn't take that cup from Jesus but followed through so that you and I could know Him and the power of His resurrection.

And that is good.

So now, I pray differently. I don't pray for health and wealth for Elliott. My prayer goes a little something like this:

"God, thank you for this beautiful boy that you have entrusted to me. Thank you for loving Elliott enough to send your Son to die so that he has hope. Please use this little life to glorify You. Whatever that looks like, whatever that may be, I want his life to glorify You. I know that you have a plan for his life and that it's a good one. It may not be what I would choose, but it's a good one that will honor You. I want him to be healthy and strong and happy. Yet not my will, but Yours be done."

If I'm honest, I don't pray this every day. Some days I can't because I don't really mean it. I'm still holding on to my pride, thinking that I know what's best for him.

But each time God ever so gently reminds me of the beautiful story of a Savior who wanted the will of His Father more than His very life and the redemption that followed when He surrendered knowing that God's will was the best.

Thankful Thursday: The Grandparents

So, I only have 8 more working days until I officially become a stay-at-home mom and I couldn't be more excited! But I can't help but look back over the last year and think of how blessed we have been that Elliott has such great grandparents!

Cindy (Richard's mom) has watched Elliott nearly every weekday since he was 6 weeks old. I can't begin to express how thankful I am that she has been there to take care of him. It gives me such a great peace of mind knowing that he is in good great hands! Not only that, but she has taught me a lot as I navigate the waters of parenthood. She and Bruce (Richard's dad) have given of their time and resources to make sure he is well taken care of and to help expand his little mind.

And I kinda think they like it ;)

I'm so thankful that my mom lives close. So many times she has been there when I call feeling totally lost and overwhelmed, especially when Richard has been out of town. She's been such a great mom to me and her example, advice, and listening ear have helped me tremendously. Not to mention she always encourages me and helps me see the big picture of parenting!

Whether it's keeping Elliott for a few hours so Richard and I can have a date night, buying him a special toy, giving advice, or, most importanly, just loving him abundantly.... well, they're awesome!

And we are so thankful and so blessed.

From the Archives: Confessions of a Not-So-Super-Mom: Part Uno

This was written last year shortly after Elliott was born. I'll be posting Part Dos soon so wanted to re-post this one as a refresher before you hear more details of my awesomeness as a mom over the last year :)

I would say that I threw away all my parenting books, but the fact is I never bought them to begin with.

I didn't even crack the pages of What to Expect When You're Expecting and not once did I step foot into a Lamaze class. My only experience with children was the few times I'd held my out-of-town cousins when they were babies and I had been quick to pass them off at the slightest grunt or stinky diaper discovery.

I was destined to be a bad mom.

I got off on the wrong foot from the beginning when I gained ** lbs (yea, you wish you knew ;) during the pregnancy because I gave into my cravings for sugar and Taco Bell bean burritos and found it difficult to exercise with a growing waistline and waining energy level. I didn't take my multi-vitamins religiously and I was known to drink some coffee on more than one occasion.

Never once did I read to my child en utero and didn't bother to put headphones over my belly to fill his ears with Beethoven's 9th.

Surely my child was doomed.

I ate lunch meat without heating it and I'm certain I consumed some Crystal Light at some point during that 9 month stretch. I travelled out of the country twice and even did a 2,000 mile road trip at eight and a half months.

Someone should have called Child Protective Services and had them standing by.

As the delivery date approached, I was suddenly confronted with the controversy of hospital deliveries vs. birthing centers and didn't even know there was a dispute over epidurals.

Immediately I began filling my mind with all the things I had to do in order to be a "good mom" and ensure my child didn't become scarred for life in the first few moments after his delivery when he was surrounded by beeping machines and didn't make immediate contact with his mother's skin. I was convinced my child would arrive with only 7 fingers and possibly no toes at all given my lack of attention to what made for a "healthy" pregnancy.

Stories of superwomen who endured the hard labor pains like champs and didn't think twice--make that once--about anything to ease the pain consumed me as I convinced myself if I didn't do it that way, I was an indisputable failure as a woman. After all, we were "made to do this"!

You can then imagine my dilemma when my doctor suggested I be induced because my hips hadn't shifted. "Induction" is almost a curse word these days. The controversy is merciless. I nearly gave myself an ulcer before deciding to heed my doctors advice. After scheduling my induction I beat myself up wondering if I had done the right thing. My reasoning seemed to fall on skeptical ears when I would suggest that God had given doctors wisdom and my doctor had certainly gained more experience in this than I had.

This poor child.

So, I had made my decision but thought I would suffice those critics by going "all natural". Bring it on labor pain! After all, women had done it for hundreds of years and that pain was nothing for my steel resolve!

Until I hit 6cm, the contractions where a minute long every two minutes and I was told it'd likely be another 5-6 hours followed by 2 hours of pushing. At that point, I was on the verge of cussing if they didn't do something quick!

So an epidural it was and to make matters worse, I didn't feel a twinge of guilt as I lay there within moments of getting my "happy juice" free of the torment that I had endured only moments before.

What was wrong with me? I should have been guilt-ridden!

To top it all off, my son was stubborn as a horse and refused to drop. After 13 hours of labor came the dreaded words. The words that everyone had said would happened if I weas induced. The words that would "deprive me of my birthing experience". The words that would no doubt make my son a rebellious, D-student one day because his mother had failed to do what women were made to do.

I would have a cesarean section.

So they wheeled me to the OR, prepped me for surgery, and asked if I was ready. "Ready as I'll ever be," I thought to myself. Just minutes later I was staring at my little boy for the first time as the doctor held him in front of me. But within seconds he was taken to a little table to be examined, poked, and prodded. This child would no doubt be scarred. After all, he wasn't held by his mother for at least the first 45 minutes and who knows what was going through his mind. He probably thought he wasn't loved and immediately got a complex that was irreversible and.........................

Those were my thoughts.

But the moment I held that boy in my arms, those thoughts were out the window. Every one of them. He was perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes. His heart was good. His lungs were strong. He had survived and arrived a healthy baby despite my lack of following "the rules". Despite my lack of reading and class taking. Despite my worries and doubts. He had made it.

That's when it hit me. It wasn't me who was making this baby. It wasn't me who was calling the shots and forming his little body. It wasn't up to me how he arrived. There was a much Higher Power at work and no book reading or rule following could alter that.

I didn't go wrong with not following the modern day idea of the ideal pregnancy. Women had healthy babies long before these ideas and rules surfaced and the human race is proof of that. But where I went wrong was not having faith in the hands of the Almighty God. I doubted HIS ability to give us a healthy baby boy when I doubted my ability to carry him.

Sure there are important precautions that we should take. God did give us brains. But I learned a lot about pregnancy and being a mom and it didn't come from the experts. It came from holding that boy in my arms and realizing he was God's.

I just get the privilege of loving him as his Mama. And no expert mom or book can change that.

Thankful Thursday: Laughter

Yesterday was a pretty obnoxious day. My computer has been down for two days at work and that means I'm stuck scanning literally dozens of folders..... uuuggghhhhh. Boring.

Richard ended up needing to fly down to Muscle Shoals, AL last night to pick up some glue for the flooring of the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition house they are building here in Chattanooga so it was just me and the nugget for the evening.

There really wasn't anything special about the evening: playtime, dinner, bathtime (which did not go too well for some reason), and then it was story time.

I got the book out and was reading it to Elliott when he did his usual of sticking his finger up to my mouth. That usually means he wants to play so I acted like I was chewing on it. Now, this is not unusual and we play this game all the time but for some reason last night he thought it was the funniest thing ever!!

He gave the best belly laugh I have ever heard him do! Of course that set me off laughing and for the next ten minutes we were both just cracking up and enjoying our story time like never before!

Suddenly, my computer being down and all of the frustrations of the day seemed to fade away. Maybe laughter really is the best medicine... especially laughter from a cute baby boy!