Hope Sure

Today I am writing while I am sitting next to my oldest son.  My other two are napping, and I’d really like for him to be napping, too, mostly for my sanity later on this evening.  But, he’s at the age where it’s hard to make him take a nap, so I’m settling for quiet time on the couch.

Before he climbed up next to me, he asked if he could play with his new train set.  After I told him he couldn’t because his siblings are napping and the train is loud, he said, “Mama, I hope sure I can play when they wake up.”

He’s been saying things like that a lot lately.  “Mama, I hope sure I can have a Christmas cookie for snack.”  Or, “Mama, I hope sure Baby Jesus can come to Bethlehem soon.”

Usually my kids mixed-up vocabulary causes giggles in our house.  But this one has me thinking.  It reminds me of a discussion we had in Bible class not too long ago about the use of the word hope.  The Greek word we translate as hope, according to our Bible study leader, is more of a confidence of what will happen.  It’s like saying, “Hope sure.”

The writer to the Hebrews says, “Now, faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”  (Hebrews 11:1)  This is the kind of hope we need to have.   God promises us many blessings, and we can HOPE or we can hope that they come true.

After the tragedy that took place this last Friday, I’ve been praying a lot more for our country.  I am praying that God comforts the families who lost loved ones.  But I am also praying that he use this as an opportunity to bring more people to him—to give those people HOPE.

“I know that my Redeemer lives and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.  And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.  I myself will see him with my own eyes—I and not another.  How my heart yearns within me!”  (Job 19:25-27).  This is the HOPE that all believe in Jesus have.

Playing with Trains

My house is quiet right now.  It’s a rare occasion to have all three kids napping at the same time.  Of course, my four year old is only staying in bed because I bribed him.  (I admit it.  He’s battling a cold and needs to rest.) 

A friend of ours gave us a train to go under the Christmas tree last night.  My husband and I did a pretty good job of sneaking it home without the kids noticing it.  Unfortunately, we forgot it in the back of the van last night, and my two oldest discovered it this morning.  My four year old begged me to play with the train instead of go to school.  I took it out of the van and put it in the shed with the promise that we would get it out after nap time, as long as everyone stayed in bed during nap time.

Now, my son is laying in my bed, patiently listening to “soft music” (the classical station), waiting for the radio to turn off so he can jump out of bed and get the train out of the hallway.  Putting it mildly, he’s eager for nap time to be done.

This Advent season, I have had a hard time getting into the “eagerly waiting” spirit.  Normally, I love decorating the house, baking, and making Christmas gifts.  This year though I have been more than willing to let my husband put up the tree and hang the lights and the stockings.  (I have managed to do a little of the baking.)  I can’t pinpoint the specific cause for my lack of enthusiasm this year; suffice it to say I’m giving into my sinful nature.   Watching my children has helped me—they are overly excited to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in a few days.  And now, seeing how excited my son is to play with this unexpected gift, it’s really starting to hit home.

Jesus isn’t an unexpected gift to us.  God promised us thousands of years ago he would send a Savior to crush sin and death for us.  He did.  We are now waiting for our Savior’s second coming.  He is coming to give us the rest of the promise—a home in heaven.

My son is now standing next to me, a large box of trains in hand.  His eager expectation is that I will help him play with trains.  I pray that I am as eager for our Lord’s second coming.

My Help Mate

Part of the reason I haven’t blogged in so long is that we’ve been doing some serious traveling lately.  When we travel I like to leave my house clean (cleaner than normal clean, even), mostly so when I come home I have one less thing to do to get back into our routine.  My husband knows this about me, and after 5 years of traveling on holidays and summer vacations, he still loves me.  Here’s how I know.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, we were getting ready to go visit my Aunt and Grandma in Michigan.  We were both really looking forward to this trip, as we like to get away from the fast-paced craziness of living 12 miles from the Nation’s Capital.  However, we had also both had a crazy week (all two days of it), and our house looked like Santa’s toy sack exploded in a mountain of laundry.  As I was chasing my two-year-old out to the van after school that day, I overheard my husband telling one of the parents, “We have to go home and clean before we go.  Leigh likes to come home to a clean house.”

And clean the house we did (after putting the three kiddos to bed).  We vacuumed and folded laundry, put away dishes and packed suitcases.  My husband didn’t even roll his eyes when he found me sorting toys in the basement.  Instead, he simply asked, “What can I take upstairs?”

I knew when we were married that I would find more and more reasons I love my husband.  This is one way he showed me how much he loves me.  And I am so grateful that God gave me such a wonderful help-mate.  I pray that God helps me be such a blessing to him.

 

Expectations

Yesterday I got to go grocery shopping all by myself.  I can’t remember the last time that happened.  It was such a treat to be able to compare prices without having to worry about someone running off or crying or needing to go to the bathroom. 

On the way home, I was thinking about what I would find my husband and three kids doing when I arrived.  In what must have been a euphoric delusion, I imagined I would find the older kids playing with their Daddy in the front yard as the baby lay on a blanket in the sun.  The breakfast dishes would be in the dishwasher, and a load of laundry would be running in the washing machine.

Then I snapped back to reality.  I can’t even manage to get those things done most mornings.  How should I expect my husband, who is not as practiced as am I in dealing with three kids at one time, to accomplish more than what I can get done in two hours?  I chuckled to myself when I got home and found a crying baby, a sleeping two-year-old, a pile of dishes on the counter, and my husband putting grades in his grade book.

I obviously have unrealistic expectations sometimes.  Numerous times, in fact.  Usually I place these unrealistic expectations on myself or my husband.  And when I do that, the results are calamitous.  I’m almost always disappointed:  I didn’t accomplish as much as I wanted; I didn’t exercise; my husband didn’t come home with flowers in his hands for me.

But, recently, I was reminded that God sometimes wants us to have unrealistic expectations.  He wants us to pray boldly and trust that he will answer boldly.  As I was driving him to school this last week, I prayed that God would give my husband an AWESOME day.  I hesitated.  That seemed like too much to ask, as my husband had stayed up late correcting, been up several times during the night with a restless daughter, and rose early to get ready for a meeting.  But, I realized that if I didn’t ask God to bless him with an awesome day, I would be putting limits on God.  And so, I offered up my prayer, and asked God to help me pray more boldly all the time.

Now, I’m not seeing grand miracles every day.   But, God did answer my prayer that day.  He blessed my husband’s day at school.  And, he has helped me to trust that he has the best answers to all my prayers.

Evolution

Anyone who knows me knows that I am entirely against evolution.  I spent 5 years teaching students about it, from the perspective that they should know what they would be facing in the world.  To them (and me also) it was difficult to understand how anyone could doubt the miracles of this Earth were created by our wonderful Heavenly Father.

As a mom of three, I have discovered a new reason why evolution can’t be true.  Perhaps you’re thinking I’ll say, “The births of my children are so miraculous.”  Or perhaps, “Who else but God could design such a wonderful little body.”  But, here’s the real reason:   I don’t have eight hands and eyes in the back of my head. 

Lately my two oldest have been doing their best to cause trouble and make a mess whenever I sit down to feed the baby.  For example, last week, after feeding the baby, I came out to the kitchen to find my daughter in the refrigerator.  “What are you doing?” I asked.  As she turned to look at me, guilty expression and all, I noticed three sticks of butter with finger gouges and bite marks.  “EWE!!!  We don’t eat butter!”  “Yes we do, mama.”  (Okay, she got me there.  We do eat butter.  But, we had a discussion about the right way to eat butter.)

The next day, I had another moment of wishing I were OctoMom (eight-handed, that is).  As I was getting the two youngest out of the van at my oldest son’s preschool, he decided to walk himself in to school.  This included walking across a busy parking lot at the peak of drop-off time.  And, as I watched a car quickly slow down to wait for him, I wished I had an extra set of hands to grab and hold on to him.

Amazingly enough, God has decided that two hands and two eyes are sufficient for all of us.  And, as I learn how best to manage my brood, he gives me an even greater comfort.  He is with me.  And my kids.  He’s watching out for all of us, keeping us safe, healthy, and connected to him!