Pulling off the upset

Every year at this time, my husband and I have a little rivalry.  We each fill out our NCAA March Madness brackets, and, even though we don’t really wager anything, we still like to see who comes out on top.  Fortunately, his spring break usually lines up with the first few rounds, and so can devote our attention to the numerous basketball games.  This year, it seems, neither of us picked enough upsets.  Of course, I’m still doing better than him.  :0)

Oddly enough, this time year is also a celebration of one of the biggest upsets ever.  To the sinful world, it looked like an upstart was being put in his place by the number ones of the time.  It even, for a time, appeared that he lost.  But truth be told, Jesus’ death was a victory.  And he loudly proclaimed the upset victory on that first Easter Sunday as he rose from the dead.

When Florida Gulf Coast beat Georgetown in the first round of the NCAA tournament, many thought it was a miracle.  And, as admissions to the young university are up 400%, it is quite a blessing to their campus family.  In the same way, Jesus’ upset—his victory over sin and death—is not just a miracle.  It is a continual blessing for all of us.  We know we have the confidence of life in heaven.

In our American culture, we love to cheer for the underdog.  Watching the little guy come out on top gives all of us hope.  This Easter, though, let’s celebrate the biggest upset by sharing our confidence!

“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 will I 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

Kings and Queens

Today, I get to watch my friend’s daughter.  She’s about the same age as my oldest, and they are good friends.  I’ve been privileged to watch them grow up together since they were about one.  When they were little, I’d take them for walks to the park and people would always ask if they were twins.  I always enjoyed watching the confused looks as I replied that, no, they are actually about six and a half months apart.

Today, though, I’m noticing how different they are.  My friend’s daughter wants to play King and Queen, and so does my son.  But, Miss M. is insisting they get married, while Mr. N. is content to walk around and turn all the bad witches and wizards into fish.  It’s fun to hear them as they work out compromises or use “threats” to get what they want.

It has me thinking, though, about my own, very real, marriage.  Sometimes what I want is not at all what my husband wants.  Maybe it’s something as trivial as what we will have for lunch.  Or, maybe, it’s something much more important, like how we save and spend our money.  Either way, how am I at being respectful of my husband’s wishes?

Ephesians chapter 5 instructs husbands and wives on how to live with each other in a God-pleasing way.  Paul tells husbands to love his wives, but he tells wives to respect their husbands.  So, I am really doing a good job of respecting my husband?  Do I let him know how much I respect him?

I’ve been reading a book lately that has helped me to see that, even if I do respect my husband, I need to be more overt about it.  I need to tell him daily.  At first, this was hard for me.  It was hard to put into words what I respect about my husband.  But, as I thought more and more about it, I came up with quite a list.  And, each day, I’ve been trying to remember to share those things with him.

Now, lest you think I’ve been brainwashed into a draconian lifestyle, the book also offers advice to husbands on how to love their wives.  But, the author encourages spouses not to wait for the other to act.  And so, I’ve decided to start.

Whose kids are those, anyway?

This morning, as we were being ushered out of church, my two oldest decided to high-five as many passing people as possible.  As church had gone well over an hour, I gave them some leeway in their behavior, allowing them to actually step into the aisle.  Being kids, they took full advantage.  As they proceeded to push further and further toward the front, my husband whispered, “Whose kids are those, anyway?”

Indeed.  About once a week, I feel like asking that question as I try to find the words to apologize for my children’s apparently rude behavior.  Of course, they are still kids and are trying to learn how to behave respectfully and politely toward their parents, other adults and their peers.

However, at times like these, I am often reminded of some advice that my Dad gave my Mom early on in their parenting career.  She wasn’t mortified by our behavior, but was worried about how sick one of us was.  My Dad told her that we aren’t really their kids.  We’re on loan from God—we’re really his children.

Approaching parenting from that perspective keeps me mindful of my practices as a parent.  Am I enforcing a nap for the good of my kids or so I can have some peace and quiet?  Do I skip Bible story time because they are so tired or do I keep them up for an extra five minutes so they can hear God’s word.  Do I remember to pray with them and for them morning, noon and night? 

These are just a few of my more recent struggles as a parent.  I am sure, however, that many more dilemmas will come my way as they grow.  And yet, I can be confident that I will make the right decision.  Not because I had such a fine example or because I’m learning how to be a better parent.  I know that the decisions I make will be the right ones as long as I ask God to lead me to the right choices and then bless them.  After all, I’m raising his kids!

Inspiration

I have had a bit of writers' block lately.  I think it’s mostly because I’ve been too busy to clean.  That’s almost always when I have “aha!” moments.  For me, there’s just something about cleaning that gets my creative juices flowing.

I think it started when I was a kid.  My parents made my two brothers, my sister and me do the dishes after dinner.  We would pretend that we were working for the evil queen and king.  (Sorry Mom and Dad, but I’m pretty sure you already knew that.)  We knew that if we didn’t scrub the dishes spotless we would be sent to the dungeon.

Another of our favorite games was to pretend that we were orphans.  (I think this stemmed from a love of The Boxcar Children books.)  We would go to the park down the street and build forts in the woods so we could live without our parents who had tragically died.

Fortunately for me (and I’m pretty sure my siblings would agree), our parents were neither the evil king and queen nor did they succumb to some tragic demise at an early age.  Instead, they were and still are a fantastic example of Christian love.

My parents modeled for me and my siblings what it means to be a Christian spouse.  I know they fought.  And, from my perspective, it’s good I know they fought.  That way I learned how to “fight fair” with my spouse (not that we EVER disagree!).  But the fighting is not the dominant memory I have of my parents.  I remember my Dad reaching across in the van to hold my Mom’s hand while we were driving places.  I remember my Mom waking up early and staying up late to clean the house so we could entertain my Dad’s friends.  And I remember seeing them read the Bible together at night before bed.

They also showed me how to be a Christian parent.  They made sure we were all brought up know who Jesus is and how much He loves us.  They sacrificed so we could attend Lutheran elementary and high schools.  And they disciplined us when we needed it.

And they continue to display a life of Christian love.  They are both teachers—one at a Lutheran elementary school and the other at Lutheran high school—and they dedicate their time to helping their students thrive.  They still help their kids, too, by being as involved with their grandchildren as they can be.  In fact, this morning, my parents took advantage of a snow day to Skype with me and my three kiddos.

I am thankful for the wonderful example my parents have set for me.  I pray that their inspiration will help me be an inspiration to my children, too (even if they think I’m a wicked queen for a while!).

Excuse me ma'am, your baby is crying

Today my four (and a half, as he insists)-year-old greeted me out of the shower with, “Mama, I riped my own carrot!”  No, that’s not a typo.  He refers to peeled carrots as “riped.”  He was quite proud of himself for getting the carrot out of the fridge, finding the peeler and peeling it by himself for a snack.  I was proud, too, that he took the initiative to solve a problem.

Most of us are proud of ourselves for being able to do things on our own.  I rarely read a Facebook entry from a mom bragging about all the help she had from friends doing the laundry.  (Although, many post grateful thank-you’s when such help unexpectedly arrives.)  I am guilty of this, especially when it comes to my kids.  I feel proud of myself for toting my three kiddos to BJ’s, Wal-Mart, church and school.  Last Friday, though, I really realized how true the statement “It takes a village” really is.

We had to stop at BJ’s to pick up my new glasses.  As my two-year-old is (FINALLY) newly-potty trained, I decided a bathroom visit was in order.  However, I had made the mistake of taking my infant son out of his car seat to give him a little freedom.  So, in the bathroom, I had to strap him to the changing table as I helped my daughter go potty.  Of course, the family bathroom at BJ’s has automatic flushing toilets and a VERY loud hand dryer.  So, my daughter started loudly protesting the toilet and my oldest son started trying to escape the bathroom before the hand dryer turned on.  Meanwhile, my baby decided to share with the whole store how unhappy he was at being strapped down.  As I was frantically trying to persuade my son to stay in the bathroom, I heard a knock on the door.  “Excuse me, ma’am.  I heard your baby crying.  Are you okay?”  At this point, I was ready to dig a tunnel and escape from BJ’s with my noisy bunch in tow.  However, as I assured the nice stranger we were quite okay, I realized how wonderful it was that someone cared enough to make sure something horrible hadn’t happened to me, leaving my children screaming for help.

Recently I was diagnosed with post-partum depression.  When my doctor told me I needed to get some help, I inwardly laughed.  “She doesn’t realize how far away our families live.  My husband is so busy at work, and I have to keep working to help pay the bills.”  Fortunately, my husband helped me see that not only my sanity but our whole family’s was at stake.  And God has blessed me, as always, with many people in my life who are helping me out.

Isn’t that why God gave us people in the first place?  In Genesis chapter 2, God tells us he created Eve because “no suitable helper was found” for Adam.  God knew Adam wouldn’t be able to go it alone, so he gave him some help.  And, God showed us the blessings that come from good friends.    When the lame man’s friends saw his need, they took him to Jesus through a hole in the roof.  Jesus forgave his sins and healed him.  And, it doesn’t even need to be friends.  We can be like the Good Samaritan and help someone we don’t even know.  Just like the nice lady who, over the bathroom stall at the mall yesterday, handed me a $5 bill and said, “I know what it’s like.  I had four of my own.  Use this to get them something.”  (My two big kids really enjoyed the chocolate milk!)

Sure, I can do it on my own.  And I sometimes do.  But, thankfully, it really does take a village, and the village includes people I don’t even know.