Over the past week, many of us in the southeastern quadrant of the country watched Hurricane Isaac make its way through the Gulf. Even though I'm not on the coast anymore, growing up in Florida, I'm hardwired to keep alert of dangerous weather. Less than a week since the twenty year anniversary of Hurricane Andrew, I took some time to think about the event and its aftermath.
I don't think there is anyone who was living in South Florida at that time who doesn't remember vividly the night Andrew made landfall. The center of the storm was headed straight for our area, but made a last minute jog south and hit Homestead, FL. My family stayed up together in one room, watching a small battery powered television. My sister and I had leaks in our windows, our chimney suffered damage, but we made it out okay. For those further south, much more was lost. The damage done over that one night took years to repair. Looking back now, I can't help but see how one storm changed the course of my own history.
That winter, my church youth group was supposed to go to skiing. Instead, we housed a group our age from Michigan and together we spent a week in Homestead working with displaced migrant families and repairing damaged homes. My first experience in the mission field prepared my heart for the future. It was a springboard for more local mission work as well as my involvement in global missions as an adult. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't have a heart for missions if Andrew hadn't hit South Florida. God always provides a way to where He wants us. But the storm shaped my path.
It also brought me one of my dearest friends. Andrew hit the weekend before my first day of high school. Afterwards, schools in surrounding areas saw an influx of students who were displaced from Homestead. One boy and his family made the move to our district and we became friends. We've remained so ever since. We attended college together and I'd often give him a ride home for holidays. My mom always felt better about those trips with him in the car. When I went through my first break up, he was there to make me laugh again. We kept in touch after college and now he is a family friend. My children call him uncle. If Andrew hadn't hit we may have never met.
Another uprooted family moved in down the street from mine. At the time, their son was four and their daughter barely a year. I became their Saturday night babysitter. For the first year, I often had to stay with A until he was nearly asleep because he was afraid another hurricane would come in the night. I watched him grow out of that. I also watched him grow into a caring, intelligent kid. When his sister J was around 3, she had to have surgery. I went over to see her and several local family members were there. She started crying and her grandmothers went to her side. But she was calling for me. I realized that to this little girl, I was part of her family. Moments like this have prompted me as a parent to create a community for my children that extends beyond biological ties; to put people in their lives that will comfort and shape them. One of my top priorities when I was pregnant with AP was to find a babysitter. Leaving your children with people you trust has benefits for the children as well as for the foundation of a family - the marriage. My husband and I still get to date, and that is invaluable.
I do want to point out that I did not live through the destruction of my home. I never had to leave my possessions and hope everything was okay when I was allowed to return. I didn't see all my memories destroyed by wind and water. I am not trying to say that a hurricane is a good thing. What I am saying is that in life we will encounter storms of all kinds. Some are bigger than others. Out of them, we learn, we grow, we are changed. I am reminded of Deuteronomy 31:8, which says "The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." During Andrew, God was still there. He was working in the midst of the madness. Twenty years later, the beautiful results in my life remain.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Going It Together
The first week of school for AP was fantastic. She loves her school, her teachers, and her new friends. She especially enjoys riding the bus. So much so that she became concerned she would miss it. This caused her to begin waking an hour or more early to remind me that I needed to get her up in time. When you're already getting up at the crack of dawn you can imagine what time we're talking about.
I reassured her that she would not miss the bus, that Mommy would remember to wake her. KP arrived home end of the week and after both being woken in the wee hours, assured her that she would not miss the bus.
Friday morning, I visited a dear friend of mine. She asked me how the first week was going and I mentioned our tiny problem in the midst of an otherwise successful start. She, having a kindergartner herself, suggested her own alarm. She said her son was also anxious about missing the bus and that helped.
I took note and headed home. We enjoyed a blissful weekend with Daddy home and no bus to miss. Our AP slept in both mornings, allowing everyone to catch up on some well deserved sleep.
Then yesterday afternoon, I told her about the alarm idea. I explained that each morning, one of her favorite music cds would come on when it was time to get up. She was sold.
It worked! She sleep each morning until her alarm. That first morning she was excited that it worked and said she was able to sleep knowing it would tell her when to get up. And Mama wasn't disturbed.
This got me thinking about something. In April, KP and I took a trip to New York. My birthday present, it was a weekend spent rekindling my love affair with that amazing city. One thing we tried, on another dear friend's suggestion, was a trip to the Tenement Museum. In Manhattan's Lower East Side, the museum is housed in an actual tenement building from the 19th century. When it was discovered, the curators dug into the history of the building and pieced together actual stories of the immigrants who lived there. KP and I took one of the tours. Listening to the guide, one thing that struck me was the importance of the small yard at the back of the building. The women would gather there to hang their laundry out and would often wind up comparing notes on home making and child rearing, among other things. This became a way of fostering community and support for women who were far from home. And the advice of others helped them to solve problems with their children, in turn making their homes happier ones.
When I heard this, I thought of the mom's group I attend at my church each week during the school year. We haven't started yet and I find myself missing it so. A place to learn, grow, and off load, I find it an essential part of my children's school year. That room is our tenement building backyard. In a culture that tells us you can do anything, it often fails to mention the fact that you can't do it alone.
These days, the immigrants have fanned out across the country. They married, had children, and did it again. Their descendants are American. They are you and me. And just as before, parents still can't do it alone. They need the support of those around them; those who have gone before, and those who are doing it right alongside them. I am thankful for my community, and chances are if I offer a suggestion to you, it didn't start with me.
I reassured her that she would not miss the bus, that Mommy would remember to wake her. KP arrived home end of the week and after both being woken in the wee hours, assured her that she would not miss the bus.
Friday morning, I visited a dear friend of mine. She asked me how the first week was going and I mentioned our tiny problem in the midst of an otherwise successful start. She, having a kindergartner herself, suggested her own alarm. She said her son was also anxious about missing the bus and that helped.
I took note and headed home. We enjoyed a blissful weekend with Daddy home and no bus to miss. Our AP slept in both mornings, allowing everyone to catch up on some well deserved sleep.
Then yesterday afternoon, I told her about the alarm idea. I explained that each morning, one of her favorite music cds would come on when it was time to get up. She was sold.
It worked! She sleep each morning until her alarm. That first morning she was excited that it worked and said she was able to sleep knowing it would tell her when to get up. And Mama wasn't disturbed.
This got me thinking about something. In April, KP and I took a trip to New York. My birthday present, it was a weekend spent rekindling my love affair with that amazing city. One thing we tried, on another dear friend's suggestion, was a trip to the Tenement Museum. In Manhattan's Lower East Side, the museum is housed in an actual tenement building from the 19th century. When it was discovered, the curators dug into the history of the building and pieced together actual stories of the immigrants who lived there. KP and I took one of the tours. Listening to the guide, one thing that struck me was the importance of the small yard at the back of the building. The women would gather there to hang their laundry out and would often wind up comparing notes on home making and child rearing, among other things. This became a way of fostering community and support for women who were far from home. And the advice of others helped them to solve problems with their children, in turn making their homes happier ones.
When I heard this, I thought of the mom's group I attend at my church each week during the school year. We haven't started yet and I find myself missing it so. A place to learn, grow, and off load, I find it an essential part of my children's school year. That room is our tenement building backyard. In a culture that tells us you can do anything, it often fails to mention the fact that you can't do it alone.
These days, the immigrants have fanned out across the country. They married, had children, and did it again. Their descendants are American. They are you and me. And just as before, parents still can't do it alone. They need the support of those around them; those who have gone before, and those who are doing it right alongside them. I am thankful for my community, and chances are if I offer a suggestion to you, it didn't start with me.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
A Divided Heart
This week my four year old started
public school. The luck of the draw, or as I prefer to say the Maker’s hand,
put her in the pre-k class at our local elementary school. So on Monday morning
we woke her before the sun and put her on the school bus. KP stayed in town for
the occasion and then caught a late morning flight back to his client site.
Before they left, my house, and my
person, felt complete. Now it feels as if parts of my heart are elsewhere. My
husband packed up and placed a piece of me in his suitcase. My schoolgirl
lugged a piece up those bus stairs for the first time. And both traveled in
different directions.
Everyone tells you that the first
day you watch your child leave on the bus is poignant. After three years of
schooling at a local church, I thought watching AP leave would be bittersweet
and exciting, but didn’t expect this. And KP? He leaves every week. He has for
nearly a year now. I’m used to the fact that his commute involves crossing multiple
states in an airplane.
But suddenly both were gone at
once, and both in situations I couldn’t control. I don’t drive the bus and I
can’t fly the plane. I’m not a teacher and I’m not a consultant. I’m the one
leaving the light on out front. Waiting on the return of those I love, one by
one.
Today is the third day of school and
the wound in my heart has scabbed over. The ache remains but it’s dull now. MP
has proved an excellent physician. It doesn’t hurt that she is currently in a “let’s
play doctor” stage. She is offering bandages and medicine around the clock. Time
with my little healer gives me a chance to reflect on this change.
I love to travel. I love adventure.
Yet I’ve never really stopped to think about the fact that every time I go
anywhere, or embark on a new phase in life, I may be packing a piece of someone’s
heart along with my necessities. I know my mom’s is in there. Kevin too. And
now my children’s join the mix. I’m not used to being the one who stays behind.
It’s humbling. It’s a little lonely. It’s also defining. And currently my heart
is reshaping itself for letting go.
Today
it’s the bus, tomorrow it’s the same mission trip to a developing country I
just took a bunch of teenagers on this summer. And I want those things for my
children. I also want my husband to love what he does and to support him
wherever he goes.
This spring I started a Couch to 5K
program. I’ve never run in my life and thought it was about time. Over the
course of the program, I conditioned myself to run just over three miles. It
was a slow and steady approach. But now I can run it without feeling like my
heart is going to burst out of my chest. I realize this week is just the beginning of a lifetime of
conditioning my heart to be divided amongst those I love, wherever they are.
The thing is, it sounds painful, and indeed it can be. But there’s also a
tremendous amount of joy. And I’ll take one for the other.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A collective thank you note
This past Sunday in worship, we were given homework at the end of the sermon. I'm not sure how many people actually followed through on it. But I always loved school. I miss it. So like a good student I took my Bible out that afternoon, sat down, and got to work.
The assignment wasn't hard. We were to reflect on the way God has worked in our lives, to look for his fingerprints in our past that put us where we are today. We were to quiet our minds, push away the distractions, and just reflect.
For me, doing the assignment while AP was out playing with the neighbors and MP and KP were napping was the perfect time. I sat outside, and even with the whir of lawnmowers and the sound of kids playing basketball down the street, I felt quieted.
I chose a specific time period to reflect on, the past two years. KP and I went through some serious changes in that time. We added a child to our family, KP left one job and started another, AP has grown tremendously from age 2 to 4.
Once I started filling in the open heart on the back of our bulletin provided for the activity, I couldn't stop. My pen just kept going. And through the list I saw God's fingerprints most clearly through the people in my life. I was overwhelmed at the fact that God works miracles all the time. He may not ignite my boxwood hedge outside or send a glowing angel to my front yard, but He is working daily through those around me. And the results are just as magnificent. The list filled the heart, then the page, and kept on going. But for this post I'm focusing on the people that came to mind.
I thought I'd record the names. Then I'll send it to them. So they can know that God uses ordinary people to do extraordinary things.
Kelly
my husband
The Hosfields
Judy
AP's faith
my sister
my dad
MP's joy
sisters
church staff
Ryex Freshman girls and Stephanie
Hungry Mommies
Crysti
neighbors
The assignment wasn't hard. We were to reflect on the way God has worked in our lives, to look for his fingerprints in our past that put us where we are today. We were to quiet our minds, push away the distractions, and just reflect.
For me, doing the assignment while AP was out playing with the neighbors and MP and KP were napping was the perfect time. I sat outside, and even with the whir of lawnmowers and the sound of kids playing basketball down the street, I felt quieted.
I chose a specific time period to reflect on, the past two years. KP and I went through some serious changes in that time. We added a child to our family, KP left one job and started another, AP has grown tremendously from age 2 to 4.
Once I started filling in the open heart on the back of our bulletin provided for the activity, I couldn't stop. My pen just kept going. And through the list I saw God's fingerprints most clearly through the people in my life. I was overwhelmed at the fact that God works miracles all the time. He may not ignite my boxwood hedge outside or send a glowing angel to my front yard, but He is working daily through those around me. And the results are just as magnificent. The list filled the heart, then the page, and kept on going. But for this post I'm focusing on the people that came to mind.
I thought I'd record the names. Then I'll send it to them. So they can know that God uses ordinary people to do extraordinary things.
Kelly
my husband
The Hosfields
Judy
AP's faith
my sister
my dad
MP's joy
sisters
church staff
Ryex Freshman girls and Stephanie
Hungry Mommies
Crysti
neighbors
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
a happy heart
The past few weeks KP has been racking up the miles. He's flying places for a day to attend a meeting, then jetting back for a morning conference at his home office. And I'm also not talking about boring places. I'm talking the Big Apple, the Windy City. For a travel loving wife, each trip breaks my heart a little. That may seem dramatic, but the travel bug bit me in the summer of 1997 on a family trip to London and hasn't let up since. I'm the one who sees a plane in the sky and wishes I was on it. When I go to the airport, I have a hard time not throwing caution to the wind and heading for the international terminal.
It's times like these that I question my decision to stay at home with my children. While KP grabs a bite at a trendy NYC establishment, I'm wiping up the food that missed MP's mouth for at least the third time that day from under the table. While he's talking about important things with important people, the highlight of my day is figuring out how to inflate AP's bicycle tire. Normally we'd wait for Daddy to come home, but Daddy won't be home for 3 more days and that's too long to wait.
I send AP off down the driveway on her bike, the extent of my horizon on many days . I take a moment to wallow in the fact that the furthest I drove that day was to the store and back. Then she calls out, "Mommy, I'm doing it!" On training wheels, she's made it down the driveway without another push. To be honest, she didn't physically need her mother there. Anyone could have helped her adjust her helmet, get on her bike, and send her on her way. But her voice pulls me from my moment and I realize that I made the decision to be home because I wanted to be there. I want to be the one who sees those moments. I want to be the one she wakes up calling for and the one she comes home to each day.
I know there are plenty of people who wish they could be in my shoes and can't. People who don't want to hear me complain for one second. I realize the blessing the choice is borne from. But like any job, most days bring monotony with the occasional highlight. And there are certainly more glamorous jobs.
But this Valentine's Day I experienced a moment that has me absolutely sure my choice is the right one. Amidst the chaos that was AP's class Valentine's party, I noticed a bulletin board on the wall. The title was "what makes my heart happy". Each child gave an answer and it was written on a heart shaped piece of paper. There were sweet answers: my sister, my mommy and daddy. There were funny answers: playing with frogs. And there, right in the middle, was AP's heart. It said "being with God." I almost broke down in tears right there, fell on my knees, and thanked my heavenly Father. I knew in my heart of hearts that she gets it. She didn't just come up with that answer. I asked her later about the board and she remembered what she said. She gave her answer again with confidence. I told her how happy it makes my heart that she knows God loves her, that she wants to be with and know Him.
There was the highlight. And it was a big one. The rest of the day was full of cleaning up messes, breaking up fights, and the sights and sounds - some good, some bad - that two little girls bring to our household. I don't remember much of the details of all that now. However, I won't ever forget AP's heart on the preschool wall, a literal sign that the faith I'm attempting to instill in my little girl is there. The daily in and out, the dirty floors, the dust on my passport are all part of my life now. But those moments make it all worth it. It's those moments that leave me flying high.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Perfect Storm
This morning was to be an important moment in the life of my oldest daughter. She would take a step in her faith journey by receiving her first Bible at church. First thing, I worked to have my family out the door on time. The girls were in new dresses, everyone's hair was just so. Then AP lost it in the car over a missing book and everything tumbled apart. My nerves were on edge, my patience nonexistent.
We parked and made it inside only for it to get worse. I accidentally hit AP on the head with a door in my attempt to square away MP's belongings in the nursery before service began. She started to cry. I could get into more detail, and there was more, but basically I raised my voice at her and dragged her upstairs towards the sanctuary. What's worse, I blamed her for the accident.
There are so many excuses I could give for how this happened. Some would show you how I got to the point I did. But none of them really matter. What matters is that my quest for the way I thought the picture of this morning should look like turned me into a monster.
How often do we work for perfection and in the process miss the point?
I wanted both of my girls to be beautiful, with no tears on their faces or wrinkles in their dresses. I wanted smiles. I wanted my husband to miraculously decide not to take the last few minutes at home to himself like he always does, to do more than feed the kids breakfast and buckle them into their car seats (which he did).
Meanwhile, how did I look? There I was, yelling at my child in public, snapping at my husband when he tried to intervene.
I'll tell you how I looked. Ugly. Anything but the perfection I was striving for.
Later, during worship time, a line in a song hit me over the head:
"I want to love you when the blood in my veins doesn't know how to."
Blood in my veins. I'll tell you, the blood in my veins was running hot today. There wasn't much love going on in there.
So how do we love God, and in turn others, when the blood in our veins is so....human. How do we love like a perfect God when we are so imperfect? How do we love in those moments (and you know we all have them).
I think we start by acknowledging that He first loved us. And does now. I am humbled beyond words that God loved me through the poor decisions I made this morning. If He could love me through that, shouldn't I be able to love my family better than I do? If He could love me when I failed so miserably, shouldn't I do better next time?
Ah, there it is. His love, His grace, should drive us to do just that. To strive for perfection. But not our idea of perfection. Do you think God cares who wore what this morning? Do you think he cares whether AP's face was tear stained or her hair was combed? Surely not. God wants us to come to Him as we are. No primping beforehand, just raw and real and honest. That is the point. And as we do, and we experience His love, we are drawn towards a more perfect life. A life perfect because of and through Him.
There simply is no other way.
We parked and made it inside only for it to get worse. I accidentally hit AP on the head with a door in my attempt to square away MP's belongings in the nursery before service began. She started to cry. I could get into more detail, and there was more, but basically I raised my voice at her and dragged her upstairs towards the sanctuary. What's worse, I blamed her for the accident.
There are so many excuses I could give for how this happened. Some would show you how I got to the point I did. But none of them really matter. What matters is that my quest for the way I thought the picture of this morning should look like turned me into a monster.
How often do we work for perfection and in the process miss the point?
I wanted both of my girls to be beautiful, with no tears on their faces or wrinkles in their dresses. I wanted smiles. I wanted my husband to miraculously decide not to take the last few minutes at home to himself like he always does, to do more than feed the kids breakfast and buckle them into their car seats (which he did).
Meanwhile, how did I look? There I was, yelling at my child in public, snapping at my husband when he tried to intervene.
I'll tell you how I looked. Ugly. Anything but the perfection I was striving for.
Later, during worship time, a line in a song hit me over the head:
"I want to love you when the blood in my veins doesn't know how to."
Blood in my veins. I'll tell you, the blood in my veins was running hot today. There wasn't much love going on in there.
So how do we love God, and in turn others, when the blood in our veins is so....human. How do we love like a perfect God when we are so imperfect? How do we love in those moments (and you know we all have them).
I think we start by acknowledging that He first loved us. And does now. I am humbled beyond words that God loved me through the poor decisions I made this morning. If He could love me through that, shouldn't I be able to love my family better than I do? If He could love me when I failed so miserably, shouldn't I do better next time?
Ah, there it is. His love, His grace, should drive us to do just that. To strive for perfection. But not our idea of perfection. Do you think God cares who wore what this morning? Do you think he cares whether AP's face was tear stained or her hair was combed? Surely not. God wants us to come to Him as we are. No primping beforehand, just raw and real and honest. That is the point. And as we do, and we experience His love, we are drawn towards a more perfect life. A life perfect because of and through Him.
There simply is no other way.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Fresh back from an extended Christmas vacation in sunny Florida, I'm relishing the fact that we're all healthy. Some of us even got a tan, yours truly excluded. The girls swam, KP had a full 10 days to relax, and I was able to come up for air after the whirlwind that the holidays always bring.
The trip gave us time to spend with both sets of parents. This was, for the most part, quite enjoyable. Through the gift giving, cooking, eating, and football watching, I realized that KP and I truly have our own family now. Through the years, we created a home and we run it and our lives differently than our parents. We both found humor in the subtle -and not so subtle- differences between us and those who gave us life. KP can't stand his parents blatant ignorance of expiration dates on food. My parents live in the middle of nowhere and you can't step outside for two minutes without getting locked out of the house. Generally, these things just make us laugh.
But in all the adjustments to each other there is something that kept the season bright, or rather two things: AP and MP. The joy that children bring to a holiday is undeniable. People tend to put their differences aside as they celebrate with the young. Part of it is surely the excitement, but another is their unshakeable faith in the unseen.
This weekend at church we took a look at Psalm 8. This song of praise has a verse right at the beginning that floored me. Verse 2 says: from the mouths of infants and nursing babes You have established strength (NASB). I saw this verse literally personified over the holidays in so many ways. Our youngest, now nearing 2, loves to pray. The moment we are all seated before a meal the smallest of the KPs is sitting calmly, hands clasped, ready to thank God for the bounty before us. It is so adorable that I found Kevin's not so religious parents excited for the dinner prayer every evening. MP allowed what could be an awkward situation (praying in the home of someone who doesn't practice such things) to become the norm, expected even.
When Jesus was teaching, his disciples attempted to keep the children who wanted to touch him at a distance. They saw no place for them there. Jesus saw otherwise, he was "indignant" (Mark 10:14 NIV). He knew the importance of the faith of a child. In fact, he spoke of our very salvation as tied to it.
Small children don't just think God loves them. They know it, in a way we as adults lose sight of. Sure, we can think of a long list of reasons why we lose it. Life happens, the world happens, hurt happens. But when anyone encounters a child's demonstrations of faith, their own faith is changed. God often uses small things to show His strength. Little people, little moments, little steps - this is where one will see God.
My favorite pose in yoga is the child's pose. A resting pose, it is the most comfortable position I've ever found for my earthly body. It stretches the right places and provides a place of peace. As I sat in it this morning, I realized how perfectly named it is. The pose, like a child's faith, just feels right.
Through the holidays, the time with family, and the break from the norm, my children reminded me to just accept the gift of God's son. Accept it fully, with abandon, and most of all with joy.
May we count our blessings all the way through 2012.
The trip gave us time to spend with both sets of parents. This was, for the most part, quite enjoyable. Through the gift giving, cooking, eating, and football watching, I realized that KP and I truly have our own family now. Through the years, we created a home and we run it and our lives differently than our parents. We both found humor in the subtle -and not so subtle- differences between us and those who gave us life. KP can't stand his parents blatant ignorance of expiration dates on food. My parents live in the middle of nowhere and you can't step outside for two minutes without getting locked out of the house. Generally, these things just make us laugh.
But in all the adjustments to each other there is something that kept the season bright, or rather two things: AP and MP. The joy that children bring to a holiday is undeniable. People tend to put their differences aside as they celebrate with the young. Part of it is surely the excitement, but another is their unshakeable faith in the unseen.
This weekend at church we took a look at Psalm 8. This song of praise has a verse right at the beginning that floored me. Verse 2 says: from the mouths of infants and nursing babes You have established strength (NASB). I saw this verse literally personified over the holidays in so many ways. Our youngest, now nearing 2, loves to pray. The moment we are all seated before a meal the smallest of the KPs is sitting calmly, hands clasped, ready to thank God for the bounty before us. It is so adorable that I found Kevin's not so religious parents excited for the dinner prayer every evening. MP allowed what could be an awkward situation (praying in the home of someone who doesn't practice such things) to become the norm, expected even.
When Jesus was teaching, his disciples attempted to keep the children who wanted to touch him at a distance. They saw no place for them there. Jesus saw otherwise, he was "indignant" (Mark 10:14 NIV). He knew the importance of the faith of a child. In fact, he spoke of our very salvation as tied to it.
Small children don't just think God loves them. They know it, in a way we as adults lose sight of. Sure, we can think of a long list of reasons why we lose it. Life happens, the world happens, hurt happens. But when anyone encounters a child's demonstrations of faith, their own faith is changed. God often uses small things to show His strength. Little people, little moments, little steps - this is where one will see God.
My favorite pose in yoga is the child's pose. A resting pose, it is the most comfortable position I've ever found for my earthly body. It stretches the right places and provides a place of peace. As I sat in it this morning, I realized how perfectly named it is. The pose, like a child's faith, just feels right.
Through the holidays, the time with family, and the break from the norm, my children reminded me to just accept the gift of God's son. Accept it fully, with abandon, and most of all with joy.
May we count our blessings all the way through 2012.
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