Chaos and Grace

I have written before about how we host some neighborhood kids for games, dinner, and bible study on Thursdays.  I also mentioned how much it stretches me- pushes me outside my comfort zone, challenges my need for control, makes me address some fears I have right in the face.  But, as we have been doing this consistently for almost six months, the relationships we are forming with these boys are sweet and authentic.  Just this week alone I finally met three different mamas, which I had never met before.  It was so exciting to see these little men introduce me with pride to their mom, and then to see Mom's face light up when she finally gets to put a face with a name.

The past couple of weeks the number of kids in attendance has really grown.  Word is getting out that our xbox is cool, our food is good, and our family isn't so bad either.  And for the most part, these boys are really sweet and good-hearted boys.  But they are boys.  And when you put, say, FOURTEEN of them in one house playing (that doesn't include our five children we already have) things get chaotic so fast.  I realized...maybe that is why God gave me 5 chaotic kiddos...how else would I be able to deal with 14 additional chaotic ones....

Well.  Last night was extra crazy.  I don't know if it was because it was cold outside so they were all trying to squeeze in our walls or what.  I had to get on them several times about arguing, yelling, listening when I spoke.  Again, they usually do pretty well.  After dinner we were trying to get started with bible study but I knew they had left a mess upstairs.  I told them to go clean up and they all wanted to point fingers on who made the mess.  I think they forgot I AM A MOM and mama don't play that.  I sent them all to help and the next thing I knew Legos were flying over the second story rail downstairs.  Which is a no no around these parts.

Stuart and I already had discussed "consequences" for continual misbehavior or disrespect.  After all, we are opening our home to these boys and expect they treat our home with kindness.  So he sent them all home.  He just told them we had talked to them several times that night about respect and it wasn't happening so we were done for the evening and we would try again next week.

You can imagine that went well.  They weren't so much mad at us (I think most of them knew they were in the wrong and were out of control) but the finger pointing started again.  So much that this one kid got super upset.  He is 9 and VERY active and hard to contain.  He is so incredibly sweet but is usually bouncing off the walls.  He started yelling and crying so I kept him behind so he wasn't released on the neighborhood streets with his temper flaring.

I sat him down and explained that we all mess up.  We all make poor choices.  And then we get up and try again with a clean slate and that is called GRACE.  I told him we would try again next Thursday and no one was angry with him.  That concept of grace was foreign to him. I wanted him to know that even though tonight wasn't ideal, we still care for him deeply and we get to try it again.

Life is messy and full of times we screw it all up and I am so thankful I always get to try it again.  When one of my kids has had a particularly rough day, the last thing I tell them (well, next to last, I suppose "I love you" is the last thing) before bedtime is, "Tomorrow is a new day." God's mercies are new every morning.  I know I need that.  My kids need that. These boys need that.  Every day His mercies are new.  He is and does sustain us through the rest of it all.

The lessons didn't stop there. I had a sweet conversation with my kids after the boys all left about discipline, love, respect, and grace.  They were able to see all of those things we talk so much about outside of their own emotional experiences.  All the things we teach to them separate from their own emotions.  They knew the boys had overstepped their boundaries.  I told them how it was an opportunity to teach grace when many of those boys had never heard that word before.  I pray that through these crazy moments, the Lord continually draws my children to Himself.  That they will open their hearts and their lives to other messy, broken, chaotic people.  Because we are messy, broken, and chaotic and the Lord has been gracious to show us that, in turn, showing us our need for Him.  Our need for grace.  Our need for those new mercies every morning.  Our need for a Savior.

Hungry

I can't explain it. Groanings and longings that are too deep for words.  I try to put language to it, but it always falls short.  So I ramble, on and on, desperate for clarity and understanding. To define this stirring that is happening in the innermost parts of me.  To share with another soul what is going on with my own.

I am hungry.  Hungry for more of God, for more of my Savior, for more of His joy and peace and contentment and self-control. For more of Him reflected in my internal and external life.

It sounds awesome, right? Super holy and put together?

But I am hungry because I am desperate. So incredibly weary of the continuous struggle that seems to be life these days.  These months.  These years.  Hardship after hardship, small and large, inside and outside my skin and bones. My faith is wavering, shaking in the trials, unsteady as I move one step at a time.  I cry out, desperate for God to show me where He is at work, so that I may see Him and move more confidently .

Isn't that the point of hardship? To make us BEG for more of Him? To bring us to the only place we have left, for we are at the end of ourselves?  My cry seems to be on repeat these days, "Lord, I have nothing left!"

Somehow I make it through another day.  

But I have pleaded with Him to take me to a season where it's not just survival, but living full.  Right now I deplete the resources graciously given to me each day and am desperate for a refill when I wake to begin the next one.  Even throughout my waking hours, I sometimes need a jumpstart to my broken down soul.

I am trying to hope.  I am really trying to believe that one day these chapters in my story will be used for something good.  He has something in store for me that is beyond my wildest imagination.  I am really, really trying to camp out there.  But like I said, I am weary, my faith is weak, and my spirit is dry.  Sometimes I feel like my life is a puzzle and I am that last piece that just doesn't fit.  Or I am treading water in a glass box, trying to stay afloat while everyone else is on the outside watching me, living their lives.  Some days I am doing okay, keeping my head up so I can breathe, and other times I am just tired of swimming, of staying in the same place and not getting anywhere, of fighting this fight by myself. Or so it seems.

So I want more Jesus. Oh, I NEED Him so desperately.  Without Him I have no hope, there is no promise, there is nothing to cling to.  All my own resources are gone.  I have nothing to offer but a dry spirit.  

Ps 42:1

As a deer pants for flowing streams,
    so pants my soul for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God,    for the living God.

Is 55:1

Come, everyone who thirsts,
    come to the waters;
and he who has no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without price.

Ps 81:10

 I am the Lord your God,
    who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.
    Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.

Deut 8:3

And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

Matt. 5:6

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

Baby Update - 9 months old

Baby Ben is 9 months old. I can't believe it. I haven't done an update in a few months but know that at this age I officially told him he needs to stop growing. Part of that is because he has four older siblings and I see what happens when kids get bigger and have opinions and learn how to disobey. 😉

Ben, at 9 months you:

Weigh 21 lbs, 3 oz and are 27.75

Inches long (75th% for weight and 25th% for height 

Wear 12 month clothes

Are on a 4 hour schedule and finally dropped your dream feed, so 4 bottles a day! 

Go to bed early and sleep 13 hours!!

Moved out of Mom and Dad's room and have your own room (okay it's the closet of the guest room but it's a big closet)

Moved from your infant carrier to a convertible car seat

Have one tooth

Are so very drooly. So so so slobbery

Say "mamamama"

Army crawl and also starting to pull up and plank 

Prefer playing with wrappers, cords, and shoes than a big box of toys

Are so so so loved by your family. Oh my. You are called "The Captain," "Prince," "Big Benny," and "Cutie Mootie" by your siblings 

Want to be entertained most of the time. How dare someone walk past you and keep going!

Eat three meals a day and like everything 

Went to Disney for the first time and somehow only got on one ride and it was the Haunted Mansion (mom of the year)

Here are some Ben pics! Because I can't get enough of snapping away!

Let Me Reiterate: Kids are Sponges

In case you missed it, read yesterday's post.  My point was simple.  Kids are sponges.  I am not saying they are innocent (one look at my own precious darlings will remind of sin nature from birth) but they are watching...listening...learning from the first teachers in their lives: YOU. Adults.  People who ought to know better than to use "M------ F-----" around children. I mean really.

So, this post was going to be called "The Time I Met a 5 Year Old Racist" but something in me thought that was a little harsh.  I also considered "The Week I Had to Have Way Too Many Life Lesson Conversations With My Kids."  What about "My Brain Hurts and the World is a Scary Place?"  Or, "No One is Ever Leaving This House Again."  All runners-up.

I have mentioned before about a weekly bible study we have at our house for some kids in the neighborhood.  Yesterday was no different.  We met up at the park and the older boys and Stuart were playing football.  I walked home to start supper and took my girls plus one of the little boys with me while his big brother stayed to play.  This kid has been at my house every week for two straight months.  He is five and just entered kindergarten.  He is a relatively sweet kid.

The charter school where  my big kids go is right inside our neighborhood, and my oldest daughter was pointing out that was where they go to school.  Out of nowhere, this precious little guy says, "I was going to go to that school there but there are too many white people." (Yes, this kid is African-American.) I was kinda caught off guard by the statement.

"Actually, it's a pretty even mix there," I told him.  Which is true.  Actually, if I remember the numbers correctly, there are more black kids at the school than white kids. But it is diverse.  One reason we love it.

"Well, I don't like white people," he replied.  *THE WHITE PERSON HE IS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH RAISES HER EYEBROWS.*

"Why don't you like white people?" I asked this FIVE YEAR OLD.

"Because they don't talk right."

What does that even mean?

And my peacemaking, brown-skinned 7 year old chimes in: "I like white people!" Oh bless you darling. I hope you do.  Most of your family is white.

"Well, I'm not sure what skin color has to do with it. That's not a very nice thing to say," I said. Ever tried to eradicate racism from a child in two sentences? Not easy.  Because he has said his peace and he has moved on to getting a weed-eater for his sixth birthday.

Because you know that is what that is, right? To not like a group of people because of their skin color? Racism. From a child.

I would bet money that this precious boy did not form an opinion about going to that school because of its racial makeup all on his own.  I'm pretty sure he did not form his individualized perspective on the communication from caucasian people based on extensive conversations and life experience.  No.  HE HEARD IT SOMEWHERE. He learned it.  I am sure of this because he said it to me - a white person - while on the way to my house where he would eat dinner, hear about Jesus, and play with my toys.  It was like he didn't even realize he was actually speaking to a white person.

It made my heart sad, and similar to the day before, I wanted to have an open conversation with my big kids about what he said.  Because the truth is, we are an interracial family.  Some people have strong opinions about that fact and they will share those opinion whether we want them to or not.  My white children will have different life experiences than my black children in this world.  I want to be the one to talk about race with them, coming from a place of all people made in the image of our Creator, not some kid out there who lives around bigoted adults. (Sorry.)

Before bed last night, I brought it up to my two 5 year olds and 7 year old.  I asked them if they even knew what he meant by "white people."  They said NO.  Y'all.  My kids aren't colorblind.  They are well aware they have different skin.  They often use "peach skin" and "brown skin" to describe people.  But it is used in context like "blonde hair" or "green eyes." Just a descriptor.   I told them he meant people with peach skin.

You should have seen the sadness as the connections were made.  That this boy, who is just a boy to them, would say he doesn't like people that have the same skin color as themselves or the people they love most in this world.

Spencer started crying.  Ella was shocked.  (Kate was probably doing somersaults somewhere. Y'all, she is in la-la land. No sweat off her brow.)  Ella said, "Mom, I'm not sad because it hurts me.  I'm sad because it's mean about my family."

Oh child.

We talked AGAIN about how we believe and act differently than some people.  But it is important for us to keep welcoming people who don't know Jesus into our home so they can know Him too.  It is the hard thing.  To love others who don't love you.  But God sees it and will reward us in heaven. And He is the one that can change hearts. Then Ella said, "Maybe he will realize it was mean and he will say he's sorry."

Maybe he will. Or maybe he will continue to grow learning hate.  I can only pray for God to wreck this little boy's life...and all those with hate in their hearts...for His glory.

Am I angry at this kid? No.  He's 5.  He has no idea.  But if there is one thing I am so obviously reminded of this week is how much influence we have in little people's lives.  My kids, my kids' friends, neighborhood kids....all the small people that I interact with on a regular basis.  I want to teach and be a model of love, grace, redemption, God loving sinners even to the smallest of bodies.  Children aren't invisible.  They also aren't stupid.  They are going to grab hold of what the people they love most put out there.  What are you putting out there? I know I'm definitely challenged to reflect on that.

Language Lesson

Well...did you think I disappeared forever?  Probably not.

School is back in full swing around these parts.  I have entered into a new life season: the one with one baby at home.  I have never had this before.  I mean, back when I first became a parent, I still had two babies at one time.  Then we added two more.  Then Baby Ben made his arrival and I had 4 kids at home with me full time - only one in school.  But now - my twins are in kindergarten, I have a second grader, and my four year old is in full-time pre-k.  So it's just me and my little buddy.  How about this one kid thing. I mean - I basically just throw him in the car and we can do just about anything.  And I mean as long as it's before 9 am and between 11-12:30 pm because otherwise he's napping.  And life *kinda* has to revolve around a baby's nap schedule.  At least if you are a control freak like me and like order in your life.

ANYWAY.

So this week has been interesting.  Let's chat about that four year old for a second.  If you don't know him, I do not really know how to describe him.  He is his own breed.  He pretty much lives with one foot in our world and one foot in a world where he wears his clothes backwards (even jeans), falls down a lot, says things that don't really make sense, asks questions over and over.  It's a fun world he likes living in. I mean, language is still coming for him, even though he's been home for 2 years. So IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I pick him up from school and as he walks to the car with his teacher he gives me a thumbs down.  Okay....and his teacher says, "So, he cursed in class today."

What? (For the record - just FYI - we don't curse in our house. Like ever. Even on accident. And there are no shows or music on with cursing.  No one we spend time with curses.)  "What did he say?" I asked her.

"He actually said m----- f-----."

"OH NO HE DIDN'T."

Yes, yes he did.

In all my fine parenting glory (because I ain't about to be THAT MOM who sent her kid to school teaching other kids M-F) I immediately say, "He has never heard that at our house. Ever. He had to have heard that here at school.  He wouldn't even know what that means."

She said she asked him if he heard that from Mommy (CAN YOU IMAGINE) and he said no.  Thank goodness.  I mean honestly, sometimes you don't know what he's going to say.  I didn't know if I was going to laugh or cry.  So I did both. It made me sad but I know he had no idea.

I assured her we would handle it and informed him he could not speak on the way home. It was now time to figure out how to discipline something that he has no idea what he said.  I am serious, y'all.  I'm not naive.  The boy doesn't know the difference between a bagel and a donut and a cookie.  He doesn't know what he said.  He parroted what someone else said.

So then we handle it and later Stuart and I look at each other and he says, "Are you sure he even knows what word he is in trouble for?" So then...I go in his room (where he has been sitting on his bed awaiting further instruction because he's well aware this is serious) and I asked him where he heard the word.  He described as best he could a girl at school.  Then I said, "Do you even know what word you are in trouble for?" He didn't.  So guess what.  I had to say it.  It took me three tries to even get it out.

But I was so sad.  Sad that language like that is coming from children's mouths at his school.  Sad that a grown up in some kid's life is using language like that and their kid is using it and saying it in her PRESCHOOL class.  And my son, who is delightfully unaware most of his days, now has been exposed already to that type of language.  Of all the words.  Seriously.

Adults, kids are sponges.  Not just for bad language.  But all the things we do and say.  What do we want to teach them? How to criticize themselves and laugh at others? How to huff and puff and be annoyed when we don't get our way? How to play on our phone instead of interacting in real life? To use words that lift others up or words that tear others down? Because they are listening. And watching. When we talk with our friends outside, when we chat on the phone, when we play our music in the car...all of it.

A Break

So for the last two weeks or so, I have been taking a little hiatus from social media. I haven't been on Facebook or Instagram at all, except to respond to messages I had received every now and then. I decided to take a little break because I had felt it had become almost obsessive in my life...is this picture perfect, how many likes or comments do I have, what's going on in so-and-so's world...and then, inevitably for me, why does she always look perfect? How come she can go there with her kids and I am a total circus each and every day? I can't post a pic of myself because I look lazy/fat/ugly...you get it. 

So I took a break from it all. 

I realized it had become like an addiction when the first couple of days it was really hard to just sit still. At stoplights, when the kids were in bed, when I was feeding a baby, during commercial breaks. So I decided to talk to my baby instead. Sing louder to the radio. Have a book nearby. 

But I wanted to know what was going on in people's worlds. I felt like I was missing out. Disconnected. But truthfully, here lately that disconnected feeling had been happening a lot anyway, and I actually think social media was making it worse. 

One of my favorite people had a baby. Because of our lives and distance, we hadn't really kept in touch a ton. But she texted and let me know she was being induced to welcome her son into the world. I was so thankful because I wouldn't had known otherwise, because of my little hiatus. But she thought of me and that made me feel more loved than any comment on fb would have. And because of that, she came to my mind more, and I remembered to check in on her a few times. We chatted more (via text, mind you, as that is a mom's life it seems) over the last two weeks than we have in who knows how long. I am so thankful for that. 

I browsed the news feed last night just because. I hadn't given myself a specific amount of time to stay off so I didn't feel like it was a problem. But it made me think. By seeing these edited little glimpses into others' lives, do we trick ourselves in thinking that is real connection? Undoubtedly so, social media can be used to positively interact with others we may not otherwise. But do we sometimes use it as a replacement, as a cop out, thinking because we know someone's kids' names and ages, where they vacation, their due date, their birthday...that we don't have to put forth real effort in lives? We are called to live in community, the good, the bad, the ugly with the people God puts in our paths. And that is hard. It's hard to let people in to see our mess. To see our less than, unedited moments. 

I am challenged to do more of that. Life is unedited. Chaos is reality. But there is beauty there, if only we slow down and look. 

Stretched Past Comfortable

Another confession: I am a control freak.

Like not in the must-have-everything-in-order, clean-freak type way. Like, I want everything-to-go-according-to-plan-and-there-must-be-a-plan-or-I-hyperventilate kind of way.

Yeah, yeah. It's laughable, as I think through our adoption journey, how we ended up here planting a church, and the fact I have 5 children ages 7 and under that I still have a need for control at all.  There is basically ZERO that I actually have control over. (But really perceived control is almost like actual control, right?)

Basically nothing in my "life plan" has panned out.  And for that - I am thankful - but that doesn't mean it has been easy.

Once upon a time I thought I was flexible and hospitable and able to roll with the punches.  Well, turns out that is a big fat lie and I like plans, lists, quiet, and controlled chaos more than I thought.  Please try to stifle your laughter if you know me at all.  There is no control - just chaos, some wonderful, some not - in my life.  I battle serious anxiety and fear in regards to my children and controlling their every aspect of life.  Sending them to school is terrifying because they are learning and listening to things that are beyond my scope of power.  I battle this every.single.day.  What they hear. The words they use. What they do when I can't see. How they will handle peer pressure. Who they want to be like. How they view "cool." Making good decisions.

When we moved to this city, part of the vision for planting a church involved living where we were planting.  Opening our lives and home to ministry and living our life rhythms with others as we walk our God story.  We have and are doing that and MAN it is hard for me.  So much harder than I ever thought it would be.  In my mind, I loved planning parties and having friends and I wanted my house to be "THE house" where the kids' friends would come. (I still think this is wise but it may be more related to control than anything!)  I did not know how much it would stretch me.  I suppose our house and kids have more "rules" than others (I prefer to use the word structure) and I do not apologize for that. It is what my kids need and it is what I need. So when I open my home to others who don't operate in my little need-for-control world, it is almost like I begin to panic.  The Lord is working on that in me by making me live my actual life, dangit.

There is a group of adolescent boys (and sometimes their younger siblings) that we run into often around the neighborhood.  They are polite and usually attend our outreach events.  They know Stuart by name but neither of us have met any adults in their lives.  They came to the backyard bible club a mission team came in and hosted and had a blast playing baseball with the volunteers.  They really enjoyed themselves at the crawfish boil that night and the next day they showed up on our front stoop wanting more food and more games.  We considered that a blessing - anytime someone goes out of their way to come to YOU, I am learning, that is huge.  We didn't have any leftovers at that point (us and another couple spent hours shelling every crawfish that was left to freeze the meat and I had the crawfish splinter to prove it) but Stu invited them to RC's (our church plant we moved here to start) bible study that night.  The boys said they couldn't come because the school where we meet is outside their "approved boundaries" set by their mamas.

"Okay." Stuart said. "What if one night I make some food you guys could come here and eat and we'll do bible study together at the house?"

They agreed.  He got a phone number of one of the "leaders" (you know in groups there is always one that everyone else defaults to - and in this case, he turns 13 today).

That Thursday rolled around and at the last minute he got a text they weren't going to be able to make it.

Thursday rolled around again and prayers were answered and they were coming.  And right at 5 pm, our doorbell rang and 5 boys ages 5-14 were ready for food and bible study.

Immediately, my children turned into their normal attention-starved lunatics and act like no one has every paid a bit of attention to them in their life, which is lovely. This is how it is every time there is someone around.  Which makes a ministry-filled life super exciting. And by exciting I mean it is incredibly annoying and I need to learn to laugh at it a little more. The other boys spot the xbox and want to play. Stuart is trying to finish grilling dinner and I can feel the heart palpitations begin.  I take the baby and sit in my quiet bedroom and ask God to quiet the fears that my children are going to grow up and do whatever it takes to be "cool" and get attention than what I have taught them. My honest-to-goodness thoughts at that moment. And then I take a deep breath and walk back out there.

Do you know how God showed me grace in that moment?

Most of my fears about the kids' futures surround Ella.  I think that is two-fold: she is the oldest and I have had the least amount of time pouring into her foundation, since she came into our family at age 5.  Anyway, she walked up to me as I finishing up making plates of chicken wings and corn on the cob (what else is better for a bunch of boys) and instead of joining the party and trying to get everyone to pay attention to her she said, "Mom, is there anything I can help you with?" At that moment, I could have cried.  It would not have been bad for her to be playing Just Dance with the others. That would have been fine.  My fears are pretty much irrational and I know that, but it doesn't make them go away.  It is something the Lord has to change in me. At that moment, it was like the Holy Spirit was saying, "Jenny. I see your fears. You have no need to fear when you are Mine. I am in control and I will work everything out for your good and for her good, too."

That little moment of grace allowed me to enjoy the rest of my night.  I rested in that promise, whooped the boys in Just Dance (I still hold the crown in this house), sang Happy Birthday to Carlos, had reading time and Legos with my kids while the big boys did bible study, and rested in His provision of grace for the day.

Does that mean all my fears are forever squashed? No. I have to lay these struggles down before Jesus day in and day out. I would be unwise to think that because one time God showed up and my eyes (and heart) were prepared to receive His gift of grace in that moment that I don't have to actively continue seeking Him.  The enemy would love me to be tricked to believe that I am bigger than my struggles. The world also teaches that.  But that's not true - I am not bigger or stronger than my weaknesses.  That is an incomplete statement.  I am bigger and stronger, more than a conqueror, only in Christ alone.  Abiding, dwelling, living and having my being in Christ alone is what makes me able to tap into the same strength that raised Jesus from the dead. Apart from that I am a fearful and anxious mess.