We all survived it. What a year it was. Every time we turned around, it felt like there were 3,507 more things to do. We took a deep breath, and then dove on in, but it was a whirlwind month. We returned to Chattanooga for Rachel to go straight back to work, and then the daycare called Wednesday night and told us that a pipe burst in the ceiling and the daycare was closed on Thursday and Friday, meaning I had to stay home with the kids.
Wow. We're all still in one piece. I was proud to be able to report to Rachel that all the kids were still breathing at the end of the day. The colds they have didn't make the days any easier. But we made it! This month is, I believe, about making it. We're transitioning into two working parents of two busy kids, and trying to have the energy to be eager and ready to play when we're all home together. It's not easy, but our kids deserve our best. We don't know what this coming week holds, but we're trying to hold it all together, and the good Lord willing, we'll even find a little time to clean the house! (At least we find time to laugh. There's always time for that!) It occurred to me this morning that there is nothing Caleb has to do.
There are plenty of things he can do, most of them playing with various toys that litter our every room and hallway. He has a seemingly infinite number of choices of toys he can play with, but he doesn't have to play. If he does choose to do so, he can do so unencumbered by the thought that there is something else he needs to be doing. His every need is met by Rachel and me, so there is no anxiousness for food or clothing or shelter. He can simply play. Now, there are times when he chooses not to play. There are times when he wants to do something he is not allowed to do. There are times he throws tantrums because he is tired or simply frustrated. But it's never because there is some outside force pressuring him to do things a certain way. It's only when he presses up against the boundaries that he opts to fuss rather than play. It was amazing to me this morning, watching him play. He plays all day, every day. His energy is wholly devoted to play. How freeing that must be. Can you imagine? I'm sure that I was the same way at some point, carefree and playful. The weight of the world feels heavy at times, especially since I am one of those individuals who chooses to carry more than my fair share. It's not easy holding the world up. What it must be like to recapture that vision of youth, that sense of freedom, the delight in play. I think this must be what heaven is like--the freedom to roam and play, to bask in the light of God's love, to rejoice in freedom and let those weights bound away, back to where they belong, in far better hands than mine. For a moment, for a brief moment this morning, I was overwhelmed by the freedom of the child. As my therapist said, "Let Caleb teach you. He hasn't been messed up yet." 3 months old.
It's so much harder to get lost in the wonder of each little stage of development, now that it's divided between two kids. But it's amazing to watch Danielle smile. She's starting to interact with us, to smile and kick and make noises. (Well, noises that aren't screaming) I'd forgotten how amazing it is to see an infant smile. It's like you can get lost in that moment and never come up for air. Their whole lives are in front of them, and there is all sorts of noise and chaos in our house, but then, right there, everything is right with the world. She's three months old, and who knows what wonders are in store, but right now we just try and celebrate each and every day, and we give thanks for each and every smile. Scripture says the last enemy to be destroyed is death.
Since only Jesus can do that, Caleb is doing his part to fight against what has suddenly become a hated enemy to him: naps. Now, this wouldn't be a problem if he were a ten year old child. When I was ten, I didn't take many naps. I don't anticipate Caleb will, either. However, Caleb is two. And what that means is that he doesn't have a body big enough to store ample energy to sustain him through the day, especially considering the high rate at which he burns calories. It's hard to sustain energy when your legs never stop moving. Unfortunately, Caleb is also old enough that he doesn't simply fall asleep at naptime. Instead, he sees that as the opportune time to review the alphabet. And every song that he knows. And most of the words he's learned. It's pretty cute to listen through the monitor to him, except for the fact that we're too busy wishing he was asleep. After he makes it through his entire vocabulary, he usually just starts screaming or destroying things. It's great. (Editor's note: It's not really great) All this means that Caleb runs out of energy around 5. Except his body and mouth are still moving, and he's got a few hours to go until bedtime. Those are trying hours, times in which Rachel and I remind ourselves regularly that we will, in fact, miss this when he is older. We'll all figure this out eventually. Hopefully. Until then, we pray for naps, while Caleb seems to desire being awake for every moment, just in case he misses something. (The above picture was taken today when we went to pick up the car. We left the house around 4:15, having given up on Caleb falling asleep in his room. He was out like a light before we left the subdivision, and slept in the car for a while even after we got home. He was pretty tired, despite not being tired at all when he was in his room. It's like toddlers have a special energy reserve they only use when someone is trying to get them to sleep.) What happened to last month? Somehow, all those days leading up to Thanksgiving disappeared. My baby girl will be 3 months old on Thursday! (she's 11 pounds now. She's starting to chunk up, and she's awake more often. Somehow, she manages to sleep through Caleb's screaming. I wonder if all younger children are sound sleepers. I certainly was. When this kid is older, she'll be able to sleep through anything. That, or she'll have nightmares of hearing "GOOD MORNING DANIELLE" yelled at full volume.)
I know they say that life moves quickly. I am continually reminded that if I blink, my kids will be holding diplomas (hopefully) and asking for the keys to the car. So I try to slow down, to take deep breaths, and to drink in the moments life offers, from the sweet hugs I get from Caleb to the smiles Danielle throws my way. Tender moments. (As for the times when Caleb is jumping on my leg or Danielle is spitting up on me... well, those can pass quickly.) Caleb has an infectious laugh. There is abundant joy within him, and sometimes it just comes spilling out, brought forth by the lightest touch or any sudden movement. It's almost an instant reaction, coming forth without thought or reflection. When the world changes, just laugh. I need more of it in my life--I could listen to him laugh all day long. In a few weeks, Rachel will go back to work. The kids will be at day care. Life will be hectic once more. But that can wait--it's not for a month. Right now, we look forward to Christmas and we celebrate today. Caleb simply wants to play, and we need to join him, to play with plastic dinosaurs and matchbox cars and whatever other silliness ensues. I hope that Danielle hears the peals of laughter that pour forth from Caleb and comes to trust this world as a good and joyous place, that these kids grow up secure in the knowledge that they are loved, confidant that they can face whatever comes their way because their parents will be behind them all the way, loving them through it all. So this was taken in Cite Soleil, the poorest slum in Haiti. The kids ran up and took my hand, just content to walk with me. I'm not sure exactly why, but it made the connection so much more real. Those are kids, just like my kid, with needs and joys and hurts and wonder. They deserve to know love, to be fed, to grow up with hope in their hearts. We strive to give Caleb so much. I'm sure the parents of these kids do, too. Maybe they can't afford the material gifts that we can, but they can love their kids like we can. Is hope a little harder to find in Cite Soleil? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Just because their lives may be harder in some ways doesn't mean they don't have just as bold a hope for the future as I do. I'm sure they do everything they can to feed their kids, too. Maybe they don't have applesauce in single-serving pouches (those things are delicious, by the way. I eat almost as many as Caleb does), but I'm sure they do everything possible for their kids.
The world is a small place, and we're all so similar. We may look different, and it's easy to believe that some people are better off than others. It's easy to think that we're not going through the same experiences--that my stress at work makes me different than someone who has different kinds of stress. But we're all the same--we're here on this earth for a few years, and in that time we have a choice to make. How are we going to love one another? What have we been given, and how are we going to use that? What will we live for? If we have extra, will we share it? Or build bigger barns? When a kid from the slums of Haiti takes my hand and we walk together, it's pretty hard for me to believe that my extra shouldn't be used to feed hungry kids in Haiti. Or Chattanooga. We're all in this together, and if we recognize how similar we are, perhaps we can strengthen each other as we walk together. After all, how different is the picture above from the picture below? Life can be a pretty wild ride.
Two weeks ago, I was asleep on an air mattress in the suburbs of Port au Prince, Haiti, trying to process everything I had seen that day, searching for where God is at work in a country with such desperate poverty. Last Sunday, I was walking on a beach in Folly Beach, just outside of Charleston, S.C. Today, I spent some time in the Medical ICU with people I deeply love who are facing the biggest hurdles we face in life, and then I preached a sermon about Christ's call into a life of discipleship and his invitation to let the Holy Spirit transform our lives and our relationships. It's tempting to try and make sense of everything, to try and figure it all out, to determine what God is up to in my life in the here and now. Believe me, I've tried to figure it out. I've thought my way into Gordian knots, and I can't make much sense of it. So this past week was a respite from it all--from the hurry, from the thinking, from the questions. We walked on the beach, we talked, we ate great food, we visited a part of the world none of us had ever seen before, and we enjoyed every moment of it. (Well, the parts where Danielle was screaming were less than enjoyable. Also, 430 miles in the car with two small children is very, very, very, very different than 430 miles without small children.) It was a gift, a time of rest--for the body, the soul and this weary mind. I don't know exactly what God is up to in my life in this moment, but I trust that God is working, that God is forming and shaping me for today, tomorrow and beyond. I trust that I am still being called, and that whatever it is that I need will find its way into my life if I am willing to trust. Do the questions remain? Absolutely. But this was a great chance to catch my breath, and I give thanks for that. Rachel would certainly take issue if I tried to claim that I'm maturing with age. I think we can all claim that isn't true. But what a year it's been... When I look back on the last year, so much of it is plagued by medical issues that it can be hard to see, at first glance, what a wondrous year it has been. Caleb has been growing, and he turns into a more amazing little kid every day. He's fun to be around, and rolling around on the floor with plastic dinosaurs is a great way to spend an evening with him. I don't think I could have fully understood the joy of fatherhood five years ago, but now it is a marvelous journey that unfolds anew each morning. Danielle has come along and changed everything yet again! It's been quite an adjustment having two children, but she is a precious treasure, and while I'm still getting used to infants again, it's amazing what God is up to--every day she grows a little more aware, and I give thanks for the joy she brings. Rachel and I continue to grow, together and as individuals, and we're always wondering what God might be up to next. We sometimes have to remember to stop and enjoy, to give thanks, for today. It's so tempting to spend all our time peering beyond the horizon that we could be in danger of missing the joy of now. So we try to be grateful. Here's hoping for a wondrous & healthy 33rd year of life. I give thanks for all the blessings. I rejoice at all the opportunities. I am so grateful for the love and support that surrounds me each and every day. What a fascinating journey this life is. |