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“Authentic worship means being present to the living God who penetrates the whole of human life. The proclamation of God’s word and our response to God’s Spirit touches everything that is involved in being human: mind and body, thinking and feeling, work and family, friends and government, buildings and flowers.” (Eugene Peterson in The Jesus Way)
Came home from church Sunday afternoon and read this quote. The sermon at church was on worship.
One of those, “I think you’re teaching me something here,” moments. So i’m trying to be still and listen; to be still and know Him. Being still does not come naturally.
I call him “Tiny,” though Chunky or Sturdy would be more appropriate. Tiny only in comparison to the older two, the name is actually funny when I look at his early photos and then at him today, as he sits playing with his favorite little caterpillar, bounces in his doorway jumper, or rolls all around the floor. The rate of growth from birth to six months is mind-blowing, really.
He is probably about the same weight now, at 6 months, as his big brother was at a year. (No joke. At 5 months, last time he was weighed, Asher was over 18 pounds. Oliver was 19.5 at a year.) But “Tiny,” still. Partly because there is something so perfectly “baby” about Asher. He does things we always imagined a baby might do, but that ours (until him) never did. He’s often content to sit in his high chair or carrier (the car seat) and watch the world. He loves to be rocked and to read books and to snuggle. He loves baby toys, those old-school plastic keys, and rattles and everything. His arms and legs have those adorable rolls that look like he’s got rubber bands around his wrists and ankles. And knees and elbows. And I won’t even start on his little baby cheeks. Oh my goodness. He is roly-poly in the most adorable way.
There are other nicknames too, like “Ol’ Blue Eyes,” which is a little weird since he shares it with a dead crooner (but his [Asher, not Frank] bright eyes absolutely must be acknowledged!), or “Sunshine Boy,” which is really just silly. But what would parenthood be without a good dose of silly? Or life, for that matter? And Asher loves silly. He is fortunate that Stella and Oliver are almost always happy to provide him with silliness, singing, dancing and a peek-a-boo-ing spontaneously and whenever I ask them to. In this way, three is a bit easier than two were: the big ones are bigger, and love to help out. Asher’s favorite meals are when Stells feeds him sloppy spoonfuls of his cereal and fruit-or-veg-of-the-day, accompanied by his favorite jokes, which only she can properly execute.
And as for the sunshine, he is just full of that. When we prayed for a content baby, and when we named him Asher (which means happy, blessed,) what we had in mind was just what he is. After his morning feeding, he snuggles up beside me and watches the sun stream through the bedroom window, reaches to touch my face, and starts talking– sweet baby sounds I want to record in my mind indelibly. He lights up when his Daddy walks in the room, and is always happy to be with his siblings. He is mostly quiet, saving his voice for when there’s no other noise to compete with. Big blue eyes observing, crinkling up when he smiles his whole-face smile. The sound he makes most frequently is laughter.
We prayed he’d bring joy to everyone around him. People think I like to pass him around at church or with friends because he’s the third so I’m all chill about it, but it’s just because I love how he loves people, how he shares his smile with everyone he sees. When we’re out, I’ll catch him smiling at folks, and he won’t stop ‘till they smile back at him.
Already it’s hard to imagine how small he once was. I hold him, my hand on his soft head, breathing the baby scent he exudes, and want to ingest the moment or put him in my pocket, to keep this sweet young version of Asher with me forever. To never forget the look of his bright eyes gazing into mine, the feeling of sweet squishy fingers reaching for my nose or mouth, the sound of him breathing softly in his sleep and laughing as we play peek-a-boo or This Little Piggy, the warmth and weight of him in my arms or snuggled up in his favorite spot on my shoulder, watching his eyelids slowly lower as he surrenders to sleep and then hearing him sing to himself and the morning sun when he wakes up.
This part, the baby part, so sweet, so fleeting, and always changing: I dream and hope and pray for the toddler, the boy, the man that this Tiny one will grow into, but always I will keep this part in my heart.
Hey, thanks for all the good tips! Seriously, I am so going to get my feet measured and the whole deal about checking the stepping. Also, funny ‘nough (but i’m not complaining!), the day after my last post, Asher finished up with the nap-waking thing. A few times I tried to feed him to see if he was really hungry, but it was more of just a got-the-munchies situation. So i think it was a little phase.
On Monday my Fair Baby was six months old, and today he has officially begun cutting a tooth. And so begins the saga of, in my experience, about eighteen months off and on cutting teeth, and drool all over my world and looks like i need to stock up on some Hyland’s teething tablets again.
I had some cute anecdotes to tell you about, but to be quite honest i’m feeling a little fuzzy-headed today (there may be some allergy issues going on here, or possibly something more sinister. Like me getting a cold.), and can’t remember the cuteness. I know, surprise, surprise. I need to write down everything i think. Or, okay, just the important, productive and encouraging things i think, because all the rest could stand to get forgotten anyway.
So, we went up to Charlotte this weekend, where the kids stayed with Duke and Duck-duck, and I took Asher with me to stay at Court and Stu’s house (while Stu went up to visit his fam) and we had Sister-fest ‘09. We’re working on a catchier name for that. Instead of actually going to church, we stayed in jammies and watched church (a nice change of pace). I savored a a quiet rainy weekend and was actually okay with being stuck indoors. We realized the three of us hadn’t all hung out just us in over two years, and this needs to happen more often. We watched Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2, (perfect for occasion), stayed up too late, borrowed each other’s clothes, sipped coffee and journalled and shared pastries in a little bakery (called Amelie- a French Bakery. So good!), and made a pilrimage to Ikea (now i see what all the fuss is about– consider me a convert. And also we had lunch there- Swedish meatballs. Uh huh.) We had dinner with the whole family and capped it off with a family specialty, Chocolate Peanut Butter Bars. It was all pretty perfect.
And now, you will notice i’m cleaning things up a bit on this page. I tried out a different layout, but it just didn’t feel right, so i’m back to the orig. Now i’ll be switching out some of the links to blogs that are not being updated and putting in some new ones.
Next up: long-promised blog all about Asher
Okay, these stories are all about the details. This is news that might make it onto Twitter, if i’d take the time to do that, but i don’t give a tweet. Instead, I’ll spill it all here. Oh, and P.S. I love to hear your news too. Ready?
Good news: Okay, so it’s exciting to me: I didn’t wear the favorite gray shirt at all. All this week, or last week either. That’s right, there’s been blue, yellow… perhaps a little taupe.. but not grey! Related story: Also threw away some nasty ol’ flats (the ones Stella calls “Golden Shoes,”) and used a Christmas gift card for some new Golden Shoes– perfect!
Bad News: Accidentally put my foot through the hole in the knee of my fave jeans twice, making them ever so much more, um, not fit to wear in public. I fear a hole will soon wear through the seat of my jeans, rendering them entirely inappropriate to wear at all. Though i could go all mid-nineties on you and patch them up or something…. or not. So, who’s making good jeans, these days? It’s been a while since i’ve looked.
Good news: Asher is sleeping 9-10 hours a night. This happened when we simply started putting him in warmer jammies, which i feel pretty silly (and a little guilty- my poor cold baby!) about not doing before. Also, he’s onto solid (well, sort of, anyway) food now and loving it (which is probably not a surprise if you have seen him lately… or met the rest of us…).
Bad news: He’s been mysteriously waking up shortly into nap time with a sudden loud (almost scream-y) cry. Sometimes he’ll settle back down pretty quickly, but other times he won’t go back to sleep at all. No symptoms of sickness other than a very mildly runny nose, and he’s not teething yet. Any ideas?
Good news: Oh, sunny days. Everything is so much easier when we can get outside and run around. Speaking of which, I have been running. It is just like i remembered it. Except slower. I’m doing two miles, with a couple little walk breaks. And most days, I’m walking (with Brian, and each of us with a stroller, and the kids fighting over which stroller they sit in and who is pushing). I’ll be honest, I would have hardly considered what I’m doing worth calling “running” back in my heyday, but, Thank God, it’s a new day. And i am very appreciative of the ability to run without the back/hip pain and seriously, to run at all!
Bad news: My running shoes have worn completely smooth on the bottom. I have forgotten how to running-shoe shop, and where to look for the best shoe/price combo. So again, i turn to you: any ideas on this one?
Good news: I mysteriously had a few consecutive good hair days this week. It’s always luck of the draw, because I can’t seem to coax the mane into doing anything other than what it wishes. So it’s like a surprise visit from the Hair-y Godmother, if you will, because I didn’t do anything different. Of course, the real news in hair is that Stella has bangs now. She looks so very grown up. Ah-dorable, and she is so proud!
So of course, again, the good news wins in my spin. What’s new in your news, friends?
So here’s why that last post is so crucial, about me loving my husband and being entirely happy with our marriage: it wasn’t always like this.
When we started out, it was hard. For a while, i wanted to leave. To pull the covers over my head and ignore life (which i did on many occasions,) and just run away (which i did not actually do). But i wanted to run, preferably all the way back to my childhood.
He’s not perfect, but it sure wasn’t Brian’s fault. I just didn’t want to accept my life as a married woman– as a woman at all. I was comfortable with ‘girl,’ with ‘college student,’ both of which seemed, in my mind, to allow the freedom to behave in the way i was used to: childishly.
Procrastinating, ignoring and not returning phone calls, running late, forgetting assignments, changing my mind on a whim and backing out last minute because i didn’t “feel like it,” staying up too late and sleeping through the alarm: In these i excelled. I lived in a box, framed in by the boundaries of what I expected to be expected of me, doing just enough to get by. A life without vision, defined more by what I lacked than what I lived.
What is interesting to me now is this: that even at that time, i was trying to follow Christ. My heart tried to move that direction, but remained I oblivious to the walls (and habitual sin) I’d bricked up around myself. Those behaviors, that was just “how I am.” I’m just not very thoughtful like that, not really a “people person,” and too bad if you don’t like it, you know? When anyone tried to push into what was going on, to perhaps reach in and help me out, my instinct was to run. With friends, I’d ignore, avoid. With Brian, I’d lock myself in the bathroom or peal out of the parking lot in a whirl of slamming doors and squealing tires. Oh, it wasn’t pretty.
But marriage sure can’t last long (at least in any sort of a healthy way) if you can’t push past trying to win all the time and learn to resolve issues. The accountability and vulnerability that my marriage demanded were terrifying (and very uncomfortable) to me. (Is anyone comfortable with vulnerability? Blechh. Though I have grown more okay with it than i was…) And I’d gotten spooked by the commitment, but that’s the reality of marriage. There is no guarantee that the spouse you choose will always make you happy and do what you want, or do things that make sense at all. That’s just how it is. And if your husband is stubborn as you are, and is determined to get inside your walls and help you knock ‘em down, it sure won’t be fun. But it will end better than it started.
What is sexier than overhearing your husband discuss princesses and tea parties with your little girl? There might not be anything quite so endearing. The sound of him doing dishes? (And not pointing out that he is Ahem! Doing dishes over here! Yes, you’re welcome for all these dishes i’m washing!) Or perhaps the sound of him baby-talking to the baby as he voluntarily (!) changes the latest stank-nasty diaper the sweet little one has produced.
Is it seeing him build tower after building-block tower with the two year old who seems to have a future in demolition? Or the feeling of him getting out of bed to answer the ‘call of the child’ in the middle of the night, even though the little one wails for mom. And, oh, there is a sweet ring, first thing in the morning, to those words, “I made you a cup of coffee.”
It is a good thing to have someone to go the distance with, even if that person doesn’t always go exactly like I think he should, worrying about things I don’t think matter, insisting on shirts folded just a particular way, and plans i think are unneccessary. But really, looking past the little stuff makes it easier to focus on the positive– the really important stuff. Give me a man who starts each day in the Word and always comes back to that foundation. A man who can care about Aurora and Ariel, tall block towers and clean baby cheeks, and I am a happy woman. Er, I mean, don’t give me one. Cause i happen to have one. And, well, what i’m tryin’ to say here, is that yes, i am a happy woman.
Amen?
Soup simmers in the Crock pot, clean laundry tumbles dry. The scent of bread rising in the kitchen: the house smells like heaven to me. There is so much more on the to-do list, but I’ve silenced those thoughts to sit in my favorite spot, the yellow chair in the sunny corner with a steaming mug of coffee, journal open and the Word before me, to meditate, to be quiet, to be still. My heart is inclined to more lasting reward than completed chores.
And i didn’t want interruptions, but an interruption i got: the one i call “Tiny,” who is only tiny in comparison, calls out to me the only way he can. Loud, sad sobs echo through the house, and my first thought, “don’t wake anyone else up!” Nap time has only just begun, but he makes it clear after a few minutes that he will not settle himself this time. I put down the book and pen, and sort of slump away. I needed that time, a sacred moment.
There are fat tears on his round cheeks, but as soon as i pick him up he melts right into my shoulder, little hands grasping my neck and my arm, his downy head tucked under my chin. I see our reflection in the mirror, and he’s awake but so peaceful, so content. He murmurs sweet baby sounds, baby songs. And though my lips are silent as i bend to kiss his head, my heart finds songs of praise: Thank you, God! For this beautiful gift You’ve given me. For the responsibility to care for, to teach and to train these little ones you have put under my care. And Thank you for the Life that sustains me, now and never-ending. Amen!
And this moment, too, is holy.
