~ When Your Arms Are Overflowing

"I opened the window to let the fresh air in

And continued to work away the day,

Painting walls and filling shelves just so,

Until the wind blew and took my breath away.

The lilacs seemed to dance across the room

Reminding me of sweeter things to come...

Empty arms and aching heart no more...

When will this child I've longed for come home?"

I remember standing in an empty nursery in the spring of 1998 after 11 years of infertility wondering when God would answer our prayers.

One month later, on June 24, 1998, my first child arrived .

And they just kept coming!

"He gives the barren woman healing. She'll dance with joy like the mother of children." ~ from There's No One Like Our God

Pictures taken Mother's Day 2011. Lyrics are from a song called "Carried Away on a Breeze".

~ It's Not Just DNA

It's early in the day, and we are watching our smallest busy himself about the house, making his presence known wherever he goes. He loves noise. His brothers are off playing in another part of the house when I tell my husband,

"He is sooo you!!!"

I whisper it because I never want the older boys to think they are less of daddy than their brother.

And then I wink and ask my husband if he thinks the little one will be-bop when he walks as he gets older. (That's what caught my eye when I first saw his daddy - that happy bouncy way he walked around campus when we were young and carefree.)

He laughs and says he's been noticing the same crazy bounce step in our little one that I always tease him about.

It must be in the genes.

The day rolls along. We start school and tend to our subjects, and when it's time for science, I pull out the beads and the pipe cleaners, and I help my oldest make a replica of a strand of DNA.

I look down as my hands thread the beads and I remember the morning conversation and I marvel at this carrier of genetic information I am constructing.

The day is winding down when one of my middle boys comes to me out of the blue and says in his quietest, most serious voice,

"Mom, I wish I knew what my birth dad looks like."

We have never been afraid to talk with the boys about birth moms or birth dads. In our book, they are to be honored and remembered for their incredible sacrifices and gifts. However, this comment caught me a little off-guard. Wanting to be ready to tend to this need, I cleared my throat, shook away the cobwebs on my brain from a crazy day, and I uttered the most profound thing I could think of at that moment,

"Oh really, honey? Why?"

"I want to know if I reflect him."

Just as I feel the little flutter in my heart, the one that happens when I wonder if I'm going to be able to handle this the way it needs to be handled, I hear him chuckle and he says,

"I heard that on T.V."

"You heard what on T.V.?"

"That children reflect their parents."

And just like that, something caught his attention and off he went.

No time to formulate the perfect parental response.

No time to reassure him.

No time to scoop him up in my arms.

I'm left standing there with a spatula in my hands, speechless.

As usual, I think of the perfect thing to say later that evening in the quiet, and I will say it to him when I get the chance.

I will tell him that, if it's true that children reflect their parents, his birth father must have the most beautiful dimples, the greatest smile, and the kindest eyes in the world.

And then I'll tell him all the ways he reflects his forever father.

I'll tell him, "You reflect his curiosity, his love for nature, his desire to help people and his ability to make people laugh."

And then I'll tell him all the ways I see Him reflecting his heavenly Father.

I'll remind him to never stop putting other people's needs ahead of his own and to keep loving with no expectations for himself. He's got both of those things down!

I think back on the day and I marvel at the ways a day twists and turns and all comes together.

And when I crawl into bed to find rest for the night, I have this brief thought:

There are many ways to pass things on to your children - DNA is just one of them.

~ When God Gives You Forever

Nine years ago today, God gave us an incredible double blessing.

Our twins were eight months old when they arrived from South Korea.

They were born eight weeks premature and weighed only 3 pounds each.

Much to our surprise, they were not tiny when they arrived.

They are identical twins.

After eight hours in a hotel that first night, we could tell their cries apart, and they would turn to our voices at breakfast the next morning.

I believe God had already begun knitting our hearts together.

We became a family that first day at the airport, but God determined it to be so before the foundation of the world.

Happy Family Day Ellis and Aidan! We love you and we love being your forever family!

~ Memories of Camp

My oldest left for Snow Blast last Friday.

It's a youth retreat our church hosts every year in the North woods of Wisconsin.

Over 150 kids filled our coach bus

our faithful school bus

our mini bus

and at least five Minivan/SUV's.

It was a lot of luggage

a lot of kids

and thankfully, a lot of chaperones.

It brought back many memories of my own times at camp as a kid:

- Getting to see great friends from around the state every summer (We kind of grew up together.)

- Going to chapel every night

- Wondering which boy would ask you to sit with him at banquet on Thursday night

- Waking at least once during the week to find the big bell missing from its resting place (those crazy boys)

- Watching all those cute boys play baseball down in the field (I was a bit boy crazy - ok, a lot)

- Showing up to banquet one year in a sailor dress and realizing at least six of us had the same idea (and one of the others was the exact same dress as mine)

- Having a young man make a grand gesture by sneaking out of his dorm, running over to the other side of camp just to tap on my window and say goodnight (makes a girl feel special - makes the counselors crazy)

- Wondering who was brave enough to go hang out in the cemetery after curfew (not me - I was chicken!)

Now that I am an adult, I look back on the pure, innocent fun we had at camp, and I am thankful for all the adults that showed up every year to make sure we had a fun and safe environment to make new friends, have fun, and grow in our faith.

Mostly, I am grateful that Christ chose to make himself real to me in that place, surrounded by loving adults and special friends, and that I surrendered my life to Him there so very long ago. I don't really remember any specific sermons, but I remember the moment I said, "Yes, I'll follow you forever."

I hope my son makes many special memories at camp.

I hope he has tons of fun in the snow.

I hope he finds many special friends and recognizes the caring adults who sacrifice for him.

But mostly, I pray that in all the noise and excitement and adventure,

in all the new experiences and new friends,

when the moment comes,

I pray he hears His Savior's voice calling him to something deeper and richer.

And I pray he says, "Yes!"

~ The Dripping Never Goes Away

I wake up,

Crawl out of bed

Longing for a few more minutes

To sleep, to think

Before chaos ensues

Like it always does.

These boys of mine DID NOT come with a volume control;

No mute button,

No slow-motion setting,

Not even a pause button.

I fear I'm not ready to face it all again.

Will this day hold anything new?

Will it be any different than all the rest of my days lately?

I pause, as I'm in the habit of doing.

I bow my head.

I confess, cry out really, I am incapable of doing this thing I do everyday on my own.

I am nothing without Him.

I determine to set my ears to His tune for this day

to listen for His rhythms

And in that moment, I hear the ever-so-soft dripping sound I hear only when I stop to listen for it

and the dripping washes over me until my heart begins to see the newness of this day

-the mercies

- the grace

- the goodness

- the gifts

• All four children sleeping in long enough for me to get my bearings (and a cup of coffee and a quiet moment) this morning.

• An older child nestling up close to offer humble words, "I'm sorry for my attitude about lunch. I started thinking about all the people who would have been happy to have my lunch. Will you forgive me?"


• A child noticing that mom didn't yell today, and following it up with, "...and neither did I!" (We're both working on it! We're too much alike, the two of us! It is a daily taming for both of us.)

• A nine-year-old who started and finished a book while he waited for his brother's gym class to finish. (That's six books in less than two weeks.)

• A science experiment that actually works!
  
  

• The big "aha" as one of them stops me in the middle of the story of Abraham sacrificing his son, Isaac, "Oh I get it! God provided the ram to take Isaac's place, and Jesus will take our place!" (Ahh, sweet light of truth!) (We were reading in this Genesis commentary again. Great discussion always follows!)
  
  
• A two-year old squealing with delight, "Nummy! Thanks for making dinner, Mom!" as he shovels a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

• A passport arriving in the mail for one who was not born in this country. His first passport was issued by the Republic of Korea. This one was issued by the United States after two attempts, just in time for him to take his 2nd international flight as he and his dad go away for a "rite of passage", "coming of age", "Yea! I'm a teenager now" Father/Son trip (more on that at a later date)

• Two blessed hours of quietness before I lay my body down (unless it collapses from sheer exhaustion first).

Photos are of our humble little school and the little one who likes to be in the middle of it all.

~ I Need a Do-Over

Last night in Wisconsin (and perhaps other parts of the world), school children gathered their shoes (or boots or stockings depending on where you are from) to put outside their bedroom doors so that when St. Nick came, he would fill it with trinkets if they had been good this year.

If they weren't, tradition has it, they would receive a lump of coal.

I did not grow up with this tradition.

Oh, I grew up with stockings all right, but until my first child entered kindergarten and his teacher told him on Dec. 5th that St. Nick would be coming to his house that night (Thank you very much!), I had never heard of St. Nick's Eve.

This observance has its roots in the Catholic Church and in German tradition. And if Wisconsin is anything, it is Catholic and German in its roots.

I on the other hand, am Protestant and my people are from the hollers of Tennessee (not sure where beyond that).

Anyhow, I digress.

As I was saying, somehow without meaning to, St. Nick's Eve has become a part of our holiday tradition. That first year, I had to run out after my kindergartner had gone to bed so that he wouldn't be the only child left behind the next day.

As usual, last night I was caught off guard again. Luckily, I had done some Christmas shopping the day before and had some small toys in my trunk outside for each of them.

They scurried around looking for their boots before bed, putting them "just so" by their bedroom doors.

The big boys worried about the smallest one's boot. He was fast asleep, and they were afraid he would be left out. I told them not to worry.

I would handle it.

They said, "But his shoes are so little. Will there be enough room."

I assured them, "I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT!"

They all went to bed anxiously anticipating St. Nick's arrival and totally at peace that mom was taking care of everything. All was well until...

...St. Nick forgot to come to our house last night and they woke to empty boots this morning.

Let's just say it was not pretty. There were tears - theirs and mine.

I blame it on the kindergarten teacher. It's really all her fault. I'm just thankful we have this motto at our house.

I better get going. St. Nick's Eve is on Dec. 6th this year (at least at our house).

~ Be Careful Little Eyes What You See

These boys of mine are growing up so fast I can't keep up. Every day brings new changes:

* These pants hurt my waist!

* Does my hair look ok?

* Can I ride across town on my bike?

Can I take my brothers with me?

* None of my shoes fit!

* Can I buy this new gadget that costs ____ (way too much)?

* Can I go to the high school football game with my friend?

Add to those a new big boy bed and staying at the YMCA by themselves and increased allowances for new nightly kitchen duties and leaving the oldest home to babysit for a late date with hubby and on and on and on...

My chidren are growing up!

And I'm not ready!

How am I supposed to protect them and keep them safe with all these changes coming at me so fast? Not to mention ...

Internet

Email

Ipods

Texting

Netflix

Cell Phones (WITH CAMERAS)

How do I hold on to their innocence while letting them spread their wings?

How do I counteract all the negative influences in their lives when I don't know what all their little minds are taking in? When they're not with me 24/7 anymore? When other influences compete for priority in their lives?

I've been thinking alot about this lately.

I long to teach my sons to think about what is good and right and lovely. I want them to know how to keep their minds pure. After all, God calls us to this - to a life of holiness. A few weeks ago, we spent the week in our devotions talking about loveliness (thanks to Ann's post here). It might seem strange to talk with boys about loveliness for a week, but it gave us many opportunities to talk about how we can be loveliness to a world that is surrounded by such ugliness and how there is still much to appreciate in our lives despite the horrible things we see around us.

The more we talked about filling our minds with what is good and right and pure and lovely, the more I found myself asking, "How does one with a houseful of young boys protect their little eyes?" No matter where I look, I see things that, in a second, could undermine everything I long to teach my children.

It is scary raising boys. They are such visual creatures. Just the other day, my youngest kept asking to wear his green shirt. Apparently, Bobby on the Brady Bunch was wearing a green shirt, and he noticed. (He keeps telling me, "No mom, not this shirt. I don't look bootiful. I want my green shirt." HE's TWO! Scary!)

Anyway, I know that what we take in with our eyes helps determine what our minds think about. So I am very diligent in what I allow my children to do, where I allow them to go and who I allow them to be around. Sometimes, that makes me seem like the meanest mom ever. I'm sure other moms must think I am overprotective and a bit fanatical. Sometimes, I start to question whether I'm doing my boys more harm than good. Maybe I'm just being too cautious.

In our read aloud time, the boys and I have been reading a wonderful book by Nancy E. Ganz called Genesis: A Commentary for Children. It is one of the books in her Herein Is Love Commentary Series. The author wrote it especially for children to teach them about the love of God. I have to tell you, she may have had children in mind, but I am loving this book. It has given us so much to talk about. We read right before lunch, and sometimes they don't want me to stop. Lunchtime is often filled with questions or comments about the book and about God and His plan for mankind. I highly recommend the book for anyone to read if they want a new perspective on our Creator.

The other day we were reading the chapter about the Fall and how Eve had the witness of the world (the earth was full of praise), her own self (being made in God's image), and God's own words to help her flee temptation. However, Eve made a choice to move toward temptation.

These are the words that so captivated me in this lesson:

"The first step towards the fall was just a few millimeters. Scripture records that it was the movement of her eyes." (Ganz)

She looked at the forbidden fruit.

That was the first step toward the first sin, and it was only two more steps until she had disobeyed God. Three tiny steps to break her fellowship with God forever. From there, all it took was two more steps and the world was changed forever. Ms. Ganz goes on to say, "There were just five little steps from God to Satan, just five little steps from heaven to hell.

She saw.

She took.

She ate.

She gave.

He ate."

And with those five little steps, Satan "silenced the praises of God on this planet."

The moment I read it, it confirmed for me that I'm not just some overprotective mom. I'm doing my job. I'm protecting the one thing that has the potential to send my children down a path of destruction and despair - the path that leads away from God instead of the path that leads to Him. I'm protecting their eyes, and I won't apologize for it, and I won't cower from it because of what the world allows or deems appropriate.

I tell my oldest all the time, "With every temptation you will have to decide what to do with your eyes. Will you decide one little look won't hurt you, or will you turn your eyes to the One you know will help you resist it."

Amazing, isn't it, how just the shift of our eyes can determine our course. The question is, "In what direction will we shift them?"

~ Why We Allow Name Calling

I came home with a trunk full of groceries the other night. I was tired from all the day's activities, and it was almost bedtime. I probably wasn't in the best mood.

I'm just sayin'!

My children came spilling out the door to help unload the car, and one of them, the funny middle child, exclaimed with hand to forehead in a respectful (or maybe it was disrespectful) salute, "Joboaidanson reporting for duty, sir!"

I almost doubled over laughing.

Let me explain.

I grew up, a product of a mother who had too many children to call us by the correct name. (Well, it's true mom!) I can't remember how many times she called me Keith. Then there were the times she had to go through the whole list, and since I was last in line, I got called by everyone's name (or at least by the first sound of everyone's name).

I could never really understand. There were only four of us. Is it that hard to remember the names of the children to whom you gave life? To whom you carried and nurtured for nine months?

I'm grown up now.

I UNDERSTAND!

So recently, after going through the list of the four names of my own children to get to the correct one my brain was searching for, I had a brilliant idea.

Why not just come up with one name that would cover all of them!

That night at dinner, we had many good chuckles as we each came up with what we thought was the best name for the four of them.

And "Joboaidanson" was born!

Jo - for Josiah

Bo - for Bennett or any of the hundred nicknames we call him (Benny BoBo)

Aidan - for Aidan (of course)

Son - for Ellison

See! They're all covered.

So when my middle child reported for duty at the car the other night, I had visions of my husband standing in the kitchen yelling, "Joboaidanson, go help your mother unload the groceries."

Apparently, it really does work because all four of them came to my rescue.

If mom had just had a similar name, maybe I could have been spared all the pain and struggle that goes with poor self-esteem and feeling unloved. (Just kidding mom!) Allow me to suggest a couple that I think would have worked wonderfully (my siblings were Mark, Keith, Lori and Karen):

Meithiren

Marthrika

Makloren (my personal favorite)

For those moments when you just can't seem to get the right name from your brain to your lips, I highly recommend using one name. Ours is serving us well!

Between a Rock and Park Place

I heard the question and my heart sank.

"Mom, can we play Mononpoly?"

"Sure." (They have to ask because it takes forever and consumes our dinner table.)

And then he asked in his sweetest, softest voice, "Will you play, too?"

As soon as it was out of his mouth, the other little voices chimed in with their cheers and pleas and it wasn't quiet and sweet and soft anymore.

Some of you when faced with a question like that may get all giddy and excited at the prospect of spending the afternoon with your children teaching them about money matters and math and life. And there are others who love the challenge and the charge of buying properites, charging rent and making people go bankrupt.

Me? I hear the words, "Will you play monopoly with us?" But what registers in my brain is something like, "Will you forget about the laundry and the dishes and the dust and the dirty bathrooms and spend an entire day sitting in a hard chair making sure a two-year-old doesn't wreck the game or swallow something he's not supposed to while trying to figure out this newer version where we use million dollar bills instead of hundreds. " Not the greatest response, I know. What can I say? I'm not a game player.

But in the brief moment when the chattering little voices calmed to wait for my answer, I heard another voice call to me. This voice reeled off all the reasons it was a really a good idea. "Someday they won't want you to play their games. The dirt and dishes will always be here. Is there really anything more important. It's a chance to make a memory. You've said no enough. Say yes for a change."

So after the voices battled in my head and I had made an argument for a quick game of yahtzee instead (and lost), I gave in. The dirt and dishes waited, and we made a memory. I love my boys. They really are a fun bunch, but I am worried about my oldest one's lust for money and power!

Marking the Moments of a Life

He walks toward the car, kicking his soccer ball, and I strain my neck to see if he's holding it. All week, he's poured his heart into the one-on-one matches, the footwork, the three-on-three games, the drills. He knows if he works hard, pays attention, gives his best, it will make him a better player. But I know him. I know his drive to be the best. I know how he is carried along on words of affirmation. Deep down, he wants that trophy. The one that says, "I tried my hardest and Coach noticed."

He is red-faced, and his jet-black Korean hair is dripping wet when he crosses the road to the car, evidence that he played hard, worked hard. And so I try my best to see past all the soccer paraphanlaia - the water bottle and the camp t-shirt and the participation medal coach passed out today. His face gives nothing away except the sheer exhaustion from two-and-a-half hours of running.

He throws me a faint smile as he climbs in and gives me his usual, "Hi, Mom." I decide not to bring it up, and I ask how it went. More than anything, I want him to know that if he gives his best at each and every opportunity, he can always be proud of his performance. I will always be proud of his performance.

He slides into the car and bursts into a huge grin and says, "I got the Player of the Day trophy! I knew I could do it if I worked really hard." I smile at his determination, and I know where he gets it. He's just like his mom.

"How awesome to win an award on your special day!" I tell him. (Today is his Family Day. It's the day he flew to America 12 years ago to join our family - to make me a mommy!) "Do you want to call your dad?" I listen to his excitement as he tells his dad about his trophy and his coach's praise, and I watch as he is carried on his dad's words of affirmation.

We have a lot to celebrate tonight. We feast on Mexican food as a family, and we endure the noise and the lights and the energy of their favorite place, the one they always ask for.

And when we're finally home, he crawls in bed, exhausted but happy.

I stretch out across my bed and I see the frame on the wall. The one that says "Moments of Perfection". The one that holds pictures of my first moments with each of my children. And there it is. The exact moment 12 years ago today when they placed him in my arms. I smile remembering the sweet face and the head full of jet, black hair and the whispering past the lump in my throat, "This feels really good!" And I think to myself, "It still feels really good!"

I rejoice in his success today, and I mark the moment he came to us and I thank my Heavenly Father for this precious gift.

Happy Family Day, Josiah!