Notes from the inside of a rainbow

While I was driving the other day, Emeth chirped in the backseat about how the leaves of autumn made him feel like we were "living inside a rainbow." At the stop-light, I quickly scribbled these words on the back of my hand. How apt they were in describing our lives at the moment.

If you want to get me ranting for a while, try saying something like "this is not a black and white issue, there is a gray area." I would rebel against the rigidity of these options and talk your ears off about how God did not create the world in black and white or shades of gray. He splashed onto the mountains and threw into the oceans a spectrum of colors, billions of shades, patterns, textures, nuances, and contrasts. Not merely black and white or gray. Just because we can't see them or understand them does not make them "gray area."

Yes, indeed. That would get me ranting for a while.

Khesed now lays asleep across my lap. His slightly parted lips, each strand of his eyelashes, and his warm, soft breaths fill me with wonder. The house is quiet while they are asleep, and I can blessedly hear my own thoughts. These moments melt away like chocolate ice cream, dark and bitter. I savor each spoonful knowing the hustle and bustle of dinner time will soon descend upon us like tart lemon sherbet. And when I am rocking a crying baby in the twilight, I know that the sun will come, and there shall be coffee. My days are like a high towers of ice cream. I prefer some layers more that others.

Emeth's fish died. It is hard to believe Emeth named him Jolay Dalay two years ago. Early last week, he hid under a rock and went to sleep forever. The day he died, Emeth refused to run. Instead, he sat under the trees and thought about his fish. He drew a portrait to say goodbye and went to bed that night with a lump in his throat.

We had a funeral the next day. We placed Jolay Dalay in a tiny red coffin. Before we covered him with dirt, Emeth read the story of creation and we gave thanks for the gift of life. The stuff animals gave their condolences, along with a smiley baby. It was a glorious service, blessedly short because of the cold, and everyone cheered up and cuddled afterwards.

Life has been quite intense. It is never just one thing or one person at a time, but it is everything and everybody all at once. Nevermore alone, nevermore apart. Here, in the quiet stillness, I want to record a snapshot of this craziness, these layers of swirling colors, these autumn days, tart and bitter and sweet.

love you forever

My dear boys,

I read this book to you last night. You were very nice and soft to cuddle. When I read it as a little girl, I thought the mommy the in the story was a bit weird, her love was a bit crazy. Just like you, I thought she was a bit silly, rocking her adult son like that. But now that I am a mommy, I understand why she would do that. I would be missing you too when you are no longer by my side.

I may not climb into your bedroom window using a ladder (I'm sure you'd oblige giving me a set of your keys), but remember, I will be praying for you.

Your grandmother, my mother, used to tell me that she prayed for me when she couldn't sleep at night. I thought I understood what she was saying, but I didn't.

When mommy tells you that I am praying for you, I am really telling you that I love you. I love you when I see you in the morning and when I sing to you at night and all the hours in between. I am so happy to know you, so proud to be your mommy. I loved you when I first laid eyes on you, I loved you today when you fit so perfectly on my lap, and I will love you always and always.

When mommy tells you that I am praying for you, I am really telling you that even though I want to be with you wherever you go, I cannot.

For a short while, our world is mostly you and me. You are what I hear, smell, see. I am yours and you are mine. This is a very special time. We get to celebrate every small success together. I get to wrap your fingers with band aids, and kiss every hurt away. Daddy gets to hold you when you get your shots, even when you were kicking and screaming at him. We get to remind you to turn, and come back to the way of grace.

There will come a day when we will not be there to hold you. Pain will come. You will feel loneliness, rejection, betrayal. You will lose your way. You will find yourselves tossed in storms too great. Your boat will seem very small, and the waves will be very tall. You will be scared and will want to give up. You will know that you are not enough.

Remember, mommy is praying for you.

I am praying because I know God is with you. He will go with you to places where I cannot. His eyes will watch over you. His arms will fight for you. His hands will uphold you. His love will cover you. He loves you more, much more than I ever could. His love is crazier than climbing up a ladder into your room. He came down to live with us, to be us, to die for us.

You must remember to call upon him. Turn to him when you get lost. Fix your eyes on the cross. He is your sword, your shield. He is your light when the days are dark. He is your shepherd, you will not want anything else. He will bring you home.

Things I wish people told us about babies

Our friends Ivan and Sherri just had a baby (so happy!). And Ivan was the one who suggested the title for this post.

Because I didn't think I would write a post like this.

Within the first year of motherhood, my sentiments about people's (kind and well-meaning) advice were more along the lines of "things I wish people would not tell us about babies." Some were helpful, some were not, and others sent me into bouts of worries, guilt, and despair.

This is not a list of advice. These are just some things Emeth and Hanan have been teaching me.

1. Every baby is different.
True, we've only taken care of two babies. Yet, they are so different.

Other people do not know your child. Writers of books and articles do not know your child. Doctors and nurses and lactation consultants do not know your child. They do not know how your body feels or how your family functions. You do.

So, glean with caution. Glean from their years of expertise and knowledge, be grateful that they are available to help, but do not allow their opinions to rule your lives.

2. Every baby comes broken
3. into the arms of broken parents.
Emeth was not a compliant baby and he was very high maintenance. The first few weeks of his life were dark and happy and confusing. Now that he is four, his "difficult traits" are blossoming into his love to be around people and his intense need to understand his surrounding. But we had no way of knowing at the time.

He was a difficult baby. And I was constantly overwhelmed with guilt. I remember crying to Hans, convinced that I broke Emeth. Hans wisely and lovingly told me that Emeth was already broken. He was broken the moment he was conceived. Only the Lord, in his goodness and mercy, can save him — as he first saved us.

4. I have nothing to prove.
Still learning this one. Should have lived by this before becoming a mom. Better late than never, right?

5. The concept of time will never be the same again. Ever.
Me-time, us-time, work-time, play-time, sleep-time, shower-time — all comes crashing into one overwhelming blob.

Time is no longer linear, no longer compartmentalized, no longer predictable. The rhythm of life changes all together. And that's normal. Learn the new song. And don't try to sing the old tune to the new beat.

Nowadays, my time management mantra goes something like this: Stop chasing after what I would like to do. Learn to love what must be done. Repeat.


6. Hold principles firmly, hold methods loosely.
Principles are things that we must do as parents. Love your children. Rejoice in the Lord. Be kind. Be patient. Be faithful. Be gentle. Train up your child in the way of wisdom. These are non-negotiable.

Methods are the many ways, the different tools, we use to carry out our principles. I was so caught up in finding all the best methods in the beginning (oh you know, epidural or not, breastfeeding or not, co-sleeping or not, scheduled or demand-feeding, and all those baby gears!). I am not saying all methods are created equal, but I am saying that we need to hold our methods loosely. Don't get too invested in them. Because, at the end of the day, God has given you to your child. No matter which method you use, you are there. You are the best method. God has chosen you for your baby, and your baby for you.

That said, there was one method I held on for dear life when the babies were little. Baby-wearing. It's awesome, if your baby enjoys that sort of thing. Women (and men, I suppose) of ages past knew what they were doing. When Hans wore our babies, other moms commented on how he secure he must have been of his manhood.
 
7. Hold your baby. A lot.
Because they tend to wiggle more as they get older.

Mud soaked in grace

Here is my answer to another favorite question from my single friends: "How do I know whether this person is the one for me?"

First, stop asking the question.
Because this question is fundamentally selfish.

Or perhaps you are dating and already thinking, "I have found the perfect one for me!" Watch out, you are also in for a rude awakening.

You are making your tastes, your needs, your values, your personalities as the central, deciding factors. So really, you are loving you, not the other person. And marrying a person because you love you is generally a bad idea.

While Adam was sleeping, God made Eve. Adam was awakened to the dawn of nuptial love. God did not throw Eve somewhere in the Garden and tell Adam "go find her!" No, God brought her to Adam. In the twilight, they walked in the Garden while the earth was still young. No other husband and wife knew joy so great, though their time was brief.

Therefore, the first thing to say about marriage is that it is a work of grace.

Marriage is God's work of grace in the lives of his children. Grace of the most profound sort. Grace we do not deserve. We were given, entrusted with the life of another human being. For this reason, marriage is suitable a picture of the Gospel. A picture of how the God-man Jesus Christ gave his life for his Bride.

So, do not ask "Who is the one for me?" Rather, we should be asking, am I standing in the way of grace? Do I have the right disposition to receive grace? Grace that I do not deserve.

What is this way of grace?
The way of grace is given to us by the entire counsel of Scripture.

We are not left with our ever-changing, unreliable feelings, and random, subjective experiences (Thanks be to God!). We have been given the counsel of God's Word, which remains true forever. He has revealed his will to us, including whom we are to marry. And we have been commanded to seek after, not husbands or wives, but the kingdom of God.

Our understanding of marriage, however, must not rely merely on the "marriage passages" or the "love passages." We need know the whole story in order to understand the specific passages about love and marriage. We need to know who God is, who we are, our struggles with sin, how God rescues us from our sin, and how we are to live in relationships with one another.

Emeth, who is four, has long started asking me about "his queen." And my answer to him is always the same: he must first learn to love Lady Wisdom. In this way, he will know how to love his queen. He must first learn to walk in the way of wisdom, by fearing God and keeping his commandments. Here, he will learn to stand in the way of grace.

With much fear and trembling (and a teeny bit of reluctance), I pray that my three sons would love wise women. In order to win wise women, however, they must first be wise young men. I don't want them to be exquisite vases looking for other exquisite vases. I want them to be good mud finding good mud. Mud soaked in grace. I pray that they would become suitable clay— broken and yielding—in order that they might be useful vessels for the glory of God.

So, how would you characterize someone who is wise? Here are just a few traits gleaned from the book of Proverbs. The wise person fears the Lord. Unlike fools, the wise person is aware of their foolishness and loves correction and discipline. The wise person prays, trusts in the Lord, bears much fruit, is hard-working, resourceful, kind, and knows how to reign over their tongues. Fools manipulate and take advantage of others; they are flirtatious, proud, dishonest, provocative, and lazy. They have no self-control especially over their tongues and their temper.

A few more words.

Not only have we been given the entire counsel of God's Word, we have also been given a cloud of witnesses. You should not be making this decision alone. Seek the counsel of God-fearing people who love you and who would watch out for you. And listen. Wisdom is discernible by others. In fact, your own vision might be a little (or more than a little) compromised by your feelings.

No matter how well we think we know the person we marry, we always marry people who are somewhat of a stranger to us. Because dates are not the same as real life. Because people change. And believe it or not, that's a very good thing. The knowledge that we are able to change is the very hope of marriage.

Part of me died at the altar on my wedding day. I died, in more ways than I understood. And I promised to be a new person, in more ways than I knew possible, with the one singing beside me. The amazing thing was that he promised to do the same. That he would die for me, to be with me, to be me.

The way of grace is narrow.
But its narrowness
is the narrowness of a birth canal.
There is an entire universe waiting on the other side.

Thoughts about heaven

For one reason or another, Emeth talks about heaven a lot. His fascination with his future forever home is intriguing, and so endearing to me. In this season of arduous (and at times discouraging) house-hunting, his little comments are God's grace to me, reminding me to not place my hope in sticks and stones. This world is not my home.

Here are some quotes I am saving for rainy days, in case the roof leaks.

1. Emeth can't wait to get to heaven because there will be no more coughing and sneezing and hiccups. Nobody understands hiccups.

2. Emeth is getting ready to go to heaven. Emeth is so excited! God made a house for Emeth. Emeth is bringing a luggage with four rocks.

3. Emeth doesn't have to bring his toys because God will share his toys with me.

4. God will give me a new skin because Emeth's skin is very old. Emeth has been wearing it for a long long time. (He is four)

5. (When his allergies striked, he said,) Emeth is being brave because God will help me breathe someday.

In the sun

{a letter to our almost-four-year-old son after a particular difficult day}

Darling,

Today was a very sad day for daddy and me. The winds and waves were tall; and our boat so very small. I was grateful that we were together: you and Hanan, daddy and me.

The rules and boundaries we give are not to bind you, but to keep you safe. We give you instructions, so that you will know which way to go. We build you a trellis, so you will be able to climb and find the sun.

Meanwhile, mommy and daddy are watching you sleep, our hearts hurting. We love you very much, and I am grateful that we are together, especially during the storms.

I can't wait to run with you, in the sun.

love,
mommy

Snow covers, like grace

I love snow.

I lost my key,
again.

This time, we did not find it. It is still out there, somewhere. Buried in the snow.

It must have fallen out of my pocket when I took the boys' mittens out. There we were, all four of us, kicking and digging around a few square meters. Only two of us were really looking though, I think. Emeth tried his best. And Yohanan cheered us on with his laughs, looking like an astronaut in his red snowsuit.

While we were looking, Emeth prayed with daddy, "Lord, please help us find mommy's key." After an hour of searching, he prayed again, "Thank you, Lord, for helping us."

He did not say, "even though we did not find it." Like I would have.

Grace in the losing,

grace in the looking,

grace in the waiting.

UPDATE: Hans found my key, again. He found it as he systematically brushed the snow off the ground. Grace in the finding.

A strange and frightening kind of day

November 21, 2011

2:00 p.m. Emeth laid down for his nap with not much bouncing or laughing. Unusual, but I did not think much of it.

3:30 p.m. Emeth woke up. We had our ritual of hugs and whispers, and he requested to return to his crib "to rest" a little longer "because he was too tired." This never happened before, but there is a first time for everything, right?

4:30 p.m. Emeth woke up from his second nap (?!). We talked a little and he proceeded to lay on the floor and watched his brother playing with toys. Again, never happened before.

5:00 p.m. Emeth requested to return to the crib a second time to rest. I was getting a little worried.

6:00 p.m. He was still under his blanket, holding his bear, staring blankly into space.

The house was quiet. I heard only the light footsteps of the little brother's fat feet. When I washed the dishes, I did not have to remove my gloves every two minutes. No one was talking, or telling me stories, or roaring like a lion, or asking questions.

My imagination ran wild. I had read several articles on meningitis a few days ago. Lethargy was among the symptoms; death was among the "complications." I checked his temperature several times. Is your neck hurting? How are your knees? Can you straighten your legs?

6:40 p.m. He sat up and said, "Emeth is not feeling too tired any more," and slowly regained his momentum of chattiness.

7:30 p.m. He was singing Pop Goes the Weasel at the top of his lungs. He was not eating his dinner like I wish he would, but it was well with my soul.

I record this for days to come when I might foolishly wish for a quieter house. I might wish to whine about all the interruptions or the giggles and squeals when they are supposed to be sleeping. I record this to remember how frightened I was when Emeth was quiet, and how grateful I was when I had my a boisterous and endlessly chatty three-year-old back.

Here are some Emethese for good measure:

ker whale -- killer whale 
os-posit or o-sipit -- opposite
long long time ago or last morning -- a few hours ago, yesterday, weeks or months or years ago.
maybe -- definitely. E.g. "maybe I spilled my yogurt" means "I spilled my yogurt."
almost -- already. E.g. "It's almost two o'clock" means "It's already two o'clock."
deft-ly -- definitely
um-set -- upset
sammich -- sandwich
opportunist -- what daddy calls me and my little brother when he comes out from his study.
Jolay and Dalay - me and daddy when we are pretending to be Jolay and Dalay. Mommy is also Jolay but she doesn't like to play along. And Hanan is Dalay, like me, but he is too little to understand.

Emeth's first poem

At the breakfast table this morning, Emeth composed his first poem.

Chubby little fingers,
Chubby little toes,
Chubby little winter on Hanan bear.

I thought it had just the right amount of ambiguity for a poem. I get it, but I don't get it. He said it was to "make Hanan laugh." I thought it was perfect.

On whales, trains, and stories

One night, after the children were in bed, I went into Hans' study and started spewing information about pregnant humpback whales, the growth spurt of baby humpbacks (100 pounds a day), and how they nurse (40 times a day, yielding about 130 gallons of milk, 50% milkfat). Fascinating stuff, right?

I stopped when I saw a huge grin on Hans' face. "What is so funny?" I demanded. "You are talking about breastfeeding whales," he responded.

OK, fine. I can see how that can be perceived as a little weird.
I blame this on motherhood. Emeth gave me his sea-creature-fever and I didn't even know it.

Mommy cow scolded baby cow for standing on the train tracks.

The train was, of course, carrying an octopus and a shark.

These are familiar sights around our home. This is Emeth's world. And it has become our world. Colliding stories. They make perfect sense in the mind of their creator, "Mommy, let me tell you a story. One day..."

Emeth lives in stories; and Emeth lives out stories.

During dinner one night, he was licking rice off the his plate. When I reprimanded him, he answered: "Emeth is not a cow?" Ah, thank you for the explanation. I am never sure where we are during our walks anymore, "Emeth, are we a school of fish in the coral reef (the bushes) or are we trains on the tracks (the sidewalk)?" I need to pay more attention.

I am well aware that one of the biggest advantages I have over all the other voices in his life is that I get to tell him his first stories. Stories make his world. Stories draw boundaries between light and darkness, day and night, sea and sky, right and wrong, good and bad. Stories give him people and things to love.

Mr.Squash meeting the wild animals at the zoo.

Hans found it slightly disturbing when I became fascinated with North Korea. I was digging around the web for articles, videos, pictures, anything really. And as always, after the children were in bed, I sat in Hans' study and spewed information.

How do they bear the weight of their fear? How do they endure the silence and the emptiness of their streets? How did they become so deceived?

Stories.

The same can be said for the concentration camps during World War II. Or how people captured other human beings and make them slaves. Or how pimps deceive young girls into prostitution. They each began with a story -- very, very bad ones.

We expect to be entertained when we walk into the cinema. As we drive down the highway, we are bombarded by streams of billboards. Movies, dramas, video clips, reality shows, commercials, books, the news. We think we are above them. We think they are harmless. In fact, we don't think very much of them at all.

Kim Jong Il, the dictator of North Korea, thinks very much of these things. He knows the power of storytelling. Some call it propaganda. Actors and actresses in North Korea are handpicked by Kim Jong Il, and they are counted among the most privileged of the country. They live and perform to give joy to their "Dear Leader."

In Pyongyang, there is a shrine dedicated to the "Dear Leader." Well, actually he has many shrines, but this particularly one is a museum of cinematography, in which he is the star. Of all things, the people revere him as a genius of the cinema, the theater, and the circus. Prime ministers and presidents of other nations do not receive such praise in these fields. But it seems that his strategy works, the level of control Kim Jong Il has on his subjects is astounding.

When I spewed information about North Korea on my sister Catherine (my poor family), she thoughtfully responded: "I wonder whether I am living in a delusion?"

Yes, of course we are. Like children, we live in stories, and we live out stories. But unlike children, we don't think very much of them. In fact, we don't think very much at all.

Broken when spoken

When Emeth was younger, he would (loudly) announce that he was being quiet.

Broken when spoken.

We've been teaching Emeth that he should not compliment himself. It might be cute that he praises himself now when he is only three, but I am sure it will not be cute five years, ten years, forty years down the road.

Self-praise is no praise, we would tell him. The concept is still, however, a little tricky for him to grasp at this point. After he does something kind, or when he shares a toy with his brother, he would say in his seriously voice, "Mommy, Emeth should not say that Emeth is being good. Only mommy and daddy can say that Emeth is being good."

Broken when spoken.

Adults do this all the time, here is a list of things that we break once we speak or think of them.

• I should never think that I am prepared. When I think I am prepared, I stop thinking, and when I stop thinking, I forget things. (OK, so this only applies to me.)

• After you tell a joke, if people respond with "that's funny!" -- this means that the joke was not funny. Because if it was funny, they would be laughing, not talking.

• When you are waiting in line, or when you are stuck in traffic, and you think you are being patient -- you are not. It's like what they say about a watched kettle -- it never boils. So, look away! Think about other things! Have conversations! Keep busy!

• Whenever I hear organizations talking about being "diverse" or "multicultural" or "authentic" -- I doubt that they are. If they were truly diverse or authentic, they would not need to talk about it -- they would just be. That would be the norm. Cool people don't need to call themselves cool. That would be un-cool.

• When I think I am wise, I am not--because wisdom loves correction and rebuke. It is not enough to just accept rebukes, but we are to love them, to treasure them. Wisdom would seek correction, longing for ways to be better. The wise person would think that she is a fool.

• And here is my favorite from C.S. Lewis: When I think I am humble, I am not. Because a humble person would not be thinking about herself at all.

This freedom of ours

{in remembrance of the children in the African drought}

The sink was full of dirty dishes.
Books covered our floor like ill-fitted pavement.
The hand-knitted tablecloth from Afghanistan was hidden under piles of Emeth-drawings.

They were the evidences of our freedom, our abundance.

The dishes were dirty because we had food. In fact, I was free to make whatever I wanted for dinner. My only restriction was whichever meat I had defrosted this morning. I chose sausages. Long pockets of salty, spicy, (and yes, fatty) meat.

Books covered the floor because they were free. We were free to borrow as many books as we wanted from the library.

The little brother did not think he was free though. All he wanted to do was get out and disassemble big brother's train tracks.

Emeth requested that I draw a picture of our family. So I did. And I drew myself in a red skirt. As I was drawing, he exclaimed: "WHAT'S THAT?!"

I am grateful for the freedom to wear pants every day for the past two years.
Because mommy needs to run after you, darling.

Emeth is free to scribble. To his heart's content. On clean and smooth pieces of paper (he doesn't mind the letters on the other side). The drawings themselves are free in all kinds of ways. Our family can be without bodies, yet we're still holding hands. We can be armless, but we are always smiling.

Pictures, pictures everywhere! On the refrigerator. On the door. On the floor. Aren't they grand?

I am free to have a cup of coffee. At eight o'clock in the morning. Or in the case of today, eight o'clock at night.

I am free to buy mangoes. A dozen of them, in fact.

Whenever I peel one of these, I think of Ma. I've tried different ways of stripping the flesh off the seed, but I found that Ma's way was the best after all.

During mango season, my sisters and I would eagerly wait at the dinner table as she peeled fruits picked from our yard. Every mango was perfect. We especially liked loved the sour ones, young and crunchy. (I'm salivating just thinking about them) We dipped them in sugar and soy sauce. Or fish sauce. Or just salt. We loved salt.

I am free to wear white shoes. So what if they are ridiculous and impractical? Emeth steps on my feet all the time. And I somehow manage to roll Yohanan's stroller over my feet a lot. But these are washable, and if I need to -- there is always bleach.

Emeth and I were watching the BBC news report about the drought in northeastern Africa. I was not sure how he would react to the images of children with sad, sunken eyes in the Kenyan refugee camp. Afterward, Emeth kept squishing Hanan's arm and saying, "Hanan is so chubby, Mommy! Hanan is so chubby."

Yes, darling, you are so round and so chubby.

Waiting for fireworks, seeing the moon

The world was waiting for fireworks last night. Well, the world in the US of A. It was the fourth of July.

At about 9 p.m. Hans heard the faint sound of explosions from our apartment. He took the elated Emeth out of his crib and sat him on his shoulder. And off they went into the night. Within a few minutes, I heard my husband's voice beckoning me, as though I was Rapunzel. He said to come down and join them.

And so I did. I love fireworks.

It was a warm summer night with just enough breeze. There in the darkness, we watched the sky, all four of us. Well, three of us. Hanan was fast asleep on my shoulder. I was torn between standing still and dashing off to grab the camera.

But I stood still. And I'm glad I did.

Under the lights and the sparks and the grand spectacle, Emeth exclaimed: "Look at the moon! It looks like a banana!" My immediate reaction was to think, "Silly boy! The moon is there every night. Look at the fireworks! Don't you think they are so cool?"

But he was right. The moon was not outshone last night. Even next to the fireworks, it looked pretty spectacular. And to think that we get to enjoy it every night!

People make fun of parents who give the "children-in-Africa-are-starving" speech to coerce their children to eat at the dinner table.

Confession: I give those "speeches". Once in a while.

Sometimes, we talk about the children in Japan. This week, we talked about refugees in Kenya. No, not to get him to finish the food on his plate (because it would not work), but for him to learn compassion. To learn to have a grateful heart. The keyword here is "learn" because the lesson is a difficult one, for both of us.

Thankfully, I don't have to give these speeches myself, because pictures (and videos) are worth a thousand words (Thank you, Internet!). Here is one that I showed Emeth when he complained about having water in his eyes during his (clean water!) bath.

Page CXVI from Living Water International on Vimeo.

I remember the days of old when Hans and I were considering the possibility of a relationship. I was waiting for fireworks, but Hans was like the moon. Bright and steadfast.

Soul, taste and see
what is true, what is good.

On the Tornado and a Flood

The tornado siren went off right before the boys' bedtime last night. It ended with the words: "Take. Shelter. Now." I nearly finished vacuuming the apartment and was annoyed that I had to rush the end of my routine. I love watching crumbs disappearing into the powerful machine. The siren was loud and deafening. They test the warning system the first Tuesday of every month at 10 a.m. I have two words: baby-waker.

Thankfully, my common sense kicked in right around when the wind started howling. We grabbed the boys and headed into the basement. Shortly after, our building lost electricity for the next 14 hours. The boys had a dark and exciting night, but they settled down quite well after all the commotion.

We survived. The tornado, and the flood of questions and comments from Emeth.

Why is there no light, Mommy?
Emeth wants to see, Mommy.
Why is there no number on the clock?
Why is the bathroom so dark?
Switch on the light, Mommy.
Mommy's stove is not working.

There is no lec-tris-ty, Mommy.

I tried to explain this new concept to him. This all-important thing called "electricity" that apparently makes (almost) everything work. Hans came to my rescue.

Hans:   Emeth, everything in this world is made of atoms. And atoms are surround by a cloud of electrons. (Sorry, but I can't recall the exact words between p-orbital and positive holes) ...Do you understand, Emeth?
Emeth: Yes.
(End of questions. Amazing.)

I married him for many reasons.

The world was dark and quiet last night. Perfect for conversations.

We thought about Emeth's questions and his fierce need to understand the world.

We talked about the tsunami in Japan, and imagined how parents of young children would explain why their homes were no longer standing, and how all their belongings were washed away.

We talked about the Holocaust. We talked about the children in concentration camps. The babies and their nursing mothers. We thought about the horrors of explaining violence and cruelty to three-year-olds.

We talked about our world with little children. And how life is so different since they came. And the happiness of belonging to them.

You and Me

To Mommy's Big Boy,

Mommy was so unprepared the night you arrived. I had one more load of laundry, I still needed to line your crib, and the bag for the hospital was not yet packed. But, the time had come for you to arrive. And our lives were changed, forever. Mommy and daddy were never the same.

You look so long now, asleep in your crib right next to me. My heart swells with pride and hope just thinking about how you will someday be taller than mommy, maybe even daddy. You are so eager to grow, as you should be.

We have been reading a picture book with trees and blossoms for two weeks now. Mommy is always the one who chooses it. You have been very kind to go along with mommy's choice because I know you would rather read about animals and Thomas the tank engine.

Mommy loves reading the last few pages with you:

Everything you hear, smell, see
All the world is everything
Everything is you and me

While you were drawing the other day, you held four crayons together and said: "Mommy, Daddy, Hanan, and Emeth -- a family!" You were so right. I pray that God would bind us to one another just like this. No space. That we would be close together, forever and always.

You, Hanan, daddy, mommy,
we are a family.
Each of you, a part of me.
You are what I hear, smell, see.
The Lord created, made us free,
gave me to you, and you to me.

Love,
Mommy

on your third birthday

Stars and Dust

{In remembrance of Japan}

Somehow during the course of our OPT (Operation Potty Training), we came to call Operation Number Two -- "making a moon."

Don't ask.

For the sake of his dignity, I must be brief. Let's just say that it has been a scary process for him. During one of our coaching sessions, I told him again the story of David and Goliath, with emphasis on how God helped David to be so very brave.

After a full day of struggle, he was finally able to go. With tears still in his eyes and a big sigh of relief, he exclaimed: "Woohooo! Emeth made a moon! Just like David made a moon!"

"Um... yes, darling, David did make moons...
And he also killed Goliath, and saved his nation, and...." (but I guess that's not important)

As far as Emeth was concerned, Goliath and the entire Philistine army?
Not so scary.
David was brave for other, more important things.

He is teaching me about compassion these days, this little guy of mine.

Emeth loves to invite daddy to hide with him. Sometimes this requires daddy to crawl into low, narrow, confined spaces. Like the (very compacted) closet. Or under the dining room table. Or cardboard boxes.

The reason he asks daddy is because mommy usually refuses to subject herself to that kind of torture. Daddy, on the other hand, would kindly oblige. Always. (Well, he would at least give it a try.)

Let me tell you, it takes work for a grown man to fit into these small places.

Compassion requires me to crawl under the table and see the world from here. Compassion is so much more than this, yes, but it begins by sitting with him.

This is the one thing that keeps me sane.

To have compassion, as I'm slowly learning,
is to sit on the potty with him (metaphorically speaking),
to acknowledge that this is a painful and terrifying thing.
to relive fears I would rather not remember,
and live the fears that I would rather not imagine.

Compassion takes work.
Some days, it is hard work.

When I think of
a wife holding her dying husband,
mothers of young children without shelter,
pregnant women and nursing mothers without water,
orphans,
I just want to crawl away.
Please let me not be in small, confined places;
I don't want to imagine painful and terrifying things.

A woman cries at the remaining steps of her home in Watari, Miyagi prefecture.

Lord, 
Teach me to be compassionate
as you first had compassion on me.
You confine yourself in a mother's womb,
a small, narrow space for the Maker of Stars. 
You became dust, for dust's sake,
a lowly thing for the King of Glory.
Teach me to sit. Teach me to pray.

Somebody at the Door

The boys and I were playing at the table this evening. Out of the blue, Emeth pointed at the door and in his urgent voice, he said, "Jesus knocking!" My mind was scrambling, thinking about how I should respond. He interrupted my thoughts and cried again, his finger still pointing, "Somebody knocking! Jesus! Mommy open door!"

"Mommy should get the door?" I asked. He nodded furiously. "Jesus is at the door?" I asked again, just to make sure I understood him. He nodded again.

I know this is silly, but fear shot through my heart. I was afraid to open the door. Afraid that I would find Jesus standing there, staring back at me.

I couldn't do this by myself.

So I knocked on Hans' door. He was in the room studying at the time. "Honey! Jesus is knocking at the door!"

Hans, my dear, sweet husband, rushed out and headed for the door, "Well, why is Jesus standing outside? Let him in!"

He opened the door.

Hans preached a sobering sermon last Sunday. Most of the time, he said, we live for the things of this world as though they are real -- wealth, stuffs, beauty, recognition, respect, the attention and affection of others, even the comfort and health of our earthly bodies.

We worry, we labor, we love, we hang onto them for life. But these things are imaginary. They are fleeting. They are not real. They will not matter.

Yet, towards the One who is real, we speak and act as though he is -- imaginary.

The hallway was empty.

"Where did Jesus go?" Emeth asked, disappointed. I was a little sad too, I think. I was half expecting Jesus to be there. Hans replied, "Jesus is here, sweetie, he is always here. Jesus is in mommy and daddy, and someday, we hope Jesus will be in you and Hanan."

Emeth pulled up his shirt and stared into his belly button for a while.

Hello, Lord.

Emethese

A selection of words spoken by Emeth at age two and a half (30-month old) 

Applecado -- A green fruit, mommy and daddy eat it with seaweed and rice.
Bay -- What I do when I listen to mommy, what is better than smart, the verb for bedee. 
Bedee --  The kind of boy I am when I bay. 
Bet -- A B C D E... 
Boon -- Ball-like things that fly, usually attached to a string.
Brea-kes -- What I eat when I wake up, eggs, cereal and milk, yogurt. 
Bun-ton -- What is on the shirt I wear to church.
Chicken -- The place I cannot enter, where mommy cooks and washes the dishes.
Goolala -- Large, black, monkey-like animals. 
Mana -- Yellow fruit, often associated with monkeys. 
Magget -- Shapes and letters that sticks to the refrigerator and other metal objects.
Patter -- What I cannot touch, screen, keyboard, mouse. 
Plan-tets -- Neptune, Earth, Eenus, the one with rings. 
Sheen -- The thing with the button I get to press when mommy does the laundry.
Tapa -- Known also as funny shaped noodle (or "doodle"), a favorite food, sometimes pronounced with an "s" sound, "Tapas." 
Troy -- What I like to do to my buildings and blocks, when I do this I like to say "CRASH!" 

Some favorites from Old Emethese

Deedah -- The big guy who plays hide and seek with me, whose shoulders I sit on, who builds planes and trains with me.
Dahdee -- The other big one, the one who feeds me, a.k.a. mommy.
It was a little sad when he stopped saying these.

Up-pang-ge -- Upward motion, the act of coming out of the crib.
For a few months, Emeth would attach meaningless syllables after short words. He still says this for fun.

On Getting Places

Our friends got married last Saturday. The wedding was remarkably kind to young children. (Thanks Ivan and Sherri!)

It took place in a park, completed with a zoo! The pavilion had all the benefits of an outdoor wedding (overlooking a lake!), but was cool and shaded. A good fraction of the crowd was children, yet their voices and laughter were not the least bit distracting. Crayons and coloring booklets were distributed before the ceremony.

It was incredible. I was grateful.

The zoo had giraffes and polar bears. It was not an opportunity to be missed. Emeth made sure of it. He repeated the phrase "see giraffe!" at least 77 times that afternoon.

Walking around in the heat, I enjoyed every look of wonderment in his face. Like Adam did in the beginning, he named all the animals.

When we got to the giraffes, he proudly declared: "Emeth found giraffe self!" (translation: I found the giraffe myself!")

Never mind that he was sitting on daddy's shoulders.
Never mind that daddy's back kindly bore 30-pounds for hours.
Never mind that it was daddy who walked everywhere.

*sigh*

I am convinced that the Lord gave me children so that I might see myself more clearly.

Beyond my wildest dreams

I am grateful everyday that the Lord did not grant me the man of my dreams. Not that I had such a man, or such dreams. Though I think people should. No, I did not know what I was looking for, but the Lord gave me Hans. He is beyond my wildest imagination.

We met during my intentional year of repentance. I got lost during my years in college. I had forgotten who I was. I was tired, and I didn't want to not be lost anymore. So, I set aside one year to hope that I would be found.

I met Hans the summer after my graduation, though we didn't start talking until months later. I told Hans about my lost and wasted years, and he told me that he was not interested in who I was or what I had done. "I am only interested in knowing who you are right now" was what he said. I thought he was kind, and very sweet to say that, but I don't think I believed him.

But here we are, seven years later, married, with two children, and he has not once asked me about the past. Not once. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine a husband like this, who would love me in this way.

As I was getting Emeth ready for bed tonight, I thanked him for being such a good boy. He then recounted something wrong he did this morning, reminding me that he hasn't been good.

I paused. The Lord is gently teaching me this lesson about forgiveness, again.

I have forgiven him. I do not want to remember. It gives me so much pleasure to tell him that mommy has forgiven him, and we are now going to forget about the whole thing.

My husband loves me. It matters not to him who I was before I met him.

Lord, teach me about your grace, for I cannot imagine it.
I do not know how far the east is from the west.
Those who are forgiven much, love much.
Those who are forgiven little, love little.
Help me to know how much I have been forgiven.