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.

Hananese

Hanan, who has been fairly quiet in the past two years, suddenly decides it is time to start talking. He has been telling us about the little person he is becoming, and we've been enjoying getting to know him.

At 26-months, Emeth was obsessed with wildlife, stories about trains, and the characters in those stories. Little brother also loves trains, but for entirely different reasons. These two boys are growing within the same walls, yet they are worlds apart.

Hanan is more of an abstract thinker. He is obsessed with numbers and colors and shapes. He takes things apart (sometimes permanently) and analyzes how they work. Turning wheels, pushing buttons, making music, and eating are among his favorite things. He adores his big brother, and says "hi ge ge!" and "thank you ge ge!" about hundred times a day.

Distracted. Always.

What I do when mommy says, "smile!"

In celebration of his aunties week-long visitation tomorrow, here is a glossary of some of my favorite words by the little bear.

waji - H2O

meee!!! meeeee!!! - MORE!!!!!!

eye or winkle winkle winkle - star.

pah-mei - please

te-te - a shape with three sides

ku-air - a shape with four sides

gle -  a shape with four sides, two sides are longer than the other two.

pen-gon - a shape with five sides.

ok-gon -  a shape with eight sides.

hoyee hoyee hoyee - my favorite song.

hoyee God in love be cake - (emphasis on cake) my other favorite song. (I have a lot of favorite songs)

buchen - mommy's heart when I disobey. This also happens to most things I take apart.

thona - the very useful engine. What I sleep with.

wowo - canine creatures. The other thing I sleep with.

mana - long yellow fruit, my new love.

turtle - not what you think. What mommy uses to wrap burritos.

crapper - crunchy cheesy things (crackers).

pah-per - what mommy changes when I go to the bathroom.

sillay, farnay - what I say when people are trying to make me laugh.

enenen - the number after ten, rhymes with seven.

ka-ga-mee - what I say when I need reassurance that I am not alone ("cover me")

haa-jee-ga - what I say when I need a hug

ge-ge pee ge - what I say when I want something from big brother

ding! - you and me, we are the same! (when he has a similar cup, cap, etc. with another person)

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.

My cup overflows

Yohanan had diarrhea earlier this week. In those two days, I must have washed him every other hour. The poor boy was feverish at night. My lower maintenance child became a koala, a sweet but sick bear who wanted to be held at every waking moment. I was glad to offer him some comfort, as I imagine the pain was a little scary. I must confess, however, his chubby arms felt slightly constraining.

I was a lot younger than Hans when we first met. I still am. When he first talked to me about our friendship, he basically proposed a marriage. No, he did not utter the words "marry me" or anything that one would typically associate with a marriage proposal. But his words were hope-filled.

He talked of carrying my suitcases when we visit China, walking in the rain, and drinking cups of hot apple cider by the fireplace. His intentions were clear. With him, I never had to guess. Always secure, always safe. Nonetheless, to the twenty-two-year-old me, commitment to one person for the rest of my life seemed so -- narrow.

On this side of eternity, God's will can seem so constraining. His law seems so rigid, his boundaries so restrictive. Jesus -- the way, the truth, and the life? Why so exclusive? I am guessing this is the way Emeth feels about our rules.

This is far from the truth, of course. Life only seems constraining when we choose to see it that way.

We ask, "what is God's will for my life?" Though in reality, we've already decided which way we would prefer. "God's will," in our minds, would only lead to one place, or one vocation, or one person. When things do not happen the way we prefer, we "accept his sovereignty" with resignation, rather than with gratitude and trust. We despise his guidance and discipline; his rod and his staff do not comfort.

In the beginning, God drew boundaries. Out of nothing, he created everything. Out of chaos, he created order. He separated light from darkness, the sky above from the waters below, land and seas, day and night. Boundaries were placed to protect, to preserve, in order that life may flourish.

In one sense, God's will is narrow. After all, Jesus did say, small is the gate and narrow is the path that leads to life.

But
this narrowness
is the narrowness
of a birth canal.
There is an entire universe waiting on the other side.
(source)

In Hans, I found a universe.
It expanded with Emeth. And again, with Yohanan.

I used to be grateful for a cup of freshly ground, french-pressed coffee. But anyone would be. This week, my cup overflowed with instant coffee. In my universe of koala bears, time is a luxury not to be wasted on trivial things. And I'm learning to give thanks, and to love my new brew.

This is freedom and grace indeed.

On absurdity and unkindness

Years ago, I had a dear friend who had anorexia and bulimia. One night, very early in our friendship (when I didn't know about her eating disorders), she looked at me and cried, "You are so thin, and I am so fat!" I was so confused. Her size-zero pants looked baggy on her. I will not tell you the size of my pants, but I can tell you that I was (and still am) not a size-zero.

I told her that she needed to love herself more.

A year after that incident, I was asked to give a workshop in the juvenile justice facilities on sexual harassment. I walked into a classroom containing twenty-two blank stares in blue uniforms. By the end of the workshop, we were a wreck. Some were crying, most were distraught, four admitted that they had been raped.

I left them with colorful bookmarks telling them to love themselves.

Weeks ago, Yohanan was teething (the well-used excuse for fussing). He just had a flu shot. His skin felt warmer than usual, a slight fever. He looked at me and his hand patted his chest, signing "Please." Hold me, mommy, just hold me.

Then, I understood
the absurdity
of the colorful bookmarks,
the unkindness
of telling my friend to love herself.

Girls in blue uniforms stood before my mind's eyes, their blank stares judged me. No, Miss, we cannot love ourselves. Can't you see, Miss? We are hurt, and broken, and sick.

How do we see ourselves?
Are we gods and goddesses -- the way they sing about us on the radio?
Or do we see ourselves as God sees us?

Children, toddlers, babies--
faces of beauty in the fullness of their glory,
helpless, rebellious, center of our universes,
always manage to get our hands on some poison or choking hazards,
prone to wander, falls, and pain.

We are children
like Yohanan,
we are not able to love ourselves.

When I see my children sinking in their self-inflicted misery, I don't tell them to love themselves. No, I tell them that Mommy and Daddy love them. I tell them that their Maker and Savior loves them. And then, we would dance, and sing, and hold on to one another (until, of course, I have to make dinner).

Love
looks to others.
When love looks to the self, it becomes something else.

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.

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.

On the mountains and that timeless shore

{the story of Yohanan's birth}

The stars sang the night my contraction began. We had been waiting for weeks, though in reality it was only five days after his due date. He was overdue, but not the way this post is overdue. Now that he is turning one in less than two months, I better jot some things down before it all escapes me.

A few things will always remind me of that night: 1. Star Wars Episode II, 2. Triscuits with sharp cheddar cheese. The contractions started at around 7:30 p.m. I called my friend Jenni who months before had kindly promised to watch Emeth while we go to the hospital, we put Emeth to bed, and Hans and I sat back to "relax" with a movie.

The silly contractions stopped at around 10:30 p.m. I blame this on the horrendous plot of Episode II. To my great dismay, we went to sleep.

At around 8:30 the next morning, I was ecstatic that the contractions had returned! I felt pain! Yes! (Can you tell that I was done being pregnant?)

Everything was in place; every star was aligned. In fact, if you look very closely at the morning sky and squint a little, the stars spelled "Yohanan" -- the name we discovered just days before. Apparently, he didn't want to come out without a name.

Grace. "Hanan" means grace in Hebrew. And grace indeed overflowed that day.

We dropped Emeth off with Jenni at 10 a.m. and checked in at the hospital shortly after (we were about 10 minutes away). We used the same birth plan. Oddly enough, because both Emeth and Yohanan were born on Tuesdays in the same hospital, we had the exact same obstetrician/gynecologist, pediatrician, and many of the same nurses. Very surreal. Apparently, they kept the same schedule after two years.

I was already at 8cm dilated when the nurses checked me in. I know, I was very grateful. The labor had progressed throughout the night while I was sleeping.

Alas, labor pain is labor pain.

In those last hours, I was every woman.

I was Eve, lost in my longing to return to the Garden. I drank deeply the cup that was mine, the bitterness that was mine because I had disobeyed my Maker.

I was Mary, yearning for redemption and completion. The pain was cold and lonely. I wondered what were her thoughts, laboring in the stables that night.

Hans was so loving, as always. Giving me counter pressure. Reading the chart. Anticipating each contraction. Reading from every psalm that contained "Yohanan" -- "Yahweh, be gracious." Be gracious. Be gracious.

At 1:13 p.m., I heard Hans' voice, "he looks exactly like the one we have at home, honey." We greeted Yohanan Zi-Han at the shore of time and seasons. Unlike my awkward meeting with Emeth, this time I did cry. Seeing Yohanan's face was like a homecoming to me, though we were seeing him for the very first time.

He had two knots in his umbilical cord. Very rare, the doctor said, and potentially dangerous. But we had no idea. His placenta was "above average," according to the doctor. I asked to have a glimpse. Human anatomy is fascinating.

I often tease Hans about his nonathletic, physically-uncoordinated wife. He is one of the best athletes I know. My (short) list of strenuous exercises includes my labor, and mountain climbing. Mount Kinabalu and an entire rain forest was our backyard in Malaysia.

I loved mountain climbing. And I did it solely for the view from the top -- the bright stars, the sunsets, the sunrises. Recently, a video brought me back to the mountains. Watching the waves of clouds and the Milky Way was like a homecoming to me.

Perhaps returning to the Garden will be something like this -- when we arrive at that timeless shore. Perhaps our Father's face will look somewhat familiar, like a homecoming, though we will be beholding him for the very first time.


The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

And then it dawned on me...

When I drop Emeth off at Sunday School every week, I would walk by the nursery and usually, the kind ladies there would offer to take Yohanan for the hour while I am in service.

Here would be my Top 3 responses, in no particular order, and always with a smile:

1. Oh! Thank you, but he is asleep right now, and I don't want to take him out of the sling.
(which would be true)

2. Oh! Thank you, but he was sick this week; I think it would be better if I keep him.
(which would be unfortunate, but also true)

3. *Dashing in and out of that hallway really fast before anyone could offer help*
This likely happens most frequently. And until yesterday, I haven't given much thought to my "rush." I am mainly avoiding having to turn down people's kindness, something I loathe doing.

Before you start thinking that I am the kind of mom who can't "let go," I just want to say that I have I handed Yohanan over to them. Once.

But yesterday! Yesterday, I had a glorious moment of truth. The reason for my inner-turmoil-in-the-hallway finally dawned on me. I don't know why I hadn't realized this before. 

Ladies: Hi! Let us take him today and you can relax during the service.
Me: Oh! Thank you! 
(thinking) Uh-oh, he is awake. And he is not sick.
(out loud) That's OK, I don't want to trouble you! (always with a smile) 
Ladies: No trouble at all! Please let us take him! (holding out their hands) 
Me: No, that's OK. (and then I said) If I leave him here, I will miss him!!! 
Ladies: You'll miss him? But... aren't you with him... all the time?
*confused stare* (they had nothing left to say to this crazy mom)

I will miss him! So simple!
I was laughing inside for the first half of the service.
What a relief it was for me to say it out loud. To finally understand myself.

Before motherhood, I was never one who thought children were adorable. I liked them, and thought they were interesting, but they were like any other interesting people. When I was pregnant with Emeth, I had the most difficult time mustering up any kind of noble thoughts about becoming a mom.This did not change when he was finally born.

"Mother" was definitely not among the professions I was looking into when I was dreaming about growing up. It was not that I didn't want to be a mom, but it wasn't among my youthful considerations. This seems like a huge oversight now.

So you can imagine what a happy thing this was for me. To realize how much I love being with my children. To realize that I love being a mom. These are pleasant surprises for me.

Emeth is at the age now (almost 3) that I enjoy sending him out into the world (yes, even if it is just Sunday school) to explore and learn about others. And I know that Yohanan will soon follow. It makes me smile to think about the two brothers going off to explore the world together.

For now, let me just hold my baby.
Apparently, I would miss him when he is not with me.