Lob-star

Besides refusing to call Hans my "boyfriend" when we were dating, he had to put up with a lot more when we were preparing for our wedding.

I didn't want a diamond unless it resembled the sunset and sunrise.
I refused to call the period of time married couple spent after the wedding our "honeymoon."
So I called it our LobSTAR, because we ate a lot of lobsters that week (we were in Maine), and I like stars.

We've had four fabulous years, or what will be four fabulous years on May 27. Some days, it feels as though we said our vows yesterday. Other days, it feels as though we've always been married from the beginning of time.

When I try very, very hard, I catch glimmers of my pre-marriage self. These are usually followed by questions along the lines of: "Why did you marry me? I was so..." These are then followed by: "Thank you so much for marrying me! I can't believe you married me."

As we've been discussing possible names for our second little boy, I am once again reminded of why he is such a wonderful a companion when faced with a seemingly impossible task. The air is charged with the same sort of laughter and thoughtfulness four years ago as we stayed up late into the night planning our wedding.

We had decided that he would write my wedding vow, and I would write his.

In our rough drafts, I had wanted him to promise that he would follow Christ unto death. Because if I were to follow him all the days of my life, I needed assurance that he would follow Christ... unto death. He gently (and wisely) suggested that this might not be the best thing to declare in front of hundreds of people on our wedding day.

See what I mean? How did he choose to marry me?

So, we changed it. He promised he would "follow where He should lead us, seeking after the fulfillment of our sure hope of the perfection of our faith."

With a companion like this one, I really shouldn't worry about not being able to come up with a name for our second child.

As I declared four years ago,

"I take you to be mine, and I give myself to you."

I see you

Much of my day as a mommy can be summed up as being here to say, with and without words, "I see you, darling."

Whenever Emeth chokes on his food or water, he would prolong his cough until I look him in the eye and ask, "Emeth, are you ok?" Then, he would nod and go on eating.

When he builds with his Lego pieces, usually into shapes that he calls either a "truck" or a "plane," he would always come over to show me the finished product.

The other day, as he was near tears after a fall, daddy picked him up and comforted him. After a few magical blows and kisses, he was brand new and off running again.

He is a toddler who prioritizes cleanliness. He doesn't like it when he gets a yogurt-mustache on his lips or spaghetti sauce on his fingers. So today, because we had both those things on the menu, I spent most of dinner wiping his mouth and his fingers.

When he knows he is being obedient, or kind, or when he is sharing, he would look our way and clap his hands as if to say, "Do you see me?"

By watching and listening, I am shaping Emeth into the man is he becoming.

We are each a witness.* We stand as witnesses before the lives of those we encounter everyday--our husbands, wives, parents, siblings, the librarian, the cashier, stranger on the sidewalk. As selfish creatures, it takes great effort for us to see beside ourselves and look to others--how are they kind or admirable, how are we to appreciate and honor them.

We shape one another into who we are becoming. We are given to one another in order that we may say throughout the day, with and without words, "I see you."

At 28, I am really not all that different from my two-year-old.

When I conjure up some interesting recipe in the kitchen, it is a ritual for me to offer the first bite to Hans. With my curiosity at the verge of bursting, I wait for him to scoop/cut/bite his first taste. Then, like a gentleman, he offers his verdict, noticing the subtleties, commenting on the new ingredients, the new technique.

You see me. And I am loved.


*My friend Serene wrote about being her husband's witness. The concept stayed with me.

This is not just a phase

A good reminder from Hans today.

All my life, I have been restless and moving. There is always a next big thing, a next big move. In one sense, our whole life is "a phase," a transition to something bigger and better.

In another sense, however, this life is it. This life is the preparation, the one rehearsal, for the life to come. Once the clock stops ticking, there is no going back. Once the rich man is in Hades and Lazarus is at Abraham's bosom, there is no going back (Luke 16:19-31). This life determines eternity. This life is it.

Sometimes, I am so focused on what the next big thing is I am barely here for the big thing that is right before my eyes. I am anticipating the birth so much that I am missing the pregnancy. In mommy's language, nursing/teething/running around with toddlers/fill-in-the-blank is only "a season." Sometimes, we may even imply that we can't wait to be free do our own thing again.

Hans emphasized in his sermon last week, the Father gives only good gifts to those he loves (Matthew 7:7-11). Listen now, the Father gives only good gifts to those he loves. Not just the things we think as good, but all of it.

Our disappointments and failures,
Sickness, weariness, betrayals,
Unfulfilled hopes and dreams,
Death and darkness.

These are all good things from our Father who loves us. They work together for good in order to draw us to Himself -- the ultimate Good. They help us to become the women and men we were created to be, we are to reflect who He is.

I am exactly where the Lord wants me to be right now.
This is not just a phase.
This is it.
I need to live it.

When I am doing the laundry, I am doing exactly what I am suppose to be doing. Is there something else I am suppose to be doing? In fact, there is.
I am to do the laundry cheerfully.

Rampage

Looking through our pictures on facebook, friends wonder why the refridgerator is next to Emeth's crib. Now, if they look at enough pictures, they would realize that the dining room, Emeth's nursery, my study, our library, and our kitchen (separated by a counter) are all in the same room.

This is our world. Our first home as husband and wife. The place where we had our first child, where we will welcome our second child. And it is precious to me.

In preparation for our new arrival, I've been on a rampage! I've been digging through closets, rummaging through shelves, opening boxes, and uncovering carpet. Most delightfully, I've been donating and throwing things away. I am learning to be ruthless. Clearing clutter is serious business.

I mean, I had food hidden deep in my shelves that expired back in 2007. GROSS.

At church, Hans is preaching a series on the Gospel of Matthew. We've been dwelling in the Sermon on the Mount for a few weeks now (Matthew 5-7). Last Sunday, concerning laying up treasures in heaven (Matt 6:19-24), he asked us what our treasure were.

What do we love? How do our lives reflect where we place our affections?

Our time is limited. The space of our lives is confined, and is precious. To have an orderly home, we must be ruthless when it comes to what needs to stay and what needs to go.

There is much clutter in my life. There are things hidden in dark corners that had expired back in 1985. GROSS. Am I really going to eat that?

Grudges and youthful infatuations,
Rotten, infested sins,
Useless expensive things,
Things that do not even fit anymore,
Stubborn habits, bloody stains.

Lord, enter my heart like a whirlwind and make me clean.

Flower

While walking on campus today, I saw the husband of my friend who recently passed away. He was deep in thought, eyes downcast.

She entered into new life as he read Isaiah 40 by her side,

All flesh is grass,
and all its beauty like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the LORD blows upon it;
surely the people is grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand for ever.
(Isaiah 40:6-8)

Her death has been a gentle and effective instructor; it teaches with a rod.

As I kneel down and look into Emeth's eyes, "Darling, I want you to obey immediately," I hear my voice echoing the same instruction given to me. "When mommy says come, you come."

No excuses.
No delay.

When I am tired and weary, her death forces me to turn, to repent from my great urge to complain, and acknowledge my ungrateful heart.

I have another meal to serve and share.
Another walk, while holding hands.
Another song to sing, even with this broken, imperfect voice.
I get to hear "mommy" and "darling" just one more time.
Another new word to celebrate, new alphabet to conquer.
Another cuddle.
Another conversation around the dinner table, even with the frustrations of misunderstandings and inadequate words.
Another night to sleep with the hope of seeing another sunrise.

Another day,
One more chance to obey, to repent
before I must stand before the throne
and give an account of my choices,
what I have done,
what I have left undone.

Obey immediately, darling.

On Bearing Fruits

For about three years, we lived in a small home on Pokok Palma lane. One of the redeeming qualities about this nothing-to-brag-about-house was the big mango tree in the front yard. Every year during mango season, it would be laden with fruits. The branches were heavy with clusters of sweet and sour goodness, waiting to be harvested. The tree would be covered with specks of yellow and green, and here was the best part -- our tree was uncommonly worm-less. Every fruit was a good fruit.

Surely, this is the image we should see when we read in Genesis, "be fruitful and multiple" (Genesis 1:26-30). Often, we think of this as the mandate to procreate, as in producing children "to fill the earth." However, having one or two or even twelve children is nothing compare to how nature bears fruit.

There are days when I wallow in discouragement and self-pity. It happens most consistently when I am looking for the wrong kind of fruits. You know, the worldly kind. The kind that comes with a grade, human praise, a degree, promotion, money, etc.

Last Saturday, as I was doing the dishes, I had an epiphany. I realized that right then, I was bearing a fruit. By performing this mundane task of applying soap and rinsing the plates, while obediently wearing my yellow gloves upon Hans' request to protect my dry hands--I was bearing a fruit, unto the glory of my Father in heaven. A tiny fruit, yes. An unappreciated fruit, perhaps. A fruit, nonetheless.

Vacuuming. Cleaning the stove top. Scrubbing the toilet. Fruits.
A thank you note. Another fruit.
Doing homework. Yet another.
Getting enough rest. Fruit.
A walk with Emeth to see the ducks and squirrels. Several fruits.
Homemade yogurt that saved the milk. And another.
Discipline. Discipline. Discipline. A slow growing, but essential fruit.
An email. Fruit.
Keeping my body tone in preparation for the delivery. Fruit.
Peeling grapefruits. Making dumplings. Baking that cake. Fruits!

We bear fruits when we obediently and faithfully carry out the tasks that God has set for us. Each task should bring about joy, contentment, and gratitude.

Many of these fruits do pass away and go unappreciated. Some will fall to the ground and be forgotten. Others will be eaten by squirrels rather than kings. But so what? The idea is for our branches to be laden, heavy with clusters of sweetness. Hopefully, by being a fruitful tree, we give glory to our creator and draw others to him.

Even as I am typing this, a friend is fading because of cancer. Very soon, her five-year-old daughter will not be able to see her for a while. Do I have any excuse to remain idle?

Let there be light

From our bedtime reading:

Dad: Do you know how God created everything?

Emeth: *nods*

Dad: Simply by speaking words.
God says, "Let there be--"

Emeth: *sneeze*

Dad: *staring at the book* Saliva.

Emeth: *sneeze*

Dad: And more saliva.


You really have to be there to truly appreciate the sight. The splatter of drool on the pages is quite necessary for the full effect. And Emeth's giggles after each sneeze to top it off.