Come Be in the Manger with Me

I love this picture. I love all that it represents. I love how my daughter is always ready to play.

Right now I am in a season when life feels messy. I often feel like I am barely above water. I am not sinking, but the margins in my life have been shrinking. And when that happens, I want to clean my garage.

I know exactly what I am doing. I am trying to find some place in my life where I can have some control and feel like everything is all in its place.

The thing about life is that it is messy. It is unpredictable. It is always changing. For the past seven years, I have been discovering that I can find serenity in the mess. I don't have to become crazy trying to control it. That just makes me more crazy. I can have a garage that is messy or neat and still be okay inside my own skin.

On this particular day I eventually focused on getting down the Christmas decorations and loading a few boxes for the thrift store. Much more realistic and less exhausting.

And I loved how my daughter couldn't wait to pick up a broom and help us clean the garage in the midst of playing dress up. She had no concept that cleaning is not meant to be fun. She was thrilled to just be with us and share in the activity of the day with her family.

My daughter does not compartmentalize work and play. She hasn't learned to do that. She loves to clean, cook, fold laundry, and unload the dishwasher. All with my help of course. But she loves to do it because we are together. She is not on a time schedule. She is in no rush. Most of the world lives more like she does with a strong sense of community in the midst of every day tasks. I long to live more like that.

My daughter loves to play dress up, not because she is trying to make herself more beautiful to others, but because she loves to dress up. She loves to use her imagination. She loves to be creative. And she loves to invite you into her play times.

Just this evening she came to me and said, "Mommy, I made a manger. Come be in the manger with me." 

I said yes.

Her simple invitation helped me to stop and ponder God's invitation to come be with Me in the manger -- the dirty, messy, manger of my every day life. He doesn't ask me to clean it up first. But he's waiting for me to invite him in. He's the only one who can truly clean up the mess anyway. And that's what he longs to do.

Come be in the manger with Me.

Roses in December

Today I gathered around a table with women I dearly love. During the year we meet each week to study, to ponder and to help each other live out the teachings of Jesus. They are my "go to gals when life gets tough" as my North Carolinian friend puts it.

We are moms, singles, aunts, grandmas, and great grandmas. We come from different faith traditions. We love a good discussion. We like to use our minds as well as our hearts. We love to laugh. We love to welcome a newcomer.

Twice a year we gather to celebrate with feasting and gift giving.

The gifts we bring are simple but come from our hearts. Today, one brought a poem. Another a dramatic reading of a lost sheep and his shepherd. One shared a picture of her father who passed away this year. Another brought chocolate croissants.

And another gifted each of us with a fragrant rose and an herb bouquet from her winter garden.

Gifts of love. Gifts of friendship. Gifts to enjoy today.

The roses were fragrant and vibrant. I imagine it was a sacrifice to cut them from her garden at this time of year and share them with all of us. Yes, I live in a climate that has roses in the winter. But this will be the last of their blooms until spring. The roses must have looked stunning in her garden. But instead of keeping them for herself, she cut them and brought them to share.

My rose is in a vase on my dresser. I can smell its sweet scent as I write. It is with a deep appreciation that I enjoy its beauty because it came at a time when a garden rose is a rare gift.

I wonder how often I am given gifts but don't fully appreciate them because they seem common place or ordinary. And yet when given out of season or in a season of pain or grief, they become a lifeline. They become God's gifts of grace at just the right time.

My dad died on December 4, 2004. When we came home from the hospital after his passing, four long stemmed red roses sat in a vase on the kitchen table. My dad had given them to my mom just a few days before his tragic accident. There were four of us who entered the empty house. My mom, brother, husband and I. It was as if he was saying one last time to each of us, "I love you."

On the first anniversary of his death, I bought four roses to put in my home as a way to honor my dad. I now do that each year on December 4. I love that the red roses are part of my holiday tradition. They remind me to focus on what really matters during the holidays. I need that reminder as I can quickly feel overwhelmed by all I think I need to do. I need this reminder all year long!

I was given more than a rose today. I was given a gift of grace. 

For my dear friends who are in a season of waiting or grieving and who are struggling during the holidays, I pray that they too will receive the gift of a winter rose.  The gift of a hug, a phone call, a meal, a note, a prayer. Something that will remind them that they are loved.

Linking up with Tuesdays Unwrapped  

The Library

I love going to libraries. I love the rows of books. I love the quiet. I love how I can browse through cookbooks, novels, and paperbacks at my leisure. I love the smell of old wood desks and the echo of footsteps in libraries with grand ceilings and wood floors.

This week I was struck by how amazing it is to have access to public libraries. It is so easy to take for granted what I have always had available to me.

A few years ago I remember hearing about The Camel Library in Kenya. I remembered this story again this week and thought about the camel that carries books to villages in Kenya so that children can have access to them. What a creative and amazing idea. A public library that fits the cultural context in which it was born.

I had never thought about how the public library is a relatively new institution in America. My grandma grew up in the Los Angeles area when public libraries were just being established. Yes, our tax dollars at work. But it is a wonderful use of those dollars. I now live in a relatively small city with four public libraries. And I can get books sent from other libraries in my county to my home library. I have access to thousands and thousands of books!

One of my favorite books is Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson. I would encourage you to pick it up if you haven't read it. Mortenson writes about how he attempts to climb K2, the second highest mountain in the world, but never reaches the summit. After he and four other climbers complete a 75-hour life-saving rescue of a fifth climber, Mortenson takes a wrong turn on the trail and ends up in the small village of Korphe. Physically exhausted and ill, Mortenson was cared for by some of Korphe's residents while he recovers.

The scene that jumped out at me is when the author sees the children of Korphe gathered together every day to practice their lessons. They don't have a teacher or a school or books or pencils. But they are so thirsty to learn that they practice their arithmetic together by drawing with sticks in the ground. The book goes on to tell the story of how Mortenson fulfills his promise to build a school for the village.

I read the book when my son was starting first grade. I was struck by how I took for granted that my son had a school to attend. I am so thankful for my son's school -- for classrooms, books, pencils, pens, tables, chairs, art, science, music and so much more. And most of all for teachers! I have so many friends and family members who are teachers. Thank you for teaching our kids!

And this year, my son, who is now in third grade, has had to learn to live life with Tourette's at school. I am so thankful for all the support he has been given at school. He is in a community that wants to listen and learn about his needs. He feels safe and loved there. A gift beyond words.

The simple act of walking into the library caught my attention. I want to pay attention to the people and places that I take for granted. I want to say thank you.

Small Signs

I was surprised by my daily Advent reading for November 29 (yesterday) - Search Amid The Small by Henri Nouwen.  It seemed to echo my own thoughts from my blog and reminded me, once again, to look for the simple gifts and remember who gives them. No matter what your spiritual practices may be during the holiday season, I hope this will encourage you as it did me.

A reflection for Advent from Henry Nouwen:

Our salvation comes from something small, tender, and vulnerable, something hardly noticeable. God, who is the Creator of the Universe, comes to us in smallness, weakness, and hiddenness. I find this a hopeful message. Somehow, I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power; but over and over again, I am reminded that spectacles, power plays, and big events are the ways of the world. Our temptation is to be distracted by them and made blind to the "shoot that shall sprout from the stump (Isaiah 11:1)." 

When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence -- the smile of a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures of love offered by friends -- I will always remain tempted to despair.

The small child of Bethlehem, the unknown man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the naked man on the cross, he asks for my full attention. The work of salvation takes place in the midst of a world that continues to shout, scream, and overwhelm us with its claims and promises. But the promise is hidden in the shoot that sprouts from the stump, a shoot that hardly anyone notices. 

Dear Jesus, I know that you can give me eyes to see the signs of your presence in the world, and I pray for this. But I also pray for faith in you for those times when I will not be able to see, to understand or feel your presence in my life. Grant me the courage to persevere and to hope in the unseen.

Sandy Shoes

My kids sandy water shoes are on the front step. They went tide pooling the day after Thanksgiving with our extended family and our international friend. I thought I should probably pick up the shoes today and put them away. But instead, the shoes caught my attention and reminded me of the past weekend and a gift I had been given.

I had not been feeling well on Friday so stayed home when everyone else went off to the beach. I love the beach. I love watching my kids tromp through the water. I love seeing the sun set over the Pacific. I love going to the tide pools in the winter when the high tide brings in all sorts of sea life. And last Friday was the lowest tide of the year. My husband sent me a picture via his phone of the octopus they got to see!

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself when I opened the picture on my phone. I imagined my daughter's face when she saw the octopus. And yet, I was savoring a quiet house and the time to rest on my bed and read a book -- one of my favorite things but something I rarely get to do these days. I have been trying to practice gratitude with the help of a group of women I meet with weekly. So I chose to enjoy the quiet and let the day move along instead of lingering on what I was missing.

When everyone arrived home, my two-and-half year old daughter bounded up into my arms and exclaimed, "Mommy! Mommy! I brought you a present. Seashells. Seashells for YOU!" What a gift! And then she was so excited to share about her adventures on the beach and about finding the octopus. "A BIG ONE!" She couldn't wait to share her joy and give me her gifts. Her heart was full because she got to share her joy with me.

I am so grateful for my sea shells.

Last night my kids had trouble going to bed. They both needed extra time with me at each of their bed times. I remember thinking how much I had to do before I went to bed. But I stopped and enjoyed the quiet moments to snuggle with them. I listened to their breathing get deeper and calmer as they drifted off to sleep. I soaked in the moments of being their mom.

I am so thankful that I get to be their mom.

Out of the blue one day, my son said, "I am so glad your my chosen mom." He knows he has a birth mom so he decided I needed a special name too. This spoke deep into my heart that day as I was feeling the residual effects of infertility. I didn't get to choose what age I would become a mom or how close in age my kids would be or what hospital they'd be born in or what month. Sometimes I get blindsided by women who talk about making a family as if it is like baking a cake. You just put in all the ingredients, set the magic timer, and everything comes out just as you planned. And then they get disappointed that they had to have a c-section or a different doctor or to use drugs. I guess I just don't get that emotion when you are holding a healthy, beautiful baby in your arms. So even today, I sometimes get hit by infertility after all these years. My son reminded me that I get to be his Chosen Mom. And even though it's not what I planned, that's a good thing -- for both of us!

My daughter's shell now rests on my windowsill. It's a reminder that I didn't get to go to the beach that day, but my daughter did and brought me back a gift. It also reminds me that as I enter into the Advent Season, I don't want to miss the real gifts because I am too busy getting things done or planning how things should go. Most of all I want to be awakened to God's presence in my life and his unexpected gifts.

I am grateful that I stopped and looked at sandy shoes today.

The Oboe's Song

I came across this rendition of Gabriel’s Oboe. Yo Yo Ma plays the cello. Amazing. And I have always loved the oboe. It's like sweet laughter. Yesterday, I just closed my eyes and let the music fill the room. 

You may wish to do the same. Listen before you read the post. Just pause for four minutes and enjoy. 

This piece moves me. It reaches deep into the soul. I am amazed by their artistry. I am inspired to find my own expression of creativity.

There is something that happens when I allow for creativity to flow into my life. I never realized it until I was walking through the grief of my dad's death. He was a man who loved to create but was hindered by a disease. He loved photography. He loved to cook. He would start with a recipe and then become inspired to add his own touches. He loved to write and often wrote for local political campaigns.  

For those who know me, you know that I love photography, to cook with a variety of exotic spices, and to write. It wasn't until my dad's memorial service that I realized that he and I shared so many creative outlets. I never saw it before because I didn't give my life any margins to be creative.  I was too busy being productive. I also couldn’t see my dad beyond his disease of addiction. I only saw the struggle and not the man behind the disease. I struggled to see his creative heart. 

My dad gave me my first camera. He taught me to cook my first meal by his side at the stove when I was in kindergarten. I felt so proud when we delivered it to the table together. He loved to share his writings and help me with my grammar. He was such a stickler thanks to his high school English teacher, Mr.Killion. 

As I grieved the loss of my dad, I found that when I allowed myself time to explore my creative outlets I was more able to feel a connection not only to my dad, but also to myself and to God. The God I worship, I believe, is a Creator God. He loves to create. I see that every time I look at a sunset – A new canvas of color every evening. I don't need to know how all the molecules collided to make it happen. I can just stand and gaze and enjoy its beauty. 

When I take time to be creative, I believe I become more connected to the God who created me. Maybe it's because when we create, it comes from our uniqueness. It reminds us that we are not a face in the crowd, but we are a beautiful child of God created in His image. 

Gabriel's Oboe touched my heart in a way that it reminded me of my life's journey.  For me, the cello is life as I move through its ups and downs. Life in all its emotions. Life in all its complexity. The oboe is those places along the way that surprise me with joy and punctuate the cello's notes. I now know that they do come and often when I least expect it. And finding creative expression is one way I can help my life hear the oboe's song.

Creativity can come from so many places. 

Experimenting with a new recipe 

Trying a new spice

Planting a vegetable garden, rose garden, or herb garden

Picking up a camera 

Making something out of Legos, wood, play dough or fabric 

Writing a poem 

Knitting a scarf 

Playing the guitar, piano, or recorder

Painting with oils, crayons, watercolors, or finger paints 

Learning a new sport

Dancing

Singing

The list is endless.

My children remind me that creativity and using our imagination is how we grow, celebrate, and discover who we are meant to be. Today, I need to remember that I don't have to master it. Just try it and enjoy the process of discovery. What do you enjoy? Add a comment and add to the list. Let's discover together.

Gratitude - Selah

To learn more about this series, please visit SELAH.

I bought fuji apples today. I buy apples twice a week. My kids love them. I love them. But today was different. I cut open my apple and found MITSU, the honey spot in a fuji apple. I just stared at it. My daughter had no idea why I was grinning. I said, "Mitsu! Mitsu in my apple. I can't believe it!"

For those who follow my blog, you know I wrote about mitsu a few days ago. I haven't seen it in an apple for years. I was so excited! Mitsu always reminds me of Japan.

Today, all these memories from Japan came rushing back to me. But the one that stood out was my first Sunday in Japan after arriving from the States. I was 23 years old. After attending the worship service at Sakai International Bible Chapel (a city outside of Osaka) where I would go every Sunday for next two years, the ladies gathered in the small kitchen to prepare green tea and snacks. Today was special because someone had brought a box of 16 big beautiful fuji apples each individually wrapped in a protective holder. One apple probably cost the equivalent of five U.S. dollars or more. (That was two decades ago!) It was November and the perfect time to celebrate the gift of these beautiful apples with everyone.

I was asked to help prepare the apples. When I cut the first one open, I noticed some darker color inside and began to remove it and then throw it in the wastebasket. All of a sudden, several women were talking in animated voices and telling me something in Japanese. I now know they were probably saying, "MITSU DESU!" One of the women then said in English, "This is apple's honey. It is the sweetest part! Don't put in gomi (garbage)."

I thought about this memory today. It was my first taste of culture shock with many more to come over the next four years I lived in Japan. But what struck me today as I remembered that event was how I didn't recognize the mitsu. I had to be in another culture to even discover that it existed and then recognize that it was the best part.

Yesterday, I wrote about waiting. About how I had to learn to live in gratitude while I waited. This memory in Japan is a picture to me of that journey. Sometimes I miss what is beautiful in my life because I can't see it. Sometimes I need to be shown where to look.

Gratitude is also a spiritual discipline. Some people write out a short gratitude list every evening. I don't do that, but I do like to write a list regularly in my journal. I do it because I find that gratitude helps me to live one day at a time. I can't be thankful for something tomorrow. It hasn't happened yet. I can only be grateful for what is here today.

Today I want to pause and really live in gratitude....For the things I can't buy or collect or obtain by my own effort. Today, the mitsu in my apple at lunch is at the top of my list. I may share my list tomorrow.

How do you practice gratitude?

(We just found our second mitsu of the day! So fun!)

Waiting

When I was a college student, I worked as a staff counselor at a summer camp in Sebastopol, California. I vividly remember Steve, the lead staff counselor, gathering a group of counselors together at the base of a hiking trail for a training session. We were getting ready to work together with high school students in an intensive two-week camp and needed to be able to rely on each other.

Goat Rock at the Sonoma Coast

Steve loved to challenge us physically so that we couldn't do things on our own but had to work together. Trust each other. Listen to each other. The week prior it was a hike up Goat Rock at the beach so named on the Sonoma coastline. I dreaded these training times. I never realized until that summer that I didn't like being pushed out of my comfort zone physically. I liked to play it safe. I had fear of heights. Steve loved to get us up high!

On this particular day we were divided into groups of three. Two of us were blindfolded while the third was the leader. We were to hike up a narrow trail with our leader guiding us. The trail was steep, narrow, missing steps with rebar (steel bar) jutting out. I joined my group of three, put on my blindfold, and listened to our leader as he asked us to hold hands. His voice then guided us where to place our left, then right foot, as we made our way up the trail.

At one point in the journey, our leader stopped us on the trail and said, "Kim, you'll have to wait here. I can't lead you both at the same time. Wait until I come back to get you."  I stopped and waited while he led my friend on up the trail. I waited and waited. I knew this trail. Just last week I had been with the team rebuilding steps. I thought, "I can go forward by myself". With my blindfold on, I bent down and started to use my hands to feel the steps. They were missing. I had no idea what was up ahead. I only tried for a few seconds and decided that I needed to wait until I could be guided by someone who could actually see.

What struck me about this moment was that I even considered going forward at all. Why couldn't I just stand there and wait? Why did I hate waiting so much? Why was I so determined to move forward even though our leader promised he'd come back for me?

I have come back to that experience many times in my life when I have had to wait. I know a lot about waiting. I waited month after month in hopes of a pregnancy. Those months turned into years. I waited for doctors to tell me if the procedure was successful for a pregnancy. I waited for paperwork to be approved for the adoption process. I waited for the pain to lesson from a failed adoption. I waited for the courage to try again. I waited for the phone call that said we'd been chosen. I waited for the baby to arrive and be placed in my arms. I waited for the adoption to be finalized. And then I did the adoption process all over again a second time.

I know waiting. Waiting that is filled with wishing and longing. Some days I waited with hope. Some days with fear. Some days with surrender. Some days I waited in tears.

During my years of infertility, I asked God for a miracle. I wept. I pleaded. I waited. I wrestled with God and asked him why he didn't give us a miracle. When I looked to the Biblical narrative, I found many times when God's people had to wait. But I struggled as I looked for comfort and only read of barren women who all got their miracle -- a pregnancy.

But there was a place that gave me comfort. It was a place that surprised me. It came from what was not written. I was drawn to the silent years of Jesus' life. The Gospels give an account of Jesus' birth, of an event when he was a young boy, and then when he began his ministry when he was around 30 years old. He then began to reveal himself and do miracles. But Jesus lived for years in Nazareth before anyone knew who he was. He must have known people he had grown up with who were sick, dying, hurting. And yet, he had to wait. It wasn't his time to reveal himself. He didn't heal them even though his heart must have longed to do so. He had to wait until it was His time. Even Jesus had to wait for God's timing. This gave me profound comfort in the midst of my waiting.

God's timing is a mystery.

Sometimes the journey of waiting presses in on how I see God. Is he truly loving and good all the time? Sometimes it pushed in more than I thought I could bear. God's timing is a mystery. And somewhere along the way, I began to live in the mystery.

That doesn't mean that I ignored my grief and pain. But I had to learn how to live in the midst of the waiting. For me that meant living one day at a time. I had to choose to stop living in "if only I had a baby, I will be happy."  Slowly, I found I could do one day at a time. When I looked at tomorrow, it was too scary. Some days I did that better than others. Some days I needed to be gentle with myself when my empty arms were too heavy with grief. But slowly, I began to choose to start looking for the things that were good and beautiful in my life in the midst of the pain...one day at a time.

I have friends who are waiting. For a baby. For a job. For a spouse. For an end to chronic pain. For an adoption to be finalized. For a family member to choose recovery. I wish I could tell them how long they will have to wait. I wish I could tell them that they will get what they are waiting for. But I can't. And I don't know what they need. But I can ask. I can listen. I can wait with them and pray with them and let them share their pain. I can walk with them.

I still don't like waiting. I still want to rush through it and try to find a way out. Steve knew what he was doing that summer in 1989. He knew that we needed each other to help us up the trail. We can't get very far when we try to do it on our own. We don't have to wait alone.

Delicious Autumn

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. -- George Eliot

Autumn always reminds me of the years I spent in Japan and how I enjoyed my favorite season. When a student would bring a large fuji apple to share with everyone in the English class. A hike to the nearby mountains to view the momiji  or maple trees.  The taste of a sweet crisp persimmon or the smell of chestnuts roasting at the kiosk near the train station. A trip to an onsen or natural hot spring. Oh I miss that!

Japan is a culture that pauses to enjoy the coming of each new season. If you ever visit a traditional Japanese garden, you'll notice that the landscape is designed so there is a burst of color for every season. Cherry blossoms and azaleas in the spring, hydrangea and iris in the summer, ginkgo trees and Japanese maples for fall, and plum trees in late winter. Just to name a few. The gardens are a picture of how the culture is intentionally infused with traditions to celebrate the beauty of all four seasons.

My experience in Japan helps me to see each new season as a time to pause and enjoy its simple gifts. In many ways, it's how children enjoy nature when they marvel at a caterpillar or ant or cloud. When I pause, it renews my soul especially when life feels busy and over-scheduled. Maybe it is because these gifts are free and require no planning. Maybe it's because the God who created me knows that I need to remember that life is not just about doing but also about being.

Even though fall seems to elude us here in Southern California and we don't have drastic changes in weather, there is still evidence of a change of season. I love how the shadows change and lengthen earlier in the day. Or how the sun seems to set slower in the evenings with deeper hues of orange and magenta. I love to soak in the warm sunlight as it beams through my window in the late afternoon on a crisp cool day. I sip a cup of Yorkshire Gold tea and let it warm my cold hands. I slice a fuji apple and look for the sweet honey spot or mistu inside. So common in Japan but I have only found it once since I returned home 14 years ago. What a gift it was for the season!

So today I will enjoy the simple beauty of this time of year. I will not get distracted by all the activities or the commercial displays but will soak in the beauty of God's creation. It may mean that I'll need to slow down and become aware of what I can see, smell, taste, hear and touch. What will I notice today? What can I be grateful for? What mistu does God want to give me today?

Delicious autumn. I will savor you today and feed my soul.

Selah: Practicing His Presence

To learn more about this series, please visit SELAH.

Through the years, I have gravitated toward the spiritual disciplines practiced for centuries by those who follow the teachings of Jesus. At first, I was intimidated to learn about them because they sounded too arduous. I now realize I didn't understand their purpose. Since then, I have found the disciplines to be wonderful gifts that help me connect with God throughout my day and experience His presence within my every day life.

Most recently, I have enjoyed the discipline called  Practicing His Presence*. There are many ways to do this, but I find that I need a tangible reminder to actually do it while I live life. I use a scented candle that I can light any time during the day to help me practice this discipline. For me, the candle is a visual reminder that Jesus is ever-present in my life and that he said, "I am the light of the world (kosmos)." After a while, I may forget the candle is lit, but the scent fills the room. When its fragrance gently touches my senses, it reminds me to pause and remember that God is with me. Sometimes the pause turns into a prayer of gratitude. Sometimes I lift up a request for help. Sometimes I ask for forgiveness for unkind words recently spoken. Sometimes I just need to enjoy its light and God's presence when it feels like chaos around me. 

I took a picture of the candle on our dining table in the middle of the day last week. It captured life happening around it. It was a day that ended with temper tantrums. A day I lost my patience. The candle is not magical. It doesn't make the day go perfectly. It doesn't make me act more "holy" or my kids behave better. But it does help me to stop and remember that God is with me. It helps me worship God, who I believe, entered this life and experienced the same things we experience. A life filled with work, exhaustion, laughter, tears, dirty dishes, laundry, frustration, love, and cranky people. 

One night last week when the candle was lit on the table, God reminded me to ask my son if he wanted a "do-over"... A chance to go back to when we called him to dinner before all the wrong choices started. He didn't want it. We told him that even mom and dad use "do-overs" with each other. We just say, "Can we start the day over again?" Some days, we just need a "do-over."

I wish that lighting a candle made my days go smoothly and my relationships easy. It doesn't. I light it because I need a physical reminder to stop and listen to God. I light it because I want to be a woman who acknowledges she needs God's help and wants to learn to worship Him with her every day life.

I light the candle because I know He longs to show me how.

*Practicing the presence of God is a way of life where we engage in continual conversation with God; walk with Him in love, humility, simplicity, and faith; and do nothing and think nothing which may displease Him, because that is God's will for us. 

Perpsective

I posted this picture on Facebook this week. Some of you enjoyed it too. It made me giggle and think about the warm molten chocolate cake at my favorite restaurant in town. You got a favorite too?

The same day I posted it, I had a very difficult conversation with my son as I was putting him to bed. His vocal tic was very active that day and interfering with speaking. As I said good night, he said, "Mom, why do I have Tourette's? It's like God spun a wheel and it landed on me. Everyone else got one millionth of a chance of getting it and I got it all. It's not fair."  I gave him a big hug and said, "Nope. It's not fair."

Right now life's doesn't feel fair to an eight year old boy. I understand. I had the same battle inside when I was struggling to get pregnant month after month after month. It was especially difficult on the days when a friend would announce she was pregnant and include that extra detail that it only took one try. And it didn't help when people would tell me, "Oh it will happen. You'll get a baby one day." I wish I could tell my son that some day his tics will go away. But I don't know that. So I don't say it. Some one has already said it to me though. Ugh.

Some days feel better than others for my son. On another night last week, he wondered what it would be like to meet other families with kids who have Tourette's. He said, "It would be like a 'Tic Band' with all of us doing our tics on the table." We both burst out in laughter as we tried to imagine the sound. It felt good to laugh together. My son needs to have the freedom to get angry, to grieve, to laugh and to find acceptance in his own time. I think we all do when life gives us more than we can handle.

As a parent, I want to walk this difficult road for him so he does't have to. But I know I can't. That night when I left his room with a heavy heart, I realized that because of my journey through infertility, I can be the mom I need to be to my son.  I don't have to try to fix it. I can let him feel his feelings. Another unexpected gift to come out of the "yuck" of infertility. That was God giving me some perspective.

I wonder if one day my son will see the connection between his journey and my own. Will he realize that I wouldn't have him if I had given birth to a child? What will he see in the years to come that his life has been given because he has Tourette's? Will he be able to see those gifts?

Right now, I am asking God to give me the wisdom to accept the things I can not change and the courage to change the things I can. For me, that usually has a lot to do with changing my attitude or my perspective. And it would was good to be reminded this week that humor is a great place to start.

So enjoy your favorite dessert this week and maybe a good laugh too.

Pressure Cooker

Have you ever cooked with a pressure cooker? It is often used in Indian cooking and many Indian students pack them in their suitcase when they come for their studies in America. I love Indian food so I bought a pressure cooker and taught myself how to use it. It has a very important button on the side that you can press to let off steam so that your lentils don’t come pouring out of your pot. I had to learn to use this often as it took me a long time to figure out how to cook lentils in the pot without making a complete mess.

Last week felt like I was the lentils. But I didn't let off the pressure very well and made a mess. I had a sick child home with scarlet fever (just a fancy way to say strep throat with a rash) for five days, the younger child was fussy because the older one was getting so much attention, too many cartoons, and record heat outside which made it 100F inside the house (our pressure cooker!) where we were quarantined until the sick child was not contagious. 

Here is a snapshot of an evening in the middle of the week. It started to get comical by the end. But I don't remember laughing at four o'clock in the morning.

Broken silverware drawer and injured foot
Rash breaks out all over oldest child and realize he has strep
Broken mercury thermometer in the bathroom, call to poison control,  followed by tedious clean up

Dishwasher leaks all over the kitchen floor
Water bottle leaks in son’s bed at 11pm and completely soaks mattress
Musical beds for mom, dad (to couch) and son
Musical beds again at 4am because son keeps kicking mom and she hasn't slept 

My housemates in Japan can attest to the fact that I do not do well in the heat. After my first summer in Japan, they commented, “Oh, Kim, you have your smile back!” I didn't know I had lost it. Ouch. My kids can now attest to it too, unfortunately. By Friday morning, I was exhausted and cranky and overwhelmed. I lost it when I was doing the dishes one more time because I had just done them. I felt like I had not left the kitchen in five days. It was not a pretty sight. The pans did not go gently into the sink that morning. The mercy in it was that the only one who saw it was my husband.

I am learning, slowly, that having a child with special needs makes a difficult week even more challenging. In my "free moments", I also juggle talking to the doctor about medication, figuring out insurance issues, scheduling meetings at school, and advocating for my son in arenas where he is misunderstood. When you have a child with special needs, you are also learning that parenting looks very different than what you imagined. And you have days when you think you are going crazy because nothing you try is working. Anyone else with a special needs kid feel crazy some days? 

I am very aware that my circumstances were not as bad as I thought. I have been through weeks in the past when I could barely get out of bed because my grief felt like a weight on my entire body. Some of you may be in that season and wishing that you had my week instead of your own. Whatever the season I am in, I have to admit that sometimes I have days that just seem to overwhelm me and I can't get back to a place of gratitude and openness to God's touch in my life. 

My kids will probably only remember that they got to have waffles and ice cream for dinner last week. I hope so. I am thankful that I can make amends and let go. I am also thankful that there is a group of women in my life that are learning how to practice the Spiritual Disciplines in our everyday lives. This past week we practiced Fixed Hour of Prayer**. We did a simplified version and picked one time during the day to set a timer or alarm (I used my cell phone) to remind us to stop and pray. My time was 2:30 in the afternoon. This was my prayer.

Search me, O God, and know my heart; 

try me and know my anxious thoughts. 

See if there be any hurtful way in me, 

and lead me in the everlasting way.

Psalm 139:23-24

I wish that I can say that I was extremely spiritual and was given great insight into God. I was not. I was given great insight into myself. I didn’t like stopping and pausing. I didn’t like noticing how my attitude toward my children and my circumstances was not loving but irritated and grumpy. And yet, I stopped. I paused. I recognized that I needed God’s help. Sometimes I took it. Sometimes I didn’t. I saw how frail I am and how much I need the power of God to enter into my every day earthly life and transform it. This week is “back to normal” but I am very aware that I worship a God who took on our human condition and entered into everyday life so that I could know that I am never alone in it. That is the mercy of God for a mom who needed it so desperately last week. And every day.

**Fixed-Hour of Prayer calls for regular and consistent patterns of attending to God throughout the day. Benedict of Nursia believed that both physical labor (work) and prayer were in God’s hands. They were both God’s work. He is renowned for saying “Orare est laborare, laborare est orare” – to pray is to work, to work is to pray. Benedictines today continue to punctuate their work with prayer rhythms begun over 1600 years ago.

God Box

The best advice I was ever given was to start a God Box for my prayers. At first, I wondered if it would be helpful, but I gravitate toward word pictures to help me grasp spiritual concepts so I was drawn to the idea. The God Box is a tangible picture of learning how to turn over my worries to God and leave them in His hands. 

I've been surprised how the simple act of writing down my concern on piece of paper and putting it in the God Box has transformed how I pray and how I see God. For years, I prayed to God and thought I had let go. But what I was actually doing was telling God how I wanted Him to answer my prayer. Or I was praying for someone or something to change so I could feel better.  But when I write down the prayer and put it in the God Box, I am letting God have it. I am truly letting go. My prayer is simple.  "This is too big for me to figure out on my own. I need Your help.  I'll wait for You to show me what to do."

Don't get me wrong. It's not easy to put some of the big ones in the box and leave them there. But the gift of the God Box is that I'm not trying to figure out the answer anymore. I wait. I live. I listen. Sometimes I have to remind myself, "It's in the God Box. Don't take it out today." Some of the things I put in my God Box are in there for a long time. Months. Maybe years. (I just started in 2011.)  But when I look back months later, I've often discovered that what was once a burden is now gone. My attitude or perspective has changed, and I can just remove it.

This past spring, my son struggled with two boys at school. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get them to stop bothering him. Our school was helping and intervening with the boys, but my son was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the situation. It was often the most difficult on Sunday evening when he was thinking about going to school the next day. I told him about my God Box and how I put problems that are too big for me to handle in it. I told him he could let me know if he wanted to use the God Box for his prayers.

That following morning at breakfast, he said, "Mom, can I put Jeff and Andy (not their real names) in the God Box?" So he wrote down their names on a piece of paper and put it in the box. He loved that the box had a special lock. One side has panels that slide into different positions to lock the box shut. I chose this box because reminds me that my prayers are locked in tight and safe and not to be taken out again!

As my son put the prayer into the box, I found myself thinking, "Okay, God. You got this one? You better show up!" Then I started thinking of ways I might need to explain to my son why God was not answering his prayers right away. Once again, I saw that I think I need to have a back up plan for God.  I too had to put this situation in the box that morning and trust that God could handle it.

When my husband picked up our son from school that day he was beaming. He was surrounded by classmates all trying to stand next to him. We soon found out that his teachers had decided to have a meeting that day with the two classes in my son's grade that included my son and the two boys.  My son was able to share in a safe environment about the teasing and how he felt like he had no friends at recess. Other students also opened up about how they felt the same way as my son. They came up with solutions on how to solve the problem. The teachers initiated letting my son pick a special friend for each recess over the next week. When the teachers asked who would like an opportunity to be my son's special friend, everyone raised their hands and wanted to be chosen. One teacher shared that this meeting was one of the most moving moments that she had experienced in her 30 years as an educator.

You can say it was a coincidence. I say it was God touching my son's life with an answer to his prayer. It was his dewdrop from heaven. And his mom got to enjoy it too. We were both so excited to take out our slips of paper in the God Box that evening. I wish that every slip of paper came out the next day. But that is not the case. But this experience with my son sure made me want to trust God to take care of me ... one day at a time. I could share time and time again when the answer comes in unexpected ways. But for right now, I want to keep those as God's special gifts to me that I keep hidden in my heart.

In this season of my life, I am learning to put my son's diagnosis of Tourette Syndrome into the box. Today I will be writing down, "How to parent a child with Tourette's?" This is what I need to put in my God Box. What about you?  I would encourage you to use the God Box and see what you discover.