The Big Brother

I just finished tucking my younger two kids in bed and let Caleb sleep with Lexi in her room in Emma's bed while she is at a sleepover.  I stood at the top of the stairs smiling at the priceless conversation I got to eavesdrop in on.  It went something like this:

"Caleb?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, I just thought you were asleep. . ."
"Oh"
"Caleb?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't you just think these stars are the most beautiful ever?"
"Uh, I guess so"
"Caleb?"
"Yeah?"
"I just love you so much"
"Lexi, you're funny"
"Yeah, I am, but I think you're even funnier"
"Yeah, I guess I am the funniest, and Lexi, if you need to go potty tonight, just tell me and I'll help you"
"Caleb?"
"Yeah?"
"Caleb, I just love that when I wake up in the morning, you will always play with me, I have the best big brother ever"
"Oh"

I love the way they love each other and the way that Lexi looks up to her big brother.  I remember back to one of their first times together and feeling so excited that this little girl has a big brother . . .

“Where’s my big brother shirt?” is a question I heard often in those early days.  It had been washed many times since it was bought on the day she was born.  Just over a month after it was given to him, it was beginning to already have that faded, slightly stained and well worn, favorite t-shirt look.  Any day that he could, Caleb wanted to wear this shirt with honor, so proud that he was the big brother now.  He adored his little sister and took his new role very seriously. 

Sitting quietly in bed next to me one  morning as I was half in and out of sleep, my little three year old Caleb leaned over to his little sister and stroking her on the cheek, I heard him whisper to her, “Baby Alex, you’re perfect. You are just perfect, baby.  I couldn’t ask God for you to be any better.  I’m your big brother and I will protect you from dragons and monsters and trains.”
 

So often I see myself as unworthy before God and my flaws seem huge and overwhelming.  I can feel like I walk in and out of grace because of what I do or don’t do.  Yet, in Jesus we have a big brother who presents us before his father, our father, as always perfect.  He took his role seriously as the “older brother” to even give up his own life to protect us from ever having to be insecure in knowing where we stand before God.

 In those early days, Caleb didn’t analyze day to day or moment by moment if he loved his sister, in fact most of the times he was holding her or praising her worth, she had poopy diapers and spit up under her chin.  Yet, to him, she couldn’t have been more perfect.  Neither did Lexi question or doubt his sincerity because she might be a mess.  She just looked back at him with big adoring eyes, reveling in the love of her big brother.  And now, almost four years later, he is even more the "bestest big brother ever." Trust me they have their many "non-angelic sibling moments,"  but he proudly and emphatically fights with his nerf swords as the brave knight protecting his little sister, the princess, from the dragons, trains and monsters.  She adores him and he loves being the big brother.  Do you trust that this is how God consistently looks at you because of the big brother that we have?

Col 1:22

22 But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation-

(from New International Version)

Heb 2:11-12

11 Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers.

Crazy Love

I just finished writing back to a friend of mine who is thinking of having three children and was asking how that transition was from two kids to three kids.  It took all of a half a second to be emphatically and joyfully assuring to her that three kids made my life feel complete and I couldn't imagine life differently.  It's crazy alright, but crazy wonderful and I remembered back to one of those early and very common scenes of my life in some of those newborn years and things I learned then. . .  

The phone was wedged in between my shoulder and my ear, trying to take in and respond attentively to the conversation at hand, while I held three dirty diapers in one hand and 409 carpet cleaner in the other to clean up a mess from my dog as he urinated in the middle of howling at my previously screaming newborn who had finally fallen asleep and let me put her down in the swing.  Then my 3 year old slipped on a blanket, crashing into the swing, waking up the baby as he cried.  They both began a melodious concert of high pitched cries and screams that the dog soon again joined in as well.  My friend quickly excused me from our conversation where I then hugged my son, then picked up the baby, only to have a gush of projectile digested milk come pouring over me. At this moment I sat down, decorated in spit up, baby in hand and surrendered my sanity.  I started to feel the tears well up and then began to laugh uncontrollably at this wonderful, crazy life that I always wanted.  Unending chaos, bottomless laundry, dirty dishes abounding, hormones highly elevated and yet having these tiny fingers wrap around mine tightly, the crazy fades and I realize how much I love all of this, every moment of it.

            The hours seem to disappear and before I can blink it is bedtime.  Dinner is done, baths have been taken, prayers have been said and the routines are through, I realize I’m still breathing and can hear myself think.  Caleb has a long list that we go through every night:  Can you lay down with me and can we talk about things?  Can you rub my back for one minute? Can you keep checking on me?  If I have nightmares can I crawl in your bed?  Can you put water at the end of my bed and turn lullabies on?  And every night, I routinely answer yes to all of these requests.  As I fulfill my promise to check on them, I can’t help but well up with tender love as I kiss the cheeks of my sleeping miracles.  It’s during these rare, quiet moments that I understand why God calls me to be still and remember him. 

Psalm 46:10
"Be still and know that I am God"

Tightly wound

"Would you like me to call her out of lunch or should we make this a show?" my daughter's fourth grade principal asked my husband. And of course, my husband would never hesitate at choosing the show. He had a meeting early this morning and didn't get to see Emma waking up a ""preteen." Now he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand and wanted to surprise her at school on her tenth birthday. It was lunchtime and all the fourth grade got to see how much this dad loves this girl.  Her friends at her table all giggled and applauded with delight as Emma smiled shyly, whispering to one of them "This is so embarrassing, but I kinda really love it too."
    I remember 10 years ago, waking up thinking I was getting ready to go to my baby shower.  I had never felt more excited in my life to become a mommy and felt like I had been waiting my whole life for it.  Taking almost a year to get pregnant, the joy and anticipation of this little girl coming to take over my world was overwhelmingly wonderful.  I had many complications during my last trimester, had been hospitalized, on bedrest and now finally with six weeks to go, my doctor was allowing me to attend my baby shower.  Something felt amiss that morning and I couldn't quite figure it out.  I knew if I called my obstetrician, she would make me come in to the hospital.  Kevin didn't want to take any chances and before I knew it I was hooked up to monitors.  Things seemed ok, there was no glaring problem, but they wanted to monitor me for several hours and torturously I watched the minutes wash away along with my baby shower.  I was thoroughly depressed.  Within moments of my full blown onset of depression a team of doctors and nurses raced into my room, put an oxygen mask over me, started sticking me with needles and IV's and said they would update me on "the situation" momentarily after the storm subsided.  To say the least, Kevin and I were terrified!  After what seemed like an eternal five minutes, my doctor calmly informed me that everything would be ok, but that they needed to operate immediately and that I would meet my daughter within the half hour.  Her heart rate was dropping dramatically and she needed to come out now.  I started crying and hugged my husband, scared to death.  Kevin spoke to my mom and filled her in on the situation, to which she responded, "We get to meet Emma today!"  I remember in that moment, Kevin's anxiety started to evolve into joy that we were about to see the face of this miracle we had been praying and waiting for, and that was exciting.  Moments later I was wheeled into the OR and minutes after that, the sweetest sound to ever hit my ears was heard in the resonant voice of my little 4 pound miracle.  We wept and laughed and were filled with inexpressible joy.  She was tiny but she was vocal, strong and absolutely perfect.  I had to recover from the surgery and due to Emma's early debut, she was whisked away to the NICU.  Kevin did not want to spend a minute away from her and it was in these first early hours that this little princess that literally fit in his one hand had him wrapped around all ten of her tiny fingers.  He would come back briefly to check on me and then return, unwilling to leave her, even at any nurses suggestion to get in a short nap.  I'd never felt more in love with my husband than seeing him at these moments hopelessly obsessed with this little girl.  As the years have come and gone I couldn't be prouder of who she is growing up to be and I couldn't be fonder of the way her daddy is, even more tightly wound around her finger and, most importantly, her heart.  Happy birthday to my sweet and wonderful Emma and happy ten years of fatherhood to her amazing daddy.

The wonder years

       Tomorrow morning, my little yellow house will be for sale.  They'll put a sign in the front yard and anybody could walk through my door and decide they want to buy it.  This will be the fifteenth time I've moved over the course of my life, but it feels very different this time.  There's been a lot of life lived in this house since the first day we walked through its front door.
        There's a LOT of preparation that must go into the selling of a house and I'm exhausted!  I'd like to say I'm meticulously neat and overly clean when it comes to my home, but I'd be lying if I did.  And so as I began to scrub the doors of the kids' bedrooms, there were marks more than a few days old.  I began to peel off princess stickers and superhero, "bravest patient" award badges, crayon masterpieces hanging by visible and assymetrically aligned masking tape, handprints and finger marks and my mind began to wander . . .I began to wipe away these smudges and my mind flooded with unerasable memories of the first time my daughter walked into her bedroom and the day she raced in front of me to push open the door to introduce her new brother to his palace where they reigned.   I remember chubby little legs attempting to stand on tiptoes and trying to wriggle the door knob to  open for the first time with the greatest of determination.  I remember putting child locks in place on these doors to protect the newest toddling member of our brood. Pinched fingers as a door slammed during a game of chase without knowing little hands were there.  Behind these doors were hide and seek caverns and explosions of laughter and giggles.  Sibling rivalries and threats that boys were absolutely not allowed to enter.  Summer days where the porch door was revolving with my kids and "adopted" neighbor's kids running in and out barefoot, leaving cut grass and sprinkler footprints in their wake.  Those same doors busting open at the first snowfall with them unable to get snow boots on fast enough to catch the flakes on their tongues to soon return inside the door to steaming cups of hot chocolate. Just a few short days ago Caleb leaned all his might against his door as my three year old Lexi pleaded from the other side "Caleb I admit I'm not a patient person, but give me a chance to try again" as they worked out their conflict that ended in hugging heaps on the floor. There were closed doors as I waited on the other side of a timeout where so many of their first lessons were learned of respect, obedience and then an assurance and trust of a deep and securing love that followed.   The conflicts had and resolved, the growing and maturing, the learning and the loving, the fighting and the struggling, the joys and the tears that have all occurred beside, in and outside of, opened and closed of these doors and doorframes.   My eyes began to well as I soaked in these precious memories that only these walls and doors will know once we are gone. I brought my hand down with one last swipe to get an overlooked chocolate thumbprint that I must not have cleaned on them very well or that they snuck up while I wasn't looking.  I know there will always be new doors to open, but I must admit I'm really going to miss these ones . . .