Citizenship

Philippians 3:20
"But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ"


     Last night I was helping my oldest daughter study for her vocabulary test today and two of her words were citizen and citizenship.  Her fourth grade social studies unit this week is all about becoming a citizen of a country.  We talked about America being our country, but then talked about how the Bible speaks of out true citizenship being in Heaven if we follow God.  Emma became giddy with excitement at the thought of this and my heart burned a bit, filled with hope, but also filled with the reality of the fleetingness of this life and how I can be often times more focused on this life.
      After much debate and talking with others, we had decided to talk with Emma about the unspeakable tragedy this week and it was heartbreaking to watch her innocence fade.  She asked many questions and we both cried together as she said her brain couldn't stop swirling at the thought of children dying and how and why something like this could happen.  She wished she didn't have to know.  She went to her grandparents for the weekend and had a wonderfully distracting time away.  Last night, her first night home since we talked about everything, we said prayers in bed after finishing up her studying. She quietly concluded her prayer with "and thank you, God for all of the little people. Amen"  She became quiet and I knew she was thinking deeply about things.   I asked what she meant by "the little people."  Her sister was not quite asleep in the bed below her and she didn't want her to hear.  She told me she had seen a picture in a newspaper of one of the little girls who had died that reminded her of Lexi.  She went on to say how thankful she was for all the children's lives who had been abruptly taken.  She talked about her fears and the fact that she hated that I couldn't promise her that this could never happen again.  She wondered how the families would ever be able to laugh again and would she be safe and why did pain have to exist and why would someone ever do this.  Tears silently welled in her bright eyes and gently spilled down her cheeks, intertwining with my own as I held her as tightly as I knew how.  I have been shaken to the core with sadness over all that has happened.  As a mother in this moment, I hated that these were questions I couldn't answer and even more so that these were promises that I didn't have the power to make to her.  What I do know and what her dad and I said to her last night is that God is much bigger than all of us and we can choose fear or we can choose faith.  We can't understand all things, that is up to God, but we can choose to trust Him and to believe that we do hold another citizenship of far greater worth.  Everyday I have to ask myself to make this choice, because right now, the thought of them even walking out the door puts a pit in my stomach.  I have to choose faith over fear, because God is bigger and that is the best thing I can do for my children.  Emma told us that she wished Jesus could come back now.  Her perspective that our citizenship in Heaven is what we live for helps me.  The faith of my child inspires me and helps me to put my faith in eternity and what I can't see.  I thank God for every day he gives me, but what I live for is getting my kids and me to Heaven, where Emma envisions a playground that is very busy and joyous right now . . .and yes, God, I too, thank you deeply for these little people and their citizenship with you.

Miles away

People come in and out of your life.  Some of them you get fantastically close to, others you aren't terribly sad to say goodbye to, some friendships fade and others remain incredibly loyal.  Loyalty is one of those qualities that is inordinately special and creates bonds across oceans and through years.  Tomorrow one of these inordinately special friends that I have is getting married.  My heart is so close to her, while my physical presence has to be oceans away.  I remember the first time I met her at a table in the Boston University student center, wide eyed and excited as a Florida girl coming to the frigid Northeast.  Talk about culture shock.  Over the proceeding months and early years that followed,  many tears fell and doubts and heartaches were felt as she wondered why life took the turns that it did.  Through all of these, Elizabeth grew to become like a little sister to me.  She has been with me through the first years of my kids life and I'm so grateful for the hero that she is to them. I'm laughing out loud thinking about our rap dance to a memorable rendition of "Pants on the ground,"  as I was desperately trying any physical exertion possible to induce what seemed to be an eternal last trimester of my third pregnancy.  I remember the awkward moments of her up close and personal exposure to the world of impassioned lactation consultants at the hospital with Kevin and me after Lexi's birth.  I remember pumpkin patches and apple orchards, overnight babysitting adventures she and another dear friend gladly took on with my kids consisting of ear infections, bronchitis, antibiotics and the dog needing needing extensive hands on care and cleaning after a ruptured anal gland (sorry to be so graphic!)--now that is true friendship!  And amazingly enough, I know she'd do it a hundred times again for me.  I don't know where in that timeline a friendship blurs into being like family, but that it did with Elizabeth, I am sure.  I specifically remember her junior year of college as many seemingly open doors in her life began to shut.  I remember traipsing up three flights of stairs being 8 months pregnant with Lexi to her dorm room and over her very gourmet-universite` style grilled cheese and tomato soup, contemplating the myriad of reasonings that God might have in why life was as it was.  I remember the deep lessons in trusting God she learned and I remember saying we'd laugh one day as I told her "I told you so," as she would see the desires of her heart fulfilled. Little did either of us know that would take her to Africa where she devoted herself to missionary work there, and now in a matter of mere hours, she will be buttoning a white dress walking down the aisle to the man of her dreams in South Africa, and I couldn't be happier.  Happy wedding day to the almost Mrs. Fulton--I wish I was there!

SUPER cool!

Lexi and I recently had to make a quick trip to the mall before it closed on a Sunday evening.  She was in a particularly chatty mood and we were discussing all sorts of topics ranging from Minnie Mouse to princesses, her brother and sister and other such deep and philosophical conversations that come from the lips of a three year old.  It was only the beginning of  November and to our delight (though really disengenuously early) Christmas songs were playing and Santa's North Pole at the mall was fully erected. We admired the area and continued on our way when right in front of us who should appear but Santa himself.  This pint sized companion by my side looked up at me wide eyed, squealing with delight and simultaneously started jumping up and down with pure joy.  With awe in her heart, I asked her if she'd like to say hello.  Santa was about to go home to his magical and mysterious local workshop, being escorted by a not-so-jolly Santa's helper.  We hustled our steps to catch up with him and I politely asked if my daughter could give Santa a hug.  The "elf escort" unashamedly began to wave us away and then as only Santa can do, he stepped back from his assistant, stooped down to my daughter's level and beckoned her to come to him.  She did so with great elation and my always conversational three year old, stood speechless with arms wide open to receive his welcomed and jolly hug.  The assistant, at this point was clearly perturbed at the fact that we were clearly cashing in on a wonderful freebie opportunity.  Santa, however, was kind, bighearted and in no rush to interrupt this moment for my daughter--for that I wanted to hug Santa too!  I exited the mall doors with a blissfully happy little girl who thought we had just won the lottery.  As I buckled her into her seat, I asked her how she felt about seeing Santa.  She looked at me and said "Mom, that wasn't cool to see Santa, that was SUPER cool!"

I am grateful, that in a cynical, consumer-filled world that this Santa cared enough to foster my child's faith in something hopeful.  It's no surprise that in the same way, Jesus dismisses his disciples' irritated attitudes to allow the children to come to him.  I can only imagine the joy and similar wide eyed expressions that came from these children's faces as they went to him with such a simple faith and joy.     It's such a great reminder to me of why it's such a calling to be like these little children.

Mark 10:13-16
 People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” ...

Thankful mama

Happy Thanksgiving!!  I love this holiday . . .my favorite people, delectable dishes, comfy couches and a roaring fire.  The only pressure I feel is not burning my pies!  There has been a lot of thankful talk and postings this month and I find that remembering what there is to be grateful for always puts life in perspective. The kids spent a lot of time writing their own thankful lists, which were so special to read.  There's a lot of tired, anxiety and sheer responsibility that can fill all hours of a mom's life, but remembering the little things I love constantly makes all worthwhile.   Given this is my blog about what I learn from being a mom, here area few of  the countless thanks-filled moments I'm grateful for that mamahood has provided:

1. Shaking hands holding a pregnancy test watching two lines form after months and months of trying to get pregnant and an inexplicable explosion of emotion that a little life was inside of me

2.  Feeling the first fluttering sensation of my daughter's movement

3.   Amazing medical care, doctors and technology that saved my firstborn's life (another blog to come later about this!)

4.  Seeing her face for the very first time and counting the tiniest little fingers and toes I had ever seen

5.  Walking into all of their bedrooms and breathing in the sweet, smell of their skin and "babiness" that engulfed the room (not including the sensations of full diapers that, at times, also could permeate the room)

6.  Chubby, sticky fingers choosing to grab mine

7.  The swelling pride of seeing first steps and hearing the blissful, sweet first utterance of "mama"

8.  Sad eyes that lock on to mine and find comfort only in my arms

9.  The simplicity in my kisses being able to heal all hurts

10.  The sheer wonder and delight in finding ladybugs, blowing dandelions into the wind, chasing bubbles, first snowfalls, hot chocolate after sledding, bare feet digging into sand, jumping over waves, catching fireflies, licking the beaters, finding a rainbow, jumping and splashing through puddles . . .I could go on and on

11.   I am thankful to be the most important person in the world to these little people

12.  That when they are scared, snuggling in bed and backrubs make everything better

13.  I'm thankful for footie jammies and breathing in after-bath skin

14.  Bedtime prayers and hugs that don't let go

15.  Homemade cards and laminated Christmas ornaments

16.  Watching them sleep at night 

17.   Huge smiles when they're so proud to tell me of a latest accomplishment

18.  Dancing in the kitchen and singing wonderful nonsense until we are heaped in a pile in peals of uncontrollable laughter

19.  After school snacks and conversations that let me into their hearts

20.  Having these miniature, fantastically and wonderfully amazing creatures trust you with their everything and getting to be their heroes who grow into friends . . .

Happy Thanksgiving!

What's in a Name?

Twizzler, Litey, Housey 2, Clothesy-Potty, Sweetie-Sweetie-Holy-Holy, Baby Pups Pink, Blon-Blon, Sister Cordy . . .These are the names given to some very special members of the Miller extended family.  I have no idea how they were determined, but every time a new "member" is adopted, special thought and consideration is put into this process as my three year old studies the face of any new stuffed animal and comes up with what they will be called.  I'm often tempted to get her more just to hear what name she'll come up with next!  I might have a suggestion, but those are never taken.  These are her babies, they belong to her and she takes naming them very seriously.  We were at a college retreat last weekend and had the rare opportunity of just taking Lexi with us.  The other two stayed with their cousins since we had just been with them for the funeral of my husband's grandmother.  Of course, given the fact that our baby girl has her daddy tightly wound and wrapped around all of her fingers, it took less than five minutes of arriving and needing to pick up a couple of things at the little country store that Sweetie-Sweetie-Holy-Holy (appropriately named, I thought, at a spiritual retreat) had found her way into Lexi's lap.  This new little stuffed animal puppy was richly welcomed and given the royal treatment, never leaving Lexi's side.  Not too long after, Lexi noticed a small tear where the thread had begun to unravel and was very upset that her puppy was hurting.  My less-sentimental-we-should-get-what-we-overpaid-for instincts kicked in and I wanted to replace this new unraveling toy for a better one.  I proceeded to tell Lexi that we would take her to the puppy doctor and get her "taken care of."  I got the exact same puppy, no rips and no difference in appearance, and proudly presented "healed" Sweetie-Sweetie-Holy-Holy to my daughter.  Problem solved!  Lexi held her puppy, studied her quickly and with sad eyes, looked at me and told me that this was not, in fact, Sweetie-Sweetie-Holy-Holy, but her brother, and that made her very sad.  For the life of me I couldn't find any difference in the two, but she knew.
    That night I looked up at the sky in the mountains to look at the stars in a place far from city lights.  I am continually in awe and overwhelmed with their vastness.  But what amazes me more is that God has named every one of them and always knows if one is missing.  The sheer thought of coming up with that many names is exhausting!  Looking up at them from one moment to another, I would have no idea which was which.  But God does.  That comforts me.  I love that a God with that kind of greatness, power and strength carefully constructs and names even the stars, that have no souls.  How much more does he uniquely know me and have the ability to care for me?  He is so grand and yet so intimately connected to each of us individually, down to knowing the number of hairs on my head.  He knows me and uniquely cares for me.  And in that thought, I am humbled and I am grateful.

Isaiah 40:26

 Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
    Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
    and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
    not one of them is missing.

Luke 12:6-8

⁶ Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. ⁷ Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Good medicine

        This morning was especially cold with a melancholy November rain making the sadness feel even more raw.  I looked around at the group huddling under the canopy at the gravesite as so many said goodbye to a woman who was leaving a legacy (and arguably an army) of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who literally wouldn’t be here without her.  I personally did not know GGMa, as the great grandchildren called her, very well, but am so blessed because of her life and the family that I now get to be part of.  There have been a lot of negative campaigns and villainous fairy tales about mother-in-laws, but I have the best, really.  I consider her to be a best friend and so the sadness of seeing her sad is what pained me the most.

         Several days earlier, my youngest daughter Lexi and I were talking about the upcoming days and emotions that would be there and I was trying to explain funerals and death to a three year old.  We then changed the subject and started writing out a thankful list.  I asked her what should be first and she replied “Grandma’s mommy.”  We said prayers together that night and she prayed “thank you God that I can make Grandma feel happy,”  we talked about her favorite memory verse and the one that says “A cheerful heart is good medicine.”  She said to me “Mommy, I will be that cheerful heart that can be good medicine to Grandma.”  There is not a lot you can say at moments of great sadness, but we can be good medicine to others that comfort and quietly state that we are there.  As I watched under that canopy, one by one each of the grandkids surrounded my mother-in-law, no prodding necessary and just embraced her quietly without letting go.  They are all young, but understood the power of comfort, cheering and hugs in this moment.  It was quite special to observe.  Lexi, on this afternoon, seemed extra full of that spirit as well.  Sometimes I marvel at the way God can work through children, where their little hearts and minds just know how to rise to an occasion that only they can really do.  She was boundless in her joy this day and brought a lot of smiles to tear stained faces. She gave lots of hugs and really lived out being the cheerful heart.  That night we said prayers before bed with Grandma and Lexi prayed, “God, thank you that this funeral was so fun.” We laughed and though it had been a day of mourning, memories and tears, somehow in there, the good medicine had eased the pain.   

                                             Proverbs 17:22  "A cheerful heart is good medicine."

Dance Party

      The music was blaring "Thriller," and my bobbing, blond-haired figurante swooped her way over to the table, nodding and hopping to the song excitedly cheering, "Yay! Yay! I love this one!"  The dance party was in full swing in my living room and sheer joy lit us up.  Beads (sounds nicer than to say rivers) of sweat were spilling down my husband's forehead and the energy was amazing.  Now I am not a dancer, thanks to the genetic blessings of my father, but after enough "Mom, come on's" I had no choice and joined in the swoopings of arms and collapsings in heaps of belly laughter.  There were ear to ear grins on all of their faces and sweaty little palms grabbed mine as we twirled around together.

     This really was a party I didn't want to miss.  There was no real occasion, except that of the delight of being family.  The attire for this affair were jammies, sweat pants and bare feet and it was by invitation only.  My kids felt no inhibitions and the disappointment and stress of stormy weather and being apart were long since forgotten.  Their security was sure and their contentment was high.  I stood back taking it in, thankful for this moment, right now.  Children's joy is simple and reminds me to let go of life's daily pressures.  Our hot water had been gone for several days, and upon its return, I was met with what felt like the Colorado mountains of laundry, dishes and catching up, a lot of administrative tasks with work, my husband's Grandma in hospice waiting to die, bills to pay . . .life happens and yet, on this night and in moments like these, I'm reminded to let go and enjoy the simple pleasures that don't require much except a bit of heart.  Being around my children brings me joy.   God promises that being around him is what will bring us joy and in that I can find strength.

Psalm 21:6 

Surely you have granted him unending blessings
    and made him glad with the joy of your presence.