Showing posts with label Our Heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Our Heart. Show all posts
Monday, May 5, 2014
All Aboard the Crazy Train: Eanes Party of 5 Please
We decided to dust the cobwebs off the blog to bring you some pretty exciting news. Our days of fitting in a booth at restaurants are quickly dwindling... good thing we prefer the drive-thru anyhow.
Monday, June 11, 2012
It Takes a Village
Depending on who you ask the version of the story slightly varies, but as far as I can piece together it happened something like this...
My mother, who I cannot accurately describe without an entirely separate post, was milling about Babies-R-Us about 3 days after Mia was born. Now, as anyone who has had a new baby knows... this Babies-R-Us milling was far from the first Glenna had done. The woman might of as well slept in one of their super cozy display cribs or pack-n-plays the first week for all the time she spent in that store.
Buying, returning, re-buying, and well buying some more.
Eventually her trip ends where they all do in Babies-R-Us, at the cash register, and (as I am told by reliable sources) she is something of a mess.
Items are flung on the counter, receipts are strewn about any available surface, change (I am sure) is overflowing from her 2 ton wallet, and many jokes about not having her glasses and needing to find her coupons are being made, as she begins searching for said lost items in what might as well be considered the floor of the Pacific Ocean... her purse.
The people in line begin wondering if their children will have indeed outgrown their current diaper size while waiting, when Glenna drops the bomb...
She cannot find her Babies-R-Us rewards card. And she will not be checking out without it.
The "I am due in less than a month and cannot stand here all day" girl behind Glenna decides it is her time to shine and becomes a savior to everyone in line when she offers Glenna her rewards card.
And that is really how a great adventure began.
It turned out that my Mom had not only noticed "I am due in less than a month and cannot stand here all day" girl already, but had at multiple moments contemplated cornering her in the store and demanding her life story.
Something such as this may seem strange to the average person, but to Glenna it's just another day in her "I talk to everyone I see and 10 times out of 10 find out I am related to them or dated their cousin" life.
The girl, who later properly introduces herself as Stacy, was visibly pregnant, young, and wearing a Kappa Kappa Gamma t-shirt from LSU. While such a shirt would rarely turn heads in the South, here in N.C. we don't see many of those. And so the conversation begins...
Glenna: "My daughter went to LSU. She graduated in 2003. She was a DG. She just had a baby 4 days ago. When are you due?"
Stacy: "I'm due in about a month. I also went to LSU but graduated the year after. We just moved here 2 months ago."
Glenna: "My daughter just moved here 3 weeks ago and she doesn't have any friends."
Stacy: "That's nice."
Glenna: "Here's her number. You should be her friend."
Unfortunately I wasn't there to witness such a conversation as I was at home trying to figure out how to be a Mom to a baby who was confused about night and day. And, fortunately I wasn't there to stop Glenna from doing what I deemed totally irresponsible and awkward when she gave a stranger my name and phone number.
It's 2010 here Glen... an email address would have been sufficient.
But no, she gave her my number.
Everyone who has ever seen a Lifetime Movie knows that is a terrible idea.
Fast forward 2 days and a strange number calls my phone. I quickly hit ignore and hope the caller won't leave a message. She does. I call back and pray she doesn't answer. She doesn't.
Somehow, amidst all the phone tag and awkward pauses the "I'm due in a month and cannot stand here all day" girl and her Mom, who happens to be in town visiting, end up at my house with stuffed bell peppers in hand 9 days after Mia was born.
And to top it off... she was normal.
Born and raised in Baton Rouge, LSU bred whether she wanted to be or not, and like me not super excited about the idea of living the high life in our new town.
Our situations were fairly similar and yet very different in one way. Stacy was here for 2 years, and we are here... well... until Mr. Eanes says so.
I remember it so clearly. Her sitting on my couch looking at my new baby, probably wondering if she was having a boy or girl, saying... "But hey, two years is a really long time. That seems like forever."
Two years later I can safely say... two years does not feel like forever.
When you have a baby there are certain things you just need family for. There are days, especially in the beginning, when you need someone, even just for an hour, to hold your baby while it cries so you can sleep. There are times when you wonder if maybe someone should come and put the baby down and instead hold you, while you cry yourself to sleep. There are times when the days become so long and lonely that being able to call up someone and ask them to keep you company could honestly save your life.
And later on as the baby grows, the list of things you could use family to help out with begins to change with your changing baby. You could use a shower, a nap, an hour to cook dinner, a trip to the dentist would be great, and that haircut you decided to wait to get until after the baby was born... well it's surely not happening now.
But what happens when you don't have family close by? That is the question that Stacy and I were both faced with. And so just having tipped the brink of the huge ice berg known as motherhood Stacy and I begin to rely on the only people either of us knew... each other.
Honestly, don't know how I could have done it without her. After almost 22 months as a Mom, I can confidently say...motherhood was not meant to be done alone.
It really does take a village.
Almost two years and dozens of "Hey I'm at Target do you need anything?", "Do you want to have lunch out today like real people?", "If we don't hang out with someone else soon I may go mad- we're coming over", and "Really just bring her over here and I will watch her for you" laters...
our tee tiny babies grew to toddlers who shared so much life together I often joked Mia spent more time with Stacy and Caden than her Dad.
It's funny how two years can go by so quickly and yet when you think back on them so much life seems to have occurred.
Questions about breastfeeding became questions about baby food, which turned into our most recent questions about how to keep those super mischievous rascals from throwing their mac and cheese all over the floor. Concerns over sleeping through the night and nap time transitions foreshadowed the more recent discussions about toddlers sleeping with newborns in the house and in big kid beds.
Those newbie Mom's on the brink of that great big adventure, became slightly more seasoned and decided it was time to try the whole thing again.
When Stacy welcomed her 2nd son in March, I could not have been more excited for their growing family and at the same time slightly heart broken for mine. I knew the time would soon come when they would pack up their things head off on their next great adventure and our kids who know each other so well would eventually fade from each others memories.
And while our kids might not have the capacity to remember, I have no doubt stories will be told and many eyes will be rolled as we sit and tell our children of their first childhood friends. Friends who if only in our lives for a season, played an integral role in their early days.
We are so glad Stacy took a chance and called the number the crazy lady in Babies-R-Us gave her. Our meeting is proof that God really does care about the littlest details. Thanks for being such a good friend these past two years, we are so excited to have a reason to once again visit the land of football and crawfish!
My mother, who I cannot accurately describe without an entirely separate post, was milling about Babies-R-Us about 3 days after Mia was born. Now, as anyone who has had a new baby knows... this Babies-R-Us milling was far from the first Glenna had done. The woman might of as well slept in one of their super cozy display cribs or pack-n-plays the first week for all the time she spent in that store.
Buying, returning, re-buying, and well buying some more.
Eventually her trip ends where they all do in Babies-R-Us, at the cash register, and (as I am told by reliable sources) she is something of a mess.
Items are flung on the counter, receipts are strewn about any available surface, change (I am sure) is overflowing from her 2 ton wallet, and many jokes about not having her glasses and needing to find her coupons are being made, as she begins searching for said lost items in what might as well be considered the floor of the Pacific Ocean... her purse.
The people in line begin wondering if their children will have indeed outgrown their current diaper size while waiting, when Glenna drops the bomb...
She cannot find her Babies-R-Us rewards card. And she will not be checking out without it.
The "I am due in less than a month and cannot stand here all day" girl behind Glenna decides it is her time to shine and becomes a savior to everyone in line when she offers Glenna her rewards card.
And that is really how a great adventure began.
It turned out that my Mom had not only noticed "I am due in less than a month and cannot stand here all day" girl already, but had at multiple moments contemplated cornering her in the store and demanding her life story.
Something such as this may seem strange to the average person, but to Glenna it's just another day in her "I talk to everyone I see and 10 times out of 10 find out I am related to them or dated their cousin" life.
The girl, who later properly introduces herself as Stacy, was visibly pregnant, young, and wearing a Kappa Kappa Gamma t-shirt from LSU. While such a shirt would rarely turn heads in the South, here in N.C. we don't see many of those. And so the conversation begins...
Glenna: "My daughter went to LSU. She graduated in 2003. She was a DG. She just had a baby 4 days ago. When are you due?"
Stacy: "I'm due in about a month. I also went to LSU but graduated the year after. We just moved here 2 months ago."
Glenna: "My daughter just moved here 3 weeks ago and she doesn't have any friends."
Stacy: "That's nice."
Glenna: "Here's her number. You should be her friend."
Unfortunately I wasn't there to witness such a conversation as I was at home trying to figure out how to be a Mom to a baby who was confused about night and day. And, fortunately I wasn't there to stop Glenna from doing what I deemed totally irresponsible and awkward when she gave a stranger my name and phone number.
It's 2010 here Glen... an email address would have been sufficient.
But no, she gave her my number.
Everyone who has ever seen a Lifetime Movie knows that is a terrible idea.
Fast forward 2 days and a strange number calls my phone. I quickly hit ignore and hope the caller won't leave a message. She does. I call back and pray she doesn't answer. She doesn't.
Somehow, amidst all the phone tag and awkward pauses the "I'm due in a month and cannot stand here all day" girl and her Mom, who happens to be in town visiting, end up at my house with stuffed bell peppers in hand 9 days after Mia was born.
And to top it off... she was normal.
Born and raised in Baton Rouge, LSU bred whether she wanted to be or not, and like me not super excited about the idea of living the high life in our new town.
Our situations were fairly similar and yet very different in one way. Stacy was here for 2 years, and we are here... well... until Mr. Eanes says so.
I remember it so clearly. Her sitting on my couch looking at my new baby, probably wondering if she was having a boy or girl, saying... "But hey, two years is a really long time. That seems like forever."
Two years later I can safely say... two years does not feel like forever.
When you have a baby there are certain things you just need family for. There are days, especially in the beginning, when you need someone, even just for an hour, to hold your baby while it cries so you can sleep. There are times when you wonder if maybe someone should come and put the baby down and instead hold you, while you cry yourself to sleep. There are times when the days become so long and lonely that being able to call up someone and ask them to keep you company could honestly save your life.
And later on as the baby grows, the list of things you could use family to help out with begins to change with your changing baby. You could use a shower, a nap, an hour to cook dinner, a trip to the dentist would be great, and that haircut you decided to wait to get until after the baby was born... well it's surely not happening now.
But what happens when you don't have family close by? That is the question that Stacy and I were both faced with. And so just having tipped the brink of the huge ice berg known as motherhood Stacy and I begin to rely on the only people either of us knew... each other.
Honestly, don't know how I could have done it without her. After almost 22 months as a Mom, I can confidently say...motherhood was not meant to be done alone.
It really does take a village.
Almost two years and dozens of "Hey I'm at Target do you need anything?", "Do you want to have lunch out today like real people?", "If we don't hang out with someone else soon I may go mad- we're coming over", and "Really just bring her over here and I will watch her for you" laters...
our tee tiny babies grew to toddlers who shared so much life together I often joked Mia spent more time with Stacy and Caden than her Dad.
It's funny how two years can go by so quickly and yet when you think back on them so much life seems to have occurred.
Questions about breastfeeding became questions about baby food, which turned into our most recent questions about how to keep those super mischievous rascals from throwing their mac and cheese all over the floor. Concerns over sleeping through the night and nap time transitions foreshadowed the more recent discussions about toddlers sleeping with newborns in the house and in big kid beds.
Those newbie Mom's on the brink of that great big adventure, became slightly more seasoned and decided it was time to try the whole thing again.
When Stacy welcomed her 2nd son in March, I could not have been more excited for their growing family and at the same time slightly heart broken for mine. I knew the time would soon come when they would pack up their things head off on their next great adventure and our kids who know each other so well would eventually fade from each others memories.
And while our kids might not have the capacity to remember, I have no doubt stories will be told and many eyes will be rolled as we sit and tell our children of their first childhood friends. Friends who if only in our lives for a season, played an integral role in their early days.
We are so glad Stacy took a chance and called the number the crazy lady in Babies-R-Us gave her. Our meeting is proof that God really does care about the littlest details. Thanks for being such a good friend these past two years, we are so excited to have a reason to once again visit the land of football and crawfish!
 | |
| Mia and Caden's first date: Well Mom, I know you said we would be great friends but I had hoped my friends would at least stay awake on our playdates. Not sure how this is all going to unfold. |
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| He's awake this time, but he certainly looks like he is up to no good. |
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| Really... you really went there... matching jackets? |
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| Perhaps if I pull some of his locks out I can glue them to my head and it will go unnoticed. |
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| Boys... totally impressed by the little things. |
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| I see you think flashing my bloomers about it funny but I'm gonna need those back before I go. |
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Again with the matching outfits Mom? Gag me please.  |
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Let us out of this house of unending matching.   |
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Um do you mind? Your sorta interrupting the Valentines Day mood I was trying to set here. heat for this mess.   |
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| Mia you have misunderstood... the bread is for the ducks! |
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| When I am gone our lives will be bound together in the sands of time... don't forget me. |
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| A last date kiss. You will always be my first friend Caden. I love you. |
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
It's a...
When I was pregnant with Mia most of the families we knew in The Springs (read- all but two families) had little girls and being around them really transformed my heart.
Long before I ever met John, I would have said my greatest desire was to have all boys- six boys to be exact. Girls seemed dramatic and petty, not to mention expensive. Plus, the thought of having a permanent little league game going in my backyard just seemed fun.
But, all it took was watching our friends and their little girls to melt my heart into a thousand pieces and when the day came to find out Mia's gender I had to practice a lot of self talk in advance. "We want a healthy baby.... we want a healthy baby... could we have a healthy baby girl God? No, I mean all we want is a healthy baby...."
Needless to say when they told us Mia was indeed a healthy baby girl I was ecstatic.
My friend Abby helped me register and knowing we desired more children, I decided to attempt registering for gender neutral items. I thought I was doing pretty good. Until that is... we saw the pink swing.
Big, plastic, in your face pink, there is nothing neutral about this swing. And yet, I had to have it. I mean, Mia had to have it. So register for it we did. Good thing.
Mia loves that swing.
So, when we started talking about how we wanted the gender for Baby Eanes 2 revealed, the first thing that popped in my head was Mia's pink swing.
I am not opposed to the art of sharing but for the sake of saving us thousands of dollars in therapy down the road, I thought it might be best if we went ahead and got Baby Eanes 2 their own swing... especially if Baby Eanes 2 turned out to be a boy.
We decided to have the sonographer put the gender in an envelope for us to open at a later date. John, Mia, and I came home from our appointment this morning, closed all our blinds, and heated up left over pizza for lunch. While we were chowing down, our fantastic neighbors looked in the envelope and hung up the appropriate colored swing next to Mia's on our swing set. (I bought Babies-R-Us out yesterday when I checked out with both a blue and pink swing) Then after opening the guesses we had written down in secret, we went outside on the deck and saw this....
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| It's a ? |
 | |
| GIRL! |
Looks like my little league team may have just turned into the chorus of Cinderella. When I saw the pink I went nuts and my husband just stood there shaking his head in disbelief...
"That's another wedding" he later said.
We're so excited to meet you Baby Girl Eanes 2. Your big sister Mia has so many things she wants to share with you... even if she doesn't always act like it. And don't you worry about that wedding stuff, your Daddy adores having little girls and your Mommy loves throwing a good party!
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The Day We Met
There are certain moments of your life you just remember. They seem to swim around in your head and stand out among all the rest.
For instance I distinctly remember rehearsing for my Nutcracker debut as the all important reindeer in kindergarten. I remember in third grade the day my "boyfriend" Clint gave me $20 at school. I told my mom about it on the way to airport to see my Dad, after the inquisition I received when saying I could pay for my own snack at the Circle K. Apparently monetary giving is frowned upon in the public school system because my Mom called the teacher, who then had a conversation with Clint. Who, subsequently wasn't my boyfriend anymore after that.
Then there was first day I ever wore make-up in sixth grade. After school I called a friend to see how she thought it looked. Turns out I was the talk of our gym class with frequency I felt I needed to reapply. Sorry girls, Teen Vogue wasn't around to offer the style advice I obviously needed.
I remember the day I accepted Jesus at summer camp. The day I graduated from eighth grade and my first day of high school in a city I had lived in for less than 24 hours.
The next eight years are scattered with memories of good days and bad days. Decisions I would stand by to this day and some I regret so much it makes my insides ache.
And then, there are things it seems I should remember more clearly than I do.
Like roaming around Europe for the summer with a backpack on. Cleaning toilets for the summer in Yellowstone. And while we're on the subject... just what exactly was my wedding reception like?
Your Dad. I remember the first day I met him.
I remember wondering exactly how someone with a Footsloggers shirt on and that thing on his chin could relate to college students. And, while I do believe everyone is entitled to their own food preference I was sure his ramblings about fried chicken and sweet tea were just added proof college ministry wasn't for him. It turns out college ministry is right up his alley.
When I close my eyes I can see the day your Daddy asked me to marry him.
And when I look at you sweet girl, I remember the day we met.
For nine months I carried you around, praying, worrying, confessing my worry, and praying some more about the person you would grow to be.
I wondered what you would look like, dreamed about what you would smell like, and let my mind daydream about the first ballet class you would ever take.
I hoped I would be good enough, that all the books I read and classes I took and advice I had been given would guide me through the days and nights of life with you. That God would give me the heart I needed to love you, the compassion it would take to raise you, and the ability to function on less sleep than the normal person requires.
And then after all those months of praying and hoping and wishing and planning... you came.
When it was clear you were on the way I got up and showered so I would be ready when you arrived. I straightened my hair so it would be beautiful in our first pictures together and had your Daddy wear a light pink shirt to celebrate your arrival. Hours later my beautiful hair would fall limp with sweat and vomit and plaster to my face. Your Daddy's shirt would wrinkle and become stained and the first moments I dreamed about would vanish before my eyes as they swooped you away to NICU for monitoring.
Visitors would come and go. Many would see you and touch you before I ever held your tiny body in my arms. My body ached with worry and regret. What if you would not eat? What if you never became attached because your first hours were spent in a sterile room? What if you did not know who I was? And finally, hours later, it finally happened.
We met.
Your Daddy handed you to me as I laid unable to move in that hospital bed. You seemed so small in my arms and yet so long compared to my body and I wondered how exactly you fit inside my belly at all. When the commotion died down and everyone went home you ate and ate well and our prayers were answered.
Then you cried. You cried for hours into the night.
You stopped only when held upright on my chest, skin to skin. You did not want your Daddy, you did not want the nurses at the hospital, you only wanted me. It turns out you did not care how straight and beautiful my hair was. You were not concerned for how my make-up looked for our after birth photo shoot, and you could have cared less what outfit you were wearing. All you wanted was to be in your Mommy's arms and to hear her voice.
And I knew... you knew who I was.
I tried out for Show Choir twice in middle school, each time I looked at the list of those who were deemed good enough to represent our school and walked away with the sting of disappointment. Those are days I will never forget. And yet they represent a very real truth, your Mama cannot sing. And yet, in that little hospital room as the rest of the world slept, you quieted when I sang to you. I sang over and over again, every song I could remember as I watched the hours on the clock go by. 19, 21, 24, then 27 hours without sleep.
And still I sang.
I prayed and thanked God for the gift he had given me. I prayed for your life, for your salvation one day, for your husband, and for every person who would ever possibly come into contact with you. I begged God to keep you safe, and me sane, and your Daddy strong as he lived in a house with two women and a dog full of black and white fur.
The day we met, in those early morning hours, I began to fully understand what it means to be a mom.
What it means to eat last, and not shower, and to forgo sleep in order to care for someone else. What it means to fulfill a role that has no start and stop time or vacation days, because once your first day on the job has begun, it only ends the day your last breath is taken.
And most importantly I began to realize the privilege having such a job is.
The joy your life brings me on a day to day basis is immeasurable. The ways in which God has used your life to mold me more into who He wants me to be is unfathomable. I know at the end of my life the privilege of all those sleepless nights and missed meals and skipped showers will have been mine. Because sweet girl God used you to make me into something no one else could... a mom.
And there is nothing else I would rather be.
For instance I distinctly remember rehearsing for my Nutcracker debut as the all important reindeer in kindergarten. I remember in third grade the day my "boyfriend" Clint gave me $20 at school. I told my mom about it on the way to airport to see my Dad, after the inquisition I received when saying I could pay for my own snack at the Circle K. Apparently monetary giving is frowned upon in the public school system because my Mom called the teacher, who then had a conversation with Clint. Who, subsequently wasn't my boyfriend anymore after that.
Then there was first day I ever wore make-up in sixth grade. After school I called a friend to see how she thought it looked. Turns out I was the talk of our gym class with frequency I felt I needed to reapply. Sorry girls, Teen Vogue wasn't around to offer the style advice I obviously needed.
I remember the day I accepted Jesus at summer camp. The day I graduated from eighth grade and my first day of high school in a city I had lived in for less than 24 hours.
The next eight years are scattered with memories of good days and bad days. Decisions I would stand by to this day and some I regret so much it makes my insides ache.
And then, there are things it seems I should remember more clearly than I do.
Like roaming around Europe for the summer with a backpack on. Cleaning toilets for the summer in Yellowstone. And while we're on the subject... just what exactly was my wedding reception like?
Your Dad. I remember the first day I met him.
I remember wondering exactly how someone with a Footsloggers shirt on and that thing on his chin could relate to college students. And, while I do believe everyone is entitled to their own food preference I was sure his ramblings about fried chicken and sweet tea were just added proof college ministry wasn't for him. It turns out college ministry is right up his alley.
When I close my eyes I can see the day your Daddy asked me to marry him.
And when I look at you sweet girl, I remember the day we met.
For nine months I carried you around, praying, worrying, confessing my worry, and praying some more about the person you would grow to be.
I wondered what you would look like, dreamed about what you would smell like, and let my mind daydream about the first ballet class you would ever take.
I hoped I would be good enough, that all the books I read and classes I took and advice I had been given would guide me through the days and nights of life with you. That God would give me the heart I needed to love you, the compassion it would take to raise you, and the ability to function on less sleep than the normal person requires.
And then after all those months of praying and hoping and wishing and planning... you came.
When it was clear you were on the way I got up and showered so I would be ready when you arrived. I straightened my hair so it would be beautiful in our first pictures together and had your Daddy wear a light pink shirt to celebrate your arrival. Hours later my beautiful hair would fall limp with sweat and vomit and plaster to my face. Your Daddy's shirt would wrinkle and become stained and the first moments I dreamed about would vanish before my eyes as they swooped you away to NICU for monitoring.
Visitors would come and go. Many would see you and touch you before I ever held your tiny body in my arms. My body ached with worry and regret. What if you would not eat? What if you never became attached because your first hours were spent in a sterile room? What if you did not know who I was? And finally, hours later, it finally happened.
We met.
Your Daddy handed you to me as I laid unable to move in that hospital bed. You seemed so small in my arms and yet so long compared to my body and I wondered how exactly you fit inside my belly at all. When the commotion died down and everyone went home you ate and ate well and our prayers were answered.
Then you cried. You cried for hours into the night.
You stopped only when held upright on my chest, skin to skin. You did not want your Daddy, you did not want the nurses at the hospital, you only wanted me. It turns out you did not care how straight and beautiful my hair was. You were not concerned for how my make-up looked for our after birth photo shoot, and you could have cared less what outfit you were wearing. All you wanted was to be in your Mommy's arms and to hear her voice.
And I knew... you knew who I was.
I tried out for Show Choir twice in middle school, each time I looked at the list of those who were deemed good enough to represent our school and walked away with the sting of disappointment. Those are days I will never forget. And yet they represent a very real truth, your Mama cannot sing. And yet, in that little hospital room as the rest of the world slept, you quieted when I sang to you. I sang over and over again, every song I could remember as I watched the hours on the clock go by. 19, 21, 24, then 27 hours without sleep.
And still I sang.
I prayed and thanked God for the gift he had given me. I prayed for your life, for your salvation one day, for your husband, and for every person who would ever possibly come into contact with you. I begged God to keep you safe, and me sane, and your Daddy strong as he lived in a house with two women and a dog full of black and white fur.
The day we met, in those early morning hours, I began to fully understand what it means to be a mom.
What it means to eat last, and not shower, and to forgo sleep in order to care for someone else. What it means to fulfill a role that has no start and stop time or vacation days, because once your first day on the job has begun, it only ends the day your last breath is taken.
And most importantly I began to realize the privilege having such a job is.
The joy your life brings me on a day to day basis is immeasurable. The ways in which God has used your life to mold me more into who He wants me to be is unfathomable. I know at the end of my life the privilege of all those sleepless nights and missed meals and skipped showers will have been mine. Because sweet girl God used you to make me into something no one else could... a mom.
And there is nothing else I would rather be.
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| I love you Mia Kate, thank you for making me a Mom. |
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
How Great is Our God
On January 10th, just six days after originally posting John's trip to Africa on our blog, God raised up the remaining $1,050 we needed to be completely funded for this trip. To say we are humbled would be an understatement; to say we are surprised would be a lie.
When we decided John would go on this trip we did so with the belief that God had placed the desire for international missions on John's heart and that God would therefore provide the money for him to go. God did not disappoint.
Through the faithful prayers and generous giving of so many people we have seen God "show up" in such a tangible way over the past few months.
One example that immediately comes to mind is a Friday before Christmas when a fundraising "check point" was upon us and the second $1,000 installment for the trip was due. On Tuesday of that week we knew we were about $700 behind and asked our life group from church to pray the funds would come in, but did not mention the need to anyone else. My intent was to write a blog about the trip that week, but somewhere between nap time and snack time the week got away from me. When John called the church on Friday morning to find out how much we still needed (any funds not in would need to be covered by us) the church office explained that we were $500 short. They went on to explain a woman had called earlier in the morning inquiring about a donation she made in our name that had not yet cleared her bank account. She had sent the check in about a month prior, had not heard from John or I concerning it, and was beginning to wonder if it had made it to the church at all. It had not. The woman went on to say she would be putting another check in the mail that afternoon. The amount? $700. The exact amount we had asked our life group to pray we would receive. The exact amount we needed at the beginning of the week to cover the funds due that Friday. Because the woman had told the church the check was in the mail, they felt comfortable extending our "check point" a few extra days.
We really experienced what it means not only for God to meet needs, but to meet them with the perfect timing and precision that only the God of the universe could. We would like to thank all of you for your prayers and support; we continue to pray for God to be glorified through this process and during this trip.
How great is our God!
When we decided John would go on this trip we did so with the belief that God had placed the desire for international missions on John's heart and that God would therefore provide the money for him to go. God did not disappoint.
Through the faithful prayers and generous giving of so many people we have seen God "show up" in such a tangible way over the past few months.
One example that immediately comes to mind is a Friday before Christmas when a fundraising "check point" was upon us and the second $1,000 installment for the trip was due. On Tuesday of that week we knew we were about $700 behind and asked our life group from church to pray the funds would come in, but did not mention the need to anyone else. My intent was to write a blog about the trip that week, but somewhere between nap time and snack time the week got away from me. When John called the church on Friday morning to find out how much we still needed (any funds not in would need to be covered by us) the church office explained that we were $500 short. They went on to explain a woman had called earlier in the morning inquiring about a donation she made in our name that had not yet cleared her bank account. She had sent the check in about a month prior, had not heard from John or I concerning it, and was beginning to wonder if it had made it to the church at all. It had not. The woman went on to say she would be putting another check in the mail that afternoon. The amount? $700. The exact amount we had asked our life group to pray we would receive. The exact amount we needed at the beginning of the week to cover the funds due that Friday. Because the woman had told the church the check was in the mail, they felt comfortable extending our "check point" a few extra days.
We really experienced what it means not only for God to meet needs, but to meet them with the perfect timing and precision that only the God of the universe could. We would like to thank all of you for your prayers and support; we continue to pray for God to be glorified through this process and during this trip.
How great is our God!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
A Heart for the Nations
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| "He (God) has an inexhaustible enthusiasm for the supremacy of his name among the nations. Therefore let us bring our affections into line with his, and, for the sake of his name, let us renounce the quest for worldly comforts, and join his global purpose." |
I felt the tears swelling up as I watched the video in church that Sunday. I cursed the tears (as much as is appropriate in church), quickly wiped them away, and wondered for the hundredth time when my hormones would calm down...after all Mia was over a year old.
And then, I thought about it... maybe this wasn't such an absurd time to be crying.
Sure, the cotton commercials and fabric softener commercials seem to evoke more of my tears than the next person's... but this was not that... what we were watching was reality. A reality very different than our own, but reality none-the-less for the children on the screen.
Sure, the cotton commercials and fabric softener commercials seem to evoke more of my tears than the next person's... but this was not that... what we were watching was reality. A reality very different than our own, but reality none-the-less for the children on the screen.
The children of Swaziland, Africa.
The video focused on our church Salem Chapel and the partnership it has with it's adopted Care Point in Manzini, Swaziland. It is at this care point where children come to be fed, sometimes clothed, and most importantly to learn the truth of who Jesus Christ is and what His life and death means for them.
And, it just got me.
How easy is it for most of us to trust in a Savior when we have not wanted one day for food, when our illnesses are met with the hope of great available medical care, when our comfort is so easily adjusted by the single push of a button on a thermostat.
For these kids it is different.
They must learn to trust in a Savior who loves them and died for them regardless of circumstance and current situation. A Savior who cares just as much for them as he does me, even though I have never worried about where my shoes and socks would come from when I outgrew the last pair. A Savior who desperately desires to make his name known to them and to spend eternity with them in Heaven, just as He desires to do that with me.
I believe that is worth crying over.
And at the end of the video when the question was posed..."Will you go?" I knew I wanted to, and at the same time, I knew I couldn't.
When I ask John about these things, he always replies the same way... "maybe some day we could do that..." or "that would be nice one day...wouldn't it?". So, even though it was weighing on my heart I decided not to bring it up. Until God decided better.
Two weeks after watching the video in church, Mr. Eanes looked at me and said, "What would you think about me going to Swaziland on the mission trip?" I was floored. At my current stage in life, I could not go, but my husband could.
And that's how the decision was made... John is going to Swaziland, Africa.
And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" Then I said, "Here am I! Send me." Isaiah 6:8
In just a couple of months my husband will depart with some others from our church to give the staff of locals at our Carepoint in Manzini, a much needed break while running a Bible camp for the week. We are praying that God uses John and this team to bring an eternal perspective to the children of Manzini. Desiring to meet the spiritual, emotional, and physical needs of these children, the team will be distributing care bags our church members have been filling with much needed goodies like socks, soap, tooth brushes, and flashlights.
One of the most exciting opportunities this trip has given us has been the chance to see God really move in our everyday lives. When we agreed that John should go, we also agreed to finding partners to come alongside us and help us raise $3,200. As a family we contributed $750.00, of this ourselves, and are daily believing God for the remaining $2,450. Currently, we have raised $1,400, and are in need of $1,050, to completely fund this trip.The remaining $1,050 are due by January 31st.
We are trusting God with this money and believe our God of the Universe does not want for anything... $1,050 is pocket change to the one who made the heavens and the earth. We would like to give you an opportunity to partner with us and help bring the gospel to the children of Manzini, Swaziland.
If you would like make a tax-deductible donation and give, please do so by using the PayPal donate button on the sidebar of our blog. We will use your information when we give the money to the church so your gift will be tax-deductible.
Gifts of any size help make a difference, but if giving is not in the cards for you right now then we ask you to pray for our family, for these funds we need to raise, and most importantly for the time our team will spend in Swaziland and the hearts of the people they will meet there.
Thus far, God has amazed us with his faithfulness in this area. We continue to be humbled and astounded by the Grace of God, we pray in 2012 you are too.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
How Good is Good Enough?
Getting to spend every day with my sweet baby is perhaps the best gift I have ever been given. I love being the one to play with her, read to her, and snuggle with her all day long. Above all else, I really love just watching her. The look of concentration on her little face, as she purses her lips together in a desperate attempt to make sense of the world around her, is almost more than my heart can bear. From pulling on the window blinds, to figuring out her hands are in fact attached to her person, she has a lot of learning to do. And learn we do. Most of my day is spent in a one way conversation that goes something like this: “yes, Mia, that’s Otis. Otis is a puppy dog; puppy dogs go ruff, ruff, ruff. Otis needs a bath because he is smelly. Do you see that baby… that’s you… that is a mirror… look, there’s Mommy too. Where’s the giraffe? Do you see it… that’s a giraffe. Giraffe’s go… ummm… I’m not actually sure what giraffe’s say, we’ll ask Daddy about that when he gets home. Maybe one day we can see giraffe’s at the zoo.” And while I love the curiosity, truth-be-told, the vast amount of things she needs to know can easily cast anxiety in my heart. What if I tell her a puppy goes ruff, ruff, but her Daddy tells her puppies say woof, woof… what then? We can probably cross the Ivy League schools off our college list. When moments like this hit me I try to remember that while it is indeed important to know your animal sounds, and yes Harvard may seem important and all now, my real task is teaching Mia about eternal things because well, they last forever. So, my baby girl what I want you to know most is that...
Being good doesn’t get you anywhere.
One of the best books I have ever read is a mere 92 pages long and no bigger than a large index card. The content of Andy Stanley’s How Good is Good Enough?, strikes my heart every time. I think the book hits so close to home because it addresses a question that so many people have and yet nobody is completely comfortable talking about….
Just how good do I have to be to get into heaven?
According to Stanley’s book, 90% of Americans would agree that there is a heaven. Stanley goes on to note that a mere 30% of people surveyed believe hell is an actual place and none of those who believed in hell actually thought they were going there. So, if we are all going to heaven, what instructions can I leave my little Mia to make sure she doesn’t miss the boat? After all, this seems like a much more important topic to focus on than the animal noises I was concerned about earlier… eternity is a pretty long time.
If I wanted Mia to be like most people, the answer seems pretty easy. Most people subscribe to the view that good people go to heaven. “The logic flows something like this: There is a good God who lives in a good place reserved for good people.” (Stanley 10). As long as I tell Mia to mind her manners now, she will be set for later. “Likewise, most of the world goes to bed at night under the assumption that if they were to die in their sleep, they would find themselves standing at the pearly gates. After all, good people go to heaven. And just about everybody thinks they are good.” (Stanley 18).
As a mom, I suppose this good people go logic seems fair enough. In a few years won’t this align right along with what I will be teaching her? "If you practice real hard and do good in try-outs maybe you’ll make the team. Turn in your work and study hard and you will do good on the test". And maybe, just maybe on a day when my Mom patience is at its least… “If you sit real still and do good in church we can go get ice cream afterwards.” Good people deserve good things.
This theory, Stanley says, “coincides with the notion that there is a good God. If there is a good God, and if He dwells in a good place, then it makes sense that God would fill heaven with good people... A good god in a good place sounds like the ideal destination for good people.” (Stanley 19)
Thank goodness it’s so simple because otherwise a bunch of us would be in trouble, including my super sweet 8 month old, and how could she be anything but good? Now that it’s settled if someone could just show me a check off list I can give Mia and while I’m out I’ll go ahead and make a copy for myself so I can get on this good thing.
One of the things I learned while teaching was the importance of expectations. How could I, in good conscience hold my students accountable for something if I had not first clearly explained what I expected? I quickly figured out for instance, that telling my students to talk quietly, meant something totally different to shy, introverted Natalie than it did to I live in house of all boys where we get yelled at all day Rob. Poor Rob could be hoarse from talking so loud, but because he wasn’t yelling like he did at home, Rob thought he was using an appropriate inside voice. Sorry, Rob, if I can’t hear myself think your voice is too loud… at least to me. When we conduct our class at your house we can talk about your expectations then. Today my class equals my expectations.
Likewise when we talk about being good, what exactly are we saying? Am I good when I help an old lady across the street? What about when I pick up the kitchen before my spouse can ask me? I thought I was being pretty good when I bought my friend who had a baby dessert, but I noticed our other friend brought her an entire meal… oops… guess I wasn’t quite good enough. And while it’s out there, am I to tell Mia that she has to live up to her own personal good (whatever that means) or is she in some kind of contest with the next kid? How do we know what the expectations are? I hope she is good and all, but am I committing to try and raise the next Mother Teresa here? That seems slightly unrealistic and at the very least super stressful.
Ummm, hey, God… I could use some direction here. “If good people go to heaven, a good God should have communicated that directly to us. Instead, we have religious leaders of all shapes, sizes, and persuasions who claim that they know the formula. The problem, of course, is that they all have a different formula.” (Stanley 24).
Had I walked into my 7th grade geography class on the first day and told everyone I would give them their grade for the class based on a final and to spend the next semester studying, only to immediately walk out and never teach again until the test, I would have been fired instantly. “People need direction”, I would have been told, “you need to set expectations” the parents would rave, and I bet somewhere in the midst of the furious chaos someone would even throw out the idea that maybe I wasn’t such a good teacher after all. And yet, so many of us seem to accept without thought this same basic formula as it applies to heaven and God.
If you really sit down and think it over, the good people go theory just doesn’t really seem very good after all.
“…the good people go view has several hurdles to clear. The first is that there is no universal consensus regarding what is right and what is wrong. The second follows from the first. Assume you somehow know in divinely certain terms what constitutes good. Even if that were the case, you are still left with the quandary of how you are to be graded and where you stand at any given time.” (Stanley 45). No one is good all the time. So it needs to be considered if you believe good people go to heaven, then “what percentage of your deeds do you think need to be allotted to the positive side of the balance sheet in order to secure a slot?” (Stanley 46).
Considering I am just now getting my check-list of good deeds together at 30 years old, I am really hoping I simply don’t just run out of time. Between being a preteen, high school student, and college kid I have a lot of not so good deeds that need to made up for. Let’s not even talk about the selfishness that marriage can bring to light on a daily basis. It seems like I have a lot of work to do. “If God is good and good people go to heaven, shouldn’t God show up every generation or so and give us the updated version of what he expects? Goodness 7.0.” (Stanley 47).
And while the thoughts above are enough to make me think twice about this good people go view, Stanley really gets my attention with his next statement…
“Perhaps the most emotionally perplexing problem with the good people go to heaven view is that it contradicts the teachings of Jesus Christ.” (Stanley 49).
Jesus said, “For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 5:20
Jesus taught that forgiven people go to heaven, “and forgiveness is made possible by the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ.” (Stanley 63).
Christ bore the cross on Good Friday so that Mia and everyone else could have something that we don’t deserve, that no amount of goodness could ever get us… an eternity in heaven. Because let’s be real…there is no way that I, as imperfect as I am, could ever do enough so-called good things to warrant hanging out with God for forever… even bringing my A game everyday all day is not going to cut it. My A game just isn’t that good. Or maybe it is… but how would I ever know?
Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life, no one comes to the Father, except through me.” John 3:16.
Stanley’s book, while small, addresses many other objections people commonly have when talking about Christianity, I really encourage you to get it- here. Heck, send me a message and I’ll get it for you… I really believe you may like what it has to say. At the very least you owe it to yourself to be well informed so you can clearly explain to people why you do or not believe certain things.
While you are reading, I am going to be thankful that I do, in fact, have something concrete I can teach Mia about heaven. As a parent, it overwhelms my heart to know that my sweet baby (who really is just a little sinner disguised under all those squeezable rolls) will not have spend her life walking around with some checklist hoping she is being good enough. All that she has to do is freely accept a gift that has been given in Christ her savior, and I pray everyday that she does. If you would like to do that find out how to accept that gift for yourself, you can do so by clicking here.
“The word gospel means “good news,” The good news is that good people don’t go to heaven- forgiven people do. And if you have placed your faith in Jesus Christ as your savior, you are one of those forgiven people!” (Stanley 92).
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Best Gift Ever
One of my favorite pastimes is holding Mia. I love how her little warm body fits perfectly against mine and her whole being seems to relax when she is in my arms. Thanks to our new bout with teething, I am getting to do a lot of what I love as of late. So, this morning, at 2:40 a.m., when she was moaning in my arms- I thanked God for my time with her and concluded there was no other place I would rather spend my time. 2:40 a. m., all of the sudden seemed like a pretty sweet place to be.
I think I finally understand the classic Mom statement..."For Christmas, I just want us all to be together...". When I was younger I thought this statement was a lame way for Mom's to avoid telling people what they wanted for Christmas. I always assumed it meant something like this...
"What I really want is an island vacation alone, but since you are 18 and work at Discovery Zone and can barely pay for gas, I will tell you I want everyone to be together and happy..." But, I am beginning to think maybe there was something to that statement. This year as I thought about what I wanted for Christmas my list came up pretty thin.
Now, let me clearly state here, I am a pro at keeping a running monologue of things I WANT. Between the Pottery Barn catalogue, the J.Crew catalogue, and those infomercials claiming to change your life I could pick out enough stuff to supply a small town in NC with gifts everyday of the year. But, when it comes down do it, it is just stuff. Stuff that cannot meet my emotional needs, stuff that cannot fill my relational needs, and stuff that in the end will deeply interfere with my physical needs when I am forced to lose sleep so I can clean it, wash it, or pick it up and put it back where it "belongs".
Stuff, that frankly, I do not need.
I find myself finally beginning to understand the command the Bible gives us to pray without ceasing, and this issue is one that continues to pop into my prayers. I pray that Mia grows and somehow by the grace of God does not become enamored with the world. I pray that to her the Christmas season doesn't revolve around her wish list of this and that, but that she comes to understand the magnitude of what we celebrate. That the best gift she ever did and will receive came in the form of a sweet baby, whose Mom, merely a child herself by today's standards, stood in awe of him over two thousand years ago in a manager in Bethlehem.
I wonder if Mary's favorite thing to do with her precious first born, was much like mine, simply hold him close and feel his breath in perfect rhythm with hers? I wonder how Mary would feel to know we have taken her sweet baby boy's birth, who was sacrificed for us, and made it into a Hallmark holiday complete with flying animals and an overweight senior citizen?
While I have no problem with tradition and fun, or even gift giving (I actually love, love giving gifts), I do have a problem with a society that will so easily trade their longing for an intimate relationship with Jesus for the fleeting fulfillment of a designer handbag and new pair of boots.
Realizing in that same breath how guilty I am of this myself and how much prayer and work it will take to grow up a child who's first thought about Christmas is Jesus and not her Toys-R-Us wish list.
How sweet that the best gift we have all ever been given was a child who would become a man willing to die for our sins. This Christmas when I look down at my precious baby, I see no need for anything on some list, as it could never compare to what I have already been given...
Grace, I do not deserve.
I think I finally understand the classic Mom statement..."For Christmas, I just want us all to be together...". When I was younger I thought this statement was a lame way for Mom's to avoid telling people what they wanted for Christmas. I always assumed it meant something like this...
"What I really want is an island vacation alone, but since you are 18 and work at Discovery Zone and can barely pay for gas, I will tell you I want everyone to be together and happy..." But, I am beginning to think maybe there was something to that statement. This year as I thought about what I wanted for Christmas my list came up pretty thin.
Now, let me clearly state here, I am a pro at keeping a running monologue of things I WANT. Between the Pottery Barn catalogue, the J.Crew catalogue, and those infomercials claiming to change your life I could pick out enough stuff to supply a small town in NC with gifts everyday of the year. But, when it comes down do it, it is just stuff. Stuff that cannot meet my emotional needs, stuff that cannot fill my relational needs, and stuff that in the end will deeply interfere with my physical needs when I am forced to lose sleep so I can clean it, wash it, or pick it up and put it back where it "belongs".
Stuff, that frankly, I do not need.
I find myself finally beginning to understand the command the Bible gives us to pray without ceasing, and this issue is one that continues to pop into my prayers. I pray that Mia grows and somehow by the grace of God does not become enamored with the world. I pray that to her the Christmas season doesn't revolve around her wish list of this and that, but that she comes to understand the magnitude of what we celebrate. That the best gift she ever did and will receive came in the form of a sweet baby, whose Mom, merely a child herself by today's standards, stood in awe of him over two thousand years ago in a manager in Bethlehem.
I wonder if Mary's favorite thing to do with her precious first born, was much like mine, simply hold him close and feel his breath in perfect rhythm with hers? I wonder how Mary would feel to know we have taken her sweet baby boy's birth, who was sacrificed for us, and made it into a Hallmark holiday complete with flying animals and an overweight senior citizen?
While I have no problem with tradition and fun, or even gift giving (I actually love, love giving gifts), I do have a problem with a society that will so easily trade their longing for an intimate relationship with Jesus for the fleeting fulfillment of a designer handbag and new pair of boots.
Realizing in that same breath how guilty I am of this myself and how much prayer and work it will take to grow up a child who's first thought about Christmas is Jesus and not her Toys-R-Us wish list.
How sweet that the best gift we have all ever been given was a child who would become a man willing to die for our sins. This Christmas when I look down at my precious baby, I see no need for anything on some list, as it could never compare to what I have already been given...
Grace, I do not deserve.
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