Love Your Kids In Every Language

February 14, 2015Leave a comment

I tried to get in all the love languages this week as we celebrated the gift of love and Valentine’s Day.

Acts of Service:

Today, I made all their beds, laid out their clothes and I cleaned up their dishes for them instead of their normal routine of taking them to the sink. I would add, “Of course I will do that for you. I love you.”

Words of Affirmation:

During meals this week I tried to be very intentional to get everyone talking about what they loved or thought was special about each member of our family. We have started to do this on birthdays too. This is a great way to show love to those who love words to fill their love tank. “What do you love about ______?” is a simple way to start this around the dinner table.

Quality Time:

My grandma was kind enough to send books for Valentine’s Day this year so I spent quality time reading to each of them separately. We have four small kids so one-on-one time feels like winning the powerball lottery to some of my kids. My husband also tried to make time to spend quality time playing video games with the boys. My oldest two really value time with their parents. You can see me below reading with Asher, my second child.

Touch:

Most of my kids are lovey kids. I did my best to give extra hugs and kisses and snuggles on the couch during this cold winter day. My three year old loves me to “hold him and walk” so I know touch is important to him. Although he is over thirty pounds I tried to carry him a little more today. I want to communicate love to each of my four children in their language as best I can. I tried to tell him today, “You are my Valentine, and I love you, of course I will hold you and walk.”

Gifts:

Of course we did the gifts. I was thankful to find four different giant stuffed animals at Kroger for $9.00 a piece. We skipped cards and other things so the stuffed animals and a tiny box of chocolates was well within our Valentine’s Day budget. It was fun to watch their different reactions to the gifts.

And I’m watching…

Part of why I am trying to love my kids in every language is because I am trying to figure out what best expresses love to each of them. I’m always watching and observing, trying to figure out who smiles more at the words of affirmation and who sits and snuggles a little longer than the others. I want to know my kids through and through and know how they love is apart of knowing who they will become as people, as friends, husbands and wives.

I’m being intentional and watching because I want my kids to know and never doubt how much they are loved.

So we love in every language until we get it right.

boyhood: living in a hood of boys

January 27, 2015January 30, 20151 Comment

I live with lots of boys. One husband and then four little precious creations the Lord has given to us. Three of them are boys. The ladies in this house are outnumbered 4:2 and it’s a tough time for ladies in this house most days.

This is a boyhood. A house of boys.

Just yesterday I gently repremainded, “why can’t you just play school or house?” The boys in this hood then began to play school, I even showed them how to line up their stuffed animals as students, but then their students got in a fight and everyone began to wrestle… again.

Oh the wrestling. My three year old pins me and I seriously cannot get up.

If you are pinned to the ground, outnumbered in your boyhood, know I am on the ground with you. Here are some things working for me with my boys surviving boyhood and maybe they will help you too.

It’s real hard living in the hood. We need to help each other out.

1. The White Line

For a long time getting out of the car and running into moving traffic was fun for my boys. I had chest pain and my boys had fun. My heartbreaking moment was the time when I only had a twenty-month-old and a newborn and I found myself in a parking lot at the grocery store. As I turned to take my baby out of the car my little toddler dashed out into traffic and directly into the grocery store. Thankfully he was not put in harms way.

So after all these years of seeing excited boys exit a car and wait in the parking lot I have taught them how to line up like soldiers on the white line that separates the parked spaces in a parking lot. This has saved me in the land of boyhood. All three boys know their feet better stick like glue to that white line while they are waiting for momma.

2. A Simple Touch.

If you live in the same hood as I do you know listening can be a challenge. like your saying, put your shoes on just so the crows feet will begin to disappear from your eyes (that would be so awesome, right?) But boys (and men) need something more physical to really hear you. I simply and gently touch their arm and look into their eyes. “Put your shoes on” gets done and done when a simple touch of the arm is in play. A simple touch will save a girl from hearing herself talk in the hood. For real.

3. The Game.

Living in boyhood means everything is a race. For years we have been racing a bath time, bed time, seatbelt time. I never give prizes for the winner. Never. I always praise everyone efforts. But in this hood everything has to be a competition. Boys just live for competition in and of itself. If you want your boys to do something quickly make it a race. This is what works in our hood.

4. The Hero.

The Lord gave me great understanding of little boys once I learned the power of the word hero. All day I watch them, playing and fighting and rescuing. They are always rescuing someone from something. So recently in this hood I have begun to use the word, hero, more often.

I need a hero, seems to make all three come running. Paper towels are fetched more often and toys seem to get swooped up faster. Find your heroes and see the hero in your boys.

5.Their Daddy.

If you live in the hood of boyhood like I do you know how important the daddy is. Truly. He is the bread and butter to this whole thing. If daddy comes when dinner is called and tells mommy that this taco dinner is the best taco dinner he has ever had, you better believe three other boys will be saying that same thing around the dinner table for days.. for months…for their future wives…and to model for their future sons. In the hood, daddies are the key. They matter most. All the work I do all day, all the loving, snuggling, kissing boo boos and calling for heroes will never have as much impact as a few minutes with their daddy.

6. Jesus.

Jesus matters a whole lot in boyhood too. A praying boy and a boy who respects his momma because he loves Jesus is the only way this hood is going to work. Truly. Truly. Truly. Pray with those boys. Pray with them about their hearts. Pray with them about their sins. Pray with them when they get too physical with one another.

Pray for them. Pray that they would be men who love God and serve people. Pray that God would give the boys in your hood hearts to know God truly and make Him known.

As moms in the hood we are raising up the next generation of men. It is exhausting and I don’t understand the amounts of pee around the seat or the need to turn every single game into a fight or wrestling match. But I do understand that what I am doing is important for our world.

Embrace your hood.

Overcome the challenges.

Make a better world.

“Every time you raise a loving, kind and responsible man, you have created a better world.”

-Michael Gurian

Kara Tippetts: A Treasure Of Hope For My Bruised Heart

January 21, 2015January 21, 20151 Comment

I didn’t want to read her book.

I have a hard time reading her words and even viewing her beautiful face and smile in the pictures spread across the pages of her story, my heart can’t help but see my own mother. Kara’s story takes me back to being a teenager and all the memories of watching my own mother die to cancer.

Her words make me weep. Big ugly chest heaving tears.

I was afraid to go there. I was afraid to cry.

I’ve always believed these weeping tears were a sign of my weakness. For as long as I can remember I have tried to muster up the strength to dry my tears, pull up my boot straps and carry on. I’m the firstborn and in my unbelief and independence I, as the firstborn did not give myself permission to shed many tears when my mother died.

My heart has been bruised from hiding my tears; like all those saved up tears have gathered up and damaged my heart somehow; maybe even calloused my heart too. But Kara, her story, her bravery and her relentless hope; I have found a treasure in her words through rolling tears and my swollen face.

Kara writes about tears in one of her latest blog posts:

Tears ~ the essence of the best life

Kara writes,

“So weep, count your tears, look at your swollen face and know it is the fruit of love. It hurts like hell, but that pain from love- well it may be beauty at it’s purest.”

These words have turned my former thoughts about tears upside down and inside out.

Tears are not weakness at all.

Her words bring healing to my soul. The tears are the fruit of love for my mother. It hurts like hell but the crying is the fruit of the love for my mother. I could cry everyday and know that shedding a tear is not weak, the tears are beautiful and proof of a never ending love for my mother. I am able to meet her in my tears.

Kara’s words move me to see Jesus holding the broken.

“In your shattered state, do you see how Jesus sees every broken shard?” -Kara Tippetts

I was afraid to let myself cry over her book. I was afraid to be weak and be broken over her story. If I would have lived in fear of the tears I would have missed an amazing treasure. A treasure of grace and healing for my bruised heart of pent up tears.

Pick up her book now. Today. Let the tears come. You will find a treasure for your heart too.

Buy The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace In The Midst Of Life’s Hard

Follow more of Kara’s story here:

http://www.mundanefaithfulness.com

The Thing About A Three Year Old

December 20, 2014December 20, 2014Leave a comment

Sometimes it is easier to see what is bad about the phase of a child. It is easier to scream and complain about the awful and the challenging. Some people write it down and when it is attached with cynicism others seem to applaud. Others gravitate toward the negative that is masked with cynicism. The challenging things go viral while the redeeming qualities of a phase stay in the background.

No one applauds the praiseworthy traits because everyone huddles around the ugly ones.

I know children go through challenging phases. I have four young children and I have experienced most of the awful and all of the challenging. I could tell you all the stories. The poop stories, the tantrum stories, the flat out ridiculous embarrassing moments at Target and the times my children ran into a parking lot without the helping hand of a responsible adult.

I think the praiseworthy moments deserve an applause. There is a world out there reminding us of the awful and through the noise, sometimes it is hard to stay joyful in the dog-days of parenting young children.

The thing about a three year old is there is a loyal, independent, teachable child behind those stubborn eyes.

I do not think there is a day that goes by that my three year old does not stomp his foot down and tell me, “I want to do it by myself!” BUT there also is not a day when he does not take me by my hand and say, “Mommy, you are my best friend.”

There is not a day when he does not begin to cry if his blanket is just right, BUT there also is not a day when he doesn’t want to smooth my hair out of my face and tell me I am beautiful.

The thing about a three year old is they are your best friend beneath all the challenging yuck.

They are loyal to you, you are still their best friend because peers are still of little importance.

Three year olds can dress themselves.

Three year olds can use the toilet.

Three year olds can put on there own shoes.

Three year olds can play in the snow for longer than it took you to dress them in their snow gear.

Three year olds get birthdays. They get Christmas.

Three year olds truly love their siblings: they look up to the big ones and care for the little ones.

Three year olds can set the table and match socks.

There are so many praiseworthy things about a three year old. Don’t hear the bad and embrace cynicism. Embrace the praiseworthy. I promise when you search for the praiseworthy you will find the joy in the dog days.

There are so many lovely things about a three year old. Find them. Write them down. Hang them on the fridge.

The world wants you to see a three year old through the eyes of cynicism but God wants you to see them differently. As His children, the thing about a three year old is they significant and important to Him, no matter the challenging and the yuck.

Strive to see the praiseworthy. “Whatever is praiseworthy about a three year old, think on these things.” Philippians 4:8

If you like this you will also like:

Why The Twos Aren’t Terrible

They Can Hear You

Finding Shelley At Christmastime

December 17, 2014September 21, 20162 Comments

For years I have struggled to find her. For seventeen Christmases I have looked for her but I have been so overcome with grief that my eyes couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

Christmas is a hard time of year for anyone who has lost a family member.

As a fourteen year old girl I lost my mother and it has taken me almost two decades to recover.

For as long as I could remember I was waiting for others to bring her back. I put the expectations on others to do Christmas like she did and each year Christmas passed and my expectations were not met. I felt disappointment and loss in the belly of my soul and this made the cycle of grief start all over again.

Finally, this Christmas I have found hope. I have found the hope in honoring her, after sixteen other Christmases have passed. Sheesh, it feels like it took a lifetime. But today it was worth the wait.

Today, I found my mom in the simple words of a recipe for Christmas cookies. Just one taste of the uncooked batter brought me back to childhood in her kitchen years ago. I baked Christmas cookies with my kids today and I told stories about my mom at Christmas.

I found her in the handwriting of her recipe book. The large loops in her cursive and the perfection and consistency of each stroke.

While I iced the Christmas Tree shapes and added the red hots I told my sons this was something I looked forward to every Christmas as a child. I told them I would even sneak bites of the refrigerated batter and how my mom would catch me anyway.

There have been plenty of opportunities for me to choose bitterness and loss and grief at Christmastime. There are plenty of opportunities for me to stick in the cycle of grief and let the bitterness take root and grow.

If she was here it would be different. It would be better. I do miss her. My kids and my husband have never experienced her laughter. My kids have not been able to experience the blessing of involved maternal grandparents.

I could choose to celebrate Christmastime with emptiness each year.

But instead, I choose HOPE in the midst of loss and unmet expectations.

Hope falters the growth of bitterness. Choosing hope at Christmas is a choice.

I choose to find my mom in the traditions and the stories. This has not happened overnight. It has taken sixteen years of sadness and choosing grief and the plauging seed of bitterness over the fruitful seed of hope.

Hope is what would be honoring to my mom at Christmas anyway. She wouldn’t want it any other way. If she was here she would tell me to dry my tears and teach my children to find her at Christmas. Grandma Shelley is not here physically but she lives her in our traditions.

Finding Shelley in the traditions is a choice.

Finding hope in loss is a choice.

Finding Shelley at Christmas has taken me almost two decades but I am thankful I found her today. In the cookies. The simple cookies with the red hots.

And I hope to pass her on to my children. I hope to give them hope. And stories. I hope to teach them that God’s story is full of people who lost but these same people had their eyes fixed on something Greater.