O.b.e.d.i.e.n.c.e.

Obedience. To obey. My kids obey. Sometimes. And they don't obey. Sometimes. And sometimes, they sort of obey. Obedience gets fuzzy.
And then God requires something of me. An act of obedience, and no longer is obedience fuzzy. No longer is it "maybe I did, maybe I didn't, who cares".
Suddenly, obedience becomes a razor sharp, crystal clear decision. To obey. To do what God asks. To set my face in the direction I am called to go. To turn my back (ouch. oh, it hurts) on what I am called to leave behind.
I obey, or I don't. And I know when I haven't obeyed- the uncomfortable rationalizing that leaves me frustrated. Stagnant. And I know when I have chosen obedience, the painful yes to what has been asked of me. After the pain, in the midst of the pain, comes peace. Rest. Surrender into the gentle hands that have molded me and continue to mold me into His vision of perfection.
When I know in my heart that I need to obey, I also know that I have heard the voice of the One who loves me best. Perhaps it is that knowing that gives me the courage to do what I need to do, knowing that it is my good that He seeks.

Precious Moments

There are days, like today, when I am filled with the joy of my children. Having them with me, seeing new growth, being with them, hearing their laughs, their giggles, their play.
I examine my joy, examine this life I am living, because I know it is different from most. I wake up with my children and put them to bed at night...and live most moments in between those moments alongside my children.
I look at my seven year old and realize that these are precious days. He is growing. Changing. Pushing boundaries. And I am witness to these moments. Morning moments. Quiet-time moments. Just-before-supper moments. After supper moments.
I think it is the wealth of these moments that overwhelms me some days. Fills me with a peace and joy that I can't always define. It is full-life. A breathtaking opportunity. It is moments like today, when my 5 year old and 2 year old are cuddled together in an easy chair, my 7 year old sitting on the couch with his arm draped around my 3 year old. And I feel this joy of being us, of living this life the way we have chosen to live it.

The pitter-patter of success, and defeat

It was a hard-won battle, or so we thought.

Since moving into our new home, Avi has formed a night-time habit of snuggling in mommy and daddy's bed. Night after night. Attempts to soothe her back to sleep and lay her down in her own bed have been fruitless, and the fog of the night made a bed-time buddy an easy, cozy alternative to fruitless soothing attempts.

It worked, until it didn't. "Don't wake the baby" became our silent morning mantra, as Delton and I lay quietly in bed, watching the sun peek around the shades, watching our good intentions of early morning rising fade. "Don't wake the baby," who slept peacefully inches from both of us.

And so last night we battled. In the middle of our sleep, cries woke us up. "No more" was our new mantra, and so for an interminable time, Delton and I, one by one, tramped back and forth from our room to hers. Soothing. Settling. Encouraging. Then came the intervals of tears, as we lay sleepless in our bed and she lay furious in hers.

Then, moments of silence in between the tears. Hope rose in our sleepy hearts. We had drawn a line, and she had finally folded...

And then we heard it. The pitter-patter of little feet, the triumphant face of a precious princess carrying both her blankets in triumph. Out of her room, through her brother's room, into the hall, and straight to mommy's side. What could we do? This was a first, but most likely not a last, use of a newly formed skill.

I reached down, drew her into bed, and the three of us, snuggled warmly in our double bed, slept again in the nighttime quiet.