Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...
If you don't remember who sang, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..." it was Dory, the sweet but slightly nutzo fish swimming in circles in Finding Nemo, the fish with very good intentions but a memory shorter than the time it takes to type intentions...
where was I?
Oh, yes.
Swimming.
So I have all these friends who have lots of kids, six or seven each, and homeschool them and make dinners for them and somehow seem to make it all work. Like everyone actually likes each other and there is no yelling and rainbows are bursting forth from perfectly composed essays about the meaning of the word Character and sparkly unicorns are jumping on couches which never have piles of unfolded laundry...
We have not found that rhythm yet. Its been rainy enough to give everyone cabin fever and the only one jumping is Tess, on top of the piles of partially folded laundry on the couches.
These past 3 months have been really good. Tess is adjusting so well, is so happy and healthy, and picking up language quickly, seems to be right on track developmentally. She even sleeps well, singing to herself in her crib some nights before she drifts off to sleep. She loves the boys and the boys really, really love her. And Joe and I love her! Which all adds up to adoption MIRACLE.
Pause.
MIRACLE.
Adoptions do not usually go this smoothly; at least not in the first three months. Thank you Jesus. After 2 years of waiting and hoping and praying we were gifted with this amazing transition time which has been way more fun than we ever hoped or expected.
One of the verses we rested in during the process was Ephesians 3:20: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us...
And in His power, in His perfect timing (which we hated while we were waiting for it, but was perfect, this we now know!), He did do immeasurably more than we imagined.
And then she was home, and the school year started, and it was really hard to fit 36 hours worth of work into each 24 hour day, and I started doggy-paddling in circles. Just. Barely. Swimming.
Our school days are long. With an inquisitive toddler, a new Kindergartner, and three very typical boys (favorite subjects: recess and lunch) with some dyslexia and attention issues thrown into the mix, it takes us twice as long to do what others might fly through. Add to that the very tempting lies we hate to love to believe (my favorite: I AM RUINING MY CHILDREN) and the days are not only long but hard.
How do you come off of one miracle and forget almost instantaneously? Worse yet, how do you walk out one miracle and not even notice because you are so busy freaking out?
I am the Israelite, saved from slavery, complaining because the walk through the desert is taking too long, and asking to go back so that I can just be a slave again. I like predictability and so did they, preferring the certainty of their tasks rather than the uncertainty of hope and faith. Because faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see (Heb 11:1)
and I don't necessarily always feel assured of what I do not see... like one day everyone will be able to read and write with correct spelling and wipe their own bottoms and stop punching each other?
So I get bogged down in all these worries and lose my confidence.
Which really means I've lost my faith.
Ouch.
So there is one more activity that I need to add to our very busy schedules.
Stop swimming.
Just stop swimming.
I've got to relearn to float. To rest in Him, to figure out what that looks like moment by moment, trusting that He already knows our days and has the best planned for us, so we get to just walk that out. But it doesn't come with a ten-step plan (oh how I wish!) so I constantly have to turn back to Him and reorient my posture. So when the laundry is beeping and one boys needs help writing a paragraph and another is ready to read and the toddler has a dirty diaper, what does it look like to give that moment to Him and trust Him to order it all for me? To unclench my hands and look up to receive His guidance?
I remembered to practice this on Friday. Opened my hands to Him because I knew we had way too much to fit into a day and only He could make it all work. So we had a visit from some missionary friends of ours from Kenya, who told us about their work with the Pokot tribe and ongoing work drilling wells. We had another friend come over for "P.E." to instruct Mason and Levi on skateboarding. And we didn't fit it all in. Mason just finished a project due tomorrow this afternoon after church. But that was okay and I felt peaceful about it because I knew that the best things had come first.
The hard, busy days are lonely days. When we are hunkered down and tied to our busy schedules we don't have room to allow God to bring people into our lives that weren't part of our daily to-do lists. But when we-- when I-- unclench my hands and let go of the steering wheel a little He brings us more community and way more fun because He chooses people over tasks. Every single time.
And then when the laundry beeps again later we can all fold it and put it away together, or use it as a character training moment for a boy who needs to learn the pleasure of hard work well done... Which is way better than an essay about character anyways...
I laugh sometimes (and wonder) because when I was little I thought my mom had it all figured out (did she? maybe more than me?) but here I am at 29 and 71 months and I am sometimes starting to figure one or two things out. And then I forget. I'll probably be swimming again by Tuesday. Two floats forward and one doggy-paddle back, to stretch the metaphor too far. But at least we're still growing. Towards Jesus.
And this swimmer said, Amen.
where was I?
Oh, yes.
Swimming.
So I have all these friends who have lots of kids, six or seven each, and homeschool them and make dinners for them and somehow seem to make it all work. Like everyone actually likes each other and there is no yelling and rainbows are bursting forth from perfectly composed essays about the meaning of the word Character and sparkly unicorns are jumping on couches which never have piles of unfolded laundry...
We have not found that rhythm yet. Its been rainy enough to give everyone cabin fever and the only one jumping is Tess, on top of the piles of partially folded laundry on the couches.
These past 3 months have been really good. Tess is adjusting so well, is so happy and healthy, and picking up language quickly, seems to be right on track developmentally. She even sleeps well, singing to herself in her crib some nights before she drifts off to sleep. She loves the boys and the boys really, really love her. And Joe and I love her! Which all adds up to adoption MIRACLE.
Pause.
MIRACLE.
Adoptions do not usually go this smoothly; at least not in the first three months. Thank you Jesus. After 2 years of waiting and hoping and praying we were gifted with this amazing transition time which has been way more fun than we ever hoped or expected.
One of the verses we rested in during the process was Ephesians 3:20: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us...
And in His power, in His perfect timing (which we hated while we were waiting for it, but was perfect, this we now know!), He did do immeasurably more than we imagined.
And then she was home, and the school year started, and it was really hard to fit 36 hours worth of work into each 24 hour day, and I started doggy-paddling in circles. Just. Barely. Swimming.
Our school days are long. With an inquisitive toddler, a new Kindergartner, and three very typical boys (favorite subjects: recess and lunch) with some dyslexia and attention issues thrown into the mix, it takes us twice as long to do what others might fly through. Add to that the very tempting lies we hate to love to believe (my favorite: I AM RUINING MY CHILDREN) and the days are not only long but hard.
How do you come off of one miracle and forget almost instantaneously? Worse yet, how do you walk out one miracle and not even notice because you are so busy freaking out?
I am the Israelite, saved from slavery, complaining because the walk through the desert is taking too long, and asking to go back so that I can just be a slave again. I like predictability and so did they, preferring the certainty of their tasks rather than the uncertainty of hope and faith. Because faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see (Heb 11:1)
and I don't necessarily always feel assured of what I do not see... like one day everyone will be able to read and write with correct spelling and wipe their own bottoms and stop punching each other?
So I get bogged down in all these worries and lose my confidence.
Which really means I've lost my faith.
Ouch.
So there is one more activity that I need to add to our very busy schedules.
Stop swimming.
Just stop swimming.
I've got to relearn to float. To rest in Him, to figure out what that looks like moment by moment, trusting that He already knows our days and has the best planned for us, so we get to just walk that out. But it doesn't come with a ten-step plan (oh how I wish!) so I constantly have to turn back to Him and reorient my posture. So when the laundry is beeping and one boys needs help writing a paragraph and another is ready to read and the toddler has a dirty diaper, what does it look like to give that moment to Him and trust Him to order it all for me? To unclench my hands and look up to receive His guidance?
I remembered to practice this on Friday. Opened my hands to Him because I knew we had way too much to fit into a day and only He could make it all work. So we had a visit from some missionary friends of ours from Kenya, who told us about their work with the Pokot tribe and ongoing work drilling wells. We had another friend come over for "P.E." to instruct Mason and Levi on skateboarding. And we didn't fit it all in. Mason just finished a project due tomorrow this afternoon after church. But that was okay and I felt peaceful about it because I knew that the best things had come first.
The hard, busy days are lonely days. When we are hunkered down and tied to our busy schedules we don't have room to allow God to bring people into our lives that weren't part of our daily to-do lists. But when we-- when I-- unclench my hands and let go of the steering wheel a little He brings us more community and way more fun because He chooses people over tasks. Every single time.
And then when the laundry beeps again later we can all fold it and put it away together, or use it as a character training moment for a boy who needs to learn the pleasure of hard work well done... Which is way better than an essay about character anyways...
I laugh sometimes (and wonder) because when I was little I thought my mom had it all figured out (did she? maybe more than me?) but here I am at 29 and 71 months and I am sometimes starting to figure one or two things out. And then I forget. I'll probably be swimming again by Tuesday. Two floats forward and one doggy-paddle back, to stretch the metaphor too far. But at least we're still growing. Towards Jesus.
And this swimmer said, Amen.
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