you can't choose love

As I have searched my heart over the last year and a half, the Lord has revealed to me my faulty thinking in many areas. Last night, through a conversation with a good friend, I reconsidered a phrase I've heard many times, especially among Christians in reference to marriage: 'love is a choice.'

Is it? I realized that this sentiment is possibly at the root of some of my misrenderings of what marriage looks like. 'Love is a choice' sounds genuinely burdensome, albeit [self-righteously] noble. If 'love is a choice,' I will consider that I always choose love in spite of the faults of the other person (namely, my husband). Consequently, when I'm not feeling the love, I can easily pass it off, because, after all, 'love is a choice,' not a feeling.

I don't think I believe this line of reasoning anymore. Love is, by definition, an emotion; it is affection, tenderness, admiration, benevolence, attachment, devotion, desire, adoration (Webster). However, we all know that, while love is an emotion--a feeling--it can only be expressed through actions and behaviors. The Bible defines love as patient and kind, neither jealous nor boastful nor proud (1 Corinthians 13:4).

How can we possibly achieve that kind of love for others? 'Choosing' love means that we dictate our actions and our speech to be of the language of love. But in marriage, don't you always know your spouse's heart? For a long time, I 'chose' to love Jarrad. I paid him lip service because I knew in my head that he's a good man. But he knew my heart, and, in my heart, I was forever disappointed in him. I was wrong, and I knew I was wrong. My 'choice' to love him really meant that I pretended to believe what I knew in my head to be true, in spite of the fact that my heart didn't believe it. And I failed. I failed miserably at loving my husband.

When a teacher of the law asked Jesus, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?" Jesus laid out two basic instructions: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength," and "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Mark 12:28-31). When I realized the terrible mistake I was making by looking to Jarrad as my provider (instead of looking to God), I ceased focusing my energies on 'choosing' to love Jarrad. All of my efforts to 'choose' love had failed and left me wanting. All at once, I stopped idolizing Jarrad (treating him as my god), and I began following the first great commandment--to love the Lord my God with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my mind and with all my strength. And all at once, I gained a natural, unstoppable, overwhelming love for my husband that was unlike any love I had 'chosen' in the past.

When we say "love is a choice," I think we are cheating ourselves out of the most wonderful, natural, God-given feeling that we are meant to have for one another. Of course, there are times when I forget myself, and I forget who God is, and I forget to love Him. That's when I fall, and that's when I lose that warm and fuzzy feeling (I'm thinking particularly about my husband). What, then? I do try, in my own strength, to 'choose' love. I hope, though, that in the future, I will catch myself 'choosing' to love and realize that it means I am far from real love. And with that, I hope I will immediately fall to my knees to return to the Giver of perfect love.

...a year later

I've been meaning to write this post for awhile, mostly for bench-marking purposes. Carly turned one on November 4th...yes, more than two months ago (but I think I've only posted once since then because of all the Christmas crafting going on around here!). ANYway...

Carly turned one. Oh, sweet Carly. I was so confident when we found out we were having another baby. I've heard, and now repeat, that the transition from one kid to two is a killer. I've heard it's the toughest transition, but we'll be seeing about that...

The first six months of Carly's life were rough. Of course, it could have been significantly worse than it was, but my sweet, smiley baby was sick. A LOT. She had breathing issues. I was never sure if she had a cold or if she was contagious. I hated that she had been prescribed antibiotics three times for ear infections, and that the pediatrician was encouraging us to try awful asthma meds. I never took her anywhere because I was afraid she'd get the flu. We never had friends over because I was afraid she would infect their kids with whatever it was. I was lonely. And blue. Maybe even depressed.

We finally visited the lung specialist when Carly was 6.5 months old. He gave us one word: Tracheomalacia. I took it home and read, and all the pieces made sense. We started her on acid reflux medication (acid reflux is a common problem associated with Tracheomalacia), which cleared up her congestion (congestion can be the manifestation of acid reflux...weird) and kept her from getting any more ear infections.

The bottom line is that I found out my baby wasn't really sick after all. What she had was a minor birth defect that will correct itself. PHEW! I began to cheer up. I still had my moments/days/weeks of not feeling great. I was run down with a baby who didn't sleep through the night. I know I know, I could have let her "cry it out." But I am not of the school of thought that says that sleeping through the night is the beginning and end of parenting, and so I did not do what I did not want to do. Carly never nursed well during the day--perhaps the Tracheomalacia, maybe the acid reflux. Whatever the reason, she nursed WELL at night, and I was always sure she was getting plenty of nourishment as long as she was waking up. As she got older, I cherished those wee-hours feedings, because Carly is an on-the-move girl, and there were many days when those were my only snuggles from her. I loved it. But I was tired.

When she was 11 months old, eating well, and pleasantly plump, I finally decided to let her cry. She's of the determined sort, and cry she did. Although she has always been a dream to put down (she basically dives into her crib and waves me out of the room), she would wake up at 10pm, 11pm, midnight--whenever--and cry. For hours. My options were to spend 5 minutes nursing her and then put her back in her crib, or listen to her cry. For hours. At 11 1/2 months, I held strong...until 4:00am. And so, she developed a 4am waking habit. I didn't care, until last month. I realized that if I ever wanted to spend the night away from this one, I'd need to do away with this 4am thing (and it wasn't helping much anymore, since she'd often go back to sleep only until 5:45 or 6). So for four or five nights in a row, we listened to her cry/fuss/whine/whimper from sometime in the 3:00am hour until morning. But then she was over it! And so I was once again affirmed, that nothing I, the mommy, choose to do in the first year of Baby's life can't be corrected in a few days of re-training. Although I was tired for...over a year...I look back and do NOT regret nor begrudge the sleep I lost. I took care of my baby the way my instincts dictated, I had fun doing it, and she thrived.

Wow, I'm really rambling...

Where was I? ...the second six month of Carly's life...I felt much better, but I was still tired. I had moments of pure energy and excitement, contrasted with moments of anxiety, loneliness, and sadness. But, by and by, the good days outnumbered the bad, and I was happy to have weathered the storm and gained so much new insight from the Lord.

And then Carly turned one.

And then I was normal.

I felt normal. I acted normal. Things didn't look bleak. I felt blessed and encouraged. I felt empowered and energized. And, within days of Carly's birthday, I remarked to Jarrad that I'm pretty sure I'll look back and say, "And then, it took me a full year to recover from my second-born."

I'm pregnant again, if you haven't heard. I'm just over 8 weeks along, and feeling tired, but fine otherwise. Rachel is at a frustrating age, and I can definitely tell I have a shorter fuse. My days of normalcy were short-lived, I suppose, but I'm hopeful they will return quickly after we meet this sweet one. Maybe this one will sleep through the night a little sooner. Hm...I kinda hope not...

the end of a season

I believe I am returning from my longest-ever blogging hiatus. I've had a few topics bouncing around in my mind, but never made it to the computer with the expressed purpose of recording said topics. For now, suffice it to say that we've been extremely busy, in more ways than one. Of course, Christmas is a busy season for all of us, isn't it? My wonderful husband's dedication to building us from debt to wealth (thanks, Dave Ramsey!) really freed my stress this year. I decided to make as many Christmas gifts as possible, to get done what I could manage without gaining extra grays (where are all these gray hairs coming from??), not spend an excessive amount of money on people who have everything they need and most things they want (like ourselves), and to let the rest sliiiiiiide. And as a result, for the first time in many many years, Christmas was fun. I love giving gifts--truly--but I hate the artificial pressure of our artificial celebrations during such a sacred, REAL season of what should be the most genuine and humbling of celebrations.

Rachel is 3 1/2 now, and she understands so much. How do you teach a kid that this a season to GIVE, not get? I told her every chance I got. I helped her make gifts for a few of her most beloveds--her grandparents and her daddy. But everywhere we went, people asked Rachel what she wanted for Christmas, what was Santa going to bring her, and if she had been "good enough" to get STUFF. Stuff, people...really?? That's what it's all about?

I have never reflected on the toy drives that occur during this season. We are encouraged to make Christmas happen for families who can't afford to "do" Christmas the way Christmas should be done (apparently). I have never, until this year, considered the implications therein. What is Christmas?? Is it a time when it's okay for kids to be greedy? Who are we, that we can "make" Christmas for people? The very beauty of Christmas is that it is available to everyone, no strings attached. There are no people who cannot experience Christmas. Christmas is nothing, if it is not free and available to all.

I don't mean to downplay the mercy ministries that happen during this season. After all, as we reflect on God's mercy in sending the greatest gift to us on Christmas day (or somewhere around that, anyway), how could we not respond by extending similar mercy to those among us who are without? But this is the first year that it struck me that it is all vanity if we don't proclaim the name of Christ and communicate God's ultimate gift to us. All of our mercy-giving and gift-giving, even among our families and close friends, is vanity without Christ.

Jarrad and I are very blessed with families who seem to genuinely enjoy blessing us with good gifts during this season. We hardly feel the need (and nearly feel guilty) purchasing gifts for our own children because of the volume of gifts given them by others who love them so. We would never want to take the joy out of that. But I can definitely say that I'm at a loss for how to help my children understand that receiving gifts is absolutely at the bottom of the list of important-things-that-happen-in-December. I do think we'll start by trying not to allow our children to get caught in the "gift race," wherein one finds oneself trying to guess who will spend how much to buy which gift for me so that I can do my best to match, if not exceed those gifts by giving equal, if not better gifts in return. I shook that this year, as I've been most guilty in the past.

Okay, okay...I promise I'll do a fun post soon about all the stuff the kids got for Christmas. In the meantime, here are a few of the gifts I created for our loved ones this year:

An outfit for my nephew, from a pair of my cords I never wore (the pants are a tad too small for him...sad!) key fobs! (these were so quick and easy and FUN to make) embellished onesie and handmade tutu for my niece (my favorite gift, hands down) hand-printed tee for a cousin, whose name I drew at Thanksgiving :) ...he's a bird lover! laptop sleeve with matching drawstring cord pouch, made from an upcylced hoodie (second fav gift)

the gods of a culture

I believe that our culture worships two gods: comfort and convenience. Even within the church (perhaps especially in the church), we blindly worship these gods.

I am wrong when my emotion flares as a result of some effect to my comfort or convenience. When I feel I have been mistreated by my spouse, I can choose to be angry. I can apply energy to pouting and fuming--maybe even yelling and crying. Why do I do this? Have I been wronged? Perhaps. Am I commanded to love anyway? Most certainly. Nowhere does scripture allow even a moment for anger, retaliation, resentment. Is my anger justified? Society would say, 'absolutely,' because my comfort or my convenience was compromised--or, worse, forfeited--by the actions of another. And maybe after years of being inconvenienced and discomforted, it is a natural progression that I leave my spouse. I might reason that my spouse is not contributing to my comfort nor my convenience, and, in fact, he never has, and, in fact, I have made it clear to him that he must, and, in fact, he chooses not to, and so I am justified to leave him and pursue comfort and convenience for myself.

We disregard our neighbors regularly, in favor of these gods. We do not wish to pursue anyone who is not useful to us and our gods. We may have those in our lives who once provided us with comfort and/or convenience, but from whom we distanced ourselves when some action of theirs led to our discomfort or our being inconvenienced. Once this phenomenon has occurred (maybe several times), we excuse ourselves from trusting others and from loving others. After all, I've been "burned" by others (which really means that others have failed in providing me with the comfort and convenience I expected from them).

To behave in this way exposes our own idolatry. There is nothing that excuses me from doing what God has commanded us to do in His Word: to love Him and to love others. To love is to trust. There are no exceptions. My comfort and my convenience can play no part whatsoever in my choosing to obey these commands. If I can manage to disregard my own comfort and convenience--to stop worshipping these idols--I will understand that these two commands--to love God and to love others--are really one command.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength." If I am doing that, I have no energy left to worship another. I have nothing left that will allow me to pursue my own comfort and convenience. And, in fact, I can easily leave those gods behind, as my comfort and convenience are in no way tied to my happiness nor my self-worth nor my motivation. And if I leave those gods of comfort and convenience behind, I can easily disregard the actions and words of others, in favor of loving them, as I am commanded to do. And thus, if I am wholly fulfilling the first (and greatest) command--to love God--then my ability to fulfill the second command will be unwavering--a mere side-effect of the first.

Friday night, Jarrad played board games with some of our good friends. They enjoy strategy games--the kind that take hours to finish--and he didn't come home until almost 2:00am. I tried to wait up for him, but I fell asleep. The next day, I woke up angry. When he woke up, he knew I was angry. He was tired and cranky all day. He took a nap when I wanted him to help me clean. He lashed out at me when I spoke sharply to him. He went to bed early when I still had things to get done.

He was useless to me. Sound harsh? In my anger, that is how I was behaving. And because he was useless to me, I chose not to act in love towards him. I put my own comfort (I did not want to go to bed alone) and convenience (I wanted him to happily help me prepare for guests in our home), above God's command to love. Idolatry. If I were perfect, I would have shown him love anyway. Was he wrong? Maybe. Does it matter? No. Was I wrong? Definitely.

So, then, is there ever a place for confrontation? It happens over and over in scripture, and Jesus was a part confrontation repeatedly. If Jarrad acted wrongly, I have a responsibility to confront him. However, I must do so in love. Practically, that means I am thinking only of what will draw Jarrad closer to God, and what will strengthen our marriage relationship (in order to better reflect the relationship between Christ and His followers).

Today (a day and a half later), I asked Jarrad to forgive me. I recognized in humility that I should not have acted towards him the way that I did. He graciously (as always) agreed to forgive me. We later had a civil conversation about Friday night, and we both were able to make concessions and agree on future arrangements, should this situation arise again.

Two things are obvious whenever I humble myself in this way. One is that it is difficult. I will never understand this, but it is clearly rooted in pride (as all sin is, yes?). Secondly, the other party is completely disarmed. Jarrad had been angry, too. He was angry that I held expectations for him that he was not privy to. He was angry because he felt that my anger was unjustified (if not absurd). But when I humbled myself and muttered those alien words, "I'm sorry," he immediately softened and was able to hear my perspective with an open heart and mind.

And so, as always, I will move forward, praying to focus on following God's greatest commandment--to LOVE--instead of the gods of comfort and convenience.

BIRTHDAY GIRL!

Where goes the time? Our sweet Carly was born one year ago today. I don't even have the words to express this emotion of knowing that your baby is not such a baby anymore. This little girl, who a year ago lay helpless in my arms, is now toddling everywhere and forming opinions of her own. She says a few words--including "no no" and "night night," which sound the same--but even without much vocabulary, has become quite bossy. In fact, she rather reminds me of another little missy who also lives in my house and seeks to rule the roost during her every waking moment. It has quickly become apparent that Rachel will soon meet her match in Carly.

Probably my favorite thing about Carly right now is that she loves to snuggle (on her own terms, of course). I call her Kitty Cat (I think I've reported that in another post) because she likes to bump her head against things/people. If I lean close to her, she will meet me halfway and give me a forehead check. She loves wallowing around on the bed or on pillows on the floor. I love it. The stage she's in is so fun. She's been walking long enough now that she's started climbing and trying to sit on things, and she loves to come check in with Mommy or Daddy on occasion, which is nice. She is ready to go to bed every night by 6:30pm, and will almost run to the bottom of the stairs repeating "NAAAA NA, NAAAA NA, NAAAA NA" at the mere mention of going night night. She also loves wearing her shoes. If ever she is mad about not being allowed to do something (usually climb the stairs), I can always suggest we find her shoes for a good distraction. She finds them, carries them to me, throws them on the floor at my feet, and sits down expectantly. Her command is "Da," and that's all she really needs, as it is usually quite plain what she's wanting to communicate. She repeats my intonation, too. If I say "Do you wanna go eat?" she usually follows with, "Daa?" with a little cock of her eyebrow. I know she's my own, but I do think she is so stinking cute. And I don't know how she ended up with these bright blue eyes, but we get comments on them everywhere we go, and I'm thinking we'll need to lock her away when the boys start noticing.

It has been an eventful year for our family, and it's hard to remember what life was like before sweet Carly was here to make it more enjoyable. And I can't wait to see where to Lord takes our family from here! And finally, here is a video from a couple of weeks ago, when Carly insisted on wearing these particular shoes for her regular tour of the living room. Silly baby!

what keeps me busy

I have recently fallen in love with sewing. I tried a few times in the past, but never got into it. But I have discovered that I just don't think it's fun to cut into a pattern and turn it into a garment. What I DO think is fun is to look at fabric and create something from it. And so, after wading through several tutorials online, I have found bits and pieces of inspiration all over my house.

My first recycle project was a t-shirt reconstruction. Rachel and I participated with some friends in the Walk4Hearing a couple of weeks ago. My friend Carla had special t-shirts made for our team: Team Turtles. Rachel's adult small was, needless to say, too big. So I turned it into a dress...fun!

I used one of Rachel's existing dresses as a guide, cut the original shirt down to that size/shape, and sewed the side seams. I then took one of my discarded ribbed tanks and cut out sleeves and a ruffle for the bottom of the dress. I made the ruffle by pulling the fabric as I ran the edge through my serger. I used the bottom hem of the ribbed shirt for the sleeves so that the edges were already finished, and I ran one straight stitch with elastic bobbin thread to give the sleeves some poof. I also ended up having to put darts in the back because the dress needed more shape and still looked really big on her.

I had so much fun doing that, that I decided to recon some others of my discarded clothes. I had this striped long sleeve tee that I LOVED the colors, but never loved the shirt itself. So, per tutorials I found online, I cut the sleeves and made them into a little pair of pants for Rachel. It was SO easy that I couldn't resist trying to use the rest of the shirt, too. However, not wanting the outfit to be overwhelmed by stripes, I dug through our giveaway pile and found this plain brown shirt that I used to love. Armed with scissors and a newfound interest in gathering and shirring, I cut a bodice from the top of the striped shirt and sewed it to the gathered bottom of the brown shirt...

Clearly needing sleeves, I employed the sleeve portion of the brown shirt, also adding a line of elastic for fluff. The sleeves landed perfectly at her elbows! The biggest mistake I made was forgetting to add seam allowances in the sleeves, so I had to kind of finagle the armholes to match, which rendered the top a bit lop-sided. Live and learn! Finally, I used the bottom hem of the striped shirt to make a simple beanie(Rachel ultimately complained the hat was too tight...oops.) All told, it was the most fun I've had sewing, hands down.

And now...the finished product!

oh, dear

I don't know how to fix it, but Rachel has been very demanding lately. I don't mean demanding like "I need lots of things from my mommy, which makes her tired" demanding; I mean more like "I'm unhappy with what I have and want anything else, please" demanding. All day long, it's "I want" and "Can I have" and "gimme gimme gimme!" How do you teach a kid to be content?

To add insult to injury, she is becoming a bit more...how shall I say?...conniving? That sounds extreme, but it's actually quite accurate. Here's a prime example:

• Mommy (seeing Rachel jumping on her bed): Rachel! You are not to jump on your bed!
• Rachel plops down on her bottom, laughing.
• Mommy: Rachel, I do not think this is funny.
• Rachel (still laughing): I'm just laughing at something else.
• Mommy: Excuse me??
• Rachel: I was just laughing at sissy. She's a funny baby.

I was flabbergasted. I can't believe how sophisticated her thinking is becoming, and it's disheartening to see her trying to deceive and manipulate. That girl definitely keeps me guessing!

She tried to pull the same lie on me a couple of days later, but I was more prepared and handled it better. I couldn't help but feel like my heart was breaking a little, though. I guess it's natural that we want to think our children perfect. But at a time like that, it is undeniable that they are human--imperfect--like the rest of us. As I looked her in the eye and explained to her that she lied, and that it is never okay to say something that is not true, it struck me how alike we are. It struck me that God's heart breaks a little every time I disobey Him. It struck me that, in spite of my imperfection--in spite of my wretchedness--He loves me still. I had the opportunity to share with Rachel that God is HOLY, and that disobeying even one time is unacceptable. He cannot bear to look at us when we have even one sin. His perfect justice simply cannot ignore my wrongs. But, because He loves me--because He loves Rachel--He took what should have been my punishment for my sins, and dealt it out to His only Son. And Christ, in all of His Godly perfection, willingly sacrificed Himself so that I CAN be in the presence of a Holy God. Thank you, Jesus! If I can communicate this Truth to my children, I have done my job. I try to remember that God law has one function: to show me that I cannot fulfill it--to show me that I NEED Him. I pray that the rules our family holds, and the discipline we impart, will have that same function.

In the meantime, Rachel's hair is, after waiting almost 3.5 years, finally in a style. The sides and front of her hair have grown long enough to cut it all to that length (seriously...three and a half years of growing!). Jarrad wants her hair to be long, so the goal is for it to all grow out together, now. I'll have to admit that I like the little bob cut. She looks like such a big girl!