Holding Fast to Hope

It's amazing how I had forgotten the intensity of a toddler tantrum.

In parenting amnesia, one forgets many things.

It is not as though tantrums are not an occurrence in our daily lives.  Being honest, I'd have to say that not only do the six and four-year-olds indulge in such emotional catharsis, I have been known to have a few myself (in fact this morning when my second-born took two ornaments off the tree, dipped them in his oatmeal and started swinging them around with drops of goop flying everywhere I had to reign my emotions in with some pretty hefty self-control).

Not long after the older two were off to school, the youngest began a tantrum that lasted well over an hour.  Immediately after his fury abated, Andrew started his own; throwing fishy crackers hither and yon as his lungs fired up.

I have discovered yet another dynamic about twins: at times their tantrums are in sequence and at others they are in simultaneous format.  God bless those who work with several toddlers at one time.

I found a part of the wiki definition interesting to say the least: For the toddler, 'tantrums are normal...the force of the tantrum is a kind of measure of the strength of character the child can possess eventually, if [s]he's helped to harness that energy'.^[6]


I have concluded that there is a lot of character developing in our home.

***
So what does all of this tantrum topic have to do with holding fast to hope?  Well first off, it doesn't hurt that Hope, the person :), literally shows up on the afternoons that Arden is at work (Hope helps me by caring for my little men & assisting with the household tasks during the hardest part of the day).

However, I have come to realize that it is only through the principle of hope that I can get through some of the 'loss of control and frustrations' of life.  I have had a lot of time to think about how before this journey of many chapters, I once focused so much of my energies in thinking laterally (in the sense of looking to other people) in whatever circumstance I was in.  Although for many years I have looked to others for my love, presently I am learning how to love laterally while seeking my strength from God.  This has been one of the most significant ways for me to understand the nature of hope in my life.

As a child, my Christmas season was filled with all kinds of love, joy, and peace.  It seemed easy to have hope when everything was going my way (and to be honest, my hopes were placed primarily in whatever I was going to get under the tree).  It was easy for me to get caught up in the trimmings of the season - in the candles and decorations and the baking.  Christmas was literally a time of light, beauty and sweetness for me.

There are moments where I now contemplate this childhood wonder.  Trials, sufferings, betrayals, losses, pain, confusion, despair, struggles, grief, denial, hardships, disappointments and sorrow have flowed into my life both directly, indirectly and in my surroundings over the past six months.  My heart breaks in a depth and breadth hat I had never known before.

In my brokenness, and as the darkness is lengthened as winter solstice approaches, I am recognizing more and more that it is in the darkest times where the flicker of candlelight shines the brightest.

***

Hebrews 10:23

New International Version (NIV)

²³ Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.

I was reminded this week that Mary was able to praise God in the midst of a trial: "my soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit in God my Saviour." [Luke 1:46-55].  It amazes me that God chose a woman whose name - Mary - has the meaning of bitter to be the mother of His son.  Therefore, from bitterness, light came into this world.  Interesting.

This young woman was surrounded by oppression in the nation of Judea and, not by her own choice, was placed into a situation - a trial - that would have irrevocable complications on her life.  She was unmarried.  She was misunderstood.  She was alone.  

But then again, she wasn't alone.  The mystery of the incarnation was within her: Immanuel - God is with us. 

As suffering produces perseverance and perseverance character, tantrums build my character which then translate into hope.  And hope does not disappoint because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit [Romans 5:4].  Knowing that God is with us should empower me with a life-giving strength.  With courage.  

The lonely space our heart currently navigates may not change, but the substance of our journey through it can be transformed. ~ Erin Gieschen.

Inspired by the theme of this first week of Advent - Hope - I have been meditating on the importance of hope.  Unlike investing in stocks or planning supplies for a party, hope is something we cannot speculate on.  Hope is simple in the fact that it is a cry of the heart. Echoed by love and energized by faith, hope can be the source of peace and joy - therefore all of these are intertwined: hope, love, faith, joy and peace - and through Christ we are given freedom.  Complete, limitless, rich and providential freedom for it comes from a generous, merciful, grace-filled, loving Creator God.

Therein lies the Kingdom heart - a loosening of our fists in order to open our hands to receive the blessings that come directly from the Father.  Then we can do the impossible, live beyond ourselves and be filled in times of drought, heartache and suffering; we can do this for our source of hope is rooted in the ultimate source and our hope is complete in Jesus.

Grown from a root of hope, Christmas is a season of love.

In recognizing this hope, I have begun to light a white candle each day.  I have prayed for hope into the lives of my loved ones.

I have intensively studied my concordance for every reference of hope; and I have found that there is blessing in seeking hope with my whole heart for it leads to restoration [Jeremiah 29:11-14].  Hold fast: there is always hope.

Hope in Him, though I be broken;
Hope in You, to be lifted up;
Hope in God, despite a downcast soul;
Hope comes from Him, finding rest;
Hope in His word, encouraging others;
Hope in waiting;
Hope in the Lord, His love is unfailing, His redemption is full;
Hope in the Lord my God, who blesses me in His help;
Hope in His unfailing love;
The fulfillment of hope, a tree of life;
Future hope, through reverence to Him;
Hope in the Lord, the renewal of strength;
Hope in His plans for us, our future;
Hope in remembering His great love;
Hope in restoration;
Hope does not disappoint;
Hope for future glory;
Patient, hope for that what we do not yet have;
Being joyful; 
Encouragement;
Filled with Joy and Peace;
Love always hopes;
Faith, hope and love;
Christ in you, the hope of glory;
Endurance;
The Hope of Salvation;
Faith and Knowledge resting on the hope of eternal life;
While we wait for the blessed hope;
We have this hope as an anchor;
Which then leads us to
Being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. 

***

My Christmas this year is founded on things far beyond sentiments.  It isn't about a day where I'm wrapped up in a commercialized, packaged up, or condensed version of love.  Christmas can hold all of the traditions - old and new - that are part and parcel of the season; however, this year I'm moving away from many of the tasks of Christmas that I once considered as 'necessary'.  As much as I researched hope, I knew I needed to understand the definition of a term I've heard for so long - Christmas trappings - and from there I discovered how I no longer have to be weighed down by what I perceived as "check-the-box" items to make Christmas Christmas for me and for my family. 

trappings  1. An ornamental covering or harness for a horse; a caparison. Often used in the plural. 1. the accessories and adornments that characterize or symbolize a condition, office, etc. the visible trappings of success  2. (Individual Sports & Recreations / Horse Training, Riding & Manège) ceremonial harness for a horse or other animal, including bridles, saddles, etc.

For instance, I used to think that Christmas couldn't be Christmas without sugar cookies (and I vividly recall my mother making, decorating and mailing said sugar cookies to me in France while I was there on an exchange).  Attempting sugar cookies this year would be in the "too-hard-box".  And that's okay.  My condition makes it necessary for me to evaluate every expenditure of energy; yet in so many ways, that's a blessing.  I have had to choose what's really important and in doing so, I am freed from so many of the obligations which once held me back from enjoying Advent.

1st Sunday in Advent with John

The simplicity of it is exactly that: it can be simple.  

And Christmas can be great in its simplicity - something I have to remind myself whenever I get caught up in the frustrations that have the tendency to creep on in when I'm disappointed about not doing it all.  I may reminisce about a frosted green cookie, but I am choosing to find joy in the present tense of spending time with my boys.


If my catalyst is love, then whatever I am able to do for (and especially with) my family is a blessing.

Advent - and Christmas itself - is a story about love.  The gift we've been given is that of a true, deep, unfathomable, unending, and never failing love.

A love which, if we choose to invite it in, comes into our place of brokenness to heal, energize and transform.  I believe it.  By the grace of God, I live it every day.  By the grace of God, I hold fast to hope.  And, by His grace, I pray I may have the opportunity to share hope, joy and love well beyond this Advent season.

A little bit of daily joy

Immeasurably Thankful

I sincerely mean it.

If anything, I am coming to understand that the testimony of my life is fully entrenched in the tests that I am given (and I choose the word 'given' specifically - because they are gifts no matter how challenging they may seem) - and in particular, in the ways that God has blessed me with immeasurably more than I could've ever imagined.

This includes the fact that I am immeasurably thankful.

And I know that this is incomprehensible - it defies all logic.

I have found that the best things in my life are exactly those things that don't seem rational - the things that seem impossible to manage - the things that seem the hardest to tackle - all of the things which, at the end of the day, are ultimately the very best things.

We all have choices to make about the way we look at things.  I can cite a handful of 'situations' I that have faced (relocation to Fort McMurray, becoming a mother of twins in addition to two young sons, the diagnosis of a life-threatening condition) for which I was told I couldn't make it through.  This was true enough.  Without God's strength, grace, and mercy I wouldn't have been able to make it through them.

But see that's the beauty of it.  I didn't have to face them alone.  I'm aware that this is a faith-based perspective that - quite frankly - I don't have any quantifiable way to 'explain'.  But I know what I know what I know.

And I know that I am thankful.

For pretty much every single thing I used to find complaint with, I now find joy.  I seek joy out.  I hunt it down.  I embrace it.

Joy.

What an unusual word in our lives these days.

Trust me when I say that I am still human.  My physical, emotional and psychological states have been taking a beating for many seasons.  Yet I am slowly learning that my feelings aren't remotely as important as my perspective.

Where "busy", "stressed" and "overwhelmed" were once the primary adjectives of my old life, I am choosing to eliminate these words (as well as "worried", "depressed" and "fear") to describe my experience.  I am working on choosing words that encourage, edify and build up.  Joy just so happens to be one of them.

Because of my condition, I have been so blessed to have a whole village of loving people helping me to raise these beautiful boys.  And I am so grateful.  I am also so grateful - filled with joy - for each opportunity I have to use these hands to care tenderly for Nate, John, Andrew and Samuel.

***

However, being thankful is much, much more than even all of this.  

Perhaps most importantly, the truth of the beautiful life of one little boy has changed everything for me.

My thoughts of this little man, Milo - who is continually touching my heart - inspire me to a whole new level of understanding of the role joy plays in my relationships with all of the amazing children in my life.  

I have learned that heaven is revealed through children and - without trying to sound melodramatic, as I believed I was only a step away from my home myself - learning more about it became pretty important to me.  So in light of all of this, I have been meditating so much on Christ's words about the kingdom of heaven.  

The Greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven

 ¹ At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

 ² He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. ³ And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. ⁴ Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. ⁵ And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

A call for us to change and become like little children; to welcome children in His name.  As Advent approaches, consider for a moment the joy of a child at Christmas time.  As Christmas draws near, contemplate the gift of the children in your life.

It is a mystery to me that from a heart divided in two - from my extreme broken-hearted grief in missing Milo to such joy in the knowledge that he's home - somehow my love grows and grows and grows.  I miss this little boy so much that I find myself compelled even more than ever before to not miss one moment with the little boys that are in my care (and all of the children that fill this heart of mine).

Mr. Milo is an inspiration of so much more than joy and thankfulness - he is a light shining in a world where brokenness is a part of everyday life.  

I have been blessed immeasurably more than I could've ever imagined.  I am so thankful that I had the privilege to hold a ray of sunshine - to hold joy - in my arms.  

***

I am learning through these seasons that the primary difference between happiness and joy is that happiness can only be found if what is happening is something you like whereas joy can be found no matter what is happening.  

Now when people say, "Woah! You have your hands full!", I am quite content to respond: "why, yes indeed, I do."

I feel that it is important for them to know that my children are not a burden, they are not something that hinders me from doing what I want to do, and they do not prevent me from doing great things.  Quite the opposite, really.  They fill my home with love, they incite purpose for my days and, in God's grace through loving them, I am doing great things.

Yes, there are more challenges than I ever expected and yes, I am stretched beyond anything I could've ever previously imagined.  But I have learned through so many hard learned lessons of this past year that challenges and living beyond yourself are both to be embraced.

Summer 2010

Summer 2011

These boys are (each and every one of them) a blessing.

And it is a privilege to care for them.

I was explaining my new-found understanding to Arden on the weekend.  I mentioned how it has allowed me to find that I am thankful even for their poop.  About twenty minutes later he happily presented me with Samuel (who happened to have a full diaper) in order to 'have some more joy'.  It made me laugh.

I am truly content to find myself changing a poop-filled diaper.  Even if I didn't get a reward (which I do - each time I give a belly button a playful poke, a scrumptious little giggle is the result), I still would be grateful.

***

And just in case it appears that I am exclusively being a tireless, sentimental optimist, maybe I should put the poop into context.  Not only am I choosing to be thankful for the poop, I am finding that there's a lot of humour (scatological as it may be) in the poop.  So for the finale, I'd like to offer three stories from my not so distant past dealing with... well, poop.

[From October 2010 - From when the twins are approximately 5 months old]

I really can't talk too much about poop these days mainly because John is potty training... again.  This morning he decided to make a statement about the fact he was going to perform on the potty... so Nate (brushing his teeth before school) and me (there as a spotter because the child does gymnastics on the throne as though it's the pommel horse at the gym) got to witness the usual dramatics.  John was not pleased his brother was there because, as he said in his most outraged tone that Nate was going to "stir my poop!"  Weird.  However, he didn't poop. Yet.

Afterwards I was brought to tears as he decided to poop on the potty (Yay!) but then not tell me (Boo!).  I was dealing with the twins so I came out to find him diaper-less and his bottom poop-smudged.  I wanted to cry.  Then I did cry.  A lot.  I spent the next hour searching for places he sat, climbed or possibly contaminated.  I found it in the most unusual places.  I thought I was part of a CSI team.  

[From Summer 2011]

There are so many moments that I think that I am overstretched beyond my capabilities... but then we make it to the end of the day with a four thriving boys tucked into their beds.

I sometimes wonder if I'll find myself in therapy one day, looking at inkblot tests and responding with answers such as: "baby poop; toddler poop; corn poop; poop that my six-year-old insisted I look at; blueberry poop; exploding diaper poop...".

And yet, even now, and especially now, there's one thing I am certain of:

A day in my life is pretty amazing.

[From June 20, 2011]

The 'quotable quote' of the weekend before last (the quote of the year?) came about in the most average moment.  Driving in the van, boys (relatively) peaceful in the backseat, Arden & I were having a conversation.  From the backseat, John pipes up:

"You guys is INSAAAANE!"

We paused, looked at each other and started to laugh.

"That's the way it is" was his quiet response.

Yup, we's insane.

***

Thursday morning's brief moment on facebook involved seeing a link to an amusing mom blog.  I read the entry about sleeping, laughed, and then clicked back to this entry about a diaper change.  I found this one amusing, too, because it rang so true to my own life and then I continued on my day.

Before afternoon naptime, my own version of this daily experience (how many poopy diapers do I change in one day???) played out in real time and I thought I would recount it as best as I can (because relating something after the fact is not that accurate and no, I don't have any photos) I think bullets might help me chronicle the sequence of events:

• Andrew, fussy and agitated, toddles over to me [begin soundtrack of baby crying].  
• I assess the need for a diaper change.
• Nate is occupied with his project [wrapping Arden's Father's Day present], John is playing with his Hot Wheels toy.  Good.
• Placing Andrew on the floor, everything falls apart.

• Unlike the blogger, I was prepared for poop (had the diaper AND wipes) [by the way, this was the pride before the fall... that night I was plunking said boys in the bath and found myself dropping a diaper to the floor and dealing with a silent but deadly poop WITHOUT wipes]; however, I wasn't prepared for the appearance of diaper rash [soundtrack of crying amplifies as I search for diaper cream]
• Like the blogger's experience, my baby is behaving like a "spastic octopus".
• In the meantime, Samuel has found Nate's Wall-E toothbrush (left out by John who was using it as a 'tool' ten minutes earlier) and comes over to me (he sees that the wipes are down) and, laughing, begins to wack Andrew on the head with the toothbrush [soundtrack of crying increases (understandably) two decibels]
• While I'm comforting Andrew, who is still poopy, Samuel takes the opportunity to start taking every. single. wipe. out. of. a. full. box. of. wipes. 
• In the meantime, John begins to call out "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!  It's broken!!! MOMMMMM, I need you to fix it!!!!!!" (his Hot wheels toy needs a piece to be pushed back in. Right now.)
• Simultaneously, Nate hits a snag in his wrapping: "Mom, can you help me with this part?  See, I was able to do this corner, but I can't do this part without help.  Can you help me?  Please?"
• Me: 
• "It's okay, Andrew. 
• Samuel, NO!  
• John, please wait one moment.  
• Nate, I will be with you after I've helped Andrew with his bum"
• Andrew, being placed back on the floor, starts having a tantrum because I am A: daring to clean him up; B: trying to apply diaper cream; C: attempting to keep him still.
• Samuel takes this opportunity to pull out more wipes while John continues to call out to me (verbatim: "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!  It's broken!!! MOMMMMM, I need you to fix it!!!!!!") while Nate is working out his problem by verbally processing it (voice raised over the noise), "mom, what if I do this....?"
• Meanwhile, the poop has turned into a massive mess (due to my delay and the amount of squirming Andrew has done), and I no longer have the wipe box because Samuel has moved it out of reach.  Oh, and similar to the blogger's 4 year old, John's frustration intensifies.  
• I finally get Andrew cleaned, ointmented, diapered and comforted (and if you comfort one twin, the other thinks he needs attention, so thus, Samuel got similar attention) and hurry over to John [soundtrack had stopped in silence but then resumes on a lower volume as Andrew and Samuel are annoyed that I have abandoned them to walk the 6 steps over to the couch to help out John.
• I get to my second born only to watch him successfully slip the post into position and my eldest pick up his project to proudly announce, "I'm all done!".  
• Seriously?  Seriously.

Thursday afternoon then included a brief game of apple throwing between John and Andrew; John "fishing" the babies with a carpet no slip mat (he made it into his net), John with stuff (dirt, food, poop) on his hands and then wanting to touch his toothbrush before washing his hands (I caught him in time but was beyond immensely frustrated - why does he use 1/2 a bottle of soap in one trip and then nothing at all the next?  What is with this obsession with teeth brushing on. his.own?!?), stuff (an entire water cup, salad, yogurt, crackers, playdoh, fruit, poop) being spilled on my freshly washed floors (Arden did them the night before), comforting babies who were battling each other over stuff (a spoon, a wooden spoon, a box of wipes, a bike helmet - note: no toys were in play), and Nate showing me how he can make a "penny print out of his belly button" via his magic trick involving a penny stuck in his navel which was then pushed out.

So essentially, several incidents of me thinking my head might explode, several more of irony based-laughter due to the absurdity of the situation and a sprinkling of genuine laughs at the antics.

Ultimately, I think the three year old summed it up accurately.

We is insane.

Snow globe

Before I go on, I have to say thank you for your continued encouragement and support.  I am surrounded by so much love that it's overflowing and turning into joy.  It truly is immeasurably more than I could've ever imagined.

I've gone into my inbox for the last two nights, hoping to get typing at some emails and messages - I cannot express how much I long for some more energy to get personalized updates and thank yous sent out; however, I was overwhelmed by the task at hand... so in the meantime, I am writing in the blog in order to get an update out.

It is with no small amount of gratefulness that I report that healing is happening.  I have been gaining strength on a daily basis and although I still have many miles to go, I am encouraged by each of the steps taken in this upward direction; my playlist in that healing include these three songs that have been inspirational on this journey: My Hope is in You, Sweetly Broken & Joyful, Joyful.

***

If a rock is 'just a rock' for you, I encourage you to read no further as this entry is a deep one with overtones of cheesiness and unapologetic sentiments.  However, if you enjoyed the poignancy of the line "as you wish!" in the Princess Bride, proceed... this one is for you.

***

For as long as I could remember, I have loved snow globes.  Recently, through an amazing channel, I was given the means to acquire my very own.

At first I was simply taken with the snow globe - it was a lovely thing to hold in my hands - and it brought me so much joy to see the wonder on my sons' faces as I shook it up and then set it down.

But like all things in my life, I cannot help but find symbolism in... well, everything.

In this journey I have certainly been aware of my fragility, my humanity, and my limitations.  For a brief time after a particularly challenging period on this healing journey, I considered myself to be 'the girl made of glass' as my frailness seemed to define me... from my physical condition to my emotional tsunami, I was - and am - in a place of vulnerability.  Yet, as I watched the glitter swirl and the colours change, an imprint flooded my heart: I am surrounded by love - overwhelming, overflowing, infinite love.

I also recognized how a snow globe is the most beautiful when everything is in motion.

***

I think that now that I've gotten to this point in my life - where the possibility that a condition, unseen but powerfully destructive can change everything without warning - that I have been blessed with a clarity I've never had before.  In a most evident way, I recognize so many more things that I once took for granted... aspects of my life that now have become priceless gifts.  More than that, a beautiful epiphany has hit home:

Motherhood is a miracle.

I'm not saying this in an overly sentimental way; I sincerely mean it.  I realize now from discovering epic-ness of the high stakes that I am blessed beyond my understanding.

I have been recognizing that I was functioning under a faulty entitlement perspective - my whole world was structured around the presumption that I was planning for my future - and the future of my children.  My parenting perspective was grounded in the long game.  Yes, I mothered with great love and enthusiasm, but there was a significant part of my heart that was invested in the days that lay ahead... when the 'challenging' stages (such as teething and diaper changing) were over.  Not only did my goals reflect this, I often could imagine the joy of future celebrations, graduations, and weddings.

The awakening from this perspective is undeniably painful, yet I am so grateful... I cannot express adequately the joy I have in even the most everyday interactions with these completely phenomenal children I have the privilege to mother.

Similarly, I'm not saying this as though I haven't lived my days in anything other than a carpe diem kind of way.  I have always had a general understanding of the importance of seizing the day; I think I now have a conceptualization that "seizing the day" does not mean optimizing production or experiences.  Seizing the day now means an investment of the heart - a pouring in and a pouring out - in the miracle of motherhood and in the miracle of life.

And love has been, is, and will be the means to this end.

***

Although this sounds highly sentimental - and overly optimistic - I can guarantee you that my life is not all unicorns and sparkly-happy-face-sticker ideals.  Valleys, battles, and tribulations are part and parcel of this experience.  There is tension: even though I am struggling with a medical condition, I am still a mother to four beautiful yet spirited boys aged 6, 3 and twin toddlers - a position that calls for some intense investment.  And although this is my new vision of life, it is not overly idealized in my expectations as the reality is that I am a highly fallible person.

However, I think that in this season and in light of waging battle with some of the hardest realities and sorrows I've ever faced, I am becoming more firmly entrenched in a pragmatic view of my life.

And even writing that I should say that I feel like that's a nerdy way of saying this: trials have brought perspective.

There is so much more to express on that, but here is where I delegate the task to C.S. Lewis - the poignancy of his quotes (from the selection here and from his other writings) at this point in my life leaves me... well, speechless.  

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Each day I am feeling God's hand working in incredible ways in this fragile life of mine and, in the reflection of the snow globe, I am starting to see a whole new me.