weeklythoughtexchange

We were recently waiting outside of the doctor’s office; my husband was inside with the two having their wellness visits and I had the other five with me. There were many natural elements to explore and I encouraged the children to make nature pictures. One quickly ran with my idea to make a self-portrait out of sticks, hanging moss, acorns and stones. This inspired the others to collect ferns, flowers and stones and design creative sidewalk art with their findings. It was refreshing to observe.

Children should be encouraged to think outside of the box; perhaps we should say the screen? Children come into this world wired to learn, observe and explore. They absorb whatever is put before them; I wonder if that instinctive wonder is stunted by frequent screen time. Tablets, TVs, and phone time stimulate children’s senses instead of encouraging their senses to seek out the knowledge.

When children explore outside or build with blocks or dress up or create art or turn pages and study illustrations, their senses are actively engaging with the world around them and seeking out new knowledge. This is knowledge that soaks into their minds and memories and shapes their understanding of the world. Most importantly, the process of studying and learning and formulating thoughts makes them ready to think through new ideas and engage with them. To put it simply, learning makes thinkers and thinking is the heart of literacy. As popular children’s author Kate DiCamillo once wrote:

A good story changes how you look at the world. It encourages you to look past the obvious, the everyday. A good story grants you the permission to imagine. A good story gives you hope.

Another aspect of reading that can easily be overlooked is that it connects the reader with the past. It is actually possible for us to read what the great influencers of history once read and wrote themselves. What a priceless way to impact the future- using the lessons of yesterday to improve tomorrow.

Are we prepared to live in a world where people can’t look past the every day? Or can’t imagine? Or who lack hope? Are we willing to live in a world without readers?

I don’t think I am. And that is why I have started a subscription book club called The Growing Bookworms. Those who subscribe will receive monthly literacy support from me, a language arts teacher, as well as age-appropriate books and activity (or discussion) ideas that coincide with a theme of the month. If this interests you, reach out to me at: shelbysuniquefinds@gmail.com or leave your email info in the comments section of this blog and I’ll reach out to you.

Let’s grow a new generation of readers and thinkers.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I met you for the very first time?

Wasn’t it just last night that I dressed you in my doll’s pajamas?

Wasn’t it just this morning that I peeked into your bassinet and felt such awe that you were mine?

Wasn’t it just this afternoon when we sat in the shade and you cooed a story to the fluffy clouds floating by?

Wasn’t it just yesterday when you decided to walk?

Wasn’t it just last night when you moved from your crib to your big girl bed?

Wasn’t it just this morning when you showed me you could read from your Bible?

Wasn’t it just this afternoon that you learned to ride your bike?

Seven years of yesterdays have charmed me with your graceful, loving presence in my life.

Tomorrow will present us with an elegant young woman who is skilled in caring for a home, loving on children, immersing herself in a good book and pursuing Jesus. I’m so thankful we have today to get there.

I love you, my little girl. Happy birthday!

A reflection on the novel written by Bess Streeter Aldrich

I met a kindred spirit last month. We have nothing in common: she lived in the 1800’s, was a pioneer living in a sod house, helped build a state, lived through 3 wars, and is a fictional character. But somehow my heart understood hers completely.

Throughout the passing weeks I’ve mused about how often Abbie Deal comes to mind. What did I learn from her? Why did she impact me so much? How can I emulate her? To answer those questions, I need to share an important detail about Abbie: she had dreams. Since she was a small child she wanted to be famous and beautiful and talented. She adored singing, valued refinement, and cared about her appearance. For love’s sake, she turned down one marriage proposal that could have given her all of her dreams almost instantly and accepted another marriage proposal that gave her a soddy house on a prairie and five children to birth and raise in it. Without complaint, she embraced her life and tucked away her dreams for a more opportune time.

But she never forgot her dreams and as they hid in her heart they became a part of all she did without her even realizing it. Each one shaped her perspective of the staggering trials she endured and influenced how she cultivated her home and children. She found poetry on the prairie, taught her children to value the arts and found a way to make even the soddy house pretty. And her dreams were fleshed out in her children. Each time she intentionally brought her dreams to mind and reflected on her longing to experience them, tears would come to my eyes for those moments revealed her humanity.

Abbie Deal taught me something. She taught me that our dreams make us who we are; not by relentlessly pursuing them but by simply not letting them go. Contemporary society tells us that we must live out our dreams no matter the cost to our family or our souls; we might not realize how high a price we paid for those dreams until it is too late. What contemporary society doesn’t teach us, is that our dreams can come alive in intangible ways. They can influence our approach to living: how we walk and talk, work and play, think and decide. Dreams become a part of our identity and influence how we interact with our world and how it interacts with us.

Ironically, this staunchly pioneer woman wasn’t real in the sense that I could find her gravestone in Nebraska. But she was real in every other sense of the word. I ached in her pain, joined in her joy, struggled in her exhaustion and felt her despair in the core of my being. When she was on the cusp of womanhood, Abbie Deal didn’t realize her dreams would never be realized as she imagined they would; as life unfolded, they inspired her to keep going. It wasn’t until the end that she saw the completed picture and reflected:

“You can’t describe love…and you can’t define it. Only it goes with you all your life. I think that love is more like a light that you carry. At first childish happiness keeps it lighted, and after that romance. Then motherhood lights it and then duty, and maybe after that sorrow. You wouldn’t think that sorrow could be a light…But it can. And then after that, service lights it. Yes…I think that is what love is to a woman: a lantern in her hand.”

It was her dreams that enabled her to love and that love was what made all the difference. It enabled her to sacrifice, to be loyal, to create, to persevere, and to be uniquely herself. All things I want to be and do in my world, nearly two centuries later. I want to be understanding of the young dreamers living with stars in their eyes and I want to be compassionate towards the elders among us, with that distant look in their eyes as they relive the past over and over again. I want to hold that lantern in my hand so that when I am on my deathbed I can smile and slip away, enfolded in the memories of a life well lived.

All week long your siblings have been anticipating your birthday and this morning one of your brothers woke up saying, “Mom! Today Tehillah is one!” This is just one tiny reflection of the adoration that is felt for you by every member of this household.

The 10.5 months leading up to your birth were a roller coaster. There were many health concerns ranging from me getting hit in the stomach with a swing to having COVID just a month and half before you were born. And your birth itself was not easy and took some time for me to process before moving on. All of this drifts through my mind as I look at you today on your birthday. And then I remember even more.

Gazing at you for the very first time and instantly knowing you were a girl; discovering you were born en caul (what a miracle for me!); relishing how we could already communicate with you during those first hours and days after birth because you studied our faces so closely; taking those days, weeks and months slowly because I finally grasped how rapidly they pass; not feeling guilty for snuggling with you in bed during those late night and early morning hours – right up until…well…I haven’t stopped, actually.

And then there’s that timeless process of growing acquainted with a brand new soul: observing you as you observe the world. I have savored everything from your first time seeing bubbles to the development of your unique interactions with each older sibling to learning that you don’t like to sit in grass to finding out that you prefer food with spice over bland food. You explore your surroundings with your fingertips and the tip of your tongue; so much so that your hands’ resting position is pointer fingertip touching thumb fingertip. Your presence has proven to me that no baby is a rote experience- even the seventh one in seven years.

Every time you snuggle your head into Poppa’s shoulder in your special way or shine your brightest smile at me and lift your arms to be picked up or sing and babble while you play with your little basket of toys or I am still able to slip your tiny feet into size 3-6 months shoes, I give God the highest praise for keeping His plan for our family filled with His wise surprises. These past 365 days with you in our family have been lovely.

Our family rescued a hummingbird and we were all in awe of its tiny perfection as I held it in my hand. It’s emerald feathers shimmered and it’s little body pulsated with energy. I felt like I was holding a miracle. When I opened my hands for it to leave, it sat there for a few weighty seconds, just long enough for me to feel touched by heaven, and then it left. Those brief moments linger with me still and have added joy to my existence. I feel that way because hummingbirds are almost ethereal. They are nearly intangible with their smallness and incredible speed; we rarely get to feast our eyes on their details because they’re there and then they’re gone. And so I pondered those miracles that pass unseen through our lives.

A few months ago we found out that our eighth child is coming. Initially, there were waves of less than idyllic emotions. I immediately thought of all the aspects of pregnancy that I strongly dislike; after that the worry set in- how will I juggle the different ages? What about the growing financial demands and a paycheck that is staying the same? Will the other children feel neglected? And finally, what will other people think (or say)?

I tried to ride these waves with thoughts of the incredible love and joy I know will my fill my heart the minute I hold that new person or the fact that no life is an accident and that God has a plan for this one. It wasn’t until our first ultrasound when all those thoughts transferred from my head to heart:

As soon I saw that little individual so contentedly squirming and dancing in its first cradle and saw the strong heartbeat all regrets vanished: the ones about finally having my body back and now letting it go again; the ones about my mood swings finally leveling off only to begin again; the ones about our small house getting smaller or our mobility being restricted by a fatigued mama and a newborn’s schedule. The regrets vanished but I have a lingering personal connection with the ongoing debate about the value of human life inside the womb.

In the midst of the clenched fists and gritted teeth, the posters splattered with ovary and uterine slogans waving in the air, the vitriol and bitterness in the voices shouting at one another, the miracle of the pre-born child has become ordinary. Ask any woman struggling with infertility or any IVF doctor who attempts to initiate life and they will tell you that a human embryo is no small miracle. There is intense focus on the wrongs in our society that become magnified at the thought of another person being added to it, and while valid points are being made, the quick conclusion seems to be: “destroy the baby,” “get rid of the baby,” “reduce the number of babies.” What would happen if we started saying, “The baby stays so we had better come up with some solutions.”

You see, some would say I don’t have a dog in the fight when it comes to being outraged by the overturn of Roe versus Wade. I am not a single mom or a minority; I have a secure home life that enables me to stay at home with my children; I love my family and have no life-threatening effects from pregnancy. I’m “just a mom” from society’s standpoint who has the luxury to want each of my babies before they are born. But the initial panic I felt when I saw those two pink lines and the waves of desperation I felt in the weeks that followed opened a window for me into the emotions behind the testimonies I read of women needing options. Those points might be true to some extent except for one thing: is my unborn baby any more alive than a desperate single minority woman’s baby simply because I have the means to care for it?

The other day I had to call Customer Service about something. The lady and I chatted about summer and Christmas and knitting while she looked into my concern. Our visiting was enough to cause her to have genuine regret that she couldn’t help me. Hearing that in her voice reminded me that there was a human on the other side. It got me to thinking about the tension in our nation right now; there are many complicated layers to the conflict in our land but one of the main ones is about a woman’s choice. It can appear complicated with all the nuances surrounding the pivotal choice she is having to make. But perhaps some of the complications would fade to the background if what was in the forefront of her mind was remembering the human on the other side: that tiny human wriggling and squirming in its first cradle. And maybe we would respond with more compassion to that conflicted new mama if we remembered the human on the other side: a frightened, overwhelmed and desperate mama who thinks she is all alone.

Today you are two years old. I am so immersed in raising you that I assume I’ll remember every aspect of how you are right now. But when I try to recall the little details of your infancy, and oh! how I treasured them, the memories are fuzzy and I’m thankful for every photo and recorded moment. Today I’m taking the time to write down what I never want to forget about how you are right now.

I want to remember:

• Your pigeon-toed run- it looks unsteady but you’re actually quite fast!
• When you are excited, you jump a few inches off the ground with BOTH feet.
• The way your soft hair wisps around your ears. It can’t decide if it’s going to be brown or blonde.
• Your voice. It’s a mixture of squeaky and raspy. It can be ear-piercing but when it’s not, it tugs on my heart strings.
• How you say, “Bye Mom!” when you want to do something by yourself.
• How you add “my” to all your actions and double them: “my down my down” for ‘get down,’ “my tub my tub” for bath time…
• How you say, “nanny boop boop!” When you’re teasing your siblings.
• How you say, “mom,” so short and sweet and also say “Poppa mom” when you don’t care which parent responds to you.
• You are so quick to get cozy on the couch with pillows and blankets and will sneak into your siblings beds early in the morning.
• Whenever you have an apple all to yourself you get great delight in sharing it with everyone.
• Your intense enthusiasm for music and singing of any sort with your favorite being Poppa’s ukulele playing.
• Your diligence in making sure everything is returned to its owner: the correct snuggle toys to the appropriate siblings, Tehillah’s blanket, Poppa and Mama’s phones and drink cups (making us extra careful to put them out of your reach), Poppa’s shoes, Poppa’s instruments.
• Your hulk strength! You can lift the coffee table, throw the Roomba, carry 10-12 pounds items and pull yourself up the side of your crib faster than we can blink. Your strength leaves us dumbfounded at times!
• The softness of your features. They always take me back to the bliss of your birth.
• And my all time favorite: how your laugh consumes your entire body. It starts in your face with your mouth,little chipped tooth showing, opened wide as the laugh bubbles out. Your whole body becomes a Tigger spring that you can’t contain. And you laugh almost as much as you shriek- when you’re excited to see us, when we understand what you’re saying, when you’re playing.

It’s impossible to record all of my heart in one birthday letter. I adore every inch of you so it’s a good thing I have a lifetime of birthday letters to write. I hope you know through my tones and actions how much I love being your mom. I will never stop thanking Jesus for giving you to us (even when my ears are ringing and I’m sweating after wrestling you into your high chair for the umpteenth time).

I cannot stop loving being your,

Mom

I started on Facebook about 20 years ago. A friend introduced me to it and helped me navigate the set up. I was excited because it felt like my entry into the popular world. I was always a little on the wallflower side growing up- clueless to what was trending. I found it fun to be able to connect and share my life with others and get instant feedback. Gradually I branched out from scrolling and posting to playing FarmVille, making and joining groups, using it as a business platform, making purchases, sharing and affirming beliefs and values, and then finally making the jump to Instagram about 5 years ago.

Instagram appealed to me because of its artistic side. It was fun to see what was trending in women’s fashions, home decor and baby products. I discovered small shops I liked and wanted to support. I developed a knack for turning photo posts into mini narratives about our life. I appreciated that Instagram was more informative and less political than Facebook had become.

Recently, however, a new thought crept into my mind: how much of my mind is my own? Unbeknownst to me I have begun to incorporate so much of what I see on social media into how I live; of course, everything aligns with our family values and convictions but it’s still been absorbed by me from social media. And so I pondered further. Is this what is happening to our society? Have we become “click happy” and “scroll addicted”? Can we think for ourselves or generate our own ideas without first viewing it on a screen?

I’ve begun to wonder if the present generation thinks life only happens if it’s been Facebook approved or influencer promoted. Meals are captioned; events are shared; products are modeled; current events are evaluated; parenting is taught; advice is given. And there is nothing inherently wrong with that unless we can no longer live our lives without doing it or worse, no longer think for ourselves. Social media users must be cognizant of the fact that much of what is on social media is propaganda and opinion but it is being embraced as gospel: it’s what everyone is doing…thinking…believing and so it must be right.

I see many productive uses for social media. I don’t plan to remove it from my life entirely. I think I am going to exercise restraint on how much I consume of it and balance my usage of it with reading books, listening to podcasts, and being quiet. My brain needs a chance to think critically, evaluate objectively and create its own perspectives. I want to know that I’m decorating my home according to my own taste and style; parenting according to my own intuition; living according to my personality- not because it’s trending on social media.

We are influenced every day by someone or something. Let’s be more aware of the influencers in our lives. Let’s practice thinking for ourselves and articulating fresh ideas.

In Proverbs 31 we are told that “strength and dignity” should clothe a woman. I wonder what that looks like. Is it marching, clenched fist in the air, while spewing hatred and vulgarity towards those sacred, life-giving parts of our body? is it the denial of what sets us apart as a unique sex or the acceptance of propaganda that says anyone can be us? Is it hating who we are, trampling our femininity and mocking motherhood?

Or is it the embracing of life’s unexpected, unplanned and even impossible situations and making them our own?

Some of my heroes are the pioneer women of Kansas. The hardships they endured could coin the term “Kansas strong.” For some reason, all things about my life that I thought were hard kind of evaporated as I read about them in PIONEER WOMEN: Voices from the Kansas Frontier. This pioneer daughter’s description of them sums it up well:

“[they] gave their youth, health, courage and the very best of their lives…at a cost no one will ever be able to reckon. There were no words of complaint; just a slow but steady advancement in the face of difficulties and obstacles that stagger one who considers them now. Surely not a star in Heaven will be too bright for the crowns of those brave women who, with lonely hearts and the dismal music of coyote calls, often watched the stars from humble homes, ‘out where the West begins.’”

What got the pioneer woman through when most people gave up and went home? A fierce determination to succeed and a sense of ownership. This wasn’t simply her husband’s dream she was living. It had become hers too and every hardship was seen as something that would only make her stronger. Some would say that this is exactly what women are fighting for today: bodily autonomy, ownership of their future, and equal opportunity in every situation. Yet as a woman myself, I don’t feel pride or camaraderie in these causes. In fact, I feel ashamed when I read the slogans and see female reproductive organs on public display. Womanhood has a sacred role in society but in this era it’s up for auction to the highest bidder and the loudest voice.

Sometimes I wonder what the women of history would think of our current events. Women like:

• Esther~confronted with a life she did not choose and yet she saved her people from being massacred
• Mary~a young girl faced with an unexpected pregnancy and yet she loved her Son even at the foot of His Cross.
• Grandma Moses~risked her life and lost so much for the sake of freedom. Even after she made it to safety she went back over and over again to rescue more people.
• Irena Sendler~risked her life and suffered torture and yet she didn’t stop saving hundreds, if not thousands, of Jewish children from certain death.
• Mother Theresa~who left everything comfortable and everyone she loved to minister to the most destitute, most unlovely people imaginable.

And then there are my heroes of today. Women like:

• My mom~who suffered atrocious abuse as a child but shunned being a victim and chose to own her story and live victoriously.
• My sister~ who fought and beat breast cancer. And even though it changed the course of her life in a way she wouldn’t have chosen, she has embraced her story and shares it with life-giving results.
• The ladies I serve with at our pregnancy resource center ~ who have abortions in their past and seek to lovingly show moms in similar situations that there are other options. They have turned their guilt and shame into instruments of life.
• My friends~ who have suffered abuse and are now moms living with joy and ensuring their children are happy and thriving. They are overcomers.
• My mom friends ~ who have large families. Exhaustion and little time alone are routine aspects of the day and yet they keep choosing joy. Their families get their best and one day will rise up and call them “blessed among women.”
• Those close to me~who routinely battle anxiety and depression and yet they refuse to be defined by these cruel afflictions. Every day they seek to live well and offer hope to those around them.

These are women who have been empowered by hardship. That is strength. These are women who have owned their story and share it with confidence and joy. That is dignity.

Listening to rants, seeing the rage, reading the propaganda and feeling the erosion, I often feel like I’m spinning in place trying to hold on long enough to make sense of anything. It’s the second part of that proverb that makes sense: “she laughs at the future.” The woman strong in her identity and dignified even in the throes of trial can look confidently ahead. She doesn’t have to change herself or find love in new places or slaughter new life or mock men to get ahead or be more. She embraces her story, hardship and all, makes it her own and becomes an anchor upon which future generations are built. That is empowered womanhood.

Yesterday evening we had some wonderful people join us for a summer bbq. This social event was crafted with our parents in mind; they routinely indulge our conversation topics or entertain the children. This particular evening was a unique change of pace and I enjoyed listening in on conversations that were filled with more than half of century of memories and life experiences.

These beautiful people swapped narratives of how they met, travels they embarked on, adventures in parenting, and conversations they’ve had with their grandchildren. They have reams of lessons learned to reflect upon and many health trials for which they’re making adjustments; they shared farewell accounts with their own parents and were able to rejoice together about the work God continues to do in making them more like Him. And it all got me to thinking…

One day I was born.

One day I was a child: playing, exploring, dreaming of being a big person.

One day I was a teenager: learning, working, becoming my own person, dreaming of being an adult.

One day I was an adult: working, socializing, dreaming of being a wife and mother.

One day I was a wife and mother: cooking, cleaning, teaching, raising, breathing, dreaming of quiet moments and slower days.

One day the quieter moments and slower days will come, along with the final good byes: as children leave the home, as parents end their journey on earth, as we take our turn in that concluding chapter of the human experience.

As stories of the past swirled around me, I was reminded me that time is sand slipping through our fingers. Children at the beach build every barrier their fingers can construct to trap the ocean on the shore, yet it always gets away. And so it is with life: we try desperately to construct the perfect day so that time will stand still, our loved ones will be with us forever and our favorite memories won’t fade. But then we look up and realize time waited for no one.

I suppose, then, the best way to live is one day at a time.

Recently I was scrolling my newsfeed and was swept up in a post about teaching children openness and tolerance. The main point was that children need to understand that love is love and there is no place for judgement (unless someone is being unkind). It was an interesting discussion and I’ve been pondering it ever since; we are surrounded by trending lifestyle choices and I want our children to be well-adjusted, loving, kind human beings. Where do we go from here?

“Love is love.” “You do you.” These catch phrases sound so…well..catchy! Doesn’t it make us feel warm inside to know that we, as parents, are affirming of our children and encouraging them to be their truest selves? Don’t we want to model for them how to practice acceptance of everyone’s self-expression? Don’t we? What a free society we would have if everyone did this! I pondered these thoughts as I observed my youngsters living life.

They are each so unique in how they experience life: always ready to imagine and play. It’s a favorite pastime of mine to observe them play a cooperative game of their own design; the little ones just as involved as the older ones. Yes, I want them to be themselves, each with their individual perspective on living. But then the squabbling begins. Someone looked at someone else in a way they didn’t like; someone yanked a toy out of another one’s hand; two want to ride on the same bike at the same time; someone bumped someone else and they’re convinced it was on purpose. And then the yelling and biting and hair pulling and screeching and name-calling begins. Hmmm…you do you, huh? Which side of my children is the “you do you” I want them to do?

Obviously we want to cultivate kindness and courtesy within our young ones. This is often defined as loving our neighbors as ourselves and putting the interests of others before our own. Unless one of us is a second Mary, there isn’t a single child who desires to be selfless around the clock; in a nutshell, our society is telling parents to say “you do you until it makes someone else unhappy.” If we know anything about children, it is that they revolt against mixed messages and thrive with consistency. Which brings me to the second mantra of our time: love is love.

For this discussion I propose that an aspect of love is establishing and maintaining boundaries; definitions in their very nature are boundaries. Let’s take a moment to define love. Is it romance? Making someone happy? All the warm fuzzies? Not giving offense or stepping on toes? Or is it being willing to say no, to speak truth, to take risks? I think we would all agree that love would be preventing a child from running into oncoming traffic or grabbing someone from falling to certain death. We wouldn’t hesitate to stand between our child and a bully or track down a child predator stalking our young ones. Does the same loving vigilance step up to the plate when it’s parents versus trending ideologies?

Wokeness. Cancel culture. Gender. Disney agendas. These topics are dominating headlines and are targeting families everywhere. They are so extreme that it almost feels bizarre to legitimately discuss them. And yet we must. For love’s sake we must identify the boundaries they are determined to remove. Boundaries provide direction and protection. When there is a wild fire, burn lines are made to keep the fire from devouring everything in sight; sand bags can prevent rivers from overflowing their banks during a storm; fences distinguish one person’s property line from another. Proverbs 22:28 declares, “Do not move the ancient boundary which your fathers have set,” yet in our land boundaries of old are being removed: definitions of marriage, biological sex, and personhood are being erased and rewritten.

Boundaries are only relevant if they hold firm against assault; they are pointless if they disintegrate under the slightest pressure. If ever the ancient boundary stone is being attacked, it is now. Will our love for our children be strong enough to repair, rebuild and restore what has previously stood the test of time and yet now is crumbling? In his eloquently probing book Gentle and Lowly, Dane Ortlund asks, “What’s the meaning of everything? What’s the aim…for our small, ordinary lives?” He goes on to describe the fulfillment that comes from living to glorify God and observes “[h]ow exhausting is the misery of self. How energizing are the joys of living for another.” Perhaps the best way to affirm and advise our young ones is to point them to their higher purpose: to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. May they live Christ and love with His heart forever.