decade

maddie (3 yrs.) and me in 1999.

you feed 'em, water 'em, and after ten years, this is what happens.

"were the whole realm of nature mine"

we were singing the song "the wondrous cross" on Easter Sunday morning, and when we got to the fourth verse, shockingly, i felt like i heard and understood the lyrics for the very first time.

were the whole realm of nature mine

that were an off'ring far too small

love so amazing, so divine

demands my soul, my life, my all.

how did i get to be almost 46 years old--having been raised in the church and having sung that song hundreds of times--and not realize what those lyrics are saying?  it has always been one of my favorite hymns, too.  i think it's that when we get to that verse, i am always so excited to sing the climactic last two lines, my mind is gearing up to make that grand, passionate proclamation, and so it just skips over the first two lines.

well, today was different.  today, i believe that on His day of glory, Jesus wanted me to finally get it.

"were the whole realm of nature mine."  that means if i owned every single part of God's creation--every type of flower, every color, petal shape, smell, root system; every kind of living thing, every single fish, every color, species, shape and size; every animal that flies, crawls, swims, slithers, scampers, prowls; every climate, habitat, ecosystem, weather pattern, mountain, desert, ocean, river, planet, star--if i owned all of this, it would be "an offering far too small" to present to God because His love is that big.  His "love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul my life my all."  All of this wouldn't be enough. Because of the greatness of His love, nothings short of my all is enough to offer Him.

the meaning of these lyrics is probably nothing new to everyone who knows this song, but for me, it was a new discovery this Easter.  and it was a great one.  one that enriched the whole day for me, the day when our joy and gratitude as believers explodes, as Christ burst forth, triumphant, from the grave!

some scenes from our day:

the egg hunt

nephews ethan and davis, kathleen, mom

my dad and sister, lori 

three generations of martins

erica, alan, mom

erica and tess, fighting for an egg

fresh eyes

had one of those days today where i did lots of random little jobs around the house.  i tried to look at the house with fresh eyes, so i could see all the clutter that had gotten so familiar i was no longer annoyed by it.

i cleaned out my entire panty.  i tossed three garbage bags full of junk from my pantry.   medication that had expired in may of 2003, easter candy from last year, still in the grocery bag, jars of homemade jam that had foam floating on the top of them--you get the picture.

then i moved to the balcony outside our dining room.  it is a lovely little spot, really--potentially, that is. but right now it is just plain ugly.  i walked out, looked around, and saw three dish towels in a pile leaning against the wall.  they were faded from months or maybe years of lying in the sun, stiff, moldy from the rain and covered with leaves.  i have no idea why they were there, or how long they had been there, or why it has taken me so long to care.

i tossed the ruined dish towels, swept the balcony and hosed it down good.  and i am beginning to envision the balcony with a potted plant or two (which is a dangerous idea to contemplate for a plant-killer like me) a little wrought iron reading chair and table, perhaps?

it felt so good to throw stuff out today.  to clean up, to do something besides the daily grind kind of chores that i do everyday.

the truth is, i need to have fresh eyes about my life too.  there is so much in me that i have let sit for too long.  things i have gotten so used to seeing in the pantries and balconies of my soul that i no longer hear the Holy Spirit's voice nudging me to take out the trash.  i am asking God to give me fresh eyes (His eyes).  and, honestly, i am afraid.

 i have read two very convicting books lately, "safely home" by randy alcorn, and "crazy love" by francis chan, and our pastor has been preaching the same themes.  all of it is laying me bare.  everything around me right now is calling me to a radical life of surrender, one the Holy Spirit has been nudging me to live for awhile now.

why is there so much fear?  am i afraid i won't be able to do it?  the truth is:  i CAN'T do it.  that's the point.  sometimes i get paralyzed because i have a really clear picture of what my life should be, and when it doesn't measure up, i get discouraged and resigned to a life of, of, what--mediocrity, false security and comfort, isolation, lack of real, deep and lasting joy?  how foolish i sometimes am. 

 i don't want that to happen anymore. 

and so i pray, God, for fresh eyes, and for Your compassionate love and grace toward me to motivate me  (and not my hard, stubborn bent towards living on my own strength) and move me toward You, humbly, every day.

tuesday morning beauty

i spent some time with my friend leticia's little girls this morning.  sarah and alina are ages 4 and 7 respectively.  they are both spunky, beautiful and smart as little whips.

the morning consisted of breakfast at mimi's, a ballet lesson, a piano lesson, and a trip to my house to visit meg and take her to what the girls call the "meadow"--the baseball field below our property.

i was amazed at how much energy they have, how many questions they ask, how important the slightest little details are--like who gets to hold the key to the padlock to the gate that leads to the "meadow."  and not only who gets to hold it, but who gets to turn it, and then, who gets to hang it back on the peg by the back door when we're through.  i forget how important those things are to little kids.  and i got to remember that everything is that important because everything is fun to kids.  everything is new.  everything is a wonder.  my kids were the same way.  i had just forgotten until today.

it was a stellar day.  a couple of notable moments stand out in my mind:

after the ballet lesson, we walked out into the bright sunshine.  alina studied my face for a few seconds and announced, "you know that skin around your eyes?  yours has lots of wrinkles."  what can i say?  i love that her honesty hasn't been corrupted by all the "rules" yet.

then, when we were playing with meg in the "meadow," meg pooped on the grass, walked a few yards away and did her little kicking-the-grass-behind-her, alternating-her-back-legs thing. (there's got to be a word for this adorable behavior.  if anybody knows, let me know.)

sarah immediately asked, "what is she doing?"  

 "well, it's a little ritual she does after she goes to the bathroom." i answered, scrambling, trying to find more words to help explain it.

 when little sarah said, "like flushing the toilet?"

they nail it, these kids.  with truth and honesty and humor.  and they don't even know it.  what is more beautiful than that?

21

erica turned 21 today. twenty-one. 

how can this be?

at breakfast, alan retold her birth story in vivid detail, complete with information about my cervix dilation, pushing, and the banana shape of her head when she finally made it out. i love hearing childbirth stories.  (we women live for those stories.  they are our war stories.  us, facing the enemy of our fear and our pain, enduring an overwhelming physical and emotional battle in what feels like near death, and coming out victorious, holding, finally, the reward of a tiny human being--that beautiful, miraculous red badge of courage and love.)

  on our way to dinner that evening--erica chose to have dinner at p.f. chang's--alan said, rather matter-of-factly,  that we now needed to change our will and give erica legal guardianship of her sisters, in the event of our tragic and untimely death.

   the girls all looked at each other with wide--almost hopeful--eyes, and i could see all the possibilities swirling around in their active little minds, thinking about what kinds of rules they would hopefully not have to put with in a big-sister-run household.

but then, a horrible thought struck tessa, and she yelled out, "what if erica turned out to be like the wicked step-mother and made us sweep the chimney and mend the clothes and mop the floors all day."  and then the three older ones decided that any one of them would be capable of being the guardian, and that they should have tryouts. (cooking, cleaning, etc.)  

was i ever feeling valuable.

the evening was wonderful.  we played the "2 truths and a lie" game at dinner, (alan made up his own rules and told three truths, which threw us all off) ate delicious chinese food, had an ice-cream cake back at home and watched erica open some presents.

erica plans to get an apartment this summer in santa barbara with some friends from school.  this feels much more adult than her moving into the dorms did when she was 18.  this feels permanent.   she says she wants to see if she can support herself.  i love that she wants to find that out.  i'm kind of curious too.  we will all miss her so much this summer.  her laughter, hugs, her sweet, compassionate ways.

but as i am learning more and more these days, these are the years when we mothers sit back a little and watch and see the fruit of all those years that now seem like such a blur.  when we see if what we have worked so hard to plant has taken root by God's grace.  when we say less and pray more.

it happens faster than you can ever imagine.  and in spite of those nagging pangs in my soul, it is as it should be, so it is good.

i guess.

meg and me

walked into the house one morning after doing the morning school run, and this is what i found.   

 unfortunately, i knew what had happened--it had happened many times before.  i walked through the mess, peeked over the couch, and this is what i saw.

no, she's not dead.  she's not even asleep.  she's doing that guilty thing.  unrepentant, yet resigned.  ready to take whatever punishment i mete out. 

do you see the hot pink smudged on the top of her head, glopped by her eye, smeared into her ear?  do you know what that is?  it's that gooey-sweet frosting, drenched in food coloring, from the top of a costco cupcake that maddie got from a friend's birthday party.  it had sat out all night on the counter and gotten tossed in the trash that morning.  and what didn't make it into meg's stomach, or onto her body, had gotten rubbed into the carpet everywhere i could see.

oh was i mad.  i was not happy about having to spend a half hour scrubbing the hot pink frosting out of the carpet.  i thought all kinds of things about her.  unkind things.  unloving things.  true things.

then, this was meg last night.

she had surgery yesterday.  she had some masses and growths removed, one really big one on her side, and some smaller ones on the top of her head and face.

  today there is no pink frosting on her head.  just cute, sad little patches of baldness and stitches.  she is laying in the exact same spot she was the other day when she had just been such a bad girl.  but those feelings of hatred are gone today.  today she is pure sweetness.  today she is the best dog in the world.  

what is it about animals, and people too, especially children, that when they are sick or injured or recovering from surgery engender such affection?  i can't stop looking at meg's pathetic patches of shaved fur.  i probably spent two hours today just rubbing the places where the hairline stops and the shaved places begin.  the hair is already beginning to grow back, and the skin is so soft.  knowing what she went through under the knife (they had to cut through her muscle to get to one of the masses) makes her seem so vulnerable and sweet.  

it doesn't help that last week alan and i saw "marley and me" at the dollar theatre.  i bawled through the last 20 minutes, solid.  and it doesn't help that, like marley, meg is getting old. and it won't be much longer until she's gone.  then maybe i'll wish for trash to pick up, and for pink frosting to scrub from the floor.

a birthday for lauren, a strange day for me

today is lauren's 19th birthday.  and it has been such a strange day.  a strange week.

if she had been home, we would have woken her up by singing "happy birthday" while she was still in bed.  and we would have had "birthday cereal" for breakfast (i was one of those moms who never bought the fun, sugary kinds of cereal for their kids, but on their birthday, i let them choose whatever cereal they wanted. Captain Crunch or Fruit Loops would usually win out.)

but she was in her bunk bed in the dormitory in santa barbara this morning when we all got up.  and the cereal i bought her monday (she is coming home this weekend) was opened by impatient family members monday night and is already halfway gone.  "we'll just get her a new box!" they assure me. 

i  got a call back from lornie a few evenings ago.  this is what she said:

"mom, i have the funniest story to tell you.  but you're not going to think it's funny, because you're a mom." 

  what am i supposed to do with that?  what can i do but just wait for the story to follow without letting my imagination run wild?  and so she proceeds to tell me, 

"shea (her roommate) and i were play-fighting in the hallway, and i got shea in a headlock, and then she tried to drop kick me, and we both fell down and hit our heads really hard on the floor.  we just laid there for awhile because it hurt so bad, and then my RA made me go to the health center to get checked out, and after asking me a lot of questions and making me do all these tests, they told me i have a minor concussion.  isn't that hilarious?"

goodness!  i'm glad that at least she knows that because i'm a mom i wouldn't think it was funny. i spent the next hour researching concussions on the internet, wondering if i should drive up and spend the night with her, waking her up every two hours all night long.  i felt sick as i read about brains being bruised as they bang against skulls.  it wasn't until a few hours later that we found out that the "fight" had happened the day before, and she had already survived her first night.  she hadn't thought to let us know the day it happened.  it only dawned on her to tell us after it was over and she had put it in the "funny stories" category in her mind.

anyways, we called/texted her several times today, on her birthday.  (though 19, though away at college, though thoroughly independent in her mind, she is our daughter, after all.)

she is having a great day.  last night, her friends threw her a party at midnight--the official start of her actual birth day.  she had sushi with her roommates tonight, and tomorrow night, she and her roommate, whose birthday is also this weekend, have planned a photo scavenger hunt party for themselves, and have invited 50 people.

so it's her birthday.  she told me today that she only has a very slight headache.  "nothing a little advil can't handle," she says.  she is out celebrating right now, somewhere.  and as i sit here on the couch in my mismatched pajamas, tessa sits across from me eating a bowl of captain crunch.

and i am okay,  i guess.  i guess. i will hug her real hard and kiss her bruised head.  

when she comes home.