Very Big Day!

This only happens one day in your whole life!!
Kathryn lost her 1st tooth !



















Bonus view of the tonsils, too!

My Story, Her Story, His Story

April 24, 2008

At the recent conference I attended last weekend in Orlando, I took away many tidbits of truth and encouragement. One such nugget advised, “Learn to weave your message through the grid of your story.” Later I asked the speaker who offered these words how she grew in learning such an art. Unfortunately at the height of jet lag, I’ve now forgotten everything she shared!

I find it seems easy to offer one or the other—relating stories, or teaching truth. They each have their place, yet seem most powerful when woven together. Stories alone can be mere entertainment; Yet truth devoid of human experience is austere and will not often budge the heart. Yet, to tell your own story woven together by intersection with His Story… Well, that’s something that takes a lifetime to master. Here is a piece of my story—her story—His story.

April 24, 2002… The birthday of our first daughter, Hannah Kathryn Wallace.
I, her mommy, write this reflection in honor of her life.

No tears—this is what struck me when they handed me my precious first child. It felt only mildly concerning at first, but not fearful. For a brief moment, I gently stroked her pale face. It was mere seconds before they wisked her away from me. I didn’t know that was the last time I would get to hold her.

Many tears—this is what was obvious from my stained puffy eyes as I glanced into the mirror. A few hours after Hannah’s birth, I returned to my hospital room after visiting her in the NICU. What I saw staring back from my reflection took my breath away. It was not my face, but hers.

No tears—this had been a virtue in my life. Friends would have commonly described me as steady, unruffled, and flint-faced. I never told myself I wasn’t supposed to cry. Yet, some deeply-engrained sense of right told me it was simply better not to.

Many tears—this is the dam that burst forth in the weeks and months following her birth and death. A face-swelling, sorrowful, struggling, hopeful, hopeless, begging, bitter, angry, agitating, blessed well of tears. Nowadays, the well is not always freely flowing, but its mouth remains open.

No tears—this is what I often hear myself speaking to my tender-hearted Kathryn. Her excess sensitivity can sometimes drive me crazy. “Toughen up!” I want to tell her—“So you have a scratch on your knee? Get over it!” The four year old version of emotion sometimes feels messy, dramatic and annoying. Her well always seems to be flowing, and it gushes all over me.

Many tears—this is what we read of Jesus’s response in the face of Lazarus’s death. He didn’t just cry, He wept. Here are other times we find this word in the New Testament:
-Jesus’ fervent petitions to His Father to save Him from death.
-The father who begged Jesus to heal his demon-possessed son.
-The woman who wept as she washed Jesus’ feet with her tears.
-Paul’s passionate plea to the Ephesian church as he bids them a final farewell.
-Timothy’s longing to see his brother and mentor, Paul.

Here it is: In-your-face human emotion. God-approved, God-ordained, God-experienced-with-us emotion.

No tears—this is our future destiny. Well, none of the sorrowful kind, at least. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” I recently considered afresh this oft-quoted phrase. It is perhaps the most intimate picture in all the Scriptures—the one where He touches my face.

Today—this age—is a day of tears…beautiful, gut-wrenching, overflowing. When I try to squelch the flow of sorrow and tears, so ceases the capacity for joy and longing. Longing for a restored, renewed creation. Longing that reminds me I’m not yet Home—a Home where my daughter already resides. Longing for the Person who touches my face.

I've Been Saving This...

Also, in light of our daughter's birthday, I wanted to share this poem written by Abraham Piper. He and his wife Molly had a stillborn baby girl 6 months ago. It's beautiful.

Empty hangers, empty closet, empty clothes.
Empty crib, empty bath.
Empty bottles, empty breasts.
Empty lungs, empty blood, empty heart.
Empty grave.

I also want to share one of my favorite blogs. It is written by a mother who lost her 18 mo. old son in a drowning accident, not incidentally, one year ago today. I find she gives voice to my own thoughts and wrestlings. www.xanga.com/knoxmemories. Again, beautiful.

Nick's Story

How about this bit of inspiration to start your day?

Sabbath Rest

This morning I was caught in the euphoria of a great book. I already mentioned it-- Christ Plays in 10,000 Places. Eugene Peterson has really done an excellent job here painting broad-stroking theological pictures of Christ as He relates to "real human stuff" like banana peels, laundry detergent, and "mommy, I couldn't wait for the potty!" In this section he unpacks the meaning of the Sabbath in the context of the completion of God's work week as well as ours. I had four more pages to finish the section when I got a phone call.

"Do you have such and such a book?"
"Yes, I have it."
"Could I come get it from you now?"
"Sure"
Looking for book...not finding book...call friend back...friend already left...where could book be?...Oh, I gave it to that other friend...call that friend...woke up that friend...friend is annoyed...Can you put the book outside your door...Sure but I don't want to...

Translation: Sabbath over.

How quickly we get pulled out of a Sabbath moment! And how much easier it is to read a chapter from a good book than cultivate heart rest. The kind of rest that reminds us the delight of being made in the image of God for His worship and delight.

Sabbath

The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend:
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
You will, not ours. And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it.

by Wendell Berry

I've got some work to do...

After a particularly dreamy week imagining some of the ways God may want to develop and use my love for writing, Kathryn brought me back into reality today.

It was a particularly rocky morning with the girls and Jim sat them down with clear directives before he left for work... A "You better obey mommy or else" kind of speech. Kathryn bid him farewell by the elevator door. Just before he disappeared, Kathryn cupped her hands in front of her mouth as if to share a special secret, though not beyond earshot. "Daddy, mommy is not very good at discipline." He gave me a knowing glance as the doors closed behind him. Kathryn came back inside as I began to probe further. "What do you mean, Kathryn?" "Well, mommy, sometimes you say you are going to discipline us, but you don't."

The way I see it, there are four possible interpretations here.

1. On the heels of my parents trip, she is mourning the showering of grandma and grandpa attention. In other words, it's my mom's fault.

2. Having just returned from a trip myself, she means that daddy gave them far more treats and goodies than mommy every does, i.e., it's Jim's fault.

3. She is quoting what her little friend has said before about her mother--(I have in fact heard her friend say this)-- Thus it is her mother's fault.

4. It's the painful truth.

Ouch.

It goes without saying that Kathryn and Ellie did not get away with anything today. But how quickly my attentions are diverted! Sometimes it takes a wake up call from my own precocious 4 year old.

Here's my struggle--I don't know about you, but I just don't have a very black and white personality. I probably linger too long thinking about all the factors that may contribute to my children's behavior. It just seems to me like factors such as "missed her nap" and "mommy's been gone for 5 days" ought to be considered when it comes to discipline. But on the other hand, when my 4 year old tells me I stink at it, it seems I might need to grow--you think?? Any veteran parents want to comment here?

On Coming Home

On my recent flight from Beijing to San Fransisco, I was sitting in an aisle seat next to a Chinese man filling out his customs forms. The directive at the top of the form stated, “To be filled out by everyone except US citizens.” I breathed a sigh of relief and was flooded by an immediate flashback of memories.

It was the summer of 1998, the end of my 2^nd year overseas. I was returning to the US one sweltering day in July. We deboarded the plane and headed for the customs lines. After 20 hours of travel with a faulty air-conditioner on board, lines were long and patience was short. I finally reached the front and handed my passport to the officer. He glanced at my VISA, looked back up at me, and with a broad smile belted out, “Welcome Home!” Right there in front of the customs officer, I lost it.

What was the cause of this unwarranted emotional display? It’s not that I was overtaken with delight to finally be back in the land of the red white and blue. In fact, living in another culture tends to send me at different times in both directions—One minute grateful for my heritage and longing for an American sense of ‘rightness’, and the next minute embarrassed to identify myself with my ‘motherland’, blasted for unsundry improprieties on the front news page. Yet at that moment, albeit to the weary and emotional traveler, I bonded with this unsuspecting immigration guy. Why? Simply because he spoke to my weary soul—“Here is a place you BELONG!”

After the fleeting moment passed with strange glances from the man, I reflected on those tears. And I reflected on a different kind of homecoming. This time, offered not in the land of my birth, but in the land I have been longing for all my life. This time, words offered not from a stranger, but an intimate Holy Father.

Can you picture the scene? I can, but just barely. Many days the extent of my vision goes no further than desiring a pretty bouquet on my kitchen table to make my house feel a bit more cheery. But this is not my home. Nor it is yours. Friend, let us continue telling each other the welcome story of another Home, till we hear it that day from our Father’s own lips.

Conference update

Thanks for praying for this conference I was able to attend this weekend. It was amazing. It was unlike any other women's conference I've ever been to. I was encouraged, challenged, resourced, empowered, delighted, and overwhelmed with God's outpouring of goodness to me through this time. As far as practical outcomes, I feel led to begin pursuing some more specific writing projects...which may affect the future of the postings on this blog. You may begin to see some more purposefully aimed articles, but of course sprinkled with crazy-life-in-China stories and good pictures of the girls too! :)

Please pray...

We have had a LOT of fun with Nana and Pags and I have tons of pictures to add, but they will have to wait a bit... namely because I'm leaving tomorrow (on the same plane as my parents) for a conference in Orlando. I'm very excited about this opportunity-- haven't done anything like this since we've had little ones!

Please pray for Jim & the girls while I am away-- Kathryn is particularly sad about Nana & Pags & mommy leaving on the same day!! Jim will do FINE, but mommy is worried about them! :)

Please pray I won't get lost on the highways of Orlando-- I have a terrible sense of direction!

Pray that I will be refreshed by great input from many gifted women!

OK, just one picture to tide you over till next week :)

Spring!

Frazzled Adventures

If you come to Beijing, there are simply a few places that you simply must see. That's right--I'm talking about all those locations mentioned in "Ms. Frizzle's Adventures in China." For months when I read this book, the girls say "Mommy, when are you going to take us to the Emperor's Palace??" Monday was the day. If you should yourself make the trek, I have these bits of advise for you:

1. Do not take a double stroller.
2. Do not take the subway.
3. Do not take a 3 and 4 year old in a double stroller on the subway.

I'll try to spare you the details, but due to the subway adventure, we took the world's-fastest-tour-through-the-Forbidden-City- on-record. I asked my mom as we sped past, "Well, since you're not getting to see the buildings, do you at least feel like you are standing in one of the most famous places in the world?"

When we got home that night, Jim asked the girls what was their favorite part. Kathryn said, "We saw the princess treasures!" At first I had no idea what she was talking about. And then I remembered that in our rush, Kathryn stopped for an awe-struck moment in the front window of a tourist-trap jewelry store. All original pieces worn by the empress herself! Princess treasures indeed!

Emperor's Palace-- check! Ah, the joy of vacation memories :)

Stay tuned for more Ms. Frizzle's stops soon!