His works in progress

Sep 10, 2013. Do not try to understand this now.

Isn't that an odd quote to read in a higher-level math textbook? As I was helping our rising 10th grade son finish up his algebra 2 this summer, we were wrestling with a couple of different concepts that weren't intuitively making sense to either of us. We had consulted an expert, re-read the related lessons, and studied the solutions manual. There were simply too many steps we didn't "get." And that's when I saw it. Reading back through the lesson's explanation yet another time. Just a small little paragraph. And it went something like this:

'Just do these problems this way. Do not try to understand why right now. It will not make sense. Trust that this is the way it should be done.'

I about fell out of my pool chair. I grabbed Charlie's arm and read it to him. I said "ahhh! Do you see how math is a reflection of the character of God? I can't get over this! My mind is quite literally blown."

Charlie gave me one of his "it's ok mom" looks and went back to the beckoning waters of our friends' backyard pool.

But I will never see math, or life, the same again. I remember learning years ago that God is reflected in all the academic subjects (well at least the core subjects- math, language, the sciences... I'm not sure He's depicted in the whole range of underwater-basket-weaving sorts of bogus courses a lot of schools and universities try to pass off as genuine academics these days. But I digress...)

And it's true. In math we see how God is unchanging. We learn formulas to solve for values and variables that will always, always, always give the correct answer. The truth, if you will. Math, like God, is orderly. It is organized. It is logical. It is comprised of truths both literal and other-worldly. In math there are clear prescriptions for problem solving. Follow these steps and you will get the answer you seek...God gives us similar ways of living in His word and in our walking with Him. E will always and forever equal mc squared and trusting The Lord with all our hearts will always and forever equal Him directing our paths.

But then what to do with the problems of life - and in math - that are not easily solved or understood? A friend just lost her husband suddenly to a heart attack. Kids in college and still at home.

What do we do with something like this? It is not easily solved. It makes no sense. And we ask why? How can we deal with it?

And there in an algebra textbook is the explanation within explanation. "Do not try to understand this now. It will not make sense to you right now. Just trust that this is the way it goes..."

Just trust Me.

Isn't this how it is with our walk with God on this side of Perfection? We don't understand. We try and try to "get" it. To "get" Him. And we get a little closer and sometimes we have glimpses of His omnipotent omniscient omnipresent awesomeness, but let's be honest. There are more times than not when we see or experience sufferings big and small and our response, naturally, is to wrestle, to struggle, to strive for some sort of explanation or way to make sense of it all.

And, really, the bottom line is that we must simply and wholeheartedly, with all that we are, trust Him.

There's the very clear promise that at some future point we will understand. For algebra, understanding will come simply in later lessons or textbooks as our minds are able to process more sophisticated formulas and such. In life, though, in loss, when and how will we ever understand?

After we lost our Bob-o, I heard people say things like "I don't understand this but I guess someday it won't matter. We won't need to understand when we see God, etc" but with all respect I say that is poppycock. I know that one glorious day when I see the face of my Lord it will all be understood. All of it. He will wipe away every tear so we can see clearly. He tells us that then we will fully know and be fully known. We will know why He saw fit to let a genetically perfect fat little baby boy's umbilical cord wrap around his leg 5 times and stop his heart beating as those of us on the outside waited ever so anxiously to welcome him. We will know why families lose their beloved fathers in the blink of an eye. We will know the Why behind all of the terrible tragedies that we so rightly label "senseless."

We will know.

And we will be fully and wonderfully known.

I cling to that promise with all that I am.

Eternity with skin on. Aug 7, 2013

This little dumpling turns 9 months old tomorrow. Yes. Time flies. Yes. They do grow way too fast. We actually are treasuring every moment.

And my heart is filled, in the midst of the chaos and noise and busy, bustling daily life, with the enormity of my blessings...with sincere appreciation for my beautiful life...my fantastic husband, teenagers and pre-teens who I truly love to hang with...this gorgeously chubby sometimes fussy wonderfully alive little baby boy. They are eternity with skin on. It's crowded in there, in my heart. And yet there's still loads of room for our precious Robert. Eternity that's shed its skin for a time. He doesn't squeeze everybody else out exactly. It's just that some days he takes up more space (and thereby my mood. Or ability to concentrate. Or desire to care as much about house work or what's for lunch) than others. Today is one of those days.

Daddy grabbed a menu at a restaurant we saw named, of all things, Bob-o's, and I was so glad to have it. All in all, though, I'd rather have him.

I think I will always have an identity crisis on this side of heaven. On paper, in person, on earth, we are a family of 8. But where it really counts, we are a family of 9, counting Robert Bowling. Which I always do. 11, counting the two miscarried children from 1996 and 1998 (which I always do in my heart if not always at first introductions). Sometimes I can almost taste it.

Jun 13, 2013. A sight for sore eyes

A friend gave me these fun stickers from etsy when I was pregnant with Bob-o. In my purge of all things layette, these I kept. I wasn't sure why at the time. Maybe somewhere deep inside I could envision the unspeakable gift of another little one who we'd get to photograph each month. I know his Daddy did. He definitely had Jasper-vision long before I could see it. And now here's the handsomest little heart healer at a deliciously round and squeezy 7 months. Does it get any yummier, I ask you??

Apr 2, 2013. Saving hangers

Every once in awhile, I come across an outward sign or example of the struggles and pain within. After Bob-o died, I had to get rid of all the things I gathered for him; the clothes, gear, blankets, wipes and diapers. They were just too painful to look at all over the house. Every single room had something. Some sign that we thought he was going to be living and growing up there. The car was ready for him. Certainly our hearts were ready.

It upset my middle daughter a lot that the stuff was going out the door. I assured her that, should God bless us with a baby we got to keep, we would fill our nest with all new (or new to us) things for that little one. But these things were Bob-o's and I had to differentiate. I even got rid of all my maternity things, knowing we'd probably try one more time. Different person. Different outfits all around.

These things were not reminders of the time we got to spend with our departed loved one because we didn't get to spend any time living alongside him wearing the clothes or riding in the stroller or playing with the toys. If they had been, I absolutely would have held on to some or all as treasured keepsakes. No, these things were reminders of all the time we never got to have. And my bed was empty enough every morning so I didn't need anymore slaps in the face from lovingly acquired items in a layette. I was glad others could use it: crisis pregnancy center, prolific friends, my wallet from things I could return outright...but all I knew was that it had to get out of my house and fast. A few days after the funeral actually.

Well, we have been blessed with another beautiful boy that God has let us keep and he does have his own stuff and we are crazy in love with him. Of course we worry at times about losing him too. The dry air of winter made his little nose bleed the other day and I was sure he had leukemia. My hubby doesn't want him to sleep anytime, anywhere without someone responsible actually watching him breathe. So, you know, we trust God but will keep a close eye, thank you very much...

And sometimes I come across other little indicators of our wavering faith. I found a pile of little baby outfit hangers that I put aside from Jasper baby clothes that I saved. In case I needed to take them all back. I had purposefully thrown out all the hangers and tags from Bob-o's clothes in defiance of the little nagging voice I heard throughout his gestation that taunted "you know you're not going to need those..."

So when I started to feel like buying Jabs some things when I was pregnant, I just stuck aside a few hangers (and kept the tags on). Just in case.

And here they are. On the front porch. Where we put all our trash on the way to the cans outside. They're gone for good. And he's here to stay.

Joys and sorrows

Yikes. I miss my little boy so very much. They say grief comes in waves and often when you least expect it. They're not kidding. Years ago we were on a family trip to the beach. My hubby was out in the surf and I was on the shore with kiddos. He turned to us and waved. In that instance a massive wave appeared behind him of which he was blissfully unaware. I tried to signal him to turn around and brace for it to no avail. BAM! He was quite literally wiped out. Gone were his expensive prescription sunglasses. Gone was his breath for an interval. Heck, he was altogether gone for a moment churned about under the surf, unable to right himself right away, left essentially to just let go and ride it out. Soon enough he popped up and spluttered but was otherwise fine. To carry on. He made it back to solid ground and rested for awhile. Life went on. See the analogy? My ache hits out of the clear blue. Fixing breakfast. Making the bed. Doing school. In the middle of a snuggle fest with my Jasper, the most amazing gift. It knocks me down. And out. It takes my breath away. It renders me pretty weak. Disconnects me from the swirling, twirling world around me for a time. In that space I can struggle, wrestle with it to try and send the pain away. But like my man in the tossing waves, it's best to just let go and ride it out. Soon enough I'm back on solid ground. Panting a bit perhaps. Tossed and spit out. And life goes on.

Why I choose to spend my days with a bunch of lying, cheating thieves

It's been one of those Adventures in Home Schooling this week...one kid admits to cheating off the answer key for their last three math lessons. Another plagiarizes word for word from a website for their science paper. Another literally writes in his literature essay "filler filler filler filler" for several lines. This same saint stole his little sister's valentines day candy and brazenly left the wrappers in plain sight.

What's a mom to do? I truly do feel for them as they struggle to not only do the right things but also to want to do them. I'm far from perfect myself. So I show some grace. But there's no denying it's disappointing and downright discouraging. How many times I have asked myself why am I doing this if they don't appear to be turning out any differently than any kid picked at random from unnamed public school down the street? Why indeed. I'm not committed to home schooling to raise perfect little Pharisees. Law followers. Nope. I'm in this for the journey of them falling in love with Jesus all on their own and that's not a broad comfy path to walk along. It's narrow. It's uncomfortably tight at times. And it's where they meet and fellowship with their risen savior. I guess another way to look at it is that perfect kids don't need a mom and dad to guide them. The imperfect ones do. Jesus didn't come to heal the well but the sick. If he thought it important enough to eat with tax collectors and sinners, I guess I can have a turkey sandwich with my cheating, lying thieves. My fellow sinners. Pull up a chair and let's remember together what He's saved us from. And press on toward the prize...

Here I raise my ebenezer

Here by thy great help I come
And I hope by thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home...

Oh that day when freed from sinning
I shall see thy lovely face
Full arrayed in blood-washed linen
How I'll sing thy sovereign grace
Come my Lord, no longer tarry
Bring thy promises to pass
For I know thy power will keep me
Til I'm home with you at last

How Legos made me cry

Our almost 15 year old son casually mentioned to me this morning that since he will soon be leaving 14 behind, today would be his last Lego mini build at the mall.

I'm sorry. What?

Yeah, he says, people already look at me funny but 15 is officially the cut off.

Well, I say, you should definitely go then. It's monumental!

So he's there now and I'm crying my eyes out on the phone with his dad who's also a bit misty as we try to remember where the time has gone.

And here again is one of those bittersweet moments in parenting. You're so excited at all of the wondrous things ahead for them but your heart breaks a little each time they leave something behind.

Eidel Weiss lullabies at bedtime...faded slowly away. Run and jump into daddy's business suited self every morning...they all got too darn big for him to hoist. Sleepy heads lolling on car trips now sit upright with iPod earphones plugged in... They pick out their own outfits. They scramble their own eggs. Signs every day that they need us less and less.

But they're still here under our wings a little longer and they really do like the way we make eggs for them better and we will treasure every instance of the Sacred Ordinary.

And number 1 son still spends hours under our roof immersed in his Lego creating, coming in excitedly to show us his latest opus. And we look at each other knowingly as he heads back to it that we were just let in on another precious moment. That for just a wee bit longer he's still a boy. Our boy. And we whisper thanksgivings to our own Daddy.

Oh, and of course he's already planning on escorting Jasper to all his first Tuesday Lego outings. So, you know, he's got that going for him.

It's official

I'm old. Gray hairs popping out all over my head. Wrinkles. Buying skin care products for "mature" skin. I thought it was official the other day when my dear hubby and I engaged in a lengthy conversation about dental hygiene involving extra soft toothbrushes and enamel preservation.

But no. Apparently I needed to also learn this week that I need bifocals. That's right. Elderly librarian eyewear. Bifocals. To soften the blow, I selected the chicest pair of Calvin Klein frames in the shop. I'll let you know how intellectual, wise and experienced I look...

And me nursing a newborn. Maybe I should nickname him Isaac...

You might be a nervous parent...

Mr Jasper got a wicked diaper rash a few weeks ago because he slept 4 hours straight a couple of nights in a row. It was bad, bleeding and such. I cried. I googled diaper rash on my phone for the hours I held and nursed him. I can tell you ANYTHING you want to know about diaper rash and the many treatments. I bought every single solitary ointment and cream on the market. Some even had to be special ordered. This photo shows the extent of my mania. And is actually missing the Triple Paste I added to my inventory the next day. It's like being a first time parent. But this time after losing a baby. And armed with an iPhone. And a few more dollars to spend then we had in 1998.... 😄

The rash is much better by the way. The clear winner? Resinol. Amazing stuff. I'm looking around at everyone in my family for any sign of skin irritations...!