A Time For "No"

I don't like hearing the word, "no."

Recently, my son has heard it quite frequently, and he loves to walk around the house chastising random objects and his baby sister, "no-no... no-no... no-no..." I have no idea what his tennis shoes did to warrant his stern rebukes, but they are frequently corrected.

Because I don't like hearing the word "no," I rarely say it to my favorite person: myself.

Sugar-coat it any way you want to, the most important person in my life is myself. How do I know? Because it hurts when I have to get up for a 4 a.m. feeding, when I have to wash smelly yard-work shirts, and when I am cleaning up a dripping sippy cup for the one hundredth time... If I truly loved my family more than myself, these moments wouldn't hurt. Do I love my family? Of course. I would suffer any terror to keep them safe and happy. But I love myself more.

My guess is you love yourself the most, too.

Why else would God have to say, "Love me, love others"? If it was natural for us to love others, if it was normal for us to love God, He wouldn't have needed to spell it out so clearly.

Last week I did something unusual.

I fasted.

For an entire day, I told myself "no."

It's amazing how delicious soggy cheerios start to look...

And somewhere in the middle of that day of "no," I realized something.

I don't do this often, if ever. I don't tell myself "no."

I eat what I want, watch what I want, do with my day what I want. I never just tell myself "no" for the sake of saying "no." I never say "no" for the sake of training myself that there are more important things than gratifying my desires.

I'm not on this earth for me. I've been specifically designed, chosen, created to bring glory to someone else. My body, my personality, my time... it's not for me.

Paul wrote: "But I discipline my body and keep it under control." (I Cor. 9:27) The Greek in this passage could be literally translated, "I pummel my body and make it a slave."

Pummel. Strike repeatedly. Batter. Pound. Beat. Over and over.

When was the last time you did this?

Before you get all defensive and horrified, Paul wasn't advocating self-abuse. So, don't, in your zeal to obey, go searching for a whip or boxing gloves. Don't write me off because I sound like some sadist. Paul isn't talking about bodily beating. But he is talking about bodily self-control. As he urges us to live with purpose, he compares our lives to athletes: "Every athlete exercises self-control in all things."

All things.

Somewhere in the middle of my "day of "no,"" I found peace... God fills up the spaces that we shovel stuff out of. Crying out to God to be enough? That's precious. Craving satiation from Him, rather than from my delicious peanut-butter banana snack? He satisfies that craving.

"O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;

my soul thirsts for you;

my flesh faints for you,

as in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

{Psalm 63:1}

So, when was the last time you told yourself "no"?

Not because you had to. Not because it was necessary. Not because people would think you were weird if you didn't. When was the last time you said "no" because you are in training?

I'm in a period of intentional "no." Most of my "no" centers around food right now. That's just the battle front which is getting the most attention. But I'm also trying to sacrifice sleep (so I can have a longer time with my Savior in the morning). Sleeplessness is sweet when I'm telling Christ that He is all I need. I don't need eight hours, uninterrupted to be sweet and kind to others. I need Christ.

There are a myriad of ways to fast, to tell yourself "no." Can I leave you with a few? And can I be a gentle push towards your own day (or week, or month!) of "no"? Please consider... I promise, God loves it when we say "no" to ourselves.

Something I Never Wanted To Tell You, or... Praying To Be Decimated

I was supposed to write this post years ago. I knew that. I knew that I should sit down, own up, and give this giant words on paper.

But I didn't.

I tried to cover it up, push it away, and battle silently (but only when I felt like it). No one else was supposed to know. I got grumpy, angry, and defensive when people touched it.

Getting married made me terrified. How do you keep something like this from the person who knows you the best? You can't. But you can minimize it, hide it, try to make it prettier. Like smearing make-up on a warty frog.

That doesn't work well...

So, I told my husband.

He knew.

But my minimizing, hiding, and subterfuge had done their job. He didn't know the size of the battle. Then again, I don't think I knew the size of the battle. I don't think I wanted to know.

I'm an addict.

I'm addicted, totally, completely, agonizingly... to food.

I love food. I love making food, creating recipes, eating food... Anything that tastes good? I'm there. I love sizzling butter, gooey chocolate, and flaky pastries. I like tender meat, creamy cheese, and crisp potato chips. I love Oreos and PopTarts. No one should love Oreos and PopTarts. They're like sugar paste wrapped in more sugar, coated in dyes and crunchy, unknown substances. BUT THEY TASTE SO GOOD.

Here's the thing about being a food addict. You can't quit it cold turkey. You can't go through withdrawal. You have to eat.

I've tried diets, food journals, exercise (although, I really hate that one. I want to love it. But I actually hate it.).

But it didn't matter.

And I'm glad it didn't.

Because the diets, the calories, the fats, the grains, the delicious, overly-processed sugar... that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that I didn't care that I was sinning. Years of callousness had built-up around this sin. I had focused on eating as a means to serve myself. I was either stuffing myself full because I wanted the taste and texture of the food, or starving myself (never for very long) because I wanted to be skinny. I worshipped food. (Sometimes I still do...)

So I began to pray a very scary prayer. I prayed that God would break me. Decimate me. Help me to mourn over my wickedness.

You can brush it off. You can tell me that it's not really "wicked," per se... But it is. I was viewing myself, my wants, my pleasure as more important that serving God and loving others. I had an idol. I didn't bow down to it, lighting incense and worshiping three times a day, no, but I was pulling up my chair, opening my mouth, and eating it. Is that really any better?

So, I prayed that God would break my callousness wide open. I prayed that He would make me mourn over my sin. That my soul would weep over the people who went unloved, uncared for, because of my idol.

And I had to pray that prayer over and over and over again.

Sometimes, the Holy Spirit bursts through a wall of hardness like water breaking through a dam. Sometimes, He leaks through one little drip at a time. And there's something precious, something sweet about crying out over and over and over again for more of God. He treasures that. Consistent pulling away from sin towards a loving God makes the sin more heinous and the God more precious.

That's why I'm writing this.

Because sin becomes stronger when it's hidden. In the sunlight, it dies.

So, here I am. Transparent.

I am a glutton, fighting for freedom, while resting in the arms of my Savior.

And as I acknowledge my total weakness, my complete depravity, my helplessness, it's not for me. It's not for sympathy, encouragement, or support (although those are all so very nice!). It's because I am held in the arms of a man who died so that I could be free. All that ugliness, all that selfishness, coated as I am in the slimy sin of my own creation, He still loves me. And He died so I could be washed, be free from this disgusting habit.

And I am free!

No, I don't have victory in this area, yes, I am still battling, but Christ has set me free. It's time for this weak, tired glutton to enjoy the radiant peace and beauty of being Christ's sister, God's daughter.

And thanks be to God, He is daily making this more apparent.

Woefully Behind... Photo Journal {March 31st-April 19th}

Well... As mentioned earlier, consistency is not my strong point.

We had a rash of illnesses, craziness, and (admittedly) laziness.

My babies have been growing in cuteness and I've been loving documenting, but I haven't been as consistent as I should have been. So, here are some snippets from the past month.

Our home in spring.

My little chickie-love. There's something wonderful about
babies this tiny... It's like playing dress-up every time they get
ready.

My happy girlie. She's learning slowly, but surely, that she can be content,
even when she doesn't have the complete attention of everyone around her.

Grant has recently found it amusing to eat like a puppy dog. This child is
fearless when it comes to animals... Maybe he's channeling his inner puppy?

Grant has a special bag of toys that we call his "bed bag."
These are toys that are played with on the bed while Bets
is being fed. The cocoa container full of q-tips is the current fave.

Everything is a hat!

Silly faces! Bets and Grant had their first shared bath!

Bubbles and baby. He thought he was in bath heaven.

Scott added on to our patio! We found slate scraps, salvaged bricks, and a couple $.99
pavers to add a couple feet. Grant, Bets and I watched and did laundry.

Holding hands. 

They are each other's favorite toys. :)

A torrential rain storm allowed us to see if Grant loves mud as much as other boys.

The consensus was that he does...

Bets is a terrifying sleeper: deathly pale skin, eyes half open, mouth agape.
I think that she's dead at least three times a day.

Playing in the babies' room with our chalk table.

My artist!

Although he looks intent, his real fascination was with
eating chalk.

Trying to color with soggy chalk is surprisingly difficult...

Pretty girlie.

She likes cuddles in bed with Grant and Mama... The more people looking,
(and in Grant's case) squashing, and pulling on her--the better. :)

It's not too often I get a smiling picture that isn't blurry. My little whirling dervish.

Ah! Kissing monster!

Last year, we thought that these bushes were weeds,
and that nothing grew in that front bed.

Turns out, the previous owners just planted spring flowers.
They were all dead by early May when we looked at the house.

Off to help Daddy set up a fence. He was so eager to help!

Phew! Got several pictures posted... now all that's left is to document Easter. Maybe I'll have those up by the Fourth of July?

Photo Journal {March 24th-30th, 2014}

March 24th

I love Mondays. There's such a slipping back into routine. A quiet calm after Sunday.

I didn't used to like Mondays... In fact, this may be the first time in my life where I've loved Monday. Even in Kindergarten, Monday held the impending doom of Phonics. I just couldn't handle phonics... So much early angst.

Well, in the spirit of bonding and enjoying Monday, Grant and I took advantage of Bets' late afternoon nap, and made some art! I whipped up some "paint" from flour, food coloring, corn syrup, and vinegar, and we explored mixing colors and smearing goop.

All the paint started out in neatly segmented cups, but what's the fun of that?!

Concentrating.

Let the mixing begin... By the time we were done, everything was a lovely brown.

My son could make anything an athletic pursuit. He spent most of his time
crouching on the counter or mid-squat.

He enjoyed this so much that he didn't want to stop.
Repeat? I think we will!  

Happy artist!

March 25th

On Tuesday, Scott spent the day at home... He had worked the past several Saturdays, and we needed a daddy/hubby fix.

Having another person home makes the day so much more restful. Bets and I napped (lots!), and we cleaned up our guest room and organized closets. We were expecting a rather long-term guest, but at the last minute plans changed and our house wasn't needed any more. I couldn't decide if I was relieved or disappointed. It was definitely a person who needed a haven, but sometimes creating a haven is very exhausting....

But, regardless, the room is clean, and we love being a haven: so if you need one... :)

March 26th

I cleaned the laundry room on Wednesday! We've been mid-construction since Thanksgiving. There was drywall dust EVERYWHERE. And I was beginning to get the heeby-jeebies every time I walked through that room.

Grant, of course, wanted to help. He became covered in drywall dust, but I'm nothing if not a resourceful mama! (Heehee!) I apologize for my cruel chuckles in the middle of his angst...

March 27th
An errand trip necessitated a trip to Abington. For those of you from the Midwest, Abington is a scant 12 miles away. 12 miles that take 45 minutes to cross. This is very common, apparently in PA. I remember when I thought, "Six miles? That's not so far..."

Now I know better.

In order to make our trip more enjoyable (enjoyable for me, that is, I'm fairly confident both babies would have been happy sleeping in sunny car seats), I decided to stop at a thrift store and do a little light browsing. I had discovered, when I started my new "stay at home career" that I really didn't have a whole lot to wear. After three years in scrubs, my wardrobe of "day-to-day casual" had shrunk. Pregnancy didn't exactly make me want to go shopping. Consequently, I walk around the house most days looking homeless. Let's just say, when my husband started commenting, I knew it was time to do something...

It was fun to dig for treasures. I love finding amazing deals (and yes, I found quite a few!).

But a morning like that means lots of rest and cuddles in the afternoon for my two littles. (And I'm not complaining...)

First tummy time venture that didn't end in dramatic tears.

Baby boy needed lots of cuddles after his nap. I was super-bummed
that I had to sit and cuddle him instead of clean the floors (said no mom ever.)

We found the Grantlet's sunglasses! This was the
way he insisted on wearing them. Now, tell me again that
children don't watch everything you do. :)

March 28th
Friday.

The night that shall live in infamy.

I made black-bean burgers.

Much to my husband's horror.

I'm trying valiantly to re-work our diet while remaining within budget. I love healthy, clean tasting foods. And usually, so does my husband. However, apparently we don't mess with meat-substitutes. That's what I learned tonight. Don't mess with the meat.

As he ate his "burger," I asked him how he liked it.

"It's a little like a hot dog," (He hates hot dogs), "just smother it with ketchup and don't think about what's in it."

Black bean burgers: never attempting again.

March 29th
So, remember that painting project that Grant and I tackled on Monday? I had several goals. Of course painting, bonding, and snapping a million pics is great... But I was also hoping to start an Easter tradition of painting paper eggs and writing verses on the back while teaching my babies about the wonderful story we are celebrating.

This year, our story telling consisted of: "Jesus loves you. He died. Now he lives! Yay!" multiple times while painting. How much did he understand? I have no idea. But I don't want my child to grow up a stranger to heaven's love. Today we finished our craft while Daddy was cleaning at church.

This year's verse: "He is not here. He is risen!" from Luke 24:6

Our pretty eggs! Didn't he do a good job? (Almost) No adult supervision. 

Easter eggs! (And a happy baby!)

We had company for lunch... so of course we had to make
(grain free/dairy free) chocolate-peanut butter cookies. No one
even knew they were "healthy" until after they were devoured.
Yessssss, victory!

March 30th

Wet Sunday! Getting two babies in and out of the car while it's pouring is super fun. But the sermon was wonderful, the fellowship sweet, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Our backyard gets quite soggy when it pours... Hopefully this serves as a "before"
picture after all our summer renovations. 

You Can't Really Enjoy Your Children, Sorry.

You've seen this. I know you have... It's a portion of a rip-your-heart-out-flood-your-eyes-throw-down-your-to-do-list poem. It's specifically designed to make all your Martha-like tendencies curl up in a corner and die while you play blocks and make-believe with your children for the rest of the day.

I know who this poem is written for. It's written for those mothers who want to get things done, who care about checking off to-do list items, who are in perfection type-A overdrive. I know those mamas. Many days, I am one of those mamas.

But more often I run to another ditch. 

At the end of the day, I stand sobbing outside my child's room, scared that I've wasted some small part of that day with them.

I get mini-panic attacks, mid-cuddle session because I'm not sure I'm soaking up the moment enough.

I try to memorize every curl, every hug, every little toothy grin.

Babies grow. Toddlers walk and then run. Kids get taller, smarter... they become adults.

And while every mother needs a reminder to stop, to enjoy, to soak up the moment they're in... I'm here to tell you that you can't possibly do that.

As I stood, again, in a darkened hall outside my little boy's room, tears streaming down my face, I came face to face with the reality that I am finite.

I cannot enjoy everything in its fullest.

I do not have the capacity to memorize and devour a precious moment to its fullest.

My powers of enjoyment, love, and motherhood are limited.

I will never fully enjoy and appreciate my children.

And I'm not meant to.

I live in a world where I am bound by time. God knew this. He created me this way. I am gridlocked by my own humanity.

He wanted me to look to something bigger for my enjoyment.

Someday, I will be in a place where there is no time, where I can enjoy the good gifts God has lavished on me without the constraints of time. I will have an eternity to soak up the goodness, the joyous moments, the perfection. 

I'm not meant to enjoy that as a mom. I can't possibly enjoy my children to the fullest. There's no way.

And that's okay.

Because there are bigger, better enjoyments coming. I'm just praying my life points to them in such a way that my children follow my example and are there to enjoy eternity with me. 

So, feel free to scrub that kitchen floor (perhaps with a puddle-loving child in tow... my siblings and I used to "ice skate" across the kitchn), and don't feel guilty for not "soaking up each moment." Yes, please enjoy the blessings of the now, but don't forget to look forward to the limitless delights of eternity.

After all, the goodness I'm soaking up from these
moments is wonderful, albeit finite. I love my babies.

Photo Journal {March 17th-23rd, 2014}

So...


This week was almost a total bust.

I snapped a couple of iPhone photos and logged some videos for the grandmas, but no actual photography or documentation was completed.

I'm blaming wee Bettina for this.

Side note: per multiple questions, my daughter's "real" name is Elizabeth, but we call her "Bets," or any combination of the following nicknames: Bettina, Bitty Bets, Betsy-boo-boo, Chicka-B, and Chicken Little (the last one because of her dramatic hysterical crying as though the sky is falling, although there is nothing wrong...)

Any way, Chicken Little decided that she would go on a feeding binge during the early part of this week. Feeding binges mean that she eats for an hour, rests for 30 minutes, and then eats for another hour--around the clock. And by "rests" I mean that she may decide to stop eating long enough for me to use the rest room, feed her brother, and change her diaper. Maybe. Since wee Bets is so tiny, we indulge these binges.

It's a good thing I think she's cute...

Then, after a day of playing catch-up with laundry, Scott left for the weekend, and I solo-parented through Friday night and Saturday...

So, I kept the house from burning down, cuddled and fed babies, and managed to get everything prepped for Sunday.

All that to say...

On Sunday, I napped, grocery shopped, and hugged my husband for coming back. And that sums up the week.

So, no pics. No journals.

But rest assured everything at the Allison abode will settle back into normal chaos soon.

I have to go.

Betsy-boo-boo is howling for another snack.

And Tell Me HOW This Makes Me Look Good?

In the middle of the night; another feeding. Tears from a dramatic toddler. Peanut butter in curly hair. Spit-up down another shirt. Reflux screams. Selfish whimpers. Repeated instructions. Constant discipline. The kitchen is a mess. Again.

I live with a whirling tornado and a screaming banshee.

I love them. They're adorable. This job of mommyhood is amazing.

And sometimes completely disgusting, exhausting, and wearing.

There needs to be a word for "something I would never trade, that I prize greatly, and that exhausts me mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally."

Oh, wait... that word is "mommyhood."

As I waded into this adjustment period, I knew that fatigue, the possibility of physical illness, and spiritual dryness would attack me at every corner. I filled up my nights with prayer, my note cards with verses, and my Spotify with encouragement. And I got ready for the onslaught.

But a verse that I never planned on is the verse that God brought to mind...

It attacked me. It lodged itself in the crevices of my thinking and it wouldn't go away. We call that the "Holy Spirit."

This verse has become a mainstay. "What benefit" could easily be paraphrased, "So, explain to me how you look good if...?" On a daily basis, I'll ask myself:

"What benefit is it to me, if I'm patient when my child has done nothing wrong?"

"Explain to me how I look good, if I'm joyful after a full night's sleep?"

"What benefit is it to me, if I keep my temper when everything is going my way?"

What benefit is that to you?

The answer? None.

There is no glory gleaned for the Father. No self-discipline gained. No dying to selfishness accomplished.

You are not modeling Christ's love and God's mercy.

You're just acting like a reasonable human being. Congratulations, you're not a sociopath. Yippee.

So, when that peanut butter gets everywhere (seriously, how on earth does it get everywhere?), and the toddler disobeys again, and dinner isn't yummy, and the most you accomplished all day was folding one load of laundry (which said toddler enjoyed flinging around the room after it was folded)... do you smile when your hubby walks through the door? Do you cuddle the toddler and teach him "no" in a loving way? Is your voice sweet and your words sweeter?

Because that's when you make Him look good.

And that's when you're being true mercy in a world that desperately needs His love.