What's in a name?

So, I'm terrible at naming people. I, personally, think we ended up with some really great baby names for our girls, but it wasn't easy. Even when they just kind of came to me and I absolutely loved them, I was terrified to seal the final say on it. A name is so much of who a person is...and did I really want a child to be London Grace or Story Elizabeth forever? What if they hated it? Would they thank me later for them, or pretend their name is something more cute and fun...(I was always tiffany while pretending, but that had more to do with a friend being named Tiffany :))

The first names are just names I liked. London I thought was pretty and can you imagine her with any other name now? Story was the same. I'm an English major and story has always been a word that has so much more meaning than just words strung together. Their middle names, however, were different. Grace. A word that gives hope. A transcending hope that wipes away tears and gives a heartbeat back to a heart that was dead inside and empty. Elizabeth. A woman of God. Remembered by God in old age, just as Sarah. Chosen to carry the baby that would grow up and announce the coming of the Messiah! The mother and nurturer of the one that made the paths clear for the Rescuer of the world. The One that would bring Grace. Elizabeth was the one that housed a terrified young girl that came to her at a time when her world was flipped upside down when she was chosen as the mother of our Lord and was carrying within her Hope. Elizabeth was a friend and mentor.

Our girls are quite different, as is to be expected. Earlier, Story was running from one destructive activity to the next and after the billionth time of telling her "no." I asked her if we should change her middle name to it, but I was stopped mid-sentence. No, we should not. I do not want my child to grow up and become that. I want her to grow and become Elizabeth. I want her to focus on helping others and have a joy in the Lord that only comes from something deep and personal with Him. Grace. I don't want London to find her identity in clothes and sparkly things. I want her to be a woman that can barely contain her joy and love for others because she lives with the knowledge that she's given Grace. I want her to be forgiven, but to forgive others. I want those things for both of them, and I want them to grow up friends that will sharpen each other as iron sharpens iron. I'm grateful for that constant reminder of my end goal on days where I cover cut wall stickers with packing tape to keep fingers away or wash the same dishes a billion times. THIS is why it stresses me out to name people! It's not about now, it's not even completely about later. It's about the in between.

And do note, this is not a pregnancy announcement. Just sharing about today's thoughts...somehow, if I mention anything about children, at least one person will ALWAYS think I'm pregnant, but I'm not ;) lol

Order from Chaos

Any mother could tell you the different things they love about each of their children. It's not that you love any child more than another, it's just different. London Grace is special. She's sweet and compassionate. She's what I hope to be when I'm refined by the Lord. She cares and is grateful, truly. Story is crazy. I'm not even kidding. She is joy in the purest sense of the word. She makes me laugh until I cry and keeps me and London both from ever taking ourselves too seriously.

Other than her amazing compassion, London is very much me. We care too much about things we shouldn't, and I hope so badly to conquer some of the sins we both struggle with before she's older so that I can be a testimony to her for what the Holy Spirit can do.

Story is Lance. Dead out. It's not just the fair skin and red hair. They're crazy. I'm telling you. Most people don't get to see my hunny in his purest form, but the boy is crazy funny. He's goofy and sweet and passive. I love both of my girls, oh so very much, but one of the many reasons I love Story is because when I look at her, I see a man I love more than any other person on this Earth. I see all his good and bad characteristics all balled up into a little blue eyed girl.

On the same note, I have a friend/mentor that I love love love to go visit. She sharpens me, and I always leave her loving my kids and husband a little more than when I got there. The last time I visited her, I left trying to put my finger on just what I loved so much about her. I got home and was greeted by silly little Story and it hit me. My friend reminds me so much of the Father that I love so very much. We are all image bearers of God, but some people resemble Him in their actions much better than the rest of us. I leave her with a smile thinking, I love Him so much. I want so badly to be that way. I wish so badly that I could hide myself in Him so that any positive trait someone did find, they would automatically attribute it to Him.

I've been wanting to rename my blog for awhile now. Tastes of Chaos is still a bit fitting for our crazy home, but not for the heart of it. In this current season, I no longer want to accept the chaos in our lives. God makes order from chaos and He can do that in my life as well. As I reread the last few posts of mine, I feel like that that topic seems to be the very heart of my writing now, and therefore, a fitting title. All that to say, my blog has a new title and I hope that my life experiences can continue to grow to fit the name :).

Dedication and arrows. The same, right?

We just celebrated Story's dedication this past Sunday night. There was homework that went along with it to have prepared, and we were to share one part with our family at our table. It was the easiest part for me. We were to imagine who we want our child to be in 18 years. Proverbs says that children are like arrows. Arrows are something you shoot into a battle you may never even be in. You aim straight and true. The homework was not difficult because I've already thought about where to aim my girls. I'm constantly readjusting and leaning to aim as they become different in my hands. They become stronger and less likely to break when shot out as they grow. They become curved a bit as I learn more and more about their unique personalities, which causes me to lean right or left opposite them, to ensure they're still aiming true. They're still young, I'll hand you that. 18 months and 3 years is a tender age. But, I don't know when I'll have to shoot and let go. So, I stay aimed.

This Sunday was just a reminder of that. A reminder that these are my children, but they're not. That this is our home, but it's not. That I have a plan for them, but I don't.

Motherhood carries so much responsibility. So many worries. So much stress. How wonderful it is at the end of the day to let go and know that He is in charge and not I. Not I, with my grand plans of who my children will turn out to be. Not I with my limited knowledge. Not I, with my mortal shortcomings and failures. After all, it wasn't I that planned these children in the first place, so He showed from the beginning how much He knows better than me.

Simply Ten in the midst of Moving

A list of simply ten. Ten things of the here and now to help live in the moment and be grateful for it.

1) a late (second) breakfast for little girls with wet little heads from bath time

2)pancakes made from scratched and frozen for convenience at times like now

3) boxes stacked high that are so much more than just boxes

4) a very good man that painstakingly takes apart a very large wooden swing set that he painstakingly put together a year ago, only to painstakingly put it back together in a new backyard....without complaint

5) two little girls that love to sing and dance along with Annie

6) a moment taken away from 18 billion things on the to do list to sit and reflect and write...even if only a list

7) awakening before the rest of the house while it's still dark to sit, write, pray, read, and prepare

8) the beauty in dawn as a gift for that early rise

9) footie pj's on little girls that refuse to dress, which is just fine with mama

10) knowing that home is less about rooms and things and more about tickled bellies, smells of homemade bread and cookies, dirty windows, and slow dances in the kitchen after the little ones are in bed

Psalm 51:7

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I

will be clean;

wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

Psalm 51:7

cleanse me....my study bible says that phrase literally means "un-sin" me. If Lance sins against me, I can forgive but I will always have it there...in the back of my mind...even if I don't think on it, something can bring it to the front of my mind even if I don't hold feelings against it...it's there.

Un-sin me....it's the closest we'll get to time travel, folks. It's not even there to bring up in mind. whiter than snow. so good.

meaningful relationships

This morning while reading, I came across Psalm 69. I jump all over the Bible when I finish books instead of going in a row, but I always find myself back in the Psalms every few books. The raw emotion throughout these poems always bring an English major like me back to its pages. We often hear Psalms quoted, but it's usually from verses of praise or a happy ending. Have you noticed that? Psalm 40, for example says

I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the LORD
and put their trust in him.

Psalm 40:1-3

I love that psalm and can so relate to the truth of it. However, there are other psalms, like 69, that does not have a happy ending. David is drowning in life, and though he praises God even through his hardship and trusts God, He hasn't saved him yet. We know the history. We know David died a great king, old, happy, and with many sons to be there to take over his thrown. David, however, did not see his happy ending when he was writing this.

Save me, O God,
for the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in the miry depths,
where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters;
the floods engulf me.
I am worn out calling for help;
my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
looking for my God.
Those who hate me without reason
outnumber the hairs of my head;
many are my enemies without cause,
those who seek to destroy me.

Psalm 69:1-4

Do those words break your heart? When I read this this morning, I felt my heart ache. Not really because I can relate, though I can, but because I wondered how often I walk past or TALK to people on a regular basis that could have written these verses just yesterday.

Our Journey group was just discussing this past week about how disconnected our culture is today. We know more about more people, but less about those people than ever. Facebook has tricked us into thinking we have tons of friends. It has made us believe that its purpose is to connect us with people we don't have time to see. The truth of the matter is that at one time, we had a few deeper relationships and more surface level ones, and we have traded those few deeper connections for 549 surface level ones. Sure, you can see pictures of their baby, but will you ever actually hold that little one? Yes, you know she got the job, but did you buy her a coffee when she was desperate for a paycheck? Better yet, did you take her to dinner?

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

Matthew 25:37-40

How many people are hurting like David and I just walk right past them? Or chat to them about something superficial and they are drowning? Am I ministering to people? Have I lost so much sensitivity to the Spirit that I can't even recognize when a child of His hurts, a person created in His image, that He knit together while in their mother's womb? I'm sad to say that the answer is yes. Just like our pastor was saying last week, it is impossible to have a meaningful relationship with absolutely everyone, but I no longer want to sacrifice those relationships that I can invest in on the altar of American culture. "for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink to the miry depths, where there is no foothold." Oh God, help us to love You and your children. "I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God."

If a friend is sinking and parched from calling for God, the only practical thing to do is to hold them up and call for them.

Those pink walls

So, we're moving soon. We were given an incredible opportunity to move into Lance's grandmother's home for a little while, giving us time to save money for a downpayment on a home of our own sooner than we expected. There are tons of positives to it all, and some things that are leaving me a bit anxious...like the girls will be sharing a room. ....stay tuned for those blog posts lol.

I had had it today with London's room and the absolute chaos that it had become, so I went in to clean. Her room is decorated with tons of pink, and had little music note stickers all over the wall above the rockingchair rail. I decided to go ahead and take them off now, while I was in You're Room is Awful! mode, hoping it'd be an easier transition into a bare room later on. As I started peeling off the stickers, I was instantly transported in my mind into a room, dark with a fan going, a rocking chair in the corner, and a little baby girl quietly sleeping. We moved here when that baby was 6 weeks old, and it's all she's ever known.

Our home is small, older, and has some serious plumbing issues that flair up every few months, but it's our home. We love it. I hate to add up the money we've spent in rent since living here, but what a home it's been. Those pink walls have sheltered my baby girl. They've protected her from the chaotic world outside, from the cold, the heat, the bugs (ew). More importantly, they've witnessed so much. They've sheltered us as I cried in that rocking chair, exhausted from lack of sleep and desperate for the baby to stop crying. They've sheltered as I have completely lost my cool and temper on a two year old. Then, they sheltered as I came back in to apologize and hug her. They've been there countless times in the night, when I crept in unnoticed to get on my knees by her bed to pray for her. To pray that I could do this. To pray that I could give her the love and attention she needs with a new little sister on the way and then there. To promise God that I'd parent her and love her and love her daddy. To give her to God, for His plans...and only some of those times because I was exasperated and at the end of my rope ;).

Oh, those pink walls...and we're only on one room.