tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32827035377630735992024-02-07T12:41:50.502-06:00Time Out: Devotions for Moms by Becky KopitzkeWe're moms. We love our kids, we screw up, God shows up, and somehow little people still reach to hug us with Nutella-painted fingers at the end of the day. And we return their embrace, grateful for the gift of children and resigned to the fact that no amount of Shout will ever erase that chocolate paste from a white shirt. But it's all worth it. Welcome to Time Out. We're in this together: moms, kids, and Christ.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-67663085888714577972013-09-16T07:03:00.000-05:002013-09-16T07:03:00.526-05:00Why I Date My Husband - A Giveaway!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3t6MRrvAAWc9ULH6AcKQY8iI_t1DHKQzGVUUehUmWz8pJQSwEjz2YA9APUwVGVNnnmwZkDdC8ieE3sPApH4xnghe2sHdLWkpPJkS75iyd4PxzUVgNslr7ll08TMkS3fKHubX61-AwRI/s1600/Chicken-Soup-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3t6MRrvAAWc9ULH6AcKQY8iI_t1DHKQzGVUUehUmWz8pJQSwEjz2YA9APUwVGVNnnmwZkDdC8ieE3sPApH4xnghe2sHdLWkpPJkS75iyd4PxzUVgNslr7ll08TMkS3fKHubX61-AwRI/s200/Chicken-Soup-cover.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
Will you happy dance with me? Last week, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Devotional-Devotions/dp/1611599105/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1379297729&sr=8-1&keywords=chicken+soup+for+the+soup+devotional+stories+for+wives" target="_blank"><em>Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Wives</em></a> was released in bookstores everywhere—and my story, “Why I Date My Husband,” is in it. Yay!<br />
<br />
To celebrate, I’m giving away two copies of the book! To enter, all you have to do is share this post on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeckyKopitzkeTimeOut" target="_blank">Facebook</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/beckykopitzke" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, and <a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">leave a comment</a> to let me know you did. Winners will be announced next week. <br />
<br />
Now in honor of the book release, I thought I’d share the original story again, which was first posted here in January 2012. For anyone who didn’t catch it the first time, and for all of us who need a reminder—no more excuses. Get a babysitter. Go on a date with your husband. Stare at each other across the table until you laugh or cry. Your kids need it as much as you do.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Why I Date My Husband</span></h2>
<em>“My lover spoke and said to me, ‘Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me,’” (Song of Songs 2:10).</em><br />
<br />
She reached for my hand, giggling, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief. “Come on, Mom, we have a surprise for you.”<br />
<br />
I followed downstairs to the spare bedroom. A dusty VCR sat on the floor, hooked to our ancient tube television.<br />
<br />
“Are you ready?” my husband grinned. I settled on the edge of the bed, a toddler in my lap, and big sister bursting with excitement as she knelt beside Daddy on the carpet. Pop! The black screen sprang to colorful life, piano keys trickling in the background. I recognized a white satin princess, a raven-haired prince. <br />
<br />
Our wedding video. <br />
<br />
I thought we lost it. Through a couple moves and a basement flood, that priceless memento got neglected in the shuffle, until neither of us remembered where or when we’d seen it last. In honor of our tenth anniversary, my husband and our four-year-old daughter scoured the house until they found the videotape buried in a box. This was my anniversary gift.<br />
<br />
Tears ran down my cheeks as I soaked in every frame of our wedding memories. The white roses, the vows, the dress my mother made.<br />
<br />
“Do you like it, Momma?” our daughter asked.<br />
<br />
“I love it, sweetheart. I love it. This is the best surprise ever.” <br />
<br />
Then something strange happened. Her beaming smile melted into trembling lips. She climbed onto the bed next to me and bawled into my shoulder.<br />
<br />
“My goodness, what’s wrong? Did something upset you? Are you sad?” Her dad and I exchanged confused sign language, baffled by this polar reaction. She was so excited to see the video! What went bad?<br />
<br />
“No, Mom, I’m not sad,” she choked through raw wails. “I’m crying because I’m happy!”<br />
<br />
That’s when I realized—I need to keep dating my husband.<br />
<br />
Date night is not our greatest strength. The lag between our last two dinner outings <em>sans children</em> was seven months—pathetic, I know. Excuses are easy when we’re busy raising small kids. We’re tired, babysitters cost more than the restaurant bill, my babies want me to tuck them in—they’ll miss me. They <em>need</em> me.<br />
<br />
No they don’t. Not on date night. Not as much as they need two parents united, strong, in love. They need to see Mom fluttery with anticipation of time alone with Dad, to see Dad clasp Mom’s fingers while he leads her out the door, blowing kisses to two little girls already immersed in the babysitter’s nail polish collection. <br />
<br />
They need to know Mom and Dad are here for them, because we’re here for each other first.<br />
<br />
It’s risky to convince ourselves we’re fine without regular dates—without time set aside to nurture our relationship, to rekindle the spark, to remember why I chose this person, why I love being with this person more than anybody else in the world. <br />
<br />
Because we can get so absorbed in the routines and responsibilities—the teaching, cooking, cleaning, running, child-centric activities of each day—that we forget to make eye contact when we talk to one another. Then we forget to ask <em>what’s on your mind</em> or <em>what are your dreams</em>, until one day we wake up pondering dangerous questions like <em>who are you</em> and <em>what happened to the person I once pursued with all my heart? </em><br />
<br />
I’d like to think we wouldn’t let our marriage suffer. But nobody ever sets out intending to drift, do they? So how does it happen? Dates can’t hurt. They can only help.<br />
<br />
When I witnessed our daughter’s sweet, unfiltered reaction to a video of her parents giddy in love, I caught a glimpse of my marriage through her eyes. And I finally understood. Date night isn’t just for my husband and me. Our children need it as much as we do.<br />
<br />
So we made a plan. Hubby and I committed to one night out per month for the next year—a great start and a huge improvement for us—and we wrote the dates on our calendars to prevent letting them slide. Our kick-off was a tenth anniversary celebration. I sat across the bistro table from my handsome groom, and when I told him I loved him, I looked straight into his eyes and meant it to new depths.<br />
<br />
Praise God we found that wedding video. We won’t make the mistake of losing it again. More importantly, we won’t lose track of each other. If our kids want to see Mom and Dad crazy in love, they need not turn on the VCR. We’re going to show them in real life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/08/how-to-marry-your-husband-all-over-again.html"><em>How to Marry Your Husband All Over Again</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/07/when-hubby-leaves-his-socks-on-floor.html"><em>When Hubby Leaves His Socks on the Floor</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-foolproof-cure-for-hollering.html"><em>The Foolproof Cure for Hollering</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-44813150342572843722013-09-09T06:25:00.000-05:002013-09-09T06:25:03.653-05:00The Older I Get, the More Money I CostIf higher price means higher quality, then I must be a Cadillac among women.<br />
<br />
Take haircuts, for example. Once upon a time I let my hair grow long and carefree and occasionally popped into Super Cuts for a trim. Now, my shorter mom ‘do requires a trip to the Aveda salon every eight weeks for some serious pampering and product stock-up. Plus the gray strand I plucked yesterday says I might be adding a regular color job soon, too. Great.<br />
<br />
And let’s talk about jeans. There’s a certain kind of style necessary for the post-baby bod—you know it, girls—and sadly, high-dollar fashion designers understand how to mold a momma’s butt better than my budget allows. But forget the budget, we all need a hot pair of jeans. So I figure out a way to pay, amen?<br />
<br />
Oo, and have you ever stared horrified in the mirror at a wrinkle that you swear did not occupy your pretty face the day before? <em>Cha-ching!</em> Welcome a three-step clinical skin care regimen designed to restore elasticity and youthful glow—for the cost of a small monthly car payment.<br />
<br />
Of course that’s just exterior maintenance. Never mind the cocktail of vitamins, medicines, and office visits designed to combat age-induced ailments like stomachaches, backaches, and eye strain. Those don’t come cheap.<br />
<br />
I was so much less expensive ten years ago. But all this forking over cash to tend my 30-something self has taught me a priceless lesson.<br />
<br />
<strong>I’m worth it.</strong><br />
<br />
Every penny.<br />
<br />
And this is why:<br />
<br />
<em>“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: <strong>‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’</strong> There is no commandment greater than these,” (Mark 12:30–31, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they <strong>feed and care for their body</strong>, just as Christ does the church,” (Ephesians 5:29, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<br />
Do you get the key point here? <strong>The Bible assumes we love ourselves.</strong> It’s a basic premise of scripture. Yes, we are to be generous and humble and forgiving. But that doesn’t mean we’re supposed to neglect ourselves in the process. <br />
<br />
Now let’s go one step further.<br />
<br />
<em>“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to<strong> offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God</strong>—this is your true and proper worship,” (Romans 12:1, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore <strong>honor God with your bodies</strong>,” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<br />
In biblical times, did God’s people offer up the scrawniest goat in the field? No! They sacrificed the fattened calf, the best of the flock. If our own bodies are a living sacrifice, if God owns us—heart, soul, mind and body—then shouldn’t we owe it to him to invest wisely in his property?<br />
<br />
Don’t get me wrong. All women are beautiful and valuable in God’s sight, whether they charge ridiculous bills on overnight eye cream or not. God cares about our hearts far more than our looks (1 Samuel 16:7).<br />
<br />
But that’s my point.<br />
<br />
I’m learning to have a heart filled with love—for myself. To me that sometimes means good haircuts, designer jeans, and believing I’m worthy of strong physical and mental health, especially as I get older. <br />
<br />
I’m a mom, after all. I spend the majority of my time taking care of other people. By taking care of myself, too, I’m giving my family a happier version of me—and teaching my kids how to love themselves the way God intended.<br />
<br />
Minus the pricey jeans, of course. Hand-me-downs are good enough for my little chicks. Some perks should only come with age.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/04/and-then-we-bought-mom-mobile.html"><em>And Then We Bought a Mom-Mobile</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/06/one-good-reason-to-spoil-your-kids.html"><em>One Good Reason to Spoil Your Kids</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/09/moms-grow-up-too-story-about-hunting.html"><em>Moms Grow Up, Too</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>,</em><em> <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>,</em> <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-57212307744669985392013-09-02T06:44:00.000-05:002013-09-02T06:44:38.524-05:00Goodbye Summer, I Want My House Back<em>“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love,” (1 Corinthians 13:13).</em><br />
<br />
I sketched a smiley face on her lunchbox note, snapped a few front porch pictures, then boarded the minivan and drove to school. This, our first day of first grade—and my heart ached at how fast the summer flew.<br />
<br />
How does a momma cope?<br />
<br />
Two words: Cleaning. Rampage.<br />
<br />
All morning long, I tore through a summer’s accumulation of misplaced toys, scattered books, construction paper drawings and markers without caps. I packed up outgrown shoes and swept lost stuffed animals from under beds. I reunited dolls with dollhouses, puzzle pieces with their boxes, and tossed dozens of ponytail holders and hair clips back into the bathroom drawer.<br />
<br />
My quest—to reclaim control of my household, now that I’d lost sole control of my child.<br />
<br />
Sniffle, sniff.<br />
<br />
When I reached the refrigerator art, however, I froze. For the first moment since classroom drop-off, a smile cracked my focus. These juvenile paintings, crayon sketches and love notes, stuck on top of each other with magnets—they spoke to me. I pulled them down, one by one, savoring every sweet misspelling and watercolor rainbow. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, everywhere I turned, I saw visions of summer with my kids. The bead necklaces we strung. The library rewards they earned. Our bucket list, mostly checked off, tacked to the wall with such high hopes in June. Now each pencil-dashed line is a deposit in our treasure chest of family memories.<br />
<br />
Exhaling, I placed the crinkled art sheets gently in a keepsake file, closed the flap and said goodbye to summer. Goodbye to lazy freedom. Goodbye to cartwheel-spinning age 6 and Care Bear swimsuit age 3. Until next June, when we’ll all be a little older and a little wiser and never again exactly who we are today. <br />
<br />
Yes, it’s all part of growing up, I know. Kids go to school and moms let go. Yet sometimes I think school requires more courage from the parents than the kids. It takes brave faith to pack up the kiddie pool and move on.<br />
<br />
When the afternoon pick-up hour arrived at last, I hugged my lanky first-grader and she chattered all the way home, about recess friends and bathroom rules and the flowers her teacher placed on each desk. As soon as we walked in the kitchen door, she tossed her backpack in a corner and ran for the playroom. <br />
<br />
“Wow, Mom, you picked up.” She reached for a hula-hoop and started spinning. Little sister skipped to her side and hurled superballs into the air. Within minutes, half the bins I’d so carefully de-cluttered were pulled from their shelves and emptied on the rug. <br />
<br />
Seriously?! How rude! I’d spent an entire morning organizing every LEGO and tea party plate, and these kids thought nothing of ripping apart my heartfelt handiwork in seconds flat.<br />
<br />
“Girls . . . “ I started to scold them, to remind them to please keep the house tidy now that Mom had the run of our space again. But I stopped short when I heard my three-year-old chirp these words to her big sister.<br />
<br />
“We missed you today when you were at school! But now you are home and we can play crawling baby, want to? Want to?”<br />
<br />
“Sure!” my six-year-old replied. “You can be the baby and I’ll be the mom, okay?” They held hands and wandered to their room, leaving the toy bins upturned and my heart in my throat.<br />
<br />
What was I saying about keeping the house tidy?<br />
<br />
Overrated.<br />
<br />
All my day’s work unraveled when I realized once again that my home is not defined by its mess. It’s defined by the people who make the mess—and the memories. I love them dearly.<br />
<br />
So bring on another school year of routines and homework and afternoon snacks. I’ll make the best of it. Until Christmas break, when another toy purge is in order. And then we’ll start all over again.<br />
<br />
Clean.<br />
<br />
Mess.<br />
<br />
Love.<br />
<br />
<em>But the greatest of these is love.</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html">pass it on</a>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/03/when-you-wish-theyd-stay-little-forever.html"><em>When You Wish They’d Stay Little Forever</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/05/how-to-get-life-you-always-wanted.html"><em>How to Get the Life You Always Wanted</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/what-that-mess-really-means.html"><em>What That Mess Really Means</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>,</em><em> <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>,</em> <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-10931508946272890872013-08-26T06:44:00.000-05:002013-08-26T06:44:04.991-05:00Am I the Maid Around Here?Eight o’clock on a Sunday evening. I haul the last basket of clean laundry up from the basement and drop it with a thud onto the family room carpet. Then I stare at it a moment before I grab a sock and dig for its match.<br />
<br />
In the last 14 hours I’ve wrestled four arms and feet into church clothes, play clothes, the bathtub and bed; cooked and cleaned three meals, two snacks, six spills and four ice cream cones; washed, dried, folded and put away seven loads of laundry; trucked to the grocery store, the gas station, the Dollar Store and Target; and mediated at least a dozen sibling squabbles while sorting LEGOS and sweeping chunks of dried Play-Doh off the kitchen floor.<br />
<br />
This is my Sabbath Day.<br />
<br />
Funny—it looks a lot different from my husband’s.<br />
<br />
Because while I’ve been busting my housewife behind, he’s been lounging on the couch watching baseball. Reading the newspaper. Eating chips and checking e-mail. <br />
<br />
And as I reach for the very last pair of underwear in the bottom of the laundry basket, he peels his eyes from the TV to glance at me and says—“Do you need any help?”<br />
<br />
Do. I. Need. HELP?? <em>Why, yes, sweet husband. Thanks for asking. I do need some help, actually. I need help understanding why you get to nap in a chair while I chop onions for your dinner. And then I need everyone in this family to stop wearing underwear so that I </em><em> . . . don’t . . . have . . . to . . . WASH IT ANYMOOOOOOORE!!!</em> <br />
<br />
Recognize this lady? She’s not the wife or the mom. She’s the maid. And she isn’t just worn out—she’s steaming mad.<br />
<br />
Because she works hard for her family and feels underpaid. She wants a break and doesn’t take one—even when everybody else does—because <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/sometimes-laundry-just-needs-to-get-done.html">sometimes the laundry just needs to get done</a>. And the poor old gal is sick and tired of sorting t-shirts and spreading peanut butter while the world spins on without her. <br />
<br />
But then. I snatch that last laundry basket and huff toward the basement stairs. Through the kitchen. Past the refrigerator—where my eyes catch a wrinkled sheet of printer paper, tacked above the ice dispenser with a blue alphabet magnet. It highlights these words:<br />
<br />
<em>“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality,” (Romans 12:9–13).</em><br />
<br />
I stuck these verses to the fridge months ago when I was struggling with something totally unrelated to housework. It was the “be joyful in hope, patient in affliction” part that spoke to me then. But now the entire passage takes on a whole new meaning. <em>Be devoted to one another . . . honor one another above yourselves . . . serving the Lord . . . practice hospitality.</em><br />
<br />
In my Bible, the heading of this passage is “Love in Action.” And who do I love best? <br />
<br />
My family.<br />
<br />
Ouch.<br />
<br />
I’ve been looking at my husband all wrong. I’m not his maid. <strong>I’m the love of his life.</strong> And love shows itself through action. Through serving and sacrifice. Through dishes and sweeping and cooking and laundry.<br />
<br />
Do you see your housework that way? Maybe it’s not a chore so much as an expression of affection for the people we serve. And if that’s the case, no mound of underwear could possibly be tall enough to demonstrate my love for the man who sits on the couch while I fold his drawers.<br />
<br />
Yes, sometimes I’d like him to pitch in more. And quite frankly, he wishes I’d chill out. Because then maybe I’d notice that between rest stops, my husband mowed the lawn. He grilled the chicken. He fixed the clog in the sink. He does his fair share. He’s just better at relaxing than I am. <br />
<br />
So next Sunday, I’m going to take a cue from my hubby and join him on the couch for the ball game. I’ll bring him a bag of chips and a basket of my socks—which he can fold.<br />
<br />
Because he looooves me. Right, babe?<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/07/when-hubby-leaves-his-socks-on-floor.html"><em>When Hubby Leaves His Socks on the Floor</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/08/how-to-marry-your-husband-all-over-again.html"><em>How to Marry Your Husband All Over Again</em></a><em>, <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/06/nobody-notices-when-i-sweep-floor.html">Nobody Notices When I Sweep the Floor</a>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/queen-of-castle-fresh-perspective-on.html"><em>Queen of the Castle: A Fresh Perspective on Housework</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>,</em><em> <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a>, <a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>,</em> <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-46705782775375073152013-08-19T06:50:00.000-05:002013-08-29T08:55:13.582-05:00How to Marry Your Husband All Over Again<em>“But at the beginning of creation God ‘made them male and female. . . For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate,” (Mark 10:6–9).</em><br />
<br />
There’s nothing like a wedding to make a girl fall crazy in love—again.<br />
<br />
Last Saturday, my brother-in-law got married. He’s 15 years younger than my husband, which makes us the wise older couple. After 11 years of marriage, two children and a minivan, hubby and I have this marriage thing <em>down</em>.<br />
<br />
Or so I thought. Until a moment during the ceremony when the minister spoke these words.<br />
<br />
<strong>“Marriage isn’t a vow you make once and for all on your wedding day. It’s a daily recommitment.”</strong><br />
<br />
<em>Huh.</em> A daily recommitment—to love, honor and cherish this person, in sickness and in health—every single stinking day, whether you feel like it or not.<br />
<br />
I turned to look at my husband, the tallest groomsman on the altar, standing regal and proud among a line of young men. <em>He’s still my groom</em>, I thought. <em>He’s still the one I love.</em> <br />
<br />
This man, whom I know beyond the tuxedo.<br />
<br />
The one who mows the lawn in hole-torn jeans and a sweaty three-day beard.<br />
<br />
The one who clutched my hand through childbirth and whispers bedtime stories to our girls. <br />
<br />
The one who harbors dreams still not reached, and cheers me on toward mine.<br />
<br />
I know his virtues. I know his faults. Do I still wake up every day vowing “I do”? When his hair peppers gray and he gains a few pounds. When we go to bed in silence the night before, angry and hurt. When other people or places start to look more interesting than this life we share. Will I lay it all on the altar again each morning and promise to love my husband most?<br />
<br />
If there’s anything I’ve learned since my own wedding day, it’s that the exhilaration of new love fades. But it can grow to something deeper, something even stronger. <br />
<br />
<strong>Commitment.</strong><br />
<br />
And commitment isn’t a feeling. It’s a choice.<br />
<br />
Later that night, I watched with my heart stuck in my throat as my husband held our six-year-old daughter’s hands and spun her on the dance floor. Someday—in a blur of years like a single breath—I’ll look on this same scene at my daughter in shimmering white, and her daddy blinking back tears as he gives her away to her own husband, her own lifelong choice. And I pray it’ll be a good one.<br />
<br />
Because marriage still matters. It’s the love of God growing through generations in good times and bad. And I’m going to choose it again and again, day after day, ‘til death do us part.<br />
<br />
Will you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-dreams-contentment-and-spaghetti.html">On Dreams, Contentment and Spaghetti</a>, <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/02/i-know-why-dinosaurs-are-extinct.html">I Know Why Dinosaurs Are Extinct</a>, and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/07/when-hubby-leaves-his-socks-on-floor.html">When Hubby Leaves His Socks on the Floor</a></em><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a>, <a href="http://chasingblueskies.net/" target="_blank">Chasing Blue Skies</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-51593855270213372452013-08-12T06:48:00.000-05:002013-08-13T21:58:22.407-05:00When You Can't Fly Away to Maui<em>“Better what the eye sees than the roving of the appetite. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind,” (Ecclesiastes 6:9).</em><br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
Motherhood is the best job I’ve ever had. But sometimes I wish the benefits package included vacation time.</div>
<br />
When my kids spend twelve consecutive hours bickering over toys and begging for cookies—I could use a day alone at the lake.<br />
<br />
When I’ve played six games of UNO Moo, styled an American Girl doll’s hair eight different ways, and assembled 324 puzzle pieces before lunch—I get restless for a weekend with the girls. Grown-up girls, I mean.<br />
<br />
And when my husband and I can’t finish a meal, or a sentence, or a singular thought without someone interjecting to ask for milk or help or every ounce of our attention—I dream of a week in Maui sipping tall beverages spiked with pineapple juice. And cherries, too. Let’s go crazy.<br />
<br />
So what do I do when I want to get away, but can’t?<br />
<br />
<strong>I count my blessings.</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>The freckles on my daughter’s nose and the lilt in her laugh.</li>
<li>Crayons on the carpet and healthy kids who scatter them there.</li>
<li>A good job that keeps my husband at the office past dinner time.</li>
<li>Four walls to protect us, even as I scratch and climb them.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I can’t change my circumstances. But I can change the way I look at them. Can you? <br />
<br />
So that plane to Maui, it has to fly without me. But tonight I just might pour myself a tall glass of something fruity anyhow. Want to come over? You bring the paper umbrellas; I’ll spring for the cherries.<br />
<div>
<br />
</div>
<div>
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/07/when-hubby-leaves-his-socks-on-floor.html"><em>When Hubby Leaves His Socks on the Floor</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/04/why-some-shoulds-are-good-for-us.html"><em>Why Some Shoulds Are Good for Us</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/what-that-mess-really-means.html"><em>What That Mess Really Means</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em></div>
<div>
</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-87169568711365841922013-08-05T06:39:00.000-05:002013-08-05T06:39:46.492-05:00Yes, I Ate Your Cookie<em>“For we are taking pains to do what is right, not only in the eyes of the Lord but also in the eyes of man,” (2 Corinthians 8:21).</em><br />
<br />
I’m a big fan of forgiveness. Especially when I have to beg my kids for it.<br />
<br />
“Are you hungry for a snack?” I wiggled eyebrows at my husband. We’d just settled into the family room for our quiet hour—that precious time of night after kids are in bed and we can talk openly, watch cartoon-free TV, or scan iPads without anybody asking to play Angry Birds. <br />
<br />
“Sure.” He kicked his feet up on the sofa.<br />
<br />
“Do you think the girls will notice if we eat their cookies?”<br />
<br />
“Pffff. . . No.”<br />
<br />
I giggled and tiptoed to the kitchen cupboard. Earlier that evening, our daughters completed their fifth and final <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/06/crying-to-finish-line.html">youth fun run</a> of the summer. Past the finish line, all runners were treated to the usual smorgasbord of pizza, fruit, ice cream bars, and a jumbo cookie from a local bakery. Now after five races, we knew our girls’ routine. They start with their ice cream bars, finish off the pizza, ignore the fruit and stash the cookies in our cupboard for later—where they forget about them until the cookies turn stale and I toss them in the trash.<br />
<br />
It’s such a shame to let a good cookie go to waste. The kids weren’t going to eat them, anyway. So hubby and I snatched those delicious oatmeal toffee treats and licked every crumb off our thumbs.<br />
<br />
The next morning, my three-year-old climbed out of bed and asked for breakfast. “Mommy, can I have my cookie from the fun run?”<br />
<br />
My eyeballs popped in a split second of panic, then I recovered with a smooth mom reply. “No, sweetheart, we don’t eat cookies for breakfast. Maybe you can have a cookie later.” Notice I didn’t say <em>which</em> cookie, exactly. There was plenty of time to whip up a fresh batch before lunch.<br />
<br />
Two minutes later, my six-year-old padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Mom, I want my cookie from the fun run.”<br />
<br />
<em>Seriously?</em><br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I faced her straight on. “You can’t have a cookie for breakfast.”<br />
<br />
“But where is it? Can I see it?”<br />
<br />
“See what?”<br />
<br />
“My cookie! I thought about it all night long!”<br />
<br />
Bugger! Five fun runs leading up to this moment, and I testify these children did not give a rip about those cookies before today. I had to fess up.<br />
<br />
“Girls,” I swallowed hard, “Mom and Dad ate your cookies.”<br />
<br />
Their jaws dropped, and their faces distorted into high-pitched heartbreak. “Waaaaah! How could you eat our cookies?! We wanted those cookies! They were OURS! Waaaaaahh!”<br />
<br />
Stab me with a spatula, why don’t you.<br />
<br />
“Girls, I’m very sorry.” I grabbed their hands. “I didn’t think you wanted your cookies. Dad and I never would have eaten them if we knew how important they were to you. You’re right, the cookies belonged to you, and we were wrong to eat them. Please forgive me.”<br />
<br />
They wailed. They thrashed. They dripped tears onto the kitchen floor. For crying out loud, we ate their <em>cookies</em>, not their hamsters! But their little hearts ached; therefore, so did mine.<br />
<br />
Then I did what any loving mom would do. I bribed them.<br />
<br />
“Girls, I have something better. Will you stop crying if I give you a different treat?” I rushed to the cupboard and pulled out two full-size Hershey bars, intended for s’mores but awfully handy in an emergency like this. They took one look at those chocolate bars and jumped.<br />
<br />
“We can eat it for breakfast?” My three-year-old wiped her tears with the back of her hand and grinned.<br />
<br />
“Yes!” Mommy guilt hijacked my nutrition rules. “Have at it.”<br />
<br />
“The whole thing?” Her eyes grew round and sparkled.<br />
<br />
“The whole thing.”<br />
<br />
“Yay!” They squealed and tore into the wrappers, and they never mentioned those cookies again. Thank the Lord.<br />
<br />
So what’s a mom to do when she blows it? <br />
<br />
<strong>Confess.</strong> Honesty is a core value in our family. In order for my kids to learn it, I have to model it, even when—<em>especially</em> when—it reveals a weakness or mistake. When kids learn their parents aren’t perfect, they discover perfection is not the goal. Honesty is.<br />
<br />
<strong>Humble yourself.</strong> Ask for forgiveness when you mess up. It’s how I expect my kids to behave toward each other, so I should do it, too. <br />
<br />
<strong>Don’t assume you know your child’s heart better than she does.</strong> This one was hard. I <em>know</em> my kids. I study them and nurture them day in and day out. But that doesn’t mean I own their feelings. I had to allow them space to hurt—and to take responsibility for the hurt—even when my grown-up reasoning told me the whole thing was ridiculous. They’re kids, after all. <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/11/no-you-are-not-failing.html">They have childish emotions</a>. And that doesn’t make them wrong; it makes them normal.<br />
<br />
<strong>And finally, keep a stash of candy on hand at all times.</strong> You never know when you might need it. Like the following day, for example, when I threw away my girls’ leftover pudding. Who knew they were planning to feed it to their dolls?<br />
<br />
Oh, well. It’s nothing an apology and a handful of Skittles can’t fix.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/08/if-you-give-mom-minute.html"><em>If You Give a Mom a Minute</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/good-moms-keep-their-promises.html"><em>Good Moms Keep Their Promises</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/08/cut-me-some-slack-little-people.html"><em>Cut Me Some Slack, Little People</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a>, <a href="http://chasingblueskies.net/" target="_blank">Chasing Blue Skies</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-21819157054704328662013-08-01T07:21:00.003-05:002013-08-01T07:25:51.114-05:00Join Me at The Overflow!<em>Just popping in on this lovely Thursday to let you know I’m sharing one of my classic posts, <a href="http://aliciabruxvoort.net/i-love-you-lots-and-cows/" target="_blank">I Love You Lots and Cows</a>, at Alicia Bruxvoort’s place—<a href="http://aliciabruxvoort.net/i-love-you-lots-and-cows/" target="_blank">The Overflow</a>. Alicia is among my top favorite writers/bloggers/fellow moms on the faith journey. She has a gift for turning ordinary experiences into poignant tales of encouragement, humor, and hope. Please join me at <a href="http://aliciabruxvoort.net/i-love-you-lots-and-cows/" target="_blank">The Overflow</a> today, “where souls are filled and faith is spilled.”</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>* * * * * * * *</em></div>
I don’t know where she got the idea. Maybe it was because we’d just visited our friend’s dairy farm. She found the animals intimidating—larger than life. In my daughter’s world, those cattle were the biggest thing imaginable. That might be why, when her dad asked her, “How much does Daddy love you?” our toddler answered, “Cows.” <a href="http://aliciabruxvoort.net/i-love-you-lots-and-cows/" target="_blank"><strong>Read more</strong></a><strong>…</strong>
<br />
<br />
<!-- Badge START --><a href="http://www.blogger.com/aliciabruxvoort.net" title="The Inspire Series at The Overflow!"><img align="left" margin="5px" src="http://aliciabruxvoort.net/badges/inspire-series.png" style="border: 0px currentColor;" /></a><!-- Badge END -->Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-63128132793687752162013-07-29T07:06:00.000-05:002013-07-29T07:06:14.851-05:00When Hubby Leaves His Socks on the FloorI discovered a remedy for all my husband’s annoying habits. <br />
<br />
<strong>I stop thinking about them.</strong><br />
<br />
Like when he yanks open the microwave door two seconds before the timer beeps. Then later when I glace at the clock expecting to see something reasonable like 7:48, it flashes :02! :02! :02!—which tells me nothing except that there’s a man in the house who wants to vex me.<br />
<br />
Or when he walks three paces ahead of me in the grocery store, as if we’re not involved in reading cereal labels and price-matching peanut butter together. Then once my arms are piled with jars and boxes, Mr. Speed Shopper is already in the next aisle—with the cart.<br />
<br />
And of course there’s his classic habit of leaving dirty socks on our bedroom floor instead of tossing them down the laundry chute. So laundry day comes and goes and he asks, “Did you wash my socks?” to which I raise my eyebrows and reply, “What socks?” And then we’re in a laundry standoff because he <em>knows</em> what I’m talking about.<br />
<br />
This stuff drives me nuts. I could spend all day stewing over it.<br />
<br />
But I don’t.<br />
<br />
<em>“. . . Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things,” (Philippians 4:8).</em><br />
<br />
A few years ago, one of my dear mentor moms taught me a trick. I call it the “quick switch.” Whenever her husband did something to irritate her, she immediately switched her complaint to an affirming thought. Yes, he left his ice cream bowl in the sink again, but. . .<br />
<br />
<em>He is loyal. </em><br />
<em>He’s a good provider. </em><br />
<em>He loves his kids.</em><br />
<br />
My mentor spent a season of her marriage praying that the Holy Spirit would make this quick-switch method second nature. That any time a negative thought about her husband popped into her head, God would immediately replace it with a list of positives. And it worked—for both of us.<br />
<br />
Now when I’m tempted to grumble over those bedside socks, I grin. <br />
<br />
<em>Because my husband is faithful.</em><br />
<em>He is honest.</em><br />
<em>He’s a hero to our kids.</em><br />
<br />
And when he speeds ahead of me in the freezer section, I shrug.<br />
<br />
<em>My husband loves me deeply.</em><br />
<em>He makes me laugh.</em><br />
<em>He knows how to replace a headlight.</em><br />
<br />
And when I check the microwave clock at bedtime and catch that flashing :02!, I just punch the CLEAR button and focus on what matters.<br />
<br />
<em>My husband cooks.</em><br />
<em>He works hard to make our life comfortable.</em><br />
<em>He is a gift to our family from God.</em><br />
<br />
So I will not allow little annoyances to erode our relationship and overshadow what matters most. If my husband were gone tomorrow, heaven forbid, I’d miss those socks in the corner. I know I would.<br />
<br />
Besides, let’s be real—I irk my husband, too. Like when I say I’ll be ready in 15 minutes, but really that means 45 because I change outfits three times and restock my purse with fruit snacks and baby wipes.<br />
<br />
Or when I leave the refrigerator door open and the bathroom light on. Apparently this is quite distressing to an energy conservationist—<span style="font-size: x-small;">{sorry, honey}</span>. <br />
<br />
Or those nights when I stay up late writing blog posts, then tiptoe into a dark bedroom, knock over a lamp and wake my hubby from a sound sleep. (Yes, this has happened more than once.) So he heaves a sigh and lies awake, unable to fall asleep again for two hours—which, in my estimation, is a good chunk of quality time to fixate on how fabulous I am despite my flaws.<br />
<br />
So you see? Marriage is the place where two imperfect people learn to love each other the way Jesus loves us—unconditionally, soaked in forgiveness, and full of crazy grace. Which means those socks on the floor aren’t really a bother. <br />
<br />
They’re a blessing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2011/11/confessions-of-hunters-wife.html"><em>Confessions of a Hunter’s Wife</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-foolproof-cure-for-hollering.html"><em>The Foolproof Cure for Hollering</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/witch-i-hate-her.html"><em>The Witch. I Hate Her</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a>, and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-512053632004196572013-07-22T06:24:00.000-05:002013-07-25T15:10:43.943-05:00What a Watermelon Taught Me About My Control Freak TendenciesAs my kids grow bigger, I’m learning to let them make their own choices. Even when I disagree.<br />
<br />
Like last Saturday, for example, at the grocery store.<br />
<br />
“Mom, can we get a watermelon? Please? Please? I love watermelon!” My six-year-old spied a crate of enormous melons in the center of the produce aisle. She clasped her hands in front of her chest and pleaded. <br />
<br />
“Sure, we can get a watermelon,” I nodded. “If you promise me you’re going to eat it.”<br />
<br />
“I will, I will! Can I pick one?”<br />
<br />
“Okay.”<br />
<br />
Now, you need to understand—I’m really picky about my fruit. Grapes must be firm, apples need green stems, bananas should be slender, and watermelons are best in smooth, sun-ripened skins. <br />
<br />
So when my daughter reached for the ugliest, pock-marked, asymmetrical pale green watermelon in the pile, I cringed.<br />
<br />
“You like that one?” I raised my eyebrows.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, Momma, I want this watermelon.”<br />
<br />
I hovered over the crate for a few seconds, dropped my jaw halfway to object, then clamped it and exhaled hard through my nose. I helped my daughter lift her choice into the cart and wheeled toward the bakery aisle without looking back. <br />
<br />
It’s only a watermelon, after all. Not a car, or a college, or a husband. Can’t hurt to let her pick her own fruit, right? Might even help.<br />
<br />
<em>“Blessed are those who find wisdom, those who gain understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her. Long life is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor. Her ways are pleasant ways, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her; those who hold her fast will be blessed,” (Proverbs 3:13–18).</em><br />
<br />
Our kids will make a lot of choices in their lifetime. What clothes to wear, which friends to hang out with, yes or no to drugs. I have opinions about these things, of course, and in some cases my opinions dictate rules for my children to follow. But eventually their decisions won’t be under my sole influence or happening under my roof. When that time comes, I hope and pray to God they’ll do the right thing.<br />
<br />
But how? How will my six-year-old learn to make wise choices if I constantly make them for her?<br />
<br />
Yes, a watermelon is only a watermelon. But at that moment, it was so much more. It was an opportunity—to show my daughter that her decisions matter.<br />
<br />
One day, each of our children will make the ultimate choice—whether or not to live for Jesus. I’m starting now, building my kids’ confidence in their own decision-making abilities, so that someday, when they’re grown, Jesus will be <em>their</em> choice and not just some habit they picked up from Mom and Dad. For faith to be real, my kids need to own it—deeply, personally, and completely. It begins with me backing off on the small choices. It begins with a watermelon.<br />
<br />
When we got home from the grocery store, I scrubbed that ugly melon and sliced through the rind, expecting to find dried-up, seedy flesh about as flavorful as cardboard. But to my surprise, the fruit was ruby red and shimmering with juice. I bit off a chunk, and my taste buds tingled.<br />
<br />
I’ll be darned. A perfect watermelon. <br />
<br />
“Nice choice, sweetheart.” I handed my daughter a slice. She smiled.<br />
<br />
“I know how to pick ‘em, don’t I, Mom?”<br />
<br />
I sure hope so, my love. Mom is praying that will be true. <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/how-to-raise-timid-child.html"><em>How to Raise a Timid Child</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/05/why-im-not-raising-independent-kids.html"><em>Why I’m Not Raising Independent Kids</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/06/three-things-i-wont-tell-my-children.html"><em>Three Things I Won’t Tell My Children</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a>, <a href="http://chasingblueskies.net/" target="_blank">Chasing Blue Skies</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-21783808300120439892013-07-15T06:40:00.000-05:002013-07-15T06:40:29.342-05:00Does God Really Notice Me?<em>“Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you,” (1 Peter 5:7).</em><br />
<br />
I sat on bleachers among a small cheerleading section of moms at the gymnastics center. My eyes shot from one end of the room to the other, first to the balance beam, where my six-year-old spread her arms like wings and stepped gingerly on pointed toes, then to the tumbling mat, where my three-year-old rolled somersaults and sprung to her feet with happy hands in the air.<br />
<br />
When the summer gymnastics schedule came out last spring and I discovered both girls could take a class at the same time, I thought, great! Beginner Girls for one, Tumble Stars for the other—and I’ll get to sit back and watch. Perfect.<br />
<br />
Except I don’t have enough eyeballs in my head.<br />
<br />
The action at gymnastics is simultaneous. One daughter prepares her dismount from the parallel bars while the other takes her turn leaping into the foam pit. I spend the hour mad-dashing my attention from favorite child to favorite child, trying to catch each daughter’s highlights and applaud their courage. But, inevitably, I miss something. And then I hear about it on the drive home.<br />
<br />
“Mom, you watched her more than me!” My six-year-old complained from the back seat.<br />
<br />
“I did not, I watched you both equally.”<br />
<br />
“But you didn’t see my cartwheel! It was the best one I’ve ever done in my whole life!”<br />
<br />
“Lovey,” I glanced at my firstborn in the rear-view mirror, “I watch you practice cartwheels every day, and I saw plenty of excellent cartwheels this morning in class. I’m very proud of you.”<br />
<br />
“But I looked at you after my best cartwheel and you were watching the tumblers.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I sighed. “I can’t see everything. I love you and I want to watch you. I also love your sister and I need to watch her, too. I was cheering for both of you. I promise.”<br />
<br />
Ugh. Only two kids to my name, and I struggle to keep track. Then I wonder—how does God do it? There are millions of us, his beloved children, and we’re not conveniently confined to one gymnasium. We’re everywhere. <br />
<br />
Does he really notice me?<br />
<br />
Yes. <br />
<br />
<em>“I look up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord. He is the Maker of heaven and earth. He won’t let your foot slip. He who watches over you won’t get tired. In fact, he who watches over Israel won’t get tired or go to sleep. The Lord watches over you. The Lord is like a shade tree at your right hand. The sun won’t harm you during the day. The moon won’t harm you during the night. The Lord will keep you from every kind of harm. He will watch over your life. The Lord will watch over your life no matter where you go, both now and forever,” (Psalm 121, NIRV).</em><br />
<br />
Last week I had one of those days—when stress bubbled over and I doubted if God cared. Surely my whining wasn’t nearly as important as a universe full of “real” problems, right?<br />
<br />
Not exactly. God does care. He does hear. Big or small, he wants us to share every trouble with him. I shouldn’t be satisfied grumbling only to my husband or stepping over heaven’s timing by trying to fix the issue myself. We all know how well that usually turns out, anyway.<br />
<br />
When we want God’s attention, all we need to do is <em>look up to the hills</em>, where our help comes from. <br />
<br />
So I exhaled and prayed. I spoke silently to God while I chopped broccoli for dinner and again when I scrubbed pots. I spent an evening tossing all my worries on the Lord. Then a strange peace settled over me, and I knew God heard my plea. <br />
<br />
I can’t fathom it. So many people vying for God’s concern, and somehow he is available to each of us, all the time. His eyes are everywhere.<br />
<br />
I wish I could say the same for mine. When we got home from gymnastics, I opened the door to the back yard and nudged my daughters out.<br />
<br />
“Show me your best moves, girls. Cartwheels, somersaults, hand stands, I want to see all of it.”<br />
<br />
“Yay!” They squealed and ran for the grass.<br />
<br />
“Just one condition,” I held up my hand. “Please—take turns. Mom only has two eyeballs. And I don’t want to miss a thing.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/how-big-is-god.html"><em>How Big Is God</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/whats-better-than-bed-full-of-teddy.html"><em>What’s Better Than a Bed Full of Teddy Bears</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/i-love-you-lots-and-cows.html"><em>I Love You Lots and Cows</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-90359392629499847622013-07-08T07:10:00.000-05:002013-07-08T20:47:34.539-05:00When the Kids Wear Pajamas 'til Noon<em>“I’ll refresh tired bodies; I’ll restore tired souls,” (Jeremiah 31:25, MSG).</em><br />
<br />
My kids wrote a summer bucket list. It’s filled with fun and educational activities—gymnastics class, library reading club, play dates, the zoo. Most days, we check at least one item off the list.<br />
<br />
Some days, we don’t.<br />
<br />
And those are the days I hear <em>the voice</em>. You know her. I’ll bet she lives in your head, too.<br />
<br />
<em>“You’re wasting your summer,”</em> the voice whispers. <em>“Shouldn’t you be planning some Pinterest-worthy craft or taking your kids on a scavenger hunt or something? Really, my dear, just look at them over there, lounging in the living room watching Sprout and eating popsicles. Don’t you have anything better to do?”</em><br />
<br />
I peeked at my girls snuggled in front of the TV, laughing, slurping and dripping blue Freeze Pop juice on the carpet, and I realized—no. We do not have anything better to do. Not today.<br />
<br />
This is what summer is about.<br />
<br />
<em>Freedom.</em><br />
<br />
For nine months, school laid siege to our household. The academic schedule dictated everything, from wake-up calls to bedtimes and all activity in between. By the time June finally arrived, we desperately needed a break.<br />
<br />
So I won’t feel guilty for taking it.<br />
<br />
Structure is good for kids, yes. I orchestrate enough summer activities to keep my daughters occupied and learning, and you probably do, too. But when did we start believing that down time is less valuable? Sometimes my girls just want to run barefoot in the yard and squish toes in the sandbox. They want to build forts and play house and mix mud pies. They want the security of home, knowing I’m here watching over them without <em>taking over</em> every hour of their day.<br />
<br />
So I’ve decided it’s okay to <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/sometimes-laundry-just-needs-to-get-done.html">spend a morning cleaning house</a> while my kids play make-believe grocery store in their pajamas until noon. It’s okay to sit on a patio chair reading while they practice cartwheels in the grass. It’s okay to have nowhere to go and nobody to see and nothing impressive to post on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeckyKopitzkeTimeOut" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, because an open day is a gift to unwrap and explore. We all know that when September comes, those gifts will hide away. Let’s grab them while we can.<br />
<br />
Rest. Restore. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<strong>You’re not wasting your summer. You’re making the most of it.</strong><br />
<br />
Last night, after I tucked the girls in bed, I climbed over two heaping laundry baskets to reach the sofa. My husband slid a disc into our Blu-Ray player and grabbed the remote. Then I heard the voice again.<br />
<br />
<em>“Shouldn’t you fold those towels?”</em> <br />
<br />
This time, I answered.<br />
<br />
“Zip it, lady. I’m watching a movie. You’re not welcome here anymore.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/sometimes-laundry-just-needs-to-get-done.html"><em>Sometimes the Laundry Just Needs to Get Done</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/i-should-not-do-that.html"><em>I Should (Not) Do That</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-wiggles-movie-changed-my-life.html"><em>How a Wiggles Movie Changed My Life</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-49164622616855930412013-07-01T07:07:00.000-05:002013-07-01T07:07:50.384-05:00It's Not a Yawn, It's a HiccupMy three-year-old snuggled beside me in the overstuffed family room chair, eyelids drooping. She stretched her mouth, drew a long breath of air, then exhaled a sleepy, guttural sigh.<br />
<br />
“Was that a yawn?” I turned my face to hers and smiled.<br />
<br />
“No.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, it was. I heard you yawn. It must be time for bed.”<br />
<br />
“No, it wasn’t a yawn.”<br />
<br />
“What was it, then?”<br />
<br />
“A hiccup!”<br />
<br />
My husband chuckled. “Silly, that was not a hiccup,” he said. “You’re tired. Come on, let’s brush teeth and tuck you into bed.”<br />
<br />
“No, Daddy! I’m watching Dora! I just had a hiccup.” She yawned again. <br />
<br />
“Say night-night to Dora. You’re going to bed.” My husband scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom sink.<br />
<br />
Kids are funny. My girls think they invented bluffing, but I’m <em>so</em> onto them—because I can play that trick, too. <br />
<br />
When I want to hide my weaknesses, I simply<em> rename</em> them.<br />
<br />
<em>I’m not anxious. I’m productive.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>I’m not impatient. I’m punctual.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>I’m not judgmental. I just hold people to a high standard.</em><br />
<br />
Uh-huh. <br />
<br />
<em>It’s not a yawn! It’s a hiccup!</em><br />
<br />
I tell myself this because, like my daughter, I don’t want to face what a yawn might mean. You, too?<br />
<br />
<em>“Surely you desire integrity in the inner self, and you teach me wisdom deep within,” (Psalm 51:6, HCSB).</em><br />
<br />
God wants us to be honest with ourselves. We might fool the people around us, and we might even fool our own ego for a while, but we can never fool God. He made us. He knows our issues before we do.<br />
<br />
And yet he loves us.<br />
<br />
Sound familiar? It should. As parents, we’re experts at loving imperfect people—our kids. I knew my daughter was flat-out fibbing about that yawn, yet I didn’t scold her for it. I didn’t love her less. If anything, her little “hiccup” endeared her to me even more.<br />
<br />
And so it goes with God. He doesn’t condemn us for our inner struggles. He wants to guide us through them—even as we spend a lifetime trying to figure ourselves out.<br />
<br />
“Good night, sweetheart.” I leaned over my daughter’s toddler bed and kissed her cheek. “I hope your hiccups are gone now.”<br />
<br />
“Yeees.” Her voice stretched with another yawn. She smacked her lips and shut her eyes. “I’m tired.”<br />
<br />
“I know you are,” I whispered. “Sleep tight. Jesus loves you.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/beauty-of-naked-lion-chase.html"><em>The Beauty of a Naked Lion Chase</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/08/life-lessons-from-bird-net-and.html"><em>Life Lessons from a Bird, a Net, and a Scissors</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/10/how-my-walk-of-faith-is-like-stroller.html"><em>How My Walk of Faith Is Like a Stroller Ride</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-27519032723789917362013-06-24T06:39:00.000-05:002013-06-25T20:28:34.839-05:00Crying to the Finish LineI stood ankle-deep in dandelions and squinted down the field. Twenty yards away, my husband held a daughter’s hand in each of his, and they jogged together—my favorite team of three. This was our first “summer fun run,” a community-sponsored event complete with ice cream treats and a ribbon for every child. It’s supposed to encourage kids to love running.<br />
<br />
But mine hated it.<br />
<br />
The age-six-and-under group rounded the corner to the final stretch while a swarm of parents cheered from the sidelines. I whooped and hollered, then held up my camera to snap the memory. That’s when my younger daughter’s face came into focus. Her mouth hung open, wailing, and tears streaked her cheeks.<br />
<br />
“She cried the whole race,” my husband said, and I scooped our babe into my arms.<br />
<br />
“What’s wrong?” I blotted her eyes with my sleeve and carried her to the ribbon station. “Didn’t you have fun?”<br />
<br />
“Mommy, I tripped and I cried for you!”<br />
<br />
“She did.” My husband chuckled sympathetically and filled in the details. Apparently, just past the starting flag, while my view was blocked by mobs of other children, our little one tripped on another kid’s foot and took a digger in the grass. She got up, cried “I want Mommy,” then kept running and bawling for a quarter mile. <br />
<br />
God bless her. Only three years old, and already she’s discovered one of life’s greatest lessons.<br />
<br />
<strong>Keep running—even if you have to cry all the way to the finish line.</strong><br />
<br />
I trip, too. Don’t you? We all mess up sometimes, or get hit with a bad turn. Call it an argument, a health scare, job stress, tantrums; doubt, fear, sorrow or pride. There are lots of ways to stumble and fall. We hurt. We cry out to God, <em>“I want you! Where are you?”</em> <br />
<br />
But sometimes God seems distant. We can’t make his face out in the crowd. So the best we can do is keep running toward him, and trust he is cheering us on.<br />
<br />
<em>“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart,” (Hebrews 12:1–3).</em><br />
<br />
Next time you’re down, consider <em>him</em>. Jesus got a few sneakers hurled in his path, too. Temptation. Betrayal. Crucifixion. Where was God in all of that? <br />
<br />
<em>He was in charge.</em><br />
<br />
All the suffering in Jesus’ life was part of God’s purpose and plan to save the world. Don’t you think we can trust he has our obstacles covered, too?<br />
<br />
When the fun run was over, my girls sat buckled in their car seats slurping Dairy Queen star kiss bars, merry as can be.<br />
<br />
“I’m so proud of you both.” I turned around to smile at their blue sorbet mustaches. “You finished the race! You were so brave! Do you want to do the fun run again? There’s another one coming up in two weeks.”<br />
<br />
“Will they have treats there?” My three-year-old perked up.<br />
<br />
“Yes, sweetheart,” I laughed. “There will be lots of treats.”<br />
<br />
And the same goes for us. God promises great rewards for those who finish the race. <br />
<br />
I’m pretty sure heaven is way better than ice cream.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/04/teaching-kids-to-handle-disappointment.html"><em>Teaching Kids to Handle Disappointment</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/whats-better-than-bed-full-of-teddy.html"><em>What’s Better Than a Bed Full of Teddy Bears?</em></a><em> and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/05/when-your-oven-blows-up-bake-cupcakes.html"><em>When Your Oven Blows Up, Bake Cupcakes</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a>, <a href="http://www.servingjoyfully.com/" target="_blank">Thriving Thursdays</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-19545675162818071452013-06-20T06:53:00.000-05:002013-06-20T06:53:33.748-05:00Sometimes You Just Have to Face the Trolls“Mommy, can I watch Tinkerbell?” My three-year-old clutched a stuffed puppy in her hand and climbed beside me on the sofa. <br />
<br />
“Sure, we can watch a little TV before bedtime.” I grabbed the remote and flipped to my girls’ latest favorite—<em>Tinkerbell and the Lost Treasure</em>.<br />
<br />
“But, Mom, can you skip the part about the trolls? I don’t like the trolls.”<br />
<br />
The trolls? Ah, yes. There’s a scene where Tinkerbell tries to cross a bridge guarded by two nasty oafs who threaten to chew her for dinner. <br />
<br />
Heck, I’d like to skip the trolls, too. I’ve known a few trolls in my life. You, too? <br />
<br />
<em>Today I’m sharing some mid-week encouragement on Tricia’s blog, Raising Humans. Her focus is on personal growth through parenting, which we moms know isn’t always pretty. I hope you’ll join me there to <a href="http://www.raising-humans.com/2013/06/20/growing-together-sometimes-you-just-have-to-face-the-trolls/#.UcLslHco7IU" target="_blank">read the full story</a>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-50053534241561401372013-06-17T06:14:00.000-05:002013-06-17T06:16:28.511-05:00One Good Reason to Spoil Your Kids“Mommy, will you tell us a story?" My three-year-old looked up at me, pleading. Her wispy hair lay fanned across a cotton pillowcase, and her eyes shone glossy in the lamplight.<br />
<br />
“A story? Sure.” It was a typical bedtime request. My girls like to hear stories from my childhood, so I spin ordinary memories into fairy tales. They think this is fabulous entertainment.<br />
<br />
“Once upon a time,” I launched into my standard opener, “there was a beautiful princess named Princess Becky. Every week, she went grocery shopping with her mom, Queen Nana. At the checkout aisle, Princess Becky was allowed to pick one treat. Sometimes she chose a candy bar, sometimes bubble gum, and it was always special because it was the only treat she got all week.”<br />
<br />
“One treat?” My six-year-old daughter’s eyes bulged. “That’s all?”<br />
<br />
“Oh, yes,” I nodded. “Just one a week. Princess Becky didn’t have chips and cookies in her house every day like we do.”<br />
<br />
“Wow.” My daughter struggled to comprehend such hardship. Suddenly I thought of the two Hershey’s Kisses she ate that day, and the Oreo her sister gobbled after dinner. Plus the fruit snacks I gave them on the drive home from gymnastics, the suckers they got at the bank, and the vanilla cones we bought at our neighborhood drive-in last night. <br />
<br />
Open our cupboards right now and you’ll find Sunchips, Cheez-Its, Raisinets, jelly beans, marshmallows, M&Ms and every variety of Goldfish made in America.<br />
<br />
My mother never kept junk food in the house.<br />
<br />
Am I spoiling my kids?<br />
<br />
“Girls, maybe it’s time to start cutting back on the treats.”<br />
<br />
“Nooooo! We like treats!”<br />
<br />
“I like treats, too! But do you know what I like even better?” I tucked the blankets around their shoulders and kissed their cheeks. “I like <em>you</em>.”<br />
<br />
“I love you, Mom,” my three-year-old whispered.<br />
<br />
“I love you, too, Mom.” My six-year-old lifted her head a few inches off her pillow and reached for me. “Will you stay for a little bit?” <br />
<br />
I caught fleeting thoughts of the dishes on the counter and the e-mails I’d planned to read. But I shoved them aside and snuggled on the bed between my girls.<br />
<br />
“Okay. Just for a little bit.”<br />
<br />
Maybe I could indulge my kids in less sugar. But there is one thing I refuse to ration.<br />
<br />
<strong>Affection.</strong><br />
<br />
<em>“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” (1 John 3:1a)</em><br />
<br />
Do you give love freely to your kids? What about forgiveness? And grace?<br />
<br />
Understand that God does not skimp—he <em>lavishes</em> his love on us, his perfect, merciful, never-ending love. Did we earn it? Did we do all our chores and refrain from bickering and eat every green bean on our dinner plates? Usually not. <br />
<br />
And yet he pours his great love into his children every day. So I want to do the same.<br />
<br />
Yes, sometimes love means <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/on-discipline-and-planting-sunflowers.html">discipline</a>, and sometimes it looks less like hugs and more like <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/05/why-im-not-raising-independent-kids.html">letting go</a>. But however we express it, love should be the unlimited motivation for our every move in parenting, don’t you agree? I fail at this regularly. But I won’t be ashamed for making it my goal.<br />
<br />
About those treats, however—I’m not too proud of that. So tonight I have a new story in mind. <br />
<br />
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Princess Becky. And her favorite snack was carrots and celery, yum!” <br />
<br />
<em>Sweet dreams, my girls. Mom loves you.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<h4>
Bonus post! What do diapers and husbands have in common? This week I’m happy to be sharing blog space with my fellow <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">M.O.M. Initiative</a> mentor Julie Sanders, at her blog home, <a href="http://www.juliesanders.org/2013/06/why-christian-marriage-is-like-potty-training/" target="_blank">Come Have a Peace</a>. Hop over to read my story, “<a href="http://www.juliesanders.org/2013/06/why-christian-marriage-is-like-potty-training/" target="_blank">Why Marriage Is Like Potty Training</a>.” </h4>
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/i-love-you-lots-and-cows.html"><em>I Love You Lots and Cows</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/04/god-doesnt-ration-candy-bars.html"><em>God Doesn’t Ration Candy Bars</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/whats-better-than-bed-full-of-teddy.html"><em>What’s Better Than a Bed Full of Teddy Bears?</em></a><br />
<br />
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-23358464246397967332013-06-10T06:39:00.000-05:002013-06-25T20:34:17.770-05:00Nobody Notices When I Sweep the Floor“Great job on the siding, Bob!” We stood in our neighbor’s driveway admiring his new vinyl exterior. A small crowd of friendly faces had wandered from summer yard work to enjoy an impromptu chat. This time of year, the conversation often centers on home improvement jobs. <br />
<br />
<em>“Hey, Joe, I saw you put up a new play set. How do the kids like it?”</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“How big is that pool you installed in your yard, Dave?”</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“Is that lumber in the garage for your deck expansion, Chuck? How’s that going?”</em><br />
<br />
And I got to thinking of all the projects my husband does around the house—noticeable projects. The finished basement, the fresh stained fence. Brick landscape edging and a tidy cut lawn.<br />
<br />
“My husband repaved the driveway, and all the neighbors commented on how nice it looked,” a friend told me recently. “How come nobody congratulates me for folding laundry?”<br />
<br />
Amen sister. Why <em>doesn’t</em> a woman’s work get the same kudos as her man’s?<br />
<br />
Don’t get me wrong—I realize some of you ladies sweat over glorious flowerbeds or climb the roof to hammer shingles yourselves. Bravo if you do.<br />
<br />
But for many of us moms, our usual household contributions are a little more obscure.<br />
<br />
Nobody notices when I sweep the floor.<br />
<br />
Nobody applauds when I mix oatmeal for breakfast.<br />
<br />
Nobody drives by our house to admire my sidewalk chalk drawings or the rebate forms I filled out and stuck in the mailbox.<br />
<br />
Just once, I want my kids to say, “Mom! You did a fantastic job grilling this cheese sandwich! You are one seriously talented woman.”<br />
<br />
But why?<br />
<br />
Why do I need praise? Does it give my labor greater significance? Does it prove I’m a good mom?<br />
<br />
Well, let’s consider this picture in Matthew.<br />
<br />
<em>“Jesus traveled throughout the region of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and illness. News about him spread as far as Syria, and people soon began bringing to him all who were sick. And whatever their sickness or disease, or if they were demon possessed or epileptic or paralyzed—he healed them all. Large crowds followed him wherever he went—people from Galilee, the Ten Towns, Jerusalem, from all over Judea, and from east of the Jordan River,” (Matthew 4:23–25, NLT).</em><br />
<br />
Wow. Talk about a hot topic in the neighborhood. Jesus displayed supernatural healing powers and drew swarms of followers everywhere he went. If anybody had the right to boast, Jesus surely did. <br />
<br />
But do you know what comes immediately after this passage?<br />
<br />
The Beatitudes.<br />
<br />
<em>“One day as he saw the crowds gathering, Jesus went up on the mountainside and sat down. His disciples gathered around him, and he began to teach them. . . . <strong>‘God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth,’</strong>” (Matthew 5:1–2, 5, NLT, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<br />
Really? Jesus just performed a spectacle of public miracles, and then he delivered a lesson on <strong>humility</strong>. Not praise. Not power or validation. <br />
<br />
<em>Humility.</em><br />
<br />
What does that say about how we should approach our work?<br />
<br />
<em>“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving,” (Colossians 3:23–24).</em><br />
<br />
Praise from people doesn’t make our work more important. Knowing who we’re working <em>for</em> does. And God doesn’t just pat us on the back—he promises a reward! An inheritance! Can a friendly neighbor’s compliments come anywhere near as cool as that?<br />
<br />
So let those men have their repaved driveways and their shiny green lawns. The Lord sees our laundry. He sees our grocery shopping and our scrubbed bathroom floors. Next time you flip that grilled cheese, ladies, tune your ears to imagine this—the Lord of the universe is cheering you on. <br />
<br />
<em>My child! You did a fantastic job! </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Thank you for serving me today by taking care of your family. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>You are one seriously talented woman. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>I know—because <strong>I made you that way</strong>.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://www.beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/queen-of-castle-fresh-perspective-on.html"><em>Queen of the Castle: A Fresh Perspective on Housework</em></a><em>; </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/sometimes-laundry-just-needs-to-get-done.html"><em>Sometimes the Laundry Just Needs to Get Done</em></a><em>; and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/11/no-you-are-not-failing.html"><em>No, You Are Not Failing</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://tolovehonorandvacuum.com/" target="_blank">Wifey Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a>, and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-74999696930594418662013-06-03T06:35:00.000-05:002013-06-16T20:48:05.397-05:00Three Things I Won't Tell My ChildrenI stood in the greeting card aisle scanning graduation cards. Funny, sappy, artsy or simple, they all carried the same pithy sentiments. <br />
<br />
<em>Spread your wings and fly.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>If you dream it, you can do it.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Now is your time to shine, grad!</em><br />
<br />
Do those words make you feel warm and fuzzy? Or, like me, do your raise your eyebrows?<br />
<br />
I’m all for building my children’s confidence. But there’s a big difference between <em>puffing</em> up and <em>pointing</em> up. Here are three popular statements you won’t hear me saying to my kids.<br />
<br />
<strong>1. You can be anything you want to be.</strong><br />
No, my precious girls, you will be exactly who <em>God designed you to be</em>—beautiful, unique, valued, and loved. He gave you certain gifts and abilities, chosen just for you by a perfect and purposeful God, and if you spend your life discovering and using those gifts wisely then you will be successful in the deepest sense. <br />
<br />
Still, always remember that what you <em>do</em> is not who you <em>are</em>. You are a child of God, period (John 1:12). Don’t compare yourself to anybody else, and don’t for a second believe God was sleeping on the job the day your talents were doled out. You are <em>you</em> for a reason.<br />
<br />
<em>“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well,” (Psalm 139:14).</em><br />
<br />
<strong>2. Believe in yourself.</strong><br />
Believe first in your God who created you and is capable of doing amazing things through you (Philippians 4:13). Yes, you are powerful, more powerful than you know, because Christ’s power is at work within you.<br />
<br />
<em>“He replied, ‘If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it will obey you,’” (Luke 17:6).</em><br />
<br />
<strong>3. You deserve to be happy.</strong><br />
Of course your mother <em>wants</em> you to be happy. But who in this world <em>deserves</em> it, when the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23)? Praise the Lord, my darling girls, for grace. Understand that blessings aren’t your <em>right</em>; they’re a <em>gift</em>. And sometimes, although we might not see it at the time, our troubles can be a gift, too. <br />
<br />
<em>“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal,” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18).</em><br />
<br />
I have twelve years to shop for my own daughter’s graduation card. That should give me enough time to dust off my craft supplies and make one myself. Meanwhile, I’m committed to building my family’s self-esteem on a firm foundation and praying that my girls will love themselves because God loves them first.<br />
<br />
And—I’m inserting a couple words into one of those cards I found. <br />
<br />
<em>Now is your time to shine <span style="color: #cc0000;">YOUR LIGHT</span>, grad!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/how-to-raise-timid-child.html"><em>How to Raise a Timid Child</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/i-love-you-lots-and-cows.html"><em>I Love You Lots and Cows</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/wishing-to-grow-up-too-fast.html"><em>Wishing to Grow Up Too Fast</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-8757512451209705792013-05-27T06:39:00.000-05:002013-06-16T20:48:05.399-05:00Why I'm Not Raising Independent Kids“Do you want to do drop-off today?” I glanced at my daughter’s face in the rear-view mirror. She scrunched her freckled nose, leaned back into her car seat and cracked a sly smile.<br />
<br />
“Sure. I’m strong enough now.”<br />
<br />
“Really?” My eyebrows shot up.<br />
<br />
“Yep. I can do it.”<br />
<br />
“Okay.” I veered to the school carpool line and shifted into park. My daughter unbuckled her seatbelt and stood up to go. I twisted toward the back seat, doubting her confidence. <br />
<br />
Most days, I walk her into the building. She complains the door is too heavy; the middle school kids are too tall and intimidating; she wants one final kiss on the hand, one last hug before the bell rings. She craves my presence. My protection.<br />
<br />
But this day, she chose courage.<br />
<br />
“Do you have your backpack?”<br />
<br />
“Yep.”<br />
<br />
“If nobody holds the door open for you, I’ll park the van in the parking lot and run to help. Okay?”<br />
<br />
“Okay, Mom. Bye.”<br />
<br />
“Wait—give me a kiss!” I squeezed her shoulders and planted a peck on her cheek. “I love you. Have a great day at school.”<br />
<br />
“I will, Mom. Bye!”<br />
<br />
My eyes followed as she ran to the double glass doors, paused for just a second to wave back at me, then grabbed the handle and yanked hard, disappearing inside the building for the best hours of her day.<br />
<br />
And my heart sank to my stomach.<br />
<br />
Kindergarten.<br />
<br />
Why doesn’t it get any easier? This wasn’t the first day of school, for crying out loud. It was one of the last. Summer break begins next week. And still, after nearly an entire academic year, I struggle to relinquish my precious girl to teachers and hot lunch and recess chatter. <br />
<br />
I want to be with her. To know she’s happy and safe and well cared for. But she blossomed this year into a confident schoolgirl who jumps rope and reads chapter books and can suddenly open the door just fine on her own, <em>thankyouverymuch</em>. <br />
<br />
So it’s time for me to start letting go. <br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
<strong>Because the less she leans on me, the more she’ll need to lean on God.</strong><br />
<br />
And that is the ultimate goal of my parenting.<br />
<br />
<em>“Those who trust in themselves are fools, but those who walk in wisdom are kept safe,” (Proverbs 28:26).</em><br />
<br />
I’m not raising my kids to be independent. Quite the opposite, I want them to be increasingly <em>dependent</em>—on God. Don’t you? By giving our children room to grow and stumble, we set the example that <em>Mom depends on God first</em>—to take care of them. <br />
<br />
It’s not easy.<br />
<br />
In the beginning of the school year, my daughter cried every day at lunch for two weeks because she missed me. Worse, she didn’t tell me about it, thinking I’d be disappointed in her. When a teacher finally clued me in, my aching mommy heart wanted to yank my baby out of school and spend September indulging her with chocolate ice cream cones in the safety of our fenced back yard.<br />
<br />
But I didn’t.<br />
<br />
Instead, I prayed. I prayed for her courage. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for God to wrap his arms around her when I could not.<br />
<br />
Then on the drive to school one day in early fall, my daughter sang her favorite Sunday school song. <em>“Be strong! Joshua 1:9! Be strong and courageous, do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”</em><br />
<br />
“Sweetheart, that’s it!” I shouted from the driver’s seat. “You can sing that song to yourself when you’re walking to lunch. For the Lord your God is with you—even in the cafeteria!”<br />
<br />
“Yeah!” Her eyes grew wide and she smiled. That afternoon, when she boarded our van at pick-up time, my soul rejoiced to hear these beautiful words: “It worked, Mom! I didn’t cry! God helped me be brave!”<br />
<br />
And now here she is, nine months later, shrugging off her ol’ lady because she can do this kindergarten thing just fine. And I’m grateful.<br />
<br />
Not because she doesn’t need me.<br />
<br />
But because she’s learning where her real strength lies.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/03/when-you-wish-theyd-stay-little-forever.html"><em>When You Wish They’d Stay Little Forever,</em></a><em> </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/02/nobody-loves-her-like-i-do.html"><em>Nobody Loves Her Like I Do</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/09/kindergarten-is-not-big-green-ugly.html"><em>Kindergarten Is Not a Big, Green, Ugly Monster</em></a><em>. </em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-88010507116482378012013-05-20T07:19:00.000-05:002013-05-21T13:38:56.622-05:00How to Get the Life You Always Wanted<em>“You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you!” (Isaiah 26:3, NLT)</em><br />
<br />
I sat on the edge of my daughter’s twin bed, stretching long legs across a pink hoot-owl comforter. Dusk seeped through the window blinds, shedding just enough fading daylight for my eyes to scan the familiar scenery. <br />
<br />
In a bookcase on the wall, storybook spines lined the bottom shelf below stacks of cardboard puzzle boxes and early reader paperbacks. Stuffed animals, Velcro shoes, and a fraying jump rope lay strewn across the floor. In the corner of the room, a dollhouse held mini furniture lovingly arranged for a plastic family of six. Above it all, hazy blue Dream Light stars glowed on the ceiling. <br />
<br />
I listened to the slow, steady breathing of two little girls drifting to sleep. And it occurred to me—this is as good as it gets.<br />
<br />
I am blessed.<br />
<br />
But. Rewind a few hours, and my mind raced with different thoughts. Grumpy thoughts. <br />
<br />
Dirty dishes on the table. Deadlines on my desk. Bills to pay. Groceries to buy. <br />
<br />
That leak in the ceiling. Paint chips on the wall. Dust on the baseboards and juice in the carpet.<br />
<br />
When can we build a new house? When can I afford a cleaning lady? Will my toddler ever ditch those Pull-Ups? How will I find time to bake cookies for the school picnic? And why are flights to Disney World so crazy expensive?<br />
<br />
Is it summer yet?<br />
<br />
That’s when I’ll be happy. When I have those things, carve that spare time, tie these loose ends and tidy this clutter. <em>Then I’ll be content. Then I can rest.</em><br />
<br />
Oh, really?<br />
<br />
Sitting in my girls’ room in the twilight, I realized—I’ve got it all backwards.<br />
<br />
<em>Rest first. </em><br />
<br />
Take a break from running and complaining. Breathe in, breathe out. Pray. Then I’ll open my eyes and discover—<strong>I’m already content.</strong><br />
<br />
A dear friend once told me she’s living her dream. Four kids crowd her house, the budget is tight, noise and mess are constant, and yet she reminds herself daily that <em>this is what she wanted</em>. <br />
<br />
When did I forget? Fifteen years ago, floundering through our early post-college years, my friend and I both longed to be loved and settled. We wanted husbands, a mortgage, and our own laundry machines. We dreamed of ordinary family life, not because it’s glamorous, but because it’s meaningful.<br />
<br />
And now I have it.<br />
<br />
So what’s the problem?<br />
<br />
Worry.<br />
<br />
Distractions.<br />
<br />
Coveting.<br />
<br />
Complaints.<br />
<br />
Infections, all of them. They inflame my perspective and steal my joy. But I’ve discovered a cure. <br />
<br />
<strong>Stillness.</strong><br />
<br />
If I really sit quiet for a minute and take a look around, I can see with crystal clarity—I’m already living the life I always wanted. It might be messy, yes. Cluttered, hectic, and imperfect, absolutely. <br />
<br />
But it’s beautiful. And it’s mine.<br />
<br />
I don’t need to focus ahead to that elusive house upgrade or a Florida vacation. I’m in the center of God’s blessings right here, right now. Who knew they’d smell like peanut butter and leaky Pull-Ups? Sometimes I think we expect God to show up all shiny and clean. But the truth is he’s in the muck with us every day. We just have to focus our hearts to find him.<br />
<br />
So will you join me? Let’s shut off our racing brains for a minute and take a look around. I hope you’ll see what I see.<br />
<br />
We’re already blessed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/08/if-you-give-mom-minute.html"><em>If You Give a Mom a Minute</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-dreams-contentment-and-spaghetti.html"><em>On Dreams, Contentment and Spaghetti</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/whats-better-than-bed-full-of-teddy.html"><em>What’s Better Than a Bed Full of Teddy Bears?</em></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Momma Notes</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-71476729496178747312013-05-13T07:01:00.000-05:002013-05-14T12:47:59.769-05:00Every Day Is Mother's Day“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy.” My three-year-old looked up at me, smiling wide. “Oh!” her eyes popped, “No, I mean, Happy Muzzah’s Day!” She giggled, and my heart swelled.<br />
<br />
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I crouched on my heels, cupped her chin and brushed my thumb across her cheek. Had this been May 12, her remarks would’ve been sweet enough. But Mother’s Day was still a week away, so I chuckled. <br />
<br />
<em>Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day</em>. . . eh, who’s counting? In my daughter’s mind, the sentiment was clear. Both holidays celebrate love. <br />
<br />
<strong>And I am the first love of her life.</strong><br />
<br />
So Monday through Sunday last week—about twenty random times a day—my little one chirped, “Happy Muzzah’s Day!” or sometimes “Happy Valentine’s Day!” And her words puffed up my soul. <br />
<br />
Because why <em>shouldn’t </em>every day be Mother’s Day? After all, parenting isn’t an isolated Hallmark event. It’s an everyday adventure.<br />
<br />
It’s the <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/sometimes-laundry-just-needs-to-get-done.html">laundry baskets overflowing with muddy socks and shirts</a>. It’s the <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/what-that-mess-really-means.html">carpet caked with Play-Doh</a> and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-hurts-because-i-love-you.html">Dora band-aids taped on knees</a>.<br />
<br />
It’s standing in line, tapping our feet, while the <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/11/but-everybody-else-is-doing-it.html">pharmacy mixes medicine</a>. It’s <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/beauty-of-naked-lion-chase.html">chasing naked bottoms into bubbly tubs</a>, and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/how-to-raise-timid-child.html">trotting two steps behind training wheels</a>.<br />
<br />
Parenting <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/02/why-we-didnt-quit-ballet.html">applauds the loudest at T-ball and ballet</a>. It <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/on-discipline-and-planting-sunflowers.html">breaks up sibling squabbles</a>. It clips coupons for <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/when-you-wake-up-with-foot-in-your-face.html">Visine</a>. It gives more than it takes, and it prays, prays, prays.<br />
<br />
So when should a mother’s credit be due? <br />
<br />
In the hour a wrinkled baby is born beautiful into this world. <br />
<br />
And again the day that baby <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/09/kindergarten-is-not-big-green-ugly.html">first sits tall in a kindergarten desk</a>; crosses the stage in a cap and gown; laughs as she stuffs a satin skirt into her <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/01/why-i-date-my-husband.html">wedding limousine</a>.<br />
<br />
Someday when that baby holds her own sweet baby swaddled in her arms.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>That </em>is Mother’s Day.</strong><br />
<br />
It’s not something we do once a year. It’s a lifetime of <em>who we are</em>.<br />
<br />
<em>“Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: ‘Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.’ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate,” (Proverbs 31: 28–31).</em><br />
<br />
So although the calendar says Mother’s Day has come and gone, I know better. Because today, I get to do it all over again. <br />
<br />
I get to be a mom.<br />
<br />
And so do you.<br />
<br />
Happy Muzzah’s Day!<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/03/when-you-wish-theyd-stay-little-forever.html"><em>When You Wish They’d Stay Little Forever</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-dreams-contentment-and-spaghetti.html"><em>On Dreams, Contentment and Spaghetti</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-dreams-contentment-and-spaghetti.html"><em>I Love You Lots and Cows</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-45024854201086276492013-05-06T06:06:00.000-05:002013-05-06T09:53:59.426-05:00When Your Oven Blows Up, Bake CupcakesSometimes the best laid plans blow up in your face—literally.<br />
<br />
Last weekend, I co-hosted a wedding shower for my future sister-in-law. My job was to bake the cupcakes. I’m talking <em>from-scratch</em> chocolate lime batter with homemade buttercream icing and sugar cookie toppers frosted to look like lime slices. <br />
<br />
In other words, a two-day project. <br />
<br />
For weeks leading up to the shower, I scoured Pinterest, browsed cake supply shops, and baked three test batches to tweak the recipes just right. So when Thursday (a.k.a. cookie baking day) finally arrived, I was as pumped as a contestant on Cupcake Wars. <em>Let’s DO this thing!</em><br />
<br />
Sugar cookie dough—mixed, chilled, rolled and cut—<em>check!</em> I popped the cookie sheet in the oven, dusted flour off my apron, and turned toward the sink to scrub mixing bowls.<br />
<br />
But then. <em>Zap! Bam! Bam! Zap!</em><br />
<br />
I spun around and saw fireworks flying inside my oven. White and blue electric bombs flashed and sizzled behind the door glass. I sucked in my breath and watched, helpless and horrified, as the heating coil burst into flames.<br />
<br />
<em>Noooooo! This cannot be happening.</em><br />
<br />
Three dozen cupcakes due Saturday morning—and my oven just blew up. Do you think God was trying to tell me something?<br />
<br />
I wondered. <em>Maybe I shouldn’t bake these cupcakes. What if God is protecting me from poisoning everyone! </em>Even my co-hosts encouraged me to drop the spatula and call a bakery. <em>Don’t stress yourself out,</em> they said. <em>Nobody will know the difference.</em><br />
<br />
Nobody but me. I’d worked so hard and party-planned for so long, darn it, I wanted some spectacular baked goods to show for it. So I drove seven blocks to my husband’s grandfather’s kitchen and baked those crazy cookies anyway. The next day, I hijacked his oven again to bake the cupcakes. That evening, halfway through beating an enormous bowl of frosting, my handheld mixer burned out and spun wafts of electric smoke up my nostrils—but I chose to laugh instead of cry.<br />
<br />
Call me stubborn. <br />
<br />
Or call me faithful.<br />
<br />
<em>“For nothing is impossible with God,” (Luke 1:37).</em><br />
<br />
Are you in a tough spot right now? Do the circumstances surrounding you look impossible to climb? Maybe they’re not a <em>sign</em> from God to quit, but rather an <em>invitation</em> from God to <strong>do great things</strong>.<br />
<br />
Think about it.<br />
<br />
Noah built an ark.<br />
<br />
Moses walked across the dry sea floor.<br />
<br />
Joshua demolished Jericho’s walls with trumpets and shouts.<br />
<br />
Mary raised Jesus—God in the flesh—as her firstborn child.<br />
<br />
What if they had said, <em>forget it. Can’t do it. Too many obstacles, too much opposition.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>What if they had looked only at their circumstances, and not at their God?</strong><br />
<br />
I know my cupcakes weren’t miracle material. But they did get me thinking about how easily we can give up and call it God’s will. Why shouldn’t we be inconvenienced, work a little harder, or pour our aching hearts into something that matters? Maybe the most worthwhile pursuits are the ones that require us to walk with God through the <span style="font-size: x-small;">{kitchen}</span> fire. <br />
<br />
Saturday morning, I arrived at that wedding shower carrying three dozen labors of chocolate cupcake love. And they were <em>limetastic</em>. So the next time your proverbial oven blows up, remember this. God might not be telling you to quit. He’s simply teaching you to persevere.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qbjABlFfZIjo5gWI5QaM-hf3vNkMoUil6gue6VGp94yDTGk21WG5DtLacmbr0HhSnJ03ANj0neyMKfGPfMBdskjSoWWU9rG12kUUiIdDc96XSGGeUJBkUHq7M_KEhhOYYQVcZkq4Ioo/s1600/IMG_6214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" lua="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qbjABlFfZIjo5gWI5QaM-hf3vNkMoUil6gue6VGp94yDTGk21WG5DtLacmbr0HhSnJ03ANj0neyMKfGPfMBdskjSoWWU9rG12kUUiIdDc96XSGGeUJBkUHq7M_KEhhOYYQVcZkq4Ioo/s320/IMG_6214.JPG" width="272" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-hurts-because-i-love-you.html"><em>It Hurts Because I Love You</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/07/how-big-is-god.html"><em>How Big Is God</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2011/10/daddy-can-fix-it.html"><em>Daddy Can Fix It</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/10/when-god-doesnt-give-you-what-you-ask.html"><em>When God Doesn’t Give You What You Ask For</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-37580086658670540672013-04-29T06:18:00.000-05:002013-04-29T06:38:15.132-05:00Why Some Shoulds Are Good for UsAs a mom, I’m full of words of wisdom. But sometimes even I don’t like to hear them.<br />
<br />
“It’s time to brush your teeth.” I planted two fists on my hips and faced my six-year-old daughter. She lounged at the kitchen table gluing pink sequins into her Hello Kitty scrapbook. “This is the third time I’ve told you to put away your craft. Brush your teeth now, or we’ll be late for school.”<br />
<br />
“Okaaaaaaay.” Sloth-like, she slid her bottom from the chair and sauntered to the bathroom. I scrambled to finish packing lunch, zipped little sister’s fleece, then stood by the door, waiting. My kindergartener reappeared with her jacket on and her backpack slung over her arm.<br />
<br />
“Ready to go, Mom!”<br />
<br />
My eyes zoomed to her feet. “Where are your shoes?”<br />
<br />
“Oops! I forgot!” She padded back down the hall and returned with a pair of sneakers.<br />
<br />
“We’re running late now.” I watched the clock tick while she looped rabbit ears at a tortoise pace. “This is really becoming a problem in our house, my love. From now on you’re not allowed to play with your scrapbook or anything else until you’re ready for school—and that means teeth brushed and shoes on.”<br />
<br />
“But Mooooom! I want to work on my scrapbook! It’s more fun than getting ready for school!”<br />
<br />
A deep sigh rose from my gut, and I replied without thinking. <strong>“Sweetheart, sometimes growing up means doing what you’re <em>supposed</em> to do, not what you <em>want</em> to do.”</strong><br />
<br />
<em>Whoa.</em> As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they’re false. They’re not. They’re true.<br />
<br />
But I’m not sure I want my kids to know yet.<br />
<br />
Growing up isn’t always fun.<br />
<br />
And it never ends. I’m still growing up. Aren’t you?<br />
<br />
For me, relinquishing my “wants” has been the greatest ongoing challenge of motherhood. Call it sacrifice, obedience, or dying to self—the gist is that raising kids requires a lot of “supposed to” duties and fewer “want to” freedoms than I’d known before becoming a mom.<br />
<br />
I love my kids. And <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/03/when-your-quiet-time-is-anything-but.html">I love my quiet</a>. The two don’t coexist well.<br />
<br />
I love rowdy family game nights. And <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/01/why-i-date-my-husband.html">I love private time with my husband</a>. I get a lot of one and not much of the other. <br />
<br />
I love being needed at home. And I love going where I want, when I want, whether it’s to a coffee shop or Home Depot or the bathroom, for goodness sake. But mom duty lassoes free rein.<br />
<br />
So some days I trip through life in my stocking feet, whining. “But God, I want to work on my scrapbooks. It’s more fun than packing lunches and carpooling!”<br />
<br />
<em>“Then he said to them all: ‘If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me,’” (Luke 9:23).</em><br />
<br />
My selfish heart needs to believe this: <strong>Denying myself is a good thing.</strong> Because learning to sacrifice and obey—to give up some “wants” in exchange for some “shoulds”—is ultimately the practice of becoming more like Jesus. And, last I checked, that was still a primary goal of the Christian life, yes? <br />
<br />
I’ll tell you what the goal should NOT be. It’s not to bide my time until the kids are grown. As if I’m just dropping anchor until my girls are tucked away in college and I can become selfish again. I want to sail into my empty nest years a better person, wiser for the journey. Don’t you?<br />
<br />
The right “shoulds” will help us get there. I teach this to my kids. I need to let God teach it to me, too.<br />
<br />
“Mom, can I work on my scrapbook when I get home?” My daughter stepped into her car seat while I buckled her sister for the ride to school.<br />
<br />
“Yes. That will be your reward for working hard at school today.”<br />
<br />
And what’s <em>my</em> reward? For working hard at home today, tending to the job God gave me. I settled into the driver’s seat and caught a glimpse of two little girls in the rearview mirror. My heart swelled at the sight of those beautiful faces. <em>There it is, Momma. There’s your reward.</em><br />
<br />
Funny thing about “shoulds” versus “wants.” When we lean in close enough, they look a lot alike.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/when-you-wake-up-with-foot-in-your-face.html"><em>When You Wake Up With a Foot in Your Face</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/08/if-you-give-mom-minute.html"><em>If You Give a Mom a Minute</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/11/when-sick-kids-cramp-my-social-life.html"><em>When Sick Kids Cramp My Social Life</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em><br />
<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-22610986118464613552013-04-22T06:29:00.000-05:002013-04-22T06:29:42.705-05:00Teaching Kids to Handle DisappointmentIf life is a book, then I’d like to rip out some pages. Spring break, for example.<br />
<br />
It was supposed to be a fantastically fun-filled week. One of the big highlights was a dearly anticipated visit from my girls’ older cousins. The mere mention of their names spread goofy smiles across my kindergartener’s face. <br />
<br />
So after coordinating calendars, planning a craft and baking projects and a super special lunch, all four kids were excited for Tuesday morning to arrive. Only problem was, it arrived a bit too early in our house—2 a.m.—when my three-year-old threw up in her bed.<br />
<br />
Ugh! Stomach flu. It blindsides us every time. So I stripped sheets, grabbed our trusty bucket from the cupboard, and told my six-year-old to sleep in my bed for the rest of the night. <br />
<br />
“Mom, does this mean my cousins can’t come to play?” Her voice raised an octave, and her bottom lip trembled. I paused in the doorway, frowning.<br />
<br />
“Yes, lovey. I’m sorry. They can’t come when your sister is sick. We don’t want them to catch it.”<br />
<br />
“But they were going to bring their American Girl dolls!”<br />
<br />
“I know, sweetheart. It’s so disappointing.”<br />
<br />
She burst into tearful sputters, and my heart lurched. “Hey, now,” I soothed. “God knew this was going to happen. He must have some good reason why your cousins can’t come over like we’d planned.”<br />
<br />
She sobbed harder, then wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled. “But I really wanted them to come.”<br />
<br />
I know. I did, too. How can I help her understand disappointment when I don’t understand it myself?<br />
<br />
I can’t.<br />
<br />
Because understanding isn’t the goal. Trusting is.<br />
<br />
<em>“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight,” (Proverbs 3:5–6).</em><br />
<br />
I might not be able to wipe away the hurt. But I can equip my daughter to accept it. If day after day I teach her to take little disappointments in stride, by pointing to God and his smarter plan—then maybe someday when the big disappointments come, she’ll know from years of practice how to trust God. <br />
<br />
When she doesn’t make the varsity team.<br />
<br />
When a boyfriend breaks her heart.<br />
<br />
When she loses a job, a baby, her dad and me.<br />
<br />
Yes, she will grieve. But I pray from the roots of my soul that she will trust God’s sovereignty—and even thank him for it. <br />
<br />
Because life is full of disappointments. But one thing will never let her down.<br />
<br />
<em>“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. <strong>And hope does not disappoint us</strong>, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us,” (Romans 5: 1–5, emphasis mine).</em><br />
<br />
Not every disappointment will be redeemed this side of heaven. But I’m happy to report God cut us some slack. It just so happened the cousins were available to make up our date the following Friday. So we scrubbed the house with Lysol and enjoyed those crafts and baking projects after all. And as I stood in the kitchen surrounded by four happy kids, three American Girl dolls, and two dozen open cans of Play-Doh, I thanked God for the chance to teach my daughter one of life’s hard lessons. <br />
<br />
Disappointments will come. But they’re never the end of the story.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/10/when-god-doesnt-give-you-what-you-ask.html"><em>When God Doesn’t Give You What You Ask For</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-hurts-because-i-love-you.html"><em>It Hurts Because I Love You</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/01/whats-better-than-bed-full-of-teddy.html"><em>What’s Better Than a Bed Full of Teddy Bears</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://womenlivingwell.org/" target="_blank">Women Living Well</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3282703537763073599.post-69383526468799865592013-04-15T06:11:00.000-05:002013-04-15T06:11:44.781-05:00When the Grass Is Greener ElsewhereRain pummeled the roof at midnight. Thunder rumbled angry and proud, startling my six-year-old from peaceful slumber. She crawled under the covers beside me.<br />
<br />
<em>April showers</em>, I thought, as I drifted back to sleep. <em>How lovely. </em><br />
<br />
But then.<br />
<br />
We woke at sunrise to discover the world had frozen overnight. Sometime in the wee hours, a cold front seized our portion of the state and crystallized every tree branch and power line for miles around. Birches and oaks transformed to chandeliers, glistening with teeth-chattering layers of rain. And all our hopes for budding leaves and tulips and hopscotch games—they froze, too. <br />
<br />
Dang ice storm. <br />
<br />
Welcome to Wisconsin.<br />
<br />
The dairy state is my home sweet home. But on days like these, it feels more like a cage—oppressive and merciless. Everywhere on the city streets, glossy spears hurled to the ground, threatening trepid cars at random. I watched from my living room window while ice chunks dislodged from burdened branches and pelted our frozen lawn. Down the block, a neighbor’s chainsaw whirred, severing a cracked and once-mighty willow.<br />
<br />
Where oh where is spring? In other parts of the country, I imagine children run barefoot in the yard, chasing butterflies and dusting sidewalk chalk off their knees. Here we can only dream of that kind of liberty while we scrape car windows and salt the driveway for the hundredth time since fall. Somewhere else, people are free. Somewhere else, people aren’t suffering like me.<br />
<br />
I think about motherhood that way sometimes.<br />
<br />
When I’m frustrated by <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2013/03/when-your-quiet-time-is-anything-but.html">too much noise and not enough quiet</a>. <br />
<br />
When I’m bogged down by endless <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/01/achoo-bless-you.html">nose-wiping</a>, <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/queen-of-castle-fresh-perspective-on.html">laundry sorting</a>, and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/05/beauty-of-naked-lion-chase.html">bare-bottom chasing</a>—and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/when-you-wake-up-with-foot-in-your-face.html">not enough sleeping</a> or writing or <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/11/when-sick-kids-cramp-my-social-life.html">grown-up conversation</a>. <br />
<br />
When <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/on-discipline-and-planting-sunflowers.html">kids bicker and cry</a>, pasta boils over, permission slips go missing, and <a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/12/what-that-mess-really-means.html">floors collect dirt and stray socks and Lego shrapnel</a> day after day after ever-loving day. <br />
<br />
In those hours when all I want to do is plop my grumpy self in a chair with a bowl of popcorn and a Lark Rise DVD, but the TV is stuck on Bubble Guppies.<br />
<br />
That’s when my house starts to feel like a cage. And my eyes wander to the window, where I’m convinced other women on the outside are living free.<br />
<br />
As if I’m not supposed to be here, frozen in this perpetual mom thing. <br />
<br />
Oh, please. How easily I neglect the obvious.<br />
<br />
<em>“Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made,” (John 1:3).</em><br />
<br />
Do you want proof that you’re in the right place? Just look at your kids.<br />
<br />
Only God creates people. My children are his design, given to me by him and him alone. Sure, I <em>decided</em> to get pregnant. I <em>decided</em> to pursue family life. Just like I decided to buy a house in the Wisconsin tundra, so suck it up, right? <br />
<br />
Not quite. When it comes to parenting, my choices can only go so far. Ultimately, motherhood wasn’t really my decision. God chose for me. He chose to bless my hopes for children. He chose to make me a mom.<br />
<br />
And God never makes mistakes.<br />
<br />
Parenting <em>is </em>what I am supposed to do. It might not be <em>all </em>I’m supposed to do—the balance is different for everyone. And yes, there might even be greener, blessedly unfrozen grass somewhere else on the planet. But it’s not for me. It’s not for you. If we have children, we have an assignment from God, written specifically for us. Nobody else’s life, nobody else’s kids, and nobody else’s thawed back yard is better.<br />
<br />
Wisconsin has its merits. I love our summers. Just like I love the laughter and hugs and ice cream runs of family life. They paint over the gloomy days and remind me that this life—this beautiful, ordinary life—is more than worthwhile. It’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.<br />
<br />
God says so. And I believe him. Do you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>If this post encouraged you, please </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/p/share.html"><em>pass it on</em></a><em>. You might also like </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/06/when-you-want-what-they-have.html"><em>When You Want What They Have</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-dreams-contentment-and-spaghetti.html"><em>On Dreams, Contentment, and Spaghetti</em></a><em>, and </em><a href="http://beckykopitzke.blogspot.com/2012/03/when-you-dont-feel-like-doing-your-job.html"><em>When You Don’t Feel Like Doing Your Job</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * *</div>
<em><strong>Linking up with:</strong> </em><a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/" target="_blank"><em>The Better Mom</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/" target="_blank">Playdates With God</a>, <a href="http://www.themominitiative.com/" target="_blank">The Mom Initiative</a>, </em><a href="http://www.time-warp-wife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><em>Titus 2sdays</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/" target="_blank"><em>Grace at Home</em></a><em>, <a href="http://www.messymarriage.com/" target="_blank">Wedded Wednesday</a>, <a href="http://www.blogglingbrooks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">What He's Done Wednesday</a> and <a href="http://thingsicantsay.com/" target="_blank">Things I Can't Say</a></em><em>.</em>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15357606584404561523noreply@blogger.com9