How I was looking really scared in this one.

How I had an IV in my arm in this one and how I had to have oxygen and lay a certain way for the baby’s heart rate.

And then I showed them this one and we talked about how I looked so different just a few minutes later.  How, even though I was still in pain, the IV was still in place, I have a look of relief, joy, and absolute love all over me.  How I sacrifice so willingly for them.  How much I love them.

And we talked about expectations.  The feeling of entitlement that we all get.  That more and more and more is somehow owed to us.  When really it’s not.  When really all that we should have is gratefulness.  And respect.  And honor.  Because most of the time we don’t see the behind the scenes of the people around us.  Loving us.

We don’t see how messy, painful, and rewarding love can be.

It was his alone to make.  His Father was listening.  And welcoming.

The days of a year passed.  Maybe more.  He wanted everyone to know.

The day was chosen.  And special.

Where we gathered with family.

Where his daddy had the privilege.

Where the water was cold, the decision was honest, the love was warm.

Where the smiles were sweet.

Where some of his biggest supporters were some of the smallest in attendance.

And where his path is just beginning.

Where the path he’ll walk is not one he’ll take alone.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.  ~Luke 8:4-15

This week my prayer for us is that we would have a noble and good heart.

That we would hear the word.

Retain it.

Persevere.

Stacey asked lots of wonderful questions.  

Stacey, girl,  you get a whole post to yourself!  I’m already a little too verbose according to all the “this is what you should do in a blog” studies, but I can’t make myself not talk like we were chatting over koolaid, so, lengthy is what you get.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

“Your kids look happy and healthy, so it must be working fine.”

                   ~The kids do seem happy.  Except when I make them do school work or chores.  Eat their veggies or quit arguing with their sister.  Brush their teeth or go to bed.  But then, I hear that’s normal.  And my marvelous pediatrician assures me they are healthy (even that skinny minny one of the bunch!)

Are your kids calm or rowdy?

                    ~Oh my goodness I’m rolling on the floor laughing at this one!  They are ridiculously rowdy!  They wrestle until someone gets hurt (and they always get hurt, right?!), they jump off couches, climb walls (literally, they have competitions to see who can climb to the top of the door frame the quickest), they’ve somehow managed to tear the netting around the trampoline (how is that even possible?!), they rough house in the grocery store line, the 3 year old throws shoes from the back of the van.  Oh, the rowdiness!

“What’s your most effective way to deal with noise level in the house?”

                     ~I dream of carpet.  We have these great Pergo fake wood floors throughout the house.  Awesome for spills and potty training, however, the echo factor is not my friend.  Sound bounces off every wall in the house.  Times 5.  And I didn’t grow up in a house full of people.  Though I have sisters I didn’t grow up with them (they are so much older), I was used to my parents (quiet people by nature) and me.  No one in my space, no one to share with, no one talking nonstop.  It was all about me.  Man, what a paradigm shift.  I try to tolerate it for the most part.  Until I can’t stand it anymore and then I send them outside.  Or start a quiet show (here’s the main reason I hate Spongebob – the racket on that show does me in).  We do cycles around here.  Quiet first thing in the morning, rowdy for awhile, quiet for school, rowdy, quiet for rest time, rowdy.  That way they get what they need and I don’t scream like a crazy person when I go into sensory overload. 

“How did you know how many kids you could “handle”?  How did you get to 5 and stop? How do they all get “enuf” attn? I’m not criticizing, just looking for ideas on how to balance the needs of my 3.”

                     ~Ooh, this is a biggie.  Hold onto your hats for all the gems hidden in this one.  First of all – we re-evaluate after every child.  I always thought I wanted a big family (five was the number in my head since I was in junior high).  Then we had our first son who was an awesome surprise.  And I was knocked onto my selfish hiney.  What on earth?!  But I was so madly in love with him in spite of my selfishness and longing for the fast lane of big city working, that we immediately started trying for a second child.  At the point that we had 2 in the house I kinda lost my mind.  Daily.  Cried, lashed out at God, demanded my husband help me (but it was never enough, it never is, is it?), spent a lot of time tending to needs, but angry.  It was not how I had imagined it.  We were really struggling with the quiver full movement and our beliefs on that subject at the time.  I remember wanting more children though.  And my husband saying, very wisely, we can’t be having more children if I can’t handle the 2 we have.  And I remember falling apart and telling him it wasn’t about having more or not, but about trying to figure out how to have the 2 we had and do it well.  Because I wasn’t.  Time passed and I cried at my second son’s first birthday when I wasn’t pregnant that time around.  We even tried oral birth control (my husband and I felt a very strong conviction to stop them after one month).  A few months later and we tried for the child who would be our one and only girl.  By then, God was growing a little fruit in my life.  It had gotten easier – this parenting gig.  My attitude had changed – I enjoyed being home.  And it didn’t hurt that my girl was so laid back.  Matt was ready to be done.  Two boys and a girl – no more.  But I was so sad – threw fits, begged, was not a gracious woman about it.  One more time.  And we were blessed with BigMan.  That’s it, though.  No more.  Done.  We didn’t have much money (never a great excuse, but understandable since my awesome husband is the one out working so hard for us) and that’s it.  I remember asking before donating all of our baby stuff if we were really through.  Repeatedly.  I was becoming a constant drip.  He finally said, ”Whatever you think.”  I knew that was it. We had already discussed it, I donated the stuff.  I prayed for contentment.  Or maybe a change of heart for him.  Or both.  My husband got a new job, a raise.  And when my body was ready again I began praying.  But never said a word to him.  I knew this time I wanted it to be different.  I didn’t want to fight, fuss, beg.  I wanted it to be his idea.  I prayed for contentment, the changing of his mind, peace, whatever, just … something!  And one day he changed his mind.  He talked to me about having more children.  And God blessed us again!

How do they get enough?  I don’t know.  I’m glad you asked me now and not a few weeks back when I was a mess.  Because the answer I have for you now is how I really feel, not some grey slump.  I believe that it’s a trade off.  That for everything they give up in a large family (one on one time, more stuff, undivided attention) they gain so much more.  They gain a better understanding of the world and the way it should work.  They gain insight into scripture that’s hard to impart when there are less children in a home.  Putting others first and loving your enemy become daily battles.  They have constant companionship.  And I’m able to give them more than the average public schooled child (oh, I know I’m stepping on toes, and I’m sorry, really I am, it’s just true when you break the numbers down) I’m there around the clock to kiss away their booboos and tears, to correct unseemly behavior, to smile at them, to rub their back.  Even if it’s not the amount of attention they would get if there were only two of them, it’s constant.

How did we get to 5 and stop?  Well, because when I asked my husband what our baby’s nickname should be he said, “The Finalist!” and laughed.  And I did too.  Especially after that hard pregnancy.  And the outside world will tell you risks go up as I get older (and I am, you know, getting older).  And our faith has to be stronger than what it is.  Because I know that’s really the issue.  Trusting that He has it under control.  All of it.  Would I have more?  Yes.  (I think.  I don’t know.)  Will we?  I don’t know.  Am I okay with that?  Absolutely.  I do know that my husband informed me the other day that he’s so sick of hearing people say to him “You are through having kids now, aren’t you?”  That he’s begun answering “Nope, we’re aiming for ten.  Just call us Duggar lite.”  Is he kidding?  Of course.  Is he really?  I don’t know.

“And finally, are you feeling better? I read how you were down a while back…I hope your heart is healed.”

                 ~It is!  My heart is strong again!  And as with all His miracles I don’t understand it.  I just rejoice in it.  Awhile back I talked frequently of pondering my shortcomings, of struggling, of the beginning of gaining perspective and then my confession of my waning faith.  I knew that night was special.  But how could a night be more special than leading your daughter to follow Christ and to see your two older sons who’ve already decided to follow Him decide they are ready to be baptized?  All at once.  A few short hours after praying for God to help my unbelief.  Un.believ.able.  I knew my tears washed away so much grey, but I didn’t know the extent of the gloom until days had passed.  The sun shone again.  Seriously, night after night, I slowly realized I didn’t hear even the faintest whisper of one guilt-ridden “you failed today.”  Not one “why would you have this many children?  You aren’t doing any of this well.”  It was gone.  As was the paralyzing fear that I had been living in about the well-being of my children.  Gone.  Y’all, I’m gonna get downright crazy on you.  The oppression lifted.  The heaviness was wiped away.  Even though I’d been praying through it all that time night after night, I hadn’t faced the real issue – my lack of belief in Him.  My faith in a God I couldn’t believe in anymore.  Just as James said in James 1:5-8 “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. ⁶But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. ⁷That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; ⁸he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.”  I was truly unstable in all I did.  I confessed it as the sin it was and asked for help in a belief that I didn’t have anymore.  And there He was, holding my hand, lifting my burdens all over again.  Just like He always does.  And the rain passed.  Yes, Stacey, my heart is healed!  I found forgiveness for myself and I feel free to shine again!

We don’t.  Oh, we train them with rules like share, love, be nice, be gentle, obey.  But as for sleep training infants and feeding schedules, we tried that, and mostly threw it out the window.  Along with expecting our children to be perfect and sinless.  Because really, am I perfect and sinless after years of training by my Father?

When we had our first child, when he was only a few months old, a friend gave us “To Train Up A Child” by Michael and Debi Pearl.  I read it.  And was shocked.  That my friend had suggested it.  That people really did this.  At the same time, a different friend loaned us a copy of Ezzo’s BabyWise.  It mostly turned me off too.  But the only thing I knew to do was put him on a schedule.  So we did.  Mostly by the Ezzo book.  And it worked.  He slept.  And ate every 3 hours.  I did still retain my brain and my lactation consultant, so I knew I should watch for his feeding frenzies (growth spurts) and indulge him more during those times.  We lived by it and missed out on a lot of our Adventure Day Parker spontanaity, until our second son was born and would not soothe himself.  Ever.  No matter how long I tried.  We had a near epiphanic moment similar to this mother’s Ezzo realization.  I brought my baby to bed, quit trying to fit him into my schedule and relaxed.  However, the teaching in those two books and my desire to have children that were not those children in the store, well, it left me confused.  Some of the messages in those books continued to haunt me for a long time.  (In all honesty, they still do in most insecure times.)  Because after all, didn’t I want the obedient sinless children they spoke of?  If I did, and if it was attainable, then didn’t I have to follow their advice?

I followed a discussion recently on a blog about the very difficult issue of Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child and a very disturbing news article linked in and inspiring that mama’s post.  And it brought back all those early years of wondering what to do.  I wonder at those parents though.  Don’t they step back and realize what they’re doing?  Don’t they see the awfulness in it?Though I can see how a fail-proof plan of obedient children is appealing.  Stupid, unbiblical, false, and stomach turning, but the promised results alluring, nonetheless to new parents.  

But don’t the people reading these law-driven books see the mercy and grace offered them by their own loving Father?  Don’t they see how they can extend that same grace or mercy to their own children? 

Lately I’ve been feeling more under the microscope more than ever with so many “helpers”.  I was shopping not too long ago when Matt called me on the cell.  Please picture with me.. Me wearing baby, 3 year old BigMan running wildly from one thing to another, my girl having fun picking him up and dropping him over and over and then those 2 giggling maniacally, the two older boys cutting up, wrestling around me and my phone ringing.  I whispered to Matt on the other end of the line that I couldn’t talk and please pray for me, I was struggling to not grit my teeth at the kiddos.  He said, “Quit worrying about what everyone else is thinking and look at TheMiddlest.  Is he enjoying himself?  Try to capture that.”  We got off the phone and I looked hard at my 6 year old.  He was having the time of his life.  In Kroger.  I could stand to learn a little of that philosophy of life.  And I smiled more throughout the rest of that trip.

Don’t these new parents feel the tug of their hearts?  Can they remember when they’ve felt alone?  And just wanted the one person in the whole world they trust the most to comfort them?  Don’t they want people to accept them and not criticize at every turn?  Do you see the connection?

I “trained” my oldest to sleep, nurse on time, keep a schedule, and behave.  Some of the training worked marvelously and some of it failed miserably.  But I knew what time he ate last and exactly when he should eat again.  It seemed like some sort of sanity in the midst of my chaos.  Fast forward 4 children later to my most recent child.  I had a friend ask me when my baby was about 4 months old how many times a day he ate.  I drew a blank.  I had no idea.  Not because I neglected him – oh far from it, because I indulged his every eating, nuzzling, desirous whim.  Every time he even looked like he might think about nursing I nursed him.  I don’t count minutes.  When we brought him home from the hospital I did keep a chart.  Just like each of the other children.  But it was more to make sure he was wanting me enough.  Keeping my sleepy brain in the game more.    Not in an attempt to train him.  It was to train me to see his needs.  And meet them.  Immediately.

I remember calling a friend who had (at the time) 10 children and I had 2.  I sought her wisdom because I was losing my mind.  I remember 3 very distinct things from our brief conversation – 1. She said all the answers I was looking for were in the Bible 2. She spoke Bible verses.  I don’t know how else to say that.  She had spent so much time studying Scripture and praying it that it was a part of who she was.  She didn’t quote them to me, mind you.  They just flowed like truth in everything she said.  And 3.  I wanted that.  I got off the phone with her and went looking for “parenting” verses in my concordance.  Not there.  Looked for ”children”.  There were verses, but not “How to’s” like she implied.  I was lost and confused.  I found Proverbs that spoke to my inadequacies, wrote them out on little notes, and began praying them over me.  Slowly, through having more children, reading my Bible, and learning from my husband, I realized everything I needed to raise my kids really was there in the Bible.  It was in all the other truths.  All those verses about kind words turning away wrath – yep, that applied.  Gentle words being soothing to the soul – yep.  His examples of mercy – yep.  His love – yep.  When I don’t want to be interrupted – His words of “let the little children come to me” – yep.  It’s all there.  If I’ll just absorb it.  And call after wisdom, knowledge, and truth.  If I’ll just seek His face.  Instead of worrying about the stares of the people in Kroger.

Then I read this article about The Consistency Myth.  Ooh, that’s it! I thought.  There are others out there who parent this way.  If you’re just now seeking your own path of gentleness you can find more parents who pick up their crying babies instead of laying them down at the Attachment Parenting site.

With my first child I parented by the book.  The wrong one.  I shut off feelings to let him cry it out in his crib sometimes.  I distanced myself.  And I can tell you, looking back, looking at our relationship compared to the others who were embraced - I would do it differently.  If I could go back, I would.  I would not listen to the average “let them cry” person.  I would put down the books.  Pick up the only book that has solid advice.  I have tried to follow my heart more each day, and each day I regret less.  If I could pass along advice to new mamas I would say “Regret less.”

Because 6 months ago this child:

looked like this:

 Six months. 

Regret less.