Brothers

Baby Food

He eats! Adam eats baby food! Now that he is eight months old, I feel like it's safe to truly believe and declare it.

If you knew my other two kids as babies, you understand that I approached Adam's six-month mark with a bit of fear and cynicism. Let's just say I don't have the greatest track record with babies and solid food.

The day that Lucy turned six months old, I happily pulled out the carefully-selected organic rice cereal, mixed perfectly proportioned amounts of cereal and breastmilk, and used the perfect little bowl and rubber-covered spoons.

She shuddered and spit it out.

But I was undeterred. I tried again the next day. And the next. And the next. I tried with water instead of breastmilk. I tried different thicknesses. I tried it warm, and I tried it cold. And when I decided to move on to try something different, she was already clamming up at the sight of the spoon. But I was sure that my homemade baby food that I had steamed and put through the baby food mill and carefully and lovingly proportioned and frozen in ice cube trays would be much more appealing.

She shuddered and spit that out, too.

This was our routine for the next three and a half months. That's right. Lucy didn't actually swallow any food until she was nine and a half months old, and then it was straight to table food that she could feed herself. Ugh. It was a long road.

Josiah, on the other hand, was quite happy to give food a try. But his body clearly wasn't ready for it. He ate the food, but then he threw it all up. All of it. Every time. I could set my clock by his body's reaction: exactly two hours after eating, he would begin to throw up. We explored allergies and illnesses, but in the end it left our pediatricians stumped and I gave it a rest for a while, trying again every few weeks. When he was just older than nine months, he finally started keeping everything down, as long as it was not "baby food." Phew!

So, this fall, when Adam turned six months old, I wrestled with even attempting "the dreaded baby food thing" until he was closer to his first birthday. I passed his half-year mark without having purchased a single item of baby food, and the rubber-covered spoons were still packed away.

But at six-and-a-half months old, sitting on the most beautiful beach in Hawaii, I took my first bite of a sweet Hawaiian banana and saw that Adam was watching my every move. I knew I had to let him try it.

I almost didn't get my finger back!

He ate it. Eagerly. And wiggled and bounced happily between each bite.

Since then, he has happily eaten and kept down a whole variety of foods: pumpkin, pears, squash, peas, prunes, apples, bananas, peaches, green beans, and his favorite, sweet potatoes.

This is a first for me: a baby who eats baby food. Who knew?

With my third baby, I'm feeling like a first-time mom. I'm loving the joy of this "new" discovery and wondering what he'll think of Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow...

Each Day

Parenting. It's a super hard job. If you've got kids, you know what I'm talking about. I love my children like I never thought was possible, and I consider them to be the most amazing gifts from God. Being a parent is a huge privilege--to think that God has entrusted me with these precious lives to shape and care for! Yet sometimes I get bogged down in the daily tasks of caring for them, or discouraged in the responsibility of disciplining them.

There are times when it can be hard to live each day with purpose and not just try to survive!

Kind of like this week has been for me. Hmm.

I was encouraged today to discover this little bit of wisdom on parenting, and I'm challenged to give it a go. If you have little ones (or even not-so-little ones) in your care, I encourage you to do the same:

EACH DAY, I will:

• Consider my role as parent as a significant God-appointed responsibility.
• Ask God's direction regarding my child at night and in the morning.
• Use the Bible as my main resource book in parenting.
• List at least one new blessing God has given me as a parent.

Each day. Not just once in a while. Not just when my son stubbornly refuses to eat his favorite dinner. Not just when I have to remind me daughter for the 18th time to get in the car or she'll be late for school. Not just when my baby is up in the middle of the night for the third time in three hours. And not just when they all climb into my lap for a sweet snuggle. Not just when I see them sharing without being asked. Not just when I hear them singing a song of praise when they think no one is listening.

I have a feeling that some days this is going to be joyfully easy, and others will take some serious deep-breath taking and on-my-knees praying. But I look forward to how it will change my perspective for the better on the hard days, and give me even more reason to rejoice and give glory to God on the good ones.

Ten Ten Ten

Ah, Hawaii… Beaches, sunsets, and glowing lava flows. Coconut mochas, chocolate covered macadamia nuts, Kona coffee, and tropical fruit. Waves, snorkels, and boogie boards. Sunscreen, swimsuits, and geckos.

The photos and the stories will come in time. But there is one particular story I have been eager to share before all the others.

(It’s a long one, so make yourself comfortable.)

On Sunday, October 10 (that’s right, it was 10/10/10) we all went to church on the shoreline in Kona at Living Stones Church. It is an old, beautiful, little church built of black lava stone and shaded by tropical trees that have been twisted and blown by the ocean wind so that they only grow in one direction, pointed away from the shore. Because the church building itself is small, they have speakers and screens set up outside the back door, along with rows of folding chairs in the shade.

When it was time for church to start, we chose to sit outside under the shade of a gorgeous, huge monkey pod tree, with our back to the sea wall, listening to the crashing waves and singing worship songs to the Creator of it all. They had the best “cry room” I have ever used, which was no room at all, but just a small patch of grass at the edge of the ocean where I stood with Adam when he got too fussy to sit with me. (Effective, too, as he was instantly mesmerized by the sound and sight of the water’s edge.)

The worship was powerful. The teaching was right on. The ability to be out in God’s creation while soaking in His presence was refreshing. And being with my family and our dear friends was wonderful.

Then came the end of the church service. But God was not done with me yet that morning.

At the end of his teaching, the associate pastor announced that they would be doing a baptism down at the beach following the service.

My heart pounded at the open invitation.

You see, I have considered myself a follower of Christ for my whole life. I grew up going to church every Sunday, I have gone to Christian schools, been a missionary in Africa, studied the Bible in depth, led worship, served in community outreach, taught Sunday School for children, and I am married to a leader in our church.

But I had never been baptized.

I have witnessed countless baptisms, including my husband’s. Every time it comes up, I find myself listing reasons why this would not be a good time, and convincing myself that maybe I will do it next time, or if I could just be a little more prepared... But if I am completely honest, the longer I have waited, the more it has become an issue of my own pride. I mean, what would people think of me? Would they think I was a new Christian when I’ve already done all this ‘good stuff’ with my life? Would I have to prove to people that this wasn’t a new concept to me, but just that I’ve done a really good job at procrastinating?

On this Sunday in Hawaii, as much as I wanted to resist yet again, I knew this was a perfect opportunity to finally respond in obedience.

I believe that my eternity in God’s presence has already been secured, and there is nothing that I can “add” to His grace and mercy. But I also believe that baptism is a symbol of obedience to Jesus and a way to follow the example he gave us (in Mark 1:9 or Luke 3:21 when he was baptized by John the Baptist), and it’s an outward expression of love for him.

And I knew that for years I had been disobedient.

My heart was there, but the practical and rational side of me was still putting up a fight. I felt like I was having a discussion with God out there on the shoreline. For every reason I could try to come up with, I could virtually hear God telling me that this was the time to finally say yes to the opportunity to obey. It started with a line I had used on my children just the day before.

Delayed obedience is disobedience.

And then before I could even think the words “not this time,” I could tell He was already one step ahead of my thoughts.

So, what is your excuse this time?

“Well, I’m in Hawaii, far from my church and my friends and my pastor…”

You’re not doing it for them. You’re doing it for Me.

“I’m wearing a dress.”

The pastor just said he forgot his swimsuit and he’ll be out in the water in his jeans.

“What will I do with the kids?”

Your husband is here, and so am I. Do you think I’m not powerful enough to have them behave for a few minutes? And speaking of your kids, what will you tell them when one day they ask to be baptized and want to hear your story?

“I will do it then. We’ll get baptized together.”

Delayed obedience is disobedience.

“Ouch.”

It’s time. Today is the day.

“But I don’t want to make everyone change their plans.”

Then I found out that Brian, our friend who had completed the Ironman the day before, had just told the pastor that he wanted to be baptized.

We were all heading down to the beach anyway.

All my excuses were gone. Only my pride stood in the way.

We got down to the beach and John grabbed the pastor before he got to the water’s edge. I was able to introduce myself, give him a brief version of my story, and for the first time ever I admitted out loud that my pride has kept me from this step of obedience. He joyfully agreed to baptize me.

I passed Adam off to John, took off my flip-flops, and waded into the crystal clear Pacific water wearing my bright coral Sunday dress.

After watching a few others go before me, I wanted to make sure that if I was going to do this, I wanted to do it all the way. No dry spots. Full immersion. As the two pastors spoke a blessing over me and tipped me back, I leaned my head back nice and far and I felt the warm salty ocean water completely wash over me.

“That's what baptism into the life of Jesus means. When we are lowered into the water, it is like the burial of Jesus; when we are raised up out of the water, it is like the resurrection of Jesus.”

(Romans 6:4, The Message)

A symbol and a declaration of what God has already done in me: He has given me life in Christ!

It’s not always easy, but it feels so good to be on the right side of obedience.

Truly, it could not have been a more beautiful spot to have the memory of this event. Sharing the opportunity and the day with our friend Brian made it even sweeter.

And the icing on the cake was the appearance of a massive, graceful sea turtle (the only one I saw during our whole stay in Hawaii) that swam up into the shallow water where we stood and lingered there a while.

I didn’t need to have a huge audience or the presence of everyone who is important in my life. I didn’t have to give a big speech about who I am and why I had waited so long. I didn’t need to make any more excuses. All I needed was to follow Jesus example and obey.

And it ended up being one of the highlights of my ten days in Hawaii.