Is Your Manger Clean?

It's later than I would like it to be for sitting down to empty my mind of the words tumbling around inside of it.  That's par for the course.  The time just slipped away as I lingered in nursing my sweet (should I use handsome?  Still adjusting to using more masculine baby adjectives) baby boy.  Subdued from a fever, I willing lavished my attention on him, as my mama instincts prescribed extra cuddling to ease any discomforts.  Between that sweet time and catching up on a few e-mails from old friends, my clock changed from the nine o'clock hour to the eleventh hour in a hurry.

There's the "take care of yourself Mama so you can be ready for what comes tomorrow" half of me that says just go to bed.  Before it is REALLY late.  Then there's the other half of me sitting here right now that just wants to get my thoughts on paper. Er, in typing.  On the computer screen.  Whatever it is we do these days to "write."  If my unwritten thoughts from a day were interesting at all, and if those words could be miraculously organized into neat sentences and paragraphs and even chapters...I could probably write several books.  They might not be published or even sold, but they'd be books.

And then there's that reminder, oh so gentle and subtle, of why those books are unwritten.  And might always be.  Never mind that I can't keep the living room floor, the steps, or my kitchen counters free of this life that is happening.  I seemed to have overlooked all of that surrounding me.

As I finished up finding a home for the few groceries we picked up 2 hours ago, there was one misplaced item I didn't miss.  A book.  Left upside down, open to the page where its reader had stopped, lying on the tiny counter next to my stove that is reserved for drinking cups and recyclable containers during the day and nothing after dinner, definitely NOT where that book belongs.  My first thought was along the lines of "she is always leaving her books everywhere and never where they should be."

For some reason, tonight that was a fleeting thought and what I resigned myself to was the reality before me every day, and every moment of every day.  I am so glad that book was left there.  It's a book and what a blessing to have books to read, to engage our minds, to learn from, even to entertain us with stories.  It was left there by my daughter.  One of my daughters.  One of my children.  The reasons I am even called Mama, Mommy, Mom, and now Ma (an addition due to our Little House obsession lately).  Need I go on?

I will...We have counter tops to lay things on, and a lovely and functional kitchen that houses those counter tops, in a warm, character-laden (read:  old and imperfect, but the way we love it) house in a loving and lively community within a country where we are free to home school and live out our faith openly and passionately.

Proverbs 14:4  "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, But much revenue comes by the strength of the ox."

My oxen, right  now, are my offspring.  Let's face it, children aren't typically clean.  Nor are their mangers or mine for that matter.  Especially when they come in a herd of 8.  I haven't studied the original Hebrew text for the word "revenue" just yet, but I would suggest that my payment comes in blessings through my children.  And I use the term blessings loosely, only because I'm not just referring to those rosy moments when your, OK my, 2 year old sings Bible songs enthusiastically or an older daughter writes loving notes of encouragement for this Mama.  Those are the obvious warm fuzzies of motherhood.

It is also the tough times - disrespectful words, poop blow-outs, broken washers, throwing fits, and spilled milk (cliche, but let's face it, IT IS REALITY) - that represent blessings.    Disguised as trials, but turned to blessings as our Creator uses those moments to mold us into vessels for His own glory.  After 100 cups of spilled milk, I can now usually just grimace, address the foolishness or childishness represented, and calmly clean it up.  It took 100 cups to get there.  Trust me.

So it is that these oxen (I mean children) bring revenue (rather blessings) in stinky mangers (difficult Mom moments and messy homes). And for now, I will cling to that truth and not forget the great gift that is right here in front of me.  Or all around me.


photo credit: Photo Pin

Another chapter, short or long?

Blighted ovum.  That's what they call it when you ovulate, the egg is fertilized and implants, then all development stops.  Many women don't ever know they've conceived as they naturally miscarry around the time of their next period and all seems normal.  Some of us, miss our periods completely and develop full blow pregnancy symptoms...spotting, sickness, positive tests.

Last week I finally ventured into my ob's office to find out if all was well with this pregnancy or not.  I've had abnormal bleeding, for me, and started to feel sick at 3 weeks, not 6 or seven.  Questions hung in my mind, questions that I decided to seek answers for instead of waiting my usual 12 weeks before starting prenatal care.  Blood work showed my hormone levels were elevated normally for a then 5 week pregnancy.  An ultrasound would answer more questions.

As I drove to my ultrasound appointment, unsure of what I would see, or not see, I casually decided that I was probably 8 weeks along instead of 5, and we would embark on the journey of bringing our 8th child into the world.  That would explain being sick so early.  It was simple.

As the ultrasound tech started to take a look at my womb, we chatted casually.  She performed many of my previous ultrasounds, and it felt like catching up with an old friend.  Watching the screen, an unfamiliar line crossed through my womb...what was that?  I asked if she was looking at my uterus.  Yes.  And what was that light in the middle?  Well, it appears as if there are 2 gestational sacs.

My heart skipped 5 beats and I, a bit hysterically (not typical for me), laughed and cried all at once.  She gently assured me that she was double checking things, and immediately informed that she was having difficulty seeing anything in those sacks.  An internal ultrasound exam would show us more clearly.  Same thing.  Empty.  Blackness.  Void of life.  Blighted ovum.

It's hard to really explain my emotions through the appointment, and even now I don't know how to feel, pray, or think.  When I arrived at my appointment, I was confident of new life inside me.  Then I discovered there were 2 new lives.  And just moments later, that there was no life to be found.

The next step is my choice.  They would perform a dne if I preferred, at any point.  I could simply wait it out, and eventually miscarry naturally.  I could have my blood work rechecked, or have another ultrasound, or both.

God's timing and intricate plan for our lives never ceases to amaze me.  The way the news unfolded to me couldn't have been more gracious.  The tech was gentle, open, and honest with me.  The doctor was compassionate, understanding, and gave me time to sort things out with no pressure to pursue any one path.

The length of this chapter was both long and short, depending upon your perspective.  As far as a miscarriage goes, it was drawn out.  We chose to give things time, to see how my body would respond to the lack of life.  In part because I wanted to avoid any procedures.  But the truth was we were clinging to the hope that maybe there was still life there, even just one life.

Though the wondering and hoping was hard at times, it also allowed me to slowly let go of the life that briefly lived inside my womb.  Finally at 13 weeks into the pregnancy, it was time to help my body rid itself of the remaining tissue in order to prevent any damage to my uterus.  I don't know why I didn't naturally miscarry.  I don't know why the twins didn't survive beyond implanting in the uterus.

The end of this chapter is unwritten for me, and the characters yet to be introduced.  I know for certain that there was life present, no matter how brief.  And that one day, on the other side of this life on earth, we will meet two children for the first time.   And what a day of rejoicing that will be.

Who Makes the List Anyway?

I don't know if you are a list person or not.  Some days I am.  Some days I definitely am not.  Some would say that lists are essential for keeping routines and life running smoothly.  I say they help, but sometimes the moment or even the day unravels whether I had that list or not.  Don't get me wrong, unraveling is just fine sometimes.  If the day being knit wasn't turning out too pretty, unraveling may be the perfect solution.  If that "just perfect" sweater project was almost complete and it became half undone...well, that's a different story.

Just the other day, I asked my more than challenging 3 year old (do you have one of those?) to do something for me.  I don't even remember what it was...a simple task, something she probably does everyday.  Her response?  "Mom, that's not on my to-do list."  Really.  You are 3, can't form any letters yet, and you've got a to-do list?

It certainly made me me chuckle, but it also made me think.  Am I writing my to-do list all by myself?  Sure, I'm capable of choosing what goes on it, and in a sense I have the responsibility to make a list and use the time I have wisely.

But in the bigger picture, do I ask God what He has on my to-do list?  Is my heart open, am I listening each day for that voice to guide me, even in the day to day?  I'm not so sure.  I've probably said to God more than a few times, "That's not on my to-do list!"  An unexpected mess, a neighbor who needed a listening ear, a surprise visitor, sickness, character training.  These are just some of the little things.  Then there's the big things that totally shove our lists out of the way and change our day, our week, maybe our lives completely.  Some of you know that kind of list destroyer all too well.

So, while I'm capable of keeping my own to-do list, I think I'll ask God what He's got on my to-do list today.  Tomorrow.  And every day after that. It's better that His way.

Beauty by Who's Hands?

 I like to read a blog or two.  Almost every day, if I get a chance.  I like to write blog entries.  On rare occasions, when I force  myself to take the time.  But that's life with little ones, lots of them.  And that's life for many others too.  Even if they don't have lots of little ones.  But I hope they do.  Or at least had littles that are now bigs.  That's the book series I could write!  You know, the "Littles" series, you read, or at least I read, when I was a tween?  I could write a "Bigs" series.  Maybe I'd give it a better title.  About giant people.  I don't think it would do so well.  "Bigs" aren't quite as cute and intriguing as "Littles."

But its the littles that drive me to write, most of the time.  They teach me things.  Actually, God uses them to teach me things.  Things I didn't think I wanted to know.  But I do.  Deep down I want to learn those hard lessons, no matter how painful.  They make me who I am.  God uses them to form me into who He wants me to be.  And this is another one of those.  A story about one of my littles, all of them really.  And how God used them to open my eyes, to see His truths in a new way.

Before I go head long into it though, don't think for a minute that this Mom of seven (yeah, I know, I didn't change my blog title for 2 little girls now; its not that important is it?) has finally figured out how to get it ALL done and am able to sit down at 8:30, after my girlies are tidily (that would imply they've all had a bath today) snuggled under their covers, curled up in my own pajamas after my own shower, sip some coffee, and write a blog post or two, without another daily task on my list of to-do.

Just so you know (and maybe it will encourage you), that's not even close to reality.  In fact, there are 10 (at last count) loads of laundry waiting to be folded, all corralled in laundry baskets along the north wall in my dining room.  The sink is full of dishes from dinner.  I am still in my street clothes and in need of another shower.  My nose is clogged and runny (I don't know how it is both) and my ears are ringing from a 3 1/2 week long cold, my eyes are watery from allergies, my hair is not really combed, and make-up didn't make it anywhere near my face today...but here I am.  Raw.  Weary.  A mess.  Humbled.  Yet I am still loved by my creator, a source of God's joy, no matter what.  And it is in that spirit that I share a piece of my life with you.

The day was not much different than most.  Routines, or at least an attempt at them.  Craziness in the morning, a lull, craziness at lunch.  It was in that noon time shuffle that the blessing was tucked.  I didn't expect it, wasn't looking for it.  But I sure am glad my eyes saw it.   A beautiful illustration given to me by God, through Mikayla. She is unique.  Already carries labels, negative ones, don't we all.  Strong willed.  Gluten sensitive.  Challenging.  Passionate.  Emotional.  Sensitive.  Full of life.  He is using her to mold me, to give me new life. Some day I will see it all more clearly.  Today I saw this picture as if I was holding it in my hands.  

I picked up an Easter Lily for our Passover meal. It had three blooms, with only one open. I looked forward to them opening on or around Easter. One of them did. It smelled of spring, of new life.  And it was beautiful. All of the girls excitedly noted the blooming flower, and anxiously awaited the third bloom to open.  

Mikayla wanted to see that new bloom too.  And she wasn't about to wait.  Away from any watchful eyes, she pried apart that last bloom. Pried at it.  Peeled it back.  Pulling some off.  Leaving it partially attached, but stringy and drooping. Lifeless. Not beautiful.

I discovered it just as we were sitting up for lunch.  Mikayla was supposed to be there with us.  I was frustrated, disappointed. I didn't yell, but I roughly moved her away from the damaged bloom and asked why she had to destroy everything?  She hurried away from me into the mud room, plopped herself on the rug by the patio door, obviously put out. I wasn't sure why. She knew I wasn't happy.  I figured it was more because I had moved her away from her latest "project";  demise of all things neat and orderly. 

The seeker of beauty.

As I continued with my chores, getting a few more things on the table for consumption, I heard her muttering. I listened carefully, but could not make out her words clearly.  Dropping my dish cloth for the moment, I walked over to her, and sat on the floor facing her.  I wondered what the muttering was all about. I didn't expect such a simple answer from a child to hold such meaning for my heart.  Her response hit me like a ton of bricks. It took me a moment, but God made His point clear. In her small, little girl voice, with a big Mikayla frown and furrowed brows, "I just wanted to make the flower beautiful."  She wasn't just upset at me.  She wasn't upset that I had taken her from "messing" with the flower.  She was put out because she was looking for the beauty, trying to make something beautiful, and had not succeeded.  

Isn't that just like me?  Is it like you?  Not 5 minutes earlier I was on a tirade with my older girls because they weren't loving each other, they are always bickering.  Picking at this, whining about that, turning their backs to each other, putting each other down.  I longed for their hearts to change, wanted them to be beautiful on the inside, so that I could see it blooming outwardly.  Blossoms of their loving kindness toward each other...kind words, thoughtful deeds, warm smiles, encouragement. 

Mikayla wasn't the only one trying to force her control on a beautiful outcome.  I too was trying to open a bloom by my power, with my words.  I was trying to make things beautiful on my own accord, in my own way, in my own time. God's teaching was gentle, beautiful. I can't make beauty bloom when I want it to, on my time, through my works. God opens the flowers, His power unfolds each petal, and in His time. 

 

We are called to care for each plant...give it what it needs to grow and thrive.  A fertile soil, fresh water, a warming light.  This I can provide, with God's help.  And then I must wait, wait for the seed to grow, the seedling to sprout and stretch upward, a bloom to form and the petals to open in a beautiful display of God's handiwork.

Our inner beauty will be displayed too,  by God's power, in God's time.  Just as we were waiting for that final bloom to burst forth, we had waited for Resurrection day to come, to remember when God conquered death, and to look forward with anticipation when He will return again.  Spring is here.  It is time for new life. I want new life through joy, moment by moment.  I desire to let God bring about the beauty, to be patient, to do His work, but let His timing unfold, in due season.  What new life do you long for and need?

Understanding God in a New Way

It didn't hit me until chapter 10, how much I had really missed within the story.  I was enjoying it, we all were.  Well, the oldest daughter and I mostly.  The younger sisters mostly enjoyed it because they could stay up just a bit later.  I should have known.  C.S. Lewis was beyond talented in describing our God within a story...embedded so far into the story that it was easy to miss.  And I almost did.  I'm thankful I didn't.

I don't know who the Hermit is in The Horse and His Boy, maybe he is just a character used by Lewis to make the story what it is.  I'd say he is some type of angel, one of God's prophets perhaps.  But it doesn't really matter.  Lewis gives him words that I came back to.  Again.  And again.

"Daughter," said the Hermit, "I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck.  There is something about all this that I do not understand:  but if ever we need to know it, you may be sure that we shall."

There it is, plain as day.  Life isn't about luck.  It never was.  It never will be.  And life doesn't always, maybe not even often make sense.  Oh how we long to know the why, to understand.  It isn't a need, just a desire, a belief that knowing will make it better.  I'm not so sure.  I think the Hermit was talking about trust.  God will reveal what we need to know.  Do I trust Him?

But there is more from this story of the boy.  So much more.  In fact, the very story, of his life, speaks to God's sovereignty, His plan.  Nothing is a mistake.  No life.  No situation.  No gift.  No tragedy.

"You're not quite the great Horse you had come to think, from living among poor dumb horses.  Of course you were braver and cleverer than them.  You could hardly help being that.  It doesn't follow that you'll be anyone very special in Narnia.  But as long as you know you're nobody very special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one thing with another."

This brutal honesty from my friend the Hermit almost made me laugh.  He flat out told the talking horse (this is the land of Narnia you know) that he isn't anything special compared to others.  Well, if that isn't the truth of the matter.  Humility, knowing we aren't anything more special than the next person.  I could use a dose of that.  Put me in my place God, so I can love others as you do.  "Love your neighbor as yourself..."

This is the one that really got me.  Froze me in the midst of the story.  The one I came back to, and really washed me over with peace.  It didn't help with the why, the Hermit already told us about that.  But to know He is there.  God is there.  It is God in our lives, when we don't even know it.  Now it is Aslan's turn, the Voice, who speaks boldly about our Great God.

"I was the lion."  And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued.  "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis.  I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead.  I was the lion who gave the Horses new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time.  And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."

I almost missed it.  How many times have I, will I miss it?  It doesn't look like God.  It doesn't feel like God.  It just doesn't seem like God.  But it is God.  Writing my story.  The boy, Shasta, innocently living out the life God had for him.  The "lion," there at every turn.  Am I as innocent?  Do I unknowingly allow my creator to steer my life?  Do I knowingly let Him?  And then this.

"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"
"It was I."
"But what for?"
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers.  I tell no one any story but his own."

Hit with humility, again.  God is there, when we don't even know it.  Always there.  He tells us when we need to know.  Our story.  Hers is different.  I am not more special.  Just different.  Trust Him.  Innocence, like that of a child.  Following the path made for us.  Letting God lead, direct.  Unknowingly, yet knowingly.

My child, she sings these words.  Over again and again.  I ask her who they speak of.  She's not sure, but I tell her it is God.  He is with us all the time.

All this time
from the first tear cried
till today's sunrise
and every single moment between

You were there
you were always there
It was you and I
You've been walking with me 
All this time...

Lyrics to Britt Nicole's All This Time.  The other words are powerful too.  I'm glad my girl sings them.  And now her younger sisters sing them too.  I am thankful.  For the reminder.  For the words God gives others.   And I pray I will listen, that I won't miss the Voice, or the Lion.  Or life that has been given.

A constant in the midst of change...

It has been so long since I took the time to write anything, and the truth is it may be a long time until I do again. But, today I have a renewed desire to post something weekly, so here goes. First item of business, the name of this blog has got to change! We were once a family with 5 little women, and as much as I envisioned adding little men to that mix, God's plan was to bless our family with 7 little girls first! Who He has next in mind is yet to be seen. Haven't completely decided on the new title, but have a pretty good idea...hope to make that change soon.

 The most recent excitement around the Groff household is of course our 7th little blessing. Carissa Nicole let out her first cries at 5:11 on Friday evening, July 20th. After a week of questioning whether or not I was really in labor, we finally checked into the hospital around 9:30 Friday morning. Our fears of Ryan stuck in rush hour traffic driving home from his job site in Penn State were ended when they admitted us to have a baby with him present, pheww. Praise God for that answer to prayer. A nap, a few walks, a couple of hot showers and a breaking of my water, and the heat of labor finally ensued. I have to admit that my verbal response to the announcement and sight of our baby being a girl was "Really?". We were convinced that she was a boy, but thankful for who God made in Carissa! Besides, she really is the cutest little thing, with a head full of dark hair and such teeny, tiny features (I might be a bit biased). The 6 big sisters just adore her, well those who realize she's here. For good or for bad, she hasn't actually disrupted life as we know it too much yet since she is in her pack n play most of the time under her billi blanket, trying to combat some jaundice. And she's a pretty sleepy little girl...God sure was gracious in giving us women sleepy newborns for a good week (even though they are frequently not so sleepy during those long nighttime hours, sigh).

 The truth is, life as we Groff's know it is always changing. And with baby girl #7 it is sure to throw us curves once again. There are times, many perhaps, when I wish for some regularity in our life (and as some of you are thinking, so why don't you choose it!  Well, that's a post for a different day)...a desire for something constant, instead of always adjusting to what's coming next (usually in the form of a new baby) or already came depending if we are ahead of the game or still playing catch up. I'll let you guess which is the more accurate description.

 If I take a minute to pause, I do find and with open eyes can see the constant. And it is in God, our creator who has given the life so abundant in our family. The provider, who continues to meet our diverse and in some ways growing needs (in other ways they are becoming less as we learn to live more simply and fully in Christ, but that's another days post). The sustainer, who lifts us up and keeps us going in the day to day. The healer and giver of peace, who continually shows us how to live in harmony (and not in constant cat fights! Or, as is the case with some of my little girls, dog fights. They can battle with the best, or shall I say worst? of them). The list of God and His many descriptions is never ending, but you get the point. In the midst of our ever changing chaos, God is our constant. And really, it is in the rising and crashing of the waves, the blowing and ripping of the winds, the dripping and down pouring of the rain, that life happens and we are changed, for the better if we are willing. Instead of resisting it, I will CHOOSE to embrace it. No more wishing for things to remain the same. Just praise for a God who is constant and causes us to change.

ME, ME, ME

I was the "Meosaur" tonight (Have you ever read the book "Minosaur?"  The Groff girls love it, the only problem is that the younger ones tend to walk around saying "mine, mine, mine" after we read it.  And I work so hard to teach them not to say that in the first place!  Oh well, as they get older, they understand the real purpose of the book.


All I wanted was to do something for me, me, me.  And I really didn't realize it until I read a post from a dear friend who is on an adoption journey.  I got out for a jog tonight (pretty close to dark), after trying hard to settle Talia and not really sure if she was settled as I ran.  And I was thinking, selfishly, I sometimes wish my babies didn't need ME so much...Ryan helps with the babies some, but the truth is, especially with breast feeding, they usually need ME in these early weeks. And for us there are 5 other little women that also need our love and attention, so he is generally pulled in that many other directions.  The only reason I wish they didn't need ME is so I could do whatever it is that ME wants to!  It is purely selfish.


And then I thought...I don't think, in fact I know, that God doesn't respond that way to all of us (to ME) who desperately need Him...because he unselfishly loves us, gives to us and provide for us, ALL of the time.  I know, I know, there are those who will argue that everyone needs some "me" time, and it's okay to take a little time for yourself.  I'm not prepared to argue against that, in fact, ME loves that idea.  And yet, is it really true?  I suppose it depends on what that "me" time looks like, how we spend it, or when we take it.  In fact, I think that's just it.  "Me" time is probably very beneficial, if we spend it with God or at least honoring God with our choice of activity, or non-activity in our "me" time.  And "Me" time is probably very important, if we don't neglect anothers glaring needs to take it.  And it probably comes down to our attitude about "me" time too...for ME tonight, it was plain old selfish.  And I'm not even referring to going for a jog, but my line of thinking as I did jog.  Because, the truth is, that I am so blessed to have a newborn baby, a new life given as a gift, that does need ME very often.


Maybe when I get older, I'll understand the real purpose of this life on earth...that it isn't about ME, but about being a servant of God and thus a servant to others.  And I confess that is a super simplified statement about the purpose of life, but I'm not about to expand upon that one tonight.  


Since my precious little one was very much a reason for my post tonight, here are a few pictures to hold you over until I can give her a proper introduction...don't hold your breath till I do.  My track record for consistency in blogging will not earn ME any awards.