I have a confession. I don't like to read Ann Voskamp.
I know, I know. I can almost hear the chorus of Christian friends who are right now raising eyebrows and saying "I don't know why not!". It's really nothing personal. I love, love, love her heart, but her writing is a bit on the fluffy side for me. Recently, though, my arm was twisted. On a regular Tuesday afternoon I was scrolling my Facebook feed and I could not get past the fifteen or so friends who shared one of her blog posts. The topic was boring men. I couldn't resist.
So, I'm reading the post and I'm generally agreeing with her words and then I read this:
How a man proposes isn’t what makes him romantic. It’s how a man purposes to lay down his life that makes him romantic.
Her words hit me in the gut and hot tears welled up behind my eyes, because this is such a basic truth but I don't know that I have ever seen it written in black and white, the way that it should be written, on paper and electronic page and on our lives.
In a few short hours the alarm in my room will start to squawk, or a small child will climb into my bed with the first words of the day, or an even smaller child will cry out with hunger needs, and our day will start. This day will mark the 12th anniversary of vows intermingled with tears and laughter, of glasses not breaking, of music gone wrong and speeches going awry. The beginning of our marriage covenant. And at year 12 I am sure that Ann Voskamp's words are true because I have seen what it looks like for a man to propose marriage, and to propose to lay down his life, and to actually do it.
Given, 12 years is a drop in the proverbial bucket, and I am praying for so many more years with the man who proposed on a hilltop in Italy, with shaky knees and a ring that almost wasn't. But 12 years has proven long enough to see that when his voice cracked and he asked me to be his wife, and when he vowed to love me for better or worse, in richer or poorer, he was telling the truth.
And I know this because it has been twelve years of concessions made, and pride swallowed, and arguments until the sun comes up because he will not let us go to bed angry.
And I know that romance does not always sound like the soundtrack to a romantic comedy, but that it sounds like a grown man singing a lullaby to a restless baby, or the ABC song to the kid potty training. And it's not in late nights at fancy restaurants, but in late night feedings, and nightmare soothing, and holding hair back for puking.
Don't get me wrong, we certainly squeeze in the occasional date night and alone time, and they are enjoyed and treasured. But so much more important are the Sunday morning dates in the fifth pew, balancing my Bible on his leg, and him reaching for my hand each time we bow our heads to pray.
Our marriage will never inspire a song, or a movie, but this guy of mine - oh, he is so good to me. Monthly he pays on my tens of thousands of dollars of student loan debt and never does he ask me when my degrees will do anything more than collect dust on a messy bookshelf in the backroom.
And this guy of mine, he puts his money where his mouth is, and in his selflessness he loads bags, and kids, and moves our family from state to state, house to house. And then he loads bags, and equipment, and he moves soldiers from country to country, from FOB to FOB, and keeps the enemy at bay. And he writes, and he Skypes, and he suffers and he sacrifices, because really, on that hilltop, that is what he was proposing to do.
Who knows what romance will look like by the time our kids begin to conceptualize what it should look like. But, just like AV, when my kids ask me I will tell them that there was no lip dub marriage proposal or choreographed dance down the aisle that went viral on YouTube, but there was my guy at PX, in his uniform, at lunch, buying Playtex products, and not blinking an eye when someone from his unit came over to talk to him. And there was slowing dancing in kitchen, uniform meets apron, with baby on the hip and toddler around the leg. And there were cross words in the middle of the night, when field problems and staff duty and baby duty collided, but in the morning there were soft words and soft kisses and forgiveness.
So, I know that Ann's words are true. I know what she's talking about. I know the romance that is lived out when a man proposes to lay down his life because I've been on the receiving end of such a proposal for the last 12 years, and I am so deeply and eternally grateful for this husband, for this marriage, for this life that we are building together. And while I know that there is nothing glamorous about it, there is something glorious about, and that is this: that more than I am dedicated to the one who stole my heart, I am dedicated to the One who saved my soul, and I know that we together are dedicated to living out a marriage covenant that reflects His covenant, not for our glory, but for His.
Happy anniversary, John. I can't wait for the next 12, and the 12 after that, and every 12 after that.
P.S. If you happen to be single and reading this blog, I am praying for you to find a husband who is willing to lay down his life, just like I have been blessed with, and you should be too!
P.P.S. If, by chance, you haven't read Ann Voskamp's post on boring men, you can find it here:
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/11/the-real-truth-about-boring-men-and-the-women-who-live-with-them-redefining-boring/
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Friday, August 9, 2013
On Rocks. And Sin. And Gunnar's Great Offense.
Yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when everything is going along like normal and then one thing happens and it changes its course.
Yesterday Gunnar committed his first major offense. His first action that significantly and adversely effects someone outside of our family circle.
After an encounter with some neighbor boys last week we were having a rock throwing issue. I have been like a broken piece of vinyl: "Gunnar, don't throw rocks...don't throw rocks, Gunnar...if you throw that it could break something, Gunnar". My words were going in his ears, grazing his brain, and getting lost somewhere near his hands.
While I was busy tending to a sister G barreled into the house in a state of hysteria that immediately made me think that when he finally came into view there would be blood or broken bones. But, when I finally calmed him, what I found was a broken heart.
On a dare, he said, he had thrown a rock. His "really good pitching arm" launched said rock "really, really, really, far" where it landed on the neighbors glass patio table and broke it into "a million gajillion pieced".
His words hit me like a ton of bricks.
He started to cry harder and I know it was because my eyes were straining in my head and my nostrils were starting to flare, and we were both expecting the same thing - anger. Tense words. Harsh punishment.
That is not what came.
There, in the middle of his hysterical words and wailing and snot and gnashing teeth and fear and confession, what comes is praise. Gratitude.
He could have run from his offense. He could have lied. He could easily have gotten away with it, but his conviction would not let him run from his sin.
I was so thankful.
Somewhere in the middle of teaching Jesus and commandments and being known by our fruit, something is working. Something is taking root.
I listened to the rest of his confession and how he was "so, so sorry" and how he asked our neighbor to forgive him and while I was listening I was searching myself trying to figure out why I wasn't 'mad' at Gunnar.
It didn't take long to realize that it's because I break tables all the time.
I hear the words of The One Who Knows Better Than Me saying "Chris, don't throw that rock...don't throw that rock, Chris".
I hear the words with my heart and I read the words with my eyes and they get lost somewhere near my flesh and I throw the rock. And I break the table.
I break it, but The One Who Knew This Would Happen does not shame me.
He eagerly accepts my apology, He rejoices in my repentance.
He delights in offering me grace and forgiveness.
How could I offer my boy anything less?
In the aftermath of the great offense there were many noteworthy thankfuls -
the husband who spent three hours cleaning up broken glass,
the friend who showered wise words on inexperienced parents,
the neighbor, oh are we ever thankful for the neighbor with an understanding heart,
and the time. The time that John took to teach Gunnar this hard life lesson in the gospel language:
Sin. Repentance. Forgiveness.
It was a rough day. There was chaos. There was wailing. There were tears from all sides. There was the reminder -- this parenting thing is hard.
Today dawned fresh and there was certainly forgiveness and hearts at ease. My boy, though, is walking around with a big rock in his pocket. It's poking him. It's uncomfortable. It's getting in his way.
I'm praying that it's reminding him of how his sin gets in the way of everything, and it pokes us, and it makes us uncomfortable.
And me - I'm left to ponder what proverbial rocks I'm carrying around in my own pocket.
(Admin note: when Gunnar went out to pick up all of the rocks in the backyard (taking away the temptation) Patton insisted on going out to help him 'because I love him so much'. It was SO cute.)
Yesterday Gunnar committed his first major offense. His first action that significantly and adversely effects someone outside of our family circle.
After an encounter with some neighbor boys last week we were having a rock throwing issue. I have been like a broken piece of vinyl: "Gunnar, don't throw rocks...don't throw rocks, Gunnar...if you throw that it could break something, Gunnar". My words were going in his ears, grazing his brain, and getting lost somewhere near his hands.
While I was busy tending to a sister G barreled into the house in a state of hysteria that immediately made me think that when he finally came into view there would be blood or broken bones. But, when I finally calmed him, what I found was a broken heart.
On a dare, he said, he had thrown a rock. His "really good pitching arm" launched said rock "really, really, really, far" where it landed on the neighbors glass patio table and broke it into "a million gajillion pieced".
His words hit me like a ton of bricks.
He started to cry harder and I know it was because my eyes were straining in my head and my nostrils were starting to flare, and we were both expecting the same thing - anger. Tense words. Harsh punishment.
That is not what came.
There, in the middle of his hysterical words and wailing and snot and gnashing teeth and fear and confession, what comes is praise. Gratitude.
He could have run from his offense. He could have lied. He could easily have gotten away with it, but his conviction would not let him run from his sin.
I was so thankful.
Somewhere in the middle of teaching Jesus and commandments and being known by our fruit, something is working. Something is taking root.
I listened to the rest of his confession and how he was "so, so sorry" and how he asked our neighbor to forgive him and while I was listening I was searching myself trying to figure out why I wasn't 'mad' at Gunnar.
It didn't take long to realize that it's because I break tables all the time.
I hear the words of The One Who Knows Better Than Me saying "Chris, don't throw that rock...don't throw that rock, Chris".
I hear the words with my heart and I read the words with my eyes and they get lost somewhere near my flesh and I throw the rock. And I break the table.
I break it, but The One Who Knew This Would Happen does not shame me.
He eagerly accepts my apology, He rejoices in my repentance.
He delights in offering me grace and forgiveness.
How could I offer my boy anything less?
In the aftermath of the great offense there were many noteworthy thankfuls -
the husband who spent three hours cleaning up broken glass,
the friend who showered wise words on inexperienced parents,
the neighbor, oh are we ever thankful for the neighbor with an understanding heart,
and the time. The time that John took to teach Gunnar this hard life lesson in the gospel language:
Sin. Repentance. Forgiveness.
It was a rough day. There was chaos. There was wailing. There were tears from all sides. There was the reminder -- this parenting thing is hard.
Today dawned fresh and there was certainly forgiveness and hearts at ease. My boy, though, is walking around with a big rock in his pocket. It's poking him. It's uncomfortable. It's getting in his way.
I'm praying that it's reminding him of how his sin gets in the way of everything, and it pokes us, and it makes us uncomfortable.
And me - I'm left to ponder what proverbial rocks I'm carrying around in my own pocket.
(Admin note: when Gunnar went out to pick up all of the rocks in the backyard (taking away the temptation) Patton insisted on going out to help him 'because I love him so much'. It was SO cute.)
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Wool Socks! (And Other Things I Love About Alaska!)
It's been awhile since I spouted off about how much I love Alaska, and well, that's because it's been Summer. Not that I feel differently about Alaska, I just hate Summer. Weird, I know, but still true. Last week we were still having clear 70* days, but this week there is no trace of that Summer weather. It seems like one night I went to bed with the sun still shining and I woke up to changing leaves, rain, and seeing darkness before my bedtime. I am thrilled!
On the drive from Colorado to Alaska last year John said to me, "I've heard that soldiers usually want to stay in Alaska, but their wives hate it". I remember that I purposely didn't respond. We had been trying to come to Alaska for several years and everything that I knew about myself made me think that I would love it, but I didn't want to find that I actually hated it and have him to be able to say "I told you so". I shouldn't have worried. I love Alaska. If it's possible, I think that I'm even more in love with Alaska this year than I was last year. So, in true Chris fashion, here's a short list of things I love about Alaska (I know you didn't think this post was going to close without a list!):
1. Wool Socks! This one must have been pretty obvious from the title, but wool socks are actually what inspired me to write about my Alaska-love. I pulled on my favorite pair this morning (it was about 40* and we have hardwood floors) and realized that there was a hole in the bottom. I love living somewhere that I get to wear comfy wool socks often enough to wear holes in them!
2. The Aurora Borealis. This is a no-brainer. Come see them for yourself!
3. Our life here. This may be one of the big reasons that I love Alaska more this year than last -- I love our house, my friends, our activities, and the comfortable routine that we have settled into. With that being said, I realize that we still move at the will of the Army and could be saying goodbye to that comfy routine sooner than I would like, but for now I'm just going to count it on my daily thankful list.
4. Pro-homeschoolers. This probably overlaps #3, but it's a big deal. Alaska is a pro-homeschool state. Even more, Alaska is a homeschool funding state. Thankful.
5. Un-busy-ness. I despise busy-ness, but it happens. Living in the Interior of Alaska makes it happen a lot less. There are not traffic jams that last for hours and miles (unless there's a moose in the road in the Winter or on the side of the road in the Summer and all of the tourists are stopped taking pictures, but hey, that's manageable), there is not a dress code for anything (not an exaggeration), there are no malls bigger than a hallway. There's cold and snow, there's hot coffee all day long, there's a warm house with my family in it, and a list of things to get done to grow that family. It's simple, and it's perfect for us.
Like most of my lists, this one could go on and on and on, but now that I'm pretty sure that I have you all intrigued by the idea of seeing a mall the size of a hallway (and maybe the Northern Lights), I'll stop so that you can stop reading this and book your tickets to come visit us!!
On the drive from Colorado to Alaska last year John said to me, "I've heard that soldiers usually want to stay in Alaska, but their wives hate it". I remember that I purposely didn't respond. We had been trying to come to Alaska for several years and everything that I knew about myself made me think that I would love it, but I didn't want to find that I actually hated it and have him to be able to say "I told you so". I shouldn't have worried. I love Alaska. If it's possible, I think that I'm even more in love with Alaska this year than I was last year. So, in true Chris fashion, here's a short list of things I love about Alaska (I know you didn't think this post was going to close without a list!):
1. Wool Socks! This one must have been pretty obvious from the title, but wool socks are actually what inspired me to write about my Alaska-love. I pulled on my favorite pair this morning (it was about 40* and we have hardwood floors) and realized that there was a hole in the bottom. I love living somewhere that I get to wear comfy wool socks often enough to wear holes in them!
2. The Aurora Borealis. This is a no-brainer. Come see them for yourself!
3. Our life here. This may be one of the big reasons that I love Alaska more this year than last -- I love our house, my friends, our activities, and the comfortable routine that we have settled into. With that being said, I realize that we still move at the will of the Army and could be saying goodbye to that comfy routine sooner than I would like, but for now I'm just going to count it on my daily thankful list.
4. Pro-homeschoolers. This probably overlaps #3, but it's a big deal. Alaska is a pro-homeschool state. Even more, Alaska is a homeschool funding state. Thankful.
5. Un-busy-ness. I despise busy-ness, but it happens. Living in the Interior of Alaska makes it happen a lot less. There are not traffic jams that last for hours and miles (unless there's a moose in the road in the Winter or on the side of the road in the Summer and all of the tourists are stopped taking pictures, but hey, that's manageable), there is not a dress code for anything (not an exaggeration), there are no malls bigger than a hallway. There's cold and snow, there's hot coffee all day long, there's a warm house with my family in it, and a list of things to get done to grow that family. It's simple, and it's perfect for us.
Like most of my lists, this one could go on and on and on, but now that I'm pretty sure that I have you all intrigued by the idea of seeing a mall the size of a hallway (and maybe the Northern Lights), I'll stop so that you can stop reading this and book your tickets to come visit us!!
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Our Week in Highlights
Ok, so I know that I've been talking a lot lately about the crazy things that my girl wears and I promise, after this post, that I will try to lay off the topic for awhile, but this one cannot be ignored. It was definitely one of the highlights of my week.
Yesterday I put my normally dressed children in the car and drove three minutes to the commissary. When we got there this is what I took out of the car...
Okay, no big deal, we can deal with the random flower and swim goggles, but then I get her brother out of the car and I find him looking like this...
Why yes, that is his fishing vest. No, we had not been fishing nor were we going fishing. Believe it or not, there is no fishing pond in the commissary. Weird, I know.
My deepest apologies to everyone who encouraged us to homeschool, and to homeschool families everywhere, because Fire Team McBean is doing NOTHING to debunk the homeschool stereotype.
Moving on...the big kids could not decide what the highlight of their week was. They said it was a tie between the first Autumn story time at the library and doing this project for school...
It's paint in a bag. Just some washable fingerpaint in a ziploc bag secured to the kitchen table with some blue painting tape (Have I mentioned that I l.o.v.e Pinterest? I really, really do, but that's another post). They loved it. It kept them occupied for a long time and it was a fun new way (for Patton especially) to practice letter formation. Even Baby R got in on the action...
(Yes, she is pulling up the tape, and please don't mind the mess that I had not yet taken time to clean up or my 14th cup of coffee on the table next to. I promise it was cold by the time I put it on the table next to him.)
Other highlights this week include gorgeous weather with just a bit of Fall in the air, the return of school buses (I don't know why my kids love this, but they do), G completing all of his Summer review math work, and getting new postcards everytime we went to the mailbox (thanks Ms. Teri, Ms. Danielle, and Aunt Yvonne!). The kids love this project and I'm so thankful that so many of our friends have been willing to help us out!
John's highlight of the week was marking something off of his bucket list -- a four day trip to Minto Flats to moose hunt. Even though the hunting part of the trip was a bust it gave him plenty of time to plan our Labor Day weekend camping/caribou hunting trip to Atigun Pass, so he at least made good use of his time.
In addition to all of this, one of the biggest highlights of my week was being able to be with my sweet friend Destiny (and my equally awesome friends Meg and Lindsay!) at Labor and Delivery and getting to meet sweet little Lawson Rage Impson in the first minutes of his life. Nothing provides more profound proof of the existence our Creator than holding new life in your arms and I was so blessed to have been there!
So there you have it, some of the highest highlights from our week.
Oh, and I think that I have failed to mention for the last several weeks that Baby R can WALK, but she refuses to because she still thinks that she can get anywhere she needs to be like this...
Monday, August 20, 2012
As Promised
It did not take long for Princess P to figure out that she was no longer getting objections from me when it comes to her fashion choices, so as promised, here is her outfit for a trip to the commissary, complete with Mossy Oak Real Tree Bogs! Love her.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Oh, I Love Her!
I am in love with this girl! Everyday -- but this week especially I have been enthralled by her crooked lips, odd sense of humor, unique style, and genuine innocence. Where did she come from? She is nothing like me! Or John! Or anyone I know! I think that makes me love her even more! Her unique style often consists of mismatched shoes, winter hats in July, dresses over jeans, and tutus with EVERYTHING (think Frankenstein in 'Big Daddy')! For the last year or so I have tried to tone down her unconventional choices, but I was really convicted this week to give her a little more freedom and let her enjoy this carefree aspect of being a kid! So, I have resolved to let this sweet little girl wear whatever she'd like (within reason, obviously the child doesn't own immodest clothing!) to wherever she'd like (church and formal occasions excluded, most of the time). I know it may sound crazy and it may mean that I tote around a preschooler wearing more costume jewelry than Joan Rivers, or people may drive by me and wonder why my kid is wearing her alligator Halloween costume in August, but oh well.
With that being said, be prepared to be bombarded by cute pictures of her ensembles, like this winner from yesterday. She wore the tiara, tutu and John Deere boots to the library, but said that the boots weren't working so she traded them in for her ladybug rain boots,Tonka truck helmet, and skateboard. Today she wore two different shoes to dinner.
With that being said, be prepared to be bombarded by cute pictures of her ensembles, like this winner from yesterday. She wore the tiara, tutu and John Deere boots to the library, but said that the boots weren't working so she traded them in for her ladybug rain boots,Tonka truck helmet, and skateboard. Today she wore two different shoes to dinner.
Isn't she just the sweetest?
Friday, July 27, 2012
A Bag of Beans and a Baby
My favorite thing about toddlers is how easily they can be entertained. That being so, yesterday when R and I found ourselves with some one-on-one time, we opened a bag of beans and went to town...
At first, she wasn't quite sure if she should touch them or not, but she got over it pretty quickly
And then, of course, decided that the best course of action was to eat them
Once we had gone through several rounds of "no-no Rogue" and she realized that 1) she could make a noisy mess and 2) I was going to cheer like a mad man every time she picked up even one bean and put it in a container, she came to the reasonable conclusion that beans are the coolest toy on the planet.
Until she noticed that I was taking her picture, and then my camera was the coolest toy on the planet.
So thankful for one-on-one time with this kid.
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