Love Your Enemies

A few days ago, our family was driving to the mall. I have no idea what we were talking about, but it made sense in context when Greg said, "Kids are weird. I remember how in kindergarten, Jason West didn't like me, and I didn't like him. But then when I got to first grade, he decided we were best friends." He paused. "That actually happened to me a lot, where someone who didn't like me decided all of a sudden that they did, for no reason." He continued: "But he really didn't like me at all in kindergarten. He was my enemy. I know b/c I prayed for him every week in Sunday school because we were supposed to pray for our enemies."

At this point, I asked incredulously, "You prayed for your enemies in kindergarten?" "Yep!" Greg responded, smiling. "I prayed for him every week. It's weird, because my mom was my Sunday school teacher, and I don't know if she gave a lesson on it one time or what. I don't know if she asked who our enemies were, or if I even prayed it out loud or not. I wonder what she thought of her five year old son having enemies, or if I even told her or just thought it. But I prayed for him every week."

"Wow, Greg," I said, "Don't you think that might have something to do with why he started liking you and why you became good friends? That might have been God answering your prayer!" "Yeah, I think it was," he agreed.

"Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you."

Such crazy words that it almost doesn't make sense to teach them to children. And yet, I must have learned it, too. I know that I did because of an experience that stuck in my head. It was when I was in fourth grade, during the war in Kuwait. It was Christmas time, and we were each supposed to write a Christmas card for a soldier. I had no idea what to write. The idea of being stuck in a desert at war during Christmas, far away from your home and your family, seemed unbelievably awful to me. It seemed like everything I could think of to write would only make the feelings worse. Out of nowhere, I knew exactly what I should write. It all came to me so quickly. So I wrote a poem called, "A Prayer for Kuwait." I would have never even remembered that incident, were it not for the fact that my mom's friend from church volunteered in the school office. One Sunday shortly afterward, she came to my mom with a dramatic story of how the ladies in the office were looking through the cards, and they all read mine and passed it around and cried. When Mrs. Cathy saw that it was mine, she photocopied it and gave a copy to my mom at church. And then my mom read it and cried. To this day, I have no idea why it was so tear-evoking. It was only eight lines long, and what sticks out in my head were the four in the middle. Ahem,

"And please be with Saddam Hussein
Even though he's to blame.
Help him to take just a pause
And think of all the trouble he's caused."

Okay, T.S. Eliot it's not (maybe they were crying over that rhyme scheme. Or the fact that I'm pretty sure I spelled Hussein, "Husane." Or the extremely lame bell I drew on the front. Really, who can tell with women?:)).

Besides that, I don't think Hussein ever took that pause....

The point is, I remember that and know that someone taught me that we should love and pray for our enemies. (I'm assuming it was my parents.) I remember being worried when I wrote the card that the soldier would think my poem was stupid, but I was not worried that it was the wrong thing to say. I remember being sure it was the right thing.

And now, I've got to figure out how to teach my children that. It's one thing to pray for our enemies. It's even harder to love them when they're around. It was hard recently when a child hit Luke more than once, called him "Poopie," and threw Luke's own trains at him (adding insult to injury:)). It was hard to know how to instruct Luke on how to respond, when my own first instinct was, "Let's beat him up together, me and you." (Okay, just kidding. But my first instinct was NOT, "You know, Luke? He just needs love.") I stumbled through the experience, and Greg and I have been talking about it a lot since then. We still aren't sure exactly what to teach him.

But I did know what to do at naptime. I asked, "Luke, did you have a good day?" "Yes." "Was anyone mean to you today?" "Yes, so-and-so was." "Yeah, he was really mean, wasn't he? You did a good job with him. And, you know, Jesus says to love your enemies and pray for the people who are mean to you. So why don't we pray for so-and-so now?"

And we did. It was a small step, but a step in the right direction. Now, to figure out what to teach him for next time. Any ideas?

Do You Think She Knows Her Daddy Loves Her?

I don't know if you can tell a 22-month old's love language with any degree of certainty, but I would say that Anna's is physical touch.  Luke's love language is not physical touch.  But unlike Luke, Anna is a complete cuddler.  I try to cuddle with Luke, and unless he is in the right mood, he'll have none of it.  But Anna could snuggle all day long. 

Which is why I am so grateful that she has a father who gives her all the hugs she needs.  Like today at Luke's soccer game:

I am so, so thankful that affection is as natural to Greg as breathing.  I try to fill Anna up with love and affection, but I know how important it is that she get that from her father, as well.  She is so blessed to have such a great dad.

Luke's soccer game itself was a different story entirely.  Three year olds and soccer...what were we thinking??  But at least he had fun today.  Wasn't into the game at all, but he had fun:).  That's what counts, I guess!

My Fashionistas

Luke definitely has his opinions on fashion.  Mainly, he has one rigorously applied theory:  his "tops" and "bottoms" must match.  Not complement.  MATCH.  This summer he went through a phase where he adored plaid on plaid.  Couldn't get enough of it.  Nowadays, he prefers a more monotone tableau:  navy t-shirt with navy pants, for example.  A couple days ago, he dressed himself in a long sleeved black Halloween shirt (on Nov. 3), black cords (too tight and short, but he insisted), and because he HAD to have shoes and socks to go outside, white socks with navy crocs.  Excellent.  He was SO proud of his outfit, and since we were going to be home all day, I let it go.  Midway through the day, he couldn't locate his crocs, and so they were replaced with bright green rain boots.  Sometimes fashion theory is displaced by desire for convenience.

Yesterday morning before preschool, he also proudly got himself dressed, and he even shook up his ideology.  He had to change, but I thought it was funny.  And since some friends from church (two sisters and a sis-in-law) have started a fashion blog, I thought I would showcase his (and Anna's) "looks" as an homage.  This one I call:

Individuality, by Luke

I tried to get Luke to provide some commentary on his choices.  When asked why he put his Focal Point shirt on backwards, he replied, "This is the front."  When questioned on the bold choice of pastel seer sucker shorts on a cool fall morning, he quickly became trapped in his own circular logic:  "These are engineer shorts because I'm the engineer...so these are my engineer shorts...and I'm the engineer.  So I have to wear these." 

black t-shirt--Grandaddy's landscaping company, free

striped shorts--part of Easter outfit from Gaga, free

Luke isn't the only fashion plate in the Kirby household.  The beauty of Anna is that she loves all things girly, but has not yet developed opinions on what outfit to wear (key word:  yet).  Unfortunately for Anna, her mother has no manual skills to sew with and not so much money to buy tons of clothes.  Fortunately for Anna, she has many hand-made's from Gaga and Mrs. Nancy at church, and she has many, many hand-me-downs from others.  Here is a prime example.  This fashion entry I call:

Cuteness, by Anna

Mrs. Nancy from church made the skirt and headband for Anna last week out of my mom's favorite fabric, Kaffe Fassett.  I fell in love with them, but I was a little worried that I wouldn't have anything to go with them.  She wore a "dressy" white onesie with it once, but the weather was cooling down.  Then, lo and behold, Anna got a new shipment of hand-me-downs from a little girl in Macon, and this turtleneck and sweater were included.  I was amazed at how well they matched and SO glad that Anna could wear the skirt and headband in cooler weather.

Skirt and headband--handmade by Nancy Tucker, free

Sweater, turtleneck, and tights--hand-me-downs from Nyna Grace, free

Shoes--hand-me-downs from either Nyna Grace or Calleigh, free

Wow, I love how "free" is the common thread between both these outfits.  We are so blessed by loving church family, both here and in Macon.  They keep our kids stylin'.:)

What We Did on Halloween

We got dressed up as Thomas...

...and a Pumpkin Princess.

We practiced Trick or Treating...

 

...went to a neighbor's Halloween party...

...and got started early with our Trick or Treating.

We played with a dog dressed up as a police officer.

 

We ran into our friend, Charlotte.

We got tired fairly quickly.

And we headed home to eat candy...

And pass some out to Trick or Treaters!

It was a fun night!  Happy Halloween, everybody!

Churchgoing Mother of Two

This week, Greg and I made a momentous decision.  We decided that, due to their improvement in pew-stamina, we were going to try to keep our kids with us all through church service instead of just up to the sermon.  This decision was not to be taken lightly, as the sermon has become the last bastion of our "own" time during church.  It also necessitated a trip to Target for some new, extra-special quiet toys, now known as "sermon toys:)." Thinking about the phenomenon of keeping small children with you in services made me think about all the ways my conception of church, and especially my conception of the actual service, has changed since having kids.  So I decided to make a list of all the new developments:

You know you are a mother in church when:

1.  You need a sherpa to help you get all your "gear" into church:  purse the size of a duffel bag? Check.  Diaper bag? Check.  Bag with quiet toys? Check.  Snacks?  Check.  Baby carrier?  Check.  Wait, is the baby in it?  Oh, good.  Check!

2.  You now think of every part of the worship service in terms of the level of quietness needed to be respectful.  Singing rocks.  No one notices if your child is repeatedly asking for cheerios while having forgotten how to whisper.  Prayers?  Better keep it short, buddy.  And the Lord Supper is...(dum, da dum, dum)...the Gauntlet.  Only the strong survive.

3.  You have ever almost eaten a cheerio instead of the bread during the Lord's Supper.  That has happened more than once.

4.  You have ever silently and fervently prayed, "Dear God, I know you shut the mouths of lions for Daniel.  I know you have the power to shut my children's mouths.  Please do so now."

5.  You forget that you are technically supposed to close your eyes while praying.  You know that if you close your eyes while praying, there is a good chance that the guy leading the prayer will be holding your child in his arms when you open them again.

6.  You no longer evaluate people based on anything besides their level of coolness with the fact that you just accidentally made your child sound like an Indian brave while patting her mouth trying to get her to stop babbling during the Lord's Supper.  Actually, you have no idea who is cool with that fact and who is giving dirty looks because you never look up.  You just will the moment to be over.

7.  The rules that say, "No food and drink in the auditorium," have become an outdated mandate that no longer applies, kind of like the Old Covenant.  I mean, yeah, you're not going to be knocking back a Pepsi in the middle of service, but snacks are a must.  No cheerios, no peace.

8.  You have ever wondered, "Why do I bother?"  I wondered that often when Luke was a little baby, and I would spend two hours feeding him, bathing him, getting him dressed, and feeding him again before church, only to spend the entire 45 minutes of services pacing in the foyer bouncing him.  I wondered that when it seemed like every part of the service was a hurdle to get through, and no longer had anything to do with bringing me closer to God.

Now, three years later, I know very well why I bother.  I bothered because I was (and to an extent, still am) in a phase where I needed the church WAY more than they needed me.  I'm sure they could do without the inadvertent Indian brave noises, do without the stray cheerio on the carpet, do without the wails echoing through the halls as I rush a kid out of the auditorium.  But I couldn't do without them, the body of Christ.  I remember so clearly one Sunday night after a week of thinking I was going to lose my mind as a mother, a week where Greg was out of town, and I was at home alone in a new, partially unpacked house with a two month old and a twenty month old.  An older man stopped me that night during the birthday party after church and asked how I was doing.  He said he knew how intense it could be with two children so close in age.  I, of course, put on a big smile and said how, yes, they were a handful, but I know I'm not supposed to rush this time b/c they are such a blessing.  Which is what I was supposed to say.  Which is what I heard all the time, and what I thought he was about to say.  And this kind man did not look at all convinced by the wisdom of that proclamation and responded doubtfully, "Yeah...but it is still a really intense time.  It does get better."  I wanted to hug him.  That is just what I needed to hear.  (And it has gotten SO much better.)  That same night I sat in the empty auditorium with another mom and had a serious bonding time talking about how overwhelmed we were.  It was cathartic.  I also remember a time when I had to stay with my kids in the nursery because one or both were fussing, and I fretted to the ladies in there about how I was so "behind" on so many things (potty training, paci-weaning, etc.), and these wonderful ladies in all different phases of life assured me in no uncertain terms that I was doing just fine, and not to worry about when I was "supposed" to do things.                 

So, no, the actual worship service is no longer the conduit to the Lord it once was.  I now have to--shocker!--cultivate my own relationship with God all throughout the week.  But having kids has brought me to a whole new understanding of the function of the body of Christ.  I love to go to church not because of some mental checklist of things I must do to please God, but because I get to commune with and be strengthened by the body of Christ.  And so that I can hopefully encourage and strengthen others around me. 

And that, to me, is worth a few cheerios on the carpet.

Pumpkin Patch

It was a great day to go to the pumpkin patch with our Mommy and Me group.  Though the sky was overcast, the temperature was perfect.

We had a great time on the jump castle, the sand pile, the big tube slide, the petting zoo, the hayride, and the hay bales.  We finished our outing out with a picnic lunch with our friends.  What a great day!

Movie Night

Last night, Greg had his first Friday night at home in over a month, so we decided it was time to introduce the kids to Aladdin.  Which meant it was time for our second official "Movie Night."

Waiting in (over) anticipation for the popcorn to "pop."

Snuggling with Daddy.

Munching on popcorn.

Enjoying the "feature presentation"....

Also today, I made my first pumpkin pie.  Luke had pumpkin pie at preschool, and the teacher told me he loved it.  It so happened that I had just bought ingredients to make my own that same day.  It was a hit!