Thoughts on Boston

This morning as I heard about events in Boston I couldn't help but cry along with the rest of America and runners around the world. I've found myself wondering if I've felt the weight of this heavily more because I've run marathons, or because as a new mom this is the first "I was doing X when it happened" type moment of my baby's life. Regardless, my heart is heavy.

I scrolled through my various social media feeds this morning and came across a friend boldly stating that perhaps her toddler would be her only child because of the current state of the world. I then went out for a run of my own and as I ran this statement seemed to just boil within me.  I came home sure that if nothing else the world needs more children, more babies brought up to be beacons of hope and lovers of justice. I like so many hold my son closer today thanking God for another day to be his mother, but even more so begging the Lord to give me the strength and courage to raise him to be the kind of man our world so desperately needs.

Jesus promises us in Scripture that in this world we will have trouble, but that we are not to be discouraged because He has overcome the world. It seems to me that Jesus would hardly be surprised by the current events of our day, as thousands of years ago he was already giving us words of comfort and peace. What we don't see in Scripture is Jesus giving his followers permission to hide under a rock until he returns, although they certainly asked for such permission before Jesus ascended into heaven. (Building houses on mountaintops anyone?) I fully believe that we need community as believers, but sometimes I wonder if we haven't missed the point. Salt is needed in places that have none, and light is brightest against the darkness. But I have to ask, are our communities of Christ followers perpetuating this idea? Are we walking together into places of darkness and need, or are we too busy building walls to protect and preserve?

I've run two marathons, and have since told friends that it felt like what the church was intended to be. Friends, families and even strangers coming together to cheer one another along towards the goal. To achieve this goal requires time, sacrifice, gut-level commitment, and is inevitably fraught with pain to some degree. But in my experience there is nothing sweeter than the roar of the finish line, and knowing that you DID IT. With the help of every stranger along the course, spouses who rub sore muscles over long months, and volunteers who offer water and encouragement, you were able to push yourself to limits you never imagined.  I am heartbroken that hatred would break into that experience today, but absolutely still see how it parallels the life of the church. So often we too are caught unaware by scandal, doubt, or hurt that accompanies life with other humans, even Christian ones. But what I love that I've seen in the news today, is this picture below. This 78 year old veteran marathoner was blown down by the blast, but got back up and finished. What a beautiful picture, that in light of hatred and destruction, he pressed on undeterred.

This, THIS is the kind of man I pray my son will become. One who isn't afraid to take on hard things, who will not be deterred in light of blinding hate, and one who presses on to finish the task set before him. I believe this is what we are called to be as salt and light in our world . . . not pushed back into fear, doubt, and prejudice, but those who boldly stride towards the finish because we know who ultimately wins, and that it's worth it.

Lord Jesus, give us comfort where there is pain. Give us boldness where there is fear. And above all give us your Spirit of love that presses on unfraid, confident in who You are and the victory you've already won.

Brooks these days

Here's just a few pictures that so accurately describe our little guy lately.

Curious.

On the move. 

 

Investigative.

Expressive. 

 

And pretty much simply delightful. 

Brooks' Baby Dedication

Last month (better late than never to blog about, right?) we held a celebration and baby dedication service here at our house for Brooks. When my bestie Linde in Texas shared of how they recently did a similar thing at their home, I realized there was no reason we couldn't do the same. Chinese culture celebrates the 100th day of a babies life, but even within local fellowships baby dedications aren't practiced. So, we knew we were starting for scratch in helping our friends understand and participate in this kind of event, but we're used to being the weird foreigners by now. : ) We invited friends in our city, our teammates from out of town, and were thrilled when some of our local besties were able to make it from out of town as well. I made invitations and delivered to them to friends, but what we didn't quite expect was the interest our little shin dig would gather. As the day approached several friends called asking if they could bring friends (who we'd never met). Who were we to turn away people from an event focused on testifying to God's goodness? So all in all our little event ended up with 30+! I of course did my best to max out my Pinterest potential with hanging tissue pom poms, cookies iced (in the thematic blue and white scheme of course) with B's and crosses, fruit kabobs, and white flowers wrapped in baby blue ribbons. Although I act like it's stressful and exhausting (because let's be honest, it is), I truly love stuff like this, and making my home look as special as the event is.

In keeping with our stealing of ideas (thanks Linde ; ), we put together a slideshow of Brooks' first six months to start our time together. I had watched it no less than 30 times, and still got misty eyed at seeing how this gift or ours has grown from that first flicker on the ultrasound screen. We sang together songs that are meaningful to us; "10,000 Reasons" by Matt Redman because it was on my heart and mind throughout my pregnancy, "How Great is Our God" because I would sing it to Brooks in the wee hours of them morning hoping to coax him to sleep, and "How Great Thou Art" largely because that was one of few we had in Chinese. Because this is the kind of event that if it weren't for oceans, visas and annoyingly expensive airplane tickets our friends and family from the other side of the world would have been at with bells on, we asked our parents and a few close friends to record prayers for Brooks to be played at the dedication. It meant so much to see people their faces and to hear their words of blessing for Brooks' life, and to know that despite distance they are very much a part of his life and ours. We then shared five family values that we pray for our son, and asked that as we raise him those present would keep us accountable to these commitments. We did this by reading (and translating for clarity's sake) a parent and community covenant in which we confessed that our child and our family first belongs to God, that in response to this gift we will raise him according to God's truth, and will depend on the community Christ has given us. My heart was full as we closed in prayer, and as I looked around the very full room I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude at all Christ has done for us. To me, that was the ultimate reason in having this baby dedication, was to publicly profess God's goodness and praise him for the blessing of our son. We felt so loved by all those who came and so enthusiastically participated, and will always remember this special day.

He Hears Me

It's been a crazy week around here. Brooks has been on developmental steroids it seems (which deserves a post in and of itself), and Baxter was gone Saturday through Wednesday. The combination of the two has me just about running on fumes. Being with my boy day in and day out is a gift that I absolutley treasure, but with my all-star husband and partner in parenting out of town, its been a long few days.

I know that this phase of motherhood anywhere in the world is challenging, but I have finally given myself permission to admit that there are a few extra challenges to parenting in our part of the world. There's of course the obvious, such as doting grandparents being thousands of miles away, the availability of only public or two wheeled transportation, and the near illiteracy that makes buying any kind of baby anything difficult to name a few. But perhaps what has been among the biggest challenges for me are some things that I didn't quite expect. We live in a fifth floor apartment (which we love by the way) with no elevator, and even in my ninth month of pregnancy this didn't phase me. I strategically bought a "light weight" stroller with plans of me and my tiny baby traipsing all over our city. What my naivete and inexperience did not take into consideration however, was my now not so tiny (70th percentile for weight actually, but who's counting?) baby, and his preference for a schedule. So in actuality, there are about two, one hour windows per day where Brooks is not soon to be needing to sleep or eat. And to get him and the stroller (and a toy, and a burp rag, cell phone, wallet, bag for any groceries we need to pick up, etc.) down the stairs, I've got to strap him into the Ergo, hoist the stroller down the stairs, and then attempt a graceful/non-attention grabbing one handed pop out of the stroller. Needless to say I'm rather sweaty after the 10-15 minute ordeal of just getting out of the house and down the stairs. (And we won't even cover the amount of grunting that goes into coming back UP the stairs. I assure you, it's not pretty).

All of this as you can imagine, makes my desire and need for some daily time out of the house less than easy. Baxter is always gracious to help, but when he's gone it's as they say here "mei banfa", or basically  there is no solution to your problem. Brooks and I ended up being home alone this week unexpectedly (again, deserves a separate post), so I had to do some running to the market to you know, keep myself fed. I consider myself to be in pretty decent shape, but after three days of hauling up and down (add groceries to the list above), I was beat. So when Baxter came home and we laid in bed last night catching up, I inevitably found myself pouring out my exhaustion induced tears and fears of never being able to leave the house again, and how isolating that felt. I'm told loneliness is a normal part of life with a baby, but after a few days of flying solo and the aforementioned ordeal being the only way to get out of the house, I became increasingly convinced that Brooks and I were bound to be stuck indoors forever.

Thankfully after a good nights sleep and a perspective inducing run in gorgeous spring weather, things didn't seem so bleak this morning. In recent months we have talked about how a move would eventually be necessary, as I am convinced that the only way to leave the house with any additional future babies would be flinging myself out the window onto a trampoline below. (And no, I am never dramatic). And would you believe what happened this morning? Our landlord, who has been so great for the 3 years we've lived in this apartment, sent Baxter a text saying that she would be selling our apartment at the end of our lease in August.

My jaw hit the floor, as if I had just discovered that last night she had in fact been dangling outside our window overhearing our conversation. Here I was belly aching about the travesty of living on the fifth floor, and before it's even crossed my pitiful mind to pray about it, the Lord hands me an answer. I've spent most of the day overwhelmed at the timeliness of all this, and God's goodness to simply hear me. Yes, a move will be a a lot of work, but God heard me. He saw my heart, knew my needs, and responded. The reality of this, is mind blowing to me. That the God of the universe, who's been busy this week appointing popes and staying nuclear North Korea, is concerned about this little mama being in a situation that enables her and her active bambino to thrive. I feel like Hagar, who in a desert of her own, was heard by God and called him "the God who sees".

While this magical apartment not on the fifth floor has yet to be found or even looked for, for now I am content knowing that He hears me. He sees me, hears my heart, and moves to tenderly respond. What a gentle, attentive Shepherd, and how thankful I am He calls me His own. 

Happy 6 Months Brooks!

My precious boy,

How can it be that you are SIX months old already? It seems like only yesterday you were born, or what I like to think of as the longest beginning to anything ever. I can still remember the moments surrounding your birth so clearly, and yet how is it that so much of the past six months is already a blur? I can say without question that becoming your mama has single-handedly been the absolute hardest and best thing I have ever done. I knew that you would change our world forever, but I had no idea how you would redefine me and how I see the world. But you see Brooks, you have brought us more joy, love and laughter than we have ever known. Your spunky spirit never ceases to amaze us, and I'm convinced your room-filling laughter must be what heaven sounds like.

At six months old you are busy, and I have a feeling will only continue to be so with each passing month. Even when you're nursing a leg is almost always moving, on your back you're always kicking, and man do you go to town in your jumperoo! You love when your daddy sneaks up on you, and you get yourself tickled to death in anticipation of peekaboo. I love how you pat my face when you're nursing, and how you have the biggest grin when I come in to get you in the morning. When you sleep we find you in all sorts of crazy positions; your lovie over your face, your legs propped up on the crib, or even in some kind of a half twist with arms and legs in different directions. You are so curious sweet one, and thankfully this allows you to embrace new situations and people with ease. You love an afternoon walk in your stroller, even though it inevitably means 3-4 stops for aunties in the complex to pat your cheeks or tell me how fat and white you are. You are rolling over from back to front and front to back, although from time to time you get hung on your arm. You just hate that. You are incredibly expressive, with everything from raspberries, gurgles to high pitched squeals to get our attention and tell us how you're feeling. In your six months of life you've already been on a train, plane, and bus, and had three trips to villages. On each trip you do better and better, probably because your mom is finally learning to relax.

I have to admit I cried some this morning my dear as I realized how big you are and how quickly time is passing. Each day it seems gets sweeter and sweeter, but I love you just as you are right now my boy. You are all baby, squishy, rolly (in both your thighs and movements), and simply delightul. I know you can't stay like this forever, but I hope you know how we treasure our days with you. You have changed everything Brooks Michael Bentley, and I for one am so, so thankful.

Halfy Birthday my darling boy!

Spring Festival 2013

(Better late than never, right? Sure this happened almost a month ago, but still worth posting!)

Well, we did it. We survived another year of the pre-holiday rush at the market, travel during the largest mass migration in the world, the killing of the pig, the subsequent multi-day deluge of meat at all meals, and the firecrackers that make your living room feel like a war zone. Each year it seems we become more accustomed to this aspect of culture, although admittedly there is something new and potentially shocking to be learned and experienced every year.

This year we traveled to our friend Yvonne's house. Yvonne was one of the first people we met in our town, and the fact that she was outgoing, friendly, a believer and spoke English pretty much sealed the deal on our friendship. Now pretty much everyone will invite the foreigner to come to their house for New Year's, it just kind of what you do. While I believe most people sincerely mean their invitation, very few expect you to take them up it. Thankfully we've long passed all such cultural niceties with Yvonne, and have actually visited her house (about 10 hrs by bus from ours) twice.

Her mom is perhaps one of the sweetest ladies you'll ever meet, and has called us her son and daughter since day one. She was really, and I mean REALLY, excited when she found out we were pregnant, and from that moment on invited us to come for this year's Spring Festival.

After comparing the ease and expense of driving versus flying, we ultimately decided to give the 45 minute flight a go, particularly after we found a great deal on some tickets. Even with weeks of planning, packing and preparation (what? It was our first big trip away with Brooks!), we were still kind of nervous. So much so we arrived in Kunming a full day before our flight was to leave just so that we would have time to rest and "be ready". Thankfully we made it through security, the flight, and the following 3 hour bus ride to Yvonne's house with nothing more than an audience at every feeding and a diaper explosion. Which for our part of the world, we consider a wild success.

When we Yvonne met us at the airport and immediately asked about Brooks' schedule so as not to mess it up, I knew the prayers of this mama's heart had been heard. Sure, they inevitably found some of our choices and habits in caring for our son a bit different, (what?! we allow our son to play on his own and on the FLOOR?!) but all in all they were incredibly gracious in caring for us as we cared for him. And Brooks, my sweet, flexible, laid back Brooks. Maybe it's just me, (as in literally I'm learning to relax more!), but he seems to take such drastic changes in his environment better and better. His laid back attitude and smiles for everyone is exactly what I prayed and then some! By the end of our four day trip, however, I could tell he was a little over being passed around during most of his waking hours, and when we returned home we gave him the space and hours I had a feeling he wanted to just kick and play all on his own.

 

Before we left we experienced a first for us during the New Year, which was the giving of "red envelopes". We had heard that children were the big receivers of these monetary gifts, but it wasn't until 5 envelopes and almost $125 dollars later did we really know that to be true. Talk about humbling. Here was the family who had cooked non stop during our visit, gave us the best room of their house, laughed with us, entertained us, loved on our son like their own . . . stuffing his pockets full of cash. Crazy, right? We are so thankful that we were able to overcome our new parent anxiety and take this trip. It was such a special time with people who are so dear to us, and we are so thankful for their hospitality in inviting us not only into their home, but their hearts and culture.

These little steps of mine

In so many areas of my life, I am eager to run full stride. To find a rhythm that allows me to syncopate what is in and around me. Maybe this is part of why I love running . . . allowing my body to let loose on the pavement, pound away at my questions or insecurities of the day, and return home sweaty but sure. I was raised with a sound work ethic and dreamers inclination, so often this finds me believing that if I just work hard enough I can achieve, attain and accomplish whatever it is I've set my mind to.

(Enter adulthood i.e. . . reality.)

While yes, this belief is in part true and has served me well, there are experiences where no amount of hard work or determination can speed the process along. This is a hard truth for dreamers like me, and is perhaps why algebra as an 8th grader or studying Chinese as a late twenty-something were identity-altering experiences. It seemed that no matter how hard I worked, formulas, equations, or verb tenses would not instantaneously appear in my mind or pour out of my mouth. These things took time, patience, and perseverance. 

Motherhood I'm finding to be no different. While I'm savoring each moment of Brooks' development, I do not savor the "working out" of my own salvation per say. I want to snap my fingers and have identity issues solved and neatly tucked away. I want to wake up and instantly know how to balance ministry and motherhood. I want to wiggle my nose "Bewitched" style and have beautifully mastered my home, meals, and relationships. (Experienced mothers everywhere snicker). 

As I've wrestled with the reality that just like Brooks my own development is in fact a process, several passages of Scripture have come to mind about how Christ calls us to move. While my heart is eager to run, so often we see the children of Scripture take small step after small step. I can't imagine the agony of thousands of tiny steps in dessert sand by the wilderness wanderers, or the hopeless shuffle of those waiting and watching for the Messiah.  

But then I think of the children of Israel at the edge of the Jordan waiting to move towards Jericho and their promised homeland. They're commanded to "come to the brink". Yikes. We see in Joshua 3 that "when the soles of the feet of the priests bearing the ark of the Lord . . . shall rest in the waters of the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan shall be cut off from flowing, and the waters coming down from above shall stand in one heap." What a first step that must of been. One small step, stepping from the brink. Waiting, expecting, hoping, praying . . . that the waters would still. Not wave a magic wand, dance around or make a fuss, just take a step. A small, wholly trusting step. 

And then I think of Peter. Rash, often foolish Peter. So eager to encounter Jesus that his small physical step had him walking on water. Sure, he sank like a rock as soon as he saw the wind, but he took a step and experienced the enabling and saving power of Jesus. 

I'm reminded that we are called to step out, never knowing if the miraculous or the mundane will ensue. But I believe that it's in the faith of these tiny, often monotonous steps, that the God of the universe meets us. We never know what these little steps of ours will result in . . . dry ground to conquer strongholds, logic-defying intimacy with our Lord, who knows? I just know that my heart is so often ready to run or leap, and just skip over all the little steps along the way. Funny, how the Kingdom of God so seldom works that way. Yes, we are often called to make bold leaps into the unknown, but how do you think the Lord brings us to that brink? Tiny step after tiny step, in which we are proving that we are faithful to follow. 

And yet, also as those who carry the very presence of God in our midst, I want to be like David who erupted in dance and worship after six measly steps. Six steps that proved God was true to his promise to bless and secure those His presence dwelt among.

I'm not sure where you are today, but I'm striving to be faithful with these little steps of mine. Faithful to follow, so that when I come to my own brink of faith, I have developed the faith to simply leap.