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.

Mommyhood 101

Naptime, glorious naptime. Those precious few hours of the day where you choose to Tasmanian devil it around the house trying to get things done, or do something indulgent like shower, have lunch or even blog. While I'm not thankful my little man wanted to party two hours earlier than normal last night, I am thankful for good naps today. That my friends, is the stuff dreams are made of. Or at least the dreams of a new Mommy.

It's in these quiet moments that I find my heart trying to catch its breath, and my mind trying to be still just long enough to figure out what the heck is going on and what might be next. As I plod along down this golden albeit sometimes rocky road called motherhood, I'm realizing more and more just how much I stink these days at dividing my time and attention. I used to be proud of how I could multi-task, but I am convinced that skill went out the window along with a non-muffin topped waistline. Because you've see, I've learned that when these tiny people of ours arrive they fill up just about every inch of your heart and mind and then some. In my 4.5 months of knowing Brooks Michael Bentley he has filled up more of me than I even knew existed.

I maybe should have caught on that my sweetly packaged life and sense of self was in for some undoing when we reached hour 40 of labor, still with no sign of a baby. I should have maybe known that crunches would take a back seat to breast feeding when my voracious little eater latched on at minute 5 of his life. And I maybe should have caught on that how I know and understand God was forever changed the second I heard his gusty cries and almost topped them in gusto and volume with my own.

Babies have a way of doing that I'm learning. Changing, altering, taking over. My plans, my body, my time . . . all belongs to this bald, pudgy, gummy smiled little guy who has taken up residence in my home and my heart. It's hard, really hard for people like me who like to plan and always "have it together". Babies aren't so interested in that. One of the many things I've learned to love about Brooks so far is he is a passionate little fellow with opinions to be shared. (I can't imagine where he inherited that trait). When he plays, there is no stopping the constant motion of his legs. And when he's hungry, me and most of the building are made well aware.

I think the Lord knew I would need a baby like this, one that would throw down the gauntlet per say and invite me to give it up and give it over. Because when I decide to quit worrying about my inbox or calendar and just decide to spend a few hours on the floor blowing raspberries on a bulging tummy, my heart soars to the heavens in worship as we laugh together. When I chose to r-e-l-a-x about that days health, feeding or sleeping concern, I can treasure the sweetness of this miracle nestled contentedly against my skin even if it's not at a planned or even preferred time of day.

I don't want to miss this; this season, these lessons. I want to get over myself and my ideas of how things should be so that I am who my baby, and more importantly, my God needs. There is worship in surrender, and yes, it's painful. But Lord oh Lord, if my 42 hours of labor are any indication of how the pains of mommyhood are repaid . . . sweet Jesus is it worth it.

Brooks Michael, Jesus?

I'm in.

(gulp) 

The Coming Light

Each year liturgical calendars and our little family celebrate Advent, a practice in which we anticipate the coming of the Christ child. I'd be lying if I said this year I was anywhere near on the ball with our selected readings, reflective hymns or even a still heart with which to welcome the Savior. Blame it on life with a 3.5 month old, or a busy schedule, or recent days clouded by family sickness, but I know better. My heart is anywhere but journeying to worship the newborn King, and in light of recent news events both near and far the darkness seems near impenetrable. 

And yet I find this to be the exact reason we (I) desperately need Advent. We need to be reminded that in the midst of long days and unspeakable tragedy, there is a promise of coming light. As I look at the yet to be used advent wreath in my living room I am reminded that for both myself and those around me, we desperately need what these candles represent.

First, is the candle of prophecy and hope. Hope is what meets us when we're on our knees overcome by the darkness, and stirs us to get up, believing that somehow, somewhere, redemption is promised. It prompts us to simply get up, and put one foot in front of the other along the path. Next is the candle of peace, that gently guides us to grope our way on the road to Bethlehem, and somehow assures us that even though the darkness is still thick, we and the world around us will somehow be ok. Following is the candle of joy that beckons as we stumble along the way and we begin to see even the smallest sliver of light along the horizon. Just enough light that assures us that yes, the dawn of a new day surely is coming, and those promised mercies will be new yet again. The fourth candle of love motivates us to break into a full on sprint, and as the light crests over the horizon we know that in fact the long awaited hope is here, filling our hearts with love unspeakable. And finally, we are stilled in our tracks at the last symbolic candle, the Christ candle. The Savior himself. It is here that we sit astounded with the shepherds as the skies of our life are filled with rejoicing and angels clamoring "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" It is now that the darkness is obliterated, and our eyes and souls are blinded by the power of His glory and the truth of His promises fulfilled.

Wherever we sit this day, in mourning of innocence shattered, overwhelmed by the thick weight of whatever our individual darkness may be, or just with a heart downcast feigning ignorance to the Light, it still comes.

Hope will still be born. Peace will find us on the way. Joy will overcome us, and love will fill us anew.

He is here.

He has come.

Glory, glory to the newborn King.