Easy Off

I'm not one to normally be swayed by advertising.  Okay, I like to think that I'm not swayed by advertising.  Maybe it's the rebel deep inside me that wants to do the opposite of what someone is telling me I should do.

But every once in a while there comes a product so intriguing, so genius, that I have to give it a try.

A few months back I saw an ad for Huggies Slip On diapers. In all honesty, it didn't take a whole lot of ingenuity to come up with this one (why hello Pull Ups for smaller babies). But when you are the parent of a fifteen month old who kicks and screams like you're performing an exorcism at each diaper change, you're open to other options.

My thought process went a little like this:

"Hey, cool! Now I don't have to wrestle Ainsley to the ground and hold her there like I'm waiting for the tap out in a WWE match just to affix the sticky tabs to the front of her diaper! And she won't have the inevitable saggy bum syndrome due to the malpositioning of aforementioned sticky tabs that are dangling precariously after the smackdown diaper change. This is going to make my life so much easier! Gasp! They're ON SALE!"

Something like that. Yes, I always talk to myself using words like "aforementioned" and"malpositioning."

So, I bought them. Which would typically be a Trevor thing to do. Usually I do my own personal marketplace analysis when buying diapers to make sure I get the best deal.  But now that I have freedom (aka Driver's license- but that's another post)  I get this rush of adrenaline when walking in a store alone and I do stupid things. In my defense, they were out of the normal diapers that were on sale.

First we experienced the honeymoon phase of slip-on diaperdom. The "hey, these work pretty well!" phase.

That phase didn't last very long. Survival of the fittest is taking place in our house and I'm pretty sure Ainsley is the fittest. She soon learned to kick with abandon to fight off my feeble attempts to wrangle a clean diaper on her.

Now I feel like I'm taking part in a calf scramble. I've got her legs up in the air all wrapped around each other while I try to shimmy her diaper on.  Seriously. I broke a sweat today. Changing a diaper. I think I may have pulled a muscle.

But that's not the worst of it. Apparently "slip-on" diapers are also incredibly easy to "slip off."  Oh, has Ainsley mastered this one.  Her new favorite hobby is nudity.  She's running around the house naked as the day she was born.  Jaybirds have nothing on her.

On Sunday we were having a cutesy family cuddle sesh in our bed.  It was so sweet and post card-ish.  It was the stuff those people who write cutesy family blogs would write about.  Using heartfelt, emotion-wrecking prose that makes you tear up even when they talk about things like taking out the garbage.

Ainsley is trawling around the room in search of old food particles and other non-digestible items to gnaw on and Aidan's in bed with us reading a book.  Ainsley climbs up on the bed and we catch a distinct whiff of a number two wafting on the breeze.

Trevor, being the amazing husband and father he is, says "somebody needs their bum changed!"

He goes to grab her and realizes there's nothing to change out of. Ainsley is diaperless. And there is poo located somewhere in our room.

Not to mention the smear on our bed. Classy.

I'll save you the rest of the details, but it involves wipes, a bath, and carpet cleaner.

Is there something you're compromising on because it's easier? Seems to make perfect sense?  Be wary of shortcuts and easy roads.

Sometimes the way that seems easy leads to a bunch of crap. Literal crap.

There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.

Proverbs 15:12 NIV

Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.

Matthew 7:13 NIV

Grown Ups

Aidan crawled under the covers with me early this morning before Ainsley was awake.  That in itself was quite the feat.  We tiptoe by Ainsley's room like you would a shallow cave harboring a sleeping monster that would be featured in an Ancient Greek saga.  She sleeps lightly and is quite the grumpaloo if awakened before her body's clock tells her it's time to get up. I have no idea where she gets that from.

Aidan stealthily makes his way to my room and asks for a cuddle.  My little boy is quite the big boy nowadays.  He is a full fledged kindergartener and can take care of himself, thankyouverymuch. But, he still likes to cuddle. And I love it!

He knows the edict of cuddling in the Birak household: talking is allowed during day cuddles, but not night cuddles.  I know that sounds harsh, but he would NEVER go to sleep if he got to lay in bed and shoot the breeze with us every night.

He jumps under the fluffy covers, lays his head next to mine on my pillow, curls up in a ball and starts talking. We discuss school; how he's learning his letters and the days of creation.  He tells me that he can't wait until day five, because "we're going to learn about the birds and fish, and all things that live in the water and sky."  Since when did my kid sound like a walking New International Version? 

Then, being quite the philosopher he busts out this big one:"Mommy, why does it take so long to grow up?" See, after he completed a few days of Kindergarten, Aidan decided he was fully ready to move up to grade one.  I informed him that it would be a whole year before he was in grade one.

He desperately wants to be in a grade that is associated with a number, so we started calling Kindergarten "grade zero" in our house. 


I thought of when I was a little kid and was desperate to grow up.  Now as an adult, I desperately want my children not to.

Often I find myself looking inward and realizing that I'm taking too long to grow up.   There's a frustration that wells up in my heart when I see myself and how little I've grown in some areas.   As a pastor, I have that same frustration when I see those who I try to minister to struggle as well.

Where is our hunger for growth? Why are we content to weakly swallow the milk when we should be digging into the solid food?  We blithely waste our days entertaining ourselves instead of straining for knowledge and maturity in the Spirit.

You have been believers so long now that you ought to be teaching others. Instead, you need someone to teach you again the basic things about God's word. You are like babies who need milk and cannot eat solid food.

For someone who lives on milk is still an infant and doesn't know how to do what is right.


Solid food is for those who are mature, who through training have the skill to recognize the difference between right and wrong.

Hebrews 5:12-14

The writer of Hebrews says in verse eleven: "There's so much more I want to explain, but you are too spiritually dumb and don't care enough to listen!" (Elizabeth's paraphrase)  How much are we missing out on because we aren't eager to listen and understand?  Because we are not ready to grow?

I do believe that there's something in us, though, that is drawing us to more.  The embers of desire lay dormant in us begging to be rekindled.  I can feel the dissatisfaction that calls me out of my slumber to search for more.

Reboot

I feel like I owe you an apology.  But parts of me thinks that would make me quite self-centered.  Should I apologize for not writing for so long as if your life was slightly emptier without my ramblings in it?  Without assuming too much (we all know what happens when you assume), I do know that I have a few followers who would read my posts regularly.

I also know that I broke the major blogging rule known to all bloggers.  Be consistent.  Write regularly.

And, I haven't.

I don't even have a really great excuse.  Like losing an arm to a hungry alligator during a tour of the everglades via airboat (you know, those metal canoes with a box fan attached to the back of it) rendering me unable to type until I've mastered the use of my new robotic hand.  I've got nothing.

Not even carpal tunnel.

I won't drone on about the past couple months. It was a rough time that I felt disconnected.  Honestly, most of the time I still feel that way.  But I can hear God's voice as he reaches out to me, calling my name. So, here I am. Ready to try again.

You called and you shouted,
you broke through my deafness.
You flashed and you shone,
dispelled my blindness.
You breathed your fragrance on me
You breathed your fragrance on me
Late have I loved you
Gungor
"Late Have I Loved You"

Camping Trip

This past weekend my husband and I decided to take a sort of sabbatical by heading out into the wilds of Alberta for a camping trip.

It was the first time we had reached a level of exhaustion that made us delusional enough to think that it was possible to take a one year old and a four year old camping without completely losing the little bit of sanity we were desperately clinging to.

In case you're considering a similar trip, let me be the one to tell you that it is not.

And all of our friends were like, "Oh, how fun!" "Have a great time!" "You can borrow my tent!" "Bears don't like the flavor of people!"

I felt like that friend you have who is dating the total jerk but no one has the guts to tell her that her prince charming is a loser. (If people are saying things like, "He's not as bad as that last guy." or "He has a puppy. So he can't be a total psychopath. Psychopaths don't like puppies." - you are that friend.)

I wish someone would have smacked me upside the head and said, "are you INSANE?" Or something like that.

My suspicions were confirmed when we got back and everyone at Trevor's work wanted to know how Ainsley handled the camping trip. Like they had a betting pool about it or something.

We probably should have spent the weekend in a motel. One that serves complimentary hot breakfasts, has a mini fridge and microwave in the room for Easy Mac, and has a water slide and shampoo that smells like cinnamon. Really. It's like Christmas every time you shower.

But no. We went camping. In the mud. In the rain. Hanging out with the mosquitoes. And apparently one bold cougar. Awesome.

Actually, camping was a lot of fun. I loved becoming one with my inner Laura Ingalls Wilder by sleeping on the ground and hauling water to boil on a camp stove just to wash dishes.

There was one major downfall. Besides my husband leaving the hatchet on the ground EVERYWHERE.

Mud.

Lots and lots of mud.

Do you know how hard it is to clean a one year old in a campground bathroom? We were actually doing okay until I underestimated the amount of water Ainsley would displace when sitting in the bathroom sink.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our kids took to camping like flies take to cow poop.

They were all over it. Couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't even try to compete with the whirlwind of destruction and dirt that enveloped them. I mean, Ainsley had bark. in her poop.

It was really bad when Aidan figured out this simple equation:

Dirt + Water = Mud.

As soon as we would get their mud infested bodies sparkling clean and back to our campsite they would discover a new way to turn themselves into the swamp thing.

Not that I was faring much better myself. I reeked of campfire smoke and Off Skintastic. The dirt and pine needles from the ground looked like they had permanently bonded with the soles of my feet, never to be parted again.

It seems like you just can't get away from being filthy while camping. I had that glorious five minute break from the filth while taking a shower, but it seemed pointless as soon as I donned my dusty flip flops and headed back to our tent.

I'm not prissy, but I also don't like to stink. And this was downright discouraging.

But even more discouraging was I realized this experience mirrored the frustration I'm dealing with in my own life.

I've been acutely aware of my failures as of late. It's something I constantly battle with.

I feel like my moments of redemption don't last long compared to living in the filth and dirt of the shortfalls and failures in my life.

Sometimes it all seems futile. I'm just going to get messed up again. It seems as soon as I accept the redemptive powers of God's grace I screw it up somehow. Why bother?

Like the people of Israel:

We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall, and our sins sweep us away like the wind.
Isaiah 64:6

I've come to realize that I've been depending on my own righteousness. Trying to redeem myself on my own. Not willing to fully embrace God's simple gift of grace while I preach it to others.

Yet my righteousness is a disgust. I'm literally wading in my own filth when trying to gain righteousness on my own.

I roll around in that miry pit because for some reason I can't accept the reality of the simplicity of God's love. I write about it. I tell everyone else about it. Yet I deny it for myself.

But I think I'm starting to get it.

We are made right with God by placing our faith in Jesus Christ. And this is true for everyone who believes, no matter who we are.

For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard.

Yet God, with undeserved kindness, declares that we are righteous. He did this through Christ Jesus when he freed us from the penalty for our sins.
Romans 3:22-24

For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God's wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ.
Yes, Adam's one sin brings condemnation for everyone, but Christ's one act of righteousness brings a right relationship with God and new life for everyone.
Romans 5:17-18

Burning Couches

Sometimes doing the right thing doesn't go the way you plan. Sometimes it's awesome, and you get the little tingly sensations on the back of your neck as you contemplate how your small sacrifice just may have changed the doomed course of all mankind. I mean, I'm sure Salvation Army is happy you donated the knock off Louis Vuitton purse that you spilled Diet Coke all over, but I don't think that's necessarily equivalent to saving the world. Still, helping people can feel pretty great.

But the more you help people, the more you realize that things are going to go wrong. Sometimes horribly, horribly wrong. Why? Well, for one, people are in the equation.

If you want to help clean up pelicans suffering from an oil spill, get a teaspoon of Dawn, a gallon of water, a toothbrush and some Q-tips (This blog post was not sponsored by the Dawn or Q-Tip brands) and get to work. I'm no biologist, but it's fairly simple.

If you want to help the environment, just reduce, reuse, and recycle.

If you want to save tiny orphan tigers, introduce them to a momma pig who will nurse them back to health. (What is our fascination with weird animal pairings anyway? I can't get enough of cute pictures of hippos and tortoises playing together!)

Precious, right?

But people; we're far more messy. Well, not literally. I've been to a zoo. Animals poop a lot.

I've learned by trial and error that there is no quick fix for people. A lot of times you try your best to help someone and trouble rains down on you.

It doesn't even necessarily mean you're doing something wrong.

Sometimes it means you're actually doing something right.

And sometimes it probably doesn't mean anything at all.

Like this weekend. We have a close friend who needed some help, so one of the things we did was have a garage sale. It was the garage sale of all garage sales.

Plus I made colorful signs with stars on them. They were snazzy.

We raised a lot of money and most importantly, made a lasting impression on our friend of how much we love him.

We also had some stuff left over.

Including a couch. We loaded up most of the extra stuff to take to Sally Ann, but we put the couch by the road in case someone wanted it.

After a long hard weekend Trevor and I finally settled down to sleep around midnight on Sunday. As Trevor started dozing off I listened to what I thought was a bee buzzing and flitting around our window screen. The noise got louder and was accompanied by pops and fizzes.

I turned over and noticed bright orange lights dancing across my ceiling. In my daze (I'm waiting on a root canal and took two T-3s to help me sleep) I realized there were no hapless bugs trying to make their way into our home.

There was a fire. Very close.

First I thought maybe it was our friend's house across the street. No, too far away.

Then I thought maybe the roof directly in front of our window was on fire. When I looked out the window in panic I realized it was the couch.

Trevor grabbed his keys and ran outside to move our van, which was parked next to the couch.

I looked like I was the stupid one from a sitcom that stands there stunned asking
"what do we do?" You know, the one who runs around panicking until someone knocks them out and carries them over their shoulder to safety? That was me. (I blame that completely on the medication.)

Someone had doused that stupid couch in gasoline and lit it on fire.

We stood and watched as a fire truck pulled up. A little over the top. But, I didn't call them so whatever. They pulled out their huge hose for that little couch. It was kind of like using a missile launcher to kill a fly. Then the firefighters decided we needed to get the police involved. Awesome.

The police officer asked us if anyone held a grudge against us. Really? What is this? Law and Order Criminal Intent? Trevor thought maybe one of our church members doesn't like his preaching. It looked to me like someone was holding a grudge against the couch, not us.

Forty five minutes later, we were tucked back in our bed with no leads and a smoldering couch frame decorating our driveway. Double awesome.

Still free to good home. Some smoke damage, but nothing a little Febreeze can't fix.

All of a sudden the high we were on from our successful weekend of helping our friend turned into dejected exhaustion as we pondered how exactly we would discard the charred remains.

Then our friend we were helping stopped by last night. And he reminded me why we help people. Because love wins. (I paid Rob Bell five bucks to say that.) I saw how much an outpouring of love and support can change a person's perspective. How it stays with them a lot longer than the actual physical help may.

Money will come and go. Couches will be used as bonfire fuel. Hopefully not in your front yard.

But sometimes, when you are open to God working through you, God will use you to shine His love in someone's life.

And I wouldn't trade that for all the burnt couches in the world.

Bad People

Lately Aidan has been obsessed with the difference between good people and bad people.

For instance, in his world bad people don't have birthdays. Only good people get cotton candy ice cream. Hippopotamuses eat plants and bad people. Apparently so do bears and other wild animals of the north.

He also loves asking questions about God. Most of his questions I find hard to answer.

"Why do bad people hate God?"

I had a hard time explaining this one. I imagine my four year old: at an age where his best friend is imaginary, where he's grappling with discerning the pretend (Spiderman (sorry to offend any of you die hard Spiderman enthusiasts)) from the real (Jesus), and trying to understand the rituals and traditions of the church- and I try to find the simplest answer that will appease his curiosity without offending his intelligence.

I ask him "Who are bad people?"

He answers "well, the ones with guns. And the ones who put God on the cross."

Then I realized the answer. "We are all bad people." I tell him. "We've all done bad things that make God sad. We're all bad people that God helps be good people."

I know it sounds a little "salvation through works"-ish, but that's not what I was getting at at all. We've been teaching on the gifts of the Spirit in Sunday School. I love that we have a group of kids who are learning that it is God who empowers us to live holy lives. It is by His spirit dwelling in us that we bear fruit of love, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, etc.

Bottom line- we're all bad people. Sure, we may not be Swiper or carry guns and fight super heroes, but we're all sinful jerks in our own way at one time or another. It's only because of His grace that we are called good.

God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can't take credit for this; it is a gift from God.
Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it.
Ephesians 2:8-9

Aidan's Drawing- "God on a Cross"

A Story of Love

Today's post shares a story that is very personal to me. I understand that not everyone is comfortable when people share private details of their lives. The reason I am writing about this is because I felt compelled to share my message of God's faithfulness to those who may need to read it.
Also, I feel that the church has done a poor job when it comes to helping people cope with pain and tragedy. We have become so uncomfortable with people in pain that we ignore them, which makes them feel deserted and unloved. I wanted to share my story of pain, so that it may encourage us as the Body of Christ to make transparency no longer taboo.
Thank you to all of you who have read my blog over the past few months and given me so much love and encouragement. It's because of you that I felt like I could share my heart. You have my gratitude.

Soon after Ainsley was born we knew we wanted to add to our family.  We have two of the most amazing children I have ever met.  They are beautiful children with sparkling personalities and a tremendous capability to love.  I still am in awe that God has entrusted them into my care.

Still Trevor and I felt like something was missing. More like someone was missing.

On Mother's Day I got an incredible gift. I sat in the bathroom myself willing that second little pink line to make an appearance.  And it did. Trevor and I were overwhelmed- with excitement, a little fear, but mostly hope for what the future would hold.

We didn't tell anyone at first about this new little life; it was our little secret. We would lie awake at night in bed dreaming of the future, wondering if we would have a boy or girl, what we would name the baby, who he or she would look like. We prayed for our baby. With earnest hearts we petitioned our Father in Heaven to be near.

A few weeks later we found out we were losing our baby.

Instead of lying in bed hoping and dreaming of the future, we cried tears of sorrow as we prayed to God for peace and comfort.

Earlier that day, I led our church in songs of worship. We sang of God's faithfulness. How we serve a God who never changes. We sang of our love for Him amidst all circumstances.

Trevor preached about pain. About the faithfulness of God in times of suffering.

That day we were not only singing or preaching the message. We were living it.

That night we huddled together in our tears and Trevor offered a prayer to God. He affirmed God's authority in our lives and committed our small, sweet baby into His hands.

When it came my turn to pray, I could only choke out the words of a song I had sung in church just that morning:

I love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow
If ever I loved Thee, My Jesus tis now

Where I had expected to feel anger and anguish, I just felt love.

The reality of God's love for me has never been as strong as that moment. In my brokenness, in my pain, I finally allowed God to just love me.

I often sing about God's love and think that it's enough for everyone else, but not for me. I know how much I've failed God. I know how horrible of a person I am. I know the real me. And I sure as heck know that I don't deserve anything good from God. I've shut myself out from His mercy. From His love for me.

But as I sat on my bed and thought about this little baby whom I already loved- this baby I would never hold- this little child whose eyes I would never look into- my heart broke. And I forgot about my self-imposed requirements to approaching my God.

I simply became a daughter who needed to be loved.

And God met me there. In my darkest moment God's love shone brightest.

It's been a week full of doctors' appointments, ultrasounds, and blood tests since that night. It hasn't been easy. And my pain is still fresh. But I will not question God's faithfulness. Nor will I question His love for me.

God used a moment of my deepest pain to confirm His unending love for me.

I ask that you pray for me and my family during this time. As God mends our broken hearts and restores our joy, I pray that he can use us as an example of His love for all of His children.

And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.
May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Ephesians 3:18-19