Family | Serving Joyfully

09Jun 2013

Kids & Clothing

You’ll often find my children in oddly matched clothing. And if I see you out somewhere, I might offer a hasty disclaimer, “He dressed himself!” (as if you couldn’t tell). My oldest has been known to wear shorts with socks pulled up to his knees, and cowboy boots. My youngest is a fan of the shorts and snow boots combo, although here he’s the one in cowboy boots.

So why do I allow this?

1. My kids are individuals.
They are not an extension of myself, they are their own people. I want them to have confidence in who God created them to be rather than feeling forced to follow the status-quo. Doesn’t God’s word call us to be set apart?

I want them to have self-confidence. You know what kills self-confidence? Having someone constantly criticize and micro-manage your decisions. We encourage a healthy sense of independence in our boys, and I don’t want to damage that by harping on their choice of outfit.

2. Because I want to be a “yes” mom as much as possible.
Let’s face it. Parenting requires a lot of micromanaging, a lot of times when I have to step in and overrule their preferences and decisions. Parenting requires a lot of no’s.

“No, you can’t drink the bathwater.”

“No, you can’t jump off the top bunk.”

“No, you can’t swing from the blind cords.”

“No, we can’t have cake for supper.”

Can you tell I have BOYS?!? At any rate, there are so many instances where I just have to say “no,” because it’s in their best interest. So, for me, clothing becomes an easy yes. In the scheme of things, it won’t matter that my son wore snow boots with shorts, except to look back and smile at the cuteness of it. Life is too short to make it an issue.

3. Because I really do believe it’s what’s inside that matters.
To be honest, I’ve spent my whole life trying to match up head knowledge with heart knowledge on this one. But God’s word says:

“The Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
-1 Samuel 16:7b

I desperately want my boys to grasp this message inside and out—both toward themselves and toward others. I want them to know that the girl whose clothes don’t match or aren’t the right brands is just as important to God as the girl who always looks perfectly put together (and vice versa). I want them to know inside and out—that their true worth has nothing to do with their outward appearance, clothing, or possessions.

So, in a nutshell, that’s why I let my boys choose their own clothing, even when it’s not what I would have chosen for them to wear.

And, before someone says, “I can’t believe you let your boys wear inappropriate/stained/ill-fitting/dirty clothes,” I will add a few exceptions. We don’t buy clothing that we deem inappropriate, so that’s not an option for them. We also occasionally choose their clothing for a special event, and we don’t let them wear clothes that are already dirty. Yes, that has come up! My 3-year-old would probably wear the same shirt for a week if we let him, but we don’t.

What about you? Do you pick out your children’s clothing, or are they likely to be found in completely random mismatched outfits every now and then?

23Apr 2013

When Love Looks Like a Red Skittle

Crystal ⋅ 28 Comments

I’m sharing another teary post with you today.

My family has been going through something over the past few months that I haven’t really shared much about–not here and not with those I know in real life either, except for a select few. I love being real and authentic, but it means I put myself out there for judgment and criticism. Usually that’s okay, but this has been (still is) too raw.

But now the time has come. April is Autism Awareness month and I can’t let it go any further. Since January, we’ve begun the long and drawn out process of seeking an official diagnosis for my older son, who will be 6 this summer. The preliminary diagnosis from the psychiatrist we saw is “high-functioning autism,” but he can’t make that an official diagnosis until we go through the extensive evaluation that will help rule out other factors.

There are many symptoms and issues that I could get into, and I might one day. But for today, I want to share about something that, for me as a parent, is one of the more painful aspects of this illness. There are many things that are inconvenient, and many things that make my heart hurt for my son. But there is one thing that hurts my heart the most as a mother right now, and that’s the ~~lack of~~ difference in affection.

My son has never (NEVER) come to me and said “I love you.” If we say it first to him, sometimes we get a response. But we can tell it makes him very uncomfortable. It seems almost painful for him to say those words.

He’s not a fan of most physical touch, and that includes hugging. He will sometimes cuddle on his terms (i.e. initiated by him). He’ll come and crawl up into my lap and want to snuggle down for a book or to watch something on TV, and I treasure those moments because they are so few.

But there is one thing he always does.

The boys both love our “skittle activity” (hope to share it with you all soon), and they get mini packs of skittles. One day back in August/September, while we were doing that activity, we started talking about everyone’s favorite colors of skittle. Mine is red. It was just mentioned one quick time, in passing.

Since then, every time Caeden gets skittles, he’ll save, and give to me…a single red skittle.

The love is there, and I know that. It just looks different. For us, it doesn’t look like “I love you.” And it doesn’t look like hugs and kisses.

For us, it might look like a red skittle.

10Apr 2013

We need to learn how to fail

Crystal ⋅ 2 Comments

Source

So many humbling lessons I’ve learned through parenting.

We have “children’s church” each week where the kids all go up front for a 1-2 minute devotion, and anyone who is able recites their memory verse for the month.

The current verse is Revelations 3:20a, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in.”

This past week we didn’t work on our verse much. Caeden (5) practiced a couple of times, and Logan (3), refused to practice at all. It’s the same verse all month, so, we decided we’ll just wait until next week.

We got to church on Sunday, and one person successfully recited. Then Logan raised his hand. Some of the younger ones raise their hand regardless, so the children’s pastor checks with parents first. He looks back at my husband and I and we both shake our head. No, he doesn’t know it. He didn’t practice at all.

But at the same time, I was confused. He’d never done that before. And he is a quick learner, so maybe…. But still, I felt pretty confident that he didn’t know it.

I was protecting him from failure.

But then our wise friends whispered from behind “Why did you do that? You should have just let him try.” The wife later said she just wanted to hear what he had to say…he can be a bit of a fire cracker sometimes!

But the husband said this: “You’re supposed to believe in him and build him up.”

Wow. It was a sobering moment for me. He’s right. I’m supposed to build up my sons, not teach them to fear failure. How many times have I doubted myself to the point of not even trying, just because I fear failure? Kids have a natural ability to take risks. They are resilient. They can forget about the failures, forget about the possible consequences, and just forge ahead. Now sometimes, this can be a dangerous quality (trust me, with 2 fearless boys, I know all about that!). But sometimes, it’s enviable.

I need to learn from it. There are so many things in life that I haven’t even tried just because I was scared of failing and didn’t have anyone to believe in me. Because I wasn’t strong enough to take the risk.

Once we left church, I asked him: “Did you know your verse?”
He said, “Yes, but he didn’t pick me.”

In being so certain of myself, and doubting my son, I actually caused him to get hurt. I explained to him what happened, and asked again if he knew his verse. Here is what he said (I apologize that this video is sideways, but it’s the audio that matters)…

I was floored, and humbled, and felt absolutely terrible that I robbed him of the opportunity to share this.

Have you ever underestimated your children?

03Apr 2013

Cardboard Testimonies

Crystal ⋅ 26 Comments

On Easter Sunday, we were blessed to participate in cardboard testimonies at our church. If you’ve never seen (or heard of) cardboard testimonies, you can see an example here. It’s an incredibly moving presentation of people sharing something God has done for them, or something God has helped them overcome.

Our testimonies are powerful.

Here is Chad and my younger son, Logan:

When Logan was born, I was only allowed a brief moment with him before he was taken away to the NICU because he couldn’t regulate his blood sugar. At 5:00 am the next morning, a doctor came into my room: “Your baby is having seizures.” This doctor was trying to help my son and had no time for bedside manner. He immediately went into a litany of tests being performed, possible diagnoses and complications. I won’t lie, I was scared.

The seizures continued and later that day, Logan was transferred to a nearby hospital with a better NICU and access to a better neurology department. I chronicled our week-long journey in real-time. But in the end, I sat in the NICU holding my newborn Logan while a neurologist told me that my baby had brain damage. They couldn’t say for sure if it happened in utero or at birth, but it was there. He said the damage was similar to what would be caused by a stroke and that if an adult suffered such damage there would be no hope. They would be vegetative or dead.

He kept saying “we can’t know how bad it will be, only time will tell.” He said worst case is that my son would be vegetative, require constant care for the rest of his life, might never be aware of his surroundings, never be able to speak, never able to recognize me as his mother or tell me he loves me. He might never walk or talk. He might have cerebral palsy. The list of potential problems and complications was seemingly endless and severe.

The hope offered was that sometimes a baby’s still-forming brain can compensate for such a loss. The best case scenario was that he’d have milder learning or physical disabilities.

As I cried into my baby’s sleeping head, clutching him tightly to my chest, I wanted this doctor to tell me it might be okay. I said “So the other parts of his brain might compensate so that you can’t even tell anything’s wrong?”

He was quick to correct me. “No.” This damage is there, and it is permanent. The only thing we don’t know is exactly how badly his life will be affected. It might not be very bad.

When I relayed the story to others, I would put on my happy face, and I would dress it up. I would leave out the worst case scenario and focus only on the best. But I was there, alone in the moment when the doctor happened to come, and I will never forget the scary and uncertain prognosis delivered to me that day.

It was a waiting game.

But then he started to laugh.

And he started to roll over, sit up, and crawl.

And he started to walk at 10 months of age.

At 18 months, he recognized all his colors, even though he couldn’t really talk then.

Logan

And at 2 years old, a switch seemed to flip and he went from not talking at all to speaking in full sentences, almost over night.

And slowly we watched our little boy grow, meeting or exceeding every developmental milestone.

And on Sunday we were able to share the rest of the story in the form of a cardboard testimony:

26Mar 2013

Resurrection Rolls

Crystal ⋅ 14 Comments

Today, I’m sharing a different kind of recipe. It doubles as an object lesson for kids. I know most of you have probably seen this recipe about a billion times across the web, but our story is a bit different, so I’m sharing it anyway.

What you need:

-Crescent Rolls (I make mine using my Calzone dough, but you can buy them from the store)
-Full size marshmallows
-Cinnamon Sugar (1/2 cup sugar + 1 teaspoon cinnamon)
-Melted butter (I usually start with about 1/3 cup and add more if needed)

What to do:

(Preheat oven to 350 degrees.) Take a marshmallow and show it to your kids. Ask: “What color is this marshmallow?” When they say it’s white, agree with them. Remind them that white represents clean and pure, just like Jeus because He never sinned. He was perfect.
Dip the marshmallow in butter. Show your kids the cinnamon sugar and ask them what color it is. (Brown). Say, “Yes, this cinnamon sugar is brown, just like dirt. Sin is filth to God.” Roll the buttered marshmallow in the cinnamon sugar. Say “The Bible tells us that Jesus, who never sinned, was made to be sin for us.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)
Place the marshmallow in the center of a crescent roll. Say: “Jesus took on our sin, and our punishment. He was crucified. He died on the cross for us.” Wrap the marshmallow in the crescent roll, being careful to seal all the edges.
Say: “When Jesus died, they placed him in the tomb and left them there.” Place your crescent roll tomb onto a baking sheet and allow the children to help make the rest of them.
Leave your rolls in the oven for 10-12 minutes. After they are out of the oven and have cooled, say, “Just like we left our rolls in the oven, Jesus’ body was left in the tomb. What do you think happened when they went back after 3 days?” Break apart one of the rolls. Jesus’ body (the marshmallow) is gone, and the “tomb” is empty. Tell your children, “When they went back to the tomb, they didn’t find Jesus there. They were told that he is not there because He has risen.” (Luke 24:6)

I’m very excited today to offer my first ever printable

There are a few mistakes/typos that I didn’t catch before PDF’ing it, but I hope you enjoy.

Download a Printable Resurrection Rolls Devotion Sheet

What are your favorite Easter traditions?

21Mar 2013

Saying yes.

Crystal ⋅ 32 Comments

Today has been one of those days…we’ve had a lot of them lately. Something about that lost hour has really affected my boys this time around, and we’re just now getting back to normal around here. So, I decided to drown my grumpiness in cupcakes.

The boys, of course, were quite excited as well. It came time to ice them, and I hear an excited voice, “Can I help put the icing on?”

Big sigh inside.

I can do this infinitely faster without their particular brand of help.

I was in no mood to have a short task turned into a long one, or to clean up the mess made by a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old trying to put icing on cupcakes.

Everything in me said “No.”

I reasoned that they were getting cupcakes, and fun colored icing to boot…that’s treat enough, right?

But in that moment, another little voice reminded me that these days are fleeting. We all hear it so often, and we all know the truth of it.

That other voice also reminded me that living with a mom who suffers from depression means that my kids get less fun mommy moments than I would like. There are far too many “no’s”.

So, in that moment, I grabbed a couple extra snack-sized bags from the pantry before I could give myself time to think about it.

They had so much fun.

It was worth the mess. And you know what I’ve found? It almost always is.

Note: If anyone is interested, I simply made homemade butter cream frosting (similar to this recipe, although you could use store bought as well), and then colored it with food coloring. I put it in zippered baggies, and cut a small hole in one corner to squeeze out the icing. It helps if you refrigerate it for a bit, so it’ll be firm. Otherwise the heat from squeezing on it makes it kind of melty.

Concentrating:

Logan’s favorite part (licking the icing off his fingers):

Caeden was actually pretty good at it:

Having Fun:

And, of course, the best part:

When is the last time you said “yes” to spontaneous fun with your kids? What inspires you to have more fun moments?

05Feb 2013

Leaving a Legacy

Crystal ⋅ 26 Comments

Some of you may know from my facebook page that we buried my papaw last week. It was a bittersweet time. Most of my happiest childhood memories involved my grandparents. And it’s tough saying “good-bye” to that. We already lost my mamaw almost 10 years ago. At the same time, his health declined rapidly after my mamaw’s death and we can rest in the knowledge that he is now free from the sorrows and pains of this world.

Neither of my grandparents were educated. I think my mamaw made it through the 8^th grade, and I’m not sure about my papaw. They grew up in a time and place where there were things more pressing than education.

They weren’t wealthy people. My papaw worked hard and they had enough, but they weren’t wealthy by any stretch of the imagination.

But my grandparents left a legacy. It wasn’t one of worldly success. In fact, but the world’s standards, my grandparents would have been average, at best.

It’s funny, because we always want to give our children the best things, things that will make them “happy.” Looking back through the years, I cannot remember one single material gift that my grandparents gave me. Don’t misunderstand, they did buy us gifts for birthdays, Christmas, and probably just because. But nothing extravagant. Nothing expensive. Nothing memorable.

Here’s what I do remember:

I remember playing Bible Trivia for hours with my Mamaw, and sliding down an old muddy hill with my cousins, papaw supervising.

I remember riding around the farm on the tractor, and joining in their nightly Bible reading and discussion when I spent the night there. I also remember that my Mamaw would read us stories at bedtime.

I remember Mamaw teaching me how to crochet a granny square (it was the easiest. I didn’t have the patience for much else), and playing our own made-up version of 20 questions while she cleaned up the kitchen.

I remember going to the Old Time Baptist church with them so many Sunday mornings.

I remember playing dress up with my Mamaw’s old party gowns (and wondering where she wore them!)

Looking back now, there are so many things I wish I’d thought to ask them, so many conversations I wish we could have and things I know I could learn from them now.

But in the midst of those regrets, there is a lesson to be learned for right now. As I think on the kind of legacy I’m leaving in this life, and the kind of memories I’m building for my boys.

Many of my best memories as a child involve my Mamaw and Papaw, and they are all center around the same thing: time.

I pray that as I’m raising my children, I can keep this at the forefront and teach them the things I learned from my grandparents. They taught me about Jesus. They taught me about hard work, and simple living. And they taught me about making a person feel valued by giving the gift of time and attention.

In our world of “progress,” I fear that these simple things are being forgotten. But it’s what I want to teach my boys. I want them to learn about Jesus. I want them to learn about living for God and not yourself. I want to teach them about hard work and simple living—that “progress” doesn’t always mean better after all, and that connecting with someone is more than a button to push on facebook.