You know I care about resting, that I try to practice Sabbath rest. But I don’t practice faithfully or consistently.  In other words, I’m always looking for better ways to practice rest.

One reader of RubySlippers, a woman I met at a speaking engagement in New Hampshire recently explains how she rests.  As a mother of three under the age of 6 (Eldan five, Evelyn  3, and Oliver is nine months), married for eight years to a school teacher (Andrew), a regular participant in her local congregation, you could assume Danielle never gets to rest.

Eldan, Evelyn and Oliver

Danielle originally sought me out through emails confirming her prayers for my rest. She’d pray in the wee hours of the night while she was not resting, for me and my sleep.  Sometimes we figure we were up at the same time. She’s my encourager that the sleep deprivation will one day end.

Danielle is an experienced veteran on the challenges of rest, she’s also a new blogger at Thinking Out Loud.  And she’s figured out a few peaceful practices I think you’ll enjoy. They’ve changed the way I welcome the Sabbath into my life.

~     ~     ~

Danielle, before we talk about how you’ve learned to rest, can you tell me about a crazy moment when resting seemed like the last thing possible?

I can think of a specific instance right after Oliver was born where I was nursing him, Evelyn was screaming from the bathroom because she’d had an accident and Eldan had just hurt himself and was at the same time hollering from his room! Things like that happen a lot;)

I know you live with sleep deprivation. Can you give us a little snapshot?

Sleep, ha! I vaguely remember what that is. Evelyn has been a terrible sleeper so I’ve been running on overtired for three very long years! We just moved Oliver to his own room and a glimmer of hope is shining ever so dimly, but it’s coming!

What’s your Sabbath practice looked like in the past?

When I first read your blog post (Practicing Sabbath: Tips for the Practice) I was really challenged. We try and take Sunday off. We attend Sunday school than spend the rest of the day as a family just chilling, but I have a hard time “turning off.” So the first Sunday after I read your post I “tried” to rest! HA! I got so stressed out because my life with three kiddoes is not restful and no matter how I tried to NOT do anything the more stressed I got that I HAD to do things!!! Revelation!!!! Ding ding went the lightbulb.

Rest has little to do with what we are doing but HOW we are doing it.

The next week I purposed to enjoy my family, and do the necessary tasks with the mindset of resting and focusing on the little things that get so neglected through out our busy week. I just purposed to slow down my pace and enjoy the process. AHHHHH!  It is still a journey for me where I am welcoming my Savior along to help my find the rest I sooo need each week.

Danielle and her family

What did a typical Sunday look like before you tried to rest?

I remember before we had children and even with just Eldan we really rested on Sundays. We’d watch football, nap, read, or take nice calm walks.  As the years went we got busier with Church and just the craziness and chaos that extra children just naturally add.  Sundays turned into a catch up day. I rarely even napped anymore. Sundays became very busy and chaotic.

Can you give me two or three examples of tasks you do during your new Sabbath with the mindset of resting and focusing on the little things?

Danielle with Oliver

I spend a lot of time snuggling!!!

My kiddoes like watching football with us so Andrew and I usually have one of the children curled up with us on the couch. We both also try really hard to share the tasks of the day or do them together.

It makes a huge difference to just focus on togetherness. If the older two are really high strung, we will put on a movie for them in their room and ask them to play quietly. We try and limit television throughout the week so there is no guilt involved when it comes to Sundays! 

We’ve also, for the most part stopped going to Sunday evening church. This way once we are home after Sunday morning, we are just home. It helps to not be rushing everyone to eat and get out the door.  Also, we can still get the kids to bed at a good time which helps in keeping a spirit of calmness. This just works best for us with young children.

What are some tasks you do together as a family on your sabbath days?

Hmm, it can vary ; a few things that come to mind

~ making lunch

~ watching a show together from Netflix and eating on TV trays all in the Living room!

~ We have several Wii games that are for the whole family and we will often play those together.

~ We just bought chinese checkers (its definitely interesting with a three year old, but it sure makes it fun and silly!)

~ We read out of the Message to our children and will often read some passages on Sunday evenings.

My husband has actually been doing something all the time that has made a huge difference. it may seem really dumb, but our kids are young and LOVE competition. He makes every task, a game. He basically says, “Hey, guys, I have a game!!”

They run in and will do just about anything. So much of how we approach things rubs off on our children and their attitudes. my daughter just tonight helped my pick up A BUNCH of Peas that Oliver had thrown all over the floor! She and I laughed the whole time and she high fived me at the end, like it was the greatest thing she had done all day!

Please understand as well that even amidst our search for rest often chaos ensues!! Its just part of the phase of life we are in, but we can keep seeking peace and rest and asking God to help us find it!

How would you encourage other moms of little ones to rest without making it another to do list or guilt thing?

I have been purposing to keep Mondays (as much as possible) a catch up day. That way on Sundays when I’m starting feel overwhelmed with the laundry and dishes and crumbs collecting, I first ask God to quiet my soul, and then I remind myself that I have Monday to, “get it done.”

There will always be things to “do”. I have to remind myself of the precious treasure our rest days are in this busy thing called life.

What is one activity that you recommend for Sabbath days?

Build a Knex creation :)

Loved hearing from you, Danielle. Thank you for letting us into life styles of the purposeful and peaceful.

Consider the way the Jewish command to rest one day out of seven might bring more peace into your life.

I think the attitude Danielle shares about approaching her Sabbath as a day of togetherness is very practical.  Imagine who you could share your Sabbath days alongside? Your mother, your friend, your spouse, your child.

Consider how doing things with purpose and pacing follows in God’s footsteps, when he rested and noticed the world he had made in 6 days.  Spend one day in seven noticing the world you’re creating.

Picking up peas can become playtime, pulling out all your books and noting their spines and titles, dipping in, letting yourself fall asleep can become worship.  Imagine a day where cuddling becomes the end goal.

Any stories you’d like to share of your rest? I’m all ears.

Dale doesn’t think new year resolutions are all they’re cracked up to be.

I tend to disagree, mainly because I’m a lover of opportunities to change in grandiose ways, ways I can write about and check up on. Dale is a changer in bits and pieces, he’s also big on changing when the need arises. As he says, “I’m not waiting until a new year to change something.”

And he  hasn’t. A few weeks back we struggled to find a place for us both to feel like we weren’t drowning (Mercy For Christmas).  I felt annoyed and terse and unappreciated. I know he felt the same.

We were working hard, but often not wing-to-wing, more like two whirling tops. Nothing like this morning when I looked up from my laptop and say to him, “I can’t believe how many emails I still have to just read,” putting my cold hands on my flushed face.

He pauses long enough to cool the smoke from his racing fingers on my laptop and looks back at me, “Take them one by one.” I smile and feel known and like he’s in this with me.  I feel togetherness as I dive back into the inbox.

We’ve found a new way to co-parent, a way to find time when we need it, a life-giving change.

Dale decided to give up his writing, any creative writing, any book ideas, any memoir hopes. He’s pulled them all off the stove because he couldn’t, in his words, “Do it all.”

How many men can say that?

I don’t know.

But I was relieved to know Dale understood he dilemma that so many women face. The 2:3 ratio.

You can have 2 of the 3: a husband, kids, a career.

You can have a husband and a career, but not kids, not well-loved ones.

You can have a career and kids, but no husband, not a happy one.

You can have a husband and kids, but not a career, not a good one.

But not all three. Not if you’re a woman.

Of course, that’s an overstatement, but does it resonate with any of you?

I sure get it.

Dale’s decided to take a hit in his career so he can be more present with Finn.

And you know what? Just a few breaks mean a world of difference for me, for Finn, for him. I’ve even begun brainstorming ways I can watch Finn longer so Dale can get back to writing. But we will see.

I can’t do it all, either.

We’ve both agreed that we don’t want to see Finn as time punched into a chore we dread. Finn is not time we waste or time we have to just grit our teeth and get through to get back to Soulation. Finn will pick that up, and he’ll understand that he’s not as attractive or interesting or important.

And we don’t believe that.

So, for now, Dale is waiting on his writing. As the resident true artist in our  house (yes, I’m an artist, too, but I don’t have the artistic temperament ), he needs lengthy bits of time to write.

It was hard for me to watch a man I know is a gifted writer put that aside. He will work managing Soulation, writing emails, managing writers and video ideas.

And he will work alongside me, continuing to make time for me to write in my fits and starts (like this morning).

For now, we’ve found a boat to carry us through another rapid. It’s safe and dry and cozy–that’s a nice word for small.

And, for now, we’re smiling into each other’s eyes, watching the water and peeps rush by.

We’re not as fast, but we’re together.

New Year Wantings

This year, I’m wanting to read weekday nights and watch fun things like Mad Men weekend nights. Last year’s “Year of the Book” lit up my hunger for reading again. I’m not letting it go. It’s too wonderful.

I’m wanting to watercolor once a week. I will not feel bad about not doing more.

I want to learn Spanish and talk more with Finn in Spanish.

I’m wanting to practice my Spanish with my sister (thank you, Abby!) each week on the phone.

I’m wanting to save energy so at night I can talk and listen and make love to Dale.

I’m wanting to leave my house a little messier and leave those I love a little more peaceful.

God give me my all my wants and save me from them, too.

10 Year Anniversary at Huntington Beach - see Finn's foot?

As a young girl I played “Mercy” with other friends. The wrist-bending game where the loser had to shout, “Mercy.” The word that meant punishment would end, the word that was embarrassing to yell.

Dale and I watched an episode of Midsomer Murders last weekend. The kind vicar with the bitchy wife was the murderer.  Several times Dale and I made significant eye-contact over the slow harping way she pulled him down to the gutter. She was Wormtongue, she eroded his worth and his pleasure. In the end you wondered how she played a part in his crimes.

A day later Dale and I would talk with hurting eyes and slow words about how we had failed to love each other. I had hurt him in ways I had not let myself realize.  He said, his eyes filling, that the vicar’s wife reminded him, for one splitting moment . . . of me. I couldn’t stand it.

And yes, I had my list of offenses, too.

He had hurt me.

Old patterns, but new ways. The stepping on Dale’s value, the stepping on my time. The juggling of Finn, the lack of sleep, the sexual missing of each other like ships in the night, his desire, my apathy, the current sickness that still keeps my beloved in his bed, too achy to even cuddle against my eager body.

My throat aches, but I will the sickness down, deep into my belly where I am too tightly wound to enjoy food.  Finn pulls out of his double ear infection enough to count him nearly well.

But, today I work alone at the coffee shop.

I talk with a dear friend and text another, the two women who hold my hands up, who listen to me crying at night on the phone and remind me of why I married Dale.

“Because he loves you so well,” one says.

So well? I started weeping, even with weeks like this, I know she’s speaking truth.

But Oh, these wretched weeks of sickness.

Sickness without and within.

So I’m watching Finn solo, again.  December 1st, Dale left for a Jeep trip and got stuck in a blizzard. Not really his fault, was it?

He comes home more than a day late. I’m left with Finn and wondering when I get time. Alone.

Monday comes and I take Finn to a friends with gladness, so Dale can put in more hours on his memoir on spiritual abuse. I feel I’m contributing to good work. I put Finn to bed and write.

Bump and Stumble and Bursting get penned, but I notice the pattern, that I write when Finn sleeps, that Dale writes when I watch Finn.

I wonder if we can call this co-parenting and shoulder on, not without ticking off my time gone, wondering when I get my break.

It does not come.

Finn gets sick Tuesday and I commandeer his care, even when Dale offers.

Wednesday finds Dale sick, a sickness that gave him one day respite. That was the day when Dale works hard (too hard) on installing a new sound system into the aforementioned Jeep, a system that MUST be installed Saturday because it’s the only day the friend will be in town to install it.

Dale also got up extra early that morning and took Finn to our babysitter, because I was breaking down.

Dale breaks down that evening.

I pick up Finn from the babysitter at 11:30, insisting on watching Finn as Dale says the Jeep’s sound will be done soon. It’s 5pm when he returns and I swallow resentment.

Even though, even though . . . Dale offered to watch Finn all afternoon if I needed it. But no, I could watch him.

I.

Can.

Do.

It.

Saturday eve Dale is sicker than he was Wednesday.  The promise of getting Saturday afternoon to rest, of Sunday getting time to me, of Monday, of Tuesday. . . gone

Impossible to keep, impossible to know what to ask, impossible to change.

How can I expect day labor from Dale when light is denied him. He is unwell.

I am well.

Am I?

There are sicknesses deeper than those of body.

I heard God in the wee hours of Saturday night, the hours when I wrench my body from sleep and stumble over to Finn to re-dose Motrin or re-store his fluids with milk, I hear God.

“You are strong,” he said.

I almost replied, “Damn right I am… look at all I’m doing!”

“You are strong,” he said, again, “Strong enough to care for Dale. I made you strong . . .

to serve.”

My badge of honor, my strength, a badge for entry into the hall . . .

of servants.

Can I stay outside that hall?

Lately, I’ve been asking friends to pray for me, for expectation to shift into what is the real, even if it’s a desert of realness.

Desert to me means accomplishing little, it also means waiting without a due date, it means surviving without producing.

My days are slow in passing this December. I’m tired of playing with blocks and doing the dishes.

I’m stunned with ennui and cold.

I cannot make the fire as well as Dale, nor can I clean the dishes or make Finn laugh like he. I cannot make love or make delightful meals, my partner-in-arms is sick. I feel him as a ball and chain around my ankle and instantly feel disgust at the way I feel.

But I can ask God

to

heal

me.

I can become a woman who serves, without storing resentment.

I can call my therapist (which I just did) to request a meeting. For her to teach me about how to serve without being subservient, how to ask and receive help, even (and especially) when the help isn’t the way I want it.

How to give mercy, so I can give it, this Christmas.

Wrapped in my flesh, served without a side dish of guilt.

I just finished A Live Coal in the Sea, by Madeleine L’Engle, a story of wonderful, beautiful, painful life. A novel where the sins of the mothers’ infidelity are visited on the second and third generation, where mercy mingles with resentment.

The title is taken from a thousand year old quote by William Langland, 14th century, “But all the wickedness in the world  which man may do or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.”  

All the wickedness which woman may do . . . or think.

Make me part of your sea of mercy, God,

make me learn the gift of mercy to myself,

so I might give it for Christmas

to those I claim to love.

Inspiration from this post woven from:

~ Spoken word poet, Alysia Harris, Cab Rides & The Morning After , disclaimer for mature content and language.

~ Andrew Peterson’s “Serve Hymn”

~ Midsomer Mystery, Death’s Shadow

~ Madeleine L’Engle, A Live Coal in the Sea

~ John Milton’s “On His Blindness”

Dale left for an unexpectedly long trip on Friday. With husband stuck in an Eastern Colorado snowstorm and the interstate officially closed I found myself getting beyond weary with my little one.

I could only salute single mothers from my Facebook status, eat chocolate cake and go to bed. No blogging, no emailing. I was solely and completely ‘Mama’.

This year, I write evening posts about being Mama to one-year-old, Finn,(SecondYearMom), addressed to him.  This blog where I’ve turned the comments off and limit myself to 400 words (good challenges, both) is a fun discipline for me.

Below is the short meditation I wrote Monday night for you, my Ruby Slippers reader. Consider it as an addendum to What Corset Will you Wear This Holiday.

And to those weary of the busyness of life, you will find a kindred spirit at this other blog o’ mine (as in “Looking Up Upside Down“).

To all who continue, may this story sparkle some hope into your final sips of 2011 and pour renewed vision for your 2012.  May you, as another bold, powerful, bondage-breaking woman, also smile at the future (Proverbs 31:25).

Bump and Stumble

originally posted at SecondYearMom.com

Last weekend when I was going crazy with your sad cold and Dad’s absence and drowning my sorrows in chocolate cake I read this,

When children have difficulty mastering a concept forced upon them by loving parents, they may make the decision, “I’m not good enough.” (Positive Discipline, Jane Nelsen Ed. D.)

I painted a chickadee this afternoon while Dad played photo identification games with you (THAT is Aunt Abby, THAT is Aunti Jessi).  Planning this painting for weeks, now it was time for the piece de la resistance, the chubby, black-capped bird. I knew it was going to make a lovely Christmas card.

But I bungled it, the chickadee turned out wrong. I felt annoyed at everyone and wanted to curse . . . to have worked for that many hours on a Christmas card gone sour.

I heard it, then, the not good enough lie. And I thought about the lies I must have believed too early.

I tried to shrug it off as we drove to the C’s house for dinner.

You settled into the frozen car as it slowly thawed and I began to sing through “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “O Come All Ye Faithful”, songs I wanted you to think about at least once a year, songs that make my heart hurt with the piercing silent start of Jesus’ short life.  A king so quietly come into such a dirty mess.

By the time we were in town I was leaning into the words of “O Holy Night”

error pining

soul felt worth

a thrill of hope

the weary world rejoices

a new . . . morn

With the end of 2011, I want this not good enough to end, too. I want a new morn.

I want you to remember a mother who knew she was good enough.

Who built fires in sub zero temperature and strapped on a firearm to protect you in the evenings.

Who cried about the pain she caused others and let those tears stream her to ask forgiveness and hugs.

Who painted birds with small heads and then put them up to look on for days after.

to remember

that all new things start with an awkward bump and a stumble

like that chickadee’s head

and Mary’s baby bump

and redemption of this whole weary world.

I just read my words quoted in the Washington Post “Christian Leaders Talk about Marriage and Sex” this morning. Lisa Miller writes,

The model Christian marriage, moreover, has traditionally been one in which the wife bows to the will of her husband the way a Christian does to God, but many evangelical women are in the midst of their own liberation movement. They are reinterpreting Scriptural verses requiring them to “submit” and “obey,” and they’re no longer content to “be known as the quiet, meek, pathetic group that doesn’t get to experience twenty-first century freedom,” as Jonalyn Fincher writes in the afterward to “UnChristian.”

When you think of the word meek, what do you think of? Is this a word that can be redeemed?

If you had to describe the model Christian marriage, what would it look like? Describe both partners and their duties.

Dale and Finn his first week home.

I’m reading Meet the Austins by Madeleine L’Engle, some post-therapy work since I graduated from therapy last week.

My therapist recommended I read this young adult novel to get acquainted with a very full, very honest, very healthy family.  They are delightful, perfectly zippy, and heart-warming. So far the parents disagree in front of the children, the family’s dynamics get understandably rocked by the addition of an orphan and the protagonist (who tells the story) feels all kinds of unmanageable emotions. Oh, yes, now this is a book to cozy down with, to learn about love that accepts each other and lets the other change. My favorite line so far “It was so beautiful that for the moment the beauty was all that mattered; it wasn’t important that there were things we would never understand” (41).

This week I wrote this about shoveling snow in my evening blog on Finn, SecondYearMom:

“This year Dad and I have stepped off the stage to do small things well.

Today was Sabbath, it would have been a good day to excel at small things. We did a lot of small things, but not all with love and even fewer well.

I felt so frustrated with Dad I went outside and shoveled snow with more energy than I’ve had since before you were conceived.

You joined me after Dad kindly put your shoes on (even though we were in the middle of an argument). I gave you the sand toy plastic rake and you experimented moving these huge piles of snow on our deck.

We’re already behind.

I remember this one bumper sticker “Romeo, Romeo, where the hell are you?”  One thing is certain, Romeo, should he ever show up, is already behind.

I feel behind most the time.

The snow keeps falling and I can’t shovel it fast enough.

When I get outside to really chip it off I chunk off the deck in my anger. And I tell myself I don’t care.

But I do.

I care that you’re watching Dad and I argue not because I want to hide it, but because I want to model healthy conflict resolution to you. I want you to be unafraid and open-eyed to the shoveling work of intimacy.

Your rake left you unequipped, so Dad fetched the gardening shovel.  ”The strong scoop-y one” I yelled after him. He found it.

Dad and I began re-hashing while you moved small mountains of ice.

Why was he hurt?

How had I trampled him?

But what about how he made me feel?

I want to build strong tools around you so you can forge into the pain of love and not find you’re snapping in two when you need to dig deeper.

I want you to see me tell Dad I was wrong. I want you to hear him say he wants to change.

I want you to be clear that marriage is no snow blow.

It’s more like shoveling than snow angels.  It’s more the satisfaction of seeing a deck dripping with melt than organizing a library. For the work is never done, you barely enjoy it when it snows again.

But you keep at it, because the deck needs to be walked on if you want to get into the warmth inside.”

Shovel well, my son, the muscles you build will let you, one day, love like a man.

When Dale and I were nearly married our pre-marital counselor talked about the way the Wheaton lawns fell under the layers of autumn leaves.  ”Sometimes,” Dr. Jerry Root explained, “you’ll pass a lawn that has been raked clean, not a single leaf on the whole green square. And you know,” he paused, “that didn’t happen by accident.”

Marriages and green lawns, marriages and shoveled decks, marriages and sex and kids and dusty baseboards and little sleep and hobbies packed away and unexpected crises waiting around every turn.

Dale and me our second year of marriage in Rome on the Appian Way

When Dale and I first married we made our bed together.  We washed the sheets and tucked and folded them around our queen.  Now, with our king-size it’s a mammoth task, wrestling the velvet comforter, trying not to hit our heads on the A-frame eaves.

The first times we snapped the sheets down and around our bed, I felt there was much room for improvement. We talked a lot, we worked so much annoyance out with careful time spent arguing, explaining, re-stating, failing and then trying to use our feeling words.

“Your side is lower,” I’d protest, “See the line, it dips down on your side, make it even with mine.”  Dale would fix it, but not enough, not enough for me.

“Does it have to be perfect?” he’d finally say exasperated.

The last few weeks I’ve felt more disconnection between us, another season, one that is familiar, but always hard.  Feels, sometimes like we’ve made such little progress, even though in two months we’ll celebrate our 10th anniversary.  Feels like I’m shoveling a deck with snow falling all the time.

This week, we forgot the sheets in the wash and it was way late, of course.  After Finn slept in his PeaPod next to our bed we had to smuggle the warm sheets upstairs and try to make the bed.

In the dark. We couldn’t even see each other’s faces.

He stood on his side and pulled and slid the fitted sheet. I waited until his more difficult side was done and then I leveraged my weight to yank the final corner down and fit, snap into place.

We smoothed the sheet and pulled it even.  The fisherman’s knitted blanket pulled up and lined up, equally hanging on both sides.  In the twilight we slid the down coverlet up and over, the velveteen monster of a comforter, all spread out, the icing on the layers. The pillows stacked, the square pillow rest in the middle.

Task complete we descended the ladder, Finn still breathing evenly.

Making our bed in the dark, fast, smooth as silk and not a word spoken.

Complete, luminous silence.

It was so beautiful that for a moment it spoke louder than any sound.

It was like we could see it, our marriage, a lawn without a leaf in the height of autumn.

And it didn’t happen by accident.

Husband Wife Ministry - www.soulation.org

I just finished The Paris Wifeby Paula McLain, a book swirling with the roles of men and women, Ernest Hemingway and Hadley Richardson respectively.  Hadley sacrifices for Ernest’s career, finding excitement and purpose unmatched by any of her prospects in his life. They move to Paris.  Not until Hadley becomes pregnant can she find a match to Ernest’s purpose.  Her life revealed a dance of roles that has come to be called “traditional” or “conventional”, but is actually just one of many, good options.

Finding your children giving you meaning is a wonderful gift, from God. Finding your career giving you meaning is also a wonderful gift from God. More on the kids given you meaning in my nightly blog Second Year Mom. More on career giving you meaning here.

Dale and I co-parent Finn which for now means we both give equally of our time and energy to care for him.  We share “Finn duty” or “Finn detail” and we both actively share our ideas about how Finn ought to be raised.  We critic and edit each other’s styles, we both have actives we enjoy with Finn. We both know how to do everyday duties for Finn (one big exception: Dale cannot nurse, so I end up putting Finn down for bed, though Dale is capable of Bed Detail as his first 20 hours alone with Finn proudly revealed). YEAH DAD!

Recently a friend from Steamboat Springs, our current home, asked me to share some tips about co-parenting, especially when you and your spouse both also work from the home environment.  Writing her made me see that co-parenting is both harder and easier than conventional parenting (wife’s job while husband makes the big bucks).

For your eyes, I offer the broken pieces Dale and I’ve pasted into the collage we call co-parenting.

I actually find it harder when Dale and I co-parent then just “doing it all on my own.” Because I have the RIGHT way to do it, of course. And I find it easier to just do it all myself the RIGHT way, then explain and negotiate with Dale about the way he wants to do it (it = parenting, cleaning house, biz items, writing a talk, laundry, blogging, Soulation biz, ET CETERA!!).

Jonalyn Fincher