Exhale.

Its not that life really seems to move at a frenetic pace right now.  Partly, thats a choice that we've made as a family.  We've had the luxury of many low key family days this Fall.  And its been good for us.  Good for our little family.

Its just that there are certain hours of the day that seem to be filled with frenzy.  Like the hours between 4:30pm and 7:30pm.  Those hours right after rest time.  Right during suppertime.  And right through bedtime.  Frenzy.  By the time we're in the final steps (of what has somehow become a zillion step process) of getting Buster and his baby sister horizontal in bed, I'm spent.  And I'm definitely not "living in the moment".  In fact, I find myself far too often living in the moments that begin with 7:31pm.

The other night, we were somewhere between the steps of one and a zillion in the bedtime dance.  Buster got it in his mind that we needed to (ie. must) go outside to see the "bright shiny moon".

Somehow, I relented.

With a sigh, I shoved my feet into my snow boots and picked up my jammie-clad boy.  As I walked out the door, I sighed, again, as I saw the bag of trash, sitting on our front stoop.  I sighed as I looked at the bedraggled crew of outdoor toys, mostly covered with a pile of dirty snow.  I sighed as we walked to the middle of our icy parking lot.  "Just a little further, Momma, the moon is hiding behind the trees."  I sighed, again, as I looked around our little neighborhood and noticed the half-strewn Christmas lights (flashing, of course) of some neighbors who seemed to have given their decorating a fifty percent effort.

And I stood still as two long legs that have become much more boy than baby wrapped around my waist.  He put both arms around my neck as he craned his to the sky. "I see stars too!!!"  And he was silent for a moment before he whispered reverently into my ear:  "Its soooo beautiful.  Thank you Momma".

And for just a moment, the frenzy ceased.  And my breath caught.  Momentarily, I saw the moon, and the stars, and the world through the living-in-the-moment eyes of my three year old.

And I exhaled.  Slow, quiet, peaceful.

For just a moment.

"Momma. I'm freezing my bippy!! Let's go inside!"  And in we went and onto the next step towards a zillion.

Why Grace?

Recently, we welcomed, for the second time, the most wonderful gift into our lives.  A new baby.  This time, a girl.  And though we are tired and somewhat overwhelmed in all the ways that are typical with a newborn in the house, I think its fair to say that we are also completely humbled by being entrusted with two lives.

A son and a daughter.

Amazing.

As soon as we knew we were going to have a little girl, I knew (and luckily my husband agreed) that her middle name should be Grace.  Aside from the fact that "Grace" is simply a beautiful name, I wanted my little girl to bear the reminder that all life is a good and unearned gift.  And, somehow, I know that I need that reminder on a regular basis.

I work in a field where I regularly encounter people who have rarely experienced grace.  They are often the folks who are instead intimately acquainted with judgement, condemnation, failure, and fear.  Ungrace.

Theologically, I am convinced that grace is the basis of God's heart towards us.  But, I have also come to believe that most of us have great difficulty trusting or even acknowledging this definitive nature of God's intention.  Most of us feel more comfortable operating in a theological paradigm that is heavy on the very things that have become prisons for many of my counseling clients:  judgement, condemnation, failure and fear.  Ungrace.

And, I've learned that I need to be constantly reminded of grace.  I need grace in order the be the counselor that I believe I was designed to be.  I need it be be the wife that I long to be.  I need it to be the mom that my kids deserve.  I need it to find the peace that God has promised by His very presence.  Grace.

The most tangible reminders of grace in my life at this moment reside in the two tiny people that have been entrusted my care.  Two amazing and unearned gifts.  My children.  Grace.

And so, as a reminder to myself, as a statement to the world, and as a hope for our new baby girl, we have given her this powerful and life giving middle name to bear.

Grace.

Conversations.

I love the fact that with Buster's increasing verbal skills comes increasing potential for conversation.  Granted, we sometimes have the same conversation, oh, maybe a thousand times a day.  Such as:
       Buster: Where Daddy go?
       Me:  Daddy went to work.  
       Buster:  Daddy ride a bus?
       Me:  Yes, Daddy parked his truck in the parking lot and rode a bus to work.
       Buster:  Daddy ride a gone-o-la?
       Me:  Yes, Daddy probably rode the gondola today at work.

And five minutes later...
       Buster:  Where Daddy go?

I think you get the drift.

But still, I love listening to his language develop and watching his mind start to make connections about the world he lives in.  Just last week, after months of talking about Buster's "baby sister in Mommy's tummy", he started to ask questions.  I think prior to this he has been in a little bit of denial and was using the defense mechanism of avoidance around the subject of a new baby.  Last week, however, something changed.  It may have been that each question he asked opened up a whole new set of questions for his little mind to crank out.

       Buster:  Where baby sister live?
       Me:  When baby sister comes, she'll live in this house with us.
       Buster (looking a bit surprised):  Where baby sister sleep?
       Me:  Well, when baby sister is a little bit bigger she will sleep in Buster's room.
       Buster (now looking shocked):  Her sleep in Buster's bed?!!
       Me:  No, she'll have her own bed.
       Buster (with his eyebrows furrowed):  Who baby sister Daddy?
       Me:  Good question.  Buster's Daddy is also baby sister's Daddy.
       Buster (now showing true signs of paradigm shift):  Who baby sister Momma?
       Me (pointing to myself):  I'm baby sister's Momma.  But I'll always be Buster's Momma too.
     
The conversation continued with a few other concerned questions and then Buster summarized:  When baby sister comes out of Momma's tummy (gesturing as if he's throwing up, or spitting something out of his mouth), baby sister ride a "gone-o-la".  

I decided to leave that summary alone.

My favorite recent conversation, however, took place in the car.  Out doing some errands, Buster's little boy voice piped up from the backseat:  "Momma, where God?".  I tried to explain His omnipresence as honestly and understandably as I could and said, simply, "He's everywhere".  I looked in my review mirror for a response; Buster was just gazing out the window.  Then I ventured a little further, "He can also live inside your heart, if you want Him to".

No verbal response from Buster, just a smile.