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Patience is a Virtue

Okay I hear that a lot. I get told I have plenty of patience. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m a middle school teacher or because I have a unique 4 year old. Either way, it got me thinking.

I don’t think I have a plethora of patience. In fact, I get annoyed, angry and irritated with the best of them.
I once had someone tell me I was the perfect parent for my son. That God knew I could handle it. (Insert laughter) It was very sweet, and perhaps even true. I do think he is the best, funniest, quirkiest kid ever. However, I’m biased. But was he born to me simply because I was blessed with patience? Because I could handle the tough moments?

You ever hear the saying that if you pray for patience that God gives you a situation that requires a NEED for patience. It’s a funny saying, but I can’t recall actually seeing that in the Bible.
And then there is the “God won’t give you more than you can handle” quote. If that were true, only good, strong people would be put in tough situations. And that doesn’t seem fair. If that were true, the blame falls on me when I feel overwhelmed, when I can’t handle it. Depression, loss, grief, become things we should be able to handle. Otherwise, are we not failing God? He thought we could “handle” it. This is simply not true. We are human, we have limits, we can be broken.

The other weekend, I was taking a nap. I had a slight fever and my husband offered to play with our son, X, and let me sleep. I was in and out, but I remember waking to hear them playing with Legos. X literally said the same line, “Can I put the block here” repeatedly for 30 plus times with only a slight variation. My husband replied calmly, tried to engage in actual conversation, and just played with him. We joke that he gets “stuck on repeat” sometimes. They played for two hours. Sometimes it’s precious, and for a moment I think, “Yes, we do have a lot of patience.”

Other times it’s annoying. Like when we are trying to load up into the car and I answer the same question over, and over, and over. And there are plenty more times when our response is where beauty shines through.

We are not patient because we are born that way.

We are not patient because we are excellent parents.

We are not patient because we are good people.

We are patient because we have learned to be.

We are patient because we love our child.

We are patient because we love our God.

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.”

‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13:4-7‬ ‭NLT‬‬

We get overwhelmed, frustrated, annoyed, and angry. There are times when it is too much. When our situation becomes too much for us to handle. That is our humanity.

That’s is when we need others.

That’s is when we need God.

That’s is when we need love.

Love is our calling to be more like God, more like Christ himself. Despite our situation. In comfort or hardship.
Love, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, self control … These are what we hope to achieve. What we are continually striving for.

Patience isn’t so much a virtue, or gift, but rather a skill that must be learned and practiced. At its very best, it is a quality that reflects the very nature and heart of God himself.

But I swear… I wasn’t just born this way!

Simple acts of kindness

I said I wasn’t going to write this week. I had plenty to do: meals to plan, classroom to set up, lessons to write, not to mention getting X ready for school. So why have I set put text on the screen? Well, my heart is bursting with the overwhelming kindness of others, mostly from strangers.

Let me begin, last week I set aside time to get a hair cut. I went to my normal lady, made a few jokes about not visiting in awhile, and chatted with the other customer. My hairdresser is a mom at our school and has helped with our PTO. We chatted about school and I asked how her daughter was doing. I made a few jokes about how crazy and sweet middle schoolers can be. In the end, I went to pay and was told it was taken care of. Seriously, I thought?!? How?!? I found out the other customer had covered the cost. She wanted to tell me thank you for everything I do for our students and community. I was both shocked and blessed by her thoughtfulness. A simple act of kindness.

The next day X needed his final shot to attend Pre-K this year. I had to go to HEB to get it, not our regular doctor’s office. As I waited and filled out paperwork, X begged me to read him a book. I told him as soon as I finished filling it out, I would. Next to me was an older woman waiting on a prescription to be filled. She offered to read to him. Surprisingly, X stood next to her and hung on her every word. I finished my paperwork, turned it in, and gazed at the simple act of helping another human out. I’m sure she enjoyed it too. Of course, getting the shot was stressful and painful, and X didn’t like it either. Because of one woman’s simple gesture, waiting was enjoyable. A simple act of kindness.

A few days later, I went to Target to get a birthday gift and take X to a friend’s party. I stood waiting by the family bathroom. I was going to attempt taking X in. A big deal for a kid with a fear of bathrooms. My stress level was high. A lady walked by and simply said, “You look beautiful.” I needed that. My little baby bump feels more like a mountain, my clothes don’t fit, and I’m having trouble lifting my own 4 year old. I don’t feel beautiful, it feels like a struggle with my own body. One simple compliment, and my stress level went down. And believe it or not, X walked into the family bathroom and I was able to pee at a public facility without assistance in, well, forever. And I’m pretty sure I’ll wear that same dress again. All from a simple act of kindness.

Then last night, after a long day of meetings, I come home to an Amazon package. Not a big deal, I mean, I overuse my free two day shipping to avoid going to the store. When I opened it, instead of a necessity there was a colorful pen pack and a note: “Here are a few things to start the school year off with… From a friend.” Another simple act of kindness.

Simple acts of kindness. In a wide variety. They ranged from costing nothing to $20 dollars. I sometimes think we are waiting on a President, a principal, or a church leader, to fix our broken world, yet we forget how much of a difference “Love your neighbor” will do.
My Bible study for the week is over Philippians 4. I’ve focused on this verse because I’ve been feeling especially weak.

“I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:12-13‬ ‭NLT‬‬

http://bible.com/116/php.4.12-13.nlt

But after a week of struggles that were enhanced by numerous blessings and kindnesses, I realized I had skipped over this verse:

“Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:5‬ ‭NLT‬‬

http://bible.com/116/php.4.5.nlt

I encourage you, and myself, to be considerate, to show kindness, and to love your neighbor. A simple word or gesture might change the course of their week, and bring back a little faith in humanity.

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.

Mother Teresa

B2SB… More than just a backpack

Back to School Blast (B2SB)

Last year, I volunteered at Back to School Blast and helped hand out fully loaded backpacks to students who needed them. My church spearheaded this idea, and has since been joined by several other churches and sponsors. It’s a big deal!

What I loved was the joy and almost party feel. Yes, there were long lines, but it felt like a celebration. More like Christmas. Not like charity. If you had a need, you showed up. No need to bring proof of income or prove your neediness. You need it, just come. And we will join you.

I’m a teacher, so I immediately noticed the joy in the elementary kids. “My own pencils! You mean I don’t have to share? I get to pick the color of the backpack!?! Pick out new shoes?!?”

The middle and high schoolers hang back. Their excitement is less noticeable. After all, they are hiding it. I mean, they assume everyone is looking at them. But once the get a volunteer’s gentle smile or encouragement they light up. You might even see a smile or get a hug. If not, it’s not because they don’t want to. They just have to play it cool.

These backpacks aren’t just a handout. They are a choice. They are support and empowerment to be productive in school. To not start out behind. To not be the kid that never bring supplies, and sits quietly, waiting for someone to notice.

We live I in a great district. I know plenty of teachers, who year after year, buy supplies for the kids who show up with nothing. It’s done discreetly, they spend their own money, and they get no applause.

Last year was the first year, since working in private school, I didn’t blow my budget buying supplies. The overwhelming majority of my students showed up with stuff. They joyfully pulled out their own pencils and papers. I noticed the brands that came from the B2SB. I was so glad to see it.

Of course, there is the kid who shows up without supplies. Perhaps, his parents didn’t hear about it or couldn’t make the event. Luckily, their were a few leftover supplies B2SB left in the front office at our school. Each teacher was given a small stash to start the year off with. And extra backpacks were in the office. When I saw a need, I was able to do something for a student.

As a teacher, I felt loved. Loved by my church, brothers and sisters in Christ, and by my community. It felt good. Too often teachers feel blamed, for poor student performance, testing, and other things completely out of our control. Rarely, do others realize the money we spend of effort we put in, and that’s okay. However, it was nice to know each one of my students, regardless of their situation, got to start off on the right foot. For them to feel loved, cared about, and valuable.

So when you volunteer or donate to B2SB, you are doing more than giving a kid a backpack, you are displaying the importance of an education and loving your neighbor at the same time.

…
Of course, by March, all my pencils were lost, they were out of paper, glue sticks were used up, and spirals had been left on busses. I think this is why elementary teachers collect supplies. I tell ya, middle schoolers are just unorganized messes! I fit right in. At that point I bought more, used personal money and whatever small department supplies we had. But by golly we made it to March!

Be sure to join in! Join with your community. Even if your town doesn’t have a similar program you can still meet student’s needs. Bring an extra box of pencils or a few extra supplies to your child’s teacher. Do whatever you can, when you can.

Uniquely Mine

Throughout this past year I have been journalling in the notes section of my phone. My hope was to eventually start my blog up again. As I read though my year of notes, I noticed several had a common theme: my struggle raising a unique three year old: X. While my other notes, some funny and others deep in thought, can stand alone, these cannot. They are tied together like a string of pearls and the progression of thoughts are interdependent. Please excuse the length, and focus on the thoughts.

7.27.15

Despite my own attempts, I’ve never been a “by the book parent”, and the last few nights are no exception. Dreaded nightly showers are motivated by blowing bubbles to keep a child scared of water slightly close enough to the sprinkles to be washed. Painful attempts of brushing X’s teeth are motivated by dialogue such as, “10 seconds, we can do anything for 10 seconds” as I plunge a brush toward X’s teeth. Words like, “You can brush or I can brush, but we have to brush our teeth.” Only to have him run away screaming. But it’s been getting easier, small steps toward “normal”.

Last night I washed X’s hair by myself. I mean, it still had soap in it, but I was able to get it wet, soaped, and mostly rinsed on my own with minimal fussing.

Tonight after a shower, X asked to brush his own teeth. He did, sorta, back and forth actually touching his front teeth. Then on with Pjs and He climbed into bed with me and we began to read. At first we read his library books. Then, I picked up my book and began reading silently as he “read” his books to himself. After showing some interest in my book, a middle school novel, I began reading it out loud. He curled up around me, snuggled in, and after a short time, he fell asleep.

Yes, many nights X falls asleep in my bed, or wakes up scared and finds his way there. Yes, getting ready for bed and the bedtime routines are insanely hard in our house. Like bring you to tears hard, but some nights it is easier. I think it will keep getting better, as he models my behavior: My positive smiles despite my worries and heartache. My joy comes from the little victories: the first shower without needing two people in at least a year, X asking to brush his teeth, and warm snuggles. And then there is reading, no one “reads” and memorizes like him. Maybe that will be his greatest strength.

I can almost guarantee no other household looks like mine, yet I love my life. It’s perfectly messy, routinely unexpected, full of love and uniquely mine.

God, please give me strength on the nights when it isn’t easy. Help me find joy in you when the victories are few. And Father, forgive me for the nights when my patience has grown thin, and my faith is weak and full of doubt. I’m sorry. God, please fill every mother, like me, who struggles and falls short of parenting “by the book” with strength, joy and hope. For tomorrow is another day. Amen.

12.21.15

I love my life, but sometimes there are tough moments. Like yesterday when nothing really bad happened but I still came home and cried. X threw two fits on our way into church. Why, because I told him no and his three years old. And also because bible class can be over stimulating. I love my church. I love the people. I love that we gather in the walkway and foyer to visit between services. X doesn’t. I try to get there either before service starts or a few minutes after to avoid the crowd. X use to love bible class and once I got him to his room he was happy. The toddlers did independent play and teachers did a few patterned songs and bible stories. A few months ago he graduated into the preschool class. The kids now talk to him and try to play with him. I teach in the toddler room and if I look over the barrier, I can see him. He screams at kids and tells them to get away. He plays by himself and repeats his little patterns. His teacher tries to involve him, but if she pushes, he screams. Then, he begs me to take him home. My. Heart. Breaks.

It’s not just that he has a bad day. He has had delayed development since 9 months and off and on has seen an occupational therapist. It’s nothing new to us. His doctor told us many kids, with the right support, simply take longer but get caught up. Basically, they grow out of it.

But now he is three. We have had him evaluated for sensory issues over the summer. Yep, he has those. They recommend more occupational therapy. Our insurance won’t cover it until we have a diagnosis by a development Doctor. Our appointment is in Feb and a follow up in March.

With each fit, scream, and repeated behavior, I cry. I cry because I’m worried he won’t grow out of it. I’m worried it won’t get easier. I’m worried I will be the parent attending ARDs and requesting modifications. I’m worried my beautiful little boy will be called weird and have trouble making friends at school.

But then he makes progress. As tough as yesterday was, he also ate slice of bread for the first time ever. We have victories. We have joy. We have faith. Yet, I feel alone with no one to cheer for us. “He ate bread!!!” Who posts that on their social media?

3.4.16

It’s not a big deal, until it is.
I walked out of our Pediatric Developmental Doctor’s office with my head held high. I can do this. No biggie.

Then, I realized I needed to pee. Once again, I thought I could handle it. I grabbed X’s hand and whisked him into a family restroom. He started screaming. And kicking. He was terrified. He has an epic fear of public bathrooms, or any small enclosed, narrow or unfamiliar room. I knew this, but thought I could handle it. He didn’t calm down. I could see the fear as his body flapped uncontrollably. Finally, he kicked so hard it opened the door. Since I hadn’t had time to even unbutton my pants, I left. I felt defeated. Alone. Embarrassed.

The meltdown, once started, won’t easily be calmed.

My plans were ruined. Messed up. And nothing was going to fix it. At least not quickly.

Two days I spent in a funk. I didn’t really want to talk about it. And if I did, I would surely cry. But those days passed.

The following week, I figured they had to be wrong. He was doing so well. He even started playing with a few kids. It’s not like you can look at him and see anything different. Maybe he could just grow out of these behaviors. Maybe I’m just letting him have his way too much. Maybe it will get better.

It’s not a big deal. We have routines. We do our thing. He likes to go to the same places, and see familiar things. I bring “his” snacks. And he smiles and laughs. He plays outside. He can run and jump. He can dance and sing. He is healthy. He is beautiful. It’s not a constant battle. We have days filled with so much joy.

But then it is. When I realize what we avoid. When I think about the everyday foods he has never tried. The places we can’t go. The birthday parties and events I cancel on. The bathrooms we don’t enter. The eggshells I walk on to avoid meltdowns. I know it appears like I’m spoiling him.
It’s fear. This fear lies in darkness. And how do you drive out darkness? You shine a light.

Our child has been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Diagnosis At such a young age may shift so I don’t want to label him. It’s moderate and he is high functioning.
It’s not a big deal. We have a beautiful life. It’s not a big deal, until it is.

In those desperate moments where it really is.

7.17.16

Every family has their own unique struggles. I don’t want to pretend that mine are worse or even that much harder, but they do feel different and incredibly tough sometimes. I struggle daily living in the tension between looking at my child and seeing the most beautiful, unique, creative person ever created, seeing him and being completely in love and yet, in the same moment being completely overwhelmed.

Yet, I remember a wise young women once saying, “When you signed up to be a parent you don’t get to pick the level of difficulty. You knew there would be late nights and hard parts and maybe it’s more than you expected. But you can do this.” I can’t remember her exact words but she went on and reminded me that we can’t pick and choose, we get what we get and then make the most of it. They were not empty words either. In her next breath, she offered to help, in any way she could.

That’s my village. I’m surrounded my a small group of friends and family who remind me I’m doing my best in the midst of feeling like a failure. And then they offer to help even if it is just watching him so I can use the restroom in public.

“Perfectionism has no place in writing… Likewise, I’m learning perfectionism has no place in living either. Just as a writer must embrace a rough draft as a necessary means to a book’s successful end, I had to learn how to embrace my life’s process. Including the countless ways my shortcomings and flaws have made me a better character in my own story. Life must be lived with a writer’s courage. Just as a blank page cannot be improved, nothing can be done with an unlived, untried life. To date to live will involve mistakes and missteps… Perfection is impossible. But a rough draft, no matter how flawed, sits within reach of an artist’s redemption. ” – Michelle Cushatt Undone

https://radioactiveelephant.com/2016/07/101/

My quiet time isn’t that quiet

2.16.16
I recently started a new Bible study with my small group of gals. I confessed that my quiet time was inconsistent and I found myself having to fit it in when I could. I have a great excuse: A young child. I also confessed in the midst of my busyness I could wake up 15-20min early or my husband has even offered to occupy our kiddo so I can do my Bible study. Truth be told, I just don’t want to wake up earlier and if I have 30 min of alone time I would rather take a nap.

Sounds awful, I know. But maybe it’s not.

I read my Bible in bed when I am waking up, at the breakfast table on Saturday mornings, and in the bathroom during busy weeknights.

I’m not alone. Ever. My life is basically on display. At least for my three and a half year old.

It really hit me when my niece, 4 and my nephew, 8 spent the night. I put cereal in the breakfast table, invited them to eat and picked up my Bible study. Then, my niece said the sweetest thing, “Miss Becky at school has a Bible. I want one too.” Miss Becky is the principal’s secretary. My niece has either been in a decent amount of trouble, or sick a few times and sat waiting in her office enough to notice Miss Becky’s bible. And want one.

Yes, it’s a Christian Preschool, but she noticed and it stuck with her. Maybe she read to her from it, maybe not. Either way I stopped what I was doing and grabbed her a small Precious Moments Bible I had actually been saving for her for Easter. Together we had Bible study in my noisy breakfast table as my nephew munched on cereal.

If we want others to see Jesus, maybe our quiet time doesn’t have to be done in quiet or isolation. Maybe The Spirt of God can speak to me as I sit on a toilet reading the Word with a tub splashing preschooler beside me. My season isn’t quiet. God can still speak in my current context. And perhaps the next breakfast table Bible study I have, my sweet Little One will join in.
I’m not alone. And it’s not a bad thing.

Bible study in the bathroom. Not pictured is child blissfully splashing in the shower

7.10.16
Even with the freedom of summer, my season hasn’t gotten much quieter. I have a few mornings that I end up waking up first, and getting an hour by myself to read and reflect. But in general, I spend the morning drinking coffee on my porch, reading with frequent but adorable interruptions. It’s not the ideal “summer camp” version of a quiet time, but it’s purposeful and refreshing.
I’m still not alone. And it’s a beautiful thing.

On the porch in summer. Coffee, cake, with my little one and Jesus. Just beautiful!

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