Chipotle Run

When your husband decides he’s “all in” for the triathlete world, your life changes. And when your own previous exercise included walking to the mailbox every three days, said change is drastic. 

Today was the perfect example. Rob has a fairly unpredictable schedule as a nurse anesthetist and occasionally there are days when he gets to leave the hospital before lunch. An early departure in the pre-triathlon days would send me running to preheat the oven for chocolate chip cookies, settling babies into early naps and searching for our last stopping point in our perpetual NCIS marathon. These days, however, an early departure typically means an invitation to run. Not to the fridge for cookie dough. Not anywhere. Just running. In circles. Now I know I completed a triathlon this summer, but I still don't find running to be fun or enjoyable. I do love my husband very much and we like to spend his unexpected off days together, so after getting everyone dressed for the third time, we headed to meet the excited triathlete at the gym. We dropped all the kids in the childcare area and I denied the temptation -once again- to detour to Heritage House for an hour to write and drink coffee instead. After walking a few laps and having uninterrupted conversation, I forgot that I didn't want to be there in the first place. It was fun! And then the running started. I tried to be a good sport, but here's the deal: I can be a brat. I took two different five minute water breaks and then decided I would finish running the last few minutes with my man. "Almost half way! Let's go!" he cheered in his ridiculously energetic pep talk voice. I don't remember exactly what happened next, but there were secret tears and not-so-secret tears and a quick exit to the bathroom because it was break time again. I might have passed out. I'm not really sure. Rob chose to be done with his half marathon for the day and we hiked up to get the kids. 

I know from experience that kids feed off their parents' emotions and attitudes. So, in their defense, I didn't set my children up well with my pouting through the gym parking lot and in the car on the way to Chipotle. But the next 20 minutes of our lives were all around not our best work. There was whining and crying, possibly some fire and gnashing of teeth. The food was too hot. There wasn't enough cheese. Evan was so over waiting between bites. And then some rice was thrown and I gave Rob the let's-get-the-heck-outta-here look along with all the other poor souls who came in expecting a laid back burrito experience on their lunch breaks. We carried all 3 kids and our barely eaten lunches out of the doors. To be exact, I ran. I ran out of Chipotle with a baby carrier hooked on one arm and a three year old in the other. Then in a moment of lapsed judgment as I strapped kids into their seats, I served the consequence. Even as the words spilled out of my mouth, I already regretted them. "We are not eating in a restaurant for five days. Five whole days. Because of the way y'all acted in there." Five is the biggest number to Kate. It's like the ultimate number. So this was the maximum sentence. Really it was probably over the top, but I was still picking rice off my leg so it felt fitting. The part I regretted was giving a consequence that affected me most of all. Because now I have to cook and serve every meal at home for five days. Five whole days.

Our actions have consequences, and like the ripple effect of a pebble tossed into the water, those consequences affect the people around us. Especially those closest to us. My attitude this morning was selfish and it spilled over into the lives of those I love. I got angry at my husband whose intentions were good. I got angry at my kids who were actually too tired to go out to lunch in the first place. In my anger, I served a consequence that was not well thought out. And as much as I wanted to blame everyone else on the way home, I was the one in the wrong. 

It's on my worst days that I'm most thankful for grace. The freedom to run to Him, already forgiven if we're in Christ. Paul writes in Ephesians 3:12, "In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Hallelujah! With rice in my hair and shaky from embarrassment, I can turn again to the One who has wiped my slate clean once and for all. I am free. And I've been instructed to use my freedom to serve others in love (Galatians 5:13). It's funny how God works all these things out for his glory. I'm headed home to serve my family the first of our "consequence meals." I'll ask for their forgiveness and then serve the ones I love most. Serving food and serving grace. For five whole days. 

Altars to Zoos

We celebrated Sam’s second birthday a couple weeks ago. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. He’s officially two years old. We took our little zoo to the actual zoo for some birthday fun. Sam wore his lion shirt. We talked the lions up the whole way there. We saved the lions for the grand finale. We turned the corner to the lion’s area to find... a note reading, “If you can’t see me, I’m probably inside cooling off.” THIS IS REAL LIFE, LION. YOU ARE AN OUTSIDE CAT. Surprisingly, the lion cutout appeased the birthday boy, and everyone left smiling. 

Sam's birthday will always be special to me. Not only because he’s our crazy brave, crazy loved oldest son, but also because his birthday is one of those altars that causes me to remember the faithfulness of the Lord in my life. All through the Old Testament we read about God’s people building altars in places where God encountered them in a mighty way. Sometimes God himself instructed them to do so and other times his people chose to worship in that way. The purpose of these altars was always to bring glory to God for what He did in that place in their lives. The same is true for believers today. There are dates, places or objects in our around us that cause us to reflect on God’s hand in our own lives. 

One of the most significant of these altars to the Lord in my life is Sam’s birthday. He was a little less than 2 weeks old when I began to feel completely overwhelmed with the responsibility of keeping two children under two alive, much less fed, dressed and clean. I was secretly crying over the stove into a boiling pot of macaroni while my last reserves said their goodbyes and started to head home. Rob was on call at the hospital that night so my first night without extra hands was also my first night alone with not one baby but two. I remember crying - not secretly anymore - on my dad’s shoulder and saying, “I can’t take care of two of them. What if they cry at the same time?” I laugh about it now because, guess what? They did cry at the same time. And we all survived. 

That night in a survival mode prayer, I asked God if maybe He had mistakenly given me more than I could handle. Didn’t people say He wasn’t ever going to do that? Rest assured, it was no mistake. And the people who told me that were actually very wrong. He will consistently give us more than we can handle in our own strength and our own capacity. Why would we ever need Him if we could handle it all on our own? In fact, the Gospel is centered around that guarantee: we need a Savior to rescue us from our sin nature. We cannot handle that on our own. Instead of steering us around the tough stuff, God promises we’ll go right through it and He will be our strength when we are weak (2 Corinthians 2:10), our peace in times of confusion (Philippians 4:7), and that He “works for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).” 

The next morning I sat down at our kitchen table, and running on approximately 4 hours of highly interrupted sleep, I decided to put God’s promises to the test. Because if He wanted to give me strength in the midst of my darkest hours, now would be a pretty darn good time. (I had a really great attitude about it, obviously.) I begged Him for strength and some semblance of energy. I journaled before I even opened the Word that morning, “Lord, I am tired. I don’t know that I am strong enough to care for 2 babies on my own. I need You. Your strength, Your love, Your guidance. You know far better than me what I need every minute of every day, so I’m begging You to supply me with it.”

I opened the Bible after that to Isaiah chapter 40 and when I got to verse 28, it started to click. 

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. (28-31)

Right in front of me lay the answer to my plea. “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” At that moment I realized that I didn’t need an outline for exactly how He planned on giving me strength. All that I needed was to trust that He would. It was weird. This acceptance of not understanding how He would supply the strength, but a total peace that I would not lack anything I needed so long as I trusted Him for it all. 

I scribbled that passage in my journal, and put these words on paper almost as quickly as I was thinking them, “My hope is in You! I’m trusting You for what I need through this day. Thank You, Lord! You are good and everlasting. Never growing tired or weak. Thank you for loving me enough to equip me for today and every day. Amen.” This encounter with the Lord changed my outlook on parenting forever. It was honestly no longer about how much I could accomplish as a mom, but now about a total dependance on the Lord for even the strength to get out of bed in the morning. Over the next weeks and months my journaling had this theme of worship like it hadn’t before. The very next week on August 14, 2013 I wrote, “Father, You have graciously blessed me with every the last few days and I am so grateful! I know it’s come from You, because I’ve been incredibly tired. But when I shift my eyes to You, Your Spirit equips me with what I need for that moment. Thank You for Your faithfulness.” 

He is faithful. His promises hold true and they are for you and for me. I’m reminded of His faithfulness to me every day, but the beginning of August will always bring sweet memories of learning to walk in complete dependance on the Lord. It’s one of my many altars of remembrance of the Lord’s grace in my life, and it’s purpose is to bring glory and honor to Him. (Trust me… there is not a single other reason I would share pages from my prayer journal.) 

God knew He had to teach me that lesson early on in the "parenting multiples" game because He knew what was in store 15 months later. And the 3 under 3 life would call for that whole "grace upon grace" promise to be fulfilled. I love my family, and I really love Jesus for giving me the freedom to enjoy them in the midst of chaos and managing our own tiny zoo.