Death is a Jerk

Sometimes grief looks like taking a picture to cheer up someone who is stuck in the hospital, because you know the engineering play of their great grandson would speak to their heart, to their soul. Make them proud. Lift sadness for just a moment.

Sometimes grief looks like taking that picture and then remembering that you can’t send it. Their phone doesn’t work anymore. Their body doesn’t work anymore. Aren’t even at the hospital anymore. Hasn’t been for 4 months.
And the reality hits like bricks all over again.

No, really. Like a freaking ton of bricks are being pelted at your body, your mind, your soul. Bruising, cutting, gashing, knocking you down.

Sometimes grief looks like hot, bitter tears. Anger because death is a jerk. Because it throws your ability to think into a vicious circle at times. You begin to question why you can’t hold it together, and the children look at you with questioning concern as tears flow out of nowhere. As a joyful, playful mother turns into a snappy, soggy mess of a person. Yes, death is a jerk.

Sermons pop into my head. Statements about Jesus weeping over Lazarus. Even though He knew He would see his beloved friend again, He wept. Wept because of how sin had introduced death into the world, wept at the ugliness and destruction of it. Wept because death is a jerk.

And if Jesus was allowed to weep, even knowing the outcome, even knowing that His mission on earth would conquer death and sin, then darn it all so can we. Even believing we will see loved ones again…so can we.

T -4 days

Oh where to begin…perhaps with the Ronningen classic “So, it’s a crazy story…”

The story of how we got into our Pullman apartment in the first place was an amazing testimony to God’s goodness and provision, and we have never forgotten His peace surpassing human understanding that it was where we were supposed to be. We moved in as a family of  two adults and an 8 month bump, and found ourselves four years later a family of two adults and two fabulous, high energy children. When it came time to resign our lease for the 2017-2018 year, we were forced to take pause. For so many reasons, we just couldn’t see ourselves there any longer. We could re-sign, sure…but not with God’s blessing. So it came to be that our end date was set: July 31, 2017.

It felt like limbo, not going to lie. The rental company where we were seemed to renew leases months earlier than others in the area, and so it was near impossible to know where we were going to be. We researched the idea of getting into a little house of our own, a process that was as stressful as it was exciting. At first, it seemed that the Lord was directing us towards a particular double-wide, but walking through it, there was a distinct lack of the tangible peace we were looking for. He made it clear that He saw the intricate details of our hearts and dreams, and then gently (and not so gently) closed doors, opened pathways, closed off trails, and opened windows. All the meanwhile He was assuring us- “I see you, and I’m not dropping you. Just wait until you see what I have in store. It’s going to be good.”

Now, let me introduce you to February.

Hanging. By. A. Thread. But somehow simultaneously thriving. I have this picture in my head of Spiderman swinging on one piece of web at a time but flying at full speed. We allowed our housing search to continue fairly full force, especially since having been informed late January that we could get out of our lease as early as mid-May so the maintenance team could do renovations. But nothing clicked. We viewed more places than we had ever viewed for any of our other moves, but God’s peace was over none of them. I felt this restless, inpatient pull to just start the packing process…but no way were we going to live out of boxes for months. After all, we could be there into Summer. At least I knew that this limbo of not knowing where we were going to be had an end date.

Tuesday, February 21st

Boys were finally in bed. Sort of. Not. My patience was wearing thin. Here I was wanting to ignore the world, and they WOULD NOT settle down. I ashamedly admit that I was getting quite snappy with them. I didn’t understand…and then I heard it. The cacophony of sirens nearing. Peaking out my window I breathed relief as the fire truck passed my complex and moved on to…

…turn around. It was turning around. Out of the corner of my eye I saw another emergency vehicle pull into the fire lane on the other side. The same fire lane my door opened up to. One step out of my door and I now saw the flames they were after. Flames engulfing the building only 300 feet away containing the laundry room I had delayed using, along with at least 3 or 4 apartments. I simply stood and prayed as the Spirit led. I had no words of my own. The realization struck me that my boys had been more in tune with the outside world than I, hence their challenge in falling asleep. I decided to bundle them up (it was so very, very cold) and let them watch the process. I think it was really good for them to see that “firemen keep us safe” is more than just something Mommy and Daddy say. It is reality…

Even if reality felt TOO close.

(For the article on fire check out http://www.dailyevergreen.com/news/article_19a3d42c-f8b6-11e6-a52f-f7e1114a8365.html)

This fire stirred up many things in me, including adrenaline and trauma from the past. But even above that I sensed something that I couldn’t explain until later- PURPOSE. Strange, I know. Even still my heart goes out to those who lost their homes, and I am so thankful that everyone was evicted safely, even the cats and dogs. I am humbled that the fire could have been anywhere. It could have been closer, close enough to force my family out that night. But God held us safely in His hands, and breathed His comfort, love, and that seemingly out of place sense of purpose into my heart.

Did I mention I almost did laundry that night? 2 or 3 loads worth…that I would have had to abandon wet in the washer for days. God is so good.

Wednesday, February 22nd

I had seen the managers and office staff come to witness the fire the night before. I knew they’d be stressed, and wished that there was something I could do. So, since I am unversed in the art of fire damage removal, I baked cookies instead. Threw in a couple tangerines for color and variety. It was a cool opportunity talking with my boys, especially my 4 year old, about how we can do things for others to help make them happy when they’re having a hard day. My heart melted as I saw a look of understanding come into his eyes. He looked at the plate of cookies, and asked “Can I carry it? Make the people happy?”

So it was that we delivered the cookie plate to the office that morning. While I was there, a staff member informed me that they were about to contact me anyway- since we had already said we would not be re-signing our lease, and since there were people now out of a place to live, we had a new option. If we could find a place to move into by the end of the month/beginning of next, we would be free to go without fee for breaking our lease. There was no pressure to do so, but compassion swelled within me.  That trauma I mentioned? My family was displaced once, about 10 years ago, and I still remember it clearly. Navigating even just the emotions of that (let alone everything else) was hard then, and I knew it was hard for these people now. I told the staff member we would let him know. We had a couple places we were going to be viewing in the next couple days anyway, so we’d have to see. We did have until July 31st after all.

Thursday, February 22nd

The worst, most disrespectful apartment viewing we have ever experienced. We were treated like we were know-nothings. The guide swore in front of and snapped at my children for jumping once on the kitchen floor. It was just awful. That door of opportunity slammed AND locked itself with the deadbolt.

Friday, February 23rd

I couldn’t help but will the clock to tick faster so that we could go see a duplex we found listed on Craigslist as “available now”. No photos or anything, but based on the description it seemed worth the visit. Tick. Tock. Tick…tock…

3:30pm was our scheduled viewing. A two bed, one bath duplex about 100ft larger, with washer and dryer hookups inside! And…a YARD. A fenced yard at that. Guys, remember that tangible peace I said we were looking for? It was here, beyond a shadow of a doubt. We were home.

3:40pm we were turning around to face the landlady. “We know you don’t know us. We know you don’t have time to run a credit check or a background check or anything like that…but when can we sign and have keys?” We explained our scenario, and it was looking like Monday. Except…when I called our apartment office to inform them, the scenario had tweaked. There was no wiggle room- if this was going to happen, we had to be out before March 1st, no later.

Of course February only has 28 days.

Peace answered for us. God wouldn’t have given us peace about the duplex if we weren’t supposed to move, so T-4 days it was. We spent that evening collecting boxes and packing like maniacs. When I explained our changed timeline to the landlady, she so graciously agreed to meet us with the papers the next day. It was hard to fathom how fast this was going. For all I had known that morning, we could have hated the place and I could be just chillin’ in my pjs, drinkin’ decaf and a-doodling.

But…T-4 days.

Saturday, February 24th

We signed our lease at 11am, and it was official. In no time flat we had reserved a U-Haul, collected more boxes, purchased a washer and dryer to be installed the coming Monday, and some other key errands that the blur has erased from my memory. Likely lunch…oh yes, that was it. Peter was driving the U-Haul to the apartment storage to pack up our storage stuff with a buddy coming to help. I, meanwhile, drove through McDonald’s with an order of “Two cheeseburger kid’s meals please. With regular milk. And can I have permission to dig through your recycled boxes?”

In the excitement- or insanity- I managed to get a hold of our small group leader. We had our group praying for our housing, and I wanted her to know God had answered our prayer quite unexpectedly. I was floored as this beautiful, wonderful friend called me with a thought- “Small group normally meets on Sunday anyway…how about a moving party instead of Bible study? And I can make pizzas to feed people and watch the kids here.” How do you say yes and thank you enough to such a burden off of one’s shoulders? I’m still working on that. We have THE BEST small group leaders, and were so blessed as our group rallied around us. I arranged to deliver a pizza pan and some ingredients to her before the night ended.

Now normally, we have commitments on Monday nights, and we realized we would have to cancel. Upon telling the people necessary about the chaos we were undertaking, we were met with total understanding AND an invite to dinner so that we wouldn’t have to cook and worry about dishes. We were also sent home with an extra casserole so that we could have something available to eat without stress of what cooking tools not to pack. And it was in a disposable foil container, so we weren’t having to stress about bringing back any dishes unharmed. Amazing.

T-3 days.

Sunday, February 25th

Oh hey, look…a full blanket of snow where there was none the night before. Of course. It just adds character to the story anyway.

Thought about skipping church, minus the fact I was scheduled to work nursery. It was good though. I knew I needed the forced break from the packing to do anything else, and serving in the Church is definitely a good alternative.

You can guess what the rest of our afternoon looked like. Even though it was our hands that had packed everything, and even though my bones were tired, I was still amazed that we pretty much had it all ready to go when the crew began to show up at 4ish. Even my brother-in-law and nephews drove two hours in the yucky weather to help. I dropped of the boys with my small group leader/beautiful friend/one of the most amazing people ever. She handed me the pizzas she had made and I delivered them back to the crew. The men drove off with the U-Haul, and my lady friends stayed and helped me power out cleaning. My brain was so fried by this point that I about cried when one of my friends swept in to help organize our efforts to be the most efficient. By the time I left to pick up my boys, there was only a handful of things to be finished.

So I picked up my boys, and we drove home. Home.

The boys had the hardest time sleeping that night, and it broke my heart. First it was one, then the other, then every hour like clockwork, and by the time Peter’s alarm went off at oh’dark thirty for work, I was still awake, now with a boy pushing his head into my throat because Mommy couldn’t get close enough.

T-2 days.

Monday, February 27th

The blessings did not stop once the move was technically complete. Peter had to go to work, so one friend took my boys for a couple hours while I ran around town changing addresses and running errands that would have been 10x as long with the unbuckle-out-don’t-run-in-the-street-herd-through-stores-again-with-the-street-rebuckle-no-it’s-not-lunch-yet routine for every stop. More friends watched the boys that evening so that Peter and I could do the very last of the clean up. One last mop and I stood in the doorway.

I couldn’t stop the bittersweet tears, a mixture of exhaustion, uncertainty, and memories. These were the walls of security around me and Peter when parenthood started. These were the carpets where my boys took their first steps, the linoleum where my boys threw their first spoonfuls of food. That was the large window that my boys loved to watch the world from. As did I. The nooks and crannies we had developed into our own. I knew this chapter had to close, it just had happened so fast. Goodbye, apartment. May you be a home of joy, laughter, and memories for whomever may live here next.

T-1 day.

Tuesday, February 28th

On this last day of February, we drove from the duplex to the apartment complex office, and we handed in our keys. It seemed so…anti-climactic, in a sense, particularly after the last handful of days. And that was that. We had done it- we had packed up our entire family and moved in only 4 days, and only by the grace of God did it go as smoothly as it did. Looking back, there is no physical way we should have been able to pack up as much as we did by the time the moving truck was pulled up to our door, but we did, and I truly believe God gave us more energy or more hours or more something that can’t really be explained. We are surrounded by AMAZING friends that took on tasks I could not have completed on my own without a panic attack inducing amount of effort. I know that because we chose to follow His tangible peace above conventional wisdom alone, that we were granted more favor and aid than we really should have been given. I type this, looking out my bedroom window at a still new scene, and am a bit in awe even now at the whole process that took place.

We are home. The Ronningen family has opened a new chapter, and God wasn’t being trivial or trite when He had spoken the words “I see you, and I’m not dropping you. Just wait until you see what I have in store. It’s going to be good.” And oh, it is.

Shining far from Flawless

I was never one for style or fashion. I told myself I knew nothing about it, really, since from 7th grade through 12th my wardrobe was almost entirely khakis and jewel tone polos during the week and t-shirts with jeans to rock the weekend. My prized accessories included a promise ring and a locket, and I completed the look with simple studded earrings.

Not exactly in the running for any sort of fashion pageant…but it never bothered me. So as the years continued on, no school uniform imposed upon me, I felt a little lost. I wore whatever fit, really. Now hear me- I am not complaining. Jeans and sweatshirts will probably always be my favorite. But as my body has changed and born the marks and padding of back-to-back pregnancies, my wardrobe has been in a state of…flux, let’s say. A challenge, since I had myself convinced that I hated clothes shopping and that I couldn’t pull off anything fashionable. (Lies, at least the last part, so don’t panic on me now. And I’m growing in the first part…)

My emotional being has also been in a state of flux, and just recently that journey has led me to a rule I didn’t realize I needed in my life: I’ve decided to start dressing in what makes me happy. Whether that be jeans and a tank top or a skirt, whether I wore that very outfit not even days ago. Not just wearing something because it hides this or that or the other thing. Not wearing something because I feel obligated to. It’s time to forge my own style, folks…something I before thought vain and too much of a challenge.

That brings us to this morning. I excitedly grabbed my new yellow and blue maxi skirt out of the closet, and matched it with a navy shirt on top. Super cute…but not really what I wanted today. I wanted to wear it as a strapless dress with a belt, and adjusted it accordingly…but then the dialogue in my head started.

“Oooo, ouch, that tummy, girl. And maybe the shirt was a better choice- it hid the marks on your arms. And didn’t you decide awhile ago that strapless was not a good fit with your shoulders?”

And that is when I really stopped and looked in the mirror at me. The real me. The me that has a deep longing to not hide. That’s the moment I remembered God’s word for me this year: light. I am a very imperfect individual called to be a light. And sometimes, I have been finding, that light shines not through my strengths, but through my cracks and my vulnerability. Through my imperfections. Imperfections that when I try to cover them up, I cover up the beautiful parts of me, too. And when I hide the beautiful parts of me, I’m not really being me. Not me, nor a vessel for Light either.

So…I’m wearing a strapless dress today. It doesn’t hide every flaw…and that’s okay. I have plans to be me today. And I hope that you chose to be you today, too.

Many blessings,

Melody

 

When you’re THAT mom

Friends, today I was THAT mom. The mom who decided that despite a change in routine, that she was going to brave grocery shopping with two toddlers. For two weeks worth of groceries. By herself. I was THAT mom. The one who tried to make herself feel prepared by putting on an extra coat of mascara and lip gloss.

My wonderful 3 year old, Ayden, has such a helper spirit- I adore that about my son, and so even though it is not always convenient, I try to let him help where he can. Today, that looked like him pushing a red hand basket like a truck through people filled aisles while I tried to 1) keep track of where I was on my shopping list, and 2) remind him every 10 seconds not to run in front of people.

It took quite a bit of patience, but I think it was worth it. He felt he was helping, and having the “fishies” cracker package in his “cart” made his world. And that made mine. I was fascinated by people’s reactions- some were frustrated that this rogue basket driver was…well, rogue…but many smiled. I could tell quickly by their kind eyes the ones that had also been THAT mom, and their smiles encouraged me that I was doing a good thing. Some even said so between me herding the kid to safety and grabbing the cans of chili.

Due to my lack of focus, the excursion lasted way…way…way longer than I had anticipated. And, mommy-fail, I had not fed them a snack beforehand. My lovely, joyful little helper was quickly worn out, and found himself exhausted on the floor. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to NOT move. He didn’t want to move the basket. He didn’t want me to move the basket for him. I must admit I felt kinda bad- I’ve been there, too exhausted to move but unwilling to admit defeat. I could see in his eyes he really wasn’t just being stubborn for stubborn’s sake. In an effort to be calm, I moved the cart to the side so others could get by while I had a chat with Ayden. Of course, I had moved the cart right into an end cap, and I watched as three jugs of bleach fell to the floor. At least it wasn’t spaghetti sauce? Mortifying nonetheless. I was raised with the concept of you break it, you buy it, so I offered to do so. The grocery worker, having seen how well Ayden had been doing, knowing how long we had been there, and having much grace told me not to worry about it. Grateful, I moved my attention to my son.

Cleanup on aisle tantrum. I was now THAT mom. The one who could not calm her child. The one pushing the cart with half a hand and an elbow while holding a 3 year old on a mission to hit and kick and wail. I gave options, I gave love, I gave grace…but I’d lie if I said I didn’t want to quit somewhere in there.  Yeah…THAT mom. Again I saw the looks. Again they varied- some seemed frustrated that I couldn’t move faster so they could grab whatever was on their list that I happened to be blocking…again…as I would kneel down, taking deep breaths, to remind my son that love is kind and does not hit. Others had the look of pity.

I was finally in line to checkout. I knew I hadn’t finished my list, but those items could be purchased later. With one hand I tickled my 1 year old, who had been content in the shopping cart this whole time, and with the other I held my sweet Ayden and let him cry. I could tell he was really, really trying, but he just had no more oomph. And as I tried to unload my cart onto the belt, I met THAT mom. The one right ahead of me, the angel who asked ever so gently, “I’ve been there. Is there something I can do to help you? Unload your cart, something else?” The tears came, and I couldn’t fight them. “Yes, please. Can you help me bag them?” And that was huge. More than huge. She had no idea of knowing that in between shopping and parenting, I was in ear pain I could barely push through at times that trip. I thanked her over and over. “You are so welcome. I have six of my own. I know. I’ve been there.” She had been THAT mom, too.

I got the cart facing in the right direction and made it all of 10 feet before Ayden had broken down again, it being very evident that he was starving and tired and so done. He was in tears, I was in tears, and as I barely kept him from climbing into the cart onto 5 dozen eggs, I heard a voice to my right- “Can I push the cart for you?” I could see that this mom had littles of her own, but she chose instead to be THAT mom, placing my needs before the convenience of walking back to the car with her husband and kids. Through tears I barely was able to answer yes.

I was then THAT mom who, with two weeks worth of groceries in the back, drove through McDonald’s for chicken nuggets, praying that my eye makeup didn’t look like a racoon at this point. I attempted to ninja the nuggets back to the starving boys in the back, ate some myself, and drove home. As I drove and asked God if there was something I was supposed to be learning in that moment, this is what I heard Him say:

“I see YOU. I love you, and I see your needs. Just like I saw the needs of the grandmas you passed in produce, the ones who miss the days their children were so little. They were THAT mom once, too.

I see you. Just like I saw that mom of six when she needed help those times before. I saw her then, and though she didn’t know it, I was teaching her the grace and love she showed to you today. And she could do that, because she was THAT mom once, too.

I see her. She’s trying so hard to be the mother I’ve called her to be. She’s trying to be patient and strong, but she’s having a really hard day. She puts on a strong face, but she has nothing left to give. But you will, you’ll have grace and love to give her that day. Because you’ll know. You’ll know what it’s like to be THAT mom.”

Friend, I don’t know the internal battles you’re facing today. Only you know how exhausted you really are. I do know that God sees you, and I encourage you to take heart- you might be THAT person today so that you can be THAT angel in someone else’s time.

Beautiful Scribbles

Hello, friends!

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written last, so today I want to take a few minutes to share a sweet revelation I had recently.

I have heard and read a lot of encouragement lately on what daily worship looks like. How it’s not always a dedicated, uninterrupted block of hours spent with hymns and a Bible, although that is beautiful too. Worship in the day to day looks more like praising God while doing the dishes, because the dishes are proof you and your family had food to eat. Or taking the time to thank Him for the smiles on your children’s faces as they develop their own little characters. (And boy are my boys little characters! I love it.) Worship can be turning to God and desiring His will as we face challenges and trials.

My life-song of worship? I had been told that faithfully raising my children and imparting upon them the love of God was a form of worship as well. That my every day, prayerful trenches of motherhood pleases the Lord. And while it sounds good in theory, I was struggling to quite grasp it.

Come worship service yesterday, the boys were all over the place. My arms, hubby’s arms, the pew, quiet, giggling, crying…the spectrum. I am so blessed to attend a church that loves kids and is very understanding of such things, so I tried to patiently deal with the boys while simultaneously attempting to take the worship service to heart. Of course, I was fighting a little bit of guilt- “Lord, I wish I was able to focus more on what you’re trying to say to me. ”

My eyes caught a glimpse of a little boy and his mom in the pew ahead of mine. This little boy was drawing on a piece of paper next to this picture of a bird his mom had drawn for him. I watched the joy on this boy’s face as he drew lines this way and that, and I couldn’t help but feel the joy as well. Sure his lines were all over the place, but they were still beautiful and blessed his mother’s heart. “Melody,” I heard the Lord whisper, “you feel like you’re all over the place sometimes, chasing a child this way or forgetting to color in the lines. Your thoughts feel scattered and distracted. But I don’t expect perfection from you. Just like that picture blesses that mother’s heart, your life blesses Me.”

Tears began to well up in me as I looked again at the pew ahead. How many times have I compared my imperfect lines to the beautiful, flawless lines of the Lord? I will never be able to draw sweet birds as perfect as His sparrows. But that’s not what God expects of me. It doesn’t mean the Lord is displeased with my work. My life, though imperfect and scattered, is a blessing to the Creator of the universe.

Your life, though imperfect and scattered, is a blessing to the Lord as you seek Him in the day to day. Whether you’re a mother like I am, a full time employee, retired and living life, or simply wondering what exactly His purpose is for you- May I encourage you to rest upon His perfect love for you today? And perhaps if you’d like, I would love if you would share with me what worship to the Lord looks like for you on your day-to-day journey.

Many blessings-

Melody

Losing the Pounds, Losing the Excuses

“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” Proverbs 16:3

This is the verse that helped me decide it was time to come up with a fitness plan. Often I’ve read the verses stating that as a Christian, my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. In that regard I’ve always done my best to dress modestly and eat fairly healthy. It has not been a perfect journey- I have made mistakes along the way, and I’ve known it. But if there’s one thing I’m REALLY good at, it’s justifying my actions. Just one more bite. Calories don’t count on your birthday…and holidays…and potlucks…(shucks, because I really like this one). I’ll take a long walk tomorrow, but right now I’m just going to watch one more episode on Netflix. Or even the fact that hey, I was running after the kids all day and I’m exhausted. I had to have burned some extra calories in there…so I deserve that 15th Oreo cookie. (You laugh now, but I know I’m not the only one who has eaten that many Oreos in a day…or a sitting. It starts innocently enough, but then you end up with more milk than cookies, then more cookies than milk, and it’s a chocolately spiral from there.)
With Ayden, I didn’t go into the hospital expecting a C-section. I was nowhere near prepared emotionally for the changes my body would go through. I was warned that I would still look 3-5 months pregnant walking out, but I wasn’t prepared for loss of feeling at the incision site. I wasn’t ready for the fact that my body was now a completely different shape, perhaps more-so than it would have been with a natural birth.
Some people are more spontaneous and bounce back quickly. I’m not one of those people.
I was almost relieved that I got pregnant again so quickly, because I knew no one would be asking me how losing baby weight was going. I actually managed to lose my baby weight from Ayden in my first trimester with Declan, so it was a pretty good deal. Don’t get me wrong- I DID want to be pregnant because I knew this baby was a gift from God, but I also used it as an excuse to not care. Ayden is now 2 1/2, and Declan is nearly 1! I’ve done a lot of growing, changing, and healing in many different aspects during that timeframe. I’ve learned just how good I am at fooling myself into thinking I’m trying when I’m truly not. No more.
No. More. Because now, I actually have a plan, and the bravery to share it.
A month and a half of tracking my diet, at least 7 gym visits, hours of cardio, over 1000 squats, 250 hip bridges, and 300 lunges later, I have finally lost 0.6 lbs. Sure, it’s no “I lost 10 lbs in 1 week” headline, but it’s the truth, it’s real life. I worked HARD to lose that. And when that scale finally budged, I had a smile bigger than a kid with an ice cream cone. Much, much bigger.
My final goal, you ask? To lose 25 lbs total by the end of the year. Arbitrary? Not necessarily. I’m not aiming to be a stick, but I do want to be a healthy weight for my body. I want to have the endurance to run after my children and still have energy to invest into my marriage when Peter walks in the door from work. Above all, I am committing my plan to the Lord. It’s an aspect I’ve never before brought into my workouts, and I truly believe it’s going to make all the difference. Because no matter what my body looks like physically come December 31st, I will have grown stronger in my fight against excuses.
Here’s to the next 24.4 lbs. Here’s to no more excuses and justifications.
Blessings on your journey, wherever you are at-
Melody

Banning the Terrible Twos

I am officially the mother of a 2 year old! And it has been the craziest, most exhausting, and wonderful journey. Now to face the year dubbed by many to be…”The Terrible Twos”. I have already received good lucks, sarcastic have funs, and don’t worry, you’ll make its. The traditional well-meaning sentiments. I refuse to accept them.

Oh, you bet he’s thrown fits and thrown blocks and thrown food. You bet there are days that are full of correction and many deep, deep breaths. Of course there are days I wonder if I’m getting through to him, or if I’m going to get through for that matter. Boundaries and patience are both being tested, and it’s the strain of a child’s growing independence that has led to the generally accepted conclusion that the terrible twos are inevitable. But in my house, we have banned the terrible twos.

You read that right. We have BANNED the terrible twos.

Follow me on this line of thought for a moment. Let’s say Ayden decides he is going to throw a tantrum after his afternoon nap because he doesn’t want to drink milk, he wants to drink juice. And mean ol’ mommy won’t let him chuck said cup at the floor heater or the window. There are two paths I can take from here:

Path 1: “This is too much. Terrible twos suck. I wish my son was past this already.”

Sure, this might cross my mind every once in awhile. I’m human. The question is whether or not I let this become a heart truth. As soon as I let myself believe this, it will naturally flow from my heart to how I treat my son. I can see it driving me to either ignore his behavior, which would make the problem worse, or use it as an excuse to justify raising my voice at him when I should be treating him with grace. If I truly believe that Ayden’s second year is going to be terrible, then I’m going to act accordingly, and you know he’ll sense it. And if that’s what he starts to see in my attitude, and my attitude is the one he mimics, then I could very well end up with an angry, hurt, confused child. But I said there were two paths, and here’s the second one:

Path 2: “This is too much for me to handle on my own. Dear Jesus, thank you for blessing me with my son. He is such a gift, and I love him dearly. Please give me wisdom, strength, and grace to be the mother he needs right now.”

Taking this approach changes my attitude drastically. It causes me to realize the power of my words and my thoughts. This doesn’t mean that there is no correction happening- oh believe me, there is- but the difference is that I’m not internally branding my son with the word “terrible” with each time-out. The Bible talks about how God disciplines his children because He loves us and wants us to grow and mature. He wants the best for us. And remember my admission to being human? I’m not always the most obedient child of God, and often am in desperate need of his correction. But I am so very grateful that God does not just give up on me, call it a “terrible season” and ignore me. He doesn’t let his blood boil when I try to assert my own independence. He is gracious. He is patient. He encourages me to change, then gives the anointing to do so. He is slow to anger, abounding in love.

Yes, I have a two year old. Yes, he tries to assert his independence in ways that test my patience. He throws things I’d rather he not throw. But this doesn’t mean this is bound to be a terrible, no good, very bad year. No, this is going to be a great year, full of 365 days the Lord has made to love and cherish and enjoy him. 365 days that I would rather look back upon and think “perhaps a challenge, but what a joy!” than “worst year ever”. No matter what he may do, it’s about MY attitude. Because that affects everything and everyone. And that’s why we have banned the terrible twos in my family. It’s why we openly reject those seemingly well-meaning sentiments. The terrible twos are not a fact of life, but a heart attitude, one that I refuse to speak or allow to reign in my home. Do I write this because I have it down? Definitely not! Praise God that He loves me anyway.

Blessings, my friends.

-Melody

Unseen

I’ve grabbed my cup of coffee. I’ve tickled my toddler. I’ve put away this, that, and the other thing. I’ve said a silent prayer for wisdom and another for strength. And throughout it all, one word is reverberating through my mind- unseen. It cuts deep, doesn’t it? The idea that no one really sees you, no one really knows you. It makes ones actions feel like a worthless routine. It’s the killer of hope. Unseen…it’s a LIE.

One thing I have loved about having a Bible app on my phone is the access to so many different translations of the Word. It’s a great way to see familiar passages in a fresh light. Lately my favorites have been the New Living Translation and the Message. If you read Matthew 6:30 in the Message, it says this:

“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers – most of which are never even seen- don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you?”

Can you see the beauty, too? A hidden field of hundreds of thousands of varied wildflowers, bursting with joy and color, each one painted individually by the hand of God. That spot among the rocks where you find the tiniest little pink flower peeking out toward the sunshine. Perhaps there’s a creek running by, the scales of the fish below the surface reflecting like little gems. A song echoes the slightest bit from the trees above, more beautiful than the most rehearsed of symphonies. It is clear this is a masterpiece of someone who takes pride in His work.
You, dear friend, are worth more than any flower, which “are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow” (Matthew 6:30 NLT).

So, to the one exhausted, barely putting one foot in front of the next…
To the one sitting behind the desk, wondering what doing the same thing day after day after day really matters…
To the one unable to put words to your feelings…
To the one who wonders if the finances will ever line up…
To the one who feels like a royal mess…
To the one who feels unseen… you ARE seen. You are seen by the One who made you, designed you, takes pride in you. He knows you feel unseen today, and He so longs for you to know that you are loved just as you are. In your sweatpants. Barely surviving despite the third cup of coffee. About to throw in the towel. Just wanting the day to be done already. I might not see you and your fears and your longings and your needs, but He does. Oh friend, He does. So ask Him for strength today, for hope and peace. Allow Him to minister to your spirit about the beauty He sees in you.
Blessings and peace be upon you today,
Melody

It only takes 2.5 seconds…

It’s a busy, busy life we tend to live. It can be more difficult than we ever imagined to get anything accomplished. Ugh. How. Frustrating.

And often that’s where we leave that thought hanging. But as I was changing my baby’s diaper this morning while hearing my toddler pull things out of the kitchen trash, I had an additional thought. “It only takes 2.5 seconds.” Moms of toddlers, or puppies for that matter, know how true it is. It is amazing how quickly a kiddo can create total chaos in self-entertaining fashion. It seems like my son can get more “done” in that small window of time than I can get done all day!

I was amazed at how the Lord completely changed my perspective on this. If a child can do so much with so little time, there must be something I as an adult could do. In 2.5 seconds, I could give someone a smile, a hug, or speak a word of encouragement. I could say sorry. I could pick up that one thing that would most bless my husband. I could turn on some uplifting music to lift the mood in my home. I could say a little prayer, thanking the Lord for his goodness. But the most powerful, in my opinion, is that in 2.5 seconds, it is possible to turn my heart to heaven and ask the Lord for his guidance. A simple “Lord, I’m drowning a little. Please help me navigate my day.”

Friends, it only takes 2.5 seconds. Will you join me in asking what am I going to do with that precious time?

…besides determine what my toddler may be into now! Blessings to you all!

-Melody

Keeper of Memories

As I mourn the loss of my grandma, or Mamma as I called her, I find myself coming back to this poem I wrote for her years ago. I could always tell the confusion that grew with the Alzheimer’s disease frustrated her, and I am glad that she is now free of it, her mind and memories renewed in Heaven. I miss her terribly, but I will see her again someday, and I can’t wait to hear these memories from her perspective.

~Keeper of Memories~
By Melody Ronningen and dedicated to Anita Diane Torhan. I love you, Mamma.

Mamma at my wedding

There are so many times I wish I could relive with you
Mamma, my Mamma
Like the “secret” phone calls- “Let’s get your mommy a birthday present.”
I think she knew, but you never let on.
How a sleepover at Mamma’s meant oatmeal, eggs, and toast for breakfast
We always laughed, because you were so picky with what foods could mix
And I still can’t figure out how you made your oatmeal so good.
The many crafts.
I still remember shopping for a foam egg to glue beans on.
It took forever to find the right size, but when we did, it was perfect.
You were so patient, even when we couldn’t do things just right
You let us express ourselves how we felt the need to
In song, in leaf collages, in silly little stories, in baking
In paint that almost dripped on your table so many times.
The details
You remembered every birthday, holiday, and occasion
More than that, you made them special
You were at the play that I was a cave-girl in
Then you were the only one who could untangle my hair afterwards.
I only ever let one person hold my feet. You.
My mom always tried, but I wouldn’t let her. That was our thing, right, Mamma?
I remember how you were particular about how you looked before leaving the apartment.
How we’d have to call in advance so you could get ready.
I thought you looked pretty no matter what.
You never had a green thumb
But my first memory of “going green” is recycling
With you. Newspapers and phone books.
You helped me write my first letter to the tooth angel
And you told me how pretty I was with the gold-dust kisses on my cheek.
And it was at your house that I finally learned my third song on the flute
It only had two notes, but you applauded anyway
You were there for my graduations- All of them
From cradle to wedding day
You told me you were proud

Oh, Mamma, I know you don’t remember
It’s not your fault
It’s going to be okay
Don’t be ashamed, Mamma, that you can’t remember
Because I do- I remember
I remember these things, and so much more
And I will forever love you so very, very much
Oh, Mamma. My Mamma.

Mamma meeting her great-grandson Ayden