pacifier idolatry

"Tomorrow night will be your first night as a REAL big boy!" I explained to Denton enthusiastically. "We're going to get rid of the pacifiers and you can go to sleep on your own, just like Creed does!"

"Okay, Mommy!" he agreed. "I want to be a big boy!"

Bedtime came and I had already removed the pacifiers to the top of the toy shelves. After several mournful attempts to get me to return the pacifiers (tearfully explaining that he didn't want to be a big boy after all; that he really needs the pacifiers; that he doesn't want to do this anymore; that he wants "the cool of the pacifier;" etc.) and several course corrections, he came sobbing to the door again:

"Mommy?"
"What."
"I just have to say one thing."
"What is it?"

(long pause)

"Uh...it's that I just really want my pacifier."
"Denton."
"What..."
"You already told me this and my answer was 'No.' My answer is still 'no' and it will always be 'no.'"
"Ugh! Mommy!! I don't want you to SAY this!!!"
"Close the door and go back to your bed."
"Mommy, I am still sad!"
"I know. You just have to be brave. I'm sorry it's so hard...but you can do it! When you wake up in the morning you won't be sad anymore."

After separating the boys, it only took a few moments for the house to settle into blissful silence--they had both gone to sleep. Little did I know this was because Denton had climbed up his bookcase and acquired the coveted item. When I checked on him before I turned in for the night, there he was--out cold...with a pacifier dangling from his mouth. Mommy had officially lost the battle, but the war was still on.

A couple of days later, I bought a computer game that Denton really wanted. We installed it "together" with great ceremony. Then after we'd filled in his name and prep'd for the first game, I said, "Now we're going to turn it off. But if you can show me that you're a big boy tonight by going to sleep without your pacifier, you can get up in the morning and play this game all by yourself!"

"But I want to play it NOW, Mommy!" he protested.

"I know. But I'm not sure you're big enough to do it yet. You need to show me that you're a big boy tonight and then I'll know you're big enough to play your own computer game."

"Okay, Mommy," he said. And with that, he ran to his room, grabbed his pacifier, and threw it in the bathroom trash can. (I fished it out and disposed of it behind the scenes so he couldn't retrieve it in a weak moment later on.) I braced myself for bedtime, when he would want it back. But bedtime came and went with no resistance, no struggle, and no complaining! He went right to sleep and woke up to a morning of gaming.

What happened?

Denton found something he wanted MORE. The promise of gaming was so motivating that letting go of the pacifier was worth it.

How like Denton I am as I cling to the "fruitless joys" in my life, unwilling to let go of them for more of God. My little boy showed me that when I won't let go of something, it's because I love it most. When I love God more, the pain of letting other things go is overshadowed by my longing for Him. Even the "good" things in my life become chains to spiritual infancy if I become too attached to them. They are substitutions...pacifiers. I often don't recognize my pacifiers as such because they aren't always tangible things. But they are always rooted in my desire to soothe myself rather than yielding to God and trusting Him for peace. Release and obedience is an act of worship; a declaration that He is sweeter to me than any other thing.

Your love is sweeter than all pleasure
Your love is richer than all treasure
Your love is better than all fruitless joys
You are better

None compare to You
With my heart and mind and soul
I'll chase You

(from "You Are Better" by Michael Bleeker and Steve Miller 2004)

could this be any more complicated?!

***This is an old post from several years ago on my old blog, but I stumbled upon it and thought it was funny. It may not be to you. Just humor me.***

After a visit to the pediatrician this morning to have six-month-old Denton examined (he's had diarrhea for about four weeks now), I was sent down to the lab for the paraphernalia I would need to collect a stool sample. Little did I know that I would need to collect four stool samples, three to be placed in the vials with liquid chemicals (which must stay at room temperature), and one to be placed in the empty vial (which must be refrigerated immediately after collection and for no more than a period of three days).

While I was wondering how I was going to collect the diarrhea (since it is so liquidy that it is immediately absorbed into the diaper), the lab lady handed me an interesting little bag with a urinal-shaped foam "sticker" affixed to the top, explaining that Denton must wear this accessory in his diaper to catch any urine, because urine will contaminate the diarrhea to be tested (as if it wasn't contaminated to begin with). My mind swimming with details, I ventured a question: "How should I collect the 'specimen?'" to which she replied, "Well, when you think he's going to go, just try to put some of it in the vial." I tried not to laugh. "I never know when he's going to go," I explained, "and when he does, it immediately soaks into the diaper."

We finally came up with the "plastic tarp" approach, where I will strip Denton naked and leave him on a plastic tarp to play, with the urinal bag adhered to his body to keep any potential urine separate from "the specimen." Then when "the specimen" makes its appearance, I will scoop it into each container, bathe my son, and move on with my life (which right now is full of packing for our move, showing the house at any given moment, and caring for my two year old). Since Denton is only yielding "specimens" once every day or two, I have to plan my tarp day carefully. Once the first "specimen" is collected and in the refrigerator, the clock starts ticking: I have three days to collect the other three, since after three days the refrigerated one becomes invalid.

Sunday's the day, folks. We'll start early in the morning and hopefully we'll have collected all the toxic waste we need for delivery to the lab on Monday...as well as acquired an entirely new set of talents to add to my mommy resume.

before

Before I was a mom,
I slept all night and woke up rested.
I never worried about staying up too late.
I brushed my teeth every day and showered each morning.
I went to movies on the spur of the moment and had dinner in cloth-napkin restaurants.
I completed my train of thought and checked things off my list.

Before I was a mom,
My house stayed clean.
My shoes were always where I’d left them.
I never tripped over toys or found Cheerios in strange places.
I never wondered if my plants were poison­ous.
I never closed the bathroom door or scanned the floor for choking hazards.
I never worried about shopping cart handles.

Before I was a mom,
I never held down a screaming child in the doctor’s office.
I never felt my heart break when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried back.
I never wished it could have been me instead.

Before I was a mom,
I felt mature.
I knew the proper response to any situation.
I didn’t know my child would surprise me.
I didn’t know I’d doubt myself.
I didn’t know things would be complicated.
I didn’t know the job would be so hard.

Before I was a mom,
I didn’t know I’d drive more carefully,
Take fewer risks and more precautions.
I never had nightmares of being parted from my child.
I never cried over Amber alerts
Or muted violent TV commercials.
I never trembled when I watched the news
Or worried about how the world would be after I was gone.

Before I was a mom,
I never sat up at night watching a baby sleep.
I never kept holding him just because I didn’t want it to end.
I didn’t know my baby’s sweet smell
Or the sound of his soft breathing.
I’d never felt his warm face on my cheek
Or his little arms around my neck.

Before I was a mom,
My heart was my own.
I didn’t know someone so small could make my life so full.
I didn't know feeding a hungry baby would feed a part of me, too.
I didn’t know I had so many empty places
Or so many capable of overflowing.
I didn’t know my heart was so vulnerable…
Or so strong.

I didn’t know what I was missing.

15 things to pray for your children

1. their salvation
2. their mate
3. that they would fall in love with God's Word
4. that God would keep them from evil
5. that they would have a conscience void of offense before God and man
6. that their character would be more valuable to them than their credentials
7. that they would stand up for what's right, even if it means standing alone
8. that they would be kept from the love of money
9. that they would be kept morally pure
10. that they would have the heart of a servant
11. that eternity would burn in their hearts
12. that sin would always be distasteful to them and that they would be easily broken over sin
13. that they would love each other
14. that they would trust God with their parents and not allow rebellion to set in
15. that they would never grow bitter against God, regardless of the hardship

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

(Author unknown)

If you give a mom a muffin,
She'll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She'll pour herself some.
Her three-year-old will spill the coffee.
She'll wipe it up.
Wiping the floor, she'll find dirty socks.
She'll remember she has to do laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer,
She'll trip over boots and bump into the freezer.
Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan for supper.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She'll look for her cookbook ("101 Things To Do With a Pound of Hamburger").
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.
The check book is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old.
She'll smell something funny.
She'll change the two year old's diaper.
While she is changing the diaper, the phone will ring.
Her five-year-old will answer and hang up.
She'll remember she wants to phone a friend for coffee.
Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.
And chances are...
If she has a cup of coffee,
Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.

Success

"Success is the sum of small efforts--repeated day in and day out."

footwashing

After two back-to-back doctor’s appointments, I came home just before dinner to find that Mark had to leave ASAP for school and wouldn’t be back until 8 p.m. Strapping Denton into his booster seat and getting Creed settled at the table, I surveyed the kitchen to determine the fastest way to nourish my children.

Even though I’d spent over an hour the night before cleaning the kitchen, it had reverted again into a pit of despair and was piled high with dirty sippy cups, crusty half-eaten food portions, and a mound of supplies for creating meaningful, stimulating Lent and Easter items to lead us through a season of celebrating the new life we have in Christ. I couldn’t help wondering how in the world that new life would be manifested in our home when I couldn’t even find time to finish the Lenten Cross banner I’d started two nights ago, let alone keep the kitchen “springtime” fresh.

Dinner was a cacophony of demands, corrections, laughter, and Kindermusik, but somehow both boys managed to eat their fill and were excused to the living room to play while I tackled Mt. Everest, which included disposing of nearly ½ cup of dinner debris that had collected beneath Denton’s chair.

Cleanup time was punctuated by tearful bursts from Denton in the other room (I couldn’t adequately referee since I hadn’t seen what happened), several ill-timed business solicitation calls, and an unusual number of bathroom trips by Creed, who needed help scaling the baby safety gate each time in order to get to the bathroom without Denton in tow.

After the fourth trip to the bathroom (which also happened to be the second toilet poop of the evening and the millionth time I’d scrubbed our hands with antibacterial soap), I looked longingly at the clock and decided it was on my side: bedtime was at hand. “Everybody UP the stairs!” I said joyfully. Both boys happily complied, with me following to spot them. What I DID spot, however, was a large smushed brown lump amid smears on the sole of Creed’s right foot as he progressed upward.

“Creed, STOP. You have poop on your foot,” I said as calmly as I could. “Lift up your foot and come down. You’ll have to sit right there until I put Denton in bed; then I’ll come back and help you.” I motioned to the tile entryway at the foot of the stairs, but Creed was confused. Weren’t we going UPstairs? I lassoed him with my left arm and set him on the tile to wait for me. “Sit down, sweetheart. I’ll be right back,” I said, then felt something roll into my shins. It was Denton, who was rolling down the stairs. Thank goodness my legs were in the way. I scooped him up, and before anyone could bat an eye had his teeth brushed, diaper changed, PJs on, pacifier engaged, and lights out. One down, one to go.

I grudgingly made my way down the stairs to Creed, who sat obediently on the cold tile floor examining the poop on his foot. “DON’T TOUCH IT!” I yelled. He jerked his little hand away from the foot and sat quietly, absent-mindedly poking at his mouth with a piece of debris he’d discovered on the floor. “DON’T TOUCH YOUR MOUTH!” I shrieked. His dark eyes shot up and he lowered his hand soberly. I felt guilty. “Sweetie, there’s POOP everywhere. We can’t touch our mouths because there’s POOP everywhere and poop is really DIRTY.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he said patiently.

I went to the bathroom to find the toddler wipes. This was definitely going to take some moisture and scrubbing. But when I got there I realized why he had poop on his foot—there was poop on the floor. So I scrubbed it off of the tile and off of the stool where he had stood to wash his hands. Then I made my way out to Creed’s foot, armed with the toddler wipes, grumbling in my heart every step of the way, disgusted with the whole situation, and feeling deeply sorry for myself.

I started to scrub, trying to hide my disgust, but to no avail. “Mommy, what’s the matter?” Creed asked earnestly, looking with concern at my furrowed brow.

“Nothing, sweetheart, I’m just so frustrated,” I said, embarrassed.

It was at that moment—mid-scrub and up to my armpits in bad attitude and self-pity—that God gave me a glimpse of Christ. Not Christ teaching the crowds, challenging the status quo, or performing a miracle (all things I would have been delighted to do for God), but Christ stripped down to the essence of a slave, scrubbing the sludge off the feet of His disciples. We had just talked about what modern-day foot washing would look like at church two Sundays ago, but now I understood. I fought back tears as God’s object lesson soaked into my heart: Creed and Denton are MY disciples. They (and Mark) are my nearest and most constant opportunity to imitate Christ—to learn what it means to set my self aside and meet someone else’s needs. Some days that means an extra-long snuggly hug; other days it means scrubbing poop off little toes.

My eyes dropped to the little foot I held in my hand, and suddenly, surrounded by dirty toddler wipes on the entry mat, I heard Christ’s words: “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet.” I reached for another wipe and gently caressed his little foot as God wiped away all the resentment in my heart.