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)

morning watch

"The morning watch is essential. You must not face the day until you have faced God, nor look into the face of others until you have looked into His. You cannot expect to be victorious if the day begins only in your own strength. Face the work of every day with the influence of a few thoughtful, quiet moments with your heart and God. Do not meet other people, even thos of your own home until you have first met the great Guest and honored Companion of your life--Jesus Christ. Meet Him alone. Meet Him regularly. Meet Him with His open Book of counsel before you; and face the regular and the irregular duties of each day with the influence of His personality definitely controlling your every act."

--Mrs. Charles Cowman, Streams in the Desert

Contentment

"Contentment is not satisfaction. It is the grateful, faithful, fruitful use of what we have, little or much. It is to take the cup of Providence and call upon the name of the Lord. What the cup contains is its contents. To get all that is in the cup is the act and art of contentment. Not to drink because one has but half a cup, or because one does not like its flavor, or because somebody else has silver to one's own glass, is to lose the contents; and that is the penalty, if not the meaning, of discontent. No one is discontented who employs and enjoys to the utmost what he has."

--Maltbie D. Babcock (1858-1901)

Expectations

"Don't reject a blessing because it's packaged differently than you expected."

--Mom

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.

communion

I took the cup
Held it in my warm palm
Watched the rich blood-color
Realized the wine
Pulsing in its cup—
Tremors rhythmed from my hand
Like ripples in a small red pond—
I saw my heart in the cup
Alive and pulsing
His death my lifeblood