Walking in My Shoes

Things do change when you have kiddies, and I'm not just talking about the extra 10 pounds I've been frontpacking for the past half a year.  My mentality has shifted into sort of a maternal proclivity to protect my young more so than any other instinct. This may have had inklings in my dealings with family and friends, all too often related to food!  I wanted to take care of the peeps in my life, and what better way to do than to feed them?  I have since learned that there are better ways to care for and protect others.  Albeit somewhat extreme, how about taking a bullet for someone?  I have had one friend proclaim that kind of sacrificial love for me years ago, and I am still touched by her unselfish gesture, even if it was just through words.  But I think that even she would think twice now that she has kiddies to watch over too.  Maybe if the bullet she took for me could be removed and she would recover, then she would be willing to do it.  Hmm, I'll have to ask her.  But see, this goes one step beyond genuine care for a friend. And this protective quality didn't manifest itself as my foremost feeling until the girls invaded my life.

I think it's common to hear people desire to take on pain for their children.  Even when my little one doesn't sleep well because of a winter cold, I secretly wish to take on the germs for her.  I wish I could give her my breath so she could sleep peacefully through the night.  But is it so irrational to even give me a disdain for the lone mosquito that dared enter my household in search of fresh blood?  On two occasions, I have found myself up late at night hunting a pest down to keep it from finding prey in my little ones.  When I wake up with puffy eyelids and a red forehead from a battle lost (though a war later won!), I count those battle wounds as essential scars.  And I am grateful my girls come out unscathed.

I could continue to be fecetious about this, but now that I face a more serious illness with one child, I find myself simply helpless to fight her battle for her.  I suppose that's how the Lord designed us to be, wholly dependent on Him.  But why must little children suffer so that we might learn this lesson?  Perhaps I am being a bit too self centered in assuming that that is what it's about.  All I know is that the screams of my little baby are painful and true.  And all I want to do is hug it all away.  But if I've learned anything from Gloria's passing, I do know that He can and is glorified in all our suffering.  And I'll be darned if He isn't through this.

10,000 Miles

I am at a proverbial loss for words.  When I read the heartwrenching accounts of kiddies suffering, parents sacrificing, and heroes saving, I hug my husband and children all the more long.  But today, the hugs are longer; I just don't want to let go.   

When we were teenagers or even college grads, 36 seemed old and past our prime.  Today, 36 seems full of hope with a yearning for things to come.  There's a new eagerness to discover what your kiddies will learn today and become tomorrow.  It's a second wind, opening another chapter in this life on earth.  36 is inarguably too young to die.

I was privileged to hear my friend Gloria sing praises to our glorious Maker on her baby Taylor guitar, at the top of her whisper, in a place where people are punished for declaring His name.  And I was doubly blessed to see her don a dress while sweetly singing at Sung and Clint's wedding after we returned from the Motherland.  We've joked about our shared love for our wacky Taiwanese heritage and laughed about surviving those harsh Boston winters.  I can still see her smiling face and hear her contagious laugh.

Gloria will never see her girls bring home their first As or try to hide their first Cs.  She'll miss trying to wipe that silly grin off her face when she first sees Karinna hold hands with a boy.  Gloria won't be sitting on the bride's side when her girls become one with God fearing men.  And she won't be there to hold her grandchildren, smiling and cooing after their first breaths of air.  But Gloria will be pain free in her new body, rejoicing in our Lord, seeing Him in all His glory.  And one day, she will be reunited with her girls, when her hugs can last for all eternity.

My heart is hiccupping in anticipation of God to fulfill His perfect plan today.  Sing as loud as you can when you see Jesus, Gloria!  What a celebration it will be. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43Tz3pVb9Dg

Just Can't Get Enough

What was going through my sleep deprived head last September, when I was mourning the soon to disappear alone time with my newly labelled toddler?  I mistakenly guessed that my cherished days of playing, reading, and quiet cuddling would fade away once her baby sister invaded her territory. Little did I know that the days of watching her discover the world around her through bumps, bruises, and foam tiles would not wane but become all the more intriguing!

Life with two minis has been full of highs and lows, but mostly the former.  To see an almost two year old forehead bump her infant sister, attempt to change her diaper, and bring her every toy in the house cannot even begin to be tagged as priceless.  I've witnessed older sister tenderness that wouldn't have been drawn out had that little one not joined the crew.  And how about that dance of giddiness that MeiMei does whenever we go get JieJie from her nap?  Yes, it's been tiring, but hey, people do this everyday with more than two!  Adrenaline might get you through a moment, but love affords a lifetime.  Did someone say that?  If not, someone should have.

Admittedly, the second heir to this Sun fortune (this term is relative, yes?) missed out on the awe that comes from first time parents.  First smile, teeth, solid food, crawling...we have probably taken only a third of the pictures we did of the firstborn.  Novelty and fame do accompany family position, I must say.  The second is developing on a totally different timeline, but sadly, it will not be completely documented.  It's not to say that our fondness for the Baba family look alike is less.  The extra pair of hands is just generally preoccupied.  But that doesn't mean we love her any less, not even in the least.

It continues to surprise me is how the joyful entry of a second human being into my family would be marred by a groundless fear of not having enough love to share.  My fear was that my love would be split between two offspring, as if it definitively filled a measuring cup.  But it, in fact, doubles.  No wonder our idea of God is confined to the boundaries drawn by our limited minds.  If God's love were limited, how then, would I be saved, 'cause He would've used up His quota before I could be bailed out.

Nope, still don't know how far and and how and how deep is the love of God.  And I like it that way.

Inside Out

It finally happened. Abigail peed on me while I was changing her diaper. I never thought it would happen, since she's a girl for one, but also because I just thought it wouldn't happen to me. Four months have disappeared quicker than the day can drag on. I don't know if that makes an iota of sense, but to moms who stay home, I'm pretty sure it resonates with them.

This week I have had to face the reality of ceasing to nurse my little one. Somehow my body decided it was time to stop, even though my heart is not ready. For the past week, I've been in denial, drinking liters of water, popping Fenugreek like it was candy, and having a frustratingly hungry little girl try to squeeze a few drops out before feedings. It is time to face the proverbial facts. Although I have had more than 10 weeks of beautiful bonding with Abby, I am struck hard by grief. Having her look up at me with those intriguing, insatiable eyes while she fed on what little sustenance my body could muster up, stirred an enveloping warmth that emanated from my heart to the tips of my fingers and toes. This was solely mine to give her, something no one else could. In my head, I know that she will still be nourished by other means, but in my heart, there's a feeling of loss.

And now I am suddenly transfixed by a worshipful melody that speaks so privately to me. It's as if my Lord has taken my head in both His hands as He looks lovingly into my own intriguing, insatiable eyes. And without a word, He wants to give me peace. He brings me back to a fond memory on day four when I was filled with sorrow, with tears flowing down my cheek, crying out to Him for mercy. When suddenly a miniature hand reached up and began to stroke my chin, as if to say, "it's okay, mama, it'll be okay."

A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
And should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
My heart and my soul, I give You control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise, become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
Your will above all else, my purpose remains
The art of losing myself in bringing you praise
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
My heart, my soul, Lord I give you control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out, O my soul cries out
My Soul cries out to You
My Soul cries out to You
to You, to You
My heart, my soul, Lord I give you control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out, O my soul cries out
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out, O my soul cries out
From the inside out, O my soul cries out
From the inside out, O my soul cries out.

How loving a father, my Father is.

I Can See Clearly Now

Before Abby invaded our lives, I was given some advice I reflexively agreed with in my heart but did not play out practically in my head. My experientially wise friend told me I needed to keep my husband first before my child. I nodded without hesitation when she emphatically insisted in earnest while looking me straight in the eyes. As if I hadn't heard her the first time, she repeated, "No really, you need to put him first." I got it, sistah; heard you the first time!

Apparently I didn't really hear her...both times.

For those of you who wear spectacles, do you remember the first time you donned those world opening, nerd goggles? I recall how vividly I could see each leaf on the trees we drove past on upstate NY's highways. That's what it's like when I look back in retrospect. Ah, clarity! Too bad it often takes me a moment too long to get the truth into focus.

When I think about the two, earth-shattering fights my husband and I chose to partake in, the two reasons for our emotionally charged outburts seem to turn around and mock me with arms akimbo: cloth diapers and whether to soothe a crying baby at 3am. The details of those arguments now allude me (or at least it's my desire not to remember them), but what strikes me most are the feelings of being misunderstood. I can only speak from down in my bunker that I could not understand why he couldn't see my perspective. I felt like I wasn't being heard. I felt attacked. I felt betrayed! I, I, I! It was so simple. I waded waist deep in selfishness like I was wrapped in a warm blanket on a chilly Saturday morning not wanting to dip my toes into the cold sea of the wood floor. Why can't I help myself? Sigh.

How does God love each of us so completely? Afterall, there are so many of us. I'm just trying to love two people, each like he and she are the king and queen of my world. But I find sometimes I inadvertantly choose one over the other...and of course, at the wrong times.

I'm looking for some tips on how to love better, God. Got any to share?

Money, Money, Money

There's a balance to be struck between living and saving, all in the name of good stewardship. And even as I type this, struggling for a more appropriate word for spending, I lean towards conserving and tucking away those extra bucks for something more need based.

Living in the Bay area, I find it amazing that we can make decisions about purchasing a home upwards of a million dollars, based on a 15 minute staged tour. Agents herd us through like cattle, disguising significant wear and tear, magically transforming inadequacies into character. Sure, we do our homework before promising to plop down the bulk of our savings in one fell swoop, but it is usually with some imagined pressure from other customers willing to make the same rash decision. So people do this everyday here in this area, but after the loans are funded, escrow is closed, and the title is recorded with the county, what's reasonable to sink into your new, old house?

I'd like to think I've never been an intentionally wasteful person, though I have made my share of financial blunders. But I still struggle with what it means to be a good steward of the monies God has given me. I often have mixed feelings about getting a raise, because to whom more is given, more is expected. We've purchased a house with the option of living under one income, so will less be expected? Okay, so maybe that's too legalistic a perspective, but now how tightly do I hold to the smaller resources that aren't so easily replenished on a biweekly basis?

No wonder He has so much to say about finances in that book of His...

Big Shot

Why is it that we feel a universal sense of needing to be in control? The more in control we feel, the more secure and confident we are. And the less at the healm we are, the more anxious and nervous we feel. Sometimes, though, I am scared that that feeling of being in control is a false purveyor of confidence. Perhaps we have such a kindergarten understanding of the situation that we lose the need to take careful, hesitant, and intentional forward steps.

So what should we do when things are out of control? Should we revel in our weakness in faith that the Lord is in the proverbial driver's seat? Or should we be ever more fastidious in securing every strap of our often ill-equipped backpacks?

The Lord has brought me to an interesting place in my life. By the world's standards, it would say that I married later in life, but in retrospect, I think I...er, God...was right on time. I had a lot of maturing to do, so I doubt my marriage would be this good so far, had we pulled the trigger years ago. I did do my share of vying for the steering wheel, the gas pedal, and the gear shifter on the way here, though. But all it did was make me a crazy Asian driver who caused more than one fender bender along the way.

These days I feel less ill at ease being a passenger. With my career in question, the stress of more home ownership looming, and an alien knocking half my internal organs around, it almost feels normal to have lost sight of the reins. My perspective on where I am in the car has dimmed, as evidenced by my recent trip to urgent care to be rehydrated after a bout of gastroenteritis precluded even water from staying down. Three weeks of subsequent infections, a bland, restricted diet, bleeding, and numerous calls and trips to my friendly neighborhood physicians certainly would have sent me into a downward spiral of hopelessness. But surprisingly, my pilot provided more than enough peanuts and beverages on the trip to put me at ease. What a blessing to know the outcome won't even be close to the nightmarish ending my little brain conjured up while I was in terrible pain.

My curiosity still would prefer to know how the author wants this story to play out. But I'm okay not knowing all the details just yet.