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.