Grow Where You Are Planted

I remember when I first moved to Norman for college in the summer of 2006.  I despised everything about the town except for the university.  I hated that I would walk by a beautiful house on one street and find a dump within 50 feet of it (what zoning?), thought it was weird that there were bus stops and people actually waited at them to catch the city bus (where is your new BMW?), and lamented the loss of my Lifetime Fitness membership because most gyms in Norman are not big, corporate establishments.  Growing up in suburban Dallas with a bunch of rich, white folks left me with little tolerance for much that was different from the people and lifestyle I had grown accustomed to over the past 18 years.

During my years at the University of Oklahoma, I met my husband, who, much to my dismay at the time, is from Oklahoma.  We married and settled down in Norman, a place I swore I would leave as soon as I graduated.  I’m still here, almost 10 years after I arrived.  And, by God’s grace, I’ve grown to love this place.  Continue reading here.

On Productivity and Perspective

After a whole summer plus almost seven glorious weeks at home enjoying my little ones, I'm headed back to work tomorrow.  I have mixed emotions, naturally.  I feel so much purpose in my job as a Pre-K teacher.  And I love my own children.  I told Piper this morning that we were all just going to go to Momma's work together tomorrow.  She seemed to think that would be fine.

I am productive at my job.  If there is one thing I can do well, it is cranking out lesson plans.  I can efficiently gather materials for centers, execute small group instruction, and write individual behavior and education plans.  I have my "off" days, like everyone else, and I am not under any delusion that I am the best teacher ever to exist.  But I know how to get things done.

Home is a different story.  My two-year-old was just getting pretty good at entertaining herself for a short time when I gave birth to Caroline.  Y'all, it took me three hours to make dinner on Friday.  Three hours!  This is about how long it takes to do anything anymore.  Get out the onions to chop.  Toddler wakes up from nap.  "I want a snack."  Start chopping onions.  "I need to go potty."  Finish chopping onions, get out meat to brown.  Toddler begins coloring on the table with chalk.  Baby wakes up (girl can scream when she's hungry).  Start feeding baby.  She spits up in my hair, for the third time today.  Finish feeding baby.  Blowout!  All over my jeans that just came out of the laundry (which is forever overflowing)!  Toddler is playing in the cleaning supplies.  Finish browning meat.  "Piper, you can't put your hand on Sissy's tummy when you're trying to stand up!"  Calm two crying children... You get it.  This is normal life.  Days full of nonstop activity, yet I rarely have anything to show for them when my husband walks in the door at 6:00 p.m.  I write things on my daily to-do list, and they may or may not be done three days later.  A prime example is the fact that, so far, it has taken me 53 minutes and approximately seven interruptions to write this blog post.

I have had to completely change my perspective on how I view this season of my life.  My children cause interruptions, but they themselves are not interruptions.  They are gifts.  I have found that, 95 percent of the time when I get frustrated with the way my day is going, it is because my plans (which usually are self-centered) have gone awry.  Andrew was getting ready to go for a run a few nights ago when both girls woke up screaming.  His response was, "Well, I'm basically not going to get to do things when I want to do them anymore, ever, right now."  We're both coming around to accepting that.

This time is a season.  These girls are a blessing.  This work is good.  I might not have anything tangible to show for all I've done with my kids at the end of the day, but I get to mold young hearts and minds, teach them about the world around them, and hope that God will use my filthy hands to point them to Christ.  There could be nothing more productive or important than that.  And one day, I'm sure I'll miss these little people needing me so much.