Dear Roscoe: 4, 5, & 6 Years

“Unbound. Untamed. Will not be confined.”

These were the words KK awoke with from a dream about you while you were still kicking around in my belly, just beneath my heartbeat. She’s usually right about these kinds of things, but I promptly dismissed those wild descriptions once you arrived and laid claim to the title of World’s Best Baby. You slept through the night from early on… played contently by yourself… expressed only little grunts to convey hunger. You never cried or had strong opinions; you just snuggled and slept and rubbed your hair while you nursed. So please—just try to imagine my surprise when you raged through your teething phase, only for me to realize two years later that your mouth was at full capacity with tiny teeth, yet you weren’t done yelling. Silly mommy! This was no phase: this was simply your General Disposition. 

You are hot and you are cold. You are strong and you are fragile. You are frustrated and you are forbearing. You are elated and you are furious. You are fierce and you are gentle. You are hurtful and you are helpful. You are both protagonist and antagonist. You surprise me every single day and every single day I find myself unsure of what version of you I will mother. You are so clever, so deeply emotional, so wild in your spirit, so creative, and so comical. KK dreamt that too. You and I are alike in our strong wills, quick thinking, sass mouths, thin skin, and magnetic personalities and I have certainly met my match in you.  

I have blamed you for my inappropriate responses to this challenge of mothering you. You’d think a person would know just how to handle a tiny version of themselves, but this is false logic. I have often failed you as I’ve tried to love and raise you. I have made you feel small. I have made decisions rooted in embarrassment. I have acted out of my fear. I have foolishly repeated mistakes. I have misunderstood you, have miscommunicated with you, have misdirected my anger at you. But all of that actually has so little to do with you and most everything to do with me. The best thing to come out of 2020 was that my desperation for connecting with you landed me on a journey to my own emotional restoration—rooting out my own baggage and impairments so I can more fully love God with all my heart, soul, mind, strength, and love my littlest neighbor as myself. You have served as my number one Redemptive Agent in recent years, a stark reminder that life’s biggest joys and pains are often one and the same. I’m probably just gonna get you a t-shirt for your birthday that says “Here 2 Sanctify U.” For that, I say both a humble Thank you! and an exasperated GO TO YOUR ROOM!!

So…

I know you think God is the worst because even though he could take away your bad dreams, he hasn’t. Also, I hear you—having chocolate and Mountain Dew for breakfast would toooootally be like having poop & pee as your meal. And yes! Daddy knows lots about Ibrahim Lincoln—firstly that he was, indeed, not a Muslim and that his name was actually Abraham. But you’re six (6!!) today so you probably already learned all that by now. And being such, you should also know that this will likely be the last year that we will accept excuses such as “well, you see, the reason I forgot to do that thing you asked is just because I’m really good at forgetting stuff. Like, REALLY really good!” 

Please keep confessing to us when you sneak food or color on the walls, because we know it was you already. And keeping with the theme of Family Rule #1: Speak the Truth, we know the reason you always volunteer to pray before meals is that yours are guaranteed to be the shortest prayers of all (thank-you-for-this-food-and-this-family-amen). Your face could never tell a lie and it’s a face that more than just your mama loves. We’re all crazy about you.

Mama loves you. Keep it real, buddy. I know you will.

Dear Shepherd: (6 &) 7 Years

Facebook just told me that three years ago you were tantrum-ing, having an ugly attitude, & using really disrespectful words. I remember that day. We were in idyllic Scotland—cold, dreary, perfect. Daddy was at school, so I fought through warm layers & toddler socks then loaded you & your brother up, determined to press reset on our day. Roscoe fell asleep in the back of the stroller on our walk through Old Town Edinburgh. I decided to let him get a nap out, so I detoured our journey to the park & stopped at Victor Hugo—that charming French delicatessen just on the edge of the Meadows. We sipped our steaming cappuccinos, watched the bundled passers by, & probably chatted about Archie from nursery or super heroes or climbing trees.

I have zero bad memories from that day, although the internet tells me differently. Funny how our brains work like that. Like how stressful events re-program our brain: after a trauma, certain receptors command neurons from our emotional brain to stop activating in order to protect us from uncontrollable fear. Which I’m pretty sure is the process between pregnancies because how else would mamas do labor & delivery all over again?

If only I could see through the difficulties. You know, just fast forward a few months or years & pre-distill it all down in real time to the sweet memories that those challenges actually leave me with. There would be a fraction of the worry, reduced frustration, & a steadily decreasing sense of offense on my part. Then I’d be left with what really matters—the love & the tenderness & the time-hop photos for years to come. Oh, you wearing that beanie was soul crushingly sweet. And I’m just now remembering that it fell into a public toilet later that day. I’m sure I was angry but laughing then, yet I’m only laughing now. Distilled memories—the negative emotion evaporates with time & in the end you’re only left with refined pleasure. Think: a 25 year old Talisker but Baptist. Maybe you’ll know how to read in English by the time you’re old enough for this metaphor to resonate.

While this last year has neither been influenced by major upheavals nor joys, it has been a season of personal spinning out for me. It would almost be easier if I had some event(s) to point at for its cause, yet I don’t. But still, I have either felt intense emotional whirlwinds or I have felt very little at all. I have been both confident in AND unsure about myself, my work, my abilities, my relationships. This has affected my general output in many areas & at times I have had to surrender everything outside of the necessities. It all left me in a weird place cognitively & creatively, so your sixth birthday letter never happened. I have swung between shame & apathy in its wake, but ultimately know that my worth as your mother has never hinged on my penned thoughts addressed publicly to you. So today I am setting my all-or-nothing nature aside & just calling last year’s letter a wash. It is hard for me to admit that I never could produce it, but I just couldn’t pull it off. So here I am again—that reset button in all its glory.

Alas, in the last two years—

You have championed me in my Arabic learning as you have faced your fears of attending French school. Every day that I am tempted to throw in the towel on my sixth language, it has been YOUR bravery that inspires me to press on. Language learning is so special done as a family & I’m proud I get to do it in yours.

You say “meteor” instead of medium, think Ethiopia is called “Zootopia,” play “sharks & widows” in the pool, yell “FIRE & BEHOLD” during nerf gun wars, really want to go to “Peter Potter” school (total Gryffindor), decorated our house for Halloween back in March, & think the worst part of going to school is that is has no parents around to play with.

Together we have experienced another hot season in Chad, felt the mist of Victoria Falls in Zambia, had countless movie nights under our A/C, trick-or-treated with tiny friends in Kenya, learned catechisms & timeless truths around the breakfast table, experienced the mighty winds of the Cape of Good Hope, said & done hurtful things, forgiven & been forgiven, laughed at each other, chased penguins on Boulder Beach, adventured through stacks on stacks of books, floated 10 yards from Southern Right Whales in Cape Town, & most recently have entered the world of French homework (at which I am operating at approximately toddler proficiency. Bonne chance, mon fils!).

But none compare to driving home from church together on Mother’s Day this year when you casually broke the silence with, “Mama—I prayed & asked God to forgive me of my sins last night when I was laying in my bed.” It has been my greatest joy to watch the Lord further soften your already tender heart & to disciple you as you work out your brand new baby salvation. For seven years I have had the privilege of loving you as my son, & now it is my deepest honor to love you as my brother. What grace!

Love you big as the sky,
Mama

Dear Roscoe: 3 Years

It is not in my nature to do cutesy things. I avoid cheesy things like a vegan & I hate a cliché. But with you & your brother fresh off to your new French-speaking school, I’ve let my guard down & all bets are off. Because, spoiler alert: you don’t speak French yet & language learning is HARD. I put together a contingency plan should you feel confused, sad, or lonely in your brand-new environment, which included reading you the book The Kissing Hand the night before you started school. Choking back tears, I opened this precious book about a little raccoon who didn’t want to start school because he just wanted to stay home with his mama. His mama, unlike me, knew just the cutesy thing to do reassure her darling son in this new venture: she would kiss his hand before they parted ways so he could press it up against his cheek when he needed reminding about how much his mama loves him. The kiss would travel from his hand to his heart so he couldn’t forget his mama’s love. And I’m guessing that her kiss couldn’t possibly get lost or washed off until she gave him another one, but I’ll never know. Because 4 pages in to that sticky sweet moment, you looked square in my eyes & said you didn’t want to read THIS! RACCOON! BOOK! anymore & that I could read it ALL! BY! MY! SELF!

So, nah to the cutesy for you too? I won’t make that mistake again!

It’s been another big year for our family. We have traveled from the UK to all over the American southeast to East Africa & Europe then back to East Africa before settling in Central Africa. You have called 7 places home in the past 12 months, never concerning yourself with anything more than your blanket & a mama hair when your head hit that new pillow. Not until this most recent move to Chad, which was when you started saying you wanted to go “home.” I do wish I had 5 minutes’ access into that rapidly developing brain of yours because I would be fascinated to know where on God’s green earth you consider home.

You show immense potential for being a leader with a big heart for justice. You don’t like it when people aren’t being good listeners, when others disobey, or when there’s no regard for the rules. Funny little reparation system you have there, because apparently these laws apply to everyone but you. Probably the biggest current event in our home is when you yell “YOU’RE FIRED!!!!” at daddy & me after getting a spanking. I dare say you would make it through one morning without chocolate milk before realizing you made a big mistake firing us. Also: is this a good time to remind you that calling people “stupid head” is doing nothing for your review ratings? Who let you watch Sponge Bob anyway?! Grandaddy??

If we’re all being honest here, I’ve spent most of this past year being mad at you. Raising you requires a lot of things that also aren’t in my nature. I’m easily angered in the moments when you need my patience. I’m tempted to shout when you need me to speak gently. Sometimes I totally lose it when you need me to be controlled. And so, the irony is not lost on me that you love to water our trees. Taking care of vegetation (kids) that is vulnerable to the desert sun (life) demands a steady flow of vigor & sacrifice. You teach me so clearly as you struggle through our sandy yard with that giant water hose: I’ve got to keep on pouring out. My own parents will probably stroke out hearing me have this revelation, because little Mr. Big Feelings: I am raising a tiny version of myself. There, dad, are you happy?

Please keep on asking to use Shepherd’s “wash mouth” after brushing your teeth & never EVER stop craving a “really really great story” at bedtime. Stay this squishy forever, but PLEASE: put your freaking shoes back on before going into public toilets & stop bullying up on babies.

Love you forever & late again as per,
Mama

Dear Shepherd: 5 Years

I woke up this morning to your still-little snores. Daddy’s been out of town for the past 2 nights & you’ve laid claim to his spot in our bed. My favorite part of you sleeping in our bed is when you reach out in the night to make sure I’m still there. That, and when you play with my hair as you’re falling asleep—just because you know I love it.

There’s something about you being FIVE that makes you seem all at once so big and so tiny. Too big to want help pouring your milk but still too tiny to do it without making a mess of things. You’re conflicted about whether or not you still like Elmo or if he’s just for babies. Some nights you live to bathe & brush teeth all by yourself, but others you just. can’t. do. it. & still need Mama’s help.

Something we’re realizing about your personality is that you are a follower. I think that’s why it’s challenging for you to sort out your preferences, because you are swayed easily by those around you. This is something you will need to tend to & be mindful of as you live & grow—because it’s easy to follow poorly but it’s hard to follow well. Good following requires good leading, and God knows I’m trying my absolute best.

It’s been another big year split among three continents, another year calling 5 places home. You board each plane like it’s your job, say your hellos & goodbyes with strength, appreciate every layer of our complex lives, & are ever-enthusiastic about what’s ahead of us. Leaving Scotland earlier this year was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in a while. But your enthusiasm for the adventure to come protected you from dwelling on the grief. I dreaded leaving the cold while you celebrated the warmth we were headed back to in Africa. I was mourning the autonomous life we were walking away from while you were desperate for reuniting with cousin-friends… spending endless afternoons of climbing rocks, sword fighting, playing “video games” with your paper weapons, collecting treasures of rocks & bugs & trash, sharing dinners together, & building BOYS ONLY forts. I was focusing on the end of an era while you couldn’t help but see the beginning of another. So maybe you’re not a born leader, but I’m following you in embracing the future, looking only to the past as a point of reference, growth, & joy.

Currently you watch Night at the “Uzema” (Museum) on repeat, you neglect all the lizards you catch as your “pets,” you’re looking forward to an upcoming trip to Spain so you can say “hola amigos” & sing Feliz Navidad once we get there, you ask for a cup of coffee in the afternoons, you love speaking “languages,” & you really get a rush when you beat me at UNO. You are a dynamite kid & I delight in being your Mama.

This past summer you told a room full of small children that they would all go to hell if they don’t follow Jesus & just yesterday you told me that I am a little bit fat. While I highly value honesty, a bit more diplomacy next time? (PS: you’re grounded for yesterday).

I love you forever & am so sorry that I’m a month late this year,
Mama

Thoughts on Mother’s Day

People come down on babies in bellies for stretching a mother so literally & figuratively thin that actual stretch marks appear. Figuratively speaking, I’ve never been so psychotic as when I became Maridith Lane the Mom, Est. 2012. I feel myself losing brain cells on the daily. Literally speaking, the stretch marks were there WAY before my belly housed a human, so that’s on me I guess.

I hear all you optimists shouting from the mothering mountaintops that you love every second as a mom and just savor it and it all passes too fast but enough is enough. I love my baby boys so much it makes my legs go numb but I don’t always like them. Some would argue that’s because I’m not content in life or because I don’t even like myself. Maybe that’s true sometimes but we’re not talking about me. Pessimists make up the other 50% of the world’s population so let us just have a minute, ok?

The difference between your first & second labors/deliveries? You called a taxi for a ride to the hospital the first go round. You drove yourself to pick up KFC & newborn diapers on the way to the hospital the second go round.

Another difference? Two sets of stitches & 3 days in hospital with baby number one. No tearing with number two & you were home a mere 10 hours after pushing out that bundle, hosting a party for friends who were moving. There’s nothing you can’t do.

The best thing I’ve ever heard about mothering came from my dear friend & mentor, Charlotte Cearly. “Motherhood is just so… daily.” It never ends. And quite frankly, sometimes you just want it to. Just for five minutes, though, because you will start to miss those tiny people you desperately wanted to send into exile just moments before. This is your job forever & ever. No backing down. No letting up. Unless you’re in the cookie aisle with two in diapers. THAT’S when you give in.

No one prepares you for how bi-polar you will become in your marriage. One moment, your heart will soar with a new-found love for your husband-turned-father. The next moment, he can’t do anything right & why do you have to do it all by yourself & why can’t he just remember how to do this & PLEASE! it’s actual common sense & AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Motherhood: the near-impossible balance between “do it yourself, son” & “here, let mama help.”

Mother’s Day this year is giving me all the manic-depressive feels. I want another baby but I also want to never have a baby ever again. Is it possible to snuggle a newborn for a few months & then give them away until they have proper linguistic ability & a mid-range level of self-sufficiency? Asking for a friend.

It is unlikely that my boys will ever know this heart-stopping, back aching, belly stretching, motherly love since they indeed will never be mothers. But I won’t let that stop me from showing them how it’s done, one mind-numbing day at a time.

Dear Roscoe: 2 Years

My favorite thing you did this year happened on a city bus. Daddy splurged & let you out of the stroller because Mama is mean & never does. He stood you up & you reached right out across the aisle for a sweet old-lady-stranger to hold you. You snuggled down into her lap & rode sweetly on her knee for the rest of our journey. We had just spent a few months with your real life, blood related Grannies & I like to think you stretched your arms to her for homestyle warmth. She readily obliged. She wasn’t your family but for just those few minutes, you made her such.

You made your way into our family with the squishiest forehead that I’ve since kissed a million times over. I loved you so wildly that it opened a to-the-quick bravery in me. I was so unsure as a first time mother just a couple years before, but I felt so resolute in mothering you. You were content, all quiet, undisturbed. You nursed, you played, you slept. You couldn’t even be bothered to cry. Not even whimper. Never.

But then you entered toddlerhood. You made up for all lost ground & were quick to let the world know you had opinions. You basically cut all your teeth at once & it made you angry for about 6 months straight. If we could have talked about it like adults, I imagine the conversations would have gone something like this…

Me: I need to get groceries.
You: That’s cute. But what about MY needs?

Me: It’s nap time.
You: Ask nicely.
Me: Please?
You: WAAAAAAAAAAAH

Me: Smile for the picture, buddy!
You: Screw you!

Me: Time for dinner! I made your favorite!
You: My FAVORITE? You don’t know me.

Me: Come this way, pal.
You: Nobody puts baby in a corner.

Me, after I finally lost it: WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS HATE YELLING? I’M SO TIRED & I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! STOP SCREAMING AT ME! YOU DON’T HAVE TO WHINE TO GET MY ATTENTION! WHY???????
You: Only God can judge me.

I quickly went from courageous mother to exasperated self-doubter. It was not my finest time, but we made it through. You started asking “peas?” for things instead of freaking out to get your way. You started giving loads of kisses, solicited & otherwise. You kept on sucking your thumb & snuggling down in the crook of my left arm. You started asking me to sing The Wheels on the Bus before bed (“busss”). You desperately want to sleep in the bed with your big brother & yell “Shepah! Are you?” when you can’t find him. You know all of the animals & the sounds they make. You watch the panda episode of Go Diego Go on repeat. You love your monster PJs & yell “ouch” as you pretend that the monster bites. You think it’s funny to eat gross things. And you pee in the bathtub every. single. time.

It was touch & go there for a while, but I’ve loved you desperately the whole time though. Forgive me for being 3 days late on your letter this year, but what kind of second child would you be if I did everything on time?

Mama
xo

Dear Shepherd: 4 Years

Your passport says you’re American, but you didn’t step foot in the U.S. until the fifth month of your third year. When we arrived at our apartment in Georgia, you gasped & let out an ardent OH MY GOODNESS! over the awaiting half dozen toys in your room. Your appreciative outlook on life had Papa in tears, but we were all swimming in your feels. With bellies full of McDonalds & gas station coffee, we settled our travel-weary bones into our beds for what was your first night ever in my hometown. You slept peacefully, not vexed by even the series of shotgun fires at 3am. But me? I sat up straight, clammy in that cloud of a bed, ears acute. Mamas & sojourners in at-war countries make the lightest of sleepers, of which I’m both. But in my sleep-deprived haze I remembered we were now in the foothills of Appalachia & reduced things down to a robber scare-off or an opossum execution. We woke only a few hours later to Daddy-made coffee, eggs, biscuits, bacon, & all the love that little kitchen could hold—finally sharing you again with KK, the only other one who’s known you your whole life, & Papa, the one you wrinkle your forehead like.

Watching you play with Snowbird friends & calling everyone “cousins” was & frankly is, still too much. We’ve worked so hard over your few years to help you sort out family relationships. But the best we could do from 3000 miles away was the occasional FaceTime call & showing you photos of family, asking, “who’s that? And where is Mommy’s brother?” You went through a phase in South Sudan where you would line up all the grandparents’ photos around your breakfast or take them all outside to climb our Land Cruiser. It seemed very Japanese, like honoring the dead, but we just went with it & wished everyone their due fun.

Life on the farm in Tennessee with Nammy & Grandaddy was a dream. Every day you would walk downstairs before 7am & ask Grandaddy, “what’s for lunch?” A highlight was post-supper rides on the pony & your reaction to coming back into the A/C every single time: “ooooh, that’s NICE!” You loved all your cousins instantly & called everyone Aunt Kathy there for a while. You were scared of Grandma right off but after I gave a few whisper-shouts-through-clenched-teeth YOU WILL HUG YOUR GRANDMOTHERs, you guys were super-pals. You would point to every white elderly woman in Wal-Mart or the post office or restaurants & overtly ask, “is that my Grandma?” Sure, son, because you’re new here. Also: automatic car washes are totally your jam & fine, I’ll share my $4 latte with you & ok, we’ll go through just one. more. time.

We’ve emigrated again, this time to Scotland. You packed your backpack with all your essential toys but you refused to carry it. You’re irresistible when you say “Edinburgh.” You go to nursery school 2 days a week & always report that you “didn’t” hit your friends. You talk about a boy called Joshua, & I’m pretty sure he’s the one you “didn’t” hit. You love Kinder surprise eggs (but only the ones with super heroes inside OH MY GOSH), getting pizza & meeting Daddy at the park, picking out a snack at soft play, sitting upstairs on the bus, helping me cook your 2 eggs every morning, & watching play-doh shows on YouTube SO HELP ME GOD. You don’t love swim lessons or your yoga class at school just yet but it’s too early to declare that you’ve inherited the exercise-aversion gene (from your father’s side, if anyone asks).

Sad to see you graduate to giving an actual thumbs up instead of pointing your index fingers, but turning four does means that you’re “really really BIG tiny” now.

We live our lives on the pendulum swing but you always keep in rhythm. Please keep saying “toast” with a Scottish accent, asking everyone if they’re ok after they cough, & offering Roscoe “some cup of tea.” Looooove, eye, looooove, YOU!

Two days early this year,
Mama

Dear Roscoe: One Year

You are totally in the throes of second baby treatment. You nurse on demand. Your juice isn’t cut by 90% water. You’ve already eaten your fair share of desserts & often get Pringles for a snack. Your journal has a total of 3 entries. I’ve not taken nearly enough photos of you. And I couldn’t recall the exact date of when you first smiled or sat unassisted if a gun was held to my head.

But oh, I enjoy you.

Nursing you has been carefree & fun. You love juice too much to yuck it down with water. You just love table food & let’s not pretend I have the fortitude to withhold it from you. I’m too busy watching you & oooh-ing & awww-ing to hand-write what you’re doing or what you’re in to. I dropped my phone in water while I was juggling fresh produce in one hand & you in the other & now I can’t actually see my screen to take pictures. And no, I don’t remember the dates of all your firsts, but I was there & I was present & I wasn’t worried if you were hitting all the milestones on time because you’re just perfect. Fat & maybe red-headed & gap-toothed & thumb-sucking & funny & cuddly & still so baby.

From my quick & relatively easy labor to our first night together with KK & Daddy to going home to meet Shepherd to sleeping through the night to your first flight to cutting teeth to crawling to pulling up to turning one year old, you have been such a simple addition to our family. It’s like it doesn’t occur to me to be panicked about all the things that panicked me in my early-mama days because you’re just so easy. Easily content & smiley & always laughing & ever napping & never crying & so laid back. It seems impossible that I cried so hard the day after you were born because I wanted you all to myself again. Because it is my everlasting joy that I get to share you with people who love you but have never even seen you in just 4 short weeks. I get to let everyone in on the best-kept secret that I’ve had for one whole year now. You’re just too good & soft & squishy to keep to myself.

Being away from you for 2 weeks recently had me sniffing baby wipes in a pharmacy, hanging out alone in public play areas, & brought me to ugly-tears one night when I saw a Down’s baby that was your age. Distance made this heart grow fonder & had me thinking crazy thoughts like a) kidnapping other babies, b) offering to breastfeed a stranger’s baby, c) having 8 more babies, or d) all of the above.

You sweet, sweet baby boy. You rub your hair when you nurse, you love bath time, & you laugh every single time you fart. I get you.

I love you so, Rockos. Be mine forever.
Mama

Dear Shepherd: 3 Years

“Maridith is a very good student & has excellent grades but seems to have a problem controlling her talking.”

This was every single report card I brought home as a child. My teachers would move me to a different seat but it didn’t stop me from striking up conversation with my new neighbor. I even got placed by the teacher’s assistant’s desk one time & poor Mrs. Davis fell prey to my incessant questions & commentary.

You get this from me. Better said: you got this from the adolescent me. You wake up at exactly 7:18 every single morning with a chipper “I wanna come out!” Your lips do not cease to move until your naptime, after which they begin spewing words again until bedtime. Rinse & repeat. I am reliving my talkative childhood with every excuse me please, with each Mommy, what’s that?, with all the what? and why?  inquiries, & every very detailed retelling of the Mama Robot that lives in your window & how you fought the dinosaurs with your sword. Add to this that all of these come out in a decibel that is just shy of shouting & BOOM, Mama just went four kinds of crazy.

On my worst day I respond with a sharp LESS TALKING SHEP or JUST GO TO SLEEP NOW or THERE IS NO MAMA ROBOT or the age-old BECAUSE I SAID SO.

But on my best day I see past the noise & the chatter & I see the smiles behind those words & the light in your inquisitive eyes. I notice the way your lips curve around your careful, mispronounced words. I notice how your eyes cut to the right when you’re really thinking & processing. I notice that you’ve fused what and why into one word: whyt? I notice your bent towards perfectionism when you tell me a story—a grassbopper, mommy, wait, no no no, a BABY grassbopper! And I notice the swell of physical joy inside of you when you sense my full attention—so secure in my love that your whole body shakes.

You teach me the most when we read books together. Trying to make it through a book with you has proven to be the greatest test of my patience. I want this time to be calm, quiet, & tidy. Because for me to read a book is to read it cover-to-cover, questions after but never in between. But for you, reading is observing the pictures, pointing out overlooked details, & derailing to your own stories, leaving bent pages in your wake.

You see? Calm, quiet, & tidy you cannot abide. I know this about you but I want to EMBRACE this about you. I want to make our time together less about me. I want you to be you—not the version of me that I superimpose on you.

So please, keep teaching me. Start at the end & move your way backwards. Talk it out. Tend to your compassionate heart & keep saying “sowwy” to your friends when they fall down. Sing along to songs you don’t know. Belly laugh more. Let me hold you after a spanking even though you want to push me away. Keep asking for noodles for breakfast, even though I’ll say no. Observe people & be careful with their feelings. Don’t ever stop responding to questions with a surprised “oh yeah!” And make sure to keep including chocolate, ice cream, & coke at the top of your thankful list during prayers.

But if you could stop throwing sand on the playground, find something to yell other than “oh shoot!” when things don’t work out, & expedite potty training, it would be my JAM.

You make 3 look stunningly handsome & overwhelmingly brave. See you tomorrow at 7:18.

I love you forever,
Mama

Be Church

It’s been almost 4 years since we obeyed the voice of God to uproot our family & transplant ourselves into African soil. It took well over $20,000 to get us here, over 4 years of praying & preparing, 4 languages learned, families kissed goodbye, & tears—oh the tears—I thought would never end.

I had my mind made up about what exactly I’d do for the Lord in this strange & foreign land. We would tell every woman, man, child we saw about the Gospel & give them all of 16 seconds to decide if they wanted to follow Jesus or not. We’d baptize them. We’d plug them into a church or help them to start a new one. We’d disciple them. We’d train them in how they could do the same thing as us, but better, and make Jesus really proud of them.

But really I had no idea. What kind of person could be so sure of their calling yet have no clue? {Pick me!}

None of the tasks I listed above could be considered disobedience, so they don’t sound that bad. That’s because they don’t and they aren’t. But these components unto themselves aren’t the things that reflecting the relationship Christ has with church are made of.

Echelon is a team made up of different families. We committed to the Lord & to each other that we would live & move & breathe together—as the church. That no man or family would be left to operate alone. But just because we came to Africa as the church doesn’t mean that we remain a healthy one. And just because we use Christ as our model and are sent out in twos, doesn’t mean that we’re all done with obedience. It takes time & energy, blood, sweat, & tears to maintain our church. We have to be intentional as the church. We have to fight to remain a church that is pursuing Christ & showing honor to one another. As you can imagine, this requires a good portion of our day.

But are we too busy taking care of ourselves to be gospel sowers to those who’ve never heard? What about all those 1000s of dollars spent to send us to only tell lost people about Jesus’ life, death, burial, & resurrection—and our eternal hope of heaven? Do we stop ministering to the needs of the nationals around us while we shut down in order to keep our own junk together? An emphatic NO. But how? How do we keep up with both—maintaining a healthy church while trying to start new ones?

It’s because we don’t separate the two. We live AS the church & this attracts people TO the church. We ARE the church in order to GROW the church. We live life as Christ called us to—taking care not only of our own needs, but meeting the ones of those around us—and this gives us the open door to make disciples of all nations… to baptize them & teach them to obey the one true God.

We came as the church. We live as the church. And so we welcome those who were far from God into the church.