Always Joy [Part One]

Be joyful always;
pray continually;
give thanks in all circumstances,
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

                                       -1 Thessalonians 5:16-18


Some moments cause joy and prayer and thanksgiving to gush from my heart.

Like on Friday afternoon when we went on a family hike in Chino Hills State Park.

Beauty everywhere! The blueness of the sky. The crispness of the air. The warmth of the sun when its rays reached down and kissed cool cheeks. Greens of every hue proclaiming their grandeur in lowly moss growing along the earthen path.

And of course the blessing of sharing it with my amazing little boys and the wonderful man I call Husband and they call Daddy.

The best part of the day was when we wandered off the trail to a secluded knoll flooded with tall grass and long sticks. The perfect spot for exploring and sword fights and snacks.

As Chris snapped this priceless picture of our three sons, a digital record of another family adventure, I paused to soak it all in. The chorus of crickets chirping their nature praise. Every blade of grass dancing together to the song of the breeze. The light upon three angel faces, little miracles of God's workmanship knitted together from me and Chris, yet made in His likeness. Amazing.

And as I savored it all, the Spirit brought Paul's words to mind and my heart said,  

"Yes! I AM joyful! Thank you God for this very moment! I praise you because not only are your gifts good but YOU are good. Good ALL the time, Lord!"

It was such a sweet moment. And I was so thankful for it.

*     *     *

But not every moment in mothering is so picture perfect. And my response is not always joy and prayer and thanks. More on that soon...

A Golden Moment

Earlier this week I had one of those golden moments.

When you slow down long enough to see a life full of beauty and love. 

When sweetness and simplicity outshine stress and complexity.

I had just put Jude down for his late afternoon nap. Dinner was simmering on the stove and I went back outside to be with Noah and Elias...

As I step onto the back porch I hear happy noises of little boys playing. Playing nicely. Together. No fighting over who gets what shovel or truck, no pushing a brother or testing a parental boundary. Just digging happily side by side, filling blue buckets with boyhood treasures. Dinosaur bones and diamond rocks. Earth worms and rollie pollies.

Sigh. They love each other and I love them. My heart is full.

I breath in the crisp air of Southern California "cold", tuck my hands into my pockets, and snuggle my feet deeper into my worn Ugg boots. I look up and behold a brilliant orange globe peeking through the neighbor's trees, glowing low on the horizon. God's fingerprints of love and beauty. 

And in that moment, I felt so blessed. Not only because it was a minute of  peace and serenity in a day, week, month, years strung together by the challenge and chaos of raising three little boys, but blessed because God allowed me to see it, to savor the gift of that moment.

 

Breaking Rules

Yesterday I had an epiphany.

I was over at (in)courage reading this blog post. And as I pondered the author's question about what in life I am making harder than it needs to be, it hit me:

Self imposed rules that are self defeating should be broken.

This deeply resonates with many areas of my life. But the first thing that came to my mind was my self imposed rule about writing.

I wrote here on this blog ONCE in 2012. Why? Because I had imposed this unspoken rule on myself that if I couldn't write regularly, if I couldn't pen a post and double, triple edit to make sure it met my ideal literary and grammatical standards, then I shouldn't write at all. And I couldn't do those things in 2012. With the (unexpected) blessing of baby boy #3 (third boy in three and a half years) I just didn't have the time to blog like I wanted to...and I still don't.

But then it hit me. When I started this blog almost three years ago I named it Moments....from Becky Keife. My heart in starting it was to celebrate the moments that make up the journey. I didn't call it "Exhaustive Reflections on Life" or "Every Detail in My Days" or "Moments in Perfect Words"...no, just moments.

And I have missed writing. Missed sharing the little pieces of my story that God puts on my heart to share. Because sharing is not only an encouragement to those who read (I hope) but it encourages me. Makes me more mindful, more thankful of God's hand in my life and fingerprints on my days.

So here I am to say that I will no longer let my own rule defeat me. 

More moments to come...

Could Not Imagine

When you're at the end of your rope...
Call out to God.
Because he hears you.
And he will answer.
I know, because he did for me this week.
Big time...

For the last seven days my husband has been in Hawaii with his volleyball team. I've known for months this week was coming. And for months I've been dreading it. Home. Alone. With three kids. Three years old and under. 

These little munchkins, if you don't know them. Noah, 3 1/2, Elias, 2, and Jude, 4 months. 

I love my boys with ALL of me. But these past four months have been hard. Really hard at times. And that's with the loving support of my amazing husband, who is an incredible dad and totally hands-on with the boys when he's home. So if life with three littles is challenging with daddy home most nights for dinner and bedtime and weekend fun, I could only imagine the challenges that lie ahead without him.

But what I could not imagine as Chris' eight-day trip across the Pacific approached was the wonderful and unexpected ways God was going to bless me and provide for me beyond anything I had asked.

I could not imagine that on the second night of Chris' trip God would use a friendly acquaintance from church who has a passion for cooking and heart to serve. Tina showed up at my house with delicious enchiladas and rice so I didn't have to think about what to feed my hungry herd.

You are weary and I see you, whispered God.

I could not imagine that on the third day of Chris' trip my in-laws would pick up Noah and Eli to spend TWO nights at grandma and grandpa's house. I hadn't asked. But their love for the boys and for me moved their hearts to help. Time to work, to clean, to organize, to cuddle my baby, to sit, to be. ALL priceless gifts from Pat and Lelia.

You are burdened and I see you, whispered God.

I could not imagine that on the fourth night of Chris' trip I'd be enjoying the luxurious gift of a 90 minute massage. A phone call from one of my dearest friends...a passing comment about my ongoing back pain...and a soul sister's generous heart to lavish me with love. Thank you, Rachael!

Your load is heavy and I see you, whispered God.

And six months ago when I was looking ahead to this week, I really could not imagine that on days four, five, six, and seven of Chris' trip God would send my sweet friend Alissa all the way from Arizona to love on me and my boys. She cuddled kiddos and changed dirty diapers. She filled our home with the autumnal aroma of pumpkin bread and the tender tones of laughter. She scrubbed my kitchen sink, burped my gassy baby, and entertained all three kidlets while I went away to savor a cup of coffee and time with Jesus. Alissa was the hands and feet and heart of our loving Lord.

Sometimes you feel alone, but I am always with you, he whispered.

In all these unexpected blessings, in all these whispers to my heart, God was shouting: 

You cried out to me and I heard you! 

I see you, Becky. 

And I am with you. 

Because I love you.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart,

and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Matthew 11:28-30

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine,

according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church

and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

Ephesians 3:20-21

Joy in Sorrow

I've really been missing my dad. Not only will this be my first Christmas without him, but December 26 (the day my whole family always gathers together) marks the one year anniversary of the last day I saw my dad.

As the Christmas countdown nears, my heart fills with more sadness. So many mixed emotions.

Memories flash of Christmases past...

Breaking open the book of LifeSavers candies he always stuffed in our stocking. Tearing through a package he sealed with an abundance of scotch tape. Dad in his traditional argyle sweater, corduroy slacks, and leather loafers.

But today as the tears flowed and I thought about what this Christmas will be like without Dad, God so graciously reminded me,

Precious Becky, though you grieve not being able to celebrate Jesus' birth with your dad this year, I REJOICE that he is celebrating the Lord Jesus WITH Him, with Me, here in heaven!

My first Christmas without Dad means Dad's first Christmas with the Savior.

True joy in sorrow.

Dear Me

Every time I see the cheesy sweet license plate frame that reads, "I Love My Life as Mommy and Wife" I think, "Me, too!!"

And though I wouldn't trade the blessings of my husband or children for an-y-thing, there are days when being a stay-at-home mom to two HIGHLY ACTIVE toddlers is just plain exhausting.

There are days when getting through the next two hours feels like my Everest. Days when fifteen-month-old Elias is climbing in the oven drawer while almost-three-year-old Noah is coloring on the table shouting "Uh-oh, Noah use crayons! Look, fishy!" Days when Eli learns to scale a new piece of furniture while Noah learns to use the kitchen counter as a jungle gym. Yes, some days the two hours till nap time can feel like a lifetime.

Yet, I have friends more seasoned in life who tell me that the two decades they spent raising children came and went faster than a summer breeze. The days are long but the years are short, they say.

In this stage of life it's hard for me to imagine that. But tonight, as I was rocking my sweet little boys before bed, I tried to imagine...tried to think about how I might feel two decades from now when my boys are grown. I tried to imagine what 49-year-old Becky might say to 29-year-old Becky to encourage her when she's struggling to climb the next two-hour mountain. I imagine she might say something like this...

Dear Me,

You're doing fine. Actually, you're doing more than fine. You're doing great. Stop being so hard on yourself, and just remember a few simple things...

Stop worrying so much about what other people think. God has gifted you and Chris uniquely to love and raise and train these children. Use wisdom and follow your heart.

Care less about Eli's constant trail of cracker crumbs...one day you'll have time for clean and shiny floors.

Don't rush rocking Noah each night. Savor each time he asks for one more song. The dishes can wait 15 more minutes, and the day will come when you'll long to sing another verse of Gentle Shepherd and feel his even breathing.

Rejoice each time Elias reaches his arms up to be held or crawls into your lap. The task he's interrupting can wait, but the days he'll want you so near are numbered.

Pause before you scold Noah when he won't stop running in the house or jumping on the bed, and thank the Lord for his strong legs and adventurous spirit. How you delight in who he is is just as important as how you discipline his behavior.

Take time each day to soak up their sweet smiles and silly sayings. Memorize the curves of their cheeks and the light in their eyes. One day these precious little boys will grow into strong and independent men. They will still love you. But their hugs and cuddles and kisses will never be the same.

And above all else, dear Becky, remember that your loving God is with you every step of the way. Trust him for this blessed journey he's set you on. Look to him always. He will give you the strength and patience and grace you need every hour, every day.

You can do it! You ARE doing it.

All my love,
YOU

What Is Nothing?

I recently found myself opening my refrigerator...

staring inside at this...

and muttering in disappointment...

"There's nothing to eat."

No yogurt, chicken, apples, or milk. No yummy leftovers or enticing ingredients for a fresh, delicious dinner.

Nope, nothing to eat. In fact, those words had escaped my lips several times in the past few days. We were overdue for a trip to Costco and the grocery store. And each time I flung open that stainless steel door and glanced over those white plastic shelves, my desire for something convenient to satisfy my current culinary craving grew...along with my discontentment.

As I stood there this last time, (listening to the low mechanical hum, enjoying a few moments with my personal air conditioner, and  mildly imagining that if I waited long enough a teriyaki chicken bowl or slice of boysenberry pie might magically appear,) three simple words surfaced in my mind asking me the question...

What is nothing?

I refocused my eyes on the refrigeration landscape before me, and this time a new picture emerged.

A dozen eggs. A large jar of applesauce. Brown rice and corn tortillas. An unopened block of Tillamook cheddar cheese. Pasta sauce and peanut butter and Rosarita pinto beans.

Do I really believe that is "nothing"?

Instantly, my greedy heart was filled with remorse. How can I be so ungrateful? Men and women and children all over this wide world live with the piercing pangs of hunger. Thousands die every day...and not because they didn't have a convenient snack. Nothing to them means starvation, a slow and painful death.

Yet, I have been given SO much!

(This little picture doesn't even include the frozen veggies and fish fillets in the back of my freezer, or the four half-eaten boxes of cereal in the cupboard. Nor the plethora of canned beans in the pantry or the dozens of other edible, nutritional items filling my "empty" kitchen shelves. And my lack of MORE food has nothing to do with access or funds...just a lack of time to buy it.)

"There's nothing to eat." It rolls off the tongue so casually, so flippantly. And I'm guessing I'm not the only one who says it. We all do it. If not about our food, about our fashion. "I have nothing to wear." If not about our fashion, about our job or bank account or family or house.

The subtle grumblings that slip out of our mouths are a telling indication of the ingratitude in our hearts.

When I say, "There's nothing to eat...I have nothing to wear..."

I'm really saying,..

"God, your gifts aren't good enough.

God, your provisions are imperfect.

If it were up to me, Lord, I'd do a better job."

Lord Jesus, please forgive my ungratefulness. Thank you for the bounty of blessings you have poured out on me. Please increase my awareness of these small ways I allow discontentment to creep into my heart. I know it grieves you in a big way. Grow in me a heart of gratitude, that others might see thankfulness in my attitude and actions, and in so doing, that they might see more of You.

Like the Wind

Grief is a strange thing.

It reminds me of the wind.

Sometimes you can see a storm brewing in the distance. You know that high winds are on their way. You have time to prepare, to brace yourself for the force coming at you. Other times strong gusts appear as if from nowhere. Their strength almost knocking you down.

Then there is grief like a subtle breeze. It grazes your shoulders and whispers in your ear, a gentle reminder that something outside of you is stirring something within you.

It's been five months since my dad passed away.

Though I'm comforted knowing my earthly father is at peace in the presence of his Heavenly One, still...

I haven't much liked this journey of grief.

Haven't liked the days when the ache of loss is wind pushing at my back. When grief is the driving force in my heart and mind. Nor have I enjoyed when it comes at me like a blustery headwind, making it hard to take even one small step toward healing. And the days and weeks with seemingly no wind at all feel like a welcomed reprieve...until a whirly, twirly tornado darts in from my blind spot carrying the force of all the unspoken memories and unexpressed emotions of those quiet, windless days.

*     *     *

Sometimes I feel like grieving is a foreign language I'm suddenly expected to know. But instead of being fluent I'm stumbling to eek out an intelligible groan. I wish I knew more about grieving.

But I do know a few more things about the wind.

Wind is not always destructive. Its power can be productive, harnessed for helpfulness as by the beautiful sail of a boat on the open sea.

Wind can be cleansing. It can push out pollutants, leaving a clear sky and fresh, breathable, life-giving air.

Wind can be refreshing. The kiss of a cool breeze is renewing relief when the sun's scorching rays reach down for you.

Yes, grief is very much like the wind.

I don't fully understand where it comes from or where it leads. Why or how it can take so many forms. I don't know what course it will take or what purpose it will have on a given day. Don't always know how to prepare for it or find joy in it or be moved by it.

But I know it's Maker. I know Him, and I trust Him.

This picture reminds me of the beauty and chaos and peace and movement that comes with the wind.

I'm asking God that my grief would be the same.

More Than Words

It's often said that a picture is worth a thousand words.

On this Father's Day, I could use more than ten thousand words to describe the amazing moments in my husband's fatherhood journey. But, instead, I'll let these pictures tell some of the story.

Chris, you are an INCREDIBLE daddy to our boys. Noah and Elias love you, need you, appreciate you, and adore you. And so do I. Thank you for who you are and what you do for our family. Happy Father's Day!

Bummed or Blessed

There was a day a couple weeks back that I really wanted to hang out with a friend. But everyone I called was busy. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but on this particular day it really bummed me out.

Another boring day at home by myself with the boys, choking down another peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then playing the same games with the same toys while the minutes lurch along like a tired turtle...is how I was feeling about the day.

I just needed someone to help me break up the monotony of routine.
But no one was available.
So I was left to sulk alone.

But in the midst of my sulking I realized I wasn't alone.

There was an adorable little boy to my right.
And an adorable littler boy to my left.

Why are you bummed about spending time with these two little blessings? The part of me who wasn't stuck in a funk asked the part of me who was. Don't be bummed about the way your day didn't go...be blessed by the way you can make it go!

And with that, I decided to ditch the bummed and don the blessed and I took my two adorables on a date with their mommy!

I strapped on my sneakers and strapped the boys in the stroller and we walked to the little Italian place in the Village. Just breathing in the fresh air on our way there made me feel better. But the huge pay-off came when Noah's face beamed with pure delight when I said the P-word...pizza! It was the best news of his life!

We sat outside and ate and talked and people watched.
Me and my adorable dates.

After our tummies were full we continued our walk, looking for more beauty and blessings to soak up along with some warm, sunny rays.

Like this yellow blossomed tree. Amazing.

I also loved walking past our church. Love the old stone construction. Love that Noah squeals with excitement when we pass his Sunday School classroom.

And like my little Elias,

at the end of our double stroller date,

I was  peaceful and content.

No room for bummed when I'm undeniably BLESSED.