If You Were Brown?

I place him in his crib for the second time tonight and I try to ignore the question that pops into my mind as I look at his innocent face.  I can't push it out, though and I understand that it needs to be pondered. So, I wonder...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I even lay you down tonight?  Or, would I hold you close for fear of ever letting you go?

The city we love is in unrest.  The place where I birthed three beautiful children.  Three beautiful, amazing children.  Sweet babies who I have wondered so frequently about what their future may be like.  Will they want to travel the world?  Will they want to change the world?  Countless questions all with an undertone of hope and freedom.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I be able to dream so freely?  

This world is scary for all mamas.  So much chaos.  So much turmoil.  So much anger.  I sometimes feel guilty for ever wanting to bring children into this madness.  But, still...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would the world be even scarier?

While blame is cast from both sides, angry words shouted, hearts broken, lives shattered...I struggle to find my place.  How do I help?  How do I show love to all? What can I do to let the police officers that live in my neighborhood know that we are behind them as well as the black neighbors that live in the same neighborhood?  How do I show friends of color that while I will never be able to understand their plight, I do want to try to understand better?  Will they even believe me?

He cries out again and I pick him up.  I hold him tight and pray.  A prayer for all the mamas holding babies tonight...whether physically in their arms or tightly in their hearts.  All the mamas who long for the same things I do:  safety, peace, the ability to dream and turn those dreams into reality.

I wipe tears.  Tears laced with pain for so many.  My child is white.  I cannot change that.  However, I can change the perception that this mama doesn't care. I will do my part to PROVE I care.  Sit on your couch and listen to your fears?  OK.  Hold your babies up in prayer?  No problem.  Hug your neck?  Absolutely.  Give a smile?  Always.

Call me naive, but I still believe that love can conquer much.  Christ's act of love changed the world.  The Bible says above all things, the greatest thing is love.  I know it to be true. Love has changed my life.

I lay my footed pajama clad boy back in his crib and smile.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would my love for you be any different? 

I smile because I know that answer.  Absolutely not.  And, as I quietly leave his room, I whisper him a promise...

Sweet boy, I will continue to teach you and your siblings to love fiercely.  To spread peace, not hate.  To share an encouraging smile, not a vulgar gesture.  To choose joy, not anger.  I will teach you this not through just words that don't demonstrate, but through actions that do.

1 Corinthians 13: 11-13
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.  Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.  And now abide faith, hope, love these three; but the greatest of these is LOVE.

Oh, Rats!

I almost lost my mind over a mouse...well, two of them.  The amazing friend who valiantly moved our washer and dryer to make sure a mouse wasn't hiding behind them, watched our children while Jared and I cleaned out our garage, helped me haul sofas to the dump (because a mouse had hid in one), and fix a door that the horrible rodents had chewed a hole through, probably would tell you that I actually did lose my mind.  My husband - who was forced out of sleep multiple times a night by a jittery and anxious wife, who spent almost $100.00 on traps, who allowed me to schedule a rodent exterminator to come, and who even got a hotel room so that I could finally sleep - would agree.  My sister would concur, too as she listened to sometimes hourly updates of the whole sordid experience.  And, when I stop and think about how I spent time in an actual prayer service at our church praying over the stupid mouse situation...and even very sincerely asked friends to pray...yes, I guess I briefly did lose my mind.

Two weeks after the awful ordeal, I still shudder thinking about it all.  Every speck of black on our floors is a dropping...until I investigate further and realize it's actually lint.  Every noise I hear is another mouse trying to wreak havoc...except, the noises are just regular creaking noises that are in every single house in the world. There are still traps in the now very organized garage, just in case any relatives decide to come looking for the family members we killed. I smiled as I typed that we killed them.  I am a mouse murderer and I'm not even remorseful.  Sorry, PETA.

 It started off innocently enough.  Dropping sightings in our cluttered garage.  So we bought traps (fancy traps, not the cheap wooden ones) and poison.  And, I left it alone. Fast forward a few days later...I noticed there were droppings in our laundry room (which is the room that is connected to our garage).  I also saw that a hole had been gnawed into the door.  More fancy traps and poison were bought.  But, we quickly realized we had a smart mouse.  Actually, at that point, thanks to my incredibly amazing investigative research skills (AKA: I read all the scary mouse stories on Google), I had convinced myself that we had an infestation.  We had 175 mice in our house and it was just a matter of time before the whole house would fall down around us due to the mice living in the walls.  It became an obsession of mine.  I researched, fretted, read some more, worried some more...repeat...daily for a few days.

Then, I saw a mouse run into our baby's closet and while we barricaded the closet door with lots of towels, the big guns were called in.  Actually, first we called a friend who is in the National Guard to assess the situation and tell us what he thought.  I promise, we did.  We called him and his lovely wife late at night and asked them what to do.  We also called another sweet friend and her firefighter husband.  No one really knew what to do.  So, while I decided NOT to call 911, we threw traps into the closet and waited for the ORKIN man to come in the morning (FYI...they have a 24 hour hotline you can call when you're in a panic to get someone scheduled to come to your house the next morning).  

The kindest exterminator came to our house the next morning and confirmed a few things:  

1.  Unfortunately, the mouse was no longer in the closet.

2.  Thankfully, the house was not infested.

3. Much to my relief, the squeaking noises that I knew were mice infiltrating our house were actually just crickets...outside.  

He did not even charge us.  He advised us to use the cheap, wooden mouse traps and told us that the garage decluttering project that we were endeavoring upon the next day was a great idea and would take care of the 1 or 2 mice that were sharing our residential address.  

The next morning, a mouse was in the trap (there was great rejoicing, texts sent to friends and family, and a rendition of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" was sung).  Oh, and the garage was cleaned out. 

We were heading to bed that night, somewhat hopeful that the ordeal was over when we heard scratching in our couch.  A mouse ended up running into the hall closet by our door.  More barricades were set, a frantic text sent about getting rid of the sofas the next morning, traps put outside of the closet, and another sleepless night commenced.  Thankfully, that mouse could not figure out how to escape and once we put the traps inside of the closet the next night, it died.  Yes, I just smiled again when I thought about the mouse's demise.  Maybe I need help? 

Here's the thing...those mice...they were TINY.  Tiny little vermin who became larger than life to me.  WAY larger than life.  I was convinced we were doomed.  We were going to die of some type of mouse disease.  My babies were going to be gnawed on while they were sleeping.  The mouse was hiding under the bed just waiting to attack my feet as soon as I got out of bed.  My anxiety level was EXTREME and as the sleepless nights piled on, as I read more rodent material, and obsessed over every noise I heard, I was very close to having major panic attacks.  Mice being in the house was disgusting, yes, but what I allowed myself to do to me mentally was WAY worse.

Those stupid mice symbolize much because reality is that I am very good at making small "things" in my life become so much larger than they really are.   In all honesty, I'm doing it right now with a situation.  I've allowed the enemy to wreak havoc on my mind as I think of every potential scenario that may happen, every "what if" or "should have,"...and I keep doing it.

Do you ever do that?  What seemingly huge issue in your life is actually minor but has become a constant source of mental anguish?  Can I suggest something?  Let's call THE Exterminator.  Let God bring peace as He assures us that while the enemy does come in as an uninvited guest, we don't have to let him dwell in the crevices of our minds.  Declutter our minds as we bask in His peace.  Rejoice as we realize that the enemy is DEFEATED.  Defeated...that makes me smile more than even knowing those freaky, disgusting mice are dead.

"Guide my steps by your word, so I will not be overcome by evil." - Psalm 119:133

A Lesson On Grace From My Girl

"They didn't have them ready after I called last night to make sure they would be ready by 7:00 this morning!"  I yelled out to my husband as I rushed in the door.

One school-aged child was still in bed, the other one was not ready, lunches were unmade, and we had to leave for school in 40 minutes.  Rushing ensued as I frantically yelled to the kids to hurry up.

Chaos mounted.  The baby was wailing for "wata".  My precious 5-year-old boy was growing more anxious by the moment. Mr. Wonderful was trying to figure out what I wanted him to do when I didn't even know what I wanted him to do.

My sweet girl - the one who is feisty like her mama - looked at me and smiled.  "It's OK, Mommy.  Just email the pictures to my teacher so she can show the class."

And, like that, my little girl "unrushed" me.  As I looked into her beautiful eyes, I remembered what is important.  I am working alongside my husband to raise little souls to love Jesus and handle life situations with grace.  I was being anything but gracious in my frenzied, hurried state.

I took a deep breath as I took her suggestion.  You could literally feel the tension fade as we all calmed down.  Our morning became beautiful.  Filled with laughter, sweet conversations and a walk to school that allowed us to savor time with each other instead of worrying about being late.

The six-year-old who is responsible for the bulk of my grey hair turned our family's entire day around.  I thanked her as we walked to school.

"Mommy, I love you more than pictures of Pete the Cat and I know you tried to get those pictures."

Grace...she's getting it and, now, she's teaching me.