Promises

I love rainbows. Today that is probably a politically dangerous thing to say. Unfortunately, rainbows have come to represent the homosexual movement, taking God’s creation and defiantly waving it in His face. But in the Old Testament, people took God’s wondrous creation of trees and carved them into idols. In the New Testament, the Greeks looked at the expanse of God’s heavens, made up mythical stories of the constellations and worshipped them. Today it’s rainbows.  There is nothing new under the sun.

And I still love rainbows. As a little girl, a rainbow sticker or bandaid was the first thing I chose from the box. I had rainbow pencils, and a Rainbow Brite doll, and I loved to draw rainbows (especially since they are both easy and colorful to draw – the height of my artistic skills). When I was eleven or twelve, I saw a complete rainbow at the swimming pool – two of them in the sky, perfectly round like circles. As I grew older, seeing a rainbow brought me comfort. It still does.

I’m no scientist, but rainbows are astounding things. They are revealed light – seven perfect colors that we can’t see with the naked eye most of the time, yet they are always there. When the perfect combination of light and water mix, we see a rainbow. Or when light hits prismatic glass at the correct angle. My engagement ring can create hundreds of tiny rainbows, a delight that always makes me smile.

Noah and his family saw the first rainbow God painted in the sky. God set it there as a sign of His promise that He would never again destroy the earth and mankind with a flood. When I see a rainbow in the sky, I think of that promise. But I think mostly of the Promiser. Seeing a rainbow fills me with the peace that God and His promises are “Yea and Amen”. They are faithful and true. They will never forsake me. I can stake my life on them. They will never fail.

I remember very clearly a time in Texas when I was very upset after church one Sunday. I had been in Texas for a year or so and circumstances had me trying to navigate very shaky ground. I had some huge decisions I had to make and not much time to make them. And while I was contemplating what moves I needed to make, I was also thinking of the future and what moves I could make within the next few months. I had an hour drive to and from church, plenty of time to mull over these complexities and cry my heart out. My present circumstances had shaken my life so hard, I couldn’t find a moments peace. And then I saw the rainbow.

I remember it so clearly, hanging in the sky above as I took the entrance ramp onto the interstate. We had only had a brief moment of rain before the wide Texas sky opened and the sun beat down its heat upon the dry, August earth. But it was enough to show forth a rainbow. And even though I still didn’t have the answers to my problems, I had a peace. God sent me a rainbow. His promises are true. Somehow, the answers would come.

This past Saturday, we had a near fiasco trying to purchase a grill. Ed was wound tight, upset that what should have been an easy transaction took nearly a half hour. I was crunching numbers in my head, trying to figure out if we could make it to pay day thanks to the store charging us for the wrong thing, crediting the account which takes a few days, and then charging us again for the right thing. Our checking account isn’t that flexible, and I can dig myself a hole pretty quickly worrying about it. Only Emry was happy, sleeping in the back even though it was time for her to eat. It was raining and drivers were doing crazy things. I kept thinking we still have a whole evening to get through, we’re all on pins and needles…are we going to kill each other before its over? And then the sun broke through the clouds…and a rainbow appeared.

I have never seen a rainbow like this one. If you believe there is a pot of gold at the end of it, this was the one to search. It hung low to the ground, one end seeming to come down right on the interstate. We seemed to drive right at it, and then under it like a bridge. It was beautiful.

And peace reigned. We talked about rainbows, and God’s creation, and His promises. The frustration over inept cashiers and inflexible bank accounts melted away. Everything would work out somehow. God promised. And it is so.

Arts and Crafts

I am by no means very “artsy/crafty”. Some people might beg to differ on that point, but I know better. The little scrapbooking I do is very symmetrical…unless I make a huge attempt in trying to cut more than perfect squares or rectangles. And although Pinterest has many uses, I believe it is mostly for people like me who have no vision. I can do a lot of things decently well if I have a picture of the outcome in front of me and a few directions. But make something up on my own and have it turn out beautifully? Improbable.

There was a time in my life when I attempted to be more artsy/crafty than I am. I had to try, for I had a younger sister who did everything from candle making to basket weaving to chalk, pastels and pencils. She had boxes of craft supplies and could make them into beautiful things from the workings of her own mind. Rather than even try to compete in her arena, I gave beading a stab. It lasted a few months. Then I went back to my personal library and scribblings. Not colorful, but books are so neatly arranged, aren’t they?

Mostly, I think, I have gotten over the fact that I will never be artistic like my sister. And 360 days of the year, I can live peaceably with that. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t want Emry to do better. Half of me wants her to be artistic, and colorful, and have a desire to learn all sorts of things in the realm of paper, pencils, wax, reeds and whatever else. The other half of me fears that she will be just that, and I’ll be running a marathon trying to keep up with her newest craft interest. So, a few weeks ago I either decided to encourage her as an up-and-coming artist, or I thought I’d face my fears head on.

For Father’s Day, I got adventurous. A little paint, some paper and a couple of markers. Originally, I thought handprints would be nice, but she wasn’t about to unclench her little fists long enough for that. So, we got our feet a little dirty instead. She wasn’t overjoyed about that, but she mostly endured her mama’s attempt at creativity. We made a card for Grandpa, for Papa and for Uncle Caleb (who’s at Quantico for Marine officer candidate school). They turned out nicely. But if we have a budding artist on our hands is yet to be determined.

Emry the artist.

Father's Day

I don’t know what my earliest memory of my dad is. Dad was just always there. That, I know, is a huge blessing so many don’t have and I’m sure I take for granted. A wonderful blessing.

Some very early memories I have, though, are learning to throw and catch with my dad (a wonderfully taught lesson even if I do still throw like a girl). Or wrestling. (Got to get those shoulders down!) I remember silly things like rubbing balloons on your hair so the static will stick them to the walls. Or how to blow bubbles with your gum. But perhaps my earliest memory is jumping off the diving board at the pool, Dad treading water nearby just in case I needed help getting to the side. I was only 17 or 18 months old, so I could have easily needed help. But I was quite confident jumping off boards into ten or twelve feet of water. Why? Dad was nearby, so I was safe.

Dads give a lot of things to their kids, especially good dads who are seeking the Lord in all things. But for a little girl, the most important thing a dad gives is safety. The world makes us realize all too soon that being kept safe from all things is impossible. It’s too wicked. And yet, if Dad is there, somehow you just feel like everything is going to be okay. You’re as safe as you can be.

Now I get to watch Ed with our little girl. And I often wonder as he bounces her on his knee, or fills the sink to play with her rubber duckies with her what things my dad did when I was just tiny that I can’t remember. Sometimes, as a mom, when he swings with her too high or lifts her high above his head, I feel a moment of panic. But then I think there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep this little girl safe. And she knows it. She’s as safe as she can be.

Thank you, Dad, for keeping me safe. I love you.

Me and Dad.

New Things

Every week Emry learns something new. This past week we learned several new things.

First, we went with Mama and Papa to pick strawberries, cherries and sugar snap peas at a local farm/orchard. To say she picked anything at all would be a lie. She’s not that advanced for two months. But she was very content in her stroller, enjoyed her bottle outside in the fresh air, and allowed Mama and Papa to pick away for about an hour. Next year, I’m sure she’ll join us in both picking and eating.

Second, we are now playing with some of our toys. Perhaps Mama has been a little remiss in not getting out a rattler or two before now, but only this week has her hand-eye coordination been apparent. She is seeing something and reaching for it. This skill has yet to be perfected, but we’re starting to grasp the concept. And, of course, anything we have in our hand goes directly into our mouth.

But most important of all, we had a lesson in Newton’s Third Law of Motion: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. One morning while lying on the floor, watching Mama do her yoga, Emry learned that when she places her fingers far enough back into her mouth, she will gag herself. This was quite a novelty, for she did it several times before I told her to stop. On the other hand, she doesn’t quite understand that when she grabs a fist full of her hair and yanks, it hurts.

So, this week we covered science and physical education. Next week I think we’ll diagram sentences and graph algebraic equations. After all, we have only eighteen years before heading to Harvard…

Old Things

It’s nice to be somewhat back to “normal”. As usual, “normal” is a relative term. After all, life is all about changes. So, when is anything “normal”? As a reference point right now, I am speaking of my exercise program.

I continued to exercise throughout my pregnancy. In fact, I did my regular daily pilates the morning Emry was born. Of course, my exercise regime of running, and jumping rope, and yoga, and pilates, and interval cardio training at least five days a week changed up quite a bit while I was pregnant. I knew jumping rope was probably not wise. I ran until January and only stopped then because I was afraid of slipping on icy sidewalks and taking a fall. Yoga and pilates continued mostly unchanged (although reaching my toes was impossible) and my interval cardio was much lighter.  So, as a whole, I didn’t find pregnancy hard on exercising. Then I gave birth…

For me, post partum recovery was the worse thing I have ever recovered from. It’s not like a pulled muscle, or strained Achilles tendon, or shin splits. Those I can run, jump and play on anyhow – I just ice them afterwards. But giving birth has taken a toll on my body I never imagined. Walking was about all I accomplished for 7 weeks…because if I tried to add something (a slight run, a bit of yoga), I just went into relapse. I was starting to wonder if I would ever recover when I suddenly felt okay again. Mostly.

My body is still working itself back to “normal”, which I may need to redefine. Seven weeks of almost nothing did no favors to the strength and abilities I took for granted. Not being very flexible to start with, I’m just now reaching my toes again. I am working my way back up to a 4-mile run, which will come soon enough but not at 10 minutes a mile for a while. I got back to jumping rope just this week. The yoga and pilates are working to build my muscles back into place. I feel a bit sore, yes, but I also feel better than I have since giving birth. It is so nice to be heading back to “normal”.

Meanwhile, Emry enjoys our daily exercise sessions. She usually falls asleep in her stroller as we cruise along Pittsburgh’s bumpy roads and sidewalks. She stretches, and kicks, and babbles as I move from downward-facing-dog up to my warrior poses. And she sits in her little chair and watches as I jump rope. No doubt, she will join me more and more as the months go by. After all, she ran and stretched with me in the womb. Now we’ll just continue the habit.

Two Months

It’s hard to believe it, but our little Emry is now two months old. She is “talking” much more, yelling when we leave her alone to play and suddenly realizes that we have done so, sleeps through the night (which means 7 hours right now) and – most importantly – is growing. In fact, she may weighs eight pounds and nine ounces now! Here she is at one month:

And a little more serious at two months:

After all, being two months old is so much more grown up than one.

And just because this picture is cute: