Some Oliver stories

Life's been heavy around here lately. Not for any particular reason, just because, drama. So I'm trying to focus on the giggles, the snuggles, the slobbery kisses, the struggles of toddlerhood and the amazing moments of learning and growth that walk hand in hand with those struggles.

I've been writing down the 'sillies' and the 'sweets' in our days lately. It's a beautiful kind of catharsis.

I though I'd share some of this week's moments with you. Here, share a giggle.

This Sunday I taught in the nursery at church, so by the time I was done, Derek had already picked up Oliver and they were playing in the front lawn. When Oliver saw me, he smiled said 'nurse' (typical) and promptly started walking in the opposite direction (not typical). He walked with a purpose, I followed behind, and nothing I said slowed him down. He'd merely respond by pointing emphatically ahead of him. He went across the lawn, into the church, and then the sanctuary. He walked up to the end chair in the back row, pointed to the seat and said 'Couch. Nurse.' Then looked at me and nodded.

In other boob news, Oliver has started doing this thing when I run out of milk. He sits up, pulls my shirt down to cover me and says 'other side'. He has not, however, figured out that Mama only has two sides and when they are both out of milk, he is out of luck.

Today, Oliver successfully identified first the owner and then the name of every article of clothing as I folded it.
 'Mama's. Chirt.'
'Daddy's. Mants (pants)'
'Mine. Diaper.'

When Oliver sits on the potty, we play finger games (like 'Where Is Thumpkin), it keeps him still and entertained while we wait for him to do his business. I have about half a dozen songs and rhymes that we cycle through. Lately, he has started being opinionated about which song he wants to do, but here's the kicker: he's made up his own names for them. And most of them are incomprehensible. So I just have to guess, and if I'm right, he nods emphatically and plays along, and if I'm wrong, he very loudly protests till I try a different one. It's a kind of game in itself. 

Things I learned from mission-tripping with a toddler:

At the end of last month we spent a week in Guatemala City with a team from Bannockburn Baptist Church. Oliver went with us. 5 solid days of hard, physical labour - painting, leveling ground, mixing a pouring concrete, stove building, people-loving, ministering, connecting, praying. + a day of travel on either end.

I think everyone, at least once in their life, should take a toddler on a mission trip. It's crazy, it's messy, it's exhausting, it's glorious.

Oliver is a first class traveler. He has taken countless trips since birth. He's traveled by car, boat, and plane. He's been to 4 states and 5 countries. This was his 4th airplane trip. He's a pro. That said, the older he gets, the harder it is to corral him. He's so big now, and those seats are so small. He's only free for the next 5 months until he turns two, and I'm thinking this may be the end of air travel for us for a bit. He's fine during flight, but gets exceedingly restless while waiting for takeoff. We've learned not to early-board when they call for families with children. It's easier to let him stay at the gate and run around for a bit longer. He usually nurses and falls asleep during takeoff, so the less time we spend on the plane before that, the better it works out for everyone involved. He did fine on the way down to Guatemala. But the trip home was HELL. I think he slept for 12 minutes. Maybe. He was fussy and wiggly the whole time. The plane was hot. I was just grateful we were on our way home,

Anyway, to Guatemala: Firstly, you need to understand that Oliver has NO idea that he is 18 months old and only 32 inches tall. He fully believes that he is capable of exactly everything that anyone else is doing. So - when we were painting, he was painting. When we were digging, he was digging. When we were praying, he was praying. If we were not sleeping - he was not either. He has so much energy. I just wish he would share.

This trip had an interesting perspective for me. I've been on mission trips before, but this was the first time where I saw things not entirely through my own eyes. Instead of being completely absorbed in my own thoughts, my own emotions, the effect of my surroundings on ME; I was focused on HIS. His reactions. His emotions. His response. And there was one overarching theme: He loves.

You guys, he loves SO HARD. And with such abandon. While I stand in the corner of a room and analyze, and agonize over who I should talk to, what I should say, how I should help, what God might have for me to do here - He marches into the room without a second of hesitation and fills it with love. Engaging, enrapturing, radical love. He doesn't even know he does it. He's just being Oliver.

I hope he never stops loving like he does now. He has now reserves, no drawbacks, because no one has ever told him that he should. His love has never been rejected. His love has no fear. It has no barriers of language, no over-analyzing of words, his love is not trying to impress. He gives no thought to the divides of culture, or class, or education, or race, or age. He has no inhibitions; it simply brings him genuine joy to brighten someone else's day for a moment.  It doesn't have to be any more profound than that.

I think, when Jesus told us to 'Receive the Kingdom of god like a child' this might have been exactly what He meant.

This is not a Guatemala post.

This is the way my brain works: As I try to process a myriad of emotions and thoughts from our trip to Guatemala, to come up with some profound, life-altering insight to share, I am hitting a brick wall formed by my own  melancholy.

This is the way my brain works: Sometimes, I hide from my own feelings. And I'm good at it. I'm so good at it, that often, I don't realize they're there. Or, at least, I don't realize what's causing them. Sometimes, it takes a trip to impoverished Central America - spending a week focusing on everyone's circumstances besides my own -  to open my eyes to the weight I have been carrying. Sometimes, God uses the bleakness of someone else's humanity to shine a spotlight on the paucity of my own.

This is the way my brain works: I can't tell you about Guatemala. I could, but it would be cold. It would be nothing but facts. "We went here, we ate this, Oliver was cute". There would be no 'me' in the writing. I can't seem to shift my energies. So I'm writing this instead. Because I can't compartmentalize. Right now, all of my emotions are imploding around this one thing and the debris is crushing all the other feelings. So I have to get this out. I have to process the debris. I have to do clean-up before I can move on.

Even as I write, I am nauseated by shame. I can't put this down. I can't leave these things out here. How selfish will they think I am. 

I want to write grand things about God's greatness in the middle of my humanity. Instead, I am going to write about the most mortifying, disgraceful parts of my own humanity, and hope you can see past them to God's greatness.

This is the way my brain works: In the middle of my mission trip, amid the cardboard houses, where running water is a luxury, and they spray their salads with a bottle of disinfectant kept in their pockets -
I was thinking about my unhappiness. My unfulfilled dreams. My 'not-yet' dreams. And I realized how much I don't talk about because I feel like it makes me look ungrateful. I am so ashamed of my own unhappiness, because honestly, I LOVE the life I have and I cannot reconcile loving life and wanting more at the same time. Surely, if I WANT, it means I am not grateful for what I HAVE, and I HAVE so much, and I want you to know that I understand that. I understand that my wants are so little compared to people who don't have clean water. My frustrations are so minuscule compared to families who cannot get a proper education for their children. I am safe, I am sheltered, I am loved, and I get to love. I cannot WANT. Surely, that is so selfish, so appalling, so shameful. I am not trying to belittle anyone else's need. Because there are people out there who are truly in NEED. And the fact is, I am not. I am comfortable. I am FINE.

I don't talk about the things that hurt. I don't talk about the fear I have that I will never conceive a child again. I'm not allowed to be upset over my period every month that it starts. I have a happy, healthy child. And I love him, I really do. Wanting more doesn't make me love him less, it doesn't mean I'm not blessed, or satisfied; but if I talk about it - about the heartache, the frustration - it might. So I argue away my pain. I tell myself it's unacceptable, I find reasons to belittle my yearning.

We planned on adopting anyway, so it doesn't make sense to be upset if I can't get pregnant, right? 

I am focusing on healing myself right now. Pregnancy probably wouldn't be the best idea at while I'm this sick anyway.

It gives me more time and energy to focus on Oliver and cherish these days with him as an only child. 

I am blowing things out of proportion, we haven't been trying that long. There's probably nothing wrong. It just takes a while sometimes. 

All of these things are true. All of them are good thing to remember. But it doesn't mean it hurts any less. It doesn't mean I can't grieve the slipping away of my best laid plans. I can trust God for His perfect sovereignty and also lament when it doesn't look like I imagined. I can recognize my blessing and also reach for my dreams.

I feel like I am over-blowing this. You are probably shaking your head and mumbling "move on, you silly girl".

I am trying. But at the same time, I am learning to accept that this is where I am right now, and to let it be okay to sit here for a bit, to wallow for a moment in the admission of my own sadness, to wait for God to meet me where I am, instead of exhausting myself in the struggle to climb up to the mountaintop where I feel like I am 'supposed' to be.