The building was crawling with parents and children who had all come to that one place on that one day for an annual event that tests the skills of young pianists like my oldest daughter.

It was our first year there, and we were lost.

Insufficient maps sent us weaving through the building like ants carrying sacrificial bits of sheet music in our hands.  Fragments of scales and bits of well-rehearsed compositions floated up from the rooms while everyone waited in crammed hallways for the next child to play.

I had no idea there were so many musically inclined children in all of Washington.  “This piano thing is really catching on,” I whispered to Faith as we squeezed our way through jutting elbows and perfumed women and clusters of children who wished they were still in bed.

She nodded anxiously, hugging her red music folder to her chest.

I grabbed her around the shoulders and gave her a squeeze.  “It’s going to be fine,” I said, even though I had no idea why room 5B wasn’t next to room 5A and it was very likely she was going to be late to her first event.

“Yep,” she said simply.

She was one brave girl, and I was proud of her.  I figured I was the proudest mother of all the proud mothers in that place, and some of those women were acting like the mom of Mozart.

I was not the mom of Mozart, and I knew it.  I was the mom of the very worst pianist in that place.

Yep.  The very worst.

The night before, and not a moment sooner, I realized how unprepared Faith was for this competition.  She sat on her bed, shaking with sobs, and told me all about it.  She didn’t have her music memorized.  She couldn’t play her classical piece well, even with the music, and the contemporary piece needed so much work, it wouldn’t be ready to play if she had a whole week to practice.

“It can’t be that bad,” I said.  “Why don’t you play them for me.”

She did, and it really was that bad.

It was so bad, she couldn’t get through a single line without a mistake or ten.  Halfway through the second piece, just when things were getting interesting, she broke down and started crying all over again.

“See?” she said.

I did see.  I saw how I had completely failed to help her with her piano.  I saw how I had been so distracted by house repairs and a kitchen remodel and all the work involved with moving that I had totally neglected her upcoming piano competition.

In fact, that was the first time I’d listened to her play her pieces.  It was the first time I had sat down with her and looked at her music and made sure she was ready.  Did I know she was playing a song called Skeleton Bones?  Nope.  Did I know she had to brush up on her scales and chords because she was going to be tested on them?  Nope.

I had totally blown it.

To complicate things, she had blown it too.  She had failed to practice even though her teacher reminded her every week.  She had rushed through her pieces and hadn’t worked on the tricky parts because the weather has been grand and it’s much more fun to play outside.

And she doesn’t like scales.

“We messed this up,” I admitted.

“I know!” she sobbed.  “I feel terrible about it!”

I felt terrible about it too.  My daughter’s eyes were red and her face was splotchy and she was crying uncontrollably on her bed because of it.  But there wasn’t much that could be done about it with less than twelve hours to go before the competition.

“I think you have two choices,” I told her.  “You can stay home, and we’ll try to be better prepared next time, or you can go and do your best.”

She sniffled loudly.

“Unfortunately, your best is not very good right now.”  I thought it was best to be honest.  “You’re probably going to make a lot of mistakes.  You know that.  But you can go and play what you can, and maybe you can even learn something.”

Faith nodded.  “I think I’ll go,” she said, and promptly started crying again.

“You don’t have to,” I said, secretly hoping she would change her mind.  I mean, it was really, really bad.  I could just imagine her bursting into tears in front of the judges and suffering permanent psychological damage because of it.

“No, I’m going to go,” she said, letting the tears stream down her face.

It was one of those instances when I wished I could say, “It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

But I couldn’t say that.

So I hugged her instead and said, “You know, Faith, very few people get to be the best.  If you think about it, most people are just average.  They’re just okay.

“And every once in a while, you get to be the worst.  Every once in awhile, you get to be the person who makes everyone else look good.”

She nodded.

“You’re just going to have to be the best person-who-makes-everyone-else-look-good you can be.”

Faith grinned.  “I will.”

The next day, she came out of the first competition and smiled.  “Well, that didn’t go very well,” she laughed.  “I don’t think I’ll get a ribbon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, and I marveled at her, this kid who could mess up with more grace than her mother ever could.

“It was actually kind of fun!”

We went through the day like that, with me waiting in the hallways with other parents, listening to the sounds of perfectly-played pieces and knowing it was not my kid playing those notes.  Every once in awhile, a dissonant sound was played, or a child tripped across the keys and fell flat, and all the parents in the hall looked at each other and thought, “I hope that’s not my kid.”

Except for me.  I smiled and thought to myself, “Don’t worry, everyone.  That’s my girl.”

Faith, playing at her first piano recital

At the very end of the day, I was allowed to go in with her and listen to her play her final piece.  The child right before her was a maestro.  His fingers looked like they were made of ivory.  Faith leaned over and whispered loudly, “Mom!  He’s really good!”

Then it was her turn.  She sat down at the bench and began to play, but it wasn’t long before the music was lost and she couldn’t remember what came next.  She growled at the keyboard in frustration and punched at keys that were not the right ones.

We’ve gotta work on the growling, I thought.

Deep inside, my stomach flipped.  I couldn’t breathe.  I thought about my mother-in-law, who paid for all of her lessons, and my sister-in-law who had been teaching Faith for nearly two years.  I thought about the mother of another one of my sister-in-law’s students who was sitting in the same room with us listening to my daughter botch the whole thing, and I looked at my daughter who was in serious jeopardy of bursting into tears and I did what most moms would do: I thought about myself.

My failed parenting was shining through loud and clear, and I wanted to sink right into my folding chair.

Just then, Faith managed to finish the piece with one triumphant chord that mostly sounded right.  Everyone exhaled and clapped respectfully.

We all stood up.  I turned to say something conciliatory to Faith, but she was already running up to the child who played before her.  “You played really, really well,” she said to him, her face shining. “I mean, really well.  You did a great job.”

The other boy look surprised.  He couldn’t say the same thing back to her so he mumbled, “Thank you,” and looked down at his hands.  Faith skipped back to my side.  “He was so good,” she said.

For the hundredth time that day, I marveled at Faith, a child whose first thought after a performance like that was how well the other kid played, and how much she couldn’t wait to tell him so.  She was not proud of her own performance, but she wasn’t ashamed of it either.  She knew she had done her best, such as it was, and that was good enough for her.

It certainly was good enough for me, although it stunned me to see something good in her that I find it so lacking in myself.

“I’m proud of you,” I said, “really, super-duper proud of you.  I couldn’t be more proud of you if you played all your songs perfectly.”

“Hum!” she sang happily.

“You’re the best person-who-makes-everyone-else-look-good I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled.

“I just wish I knew where you learned it.”

“Um–from Dad.”

Ah.  That explains it.

100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood: 41

The post The Very Worst Pianist appeared first on Five in Tow.

Who’s up for a road trip?

We got the news on Saturday.  For over three weeks, we have been waiting to hear where Jeff’s first duty assignment as an active duty chaplain will be.  It was a good sort of waiting, like waiting for Christmas, because every place was exciting and new.

But still, three weeks is a long time to wait to see what is under the tree.

The kids and I looked at maps of all the Army installations around the world and dreamed about the possibilities.  We could be moved right down the road to Ft. Lewis, which would make it easier to say good-bye to Nana and Papa, or we could be sent across the ocean to new adventures in Japan or Germany.

“I just hope it’s not Texas,” Jeff would say when the topic came up.  He had been stationed in San Antonio in his Air Force days, back when he was young and single and almost as incredibly handsome as he is now.   If I had known him then, I would have snatched him right up.

But I wasn’t there because I didn’t know him then.

Because of that, and a few other reasons, San Antonio was miserable.  San Antonio was the reason he got out after three years instead of four.  San Antonio was the reason Texas did not make the list when Jeff’s recruiter asked him where he’d like to be stationed.

So when I got home on Saturday from a day out with Faith and Jeff met us in the driveway with a big grin and the news, “Well, I heard where we’re going!”  I did not expect him to say El Paso, Texas.

El Paso, Texas? 

I choked on a laugh and repeated the words because I thought he was joking.

“Are you serious?  Texas?”

“I would not make that up,” he said.  “We’re headed to Ft. Bliss in El Paso, Texas.”

“Ft. Bliss?“  The name made me explode, it seemed so funny to me.  Ft. Bliss.  God has a sense of humor.

Jeff was smiling too so I grabbed him around the neck and kissed him because it was so wonderful to know.  Texas!  Suddenly it didn’t matter that San Antonio was not his favorite place on earth.  This was not San Antonio. This was Ft. Bliss!

Joy rushed in with the knowing, and we both felt the thrill of knowing where the next two years were going to find us.

“We’re going to Texas!  We’re going to Texas!” the kids whooped and hollered in the driveway.

All except for Kya, who burst into tears and ran into the house.

But we could not stop laughing.  God was not going to let us off the hook with this whole faith thing, not now, not ever. 

“Where is El Paso?”  Jonathan said, wrinkling up his nose like the word tasted funny in his mouth.

“Let’s find out!” I said, and we all ran for the classroom atlas that we keep stowed away in the school cupboard.  We flipped open the pages to the state that will be our new home in just a few weeks, and found El Paso.  There it was, right in the foothills, within spitting distance of Mexico, with miles and miles of desert all around.

I looked out at my lush green yard and the beautiful view of the ocean and the snowy mountains and I laughed again.  I was going to need to buy more sunscreen.

But what an adventure!

“We’re going to learn Spanish,” I told the kids, “and go to Mexico!  Just wait until you see it!”

It’s been nearly twenty years since I lived in Mexico, but it has not been so long that I have forgotten what it was like to walk through the shanty towns, what it was like to drive by the street kids, dressed in rags and high on paint thinner.  It has not been so long that I have forgotten the warmth of the people and the richness of the culture.  It has not been so long that I have forgotten how much I loved it.

I was going to get to take my kids to Mexico! 

The kids were thrilled about the Mexico part.  Not so much the Spanish.  Spanish sounds a little bit like school, and that was an unfortunate reminder that schoolbooks are packable.

“What’s it like in El Paso?” Faith asked.

“Well, there are lots of rocks, and swimming pools, tons of tarantulas and scorpions…”  I paused for a second and wondered if it was a good idea to embellish the amount of venomous creatures in and around El Paso.  I wasn’t exactly sure there were tons of them, and I could just imagine God giving me a house infested with them just because I promised it to the kids.

So, that would be great.

“Will I be able to catch lizards?”  Jonathan asked.   He was practically foaming at the mouth.   Arachnids the size of dinner plates and scaly things that bite are his favorite.

“Probably.”

“What kind?”

Jeeze.  “Well…”

“Does everyone have a swimming pool?” Kya asked, saving me from having to recall anything beyond an armadillo, which isn’t even a lizard, but I couldn’t think of iguana for the life of me and I suddenly felt insecure about whether or not Gila monsters lived in Texas.  I should have paid more attention when Planet Earth was on.

“Will we have a pool?” Kya pressed her hand on my arm, tears still glittering in her eyes, and looked at me intently.  This could be the deciding factor on whether or not she moved to Texas with us or packed up her princess paraphernalia and moved in with Nana for the next two years.

“Oh, Kya, of course…”

Jeff looked at me and shook his head.  The thought of pool maintenance weighed heavier on his heart than her puppy eyes.  The man is made of steel.

“…of course…I don’t know yet,” I said slowly.  “We’ll see.”

Jeff looked at me again, only this time his face was very clearly communicating something like, “There is no way on earth we are getting a house with a pool,” but he said, “I saw a picture of the one on post, and it looks pretty great.  It has a water slide and everything.”

Nice save.

Her eyes grew wide.

“Awesome!”  Jonathan yelled.  

The living room erupted into shouts and cheers and various forms of interpretive dance.  Kya threw her arms around me.  This is going to be okay.

And of course, it really is going to be okay.  I looked at my children and I thought about all the places Jeff and I have lived, both before we were married and after.  Our lives have taken us all over the world, and while we both have lived in places we did not love, we have yet to find a place on this earth where God’s mercies do not reach.  All of those experiences have shaped us into the people we are today.

I can’t wait for my kids to have some of those adventures.

So.  We are going to El Paso, and it’s going to be great!

The post Moving to Ft. Bliss appeared first on Five in Tow.

The plan for the day improved greatly with one phone call Jeff made this morning.  He needed to pick up some building materials from a friend, a friend who happens to have three giant trampolines lined up in a row in his backyard.  The first one is directly under his roof.

You have no idea how fun it is to have three trampolines lined up in a row just inches from the corner of a roof unless you’ve tried it, or unless you’re under the age of ten and can imagine it.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Gary said when Jeff asked if he could drop by.  “You can come on over as long as you bring the family and stay for some lemonade.”

It was settled.

The only trouble was, I’ve been fighting some fierce kid-germs, and they’re still “winning me.”  I thought about this as Jeff announced the plan to the kids.

“Yahoo!” they screamed.  “We can jump on the trampolines!”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go,” I said through my stuffy nose.  “I’ll probably have to stay home.”

“Even better!” one of the children shouted gleefully.

The words sliced through the air and made a direct hit.

Even better.

Even better if you don’t come.

Even better without you.

It was said carelessly because even very small children can toss heavy words about as if they weigh nothing at all, as if they mean nothing at all.

But they meant something to me, and I felt myself bleeding out right there in the middle of the kitchen because those words cut deep.

Those words were not the words of my child; they are the words of my Enemy.

They are dark words, and deep like the depths of the ocean.  When all the house is asleep and the moon brings in a tide of self-doubt, I feel myself getting sucked into the currents and drowning into that ocean.  It tells me that I am not enough, that I have messed it up, that I am not cut out for this.  It gurgles up in me and I hear the rush of it in my ears: they all would be better off without me. 

My child does not know that I have heard these words before, and often, in my own heart and my own mind.  He does not know how they leave me clinging to the rocks and chanting to myself, “It is not true.  It is not true.”

This child does not know how it cuts me to hear in broad daylight the words I fight in the dark. 

Those words hang in the air between us and for an awful moment, I am swept out to sea by a sudden wave and I cannot breathe.  It is true.  All my failings, all my shortcomings, all my inadequacies: every single one of them is true.  They would all be better off with someone else.

But wait…

They are not true, and they are not the words of my child.  They are the words of my Enemy.  I come up for air, grab hold of a bit of craggy rock, and see it for what it is.  How dare my Enemy use my child’s lips to utter his lies!  How dare he tread on that holy ground.

Because this calling is not my own.  I did not bear these children out of my own desire, nor was I given them out of my own goodness or ability.  A thousand women with empty arms deserved this more.  I know it.  I think of Mother’s Day, looming large on my calendar, and I weep for them because I feel so undeserving of the gift they desire.  Why me?  Why not them?

It is a whirlpool that easily sucks me in.  I can drown in my inadequacies and I can grieve the probability that another mother could do it better, but it doesn’t erase the fact that God gave me a name I did not earn.

He called me mother. 

It is a grace-calling.  And grace-callings are the hardest ones to answer, I find, because they never-ever-never-ever fit right.

Because if it fit right, it wouldn’t be grace. 

If it fit right, it wouldn’t leave me stumbling and tripping over my own mantle like some kind of misfit, or wrestling with doubts and uncertainties like a kid who can’t figure out how to put on her own dress.

If it fit right, I wouldn’t have to trust that God knew best, despite how I perform…

…despite what my kids think of me…

…despite the fact that I am impatient…

…and also selfish.

Despite the fact that I can’t get my arms in my own sleeves–despite all of it.

I was not called to be a mother because I was going to be good at it.

I was called to be a mother because God could make something good out of it, despite me.

I am wet and dripping, half-drowned and inglorious, yet God bends to whisper in my ear,

“It’s better with you here.”

I struggle to believe it.

It is better with you here because I AM the One who called you.

That is the truth I need to hear, and often, a truth that speaks in a whisper but shouts above the waves.

It is better with you here. 

100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood: 41

The post Better With You Here appeared first on Five in Tow.

Angie Tolpin, author of Redeeming Childbirth, put together these amazing giveaways and asked if I’d like to participate.  Of course, I said yes because

1) She did all the work, and

2) I love moms.

So for once, I’m NOT going to go on and on about the giveaway!  Just scroll down and enter away!

You will notice there are TWO Rafflecopter entry forms in this post.  The first is for a $100 Zulily maternity store gift certificate and the Ultimate Homemaker’s Resource Library of 97 books {exclusive}!

The other is for a bunch of awesome resources, which Angie talks about below.  Be sure to enter both!

Now, here’s Angie with more details:

Package #1

We are very excited to bless an expectant mother with a $100 gift certificate to Zulily Maternity & 1 Ultimate Homemaker Ebook Bundle {which is no longer for sale}!

~The Zulily Gift certificate generously brought to you by the bloggers below.~

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Package #2

This giveaway package has it all! Something for any mom, whether this is your first baby or your tenth!

Lisa Jacobson of Club 31 Women donated her book How Did God Make Me?

Boys and girls love to know that they are special, and nothing instills a sense of uniqueness like the knowledge that they were known and loved before birth. Help your child develop feelings of understanding and closeness with the God who is intimately involved in our lives — even before we are born!

The Mission-Minded Child is a practical book to encourage Christian parents and teachers placed in the strategic position of impacting the next generation.

As a guide to world missions, The Mission-Minded Child is filled with facts, information, and tools for teaching. It focuses on the “why” of missions–including our Biblical basis, historical heritage, and the world’s need–and contains over 25 mini-missionary biographies, motivational mission stories, classic poems, hymns, and hundreds of easy-to-use ideas. The Mission-Minded Child will inspire teachers and parents to look for God’s potential in their child, “release” their little one to God for His purposes, and “raise” their child to fulfill God’s specific mission, whatever that might be. As a resource tool, this book will be referred to again and again.

Heidi St. John donated her eBook The Busy Homeschool Mom’s Guide to Romance. Heidi blogs at The Busy Mom.

Homeschooling offers parents the best opportunity to shepherd their children both academically and spiritually. Yes. It’s worth it. But do you ever feel as if your life is “all homeschool—all the time?” Do you ever wonder where the girl your husband married went? This book is for every mom who has collapsed into bed at the end of the day, looked into the eyes of her husband and promised “tomorrow” she’d have time for him. Trouble is, tomorrow finds her more exhausted than the day before. If you have ever felt caught between the demands of homeschooling your children and meeting the needs of your husband, you’re not alone. Read and discover how even a busy homeschool mom can make time to nurture her marriage. It’s not as hard as you think—and more important than you may realize.

Shoshanna Easling, owner of Bulk Herb Store donated their Making Babies set that includes the book and 3 DVDs.

Making Babies is a fun, informational, artistic, and colorful pregnancy book. Follow Shoshanna through her pregnancy and the birth of her daughter as she stays healthy and builds a baby. The book covers information that is in the DVDs volumes 1, 2, and 3, includes many deliciously healthy recipes, wonderful gluten-free recipes, grandma’s remedies, herbal concoctions, and need-to-know facts, and is packed with research about fertility, conception, morning sickness, pregnancy, birth, nursing, postpartum issues, losing weight, and more!

Source: Laura Newman Photography

Blessings God’s Way donated A Celebration of Pregnancy DVD Combo {DVD + Guide}

This set enables you to feel confident and sure about hosting a Blessing God’s Way gathering in your community! This DVD is 30 minutes long . Watch this prior to hosting your own gathering or pass it on, along with the book, to friends and family that you can share our message with. What a blessing to know there is a God-centered instructional DVD and book for celebrating birth! May God be glorified!

  The Joyful Giraffe donated one large snack bag and one large sandwich bag.

These are two great reusable products that will save you money and are eco-friendly too!Both have a waterproof lining on the inside and a zipper closure, so whether it has grapes or a sandwich, all messes are contained! Bags are handmade by a work at home mom.

Angie Tolpin of Leaving a Legacy is donating a signed Redeeming Childbirth Package {Book & Growth & Study Guide}, $30 value.

“Childbirth is more than an event that makes a woman a mother. This journey was designed to be a spiritual milestone that draws every woman’s heart back to the only Deliverer.”

Bethany Learn of Fit to Be Us is donating a 6 Month Membership to her online exercise site, a $50 value.

Juju Band is donating one Baby Belly Binder.

Baby belly binding has long been used in various forms by many different cultures. The ancient art of binding has been made easy and quite cute by the Juju Band. Its design is simple and made to accommodate even the busiest of parents! The Juju Band has been a family tradition for over 100 years. It is a tradition still used today in our family. We hope that you will join our family tradition and try the Juju Band on your newborns and infants. Juju Bands are used for 2 different purposes. First, it is used on the Newborn as a shield to protect from constant contact of diapers and clothing. This helps reduce the likelihood of irritation and infection. The Newborn Navel Protector also helps give your baby the perfect “innie” belly button. Second, the Infant Belly Binder helps relieve colic and soothe fussy babies. The snug fit calms and comforts even the most finicky infants.

Jennifer Lambert of Royal Little Lambs donates a Gentle Babies book and Gentle Baby essential oil.

Combining two decades of professional knowledge with tried-and-true techniques and first-hand testimonials, the author Debra Raybern has compiled this insightful and easy-to-follow guide benefitting both experienced and first-time mothers. In addition, Gentle Babies book contains an introduction to therapeutic-grade essential oils and applications and provides safety information and a section on discerning the quality of essential oils. Every family taking proactive steps to better health should have this resource in their home library. Gentle Baby™ essential oil is a soft, fragrant combination of essential oils designed specifically for mothers and babies. It helps calm emotions during pregnancy and is useful for quieting troubled little ones. It is also soothing to tender skin. Many of the essential oils in this blend are used in elite cosmetics to enhance a youthful appearance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The post Happy Birth-Day Mama Giveaway appeared first on Five in Tow.

I’m for skinned knees,

Grass stains,

Sweaty foreheads,

And Band-Aids.

I’m for ice cream drips,

And soggy cones,

For Popsicle stains,

And Icees.

I’m for campfires,

Sooty hotdogs,

Lightning bugs,

And stars.

I’m for blanket forts,

Bedtime stories,

And flashlights.

I’m for sleeping close.

I’m for swings under trees,

Daisy chains,

And dandelion fluff.

I’m for touching the sky.

I’m for wide fields,

Deep woods,

And All Things Scary.

I’m for adventure.

I’m for Good Guys,

For super-hero capes,

Stick-swords,

And muscles.

I’m for King of the Mountain,

Tag,

And Hide-n-Seek.

I’m for playing.

I’m for road trips,

And “You’re-on-my-side,”

And “He’s-looking-at-me,”

And “If I have to pull over…”

I’m for bicycles,

Going too fast,

And Down-Hill.

I’m for brakes.

I’m for climbing trees,

Apple picking,

And leaf piles.

I’m for pumpkins.

I’m for Grandma’s house,

Sleepovers,

And extra dessert.

I’m for being spoiled.

I’m for stuffed animals,

the Tooth Fairy,

Christmas stockings,

And wishes.

I’m for first snowfalls,

Soggy mittens,

And cocoa.

I’m for marshmallows.

I’m for freckles,

Sticky kisses,

And dimpled hands.

I’m for “I love you.”

I’m for rainbows,

Twirling umbrellas,

And puddles.

I’m for mud pies.

I’m for stomping.

I’m for skipping,

And running,

And flying.

I’m for imagination,

For new crayons,

Fresh paper,

And possibilities.

Crafting

I’m for discovery,

For turning over rocks,

Taking a leap,

Being brave.

I’m for newborn noises,

Kid conversations,

And questions.

I’m for naps.

I’m for growing.

I’m for new clothes,

Birthdays,

And missing teeth.

I’m for time—

For eternal days,

And days that go too quickly.

I’m for childhood.

100 Days of Motherhood, 40

The post I’m for Childhood appeared first on Five in Tow.