In A Simple Way I Love You

Love doesn't always have to be complicated. Sometimes love can be simple. Over Valentine's Day, I realized that sometimes the simplest expressions of love are enough--no grand overtures, no Martha Stewart sensations--just small things that say: I love you.

Valentines: Little scraps of paper, snippets of ribbon, and leftover stickers carefully crafted together into something beautiful for someone we love. A Sunday afternoon spent with cousins creating silly and serious sayings to put on our cards.

Cupcakes: Love doesn't have to be from scratch. Cupcakes thrown together late in the day from a box mix and a spray can of frosting met with great approval from two little boys.


Chocolate: Nothing says "I love you" like chocolate! (Just kidding . . . ) When I saw this "Marital Bliss Bar" it immediately reminded me of my relationship with Nathanael, so I bought it and hid it away until Valentines Day. My husband daily models love in its simplest form--sacrifice. He sacrificially gives of his time, service, sleep, and support in little ways day in and day out. All those little sacrifices get translated directly to my heart as love. Thank you, Nathanael!

P.S. I did let him have the whole chocolate bar . . . okay . . . minus one little square that I stole before bedtime.

Love Simplified

I'm a perfectionist. It's my job, as a perfectionist, to make life more complicated than it needs to be. When I make a grocery list, if I make a mistake or it looks sloppy, I crumple it up, throw it away and start over. When we go out with friends, if I say something embarrassing, it casts a shadow over the entire evening. My journals are empty from page two on because of some tiny error in entry number one. A perfectionist is usually in constant inner turmoil precisely because there is a HUGE gap between what the perfectionist hopes to be and what she actually is--an imperfect person.

This inner turmoil knows no bounds. It extends to all areas of life--including love. Love, like the rest of life, is complicated for the perfectionist. Perhaps because it is here, in this area of love, that the perfectionist really, really wants to soar. She wants to give love perfectly, but she fails and sometimes, devastatingly so. Oh, how I fail! It's one thing to throw out your grocery list when you've spelled "Doritos" incorrectly, but what do you do with a relationship when you've misspelled "love" over and over again, when sin and selfishness stain. How do you start again?

And of all the people the perfectionist struggles to love, it is herself that she loves least of all--if at all. She can't see past the failure for the schism between expectation and reality is far too wide and unforgivable. Furthermore, since she barely likes herself, she finds it almost impossible to believe that anyone else would like--let alone--love her (and if they do, then they must not really know her).

Dark thoughts on a Valentine's Day. Yet, these were my thoughts yesterday as I stumbled, snapped, and snarled my way through the day. At the end of the day, I was waving the white flag of surrender, ready to pull the covers up over my head with this mantra echoing across the empty places: "I can't do it. It's too complicated. I give up." But a sister called. She listened as I spewed forth all that had suffocated, stifled, and sent me spiraling down all day long. She offered the kind of encouragement that most perfectionists and self-loathers shrug off as misinformed, but I listened. I listened and looked amidst the lies, all those thoughts that I had believed all day long and most of my life, for the tiniest bit of truth. At the core of all those lies, was a half-truth: I am not perfect. True. I am not perfect.

The problem is that I have taken that truth and attached all sorts of lies to it--all kinds of misaligned effects with this one cause: my imperfection. I'm not perfect, and therefore, unlovable. I'm not perfect, and therefore, my children will have serious struggles and need serious therapy. I'm not perfect, and my husband will eventually get tired of putting up with me. I am not perfect, and therefore, I'll disappoint my friends, so it's better not to have any. I am not perfect, and therefore, I cannot be happy.

These half-truths sound a little ridiculous when written out, but inside my head and heart, they are subtle slingers of guilt, despair, self-condemnation, and pain. Sometimes it takes a long time to dismantle the lies that we've believed--especially those ingrained from birth. Regardless of how long it takes, the first step is always to recognize the lie and begin to put truth into its place. We can't always do that alone; we may need sisters, prayer ministers, friends, parents, spouses to help us see our way clearly to a very uncomplicated and simple truth. Yesterday, on a pretty messed-up Valentine's Day, God gave me a glimpse of the Valentine's message He'd like to send me. It's pretty simple: You are not perfect, and I love you.

But God demonstrates His love for us in this:

While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

The Journey Begins

This morning our friends, Mark and Luciana and their daughter Isa, boarded a plane for Peru where they'll meet their second daughter, Rosa Maria Cecilia, who waits for them in an orphanage in a small town up in the mountains. For Mark and Luciana, the journey to adopt started several years ago and has been fraught with heartaches and disappointments as they've jumped through all the hoops only to face closed doors. As they received the news that Lia was to be theirs, it felt like the end of a long journey, but the journey is just beginning for Mark, Luciana, Isa, and Lia. It is a joyful journey to be sure, but not one without unknowns and question marks. They have graciously allowed us to share in their joy and in their journey through prayer.

If you would like to follow their story and pray for them as they meet Lia in Peru over the next five weeks, they have started a blog to keep us all up-to-date: rosamariacecilia.blogspot.com

Luciana at the shower to celebrate Lia's adoption.

South of the Border

On Sunday while the Ruch cousins were over for lunch, we happened to glance out our back door and saw these two geese waddling through the yard. Someone said, "I thought geese flew South for the winter." A voice chimed in, "These are Canadian geese; they are south." I guess it's all relative. They were fun to watch as they made their way across the snow.

Snow Ice Cream

Tuesday morning as reports of the oncoming blizzard were on every radio and TV station, my sister-in-law Margie called to remind me that blizzards are a great time to make snow ice cream. I had never heard of snow ice cream. Snow cones . . . yes. Snow ice cream . . . no. I found what seemed to be a fairly easy recipe online, stocked up on the ingredients and awaited the fresh snow that would be arriving that afternoon.

We didn't make the snow ice cream until Friday night. Risking everything, I decided snow ice cream would be dessert for some friends (with a 6-year-old-daughter) that were coming for dinner. After dinner, we collected some fresh snow and whipped in evaporated milk, sugar, and vanilla. It wasn't bad. It tasted kind of like soft serve vanilla ice cream, but a pan of back-up brownies would've been nice.

Got snow ice cream?

Of Blizzards and Babies

The predicted blizzard did blow through on Tuesday evening. Winds gusted up to 60 mph, and the storm dumped 20 inches of snow on us. It was a sight to behold from inside, of course, and we were fortunate not to lose power during the storm. We experienced "thundersnow," lightning and thunder in a snowstorm, for the first time. It was eerie to say the least.

Early Tuesday, while we prepared for this storm, my sister-in-law Katherine, a week overdue with her sixth, was at the hospital to be induced as scheduled. Four of her five children waited there in hopes of being able to greet their new sibling immediately after birth, but as the day progressed and the labor didn't, they came over to spend the night with us. They arrived with about an hour or so to play outside before the storm really kicked in.

As the winds grew stronger and the snow drifted, we wondered what the next couple of days might be like stranded in the house with six kids. We hoped we had bought enough food to feed us all and hoped the power would stay on. Keeping everyone warm could be tricky. After the kids were all tucked in and asleep, we turned on the news to catch stories about main thoroughfares in Chicago that were shut down with cars bumper to bumper, stranded as they tried to get home from work. Cars were running out of gas, and owners were abandoning them there. My sister-in-law Margie was already without power.

And still no baby . . .

We received updates about Katherine's progress throughout the night as the wind howled and children slept. At 4 a.m. we received word that Katherine was experiencing bleeding and would likely need a C-section. We prayed and waited. At 6:30 the phone rang and as Nathanael answered it, the kids appeared in the doorway eager to hear any news. Stewart told them via speaker phone that they could rejoice that Becket John had entered the world, and both Mommy and baby were doing well. There was no going back to sleep after that!

As we gazed out of our window, what we saw was truly amazing--snow everywhere drifted up almost as high as the van with twenty inches of virgin snow over the entire backyard! Everything was still in the bright sun. We realized it would be quite some time before it would be possible to take the kids to the hospital--much to their disappointment. However, a hot breakfast and sending them out to build forts and play "capture the flag" seemed to ease the wait.

Nathanael shoveled for four hours and freed the driveway, but not the sidewalks or a path from our back door to the car. The snow plow hadn't come up our street either. So, even though our car could go down the driveway, it couldn't go out. Finally around 2 p.m., a friend drove his Land Rover up our street to pick up Nathanael along with Becket's eager siblings to go to the hospital after waiting all day long.

The kids have been in and out from playing in the snow many times since yesterday, and I can barely keep up with the wet clothes. They are having a blast in the remnants of the biggest storm of the decade. And today, after our street had been plowed late last night, we went to visit Becket and parents at the hospital.

He's very cute and . . . a little bit famous! Katherine and Stewart were featured in an article about blizzard babies in the Chicago Tribune today. You can check the article out here.

We praise the Lord that Becket arrived safely--blizzard and all.