Cruz's Baptism Day

Where you go, I'll go,

Where you stay, I'll stay,

When you move, I'll move,

I will follow you.

One of the many reasons I love going to Orchard Hill Church is the new perspective I seem to gain after each service.  The perspective that leaves us thinking, questioning, and reworking past assumptions and preconceptions well into the parking lot and car ride home.  I've heard the Christmas story so many times and over the years, I've listened to numerous pastors and teachers share their perspectives on it.  But today, Pastor Tim taught about Mary, the mother of Jesus, and I don't think I'll ever see her in the same light again.  No longer will I envision the royal figure often depicted in pictures, the beautifully dressed, well fed, angel face, contentedly relaxing by a well-kept, clean manger.  Mary was likely very young, probably an early teen at best, from a poor, rural, but hardworking family in Nazareth.  Mary was young, innocent, and likely no near ready to mother a baby. 

Especially this baby. 

God rocked her world with the news that she would carry his son, the One who would later die for her, as well as nations of people and generations to come.  And although the drastic change he placed upon her seems incomprehensible to us, there's a part of it that also remains so earthly, so realistic.  Mary was simple, normal, human.  Mary was like any one of us and just like her world changed forever with the news of Jesus, God has the power to do the same to us.  To change us, mold us, and make us part of His plan.  And whatever this plan involves, it is our job to be like Mary, to question, but accept, to follow, to praise, and to have faith.  

Never before has Mary seemed so human, so real to me.  She is an incredible example of a mother, and an incredible example of a believer.  She remained true when her reputation was at stake, when her plans failed to follow her path, and when the impossible seemed possible.  This sermon hit home for me in many ways, especially on Cruz's baptism day.

Yesterday was such a special day.  Holding a baby so close at Christmas time is a constant reminder of the miracle of what we celebrate this time of year.  How perfect of God to choose a sweet, innocent little baby to change our world forever.  

I think the holy water has something in it.  I say this because never before has Cruz slept soundly in church!  It was as if he knew it was a special day for him, knew his family was there to watch him, knew he was on stage in front of 500 plus people.  He was an angel baby.  Dressed in a simple white Gap sleeper, he was wide awake for the baptism, but slept through the rest of the service.  He stared peacefully as the pastor patted the water on his forehead, and fell asleep with his little fist up by his cheek, as if pondering the act himself.  

After church, we had a small reception at our house.  The menu included lasagna and garlic bread, a green salad with cranberries, a jello salad with cranberries, and punch with cranberries (I guess I didn't realize I had a theme going).  I decorated the table with Christmas trees and candles, a wrapping paper table runner, and lots of sweets.  And of course, the table would not be complete without twenty-eight cake balls, created and perfected for the second time around.  

Cruz enjoyed the attention and continued to sleep for a good portion of the day.  He spent some time hanging out with Charly, showed his family his little smile, and enjoyed watching us open a few gifts for him.  Once again, as I watched everyone congregate around Cruz and Charly, I wondered what our families did before babies.

I didn't expect Cruz's baptism to resonate with me as it did.  The message of this time of year, of the true meaning of Christmas.  And the example of Mary, as a mother, and as a faithful believer of Christ.  I pray that Cruz will grow up to be a believer like her, to remain faithful always, and to believe in the promise of God's plan.   

All your ways are good,

All your ways are sure,

I will trust in You alone.

Higher than my side,

High above my life,

I will trust in you alone.   

 

A case of the Mondays...and some Pajama Time

Some days, while determined to plant my feet, put up my fists, and roll with the punches, I end the day with what feels like two black eyes and a near knock-out.  Today was one of those days.  It was not only Monday, but the Monday following Thanksgiving, a day that called for some recovering from a busy weekend and some reloading for the upcoming week.  This Sunday is Cruz's baptism day and I am starting to get a little to-do list crazy as I plan for our little house to fill up with 18+ peeps.  There is a lot to do, however, sometimes I admit that I have a way of planning beyond the necessary, beyond the reality.  I'm learning, however, and today was the icing on the reality check cake.  Maybe just what I needed...

Today was my six-week doctor's appointment.  Grandma and Grandpa had graciously offered to stay with Cruz, so I planned a morning of a much-needed run to the bank, the grocery store, and the pharmacy following my appointment.  Besides quick trips here and there, I haven't left Cruz; although I knew he was in the best hands, I'm still getting used to being away from my little man.  It's weird.  A part of me looks forward to the few hours of 'me time,' however, once I'm out of the house, alone in my car, I find my foot pressing a little harder on the gas pedal, hurrying my way through errands, speeding past yellow lights, and skipping 'important,' stops in order to get home. 

What I hoped would be a half hour, in-and-out appointment, ended up lasting an hour and a half, an hour of that spent thumbing through a September issue of Better Homes and Gardens, replying to text messages I had neglected for two weeks, and wishing I was home, in pajamas, rocking my baby boy.  The longer I waited, the worse the errands I was planning on running sounded, and by the time I was called for my appointment, my blood pressure was high and I was more than ready to just be home. 

Last night after Beau got home, I attempted to finish a baking spree I had successfully started the night before.  See, I can't just order a cake for Cruz's baptism and call it good.  I need to have a dessert platter of chocolate covered cherries, almond bark pretzels, and fancy cake balls, complete with lollipop sticks and pretty blue ribbon tied around the top (see picture below for inspiration).

I'm fairly confident that I'm a pretty good cook; however, when it comes to baking, especially recipes that call for melting and dipping chocolate, I'm truly one disaster in the making.  Two hours later, with a counter covered in chocolate remains, cake batter, and about every spoon I own, I was nearing the end of my rope.  Don't get me wrong, I can chocoholic with the rest of ya, but there is nothing worse than cleaning leftover melted chocolate from bowls, utensils, and countertops.  By the time I had the dishes cleaned, the countertop cleared, and the dark chocolate dishwater drained, I was exhausted.  With one hand, I took my baking sheet and headed for the fridge.  As I went to place my 30-some cake balls on the bottom shelf of the fridge, I managed to drop a heavy bowl of leftover salsa right in the middle of the sheet, smashing most of my chocolate disaster.  It was one of those tragic moments that leaves you dumbfounded and speechless, sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in nothing but salsa, chocolate, and shame.       

Getting in the car and driving to Hy-Vee for cake mix, dipping chocolate, and lollipop sticks did cross my mind for a split second.  When it comes to cooking and baking, I don't like things going wrong in my kitchen.  But what did I do instead?  I sighed, coughed back a couple of tears, and threw the entire baking sheet, lollipop sticks and all, into the trash.   

I'm not going to lie, it was a liberating experience for me.  The sound of the half-melted cake balls hitting the insides of the trash can sounded like a choir of angels singing 'I Will Survive.'  Yes, it was a disaster with about four hours of wasted time and now, no cake balls to show for it.  But, the show will go on.  Cruz will be baptized on Sunday, cake balls or not, and we will live (probably healthier) without them. 

Instead of moping in the middle of my kitchen disaster and wallowing in my Monday-Blues, I picked up my little, wrapped him in a blankie, and escaped to his room for some storytime.  We read Pajama Time, and I rocked him to sleep with the tree lit and Christmas music on.  Drowned out the weary world around us and focused on his sweet little face.  As he laid across my chest, resting his head on my left arm, I had the perfect view of his face.  I watched his eyes get heavy and fall shut, revealing the little eyelashes beginning to grow.  He fights it, the slits of his eyes continuing to study my every move as I mouth the words, hop into bed, turn out the light, you can have a party in your dreams tonight.  His mouth and cheeks are the last to give in, continuing to take little sucks of his pacifier that make the sweetest little squeak.  His hand is weaved around the chain of my necklace, and rests under the collar of my shirt.  As he sleeps, he continues to make little noises, a combination of little baby breaths, grunts, and squeaks, creating the perfect harmony with the music in the background.

This little moment outweighed the four hours of kitchen disaster I had just experienced.  It was as if Cruz knew we needed that quiet little moment together.  The reality check I needed to forget all that are cake balls. 

All these moments...the big, the small, the silly, the mundane, the disasters, the adventures, are what life is all about.

Bare Feet and Chubby Cheeks

I love weekends. Especially weekends in the summer. And today, it felt like summer. A 90 degree, May 23rd day seemed like a week in August. And let's just say, I'm glad it's not August yet! Today was Charly's baptism day. A day for our families to join and celebrate the life of one little girl. In her pretty pink dress and cream satin shoes, she was so sweet during church. She listened intently to the band and calmly sat in Jordan's arms, almost as if she knew she was about to be part of something important. She was especially a trooper when the pastor got a little crazy with the water. As he doused her little head of hair with the holy water, she only blinked tight a few times and stared at the congregation as they stared back with wide smiles and plenty of 'oohs' and 'awes.'

Afterwards, we went back to Jordan and Kelli's for a reception. It was hot, but I was more than happy to rock my little niece to sleep in the shade of a big oak tree. Although her hair resembled Jack Nicholson from 'The Shining,' and her little arms and legs were sticking to mine from the heat, she was the sweetest. Later, we brought her in and she soaked up the center of attention. She smiled, cooed to her Grandpa Denny, and showed us her new trick, over and over again: rolling from her back to her tummy. She rolls to her tummy like nobody's business; however, hasn't figured out how to get back to her starting position. She squeals and kicks her feet in frustration until someone helps roll her back. She reminds me of a little ladybug stuck on its back. Only in reverse :)

Summer is here. Days when you can almost see the steam radiate from people's bodies, only to be cooled to almost shivers when stepping into the AC. Days when my flowers seem to bloom into new shapes every single day. Days when bare feet touch more bare sidewalks and prickly grass than carpet. Days when nothing sounds more refreshing than a quick dip in a cool pool. Days when freezy pops become a regular part of a balanced diet, and ponytails replace the hair straightener. Days when the nights come late and the mornings come later. Days when the sounds of Ron Santo and Pat Hughes and an ice cream cone from MooRoos beat even the most delicious dreams.

Summer is here and for that I am happy.