caroline holzberger

Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away!

It poured today.

Like, someone-go-find-a-guy-named-Noah-and-follow-him-wherever-he’s-headed kind of rain.

The clouds loomed for hours, but didn’t release one drop until their appointed time. Which, of course, was carpool.

2:57 – drip, drip, drip

2:58 – make a decision.

Will I welcome the rain, or complain about the rain.

All of a sudden, I was flooded with memory after memory of lying on my couch.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year, after year, after year, after year.

I can’t tell you how many times, lying on my couch, I was able to hear the drops of rain on our skylight.

The kids would want to go and play in the rain, but once again, Mama had to say No!

Not because I didn’t want to get wet. I’d have given anything to get wet.

I couldn’t sit upright. If I could sit upright, I couldn’t move around. If I could move around, it sure wasn’t for very long.

Mama had to say No! many more times that she said Yes. Oh, how my heart said Yes, but my body said No for the better part of the last five years.

But. Not. Today.

Today, as God’s buckets in the sky poured out all over the luxury SUVs all around me, I gave thanks.

I thanked Him that my family has cover to safely keep dry from the rain.

I thanked Him I had healthy children who could dance in the rain.

I thanked Him for the warm meal we would eat once we dried off.

I thanked Him for the freedom to be silly, or spontaneous or ridiculous with my children.

I thanked Him for the pouring rain He has used to cleanse my heart of so much self-centeredness lately.

But, most of all, I thanked Him that my heart and my body were both screaming YES! when my sweet babies got into my Gracevan squealing – “Can we play in the rain when we get home!?!”

“You better believe we can!” was Mama’s reply this time.

This time, my body can handle it. This time I am healthy. This time I get to say Yes!!

I snatched up my honorary nephews across the street (sons of Super Neighbor) and took them three, along with my three (in case you’re counting, and I was, that’s six kids under eight) to play in the rain! You took six little kids by yourself out in the street to play in the rain? Are you nuts? You should know that answer by now. Here’s the deal…Super neighbor called me every single day for the entire five years of my illness. Did you read that? Every. Single. Day. I didn’t even want to talk to me every single day. But, man oh man did she don her galoshes and rain gear as she weathered this medical storm with me, right by my side. And, then, as God would have it, right across the street, as of a couple years ago. We are so blessed.

We must have played out there for almost an hour. We made tin foil boats to race down the cul-de-sac. We splashed in puddles like a marching band on parade. We turned our faces upward to rinse off our muddy faces. We laughed. We played. And, I’m pretty sure my kids made a memory today of Mama getting to say Yes!

And Lord, I give you thanks!

My sweet friend, life is hard. It is tiring, messy, draining, stressful, exhausting, overwhelming, expensive, and jam-packed.

But, other times, it is precious. Other times it is joyful, silly, spontaneous, friendly, simple, pleasantly surprising, orderly, and easy.

Please take time to play in the rain. Take it from someone who has been forced to watch her children have fun through the living room window, time after time. Your kids are getting bigger. They are one day closer to leaving your house than they were yesterday. There will soon be a day they won’t ask you to play in the rain with them.

Do it.

And give God thanks for playing in the rain kind of days.

But, do it soaking wet, with your face towards the sky.

You won’t be sorry.

I know I wasn’t.

See?

Generation E

I can blame a great portion of this internal ‘stirring’ on my daughter.

She’s three and won’t know for years. I’m ok with that.

A few weeks ago, the Holy Spirit, Abigail and I were in Wal-mart. One may assume the Holy Spirit doesn’t chill out much at Wal-mart, but one would be dead wrong. Those are His peeps. The poor, the meek, the lowly – those were Jesus’ homies. Don’t believe me? Pick a gospel. Read it. then, I’ll say I told ya so. In Jesus’ Name.

He cared for poor, widowed, abandoned…but three year olds? I’m not sure. I know Jesus insisted to ‘bring the children unto Him’, but I doubt He actually meant bring three-year-olds unto Him. I think he would have passed the three-year-olds unto the disciples. Especially mine.

The fool that coined the phrase ‘terrible twos’ clearly did not have a three-year-old yet. It was probably the same man person who came up with ‘morning sickness’, ‘slight menstrual mood swings’ and  ‘post-partum blues’. Try ‘all-friggin’day sickness’, ‘menstrual speed-downhill-skiing mood shifts’ and ‘post-partum psychotic mayhem’.

But, I digress. And there ain’t no room for a digress in a bloglet.

Sister friend and I were at Wal-mart getting groceries together. I used to equate this to getting slowly pecked to death by baby chickens. Then I spent the besttwodollarsI’veeverspentEVER. Let me be clear that we never, I repeat hardly ever, reward our kids for good behavior in a store. There’s never dollar bin trips or candy rewards for not throwing a fit. My man and I personally do not believe in rewarding our kids for behavior that is to be expected anyway. We have occasionally given a treat for above normal excellent behavior, or a huge servant’s heart toward someone. But even then we talkin’ ‘bout a Hershey bar split three ways, not a $20 toy each.

But, this time, I caved in sheer anticipation of a not-napping-anymore-two-year-old + a sleep deprived pre-menstrual Mama + a looooong grocery list + coupons and price-matching on a Saturday morning (I know, we were that desperate) and how it would vomit chaos and hysteria on poor unsuspecting Wal-mart. Guaranteed. So, I bought sister-friend a princess magic wand. Save the ‘real Christians don’t teach magic’ emails please. Or I will send her to Wal-mart with you. No magic wand. Just a Bible. K?

She love-love-love-loves to ‘change’ the food on the aisles into what we want them to be. I pick up some yogurt, and she says “No, Mama, that’s not yoguht yet.” She presses her Disney Princess just let it go button and squeals “I change you into manilla yoguht!”

It’s darling.

It’s joyful to watch.

It’s allows me to leave Wal-mart with the same child I entered it with. And she’s breathing.

That, my friend is a win-win.

But, on that same day my Mama-genius was in full swing with the ‘change it into’ suggestion, my precious rascal-girl said something so profound and disturbing, I haven’t been able to shake it since. And then I go and start reading Jen Hatmaker’s books. Lord, help me.

After gleefully hugging her magic wand ever-so-tightly – she couldn’t actually change anything into anything for five solid minutes – it was time to leave the toy section. Insert me singing alto part of Hallelujah chorus.

Then it happened.

Did Abigail fuss and whine at the next fifteen aisles (with approximately 3,214 toys on each aisle) we passed insisting “Mama, I want thaaaaat!!”

Well, yes and no.

Oh, she fussed and she whined. Which ticked me off really because I hadn’t even yelled yet. And I’d brilliantly – with the creativity and patience of a Mom with one kid – come up with the ‘change our groceries into’ game. Dangit, Abigail I was gonna blog about this great Mama moment, don’t fuss now!

But it was her words that rocked me.

She didn’t say “I want thaaaaat!”

Instead – “Maaamaaa…I don’t have thaaaat!”

I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared at her.

She didn’t look like Satan. Weird.

Did she just say what I thought she said?

“Abigail, Wal-mart has fifteen freaking rows of toys, baby girl, of course you don’t have that! You can’t have all of it.”

“But, why?”

A piece of my soul died that day.

Dear friend, if you are raising children even as we speak, then your kiddos are growing up in what ‘they’ are calling Generation E.

What’s the E for?

Excess.

Entitlement.

That absolutely couldn’t be more true.

Nobody had to teach three-year-olds thirty years ago to say “I want thaaat!!” Just ask my Mom, she’ll vouch. But that was thirty years ago. Now, nobody has to teach my three-year-old that not only is she entitled to that but heck, she should have all of that. All fifteen freaking rows.

Despite the emotional gag reflex that ensues, I have replayed that phrase over and over in my mind. The subtle difference in wording shows the grave difference in the heart attitude of a kid in 2012 and a kid in 1982.

It’s tragic.

It’s depressing.

But, worst of all, it’s normal.

This came from a kid who really doesn’t get much of what she wants. Mainly cause we’re broke (or so we think!) but also because Ryan and I are desperately and with full-force trying to fight this culture beast.

Fight with me?

I have a two book Jen Hatmaker+God-rocked-my-world-apart-project I will be blogging about over the next few months. Join me.

First, we are reading Interrupted. But if you want to go ahead and save on shipping, we will read 7 next. I ain’t psychic but I know our worlds are gonna be rocked. I’ll even bet you money. I’ve got fifty cent. Cash. Not that rapper.

Maybe we will be able to fight this generation E beast.

Maybe we can raise humble kids (and selves!) whose entire self-worth isn’t wrapped up in stuff or the acquisition of more of it.

And sweet friend, maybe, just maybe, we can look, act, talk and LIVE a little bit more like Jesus.

Oh, how I hope so.

Until then, I cannot wait for my STYOWM badge my other friend Jennifer brags incessantly talks about. Read it. You’ll love it. 🙂

The Bloglet

My dear Lindsay. My sunshine. Sigh.

She is one of the dearest gifts God’s given me in my life. We met in fourth grade. Became close buddies in middle school and were connected at the hip for pretty much all the high school drama. We totally thought we were above it, of course. Oh to be young and ignorant again.

We both thought we had strong Christian convictions and incredibly strict parents (this part was pretty much true) so we clung to each other out of sheer solidarity. If we were going to not drink, smoke, do drugs, or have sex – or ever go to any sort of party where all those things were happening simultaneously – then at least we had each other.

Many a weekend were spent giggling, having sleepovers and dancing along with the final scene of Dirty Dancing. We actually didn’t have a ton in common – i.e. her athletic skills we, um, how-shall-I-say ‘yet to be bloomed’. But, we had us.

I love her deeply and miss her deeply-er. She and her precious man had to go off and follow God’s will and become missionaries in Mexico. I was completely devastated and profoundly proud all wrapped up in one chimichanga of emotion. I told God they could go serve for a year or two and I’d be fine. They laughed. God laughed more. They’ve been there 11 years. Check them out. What grande things their team is doing for God’s kingdom!

Anyway, because we were absolute idiots before it was even cool to be super hilarious, we had a ton of inside jokes and a great deal of vocabulary words we had, in fact, made up ourselves. Booyah, Webster.

One of our reoccurring trends was to add the ‘–let’ suffix to any word, yes, any word was fair game, in order to make it smaller.

A truck was a truck, but when we’d see a little bitty single cab, shouldn’t be driving in Texas, type of Frontier or something, we would say “Oh cute, hi little buddy (insert baby talk voice) aren’t you just the cutest little trucklet.”

Cups were cups. Dixie cups were cuplets.

Shoes were shoes. Baby shoes were shoelets.

Furniture was furniture. Doll house furniture was, well, a bit creepy.

You get the point.

Foretoo, (our own word which was freely and often substituted for ‘therefore’ or ‘however’ or ‘because’ or anything that made us giggle) we enjoyed miniaturizing anything for a good laugh.

I have not changed.

Waistline, yes? Ain’t no waistlinelet here.

Silly sense of humor, absolutely no!

Hence, the introduction of my following project on the discipline I so desperately lack – I will now blog something every day. Lord, help us all.

But, in an effort to not lose my seven readers, the somewhat clean house my man enjoys, and/or one of my three actual children, I will not be writing full length blogs every day. Somebody just said Amen! Instead, I will pass along to you one of the many, many ways God shows up in the most beautiful and the most bizarre ways in my everyday life. And I will do it in shortened form.

They will not all relate to each other. They will not all be grammatically superb nor exhaustively researched, but they will be here. Come hell or high water. Am I allowed to say that?

Soon, I feel confident the bloglets will center around the book that’s-wrecked-my-life-in-the-best/worst-way-possible. Interrupted? Ya, good one, Jen Hatmaker. But, alas, I didn’t pay extra for speedy shipping. And while the old me would’ve just sat back like I already have for a few days until the thing came in the mail, I decided to be disciplined about beginning this part of my discipline. Extra gold star for me.

Thus, the bloglet is born.

And there was much rejoicing. (yaaaaaaaay.) Sunshine, that one was for you, too.

That is all.