More than Mere Words

Three words together.

 

My heart could burst.

 

"Raining. Daddy. 'Brella."

 

Oh the prayers that have covered his lips and tongue.

The pleading I've done with God to hear his voice.

The thoughts birthed in his brain,

etched on his heart,

seemingly stuck like glue to the back of his throat.

 

They're coming.

Baker is leading our happy dancing and keeps saying, "'Mommy, proud. Daddy, happy."

 

"Yes we are, Buddy.

So proud of you.

Every single day happy you are ours."

 

 

sometimes God answers no when i pray

"sometimes God answers 'yes' when I pray,

sometimes God answers 'wait' when I pray,

sometimes God answers 'no,' just because He loves me so,

but I know God always answers when I pray"

 

I remember signing this verse in children's church, and today, 25 years later, I still find myself humming the tune and singing the lyrics.


When I pray with faithfulness, with an expectant heart, with an eager spirit, I often misinterpret a "not right now" or "not at all" for God not hearing my prayers.


when a diagnosis is confirmed,
when a heart hurts,
when His timing is not my own,
when farewell is uttered,
when a door closes,
when a job fails,
when a storm devastates,


God is still God.
He is still reigning on His throne.
The Creator of the universe still knows my name.
The Almighty still holds my life in His hands.


If he had answered yes to one very strong, very purposeful prayer.
A prayer that was uttered just over two years ago.
A prayer where we begged and pleaded and petitioned for our son to come into this world without Down Syndrome.
We wouldn't be us.
And I just cannot fathom how that could be.

His ways are better.
His grasp is stronger.
His thoughts are higher.
His love is greater.
His plan is bigger.

when I think about a father

when I think about a father,

I think about a man

who, with the same hands, works tirelessly to provide for his family and lovingly bandages a skinned knee

who, with the same voice, screams I love yous and whispers gentle corrections

who, with the same feet, twirls his wife around the kitchen floor in a midnight slow dance and pulls his two year old in a red wagon teeming with a dozen of his closest stuffed friends

who, on the same knees, kneels before his Maker and teaches how to loop, swoop, and pull just so to tie itty bitty tennis shoes

who, with the same eyes, memorizes the beauty of a morning sunrise and admires a toddler's artwork as if it holds the value and prestige of the Mona Lisa

who, with the same arms, builds a fort to rival all forts and soothes his baby to sleep

who, with the same tongue, sings praises to his Savior and encourages his family to be dreamers of the biggest and wildest dreams

 

who, with the same nose, gives tender butterfly kisses and sniffs a steak to grilled perfection

 

who, with the same heart, loves fiercely and loves tenderly

 

when I think about a father, I think about this man

 I think about the man who steals my heart everyday

 I think about the man who is my little boy's biggest hero

 

when I think about a father, I am most grateful God gave our family you

 

an ode to daddy

From the day I first laid eyes on Mr. Bell on a sunny September day, I've had a spring in my step and a flutter in my heart. For almost ten years, I had him all to myself. He was my Friday night date and the one I could always count on for a Sunday afternoon nap. He rivals Emeril on the grill and makes a mean cup of coffee. He rarely wears anything other than a baseball hat and blue jeans, and my friends, he wears them well. He is the voice I love to hear, the blush on my cheek, the hand I love to hold. He's my person. And I am his.

The time I first had to share him was on the day we welcomed our baby boy into the world. On a late May evening, Brian gave a piece of his heart away.

He has always wanted a son. Someone to do boy things with.
Because, apparently, I don't hunt right.
How was I to know that perfume and pearls don't go with camouflage?

From that late night in May, my heart has fallen all over in love with the man I call husband, and who our little person affectionately calls, "Da Da."

Our date nights are a little less frequent. And his blue jeans often have traces of Nilla Wafer crumbs. And our Sunday afternoon naps are now three deep.

And I think that's just the way I like it.

Moments like these,
with Baker fishing from Brian's knee,

 

and early morning pancake picnics,

 

and too fast rides on a too big toy

 

these are the moments I will forever remember.

 

2013 - A Year of Joy

This was a year of big smiles and a lot of joy for the Bell family.

I cannot wait to see what the Lord has in store for us in 2014.

 

 

Looking back, my word for the year 2013 was joy.

 

Finding joy in celebrations.

Finding joy in heartaches.

Finding joy on the weekdays.

Finding joy on the weekends.

Finding joy in my marriage.

Finding joy in parenthood.

Finding joy in my job.

Finding joy in the unknown.

Finding joy in the unplanned.

Finding joy in every day.

In all things, I was challenged to find joy.

 

Sometimes, on some days, it was more difficult.

But the Lord was always faithful.

 

Baker would plaster that infectious smile,

or Brian would engulf me in an embrace so big and so tight,

or a friend would call at the just right time,

or a perfectly timed text would arrive,

or my parents would do that wonderfully encouraging thing that parents do,

and the Lord reminded me of joy in the midst.

 

 

 I learned, when I truly look for joy in all circumstances,

there is joy to be found in all circumstances.

 

"Rejoice always."

1 Thessalonians 5:16

 

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again - Rejoice!"

Philippians 4:4

 

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."

James 2:4

 

I have contemplated my word for 2014.

I have decided, without hesitation, it will be intentional.

 

Being intentional as a believer and in my quest to point people to my Lord and Savior.

Being intentional as a wife, as a mother, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend.

Being intentional in hospitality.

Being intentional in servanthood.

Being intentional in conversations.

Being intentional in relationships.

Being intentional in my everyday.

 

Praying intentionally.

Loving intentionally.

Living intentionally.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad

We got the dreaded call this week.

Actually, my husband got the dreaded call.

I made the mistake of letting Baker's dear teachers

know I would be in meetings for the morning.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 The call went something like this:

Ring, ring, ring.

(When the daycare, where your beloved is residing calls,

you pick up before the first ring can do its thing.)

The wonderful director, (whom I have bugged every day -

sometimes multiple times a day - calling to check on Bake Bake)

says, "Baker has been wheezing and coughing this morning,

and I became concerned when he got choked on his bottle and began gasping for air.

I think it would be best if you take him to the doctor."

 So, off he goes to pick up Baby Baker.

Mind you, he does not call me.

He texts - "Can you talk?"

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 If I had known why he wanted to talk,

I would have bolted out of that inconsequential meeting

so fast I would have left cartoon-worthy dust in my tracks.

However, thinking my husband just wanted to lavish me with praise

about my stellar good looks (ha!),

I silenced my phone and went back to planning Baker's attire for the first Alabama football game

paid close attention to the task at hand.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 Thirty minutes later, THIRTY minutes later, I could talk and called Brian.

He didn't answer his work, cell, or work cell phones.

(Did I mention I have stalkerish tendencies?)

He finally called back, and says, "I'm just sitting here holding our sweet boy."

A million thoughts run through my head.

Mind you, it's 11:30.

I know Brian is swamped at work all day,

so he's not just going to feed Baker his lunchtime bottle.

The only words I can muster, "Talk faster!"
So he proceeds to tell me about Baker wheezing at school

and choking on his bottle and Baker's (thankfully) cautious preschool teachers and director calling with concern.

 Fast forward several hours, a doctor visit, several prescriptions, a few tears (from yours truly), and we're home with nebulizer in hand.

 I was a wreck.

Having the world's biggest pity party.

Not only do we have physical therapy a few afternoons a week,

a doctor's appointment most weeks to check on this or be proactive about that,

but now, we have to do 30 minute breathing treatments 4-6 times a day.

It was not pretty. I am not proud of it. But, it happened.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

 I was so worried about Baker.

Concerned he wouldn't tolerate the mask well.

Concerned the medicine would interfere with his sleeping and eating habits.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

  You'd think I would learn that God is in control.

Holds His children in the palm of His hands.

Has a perfect plan for our little man.

But no, I worried, fretted, cried, doubted.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

And this is what happened:

In true Baker form , he did perfectly.
Talks and smiles the whole time.
He is such a joy filled baby!

Silly mommy!

It was an icky week of coughing, chest rattling, and fevers.

It broke this mommy's heart to see my boy so pitiful.
 

He's on the mend now.
Turns out terrible, horrible, no good, very bad
wasn't so terrible, horrible, no good, very bad after all.

Praise God for a wonderful husband and father, daycare workers who love my sweets so dearly, and a faithful Father for watching over our precious family.

 

These boys...

At the hospital,

and at home,

Wide awake,

and fast asleep,

Fully clothed,

and nakey nakey,

these boys have captured this girl's heart.