A Musing Maralee

March 7, 2011
by Maralee
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Forgiveness lessons from The Man in the Yellow Hat

Sometimes I realize what an adult I’ve become. While reading some stories to my kids about a very inquisitive primate all I can think about is- why does that man keep leaving this monkey alone when the monkey clearly has some obedience issues? And why after the monkey swallowed a puzzle piece and had to have it removed in the hospital did they use that same puzzle piece to finish the puzzle? How gross is that?

But that’s not how my kids see it. They adore this monkey and all his trouble-making ways. I think they feel a little camaraderie with him because he knows what he needs to do, but has such trouble obeying. And even when he has been so very naughty, there is forgiveness. The man with an unusual preference for the color yellow and bold taste in hats has such a love for this little monkey that whatever the damage, he makes it right.

And that’s why I love these stories, too. I love for my kids to see that forgiveness is possible. And it’s something I also need to be reminded. No matter what the damage, God has paid the bill and longs to take me back in his arms for forgiveness. Maybe it takes childlike faith to not question the story and believe that this man would keep trusting this monkey again and again even when the monkey seems bent on proving him wrong. And maybe it takes childlike faith to believe that God keeps loving us, too.

March 7, 2011
by Maralee
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The perks of biological kids

This last Sunday morning Brian and I spoke about foster parenting to a class at a large local church. When we went to pick up the kids we got separated and I had to ask a lady if she saw Brian pass by that way. She asked me what he looked like. I wasn’t sure how to answer, then showed her our infant son Joel and said, “Like this, but in his thirties.” She said, “Oh yeah, he’s that way.” So I guess there are perks to having biological kids.

Biology may make us look like our parents, but it’s the way we carry on the important values of our parents that truly communicates who is our family. Although our older three children aren’t biologically related to us, they are no less our kids. I remember when Josh was just two and he saw me set his baby brother’s bottle on the coffee table. He picked it up, put a coaster underneath and in a perfect imitation of his father said, “Water on wood is not good.” This boy is clearly his father’s child.

I know just like my infant son bares the image of his father, I was made in the image of my heavenly father. It’s a mystery to me that something about who I am reflects who He is. Although I falter and fail Him, I continue to be his child because not only am I made in his image, but He has chosen me. I want to show that I’m part of His family by loving just like my father does. When I act in ways that reflect His values, His goodness, and His glory, that’s when it becomes easier for those around me to see the family resemblance.

March 1, 2011
by Maralee
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The Piggybank

A couple days ago I came around the corner to find my two little sons huddled over something on the ground. Turns out it was a decorative piggy bank I was given years and years ago that usually sits empty on my dresser. The boys had taken coins from their own piggy banks and were depositing them into mine. When I asked what they were doing, my four year-old said, “Mommy, we put money in your piggy bank so you could buy whateverything you want!”

We are so blessed as parents to be able to give our children good gifts. When we do, it is a reflection of our Heavenly Father’s desire to give good gifts to us, His children. And what a special moment it is when our kids want to give good gifts back to us! Whether it’s pennies in the piggy bank or a precious Sunday School craft project, those things are priceless in the eyes of this mother.

I have to imagine that God loves to get gifts back from us, even if our efforts seem as feeble as imagining a couple pennies could buy “whateverying” we might want. Today I’m going to try mothering with a heart that says this is my gift back to God. A way to say thanks for the precious gift of my children.

February 26, 2011
by Maralee
6 Comments

A day late and a blog post short

So I realize I’m about ten years too late to the blogging party. I’ve had lots of good reasons to hesitate. First of all, I’ve had privacy concerns. After spending the last 9 years involved with kids who didn’t belong to me (first as a house-mom in a boys home and then as a foster mom) there is a long list of the things you can’t say about your life. Second of all, I’m indecisive. This is a minor problem when Brian is pressuring me about what I want for my birthday or where we should go for dinner (don’t even ask how many of those tiny sample cans of paint I made that man slap on the kitchen wall). This is a major problem when it comes to committing to writing about my life. I know how quickly my mind can change and then I am thoroughly embarrassed by my own thoughts. I am the girl who kept a journal for all of two months and then ended up ripping the pages out and tossing them when I realized THIS was the material I was documenting for posterity.

But I’m over it. Okay, I’m not really over it at all. I’m still agonizing about how to begin to document my thoughts and the general insanity that is my life these days. It’s just that now I am suffering from. . . well, I don’t know that there’s a name for it. You know that feeling you have when you’re in a group discussion and you think of this really important question or this revolutionary thought, but the moment never comes to share it? You feel all deflated and find yourself sharing your deep thoughts with nobody in particular while you drive back home just so it doesn’t stay stuffed inside you for all eternity. Well, that’s kind of what I feel like all the time. I adore my life at home with four small kids, but I’m afraid The Dog is the main beneficiary of all my grown-up thoughts because at least he let’s me finish before bothering me about having to go to the bathroom. Most of the time. I think I was born without an inner monologue. I do all my processing out loud and without someone to share it with I find myself intellectually constipated. (My husband will say he knew I couldn’t even do one post without some kind of poop reference. I’d like to debate him about that, but clearly he knows me too well.)

I’m excited to share what I’ve learned and what I’m learning from this unique life I’ve been given. And if nobody hears it, at least maybe I won’t mumble to myself quite so much. And I think that will be for the better. For all of us.