Stuck in the Mud

Of late, the Armstrongs have been muddy.

Joey and I joined my personal training studio and some dear friends for the Dirty Thirty, a 5K mud run with 20 obstacles, this past Saturday morning. We had a blast!

The Next Level Fitness Team (and friends)

The start

Some of the obstacles:

Rope climb over a wall

Ice bath…frigid misery!

Took. My. Breath. Away.

We weren’t there to compete, just to finish and have fun with our buds on a gorgeous spring day. The weather was perfect and we all came out covered in Oklahoma red dirt with a medal around our filthy necks.

Finn’s been “stuck” too. It feels as though we’re trudging through the mud but just can’t progress. At every stage before walking, Finn has been slow to reach the milestone–and it hasn’t looked the way a “normal kid” would do it–but he’s gotten there eventually.

Now we’re wondering if his chubby little legs have accomplished all they can in terms of muscle innervation. As a trainer, I know how to strengthen a muscle. But if the muscle doesn’t have nerve function, that’s it. We talked with our Sooner Start therapist today about options for transitioning to a wheel chair. They have these cute but cumbersome kid cars and tiny wheelchairs and contraptions for babies like Finn. I’m not ready to acquiesce to this equipment. I guess I knew it was coming, but…I was hoping for healing.

Scooting in the standing frame

It’s frustrating to watch him struggle. He balls his hands into fists, drops his head and cries. He’s stubborn (not sure where he got that trait ) and is easily thwarted when his body fails him. I’ve had this anxious, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach for the past couple of months. Like I want to yawn, need to yawn, but my mouth just won’t form the “ahhh.” God made 15 month olds to be able to walk. Toddle. Crawl on all fours. Sit up from lying down. But not my 15 month old.

I know; same story…but it’s our story and I’m not liking this chapter. Feels like we’re stuck and he’s all muddy; like I want him to take a bath and make it all better.

Ode to the Mom

I’ve said it before: mommy-ing is hard work. Under-appreciated, misunderstood, unglamorous, exhausting, stomach-churning, handfuls of hair in toddler’s hands–painful work.

But it’s a blessing. One job not all women get to add to their resume.

So today I want to honor all those mommas who feel inadequate; who, like me, watch another mom “do it better” and feel like a complete failure.

To women who became moms all too soon or those who patiently waited years.

Finn and me at 4 months

Moms who co-sleep or enforce “crying it out.”

Moms with messy, crumby counter-tops or those with white-glove approval.

Finn and Kenton

Selfless moms to foster or adopted children or moms who birthed their own, white-knuckled and sweating.

Breast-feeders and formula-scoopers.

Nana Deb and Finn at Thanksgiving

Stay-at-home moms with time to craft and plan play dates and full-time working moms with little time to say goodnight.

Single moms and grandmas.

Grandma Mary and Finn at New Years

Moms who cook homemade meals via Pinterest and those who pick up take-out.

Mini-van drivers and jogging-stroller pushers.

Nana Bec and Finn at Christmas

NICU warrior moms and healthy baby moms.

Homeschoolers and PTA leaders.

Moms who spank and moms who don’t.

My first Mother’s Day gift from Finn.

Moms who lost unborn babies and moms who lost grown children.

And, of course, to my own mom: my biggest fan; who taught me that life isn’t fair, but that I am valuable to God and to my family. I am worthy of love and respect; and I’m capable of just about anything.

Isn’t she pretty?! (We need an updated pic, Mom!)

I know all these kinds of moms. I respect you and admire you.

Exhale deeply…we’re all trying our best. Let’s build a kinder, more creative, healthier breed of children together. I need you and maybe you need me.

Cooped Up

Sometimes I just feel claustrophobic. Like I need to GET OUT. Usually this means I’ve spent too much time indoors.

I blame this on my parents. Every vacation growing up was outdoors. Hiking, rafting, fishing, hunting, kayaking, swimming, water skiing, camping. We even stayed at Camp Mickey when we had a family reunion at Disney World. My parents honeymooned in a cabin in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. I used to think we were kind of dorks–staying in a tent or pop up camper for our vacations while all my friends stayed in nice hotels and beach resorts. But then I realized my friends’ moms couldn’t start a campfire or take a fish off a hook and their dads didn’t teach them how to spot an eagle on a far off tree branch or count the points on a buck in the forest.

Now I appreciate all those adventurous outdoor vacations. We plan to replicate them. Sorry it took me so long, mom and dad.

This weekend I finally made it out. We drove down to the Wichita Mountains for a hike.

Jersey was the perfect guide, leading us energetically and with perfect directional sense. She had a blast, and Finn did too.

Girl loves to swim

It was way too windy, but Oklahoma weather has been a bit schizophrenic lately, so you have to take what you can get.

Made it to the top of Elk Mnt. Picnic!

That evening we went to a fun birthday party for our friends, Gabe and Olive. It was at a farm. We roasted hotdogs around a bonfire while the kids rode a train and trotted on ponies. I was thinking this actually may be a birthday party Finn could participate in someday. It was a beautiful, chilly night. I purposefully didn’t take a shower so I could smell the campfire in my hair just one day longer. I know; gross.

Twinsies in our plaid and shades.

Sometimes don’t you just feel cooped up? Stuck under piles of laundry and opened envelopes on the counter, smashed between groceries that need to be put away, folded under sheets that need to be changed, lost under scattered puzzle pieces. I felt tired of being a parent this weekend. I just wanted to go back to the days under my parents’ roof. When life was simpler and my questions for God weren’t so big and unanswerable.

Usually this means I haven’t been in the Word.

So I took some time to read my Bible alone on Saturday morning, talk through life with Joey, and shed some cathartic tears for Finn during my “nap.” Feeling better.

Matthew penned it best:

²⁸ “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:28-30). 

Soapbox

Did you know May is National Fitness Month? When I first became a trainer, my mantra was, “You should be able to live life fully, doing everything a human should do–like run, jump, push, pull and get up off the floor.”

Then I had Finn, who can’t do any of these things by himself, and he’s not obese. Just disabled.

So I’m changing my mantra:

If you can move, you should.

If our generous God gave you the ability to walk, run, climb and stand, PLEASE don’t waste that ability. Not everyone was afforded such extravagance.

As I watch Finn struggle to move, I am saddened by those who can, but don’t.

Kneeling practice with Sooner Start therapy

Obesity is a 100% preventable disease, friends. It is a choice…lots and lots of little choices. Difficult ones? YES. But so worth it. Fight for your health. Fight for the life you were intended.

Stepping down off my soapbox now. (Bow) Thank you.

Family bike ride

Awkward Handshake

Fridays are my fav. As the family of a minister, Sundays are not Sabbath. But we are blessed to both have off on Fridays so we have an actual weekend.

This morning I took my car in for an oil change. Of course it turned into a transmission flush, etc. etc., but should’ve just been an oil change. After the mechanic and I exchanged info, he held out his hand. I thought, “Well, isn’t he the most gentlemanly mechanic I’ve ever encountered?” So, I shook it, grease stained fingers and all. But his hand was limp; he didn’t shake back. It was awkward. He said, “No, just need your keys.” Whoops.

I get myself into these sorts of awkward situations sometimes. One time in Waco, I pulled away from the gas station pump with the pump still in my tank. It ripped the tubing from the ceiling of the station and sent the hose flailing, spewing gasoline. I didn’t notice until I was rounding the curve and a man was waving his arms dramatically at me to stop. I was dragging the hose behind me. Whoops. There was a yellow bag over pump #5 for months.

Today’s plan was to make the trek down to the Wichita Mountains for a family hike. Jersey on shock collared leash, Finn in his Sherpa hiking backpack and Joey and I in our PrAna pants. But the forecast said thunderstorms, “some may be severe,” so we nixed the plan and opted instead for indoor rock climbing.

Finn enjoyed the Porters while we played. Thank you!

This was probably my favorite trip to Rocktown. We both climbed well and the temperature was perfect inside the renovated grain silos.

I love climbing “chimney” routes.

Then we shared some fajitas at Igauna Grill. Yum-o. Love my date and love this Friday. Now off to continue our annual Band of Brothers DVD marathon…

Portion-control tip: only put 5 chips on your plate at a time. Eat them slowly. Then add 5 more. Don’t just mindlessly grab from the bowl…too easy to overeat this way!

The Sidelines

Joey and I like to do most things together. We love to be active outdoors–hiking, rock climbing, rafting, anything…and we recently have loved going to Cliff’s Performance Conditioning class together on Thursday evenings. I said most things. I refuse to play Frisbee golf with him and he refuses to lift weights with me. Compromise.

Next Level Fitness Studio is where it’s at!

So tonight we were doing some cardio intervals with partners (Angie and I rocked it), and I looked over at the front desk to check on Finn. Malorie watches Finn for us while we workout…THANK YOU Malorie! He loves playing silly games with her.

He was watching everyone run up and down the wood floor, jump through the agility ladder and high-five their partner once they finished. I could tell he was soaking it all in…loving all the commotion and curious as to why we were running around like crazy people.

I smiled a mommy smile, proud of my boy for being observant; and I wanted to go give him a kiss on his porcelain chubby cheek. I wanted to tell him he could join us one day.

But, he can’t.

So, I got sad for a minute. I silently prayed that Finn wouldn’t have to sit on the sidelines of life. That life would afford him the opportunity to be active and busy and healthy. Not that the quality of our lives depends on shuffling effortlessly through an agility ladder, but I hate that he doesn’t even have the choice. I am so thankful that my legs move when my brain tells them to. This is a gift, friends. Unwarranted, undeserved.

Hoping to be on the sidelines cheering for Finn someday. Wheelchair basketball, a spelling bee or a cello recital. Whatever. Just want him to feel like he’s worth watching.

Teething is for the birds.

Party Foul

This weekend was packed.

Quick trip to Tulsa to visit Leah and Everett who flew down from Boston. I miss that sis-in-law of mine! Finn and Ev interacted more this time than ever before and it was fun to watch them play.

Finn and Papa Terry had a tickle fight for at least five minutes. That boy’s smile brings me so much joy. When he’s happy, I’m happy.

Tickle Fest

Nana and Papa Armstrong with the boys

Dinner with great buds at Norman’s new S&B Burger Joint.

Family walk to Starbucks.

And two birthday parties.

At the first, Rumble arrived in the driveway atop an OKC Thunder van. Hudson let us all get in line to have a poster signed by Rumble. Finn touched his furry horn while he was signing, but as soon as Rumble looked up, Finn buried his head in Joey’s armpit.

Sweet Thunder patch, dude!

Then we were off to James’ shark party, complete with a professional face painter. He was amazing; and his British accent–whether it was authentic or not–made him seem even more fantastic.

Sharks! Face painting by LOL Cartoons.

I train James’ parents (shameless plug: check out http://www.fitwithnextlevel.com/Meet-Our-Athletes.html to see their accomplishments), and it was fun to interact with them outside of the studio.

New experience at this party, however…

I was contemplating putting Finn on the ground to crawl with the other babies. I only knew about three people at the party and didn’t want to explain to the other onlookers why Finn crawls so funny or why he’s not walking like the other toddlers in the room. Silly, I know; but that desire to “fit in” is a tough one to shake. I had birthday party anxiety even as a kid…who will I know? Will they like me? Did I wear the right thing? Will they like my gift?

Finn wanted to get down so badly that he almost leapt out of my arms, so I gave in. He was on the floor…and not a moment later, almost as if in  s l o w  m o t i o n, I watched a blond curly-headed boy tackle him. Yes. He jumped right on top of Finn and started doing God knows what…poking him in the eyeballs, giving him a wedgie, fingers up his nose…not really, he just jumped on him and wiggled around a little. I guess the little guy wanted to wrestle? Surely he meant no harm, but Finn just laid his head down on the carpet and cried. My stomach lurched and I asked my friend beside me (very calmly, might I add), “Whose child is on top of Finn?” She swiftly pried someone’s toddler off my son. Thank you, Kristen. If I’d have done it, I’m afraid I would have tossed the kid through the window. I wiped the lil’ smokie sauce off Finn’s cheek, a souvenir from the curly-headed boy; thankful it wasn’t blood.

So. There it is. First experience watching my son get “hurt” by another kid. Not fun and a very mild version of what lies ahead, I know. I’m adding to my prayers the strength to respond with grace when Finn is bullied and for him to develop an unshakeable resiliency and sense of self…And maybe a mean right hook.

Gong

I worked as a junior high camp counselor and senior counselor at Pine Cove for three summers during college. It’s one of my favorite places on earth. Toothpick tall pine trees and situated on a lake in Palestine, TX, Pine Cove is teeming with some of the most genuine, fun-loving, and wise believers I’ve ever known. Pine Cove is where I finally dropped my foolish pride and learned that dancing on a plastic chair with middle schoolers is cool.

That’s me in the upper left. No, I was not 12. I was 20.

At meal-time on the Ranch, Jiggs would ring the dinner bell and we’d all come scampering from every corner of the property to get our fill of macaroni and cheese and corn dogs.

Jiggs (middle), Ginger and I got to do a skit together. Hil-ar-ious.

Jiggs was a mentally-challenged gentleman in his fifties. He’d been working at Pine Cove for many summers, and he was sort of our mascot; a complete joy to be around. But that bell was LOUD; and the way he rang it…it was not a pretty sound.

Corinthians 13 says I am like this cacophonous bell-tone, “a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal” when I speak in lofty religious terms without love. Love must be seeping through the words I speak. My sentences should be couched in compassion and…well, love! If they’re not, I may as well be banging pots and pans.

It goes on to say that if my “faith can move mountains, but [I] have not love, I am nothing” (v. 2). What?! If my faith is so strong that it can shove Mt. Everest into the sea–or harder still–heal Finn’s defected body, it is nothing if done without love? That kind of faith sure is desirable to me, but it’s not the pinnacle of Christian virtue.

Quality people. Jiggs on far right. Me in red bandana, looking hard core.

And if I “give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing” (v. 3). Wow. That’s commitment. I have a tough time giving up a pair of running shoes or my favorite sweatshirt to the poor, much less my entire estate. Someone who can sacrifice their body to torture seems like the holiest of believers…but if they don’t have love, it’s worthless?

These girls were naughty.

Loving like Christ is harder than talking like a Christian. Loving is harder than having faith for healing. To love is harder than to give to a food bank. It is even harder than being a martyr. Jesus always asks us to “eagerly desire the greater gifts. And now I will show you the most excellent way…” LOVE.

So how do we get this love?

I think after twenty-something years, I’m beginning to understand what these verses are really saying. 1 John 4: 7, 8:

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Whoever does not know love does not know God, because God is love.”

God is the definition of love. So all those good deeds, if not accompanied by love; they don’t count. I know a lot of people who do really good things and live really good lives. Some of them put Christians to shame. But I think Corinthians 13 is saying that if good things are done without The Good One, they are nothing. They are as off-putting as the sound of a gong. We need Him to be able to love. 

Doctors Like You

My first teaching job out of college was at Trinity Christian School in San Antonio, TX. I taught middle school English, and like most private schools, they “bundled” my job with 6th grade Geography, Bible, Reading and Home Room. I’ll never forget the time I drew the state of Florida on the board to depict a peninsula. It looked a whole lot like a rudimentary sketch of male private parts, and I couldn’t stop giggling. So I just stood facing the board until I could collect myself like any mature adult should. Sixth graders are the best. They’re funny, eager to learn, and still think their teachers are kind of cool. I’ve actually kept in touch with a few of these students.

This Wednesday I put the car in “park,” and quickly jumped out to get the mail in the rain, pulling up my hood to avoid getting drenched. Once at home, I tossed the soggy medical bills into one pile, the trash into another and opened a letter from one of my former TCS sixth grade students, Sydnie.

Finn reading Sydnie’s letter

Sydnie is now finishing her first year at Baylor (Sic’ ‘em Bears!). She chose the easy route and decided on Pre-Med Neuroscience as her major. Sydnie was always a smarty…with some students it was a struggle just to get them to write down their homework in their agenda. Sydnie had hers finished and was asking for more. In this letter Sydnie described how any time she feels like giving up, she “thinks of Finn and how many things he has already conquered.” When asked why she wants to be a Pediatric Neurosurgeon, she tells them Finn’s story and how she’s passionate about helping him and other little ones like him.

Little did I know that one of my sixth graders from 2005 just might perform a surgery that could save Finn’s life someday. Or invent an un-clog-able shunt catheter. That would be AWESOME. Hang in there, Sydnie! The road to med school is long, but babies like Finn need doctors like you!

Messiah

I saw the film, The Passion of the Christ for the first time in college. I remember the credits rolling and the entire theater was silent. Reverent, in fact. My roommates and I drove home in silence and went to bed without saying a word. All I could see as I lay down to sleep that night were Jesus’ eyes. Bold; full of love and power.

Since then I’ve always wanted to watch The Passion again alone, devotionally. This Thursday night, after I coaxed Finn to bed and cuddled underneath my Baylor blanket, I watched in tears and with gratitude Hollywood’s depiction of my Lord’s bloody death.

Some observations:

• The opening scene is in the Garden. Jesus is begging God in his humanness, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me.” He was born for this moment; he knew he had to die to accomplish his goal on earth. But he still embraces his fear and asks God to change His mind. I’ve always related to that kind of praying.
• People like the Pharisees who pride themselves in doing good things and earning religious gold stars are Jesus’ enemies. Jesus didn’t fit into their ideal of who the Messiah should be. They expected him to be haughty, kingly, wealthy and bedazzled as they were. But he came as a servant, a carpenter born in a trough. He offered wine at a wedding, healing for the pariah and grace for the prostitute. So he must die.

Christ Jesus, who being in very nature, God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness…he humbled himself and became obedient to death–even death on a cross! (Phil. 2: 6-8)

• His death was not Sunday School clean. It doesn’t fit nicely on a VBS felt board. It was brutal, dirty, vicious slaughter.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53: 5)

• His momma was there through it all. Mary is my hero. She endured the shame of claiming to be a pregnant virgin at the inception of Jesus’ life and endured the horror of watching him mocked and abused at its end.
• All other gods in all other religions are dead. Jesus is alive. He is life.

Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he is risen!

(Luke 24: 5,6)

He who was dead lives. Why do we, who are alive, often live as though we’re dead?

Hope you embrace life this Easter!