The Eclectic Dabbler

My husband and I enjoyed a Philly Pops concert last night on Independence Mall.

While I could blog about how wonderful–and rare–it is to get a “date” with just the two of us, today I’m reflecting on our country’s past and the men who sacrificed to give us the America we often take for granted today.  We as Americans have privileges, even “rights,” that are still unheard of in many parts of the world.

I’ve always been intensely patriotic. I love our history. I love reading our Founding Fathers’ writings and learning of the sacrifices they made so that we could be free. I love patriotic music too. . . I’ll listen occasionally at home. But there’s something extra-special about sitting on the mall in front of Independence Hall, listening to a reading of the Declaration of Independence. We need to be reminded from time to time of our past and how we became a free country.

It’s amazing to listen to this document signaling the beginning of a world power which, for at least two centuries, would seek freedom (rather than oppression) for people around the globe. I just got chills sitting there, thinking back two hundred years. What was it like for those men to stand where I stood–two hundred years ago?

The oppression they must have felt from England as they sought freedom to live, work, and worship as they desired. The calculated risks they were taking for themselves, their families, their colonies in defying their king and beginning a war. . . Their writings make it obvious that they did not enter lightly into those decisions, but passionately believed the risks had to be taken.

So as the orchestra played on a gorgeous summer evening some 233 years later, I sat in front of Independence Hall, imagining the signers themselves walking these streets . . . What a different world it was. What an amazing world it became!

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. . .

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States. . .

Every time I hear the last line of the Declaration, my eyes well with tears, because these men were risking everything.

And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

As that line was read, the orchestra began playing contemplatively–”America the Beautiful,” and while no one was singing, I could hear the words in my mind:

O beautiful for heroes prov’d
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev’ry gain divine.

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Read more July 4th celebration stories at:

We’re leaving for Florida tomorrow, so I am reflecting once again. Last year, I was at the hospital the night before our trip to Florida, after 12 hours of contractions five minutes apart. I’m so thankful to be on this side of the story, with a healthy 11-month-old little guy!

But while I still remember, I want to record his story . . .

After week 27, contractions became a standard part of life. They were not painful, just there, and sometimes a bit uncomfortable. But honestly I was staying plenty busy with 16-month-old Mara and settling into our rental house so I didn’t really spend too much time thinking about it.

In the beginning of May our landlord admitted to us that she had not been paying the mortgage payments, and she asked to show the house in order to sell it. Before renting back in December, we had specifically talked to her about not showing the house or putting the house up for sale while we lived there. But now she said she was sorry, but she had no choice–she was about to lose the house, and if she could sell it, maybe we could work out an arrangement in which we could stay . . . All that information was unsettling. We had initially planned to buy a house in the fall or winter, but clearly God had other plans.

The prospect of house showings, house-hunting, packing and moving, while caring for a 16-month-old and having a new baby, all seemed a bit overwhelming. I have to admit I was struggling to trust God.

In the midst of the busy-ness, my sister Mary had offered to fly Mara and me down to Florida to visit for a few days. This would be our “vacation” this year, since once the baby came, there would be no vacation for some time! (Little did we know!!!)

On Wednesday, May 14, the day before our trip, I washed five loads of laundry, walked up and down both flights of stairs countless times, was frenetically cleaning the house for the Friday “house showing,” and packing for Florida. My contractions were now strong and very regular, so I started timing them. For about 4 hours they were five minutes apart. So precise, that I could look down at the clock as the number changed–yep, five minutes. Again. (This had happened with Mara at week 37 or 38. I had contractions five minutes apart for about 15 hours, weeks before she was born. Then the day before she was born, my contractions were 5 minutes apart for over about 12 hours, before progressing to 2-3 minutes apart. That lasted another 12 hours before I entered “active labor.”)

Once again I wasn’t greatly concerned. The last thing I want to do is find someone to watch Mara and drive for an hour and a half to hear the doctor say everything is fine. But since the contractions were consistently 5 minutes apart, I thought I would take a “rest,” so Mara and I took a drive up to Mt. Airy to pick something up from FreeCycle. There were two ironies about that decision: First, the lady from FreeCycle never met up with us. And second, I had never been up to Mt. Airy, but I learned that the cobblestone (and numerous other bumps) all the way up Germantown Avenue were not at all giving me the rest I needed to stop my contractions!

Daniel came home from work around 8:30 that night, and I told him about my day. At that point, Daniel told me he was starting to re-think my trip to Florida. I was in tears. My sister had bought me the non-refundable plane ticket, and this would be the last chance Mara and I would have to fly alone together before the baby came. The last thing I wanted to do was go up to Abington. But after 12 hours of contractions five minutes apart, we decided to call the resident on call. I knew what they would say. What they always say when your contractions are five minutes apart for several hours: Come in to the hospital, and get checked out.

I knew that it was the best thing to do. I couldn’t live with myself if something should happen to the baby. So Daniel stayed with Mara, and I drove up to Abington. I was amazed by how little traffic there was at 10 p.m. and thought going into labor during the middle of the night wouldn’t be all bad! I walked into the hospital and of course, being after hours, there was no one at the information desk to direct me. I had not had a hospital tour yet, so I didn’t really know where I was going.

I found a hospital employee in the hall and asked if she knew the best way to get to the Labor & Delivery 4th floor Triage. She looked at my belly and said, “Is this for you? or for someone else?”

When I said ‘For me, my contractions have been 5 minutes apart for 12 hours, and I’m just 29 weeks pregnant,’ she seemed to panic for me!

“Oh, HONEY!” she exclaimed, gesturing toward the elevator. “Come on, let’s go!”

Our friend loaned us a DVD called “Potty Power,” and Mara has been watching it the past couple of days. I don’t know how long it will last, but she went in the potty three times this afternoon, after watching the DVD. She would say, “Mara go potty! Mara big kid!”

When Daniel came home from work, Mara strutted around the house, arms over her head, shouting, “Power! Power!”

“What’s she saying?” he asked.

“Power,” I translated. “Potty power.”

“Mara,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “That is not power. If you have power when you’re going potty, you need to see a doctor.”

And Mara, who has begun the endless “why” stage, came to me, “Why, Mommy? Why Daddy say ‘not power’?”

One of my goals this year is to read through the Bible again. At first, I was a little skeptical if this goal was realistic with two small children since I have little quiet time or alone time during this season of life. But a friend (homeschooling mom of four, ages 7 and under) encouraged me, even when I don’t have time to get alone to read, I can read the Bible out loud to my children. (Why didn’t I think of that?)

Despite the fact that my reading truly is more meaningful and I am better able to internalize it when I am alone, much of the time I end up reading out loud. But hey! I am reading my Bible, and my kids are listening! It’s a win-win scenario.

Lately I have been reading through Proverbs. I have read through Proverbs dozens of times, but never before have I been so moved by its truths.

Much of the book is Solomon imparting wisdom to his son. Often I’m reading during Mara’s nap, while Micah is awake. So it’s just me with my Bible and my son playing on a blanket on the floor. I can’t explain it fully, but this time has almost become my personal prayer time for Micah.

Hear, O son, a father’s [or mother's] instruction,
and be attentive, that you may gain insight,
for I give you good precepts;
do not forsake my teaching.
When I was a son with my father,
tender, the only one in the sight of my mother,
he taught me and said to me, “Let your heart hold fast my words;
keep my commandments, and live.
Get wisdom; get insight;
do not forget, and do not turn away from the words of my mouth.
Do not forsake her, and she will keep you;
love her, and she will guard you.
The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom,
and whatever you get, get insight.
Prize her highly, and she will exalt you;
she will honor you if you embrace her.
She will place on your head a graceful garland;
she will bestow on you a beautiful crown.”

As I read, I think of the challenges that Micah will inevitably face, if the Lord allows Him to live long enough to become a man. I can get overwhelmed by it all if I’m not trusting God–the temptations of friends, the seductions of our media, the devastating effects of pornography and immorality. Even good things (like work) can become tear you down, with the desires for position, power and wealth. More than anything, I long for my son to love God with all his heart, soul and mind; and to pursue God’s glory with all of his life!
So as I watch my infant son–who is oblivious to and largely untouched by the corruption that plagues our world–my reading becomes intensely personal–almost a prayer:

Help Micah to hear, and accept my words,
that the years of his life may be many.
May I teach him the way of wisdom;
and lead him in the paths of uprightness.
When he walks, may his steps not be hampered,
and if he runs, help him not to stumble.

Help him to keep hold of instruction; not to let it go;
to guard her, for she is his life.
May Micah not enter the path of the wicked,
and not walk in the way of evil.

May he avoid it; not go on it;
turn away from it and pass on.
For they cannot sleep unless they have done wrong;
they are robbed of sleep unless they have made someone stumble.
For they eat the bread of wickedness
and drink the wine of violence.
But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
which shines brighter and brighter until full day.

May Micah’s path shine this way!

The way of the wicked is like deep darkness;
they do not know over what they stumble.

Even though Micah is too young to understand, I direct my words to him. I passionately implore him as I read:

My son, be attentive to my words;
incline your ear to my sayings.
Let them not escape from your sight;
keep them within your heart.
For they are life to those who find them,
and healing to all their flesh.
Keep your heart with all vigilance,
for from it flow the springs of life.
Put away from you crooked speech,
and put devious talk far from you.
Let your eyes look directly forward,
and your gaze be straight before you.

Do not swerve to the right or to the left;
turn your foot away from evil.

Ponder the path of your feet;
then all your ways will be sure.

I look up from my Bible at my 9-month-old son, who has been entertained while I read with the rings on his Fisher Price Rock-a-Stack. . . There is something incredibly precious about the innocence that is youth. And yet it all seems so precarious, because of the fallen world in which we live.

Little Micah doesn’t understand yet. He just looks at me with the biggest smile, because I’m talking to him–so he thinks he has my attention. He does. But I’m not thinking of the baby Micah who is playing in front of me with colorful rings on the Rock-a-Stack. My mind is years down the road, having said “Hear God’s words, Micah!” more times than either of us could count. The Micah I’m thinking of is a grown man with a heart that seeks wisdom and understanding, and follows hard after God, whose path is like the “light of dawn, shining brighter and brighter until the full day.”

Over the summer, Mara struggled quite a bit with discipline, particularly whenever we went to the store. She might stand defiantly in the shopping cart seat or, when I was not supposed to be picking her up, she might refuse to hold my hand walking into the store. This behavior is simply unacceptable for several reasons, including her safety. So for several months now, I’ve been giving her the “grocery store lecture” in the parking lot right before we get out of the car. I want to make sure the expectations are clear. It goes something like this:

“Mara, we’re going to the grocery store now. When we get out of the car, you need to obey Mommy. If we’re walking, and I say ‘hold my hand,’ you need to hold my hand! If you’re in the shopping cart, and I say, ‘sit down,’ you need to sit down! You need to obey Mommy. . . ” Up to this point, I’m pretty stern, and you can always see her little wheels turning, processing all this. At the end, I try to reassure her: “I think you will obey, because I think you want to be a good girl!” and I give her a smile and a hug as we get out of the car.

Well, on Thursday afternoon, we pulled into the Shoprite parking lot, and I was sticking something in the diaper bag, when Mara looked at me, questioningly and asked, “Walk? Walk?”

Then with a stern expression and furrowed brow, she said, “Hand! Hand! [that was either me saying 'hold my hand' or else Mara assuring me that if I let her "walk," she would hold my hand].

She continued, “OH-bay! OH-bay!? . . . GOOD girl!!!” Then she gave me a big smile.

Wow, something inside me felt torn between laughing and crying. Laughing, because it was the cutest lecture ever, so perfectly “rehearsed,” but at the same time, I somehow felt like crying, realizing just how much she comprehends and how much she remembers . . . She just gave me the entire grocery store lecture!

It’s humbling, sobering to realize that she remembers so much and notices every little word, every little gesture, and repeats them!

“May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord. . .”