Amy Seiffert

3 years ago I woke up to the warm, distinct feeling of too much liquid to be a “Whoops! I wet the bed. Bummer.” kind of liquid.

No, no, good people. This was my water breaking. And Robby was 6 weeks early. Just 6 hours later: here he was. 23 NICU days later, he came home. Wow. (My bottom kinda tingles just thinking about it.)

What a wild ride. Really, this should be called: Happy Birthing Day, Mom. You really did it.

Ahhh…my son….what a gift! And certainly worth a bed wetting.

Each birthday we want to celebrate him – and give him a new responsibility and a new privilege.

This year’s privilege and responsibility are one and the same (pretty typical): A big boy toddler bed!

His privilege – he can get into and out of his bed on his own. Reading in his bed for fun, snuggling with Momman in his bed, etc.

His responsibility: staying put until he calls for me and I can tell him he can come out of his room.

Another responsibility (that we need to add a privilege for): he will now wash his own hands.

He has always asked me to help him and claims he cannot do it. But magically, today, he has grown the 3 year old ability to rub his own two little palms together! Miracle! Amazing! What a wonder boy! (wink).

Any privilege/responsibility ideas for our little boy?

(He also got a new big Lighting McQueen Mac Truck at breakfast today….as well as we own our first Seiffert pet – a Gouldian Finch! He named our sweet, small bird….ready? Josh. Josh the Finch. Ha! What?……more on that later…..and more fun to go this afternoon….icecream, a bike ride, the sprinkler….he also asked to go to the Goodwill…that’s my boy)

9 years ago I woke up nervous, excited, eager. I was going to marry THE Rob Seiffert.

9 years ago I headed to the hair salon with all 10 bridesmaids getting ready for our day.

9 years ago the day was 70 degrees, not one cloud in the sky and beautiful. Perfect for our outdoor reception in the Toledo Old West End Arboretum. The first and probably last reception ever in that quaint little park. The trees have grown so much it would be hard to fit tents again. (The week before: Rain. The week after: Rain.)

9 years ago I walked down the aisle to a Waterdeep song, on my father’s arm, with a church full of fantastic people. (thanks for being there!)

9 years ago I slipped into my dress made by my mom, a fantastic seamstress. This included french lace and hand beading done by myself over the course of many months that year. (It’s still not been washed yet….eek)

9 years ago I entered a covenant. One that will only be broken by death. One of the most spiritual acts I’ve done.

9 years ago we cut the cake, had a piece in each hand and went to sweetly feed the other; I had it in my mind to let him have it – he quickly answered my smash! Gotta love the drama.

Happy Anniversary, babe. You are my man.

because let’s face it. They are prolific painters. Colorers. Designers. Creators. And your asking yourself: what to do with all the beauty, all the time, everywhere? I’ve been thinking about this for my life and my mother-friends lives. Art is abundant and fridges are small, cluttered, overwhelming. And art is so valued, loved, worth it.

After researching….this is what I’ve decided….(for now): A Robby Frame.

I took an old, large frame and tied some lace around it and hung it up. No glass, just frame. Then we can tape different pieces behind it and display them for all to see. Not shoved in a corner – but in a prominent place – so that he knows how proud of him we are. I also read how removing (throwing away, let’s not be coy) older art pieces helps them know we can make room for more creativity. And the suggestion was to do some throwing away together and talk about what s/he will create next. Hmmmm.

I also like the idea of holding an “Art Opening for Robby’s Work”. For grandparents, family, friends. With snacks like chicken nuggets and chocolate milk. With a live band. Fantastic. I’ll let you know when we cook that one up!

Here’s Robby’s Frame:

While looking around I also found some fun ideas:

I really like this last one….I love how gigantic this frame is! I’m on the lookout for one….lemme know if you find one.

How do you hang your art, kiddo or otherwise?

Anybody having trouble with what they think about a lot?

Sometimes I get stuck. Stuck obsessing. Stuck dreaming of beauty. And fashion. And things that moths can eat. And rust will destroy (or, perhaps, only make better for a time and then corrode).

And then there’s my love for individuality combined with creativity and competition. Having that dress no one else has. Or that great new shoulder bag no one else has. Or shoes. Or whatever. And it crowds my heart and makes me negatively introspective. A dank cellar. A darker, less-light-in soul.

I want to be free and unfettered in things like this. To be concerned with Giving over Getting.

Carefree in the care of God.

To know that I am an individual because God has made me like no one else, with my own special gifts….not to mention that I am a special and free individual because I am loved by God. So well loved by Him.

I think Eugene Peterson says it best as he translates a famous piece of the New Testament:

Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or—worse!—stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moth and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.

Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light. If you live squinty-eyed in greed and distrust, your body is a dank cellar. If you pull the blinds on your windows, what a dark life you will have!

You can’t worship two gods at once. Loving one god, you’ll end up hating the other. Adoration of one feeds contempt for the other. You can’t worship God and Money both.

If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don’t fuss about what’s on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body. Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.

Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? All this time and money wasted on fashion—do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop, but have you ever seen color and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.

If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.

Anything from Peterson’s translation hit you?