RSS Feed

Category Archives: Motherhood

Wings

It is Monday and I’m thinking of you. You, the mother wiping crumbs off counters — the remnants of PB & J’s made for hungry mouths which will be asking for more food just as you finally walk out of a clean kitchen. You, the woman who fought the guilt of leaving your 2-year-old at daycare this morning so that you can attend yet another day of work. You, the woman in Uganda, trying to bring home her son and aching for her daughters back home in the States. You, the mother who, frustratingly, fought the urge just to suction up your daughter’s darn Squinky conveniently lying in your vacuum’s direct path. You, the mother awakened by your crying baby four exhausting times in the middle of the night.  You, the woman still waiting for children and wondering if you’ll ever be blessed with them. You, the woman who aches for your husband just to know God as the Love-God and not just a detached, Authoritarian Father-figure. You, the woman just wanting a husband. You, the woman waiting for direction. The woman fighting fear. The woman wanting to do more than just make it through another day.

 

You.

Yes, you.

I know you don’t feel it right now, but you are more than Superwoman.

 

You are more than Superwoman because the Spirit of God, the God of space, who knows no time, the God who knows our every need and every weakness, every frustration, no matter how big or small . . . that very Supernatural Love in a Person, upholds you. No, this life He’s called you to, it doesn’t always feel like soaring on the winds (although, when it does, pay attention); this life in Christ is more like step-by-step determination and reliance. But you are equipped for this very real life. You are equipped for every squinky on the floor, every child in Uganda, every time you put your child in another caretaker’s arms, every aging parent’s doctor’s appointment, every lonely night.

 

You can fly higher than SuperWoman. 

 

Because when we dig deepest into the most mundane, the most difficult of our callings, the most trying surrender of our wills, His eye catches sight of His falling sparrow. And when we fall lowest, falling deepest into the depths of real and living trust, we see just how long His everlasting Arms really are.

 

He always catches.

 

And when we’re caught, He spins and sings and laughs and in His breathtaking way, throws us high, back into the blue. We relax in His ways. We learn to trust, mid-air, and we catch the true rhythm of our wings.

 

We fly high.

Rosiness in the Night

A little friend unintentionally shares something invisible with you. You’re fine for a few days, until one afternoon, you complain of a hurting tummy. But I can’t tell if it hurts as badly as you say, or if you just really don’t want to eat the dinner in front of you. So later, as the moon rises, I tuck you under your flowery sheets and tell you to get some rest and we’ll see how you feel in the morning. We whisper our “good-nights” and “sleep-tights” and tired “I-love-you’s” and I turn out the light.

 

Hours later, you shuffle through my bedroom door.

“Mama, my tummy hurts….”

 

I sigh, awakening from the fogginess of deep sleep. Your daddy rolls over and I mumble that I don’t know what to do for your little tummy. And then it happens. Right then and there. All over the floor next to my bed. I rush you to the bathroom and I stroke back your hair, tell you it’ll be okay as you let go of all that tummy-ickiness.

 

And you’re only four now. But someday, you’ll be older, and friends and family, and even I, will unintentionally share things with you that will hurt. I fidget in a panicky discomfort at the mere thought of it, but I know in my heart that I can’t always keep you safe. Can’t always protect you from things that will cause you heartache. And you alone will have to sift through the pain, praying through what needs to be addressed, and what needs to be let go. But I hope you will always come to me, in the dark of your night, looking for a little Mama-comfort. Together, we’ll pray through the ickiness and let Him make it all better. Together we’ll watch expectantly. And just as He returns the rosiness to your pale cheeks, we’ll watch and listen as He breathes your ashes into marvelous beauty.

A Day Wrapped in a Bow

Today offers us an unexpected gift. Just to be home, the three of us girls. Little women with braids and pig tails color in the kitchen and take imaginary day-trips to make-believe ice-skating rinks along with well-loved baby dolls. I let anxiety rise over this very lived-in house and wonder why I just can’t seem to catch up . . . wonder why I spend so much trying when I never seem to succeed. Little voices call “Mama!” from across the house and I roll my eyes as I mop the Pine-Sol and shower water currently dripping down my arm. I mutter, wondering when they’ll ever learn to seek and find me, rather than yelling across the house. I smirk now, remembering my mother wondering the very same thing.

 

I wash and change bed sheets and vacuum dust out of wall corners . . . add a few things to my resident Good Will bag sitting in the closet, for some reason feeling this great need to organize and freshen and live in peace. And even though days like this make me feel a bit restless and I mutter and complain, wishing I could just be left some quiet in order to complete my tasks in a timely manner, I realize that this is what makes a home. Little ones underfoot. Taking a few minutes to potty train and read a book, clean the shower, color on the kitchen floor, scrub a toilet, look for a missing doll, vacuum dust bunnies out of the corner, change a diaper, fix some lunch, make another mess, wipe crumbs from the kitchen counter.

 

This is peaceful homemaking at its best. I will enjoy the day.

 

The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.

~Thomas Moore

Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.

~1 Corinthians 10:31

Why I Still Want to Carpe Diem

So, the other night, this beautiful, fun friend of mine shares a link with me. Says it reminded her of my recent reposting of some old words of mine. About how, apparently, I am not the only mother in the world who receives all kinds of comments from older women . . . in the check-outs, in the bathrooms, in the elevators. Those heart-felt, nostalgic words about “enjoying every minute” of our child-rearing years. Not being on Facebook anymore, I somehow missed the frenzy, as moms shared the link with other friends, giving each other, and themselves bits of comfort. I read the article “Don’t Carpe Diem” this morning. I want to preface this post of mine by saying, I LOVED this post from The Momastery. It made me laugh out loud. It made me quickly blink back tears before I ruined my fresh, just-applied, morning mascara. After reading, I immediately copied and pasted the link and sent it to a friend. I *loved* this writer’s honesty. I could relate to every single word and I loved her message.

 

I’ve been thinking about a dear friend of mine who just became a mother for the first time. She. is. exhausted. She’s running into all sorts of issues that I’m sure she never expected to run into and I honestly don’t know how she’s surviving! But her situation made me think back to my not-so-very-long-ago, first few months as a mom and I realized that there is one tool in my Motherhood arsenal that I wasn’t given. None of us are. And I still don’t have it with my firstborn.

 

Perspective.

 

You know what I mean? Your new bundle of joy is in your arms and everything is fresh and new and unknown. You have no real idea what you’re doing or where you’re going and you’re so scared of screwing something up and you haven’t slept a full night in weeks and it feels like this is the rest of your life, surely. And then your sweet, little second born arrives and you’ve done it all before and you know that they’ll eventually start sleeping and you know that each phase is oh, so short and it makes you realize just how fast you made your oldest “grow up.”

 

And at least for me, with my second, I actually treasured the midnight feedings and the newborn-sized diapers. Because with my second, I had a tiny bit of perspective.

 

So even though, when that little, old lady in the Wal-Mart milk aisle exhorted me by saying “this is the best time of your life” I stuffed feelings of the incredulity of it all, I slowly realized that that grey-haired woman had something that I didn’t and still don’t. Perspective. Maybe she’s a little nostalgic, and maybe she has selective memory regarding the late nights and the trying to find just one second to go pee and all the less than glorifying moments of motherhood. BUT she has also nearly lived the full spectrum of life and surely she must feel some sense of urgency to come up to a complete stranger to say, “Honey, treasure every moment. This is the very best time in your life.”  Even if I had a very outspoken personality, I don’t think I would ever approach a complete stranger with such confidence or say that to anyone unless I felt like it was completely true for myself and that I’d somehow missed it and wished that someone, anyone, had warned me:

 

“You know those nights your longing for? The ones with the full night’s sleep and the days when you can sit and read a book in peace and quiet and do what you want to do, when you want to do it, and actually live that life you’ve been given? I know that life sounds like it’s 18 years off and you’re not sure just how you’re going to live those 6,570 days until your child reaches adulthood without losing your sanity, but that day will come. I promise. And it won’t be all you think it’s going to be and you’ll have wasted those 18 years longing for something that isn’t what you think it is. Enjoy what you’re living. Right this very moment. It’s more beautiful than you even know.”

 

There must be an awful lot of great-grandmothers out there who feel this way if each of us young moms is stopped several times a month with this same exact message.

 

Maybe we do need to listen.

 

So now, when those Wal-Mart trips take a bit longer than they used to because a frail, 80-year-old woman wants to tell me about her babies of long ago and encourages me to stop and just enjoy, I really do try to stop my mind from racing into a frustrated frenzy and try to hear her life-lived perspective.

 

Can I seize every moment like I ought to? No, and that’s why I simply love Glennon’s idea of “seizing a couple Kairoses today.” But I also think that we need to listen to the mothers who have gone before us and are almost done with their life’s races. Why should we assume that we will make it to 80? One month ago, I was truly afraid that my daughters would wake up that Wednesday morning without a mother to dress them or kiss their boo-boos or read them Goodnight Moon. I know it sounds cheesy and I know it sounds cliché, but what if those well-worn storybooks I read with my girls that Tuesday night had been our last storybook cuddle? What if?? None of us are promised tomorrow and none of our children are either. I’m not trying to be all fear-factor here, but really. God knows that I needed a little perspective shaken into me that one, scary night. And yes, this thing called motherhood is the hardest thing I’ve ever done (and I survived nursing school -grin-), and it’s so easy to lose my sanity in the midst of kids going crazy in the Wal-Mart aisles and in the mere day-in and day-out caretaking and gardening of our children’s blooming hearts. I lose my sanity and perspective all too often. Daily, in fact. So for me, I welcome the wrinkled, time-worn, urgent perspective.

 

Yes, tell me again. Carpe Diem. Right here. Right now. There is a beautiful, grace-filled underlying theme in all this exhausting, sometimes temper-filled, sometimes hectic, sometimes less-than-I-want craziness. Help me take hold of it.

Living It

(I wrote this several months back. It’s funny how a few months can change you. Refine you. Teach you. Today, my girls don’t nap and I still wipe up crumbs and fold underwear. I rush out the back door several times throughout this day and coax our car’s engine to ignore the cold, while still trying to find a time to bare the Christmas tree…. But they smile over silly, little things, their daddy-given dimples lighting me up. And I feel it. Yes. This is it.)

 

I remember how tired I was. Newborn baby in the sling, resting against my chest, and the two-year-old running wild in the milk aisle. I can still feel my tight hand-grip on the grocery cart and how I wrestled, trying to keep both it and my out-of-reach daughter in line, while trying not to wake the babe. It was dreary cold out. I was worn thin.

 

My eyes met those of an elderly woman who seemed to be surveying us in that milk aisle. I was too frazzled to make small talk.

 

But do you know what she had the gall to come up and say to me?

 

“Honey, enjoy every minute. This is the best time of your life.”

 

Now I’m not usually the type of girl who gets riled very easily. But just then, I really wanted to screech, “How can you be so cruel to say that me right now? Don’t you know I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks? That my body is literally worn out? That my husband and I have barely had time to look each other in the eyes?! That I’m here in the milk aisle just trying survive this grocery trip and you say these are the best moments of my life?!?!” I don’t even remember what I actually said to the woman, but I was too tired to scream, so instead, I muffled my soul’s unbelief and gave the typical Southern smile and probably said something about how, yeah, I was trying to savor the moments.

 

To be honest, the woman’s words stuck like unwanted syrup on the outside of a glass syrup bottle, and until recently, still conjured up a twinge of panic whenever they surfaced to mind.

 

What if she’s right? This??? This could be the best time of my life?

 

Because my days are merely filled with wiping bottoms and folding underwear, sweeping floors and serving PB and J’s on Winnie-the-Pooh plates.

 

But recently, I picked up Laura Bush’s memoir, Spoken from the Heart. Whether or not you side with her husband in his politics, it is hard for anyone to deny that the former first lady has lived an intriguing life . . . doing things, visiting places, meeting world leaders and attending spectacular events that few of us will ever have the opportunity to experience.

 

And do you know what she wrote? After serving as the First Lady of the United States of America for two terms and having lived probably the most exciting time of her life, she reminisces on the first few months of parenting their twin girls:

Every morning before dawn, George would get up to make the coffee, as he had done from the start of our marriage; then he would go get the girls and carry them into our bed. We’d each hold a baby and drink our coffee while they drank their bottles, with the morning news droning quietly in the background. The start of the day was reserved for just the four of us. Those early mornings were some of the sweetest times in our lives.

 

My breath catches as I read her words.

 

That’s what I am living. Feeding hungry little tummies. Sipping coffee. Living side-by-side with the man I love. The words of the Wal-Mart lady wash over me and I realize her words just may be true.

 

And I wonder.

 

What if I lived every moment like it just might be the ______-est moment of my life?

 

Maybe every moment in our lives is *THE* something. The sweetest time. The busiest time. The most exciting time. The most difficult time. The craziest vacation. The most intimate Christmas. The stupidest recipe mistake. The wisest parenting moment. The tastiest dinner. The most hilarious date. The funniest Monday.

How will I embrace it?

Got 10 Minutes?

Those of you who have “exercise more” listed on your list of New Year’s Resolutions, raise your hands.

 

Mmmhmm . . . just as I thought, most of you.

 

Those of you who struggle finding time in your busy days to devote to exercise, raise your hands.

 

Mmmhmm, yep, me too.

 

Those of you who have a short attention span for exercising, raise your hands.

 

Yep. The thought of jogging or walking on a treadmill for 45 minutes a day is not enough to get me out from under my warm sheets early on a cold winter morning, but if it is for you, I am definitely impressed. 🙂

 

Well, for those of you who raised your hands along with me for those top three questions, I have found an awesome solution. You may have a few of these solutions in your DVD cabinet already, or maybe you’ve seen them on Amazon?

 

 

I asked for this particular DVD for Christmas and bless my little 15-year-old sister’s heart, she bought it for me. And I LOVE it. It is kickin’ my you know what. But cut into, yes, 10 minute segments, I can pick and choose which segments I want for my own, doable, customized workout. If I only have time for 10 minutes, I only do 10 minutes. But I have worked in those 10 minutes. I’ve also done the whole video in one sitting (there are five, 10 minute segments) and that was awesome too. There are several different 10 Minute Solution DVDs and I can’t vouch for them yet, but I have a couple more DVDs somewhere on a UPS truck traveling their way to me. Thanks, Amazon. 🙂

 

Just thought I’d share a real mom’s practical solution for those resolutions we all have for 2012!

Outstretched for our Glory Baby

How do you share on a blog that you just lost a baby? How do you write anything else without sharing that you just lost a baby? There’s not much I feel like I can write yet, but the day after I wrote my last post, we discovered that we were blessed with our third baby. A few weeks later, we were told, we would not be raising that baby, that it was already gone. It has been a long and difficult month and a half, but we’re still here, recovering from emotional and physical heartache, but thankful for this week and the Christmas upcoming.

 

We are celebrating God with us. And our baby with Him. There lies the tie that binds.

 

And sometimes, music says it better….

 

(I have no ties to this fundraising effort – just thought hearing the song would be better than simply posting lyrics. The statistics are stunning, however)

Glory Baby

by WaterMark

Glory baby you slipped away as fast as we could say baby…baby..
You were growing, what happened dear?
You disappeared on us baby…baby..
Heaven will hold you before we do
Heaven will keep you safe until we’re home with you…
Until we’re home with you…

Miss you everyday
Miss you in every way
But we know there’s a
day when we will hold you
We will hold you
You’ll kiss our tears away
When we’re home to stay
Can’t wait for the day when we will see you
We will see you
But baby let sweet Jesus hold you
‘till mom and dad can hold you…
You’ll just have heaven before we do
You’ll just have heaven before we do

Sweet little babies, it’s hard to
understand it ‘cause we’re hurting
We are hurting
But there is healing
And we know we’re stronger people through the growing
And in knowing-
That all things work together for our good
And God works His purposes just like He said He would…
Just like He said He would…

BRIDGE:
I can’t imagine heaven’s lullabies
and what they must sound like
But I will rest in knowing, heaven is your home
And it’s all you’ll ever know…all you’ll ever know…