Mundane madness

There's no hiding the exhaustion of Motherhood. The lack of sleep and constant feeding of a newborn is only the tip of the iceberg. As they grow, you realize they continue to need food and sleep, but then they require other things such as discipline, education, clean clothing, guidance, nursing, carpooling, navigating, and yes, even some space. 

The juggling of life and all the needs can be very tiring and at times, overwhelming. But what about mundane? 

Perhaps I am the only one to speak up about this, so forgive me before hand if you are shocked, repulsed, and ready to call the authorities. But there are just some days I get tired of the day to day care of my children. Can we just talk a moment about food? They need to eat... like every 3 hours! I can go extended periods of time without food. And when I do eat something, it doesn't need to be a grand event. A cheese stick or an apple will do. 

But with the feeding of my kids seems to go on forever. 

To my poor pioneer sisters who had to take hours to cook a stew or bake a loaf of bread, I am just sorry. I am so thankful for the conveniences of  pre-sliced bread and snack packs. Judge all you want, but I love that cereal exists and that I don't have to make eggs and pancakes every morning. 

Also, the laundry.. it's like Mount Everest. You get to a plateau and think you made it. All baskets are empty and all clean laundry is put away. And then they have to do this thing called "getting clean". Suddenly, my once empty baskets are full with exactly 243 towels, 1900 pairs of underwear and socks, and a dump truck full of clothing. 

The care is endless. 

There are days I stand in the midst of grocery lists, laundry piles, and dirty dishes and just wonder what difference I am making in the Kingdom of God. Is this all there is? Why can't I be doing something exciting for Jesus like traveling around the world feeding orphans (see, even in my dreams I am feeding children), or speaking at large conferences of ladies encouraging them in God's Word.  I long to have hours to write, publish, and then engage with those that read the words I penned and see how God used my service to reach others. 

Then, I see the Apostle Paul. 

There he is. Waiting on his friends in Athens. A simple thing really. Just waiting for something exciting to happen. And then it did. There, in Acts 17, Paul gave one of his most famous sermons to the people of Athens. He was shaken, as were their hearts. 

What had changed? What happened between the waiting and the Holy Spirit working in Paul to preach?

He was stirred. 

Paul realized that a mundane thing like waiting was not why he was there. He was in Athens because there were people that needed God to show up and reveal Himself. 

Anyone can do my laundry. Anyone can give my kids a sandwich. That is not what I am called to do. That is not why I was chosen to be their mom. 

I need to be stirred and moved. I need to see that there are little people living in my very house who need Jesus and I can preach Christ to them by doing the laundry, serving them a meal, and scrubbing their hair, all while having the joy and satisfaction in doing His great work. 

I don't want to desire the pomp and circumstance of a public ministry. Slowly, but surely, God is molding my heart to see the importance in those kisses on the knee, the lessons of life that I teach, the smile and "good morning" that I give. 

I don't want to be miserable, dissatisfied, and discontent. 

My greatest joy would be for my girls to remember that Mom was happy when serving them, so that one day they can be happy serving others. 

Mundane should not be a word in my vocabulary. It's not a thing. It's really an attitude. Choosing to find the deeper purpose in the things I do everyday is what I desire to do. 

So off I go, to feed my kids. And maybe, just maybe, I'll do it with a smile. 

This ain't no slow dance

I remember this couple. 

I remember their wedding. It was simple. They laughed a lot. Their smiles were permanently fixed upon their faces. They were happy. 

They thought they knew it all. 

They will always put the other first. When needed, always be willing to compromise. 

They will want to kiss each other everyday, every moment, and it will never get old. 

They will  put their marriage first in all areas of life, including children, work, and friendships. 

When one person is down, the other will not be irritated or offended by their attitude, but will strive to aid their spouse in any way they can to help them feel content and encouraged. 

They will never go to bed on bad terms. They will pray every night together and thank God for the gift that is marriage. 

I remember that couple. 

Then life came, and this couple that had so many ideas and goals plunged into reality. 

Because that really is a fantastic word for marriage: reality. 

Stress around every corner. Money. Child rearing. Work. Exhaustion. Pulls from society to be a certain way. Temptations lurking around every corner. 

This is real. This is sloppy. This is mine. 

You would think since I came from a home with a messy divorce I would have given up all ideas of a marriage without struggle and really swung the other way, filled with apprehension, doubt, and yes, even fear if we would make it. 

But I didn't chose those things. Why? Mostly by the drive of never desiring to go through a divorce. It simply has never been an option. 

However, the pendulum swung the other way and I, at times, have had expectations and ideas about marriage that get me into trouble. But I have been learning, little by little, that these ideas are false and really destroy my marriage. 

1. Marriage for a Christian does not mean an easy pass

(This was my feeling after putting together this Ikea futon.)

Just like a piece of Ikea furniture, just because you have the Manual for marriage (God's Word), this does not mean it will be easy to piece together and be complete. The language is foreign at times, because God's ways are simply not our ways. He desires us to give up our wants, desires, and even happiness at times to serve one another. This is not a popular thought. But it's Bible. And just like when I put that futon from Ikea together with Peter, and I didn't use the manual, it just wasn't working out. 

We can not succeed without it. 

But even when Peter started to use it, we made mistakes. We had to pause, back up, and pick up some new tools. 

Being a Christian is not a guarantee of an easy ride in anything in life. Paul warned us of that. So why would we think any different of marriage? It's a constant struggle. 

It's daily choosing to love one another, even when they are not at their most lovable. Loving them despite the bad breath, pet-peeves, long days, and screaming kids. 

2. Marriage is NOT made for your happiness 

I remember in the early years of marriage how much of my mood depended upon how well Peter and I were doing. If we were happy as I couple, then I was happy as a person. If we were angry at one another, then I was angry at the world. 

The truth is we are putting way too much pressure on our marriage when we demand our spouse to make us happy. 

Instead, our sense of happiness comes from the Joy Giver Himself. The freedom and redemption in who Christ is and what He has done should put a tune in our heart. The promises of a glorious day of no more tears, worries, and troubles is a beautiful and happy hope. The simple fact that He first loved me gives me value and purpose. Something that Peter could never fully give me no matter how great of a husband he is. 

God, of course, wants us to enjoy our marriage and to experience the blessings that come with it. But when I really remember WHY I said "I do", well, that is when it all comes into perspective. 

I wasn't just saying it to Peter, I was saying it to God. 

"I do" to serving Christ through my marriage. 

"I do" to letting people look at all the un-perfectness and know that only God is the one who could keep this big, hot mess together. 

"I do" to cherishing this man, a gift from God, and knowing that he will never be perfect this side of heaven, but still knowing he is mine, and I am his. 

3. Marriage isn't always dancing in the kitchen to love songs

This is a big one for me. Since the day I met Peter, I knew he wasn't a romantic at heart. Well, at least  not how the movies portray it. I rarely get flowers. We don't have "a song". In fact, we haven't even ever slow danced in the kitchen. I would get angry, like red ears kind of angry, at Peter when he wouldn't fit my mold of romance. I wanted him to pen me a poem or whisk me off to a surprise getaway. 

Instead, he goes on walks with me and looks at the flowers. He's perfectly content listening to me belt a love song to him and will even laugh when I add my own snazzy dance moves. 

He sends me texts to let me know he'll be late from work. He's look at me after a long, hard day and knows that I need a night out of the kitchen. It may not be Hawaii, but let me tell you, Chik-fil-a on a Tuesday night after lesson upon lesson is simply heavenly. 

When I realize that my expectations are not lined up with reality, I am happier. I must decide to find the romance in our marriage instead of force it to happen. 

4.Sex and laughing fixes a lot of things

 I may make some of you blush, but let's be honest, because if you are married, you've had sex. There's no lying about that. And can I just take it a step further, sex is fun! Now, of course, I remember those days when I had a one year old and I was nursing an infant and the thought of anyone else touching me that day not only repulsed me but I'm pretty sure you could see my head starting to spin and fire come out of my mouth. Those days were hard. I could write a whole book about that period of life and the tricks and lessons I learned. Another day...

Now that we are past the baby stage, I find that enjoying one another and the gift of sex that God gave us fixes so many issues. It's a stress reliever. It forces us to confront one another and not just ignore our partner. It brings unity. And honestly, it's just a blast! 

Laughing is right up there, too. 

I think that is just as much a gift in marriage. Someone that knows all your quirks and back stories. So many private jokes. Who else can I laugh over dutch ovens with, but him! I wouldn't trade humor for anything. When we take ourselves too seriously, that's when the trouble starts. 

I have to continually remind myself that this is a marathon. And when we have a bad day, week, or let's face it, season of marriage, it doesn't mean that things are forever going downhill and we will hit bottom. It simply means that we are adjusting, tweeking, and going to be OK as long as we remember why we are here, WHO put us here, and what our ultimate goal is. 

For those who are struggling today in their marriage, know that I don't say this lightly. I know very well how hard it is and have probably experienced many of the things you have. Remember that it is not always easy, but it's worth it to keep going. Have fun, laugh, and pray. 

Through the tears

Picture the scene. 

A woman.

Sick for all her life. Tormented inside. In a constant state of chaos.

Then a Healer comes along. 

He is able to not only cure her ailment, but bring a new life, free from ever repeating such imprisonment. 

This was Mary Magdalene. 

The accounts in the Bible talk about a woman, possessed by 7 devils, then healed and released from her tormentors. 

Now in the garden, she stands. 

Her very Healer, broken Himself. Just hours ago she watched as He was hung on a cross to be crucified. To be mocked. To be rejected by the very men He was choosing to love. 

Jesus. 

Mary lost her Savior that day in a bloody battle between heaven and hell and she had a front row seat. 

And now, in the garden, days after He was buried, she weeps and mourns this man, this God, in whom she would give her own life for. 

In the account of John, chapter 20, it says that she stood without the sepulcher weeping. 

This kind of weeping is the kind where you can not even see through the tears.

She was so distressed for losing her Savior and so overcome with grief that she didn't even recognize the One who then spoke to her. 

Jesus. 

He simply asked her why she was crying and who was she looking for. 

And He showed Himself FIRST to Mary. 

First. 

Who was she to be the initial onlooker of the Resurrected? Wasn't this Mary? The one with the past? The one that was possessed by demons, broken, and just a mess? 

And yet, Jesus, the One who could have chosen anyone in the world to show Himself to first, decided to come to this woman, crippled by her own grief, tear streaked cheeks, and announce His return.

I don't know about you, but the thought of a God who picks out the weakest and frailest of us all to call on first is the God that I want to serve.

Because I am the weakest. 

I have a past. 

But in Him, I have a future. 

I'm grief stricken and unable to move or see. 

But when He calls my name, I will know who beckons me to look up.

Because that is really all He wanted. 

He wanted Mary to see  Him. 

To look up from her sorrow and focus on the One who can bring joy. 

My heart rejoices at this thought, that in Him, the tears may still be in my eyes, but I will be able to see, to hear, to know my Savior. 

Birthday Miracles

It's no secret that a new life is simply a miracle. When you take God out of it for a moment and just look at the science of it all and all the things that must be in order for that spark to happen and a new life be conceived it's inconceivable. However, when you add God to it, I find it that much more amazing. A soul, dependent upon the life of their own Mother, hand picked by God. He selected me to carry my children and I am in awe of that.

Six years ago God introduced me to the last soul I would carry in my womb, Clara Esther Little. 

A peanut of a baby and a true supernatural gift. I almost lost her at week 20. But she was here. She was delivered and simply perfect. I know everyone says that about their babies, but seriously, I have never seen a more beautiful newborn. Round little head. Petite features. Long fingers. A head full of dark hair. 

As if her birth was not enough to remind me of who supplies all blessings, God gifted us with another miraculous event that no doubt was orchestrated by him. 

I should have died. 

I lost so much blood that day that the nurses said it looked like a massacre. 17 units put back into me in the O.R. Seven hours of surgery trying to stop the bleeding. All while Peter waited. Worried. Wondered. 

I heard more than one person say that they were shocked I made it out alive. I should have died on that table. But God loves to show His power, compassion, and love. He wants to be praised for His might and power. 

I add this picture not to shock, however, I realize that is just what it does. I add it to give you a visual of where I was at. Literally between heaven and earth. 

I often wonder why God kept me here. What was His purpose? I have a list of things I could say, but I think in the end it will be a bunch of little things that add up to one big thing: my life. 

I wish to live it well. I want to honor God, love others, encourage, laugh, help, and praise. My desire is not to waste it. And I come back to this lesson every time Clara's birthday comes along. 

She is my second chance. She was more than a gift of life. She was a gift of new beginnings. 

I'm in love with her. I'm in love with the idea that she will always walk beside me, reminding me to focus on only the important. The fluff of life is so temporal and nonsensical. I want solid. Depth. Value in what I do.

I leave you with my favorite hospital picture. 

I love this shot for so many reasons. Sam is worrying about something and checking it with her microscope. Molly is being wiggly, loud, and reminding us that she needs to be heard. Clara is being easy going and sweet. And Peter, wrapping his arms around his family, checking on the newest bundle of joy, holds us together. Just like our Heavenly Father. 

My Mother's Day Thanks

Dear Lord,
Today is Mother's Day. I thought it only appropriate to thank you for making me a mother. Eleven years ago, you brought that word "mother" into my life in a very personal way. I remember looking at that test that said positive and thinking my world was about to change. And change it did. Even though I only carried that baby for a short time, I thank you that you allowed me to do so. I know that the heavens sing the songs of all those babies that so many sweet mothers have lost. A full choir of angel babies just waiting to be reunited with their mommies. I have five in the choir. Thank you for the joy and hope I have to see them again. 

Thank you for Samantha. She was the first baby I was able to carry full term. The first baby I was able to hold in my arms. The first baby to call me "Mama". What a gift she is. 

Thank you for my first born, for it's by her I have learned so many mommy lessons. I learned how amazing the body is and how you created birthing a baby in such a way that even though the pain and turmoil is immense, we are willing to do it all again because that first look on their face is the most amazing feeling in the world. 

Thank you that with Samantha, I felt the joy of little arms wrapped around my neck, soft kisses on my cheeks, and  tight hugs when the night seems scary.

With Samantha, you've allowed me to be challenged as a mother. Learning that relying on You on a daily basis is an absolute necessity and blessing. 

Thank you for a little best friend, wrapped in a small framed, beautiful faced, tender hearted girl. 

Thank you for my second born, Molly. 

You gifted me with a most pleasant of babies. She was quiet and easy, truly a gift for a second born. You knew what I needed with a deployment to face and motherhood about to get really real. 

Thank you for teaching me that you never turn your back on a toddler. They are capable of destruction and/or terror in 3.2 seconds. 

Thank you for the gift of learning that children are all different and as a mother, it is a joy to be able to embrace those differences and nurture their individual talents. 

Thank you for allowing me to watch, as Molly's mother, the strength you instill in each child to endure the fiercest of battles. Thank you for not leaving me alone as I parent, but gently taking my hand through the good, bad, and ugly trenches of "mommying".

Thank you for Clara. From the very beginning, being a Mommy to Clara has taught me that miracles still happen and that you have a plan for everything. 

Thank you for reminding me that life is precious and nothing is guaranteed.

Thank you for the lessons of having fun again, laughing, and getting down and dirty aremy favorite part of being a Mom.

Thank you for humbling me by bringing on the tasks of  stomach flus, teaching cursive, and brushing Clara's hair. You are constantly reminding me that I don't have a clue what I am doing and Your strength is made perfect in my utter weakness. 

Thank you making motherhood fun.

                                            Thank you for making Motherhood beautiful.

Thank you for making Motherhood precious. 

Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to be a mother. And not only a mother, but one to these three beautiful girls. 

I am your worst nightmare

Having been in the bereaved parent circle for a while now, I have come across a number of parents that seem to echo similar flaws in today's society when it comes to grieving, in particular, the grief of a parent. I, myself, have felt many of the same things these parents have. Yet, no matter how many blogs I read, how many articles fill up with words about what needs to be done, and how many specialists validate our feelings, the bereaved parent community are still ostracized and left feeling alone. 

Why is that?

I suspect it's because of one main reason: We are your worst nightmare.

How many times have I heard the words, "I can't even imagine." Or "I could never..." There's also been,  "You are stronger than I am."  

If I was being frank,  (which I really am usually when I write because it's much easier to be bold to a computer screen than a person's face), I can't stand hearing any other these. 

"I can't even imagine."

You are right. You can't. The horror of  hearing the words that will give your child's death sentence is unfathomable. Pumping your child full of poison, strapping them to a table to send radiation into their body, letting a team of doctors do an experimental surgery that really doesn't guarantee a single thing, holding your baby's hand as she takes her final breath on earth, hoping she can hear your last "I love you" uttered in her ear is more than horrific. It's impalpable. Even for those parents that have faced this road can't understand or imagine how we made it through. 

Can I just tell you something, though? We don't want you to imagine. We never desire you to put your own sweet child in our child's place and consider what you would have done, what you would have felt. Instead, we just want you to see. To listen. To ask. We know that the pain is too deep and complex for you to know, and we are OK with that. We just need you to hear our story, so that perhaps, we can find our breath and balm in it all. 

"I could never..."

If you would have asked me two years ago if I could ever calmly tell my girls that their sister was going to die, I would have flat out told you, "No".  

If you would have asked me was I capable of high levels of stress, accompanied with minimal sleep, and still be able to get the day done, I would have laughed in your face. 

I never thought I could do all I could in the face of cancer, but when my child needed me, I could. I did. I would again. 

You never know what you are capable of doing until put to the task. God gives us grace for only the step we are about to take, not the mile ahead. So, if it came down to it, you could too. Please don't tell us that you could never, because it is simply a reminder of what we faced, how hard and difficult it was. I think many say it as a way to build up or boost a parent. But in reality, it makes us feel weak and feeble. 

Instead, I implore you to be thankful that you have never... and to pray for those that must. 

"You are stronger than I am"

Tell me that when I am fallen over in the shower, in tears, not sure I can breath again. Tell me that when I scream at the top of my lungs in times of frustration and anger that I can not watch my child dying another moment longer. Tell me I am stronger than you when I walk away from a beautiful tree planted in memory of my daughter, only to be filled with jealousy, anger, and resentment, while others get to walk hand in hand with their own children. 

We are not stronger than you. We are weak. In fact, we are weaker than you. We live with half a heart. We live this parallel universe  in which  there is no way out. Always wondering what our child would be doing if they were here, who they would have been, and what it was like before they left this  world. 

Instead of comparing our strengths, take what little strength you think you do have and use it to say a kind word, share a memory, open your arms and hug. 

Coming up on a year without Molly, I find that it is much more difficult than it was in the beginning. To live this life without her is my load to bear, and mine alone. However, my wish is that others with know that my loss does not have to be your horror. You need not pass by on the other side of the street, avoid eye contact in the parking lot, or stop texting. You only need to be. Remember. Acknowledge. Understand that you don't need to understand it all. 

To my fellow bereaved mothers out there, I know your heart. Whether you lost you child in womb, held them but a moment on earth, or grew beside them for years, my heart is with you. My heart walks, talks, and breaths with yours. My arms are wide open to you, Mother. 

13 years

I think I cried myself to sleep that night. How could I possibly imagine four long months, or perhaps even more, without the man I fell in love with. But that was what I was facing. He pulled away with his recruiter, leaving all he knew behind, to start a new adventure and establish a future for both of us. 

Thirteen years later, and here we stand. 

Trust me when I say I am not one of those women that takes credit for my husband's career. It actually riles me up a little when I hear a military wife talk of her husband's career as if she did all the work herself. Yes, as a spouse, there are some sacrifices needed to be made. But it's the same in every other marriage. 

You move for a promotion. Give up time with family because of the long hours at work. Many  jobs put their safety in jeopardy. But in the end, Peter has done all the work to get where he is. And I couldn't be more proud of him. 

He's the one who signed that paper. He's the one that went through basic training, all the lack of sleep, grueling drills, and separation from family.

Peter is the one that had to go overseas without us. He couldn't pick up the phone and call. He couldn't eat home cooked meals. Instead, they came from some kind of bag! (MRE's, we thank you for your deliciousness.) 

I am so very blessed to have this man I call husband. Not because of what he does for an occupation. He could be a lawyer, farmer, librarian, mechanic, or teacher. The point is, he's hard working, self sacrificing, and always willing to give for his family. 

So today, as I remember 13 years ago and the ache in my heart as he drove away, I now also think on how full my heart is in the man he has become. I thank God for forming him into a better person each day. I thank the military for giving him skills and disciplines that carry on to other areas of life. And I thank Peter for  his hard work and dedication in so many areas of his life, all making this thing we call life so much better.