Holy Ground

I found a reason to be happy today. I mean- I know I have more than I could count, but today I found one right before my eyes. You see, we recently got an iPod dock for our kitchen and I am diggin' it. Anyone who knows me knows that I love having music on all hours of the day. Getting ready isn't the same unless theres an awesome Pandora station in the background setting the mood for the day. So its become a new joy and semi tradition to have music playing while I am cooking dinner and Henry is in the high chair in the kitchen with me. On tonights iPod: Taylor Swift, Red ablum. mmm. Now thats a way to make dinner! So the song Holy Ground came on and of course, I started dancing (go listen to that song and try NOT to dance around the room.) Its nothing weird to see me dancing randomly, but tonight I realized how much Henry loved it. I was spinning, shaking, and boogeying away and I looked over to see him laughing and clapping. What joy! I realized in that moment that this is the person I want my son to know and love- the one who stops in the middle of making dinner to dance and sing with him. Not the one who powers through the day only to realize missed opportunities when all the pitter patter of feet have gone to their bedtime dreaming. I know there will be those days, I just hope and pray that there are more moments of forgetting the schedule and dancing in the kitchen together than speeding through an agenda. And I hope the same for you all, too!

more than just getting by

do you ever get those feelings where you feel trapped and out of breath, belly churning with anxiety, yet at the same time you feel untethered and disconnected? its strange how you can feel two completely opposite emotions at the same point in time. thats where my heart is- disconnected but smothered in a way. its one of those things where you feel like a day in your favorite place on the planet (aka Wildhorse Canyon) could cure your soul- but you know deep down that its more than that.

life is so big. its scary, and you never know whats around the next turn. but its beautiful in that as well- and i want to live that beauty. i want to be unafraid and live unashamed. without over-anazyling, constantly in my head, hearing the lies but refusing to believe the truths. life is beautiful, and i want that beauty to permeate from my heart. and i feel such sadness when i realize the reality too often is that we just need to get by. to get through the day. to simply survive.

but where is the beauty in that? 

beauty is in the messy living room because the baby is having so much fun. it is in the pizza for dinner because the adventurous recipe was a little tricky. beauty is a date night at costco because thats all the budget allows. its when jumping on the bed with a toddler is way more fun than getting ready for work. when you push bedtime a bit just to get those extra sleepy baby kisses.

i don't know about you- but i prefer that life than just "getting through the day"

Judgey Judgey

I was embarrassed by a little girl the other day. Like... maybe 10 years old. I'm still not too proud of myself for the way my heart reacted- even a week later. Here's how it went down:

Henry (8 1/2 months) and I were out at the fountain near our house playing and splashing in the water...with about 25 of our neighborhood children. It was chaotic to say the least. I was holding Henry under the armpits as he splashed and played along. Up walks a little girl who looks at Henry and starts flirting. This is nothing new, as my son is pretty freaking adorable. Anyway- She asked if he was able to walk on his own. I sweetly said "no, not yet! He's learning though! He's still learning to crawl!" I thought this was a normal response and figured she had no idea at what age babies walked anyway. But- the little lady looked at me with some serious judgement and stated:

"My cousin is ten months and shes walking."

ugh. The dreaded comparison and judgement based of what your child is doing. Yes, this was a little girl, but I feel like this has been a constant in my new motherhood life since Hank was born. And its so sad because I feel like moms do this all the time. I wonder if we are so worried about our kids and their progress that we feel the need to constantly compare and point out ways our little one is more advanced. Or if we see our parenting as the best and most obvious way to raise babies. Regardless- it breaks my mommy heart. Because we, as mothers, should be building each other up- not judging based on whether a mom put sunscreen on diligently enough. Its sad, really. A few things I hear around parks and pediatrician waiting rooms:

"Oh, you aren't breastfeeding anymore? Are you sure you tried everything?"

"Wow- 15 months and you're still breastfeeding.... that seems long..."

"You don't make your own baby food?"

"You still rock her to sleep?"

"Here's what you should do..."

I wish we could put a stop to this momma drama. I struggled with breastfeeding from day one- and I am incredibly happy I was able to make it to 6 months. For me- that was a victory. But I consistently felt I had to justify myself in certain settings. I still feel that way. And giving up breastfeeding was hardest mainly because I felt that I was letting Henry down. Not necessarily because of the actual act of giving him formula rather the breast milk, but based on the fact that everyone said its was I should be doing. But once I stopped- I was able to be a more relaxed mother. And Henry has been just fine. I don't think we should label moms, put them in boxes, or throw anymore judgement their way. After all- aren't we just doing the best we can?

God Made a Mother

I got this wonderful blog off a friend's post today and it made my heart swell. I all of a sudden was able to understand and appreciate the late night cries from a sweet baby, simply asking to be rocked to sleep. The never ending feeling of being so needed by another little human. The smiles and laughter that can fill my heart enough to last a lifetime. As hard as it sometimes may be, I am forever grateful for the gift of being a mother. My heart prays for and aches for those who have a mother's heart but no baby yet to love. God made a mother -dear friends- and you are one of them. So thankful for all the sweet mommas I know and have the privilege of watching as they grow their families.

So, sure, there was this talk of The Giving Tree –

but there wasn’t one of us who didn’t know all along it was you, The Giving Mother.

You who leaned over a stove and stirred and let spices fall like leaves and you ladled and we slurped and it would be remembered when we were old, the meatballs that you shaped and the noodles on Sunday nights with the Magi and how you wiped your hands on your apron slow.

The Giving Mother who lets us take up whole places inside of you, who keeps making spaces, who never stops making spaces, growing soft and round, stretching thinner and growing fuller, your hearts and hips widening with a widening grace.

I never get over the shade of you, the grace of you, the limbs of you, the God-made Giving Tree —

Because God needed someone to love the least and the little into real whole people, and He knew that to love is to suffer so God made a mother.

God had said –

I need someone to get up at midnight and scoop the most fragile of humanity close to her warmth and rock though she can hardly stand and nourish though she’s mostly sleep-starved and change the diaper and the sheets and the leaked on, leaked through, and leaked down clothes though she’ll have to change them in the morning and next week and that won’t change for years.

So God made a Mother.

That God had said I need somebody with a strong heart.

Strong enough for toddler tantrums and teenage testing, yet broken enough to fall on her knees and pray, pray, pray.

Someone who knows that in every hard place is exactly where you extend grace, who looks a hopeful child in the eye and says yes, even though she knows every yes means a mess but this is how you bless, who has the courage to keep letting go because she’s holding on to Me.

So God made a mother.

God said I need somebody who can shape a soul and find shoes on Sunday mornings and get grass stains out of Levis.

And make dinner out of nothing and do it again 79, 678 times, and keep kids off the road and out of the toilet and in clean underwear and mainly alive though she’s mainly losing her mind and will put in an 80 hour week by Wednesday night and just do one more load of laundry.

And one more sink of crusted burnt pots.

And keep on going another eighty hours because raising generations matters and weaving families matters and tying heart strings matters and these people here in hidden places matter.

So God made a mother…

It had to be somebody who could comb back pigtails and tie up skates just-right tight.

Who could pretend she remembered algebra and how to get home from here and that really, she was just fine, that it must just be the silly onions.

Somebody who would run for the catch, jump on a trampoline and play one fierce game of soccer and not give a thought to all those labors and her weak pelvic floor. Somebody who’d stay up late with a science project that never ends, who’d get up early for the game in the rain, somebody who’d wave at the door until the taillights were out of sight and still be smiling brave.

So God made a mother.

It had to be somebody willing to keep loving when it made no sense because that’s what love does.

Somebody who knew that life is not an emergency but a gift — so just. slow. down. There are children at play here and we don’t want anyone to get hurt and the hurry makes us hurt.

Somebody willing to feed and lead, lay down her life and pick up her cross, give of her time because they have her heart. Someone who knows that we all blow it — and what matters is what we then do after.

Someone who could humble herself into the tender sorry that covers a multitude of sins.

Someone who would live like a Giving Tree — who would would give grace, give life, and give thanks —  eucharisteo:  the giving thanks for every grace that gives back always joy.

Someone who would stand in the mess and the midst and give thanks anyways — becauseeucharisteo always, always, precedes the miracle of discovering that the Giver Himself is always, always more than enough.

Someone who would live it a thousand times: Give thanks — and discover that the Giver Himself is the Gift and He alone is always, always enough.

Someone who would pour out and bend down and surrender not only to the physical pain of childbirth but the far deeper, unending heart pain of letting go, letting go, letting go –  from the womb, from the arms, from the front door. Someone who would know that umbilical cords can be cut — but heart strings never can.

Someone who’d bow her head at night over the girl sleeping with the doll in the crook of her arm — and give thanks to her Father for this hidden life that’s turning a gear for the whole spinning world.

So God made a mother.

You.

The Giving Mother, made by God to be a safe shelter….

with your roots dipping like lines into aquifers to siphon love up out of the caving cup of His hands.

His hands …. and those always underneath, everlasting arms holding us all.

do not harden your hearts

When I look into this face- I see my future. I see my life and the little person who that life revolves around. I see him experiencing the joy running barefoot on grass, learning to say "momma" and walking into his kindergarten classroom, oversized backpack in tow. That face causes me to melt into a mommy puddle on the floor, and it also makes me jump into serious "would-do-anything-to-keep-you-safe" mode. Literally- the second I met the smallest man to steal my heart I knew my life would never be the same and that I would put myself in the most dangerous situation just to keep him out of it. Now, for me, thats a big deal. I am pretty scared of...well..everything. Elevators, bridges, rollercoasters, planes, grizzly men in trench coats, etc. But- when it comes to my sweet Henry- I would take an elevator to the top of a bridge and live there next to a man in a trench coat if it meant keeping him safe.

Last night, as my husband and I were catching up on the overwhelmingly shocking bombings in Boston, I told him that I now question whether I want to go to big, crowded places such as parades, the Super Bowl, even Disney Land. And what he said was so true. He told me: "then they win." How obvious. Looking at the pictures of the women crying, men carrying little kids to an ambulance, and people desperately seeking out their friends, I realize this is the reaction they wanted. The sadness. The future fears. The realization that we aren't as safe as we believe. I don't want them to win- to give them that hold on my life.

When Henry gets older and we experience our safety being compromised, I pray that I can talk to him about not giving the reaction these terrible people want. I know there is fear- but what I mean is the future worries. The strongholds that can be placed on our hearts when we are scared. I pray I can help him learn to see the good in the horribly ugly: people helping carry others to safety after having just run a marathon. Those putting their address on the internet for all the world to see so that people can seek solace and comfort in a home. I pray his heart would not be hardened and untrusting- but that he would still reach out to others and love with all he has- fearful or not.

My heart breaks for our country and the happenings in this world. If I allow it- the fear can be overwhelming and paralyzing. But- Its not about just me anymore. Its about teaching my son to see the world as a place to love on others and opening his heart to what life has to offer. To not give in to the fear that can bear down on a heart, not allowing it to flourish in the way God has intended. To live his life as a boy who has placed his heart in the hands of Jesus and trusting enough to be a light in a dark, dark world.

the truth about having a baby

                                                              Source: fortheloveofmegan.tumblr.com via Lindsay on Pinterest

                                                                            Source: etsy.com via Lindsay on Pinterest

Everyone tells you that once you have a baby everything changes. They are right- you get less sleep, darker bags under your eyes, and date night changes from dinner and a movie out to whispering in bed before falling asleep by 9. Not all changes are bad. I have had more joy in my days in the last 6 months than I ever have before. After the initial "oh my- its too early to be awake," I look into my smiling baby's morning eyes and wonder what the day will hold. Will he learn to crawl today? Will he perfect his posture while sitting and chewing on a toy? Will he capture my heart with his belly laugh while I spend a good 1/2 hour making faces and silly noises? Man, I love this kid. But- the downside of this love is the immense fear that comes along with it. I hear the news reports of babies being shot in Chicago, parents that lose their cool and shake their little newborn, and yes- the Newtown, Connecticut school shooting that left me paralyzed with fear for weeks. No one tells you about that part. They don't say that you hold your breath every time you walk out the door without them or that you'll spend the first 3 months of their life watching them as they sleep to make sure their breaths are even.  And they don't tell you how much deeper your love can go- how the moment you see this little face you know full well that you would take a bullet for this stranger you met only seconds before. Oh this little man. I suppose the fear is worth the incredible love that comes along with it.