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"

isnt it beautiful

isn't it beautiful

the way we fall apart.

its magical and tragic,

all the ways we break our hearts.

so unpredictable,

were comfortably miserable.

we think we're invincible, completely unbreakable

and maybe we are.

but isnt it beautiful

the way we fall apart.

In July of 2011 I wrote this post. (Keep in mind that blog has gone long untamed...but the post still speaks the heart :) )

I was thinking back to that moment today and realized that once again I am sitting here snuggled up, listening to Bethany Dillon and trying all over again to heal a breaking heart. Whats interesting is both times, though my heart was breaking, there was joy exuding from it as well. Because here I am now, once again saying goodbye via blog post, tears, and prayer, to someone I loved and cherished. My sweet, feisty great grandmother went to be with the Lord today. You heard me right- GREAT grandmother. How lucky am I that I got to spend so much of her 93 years on earthing learning from her and loving her. I will always remember and cherish greatly the memories I have of our time spent at her LaPine home. How she always stuffed us with creamcicles and her famous pistachio pudding. I can picture all of the photos and art work in her house. I can smell the nail polish that she kept in her fridge and spent many nights painting my sister's and my nails. Its strange how many memories come to your mind and heart when someone you love leaves this world. Its almost like I am sitting there on my grandpa's lap, stealing cough drops out of his shirt pockets, as my grandma turns on "where the red fern grows" for the 15th time. And now my heart breaks because she never got to meet her great great grandchildren.

 She was a generation all her own and today that entire generation of my family has left, so suddenly and quietly. And as I got off the phone with my mother and let the news sink into my soul, I looked around at everyone driving by, going on with their day, this moment not affecting them. I listen to Henry babbling on in the back seat, unaware of this person who just left his world. The 2nd half of the couple where he got his middle name. A person he never got to meet.

Then my mind wanders to the place where my heart was as I wrote the previous post years ago. Realizing the beauty in death- that our loved ones have found each other and rejoice as they heal and celebrate. The realization that she is with my great grandpa, joy in their eyes and love in their hearts. 

And I let it sink in: she did get to meet my baby. Not the one I snuggled to sleep tonight, but the one who left my heart and belly two years ago. The one I will never forget, yet never held. And the one that waits earnestly for his family to enter the joyous gates of Heaven. This line from "Heaven is For Real" always made my heart melt into a puddle:

“Mom- she is okay mom. She’s happy. She prays for you and watches you. She wanted to me tell you she loves you and can’t wait for you and daddy to be with her in Heaven.”

My baby is in heaven, waiting for me and watching over me. And today, my sweet, sweet grandmother left this world and joined him. How could that not bring joy to tearfilled eyes?

a hearts prayer

My heart is feeling overly heavy the last few weeks. Like drowning in the sorrow and hurt around me is not far off. It sounds uber dramatic- I'm fully aware- but its the truth that my heart feels right now. Long ago during our Young Life Bible study years, we were told to expose the lies our hearts have been told over and over, and combat them with the truth about why the Lord has created us that way. I will always remember the lie I wrote down, simply because its something I have fought and still feel weighed down by in my adult years: 

I am too much. Too much to handle. Too much to love. Too much to understand. 

I wrote that down with the unfortunate confidence that this truth has taken over my heart. I will always remember what my best friend said when she peeked over and saw my card:

"Linds, you aren't too much- you just care a lot."

Its been an ongoing joke the last ten years, but the truth is that my heart carries the weight and heaviness of those around me. And honestly- thats something I am okay with. I wish there was no sadness or brokenness, but since there is- I am glad to carry those burdens so that I may share the load with those I love. And this past month I wish I could take that load fully and carry it on my own. With pain, suffering, sadness and broken hearts all around me, I want nothing more than to absorb that hurt to free these loved ones. 

My heart is burdened. My heart is saddened. My heart is trying to find answers. But most of all, my heart is prayerful.

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?

they fill my heart with gladness

I have had the privilege of knowing these wonderful women since we were 12 years old. We were just babies then. Our biggest stressor was which homeroom class we would get placed in, whether one of the Justins had a crush on us, and whose house we would spend the night at after the football game. We have faced real life together- tough life. We have gone through hardships, sadness, breakups, and failed pregnancies. We have also gone through the amazing things- watching our lives change as we meet our real loves, celebrating a new beginning with some beautiful weddings, and watching each one of us find our way and follow our dreams. Now- we get the enjoy the excitement of expanding bellies and expanding families. I am so blessed by these women and cannot believe how long we have gotten to be in each other's lives! Here's to many more years of blessings and growth.

Where do I call home? Hillsboro, Oregon

I wanted to connect with The Influence Network link up about where I am from. Its a small story, not one with a lot of fuss or excitement, but one that has brought me and my little family to a place we call home.

I lived in Reno, Nevada until 4th grade, then moved to Portland, Oregon. Hubby has lived in Hillsboro (a little farm town-turned suburb outside Portland) since he was little. We both went outside the city for college and spent most of our teen years in the Portland area. When we got married, we wanted to leave town, maybe go to a whole new state and try something different. Hillsboro is the furthest we got! My husband started volunteer fire fighting in Hillsboro, so we ended up staying longer than we wanted. Now I am in love with this little town. We live downtown where we walk to the farmers market every weekend, hit-up my neighborhood starbucks like its my day job (which it kind of is now that I stay home with the baby...) and know our neighbors as friends. We're a good 1/2 hour from family, but its home to us and a place we will most likely stay for a while.

Thanks for listening to my first ever link-up!

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.