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.

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.

a little tuesday encouragement

                                                                          Source: gagthat.com via Lindsay on Pinterest

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