Learning to Love Again

We are two weeks in to life as a family of four.  There have been some things about it that did not surprise me- I knew it would be a challenge, I knew it would be worth it, I knew I would be tired and sore.  But there have been other things that surprised me- the main one being I would end up learning to love all over again. 

I knew I would have no trouble loving a new little boy, I knew my heart would expand for him, but I didn’t know that having a second would teach me to love my first all over again.  I was not prepared for how much more I would love (a) as I watch him adore his baby brother, watch him truly be a helper to us, watch his huge independent personality soften as he gently offered to help me off the couch or help me walk as he saw me in pain.  His new role as “big brother” has brought out a whole other side of him that I love more each day.

I didn’t know I would learn how to love my husband over again.  From the first day he became a Dad, I have adored how much he loves his son, appreciated what a “hands on” parent he is, have marveled at his patience, and thanked God that he is my partner in parenting- but now that there are two, I am learning to love him all over again.  As I sat in the nursery in the middle of the night last night, I stared across the hall to our empty bed… empty because he is a teamwork kind of dad- I was in the nursery with a baby who doesn’t sleep, and he was in the “cowboy bed” with a three year old who doesn’t sleep.  I love how hard he is trying to make sure each of the boys has special time with him because it is important to (A) that each of them feels like an individual.  I love how willingly he takes turns so that I can also grab a few minutes of sleep here and there, and how hard he is trying to be involved even though this crazy broken arm is making some tasks hard. 

I have learned to love my friends all over again.  Some who are far, but have still checked on me faithfully day after day since they can’t be here in person.  Friends who are planning trips to bridge our miles because they still value the friendship with our family and want to meet this new little one.  A friend who I know really means “call me” because she answered her phone at 3:00 am and came to my aide.  Friends who have fed us day after day and others who have sent cards, gifts, calls, and messages across our distance.  These gestures have reminded me that the love of friends really can hold you up.

I’m learning to love a baby all over again- someone who can’t communicate with more than a cry, but who has snuggled his way so quickly into my heart.  He has reminded me that love isn’t just a feeling, but a choice, and a verb, and a sacrifice.

I am learning to love myself again.  I have struggled my whole life with body image and insecurity, but with more gnarly scars and darker circles under my eyes, I am learning to appreciate this body for getting to be part of a miracle, and to be thankful for great health, even if it doesn’t look exactly like I want it to.

And as our family takes on our “new normal” as a party of 4, I fall more in love with my Creator each day.  I’m more and more thankful for the blessings he has given me- the little ones and big ones.  I see more and more how much his sacrifice for me cost Him, as I learn about loving my sons.  I am more and more appreciative of His grace as I see how quickly and easily, I fail.

Parenthood truly is the adventure of a lifetime, and I love it.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.  The dirty diapers and sleepless nights won’t last forever (at least I sure hope not!) but the lessons I’m learning in how to love all over again will last for my entire life.

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.” 1 John 4:16

 

The Best Laid Plans

By nature I’m a planner.  A preparer.  I like to know what is coming next and be ready for it.  But sometimes God has a subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) way of reminding me that life doesn’t always go as I planned.

On Saturday, June 29 we went to a pool party at the home of some friends.  While focusing on watching (a), (A) did not watch himself as closely.  He slipped on one of the pool steps and in trying to catch himself he landed on his arm in just the wrong way.  A few hours and some x-rays later we had confirmation of what we already were pretty sure of… it was broken.  In 2 places.  The kind nurse at urgent care took one look at me and said “Oh bless your heart- this is bad timing.  That baby is coming soon!” Yes… it was 10 days before our scheduled c-section and my head was swirling with “Oh no!”  (A) was put in a splint at a 90 degree bend up above his elbow and all the way down to his fingers.  All I could think about was the stress of what he couldn’t do.  How was he going to mow the yard?  How would he drive me around after surgery?  How would he help with the baby in the hospital?  I had already booked newborn family pictures- how were we going to hide this huge cast in pictures I was already looking forward to printing and hanging all over our walls? All my plans were starting to worry me.  I just kept taking relief in the fact that we still had 10 more days.  Once he was in his “official” hard cast we would know more.  A lot of healing could happen in 10 days.  I was going to take comfort in that.

The next day was Sunday afternoon and we had a relaxing family day.  I put a couple finishing touches on my preparations for baby- a little extra cleaning on the infant seat, some hand washing on the diaper bag that has been put away for a year.  I was feeling good that I was at least in control of those preparations and had them ready with PLENTY of time to spare.  I went to bed around 10:30 feeling a little hormonally sorry for myself as I continued to worry about (A)’s arm, the pain he was dealing with, and how I was going to add his new list of dr appointments to all the pre-op appointments I was looking at for the week.  I wasn’t completely sure how I would juggle it all. 

Around 1:00 in the morning I woke up with what I thought was a cramp in my back.  I was sure it was just from being 38 weeks pregnant and sleeping in a weird position.  I rearranged myself and it went away… only to return a few minutes later.  After this repeated itself about 3 times I started to wonder what was going on.  I couple more “come and go” cramps later I had the thought… I wonder if this could be contractions.  I never had one with (a) as he had been a breech baby and therefore a scheduled c-section.  The method of his arrival was why I was scheduled for a repeat surgery, and due to some of my medical factors we were very much hoping to avoid spontaneous labor.  One of my medications needed to be completely out of my system before surgery, and things would work more smoothly if we could time that all in a planned way.  Around 2:00 am I found myself Googling “What do contractions feel like?” I began timing them and realized yes… these were definitely contractions coming consistently 6 minutes apart.  I went downstairs to wake up (A) who was sleeping in the recliner where he could prop up his throbbing broken arm, and unbeknownst to me had JUST taken some pain medication. 

As I cried telling him I thought I was in labor all I could say was “It wasn’t supposed to be this way! This ISN’T the plan!!”  All I could think about were the appointments that we were supposed to go to throughout the week so that my medical team and I would be prepared for delivery.  We didn’t have his broken arm “set” yet, we were supposed to be meeting our new pediatrician…. But despite the plan, by 3:00 am there was no doubt I was in labor.  I called my mom and told her I thought she needed to pack a bag and head west, then I called my dear friend Angie and asked if she could come to the house and stay with (a) until my mom could arrive in a few hours. 

While I took a quick shower, fixed my hair, and put on my make-up (and if you know me personally, none of that list surprises you about me!) I was thankful that I am a planner and preparer- my hospital bag was ready with everything the baby and I needed.  The infant seat was freshly washed and ready to roll… and then as we got ready to walk out the door (A) admitted that he had taken some of his pain medication just an hour and a half before.  He should NOT be driving.  So… having contractions 5 minutes apart at this point, I drove us 25 minutes to the hospital.  It was one of those laugh or cry moments as I looked at us- we chose to laugh and think about the story we will have to tell our boys someday.

Within a couple hours, they confirmed what I knew in my heart… ready or not (b) was going to make his arrival on July 1^st.  Eight days ahead of “the plan”, without the pre-op appointments that were going to bring me peace of mind, a lot of physical limitations from my normally very helpful hubby, and chasing the clock for my meds to be out of my system.  Completely out of my control and out of the plan- all I could do through my fear was pray and trust that God DID have control of the situation, and He knew the ultimate plan.  As I lay in the hospital bed hooked up to machines and being prepped for surgery the song our kids had learned at VBS just the week before seemed stuck on repeat in my head.  It felt a little silly to me, but as I let myself think through the words a little wave of peace washed over me “I’m trusting You, God, You are good! Life can get crazy, wild, and amazing, I’m trusting You God, You are good!”

At 11:42 am, weighing 7 lbs, 1 oz, and 20 inches long- baby (b) entered our lives with the most precious cry and perfect reminder that even outside of my plan- God is good.  I was surrounded by a great medical team who proceeded with grace and confidence as if all was happening as scheduled.  And on the eve of what was supposed to be his birthday in MY plan, instead we are celebrating a whole week of blessings.  He is precious, ADORED by his big brother, and has multiplied the JOY in our home.  None of it went the way I had planned (and I’ll admit- a few pieces have still been a little trickier because of that), but it has been a beautiful reminder of God’s faithfulness, and to ultimately trust HIM for the plan. 

“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord determines his steps.” Proverbs 16:9   

The Things We Do for Love

Last night, around 6:00, I was busy putting eye liner on my husband.  If you don’t know us well that statement may surprise you.  But, if you ever spent much time in ministry around us nothing about that statement surprised you- instead you just wondered what crazy costume (A) was dressing up in this time.  (For the record it was Pharaoh)

This morning I will give myself the 234^th shot of this pregnancy (with another 30ish still to go).  The needle is small, it really isn’t a huge deal.  I did it before with (a) as well, so this is “old hat” by now.

In the past week we have watched “Fievel Goes West” 17 times. 

Over the past year we have put thousands of miles on our vehicles driving across I-64 to be back in Indiana for 24 short hours at a time. 

For the past 3 ½ years we have given up countless hours of sleep, sacrificed the last of our favorite foods, turned the channel to cartoons when we didn’t want to, and answered 40 million “why?” questions a day.

The things we do for love.   And most of the time, we honestly don’t even realize we are doing them, because when we do things for love we often don’t think too much about the sacrifice.  Instead, we think of what it will mean for someone else. 

When I mentioned to (A) last night that I brought some black eyeliner for his Pharaoh costume, he didn’t even flinch.  He’s a pretty “manly man,” but when it comes to ministry with kids, there isn’t much he won’t do to get them excited and interested in the lesson or situation.  And because I know what he will do for the love of ministry, I knew he wouldn’t even think twice.  The things we do for love.

When I take my shot each day, I don’t often think about the needle prick or the bruise it usually leaves behind on my lower belly.  Instead, I think about how much I love being a mom, how much I cherish the opportunity to help God create a miracle, and I stop to pray for that little life growing inside of me.  I consider it such a small price to pay for the joy we will meet in a few short weeks.  The things we do for love.

The Cowboy keeps us up at night, always seems to prefer was is on our plates, has his own set of favorite shows and movies, would drive a hard bargain with even the best trained lawyer you could find, and can come up with questions even a bonified genius couldn’t answer.  But somehow (MOST of the time), we barely even notice as we pass over the last of our delicious pork chop or favorite ice cream, stumble to stay awake, or answer the questions and navigate the bargaining table.  The grin on his face, the unprompted “I love you”s, and the blessing of a healthy, growing little boy make those small sacrifices to pay.  The things we do for love. 

We spend more hours on the road than hours together just to see precious friends and family.  We spend money, give up time, go the extra mile, settle for someone else’s favorite, and repeat that decision over and over again without even thinking about it… because we are willing to do those things for love.  And if you are willing to do those things for love, I’m pretty sure it is because you can look back over the years and know someone who showed you that kind of sacrificial love as well.    They modeled it, they set an example.  It wasn’t usually a big grand gesture, it was part of every day life, it was something they rarely thought twice about- instead they just did it.  The things we do for love.

It was ultimately modeled by Jesus, the greatest example of sacrificial love ever.  And though I don’t deserve it, I’m thankful everyday for the continual blessings He gives to me… The things He will do for love.

“We love because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

Joy in Every Stage

With baby (b) making his arrival in just a few short weeks, over the weekend we made our last “pre-baby” trip to Indiana.  There was a LOT we wanted to cram in to two days because quite honestly, we aren’t sure when my body will be up to the trip again.  One thing was NOT up for debate as we tried to prioritize what we wanted to do- and that was pony riding time for the cowboy.  Since our last trip, we have heard nearly daily about how much he misses his ponies and how badly he wants to go “back to da farm and ride my ponies!” 

As I watched the huge smile on his face riding out in the round pen on Friday and Saturday mornings, I couldn’t help but marvel at how independent he has become.  In many ways it feels like just yesterday that we brought him home.  I always knew time passed quickly, but it seems to pass even morning quickly as a parent.  While I would sometimes like to slow time down, I also know that I do not want to stop it because if I did that, there would still be so much I would miss. 

It is often our tendency as parents to want to keep them little forever, after all, that sweet snuggly stage is so much fun.  But since we can’t do that, (A) and I have made it our firm resolution to enjoy EVERY stage because there really are incredible milestones at every age and there is joy to be found in each step of the journey.

One of our many stops on Friday was to the saddle shop.  We had decided it was time to invest in a saddle for (a) that fits him correctly so that he can continue to feel independent, and honestly it is safer for him as well.  He was SO proud as they helped him make sure it was a correct size and fit.  He told them he wanted a “sticky saddle” (more suede than smooth leather) and announced this would be for him and his baby brother someday.  When the choice had been made, he insisted on carrying it out to the car himself.   I giggled as I watched him, but couldn’t help but find joy in how confidently he had talked to the owners of the shop and how blessed I feel that (even though it means he is growing up) he is strong enough tackle something that large on his own.  The next morning, he again insisted on carrying the saddle himself as my sister helped him put it on his pony.  He then confidently rode to the round pen and proudly showed off his “skills.”  Skills he only has because he is growing up.  (And I realize I’m totally biased, but I’m pretty impressed at what he can do with a horse for only being 3 years old!)

He is no longer our “baby,” but that’s ok- because there is JOY in this stage too.  There is joy in watching our little boy finding hobbies he loves.  There is joy in watching him speak up for himself.  There is joy in seeing him bloom with confidence as he learns more and more each day.  And I don’t want to keep him little forever, because I don’t want to miss out on those joys. 

I pray that someday, there will be the joy of watching academic milestones, there will be a driver’s license, watching him move out on his own, hopefully even a precious wife and watching him become a parent himself.  And while I hope all these things are a LONG time off, I don’t want to stop time, because I don’t want to miss out on the joy of those milestones too. 

If I choose to focus on the joy of this journey, then I’m also not sad to see him grow.  I think back to the snuggly days with fondness, I enjoy flipping through pictures, it does blow my mind at how quickly it has happened, but it doesn’t make me sad and it doesn’t make me long for the past- because I’m too busy marveling at the joy in THIS day.

“And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.” Luke 2:40

Marked by His Love for Me

Growing up (and honestly even still) there were things about my dad that I questioned.  We often questioned his choice of clothing (the 90’s was NOT a good decade for his wardrobe), we still question his eating habits (I just can’t fall in love with taco meat on oatmeal), and we girls still sometimes question his idea that ANYTHING could be recycled and used over and over again.  However, there was one thing that we NEVER questioned- and that was his love for us. 

My dad has farmed full-time for his entire life, as his dad did as well.  Agriculture is an industry that I am fiercely loyal to, and SO incredibly thankful for my roots in it.  However, it is also an industry where for many years people just assumed that any farmer who was worth anything would want SONS to work with and someday take over the business.  I truly can’t tell you how many times I heard people say to my dad (with sympathy) phrases like “Oh… no boys” or “Too bad you don’t have any boys to help you.”  It could be a little disheartening to hear people talk about you like you weren’t worth as much because you were a girl- but my dad was ALWAYS so quick to speak up and defend his girls.  He was quick to tell people that he wouldn’t trade us and that he would trust us with anything that a boy could have done.  Never once did he let people talk down to us because we were girls, and we always knew our worth in his eyes.  And he often added humor to his “defense speech” by telling people that his high school dream was to “ride around with a truck full of beautiful women, and I now get to do that all the time.”  It left people chuckling, but he was always very clear that he meant what he said about how much he valued his daughters.

If you know my sisters and I personally, and know our personalities, you might find this surprising, but… contrary to popular belief, I honestly am the daughter who gave our father the most gray hairs- literally.  The summer of 1996 I was a twelve year old girl, and as most twelve year old girls, I struggled with self-confidence.  The night of our 4-H beef show was one of those especially difficult nights.  My show heifer had been a little hard to deal with, and I was struggling a LOT with finding the confidence to continue with my show commitments that evening.  My dad was a firm believer that we did not give up and we did not quit.  In trying to help bring me around he starting joking with me about the cattle clippers and got me teasing him about giving him a haircut of my choice.  That led to him making a deal with me that if I could pull myself together and go be the best me he knew I could be, then after the evening’s show was finished, I could give him any haircut of my choosing.  I didn’t back down from a deal with my dad, so I managed to start pulling myself together.  I went back into the show ring that evening to compete in showmanship.  That is the class where the judging is not about the animal, but the judge is actually judging the showman’s knowledge, presence, and ability to present the animal at it’s best.  Not only did I pull myself together enough to compete that evening, I managed to win showmanship.

 In keeping his part of the deal, my dad cheerfully sat himself down on a feed bucket in the cattle barn that evening in front of 50 or so onlookers as I gave him a haircut of my choosing.  It was reverse mohawk and I absolutely peeled him as close as possible down the middle of his scalp.  We had a great laugh about it that night, and it was a great lesson in what dad was willing to go through to see us do our best.  The next day he was scheduled to grill steaks for the Cattlemen’s food stand which he did while proudly wearing a t-shirt that said “My Daughter Did This.”  Of course he didn’t wear a hat because it would have covered his great “new do” but he also didn’t think to wear sunscreen on his peeled scalp and ended the day with a pretty intense sunburn down the middle of his head.

 It was a haircut we thought would just be good for some laughs for a few weeks and a fun memory.  But, in just a couple weeks, as his hair began growing back in… it became very obvious that there were going to be more lasting effects of this haircut.  The hair that was growing back, right down the center of my dad’s dark brown, was silvery white.  Apparently, something about the sunburn had affected his hair follicles and he was permanently marked with a “skunk stripe” right down the middle of his head.  And still to this day, over 20 years later, he bears that mark.  As the rest of his hair has slowly begun to gray, it isn’t QUITE as noticeable now as it was for many years, but still pretty apparent if you know what to look for.  And he doesn’t let me forget it.  Just a few weeks ago he had a fresh haircut for my sister’s wedding and walked into the living room where I was sitting, bent over, and pointed to show me his head.  We didn’t have to say a word to each other, we both just smiled and laughed.  He will always bear my marks. 

As I think about how incredibly thankful I am for my dad, I think about how much I learned about my heavenly Father through the lessons he showed us.  See, I also have a Father who wants me to always remember my worth to Him.  Over and over in His Word he reminds me that I am loved, and valued, and cherished, and known by Him.  And He is a Father who was willing to bear my marks- they are in his hands, and feet, and side because He was the ultimate example of sacrificial love for His children. 

Both my fathers are marked by their love for me.  I am richly blessed.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!  And that is what we are!...” 1 John 3:1

Worship Like a Child

For the past several years, (A) and I have worked with upper elementary aged students at church camp.  There are lots of things I have observed over the years from this experience.  They can lose any thing at any time- no matter how valuable it is.  They aren’t always fans of taking showers.  The girls take 14x longer to change or get ready than the boys.  Their kind of homesickness always presents itself as a terrible stomachache.  They are a great age because they aren’t “too cool for school” yet, and often adults are still their heroes.  They love to play dodgeball.  Swimming is the highlight of every summer day, and WOW it is awesome to get to be a part of their worship time.

Many times I have told people that I think worship with kids is the closest glimpse we will have on Earth to what worship will be like in Heaven.  No matter what the venue is, whether I am on stage with the praise band, watching from the back, or standing in the middle of the group there is something so special about being in worship with kids.  The atmosphere is always electric.  They love having the opportunity to sing.  Last week at camp, there were even several students who asked me if they could leave recreation time to go sit in on praise team practice.

At that age, students aren’t worried about how they sound when they sing or what someone standing next to them will think.  They aren’t afraid to learn a new song and they catch on quickly because they jump right in.  They are unashamed to clap their hands, move or do some motions when they feel the upbeat tempo of a song, or raise their hands in the air when they feel the power of the words.  Elementary students don’t complain if the music isn’t the exact style they prefer, and they don’t care if you switch up the order or the tempo on them.  Their sound is raw and beautiful because it comes from a place of pure motives and genuine love to sing for the God whom they adore.  Their voices are loud and unrestrained and the energy they share often makes me choke back a tear.  Many times, in worship with elementary kids I find that I want to stop singing, just so I can listen to their voices. 

And as I listen, I can’t help but pray that I would always remember to worship with the same pure motives as a child- that I wouldn’t worry about what it sounds like, that I don’t mind if it is the style I prefer or the songs are new to me.  I want to feel unashamed to clap my hands or raise them high.  Sometimes I think there is a lot that we as adults can learn from being in worship with children. 

I don’t want to lose things like a child, I AM a fan of taking a shower, I’m not so agile at dodgeball… but WOW I want to worship like an innocent child.

“Do you hear what these children are saying?” They asked him.  “Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read ‘From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise’ ?” Matthew 21:16

Old Things New Again

I’ll admit that in many ways I can be old fashioned.  While I can be pretty technologically savvy in my professional life, I’m often a pen and paper gal when I am working on things around my home.  I know there are tons of great apps out there for cooking, parenting, and keeping track of your life, but I still love the feel of flipping open a cookbook, parenting by “winging it”, and well I can’t say I have any good method for keeping track of our crazy life (maybe I need one of those apps…) but I do still faithfully use the paper/pen calendar that hangs on the wall in my kitchen to keep track of many things on our schedule.

I think I must have rubbed off on our son in some ways.  In the last couple of months he has discovered VHS tapes.  And he finds them FANTASTIC.  Through a small stash I had collected over the years, he found out there were a lot of great movies and characters he hadn’t seen before in those little rectangular boxes.  When we discovered how much he enjoyed them, the hunt was on for more.  We now have some interesting Goodwill stories (Did you know VHS tapes sometimes sell for as little as 5 for 27₵?!) and have created quite a collection of classics that he LOVES to watch over and over.  Now I spend my days hoping our old VHS player doesn’t kick the bucket!!  In a time where most kids his age know how to stream their media, we are waiting on the whirr of the rewind and adjusting the tracking- and he is thrilled.  Sometimes what was old becomes new again.  He doesn’t know the age some of those favorite tapes have on them, he hasn’t yet realized that Disney used the same voice over talents for MULTIPLE films, he doesn’t realize that most of his friends have no idea what he is talking about when he chatters about his movies- and that is ok.  To him it doesn’t matter that they are old, in his eyes they are new again.

For me, it has been fun to watch his delight and relive some of my childhood favorites over and over with him.  He is always thrilled and surprised when (A) and I sing along to the songs that he thinks are new.  And it has sometimes got me thinking about old habits that I should make new again.  Before parenthood I was great about making the bed every morning.  There have been seasons of life where I kept a great prayer journal.  There are habits I used to be better about in my “beauty routine” and pregnancy really put the breaks on my running habit by about week 18.  Maybe it is time to make some of those old habits new again.  As I watch changes in society, I think about how nice it would be for some “old” things to become important again. 

I am thankful that some of the good things that are old can be new again, but I am also thankful that some of the “old” stays in the past.  I don’t see anything good coming from returning to the days of blue eyeshadow, bobby socks, hair scrunchies, or unhealthy eating habits.  It makes me grateful that we serve a God who can take the old and make it new again when it is for His glory.  And He can also help us leave the old in the past when it does not serve us well.  On those days, I’m also glad that he can make the “old” new again- that I don’t have to carry with me the old things that held me back or hurt me, but the “old” me can be new again through Him. 

And as I am summoned to the living room to rewind another VHS tape, I will smile and say “Thank You, Lord” that He is making old things new again.

“He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”… Revelation 21:5a

Not Lucky... Blessed

This weekend had “all the feels.”  In an all-hands-on-deck event, my sister got married at our family’s farm.  Since I am mushy anyway AND super hormonal pregnant right now, I definitely had a lot of tears (don’t worry they were all the good kind!), goosebumps, and reflective moments.  Some of my favorite “take away” thoughts from the weekend…

I never grew up with brothers, I was blessed with sisters, but I sure hit the jackpot when it comes to brother-in-laws (or outlaws as they have taught (a) to call them).  They are pillars of strength for my sisters, heroes in the eyes of my 3 year old, and bring more love and laughter around our family dinner table.  Whether they are showing up with ponies or swords that shoot fireworks, (a) wants to be just like those two guys because one drives tractors and feeds cows, and the other is a rodeo cowboy.  I hope he is also watching that they are helpmates to their wives, there for the family no matter the need, and praying at the dinner table because at the end of the day they know where all those blessings have come from.  When I watch (A) with those two I always have to giggle a little because the three of them could not be more different when it comes to personalities or backgrounds, but the fun they have together, the way they get along, and the blessings the three of them bring to our family are abundant.

Having a “village” is one of the greatest blessings in life.  There were so many people who pitched in over the last few weeks, and especially the last couple days to bring the wedding together that it reminded me how important it is to live in community.  We can’t survive on our own, we can’t do it all on our own, but helping each other out, holding each other up, filling in our own weaknesses with the strengths of others is a true blessing.  It was also so wonderful to get to visit with that “village” and catch up on where life has taken us.  Whether it was high school friends I hadn’t seen in years, former Sunday School teachers, farm family neighbors, cattle friends, and family from far away… they all have played parts in making me who I am and it is truly special to step back, take that in, and realize how thankful I am that God created us to live in community with one another.

Being part of a family makes life sweeter.  I’ve often heard the phrase, “We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.” When I look around my life, I can’t help but smile at the truth in that.  Being in a family doesn’t always mean you see eye to eye, doesn’t always mean you don’t have spats here and there (and we have the childhood scars to prove it!), but you are there for each other through thick and thin.  Whether it is making 360 cupcakes, standing on a ladder to hang lights, a shared eye roll at dad’s corny comments, cleaning up when you are beyond exhausted, or letting tears flow down your face as the “baby” of the family comes down the aisle… love of a family doesn’t always look glamourous, it isn’t always clean and easy, but it is forever, it is for good or bad, it is what keeps us going when we think we can’t do anymore.  I hope my children will look back as adults and feel as fiercely loved by their family as I do. 

Never take for granted the beauty of what God has placed around you.  The “top of the hill” on our family’s south farm has long been a favorite place for us.  It has been the site of many picnics, adventures, afternoons of reflections, and occasional pictures, but until you share it with others and hear their ooohs and ahhhs at the sight, you sometimes take for granted the spectacular beauty of the “every day.”  Sometimes I take for granted the “good genes” I come from, until I see us pull together for something and realize that how I was raised is a gift.  I take for granted what a gift my husband has a minister, until his words in front of our friends and family bring me to tears.  God has placed so many beautiful things in my life, that I sometimes overlook because they seem just a part of the “every day.”

As the storms rolled in on Sunday afternoon and we hustled to make sure everything was in the dry, I commented on how glad I was that the weather for Saturday had been perfect.  My dad agreed and said, “we sure got lucky.”  I smiled at him and reminded him, “no we didn’t get LUCKY, we had been praying for this for months” to which he replied “you’re right- we weren’t lucky, we were BLESSED.”  Thank you, Lord, as I reflect at all the good things you have put in my life, and the people and opportunities you have surrounded me with- that I am not LUCKY, I am BLESSED.

“Then our sons in their youth will be like well-nurtured plants, and our daughters will be like pillars carved to adorn a palace.  Our barns will be filled with every kind of provision.  Our sheep will increase by thousands, by tens of thousands in our fields; our oxen will draw heavy loads.  There will be no breaching of walls, no going into captivity, no cry of distress in our streets.  Blessed is the people of whom this is true, blessed is the people whose God is the LORD.” Psalm 144: 12-15

Who I am NOT, because of Mom

This past weekend, we celebrated Mother’s Day.  For me, it is a holiday I have always enjoyed- even when I wasn’t a mom, because I have a great mom who is worth celebrating.  She is a mom who made me SO much of who I am- she is a pillar of faith, she loves us unconditionally, she is the hostess with the mostess, she was an extraordinary teacher, she gives freely of herself, she is the most patient wife on the planet, she never has a bad word to say about anyone, she is an amazing role model, and she is pretty epic at the Mom and Mama K (her grandma name) gig.  But as I got to spend time with her this weekend, I also realized that I am so thankful for who I am NOT because of her as well.

I am not a pessimist, because Mom always taught us to look for hope in every situation, to remember that God was not done yet and a “bright side” was coming.

I am not lazy, because Mom never accepted “I’m bored” from us.  She showed us that there were ALWAYS things to be done and she (and my dad) instilled a great work ethic within the three of us girls.

I am not afraid to try new things, even if they flop, because she always encouraged us to give it a shot, see what happens.  And I watched her always take it in stride or even laugh at herself when a new venture didn’t go as planned such as a failed recipe or unsuccessful craft project.  I also saw many of her new “experiments” soar successfully because she hadn’t been afraid to step out and try.

I am not ashamed to ask for or accept help when the task seems too big- either physically or emotionally, because she has always reminded me that there is no reason to face things alone when you don’t have to.

I am not one to give up easily, because she always encouraged us to keep trying.  She set the example of tenacity and modeled patience even when “never give up” took longer than we thought it should have. 

Mother's Day 2018

And when I think of the examples she set for me, I think about the kind of mom that I am… of all the things I WANT my kids to be, there are also so many things I do NOT want them to be.  Right now, at 3, we focus on things like do NOT be rude, do not go to bed dirty, do not leave your toys scattered all over the house, do not be so rough, do not talk with your mouth full. 

But as I look at who I am not, because of my mom, I hope my children are able to look at our life and say...

They are not going to let fear stop them from stepping out on faith.

They are not going to quit putting their trust in the Lord, even when they can’t see the next step.

They will not let hard things steal their joy.

They will not quit working hard for what lies ahead, but they will not miss an opportunity to enjoy the work in the “now” as well.

May they not ever doubt the love and support of their family, or the fact that the Lord goes before them.

I am so thankful for the example of mothers, because I think it give us just a tiny glimpse of God’s immense love for us.  A chance to remember that above all because of Him I am not alone, I am not afraid, I am not without hope.

Thank you Mom, and thank you Jesus- for all the things I am not.

“Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.  Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” Proverbs 31:28-30

Ohps, I missed!

There are some ways I am thankful I am not like my 3 year old… I don’t like riding in the back seat of the car, I don’t need to yell for someone to come button my pants every time I use the restroom, I like the independence that comes with being over 3 feet tall, and I like picking out my own clothes every morning.  However, there are many things that come with being 3 that I admire, and wish I could recapture in my own life.  I would love to have the metabolism to eat whatever I wanted and still stay thin as a rail.  I wish I had his energy.  It would be awesome to have someone do my laundry, fix my meals, and drive me around while I napped (ok, (A) will tell you I am still a pretty great car-napper).  And oh that confidence and tenacity…. There’s 10 gallons of confidence in that little pint size package.

This spring (a) has been given a couple of fun little baseball sets by people who know how much he loves the outdoors.  Neither (A) nor I are baseball enthusiasts, nor do we have any history of playing baseball/softball competitively, so our little outdoor baseball adventures are kind of lame.  It mostly consists of one of us throwing him a terrible pitch, him missing it, someone chasing the ball down, and that process repeating.   Last night as we “played” baseball in the yard something about this process really hit me.  No matter how many times he missed the ball, it didn’t phase him in the least.  I’ll admit, many of the misses were due to my completely pathetic pitching- but there were also many that happened due to his lack of skill.  Either way his response was ALWAYS “Ohps!! I missed!!” with a HUGE smile on his face, a little laugh, and then we would try again.  Never once did he threaten to give up, get frustrated, try to blame me for the problem, or make an excuse for his performance.  Just “Ohps!! I missed!!” and then he would try again.  We probably repeated this process 30 times with only 1 or 2 successful hits, but it never phased him.  The only reason we stopped was that he got distracted by another toy, not that he became discouraged or gave up. 

As I watched this (and of course giggled to myself) I couldn’t help but marvel at his confidence and tenacity.  How many times in my life am I willing to try things before I give up?  I quickly become frustrated with myself and the situation, I want to look for someone to blame, or I become completely discouraged and embarrassed to the point that I just quit.  How much different would things be if I looked at every struggle, every set back, every failure or disappointment as just “Ohps! I missed!” and then be willing to jump back up and give it another try.  I waste so much time beating myself up, questioning my worth, comparing my effectiveness, and debating another try- when what I need to do is simply regroup, learn from it, and try again. 

Afterall, when it comes to the things that matter most, God has already promised me that He is not going to let me down.  One of my all-time favorite verses is Philippians 1:6 “being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”  The things that God has started in me, the things that are going to be used for His glory… He is going to see them through.  I should not give up in doing His work just because one small piece of the puzzle flops, one event isn’t well attended, because one person is critical, or because one writing doesn’t come together the way I wanted it to.  I could waste a lot of time questioning myself, crying over what didn’t work, or feeling like a failure, OR I could cling to the promise that what God has started, He is going to finish.  And I need to trust Him enough to get back up, regroup, and get back to what he has called me to do. 

And for the sake of my kiddo, I could probably also use some more pitching practice. 

I Won't Get These Moments Back

One evening last week I was trying to get everyone fed, clothes and “stuff” ready for the next day, and a little tidying up around the house when a little boy asked me, “Momma, can we go outside dance in the dark!?”  I looked up at (A) and giggled a little, then turned back to (a) to clarify, “You want to go outside and dance in the dark?” From his excitement, it was very clear that I had understood him correctly.  I thought for just a minute.  There were so many things I needed to do, and it really was getting close to his bedtime, but I couldn’t help myself.  It was a clear and fairly warm night, so I looked down and said “Sure, let’s go out and dance in the dark!”  After all, I won’t get these moments back.

He has three favorite Children’s Church songs that are basically on repeat in our house all the time.  He sang, and giggled, played guitar with a blue plastic bat, danced, and gave me instruction when I wasn’t doing the motions the way he wanted me too.  He chased the dog a little when she didn’t appear as interested as he wanted her to be, and I couldn’t help but laugh the whole time.  I know there will be a day he will be way too cool to ask his Momma to go out and dance in the dark.  I won’t get these moments back.

 

I couldn't get a picture of him dancing without turning off his music, and I knew better than to do that!! But I did snap this one just so we could remember.

Another evening I lay on the couch recovering from the exhaustion that seems to come with teaching in the last few weeks of school coupled with pregnancy and toddler mom life… and the baby started wildly kicking and moving.  He always seems to do that just as soon as I get a chance to relax- and I love that feeling, the chance to feel that sweet little life before we even meet him.  I needed to get up and fix dinner, I needed to throw some clothes in the laundry, but instead I stayed on the couch a little longer so I could feel him kick (he always seems to calm down and go back to sleep when I am up moving).  I looked over to (A)- who could tell from the hands on my belly why I was still on the couch, and he just smiled at me as I told him I was going to lay there a few minutes longer.  He knows I won’t get these moments back. 

I think of so many things I should do more often- more calls to my grandparents, more visits with old friends, more living room “date nights” with my hubby… I won’t get these moments back.

Time flies, seasons change, little ones grow, opportunities pass… I won’t get these moments back. 

May I learn to never take for granted the time that God has given me to touch the lives of others for His glory.  May my head slow down, so my heart can take in His precious gifts.  May I stop and take notice of His faithfulness in my life… I won’t get these moments back.

“Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts.” Psalms 90:12