Fearless

What does it mean to be fearless, to LIVE fearless?  Fear has been my sidekick since that day I lay on a mattress on the floor of an empty room in a house full of boxes waiting to be unpacked.  Sleep wouldn't come that night as my mind wondered at a God who was so big and how I mattered when I was so small.  Some days I'm not so far from that little girl.

She still lives in me, hiding in the shadows of broken hearts and traumatic memories.  I try to ignore her, to pretend she is long gone, but then she returns in vivid nightmares that leave me tormented and weary.

There I am, desperate for sleep, falling and fading, waiting for a deep slumber to take over and wash away all the days woes.  But instead of a deep rest, she appears in a memory exaggerated, making me feel every emotion all over again.

Who am I?  I am trapped and cornered, my whole being crying out for rescue.  The others in my dream laugh and mock, angry at how I feel it all so deep and wide.  They want me to fit in their little box of how I should act and respond and FEEL.  But I can't.  I just can't.

In memories, I was huddled in a corner, hiding and waiting for the panic to settle, hoping no one discovered me.  It's my secret still, no matter how many times I write here or voice there.  Anxiety lurks in every day.  Most days now are okay, but still some are a battlefield.

In my nightmares, I am screaming and falling apart in front of everyone.  Words spill like poison from my hurting and defensive heart.  I want them to hear me and to really see me, but sometimes anger is all I can manage.

My husband can attest to that.  He sees what I hide so well from the rest of the world.  He's the one who sits with me, holding my hand and drying my tears as the anguish spills out.  He becomes the object of all my frustration when I've kept it bottled for so long and it pours out without warning.  He sees the worst in me, but he never seems to forget the best.  When the storm settles, he waits as I process and find the words to really expose my heart.

But that little girl in me?  She wonders if her words really matter.  She fears so many unknowns and she cowers in the face of both imagined and real danger.

Sometimes, I'm learning, the only way to quiet her turmoil in me is to let her be heard.  I have traveled back to the hardest moments, even when everything in me wants to run away and lock the door on those memories forever.  But I watch them unfold, standing from a distance as a bystander to my own past, and I cry again for the way she ached and broke.

I don't stay there though.  I listen to that little girl in me remind me of the past and I hold her close the way she wanted to be held before but couldn't seem to find a way out of her solitary storm.  And then I hold her chin high and show her the rest of the story.  Because the worst of times were not the end of times.  And they weren't all bad.

There was good woven into those desperate places.  In the middle of it, when I was walking through the actual days, I couldn't see past the hurt and pain.  It takes seeing from the other side looking in to realize there is beauty that comes from ashes.

Days later, I listened to that little girl in me again, just for a moment, and then I spilled ink on paper and gave voice to her anguish in my words.  I purposed to see the good in the middle of my jumble of words and I listened for another voice, the One who calls me even when I don't want to hear.

He says I can be fearless but not on my own.  More words fall on the page, a gradient painting of bad turned good.  And then I see: beauty from ashes.  He makes all things beautiful in His time...and that includes me and all my mess.

I watch the page burn, words melting as the flame absorbs every piece of brokenness I don't need to hold onto.  I let it go with every flicker of the flame and I breathe in peace.

The blank canvas before me is spiritual whitespace for my creative soul.  Stroke by stroke, I watch an image form and catch me by surprise.  The moon in all its blue fullness shines in the dark like the One who has been the light in all my dark places.  The One who hung the moon and stars also wrote my story, piece by piece, and He's not finished yet.

The woman takes shape and her hair - all that hair - was not what I intended.  She took shape as if she was meant to be there before my brush even took its first stroke.  I remember the way my kids have laughed at my big, wild bedhead after a restless night and the way my husband sees me when I am completely undone.  And no matter how messy I am, they love me.  Oh, how I am loved.

The woman in my painting is me, an unruly and unkempt mess.  And yet there is beauty: the curves of her body and the gentle stroke of her arms, the wind blowing her hair into the night.  She holds out her hands, the ashes of all her hurts and fears painted right into her wild hair...and she blows them away.

Gone are the ashes of all her tears as wishes and dreams fall from her lips.  The night wind carries them towards the stars that He hung in place and the moon shines, illuminating the beauty of another day waiting with fresh hope and new mercies.

As she watches the stars shining, she knows her wishes are being found and heard by the One who sees.  The night sky twinkles with more than wishes upon stars.

A small bird takes shape in the shadow of the tree forming a canopy of branches spread out over her like a blanket.  It begins to sing, a gentle melody carried by the night wind and she listens, her thoughts stilled as the words behind the song fill her soul.

"His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me..."

In this world there will be struggles, but she can take heart knowing He sees, He knows, and He overcomes.  Fearless does not mean without fear.  It means knowing there is less to fear in the shadow of His wings and that all her fears are meaningless in the face of a mighty God.  The fear of the Lord is the beginning of understanding and maybe, just maybe, everything little thing is going to be alright.


 

The Real Postpartum

It was a long weekend with sickness still lingering. It hit my husband Saturday evening, after I had already prepared one of my favorite meals (lobster) and gluten free cupcakes for a belated birthday dinner with my loves.  I was already feeling worn down from lack of sleep and the let down that comes after the emotional high of Thursday's flood of birthday love.  (Tell me I'm not the only one who feels the blues of the day after a big to do?!)

Don't get me wrong.  I was grateful for all the good things that made Thursday such a wonderful day and I was genuinely sad for my sick kids and husband...but all I wanted to do was close the door on all the noise and chaos of every day living and sleep the uninterrupted and rest filled slumber I used to enjoy.  Because when my husband is sick, the entire mood of our household shifts.  After a long week of busy, the kids just want their daddy and it seemed as though I could do no right. 

Sunday morning, I woke to the sound of whining and arguing.  I rolled over growling and noticed the empty space where my husband should be.  It was too early to rise, but I must keep mommy-ing on, no matter how tired I am.  I stumbled downstairs to the sight of my husband sprawled in a sleep coma on the couch with an empty bucket on the floor beside him.  The kids were quiet again and I smiled when my daughter said she was serving her brothers a morning snack while they waited for breakfast. 

I tried to keep that smile going, but, come nap time, when the weariness settled in again and everyone was fighting my efforts to enjoy a few moments of quiet solitude in the afternoon, I was fading.  My husband suddenly woke from his slumber, well rested and finally feeling well again.  I grumbled at his cheery greeting and banned him to our bedroom so I could disinfect ALL THE THINGS.  I was so done with the endless sicknesses plaguing our home this winter. 

When supper was finally served and cleared and the kids were settling down for the night, I sat on the couch nursing our almost six month old.  I sighed as my milk let down and my body relaxed right along with her.  I browsed Instagram on my phone and came across this post:

Postpartum is full of hormones, little sleep, survival mode, and figuring out a million different things with our new babies (and possibly toddlers and teenagers on top of it). It’s trying to breastfeed, getting a groove back in your marriage or relationship, and our bodies taking time to heal. It’s a roller coaster ride that is personal and different to each person and family going through it, but is also similar enough that most of us can relate on some level.

LET’S TAKE BACK POSTPARTUM. We are mothers and strong women. Our collective voice is so powerful that we can shake the entire world.

As I read those words and browsed through the related posts flooding through, I thought about the yoga pants and maternity clothes I still donned almost six months postpartum and the days and days I go without showering and the fact that I can't remember the last time I slept well.  I was encouraged by the women sharing a peak into their own postpartum realities, so I snapped a photo of me and my littlest nursling and wrote these words...

Almost six months #postpartum with our #rainbowbaby and most days my wardrobe includes yoga pants, nursing tanks, and maternity tops. I have one pair of maternity jeans that fit for days I want to feel more "normal" and three sweater dresses/leggings outfits for dressy days. Five pregnancies in six years has permanently changed my body and, while I'm learning to love the curves and softness that helped me bring four babies earthside and one straight to the arms of Jesus, I'd be lying if I said I don't struggle to feel and believe this is real beauty. My husband teasingly tells me how he married me for my birthing hips and laughs as he uses my belly, still swollen and stretched out, as a pillow. "You're so soft..." he whispers and as he kisses all the stretch marks and curves I frown at each day, I know those three words are his way of calling me beautiful. If only I could get my heart to believe it. Because THIS, a nursing baby curled up on the softness of my postpartum belly, now sleeping peacefully with a full belly of milk my body made, is what beauty looks like. #breastfeedwithoutfear #takebackpostpartum 

I wasn't expecting the flood of responses to my post from other women saying "Yes! We get this!" and thanking me for writing the words they needed to read.  I wrote the words for myself first, only sharing because I felt compelled to join the movement to #takebackpostpartum.  I needed my heart to believe what my head already knew to be true.  Because even as I shared the words, my mind was reeling with negative self talk and I misinterpreted my husband's innocent words, snapping at him and storming off grumbling.  

When I finally calmed down and sat down quietly next to my husband, our boys snoring softly in their beds, I apologized again for the way my words were once again used for evil instead of good.  He looked at me tenderly and said, "Maybe you need to focus less on speaking kind words...and more on the thought process they come from."  

I sighed deeply, feeling freedom in the gentle words he had just spoken to my fragile heart.  It always amazes me how he can use few words to speak well such profound truths.  The real reason I was struggling to believe that my postpartum body was beautiful is the same reason I was struggling to speak kindly to my husband.  My thoughts were at war in my mind and I was letting the lies win.  

A friend shared these words with me later that night and it finally dawned on me that I needed to say goodbye once and for all to the person I was before kids and embrace the new me with all its extra baggage.  My body has been permanently changed as a mom...and, honestly, I'm glad it has.  

Before kids, I didn't know what it was to see my heart walking outside my body, to wake up in the middle of the night in a panic at the sound of a child's cries, to hold a feverish child close with tears running down my eyes wishing I could take their place, to laugh from the deepest part of my belly at the sound of a baby's first laughter, to feel my heart explode with more love than I ever knew possible...and I wouldn't want it any other way.  

I really can't imagine life without these four wrapped around my heart.  They have changed me for the better.  

And even though marriage is much harder after kids, it's also so much better.  How could I have known before kids that I would love my husband ten times more every time I see our kids run to him with arms wide open and watch him scoop them up into his arms with such tenderness?  How could I have known how much we would be beautifully stretched and challenged by walking this journey of parenthood together?  We are better and stronger than before we had kids.  

So maybe before I even look in the mirror or fall into the comparison trap or grumble at my husband's words, I need to let go of the lies and let the truth of who I am as a mom, a wife...and a child of God soak into every piece of my heart.  I began writing a series here called Whose I Am almost two years ago and I'm thinking I need a refresher.  I need to reread my own words and then dig into His words for more evidence of Whose I Am so my heart can finally believe what my head already knows. 

 

This Is My Brave

brave [breyv]
{verb} to meet or face courageously, to defy/challenge/dare,
{adjective}possessing or exhibiting courage or courageous endurance
{noun} a warrior
{synonyms}bold, daring, courageous, fearless, valiant, gallant in the face of danger or difficulties

I am not a risk taker.  I am a rule follower and I like staying in the safe zone.  I don't like stepping out in courage in the face of difficulties.  When struggles come, my first reaction is to hide and ignore.  I am not one to face a challenge head on.  I avoid conflict at all costs.

That definition of brave?  At first glance, I am far from it.  Fearless? Valiant? Courageous? Bold?  Who me???

Annie Downs writes in her newest book, Let's All Be Brave: "If we are each as unique as the Bible says we are, then our calls to courage are each equally unique...Courage looks different for each of us." Maybe brave for me isn't being a missionary in a far away country in the middle of no where.  What if, for me, brave simply means getting out of bed with a smile on my face ready to face the endless piles of laundry, never ending discipline, and overwhelming responsibilities of every day living with perseverance and purpose?

Sometimes brave simply means recognizing the beauty and value in who God made me to be and being confident of my calling, no matter what anyone else might say.  I know my children are a gift and I'm grateful for this life, but it's easy to get caught up in comparing and forget that what I am doing right here, right now matters.

So, when my littlest one starts to fuss, I put down my to do list and pick her up, even if all she wants is for me to hold her and talk to her while she smiles and coos.  Because the time and love I give her now matters.  And when the big kids beg me to read them a story for the millionth time, I do it with a grateful heart, because this is my purpose right here, right now.  This is my brave.  

Brave also means sharing my story, every hard and broken piece of it, and boldly testifying about all the ways God has used all of the bad for good.  It means letting down my guard and opening up my heart to a new friend, even when I'm scared of being hurt.  Someone, somewhere needs to know they are not alone and that God can make beauty out of any of our ashes.  Brave is recognizing His purpose in it all and the way He has never forgotten or forsaken me along the way.

Some days, being brave means hitting post or publish when the words on my heart need to be shared, no matter how terrified I might be of what others might think or say about me.  Or maybe it means sending a message, and email, or a text, or making that phone call I've been dreading.  Remember how I said I avoid conflict at all costs?  Yeah, being brave sometimes means facing those confrontations and speaking the truth in love.

So, when a mom I've only just met moments before hints at the broken pieces of her story that are so similar to my own, I ignore the schedule and noise around me and begin to open my own heart to her.  As I speak and our stories become intertwined, we both find our brave.  Just like Annie says, "You aren't headed out to find courage.  It's in you, it is blooming, and it is with you as you travel and say yes to things that seem scary."  This, right here - sharing my story and connecting with a new friend - this is my brave.  I hug this new found friend and, as we both walk back to our daily lives, I'm grateful, so grateful for the way God really does work all things together for good. 

My brave might not look like your brave, but that doesn't mean my brave is not brave.  The only one who gets to define my brave...is me.  God has placed a specific purpose and calling on each of our lives and sometimes the bravest moment is when we step forward and allow Him to finish the work He began in us.

*Disclaimer: This post was sponsored by Dayspring and inspired by their new line of Letterpress Blocks, but the words and stories are my own. 

 

Capture Your Grief: Now

 
I almost didn't open this page to write.  It was a long, sleepless night with a baby girl who was more fussy than usual and only wanted to be held.  I didn't crawl out of bed until almost 10:30, grateful for my husband who was entertaining the big kids downstairs so I could sleep but still weary eyed and exhausted. 

Needless to say, I've been tired all day.  And when I'm tired, my mind messes with me, anxious thoughts wreaking havoc on my heart and tears brimming over every little thing.  The dishwasher is broken and the dishes are piled high.  The carpet in the craft room is covered in broken egg shells from a certain toddler who thinks the garbage is a place to discover hidden treasures.  The laundry is spilling out of basket after basket waiting to be folded while piles of folded clothes are still piled high in the living room. I look around and all I see are messes and I kind of want to curl in a corner and hide from it all.  

I muster the energy to wash the dishes while the big kids giggle hysterically over nothing in their rooms and the littlest one coos and squirms around next to me.  Somehow cleaning, when I can zone out the rest of the noise and chaos around me, soothes and quiets my restless mind.  I feel refreshed staring at a clean sink and a pile of drying dishes.  I scoop up the littlest one who is beginning to fuss again and she relaxes in the curve of my shoulder while I quietly walk upstairs to check in on the big kids. 

As I walk upstairs, I smile and remember that all of this - the noise, the mess, the sleepless nights - are exactly what I've always wanted.  Even the hard moments are a gift, the sacred mundane found in embracing my calling and counting my blessings one by one. 

Sometimes I feel guilty when this motherhood journey is hard and I find myself crying over nothing and everything.  I know too many women who want this and I know I shouldn't take this for granted.  I would take sleepless nights over and over just to have our Hope here in my arms.  It's such a precarious balance between acknowledging the hard and embracing the gift of every moment, good and bad. 

Even as I finish writing this, my littlest one is fussing again, just moments after I laid her down after falling asleep nursing.  Part of me is exhausted from the endless demands of motherhood, but I know this is a gift and I really am grateful for this life.  So, I will scoop her up, kiss her cheeks, and hold her close again...and again...and again. 

 

Capture Your Grief: Heart

My dearest Hope,

I miss you.  Some days that's all there is...because one moment you were here and the next you were gone, but still you hold a place so deeply engraved on my heart.  I can't forget you and I never will.  As long as I walk this earth, I will carry you with me wherever I go. 

I hold your little sister close enough to kiss and I wonder...what would it have been like to hold you close, curled up in my arms, your heart beat matching my own.  I never did hear your heart beat this side of heaven.  All I knew of you were two tiny blue lines that all too soon had faded away to dust and ashes as my heart broke. 

You are as much a part of me as the two sisters and two brothers who walk this earth and yet I have nothing to show for you except dreams that never came true.  I smile as they smile, laugh as they laugh, cry as they cry...and all the while I wonder what it would have been like to hear your voice and watch you grow.  Your little sister coos and smiles and my heart melts at the same time it aches.  It's bittersweet, this remembering the moments long gone while still living and embracing the moments here and now. 

I can't make sense of it and maybe I don't need to try.  Some questions will be left unanswered this side of heaven.  The one thing I can hold onto always and forever is hope, because you remind me that this life is not all there is and that my story will never be complete or perfected here on earth.  I move forward, living and loving and grateful for every morning I wake to new mercies and a life that is still unfolding...carrying close to my heart the memory of you. 

As long as there is breath on my lips and as long as my heart beats, there is good, even in the storms.  One day I will see you for real and oh, what a glorious day that will be. 

Always,
Your mommy

Capture Your Grief: Sunrise

I woke that morning, nearly one year ago, weary from a late night argument with the man I sometimes forget is my friend and not my enemy.  My stomach aches, but I'm not surprised.  Words were spoken that never should have been said and I wish I could turn back time and redo the entire conversation. 

I groan as I roll out of bed and the pain in my belly grows worse.  For a brief moment I wonder if it's more than just carrying the weight of stress and hurt for the road we've been walking for just over a month.  We're both confused and unsteady as we navigate through the fog, trying to find our way to greener pastures and wondering all the while how He can make good out of this. 

I make my way to the bathroom...and there it is...the bright red stain I can't ever forget.  I feel the panic rising and I try to calm myself with reason, hoping against all odds that this is not what it looks like. I shower and try to let the warm water wash over my aches and pains, soothing and calming the fears fighting their way to the surface, but I can't. 

I find him at the kitchen table, just sitting down for breakfast and the tears fall.  His mom notices and she holds me close.  We voice every possible reason we could be wrong...but somehow, I already know. 

She's gone...and my world will never again be the same. 

***

I wake to the early morning squirms and grunts of our littlest one and my alarm goes off before I can tuck myself further under the covers in hopes that she will fall back asleep.  She's slept for a long stretch, but it was still a late night and I am still so tired.  I scoop her into my arms, gently soothing her with my words as I choose to welcome the day with joy instead of regrets.  She nurses quietly and I allow my body to relax and rest for just a few minutes more. 

As soon as her tummy is full, I lay her back in her bed and climb into the shower, letting the warm water wash over my aches and pains, remembering and wondering how to make sense of the long road we've traveled in just one year, but I can't. 

How do you explain the bitter and the sweet, the joy and the sorrow, the good and the bad...and the way one year has both knocked us off our feet and set our feet dancing for joy? 

There are moments that still feel like a gut punch to the soul.  I stare at the sweet smiles and coos of our littlest one, the rainbow after the storm, and I am in awe of the gift she is.  But still I ache, my arms longing for the one gone too soon.  It doesn't matter how brief her life was.  She was still here and she was still ours. 

***

I put on my walking shoes, tuck my littlest one close enough to kiss, and make my way outside to capture the sunrise.  It's brighter than when I first arose, but the sun is nowhere in sight.  All I see are clouds and somehow it seems right.  I turn down the dirt path by the water and think about the times the path before us has seemed so dim and we've been left with more questions than answers. 

I'm disappointed I won't be capturing a pretty sunrise, but then I spot the soft glow of a street light and the "Dead End Ahead" sign.  Somehow this view seems more perfect than a picture perfect sunrise.  The sign warns me of what's ahead, but the soft glow of the street light and the sound of gentle waters urge me forward. 

This journey has been much like that path.  That morning I woke to a bright red stain warning me of what was ahead stopped me dead in my tracks.  The outlook was gloomy and overcast and I didn't want to keep walking.  I wanted to stop and turn around, because who wants to go down a Dead End? 

But even when all hope seemed lost, there was One light that still shined, reminding me that all hope was not lost and that our Hope would always be here with us.  He has both carried and led me forward, one unsteady step at a time.  I've wondered and I've wandered, but still His love remained. 

And so, here I am, one year later, piecing together threads of memories that somehow still make a beautiful tapestry.  It's still hard and I still ache, but He is still good and there is still so much that lies ahead.

***

This month, I'm participating in Carly Marie's Capture Your Grief, in honor of Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month.  I'll be sharing my daily photos on Instagram and Facebook and hopefully using some of the prompts as writing inspiration, because writing is so healing and good for my soul...and, plus, I miss writing here. 

Not On My Own Understanding

The days are growing longer, my body more weary by the day, as this littlest one stretches and outgrows my womb.  I'm ready for her to be here...and yet I'm not.

My mind wanders, as it usually does when I am physically tired and there are too many unknowns looming ahead.  I don't like this not knowing.  I want to plan, to know, to be prepared. 

But only God knows when and how this littlest one will arrive.  And sometimes, that truth is hard for this planner to swallow.

As my husband packed up the van Saturday morning to take our four year old mountain biking on some nearby trails, I tried to ignore the anxious thoughts crowding my mind by loading up the car with my firstborn and our not-so-much-a-baby-but-still-my-baby youngest son for a trip to the fabric store. 

I smiled at their silly banter and their smiles that always melt my heart...and then my four year old, usually the biggest comedian in our home, caught me so off guard with wisdom far beyond his years.

"Mommy! He's going to take care of you!" he said in a sing-song voice as he continued to bounce back and forth. 

"Who is?" I asked, completely surprised by a near serious statement from the mouth of my silliest son.

"God is!" he said with complete confidence. 

My anxious thoughts stilled and my heart grew calmer as I remembered the simplest truth that I too often forget.  Funny that it took my four year old to remind me of what I already knew...and how my own words to him the night before as he struggled to fall asleep were words I needed to hear myself.

The next day, still weary, and feeling the emotional toll of saying goodbye to dear friends, the anxious thoughts returned, stronger and harder than the day before.  I wept in my husband's arms, the tears coming deep and wide as I tried to put into words the turmoil in my soul. 

"Do you trust God to take care of our baby?" my husband whispered, holding my head up so I could look into his eyes and really hear his words. 

"Do you really trust Him?" he repeated, when I could barely make out a hesitant "yes" through the tears.

"Sometimes...I think I know in my head...but my heart is at war with my head." I said, as the storm began to calm and I realized the truth I was wrestling with all along. 

I say I believe He will take care of me, of my children, of our unborn baby, of every single one of our needs...but do I really trust Him? 

The closer we get to my due date, the more the memories flood: long, difficult labors, tears of frustration and defeat, monitors beeping and doctors whispering, my arms aching to hold our firstborn...our second-born, the waiting rooms and NICU stays, the sleepless nights filled with what ifs and fears beyond our control...the littlest one gone too quickly from my womb, the friends whose stories were far different than they had expected or hoped for, the babies missing from their mother's arms. 

Motherhood is never a guarantee, no matter how many milestones we pass.  I know too well how many ways "everything will be okay" has been one big fat lie. 

But I also know how many ways "God will take care of you" has always, always been the only truth I can cling too in a sea of unknowns.  Never once has He left my side.  Never once has He been surprised.  Never once has He given up on me.  Never once has He stopped loving, stopped caring, stopped working all things together for good.

As I lay in bed last night, He brought these words to mind, words I've heard and memorized over and over...but, somehow, they became more alive and real to me more than any other time in my life.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.

(Proverbs 3:5-6)

I held onto the second line of words for a moment longer as He whispered truth deep into my wayward heart: "do not lean on your own understanding".  There are so many things I don't understand...and yet I try.  I ponder and I wonder and I wrestle over and over in my mind...and still I don't understand.

I don't understand why there are so many messy pieces to my story.  I don't understand why it hasn't been easier.  I don't understand why some babies live...and some babies die.  I don't understand why storms happen and why He doesn't always calm the storms.  I don't understand why I wrestle with intense emotions and a heart that feels so deep and wide. 

His ways are far above my own and no matter how long I wrestle with understanding, I will never come close.   

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

(Isaiah 55:8-9)

And again, He reminds me:

Whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool,
but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered.

(Proverbs 28:26)

I'm a fool every time I listen to the anxious thoughts and allow them to consume me...but God never gives up on me and He's always there to take me back in His arms.  He has already given me far more than I deserve and when I simply rest in Him, no matter how much I want to wrestle with the unknowns and try to understand the "why's", He will deliver me from the prison of my own mind.  

And so, today, with mercies anew and grace that knows no bounds, I will rest in the One who knows far more than me and the One who has already proven faithful, time and time again.

You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
Trust in the LORD forever,
for the LORD GOD is an everlasting rock.

(Isaiah 26:3-4) 

 

On Being Brave

It was a perfect summer day...wind blowing through the trees, sun shining bright, summer foods prepared and ready to enjoy, family gathered round...and a big swimming pool looming in the background.

As a kid, I spent my summer days in my swimsuit, splishing and splashing around with my brothers and sisters in our own backyard paradise.  We'd dry off just long enough for lunch and then jump right back in as soon as our food had settled in our bellies.  My dad would join us when he came home from work and we would laugh as we taught him what we learned in swimming lessons and he would put on his swimming goggles and ear plugs and try to copy what we demonstrated.

Sometimes my mom would join us too, especially when my dad was swimming with us, because she somehow didn't trust his lifeguarding skills enough.  He was much more a kid than an adult when he dove in that pool.  Other times, she would watch and smile and photograph our silly summer fun.  She never appeared uncomfortable or afraid to put on her swimsuit and join us.

When my body started to grow and change, shedding my carefree childhood days for the confusing and uncomfortable transition as a preteen, putting on a swimsuit became a daily battle.  I'd squeeze into that itty bitty swimsuit and try not to cry as I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Swimsuit shopping was even worse, because finding a swimsuit that fit my ever changing body and was also cute and comfortable became nearly impossible.  I'd fight back tears as I tried on swimsuit after swimsuit, wishing with everything in me that I could fit into the cute two pieces, but resigning myself to the not as fashionable and often boring one piece swimsuits...because at least they covered my not so flat belly and the stretch marks that had already begun to appear.  

Still, I pressed on and I put on that swimsuit anyways, walking outside with a towel covering me until I could quickly throw it off and jump in the pool before anyone noticed how uncomfortable I really was.  Because the moment my feet hit the water and I joined my family for another day of swimming fun I forgot about the too tight swimsuit and my tears of frustration at the way my body was changing and growing.  The water became freeing as I dove under and swam around, laughing and joining in on the water games my family made up as we splished and splashed along.

So, years later, when my firstborn begged me to take her into the big swimming pool on that perfect summer day, I knew I had a choice to make.  I could continue to allow the negative self talk to ruin my summer and miss out on a chance to create a lasting memory...or I could take a deep breath, squeeze into that swimsuit, and jump into the water with a smile as I reached out my arms for my daughter to jump in with me.

Someone told me later that day that I was so brave for joining my kids in the pool while the rest of the moms sat and watched.  I didn't think I was very brave, because there was still a battle raging in my mind.  But the more I allowed the water to free me from those thoughts that weighed me down and the longer I stared at my daughter's smile and my son's carefree laughter, the more I realized that those thoughts don't have to own me.  

This body I'm living in may not be perfect, but perfection doesn't equal beauty.  Beauty is found in the way my body has grown and changed to carry life, the way a smile on my face can chase away any dark clouds, the way my children's faces light up when I embrace the moments with them that are far too quickly slipping away, the way my words can build up and encourage others, the way I can choose to live as a beloved child of a gracious God instead of a prisoner to this imperfect flesh.

Long after we had dried off and changed back into our clothes, my kids couldn't stop beaming about how they got to swim in the big pool with mommy.  If I had allowed the negative thoughts to own me, I would have missed that opportunity to see my daughter swim across the pool with only a noodle to keep her afloat saying "I'm swimming, mommy!  I'm swimming!"...or to see my son giggle as I held him tight and he kicked his feet to swim from one side to the other.

 my mother in law snapped this photo and I'm so glad she did...

a moment frozen in time that I'll not soon forget

And someday, when each of my children begin to shed their carefree childhood days and their bodies start to grow and change in ways that confuse and frustrate, I want them to remember how their mommy jumped in that water, stretch marks, imperfections, and all.  I want them to know that beauty isn't about skin and bones, but about life and love and embracing the gifts that each day brings.  


*Thank you to Jessica of The Mom Creative for inspiring me to make the choice to put on my swimsuit and embrace the joy of the moment.  I'm so glad I didn't allow those negative thoughts to own me.  These photos, those smiles, and the memories frozen in time were so worth it.

 

Finding Spiritual Whitespace: A Quiet Retreat

My love walks in with a smile on his face at the chorus of cheers from three little ones eager to see him and jealous for his attention.  I smile at the scene, kiss him hello, and walk out the door for my much needed quiet retreat.

Of course, I can't leave without my own chorus of kisses and hugs for both me and the growing belly we all watch with eager anticipation.  As I climb into the car and start to drive away, my heart tugs a little as the invisible strings between us are stretched.  No matter how much I need this time, I can never fully leave when there are three little pieces of my heart stretching their wings and learning how to live and breathe apart from me. 

The silence as I drive is strange and nearly uncomfortable.  I can't stop thinking about the noise and chaos of the day...and, somehow, the farther I drive, the more I miss and appreciate what I left behind.  Isn't it strange that part of the reason I need a quiet retreat like this is to remember what a gift the not so quiet times really are?

***

I lay in bed long after the tears subside, my love lost in a deep sleep, wondering how to quiet the storms inside and make sense of all the emotions and memories and mess in the hidden places of my heart.  Memories that long lay buried in my mind have been slowly resurfacing, triggered by the least likely moments.  I'm left confused and broken and wondering...why now?

I want so much to close the door once more on the hard memories I've tried so hard to ignore, but I know I can't.  The more I bury them, the harder it is to sort through it all.  Even the hard memories are part of the story He has written for me, but sometimes I just want to skim over those pieces so I can get to the happy ending. 

So, in the quiet, as the memories flood and bury me all over again, I listen for the still, small voice of the One who comes to me in the middle of the storm and quietly walks with me.  I turn to Him, my heart broken and weary from the moments I just want to forget, but instead of brushing them away and leading me out of the storm, He walks with me through the storm.  He gently urges me to enter those memories once more and as I cautiously step forward, one step at a time, I see those moments far differently than I ever have before.

He stands there holding every tear in the bottle He has kept from the moment of my first cries and I remember that even in the hardest moments, He was always there.  He leads me forward and I see how He carried me through every painful moment.  He knew me even when I didn't know myself and He kept on writing, knowing that the tangle and mess of these pieces would one day create a beautiful tapestry of a life full and rich in Him.  

***

My hand rests on my growing belly and soon she is kicking away, reminding me that she is here and that our story isn't finished yet.  I watch her movements and smile at the way all the pieces that didn't make sense brought us here. 

There are days that I still wonder and days when the pain still runs deep, but in the quiet, watching my belly move and grow, sneaking in to gaze at the rise and fall of three sleeping peacefully in their beds, and resting my arms over the man I love lost deep in his own sleep, I remember how to count the blessings instead of the hurts.  The more I choose a heart of gratitude, the more my heart heals and the memories long buried can finally be laid to rest.

Linking up with Bonnie Gray and a community of women finding their own spiritual whitespace.  Stay tuned tomorrow for my official book review of her beautiful book. 

Finding Spiritual Whitespace: A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Middle School Me,

Right now you're confused and hurt and wondering where you fit in this world.  You feel things deeply but everyone tells you you're "too sensitive" and that you need to "lighten up".  You throw yourself into your school work to forget about the friends who push you away and the way you never seem to fit in anywhere.

Plus, you're so afraid of failure, so there is really no other way.  That one time you got a D on a history quiz and the disappointed look on your parents' faces haunts you.  You'll do everything possible to never feel that pain again...even if it means pushing those hurts and pains and the way you feel everything so deep and hard into the furthest corners of your heart.

You learn to hide and forget, but I want you to know that you don't have to.  It's okay to feel deeply every moment of your life, because it's the way God made you.  He made no mistake when He knit you together in your mother's womb.  I know it doesn't make sense now and you wish you really could just let things go, but God knows that your tender heart is needed in this world of pain and suffering and sorrow.

You pour your words secretly into your journals, letting the tears fall at night when no one is watching, hiding your words in the darkest corner of your closet.  You've always dreamed of being a writer, but that dream seems so far away now...and, besides, who would ever want to read your words anyways?  The only words you can find right now are a jumbled heap of hurts and fears that don't make any more sense on paper than they do in your heart. 

You long to be loved, but all you see when you look in the mirror is an overweight girl with crooked teeth and huge glasses. Clothes shopping is your worst nightmare, because the mirror only magnifies every flaw and insecurity.  You hate summer, because it means shorts and swim suits and exposing more imperfections that you work so hard to hide from the world.

Someday your body that you try so hard to hide will bring life into the world and you will smile at every stretch mark and the stories they have written in your life.  You will curl up next to your love, the man who promised in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health...and he will gently caress every stretch mark and flaw, whispering words of beauty and love that take your breath away.  He will marvel at the way your body is growing and changing as it carries life and he will look at you with a love so deep and strong it will change the way you see the skin you are in.

You will be broken even more and you will question so much...but the One who knew every piece of your story long before you were placed in your mother's womb will not let you go.  Just when you think you can't take anymore, He will whisper words of love and life and breathe grace and peace into all your hurts.  You will break, but you will heal and your healing will be part of the story and purpose He began writing into your life long ago.  

And someday you will share your words with the world and start writing your story as a memoir, embracing your long ago dreams and finding the confidence to love the beautiful mess your life has written.  People will read your words and tell you to keep on writing.  You'll write when nothing makes sense and somehow writing your story will help you understand who you are and why you're here.  The words will fall from your heart and hands like poetry and wash over you like healing waters.

So, though you want to hide and all you feel is hurt and brokenness, I want you to know that you are beautiful...just the way you are.  Not one of your tears is forgotten and God is not finished with you yet.  He really does work all things together for good and He will use your broken pieces to not only make you whole again, but to breathe life and encouragement into so many other lives.  Though there is weeping in the night, joy will come in the morning and you will be more than okay. 

Linking up my spiritual whitespace moment with Bonnie Gray and a community of women Finding Spiritual Whitespace.

 

Throwback Thursday: Hold Hands

I took a break from this the past few weeks, but today I'm sharing another old blog post from the archives.  Sometimes I need to be reminded of my own words and I hope they will be an encouragement to others too.
  

***

Hold Hands

(blog post from  September 2013 originally shared here)

 


It was one of those mornings.

I heard the alarm go off far too early and, as my brain tried to come out of the fog of another sleepless night, I hit snooze, not once, but three times.  

The little one stirred next to me and, before I could force my sleep-heavy eyes open, he was full on wailing. 

I nursed him back to sleep and let the steaming waters of the shower wash me over with fresh strength for the day, but all I wanted to do was sleep.

I grumbled and worried as I struggled to wake the rest of the weary bodies in our home.  They mumbled their own pleas for more rest and then whined and complained their ways through a hurried breakfast. 

We made it out the door, by some miracle, with only ten minutes to spare before school started...only to remember half way there that it was PICTURE DAY.

We turned back for home and, with the boys still buckled in their car seats, I quickly pulled out the messy ponytail in my daughter's hair and rushed to curl it enough to be presentable for pictures.

I started to breath again, until my daughter started screaming when the curling iron brushed against her neck.

Horrified, I grabbed an ice pack and held her close, telling her over and over how sorry I was, wishing right then and there I could rewind time.

After finally dropping her off at school late and feeling my heart break when she refused to hug me goodbye, I cried all the way home and sent my husband a distressed text message.

"Sorry babe. Pretty sure you're not a bad mom," he reminded me, but I still wasn't convinced, so I wrote a distressed facebook post, wondering if there were any other moms out there who had been in my shoes.

Because the hard days always feel lonely until you reach out for help.  

This time, help came in the form of comment after comment from other moms and friends who know me well.  Their comments were like virtual hands reaching out to hold mine and remind me to breathe in grace.  

Even on the days when I make a mess of mothering, grace and love really do cover a multitude of messes. 

My husband was right.  I may not be perfect, but the hard days don't make me a bad mom.

No, it's a good mom who picks up the broken pieces, holds out her hand to wipe away the tears on her child's face, and covers every mistake in an all consuming, never ending love that takes her breath away.

It's a good mom who doesn't give up, but stands firm even in the storms, holding onto the One whose grace and love is more than enough.

It's a good mom who knows that she isn't enough without Him whose strength is everything she needs.

And, most importantly, it's a good mom who remembers how His mercies are new moment by moment and, instead of looking back, she continues to move forward...

...one step at a time. 


 

Five Minute Friday: Mess

 
In the middle of a conversation with a friend, a mommy who is not afraid to be real with me, my daughter rushes down the stairs.

"Mommy!  You have to see the boys' room!  It's a big, HUGE mess!"

I smile and finish my conversation, wondering how huge the mess really is but somehow afraid to see what awaits me upstairs.

The moment my eyesight reaches over the landing at the top of the stairs, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

I choose laughter and my friend and I laugh as we direct the boys to clean up literally every bucket that has been dumped into the biggest pile of toys and shoes and clothes I've seen in a long time.

After my friend leaves, my resolve fades and frustration grows.  I wonder what in the world my four year old was thinking and I heap words that hurt on top of an already big mess.

Even as the words come out, I realize that my real frustration is with myself.

Instead of checking on the quiet in the room, I was too absorbed in a painting project and I know my boys well enough to know that they will take any little ounce of freedom and run with it.  What one and four year old wouldn't?

They are still learning and growing and testing limits and when I let them, they will test the very limits of my sanity and patience.  They need consistency and gentle discipline and when I ignore my own responsibility, the mess is just as much my own as theirs.

I take a deep breath and decide again that this mess will not overcome us.  I could sit and wallow in anger and stare at the mess wondering how to find my way out...or I can make the most of whatever hard moment I'm stuck in.

Yes, sometimes mothering and life itself is just plain hard and the mess of it all can feel like a stifling weight that can't be lifted.  But I still have a choice. 

I can choose to let the mess take over...or I can choose to find joy and beauty even in the mess. 

So, I grabbed an empty tote in the middle of the mess and we began to sort and clean together, getting rid of excess and letting go of clutter.  And as we cleaned, our smiles and laughter returned.

Sometimes the mess we're in doesn't make sense and we're a long ways from finding out way out, but the mess does not have to define us.  We can choose to remain stuck in the pit of our own despair...or we can choose to dance and laugh in the rain.

And soon we will find that joy really does come in the morning.

I'm joining Lisa Jo and a community of Five Minute Friday writers for five minutes of free writing...or, in my case, more than five minutes when I lose track of time and get caught up in words that needed to escape. (Oops!)

 

Throwback Thursday: Holding Hands

To join in on the Throwback Thursday fun, I'm going to be starting a new "series".  Every Thursday, I will re-post an old blog post from the archives and sometimes even an old writing piece I've never shared publicly before.  Sometimes I need to be reminded of my own words and I hope they will be an encouragement to others too.

***

 Holding Hands

(blog post from September 2013 originally shared here)

It was one of those mornings.

I heard the alarm go off far too early and, as my brain tried to come out of the fog of another sleepless night, I hit snooze, not once, but three times.  

The little one stirred next to me and, before I could force my sleep-heavy eyes open, he was full on wailing. 

I nursed him back to sleep and let the steaming waters of the shower wash me over with fresh strength for the day, but all I wanted to do was sleep.

I grumbled and worried as I struggled to wake the rest of the weary bodies in our home.  They mumbled their own pleas for more rest and then whined and complained their ways through a hurried breakfast. 

We made it out the door, by some miracle, with only ten minutes to spare before school started...only to remember half way there that it was PICTURE DAY.

We turned back for home and, with the boys still buckled in their car seats, I quickly pulled out the messy ponytail in my daughter's hair and rushed to curl it enough to be presentable for pictures.

I started to breath again, until my daughter started screaming when the curling iron brushed against her neck.

Horrified, I grabbed an ice pack and held her close, telling her over and over how sorry I was, wishing right then and there I could rewind time.

After finally dropping her off at school late and feeling my heart break when she refused to hug me goodbye, I cried all the way home and sent my husband a distressed text message.

"Sorry babe. Pretty sure you're not a bad mom," he reminded me, but I still wasn't convinced, so I wrote a distressed facebook post, wondering if there were any other moms out there who had been in my shoes.

Because the hard days always feel lonely until you reach out for help.  

This time, help came in the form of comment after comment from other moms and friends who know me well.  Their comments were like virtual hands reaching out to hold mine and remind me to breathe in grace.  

Even on the days when I make a mess of mothering, grace and love really do cover a multitude of messes. 

My husband was right.  I may not be perfect, but the hard days don't make me a bad mom.

No, it's a good mom who picks up the broken pieces, holds out her hand to wipe away the tears on her child's face, and covers every mistake in an all consuming, never ending love that takes her breath away.

It's a good mom who doesn't give up, but stands firm even in the storms, holding onto the One whose grace and love is more than enough.

It's a good mom who knows that she isn't enough without Him whose strength is everything she needs.

And, most importantly, it's a good mom who remembers how His mercies are new moment by moment and, instead of looking back, she continues to move forward...

...one step at a time. 
 

 

When Hard Is Just Plain Hard

I can't remember where I found this photo, but I saved it from a Google image search a while ago.

I've seen a few different posts and shares on facebook lately with quotes that say something like this: "There's always someone who wishes they had what you have." For some reason, it bothers me every time I read these quotes.

It's been a tough week for me, for many reasons.  I've been struggling with some underlying fears that needed to be addressed, allergies and sinus pressure that are worse with pregnancy, and just plain exhaustion from lack of sleep and kids who are testing every ounce of my sanity. 

I realize that everyone has their own struggles and that my struggles may seem minor compared to someone else...but when you're in the thick of your own hard, being told that your hard isn't really that hard can feel like a crushing weight of defeat. 

Yes, we each have our own struggles.  None of us are perfect; what looks picture perfect on the surface may simply be hiding some difficult trials or circumstances that would surprise even your closest friends. 

It's easy to hide behind a facebook status, a smiling photo, or even a quick "I'm fine" when asked the customary "how are you?".  But being vulnerable enough to share our deepest hurts and pains can be downright terrifying...especially when the response might be "well, at least you're not going through..." or "you know, it could be worse...". 

It's so easy for me to play the comparison game and I think that's what bothers me the most about these quotes.  It's good to have a healthy dose of perspective, but the underlying tone of these messages is to compare our lives to someone else. 

Comparing my life to someone whose struggles are far bigger than my own is just as dangerous as comparing my life to someone who appears to have it all together.

Yes, your hard may be harder than mine, but hard is still hard.  What we really need when we take away the mask and show our real mess is to be loved and known for who we really are.  So, maybe, instead of pointing out how one person's struggles are harder than another's, we should stop comparing and simply be present.  

***

 
If you're looking for a place to be real and trying to find your brave in order to share your deepest heart's cries, tonight is the start of a beautiful online conference put on by one of my favorite online communities, (in)courage.  Check out their free (in)RL conference; it's not too late to join!

 

Five Minute Friday: Writer

photo credit

I'm surrounded by boxes and kids running wild and a house that has long been too small for our growing family.

I sweep and mop and scrub.  And as I clean I think.

These are the days that count: the comforting owies, holding hands, teaching obedience, raising generations.

But sometimes I wonder who I am apart from mother.

What about the little girl who dreamed of standing in front of a classroom and teaching young minds to love learning?

What about the young woman who fell in love with writing?

What about the girl of grace who wants to follow His calling without abandon wherever He may lead?

What of all the dreams still buried deep in this mother's heart?

I know these days are numbered and that they matter, so very much.

But I still have dreams.

I remember the story buried deep in the endless folders of photos and documents on a computer that is mostly used for music and videos and internet surfing.

I am a mother, but I'm also a writer.

I need to write these stories, about the way He has shaped me and changed me in more ways than I imagined.

I need to finish the book He placed on my heart.

So, if it means waking up before the sun for just one hour of writing or sitting in a coffee shop late at night while my husband tucks little ones in bed, I will write.

And one day I will finish that book, no matter how long it takes.

Because I am a mother and a writer, all mixed up inside this girl of grace whose story is still unfolding.

Joining in with Lisa Jo and a community of Five Minute Friday writers, because I needed to write this declaration and remember that even though I spend my days following the beautiful mission field that is motherhood, He has also placed words and a story on my heart to write.

 

There Is A Season...

photo credit

I wrote these words just over a year ago and I've been thinking on them often lately:

I love everything about autumn: the vibrant colors of leaves losing their summer green, the gentle, cool breeze sweeping through the windows, the smell of pumpkin spice lattes and a steaming bowl of soup...but I know that all too soon winter will come and with it the gloom of darkness. So, today, I am putting on my "armor" and remembering that there is a season for everything and that God has a purpose and plan already mapped our for me. And I'm holding onto this peace, HIS peace, that surpasses understanding. 

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." (John 14:27)

Our family has been going through a season of sifting lately and it's been hard, so very hard to hold onto hope when I can't see much past today.  I asked a friend the other day if maybe God was wrong in giving me the word HOPE this year, because it just doesn't make sense.  She gently but firmly reminded me that hope isn't defined by our circumstances, but by the God who is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  He knows what He's doing and He is not surprised by the things that knock us clear off our feet. 

I've gone back and forth with the idea of doing a 31 series for October, but I have felt Him urging me in a different direction.  First, because there is so much sifting going on, there are days I simply need to take a step back from everything and find quiet rest in the stillness of just being here.  I knew if I committed to writing every single day, it would become a chore and I would obsess over it, neglecting my quiet time with Him and my responsibilities here as a wife and mom. 

Second, I don't think just one topic would be enough to write out everything He is doing in my heart in the midst of it all.  When I sit down to write, often I have no idea where my fingers are going to take me as the words spill out.  I always feel refreshed when I simply write, without an agenda or deadline.  Sometimes I need structure to motivate me to write when it's hard, but too much structure can suffocate my writing. 

Third, I don't want to just write for the month of October.  I want to write and write and write, whenever the words come and I find myself here staring at a blank screen.  But, I also want to write more than just a few blog posts.  I still have a dream to put my words into a book and if I ever want to finish the one I already began, I need to give that writing priority over writing here.  So, some days I will write here and some days I will write there, but always I want to simply write. 

With all that said, I do have a few plans for my writing here for the next few months, but it will be much less structured than a 31 day series.  I have a few mini series I want to either start or continue and I look forward to sharing them with whoever comes to read my words. 

Living Gluten Free - I wrote an introduction of this topic with promises of continuing writing about my journey of gluten free living, but I have yet to follow through.  I'm going to continue this mini series once a week on Thursdays with no specific end date in mind.  I will simply write until I feel like the series is complete. 

Holding Onto Hope {Truth Reminders} - It may only be fall here, but the way our lives have been rocked by some really hard stuff, it feels like we're almost in the middle of another winter already.  I know that the only way to wade through the storm without drowning is to hold onto the only anchor that is firm and secure and that is HOPE.  I will share this mini-series on Mondays, focusing on what it means to hold onto hope, but it won't begin until October 14.  I have a fun book launch to share with all of you next Monday (October 7) written by a blogging friend who has become dear to me on a topic that echoes my own heart's desires. 

{Back to School, Back to Writing} - I participated in several of Creative Soul's daily writing prompts for the month of September, but there are some I never got a chance to write.  I'm going to continue sharing some of these on Fridays. 

{Back to Basics} A Walk Through Ephesians - I mentioned on facebook the idea of writing a series on the book of Ephesians, because it's the first book of the bible that I really studied in depth and it has been integral to my walk with Him.  I'm going to share this series on Tuesdays starting sometime later in the month.  I want to take some time to really dig through these truths again before sharing my thoughts and some challenges from His words here. 

And, of course, occasionally there will be stand alone posts that simply speak my heart whenever I need to just write. So, that's the plan, but it's only tentative.  I look forward to sharing more of my heart with each of you here.