Exciting Changes in the Air... Stay Tuned!!

This month amongst the holiday festivities, birthday parties and Christmas shopping, I'll be working on rolling out a completely new look for the blog on a custom site.

Eeeep!!!

One day this month, before the New Year creeps up and blasts it's horns in your ear and showers you with confetti and celebrations of new beginnings, I'll introduce you to the next chapter in my blogging life. 

So until then… Stay tuned. 

P.S. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have built in tech-support in my husband, so hopefully it will all come together as I imagine, at least for the most part. {fingers crossed}

Gratitude: Learning How to Embrace the Now

The other night the bedtime routine was particularly hurried and stressful, mostly on my part. The sounds of laughter and fighting echoed down the stairs, and I was frustrated before I even walked up there because they weren't following instructions.

I grabbed the last of the things they had forgotten and huffed up the steps, reminding them loudly that they were supposed to be brushing their teeth and wondering why in the world I must always be standing over them to get them to listen at night.

Teeth did get brushed, forts deconstructed and beds remade, blankets and drinks collected, and there were quick hugs and kisses all around as I finally tucked them into bed. Relieved, I changed into sweats and headed back downstairs, where my husband would continue to remind them to be quiet and go to sleep.

I gladly slumped down onto the couch, ready to relax and enjoy the quiet house. But when I pulled out my phone to check the Newsfeed, I read a story that put life into perspective in a flash. A story about grandchildren dying in a house fire. They were 8 and 4.

Two of my children are {almost} 8 and 4. 

Suddenly, the things that had irritated me so greatly this evening seemed trivial. Guilt flooded in like a tsunami and almost knocked me off my feet. I wanted to run back up those same stairs and hug them tight, stroking their hair and telling them I love them so much. And I was sorry. So sorry for being crabby.

Because what if a house fire claimed the lives of my children this very night?

That's not something you can prepare for, nor would you ever want to. But it happens, and with tragedies like that, you never see it coming. It can be the most ordinary day in the history of your life, and with the next tick of the second hand everything could change. That quick.

You can't control what life will throw at you tomorrow, but what you can do is live well today. Keep short accounts with the ones you love. Play on the floor with your children. Put your phone down and look at the life around you. Snuggle with your kids. Hold your husband's hand. Learn how to embrace the now, the present, so you don't spend the future wishing you could turn back the clock.

We can get lost in the emotion of a situation and it can blind us to the things, or the people, that are truly important. No matter how rough the ordeal or the argument or the trial, at the end of the day, the people you treasure are still here.

They're still here.

There's room for grace and second chances, time to say I'm sorry. An opportunity to find beauty in the mundane and joy in the mess. To embrace the crazy that can be our life sometimes. To forgive and move on.

Because when you truly live in the now and soak it all in, smell the smells and touch the people, you won't have to go searching for gratitude. It will find you in a million ways.

Don't waste those small but fleeting opportunities this season, my friends. Push through the awkward, wade through the pain, and make it right while you still have the time. Because at the end of the day, no matter what has transpired, they're still here. Don't waste those moments, those precious gifts of people that the Lord has placed in your life.

Live well and love well this holiday season, in His strength.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Motherhood is Like a Seesaw: How to Balance Out Your Heavy Load Without Losing Your Mind

Do you ever feel like you have a love/hate relationship with motherhood?

I love spending time with my children, but what I wouldn't give to have a few moments {dare I say hours?} by myself, even just to go to the bathroom in peace.

I'm so thrilled to finally go on a date with my husband and get out of the house, yet I find myself talking about and missing the children while we are gone.

I look forward to them becoming independent and doing things for themselves, yet when they finally do, I have an pang of sadness because they don't "need me" anymore.

I love that the house is "lived in"--that the toys are played with and the clothes are worn and dishes are used and floors are dirty--but I often get overwhelmed and frustrated with the upkeep for a family of six.

I get excited about all the great things that they are learning and doing and discovering about the world, but I get frustrated and hung up on the few things I have to remind them of and repeat over and over and over…

I wanted them, I prayed for them, I've cared for them, and I wouldn't trade them for the world, but oh there are some days when I really wish I could just give them back.

I enjoy the parts that I love and feel guilty about the parts that I hate. I feel guilty even saying there are parts that I hate, even though I know it's normal and valid.

It's a paradox, really. How can one love and hate the same thing so passionately, sometimes even the same day? How can one enjoy something so deeply and yet the next day want to run away?

The way I see it, motherhood is like a seesaw. Some days are good, others bad. Sometimes you do really well with controlling your temper, other days you scream and yell and scream some more, just for good measure. Some weeks you're really consistent with discipline and the homework routine and chores, other weeks get the best of you and you start to wonder who the parent is around here. Some days require many, many apologies, others are filled with joy. Back and forth, up and down.

On one side there are four little rocks {my children}, and on the other side there's me. Now, if the seesaw is a favorite childhood pastime of yours, you can clearly see what is about to happen. The deck is stacked against me. I'll promptly fly up into the air, legs outstretched in panic, wincing upon impact as my butt smacks the board and I jolt to a stop, stranded at the top and holding on for dear life. And they are all down at the bottom, laughing at me.

Some days are just like that, right?

For a seesaw to work properly, the load {children} must be balanced out by just the right amount of effort {mother/father} needed to raise the load. And children are quite the load to raise sometimes, aren't they? Parenting takes so much more effort then I ever could've imagined, and sometimes I find myself stuck at the top all alone, just wanting to throw my hands up in the air and say to heck with it. 

That's why we all need a support system in our lives as mothers {and fathers and parents and anyone raising children}. We need a good fulcrum--something that supports or sustains us, a point of rest, a prop, something to hold us up. A point on which the seesaw that is motherhood turns and pivots, allowing it to function as it was meant to. Without it, it's just a board on the ground.

Do you have one? A fulcrum that is. A support. A point of rest. A prop? Something to help hold you up when you can't do it anymore on your own?

Every mother needs one, but she's probably the last person in the world who would ask for one. Sometimes we moms like to think that we can do it all on our own. Sometimes we feel like we should be able to. Other times, we know we really need help, we just don't know who to ask or we feel like we're imposing. And sometimes well-meaning observers don't think to ask, because they don't realize how hard life can be with little kids.

When the babies are little, they require constant care, all of our energy, and much of our sleep, leaving a new momma exhausted. The baby is physically light at this point, so the fulcrum needs to be closest to the momma. It's her that needs the most help while she cares for her baby. Simple things, like dinner, groceries, a nap, maybe a night out with adult conversation to rejuvenate her recovering pregnancy-brain.

But as the child grows and more children arrive, the load begins to get heavier. The fulcrum must start to move towards the children if the load is to be balanced out. More effort is needed to raise them--more intentionality, more consistency, more sacrifice, more love and grace. Bigger children bring bigger problems, and the village is the fulcrum that helps parents raise the child. 

We desperately need the village these days, but the solidarity and togetherness of this archetypal "village" seems to have become a thing of the past. The village has become divided, more like a town with arch-rival football teams, and there is an air of competitiveness. It's no longer just "us," but "us and them." It's about who has the nicest lawn on the street, the biggest house. Whose kid is the smartest and most developmentally advanced and whose is the all-star athlete. Whose kid is in the National Honor Society, and whose kid beat up the kid in National Honor Society.

A true village will not grow in the soil of comparison and jealousy, where we're more concerned about one-upping each another then we are about people. Little people. A village grows when we sow seeds of grace, compassion, truth, love, service, and authenticity. 

Would you plant some of those seeds with me today? When the neighborhood kids are in and out of your house with their muddy feet, will you take care of them as you would your own? Would you reach out to another mom in your life and let her know she's not alone? Would you take any opportunity you can get to speak truth and love into the life of a child, even if they're not yours? Would you extend grace to the family that doesn't have it all together, offering help instead of condemnation?

Because if we work together to raise this heavy load, we will grow stronger along the way. Just like a new momma's muscles grow and adapt to carrying around the tiny infant all day, we will learn how to balance each other out and where it's best to put the fulcrum along the way so that the seesaw continues to work properly. We will grow stronger together, and so will the village.

It all comes down to the fulcrum, our support system. If you're in desperate need of one, ask for help, my friend. There's no shame in that. It does take a village, after all. If you're in a good spot right now, offer to be the fulcrum. It takes a village, and you can be that for someone. The village doesn't have to be a thing of the past--it can start with you today.

Feel free to SHARE this with the other mommas in your life!

Mommas, Hide in the Bathroom: The Ankle-biters Are Coming

I started this post quite a long time ago, and it has sat unfinished for almost a year. My husband has been away at various meetings in the evening this week, so I have spent many an hour by my lonesome with the children. It has brought some of the chaotic musings of times past back to the surface, and I decided that now was as good a time as any to send it out into the world.

So, here's the deal: being a mother of young children is hard.

I've been doing a lot of reading about this topic lately, and I've found that the majority of the information out there only serves to make me feel like more of a failure then I already do. Articles about gently and tenderly tucking your little ones into bed at night, holding them in an embrace as they tell you of their hopes and dreams and fall asleep, nestled in the security of your arms...

Those people must only have one child, because clearly, there's not enough of me to make that possible, even if I wanted to.

Here's how bedtime usually goes at my house: 

OH DEAR GOD IS IT BEDTIME YET?????

I simply cannot handle any more craziness. Did you brush your teeth? Check. Do you want to wear pajamas? No? Okay, you can sleep in your dirty school uniform. Read books? No, we don't have time for that tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Hug. Kiss. Dear Jesus, thank you for this day {and thank you that it is now over!!}. Amen. Goodnight. I love you.

{Insert kids not actually going to bed here because they are getting up to poop and tell on each other for pooping and otherwise not going to bed, along with potential yelling and consequences that may follow}

What am I doing wrong??

But it's not just the perfect bedtime moms. There's the super-crafty ones, or the super-spiritual ones, or the super-organized-clean-and-tidy ones, or the homeschooly ones, or the I-would-never-feed-my-children-McDonald's-ever-or-anything-else-unhealthy-make-everything-from-scratch ones. Not that any of those things are bad, but I tend to walk away feeling like I should be doing a much better job than I am. After all, they seem to be able to. And I wonder, what exactly am I doing wrong? And more, what is wrong with me that I can't seem to live up to this "standard?"

With 4 kids ages 7 and under, I feel like I'm in survival mode the majority of the time. I feel ashamed about my mothering skills more days then not, and what's more, I feel ashamed that there are times, many times, that I do not enjoy mothering. Because some days are just hard.

Can I say that out loud?

There are days that feel like you are under siege in your own home. The ankle-biters are coming, and they're preparing to attack. They will invade your life, your time, and your personal space. They tell you when you can sleep and when you need to wake up. They exponentially increase the laundry load by their mere existence. They tell you when you can sit and take a break, and when you cannot possibly sit all day long. They multiply the time it takes to leave the house and the stuff you will need to bring with you in order to do so.

They will confuse you by moving things around the house and by "hiding" important items like phones and car keys. Their volume will be stuck on high when you need to have a two minute phone conversation. Unless the bathroom door has a lock, they will insist on being in there with you, making sure to comment on the fact that you are pooping. They will refuse to eat vegetables, have kicking, screaming tantrums in public, and tell the woman in front of you in the checkout line that they can see her butt crack. Loudly. 

Good Lord, it's a wonder any of us are still sane! As mothers, we are called to lay down our lives for our children. And we gladly do, day after day. Some days with joy, some days just because it needs to be done. Being a mother is hard work, it can quickly leave you on empty if you're not careful. 

It certainly has its rewards and blessings, and Lord knows I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love my kids, and I love spending time with them and watching them learn and grow and experience life. But I can look back on some dark times along my mothering journey and say that I haven't always enjoyed it. I've struggled with postpartum depression, anger, stress, and loneliness along the way. 

I distinctly remember feeling like I was suspended in a sleepwalking existence. I wasn't fully awake, or fully alive, but I certainly wasn't getting any sleep, either. I had no thoughts, no genuine facial expressions. Just fog. Pregnancy brain that never fully retreated, hormones that took forever to even out, and a life that most of the time resembled a carnival, where the bell of my Strength Tester was constantly being rung, and I was overpowered once again.

Having gone from a carefree, passionate young twenty-something to a stressed out mother of four in about half a decade, I often described myself to my husband as a shell of who I once was. A Mom-blob, as I so eloquently put it.  A visceral mass that just sits there, neither growing nor shrinking, not moving forward or back. Hanging in the scale of time, merely trying to survive and hold shape.

Looking back, I realize that I lost myself here and there along the way. You see, mothering is only supposed to be a PART of our identity. We were women with our own lives, hopes, dreams and goals before that sweet little baby came along, and with their birth, being a mother became part of who we are. But the issue with being a mother of small children, especially several of them, is that a lot of the time, it takes ALL of us. It's all-consuming, exhausting, and doesn't come with personal days.

And I've come to realize that the hardness, the fog, the crazy hormones and stressful bedtimes are all…normal. It's a season of life, and it doesn't last forever. We can spend so much of our time beating ourselves up for all the ways we feel we could've done better, when the reality is, life with little kids is hard.

It just is. And you don't need to beat yourself up for the way things are.

I thank God that His mercies are new every morning, and He promises that if we seek Him we will be ever more transformed into His image and likeness. That His grace covers even the worst days, and for hope that tomorrow can be better. I also thank Him that He can be found when we seek Him with all our heart, even if it's from inside the walls of a rather mundane existence. I'm thankful that there's joy in the mess, and that your heart can be full even when life is crazy.

I thank God that even though the days can be hard, they don't have to be synonymous with bad. That hard can be good and full of blessing and worth every ounce of time and effort that you pour into it. Because hard work and loving people well, especially little people, is never, ever a waste. That, dear mommas, is a life well-lived, one day at a time. Even if it means you need to hide in the bathroom sometimes. 

Dearly Beloved: We Dwell Under Friendly Skies

The cabbage is wilting on the stove, while the smell of bacon still hangs in the air like a fog throughout the kitchen. I stirred the pot so the bottom wouldn't burn. Tiny feet run past, excited by the tricks of brothers with new Slinkies. 

"Mom!!! I need you to pay attention so I can read my book!" she says in a huff from the table. She has been in some sort of mood since she walked in the door, and it's a foul one. Stinks like the rotten onions I pulled out of the cupboard last week.

"I need to keep stirring," I reply calmly, "or the cabbage will burn. But I can help you from here if you let me know when you need it. Momma is always on your side, honey. You don't need to be angry with me. I'm here to help you when you're ready."

Flicking papers, chair legs scraping the floor. More stalling. The boys are laughing. And the Lord begins to speak to my heart.

She struggles with some words. I try to help her sound them out. 

"Morr-is." 

"Dor-is." 

They are confusing names and she gets frustrated, stomping her feet and flailing the book in the air. "I don't get it! I can't read it!"

Oh, Lord, sometimes I'm that girl. The one with the serious kink in middle of her smile and the growl in  her throat. The finger-pointing, tantrum-throwing, blaming-everyone kind of girl. 

The girl who says, "I don't get it, Lord! I can't possibly do this work you've set before me. It's too hard. It requires to much, and I'm just not enough."

There's an out-of-body experience that happens when you have children. Suddenly, you can see all your glaring imperfections, your sin and your struggles more clearly, for they are no longer pent up inside but standing right before your very eyes. In the flesh. Living mirrors made in your image.

The cabbage simmers and steam billows up. I stir it again and turn the heat down. Grabbing my coffee mug, I walk to the table and sit down to help her.

"In his fort, Morris…" I read, catching her up to the point she last left off. "Why do you keep saying that?!?! I already read that!!" she yells. I tell her she doesn't need to speak to me like that, I was just trying to help.

"Taps," she continues, but she skips a line and reads the last sentence on the page. Not wanting to create any more arguments, I let it go and say to turn the page. "No, mom! I didn't read this part! You're messing me up."

Ya, Lord. Forgive me for the days I wielded a finger at the sky or a whispered a cussing jab under my breath and accused you of messing it all up. My life. The day. The "quick trip" to the store. Life doesn't always work out how we thought it would. There's more pain then is comfortable, more suffering then is justified. Under the weight of it all, it's easy to feel crushed and broken by it. But the growth and the maturity happens in the hard times, in the pain, for You are there, and You won't let one tear go to waste.

So I lean back in my chair and listen as she tries to finish the book. She struggles a little, and I only offer assistance when she looks up. Upon finishing I say, "Good job, baby gir!"

"Don't call me that." she grumbles.

It's so easy to do, to scoff at those words. Sneer at the very words that give life, identity and purpose, and at the same time wonder how I never seem to measure up to the standards in this world. I  look in the mirror and see the wrinkles, the the crookedness, the imperfections, and it's hard to reconcile that with the whispers of beautiful, beloved, treasured, charished, and free. Although I know that to be true.

"The whole outlook of mankind might be changed if we could all believe that we dwell under a friendly sky and that the God of heaven, though exalted in power and majesty, is eager to be friends with us." {A.W. Tozer}