Five Minute Friday: True

I remember driving in the car with my husband and my first son, all pink and new, along the windy  road that curved between the open hills and backs of random homes with farm animals in the suburbs. I remember wincing at each bump in the uneven payment, still wounded from the war of delivering the precious gift now tucked snugly in his Graco car seat.

And I remember crying. Tears just streaming down my new mama cheeks. Crying because once our black Saturn rounded that final curve and then three more short turns till home, it would be time to nurse again. Time to let this new-life Noah latch onto his only source of life-giving food--the latch that made toes curl tight with pain that shot my whole body through.

Crying tears of overwhelmed. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of I never knew that this natural thing would feel so unnatural and I really want it to work but it sucks the joy life out of you to do something eight, nine, ten times a day that feels so awful, so awkward.

I remember my husband touching my knee. Not sure what to do. "You don't have to keep nursing," he offered. "We can go get some formula." He was trying to be sweet, give me freedom, reassurance. But this was something I had to do. For my son. For me.

Seasoned moms said that it would get easier. I had to believe it was true.

And true it was.

*   *    *

I think back to that day more than four and a half years ago, and wish that I could hug that new, desperately tired, trying to do right mom. Tell her that she would go on to nurse three boys, each for more than a year, and there would be tender moments without pain and the gift of bonding and nourishment and nurturing would be so very worth it.

In many ways I feel like a totally different person now, different mom. Yet there are new things about my current season of motherhood, raising three boys, 4, 3 and 1, that stir in me that same worn to the bone and at my limit cry because I want to do the very best by my sons no matter the cost but some days I can't help but succumb to the tears because I don't know if the struggles will get better and if all sacrifice will be worth it.

But I'm guessing that in another four and half years I'll know that it was and that it did, too.



Five Minute Fridays over at Lisa-Jo's. Writing on one word for the sake of creative bravery in a community of women who love words and Jesus. Today's word is True. Come check it out.

 

I don't have time?

He kept running in and out the back door.

"Mommy, come watch me! Come watch me, Mommy. Come watch me!" he panted over and over with no breath in between.

His cheeks were rosy and I could see a golden sweat-soaked lock peeking out from beneath his his fierce blue and black shark helmet.

"I'll be out there in a minute," I told him, trying to muster a little enthusiasm.

But I didn't want to go out there in a minute. Didn't he know that this was Daddy's time to watch him and his big brother ride scooters and bikes and it was my time to clean the kitchen, listen to my soothing Holy Experience piano soundtrack, and enjoy that Jude was happily eating Cheerios and watching me wash dishes while securely strapped into his elephant booster seat?

But the third time Eli's sweet, persistent pleas echoed across the kitchen walls, the third time I grumbled to myself, I don't have time for this, I suddenly (thankfully) had a shift in perspective.

I don't have time to take my hands out of the dirty dish water so I can watch my beautiful boy? I don't have time to give this living piece of my heart a moment of my attention? I don't have time to put aside my charge toward productivity to cherish being present with my family?

I recently wrote about my desire to make my washing holy work. But sometimes following the Holy Spirit means stepping away from the washing to go and be with the ones waiting to be loved.

Five Minute Friday: She

She smiles wide each time I see her, not because life is perfect but God is good. She leans in when we talk with eyes that shine understanding, empathy, encouragement, love. She is wise and beautiful in all her years, but counts joy her greatest accomplishment over all the degrees and jobs and accolades.

She's the first one to ever truly care for my heart, to let me lean in deep, pour out all the brokenness and fears, desires and dreams, knowing love and belonging wait on the other side. She never judges or condemns. Just gently leads though listening, careful question asking.

She was generous when she had little and now she is generous when entrusted with much. She's always looking for ways to serve, to lighten the load, to let me know I'm seen. She gives without expecting in return, but always returns gratefulness and thanks for any gift she's given.

She's not afraid of a messy house or rambunctious kids but invites the sharing of life in the midst of it all.

She chooses her friends carefully so it's a privilege to be chosen, called friend, invited into the tree of trust. And she is always trustworthy. She does not gossip or break confidence or say disparaging things behind my back.

She uses her words to breathe life, bring joy, offer hope, show understanding, spur you on toward good deeds, demonstrate compassion, empathy, and daily-doses of God's amazing grace.

She is so very humble--never grumbles or complains about her struggles, never boasts or brags about her strengths. She is a pillar, a rock, a tree deeply rooted in God's truth and love and grace.

She gives permission to be exactly who you are, exactly where you're at. She loves me as I am and inspires me to be more of who I was created to become.

She is intentional. Beautiful.

She is the very best, Jesus-shining parts of ALL the women I am so blessed to call friend.


*   *   *

"On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 minutes writing on the same prompt."
This post is part of Lisa-Jo's Five Minute Friday link-up. This week we're writing about "She".

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

They fought me on it even though they love it. 

"But my legs will get too tired," one whined.

"But I just want to stay home," the other one fussed.

Staying home would be easier. But on this particular day, I knew getting out would be better, for all of us. Getting out would mean stepping out of the traps we fall into where bickering and frustration make us forget how much we desperately love each other. At home, more rules are broken and patience is worn out until the mama almost breaks and turns on the TV, desperate for some peace.

But there's another way to get peace.

To get out. To breathe deep the fresh air and take in the beauty of all things earthy, green, created.

So I dug deep, ignoring the preschooler pleas for what they thought they wanted and persevered for the sake of what was really needed. 

Forty minutes and twenty-two miles later we were there. The Arboretum welcomed us with its wide open gate and rushing waterfall. The curved dirt paths beckoned us to explore. We wound our way to the "slide tree."

The huge banyan stretching branches to the sky and sprawling age-old roots long and wide and deep across the ground. Nooks and crannies making perfect hiding places. Crevices as wide as bodies creating nature's playground slides.

Lizards scurrying, birds singing, leaves rustling in the breeze. Too many blessings to soak in for children to bemoan their mama's "meanness" in whisking them out and away. Too many blessings for the mama to remember to groan over the friends who couldn't come with, or the tantrums that had to be diffused, or the shoes that had to be baby wiped clean because the four-year-old put his feet in the swamp four minutes in to our out-in-the-world exploration day.

"Brother, brother, come and slide with me!" 

"Wait, come and find swords and dragon tails with me, brother!"

Soon they were exploring in the nearby undergrowth, coming out with dead sticks and beaming pride for their treasures.

"Whoa, that's a BIG one," each exclaimed for the other. 

Smiles stretched wide and the baby squealed in delight and soon was crawling up and sliding down the blessed banyan, wild to be a big boy adventuring, too.

In that sparkling moment of three brothers happy free, I almost felt like that common Arboretum dirt, stuck under nails, smudged on cheeks, caked on knees, was now sacred earth giving birth to childhood wonder and cherished memories.

And as my mama heart swelled with thankfulness for how the beauty and gifts always outweigh the daily-grind struggles, I was struck by this: I don't deserve any of it.

I don't deserve the light and joy and beauty overflowing in these moments. The harmony, peace, delight, and belly-laughter glee I surely have not earned.

I fight God even though I love Him. I fall so short. Yet, He daily picks me up. And gives me what is better.

His mercies are new every morning, indeed.


*     *     *

This post is inspired by Lisa-Jo's Five Minute Friday link-up. Five minutes. One prompt. Unlimited possibilities. So thankful to be encouraged to write by this amazing group. Come join the fun!

Ordinary Beautiful

If you've been reading my blog for very long I hope you know at least a few things about me:

I LOVE God.

I LOVE my family.

I'm NOT perfect and that's why I need a perfect SAVIOR.

I try to savor each moment,

count each one a gift,

 and choose joy in all things, 

because that's what we're called to do.

And if you've ever read anything by Ann Voskamp, like her bestselling book or blog, you would probably guess that I also love her writing, her heart, and her joy dare to count one thousand gifts.

Daily I am blessed by her challenges and inspiration to live fully right where I am. 

Like today, with umpteen hours sprawled out before me and feeling the hum-drum-bummed of daily life knocking at my door to take me out with discouragement and ingratitude for the daily routines of naps and meals and training brothers to trade selfless love for their "me first" and "that's mine" screeching preschooler whines...I knew that I had the choice to ignore the knocks and step through a new door with eyes wide open to find all things joy and grace and gratitude.

"Giving thanks for one thousand things 

is ultimately an invitation to slow time down

with the weight of full attention."

- Ann Voskamp

So while playing outside with the boys, I set my camera on macro and set about to find beauty masquerading as ordinary. And beauty I did find.

 

 

Color. Texture. Light. Life. 

Beauty. Blessings.

 "I only live the full life when

I live fully in the moment."

Yes, Ann. Amen! Me, too.

Washing Day

Wash the dishes.
Wash the laundry.
Wash yogurt faces and grimy toes.
Wash three apples, seven carrots.
Wash thirty fingers, one snotty nose.
Wash the toilet from boys' poor aim.
Wash the floor from milk drip stains.

But what about time to cleanse my soul?

All I can see are the caked on crumbs,
green grass smudges and tracked in mud.
But the state of my heart needs attention, too.

The needs visible before my eyes
are the one first attended to.
Yes, they are real needs.
But what about the real needs?
Seeking God.
Prayer.
Repentance.
Following His call. Asking Him to call.

The dishes and the laundry must be washed
so my family can eat, be clothed.
But how can I feed my soul with more Jesus
and clothe myself in more of His righteousness
with all this washing to be done?

Lord, help me to make the work of my hands
a time for your work in my heart.
Remind me each time I wash away a stain
that your blood has washed away each sin.

Yes, the real washing has already been done.
Now it's time to let your presence wash over
me with mercies, peace, and strength
made new each day.

So I will scrub for you.
Make my scrubbing holy work.

For you washed away my shame,
my pain of life lived
without you.
So may I make my washing a way to be
with you,
in you.
Every washing day.

Five Minute Friday: Red

Cinnamon apple candle flickering Christmas on the sill above the sink. My editor's fine point felt tip pen ready to wield its power. The bows clipped on my black patent leather shoes during my first trumpet recital. The color my nose turns from bitter cold or bitter cries.

The scarlet lipstick and floor-length dress and I donned for Senior prom. The imaginary bow tying the perfect package of boyfriends, grades, and accolades wrapped up to hide the insecurity, pain, and shame inside.

Wooden beads encircling the 10 foot tall pine tree. Cuts and scrapes and bruises from a banged up, skinned up knee. The hand-knitted beanie made from my sister's love. Tonka dump truck, Duplo blocks, and Fisher Price Barn--the color of imagination, creation, play.

It's love and anger and passion deep and desperate. It's holidays and play days and bringing me back to old school days full of merry cheer and foggy fear. It's the beauty of little boy cheeks blazing hot from running summer sun. It's the heartache of a little heart come undone.

It's the stripes under stars that sing our freedom song. It's the sun glowing low after a mountain hike long.

But mostly it's the crimson gift of blood that covers all. It's God's heart for the world, His Son, His grace to bring us back from the fall.


*     *     *

This post is another link-up with Lisa-Jo and the Five Minute Friday Community, where we all spend five minutes pouring out our hearts over one prompt for the joy of writing without worrying about getting it right. Love it.

Fighting for Joy

I wish joy wasn't so hard to fight for. I wish it didn't slip through my fingers just when I thought it was finally tight within my grasp. I wish once I found it, claimed it, lived it, chose it, believed in it, embraced it, and savored every tiny bit of it that it would stay that way forever.

But joy isn't a one time then forever kind of thing. It's an every day, moment by moment, in this very minute will I see it and be changed by it mystery reality.

It was absent when I woke this morning to the middle boy slamming his bedroom door which woke the baby and roused the stirring but quiet older brother. And I didn't choose joy when I thought about the hot and humid, long and longer day ahead without Daddy home to help entertain and discipline and be with to make it through.

So I guess I'm glad I'm not stuck in one joyful or joyless state. Because I always want the chance for more. To be more fully full of joy!

And there was joy to be found this morning. Joy for Donut Man's rainbow sprinkles sugar-stuck to happy lips and tall glasses of icy milk. Joy for boys bantering with sweet and silly voices. Joy for brothers sharing an under-mommy's-desk fort. Joy for having a mostly-uninterrupted phone call with my sister while boys ran backyard wild. Joy for sagging surfboard swim trunks and tiny buns peaking through to summer sun. Joy for three happy, healthy sons, even when their shrieking screams and whiniest wines make me almost come undone.

There is always joy to be found. Joy to choose.

But the secret is in the keeping on and keeping on and continuing to count the blessings big and small as grace gifts from the Savior's heart to mine. And if I keep on seeing, choosing, counting then surely joy will tower over the mounds of pain. Surely joy will surmount the mountains of struggle and trial.

Surely the joy beauty will shine through all the muck.



For me. For you. For us all.

Reading Material

 

I wish I could spend a whole day reading. A whole week would be really magical. 

Feet up on the porch. Stretched out on the couch. Curled up with a latte in a Starbucks leather armchair. Just reading.

I love to read.

And I would love to be reading all the great books stacked on top of my printer and the ones in the green bag beside by bed and the ones stuffed in my nightstand and in the back of every deep desk drawer.

I want to start reading The Artist's Daughter, an intriguing memoir and the MOPS theme book of the year. I want to dig into one of the novels my mom passed on to when me I was collecting stuff for our Goodwill fundraising drive. I want to delve deeper into Wild Things so I can learn the art of nurturing boys. I want to soak up every word of One Thousand Gifts and practice eucharisteo till I've been wholly, holy transformed, too. And I want to read my Bible without worrying about the clock. I want God's truth to wash over me all tired body and wearied soul and drink deep the Word of Life. 

But opening a book takes time. Putting eyes on pages and digesting each word seen into understanding takes focus.

My time and focus is mostly spent elsewhere.

*     *     *

...Oh, but am I reading what I do see?

Am I being purposeful to learn my children? To read all their quirks, talents, desires, and fears? Am I understanding all they have to teach me? Am I laughing at and cherishing and relishing in each of their beautiful stories as they unfold before my eyes?

Some days, yes. Yes, a lot of days I do.

But surely too many moments go by with my eyes glazed over and these three remarkable full-of-life stories become a hazy blur of chaos, needs, redundancy, and messes.

And I forget to focus. Forget to stop and appreciate each amazing page of creative, instructive, and inspiring reading material 
right. 
in. 
front. 
of me.

When You're Depleted, God Can Use Costco to Fill You Up

"Stay in the car while I go get a cart," I told Noah and Elias with a stern voice and eyes that meant it. I already had Jude strapped on me and I wanted to snag the boys' double-wide ride just across the aisle. But before I got to our van's silver bumper, there was a woman waiting with a cart for me. She must have overheard my instructions to the boys. "I remember what it was like having young kids," she said warmly.

*     *     *

After flashing my membership card at the door a stylish couple with an adorable toddler with blonde pigtails shot a smile my way. "That use to be me!" the wife said. "This is our youngest and our other two are now in school. I hardly know what to do with myself without all three to look after." We exchanged a knowing look, from a mom who's been there to a mom who's there.

*     *     *

While deciding which brand of organic whole grain bread to buy, a dashing elderly man stopped his cart next time mine and with a cool Scottish accent said, "What a handsome family you have. Such a blessing."

*    *    *

As we were making our way to the last samples stand, coconut granola I think, another sweet senior flagged us down. His wrinkles were deep but his eyes shined with life. "Twins?" he asked pointing to Noah and Eli, sitting side by side. I told him their ages, 4, 3, and 1, and Eli showed off his new silly face. "Do they have a piggy bank?" he asked and then took two crisp one dollar bills out of his pocket, folded in rectangles with perfect creases. The boys' eyes lit up like the man's. "That's for being good helpers for your mama. Take good care and save that in your bank," he said. I thanked him for his kindness, and for his service, nodding at the WWII veterans cap he wore proudly.

*     *     *

When we finally made it to the front of the store, there were long lines of carts piled high. I calculated our chances for the fastest check-out and made my way over to the most promising line. Another shopper pulled up at the exact same time. Though we were pushing lunch time and nap time, I told the man to please go ahead. But he kindly insisted I move in front of him, even though my cart had double the stuff. "Thanks a lot," I smiled. Then when we finally made it to the loading zone, I was straining to reach the avocados that has slid to the depths without squishing Jude who was still strapped on me in the baby carrier. "Can I help you with that?" the same man asked. And then loaded the rest of our groceries onto the black conveyor belt.

*     *     *

Is my neighborhood Costco just full of kind-hearted citizens all ready to offer a helping hand or encouraging word? Maybe. Or does God pour out his loving kindness in everyday ways because he sees you always and knows what you need most and when? Absolutely.

Yes, it was a more pleasant than usual trip to the big box store. But more than that, it was gifts of goodness from the Lord's heart to mine. 

It was him saying,  I saw you up all night long with a coughing four-year-old and I see your tired eyes and weary soul now. I saw you this morning when you snapped at the kids because your patience was depleted and you forgot to keep your focus on me. But I heard you say sorry to your precious little ones and you are precious to me, too, even when you fail. And I see the day and week and months ahead and it's gonna be long and you're gonna feel weak, but I am your strength and I'm always by your side. My goodness never ends, not even in Costco, and I'll use every stranger you meet to show you more of who I am and how much I love you.