In the midst of grief, it seems odd that there is still beauty in the world. Sometimes blue skies and the sun and flowers and laughter all seem to exist in vain. How can the world keep turning when it feels like it stopped? How can beauty exist amongst so much pain? I’ve grappled with this more than I care to think about. We live in a broken world, one full of sorrow and pain. God doesn’t promise us a life free from these things, but He does promise two things: 1) He’s right there with us in the midst, He never leaves our side, and 2) For those whose hope is in Jesus, we can look forward to a Heaven where there is no more sorrow and pain.
I’ve learned that grief, while incredibly difficult, is the result of love. And love is the greatest thing that will remain, now and forever. I’d rather be found in love.
“The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.” Psalm 121:5&6
God is with us every second of every day and knows our hearts. He will never, ever leave our side. And therein lies our hope.
I know I say this all the time, but being a parent is so hard. I love our daughter so much, and my husband and I make decisions about parenting that we have prayed about and talked about and agree on. But, it’s really hard to see the effects of these decisions on our girl. She already feels like she misses out because of her early bedtime (while also agreeing that she needs it, haha), but in the past year certain kids in our neighborhood have stopped coming over and I know it’s because of rules we have at our house. And that hurts my heart. She often asks why her good friend never wants to play anymore, and I’m not sure how to answer that.
Our sweet girl, watching her friend play with other kids from across the street 💔
Our girl is SEVEN, and one of my goals as a parent is to let her stay a child as long as possible. I don’t want her to have to worry about grown up things. I want her to use her imagination, to read books, to play outside. And I feel like I’m fighting a huge battle against most of the world. I’m not saying I want her sheltered, but the word “age-appropriate” is all I can think to say. Tonight I watched a child from our neighborhood put a toy gun to the other children’s heads and repeatedly pull the trigger while they were playing. That would not be acceptable at our house. I’m not judging other people and what is right for their family, I just think, as a whole, kids are exposed to way more than their little brains can handle. They’re still growing and learning, and putting the entire world at their fingertips is overwhelming. It’s overwhelming for me as an adult. The other day at breakfast our girl asked me for a smart watch – she said all her friends at school have one. I asked her what she would use it for, and she thought for a moment, then said, “To play music – my friends play music on theirs at school.” Besides the fact that it blows my mind that FIRST GRADERS have smart watches and are allowed to bring them to school, it also hurt my heart that she already wants things just because other kids have them. She didn’t even really know why she wanted one.
I pray that we can stay strong, that we can instill good values in our girl, that we can model emotional intelligence for her, that we can build a foundation of faith and trust so that she knows where to turn when the world is scary. I pray that we show her what really matters and not what the world says she needs.
S E V E N years ago, I posted this photo on my Facebook with the caption “Current situation.” I remember this day like it was yesterday. This tiny girl usually hated sleeping on me, and I, guiltily, was okay with that. I liked having a few minutes to myself. I liked being able to fold some laundry or do some dishes while she napped. We were having such a hard time with nursing in those early days that I was constantly touched out, and any break I had from her being on my body was welcome. I remember feeling antsy this day. I had her in my lap doing her “awake time,” trying to interact and keep her as engaged as possible. It was so engaging, apparently, that it was exhausting and she passed out asleep in my lap. I remember feeling impatient. I wanted to move her to her sleeper so badly, but I knew it would wake her up, so I let her sleep. I posted this picture knowing what kinds of comments I would get from seasoned parents – “enjoy every second of it,” “it goes so fast,” “soak in all the snuggles…” And I KNEW that advice was true, but I wasn’t feeling it. I felt restless and almost annoyed at the inevitable comments I would receive. But, I posted it anyway. Not really for anyone else (although, cute baby pictures are always well-received), but for my future self – for the mother I knew I would be some day, to remind myself that while my feelings didn’t match my intention, I was TRYING. I knew, that this was something to appreciate, and so I tried to do so.
Being a mother has changed me so much. It has slowed me down, so much so that it often stops me in my tracks. Motherhood has softened me, it has grown my heart in ways I didn’t know it could expand. It has taught me that you can feel and know two different things, and that’s okay. It can be both. In the same way, I am learning that however I’m *feeling* doesn’t dictate what I know to be true – in regards to anxiety, in regards to everyday choices, and most importantly, in regards to who God says I am.
I’m proud of new mother me, because she was doing the best she could and laid the foundation of the mother I am today. Do I wish I had appreciated those baby snuggles more? Of course. I miss them so incredibly much that it hurts. If I had it to do all over again, I would chill the heck out. I was so uptight about schedules and ounces and milestones that it stole my joy. I was so embarrassed about how I was feeling that I stayed miserable. I hate that for myself, but I also want to use it to encourage other new mothers. You’re not broken, we all need help, and you’re not a terrible person for feeling how you feel. You are amazing.
This year, Easter has looked a bit different. We didn’t have the big family dinner or the egg hunts with cousins like we normally do. We didn’t have the traditional Easter ham or dessert table. With illness, medical procedures, appointments, and the general busyness of life, we just couldn’t make it work this year.
Last night, it all caught up with me: The heaviness of what we’ve been going through over the last month and a half and what we still face, of the feeling of not being able to catch my breath as I move from one thing to the next every day, of the feeling of failure as certain things get put on the back burner, of the disappointment I’ve been feeling as things aren’t working out how I had hoped, of the Easter season and what God’s sacrifice means for me. I lost it last night. Tears flowed as I washed dishes that had been neglected for entirely too long. Anger flew out of me as I bent down to get a ziploc bag out of the drawer and I slammed it shut. Frustration with myself welled up inside as I surveyed our messy, dirty house. I felt responsible for everything all at once and guilt over having dropped so many balls, over not being able to carry it all, not only physically, but emotionally as well. I broke down.
The good thing about knowing Jesus is that you can trust Him to hold your stuff. He’s not only strong enough to do so, but He wants to. We were never meant to do all this alone. And knowing Him means that while I may lose my *crap* for a few minutes on a Saturday night, my emotions aren’t me. They don’t have the final say. I can take my messy, tangled, raw emotions and lay them at His feet. He can handle them. He can sort them out. He can guide my steps in the way I should go, and He can help me carry the things that are too heavy for me to shoulder on my own.
My sweet seven year old fell asleep on me today.
So, I’m thankful for our non-traditional Easter – for my mom coming to church with us this morning, for going out to eat with my mom and sister, for the snuggles I got because our daughter isn’t feeling well (she NAPPED on me!) Because, in the end, it’s not about the way you celebrate Easter. It’s about WHO you are celebrating ✝️❤️
I’ve been really bad about blogging lately. I only wrote this because, yet again, it started out as an Instagram post and I got too long winded for their caption word limit. Anyway, I wrote this almost two weeks ago and I’m just now getting around to finishing it…
The stomach bug got sweet girl at the beginning of this week. It’s been rough. She’s already tiny (not dangerously so, don’t worry) and had just started finally gaining weight after being sick for what felt like most of fall and winter. Since November, she’s had some sort of viral bug, multiple colds, covid, and an ear infection. Now this.
Her room is usually the cleanest, most organized room in the house. When I feel like we’re living in chaos, I can usually go in there and instantly feel better. Well, between having to wash and change her bedding and blankets constantly, keeping the trash can close, her having small spurts of energy and wanting to read only to have to take a nap on my chest in the chair again… it’s A MESS. I walked in there earlier to grab something and thought, “This is an accurate representation of my brain right now.” I feel so restless. I feel like change is coming. I feel like I’ve got a million different things going on. I feel like a mess. But just like the fact that her room won’t always look like this, I won’t always feel like this. I know change is coming. I know God has plans for me, for my family… exciting, scary, wonderful plans. I just have to keep going, and to keep leaning into Him in the waiting.
The other day, I wrote out in the note pages of my planner, a plan. If you know me, you know I’ve never been a super goal-oriented person. Growing up in school, I was that annoying kid that all the teachers loved. I got good grades, I was quiet, I loved to help, and I never got in trouble. I was also that annoying kid that didn’t have to work too hard to get good grades. Most subjects came easily to me. But I absolutely dreaded when we would have career day or writing prompts about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I would always end up saying something like ballerina (although I had less than zero athletic ability, that’s nice and girly, right?) or doctor (because even at a really young age, I knew the grownups thought that was a good job because you get paid a lot.) I always agonized over these things, making up absolutely untrue reasons for my “aspirations.” I learned really early on how to say exactly what was expected of me and how to “B.S.” my way through schoolwork. It served me very well, even through college, haha. The point is, I’ve never been a big dreamer. They would go through this whole list of careers that we could choose from, and none of them sounded like they were for me. It sounds a little shallow as I type this out, but I can remember spending hours and hours pouring over my mom’s Good Housekeeping and Family Circle magazines. I just thought that was how life was supposed to be. Pristine home, home cooked meals, fun activities planned for the kids, family vacations, the works. I loved my family, and from the looks of things in those magazines, that was how you showed people you loved them: by buying the trendiest plaid couch or refreshing the drapes. Y’all, I know how this sounds. I know every feminist everywhere is probably crying right now, but I don’t care. I grew up watching shows like The Dick Van Dyke Show, I Love Lucy, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, and so many more. The only thing that ever really appealed to me was being a wife and a mother. That’s what I wanted to be when I grew up. I know some people read that and immediately rolled their eyes. Some people have probably stopped reading by now, but hear me out. I’m not saying that any of those other professions are worse or better than what I wanted to do. I’m not saying that what I wanted was for everyone, because I’m not that naive, I know everyone is different. But for me, that was it. And growing up in the 90’s, I caught on pretty quickly that being a wife and a mother was not considered “a real job.” My mom has sold Avon for decades. When my sister and I were kids, she was a full time mom and an entrepreneur. But people still had the nerve to often dump responsibilities on her because “she has more time, she doesn’t work.” Um, excuse me? I take offense to this now as someone who stays home with a little and works from home. It’s HARD. It’s TIME CONSUMING. It’s absolutely EXHAUSTING. And just because my schedule may be a little more flexible than some does not mean I don’t have a job. I’m off topic here… anyway. It was obvious to me, even as a child, that I couldn’t express my dream of wanting to be a wife and mother without teachers trying to convince me that something else was better. So I just never voiced that dream. In middle school, we had job shadowing. We were supposed to go shadow someone who had the career we thought we wanted. This, of course, caused me anxiety, but I finally decided to shadow my aunt who was an office administrator at our local university. When I told my teacher who I was shadowing, she said (in the most condescending tone I might have ever heard), “You want to be a secretary?” 13 year old me felt anger for my aunt toward this teacher. I’m not sure I ever told my aunt about that interaction. But you know what? I did like working in her office. I liked organizing and straightening papers. The tiny teacher’s helper in me found it to be satisfying work. What in the world was so wrong with being a secretary?
Anyway, all this to say, the only dream I’ve ever had about my life so far was that I wanted to get married and I wanted to have kids. I remember planning it all out in a journal when I was like 10 or 11. I had each room in my future house designed and color schemes picked out (obviously my tastes have changed a bit and we didn’t in fact paint our bathroom lime green.) I had baby names picked out. I cared about this more than most anything, and I actually documented that dream. I planned for that dream. I hoped and prayed over that dream. And now, as cheesy and ridiculous as it may sound, I’m living my dream. I’m married to my absolute best friend and we have the sweetest daughter. And it may not look like a picture from a 90s magazine (or a current magazine or Pinterest or whatever for that matter), but it’s ours and it’s a dream come true. Never have I ever written out anything else in such hope. Never have I sat down and planned anything else so carefully. Until the other day.
A little (vague, because I’m not mentally prepared to be specific yet) backstory. There is something in my life that molded and shaped me more than I would have thought, especially in my teenage years. I’ve halfway joked for years about something related to that or thought that maybe in a different lifetime I would have done x, y, z. As the years have gone on, my circumstances have changed, I’ve grown and learned and lived, and that joke has become more of an aspiration that has seemed not very attainable at all. But quite recently, it keeps creeping into my mind. I’d love to do it, but I’d be scared, I don’t know where to start, I’d have to learn so many new things, it would be a huge commitment… The other day, I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so I sat down and just wrote the words at the top of the page. I looked at it for a moment, and then started writing furiously. I wrote down vague ideas and specific aesthetics. I wrote down goals. I just kept writing. When I finally stopped writing, I read over it and was more than a lot nervous about a) what I had actually written, and b) the manic state that I seemed to be in for a minute. I sat there and stared at the page, astounded that the words on that page had come out of my hand. Then I started to pray, confused about what had just happened. I literally said to God, “This scares the crap out of me. Is this actually something I can be praying over? Is this actually a thing?” And I immediately heard a “Yes!” What? I don’t know. This happened last week and I’m still processing it. But, you guys, it has to be important. I’m not a dreamer. I’m still that annoying, shy, quiet third grader who doesn’t rock the boat and has “simple” aspirations. I don’t do “big dreams,” so this is so out of character for me. It’s gotta be a God thing. And it’s going to be good. And terrifying.
Um, hi. It’s been a really long time since I made a post. Like, almost three months. I’ve not really had anything to say. I’ve been claiming to be “busy,” but now that I think about it, that’s not really true. Work is pretty slow and I’m in “catch up on background work mode,” which most days actually looks like “it’s nothing too urgent so I’ll play with my daughter instead mode.” I’ve been trying to just be more present, to keep my priorities straight, to put people before stuff, to live in the moment. But I’ve also not been going to the Word every day and as much I try not to base the quality of my faith on quantity of time in the word, I can’t help feeling guilty. I feel like if I’m going to be speaking to you on matters of faith, mine should probably be pretty solid. But honestly, my faith is a little shaky right now and it is all my fault. And I know it. So, I’ve felt like I didn’t “deserve” to come to you all. I know that’s not good either. I know I should lean on my friends and family in Christ during times like these. We all struggle. I know. I’ve told other people the exact same spiel. Uuuggghh. Accountability is hard. And I literally said to my husband the other night that I feel like exactly zero people care about what I have to say. Why would they? I’m just me. But then the very next day, God gently reminded me through someone I don’t even know that no matter how many people He puts in front of me, whether it’s thousands or just a handful, they are my calling. And so I must be obedient.
Anyway, even though the last few months haven’t necessarily been that busy, they’ve been hard. My husband had an especially frustrating and mentally exhausting time at work for a few weeks in there. I’ve been trying to be there for him, to be supportive. Something has to change. You all, we both feel like we’re supposed to work together. I know I’ve talked about this before, but it feels like it’s right around the corner. We’re both dragging our feet about it because we’re both a little scared, and we haven’t really gone to God about it together like I feel like we should. Pray for us, y’all. Change, even change that I want, absolutely terrifies me. All I know is that we both want to put family first, and the way things are right now, that makes it so hard to do. I’m so exhausted from feeling guilty about who is going to get the best of me on any given day. I feel like someone, whether it’s my husband or my daughter or my mom or my bosses or my friends or other family, always gets “end-of-my-rope stretched-too-thin” me. And that’s not fair to anyone. I feel like I’m in survival mode.
My husband and I went to a concert to celebrate our anniversary a couple of weeks ago. We drove to Florence, KY and stayed at the hotel where we stayed on our wedding night. (Neither of us really remembered the hotel very much even when we got there, haha. We were so tired on our wedding night and had to be at the airport the next day. It was all a blur.) We made a dinner reservation at The Melting Pot because we used to celebrate there all the time, but our local one closed. We had a wonderful fondue dinner and dessert, and I drank coffee after dinner because the opening act at the concert wasn’t going to start until 8 PM and mama had to stay awake. We drove to the venue and when we entered they were very strict about checking IDs and vaccination cards. That made me feel better. But, it wasn’t a socially distanced show, so the seats were full. I told my husband I was glad that we didn’t get lower arena seats, because they were all first come first serve and everyone was crowded around the stage. Luckily, two seats were empty in our row, so we got an empty seat on each side of us. But there were people directly behind and in front of us. I was a bit overwhelmed. I hadn’t been in a crowd like that for probably over two years. The only thing that made me feel better was that it was an amphitheater, so we had [a tiny bit of] fresh air blowing through the whole time. But it was such a good show. If you’ve never heard of Nathaniel Rateliff and The Night Sweats, look them up. It’s such a unique, vintage sound. And they put on a great show that was only the slightest bit rowdy, haha. We were pooped when we made it back to the hotel. The next morning we ate breakfast, checked out, then spent the afternoon at IKEA. We bought way more than we went for, but oh well… I got to eat Swedish meatballs.
On the way home I was talking to my husband about how much I appreciate these trips. This is the third little getaway that we’ve been able to have over the last year with just the two of us and I’m so thankful that we are blessed to be able to do so. We were walking through IKEA and I kept saying how much I missed our daughter. The same kid who the day before had me smiling through gritted teeth so that I wouldn’t lose my cool, I was missing terribly after less than 24 hours. These resets are so good for my soul. The time (truly) alone with my husband is so good for our relationship, not only as husband and wife, but also as friends. The time away from my daughter gets me out of the everyday and gives me perspective. The break in the monotony (as much as I actually like monotony) nourishes my body more than you can imagine. Just being somewhere different, seeing different places, even just for a day, is so refreshing to me. I love exploring with my husband – it’s one of my absolute favorite things. By myself? Not so much. At some point, traffic was terrible (if you live in Cincinnati or have visited, like, ever, you know that they are always working on the road somewhere), he looked at me and asked, “You up for an adventure?” He likes to find back ways to get where we’re going and sometimes they work and sometimes we get lost for a while. I smiled at him and said, “Will you be there?” He said, “Well, of course,” and I said, “Always.” I will always be down for an adventure with that man. ❤
As much as I love these trips, and as good as they are for my soul, I had a thought today. Sure, road trips, time away, concerts, good food, they can make me feel better for a while. But where do I turn when I’m in the trenches of everyday life? How do I fill my cup when I’m tired, when I’ve fought with my toddler all day, when the laundry hasn’t been folded and put away for longer than I care to admit? How do I get refreshed when there’s no getaway or vacation? God is there. He’s there all the time. His promises to me are the same as they were that day while I was riding in the car with my husband, and the same as they will be tomorrow as I’m filling up the dishwasher. God’s love for me is there. God’s peace is given to me freely every single day. God’s refuge and renewal is available to me every single second of my life. You all, do we really grasp that? I don’t think we do, or we wouldn’t strive so hard for “the next thing.” Life is hard enough as it is. Why do we insist on making it harder by trying to do things on our own?
Y’all, let’s be so incredibly thankful for the small (and big things) in this life that give our bodies and minds a reset, but let’s be infinitely more grateful for the One who can give our souls a supernatural peace and rest. Without Him, we are absolutely nothing.
When I thought, “My foot slips,” your steadfast love, O Lord, held me up. When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.
I wrote this Friday, mostly so that I could look back and remember this chaos. But, I’m sure we’re not the only ones going through craziness, so hopefully this makes someone else feel a little less like life is attacking just them. It has been A DAY. I knew I was going to have to take our puppy to the vet today, so I gave him a bath this morning. That’s always an event because he really hates it. My bathroom and I were completely soaked by the end of it. No big deal, I expected it. I took him to the vet, which is all still very no contact and my phone kept doing weird things when they tried to call me about him. But, he did good and we went and picked up my lunch from one of my favorite local restaurants and headed home. He was kind of upset and threw up in the car on the way home… not on the towel I had put down for him in the passenger seat. He laid his head over the console and puked right between it and the driver’s seat. I got home and tried to clean it, but I absolutely cannot reach it. My daughter wasn’t laying down for nap like she was supposed to be when I got home. She was procrastinating and being extra difficult. She had a meltdown over something ridiculous and this stubborn mama was not about to let her win that fight, so it escalated pretty quickly and before you know it we’re screaming at each other… (she is so much like me it’s scary sometimes, so we butt heads a lot.) Anyway, that happened. When she finally got to sleep, I calmed down, read some scripture, and decided that the first half of my day would not dictate the rest of it. When she woke up she was much more pleasant, and we ended up going to a small birthday gathering for some family. She had fun. When we got home, I was going to show my husband the dog puke in the car, and he told me that the garage door broke and wouldn’t go down. He looked at what was wrong with it and decided to tackle it after dinner. We went in and I started chopping garlic for our famous filet and brown butter (I don’t want to talk about how much my husband paid for steak the other day. We HAVE to eat it.) I was halfway through chopping the second clove when he looked at me and said, “We don’t have any salted butter.” Okay, plan B. We would have steak frites instead. He pulled out the brand new bag of potatoes that had never been opened… they were gross. Okay, plan C – we’re eating out. So, he put in a mobile order at Texas Roadhouse and went to pick it up. While he was gone, I let the dog out and he ran around the house. I went after him, because he’s notorious for pooping in the neighbors’ yard and finding the stinkiest thing he can find and rolling in it. My daughter came running out the front door and I yelled at her to go put some shoes on if she was coming outside. I go around to the dog, and after a few minutes I wondered where my daughter was. Just then, she came around the house barefoot screaming because she couldn’t find me. I decided to just let the whole “no shoes” thing slide, I was over arguing for the day. We have a few potted herbs out back and they looked kind of sad, so I offered to let her help water them. I got the hose and we sprayed them down, and the dog tried to eat the water, so he was soaked. I went to turn off the water and roll up the hose and I noticed a wasp on the hose reel. I backed up and waited a minute until I didn’t see it anymore, then went over and turned off the water. As I started to roll up the hose, the wasp flew at me and bumped into my arm. I started freaking out (I know… the opposite of what you’re supposed to do.) My daughter came over to see what was going on and that wasp stung her on the arm. So I’m holding a hysterical three year old trying to wrangle a wet puppy into the house. We finally made it in and we washed the sting and then put ice on it. She was a trooper, and I was so proud of how she handled it. Dinner was delicious and ended up being kind of like a special treat since we don’t eat that kind of thing all the time. After we got our daughter in bed, I went outside with my husband and offered moral support while he fixed the garage door (I tried to actually help at one point, but my arms are about as strong as a wet noodle, so I was no help.) We came in at like 10 PM just absolutely exhausted from the day. Now I’m drinking some sleepy time tea listening to him play on the acoustic guitar and all I can think of is how blessed we are. Yes, today was crazy and exhausting and a ton of stuff went wrong. But you know what? A ton of stuff went right, too. Our dog is healthy and has had his first round of vaccinations. I had a really delicious lunch. Our daughter is healthy and growing and becoming her own person. We have a great, reliable car that gets us where we need to go. The dog puke didn’t really smell bad, haha 😆. My daughter and I got to spend some time with family we haven’t seen in so long. We had a delicious dinner and were blessed enough to have the money to buy it. My husband is a genius and knows how to fix garage doors, so we didn’t have to call someone and have them come out. So many blessings sprouted from all the craziness.
There were so many days, weeks, months last year that I longed for these kinds of things to be the only sort of thing I had to worry about. In the midst of despair, mourning, and helplessness, dog puke would have seemed like a minor inconvenience – nothing at all. And that’s kind of been my point of view today. It’s alright. God is still good. We are still infinitely blessed.
Last week, our daughter’s behavior was pretty atrocious. Now, I will concede that her behavior is normal, maybe even slightly better than most three year olds most days. I am reminded of that when we (rarely) go out in public. However, for her, she’s been crazy.
On a typical day, she watches three thirty minute shows – one at breakfast, one at lunch, and one at snack. Sometimes she opts to forgoe one of those and have tablet time during the day instead. I don’t know how we got into the habit of watching so much TV, and you don’t have to lecture me about the dangers of associating television and food… I know 🤦♀️ … I never let her watch more than that, though. Except on weekend mornings, when we watch a movie at breakfast as a family. This past weekend, we talked her into watching The Emperor’s New Groove, which is one of my favorite movies. It’s rated G, so I didn’t think much of it. But, I never realized how many stinkin’ times that movie says, “kill,” “dead,” “die,” and more. My little sweet girl has purposely been sheltered from the phenomenon of death, because she’s so smart and inquisitive and I would never hear the end of the questions. I really don’t think she would be able to sleep trying to understand the concept. This mama’s just not ready to talk about that yet. So, her behavior had already been questionable, and when she yelled, “I’m going to kill you!” at me on Sunday (something she heard on the movie), I knew something had to change. I had already limited the kids’ shows she could even watch, because certain ones made her behavior noticeably worse. So, on Monday, I told her she could only watch one episode for the whole day and she could pick between three shows that I approved. I ended up talking her into reading at breakfast. We read through her whole Bible story book while we ate, and had some great conversations about God. After breakfast, she was the sweetest kid – helpful, polite – there was an immediate difference in her behavior. She was good all morning. She ended up listening to music at lunch time and had a good nap after that. She woke up from nap, and I expected her to ask for a show with her snack. Instead, she asked if we could eat on the front porch. Of course I said yes, and we had a little picnic on the porch. When we were finished eating, she asked if we could play outside. I told her that I still had some work to do, but that she could sit on the porch and play with some toys while I worked (I can see the porch from where I sit to work.) So we went in her room to get some toys, and she got so excited and said, “What if I take a bunch of books to read instead?” I agreed that would be great, and we carried one whole shelf-ful of books to the porch. She sat on her “picnic blanket” and read her books and was still there when my husband got home from work. The sight of her reading and reading just absolutely warmed my heart. She had a couple of pre-bedtime meltdowns, but nothing like she has had lately. Yesterday and today, she’s watched her one show and that’s it. She’s so much sweeter, and mama is in a much better mood, too.
My little reader 💕 This makes my heart so happy.
I understand why parents plop their kids in front of the the TV, I really do – it’s easy and convenient. But, in our case, it was actually making life more difficult because it was affecting her behavior, and in turn, my behavior. Everything was an argument. Her attitude was terrible. We relate to each other so much better when we are able to share morning reading time and when we are both in a better mood. This has worked wonders this week. I pray we don’t ever fall into the habit of so much TV again. Like I said, I don’t even know how that happened. I swore I wouldn’t be that mom, and when she was younger, we really didn’t let her watch that much. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that cutting out or significantly lowering screen time is a fix-all for behavior issues, because I know it’s not. However, I would recommend trying it! It’s worked wonders over here. Hang in there mamas (and daddies!), parenting is so hard and is such a balance. I’m rooting for you, and more importantly, praying for you. You’ve got this, and so do I.
But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you… For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect. Matthew 5:44, 46-48
THIS. IS. SO. GOOD. And relevant. What makes us stand out as Christians? How do people see that we follow Jesus? What makes us different? This is it. This should be it. So many times, over the past year especially, I’ve seen my fellow Christians, even people I know and love from our own church family, just absolutely hating on other people: putting them down, judging, saying they “deserve” some hardship or struggle because of something they say or do or believe. I’ve written about this kind of thing before, long before COVID, but this pandemic, this crisis that could have brought us closer together, that could have been our time to shine a light in a dark world, instead divided us; it brought out a really ugly, dismissive, prideful side of people (mainly people who claim to be Christians) that absolutely breaks my heart. When people look to us at a time like this (or any time really) and see us acting no differently (or maybe even worse) than the rest of the world, why would they want what we have? If that’s what it means to follow Christ, what’s so great about it?
If the world doesn’t see supernatural, unconditional love in us, they won’t see Jesus. That last verse is scary. How the heck can we be perfect? We can’t, and God knows that. Otherwise we wouldn’t need Jesus. And that’s why He sent us the Holy Spirit. His love is perfected in our weakness. (1 John 4:12)
This passage is so powerful to me because these are Jesus’ words. Jesus himself is calling us out, calling us to a higher standard, and calling us to LOVE BETTER.
Motherhood is the absolute weirdest thing. When I first became a mama, I swear I really couldn’t see an end to the constant nursing sessions, the worry over the duration and frequency of my baby’s sleep, the continual state of fatigue. I thought I was miserable. I thought I wanted my life back. I’ve briefly mentioned before that I probably had some PPD for a few months after my daughter was born. I was not a nice person. My emotions were all over the place, the lack of sleep was just making me mean, and I felt like a milk-making shell of my former self. I vividly remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror the day we came home from the hospital and literally jumping with fright because I did not recognize the person looking back at me. I thought I physically looked like a different person. It was probably a combination of post natal weight loss (I lost like 19 pounds that first couple of weeks after only gaining 14 with the baby), hormones, and residual drug hangover from the almost full-body anesthesia I received during my c-section. Whatever it was, it was the weirdest feeling in the world. I just felt like I wasn’t me. Those first few months were a whirlwind, but they also seemed to drag on forever. I was thinking about this the other day, how each week was a milestone with a new baby, and seven more days felt like an eternity. Each week seemed like it brought so much change with her, and she grew so fast. Every week, every month, felt like a birthday. In the span of her short life on earth so far, a month was pretty much her whole life. It was like time was soooo slow those first few months while I was in them, but now looking back, they felt fast. It’s funny how we remember things differently after the fact than how they felt at the time. Is this some sort of God-given gift (curse?) so that we won’t remember how horrible it was and do it again? I’ve heard many women talk about this phenomenon. In John 16:21, Jesus says, “When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.” It’s always been a thing. When I got to the hospital after my water broke, the nurses were working on me and talking to me, and I looked at my husband, terrified, and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I changed my mind.” It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. No amount of reading, talking with people, learning, could have really prepared me for what I was getting ready to experience. I was terrified. And yet, women have been doing the exact same thing since the beginning. And they’ve had sorrow because their hour has come, just like I did. And then they forgot all about that when their tiny, precious human life is in their hands.
Not the photo that prompted this post, but I still look happy in this one too!
Anyway, this whole post started because I recently saw a picture of myself holding my sweet girl, who was only a few months old. If you had asked me at the time that picture was taken, I would have told you I had never been more miserable in my life. I was tired, I was constantly worried about everything, I hated breastfeeding (which made me feel terrible, persistent guilt), I had no clue who I was outside of feeding, changing, and sleeping. Sure, I loved my sweet girl more than anything, but I was miserable. But looking at myself in that picture, I’ve never looked happier. Now that I look back, I long for that feeling of being needed every second of every day. I miss being able to fully nourish my child with my own body. I was so happy and I didn’t even know it. I know that makes zero sense, and to someone who’s not a mama, it may be incomprehensible. But that’s what motherhood is. And I suspect it’s still happening. I said the other day that I know these are the “good old days.” I know I’ll long for these days again, just as I long for those first miserable moments of motherhood. Even though right now it feels like I’m dredging through the days, I’ll realize I was happy. Ugh, it’s so hard. Really living in the moment is so hard. Appreciating what we have right now is sometimes so hard. But if we want to live a joyful life, it’s exactly what we need to do. Choosing joy is the hard thing, but the best thing.
Edited to add that as I reread this post to publish it tonight, I needed the reminder. Sweet girl has had some especially rough days recently – she’s been obstinate, rude, forgotten her manners, yelled, skipped naps, gone to bed late… all the things. These are the days, even when they are hard.
coffeemamabogie 