To the Mom Who Doesn't Have Time to Herself

Your time is not your own.

I know that's true, because mine isn't either.

On any given day, my time is stretched as thin as cheap leggings. And Lord knows I have a couple of those, which have now found their rightful place in the lingerie drawer. You're welcome, husband.

But you know what I've found when it comes to spending time with God in this spread-thin-season? He is faithful. He can do mighty things with our small moments. He can do transformative things with our tiny time. He doesn't need much, he just needs your best.

We've prostituted the word best, to look like perfection. Like abundance. Like candles and arias. Like cathedrals and quiet time. That's a lie. That's not the way of the God of the Bible.

In this season, my best looks like reading a Psalm or two while grabbing my coffee out of the microwave or flipping open the Bible while the kids are magically entertained by an old balloon that's been floating at half mast in my living room for weeks.

In these small moments, God meets me. He'll meet you too. He probably already has.

It it isn't pretty. It doesn't look impressive. It looks kind of sloppy. Like the rest of life.

But I have learned to stop apologizing and instead recognize the small square of space that I am given each day. I have identified the temptation to fill that sliver of space with something that will leave me suffering want. Because I have finally noticed, on good days, that the numbing agent of choosing want over sacrifice desensitizes our souls to the call of Christ.

Giving God our sliver of smallness reminds me of what we see the poor widow doing in Luke. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on. (Luke 21:1-4)

Out of her poverty she put in all she had to live on. 

If you are a mom, you live in an impoverished season of time. Right now all God wants is what you have. He isn't asking you to give him something you don't possess. He is a God of astonishing intimacy. And mercy.

But the widow, she put in all she had to live on.

All she had. He wants that. He deserves that.

Even if it looks like scrolling through your Bible app while hiding in the bathroom. Begging him to connect the dots of what you just fire-hosed to refresh your sleep deprived soul.

We have to stop scrambling to produce margins of time that look a certain way before we meet with Jesus. We may not get it. Chances are, we won't.

He knows. He knows your challenges. The struggles. He knows that you are physically pulled at and climbed on and yelled for. He knows you're interrupted a thousand times a minute and that your heart is afflicted and storm tossed and sad and tired. He knows you don't have fun a whole lot. He sees the sacrifice, the love you give, the cuss words you say under your breath. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. (Psalm 139:2)

He loves you. He longs for you. The pulse of your wrist infatuates him. He longs to run his fingers along your face, with a deep heartsick love. Your blood was bought with his, and yet we spill it out for other gods.

The gods that tire us out. The gods that cut us open and drain us until we get lightheaded and come to our senses–begging his forgiveness.

It's no picnic, raising our kids and losing ourselves. This transformation is a battle field. You need to know He is on your side. Fighting for you. Has a plan for you. He wants to show you what He has done. Who He is and why that makes all the difference.

Practically, this may look like ceasing the spin and grabbing hold of the small moments by the throat. Stopping. And choosing. And stopping and choosing again. Those five minutes here and there compounded over a week add up to a deeper understanding of the Man who says he is the lover of our souls. And of the God who says He knows the hairs on our heads. And that He cares about our small life.

The same small life that I spend standing at the kitchen sink more than anywhere else right now.

These are the kitchen sink days, my friend. So why try to make them the cathedral ones?

We're in this together,
M

The Quadrigeminal Crawl

My son turns four tomorrow.

In the words of one of my best friends, "that's not possible!"–and while it would seem that life has just flown by, I know in my heart of hearts that it has been a slow crawl. He and I are hardheaded and yet so very sensitive. We feel so much that it's too much sometimes, and we overflow into areas only suitable for dirty rainwater.

We are quick to forgive and hate the distance between the steps it takes to get there.

My son breaks and mends me. He kisses and cuts me. He and I dance a gospel dance everyday. Since the day he was born I knew things would be different, but that word doesn't even cover the miles we have traveled. We've gone to South America and back (his favorite destination) in terms of understanding one another. And I am still learning to speak toddler. A language that I am thankful is a dead language for most well-rounded adults.

My son and I, we hug tightly. We cry loudly. We laugh until tears form at the corners of our eyes. We are the type that are given a lot, and we don't exactly know how to stay inside the lines. He and I, we're buddies. As he would say. 

I remember the first week I held him in my arms. I had a photographer come over and document the entire blissful experience. In every picture my eyebrows seem furrowed and my hands unrecognizable beneath the flap of a swaddling blanket. For some women, motherhood happened upon them and their entire purpose was realized. It's almost as if they had been wearing a clown suit their entire lives and then were handed the most perfect uniform suited to their measurements. Not so for me. Some days I still swim in the deep end of this job. But others, I ride high on the wave of wonder. I see their smiles and their strides. One minute it's absolute miracle and the next, it's a broken wave on the shore.

But I get to be a witness to it all.

Four years ago tomorrow my son baptized me in the fire fall that still burns away the edges of my selfishness. The very first time I heard him say he loved me I cried in the hallway. He moves me to emotions I didn't know possible. He ignites my life.

We live in a new house, you know. One that is absolutely a dream. It's not huge. It's homey. It's not for everyone, but it fits us like a glove. We have yard to explore and a small pond to throw leaves into. We have room, but we are still close.

This is the home I knew I would live in someday. I didn't know what it would look like or where it would be, but I knew it would be full. Full of fire and feeling. Full of warmth and whimsy. This place is where I will watch my babies become adults. And while right now it doesn't seem like life is moving at the breakneck speed I know it will someday when there are moving boxes in his bedroom and a college degree in his sights, I am so ridiculously undeserving to have a front row seat to the beginning of his becoming. And I will savor these molasses moments that make my life so simple this day.

Happy birthday my dear warrior explorer. I can not wait to see how you use your gifts to teach the world about feelings that run well below the surface. I wait in anticipation to see you discover new ideas that could very well change the way we feel about classification, collections, naming, species, travel, invention, introspection, and love. You are going to change your world. I know this because you have irrefutabely changed mine.

For the rest of us, love them with fearless abandon–whoever God has entrusted to you. And thank God. For the cold nights that hang too heavy, for the warm nights that fuel memories for ages to come and for the sheer force that the human spirit holds. Above all, get on your knees every now and then and cry out in absolute awe of the divine coupling that Jesus used to pair you with your people.

Now if only I could conceive of a way to keep my son away from all sugar on the day of his birth. Fat chance.

We're in this together,
M

Panic at the Disco

Mt. Adams. Photo Courtesy of Life is a Mountain, John's Hiking Blogspot

I lost it.

You know, that thing that I never had.

This house selling-and-buying business has me breathing into bags in the evening and trying to calm my wild heart beat with sweet and sour indulgences. This does not seem like something a person who has peace should be doing.

Cue the crinkle of a Salt & Vinegar chip bag. Shameless.

The dream house. That's the thing I lost. The one that would make leaving behind the house we've made a home, easier. It would have happened on my perfect time line. No overlapping, no double moving, no more breathing into bags. And here's where I struggle with quantifying this whole process through the lens of my faith: do I believe that God is good?

My husband is at the base of the second tallest peak in Washington state as this very moment getting ready to summit 12,000 feet on top of a snow-covered "potentially active" volcano–which Wikipedia was so kind to point out. He isn't climbing for the heck of it, although I do think he would climb any mountain on any day over most things. He is climbing it with a team of 26 guys who have raised almost $70,000 to rescue girls out of forced prostitution in India. In a kilt no less.

And here I am. On the edge of reason, doubting that God will rescue me from the predicament that I created. Wrongly assuming that He, the creator and orchestrator of the greatest rescue in existence, is someone who will sit back and let us move into a home that will be worse for us.

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give good things to those who ask. 

He is a God of means. He isn't just a fluffy fellow in the sky. He holds us. He rocks us. He shh's us when we've gone on for far too long on something he has already taken care of.

My husband is a part of something meaningful. I think that's really what is at the heart of this ache I feel. I want this move to move me towards a deeper understanding of family, community and Christ. I want the next address to be a reflection of where we've been. I need to kill the idea that it needs to be flashy, impressive, something people will approve of. I need to kill that same thing in myself–that a house is separate from God. I am the house of God.

I need to banish the idea that God is too busy guiding the feet of the climbers on Mt. Adams to reach their incredibly noble and glorious goal, to meet me in the ash.

The ash: where I doubt God's goodness for the bajillionth time while He is literally lifting young girls out of a life of slavery on the backs of men I love and dearly respect.

There will be another house. That's what keeps being said. And in this moment of disbelief and distrust I am not entirely certain there will be. So far I've just seen homes that wither my heart, and cause me to doubt this whole crazy ridiculous Life Relocation Program thing I've begun.

These last few months for me have been a 'tearing down' era. A process of "letting it crumble", so that  something better can be built. I'm still sifting through the rubble. I'm still completely clueless as to where we are going. To some, that's called adventure. But for me, I need a script; A rough outline of what's coming next.

So I've decided to prayerfully create a list of what I want this next era of life to be like. What I want the stage to rise up for: a hammock where everyday life can sway, steady and sweet.

1. A refuge

A place that breathes us all to life, Oh taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.

2. A place big enough to gather comfortably. I will not pay more for something smaller or the same size as what we have. I am not interested in "tiny home" living. Not at this point in my life, anyway. I want to throw parties. Loud and big ones, with magic shows and wine and late talks into the night as the moon rises.

3. Close to our community and my family. I've lived in Los Angeles and Nashville. I know the longing of missing home. I don't want to make those people and places any harder to get to or to spend time with. I want to be closer to them and more available to them.

4. No old windows, doors or popcorn ceilings. (Sorry, I've been there and paid my dues.)

5. A writer's view.  This doesn't need to be mountains or ocean-though we've got both up here. It can be something like an old growth lilac tree outside my window, or a place where I can see a sliver of the sunrise from the kitchen table. It needs to be profound and simple. Something I can count on when the ideas run dry and when the heart questions everything, all over again. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light. 

6. Joy. I need to feel gratitude. It needs to feel miraculous. Like I stumbled upon a bramble-covered lock. A secret garden with a lost key and God handed it to me just in time. It needs to be gift. Not something I could give to myself, only something he could provide. I have to relinquish control. (Yuck.)

As my husband's boots crunch snow and his muscles ache from his pack; I imagine the August sun toasting the places around his eyes where the squint lines will become white. He just called me for a quick check in, "This is the last time I'll be able to talk to you until we come back from the summit. I love you."

And for some reason, now I know: God doesn't lead us to the treacherous places to make our life there. He leads us up and guides us back down. And when the climb is over-we are changed and have helped instigate change. We may be in the exact same place we began, but we are different.

And that's it. That's my home right now. A man on a mountain.

I wonder what the HOA's are?

We're in this together,
M

Small Changes

There is a painting that hangs over my fireplace mantle. It reads, There is no Such Thing As Small Change.

When I first saw this piece of art I was drawn to it. And every time I read it, it speaks something new into my life. Whatever I am dealing with one thing is constant: change.

And in the middle of change we can lose our bearings. And this is when I fall prey to my heart's tendency to obsess.

Once I exited the glorious Monet of childhood and tip-toed into the abrupt edges of adolescence, I discovered a black box inside my mind that gave me the power of preoccupation.

This "gift" allows me to see things from every possible angle; to analyze and experience; to interject and often times, exaggerate. A big blob of tightly-wound worry–I am able to manipulate the shapeless matter with an artist's hand. I can twist and turn something over enough times that it spontaneously spins on it's own. It becomes alive.

When I was younger it may have been schoolwork or a boy I liked, whatever the "it" was I intensified it's place in my mind by feeding it copious amount of brain food. I over indulged. I entertained ghosts. I circled and circled.

Obsessing gives my creative mind a place to land; anywhere or any situation that needs over-thinking–I'm the girl for the job.

This has it's benefits and drawbacks.

When I want something very much, I have dogged determination. When I fear something very much, it can swallow me whole. When I have what I've been obsessing over, I cling to it with a clenched grasp. It makes me fiercely loyal, but just as fiercely flippant.

Our house sold in two days. Pending inspection and appraisal and all that fun stuff that makes me sweat behind the knees.

Answered prayer wrapped in linen layers of terrifying reality.

We are momentarily homeless. Displaced. 

God knows what He is doing. I do not. I think that is called faith. But I can't be quite sure, because it would be a lie to say I am walking in it.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Phil 4:6-7)

I have prayed my supplication and thanksgiving prayers. I have been waiting for the peace which surpasses all understanding, but there's a road block. It's my obsession. She is standing in the middle of the road and I can't tackle her to the ground. She is determined to steal my peace. She is determined to make me crazy with distraction. She stands between me and where God wants to move us. 

These walls that used to be my home are now closing in on me, and so I comb the MLS listings for new place to lay our heads. Maybe it's the one with the yellow door, or the one with the sagging porch but glorious master, or the one that doesn't have a yard but has a dog house (wait, we don't have a dog) or the depressing discovery of a gut job in the top of our price range? All of these potential homes have now become companions.

I hold hands with these stacks of bricks promising forever and then turn my back on them, slam the door and run into the arms of another address. And this story isn't unlike my romance with Jesus.

And I realize that my fear shouldn't be that we'll never find another home: My fear should be that I will miss the peace that surpasses all understanding while on the hunt. That I will forget to drink from the river that runs underneath the foundations I am standing on.

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. (Isaiah 43:19)

I am far from being in a wasteland. This is a beautiful time. This is a fruitful time. There is no reason to allow obsession to overtake me. And for anyone in the middle of a large, big, beautiful and unrealized change–don't let the Unknown overshadow the upcoming. Wrestle with her. Accept her. Invite her in.

My family and I are on the edge of something exciting. Something new that God is going to do. And so as always I look to Jesus. He was homeless. And yet He was always at home.

I've got a lot to learn. 

We're in this together,
M

Hopelessly Unhinged

This has been an interesting week.

I quit my job. But it doesn't stop there.

An eighty-year-old woman in the aisle of Fred Meyer told my 14-month daughter to "shut up" as she was repeatedly squealing because of the balloons overhead. An acquaintance accused me of trying to reap the spoils of her divorce by asking about buying a painting in her home. And I had someone tell me that they were hurt that I did not acknowledge them while they wore a t-shirt heralding my old band days. While these things are not the end of the world I am fighting the temptation to pull into my turtle shell and be done with it for awhile. A reformed introvert who still struggles with internalism, these little cuts are beginning to gape. I can feel the blood draining from my face.

I am far too sensitive. I take things too much to heart. I know this about myself. But Jesus knows that even more.

I will be the first to say I don't do life well all the time. Honestly, I think I only have peek-a-boo moments of goodness where something bursts forth from a place beyond my own humanity and I am able to harness it long enough to help someone. Or support someone. Or forgive someone. Then it's gone and I'm back to being obsessed with myself.

The only comfort I can find is that Jesus knows me. He knows this wasted heart, and that I desperately want to please. And unfortunately that desire to please gets me into trouble. I set myself up for failure.

Jesus knows I don't say the right things all the time. He knows that I walk wide-eyed into misunderstandings. He knows I sin. I covet. I gossip. I envy. I assume. The world can be cruel. And sometimes I wonder if I'm not wired to handle it all. The comments. The assumptions. The accusations.

It can simply be, overwhelming. I have always been easily broken. I have a thin skin and I've tried to make it thicker. But for those of us who God made this way; sensitive, big-hearted and trusting–it's okay to admit we can't do this on our own.

And in this hard season, where I feel isolated and clunky in my attempts to re-find my footing–I am tripping over my good intentions. But more so now than ever I am so thankful for my church and my closest friends. I am so thankful for other broken people who put their foot in their mouths and those that are familiar with the gift of grace and are much more willing to give it freely to those who don't deserve it.

I know I don't deserve grace. I know I say stupid things. I trust people blindly. I don't always think through the things I do. But I keep being reminded of God working all things together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). He knows we are unhinged and spastic. He knows we can't hold a train of thought and that we can't see ourselves crashing until we are among the blazes sometimes.

And that's the peace I have right now. Because I know I love Jesus like crazy. I know He's seen me at my worst and He still longs to know me. That is why I believe what I believe. Because I am imperfect and impolite and imposing and marred and stitched up and He still welcomes me with arms open wide. He still invites me to His throne to hear his gentle voice and to forgive me for the bazillionth time with no strings attached. Seriously, none.

And for a screw-up like myself that is more than good news, it's what this tired and beat-up heart needs.

Sometimes people think that religion is unforgiving. But for me, it's the opposite. My religion–Christianity– is nothing but forgiveness. Pure and potent, like the most intoxicating drink you'll ever taste. It's a reality that never goes away once you acknowledge you need it. As long as you keep His truth in front of you, what's behind you becomes glassy and highly apertured. Fading into the fog of forget-about-the-past.

I feel such joy knowing that I have a clean slate and a life washed white every single morning (Psalm 30:5). I will continue to hold fast to my firm belief in a Man who came as God to fulfill ancient prophecies and give us the gift we could never earn–a direct line to His goodness. He left us with the blueprint on how to live life in community with Him and those who love Him.

I am worn down. I am vulnerable. I am broken. I am sad. I am feeling attacked.

But by God, I am forgiven. And loved. And held. And kissed. And unconditionally accepted. No matter what I do wrong tomorrow or what I forget to do right the next day, Jesus has it covered. Dear friend, if you've ever been misunderstood, wrongly attacked, rightfully attacked or left to feel like you don't matter. You do.

You matter so much that you don't have to do anything right to be righted. Rest in that.

We're in this together,
M

Broken Spoon, Broken People

We live in a world where nothing is of value until someone else wants it.

I learn this everyday as I watch my kids interact. The most revealing moments come in the oddest of situations. For instance, if my daughter is playing with a broken spoon (I swear, I give her cool toys, but it's the trash she ends up liking most) my son will notice her simple joy and his envy-tastic wheels start spinning.

How come she's happier with that broken spoon than I am with my embarrassingly abundant collection of toys? It must be because that spoon is better than what I have. Must. Have. Broken. Spoon. 

In an instant my son will literally dart from across the room–leaving his super cool dinosaur collection and 500-page Dinosaur Encyclopedia (which I spend hours reading and thus butchering six-syllable scientific names in order to appease him) to snatch the utterly worthless from her hand.

He has no idea why he does what he does. Once the broken spoon is in his possession he realizes it's well, a broken spoon, and it wasn't worth the effort. He drops it on the floor and my daughter scoops it up giggling and runs in the opposite direction to protect her treasure.

My son forgets what he has just learned, chases after her, and the whole process starts again.

What's the difference between my son and daughter's perspective of the spoon? Somewhere inside my son believes he is being lied to. He thinks someone is holding out on him. He thinks what he has been given isn't enough. And even worse, he can't appreciate what he has in light of what he doesn't have.

Just in case you're worried that I am playing favorites, I am also aware that my daughter is just too young to realize that she is playing with a broken spoon and that someday that trash she is obsessed with may be her prom date–but that's an entirely different blog.

So let's hit the pause button and take a moment. Let's admit that even though we are parents to these little terrorists and that we should be experts in managing this type of behavior, we aren't. This is because even as adults we still do this. We look at our kids, our bodies, our jobs (or lack thereof) our faith, our freedom, and our "right" to be whoever it is that makes life easiest–and we declare it our property.

We wriggle free from the grasp of God's best and cling to our stuff with a kung-fu grip. We, in some capacity, believe that we have a right to declare what is ours. And most often, this means that our hearts and our souls are off limits. We snatch our identity right out of God's hands and we put him in the line up among the hundreds of other distractions we entertain ourselves with and pick him up to play with only when it serves us most to do so.

And when I say "we", I really mean me. If I'm honest with myself: I still want a broken spoon.

I want more. I want to be liked by everyone. I want my kids to be liked by everyone. I want to impress people. I want to surprise people with my giftings. I want all of this worthlessness in light of what I know to be meaningful: Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. Phil. 2:3-4. 

I am currently reading Out of the Spin Cycle by Jen Hatmaker per my dear friend and pastor's wife's recommendation. If you don't own this book I suggest you buy it- NOW. She speaks to our responsibility as parents in one of her chapters. And it resonated with me.

She said that our children will "learn innocent shrewdness–or not– from you. It is not your responsibility to raise perfect prototypes of holiness, fit to set on a pedestal and admire. Your job is to send your children into this world as disciples who understand their mission and who will contend for God's glory."

She goes on to say that it is not our job as Christians to defend Jesus, but to represent him. And today, I can honestly say that is a terrifying thought. But, I can represent him to my children–and to the people I share my life with–in the middle of my most debased humanity by laying down the trash I am obsessed with and admit I'm far too easily pleased.

Today, in this moment, I am still playing tug-of-war with Jesus over a broken spoon. But the redemptive idea is this: I am a broken person. He broke his body for me on the cross. He rose again to do away with that brokenness. And even if I spend the rest of my life laying that down at his feet when I continually forget what is of value in the shadow of the valueless- that's all he asks.

All he asks is that broken people admit they desire the broken spoon.

We're in this together,
M

Prone to Wander

I have finally figured out what tattoo I want to get.

OK, wait. Let me rephrase that: I have finally figured out what tattoo I would get if I suddenly became way cooler than I actually am. You know, that day where I cut my hair into a chin-length bob, rock dark-rimmed glasses with Converse shoes and follow at least one indie band that isn't on the radio. 

But regardless of it's actuality, figuring out my choice for a lifetime relationship with a potential tattoo still feels like an important personal life decision.

If I were to sit down in a tattoo chair today I would ask for three words to be permanently etched on my right wrist: Prone to Wander.

My right wrist is usually the one that I can see when I am holding my beautiful, nearly-eight month old daughter when trying to check my work email or jot down a story idea instead of wrapping both arms around her and waiting until nap time.

My right wrist is usually the one that is free, when I'm digging in the snack bin to find some chips or grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge out of sheer laziness.

My right wrist is usually the one that is flipping through channels when I am sitting in the quiet of my home on any given night after the kids are asleep (the glorious hour I wait for all day long), instead of  driving to a friend's house to connect with someone who needs to talk- no matter the hour.

'Prone to Wander' comes from a hymn that I grew up singing at The Glory Barn, (a palsy, dying congregation where everyone wore flower jumpers and forbade music with a beat): Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. But particularly, verse four pops into my head at random times throughout my week:

4. O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Daily, I am prone to wander. Daily, I need to offer my heart to God. Daily, I substitute His truth for what I want life to be. I want it to be easy. I want it to look good on the outside. I want it to look like I know what I'm doing. I want it to look like I'm the one who has it all figured out. I want to look successful. Smart. Self-suffcient. Without flaw.

And life isn't any of those things. And I am not either.

Jesus' truth is what I need to immerse myself in on a regular basis because it is gritty, and substantial- it fills in the holes where the constant wash of my fickle heart has eroded the foundation of my faith. His death on a cross is unplalabale. It is rejected in most accepted circles of society. It is untidy. It is unexpected. It is love like we've never seen before or since. When we are dying. When we are dead. When we are cussing. When we are sinning. When we are hating. When we are idolizing. He is love. He is the right wrist choosing to do the right thing, when we are the ones ignoring His love story and slamming the book shut for a sugar high, for a forbidden glance, for a hit of addiction, for our own glory.

I podcast sermons all the time. I listen to Christian music all the time. I read the Bible even when I don't feel like it, but never as much as I should.

I don't do these things because I am a Super-Christian. I do these things because I am a failing Christian. I have seen the ugliness my heart is capable of and so I need to protect myself by injecting my life with His truth. I need Jesus on overdrive. On repeat. Everyday.

I don't listen to Christian radio because I like it- (Apologies, Christian radio fans, but the over production and sappy lyrics sometimes cause me to roll my eyes), it's because I forget God's goodness. I am in desperate need of being reminded of Him. I am prone to wander. I am prone to leave the God I love.

This isn't to say that I never make the right choices, but let's just say that I've had my fair share of moments where I do what I want instead of what I should.

So how come 2 Corinthians 5:17 doesn't ring true in my own life all the time? "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"

Am I not a new creation if I fall back into my old ways? If I forget His goodness? If I'm prone to wander. Fortunately, for forgetful followers like myself who take for granted their salvation, one of God's most shining examples of a life in response to the Gospel was the prophet Paul. And even he isn't exempt from this constant relapse. In Romans 7 he says,

18 For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. 

Today, my pastor Brian McCormack at Reach Church in Kirkland preached on this very thing; our forgetfulness about His goodness. He made it very clear that repetition is the key to keeping what we believe in our hearts consistent with how we live our lives.

We won't get it right enough to be righteous. Sorry, moralists. We won't become Christians by osmosis. Sorry, Sunday-morning saints. We won't become more like Jesus by letting our lives remain unchaged. Sorry, fence-sitters.

We become believers by falling back into the fold when Jesus comes to find us.  Repenting and returning. Remembering and responding. 

We have not yet arrived, but we are on our way to finishing strong when we believe that He took the shame for our shamefulness.

Even when I stray, He stays. And as long as we keep our eyes open to who we really are, we will never be at risk of being truly lost; even those who are prone to wander.

We're in this together,

M

From Strength to Strength

I am coming to terms with the fact that I am an extremist. And not in the way where I have a bomb-shelter in my basement, but more so in the speaking sense.

I over state. A lot. I come from a long line of exaggerators. So, why not blame it on the gene pool?

If my daughter has a cough, I worry that it may be pneumonia and say, "I feel like she has been sick forever. When will this end?"

If my son loses his cool in public, I assume he must be suffering from severe starvation since he had only eaten a raisin that day. "I wonder if he needs a feeding tube?"

Blech. I'm so embarrassing to myself.

If I am overwhelmed, I think I will always feel overwhelmed.

Words like always and forever creep into my daily dialogue without much intentional thought. I'm just trying to prove a point, right? I think,  I do feel like I am always cleaning ketchup off the table. I do feel like I may never go to the bathroom alone. I do wonder if my legs will forever be partially unshaved since I rush out of the shower to comfort a child after his nap.

And I know that when I finally have fully-shaven legs, I will miss running out of the shower to comfort a child after his nap.

This morning I read an amazing verse in Psalms. I have had a love affair with these passages since I was young, but somehow I feel like I have never read this before:

⁵ 
Blessed are those whose strength is in you,  in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools.

They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.


The NIV of the Bible, explains the highway to Zion as a "pilgrimage". I would think that this means our lives' pilgrimage. The steps we take everyday towards missionally loving our family, friends, enemies, and strangers.  The steps we take towards solidifying the truth about who God is in our everyday lives. Becoming more like Jesus, and yet understanding that perfection was never a part of his plan.

As a young mom with two kids, I can say that my heart's highway has been speeding past at 100mph lately. New jobs, new school classes, new baby, and that some old sleep. I wake up feeling weak. And I am not very coy about sharing those feelings.

But absolutes are so very different than feelings. And God in his wisdom gave us a Spirit that can take us from strength to strength. He can lead us through a valley flooded with replenishment. A rain-soaked Savior in the middle of an insanely thirsty life.

My tendency to complain about my circumstances to the max, shows a very big tear in my faith. It shows me where I don't believe He is strong enough. It reveals that I believe my weakness is all I have in moments that try me. I let my emotions run away with my words.

Instead, I should focus on letting His words run away with my heart.

He takes us from strength to strength.

 I want my heart to hold the highways to Zion inside of it, and in order to train my heart to feel differently about my everyday circumstances I need to use my words to speak truth instead of lies.

But its not always the bad circumstances I am trying to manage, it's the good ones too.

Honestly, sometimes I am afraid to speak of the joy I feel in my life for fear that I am not "trying" hard enough for my faith. Wow, that is such an elementary Christian 'no-no' right? And yet, I still struggle with the idea of Christian hedonism (in the words of John Piper). I still wax and wane about my personal belief that God wants us to live life to the fullest- in JOY.

And not just churchy joy because of a successful altar call or a speaking in tongues translation- I am talking about life-giving joy. Joy because of great sex with my godly husband. Joy in wine tasting (not slurping) among gorgeous vineyards. Joy in eating amazing food and in seeing amazing the places He created. Joy in funny conversations and snuggles in cashmere blankets.

We aren't talking about a bland, I'll skip-the-butter-on-my-bread type-of-false-joy. We are talking about a real Jesus-drenched joy lavishly given us on the cross. Its the very joy that everyone wants, but can't find. It's that nagging dissatisfaction that is poured into buying functional gods with extended warranties that go out of style or lose their sparkle after we've lost interest.

You see, I need to relish in the beautiful days. I need to be quick to speak about the joy, and the gifts as often as I am about the struggle. I need to speak unabashedly about those moments when my heart twists in joyful pain over the laugh of my baby girl, the holding of my husband's hand, or the cuddle of my precious son. I need to remind myself that He is leading me from strength to strength.

He wants us to experience the joy of living fully in Him- which means that our weaknesses are made strong. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

He has the biggest tears in our faith covered. They are covered with a blood-soaked fragment of cloth that will always and forever be all we need to live in the land of plenty and resplendent joy.

We're in this together,
M

Burn Out

I thought I could do this.

I should've known. I can't

Right now, in all honesty I need a shot of humility. I need a gallon of grace. And I need a good kick in the pants.

I keep hearing a voice in the back of my head asking, "Who cut in on you? You were running a good race."

That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you. (Galatians 5:7-8)

I'm feeling overwhelmed. Overstimulated. Distracted. And yet, I feel needed. Necessary. I am back in the "job" saddle and I have to say it feels GREAT.

If I blatantly honest, I wonder if I am feeling the pull of improper persuasion like Paul talks about in Galatians.

Because for the last 3 years I have been a mom. A FULL TIME mom with some side-work thrown in there when I felt like I should exercise the typing muscles I used to have. 

And now, I am still a stay at home mom, but I actually have a boss on the other end of those emails. I actually have been reintroduced to the hierarchy of results-matter work. I answer to someone now.

But I can not forget who I ultimately answer to.

It's the kind of persuasion that lures me away from my kids to check my inbox for the umpteenth time in an hour or respond to an "important" email that isn't nearly as pressing as my ego makes it out to be.

It is my inner persuader. It is my sin. It is my desire to gain the whole world and lose my soul. It's the oldest trick in the book.

It's that kind of persuasion that lights up my brain when I imagine all of the cool things I am going to do now that I have a label. Now that I am not just 'mom'. Now that I have, what I call my dream job.

It's only been a week and a half.

Let me repeat.

It's has only been 8 working days.

And in that short amount of time, I feel like my heart has been run away with by a trillion stallions. And I realize that I have been in a desert and I have been spiritually thriving. I have been existing on morsels of manna from God to get through every humbling struggle I face as a mom with two little kids. And because of that, I have been experiencing the painful process of growth.

And now? I am in danger of having found a new savior. I am tempted to melt down my newfound gold to fashion calves in the wilderness. I am in danger of redirecting my worship.

Because it's addicting. This accomplishment thing. It's like "Ahhh, that's what purpose feels like. I remember now."

But it's not purpose that I'm feeling swallowed by- not in the way God intended me to be purposed anyhow.

30If I partake with thankfulness, why am I slandered concerning that for which I give thanks? 31Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

It's the hollow shell of a title that will ultimately give me glory that I'm allowing to fill the cracks in my soul. Those cracks that God gave me so I would turn to Him are now being ignored by distraction. By persuasion. By my own desire to do a good job.

And yes, I should be a good worker. I am a witness no matter if I am changing diapers or changing an editorial layout. So yes, I need to be efficient. Honest. Uphold my end of the bargain.

But my new normal means that I am over the moon and heartbroken all within moments of each other.

I make forward progress at "work" with my eyes glued to the screen, but missed my son teetering on the edge of the couch before he tumbled off. I landed a really cool product for placement, but didn't get to sit on the floor making my daughter smile without watching the clock.

This is a new balance that I need to work on. I am like a wave tossed to and fro. I need to CTFD. (Calm The F* Down) I don't endorse use of the F word, but when someone's right, they're right.)

But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

I believe this new development in my work/life balance is a part of God's plan. So I need to keep Him in the middle of it. Be sensitive to where he leads. Seize the moments I need to and let the others ones go. This is a new ball thrown in the air.

In case you didn't know, my husband can juggle. Not in the metaphorical sense, but in the 'I-may-wear-shoes-with-bells-on-the-toes-and-go-to-rennaisiance-fairs' way. He can literally juggle. When I asked him how he learned to do it in the first place, he said that he had to keep his back against the wall, because his natural tendency was to follow the balls lead and that's when you make mistakes and drop them.

If you anchor yourself against something that doesn't move; something that doesn't change- you can then focus on all of the things you have to keep in motion.

Ok, swish. That's the truth I've been needing to hear. When learning to juggle I need to find the wall. The unchanging God I know and love.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Gosh, I know I am so dramatic. I know that once I settle down into this space I won't be so crazy out of it. I know I won't forget to eat, I won't forget to brush my teeth, I won't try to breastfeed while drafting an email to the publicity department at Nordstrom's. I will settle down.

But I don't want to miss this chance to learn something about myself.

I am only one great opportunity away from thinking I don't need God. We all are.

I am not strong. I am weak.

I am not qualified, I am a vessel He chooses to use.

I am not great, He is just so amazingly good.

He is trying to give me the desires of my heart- and I need to be mature enough to not bastardize that gift.

This is a warning letter to myself.

Knock it off. Go love on your kids. Get in the word. Get off your high horse. Kiss your husband. Stop drinking Diet Coke to keep your eyes open.

Relax. Have a glass of wine. Kiss that sexy man who is wearing your daughter in the Baby Bjorn on the lips. Give long hugs. And laugh. A lot.

Above all, once this transition from stay-at-home-mom to working-stay-at-home mom is complete, I want to make sure I had my priorities straight from the get go.

God comes first. Your family second. And yourself, that needs to always be dead last. Serve like crazy.

Just don't bow down to ego and the dollar because they make you feel important.

I am burnt out- thank God. Because it brings me back to Him.

And so I will smolder in thankfulness. He turns ashes to beauty. Or so I'm told.

"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor."

Isaiah 61:3

The Bottom of the Sugar Bowl

A couple of days ago I woke up in desperate need of my morning coffee. (Okay, okay-- I am in desperate need of morning coffee every morning...and afternoon...and sometimes at 5pm).

But what made this morning different was that I quickly discovered I was at the bottom of the sugar bowl. Peering down into the crystal-flecked container that still held the sparkle of sugar lost, I felt like Winnie the Pooh in one of his fumbled attempts as snagging the lost drop of honey.

There is nothing more deflating that staring at my steaming cup of a.m. Joe knowing that in its naked form I just don't care for the taste. 

Yes, I was born and raised in the Starbucks capital of the nation. Yes, I love coffee. Yes, I love the smell. But alas, "you're not hard core unless you live hard core" and I am so not hard core. (Thanks, Jack Black). But unlike the comedian I just can't drink my coffee that way.


And in realizing that, I was suddenly hit with an unattractive understanding that I have a hard time removing all the extras in my life and in my faith that seem to make it go down easier. I am constantly trying to sweeten the pot. I am habitually trying to manipulate the facts in order to make it easier to digest.


I was lucky enough to listen to Jeff Vanderstelt of Soma church speak last weekend. He stripped down some very fundamental truths about Christian living that felt very much like a straight shot of espresso. No filter. No sugar. No pretty wrapping. Just black.

One Christian word that has always needed some sweetening for me is repentance.

I don't get it. Or, I guess I should say I didn't understand it, until it was explained to me by Jeff.

I mean how can you repent of something that you know you will do again even when you truly put your best efforts into never, ever even thinking about doing it again?

And then I heard this, "Repentance isn't a change in behavior- it's not turning away and not feeling that way anymore. Repentance is a change in belief about God."

He went on to further explain that we will continually forget about God and his good nature everyday. We will  always question whether He knows what he is doing or not. But instead of focusing on the behavior we need to address the unbelief. We need to confess that we don't believe God is who He says He is. We need to own the fact that we believe we can do it better.

We need to confess that we try to dilute the taste of truth. We don't like it straight. We want to doctor it up to meet our needs to fit into our lifestyle. I do this, everyday.

And so we need to tell Him that everyday. We need to confess. We need to cut out the fluff. We need to stop trying to function on caffeine and willpower. We need to cut out the craving for the sugar high. We need to focus on the root problem of unbelief. We need to say out loud that we doubt His loving nature towards us.

I recently applied for a job as an associate editor at a local magazine. After reading the specs for the position, I desperately wanted it. The most part-time of all part-time positions, the job also offered the ability to work from home and stay with my two littles under 3. It would allow me to dive into feature writing and work with some of the best freelance writers and photographers in my area as well as get connected to the heartbeat of my community. It felt tailor made for me.

And do you know what I did when I applied for it? I didn't think God wanted me to get it. 

Do you know how I reacted when I interviewed for the position and was waiting to hear back? I doubted that God wanted to give me the desires of my heart. 

Do you know what I said moments before the call came in that I had indeed got the job? "I just keep getting doors slammed in my face. I guess God just wants me here. I have a sinking feeling I didn't get it. I should have heard by now." On and on and on.

Doubt.

Master doubter. Royal doubtess. UNBELIEF about my good God.

And no, not every desire of our heart is right for us. There were many doors that I knocked on before this that swung shut immediately. Many. There have been several moments of "almost" for me-- all of which ended in an abrupt no with no explanation. But I have to believe all of that is for my good. Every no is saving you for the right yes.

So ask yourself the next time you're doubting his goodness.

WHO is my God?

WHAT has He done?

And what does that say about WHO I AM? (Thanks Jeff! Once again.)

It all boils down to identity. If our identity stems from that all-gracious, all-powerful, all-beautiful throne of God, we can't help but be thrust into the sweet life of His plan for us.

If we are looking for substitutes, trying to create something all on our own, or don't believe he truly cares about our every day lives- we make Him a liar.

And so just that one morning I drank my coffee black. I didn't truly enjoy it- but it reminded me that sometimes the truths that are the hardest to swallow are the ones that are best for us.

We're in this together,
M

Leveling the Playing Field

Whenever my husband and I try to save a few dollars by buying a piece of furniture from IKEA or skip on paying the assembly fee for a new grill-- we have a deal. I am the one in charge of following the directions and he is in charge of doing the labor.

It's not that he can't follow the directions, it is just that he seems to believe he should intrinsically know how to fashion a contraption for grilling meat from the recesses of his manly soul. He subconsiouly feels like he shouldn't need a manual. And so I step in, and read it for him- for some reason that seems like a happy medium.

I have learned that following directions is of great importance in life- it allows you to assemble things that will last instead of assembling things that are bound to fall apart when you most want to use them.

I have been a part of Reach's Summer Bible Reading Plan for the last few days- and while I want to make excuses for not doing it with two littles- it's amazing how God carves out these little slots of quiet time where I hear Him whisper that I need to get my exhausted butt in the Word.

This morning I read Psalms 5&6, Matthew 3, and Romans 2- and some of the verses that stuck out to me seemed worth sharing. God took each piece of scripture from these seemingly disconnected books of the Bible and taught me something profound.

First, I learned in Psalms that it is OK to ask God to lead you and make his way known to you.

Psalm 5:8 - Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness...make your way straight before me. 

Just like my husband's tendency to ignore the manual, I too have somehow let myself believe that I should just intrinsically know how to do this Christian thing. And so I feel like I shouldn't ask God to lead me or make his way known to me. But here, even David- who was a man after God's own heart- asked God to make things clearer to him. To S-P-E-L-L it out. 

Then in Matthew 3:10 things get a bit hairier. John the Baptist is telling the "fake" religious leaders of the day who have come to be baptized that 'Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.' John is hitting this common heart issue- my tendency to check the right 'box' even though my heart may be far from the repentance that a life of baptism requires.

Sometimes it is hard to see the bad fruit in our lives- and in my case, even harder to see and continue bearing the good fruit if it becomes duty instead of priveledge. We just assume that if there isn't a ton of ugly sin piling up on the floor that we are doing just fine. It is perfectly OK to ask God to reveal to us where the good fruit is in our lives, so that we will be encouraged to continue to do those things that glorifies God and brings him joy. 

And then Romans 2:1 bluntly lays it out there: You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. 

God sees us through the lens of our hearts. He sees the inside- and that should completely free us if we truly love him even though we are desperately flawed. But instead- I know in my life- I haven't focused on my own problems, but have instead created my own spiritual hierarchy in order to make myself feel like I'm not that bad. The truth? I am that bad. I am even worse than those who judge outwardly.

Leave it to a sinner to take the level playing field that God has created in his wisdom and turn it into mountain riddled with moguls, cliffs, and valleys. My human nature wants to believe the following:

1) I don't need a manual about how to plant my life's tree.
2) I don't need to pay attention to the "fruit" my life is producing.
3) I am totally allowed to judge my neighbor's garden in the shadow of my own branches.

Theses verses tell me the truth:

1) I do need to ask God to lead me- and He will!
2) I do need to ask him to reveal to me what the good and bad fruit is in my life.
3) I need to keep my own cotton-picking-mitts on my side of the fence and not pick my neighbor's fruit apart.

In love,
M

Car Seat Chaos: The Emotional Roller Coaster of Being Homebound

I am not too proud to admit that I may have just finished crying.

I am also not too proud to admit that it may have been over a car seat.

And, lastly I am no where near too proud to admit that it had everything to do with the way I am feeling in this season of my life as a mother of two kids under 3.

It all began with expectations. You see, today was the day.

This was going to be the first time I was able to meet up with some awesome girls from my church who have been going to a group playdate since my second child was born 7 weeks ago. This was also going to be the only day in Seattle all week that was predicted to be sunny.

All signs pointed to, yes I am doing this! I finally felt confident enough to take both kids as well as rested enough not to fall asleep at the wheel.

I had just fed, changed and packed up my daughter, which was followed by cleaning watermelon stickiness from the crevice of my son's fingers, elbows, and hair follicles-- before taking him to the potty, washing his hands, putting on his shoes, packing his snacks, negotiating which snacks he could have in the car, turning the alarm on and then ushering him toward the car.

Going anywhere with multiple children is a process. It is something you prepare for the moment you wake up. Thoughts like: I better brush my teeth and wash my face at 5 am. That way between 1st child's morning nap and second child's first meal, I will only have to get dressed and run a brush through my hair.

My life wasn't always this way, but now in this immediate season, I don't have time to think about me. I don't have time to be vain anymore and I don't have time to be selfish anymore (although God knows I still try). And I rarely have time to connect with other women. But like I said, today was the day. I was going to enter back into civilization from the dark ages. (i.e.- newborn stage) I was going to get out, just for me.

That was until the awful truth unfolded in slow motion.

I rounded the bend of my walkway, reached for the car door-- and it just took one glance to recognize that an unpredictable seismic shift was going to turn my day into something else entirely.

 My son's car seat wasn't there.
 

Wait! I have a back up car seat! Yes! I will just go get it. Oh, no. Never mind- my dad took it and didn't bring it back. No, this can't be. Hmm...Can I strap him to the ceiling? Nah. Well, what about the front seat? Does he look old enough to be a 10 year old? He is tall for his age. Maybe if I put a couple of hats on him...

Um, no. Nope. Not enough hats in the world to make this happen. I'm going nowhere.

Tears began stinging my eyes and I realized this had nothing to do with the missing car seat.

Those tears then began to well and roll over the rims.

And I knew that not only did this have nothing to do with the car seat, but my emotions didn't even have anything to do with the frustration that I was feeling towards my husband- whom I wanted to blame for this problem. Whom I wanted to lash out at-- whom I immediately texted with a scathing message dripping in a disrespectful tone. (Let's just say that a lot of exclamation points were involved.)

It had to do with this reality: I'm not seeing anyone. I am stuck at home again. I feel trapped. I feel alone. I feel like I've felt many days before.

This is what I realized. All of this is about isolation. This is about this season of life for moms who stay at home, work, or are somewhere in-between. This is about the need for community.

OK, so maybe you are childless and beginning to feel like I am some kind of a loser. Really? The highlight of your week is hoping to meet up with some Christian church ladies at some boring kids park?

I know what it looks like from the outside: desperation.

But let me tell you what it feels like on the inside: desperation.

Because the truth about motherhood is that it can be lonely. The other truth is that it can also be the most fulfilling job on the planet. But that fulfillment comes at the end of yourself- when the cup is so empty that a single drop of blessing and perspective can become a tidal wave of gratefulness. It comes when you are invited to watch your kids play with other kids and you feel like you've been asked to walk the red carpet. It shifts your perspective from 'everything isn't enough'- to 'I don't need everything to feel like its enough'.

There will be many other play-dates. I will be a part of many of them. Not all is lost.

But today I got a glimpse of this truth: I really want to be in community with women who know Jesus and I really want to be in community with women who don't. I really want to be invested in the lives of others. Because wherever we meet, that 'X' in the middle-- whether it's some random sandbox or some cool wine bar, relationships happen. And those relationships spur us on to become better. To feel connected. To feel what God feels when we pray to him. To speak and listen. To ask and answer. To know and be known.

And while I still wish that car seat would have been in its place- I also have learned something today. I don't want to go at it alone.

And you shouldn't feel like you have to either.

By grace,
Megan

PS- I also don't think its a coincidence that this was one of the parts of Scripture from this morning's Bible Summer Reading Plan: Romans 1:11-12 For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you-- that is, that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine. And just in case you were worried, the car seat is now back in its place and my husband has been restored to rock star status.

Newborn Confessional: A Prescription for Peace Without Spiritual Drowsiness

So it's been a week and a day since my daughter was born. And coincidentally, it has been a week and a day since my water broke in the middle of my last blog post.

At the time, I didn't know that fewer than 15% of women rupture before going into labor. This further proves my theory that our new addition, little Miss R, has a flair for the dramatic. Like I said in the hospital, "How very Hollywood of her to arrive in such a fashion". And if I am honest, I wouldn't mind having another artistic thespian to pal around with someday.

But regardless of who she becomes, this tiny bundle of life has already begun transforming our family unit. A climate shift has taken place. If you are a parent, you too experienced a shift in your home the moment you walked your baby through the door. And this shift continues to evolve every time a new little person is added to the family roster.

And while newborns sleep a bazillion hours a day in the beginning, you can't ignore the fact that the mere reality of their presence instantly and irrevocably changes everything. 

No matter if you have recently become a parent for the first, second, third (or so on) time; each child brings an entirely new layer of love into your home and along with it a new layer of complication and unhinged humanity.

In my case, I can tell that God has favor on this little girl already, because he has injected me with a large dosage of certified calm. I can't explain it any other way than that.

I was a basket-case with my son in those first few months. I was frazzled and confused. I am sure I had elevated blood pressure and I wore my sweaters inside out for weeks. I started crying when a man in Starbucks told me that it would get easier. I can't even imagine what my appearance revealed to this man in order to prompt such a verbal life preserver. Whatever the case, I can guarantee you it wasn't pretty.

I also distinctly remember yelling at God in my parked car during a downpour when my son was hysterical (again) and I couldn't figure out why. I think there may or may not have been balled fists involved.

So why the calm now? My daughter cries too. My daughter needs her diaper changed at a Richard Petty pace too. She needs my attention too, even more so in some ways than he did.

So this placid presence of mind that seems to have hovered below the surface until now-- had it always been there or was God saving that extra dose of grace for this season? Maybe I was being submitted to the full spectrum of newborn emotion when I had my son in order to get me to this point with my daughter.

I've known that this pregnancy and child was going to be different. How? Because it was clear to me that I was different. My son had transformed my heart. He had given me heart surgery- and I had discovered that I was weak. Unprepared. Selfish. And immature. His presence in my life was stormy at times- but it was one of those tumults that resulted in a smattering of discovery. Much like wandering a sparkling beach moments after a ferocious gale to find ruddy starfish and waxen sand dollars.

I hope this blog doesn't come off "braggy", because just so we are clear-- I know for a fact that I haven't become some sort of beacon of peace by osmosis.

I know for certain I am not the one willing myself to enjoy nighttime feedings. I am not the one who seems to have stretched the stitches on my capacity to love my son and daughter when I thought I was going to have to divide my emotions between the two.

I can only attribute what is happening to me in this moment as a heaping of joy. God is going berserk with blessing on our little family and sometimes I can't contain the happiness I feel. If this fact makes you want to vomit (or at least roll your eyes)- I know there is plenty of time for challenges up ahead. But in this moment, I choose to embrace the happy.

All in all, I must have matured somewhere along the way, because I only have more responsibility and personal demand than I did when I only had one child. And even though I'm nowhere near fully mature in my faith (or in life really) at least I don't feel like a teeny weeny sapling anymore. I think I am more like a gangly teenager tree.

It's ugly and unruly at times, but the potential for full growth is there.

With the help of our amazing church, true friends who love Jesus, and my commitment to pursue who this Jesus character really is--I am changing. This has been instrumental in helping me become less of a selfish brat and more of a selfless mom.

Wherever you are- whether fully enjoying your children no matter the age or the stage or you are wearing your sweaters inside out while trying to steady a sploshing wine glass; believe this: you are being transformed if you allow God to do His amazing work. Every moment you spend as a parent is preparing you for what lies ahead.

And let me tell you a little secret. What lies ahead is good. He planned it that way.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:11