Grace Goes on a Family Vacation (And Lives to Tell About It)

I just got back from vacation.

(Insert maniacal laugh here).

I have 2 bee stings, traveled over 700 miles with 2 children under the age of 3, and submitted myself to at least 4 hours of crying. I swear my trusty old SUV is still shaking in our garage after withstanding an emergency side-of-the-road potty break, five spilled drinks, and those DVD-player-just-died tantrums.

My eyes are sunken. My hair is windblown and frayed. (And its not in the beach-beauty kind of way, but in the 'I just stuck five fingers in a family vacation light socket' way.)

I know, I know. I shouldn't be complaining. This is a first-world problem. I just got back from vacation. 

But in all fairness, the prophet Paul who wrote Philippians 2:14 to remind us that we should do everything without grumbling or complaining didn't have children or a spouse. (OMG, did she just say that?) Yes. It's been that kind of day.


But if you've read the Huffington Post blog on "The Real Reason Parents are Always Tired", you may have a very clear picture of how I feel right now. If not, here's the truth.

Even though there is still Lake Chelan sand in the bottom of my diaper bag and a fuzzy layer of dust on my cowboy boots, (we spent our final vacation days at the family farm)-- I cannot say I feel rested. I cannot say I feel grateful. I cannot say I feel like a very good Christian.

Like there is such a thing. 

Instead, I feel zapped. Zonked. Empty. Cranky. And Desperately in need of wine.

And this makes me seem spoiled and just as bratty as any two-year-old. I wish I was one of those people who could take the highs and lows of raising little children with grace. Especially when those highs and lows take place in some of the most beautiful places in the country. But instead I feel graceless.

And I realize that that word grace runs through my fingers like water. I can't fully grasp it. And yet, I can't help but thirst for it.

Like a moth to a flame.

I know I need to burn my hard heart into soft wax, but I'm not there. I have read Give Them Grace, Grace-Based Parenting, Loving the Little Years, and am currently downing Glimpses of Grace.

So I know Jesus wants me to "get" this word, because he keeps leading me to it. But he can't make this horse drink. I know understanding and implementing grace means the difference between accepting my lot and flourishing amid a whole lot- but I'm not getting it.

I keep reading, but not digesting. I keep pouring it in, so why isn't it coming out? Or is it?

Above all irritation and inconvenience, I deeply love my family. Even in moments of fever pitch, I desperately love my husband. I love being able to have places to escape to when the beautiful weather in Washington State really shows itself off. And I hope I get to spend many years continuing to do so.

However, tonight I am fighting the urge to sleep on the couch. Or in a tree in the backyard. Or just walk and walk and walk until I get lost. Or found. Or at least feel something other than cheerios under my feet and anger sitting on the tip of my bitten tongue.

And it's these kinds of moments that I have to write. I need to anchor this unbridled temptation to tear myself away. I need to fend off the urge to separate and replace it with the glue of fellowship.

Fellowship. 

I know that's a Christian word. It's also one that can seem so very, well, mundane. Like a musty-smelling church hymnal that seems to sigh in boredom every time you crack its spine- fellowship is one of those words that have lost its weight with me. I don’t usually use it. Unless, I mean it.

And tonight, surprisingly, I do.

Isn't that a word reserved for church? Can it really apply to your family? Yes, fellowship is family. Whether you share blood or not.

And inconvenience is just one way the enemy likes to cut links in your family chain.That desire to remove yourself from the pot when the water gets too hot is a sneaky way of removing yourself from the soup of surrender.

Sometimes fellowship seems like a whisper in the middle of a thousand screams. I know it seems like a very thin veil when what you really want is a bullet proof vest.

But even when seeking fellowship with your family in the middle of discord may not seem like it's enough, it totally is.

Because you see, what I'm learning (when I can hear myself think for a few minutes)-- is that this family of mine; this crazy, some-days-I-want-to-run-into-the-deep-end-of-the-pool, family-- gives me life. And life abundantly.

I never wonder what I am doing with the days I have been given. I know. I am molding little hearts.

And in the process of softening theirs, I am forced to throw mine in the blender.

So while a family vacation with a 3-month old and a strong-willed toddler isn't something I would recommend for the faint of heart, I will say that grace is found in the fellowship somewhere if you look hard enough.

It's found when you finally tuck your babies into their own beds upon return. It's found when you rifle through days of mail and get wedding invitations and thank you cards. It's found when you inhale the smell of your own clean sheets. It's there when your daughter rolls over for the first time while you’re unpacking and your son whispers Jesus’ name for the first time during his night time prayers.  

It's found when you realize the people you all of a sudden miss the most are in the rooms next to you. And then it dawns on me: those same people you envisioned strangling with your seat-belt or at least throwing yourself out of a moving vehicle to escape from- are no longer your moving targets.

Grace has moved me to the bulls-eye.

So I am going to go crawl into the empty space next to my husband. Because in this place of absolute exhaustion- even when I still can't seem to sort out my tangled bundle of strung-out nerves, I have found one thing to be true: grace isn't gone. She's been here this whole time.

Grace is the glue that’s holding this family together. And suddenly I realize that maybe I don’t have to get grace, she just shows up when the cracks begin to show.

So tired that I may be sleeping in my swimsuit tonight,
M

Lost in the Brambles: Loving Our Little Prodigals

 If you have had any experience with the church you may have been exposed to a little thing we Christians call, sharing your testimony.

Much like being a keynote speaker for some of the most unattractive aspects of your own life, this open expression usually includes a series of moments when people reveal how far they fell before they came to know God. Very rarely does it not include some sordid details- and I think this happens for a reason. God loves the broken. He loves to drink some of the best wine with the worst people.(Matthew 9:11-13)

And this makes me smile.

Let me tell you why. First, I am broken. Terribly broken. I had hairline fractures that turned into noticeable cracks that ultimately became canyons so wide they could only be filled with Christ. These very same places that used to pull me away from my faith now act as the tar that wholly heals up my holes and steadies my hobble. I still hobble. I will for the rest of my life.

So will my children.

I started to re-read Give Them Grace by Elyse Fitzpatrick over the 4th of July holiday weekend. I read it when my son was 1, but realized it was a little soon. Obviously, we couldn't have long winded conversations about God's grace and our sinful motivations at that time because he couldn't even identify his own foot. Nowadays, I can apply some of her teachings a little better, but still not fully.

However, her chapter, Jesus Loves All His Little Prodigals and Pharisees caught me in my tracks. She basically speaks of two children groups: those who outwardly sin (prodigals) and those who inwardly sin (pharisees). Regardless, its all sin. Fitzpatrick puts it this way, 'We're all law-breaking rule haters.'

My daughter is only 3 months so I can't tell you what kind of sinner she is going to be- but I have a hunch she isn't going to be the outward one. My son at her age had already set the stage for his energetic nature- he hit the scene with a party-like persona which became evidenced in sleepless nights that turned into months which turned into lost fragments of a year I can't remember.

My son leans more towards being a Prodigal. OK, let me rephrase that. My son runs towards the path of the Prodigal while roaring like a lion at the top of his lungs. These are the types of kids that don't care what other people think when they are disobeying openly. These are the kids that throw tantrums about you giving them a box of apple juice when they just asked for a box of apple juice. These are the kids that demand your attention. Every day. Every minute.Whether that be through tears or uncontrollable laughter, these kids are either full speed or asleep. There isn't any in-between.

And so it is with his sinful nature. He is obvious about it. Sometimes he will even tell me that he ate "tandies" (candy) after I told him not to. He is open about his struggles and I hope I can have enough foresight encourage that. Not to turn him into a Pharisee that has a rule for how many M&M's it is OK to eat before it slides into sin. (Now sliding into a sugar high, that's a different story.)

But before you are tempted to believe that this is just a bitch-fest about my oft-times difficult son (and yes I did just use the B word), I want you to see clearly that this is not my intention. My intention is to prove why my son is the perfect candidate for a wild, crazy love affair with Jesus Christ.

Jesus loves the prodigals. The only times that Jesus would lose his cool was with the Pharisees- those who were hellbent (literally) on being good enough for God. These are quite often the kids who are well-mannered, but manipulative. Conversely, our children who tend to be more like the prodigals are God's favorite dinner companions. And while their lives may be more messy, more dramatic, and a lot less polished- they are the exact people that Jesus came to save and chose to share his meals, ministry and life with.

And this is where I see that I have failed.

I don't understand the Prodigal, because I am a Pharisee.

My son makes me uncomfortable when he throws tantrums in public, because I throw my tantrums in the private of my own mind-- like all good little girls do.

I just want well-behaved children who obey what I command. I want an easy life twisted around the pulsating vein of comfort.

Let me be frank, we need to love our children better. I need to love my children better.

We need to give ourselves over to the overwhelming task at hand of managing and nurturing personalities unlike ours with a wildly, outlandish grace-drenched love because that is the way God loves us. If we try to manipulate the outside we will only become a facade of faith- and no one will see something in our lives that looks any different than theirs or anything more enticing than the one they are living without Jesus.

Here we get a picture of how Jesus views clean-cut religious types who have all the right answers. You know the good little kids that know their place and recite Bible verses in their sleep but hearts are far from the truth? Jesus' rant goes like this in Matthew 23.

 ²⁵ “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence."

Self-indulgence.

Our children can become such idols. And their behavior can become marionette strings that we decidedly flick and pull in the direction of our choosing. But thank God for the Prodigals- the ones who will learn the hard way. The ones who will shake up our ideas of control. Blessed are the mothers who have children who march to their own drummer and who openly sin without feeling the need to impress. Those children are the ones that God finds great joy in welcoming into the fold.

"What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?", Matthew 18:12.

Of course He will. And with a huge smile on his face- even when he finds them tangled in the brambles of their own creation.

So here's what I plan to do. Confess my sin of wanting to be a Pharisee to my children and to myself often. To learn from the Prodigal that outward sin isn't worse sin- its the kind that God truly loves to wash away in the bloody beauty of his cross.

I plan to confess my sin to my children in moments of flared tempers and gritted teeth. And above all, "as parents, our only hope for our children's salvation lies in the rich mercy of a compassionate God and the atoning work of our perfect representative, Jesus Christ".

By grace,
M

I Am A Besieged City

I'm not much for war movies.

My husband is a veteran so I support and am completely in awe of the sacrifice that soldiers undergo to protect this country. Buuuuut let's just say, I am not the type to seek out gut-wrenching war stories with a bag of popcorn.

My husband however can't help himself if a war biopic or Band of Brothers episode happens to be playing in the same room. I've noticed if there is more than one bombing in the first thirty minutes or the title revolves around a Black Hawk going down or some private named Ryan being saved-- our evening will be temporarily highjacked. 

Me? I would rather watch Pride and Prejudice (the Kiera Knightly version) for the bazillionth time. “What are men to rocks and mountains?” Exactly.   

So you can imagine my surprise when reading Psalms in the Reach Church Summer Reading Plan that battle terminology sprung from the page like a sniper hitting me dead between the eyes.

In Psalm 31: 21-22  I found this love bomb.

²¹ Blessed be the Lord,
    for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me
    when I was in a besieged city.
²² I had said in my alarm,^[a]
    “I am cut off from your sight.”
But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy
    when I cried to you for help.

The word besieged caught my eye. As most words do that can't be shrunk into text slang these days. I knew it had something to do with being taken over, but I decided to look it up to dig a little deeper. And here's what I found:

First, besieged is a transitive verb. This means that the word itself is characterized by or involving transition. It means:

1. To surround, so as to give up.

2. To crowd around; hem in.

3. To harass or importune, as with requests.

4. To cause to feel distressed or worried. 

Hmm, does this sound like motherhood or what? You and I have both found ourselves in a besieged city a time or two. 

Do you feel surrounded to the point of giving up? (Sometimes the mass of toys on the floor, in the yard, behind my bed, and in the toilet pushes me to the point of wanting to throw an entire bag of flour on the kitchen floor- just because I WANT to make a mess too. I am so mature.)

Do you ever feel crowded? (Our 9 week old daughter is still sleeping our room, ahem, sometimes our bed...so things are a little crowded these days.)

Do you feel harassed by requests? (Mommy, apple juice. Mommy, where is daddy? Mommy, I want honey bees. Mommy, hold me. Mommy, I want to eat my Popsicle with a fork. )

Do you feel distressed or worried? (Dear Lord, I want to protect this child was such fierceness as to protect him from everything. I worry about his health. I worry about his temper. I worry about his development. I worry about his eating habits. I worry, worry, worry...)

A besieged city.

Even then beloved, you are heard. 

Cry out, you will be heard. Pray over your children day and night, you will be heard. Share your most overwhelming joys, you will be heard. Release your darkest fears, you are heard. 

PRAY LIKE CRAZY.

Motherhood is war. And that can be alarming. Wasn't this supposed to be an easy job? Wasn't this supposed to be all cuddles and coos? 

Conversely, being a godly parent means we have signed up for a life of service. Much like soldiers who give their lives for this country, we are called to give our lives as servants to Christ. He is intoxicated with the heart of a servant. Nothing is more beautiful to him.

So why doesn't it feel good? Why are there days when whiskey and the idea of a long vacation in the Bahamas dangle dangerously in our peripheral? Among broken crayons, chalk dust, dirty laundry, and teetering sanity-you are loved steadfastly. He will show you how much he loves you if you just ask him to.

The lie about mothering young children is that being in a besieged city is the destination. It's not. Its the transition to a life with children whom you've truly invested blood, sweat and tears into. It's a million little brushstrokes that will eventually paint the peaceful portrait of how Jesus loves us and through us.

There is a real enemy that wants to steal your joy as a mother. There is a real enemy that wants to tell you that the work you are doing doesn't mean anything- or that someone else could do it better. 

You are the most important city in your child's life- and believe it or not, being a besieged one is what the Planner intended.

 We're in this together,

M

Temptation's Tattoo

I am exhausted.

Not tired, because tired is just the junior varsity version of exhaustion. My bone-weariness has gotten to that point where my eyes burn whether or not I have one, two or three cups of coffee.

As of right now, I am on my second cup and it is two in the afternoon. Don't judge- I'm tempted to grab the energy drink that's been in the back of the fridge for month if this cup doesn't cut it.

But who isn't tired in this country right? We work ourselves to death, vacation less than another other nation, and yet are still on the hamster wheel.

To exemplify this, I should be lying down on the couch since both of my kids are napping, but I have this frenetic energy that has to be put to good use (Hmm... this could have something to do with the caffeine). Regardless, in this moment of quiet I realize that I have some maturing to do. This is especially evident, when all I really want to do is ball up my fists, climb back into my pajamas, and whine about the constant inconveniences I face as a mom.

Instead, I am going to force myself to contemplate what temptation truly is. Because lately I have been tempted to check out. I want to throw my hands in the air and say, OK- I've given about all I can. This girl is tapped out.

But that's just the tired talking. That's not my heart. 

I texted a friend the other day and apologized for being out of it. "I'm so sleep deprived today, sorry." And she wisely responded, "I think we will be forever!!!"

Welcome to motherhood.

And even though I am one of those people that doesn't do well without sleep-- as a kid I put myself to bed and was always sneaking off at sleepovers to crawl into my sleeping bag, it doesn't give me reason to be weak.

Blessed with two healthy kids, an amazing husband who laughs, fights, and clings to me when I need it most, and a God who lived on this earth in the most humble of ways so that I could live-- (even when I am the furthest from humble myself) is enough to keep me going. His grace is sufficient.

I read in Matthew today about the temptation of Jesus. (Matthew 4: 1-11).


What I found most interesting about the section of scripture in Mathew is the way that Satan tempted Jesus. Jesus was ravenous from his 40-day fast and Satan came to him and tempted him to make stones into bread. And the Son of God answered, "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God." 

Stones into bread, huh? One of the most crafty of evil beings came up with nothing more than bread to tempt the Son of God. Maybe he thought if an apple worked with Eve he should go for two.

Why wasn't Satan's front line attempt at getting Jesus to sin a bit more glitzy? He didn't lead Jesus to a banquet table loaded with Pinterest worthy foods, award-winning wines and rich desserts-- he didn't dress up the sin in Jesus' moment of weakness. Why?

First of all, aside from the fact that Jesus would have seen right through his attempts to make him stumble- (he is God after all), maybe Satan didn't go to all that trouble- because he knew Jesus was in a weakened state. Maybe Satan knew he didn't have to.

Jesus was starving. He was empty. He was exhausted.

And sometimes in our moments of deepest exhaustion- even the least tantalizing temptations, like stone-flavored bread is something we can easily imagine into Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon. If you like that sort of thing.

When we are tired, even the most obvious of sins become enticing. The sins that we would have snuffed our noses at before somehow become glittering monuments that can solve all our problems.

I wrote a song a few years ago and in it is one of my favorite lyrics.

You light my cigarette,
Because I know better than you do. 
I've got scars all across this heart. 
I call temptation's tattoo.

OK, so no. I don't smoke cigarettes- but this is a country song so there you go.


But the reality of this lyric for me is that some days I can feel the stitches on my heart beginning to pull apart. Its in those moments that I realize some of the scars I've developed over the years are not fully healed- and at any given moment I can give way to old sin. I am getting better now at recognizing the stones that Satan is tempting me to turn into bread and that is where the separation between failing and being lured to fail, divide.

For instance, when I feel haggard and fluffy from two pregnancies- I know I shouldn't read magazines that advertise the best beach bodies in Hollywood. When one of our cars breaks down again and I wonder if I will ever be one of those luxury car moms, I shouldn't start 'googling' safest luxury cars to leave up on my computer 'on accident'. When there are medical bills to pay, I shouldn't hound my husband for a pair of new shoes or a fancy haircut at a downtown salon. These are all stones. Stones that can easily drown me.

Being tempted isn't a sin apparently. That's what God says anyway:

^{Hebrews 4:15}  "Jesus understands every weakness of ours, because he was tempted in every way that we are. But he did not sin!" 

Jesus may not have been tempted to buy a pair of Gucci sandals-- but he understood the base of it all. The desire for more than we have. The temptation to believe that something outside can fix what's broken within. He knew that the temptation led nowhere. The bread was just stones in disguise.

Notice that Satan didn't turn the stones into bread himself and wave the wafting fresh-out-of-the-oven goodness under Jesus' nose. He simply gave him the idea to change something that is into something that could be.

Today, and everyday, when I am feeling exhausted-- I pray that God gives me (and you) the wherewithal to leave the stones in the dirt where they belong and to reach for the Bread of Life. 

In love,
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.

Just Breathe: Why Life is Best Experienced Through the Lens of Family

My daughter has been in our house for almost 3 weeks now.

My son has been in our house (and driving me to the brink of physical exhaustion) for 134 weeks.

I just keep telling myself to breathe, because like the Darius Rucker song wisely reveals, "It won't be like this for long". I realize that God planned for kids to grow up. He is a graceful God and wouldn't leave us knee deep in power struggles and sleepless nights forever.

For now, my newly formed gruesome twosome-- which we affectionately call "the kids" (making me feel very much like an adult) is somewhat manageable.

For instance, when J is up and R is asleep, me and my son try to play together or watch his favorite movie and cuddle like the old days. When R is up and J is asleep, we just look at the skylight (her favorite) or walk around the house talking girl talk.

Now if R is up and J is up-- well there's the rub. That's when I am tested to my mental and physical limits. Those are the moments when I have one baby hanging in the crook of my newly muscular left arm (score!) and another child pulling at my leg with jam in his hair and a raisin up his nose. 

But what my life looks like today will very soon  become something different entirely. R will be awake more than she is asleep and during those moments J will just continue to become more and more of his own independent self. When those two things begin to happen interchangeably, I will desperately need a proverbial swimmie to save me from drowning.

And so as the planner that I am, I have begun to fashion a life preserver out of a new-found perspective I've discovered.

Regardless of how difficult it gets (or how difficult it already has been when both are clamoring for my attention) I am still choosing joy as the main ingredient in my daily bread mix.

I fully realize that joy is a decision. It's a choice we make. It isn't something that happens naturally. Especially in young parenthood.

So how do I get there? How do I get to a place of joy when my eyes are brimming with frustration over my son's tantrums or my daughter's demanding sleep schedule?

I imagine not having either child in my life now that they are here.

A thousand stones in my gut. Emptiness in my soul. Stripped to the bone. Raw. 

When I envision a life without my children a thick web of oddity and uncouthness swarms. It doesn't make sense anymore- that isn't who I was supposed to be. I may have given birth to my children, but God is the one who gave me life through them. 


And this leads me to something that has been very heavy on my heart.

Someone who is on the peripheral of my life finds herself facing the decision of potentially ending her unborn child's life. A young college girl with hopes of becoming a lawyer- this inconvenience would terribly derail her plans. And while I don't consider myself a particularly political person, I desperately want that child to be born.

Ashamedly, I don't think I have ever personalized this issue. It hasn't affected me so I have just let it lie in the big wide open of hot button topics that make me sweat under the collar.

However, my pride and passiveness aside-- I have realized that this hurts my heart because this is truly about a child. And in turn I feel like this is about my son. This is about my daughter. This is about your children. This is about the parents who decided to have you.  

There is room enough for us all. Not every single one of us got here in a pretty way. Not everyone's parents had a nursery immaculately decorated, names picked out, and a college fund already operating. Some of us had very sordid beginnings. I know Jesus did. People believed He was born to the town joke- a "virgin" mother who obviously had some dude on the side that Joseph was completely turning a blind eye to. The Savior was born into scandal and I think He turned out okay.

However, I am not one to tell someone when its time to be a parent. Some of us aren't ready or never will be. And even though someone may have conceived a child I don't think that means it's time to get married and make your scarlet A less red. But I do believe that God can work out all things according to His good plan. (Romans 8:28).

In truth, I am not expecting this girl to keep the child for herself. Raising kids has been the hardest and most ugly, inconvenient, revealing, heartbreaking, and jubilicious experience of my life.

But I want that child to be adopted by a family who is desperate to have them. I want that child to take its first breath, scream it's first scream, and pulsate with hope, fear, and blood like every person before them. I desperately hope that this child gets the chance to feel what the simple emotion of being alive is like.

And more importantly, I want the parent of that child (whoever they may end up being- could be my husband and I for all I know) to feel what I feel when I hold my already-born children. 

I want that parent to feel like they have rescued a child from nothingness. I want them to realize that they have not only given the child a home, but an identity. I want them to realize that we are all tattered pieces of worthless cloth that comes together in a gorgeous patchwork of imperfection and protection called family. I want the view from the parent's heart to be lavish like a beautiful landscape of jagged hills and sweeping valleys; I want them to experience mountain top moments and shadowy places, respectively.

Some families come together by violent earthquakes and others by soft rainfall. The how is irrelevant.

 I feel like I am in a place today that I would have never arrived at on my own had it not been for my children. I think I would be having the exact same struggle that this girl is having if it were me back when I was her age. I'm not above the reality that I could have been in her shoes.

And while I don't have the ability to talk to this girl in person, I have been praying real prayers (not fluffy ones that seem to float up to the ceiling and break apart due to lack of intention). I have been allowing my heart to feel deeply for this child and in turn fuel prayers of passion.

And in doing so, I have been able to love my children deeply even when I am deeply disturbed by the job description I have (poop wiper, spit up attender, tantrum finisher, fussy baby whisperer, and crying kid comforter).


So if you are having a particularly rough day (which I have all the time lately), hug and kiss your kids. Particularly the defiant ones. Because we are active participants in the important job of cultivating their life- we are their family.We are the ones who first introduce them to love- and love doesn't only happen when good little boys and girls act the way they are supposed to. It happens most effectively when our children make mistakes. Or when we do.

So whether you are a parent mediating meltdowns or are the child feeling forgotten in this huge place called life, I think we can all agree that everyone deserves to breathe.

And so I will pray for breath. Not only for this child, but for all of the would-be adoptive parents and their already designed children who are simply waiting to be found.

Humbly,
M

PS- I read this article today on what adoption should mean for Christians and it was too good not to footnote: Jason Johnson Blog: Abortion, Adoption & The Church