motherhood

March 6, 2016

SAHMs and the Need to Create

“When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.”

~Maria, The Sound of Music

Almost four years ago, at the age of 33, I walked away from my teaching career, independence, and most aspects of my identity as I knew it.

My husband and I had made the intentional choice for me to stay home with our new baby.

Before marriage at 32, my personal and professional resume of experiences, travels and adventures attested to the advantages of singleness. As a result of a generally happy singlehood, the mourning period for that time of life has been unexpectedly long and difficult, though our marriage has been a joyous one.

The first year of staying at home was probably the sweetest. I had begun to feel burned out as a teacher and wanted nothing more than to be with my precious son every second I could. Having been extremely single by the time of my 30th birthday, I had begun to wrestle with the possibility that I might never marry or have children. So every day of marriage, pregnancy and cradling my new baby truly felt like a gift that I never expected to have. I soaked in his smell, stroked his soft head and didn’t even mind being woken up in the middle of the night to feed him because it meant we got to spend more time together.

But around the time I got pregnant with our second, I began to feel fidgety. Unsettled. Dissatisfied. Giddiness was replaced with groaning. Delight with discontent.

The change was subtle, but the desire to use my education and past experiences to feel the rush of problem solving and growing in knowledge increased.

Leaving my past behind had left a void that I wasn’t sure how to fill with the limited time and energy I had after caring for my son on a 24-hour basis. And as a Jesus follower, a part of me also knew that I would never find my identity in those places anyway.

So I started a blog (which I never told a soul about). I learned to sew. I painted furniture. And in 2015 I finally followed the impulse I’ve had my entire life and began to write—for people to actually read.

And I’ve begun to notice a trend. Stay-at-home-moms are creating. In the void left by careers and education, we are given the gift of expanding into our potential as creators. From sheer observation alone, this is the time of life that stay-at-home parents are most likely to begin an Etsy shop, start a non-profit or business, write a blog, explore a new art form or become serious about a hobby. I used to belittle women who would spend hours on Pinterest for their children’s parties when a friend said to me, “Hey, we need to get our creativity out in some way!”

Trees and plants are routinely pruned not so they will be miserable, but for their own well-being and growth. And in the place of the cut branches, new ones are allowed to grow. So it is with those who sacrifice to stay at home with a child. Though we may feel naked and strange without our careers, God does not leave us shivering and bare. He brings us new growth. New foliage. New life.

Women are incredible. If needed, they can work three jobs and raise children to go to college all on their own. They can give birth in a field and keep on working. They can keep ten balls in the air at once and make it look easy. They can earn as much as men and climb the corporate ladder just as stealthily.

But women are also creators. They are given gifts and talents that begin to ooze out if they are not given permission to flow. And today, I give you permission. Sometimes to love well, we need to use the gifts God has given us whether they make money or not. Whether they seem to be making a “dent” on the kingdom or not. Whether they serve our families or not.

As long as our desire to create does not supersede our commitment to God and our families, I believe that God will use our gifts to honor Him in ways we cannot imagine.

So create, mama.

We have the special privilege of co-creating with God as we experiment with what has been lying latent in us for so long. And I believe our families will benefit from the shade and life-giving fruit as we stretch out our branches.

What new windows have opened for you since your transition to motherhood?

~~~~~~

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Related Posts:
Art & the Alabaster Jar
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For the Mom Whose Life Feels Small
Motherhood and the Big Picture

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February 20, 2016

Motherhood & the Big Picture

The kids and I spent last weekend at my parents’ house in Grand Lake, Colorado, with my brother, sister-in-law, and their four children, aged 8 to 13, who were visiting from Georgia. My son was born exactly ten years to the day after my eldest niece. As I watched these older kids, I marveled at their independence, in disbelief that my children will one day be old enough to put on their own shoes, much less play the clarinet or read The Lord of the Rings to themselves before bed at night.

Lately, I am too close to my story to see the big picture. I can’t seem to force myself to take steps back to accept that I am in one chapter and that this chapter does not equal the whole of my story. My kids will not always be 18 months and three and a half years old.

A couple years ago, my parents moved from Florida to the middle of the Rocky Mountains after a summer volunteering as rangers at Rocky Mountain National Park. They moved from sea level to over 8,000 ft. elevation and traded their swimming pool and flip flops for snowshoes and hiking boots. They now live on 20 acres, which are covered in pine trees with mountain views from all angles, live 15 miles from a grocery store and always include a trip to Target and Costco when they come to visit us in the “big” city. They are in a new season, a new chapter. They are in the season of The Widening, while we are in The Narrowing. They spent about 27 years with children at home. And now? They are still living life.

I’m reading the book, Looming Transitions, by Amy Young, and though it is written for those going abroad and coming home from living overseas, I’m finding many parallels to my transition into motherhood. She writes:

“This transition will not become of the sum of your life…It’s natural for people to mark things in terms of before or after events: graduation, marriage, a certain job, a baby, a painful breakup, a big move, or a serious health issue. But those events don’t become the story. They become a page in the story or possibly the beginning of a new chapter. They join a plot larger than the transition each one creates. Part of staying fertile, then, involves reminding yourself of of the bigger picture–the bigger story–that came before and will live on after it” (pg. 37).

“You will outlive this season,” she says (which my husband and I have repeated to ourselves about ten times since I read it to him the other night) (pg. 47).

To put things in perspective, if my husband and I live to be 85 and only have two kids, this is the percentage of my life I will have spent doing each of the following (rounding up):

Being in school: 24%
Being single: 36%
Living in China: 6%
Being pregnant: 2%
Having a three-year-old: 2%
Having children at home: 24%
Being married: 64% (and that’s after getting married “late”!)

When I am running up a long hill, I sometimes choose a landmark a short distance away and just try and run to that, then immediately pick another one and run to that until I am all the way up the hill. In motherhood, sometimes keeping the short view helps us to keep running. But in the end, God-willing, our story lives not only beyond this time at home with little ones, but way beyond that. And if we live a long life, mothering tiny ones is certainly a short chapter in a long story.

We will outlive this season.

As I drove the three hours back home from Grand Lake this weekend, my kids mercifully slept and I drove without music, drinking in the silence. As I navigated Berthoud Pass, a 20 minute winding up and down along stunning mountain vistas, a sense of awe came over me. It was the same feeling that has swallowed me as I’ve stood at the edge of the ocean, run in a crowd of 40,000 in a race in Chicago, and sat at the ridge of the blown-off top of Mt. St. Helens, recognizing the speck below me as a helicopter circling the cavern.

I felt small.

Not the smallness I wrote about last week in the sense of purpose, but a sense of physical smallness that envelops you as you realize that this life, this world, really isn’t about you at all. You are a single pine needle on a tree in a vast forest, a speck of sand among billions on the beach. You are a part of a story much larger than yourself. And your story is a story within a story within a story.

Our children will become men and women–adults with lives of their own. We, like my parents, may move across the country or world and start new adventures. God will teach us new knowledge, increase our faith and loosen our tongues to praise Him as He walks beside us each day, fueling us from within. We are privileged to be a part of the larger story of His creation and redemption of the world and can know Him and love Him forever.

And our stories will surprise us more than we know.

This week, some memories from seven years ago appeared on Facebook, almost one year to the day before my husband and I met and started dating. The first was of Adam in the show, Twelfth Night, and another one was of me with friends in Thailand. He was acting and I was traveling the world.

Oh, how life has changed. Sometimes that feels like someone else’s life. But I’m starting to realize that it was a chapter, just as being a mother to little ones is a chapter.

And God-willing, there will even be chapters after that.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen. (Eph. 3:20-21)

~~~~~~

Related post: Life is Not Seasonal

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Motherhood & the Big Picture~ Lately, I am too close to my story to see the big picture. I can't seem to force myself to take steps back to accept that I am in one chapter and that this chapter does not equal the whole of my story. My kids will not always be 18 months and three and a half years old.

February 11, 2016January 13, 2017

For the Mom Whose Life Feels Small

Lately, I feel like the tree in this picture–frozen in place and stripped down to bare branches, while everything in the distance sparkles with wonder. As a girl who wanted to go into missions and rarely dated, I tried to prepare myself for the fact that I might never get married. As a result, I never dreamed I would be a stay-at-home-mom. Teacher, missionary, world-traveler and adventurer, maybe, but I didn’t imagine I’d be inching this close to the “soccer mom” category–ever.

But here I am.

I have an 18-month-old and a three and a half year old who rely on me to sustain their loud little lives on a 24-hour basis. My husband is extremely helpful and doesn’t shy away from the dirty duties of parenthood, but he works from 9 to 5 and I am the full-time caretaker to these two little ones.

And that is all that I do right now. Because, truly, it is a 24-hour job (if you’ve never seen it, watch the video that went viral in 2014 called “The World’s Toughest Job” about motherhood).

In my post, The Narrowing, I say that I am being given the “gift of lessening.” This week, I‘ve been struggling to have this positive perspective. I lead a small life, insignificant to all but about five people in the world right now, and it just feels like there should be more.

But this morning on my run, something happened. The sun was beginning to rise as I set out and the sky was a swirly dark blue, with asphalt-shaded mountains in the distance. Slowly, the sun began to illuminate the hills, then the tips of the winter trees who were striking a pose as if stopped mid-dance. Fiery gold and blazing orange suddenly shone on that lone stripped-down tree, which had been plain black just a minute before. And the light poured over it in blinding brilliance like a burning bush. And God seemed to speak.

“I see you.”

I see you, sweet mama. As you wipe another nose, change another diaper, read another story. I see you as you wearily stumble out of bed in the middle of the night to fix your child’s pillow that wasn’t quite touching the wall the way he liked. While no one else is watching, I know when you fold that load of laundry for the thirtieth time this month. And I see you when you stand at the grocery store and wonder how many children you can safely fit into one shopping cart (AND fit all your groceries). And I smile when you think that a dentist visit now qualifies as a “relaxing” event because you are forced to lie down for almost an hour.

And do you see this ordinary tree?

The only reason she is radiant right now is because I am shining on her. I am what makes this tree beautiful, just as I am making you resplendent with my light.

Those who look to the Lord are radiant, their faces are never covered with shame (Ps. 34:5).

When I learned to scuba dive (in what life was that??), I found myself wondering why God would bury incredible creatures so deep in the ocean that humans would never even see. And then it hit me. He did it for Himself. They were reserved for His own personal entertainment, enjoyment and pleasure.

God loves the hidden things, the obscure, buried, and weak.

He rejoices in them as He delights in treasure. As He delights in you and I. Though we may feel small and insignificant, God shines on us and makes us radiant purely for His own pleasure.

The Message version of Jesus’ beatitudes speaks right to the heart of this ordinary stay-at-home-mom today:

“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are–no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

You’re blessed when you get your inside world–your mind and heart–put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.”

Matthew 5: 3-9 (MSG)

God sees you. No matter where you are or how insignificant you feel, He delights in you. And like the plain and ordinary tree, our smallness only serves to illuminate His radiance in our lives.

I’m clinging to those love words today. With less of me, there is more of God (Mat. 5:3 MSG).

Do you ever feel like you lead a small life?

What do you tell yourself in those moments?

{I’m taking a week off from Thursday Thoughts for Writers because I’m coming down with a cold and already had this post written. I’ll be back on track by next week!}

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Lately, I feel like the tree in this picture--frozen in place and stripped down to bare branches, while everything in the distance sparkles with wonder. As a girl who wanted to go into missions and rarely dated, I tried to prepare myself for the fact that I might never get married. As a result, I never dreamed I would be a stay-at-home-mom.

February 8, 2016

When We Fear {for Velvet Ashes}

I’m honored to be writing over at Velvet Ashes today.

When We Fear~ As women, we instinctively understand what it means to fear.

As women, we instinctively understand what it means to fear. We fear that God won’t meet the desires of our heart. We fear being insignificant or ordinary. We fear rejection. We fear cancer stealing our lives or the lives of our loved ones. We fear tragedies and accidents. Fear is our default emotion.

Living abroad, I feared not having adequate medical attention. I feared that I had given up my opportunity to get married by moving to the middle-of-nowhere-China. I feared that I was missing everything back home—my nieces and nephews growing up, friend’s weddings, babies—all of it. I feared I would never fit in anywhere again. That I had lost my sense of home. I feared failure and not being able to tell my supporters that their money was well-spent.

When we become mothers, we board the Fear Train and never seem to be able to get off. With each of my babies, I spent the first year of their lives waking up terrified that I had rolled over them in the night—even when they were asleep in their cribs. When they started walking, I would leap out of bed in at night to prevent them from killing themselves in a multitude of creative ways in my dreams. Night was the time my every fear had its rehearsal.

Fear can consume us and spread like a communicable disease. I witnessed this in China after the Sichuan earthquake in 2008. Though we were hundreds of miles from the quake, we felt the earth riot violently and send our buildings swaying as if at sea. And the fear in the weeks following became a sickness. Many students refused to sleep in their dorms and camped outside. Students skipped class. Rumors of aftershocks and reports of the aftermath in Sichuan fed our fears. It was the first time I had experienced the choking power of fear to control en masse.

But God does not intend for fear to consume us…continue reading

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January 27, 2016January 13, 2017

When I Forget to Notice People

Lately, I feel like God is reminding me to notice.

Notice detail, notice people, notice Him. Because I haven’t been. And noticing is a prerequisite to thankfulness, praise, worship and action. I’m bumping along life without recognition, like the blind man who wasn’t completely healed and saw people walking around that looked like trees. I need Jesus to restore my vision completely. Because I have forgotten how to SEE people.

As I reach around my one-year-old strapped to my front, searching for my wallet and watching for my three-year-old who is most likely pulling all the chip bags off the stand or smearing the display case glass with finger prints, it catches me off guard when the cashier behind the counter asks me, “How is your day going?” or “Have you had a good morning?” The first few times this happened after moving to Colorado, I’m sure I just looked at them with my mouth hanging slightly open. Chicago is not an unfriendly city, but perfect strangers didn’t usually ask me such personal questions. How was I supposed to answer?

But the question, though I now realize was not a true venture into how I am feeling at the current moment, rocked me, because I hadn’t even noticed a person was there until they spoke to me. Worse, I would have gone through our entire interaction without even looking them in the eye.

In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis says, “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which,if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”

People are eternal. And every.single.one. is made in the image of God Himself. So when I don’t see people, I don’t see God.

Lately, I have not only failed to notice strangers, but I have even forgotten to notice the people who are right in front of me–my children and husband. Now, I believe in rest, alone time, naps and hobbies, but I have begun ignoring my children even during times when I could be fully present with them. Scrolling Facebook during bath time, texting while I sit with them on the floor, and spacing out when they ask me questions, I spend the day lamely multi-tasking when I would be better off focusing on one activity at a time–mainly, my children. And I’m missing out.

And though love is not a fairy tale, how often do I take a second and really gaze into my husband’s eyes? How often do I think about him during the day or sit and talk with him face-to-face instead of operating in survival mode, ticking off tasks as we work side-by-side? When did I stop leaving him little love notes or sweet texts? Have I prayed for him today, yesterday or anytime recently?

The word I’ve chosen to focus on this year is “enjoy,” which begins with noticing. When I set aside my phone and to-do lists and intentionally notice people, I can begin to enjoy the people all around me.

If I would only ACCEPT that the pace of my life right now with two kids under three needs to be slower than I’ve ever been used to, I’ll begin to notice God in the details more than I ever have. For nature, strangers, friends, family, my children and my husband are really displays of the splendor of God at work all around me. If I will only take the time to notice.

Do you notice people?

How do you notice God?

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January 5, 2016January 13, 2017

Eden & Vulnerability: Nakey, No Shame

My children like to do “nakey dances.” And there is very little that brings me as much joy in life as watching my two little people dance around in their birthday suits completely uninhibited, shaking their tiny bottoms and slapping their protruding bellies. Naked, and with zero shame.

So when I think of untainted, shameless Eden, what first comes to my mind is that Adam and Eve must have been the first to perfect the nakey dance.

I finally picked up a Brene Brown book recently to find out what all the fuss is about. If you haven’t heard of her, she became famous after giving this TED talk on vulnerability and has since written several books. She skirts around many Christian themes, but doesn’t seem to have an overtly spiritual message, yet applied to spiritual life, I think many of her concepts could revolutionize the community of the church. Here are a few quotes from Daring Greatly:

“Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they’re never weakness.”

“Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world…”

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”

“There are many tenets of Wholeheartedness, but at its very core is vulnerability and unworthiness; facing uncertainty, exposure and emotional risks, and knowing that I am enough.”

Adam and Eve felt no shame before sin entered the world, so really there was no need for vulnerability. But after the fall, vulnerability is a ticket back to Eden because we must put everything on the line for Christ. And it is through this risk that we find we are loved utterly and completely. He looks at us as if looking at Himself, because we are made in His image. He took our shame on Himself so that we can experience delicious freedom.

While I accept this at an intellectual level and sometimes grasp it at a heart level, I also know that vulnerability does not end with me submitting myself to Jesus for salvation. It also applies to my marriage, my parenting, my friendships and the way I use my work and gifts to serve others. “For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it” (Mat. 16:25).

Where is vulnerability transforming my life from a life of fear into a life of power and freedom?

In my marriage, my husband’s devotion to me makes it easy for me to be vulnerable with him. I know from experience that if I were with a different sort of man, my tendency would be to close up, protect and retreat. But even so, it is still easy to keep the deepest corners of my soul locked away, waiting for my husband to “happen” to stumble upon them. But that is not realistic. Most men do not naturally ask soul-searching questions of their wives, so I need to be willing to lay out a few treasures that are reserved for him alone.

In my parenting, fear of loving too much prevents me from being vulnerable. What if I pour myself into my role as a mother–love them TOO much–and something happens to one of my children? How would I survive?

In friendships, there is the fear that if I am vulnerable with someone, they will not reciprocate by pouring out their heart to me. Or even worse, they will never call me again. And yet Mike Mason says in Practicing the Presence of People, “Flaws form the best glue for friendship. Indeed a friendship without many shared failures will remain stilted and lame. We connect with others not primarily through our strengths, but through our weaknesses” (pg. 240). We cannot have true friendships without vulnerability.

In August of 2015, I began blogging. It was terrifying and I felt like I was standing naked in front of my friends and family to be judged and ridiculed.  But instead of feeling defeated, I felt brave. Instead of feeling weak, I felt strong. I felt courageous in a way I have never felt before. And just as in marriage the nakedness gets easier the more you find you are loved and accepted not in spite of your imperfections, but because of them, being accepted for who I am as a writer has empowered me to keep writing.

Where is God calling you to be vulnerable this year? In a relationship? A new venture? A job change with less pay? A creative gift that you have shelved?

Pray for the strength to be vulnerable. Never accept vulnerability as weakness, because moving forward and risking exposure takes amazing bravery and courage.

If you want to return to Eden, ask that God remove your shame through Jesus so that you can dance the freedom of the nakey dance in every sphere of your life. It is a dance that is full of joy and delight in being accepted for who you are. Believe that you are a beloved child of God, extravagantly loved. Excessively loved. Be free, my dear. And put some new part of yourself on the line this year, something that requires just a bit of courage.

In what area of your life is God calling you to be more vulnerable?

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January 4, 2016January 13, 2017

What No One Told Me About Breastfeeding

Before I had a baby, I hadn't conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life.

When you are pregnant, there is no lack of doomsday warnings and terrible tales passed on in attempts to crush the spirit of the rosy-cheeked and hopeful mom-to-be. So by the time I had my first child, my expectations were super low. I was about to ruin my life.

And though I knew I wanted to breastfeed and was committed to it no matter what, I dreaded the soreness, time and late nights that everyone gave me dire warnings about.

So I was floored to make a discovery after my son was born: I loved it.

With my son, I planned on nursing for a year, but when that year came and went, I realized I didn’t have an endgame. And I really enjoyed nursing, so I wasn’t eager to wean him. I was thankful when he suddenly lost interest and weaned himself at 16 months.

Now, I’m considering weaning my 17-month-old daughter, so I’m feeling nostalgic. If we don’t have other children, these may be my last days of nursing a baby, which pulls on my mama heart in ways that watching our children grow can simultaneously bring us delight and sadness.

I know there are reasons people are not able to nurse their babies, but I wanted to write about some of the joy I personally found in nursing.

The Beauty
Before I had a baby, I hadn’t conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life. To know that the milk I gave my baby was tailored to their specific age and developmental needs and even contained antibodies to fight off diseases and potential threats in our home gave me peace at a time when I often wondered if I was doing everything right.

I first read the book Babywise, which advocated a strict schedule and strongly discouraged demand feeding. I did try and feed each of my children on a schedule of sorts, but I am so glad I read another book on breastfeeding, The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding (don’t be deterred by the cheesy title). Reading this changed my perspective on breastfeeding and taught me to trust my body and trust my baby.

Nursing is the most beautiful thing I have ever done with my body. Yes, the act that brought this baby into existence was beautiful and good, but making love takes effort and requires you to be actively engaged in the process. But nursing is a passive generosity (especially as you and baby get stronger), requiring the simple offer of yourself, cradling of your child, drinking in their new baby scent, nuzzling their soft peach fuzz head and allowing yourself to relax in the natural mystery of womanhood.

Night Vigils and Sleep Fasting
Though the tiredness struggle was more real with my second child, with my first baby, I thought about my evening vigils as “sleep fasting.” I tried not to complain to people the next day about my lack of sleep just as a fasting person shouldn’t complain about how hungry they are. My sleep was my sacrifice to God and to my baby. And God met me in the watches of the night as my husband slept and I and my baby listened to clocks tick, cars make their way home from clubs, bars and social visits and the old apartment creak in the night. When else do you sit awake in the middle of the night and do nothing but listen?

Solitude
As the feedings have become less frequent with each child, I find that I miss having an excuse to escape a crowd full of people to nurse my baby. Not that I haven’t done my share of public nursing (I’m a fan of using a cover, but admire women who whip it out–more power to you!), having nursed in parks, bathroom stalls, store dressing rooms, restaurants, movie theaters, mall benches and numerous parking lots. But there have also been plenty of church services, parties and weddings where I have been able to sneak away with my baby and allow myself to melt into the scene of mama and baby alone at last.

Now, my daughter’s body hardly fits on my lap and I can tell that she is not getting much milk at each feeding. She is a busy toddler and barely slows down during the day enough to sit on my lap anymore. So I continue to hold on those few times a day she still nurses and I can’t deny her when she gives me the sign language sign for nursing. I’m going by the “don’t offer, don’t refuse” method of weaning. So for now I will hold her squishy little girl body, with her wispy blond pig tales tickling my nose and her chubby hands grabbing my shirt and nurse her for just a few more days. Just a few.

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December 26, 2015January 13, 2017

When You Feel Guilty About Your Blessings

What are God's gifts to you right now? Are you allowing yourself to enjoy them?

We spent Christmas at the nursing home, visiting my husband’s 94-year-old grandfather. Normally a vibrant conversationalist, each visit since he moved into the home a few years ago the conversations have gotten shorter as his mind loops back to the beginning of the conversation.

This time, the span was shorter than ever, including just one simple question about our children, “How old are they now?” he would ask. And then he’d comment on how he forgets that children show intelligence beginning at such a young age. He’d pause as other people talked, but soon would ask again, “How old are they now?” with the same genuine interest.

If my daughter lives to be 94, it will be the year 2110, which blows my mind. It feels like a very long time. And yet as soon as pregnant mothers pass from the random-stranger-warnings of, “Enjoy your sleep now!” they are hit with the next words of wisdom, “It goes SO fast!” But there are days when it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s going fast.

I had given up on the hope of having children. I was very much single on my 30th birthday and even after I got married a few years later, I told myself that I probably wouldn’t be able to get pregnant (to protect myself from disappointment). I eventually did get pregnant and then I told myself I’d probably miscarry or else there would be a serious problem with the baby. But there wasn’t. Apart from the Guinness Book of World Record-breaking long labor and a couple days in the NICU for a possible infection, we had a healthy boy. And it was love at first sight. I actually looked forward to waking up and seeing him in the middle of the night.

Two years later, I had another sweet baby, a little girl. Now my kids are three and 17 months and I’m realizing that this parenting thing is no joke.

The terrible twos were true to their name and other very helpful people told me to expect the threes to be even worse. Throw a new sibling and a cross-country move in there and you may as well double the tantrum quota each child is committed to fulfilling.

But lately, I feel God has been whispering something hardly intelligible into my ear:

Enjoy your kids, Leslie.

Enjoy them. Smile at them. Slow down. Laugh, dance, talk and pretend with them. Learn how to be a child again.

I feel much like Robin Williams in the movie Hook, who returns to Neverland as an adult after discovering he is Peter Pan. I have forgotten so much. When I was little, I always wanted to write a journal to my future self about what it’s like to be a kid so I wouldn’t forget. But I have forgotten. I now sit with the throngs of adults that watch children playing and say in a tired voice, “Where do they get all that energy?”

This summer I was in a multi-generational women’s book study. I felt like I was following along behind the older women, gleaning from their every scrap. One seventy-year-old woman shared that as she looks back at her life as a mother, she wishes she had enjoyed her kids more at the time. She regrets missing out on them.

But sometimes I feel guilty for my blessings. I feel ashamed that I have healthy beautiful children when so many of my friends can’t get pregnant. Or when others long to get married and are still waiting for God to bring along the right man or woman.

I hesitate to enjoy what God has given me out of guilt. But that is like me giving my son a bike and him never riding it because the neighbor boy doesn’t have one. It seems heroic, but he is actually depriving me of the pleasure of watching him enjoy a gift my husband and I wanted to bless him with.

God delights in watching His children take pleasure in the blessings He gives them even more than I enjoy my children’s happiness over a gift I give them.

Solomon writes, “I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one’s lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor–it is the gift of God” (Eccl. 3:12-13).

What are God’s gifts to you right now? Are you allowing yourself to enjoy them?

Yes, my life could be harder and I’m sure that there are times in the future when it will be, but am I enjoying life and all of God’s gifts right now? Or am I letting Satan steal my joy?

I’m praying that God would help me to love like crazy and stop holding back. I want to accept that He is elated to see the look on my face when I open His good gifts and delight in them as He intended. And right now, He is inviting me to enjoy my children.

Linking up with #Wholemama

Previous Post~The Truth About Family Advent

December 16, 2015January 13, 2017

Keeping Secrets With God

Have you ever held a profound secret that only you and God shared?

I think Mary must have been an introvert, listening and reflecting more than she spoke. After the shepherds stormed into the birthing room, marveling over the infant Jesus and (probably) loudly relating their story about the multitude of heavenly host that recently had them surrounded, everyone else in the room vehemently discussed the shepherds’ story and wondered what it meant.

But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart (Luke 2:19). She didn’t speak, just collected this news, mulling it over quietly. She already knew she was in the middle of a magical story that would include every essential element of a riveting plot: strong characters, conflict, and the triumph of good over evil.

This was one of those moments that Mary and God shared privately, because who could really understand?

Have you ever had any moments like this? Moments where life is a bottomless well of meaning? Moments where all you know to do is to place them in the treasure box of your heart and marvel? In her book Wonderstruck, Margaret Feinberg describes these moments as being “sprinkled with pixie dust.”

Have you ever held a profound secret that only you and God shared?

I have felt this way only a few times in my life. The first was when I decided to move to China. My roommates at the time were engulfed in life and death. One was in love and the other had a family member who was dying. And my impending move was not happy news for my parents, who hoped that God’s will for my life would lead me down the street, not across the world.  So I celebrated in isolation, rejoicing that God had made His way clear.  And I silently wondered how He would enable me to take this leap across the world as a single woman. I considered how He would use me and whether or not He would seem different to me in another country.

The second time was when I fell in love.  Like being pulled along in a current where I couldn’t swim backwards if I tried or like a slide where you can’t fight gravity to get back to the top once you have begun to fall, love was more powerful than I had expected. But I was 10,000 miles from my love and all my friends and family, so God was my confidante. He alone held my questions, fears, and hopes as I stood in awe at the strength of a love that could propel me in directions I had never expected to go.

Years later, having a human being growing inside me was the ultimate secret.  My husband and I didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant for weeks and though my husband knew, only God truly shared the incredible mystery with me.  God knew my child’s name before I did and had chosen that egg and that sperm at that time to create the person He wanted to create. And when my son came skidding across the bed and was laid on my chest? Inexplicable love. Wordless wonder. The kind of moment where human fingers brush the clothes of the Divine and power leaks out.

I aspire to be more like Mary. To absorb more and pontificate less. To meditate rather than act thoughtlessly. To be a contemplative in a world that demands action. And I want her awareness of the presence of God in a normal, dusty stable that smelled of horse manure and chicken feed. I long for her peace when all around her screamed that she should fear the unknown and impossible.

I am not Mary. I will never give birth to the son of God. But I am a future character in the same story in which she is featured. Lines of sacred and secular sometimes blur into holy moments of recognition and are added to my heart treasure box just as Mary added them to hers.  In these moments, all I can do is freeze in amazement because God, the author, is moving His divine story forward–whether I am aware of it or not.

What about you? Have you ever had any moments in your life where you felt like you shared a secret that was for you and God alone?

What would it take for you to become more contemplative?

Next post~Favorite Books of 2014 & 2015

Previous post~Living the Sticky Life

Linking up with Velvet Ashes and #Wholemama and Weekend Whipsers

December 2, 2015January 13, 2017

Day 2: Moms are not Monks {7 Days of Soul Rest}

Henri Nouwen, Francis of Assisi, Augustine, John of the Cross, and Theresa of Avila are some of my spiritual heroes, but since becoming a mother, I find myself thinking Yeah, must be nice to have so much time to spend time with God. Though moms do keep night vigils and do manual labor, our commonalities end around there.

As a married woman with two children, I have been on the search for words on rest from someone who did not have 12 hours a day to saturate themselves in prayer and Bible study because sometimes all I have is 10…minutes, that is.

Though I know you don’t need convincing that rest is something you want, I do hope to convince you that it is something you need.

Why rest?

Jesus knew the value of rest, often escaping for time with the Lord and encouraging His disciples to do the same. The Old Testament is also full of promises for the weary. But for some reason, our culture attaches guilt and shame with rest. We apologize for reading a book, taking a nap or needing time alone.

But the type of rest Jesus describes is the rest that infuses all of life with greater strength and meaning. When we pray, we become centered on the eternal. When we read the Bible, we are reading a book that is living and applicable right now to whatever we are experiencing. When we sit still and listen, we are reminded that we are not alone. This kind of soul rest fuels all the other work that we do in a day.

Madeleine L’Engle said, “When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening” (Walking on Water, pg. 13). And we need to be hearing from God during this season of life where we are responsible for caring for the soul of another human being.

Rest is a need, not a want.

But how can we find the soul rest we really need when we have so little time (and energy)?

Recently, an older and wiser mother challenged me to “lower my standards when it comes to spirituality.” She gently pointed out that perfectionism is doing nothing for my walk with Christ. Though I balked at the accusation, I also realized that she was right.

I am a spiritual perfectionist.

I got married at 31 after many years of singleness where I was used to spending at least an hour a day journaling, reading the Bible and praying. Marriage and The Narrowing made that old expectation an impossibility and so I entered motherhood thinking that if I couldn’t have an hour long quiet time or at least 30 minutes, I wouldn’t even sit down to try because it wasn’t “spiritual enough.”

So it is not surprising that it is year three of motherhood and I feel spiritually dehydrated.

Here are a few adjustments I’m realizing I need to make to find the nourishment my soul needs in a season of life that is so demanding.

First of all, we must accept that we are not monks. As moms, we must change our expectations for the quality and quantity of our time spent with God and let go of perfectionism when it comes to spirituality (and, let’s be honest, everything else!).

In this post, Margaret Feinberg points out that “Jesus extends the invitation to come away. In Mark 6:31, Jesus instructs His followers to “Come away by yourselves to a lonely place and rest for a while.” The word oligos in the Greek that’s translated “a while” actually means “little, small, few”. I love this detail! Because it means God can do great things with only a sliver of time.”

We need to learn to do the most with the little slivers of time that we have in a day, and not just wait until we have a large enough chunk, because that time will most likely never come.

We need to retrain our minds to do spiritual sprints instead of spiritual marathons.

The next few days, I’ll be sharing some creative ideas my friends and I came up with for doing the most with what you’ve got in terms of time and energy level.

We need to retrain our minds to do spiritual sprints instead of spiritual marathons." www.scrapingraisins.blogspot.com

But along with shifting my expectations of how and when I will pursue God, I also need to plan ahead.

For example, I don’t usually feel inspired to cook a meal at 5 pm if I have given it no forethought, but I have found that if I plan to cook something, buy the vegetables and pull the meat out ahead of time to defrost, the meal is much more likely to get cooked. A plan sets things in motion.

We always plan for what is important to us, so why should spirituality be any different? We love the mountain top moments with arms raised, eyes streaming with tears of joy and a burning heart, but if we are honest, we know that we live in the plains and not on the mountain tops, so we should make our travel plans with our scenery in mind.

How can I seek God during the slivers of “alone” time in my day, during: kid’s naps, car rides, showering, putting on make-up, cooking, brushing my teeth or waiting on a toddler to put on his shoes?

There are 1440 minutes in a day. 1440. Could I spare 5, 10, or 15 minutes of those minutes a day to seek soul rest and a deeper relationship with Jesus?

I need to have plans and contingency plans for seeking God throughout my day.

Finally, the same wise older mama (as well as a few other friends), have reminded me to give myself grace in this chapter of my life. God loves us and sees all our attempts at holiness and accepts them just as a loving father accepts the precious “gifts” a toddler might hand to him.

I am also realizing that my years studying the Bible as a single woman created a reservoir that I am now benefiting from as a married woman with limited time. If you are single, feed the reservoir. You will certainly need it one day–if not for marriage, during other hectic times of your life where you do not have the time or energy to pursue the Lord.

In the next few days, we’ll be discussing practical ways to maximize the time you do have in order to find the soul rest you are longing for. I get you, weary mama. I’m writing this just as much for myself as for you. Sign up for emails if you want to be sure not to miss the next few days. Check out yesterday’s post if you missed it and come back tomorrow to find permission for self care.

How have your expectations had to shift as you have become a mother?
Do you struggle with being a perfectionist? In what ways?
How can you plan ahead to spend time in prayer and the Word?
In what areas do you need to give yourself grace?

Check out all the other posts in this series:

       Introduction to the Series
       Day 1: Three Secrets of Soul Rest
       Day 2: Moms Are Not Monks
       Day 3: Permission for Self Care
       Day 4: Ordinary Moments
       Day 5: Creative Spirituality for Busy Times
       Day 6: Planning a Personal Retreat
       Day 7: Sabbath Rhythms

Related articles:
Ashley Hale’s Write 31 Days Series: Letters to Weary Women

A great blog series: 31 Hats Mom Wears

Linking up with Mommy Moments

Category: motherhood