Pregnancy: The Comical Truth

I found out I was pregnant with our first baby the day before I turned 21.  My husband and I were thrilled.  I couldn't wait to poke out with a rotund, perfect basketball shaped belly.  By 20 weeks, my dreams became reality as we learned we were having the little boy I had always wanted.  Two weeks after we discovered we were expecting, we had already decided on names for both sexes.  Now, all we had to do was wait for our little angel to be born.

He came at exactly 41 weeks after 24+ hours of labor, and motherhood became one of my most sacred roles and treasured gifts (next to being a wife).  I fell in love with every feature of my little squish, every coo, sleepy yawn, and hilariously audible poop explosion.  Fast forward exactly nine months after giving birth, and my husband and I discovered we were unexpectedly expecting baby number 2; this time a girl. 

That's right.  Two kids in 2 years.  A second pregnancy after less than a year of recovery from my first.  Here are a few things I've learned.

1. Bellies.  When they say every pregnancy is different, they MEAN it.  My first pregnancy I couldn't wait to get out of the "fat" stage and actually look pregnant.  This pregnancy, I couldn't wait to get into the third trimester so that when people asked me how far along I was and I answered, I wouldn't stare into a shocked expression of "Are you sure your due date isn't tomorrow?".  I have been in a permanent state of "Oh, she popped," and "She's ready to go," for the last 4 months.  When you've "popped," you are supposed to be in a transient period of hugeness right before your baby arrives.  I have been in the gargantuan condition, MEGA POPPED, with an ever-increasing circumference for the last forever.   *Insert stretch mark city.*

2.  Fitness. Contrary to popular belief, chasing a toddler around while pregnant does not guarantee a physically fit pregnancy. However, it does mean that you will end the day even more exhausted, but at least you'll have enjoyed the company of a nonjudgmental snack buddy every time you paused to eat.  Additionally, being knocked up during the summer does not necessarily equate with being more active; because in the winter, it is much cooler and easier to move- or at least have the desire to move.

3.  Peeing.  While I have lucked out with minimal in the middle of the night pee disturbances, during the day my bladder shrinks to the size of a hummingbird's nest.  So please don't question my exaggerated leg crossing when it's time to sneeze, or wonder at my fear of coughing in public.

4.  Stooping, bending, crouching, sitting. . . all become more difficult.  As my husband put it, they really need to make the ground about 3 feet higher so I can reach it.

5. Pooping.  I just told my husband I would be gone for awhile, and it wasn't just so I could hide in the bathroom from our 2 year old lab and 16 month old son.  It's because pregnancy has wrecked my abs.  I never know when I'll be able to do some successful pushing, but. . . you know. . . in about 3 weeks I'm supposed to push a baby out no problem.  Come on women, it's natural.  Just like pooping is supposed to be.

6.  Clothes.  Just because you saved all of your maternity clothes from last time doesn't mean they will service you this go around.  We aren't all good enough planners to be pregnant the same time of year.  My winter maternity clothes fared rather useless with no air conditioning this summer.  Also, you most likely- unless blessed by a benevolent fairy godmother who took pity on your waistline- won't be the same size.  And if you are like me, you'll outgrow the new clothes you bought for this pregnancy about a month before your due date anyway.  It's easier to just get used to clothes not working.

7. Pickles.  My husband figured out I was pregnant the first time after I devoured an entire jar of pickles in 3 days.  This time he came home from deployment to find 3 open jars of pickles in the refrigerator containing around one pickle each.  He knew better than to say anything.

8.  Lightning crotch.  It's dubbed that for a reason.  I am almost 37 weeks into carrying my sweet baby girl, my innocent bundle of squishy.  But when they talk about heads dropping, they forget to mention tiny dragon fingers and armored elbows- cause this squishy has more sharp angles than Harry Potter's lightning scar.

9.  Sleeping.  Sleeping with a big ol' belly doesn't get any easier with practice.  It doesn't matter how many times you have been pregnant, it will always be difficult to fall asleep, and equally difficult to rock yourself upward in the morning. There are no tricks.

10.  Back pain.  Just because your back hurt and your hips expanded once already does not mean you have a free pass this time.  Your back will still hurt because 1. your belly is probably bigger than last time, 2. you now have another child to pick up, snuggle, and climb park equipment with, and 3. your hips still have to re-expand (even if this is your second year in a row of being pregnant).

Yet, while pregnancy can be daunting, exhausting, overwhelming, and completely life-altering, not all of the changes are for the worse.  Those stretch marks and extra pounds means you carried life inside you.  Your random cravings and hunger pains will be easier to bare when those sweet kicks remind you why you're having them.  And if you find yourself unexpectedly expecting another child, you'll have sweet, trusting, luscious baby eyes staring back at you with rosy cheeks waiting to be kissed that all say one transcending thing.

I'm worth it. 

Every.  Single.  Minute.

Toddlerhood: It's a Journey

Realizing I am now the mother of a toddler is both a challenging and amazing journey.

It comes on swiftly, stealing into our once baby filled moments with a new discovery, new sound, new motion. 

It leaves me either exasperated or smiling.  Shaking my head in laughter and shaking my head “No” with a slight grimace are both commonplace. 

I remember the months leading up to his first birthday.  He was crawling everywhere, playing with blocks and throwing toys, and he loved to pull himself up on everything.  His favorite past times included baths, food, and dismantling my perfectly folded pile of blankets or the thoughtfully arranged shelves of my bookcase.  He was smiling, laughing, reaching out to me, and learning to take a couple lazy steps while clutching my fingers.  And then his birthday came and he was overwhelmed with cake, presents, and my ever present camera.  I think it was here when I blinked.

Two weeks after his birthday during our Skype session with daddy he teetered and took his first steps, lunging forward to tap the keys on the laptop I had just denied him.  He had long been amazing me with eating whole bananas and whole containers of yogurt in one sitting, and now he was both surprising and confusing me with his first fit over not being allowed to have my coffee cup. 

Giggling in delight at being pushed in the park swing, making quick work of walking in his determination to keep up with the older kids at play, and stealing our puppy’s toys with a mischievous grin were signs displaying growth and discovery daily.

Now. . .

Now the bookshelf has been mastered (he’s pulled off everything within reach so many times that it no longer interests him), and I have finally gotten smart enough to put child locks on the lower kitchen cabinets so that tin foil, plastic wrap, and stray noodles are not creating a chef’s maze on the floor.

And, yet, surprises continue every day.  Saying “Hi Dada” to his favorite picture of daddy, squealing in displeasure and skipping away when our puppy attempts to reclaim his toys, to occasionally making my heart swell by saying "Momma" in his every day voice and not just the whine I am so familiar with.   Finally finding a movie to fall in love with, The Lion King, because animals are a favorite, and learning to feed his big fur brother treats in abundance.  Giving hugs to momma and stuffed animals, smiling at strangers, and now recently, resting his head on momma’s growing belly or pointing to other babies excitedly at the grocery store.

The Dada in the picture frame came to life a few weeks ago with his return, and our days have continued to be filled with so much learning.  Saying “Hi Dada” to the giant man above him, being carried around on daddy’s shoulders while he pats his head, to being thrown in the air and tickled with abandon. 

Sometimes these joyous moments melt into tantrums as the object wanted most does not make an appropriate toy, or because our puppy was finally successful in running off with his ball.   Suddenly we’ll look over to see a diaper sagging from being tugged at, or completely unhinged on one side.   We’ll fix the diaper and in the next moment he’ll be pointing to the living room door and running off to the kitchen for a snack of blueberries.

Toddlerhood sneaks into those moments of longer rest because he just played harder than he ever had before, and it shows itself in first time ER visits with a forehead creating the perfect canvas for green and blue swelling.  It shows itself in being braver at the pool and wanting to glide along the water while kicking his legs and smiling at being splashed in the face.

Toddlerhood becomes apparent in eating two whole slices from pizza hut greedily, learning to pet his fur brother gently, and becoming more and more vocal and opinionated about what’s wanted and what’s not.  It’s pointing down and attempting to command our puppy to “sssiiittt” with a high pitched ending, and giving high fives when the idea suits him.  It’s helping mommy unload the dishwasher by handing her forks and spoons while she hastily gets the knives out of reach.  It’s pulling recyclables out of the kitchen bins and pointing to bananas with earnest desire every time he sees them. 

Toddlerhood is so closely aligned to living with the minions from Despicable Me that every day is an exhausting comedy.

And the learning isn’t one sided.  It’s a desperate mother deciding that showering together is easier, that co-sleeping doesn’t have to be taboo, and that nursing past one is sometimes what’s best for her and her child.  It’s snapping a thousand pictures of a thousand moments, and finally understanding why Mary tucked so many moments of Jesus safely away in her heart. 

It’s falling in love more everyday while breathing deeply at the end of the day because momma managed to not lose her sanity.  

Toddlerhood is a mother’s plea for strength and patience, and a quick thank you when Jesus kept her baby safe in the chaos of life.

And just when you think you have completely crossed the threshold of toddlerhood, that baby of yours reveals himself in a chubby dimpled smile or cry for extra snuggles.  Your baby comes back in that all enveloping yawn and rub of the eyes, or that adorable squeal of baby language only they understand.

So keep holding on to those moments during your journey because new moments will come swiftly. 

That little tot will be reading his first book and no longer taking naps.  He’ll be riding a bike and sleeping in his own room.

Take the time to be amazed by it all.

Love,

Rachel

The Power of a Wise Husband

This is a guest piece written by my husband, Ethan Weidner.  Not that this post needs an endorsement, but for those wondering, I completely agree with everything he wrote and am very excited to share it with you all.  Enjoy!

I have decided to catalog some of the realizations I have made about being a husband.  Some of these I saw through my own father, and some I have learned through analyzing my wife, myself, and our marriage.

Understand the Difference in how you Both are Wired

-Understand the difference in how you both think. Both men and women need to be accepted. but the questions asked are different. A woman may wake up in the morning and ask herself "Does he still love me the way I am today?". Whereas, a man will ask himself "Am I good enough?". Understanding this will change the way you think about the questions asked by your spouse and the answers that need to be given.

Never put Your Wife down to Others

-One of the best lessons I ever received from my father sunk deep into my thinking early on. Men who complain or insult their wives to others look like fools. This is the second most important decision of your life and you're broadcasting why you made a bad choice. This will also hurt her very deeply if any of it gets back to her. Which it inevitably will.

Putting Anger into Perspective

-Is it worth it to be mad about an accident? Try to put things into perspective before you get angry. Is dinner burnt? Well, that's about $7 of ingredients and another hour till you eat. Is that worth raising your voice to someone who feels bad enough already? Watch the sigh of relief when you say it's no big deal and move on.

Raising your Voice

-You may not realize how frightening it is to a woman when you raise your voice. We see it in movies or from fathers and it seems to be the next step in any disagreement. It is not. No difference of opinion has ever been swayed because words were said louder. Your wife should never feel fear when with you. You are her comfort and she is yours.

Stopping the Fight before it Starts

-Here is a wise teaching from my uncle Dana. If you think something will lead to a fight or disagreement, sit close to them, hold their hand, and just talk. It is very hard and uncomfortable to raise your voice and escalate an argument while in physical contact with someone you love.

Love (Noun, Verb)

-Now onto Love. There are two distinct versions of love. There is the noun and the verb. There is to be "In Love" and the act "Of Love". You can have one without the other but the act is far more important. To be "In Love" is infatuation.  It's emotional and powerful. The ever moment of every day thinking of them Love. Then there is the Choice to Love. The choice to listen, cherish, and praise. The act of Love increases itself. The feeling of love can fade. Make the choice every day to love your wife.

Let Yourself be Vulnerable

-What it means to be vulnerable. As men being vulnerable or weak is almost always seen in a negative connotation. Shutting out your wife to your weaknesses is not strength. It is a lack of faith. A lack of trust in the woman you love and she feels it. Think back to when I said that women ask themselves "Does he love me? Does he trust me?". Every time you shut her out you are answering that question. When you don't let her see your weakness you are hurting her and hurting yourself. Your question is "Am I good enough?" and you are never giving her the chance to tell you that you are.

Marriage is (Not) 50/50

 -A marriage is not 50/50. You will hear a lot that a marriage is 50/50. Fifty percent your effort and 50% her effort. A marriage that is healthy is always 100% When everything in life is going well your marriage will look fairly close to 50/50 most days. However, you will be beaten down by life at times; whether it is work or stress there are times that all you have is 15% to give. She will have to be the other 85%. It will also go the other way some days and the numbers will be reversed. You each make up the difference in your marriage. Think about it in terms of lungs. Your body needs 100% to be fully functional. If one of the lungs is strained and can't keep up the other works harder. If one of the lungs is strained but the other keeps the same amount of effort your body will start to shut down.

"I love you"

Words so profound that are often said with little thought. It can become a reflex (and that isn't necessarily a bad thing). The Love you have for each other becomes as regular as the sunrise. And like a sunrise there are different ways to acknowledge it every day. Most days you see it when you drive to work and don't even process it. But other days you stop. You fully appreciate the Majesty of a sunrise. Take the time every once in a while to say "I Love You" with the same awe that a perfect sunrise brings.

Creating Days to be Missed in our Homes

I miss the days of simplicity and childhood play.  I miss the days where my greatest concern was how mine and my sister’s ginormous Barbie house would sprawl out, and who would be the lucky one to get the “cute” guy Barbie (we pretty much never named him Ken).  I miss the days where the little mommies growing in our hearts would pick out our children, and plan out grand mischievous adventures with Barbie toddlers and babies.

 I miss the days of my youth; where I would spend afternoons reading Apologia Biology while snuggling my cat on the couch in my pajamas.  (Perks of being home-schooled.)  I miss late nights chatting with my mom, and waking up late and grumpy until we got that first swig of coffee.  I miss my father’s proud cheers urging me on as I stood to serve in a varsity volleyball tournament, and the endless hours he spent sweating in the front lawn helping me hone my skills.

And though I do not miss the heartache and feeling of my world fragmenting like shredded paper, I will never forget the days of discovery.  The days where my sister displayed some of the greatest tenderness I have ever known; always up for the task of making me laugh, or escaping reality for a loud off-key mockery of popular music in the car as we drove for coffee, food, and Target.  I’ll always treasure the days I learned how beautiful and loving her heart really is.

I'll always treasure those first days when my husband and I had just met.  All of those long walks around the neighborhood, cliché sappy good morning texts, and my periodic nervous giggling when he asked questions about the future.  I miss the first time we held hands as we explored Fox Island nature park, the first time he cooked me dinner, the first time we said, “I love you,” with quiet voices and tender conviction.

I miss the days when our lives truly began together.  When our marriage settled in and we started arranging furniture and creating our home.  I'll miss those awkward firsts of living in a foreign country, and trying to say hello and goodbye informally in German.  Days filled with, “What do you want for dinner?” and “I asked you first.”  I’ll always smile thinking of time spent memorizing Ethan’s rock-paper-scissors pattern so that I would win and he’d have to take the dog out.  (I don’t miss when he quit playing though. . .)

And then the day before my birthday when we found out we were expecting our first child.  I’ll always cherish the first moment I felt him kick, the look on my husband’s face as coached me through labor, and the teary eyed journey into motherhood as I gazed at my son for the first time.

Now that Aiden is ten months old and crawling everywhere, pulling himself up with ease, and disheveling everything, I miss quiet afternoons spent nursing a cuddly newborn.  I miss anxiously awaiting a smile, and the soft expression that always graced Ethan’s face when Aiden fell asleep with his head resting against his father’s chest.

Now that my husband is deployed, I miss the afternoons I took for granted when we snuggled the day away binge watching Criminal Minds.  I smile reminiscing over Saturday’s indulgence of unhealthy but delicious chicken nuggets and French fries that Ethan spent hours preparing and frying without complaint.  I miss watching him twirl our laughing son in the air, even though it occasionally spiked my nerves into mini heart attacks.

And now that we’re expecting our second child, I worry over whether I am ready to be a mom of two.  I struggle already with keeping up on household chores and taking care of our hyper lab, Loki.  And while some days are spent playing outside and splashing water in the bathtub, other days I wonder if I’m doing a good enough job.  I know God will grow my heart, but it’s hard trusting Him to grow my abilities.

It’s easy to remember “the good old days,” stress about the present, worry over the future, and not fully appreciate the now; and it’s often much harder trudging through mundane days with a smile.  And, yes, many have written over the importance of taking time to enjoy the present, but we need to take it a step further.  It’s not just about our own mentality and happiness.

If we don’t choose to seek joy during the daily grind, to find some small kernel of contentment, to brave a smile when we just want to go back to bed- then how will our children ever be able to look back and miss these days?  Don’t wish for the past so tightly or focus on worries months in advance so completely that you forget to create an environment of play, of learning, of support, of friendship, of laughter, of love.

It will be hard some days, and some days we will both fail.  It’s our responsibility to create a safe place for our kids to flourish, but it’s also up to us to create memories with them that are worth keeping.

I hope as my son grows older and reflects on his childhood, he can look back and say, “I miss those days.” I hope that my unborn child will have a plethora of fond memories to reminisce over as an adult.  I pray that the Lord will mold my husband and I to be parents of patience, kindness, humility, humor, and love; and that through His sweet grace, our home will become a happy place of memory and laughter.  A place to be missed.

What things do you do intentionally to reap fond memories for your kids?

What activities are you planning to create “firsts” for your children?

What areas can you improve in while creating your beloved home?

 “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.  Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stays awake in vain.  It is vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.  Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.”

Psalm 127:1-3 (ESV)

Lord, please help us build our homes.

Love,

Rachel

Mom Life: When Your Baby Is A Great Teacher

Taken From TobyMac's Facebook page. 

Last week I thought I would be a cool mom and take my son Aiden on his first intentional play date with other babies near his age or younger (he's 9 months).  He had received shots earlier in the week at his well visit appointment, and the doctor had warned me that he would have a weaker immune system; but it had been a couple of days by the time the play date rolled around, so I thought he was fine.  All thoughts of a weaker immune system, and babies sharing toys and slobber (. . .my kid was the supreme saliva contributor), left my mind.  I was going to get out of the house and hang out with other mommas.  Aiden was going to play with other kids.  (Truthfully, other than a fleeting curious glance, babies are much more interested in their environment and the toys around them than each other.)

Well, that night thoughts of a weaker immune system came back to mind as Aiden fussed and cried every time he woke up, and each time he continued to sound more and more congested.  By the next day, he was rosy cheeked with a constant drip running down his nose and into the drool leaking out of the corners of his mouth.  I tried to wipe his face and clean his nose out regularly, but I do not think I managed it frequently enough.  He recently learned how to shake his head back and forth like we do when saying "no," and I initially thought it was adorable.  I have since learned it's less cute when I am trying to suck out his nose without poking his eye. . . 

 After feeling bad for him and realizing a minor cold like congestion is truly awful for babies, I was in for a bit of a shock when midnight arrived.  Aiden's breathing became very thick and fuzzy. Imagine the voice of Christian Bale playing batman and you'll get a good idea of what I mean.  He kept looking at me as he breathed in and out.  His eyes held a similar confusion as the time he got his first bout of hiccups.  We were still in the hospital and he was only two days old.  He looked so perplexed. This time when he looked at me it felt like he was expecting me to fix it.  And I wasn't sure how. 

I rubbed an all natural ointment for babies on his chest to try and break up the mucus.  (Let me just say right now that Vicks VapoRub is awesome for adults and older children, but should never be applied on babies.  It can have serious negative affects, and everyone should read the warning and instruction labels on the back to use items of medicinal property safely.)  After putting him in a steamy shower with me for a few minutes and then opening a window for the cold air to hit him, he improved a little and we were both able to sleep.  Then 2:30 rolled around and his breathing was sounding even more labored.  I called my mom and asked for advice, and then fell asleep with him on my chest on our couch downstairs.  I wanted to feel him breathing, hear his breathing, and know that he was still breathing.  There was no way I was putting him in his crib.

At 7;30 his breathing became more laborious than ever.  His little chest and tummy pulled in and out so sharply with every breath that I knew he was using all of his strength.  For my Anne of Green Gables lovers, at this point he sounded worse than Diana's little sister.  I was starting to get a bit panicky, and after two more phone calls to close a friend and his pediatric's appointment line, I rushed him to the ER. 

In the twenty minutes it took to get there, his breathing improved slightly due to the cold morning air.

The nurses and doctors were all extremely kind and helpful, and after a steroid shot in his thigh and a 15 minute breathing treatment hooked up to oxygen, we were able to go home.

I have since learned that humidifiers are amazing when babies are congested.  Moist air is easier for them to breathe.  And since I plugged in our essential oil diffuser (works the same as a humidifier), he has yet to have another episode.  Also, 15 minutes is needed to have the optimal affect when using steam from a shower; so I have just been bringing him in the bathroom with me every night while I take a long luxurious and hot shower- guilt free.  I think about the same time frame goes for the cold, though the doctor warned me their breathing can go right back to the way it was after bringing them inside.  (Disclaimer, I am sharing all of this from personal experience, and am not a doctor or medically trained.  Please take all of this information as a momma sharing what worked for her.)

Two days have passed since our ER visit, and my precious baby has been breathing croup free. Though he is still battling a viral respiratory infection and my attempts to alleviate it, his breathing has been normal.  I am so thankful and full of praise that he is recovering quickly.

Babies are resilient.  He has remained his inquisitive self through all of this; never hesitating to crawl toward the pile of folded blankets in the corner so that he may dismantle momma's limited organization in a twisted pile on the floor.  He continues to flirt, smiling and waving and laughing over the smallest things.  Books remain a steadfast favorite of his, and sadly through his exploration and ability to pull himself up he has found there are other books than the ones I give to him.  And the toilet paper I left on the coffee table because I am now congested as well serves as a wonderful opportunity of play and destruction. 

Witnessing him recover has served as an invaluable lesson for me.  It hit me that if I were as willing to move on and choose joy as my ill child does- if I were as resilient as him- my life would be a whole lot better and a whole lot brighter.

"A joyful heart is good medicine,

But a broken spirit dries up the bones."

Proverbs 17:22 NASB

I have with complete awareness let my mental state decline this past week, particularly today.  I have let myself wallow in my emotional and physical exhaustion from worrying and being up most of the night Sunday, from caring for Aiden and now fighting my own respiratory infection, and have used every excuse and reason available to me to justify having multiple Netflix days.  I have moped over missing daddy who is on an extended work trip, and I have chosen to not focus on the joys in my life.

And yes, some days, allowing yourself to rest is the best thing a momma can do. Some days snuggles are really what is most needed anyway.  And there is nothing wrong with missing your spouse or enjoying the occasional Netflix day.  But there comes a time when you need to move forward and stop intentionally dwelling and focusing on the exhaustion.  I am realizing it is equally as important to don a refreshed and positive attitude as it is important to physically rest- otherwise the feeling of needing to rest never ends.

"A time to weep and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn and a time to dance."

Proverbs 3:4 NASB

So here's to my kid, for teaching me to always crawl toward those things that bring joy, to smile despite feeling weak and tired, and to wave with enthusiasm and excitement at everything life has to offer.  I praise the Lord for the healing and strength He lends, and I am so thankful that the biggest blessings and teachers come in small slobbery little packages.  I am also thankful that it doesn't appear that Aiden got anyone else sick other than me, and I am hopeful that our next play date will have a more successful ending.

In the meantime, thank you Aiden for being one of my greatest gifts.  I wouldn't trade the responsibility, challenge, frustration, joy, excitement, wonder, lesson, and blessing that is being your momma for anything.  May you continue to teach me as you inspire and amaze me every day.

What are you're babies and precious children teaching you?

"At that time the disciples came to Jesus and said, 'Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?'  And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, and said, 'Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.  Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  And whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me."

Matthew 18:1-5 NASB

"And they were bringing children to Him so that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked them.  But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, 'Permit the children to come to Me; do not hinder them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all.'  And He took them in His arms and began blessing them, laying His hands on them"

Mark 10:13-16 NASB

When God isn't Enough of a Reason

Honestly, I am sitting here feeling worn out and stretched thin.  I am exhausted, and have little motivation to write this piece, and a lot of readily available procrastination that says to just skip it for now.  As it is currently 10:05 pm CET, I would rather be buried under covers going to sleep- which is why I have compromised with myself by typing this in bed while wearing my fuzzy penguin pajamas.

I would rather be browsing Facebook, or snuggling my 9 month old son who received his 6 month shots at his well visit earlier today because of my poor planning and paper work skills.  I would rather be doing so many other things than pushing through and writing this difficult piece.  And, ironically, this mood of pushing it off, doing it later, procrastinating, and finding excuses is the exact mindset I am about to discuss and share.

I found myself in a familiar thought pattern the other day.  I had just done something I shouldn't have. I had lost my temper when a project wasn't working the way I had planned, and had responded with getting snippy at my dog, snappy at my baby, with a few loud swear words directed at the project thrown in the mix.  Not my finest moment.  After my tantrum was over and I realized I had not even been in the right mindset to have begun this project (timing really is everything), I thought about how I didn't want to model this attitude for my son.

I do not want him to grow up thinking swear words are OK, or that throwing a tantrum when something is frustrating is an appropriate response.  All of this reminded me I need to change my reactions in order to be a better mom, even if the reaction doesn't directly correlate to my son.

That's when I realized I have thought like this my whole life. It has always been easier for me to address a flaw within myself if doing so helped another person.

I remember being in high school and thinking about what the future might hold- what I hoped it would hold.  I remember thinking my Junior year that part of the reason I wanted to grow closer with Jesus is so that I could be a godly wife someday.  I had been reading through the New Testament and journaling, and I was so proud of my godly potential as a spouse.  (Pretty vain, right?)  And while I was genuinely learning and growing closer with God for myself and Him, I was also doing it for someone else, or rather, something else.  I was doing it for the idea of a future husband.  I yearned to grow closer and be more mature in my faith so that I could be what I considered to be a good helpmate someday.

And once I was married, I continued to yearn to grow in certain areas largely for the benefit of my husband.  Changing myself is always easier if I am doing it for someone I love.

The relationships I have with my family are invaluably important to me.  The bonds I share with my husband and son are everything to me.  They propel me forward and give my days purpose.  They are the reason behind so much of what I do.  But it hit me the other day that if the biggest reason I am willing to confront and change something ugly about myself is for the benefit of my family and the growth of our relationships. . . Then my relationship with my Savior really isn't what it should be.

If God isn't reason enough for me to want to deepen my relationship with Him, then I have put other things before Him.  If His love and forgiveness doesn't propel me to change and grow, then I have undervalued the most important relationship in my life.

I should strive to love Jesus more and spend more time with Him because of the love He has for me. The self-control I continually feel to be lacking should be something I am working on because of my relationship with my Savior- not only because of my son.  

Sadly, not only have I developed this mindset of trying to mature or grow for the sake of people in my life, I have also developed a pretty strong tendency to procrastinate in facing those uglier areas by pushing them off until I have those relationships and people in my life.  I waited to work on certain things until I was a wife, or until I was a mom.

I am realizing more and more that the mindset of fixing myself for other people and other relationships is the root of why I am still struggling with some of the same things I am today as I was five years ago.  I have procrastinated with some of my more ingrained tendencies by saying that I would stop doing those things when I was a wife, or when I was mom, or at some later point in my life.

Unfortunately, this cycle of thinking and living is hard to break.  And the truth is, the sins I don't want to model for my son can only be overcome if I leave them at the foot of the cross.  The growth I want in my relationships with my family can only happen after my relationship with Jesus is central.

The grace I want to live with doesn't come in my own strength; it rests in God's.

The gifts I love and treasure in my life can only flourish if my eye is fixed on the Giver.

Procrastinating instead of facing a present issue, and changing something merely for relationships with other people allow for circular development.  I only improve so much before I am back to where I started.

So, all this time when God hasn't been reason enough, the truth is, He is the only one who will ever be reason enough. 

And if the realness of the people in my life help propel me forward, then I need to pray for my relationship with God to become more real.  I need to pray that He will change my heart.  I need to pray that he will change my attitude.  I need to beg that He will correct my thinking.  Because even though my head knows that His word says that He is more than enough, sometimes my heart is slow to accept it.

Lord, 

When I am worn out and stretched thin, Remind me who You are.  

Please wake me up inside. Please shift my thinking.  

Please forgive my sins and remove my idols.  

Thank you, Lord.  I love you.

Amen. 

"Ascribe to the Lord, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.  Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name; worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness."  Psalm 29:1-2

To All Those Who Have Shared My Broken Promise

I remember being in middle school, and struggling with a transition of friends.  It wasn’t that my close friends and I had shared a falling out; it was simply that my family had started attending a different church, and I no longer saw the same people as regularly.  Those sweet girls I had confided in, shared giggles with late into the night, and crowded on couches with during youth group were still dear in my heart, but living in different cities, albeit adjacent ones, was the beginning distance that grew into separate lives. 

My mom had told me previously that often times different things last only a season, and that sometimes friendships are that way as well. It’s not that you love the person less, or that you don’t think of them often; it’s that life is winding and recursive, and as it is written out sometimes intersecting paths straighten out in different directions, and sometimes they meet back up again later.  

The first time she told me that friends can last only a season I was crushed.  I was heartbroken.  I stubbornly refused to believe that I would grow up and not still be friends with those I had grown close to and loved.  I thought it would be possible for us all to keep in touch and plan hangouts.  We didn’t.

Then I joined a volleyball team and gained a new group of friends.  And those friends introduced me to their friends until the chasm I thought would be permanent was filled over abundantly.  High school started and still more shifts occurred. Next came the big changes like graduation and college, boyfriends, more time spent working and studying, and as my friends and I pursued our individual interests, my buoyant graph of close, interactive friends dipped a little lower.  On the flip-side, those that remained grew even closer.

A year and a half after graduation, I was married.  Tied the knot to my newest and closest friend.  While everyone wondered at the rapidity, my husband and I marched forward confidently hand in hand.  And just when my close-knit family and friends thought the biggest change had been signed, work contracted my husband and me across the world to live in Europe.

While my husband and I would share an adventure together, we would be saying goodbye to so many other people.  What I once considered a major transition in my childhood world was about to double, triple, quadruple -a thousand times in a new way.  The distance between me and my parents, sister, cousins, bridesmaids, friends, would be continental and ocean deep.  I would not be facing merely the distance of a different city, but of a different country.

And as I saw my friends and family one last time before the flight, as I said goodbyes not knowing when or if I would see them again before I left, my old stubbornness resurfaced.   I told them I would write.  We would plan Skype dates.  I would send emails.  We would remain as close as before.  I promised to keep in touch.  I promised that though the change seemed daunting, these friendships that had already lasted five or six years would continue to grow and flourish despite this newest transition.

While our correspondence was decent at the beginning, another year and half has passed.  My husband and I have been married for two years now and are currently raising a nine month old.  Life has continued to twist and change, to blossom and flourish in different directions.  My friends are taking internships, graduating college, planning mission’s trips, studying abroad, getting engaged, and marrying.  New friends are having babies, raising eight-year-old's, and running day cares.  I am chasing a dog and wrestling and independent first born.  And it’s hitting me.

I’m finally realizing there is a reason correspondence is a fourteen letter word.  It is a lengthy task and weighty responsibility.  It sounds easy in a promise and proves difficult in action.  It’s a door that swings both ways but can be heavy to push.  Far too often, it becomes a torn page in a once cherished book.  Aspects of the friendship begin missing, but the spine- those memories creased in our hearts- tenaciously hold parts together.  Sometimes, a friendship that I thought would go on in volumes is only turning out to be a short story, and that’s OK. 

Spring, summer, fall, and winter all serve a purpose of renewal and growth for the earth.  I think that though it saddens us, we need to remember that friendships that last only a season still have meaning and value.  Keeping in touch is not a strength of mine.  Attempting to stay in the loop with everyone is an impossible task that allows for no progression with where we are at now.  We all have new priorities, goals, responsibilities, and relationships.  For me, my husband and son will always take precedence.

So for those of you who are missing more than one page. . .  I am sorry my promise grew empty.  I am sorry it seems or feels as if our friendship was only a season, but I am thankful for the impact you have had on my life.  I am blessed with the memories we did get to make.  I am ready and willing to plan the occasional Skype date, to write a quick message, or plan a lengthy chat.  But I am not going to promise consistency.  I am not going to promise that we will remain as close as if we lived next door to each other.  What I will say is that my heart will always have a place for you.  Perhaps someday this season too will be over, and our paths will intersect once more.