letters

Dear Harper,
I want to tell you how your name came to be. As I write this you are about one and a half months old and rocking gently in your swing next to me. You are doing that thing where you are looking intently at my face with your little furrowed brow, your eyes methodically trying to close in rhythm with the swing but you are still half awake.

How can a love so deep grow so quickly?




In the nine months before you were born I prayed and bonded and tried to get a sense of who you would be. We thought about several names for you... Micah, Solomon, Everest.. Asher...Harper. We liked them all for different reasons but we had trouble fully committing to one and agreeing on one. I was leaning toward Solomon but daddy wasn't. As the weeks rolled by I told your daddy, "He could be here any minute. We need to decide."
Some of my friends and family gave me a shower for you and during a time of prayer, one of my friends prayed that God would whisper your name to us. In my heart I prayed the same thing. A few days later daddy and I decided to have a lunch date at the park. We tried to squeeze in a few dates before you arrived. We thought we would sit in the park and talk and pray and make the decision of what we would name you. And then a strange thing happened. Daddy saw something on the ground right between his feet.
And it was this.

We looked at each other and kind of laughed. Shortly after that we decided that your name would be Harper. Harper is an English name that simply means Harp player. I loved this name for a few reasons. One, I just like how it sounds, strong and beautiful. Two, because I love the story from Samuel about David the harp player. David, a man after God's own heart, a man who recognized that he was nothing apart from the God inside him. He was a young boy who tended sheep, a humble shepherd who made music on strings. A lowly boy, tanned by the sun, smelling of meadows and lambs, playing the songs of his heart before a King. He did what so many of us try to do, spill our souls in poems and songs and art, following after the master creator. In Samuel it talks about how Saul would call on David when his spirit was troubled. The sound of David's harp would refresh his spirit, "making him well, and the distressing spirit would leave him." It's with this imagery in mind that you were named. To me Harper sounds musical and poetic. Just as Jesus tells us to speak to one another in Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, it is my prayer for you, sweet son, that your life would be a soothing sound in God's ears, a sweet aroma in the air around Him. Oh, that you would never know a day with out Him...that the days of your life would unfurl into your very own story, in the notes of your very own song, Harper Pax.

We agreed easily on your middle name, Pax, the Latin word for peace.
~Galatians 5:22-23~
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
We're looking to our God to help us nurture in you little ones, the fruits of the Spirit, just as we pray that those same fruits will be growing in our own hearts.

With that said, I have no idea what choices you will someday make, or how our brokenness will leave you messed up and wounded. Maybe someday you'll do something that will break my heart, maybe someday you'll scare me to death. We'll disagree and fail each other, and forgive and love a thousand times over. I'll feed you and clothe you and show you the ocean. I'll read you books and poems and then teach you to read by yourself. I'll rock you at night when you can't sleep and always come when you have bad dreams. I'll tell you the names of the trees and the birds and play you all my favorite records. I'll sing to you when you're having a bad day and pray over you at night. I'll watch you grow faster than my heart will be able to catch up with and probably take a million photos. Cause you know your mama's nostalgic like that and totally hopeless and there's this need to collect the moments, need to preserve. Maybe someday we'll fight about girls or motorcycles or curfews, but we'll figure it out together with Jesus' truth covering us. But know this my son, no matter what you do someday when you are grown or what you choose to believe, I will love you just the same for the gift of grace that you are to me. You were never really mine to begin with. I'm entrusted, not entitled, to the joy you bring me. I will always be a safe place for your heart, blanketed in the prayer and love in which we gave you your name.

In the mean time you are our peach-fuzzy, pudgy-legged, stinking adorable baby and you are known by many names in this house, including, Harpie-Pie, Pax,the Harpster, Paxie, the Pax man, sugar lump, little man... oh yes, it is amazing what escapes these lips when in baby voice and in the presence of such ridiculous cuteness.

Here's a song by daddy and I set to images of your first week.


We forever love you, little man.

"It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem."
— Wallace Stevens


...so on the days it does, I stop to notice. These days have felt like that...perhaps more so because of coming out of a difficult patch. Our sweet babymoon bonding was definitely interrupted by the illness Josh got several days before Mother's day. He ended up being in the hospital for almost three days. He had something called Rhabdomylosis which is basically muscle deterioration brought on by working out too hard and not having enough carbs. They also thought that he was weak and fighting some kind of virus at the same time so he couldn't go near Harper. For the better part of two weeks my poor husband slept and fought a fever and tried to heal while I worried about him and tried to hold things together on my own with a brand new one. My hat is off all to all you single moms; you are amazing. I don't think I could do it. It turns out that in large families it really helps to have a functioning papa. The rhythm of our home was definitely off and exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. With that said, I am so thankful that Josh is healed and that we are adjusting to our new normal with our newest family member. The simple joy of these past few days rests in my palm like some precious pearls after the difficulties as of late.
~The sight of a mysterious little dark bird that seemed to enjoy the gentle brush of Ella's fingers,
~the morning light, sublime on his baby soft skin,
~picnics, fountains, whisper clouds, summer skin,
~late nights with garden lights and honeysuckle air, rocking a restless Harper to the soft sounds of this incredible music, drinking in the words
~ the sound of guitar strings ushering in quiet night time after the busy noise of the day
~ date night with my love looking back over twelve years of marriage and dreaming about road trips and music and who our little loves will become.








Happy anniversary love, you are my comfort and home.

sister love

This is one of my favorite pictures of my sisters. Last weekend we flew my sister from NJ down here for her birthday. I haven't lived near Heather since before I left for college but our hearts are closer than ever. She's a mom of five and just an authentic, compassionate, beautiful person. Friday we got to spend the day together doing the things we would probably do all the time if we lived closer. We went out to breakfast and shared our hearts over chai while Harper slept away. Then we shopped and got stuck in my favorite store when the sky went dark and a storm came rolling in. Blue Skies is full of pretty, and inspiring things. It makes me want to create things. We talked and admired while the rain streamed down the windows, and we didn't think about how much time would pass before we saw each other again or how different our kids would look.





The five of us Riley's are rarely all in the same place so it was such a gift to spend our last night out together. I loved watching Heather love on my three-week-old. We just might have to do this for every birthday.

*one month*

I was scurrying around sorting paper work and doing laundry when I looked down at this little face. I've figured out a couple of things since having Harper. He likes to snuggle and nurse and he does not like being put down. So he goes in the same little pouch that all my babies went in and loved, probably because it feels like being in the belly again. My hands are mostly free but it's a little harder accomplishing things with this little bundle. When I looked at his tiny face staring up at me I thought,"Hmm, I can keep going from picking up this pile of clutter to paying that bill but never quite finishing anything, or I can go stare at Harper." So the latter sounds like a lot more fun so we sit on the couch and I tell him a thousand things he doesn't understand but it doesn't matter because he looks up with those intent gray-blue newborn eyes. He knows my voice and he knows he's being loved. He curls his tiny body up into me and bobs his head on my neck looking for milk, giving me lots of open-mouth baby kisses. Memories of all my babies come rolling back. It is all so familiar; the wild little cries, the little bird legs, the trembling bottom lip, this helpless hungry creature born into love and built by the hands of an artist. It is humble and physical and human but also a masterpiece breathed by God. I wish I never needed sleep and that all of my prayers and love will follow him every day of his life. I hope that when he becomes a man they will cover him and carry him. I have had one month of knowing you, little Harper, and every moment is a gift.

Oh, and please do stop by for a chat and a cup of chai but just know if you are stepping over toys and moving laundry to find a seat, it's all Harper's fault. He's irresistible:)

mother's day

This morning it's Sunday, Mother's day. Harper is a whole two and a half weeks old. We're not going to church yet with the baby. My poor husband is burning up with a fever that he's had for the past three days. So the morning is going something like this; Harper is fed, now to fix french toast and blueberries for three hungry little bears. I check Josh's temperature, still high and I put a cool cloth on his head. I really want some tea but I can't find a clean tea cup. My thoughts are disjointed going from one worry and task to the next. I check my email and realize I've missed Kindergarten pre-registration for Ella. I carry some laundry to Ella's room where I can barely walk as it seems that they've made a floor covering using every book they own. I wonder why do I keep 'doing' when I need to be resting and meditating on my Lord and what He wants from me today. I can hear the girls fighting over a fairy coloring book so I mediate that and remind them that our chore/behavior chart has a lot more sad faces than stars. I realize my shirt is half soaked in breast milk and my eyes are shadowed and heavy. I try to get a quick shower. My leg is half shaved when Harper starts to wail from his basket so now the girls are coming in trying to shove his pacifier in. The volume is rising and I'm hurrying. "It's like a bathroom party in here," Ella says.

Harper wanted to get up about every hour last night and I'm craving a little quiet. The day goes down hill from here. Josh's fever won't come down and now he is looking slightly yellow. After a small discussion we decide a trip to the ER is in order. The rhythm of our house is off with the papa out of commission and a very tired mama who has a very new baby who really just wants to nurse or snuggle all the time. We're in a funk and the kids attitudes are showing it, and so is mine. I'm pulling on my mantras, "His mercy is new... every morning."

**Back to finish this post. There may be some interrupted blogging around here for awhile.**

Later that night when kids are asleep and husband is lying in some hospital bed with his mom by his side, I sit in my garden with Harper. We sit out on the swing in the night time air with just garden lights and stars. It smells of damp earth and summer. His tiny new fingers curl around my bottom lip and his just seeing eyes look up at me, my irresistible boy all balled up like he was inside me. My heart swells with an indescribable love for this brand new life. All I can think about is that this is what it is all about...this thing of mothering. Giving birth is just a symbol of all that will follow, the growing, the breaking, the struggle bringing forth life and beauty and relationship and all that comes with it. Cooling a fevered head, mediating fights, giving, serving, messing up, snapping, saying I'm sorry, helping to shape and teach and grow. With body and soul, bleeding, feeding, loving. It is not glamorous or easy but is real, human, deep and rich and it is a gift every day that I'm entrusted with these little people. Even in my weariness I am overwhelmed by the love and the blessing. I'm so thankful for these children who have helped me become more of who I am in Christ, and have kept me humble in having a very clear view of my brokenness. And I'm so thankful for the amazing mothers in my life. Where would I be with out them?

I read this today and loved it.
"Inside the frames, the bodies, the souls of our children, reside the children still to come. And the children then still to come.
Like nestled dolls, future generations dwell within the child whose eyes I now look into, whose hands I now touch.
Every day we parent not one child, or even a few children, but every day we parent innumerable, countless children.
When I raise my voice, frustrated with a child, I speak to generations of children.
When I wipe away a tear, comfort, listen, I honor centuries of children.
When we meet our children, children we will not live to meet on this earth, are met, shaped, formed. Parented."
~Ann Voskamp~

sister love

one amazing week old...

"If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle."
~Vincent van Gogh~




It's kind of amazing what a week can hold. This time last week my little son was inside me, quietly waiting to enter the world. I was bursting at the seams, swollen, tired and had to lean all the way over to hug Josh.
I seemed to labor off and on for a few days but Tuesday it intensified. Slowly the waves of pain came harder as I tried to breathe through them focusing on helping my little one come into the world. Tears began to flow, through the rhythm of rising pains, feeling fully wrung out, clenching, and then the moments of relief between. I thought about how most everything that is sacred, and precious and of worth comes through some amount of pain or struggle. I whispered to Jesus to help me.
I thought about seeing my sons tiny face, this one whose home was my body, whose limbs I'd watched in amazement contorting my belly these last few months. And finally through tears and cries came life, wet and wriggling, sucking in his first breath of air. He was crying and strong and finally here.
I held him and called him by name and spoke love to him. Harper Pax entered the world, 9lbs and 2 oz, on April 19th at 6:00 pm and there is just joy.


He is now one amazing week old and I am in crazy love. I don't mind the lack of sleep so much, knowing that these days that he is tiny will fly. I drink in his tiny flailing hands like tiny stars, his wrinkly velvet skin, his sweet milk breath, the way he curls his body back to stretch when he's done nursing. The kids are giddy with excitement and it is such a good feeling seeing my whole little brood together. He is one very loved little man. Right now the days blend with the nights but there is magic in them.










This week has been rich and emotional and sacred. It was Easter week, a time when I remember the death of my Savior and more importantly His resurrection... it is everything my faith and life is based on. As I read to my kids from Matthew of how our gentle God remained silent when accused, surrendered himself to humiliation and death to make a way for us to come to Him, I thought about His mother as well.
This year as I looked at my beautiful new son, I thought of Mary's love for Jesus. How she stood before the the babe she nursed, the son she raised all those years,now hung bloodied on a cross. And how he spoke love to her even from the cross. With every year that passes I am more deeply aware of the magnitude of His love and of the power in his victory over death in the resurrection. Once again Journey Mama captured so much of how my heart was feeling as I meditated on Easter. Here are her words:
"I thought a lot about a meditation I guided in January. It was of Mary Magdalene at the tomb of Jesus. We dove in. It was an imagination meditation, so I encouraged the people in the circle to use all their senses, to find the scrubby bushes beside, to stand in the dust she was standing in. To feel her despair. He may have been the first person ever to see value in her, to love her. She was left unloved, without him. She had been out of her mind, before. A used-up, broken woman who talked to herself in the streets. You know the type, you've seen them. He healed her. She traveled with his followers. She stayed with Him to the end.
And she went to the tomb to prepare the body, but then her heart went crazy! He was gone. This was the absolute end of her. She only wanted to care for the broken, empty body. And it was gone.
There was a lot of running. Running to find the men, the disciples, running back to the tomb. (Cool air of the morning, sun rising in the hills.) The men saw that she was right, ran off again.
And from Mary, weeping. Despair. Anguish and the worst kind of loneliness.
I want to truly find that moment, capture it, live it, when he identified her and she knew him. After she mistook him for the gardener, all he said was her name, "Mary." And she knew him.
"Rabboni!"

Anguish to beauty. She would never be unloved again.

Although I'm sure she always had to remind herself of that. And that is what I am doing this morning in meditation. The garden, the cool of the morning. The dust under her feet, the rocks sticking out of the earth. The earth under her knees, her despair, and then Him. His face. His radiance.
In my life on this earth I have been asked so many times, why I follow Jesus. Merely stating that I do is enough reason for people to tell me why I shouldn't. They tell me of the travesties that have been done by Christians, they tell me of historical inaccuracy, of relativism, of how mistaken I am. I have loads (heaps!) of thoughts about all these things. I can talk, I can discuss, and I do.
But there is only one real reason that I follow Jesus. It is because of him. Because of his radiance, his gentle beauty, the sweetness of His WHOLE Being. My Guru, my Master. "Rabboni!" Mary said. This moment is overlooked sometimes, but is one of the most important of his whole life on earth. No other god, no other teacher compares.
Because in his most triumphant moment, finally justified as the One who could destroy death, the first thing he did was comfort a girl, a broken ex-prostitute who nobody cared about. It was the first thing he did."

**When I wrote this on Tuesday, I didn't finish adding the pictures so I'm back today after the week took a difficult turn. Wednesday our neighborhood and many other areas in the Southeast were struck with a series of some of the most violent storms and tornadoes in the history of this area. We spent the day going in and out of the bathroom, with Harper's baby bed in the bathtub for shelter. Thankfully, we and the rest of my family are safe but the devastation has been heart-breaking. Many, including some very good friends have had damage and had their homes completely destroyed. And some in nearby areas have lost loved ones as well. We're thankful for the protection of the God who calls the winds and the rains into being and also sorrowed for those suffering losses.

**Oh, and be warned there may be a whole bunch of pics of my newest cutie around here for awhile.

nesting...

It may happen a little closer to delivery with number four, but none the less it happens. I have this need to have all the tiny clothes all baby fresh and folded, blankets stacked, baby bed ready for the brand new bundle. My sister-in-law gave me a lovely shower last week and it made me so excited. All of my sisters have a knack for details and making things beautiful and this did not fall short of their special touches. There was scrumptious food and little tiny bird accents on a perfect Spring day. I was overwhelmed by the love and prayers of these women for me and my unborn son. My mom shared about Christ's design for motherhood, mothers through out scripture and Jesus' own mother. What a gift to have his new life ushered in, blanketed in prayers and grace.
It's so fun to have a few new things for baby number four as well. Baby boy will stay in our room initially as it has always just been easier with nursing through the night, but he does have his own little corner. When we're ready we'll put the girls together and move him to his own room. Here's a look at some of the giftage. He's one lucky little fellow.


lovely handmade nursing cover and adorable pants and hand-stitched squirrel onesie



people wrote their prayers or verses for him on these cut out birds that now hang in his corner


his very own Amber Cooley-made gnome hat


my four little peas in a pod :)


my sister handmade these little bird books as favors for everyone

Thank you to everyone who made this so meaningful in sharing in the joy of his new life. Okay baby, I think we're ready. There are lots of loving arms awaiting you.