I once heard someone say, “Every beautiful thing begins with a willingness to suffer.”

                                                            
                                                         Motherhood is no exception.

     It is Sunday morning... Mother’s Day.  My brand new son, Harper, is a whole two and a half weeks old.  My husband is burning up with a fever that he has had for the last three days.  The morning thus far, is going something like this:   Harper is fed and content rocking in his swing, now to fix french toast for my other three hungry bears.  They are a happy, sticky mess.  I check Josh’s temperature, 103 and climbing. I put a cool cloth on his head and try not to panic about the rest of us getting it.  I really need some tea but I can’t find a clean cup in the mess that has become my kitchen.  My thoughts are tired and disjointed, going from one worry and task to the next.  I carry laundry to the girls’ room where I can barely walk since they’ve made a floor covering of every book they own.  I feel like a machine set in motion and sense that I need to be resting and meditating on what the Lord wants from me today.  My thoughts are interrupted by the shrieks of the girls fighting over a coloring book.  I mediate that situation and glance at the mirror as I pass.  My hair is a messy bun, shirt is half soaked in milk and my eyes are shadowed and heavy.  I am just barely in the shower when Harper starts to wail from his basket on the floor, and now the girls are coming in trying to help by pushing a pacifier into his screaming mouth.  There are now five people in our small bathroom and Ella says excitedly, “It’s like a bathroom party in here!”

     The baby wanted to get up about every hour last night and my soul is just longing for a little window of quiet.  The day goes downhill from here.  Josh’s fever won’t come down and now he is looking slightly yellow.  After a short discussion we decide a trip to the emergency room is in order.  The rhythm of our home is off with the papa out of commission and a very tired mama with a very new baby who just wants to nurse and 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 mantra from Lamentations 3:  “Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.  His mercies are new every morning.  Great is Thy faithfulness.”

     How can I parent from a place of grace and love when my well seems so dry?  So I talk to Jesus, always.

     
      Later that night, the day has closed and quiet has fallen over my house full of sleeping children.  I thought of my husband lying in some hospital bed with his own mother by his side.  I sat in the garden with Harper.  We sat on the swing in the nighttime air with just garden lights and stars.  The smell of damp earth and summer is intoxicating.  His tiny new fingers curled around my bottom lip and his just-seeing eyes looked up at me, this irresistible boy all balled up like he was still inside me.  We sit for awhile and I revel in his smell and this tiny moment in space and time. I drink in the steady rythymn of his breaths on my neck. My heart swells with an indescribable love for this brand new life.  All I can think about is…this gift of mothering.  

     
   Being a mom... it is part of my story.  It is imprinted in my being that five other souls have taken form inside of me, one now in heaven and four others always by my side.  God allowed me to grow and nurture these wild, precious creatures, given to me but not mine.

     
    Pregnancy and giving birth is a physical symbol of all that will follow, the stretching, growing, the breaking, pain and joy entwined, the labor to bring forth life.  Then  grows  this bond that is like no other.  
       
    I will feed and clothe them and show them the ocean.  I’ll  read  them books and poems.  I’ll tell them the names of the trees and birds and play them my favorite records.  I’ll help shape and nurture them and tell them who Jesus is.  I’ll take a million pictures and watch them grow faster than my heart can catch up with. I will pray over them when their heart is breaking. I will fail them again and again.  My sin will wound them and I will say, "I’m sorry",sometimes daily.  With body and soul, I will do the work of loving with the mighty Rock of Christ upholding me.  I cling to Isaiah 70:11: 
 “He shall feed His flock like a shepherd:  He shall gather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead those that are with young.”  
What a promise!  It is not about how well I do as a mother, thank God!  It is learning to surrender to my Father, who will guide and lead me in grace.  Being a mother is not glamorous or easy; but it is real, human, deep and rich, and it is a gift every day that I’m entrusted with these little people.  I am poured out, depleted, yet my cup runs over.  I am terrified, yet undone by the beauty.  It is the hardest thing I have ever done and yet far better than anything I could have thought up.  I am needed every moment, yet carried by a Father who adopted me and whose love I can never exhaust. 

     I’m so thankful for my children. They have helped me become more of who I am in Christ, and have shown me a clearer picture of my own broken, mess of a heart.

     

I am so thankful for my own mother.  She is amazing and was my first teacher.  Where would I be without her?

     

      
There is one more thing I want to say.  It takes a village, no?  My value as a woman is not that I am a mother;  but that I am a child of God, trying to live out His calling for me. 
      
    If you have had life inside your body at any point whether that child was ever born or not, than you are a mother. If you have adopted life or given a life for adoption -- you are a mother.  If you have been an advocate for children, if you have loved the helpless, nurtured them, listened to them --  then you have mothered little ones that are precious in the sight of God.  If you have had to be a mother to aging parents, lost a child or are anticipating the beginning of your journey, if your mother is no longer with you -- may the grace and peace of God rest on you today.  If you have ever mothered another person, to all of you brave, warrior souls who take the risk of giving your heart, time and love to children --today we honor you and say thank you and keep going.

" 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 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~
       

(Last year I was asked to share at my church on Mother's Day.  I read from a blog post I wrote the year before. Some of this is re-posted from then.)                                                                                                        

ordinary

It was Friday. I was peeling carrots at the sink.  To her, there is always music playing or she makes her own.  I turned to see the last rays of sun streaming across the floor and this girl twirling and spinning.   She said "Watch me mommy!" And she danced and danced.

today

We've been learning about Indians and early American history.  I love watching how all those stories feed little imaginations. The sun was shining today so it was time to build teepees and live like Indians. One more reason I'm loving home schooling is more time to imagine, build and play.

letters

To Naya Faith- on the day you turned 6,
You, sweet daughter, are starlight and summer breezes, you are the scent of meadows in sunshine, you are stubborn, wild and pure, dark-eyed curious, unruly wisps framing a  face like a painting.  You are joy to my days from the moment you tumble into my bed in the morning full of chatter and wiggles to the way you beg for just one more kiss at night.  You are graceful and always dancing and singing. I hope you will never be afraid to sing your heart out and dance when your body wants to move. You are rarely quiet. You are learning to read and everything seems to be clicking all at once and it's amazing to be your teacher.  You are belly laughs and endless questions. I heard somewhere that five year olds ask a hundred questions a day. I believe it. Although they sometimes get lost in the noise of home, I try as I am able to listen to you always.  As I sat trying to be attentive and answer your questions I marveled at all that was spinning in your head. "Mama, where do colors come from?", "What is heaven like?", "Why can't  I see Jesus?", "Can we go to Nana's house?", "Can I have a birdie?", "Can we have two more girl babies?", "When can I see Nora again?", "Can she come to my birthday party?", "Why are people different colors?" And on and on it went as I tried to answer the best I could and this was one car ride!

My little girl, what a journey you have ahead of you! Is it strange that I still can't believe sometimes, that God gave me you. What a gift and honor to be the one who gets to love and guide you.
Being a little girl in this old world is hard. Becoming a woman in this world is even harder.

I was that little girl, all barefoot, dancing, big wheels, fairies and crayons. I grew into that girl who noticed everything, who got stung by flippant words, who learned not to trust, who felt not good enough, who wished sometimes to just disappear,  who didn't realize that Jesus loved me and rejoiced over me with singing.



Naya, this old world, it's gonna hurt you. You won't escape sins' arrows. They will rip and wound you, and make you braver and stronger in their wake. Darling, whatever your story holds,  know this; you are not what you do, what you accomplish, what you look like, what mistakes you will make or what anyone else may choose to say about you someday. Those are all just little parts that make up your story.

The real story is this. You were knit together by the loving hands of the God who sets the all the planets spinning in place.  You are a precious, fearfully and wonderfully made creature, adopted by Christ and named His daughter.  The day you turned five, you had your real birthday. It was an amazing day. Here you are on that day.



When we were out together just you and me, you asked me if you could pray to ask Jesus to come into your heart. We talked about this verse, "He saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our own accomplishments, but according to his own purpose and the grace that was given to us in the Messiah Jesus before time began."  

We talked about how he forgives us for our sins and how his love is deeper and wider than the ocean. You prayed a simple prayer and I rejoiced in a way I can't really describe. He is making you something new. You can do nothing to earn his love. And whatever the worst things are that you could do,  he will never ever love you any less.  His grace sets you free. With that said though, seek after his heart and let him guide your choices.   When Jesus hung dying on that cross, he had you on his heart. That alone is your worth.  He gave you to us and we will do our best to help you know the wonder of childhood and awakening to the world around you and we will love and pray for you as your experiences, both good and bad broaden your understanding of the world. Who you really are will show when everyone you are with is belittling someone else, it will show in what you do in the midst of injustice,  how you respond to the hurting,  if you are willing to be a servant, what you do with what you've been given, what you do when someone you love tears you all the way down, and how you love those around you.  

For now, you are a wild mess of knee socks, braids, skinned knees and tu-tus. The sacred and mundane weave their way through our days. You whine and stomp your feet, and watch stars, dream and pray.  We struggle and thrive and grow. You draw me piles of pictures of rainbows and flowers. You bring me fistfuls of little wilty flowers when you run inside breathless and flushed.  You have endless energy and endless questions that are becoming increasingly thoughtful and complicated. You are full of mischeif, wonder, laughter and curiosity. You are a treasure to me every day of these six years and always.

Love,
mama

so far

These are some of the things I want to remember about a month that is flying by.
*This little lady, turning six.


*Turning thirty five.
 It some ways it doesn't seem possible. I've gone through some hard things in my thirties but I have also had a growing sense of freedom and confidence in who I am as a daughter of Christ, and my worth as his creation.
 "The truth is, part of me is every age. I’m a three-year-old, I’m a five-year-old, I’m a thirty-seven-year-old, I’m a fifty-year-old.  I’ve been through all of them, and I know what it’s like. I delight in being a child when it’s appropriate to be a child. I delight in being a wise old man when it’s appropriate to be a wise old man. Think of all I can be! I am every age, up to my own." 
— Mitch Albom

 A friend shared this quote and I can identify with it. It speaks of one of the gifts that comes with getting older. My kids help make it easy to be the girl child, to find joy and wonder in simple things, although I never really lost that quality. But my ever increasing well of experiences  helps me to be able to understand people and be compassionate. I'm looking forward to what this year will hold. Josh took the day off and we trekked around the mountain we met on. We sat on a bluff and talked forever. It was the best gift.

*Birthday card which I loved.

* Homeschooling!
 We are getting into more of a groove with homeschooling, I think. Some days it flows naturally and is inspiring and I am excited to see the connections they're making.

...and other days it looks like this.

 On this day we left valentines until the last minute, and a certain someone was making his disdain for math and grammar known, and yes, that may be a crazy toddler being chased around the table.  Some days it's chaotic and my soul craves quiet. I knew there would be hard days too, but I am learning with them and we are praying through the difficulties. Just when I feel almost depleted I am reminded how blessed I am to be doing what I am doing.

A few more favorite things... 

*the feel of my boys' warmth on me and the moments of still and calm it brings.
* my boys laughing in the tub last night when Juden said, "Harper is the joy of my heart."  Amazed by brother bonds.
* A weekend bike ride with the whole family.
* Harper's first snow, brief and beautiful, snow covered Quince.

letters

            

                        

Dear Juden~on your ninth birthday,
I am hoping these letters will help us remember your story, unfolding so fast before my eyes. Eight has been a wonderful year and one of so many changes. You love reading; pretty much anything but especially comics and the Lord of the Rings series with your dad.  It is one of my favorite sights, peeking in your room at night with you laying on his back, both of you engrossed in tales of Middle earth battles and brave heroes. The other day we took you to the movies and during a scary scene you asked to sit on my lap. Your long legs draped over mine and I could feel your heart beat through your small frame. I remembered sitting in a movie theater with you when you  were so tiny, curled in a ball on my chest sleeping through the whole thing. I felt so thankful that for now, you are not too big to sit on my lap and that you still feel a little safer in my arms.  It's been a big year for you though, lots of strides toward more independence and me learning to loosen my grip a bit. Since you are my first,  we have navigated so many firsts together and we will continue to. I'm praying for grace that we will learn together and that we'll trust in our Father to carry us through the hard and rocky places. I am thankful for the heart God is shaping in you. You are wild and stubborn, creative and full of ideas. You draw constantly, you are taking after your papa on the bike and you love to spend time in your room with your nose in books, building Lego's and always listening to music. You spend a lot of time outside and run home sweaty, scratched and bruised some days from playing so hard.  You are a good friend and a good brother. You have a unique bond with Harper that brings me so much joy. Maybe because you prayed so earnestly for a brother... I don't know but you just love him.  He climbs into your lap or onto your back every chance he gets. You are so gentle and patient with him.

I asked you where you would like to go on our date and again you chose the local English Tea room. It made me smile that you are definitely not the typical nine year old boy. You love the tradition of it and the food. You drank about four cups of tea and I listened to you talk about all sorts of things. I told you the story of the baby we had lost before we had you and how daddy and I said goodbye and how you would  get to meet another sibling someday.  You listened so compassionately that I could see you maturing right in front of me. We talked about heaven and you talked about all the things you wanted to do now that you are nine. You are such a thinker and I loved the chance to focus on you and to watch you laugh as you snuck more sugar in your tea. We walked around the Choo Choo, ate ice cream, watched the fish and you grabbed my hand and I tried to memorize your sweet, lanky, nine year old self.
There are days I feel how quickly it is going and how much I need to teach you to be ready for this wide broken world. Parenting gets harder, I can't lie. It was a different kind of care when you were tiny.  I could soothe you, and nurse you and rock you and you would be okay. Now there are so many questions and there are days when your strong will wears on me and you don't want to hear what I have to say and I feel like a failure. But I know God gave us to each other and that He will shepherd me as I try to guide you through growing. I will love you with my whole heart always, son of mine.  We will pray, and hug and forgive and pray some more. Even on the hardest days when you are restless or fitful, I slip into your room after you are asleep and slide books from under your arms and watch you peaceful, and whisper blessings and love over you. I am overwhelmed with the gift you are to me.
The other day I read a post by one of my favorite blog writers who just gave birth to her fifth child. She said this of her newborn son:
"We meet and it's passionate and needy and I feed my child, I have fed my children and I have kissed every inch of their faces, if only for a short while. These cycles are not like a life cycle, or the slow turning of the earth. It's more like the wheel of a bicycle spinning through a tree-lined neighborhood, the sun glinting off its spokes. We ride quickly and the wind on our faces is like the gentlest touch, it's full of the scent of flowers." 
~ Journey Mama

I loved how she put that and I remember well.
It took me back to the day I first became a mother, still so poignant and fresh in my mind. So many hours I labored, body shaking,  and afraid. I knew something was wrong when my midwife and nurses  would  not look me in the eyes. But your daddy was holding my hand the whole time, praying over me, speaking strength. Your head was stuck and there was panic and voices were urgent. When I felt totally wrung out and broken, I remember my only thought. "God please hold my son." In that moment I didn't care what happened to me.  I didn't care if they cut me open with a sword, I just desperately wanted to hear you cry. I wanted to hear life. I realized then that I would willingly die for you. 
Then after pain and panic came you... perfect and pink and wailing. They gave you to me and you calmed and looked right into my eyes. I had never known such immediate and overwhelming love. 
I remember those early cycles of sleeping and kisses and nursing and watching you in awe. It's strange now to see that quick retreat from little boyhood and to see you becoming my little man.

 I want to be a mom who will help you to be earnest, compassionate, curious,  and brave enough to always be honest.  I want you to value justice and peace, to open doors for ladies,  to always have your sisters' back, and to be who you are, unapologetically. I want you to not overlook the hurting and needy around you. Let Jesus break your heart with what breaks his. Find your identity in how God has shaped your heart not in anything that you do. Always look for the best in people and overlook the prickles, everyone has a story. Never be too busy to go outside, rain or shine, to notice, to watch stars. No matter how hard things get, open your eyes to the ways God is loving you. They are always many, even when you feel alone. Above all, let your heart blaze with love for Him who made you and gave you all things. I will not parent you perfectly, not even close but I will walk with you, learn with you, guide you and love you. 
My son, you are joy to my heart.
Love, 
Mom

hobbit party

                                     "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."

                                                        -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Josh has been reading Juden The Lord of the Rings series and so as his ninth birthday neared he knew exactly what he wanted. The Shire! Can you blame him. It was pretty fun trying to make the world of Tolkien come alive. I kind of like hobbit life, a cozy hole in the ground filled with books and candles, pipes, music and feasting. 

A hobbit has to have hairy feet.

The littlest hobbit enjoying his second breakfast.

Hobbit sisters welcome friends.

Planning adventures through Middle earth.

They searched for rings in Shelob's Lair, played pin the ring on Bilbo,  colored some stained glass elves and dwarves, played Lego's and ran around outside with swords, and bows and arrows. 

                                                                          Gandalf arrives cake.

                                                 
                                                            

                                              A good way to remember turning nine I think.