All Good Things Must Come to an End

 

As I sit here on the last couple days of my 20s--I feel like I'm drowning in a lake of bittersweet emotions. I've talked to many people about this big, life change and the majority have expressed that I'm sailing onto calmer waves and smoother terrain as I turn my vessel onto the road of the 30s. It's a weird feeling, really.

When I think of the 20 year old version of me, she seems like an old friend I lost touch with and barely remember. I look back at her with fondness and some days an envy--but the better part of me knows that it has been a healthy goodbye-- even if I still love the memories of this past decade. I got to live with my best friends in an apartment in Seattle while going to UW, I became an aunty, I graduated from college, interned in London and travelled Europe with my best friend, did missions trips in Mexico and India, found a job, got engaged, married, bought a house, had a baby, visited family in India with my new family, and had another baby all in a ten year timespan?! I mean the weight of this is just crazy to comprehend.

I started out my 20s as a fairly insecure girl...I mean I was obviously just fresh out of my teens. I often wondered who or if I would ever get married. I survived on little to no sleep as I stayed up way too late with my friends having way too much fun but still managed to study and get good grades in school--time seemed to multiply back then. I did pretty much whatever I wanted whenever I wanted because the only schedule I was on was my own. I struggled with my faith--what I believed in versus what I wanted to believe in. I was skinny on a diet of pizza and Thai food and midnight runs to Jack in the Box. I watched Grey's Anatomy every Thursday night. Wait, why do I still watch Grey's Anatomy every Thursday night? I was challenged by escaping the confines of the 4 walls of the U.S. and rubbed shoulders with the uppity, rich folks at the Cartier Polo Tournament in Windsor, but also rubbed shoulders with the poorest villagers living in the rural mountains of India and Mexico. I saw things that I cannot unseen. Both breathtaking and horrifying. I said goodbye to people I love as they left earth for heaven. I learned a lot and changed a lot as the beginning of my 20s faded into the middle and end.

And this is where I started to figure out a little more of who I wanted to be and what I loved and what I believed. I hitched my heart to the man of my wildest dreams who will forever be the best decision I ever made. I traded in whimsy and spontaneous nights on the town with my girls for 2 am feedings and diapers and the sweetest little boy snuggles. I lost friends along the way but made friends that I know will be forever. I traded going out outfits for mom sweaters and heels for a closet full of boots. I have exchanged the need to protect myself to a need to protect my babies. I have a better idea of who I am and what I want my mark on this world to be.

So, I use the cliché bittersweet because it truly is that--as I leave behind this decade that holds my cousin's last breath and my babies' first cries. It tugs on my heart to say goodbye to this beautiful space of my life where so much growing and exploring and happening happened. Where I tried and failed and succeeded. Where I survived things I thought would surely end me. Where my eyes were opened to the beauty and the pain of this world.

But, I know 30 has good potential.  I don't have to waste my time stuck in the mind of an unsure girl--still nervous about the world. I get to ride it out on the solidity of knowing who I am and where I stand. I have the best group of people cheering me on and significantly less drama than my early 20s. I have the joys (and hardships) of being a mom and a wife that I would trade for zero things on this entire planet. I have 2 little boys that I get to go on this journey with filled with countless adventures ahead. I have more vision and purpose for my life and a tremendous love for the lives that have intersected mine. I have seen how the Lord will use me if I am willing--and my love for Him intensifies everyday as I learn more wildly, vibrant facets of His character.

I'm looking back at my 20s with a grateful heart over the hard moments that refined me and the joyous moments that filled me.

And with the lineup of new, precious additives to my life, I am venturing forward with my heart ready and willing and expecting much more for me and the people I love. To learn more, to explore more, to do more. I'm looking out on dreams and purposes and plans with an actual hope that things will come to fruition--dare I say in the midst of my 20s I shifted from glass half empty to glass only 1/4 empty?

So, ready or not here I go. A heart filled with gratitude for my past-- and for the future that is awaiting.

It's been real 20s. But, all good things must come to an end--

--so that better things can begin.

Three.

 

I cannot even begin to deal with the fact that you are three whole entire years old!! You are such a little man now! I still remember the day I found out I was pregnant with you, it was the longest 3 minutes of my life waiting for the pregnancy test to reveal what my heart already knew. I remember that first ultrasound where you were a black and white, blurry little blob with the most beautiful, flickering heart beat. I remember car hunting for something perfect that would fit your sweet, little car seat and keep you safe and protected. I remember looking at houses trying to envision you learning to crawl and walk and play with Duplo blocks (you were always playing with Duplos in my envisioning.) I remember baby showers and baby jabs to the ribs. I remember freak out moments and exciting ones. I remember arriving at the hospital on Thanksgiving Day, with our bags packed, foregoing the turkey dinner and ready to Do. This. Thing... and slightly terrified. I remember the first time I finally saw your perfect face. I remember your first cry. I remember your first night at home. I remember asking your dad if we should take you back to the nurses at the hospital because they knew wayyy more than we did. I remember your first bath. I remember baby smiles and baby laughs and baby coos. I remember first crawls and first steps and first cake. I remember you as the first purest love I ever knew.

It breaks me just a little to know that all your baby firsts are becoming a little fainter in my memory bank as we grow further away from those firsts and inch toward first days of school and first lost tooth and first sports team. 3 seems like it's kinda a bridge from baby to big boy and my heart doesn't want to watch you venture onto that bridge just yet.

Because 2 was good. Scratch that. 2 was AMAZING. You got to go to the movie theater for the first time, you were in a book, you went on your first big family trip to Chelan, you pretty much potty trained yourself, and you started preschool! And watching you become a big brother was one of the most emo moments in all of history. That day you pranced into the hospital room, smiling from ear to ear proclaiming to all who would listen 'THIS IS MY BROTHER.' And I cried like a 5 year old girl. Just when I thought I might break your heart by sharing my time and love with Cole, you caught my heart instead and filled it up to overflowing. You made every fear evaporate as you kissed your brothers face and sang him songs and helped and loved and showed patience and grace. 2 was special. I kinda hate saying goodbye to 2. Because how could it possibly get better?

But, in true Jace fashion, you seem to outshine yourself. You make everything better. And so I know, 3 is good. We can camp here at 3 because as long as it's you, 3 will blow our minds and make us belly laugh and shift our paradigms and expand our light and our love for you and for everyone we know.

Because it's just who you are and it's just what you do.

You make our world bigger and you stretch our hearts wider and you make us a little braver and a lot stronger and you dare us to boldly set our limits somewhere past the moon and beyond the galaxies.

So, cheers to your first day of being 3 with a whole new year full of firsts ahead. It's destined to sparkle as bright as the stars.

Now.

Let's. Do. This. Thing.

He Sees You

I remember one hot, summer night when my husband asked me to come outside and star gaze with him. As we laid out on our deck I remember looking up at the canopy that hung over us--a perfect midnight blue sky with millions of sparkling stars. I remember feeling so small in that moment.

It's easy to feel small and insignificant in such a big, fast paced world filled with so many hard, trying moments. I've lived through times of feeling betrayed by friends or consumed by my own failure. I remember a time being so weak from despair I had no other option but to collapse into a soggy pile on my closet floor drowning in a lake of my own tears. I have seen friends die, families fall apart, spouses betray each other. I have seen far too many people living in this world feeling all alone and invisible while the rest of the world seems to thrive around them.

When engrossed in these moments, it is often hard to comprehend that God cares. Especially when I look around at people whose lives seem to be going great. Those times when I'm feeling crushed in a valley while I watch people flourish on their mountain tops--it's easy to wonder 'Does God even see me down here? How can He be with me here when He's clearly with them up there?'

I was reading about Sarah and Hagar in Genesis the other day. Here are two ladies in very different positions in life. Sarah was the wife of Abraham. She had control to do what she wished with her servant. She was married. She was promised a son. She was in a much higher place of authority and power than Hagar.

Hagar was all alone. Pregnant. A servant. Out in the wilderness with no promise of a future. No plan to prosper. Just despair on her horizon.

And yet. The same God that fashioned the stars in the night sky saw and heard them both. He was able to be with Sarah in her place of authority and Hagar in her time of struggle.

When Hagar felt like not a soul on the planet cared, the God of the universe sought her out. He called her out of a dead end in the wilderness. He promised her generations. He became her soft place to land and her steady rock to hold because He was there when no one else was. He was all she needed. She called Him 'El Roi'--'you are the God who sees me.'

And He sees you. Right where you are. Whether on the peak of your mountain, or in the hollow of your valley, or somewhere in the middle. He cannot be contained to just one space or time. He is bigger than the sky that hovers over the mountains and the foothills. He is a God who sees and hears our deepest, painful groans in the middle of a lonely night and He laughs and smiles with us on those days we are swept up in the breeze of joy. He is grieving with the family who is watching a loved one pass away while rejoicing with the family welcoming a new baby into the world.

He is great enough to hold all of it in His gentle hands. He wants you to know you are not alone. He will seek you out in the wilderness so that you will feel the weightlessness of being seen and heard. And he will dance with you in all the beautiful, breathtaking moments because He desires to just be with you.

So the next time you look up at the night sky and feel the smallness of who you are--

Rest in the knowledge that the same God that hung those stars has climbed down into your life.

He is big enough to reach the corners of the earth and the crevices of your heart.

He saw a lonely, pregnant, servant girl out in the wilderness.

And today, right where you are,

He sees you.

A Second Chance

"What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it was a wonder. It was not merely a world full of miracles; it was a miraculous world." --GK Chesterton


When I was younger, life seemed to have a mysteriously, enchanting element to it. Even the most mundane of activities were seen as adventures because being so young made every activity feel fairly new. The simplest things like washing the car and mixing the cookie dough batter and then licking the mixing spoons were enough to make the whole day seem quite accomplished. I remember thinking riding in the back of mom's station wagon to Burlington Coat factory was such a long, fun drive (and now reality has set in and it was about a whopping 15 minute drive and riding backwards makes me want to barf and Burlington Coat Factory is where people go if they want their car stolen from the parking lot). Nevertheless, these were the kinds of things that deserved my excitement, these were the things that made life so pleasantly perfect.

I don't remember when those feelings of excitement and adventure in the ordinary started to wane, but eventually they did. The world stopped being so fun and innocent all the time when I started to notice it could also be boring or daunting.

And then I had a little boy and all of a sudden, the magic started to emerge again. I now see the flicker of adventure and excitement in his eyes over things like tackling dad or using the scissors to cut up a magazine or blowing dandelions in the backyard. A boring day to me is a brand new day to him with something relatively exciting and new, considering he's only been alive for about 3 years. I forget the simplest things are sheer delight to him. There is a weightlessness and freedom he possesses from not having to worry about anything right now--but to just explore and enjoy. To be whimsy and silly and present.

Last week, Jace spent the day with my mom and as he and me were cuddling at bedtime, the sweet scent of her perfume lingered in his hair and it overwhelmed me. In that moment, I was simultaneously a mom to Jace and a little girl again. I remembered a little girl who found all her comfort and security in the lap of her mom. I felt that enchanting innocence in those sweet, silent moments--the magic of being both a kid who found comfort and a mom who gives it.

It's so easy to get wrapped up in the stories on the news or in our jobs or finances or relationships or all the millions of things that take root in our minds and grow into a wilderness of worry. It's easy to see cloudy, murky days, or just boring, mundane ones. If we're not careful, we can miss those moments that steal the breath from our lungs--the ones that are like fresh, warm blankets draping over us, inviting us to take comfort and delight in the small things.

Tonight,

I'm grateful for the perspective from my boy who is marveling at the wonder of it all.

It's because of him I've realized I get a second chance --

to live in awe of this magical world.

Releasing You To The World

I've been dreading this since a week after I found out I was pregnant with you (that first week I was still in denial/terrified that you were actually in there). Today we went to your preschool orientation and met all your wonderful teachers and new classmates.

Next week, you walk out of this safe, impenetrable fortress I have been creating for you since the day you were born. See, I've been building a space where you only come in contact with the people I choose for you.  People I have trusted because I have watched them handle me with care, and so know they would only do the same for you. People who love you, will protect you, will fight for you.

But, now it's time to start tearing down some of the highest bricks of our fortress and releasing you to experience little pieces of the world as you begin preschool. You will now come in contact with people I have never met-- people I had no choice in choosing for you. You will begin to build relationships on your own. You will find people who your personality and interests click with or people who you just enjoy being around. You will make decisions all on your own and I won't be there for you to ask my permission. You will also learn things from a teacher who is not me.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm letting you meet the world and experience it at an arms distance length away from me--and a little part of me is dying inside.

Jace, bud. These last 2 years and 9 months I've been doing the best I can to love you and teach you good things to equip you for life. Now, I have to give you some space to try to put it all together and apply it to the real world. I have to let you start becoming your own you-- away from me.

Whenever I look at you, I know I've done something great with my life--so as much as I wish I could hoard you to myself, the best and most vulnerable thing I can do for the world is share you with it. It scares me more than most anything I've ever done because the world is not always kind (I saw that boy stomping on your foot today. Took everything in me not to grab you and run for the hills). My love for you comes from the deepest depths of who I am and I want nothing more than for this world to be careful with this fragile part of my heart that I'm letting run wild and free.

In turn, I expect you to treat the other kids this way, too. Behind every one of your classmates is a mama with the same hopes for their baby as mine. So, you must take care of each other.

I know you're going to preschool to learn numbers and letters and color pictures and hear stories. But, school is also a training ground for life, so make it count. The world needs more people using the full potential of their gifts --so, don't waste a drop. Use them all. If you're pouring those gifts out on others--they will never run dry. I want you to use that heart of compassion toward your teachers and classmates. Even if there is someone who you don't understand--you owe them respect and care. Be generous. Share. If anyone is left out, bring them in. Be the bridge in a gap of friends. Be a peacemaker and an encourager. Be bold and brave. Meet the world with kindness and sincerity. 

And always, always remember. Your dad and I are here to lasso the moon for you. Forever and always, you can come to us for anything.

Ok, Jace bud. Deep breath.

Now, go and change the world.

Seek Justice, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly with Your God.

 

 

 

 

In a World of Hurt



(Image made by my awesome friend, Jenni Claar!)

It's been a heavy couple weeks in my soul.

From innocent children being brutally killed in Iraq, to the suicide of Robin Williams, and the mayhem in Ferguson, Missouri, it's impossible to not feel the heaviness that spans across distances, countries, and cultures and settles itself into our hearts. I find I become so  burdened for those in the midst of tragedy that I retreat inward and grieve for the injustice I see in our fragile humanity. It seems like we are living in a world of hurt and there's not much I can practically do aside from signing petitions and mumbling heavy prayers.

When I tuck my babies in to sleep, or watch a movie with my friends or worship at my church, there's a constant humming buzzing in the background--it's what we commonly refer to as guilt. Why should I be given the freedom and luxuries I've been given? Why was I so fortunate to be born in a place where I don't have to go to bed worried that my children may have to pay the consequences of my beliefs? Why do I get to decide what to watch on Netflix tonight while some parents are deciding which of their children gets to eat dinner tonight?

Since there is no real answer, I can let my guilt swallow me whole, chew me up and spit me out worthless and hopeless. Or, I can allow an overflow of gratitude for what I do have, spur me on to change.

The world may seem too big and bleak to change. But, if we shed our guilt (or indifference, or hopelessness, or ignorance, or detachment, etc.) and step into the natural rhythms of gratitude--we will see the world for what it's actually made of--individual, beating hearts. At the core of it all, it's not just a group in the Middle East or a town in Missouri, or a demographic of low income families--it is a broken humanity filled with actual, real people who happen to be everywhere. When we see hearts instead of labels, the world gets a little smaller.

I may never get to physically help a child in Iraq, or walk someone out of their depression, or help the people of Ferguson cope with all the realities of this tragedy. But, I have been given access to a broken, hurting world. We need not look far to find a soul desperate for someone to stand up for justice, to encourage them or to care. For those people, I am responsible.

I'm encouraged to say that I have seen people moving spaces of earth to fit in pieces of heaven. A good friend is helping launch a youth center dedicated to improving academics and bolstering self image in teens who are in need of this. A woman at my church has been reaching out to people in the motels on Highway 99.  A group of moms in our area have started collecting school supplies and shoes for families who can't afford these necessities.

Our gracious, loving God sees each personal need and has invited us to participate in taking care of His most precious creation--His people--all people. We can certainly grieve, but we must also act.

Though we may not be able to single handedly rescue the world--we can be a part of influencing change or offering hope to those whose lives have intersected our own.

And I'd say, in a world of hurt

--that's a pretty great place to start.

From One to Two

I can't even remember what was ever so hard about having one kid. Don't get me wrong--I know it was hard. I hated when people belittled having one kid because sometimes I wondered how I was surviving and they were making it sound like a stroll in the park. So, to all my one-kid friends, I still empathize with you. Going from zero to one is an intense, sacred life change with it's own set of adjustments and sacrifices. But, TWO?! Two is a whole new ball game. Like, a completely different, intense game. Like we were playing baseball at the playfields and now we're playing World Cup soccer (as my friends with 3+ kids laugh at me).

It's. Just. So. Crazy. I remember when Jace was born it was kinda like a vacation. Yes, I was tired and everything was so new and I had to check on him approximately every 3 minutes to make sure he was still breathing and I had no idea what I was doing or if I would escape with my sanity intact. Ok, so maybe not a vacation. But, I also had time to do things while he was sleeping, like: shower, cook, workout, watch TV or nap. I mean, I read the Hunger Games Trilogy during that time! That's three books! Ain't nobody got time for that now!

Now, I am tired. There is no napping for me because once the sun comes up there is the task of entertaining a toddler while feeding an infant and then feeding the toddler and then changing one or the other's diaper. It's an unending circus. By the time I get to feed myself there's no food and it's noon. And I smell. Because I am never not covered in baby vomit and showers are but a blurry, distant memory of my past. And the laundry. Don't get me started on this seemingly innocent form of torture that will never end.  And how does one go to TJ Maxx with 2 kids? It's impossible to fit a car seat and a toddler in their tiny carts. And even if I could, trying anything on with the 2 would just not be worth anything in life ::big sigh::.

But, having 2 is also easier in some ways. With Jace we had him in a co-sleeper next to our a bed for a few months, hearing every sound and every breath steal every second of sleep away from us. With Cole--after a few hours of him being home and making crazy barn yard animal noises, he was shipped off to his own crib--history had proven he would be fine one room away from us. With Jace, I didn't leave the house like ever. I was afraid he would poop at the grocery store or scream from hunger or fall out of the cart. Now, I just really don't care. Jace needs to get out of the house for his sanity, but mostly mine, so Cole is coming with. I also know what to expect from a newborn and I know that this too shall pass. I will one day sleep again, he will one day not cry for no apparent reason, nor need to be burped for an hour, he will one day be too mobile to keep in one place, or too self sufficient to need me to rock him to sleep. I now know what won't last forever and what I will miss. So, it's easier to sit back and enjoy where we are.

And then with 2, some things don't change. Like how sleep deprivation makes you crazy. When Jace was a couple weeks old, he was screaming in Owen's ear while Owen slept through it. As I punched and kicked Owen to get him up and hand me the baby he sat straight up and then this:

Owen: Yes.
Me: Yes, what?!
Owen: Yes. I am a wizard.

He then laid back down to sleep as I continued to kick him awake. He finally got up, handed me the baby, walked to the bathroom and came back. As I proceeded to tell him that he just told me he was a wizard he laughed and said, 'Ha. Why don't you just jump on the pile and go swing dancing!' ...and just like that, he was fast asleep again.

With Cole, I woke up to Owen pounding his chest loudly in the middle of the night. When I woke him up to ask what the heck he was doing he said he was burping Cole. Interesting, since Cole was asleep in the other room!

And I can't just throw Owen under the bus. A few weeks ago, when I put on my glasses at 3 am to feed Cole I couldn't see ANYTHING. It was dark, and everything was blurry. I thought I was just super tired and my eyes couldn't adjust. 30 minutes later I realized instead of putting on my prescription glasses I had put on my sunglasses! I was sitting in the dark squinting for thirty whole minutes before I realized I was wearing sunglasses. Inside. At 3 am. By myself. A house full of sleep deprived crazies we are.

And then other things also change with 2--good things. Like you watch the older one slip into this new role of big brother who loves to love and care and it amazes you that your baby is now a big boy who has somehow, in his short 2 years, grasped an understanding of generosity and compassion. You sit back and beam over the 2 of them and dream of their future together as brothers and best friends. Your heart fills with more love than it had when there was just one, which seems impossible and dangerous. You can't help but feel proud and honored that this life is yours because even though it's filled with more chaos than perfection, it's just amazing that 2 little boys are yours and every day they are both changing and becoming little, wonderful people that you get to share with the rest of the world.

It's a whole new ball game-- going from one to two. But, I've come to realize-- while baseball was new and amazing and scary and beautiful while it lasted -- I'm just loving World Cup soccer now.


                                      

 

To The Good Dads

This week I've been seeing a trend in social media regarding Father's Day and I have to say I'm proud of this seemingly new realization in our society...Dad's are awesome, fully competent, loving parents!

It feels as if, in the past, our culture had reduced the role of 'father,' down to being someone who solely functioned as a breadwinner and disciplinarian, not so much as a capable, involved, nurturing parent.

But, there seems to have been a shift in our perceptions and expectations and 'father' is now being recognized as not just a provider of money but a provider of care and love and protection.

From the seat I'm sitting in, I have watched Owen do it all. He's changed thousands of diapers, logged in countless hours of middle of the night cuddles whether it be over newborn fussiness, a scared toddler, a sick little guy, you name it...he's sacrificed his sleep for his boys. He does bath times and bed times, has read the same stories 5,000 times, reads the Bible, says prayers, kisses owies, builds forts, plays ball, tackles, tickles, all of it. He does it all. My boys are the luckiest.

And I see it in my friend's husbands and the guys in my family. Whether they have their own kids or are being part of the village raising our kids, I see the role they are playing. Doing all the things. Using their gifts and talents to empower their kids and/or mine. Engaging in the role of care-taker-- one who takes care.

I am grateful to be surrounded by men who are present, life-giving dads because these are the dad's whose influence changes families, which changes communities, which changes nations. We are sitting in the midst of world changers when we see a dad having a tea party with his daughter or teaching his son how to fish.

So, to the man who I get to do this life with, if I haven't told you enough, I don't know how I would survive without you. If I could choose all over again, I would choose you every single time. The way you love our babies is my favorite thing about you--full of grace, wisdom, passion, compassion, joy, humor, adventure, all of it. You've been all in since day one and I thank you.

And to all the men who are giving your children and families everything you've got--you are noticed and appreciated. The power that resides in the simple things you do will push boundaries and move mountains for generations to come.

Today, and everyday,

we celebrate you.

 

The Day You Were Born: Cole Isaac Barton

My sweet, precious Cole baby. You have arrived, and your timing was impeccable! On May 11th, 2014, which also happened to be Mother's Day and the twins' birthday this year, I woke up feeling slightly terrible and wondering if this might be the day.

It was the perfect day. The sun was shining as your dad, brother and I headed off to church. The service was so amazing. I cried the whole time in thankfulness for all God has done and wants to do in our lives and I had this peace about you. I was finally ready to be a mama of 2 as all the nervous, scared butterflies fluttered away that morning. Mother's Day would be the perfect day to become a mom again.

We picked your brother up from Sunday school and I got my first handmade Mother's Day project ever! It had a poem and a tracing of his hand that he was SO proud of. Yes! I thought. I'm so ready for more of this, I'm so ready to meet my baby.

We decided after church to take advantage of such a beautiful day and take the ferry to Kingston with Joe uncle, Katie Aunty and the twins.  As we were walking onto the ferry I looked at your dad and said 'I don't know if going across the ferry is the best idea right now.' He was all for turning around and walking off but I kept thinking how lame it would be to miss out on a fun, sunny day if my 'feeling' was off and you didn't come. So we went. We ventured further into the water, which meant further away from dry land where the hospital resided as I wondered 'what if this ferry breaks down and I have my baby on it in the middle of the water. '

But we made it! We made it to Kingston (as did the rest of the world) and we stood in line for what seemed an eternity to order crepes. My contractions started coming on pretty strong, but I thought I might just be dehydrated. As I winced a little more with each one, Katie aunty made me time them...they were coming about 2-3 minutes apart. After a fun picnic on the grass followed by your dad, uncle, brother and cousins playing some football, I looked at your dad and said 'We need to go. Like now. We need to get on the next ferry.' I think you wanted in on some of that football action so were trying to make your escape.

Everyone on the ferry who saw me asked with concern when I was due, 'NOW! Right now. I'm going to the hospital when this ferry gets us back.' One guy told me not to worry, 'my wife's a paramedic! And I have a pocket knife!' Never in my life have I wanted to be on dry land so badly.

Joe uncle called grandma, who was supposed to be working at the hospital (in labor and delivery--where we were headed) that night, and told her we were on a ferry and my contractions were 3 minutes apart. Your grandma about had a heart attack and told us to get back over to Edmonds, NOW!

My plan was to go home, put Jace down for a nap, take a nap myself and decide in an hour if I was really in labor. But, as we docked I knew there would be no final nap. You were coming. So we dropped Jace off with your Barton grandparents, grabbed our bags and headed straight for the hospital where your grandma was waiting for me. She traded in her nurse badge for her mama/grandma badge that night. I love her for that. She is the most amazing nurse, mom and grandma and we're so lucky she's ours--she played all her roles flawlessly.

The whole day was quite an adventure filled with stolen moments and happy reminders of how much I love this life.

And then you arrived. All 7 pounds 9 ounces of you made the most beautiful day so incredibly perfect. Your brother arrived on Thanksgiving Day, a day where thankfulness kept the air so warm and sweet. I love that you arrived on Mother's Day, what better way to celebrate motherhood than to welcome a baby into the world? It was a day that was a beautiful reminder of the honor and joy it is to be a mom. And it was on that day my mother's heart was multiplied, it was that day that I knew that I knew I was born for this--to be the mom of Jace and Cole Barton. My greatest gifts. 

Since the moment I saw you I fell in love, just like everyone promised I would. You are everything I didn't know we were missing. And your dad was beaming over every inch that made up your little, tiny self. Just as proud as that day he met Jace.

 

 

The next day when Jace came to meet you, I cried the happiest tears I've ever cried. I was so worried about his reaction but he pranced right in, SO proud of his brother. He couldn't stop telling anyone who would listen 'that's my little brother! That's my little brother!' Smile stretching from ear to ear. It was the best reaction I could've ever dreamed up for the beginning of your brotherhood. And the excitement hasn't stopped. Everyday since you arrived he has shown extreme love and excitement over you. He absolutely adores you and wants to do everything with you and for you. Like telling me you need a binky if you're crying, insisting on pushing your stroller, and getting caught a couple times with the nose bulb 'just trying to get baby Cole's boogers out!'

It's been a few weeks since that day we first laid eyes on you. We're a bit tired in the Barton house, but so far you are a calm, sweet little guy who is just absolutely adored by everyone who meets you.

We are smitten. I dream of the days we get to learn what kind of personality you have, the things that bring you joy and the things that irritate you. The days ahead full of belly laughs between you and Jace. There's so much I'm dreaming about.

But, for now, I'm enjoying tiny, little you with your long eye lashes and cute little mouth. This baby boy who right now, is finding everything he needs in his mama.

Wow. What an honor it is to be yours.

Love you, my sweet Cole boy!

Brother

Jace, buddy.

We are weeks, possibly days away from you claiming your new title as big brother.

Every time I look at you my heart beams with pride at who you are. We still call you our baby but you have full on conversations with us now, you make us laugh and make us think-- you are so independent that "baby" doesn't really fit you anymore.

The thought crushes me a little remembering just 2.5 years ago we were swaddling you and rocking you and figuring out how in the world to do this parent thing.

Thank you for letting us do our practicing on you, for being our guinea pig. For letting us make mistakes and try things out and for showing us how easy it is to fall completely in love in the most pure, unselfish way we could ever know. For coming in and shaking things up, changing our world, forcing us to grow up while simultaneously clinging to our youth and reliving the preciousness of childhood with you.

I'm so excited that you will have a new buddy. An at home friend who will go with you wherever you go and look up to you and learn from you. Who you can play games with and laugh with and share all kinds of life with. Who you will build this foundation with as a child that will follow you into adulthood. There's so much to be thrilled about. Siblings are simply the best.

But, I'm just a little nervous for that period before you actually realize all this. That transition of you realizing that your mommy and daddy are someone else's mommy and daddy now, too. That our time and attention will now be divided. My prayer is that you don't ever confuse that with our love. Our love will only multiply from here on out for you and your brother--we may mess up at times, but the love will remain. It will never run dry, it is an endless well that you can drink from no matter how old you are or where in the world you are or in what stage of life you are in-- it will always be yours for the taking.

Thank you for the last 2.5 years. They're in the record books as the best yet.  Thank you for teaching me so much about me. My weaknesses, my flaws, my strengths, and my dreams. You have filled my life to overflowing and the joy you bring me can't be contained in words. I love you so very much it hurts. You have given me the greatest gift in making me a mama.

As we close this chapter of your only child days let's move forward together. Let's go discover all the beautiful things that are awaiting us--wrapped up in this one tiny, new life that only you will forever get to call,

"my little brother."

 

 

Real Life

As we are preparing to add a new human to the mix of our daily lives it is becoming apparent to me what my weaknesses are. I am not good at envisioning. Don't ask me to pick out the perfect paint colors or what piece of furniture is going to go where. I cannot tell you. Literally. My brain stops functioning and sends me into high alert mode: "FIND SOMEONE WHO KNOWS!" Same goes for organizing, purging closets, making space... I don't even trust myself with a measuring tape.

A high school teacher of mine saw an art project I did once and said "Wow! You're such a smart girl, but your art is terrible!" Don't feel bad for me. It was and is absolutely true. When I used to draw people, my brother would ask 'why are their arms coming out of their heads?' And I had no clue what he was talking about. Um hello?! This is what REAL people look like in REAL LIFE!! Duh.

My friends and family are gifted beyond the capacity of normal people in these areas that I'm not, and the only logical explanation to me is that God knew how bad I would suck at these things so in turn gave me people who are above and beyond. They all know how to share with and beautify the world in practical, tangible ways. I so desperately want to, too.

If I focus on how useless my crafty skills are I get trapped in this cage of fear that my children will live these awful childhoods because their mom did nothing creative worth remembering.

But, then I remember my own childhood. My mom made me wear red tights with my blue, black, and white plaid, Catholic school uniform. Red does not go with that particular color scheme. My room was the color of Pepto Bismol. My birthday parties were filled with friends and family, but never themes--at least none I remember. I played outside all summer long. My days were filled with baseball with the boys on the block, hide and seek, riding bikes to the little store to buy candy. My childhood wasn't filled with Pinterest worthy moments or fashion or crafts, but they were FILLED. Mostly with love and adventure.

I remember how the smell of my moms makeup made me feel safe. How she would pray for all of us kids, how I would lay my head in her lap and how I used to watch her put her jewelry on and couldn't wait to be just like her. I remember how my dad would braid my hair and never missed a single game of any of the sports I played. How my brothers and me would sleep in the living room in sleeping bags on Friday nights as I tried to stay awake for all of TGIF. Or how we made forts with couch cushions and would run from the hallway and bounce off them. How any day spent with my cousins was a great one. I remember family barbecues and the feeling of grass between my toes while running through sprinklers on hot summer days. I didn't need Pinterest. I just needed real life. I would suck the marrow completely dry out of each day only to find it completely replenished again and again by a very normal childhood.

I want this for my kids. For them to remember the smell of the beach, the cool stickiness of watermelon dripping off their fingers.  To remember that their days were filled with love and adventure with friends and family. To know a mom who was passionate about them. Who loved Jesus and children and people from different parts of the world. Who placed high importance on loyalty and friendships. Who loved reading and writing and learning about people's stories. Who was a safe and steady place when their world was filled with chaos and always gave them the best advice. Who sang at the top of her lungs in the car, made pancakes for lunch on Fridays and played with their hair as they fell asleep.

Real life.

It's about giving this world the things that you are passionate about, that light a fire in you, that you know was knit inside of you in order to explode outside of you.

Be generous and set your gifts ablaze, paint the world in new, vibrant colors that are authentic to only you and share them in real life.

Because not all great things--

can be shared on Pinterest.

India Village Update!

Back in May 2013, my family visited a little village in India called Bendigeri, it was actually the place my dad grew up as child. The children there stole my heart and changed it. They helped me see how truly beautiful this world is because of the people who fill it. I left wanting to make a difference in their lives since they had made such a drastic difference in mine.

November and December of 2013 I reached out to friends, family, my MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group, church, and co workers sharing my experience and hoping we could rally together to send over $1,500 to this little village filled with children who had nothing and whose only building used for school and church had just recently been destroyed by a flood. Because of the wonderful people in my life, we raised $4,151.95. This wasn't through any organization, these children aren't accustomed to receiving so much, this was purely out of the generous hearts and donations of the people in my life.

With this money, 39 children were blessed with an array of new items including: Clothes, backpacks, watches, books, pens/pencils, geometric school supplies, lunchboxes, water bottles, toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, and sweets. On behalf of the village, sports equipment for the kids were purchased including bats and balls to play cricket. They had previously only used sticks as their bats. For the school/church, a keyboard was purchased so they could continue to learn to play music and have something to sing along to. Additionally, there was some money left over to help with the rebuild of the school/church as well.

The children were overwhelmed by your generosity. Some cried, others were speechless, all were filled with gratitude. For some, it was the first time they felt special and loved. We received letters from the children who could write. Here are a few things they had to say:

I am Anil Gaikwad, age 9, 4th grade. I am from a very poor family. God is so good to provide these things through you all--He is love. I am grateful to you for loving us when we feel unlovable.

My name is Akash, 14 years old, 7th grade. My parents are laborers. If they work for that day we have food on the table, if not we wait for the next day for my parents to get hired and bring home money so we can get food. We survive day by day not knowing what the future holds. Thank you for the school supplies, new clothes, backpack, etc. I know these things were all packaged with love and generosity. My heartfelt love to the USA.

I am Jayashree Hulikari, age 9, 3rd grade. I am a daughter of labor workers. Thank you to each and everyone of you for providing my school supplies, backpack, geometric gadgets, and new clothes. You are making a huge difference in my life with your love, kindness, and generosity. Thank you to everyone in MOPS and the USA who contributed. I love you all.

My heart is swelling with gratitude for everyone who supported this dream, whether through money, prayers, or words of encouragement and affirmation. When I first blogged about this, sharing my heart and my hopes for raising $1,500, I felt vulnerable, scared, and like I had just set myself and these children up for failure. But, I learned through this process that if the Lord wants to accomplish something, He will. We can allow our insecurities to keep us in the shadows as silent observers, or we can trust that still small voice that allows us the privilege to be a part of the beautiful, sacred work He is already doing.

Those of you who were a part of this were a part of His plans. I am so very grateful for you and I know 39 children in a tiny village on the other side of the world who are grateful for you, too. 

You have left your mark on them--

a gesture they'll remember for the rest of their lives.

Children holding the bricks that will be used for the rebuild of the school/church

Some of the children in their brand new, clean clothes!

Some of the items the children were given

Another picture of them getting ready for the rebuild

 

These are just a few of the kids in their new clothes with their new backpacks

"Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ " (Matthew 25:37, 38, 40 ESV)

Growing Pains

I hate change. Even when it's good change and I know great things will come from it, I still drag my feet in the mud and resist anything that is different from my normal.

I'm the girl who did the ugly cry the whole day (and night, and next day) of my brother's wedding because while I was happy for him, things would never be the same. I panic before vacations, even if all my friends or family are going, I get anxiety over leaving my little corner of the world. Even though I dreamed of having babies my whole life, I was mostly terrified and cried silently at my desk at work all day the day I found out I was pregnant with Jace.

Even though I know on the other side of growing pains, amazingness awaits, I still fear it. I hate the unknowns of the unknown.

And yet, change is inevitable and essential for growth. I love that my brother got married and I got a new sister and they ended up having 3 sweet babies. I loved experiencing different parts of the world with my favorite people. I love Jace. He's my whole world. If change never happened, I would have never been introduced to these amazing new parts of my life.

So, here we are, venturing into third trimester territory. I don't know if it's denial or just the busyness of having a toddler, but I am zero percent ready for #2. I don't even know what he needs, his nursery is in shambles, can someone tell me his name?! And since he has started doing acrobats under my ribs all day, I am becoming keenly aware that even he is changing. Just 7 months ago there was no visible evidence of his life inside my body aside from 2 pink lines on a stick. Now, he's the first thing you see when you see me. I feel him constantly: his stretches, his hiccups, his kicks-- things that just 7 months ago didn't exist.

It's all changing. And I'm scared. I'm scared this baby won't pick up Jace's awesome 12 hour a night sleep habit and will leave us sleep deprived for the next 18 years. I'm scared of being outnumbered by 2 on a daily basis. I'm scared that I'll never figure out how to leave the house with a toddler and a baby in a car seat. I'm scared I'll never shower again.

And, there's a part of me that's a little sad that Jace will no longer be our 'baby'. That he won't get all of our attention. That he might feel replaced or left out. That a new baby will mean less mommy time for him. That people will come over to ooh and aww over the new little guy and Jace will be overlooked. I'm scared that all this love I have for him won't be conveyed because my time and my attention will be divided. It leaves me breathless sometimes, thinking of Jace ever being sad about any of this. This change--this unknown--is a little earth shaking.

But then I have moments where I realize, I can't wait to meet this little guy, compare his eyes and smile to his brother's, breathe in his newborn scent and baby's breath. I can't wait to see Jace step into the new role of big brother. To watch him take on responsibility and leadership and add a new dimension to his character. To see the pride in his eyes and to watch the beginnings of a special, lifelong bond between brothers. To see Owen with his 2 boys and soak in the juxtaposition of my mountain man holding a tiny baby again. To see him beam over this new life and take extra care and softness and love in tending to an infant--our infant--which will inevitably make me fall even more in love with him.  To experience the contents of my heart multiply. To open myself up to more vulnerability and possibility and to discover parts of me that will remain dormant until seeing this one, new, precious face and finding out all the ways his soul tangles with mine.

So, while change has been my lifelong frenemy, I'm trying to reject the war that lives between either/or and reside in the peace that exists with both/and. I can be both terribly afraid and indescribably ecstatic to step into a new normal. Because with change comes an array of emotions and an unbounded potential for growth.

And as the patterns of my life have shown, on the other side of growing pains there's something beautiful that was always there--

it was just waiting for its chance to be discovered.

 

 

A Cruel and Unusual Presidents' Day Weekend

I work a measly 10 hours a week, 5 on Monday, 5 on Wednesday. I don't work because my family needs my income, I work because my family needs my sanity.

Those 10 hours are precious to me. I get to sit at my desk and listen to music that isn't of the Sesame Street variety, I get to watch piles of paper dwindle away...a measurable visual that I have accomplished something that day. I get to have adult conversations and a lunch break that only requires I feed myself.

So, when Sunday night came along and my cousin reminded me that Monday was a holiday 'yay!', my stomach dropped. With Owen in the midst of busy season, holidays don't exist for him nor do weekends, which means they really don't exist for me (power to single parents everywhere, I just don't understand how it's possible). I texted my boss asking her if I could please work on Monday. I was not above begging.

I mean, I don't need to celebrate the presidents. What about the presidents are we celebrating exactly? And how? I do not know. Therefore, I should be obligated to go to work. Please. For the love. An unexpected 6 days off just seems so cruel and unusual.

Monday morning arrived, as did Jace in my room. I turned on the iPad for him and hid under the covers because I just couldn't do it. The shower that feels like I'm at a rave because he is turning the lights on and off...on and off. And the fan. On and off. Launching toilet paper rolls into the shower, squealing 'HI MOMMY!!'

The mess. The mess that looks like I never cleaned up. I did, I swear! That spilled milk and dried cereal is new spilled milk and dried cereal! I cleaned up the old stuff, this is a fresh mess, but you wouldn't know because it's worse than before! The Legos were once put away, the laundry was once done, the dishes were stacked neatly, the floor was swept--it was actually clean. But, no one would ever know because it was all undone within 10 minutes of its existence. My efforts have been thwarted. There is nothing measurable about the work I do here because it usually ends up worse than when the day first began.

Doing the dishes takes extra long now because Jace loves to close the dishwasher after each dish that goes in. So, every time I bend down to put in a new dish, I have to reopen the dishwasher and pull out the rack. For every. Single. Item.

And there's the countless hours of trying to keep a toddler entertained All. Day. Long. For 6 days in a row? Cruel and unusual. There's only so many times I can shoot hoops, do puzzles, sing the ABC's, build a tower, read Curious George.

My hero, Melissa, had to come save me yesterday afternoon as I peeled myself off of the fetal position on the couch and hightailed it to the grocery store sans toddler. I walked around, stopping to admire and stare at all the beauty that resides in the aisles of Safeway--I may as well have been at the Louvre in Paris.

I blame the Presidents and believe I deserve an apology. How dare they demand we take a whole day off to celebrate them?

I get to go to work tomorrow. All will soon be well with my soul.

Love Day

"It's everything I wanted--to be a mom. But it's just so hard. Hard to do it alone. The mess the stickiness, the crying. Books about ducks wearing yellow rubber boots. It's all of it by myself. But the hardest part isn't any of that stuff. It's when the amazing things happen. It's when Beth first stood. I just wanted to look over and share that moment with someone who loves her just as much as I do, but no one's there."--Ms. Corcoran, Glee Season 3 Episode 4.

I watched this episode of Glee sometime last year. It wasn't a huge, significant part of the storyline, but for some reason it poked a hole into my heart and has stayed there since. I realized I have what this character so desperately wanted and I take it for granted too many times. I also realized that her words hold truth for so many people around me, it's heart wrenching. I think there is a part of all of us that desires this kind of relationship, whether it be with a spouse, a parent, a sibling, a friend. There is something significant about sharing experiences without ever needing to exchange words. Words can cheapen the most sacred moments because their weight aren't always ample enough to convey the density of living out real life. The people you can share these rare moments with are few and far between--but they make all the difference in the world.

As we celebrate Valentine's Day today, we become keenly aware of where on the spectrum of relationships we fall. Holidays can be like putting on a pair of eyeglasses, you think you are seeing everything fine until the day comes and suddenly so does clarity. For those of us who find we are marinating in the richest blessings of life, Valentine's Day is a beautiful reminder to cherish and savor. To love our people well and to feel extra loved. To embrace the idea that we are capable of doing, not slaves to doubting. We were made to love, so we will love passionately. We have been given much, so we can give more.

For some, Valentine's Day is a cruel reminder that there is no one to share those silent moments with. If there is a void in your heart where someone used to be or where someone never was, if you are grieving loss or agonizing over an argument or are feeling completely alone in a world full of chaos, this day might not bring with it all the Hallmark glamour it seems to call for.

I was at an open gym for Jace today and I watched him from afar as he went down the slide by himself. When he got to the bottom, he had a tiny smirk that soon faded away. It was nothing compared to the squeals of laughter and joy that leave his body when I'm right there at the bottom waiting to catch him. Sometimes, we just need to know there's someone at the other end of the slide to share the moment with us--whether full of joy or full of pain.

I hope you find that person/people today and celebrate what you have because it is rare, and special and unique.

If you can't find that person today, open John 15:13 where Jesus says, "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends..."

He gave His life for you. You are seen. You are heard. Your silent moments are being shared.

He is at the bottom of your slide.

Today and everyday,

you are loved.

 

Living in "Extraordinary"

The word "ordinary" is a scary word to me. I have never wanted to be someone who just lived an ordinary life. Ordinary to me screams boring, mundane, mediocre. And yet, lately, I feel like my life has just been an extreme case of ordinary.

When I think back, I've had a lot of extraordinary moments. They came in a summer internship in Europe where I dangled my toes over the Seine River in Paris, walked the beaches of Barcelona, ate pizza in Italy, and called London and its people "home." Where I learned the meaning of poverty and appreciation for life in the mountains of Mexico with my best friends. It's when I met Owen, or better yet, that magical day I married him. It's when I went to India and got to teach college girls how to use a computer and do crafts with children who had no parents. It's the day Jace was born and everything suddenly paled in comparison to the most beautiful face I had ever seen. 

Here I am now, married with a 2 year old and another baby on the way. My college diploma has been traded in for piles of laundry and puzzles. While I am living the life I have always dreamed of, I find that I am camped back at ordinary.

People say things like "if there was no dark, there wouldn't be light," or "for good to exist, evil must exist." I think I've parked myself in the zone that says "I'm taking up the space of ordinary so that extraordinary people can shine." All around me I see people filled with gifts and talents and resources that make the world ooh and aww. I've allowed myself to believe my part is to live ordinary, so the extraordinary ones can do their thing.

While the years feel short, the days often feel long and if we truly let ourselves believe we peaked somewhere back there, that our glory days are actually behind us, then there wouldn't be much left to propel us forward. But every one of those peaks of the past weren't meant to be an endpoint, they were catalysts that kept things moving forward, shaping us into better versions of ourselves.

We all have the potential to be extraordinary. I'm learning that my extraordinary isn't relative to anyone else's, it's only relative to me. Extraordinary is not one-size fits all or none, extraordinary is unique.  The measuring stick we use to compare ourselves to other people needs to be broken. The only measurement that matters is the individual one--am I living within my full potential? I can choose to be an ordinary mom, wife, friend, and sister, which is what I have been doing. Or I can choose to be an extraordinary one, which in this season might look like an ordinary life but--doing things with a grateful heart, with an attitude of appreciation, with the awareness that I am blessed and so have been entrusted and equipped to bless others.  Every job we are given in every season of life is important and essential for that moment and every moment after it. Just as the past has shaped me into a better me, the present should be shaping me into a better future me.

We are all filled with a tangled web of love and adventure and creativity and passion. We can choose to lock it all up and live ordinary lives. Or, we can  pull it all out from the shadows we have casted, and we can unleash the beauty that lives in--

our own kind of extraordinary.