Conquering a Milestone

There are a few milestones in life that I have been terrified of ever since I was little. My driver's license test (I failed the first time and still can't parallel park, so should have stayed at failure status, but I fooled someone at the DMV, so joke's on them). My SAT's (been there done that, no one cares). Getting my wisdom teeth pulled (they are still there, I'm still scared, this is well overdue, might need an intervention). Giving birth (rightfully so). Being pregnant while having a toddler.

I'm currently living one of the very things I've been afraid of all my life.  And it. is. scary.

I am Miserable with a capital M. I throw up at any given hour of the day and if I'm not throwing up I'm wishing I am throwing up or wishing I am unconscious. I can't even describe to anyone who doesn't know this feeling, what it's all about. It's unlike anything in life. I mean imagine if someone threw you into the bottom of a boat or strapped you into the world's worst roller coaster and said "Goodbye. This is your new life for the next 3+ MONTHS. Oh and we're throwing a toddler in with you." But, it's 10 TIMES WORSE. It's unlike anything comparable to anything. And the heartburn! The heartburn that keeps you up all night long because it literally feels like your esophagus has caught on fire and it takes everything in you not to call the fire department to bring all their hoses and put this thing OUT OF MY MISERY.

The worst is when I hear other moms say how they never got sick. Pregnancy was so glowy and beautiful and lovely. In what world?! Sign me up! I want that pregnancy. I mean, I feel like I am actually Eve in the garden and I am receiving the full wrath of childbirth pains solely on me. It's good I don't believe in reincarnation or I'd have to believe I was a seriously awful person in some other life.

And my body. I just recently lost all my baby weight and then some. And now here we are. 3 months in and I already have a "bump" the size of a basketball. Every thing feels uncomfortable except for Owen's sweats. I just fit back into my skinny skinny jeans and now I'm back into MEN'S sweats?! I mean. Do I get to catch any breaks at all?

And then there's Jace. God Bless Jace. He's a good kid. But, when I was pregnant with him I just slept every chance I got. Now. I can't. Because of him. He's here now, out in the world, and so I must entertain him. Poor Jace's life consists of the iPad, and granola bars, and mommy laying on the couch pretending to watch him play but really taking 2 second naps every time he's not looking.

It's just. SO HARD to be ALIVE.



And then this.

We saw this. And we saw a flickering heartbeat. And it became real. Because one time I saw this.

And it became this.

And my world was never the same again.

A human is growing inside my body and every second cells are forming and creating and designing a baby that will change our lives and our world forever. This baby will make Jace a big brother and Owen and I parents of 2 and the thought makes my heart so wildly and insanely happy.

Well, that I can confidently say, makes conquering this terrifying milestone so worth it.

So, baby. Whatever you're doing in there to make me sick, I'll let it slide, because I'm counting on you to shine your light into the spaces of our hearts that we haven't even discovered yet.

And really, I'm just so honored that I get to be your mama. It makes everything else pale in comparison.

Even the puke.

(And no, the irony is not lost on me that my previous post was about not complaining and enjoying each moment of life.)

In this Moment

I woke up this morning feeling grateful. Grateful for my husband, my baby, our warm cozy house, the food we were going to eat for breakfast, the cars that had gas in them, the huge family I hung out with last night that I get to experience love and laughs with. I was breathing in the fresh air of gratitude. But, not all mornings are like this. Some mornings are spent annoyed that there are dishes in the sink, or that Jace won't eat his breakfast, or that my master bathroom isn't a little bigger, or my house doesn't look like a Pottery Barn catalog. Some days I waste. Because I'm too busy complaining to see that my fortress is made out of greatness.

Every moment we get on earth is our last of that very moment. Every breath, every hour, will be gone as soon as it came. And though it seems like life is long and there's always tomorrow, it's not true. There's not always tomorrow, and in the grand scheme of things 80 to 90 years isn't much compared to eternity.  We get one shot. Just one. How often are we wasting our moments being selfish, feeling entitled, comparing, being angry, wanting more, giving less?

In one of the book's I'm reading right now, the author says if your household makes $35,000 a year you are in the top 4% for wealth in the world. $50,000? Top 1%. If you're reading this and live in America you have a very different human experience than most of the world. We have so much stuff. And yet we are constantly being told we need more. If we can't be grateful for what we have right now, we can't live in real joy, it doesn't exist without gratitude.  If we are constantly waiting to obtain something more, we will never be truly happy in the present.

Technology has been a big contributor to us wanting more, but has also given us the ability to take ourselves out of our present. With all the ways we are bombarded by information through TV, the Internet, our phones and our apps, we are more and more slipping into a false world and are less and less connected to our very present, real world. Joy also can't exist in moments that we aren't even in.

I've been thinking about the village kids in India a lot lately. Thinking about how much delight were on the faces of kids who had never seen much 'stuff' in their lives. They understand what it's all about. Living in bliss doesn't come from having a lot of things, it comes from being aware and thankful for this present moment, because just being in it is enough. I've been thinking of that little girl who offered me her bed in case I wanted to stay with them. How can someone who has pretty much nothing to offer, be able to offer so much? It's because it was not out of duty, but out of a heart overflowing.

I want that. I want to live like her. To love this moment so much that I can reach out and love a stranger like that. To not be consumed with the things I don't have, but to be overwhelmed by things I do have. To not be entitled to my possessions or my love, but to be willing to give them away to whoever might be in need. To not look at myself as just a little girl with nothing to offer, but to offer the world whatever it is I have to give.

And I need to remember to smile. There may have been language barriers, but I won't forget any of those smiles. I think it would have been a very different experience if I had been walking around watching these kids be upset and hating that they were working in 100 plus degree heat, or that they were running around on the hot ground with no shoes on, or that their clothes were dirty and ripped. It changed my life to see the sheer happiness radiating from their faces. To me, their circumstances seemed less than ideal. To them, it was another day to be grateful. Another day to taste real joy.

I want this for myself, for my family, for my friends. I'm trying to learn to quiet the voice that tells me it's never enough, and appreciate the here and the now, which is always enough.

This big, beautiful life offers so much more to appreciate than to criticize.

So, that's what I'm going to do.

Live in real joy.

And real joy,

lives right now,

in this very, present moment.

Real Talk: Perfectly Imperfect

It all started when we were asked if we would be interested in doing a photo shoot for a book that's being published next year. I imagined the 3 of us dressing up really cute and posing next to burned down barns or running through fields of sunflowers, or doing something whimsical.

On Sunday, I got an email to schedule the shoot and found out that on Thursday, a photographer would be in our HOUSE from 2 pm until Jace's bedtime taking pictures of us 'living our daily lives' including, but not limited to, pictures of me jogging with Jace in the stroller. In the sun. While I'm sweating. Documented in a book. For the rest of time as I know it.

Ok, so Sunday starts panic mode. Sleepless nights. Crazy dreams. Like I had a dream that all of Jace's shoes were in the garbage can and so the photographer took pictures of me fetching his dirty garbage shoes out of the dirty garbage can and putting them on my child's feet. And I was mortified because I knew that everyone was going to see that Jace wears dirty shoes from garbage cans.And my mom was going to disown me. And this was a night. mare. Like, I woke up sweating and my heart was racing and I couldn't go back to sleep in fear of what my evil subconscious was going to stir up next.

I just felt so much pressure. I needed to tidy up our 'daily lives'.

So, whenever Owen leaves for work in the morning, Jace gets so sad and doesn't want him to leave and sometimes clings onto Owen's leg and cries. But, for some reason, when Owen gets home from work Jace runs away screaming! We can't figure it out but he needs like 5 minutes to warm up, it's like he's mad at him for leaving. So anyway, I just had this picture in my head of the photographer ready to take sweet 'welcome home, daddy' pictures but instead gets Jace running away screaming 'NOOOooooooooo!!!' So all week, the hour before Owen got home we practiced "what do we say when daddy gets home? We say, 'YAYYYY, DADDY!!!'" It worked. I trained him like a little monkey.

Then there's the house. I scrubbed every inch of the house. My window sills were polished with wood spray stuff I never knew I had! We got a picture for our dining room wall that has lived bare for the 2 years we've lived here. I took the leaves out of our dining table to make it look like it was for a small family instead of for the United States Army, and I made sure we all sat together as a family for dinner all week instead of Jace in his high chair, me at the counter and Owen eating while pacing around the kitchen.

I bought flowers for MYSELF. I never have ever bought flowers for my house. I don't even like when Owen buys me flowers. What girl doesn't like her husband buying her flowers, you ask? A practical one! I'd rather he spent $20 on a shirt for me than flowers. Buying the flowers was somewhat of a challenge because there were barely any options in the $6 range I was willing to pay. But, I found some. I got to the cash register and the clerk said 'these green flowers are so pretty!' They're green? I thought they were white! I bought green flowers? Are they weeds? Did I buy weeds for my table? But, I did it, I bought flowers for our dining table and I have to say I love them there. I wish they were fake so they didn't have to leave me.

As I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's I sent a picture of practically every clothing item I owned to my cousins and sister-in-law to pick out the right 'casual at home shirt'. They all told me to calm."I mean, is the photographer really gonna take pictures of your windowsills? And maybe having some imperfections will allow others to feel the freedom to be imperfect."

That hit the core of my heart for 1/10th of a second. But, then I decided I was not going to let myself be the poster child of imperfection. Someone else could be a martyr. Not I. So, perfection it was.

Thursday morning, my sweet, little boy woke up with the snottiest nose and was a crazy, cranky, temper tantrumy ball of mess. Why? Why me? Why NOW? He usually wakes up with the biggest smile and so happy to see us. Nope. Of course not the day that will be documented for the rest of eternity. Perfection was now out of my control.

Ok, so the day happened. It was fine. We lived. We actually had fun and the photographer was really nice and it was easier to be normal than I thought it would be. We didn't have to fake it through. And when Jace screamed for rice at dinner and refused his enchiladas, I didn't even care. Because perfection, it doesn't exist. At least not for us.

Imperfection. It's so underrated. What a boring world perfection would be. I like our little world the way it is. We've got real. We've got raw. We've got messy.  And a whole lot of love.

We are perfectly imperfect.

It's the best we've got.

And it's completely enough.

(But, if someone's going to come take pictures of our imperfect, there are some things that are completely acceptable to fix first! Right?)

Our new artwork and green flowers:)

Brave and Strong

I don’t have a lot of miles behind me on this whole mom-hood journey thing. But, as I watched my mom friends post pictures of their littles on their first day of school, tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my not yet 2 year old and thought—why can’t he just stay this little and innocent forever, right here with me? The world can be harsh, and I just want to keep him in this safe little bubble we've created. As I witness each of his milestones, they are equal parts sweet and bitter because I'm watching him succeed as he inches closer into independence and further away from needing me. 

I may not have a lot of experience, but I know in these past 2 years I've become the strongest and yet, most breakable version of myself I've ever been. There is a process to becoming a parent. Whether it’s going through 9 months of pregnancy to get to the intense pains of labor or whether it's through the emotional sweat, tears and unknowns through an adoption.We are forced to become stronger. Ever heard of mama strength?—when moms lift trucks up with their bare hands to save their children—yea that. We get that when we become mamas. We are unbreakable. 

And yet, we are so very breakable. 

I saw a 5 day old donkey last week who was basically no different than an adult donkey, he was born ready for the world. It made me think, when Jace was born he came out absolutely helpless. It was my job to transport him, feed him, clothe him, bathe him. He was nowhere close to as functional as he will someday be in his adult life. 

His vulnerability has made me vulnerable. I innately care for someone so purely, freely, and selflessly--a love so hard it hurts. Like when something is so hot it's cold or you laugh so hard you cry. This feeling is so intense it can't wholly be contained in one emotion, so it spills out on to the next. I'm so grateful to finally know this part of me, and yet so scared of how exposed it has left me.

Preacher Dean Sherman uses a phrase that I love--  ‘grace cut to fit’. We might not understand how someone else can go through something we aren't, or how we could ever go through something that might be in our future, because we only have grace for each moment as it pertains to us individually--cut to fit. So to my mama friends. Whether you just drove with your baby in the car for the first time or are sending your kid off to college, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger.  Whether you have one kid or seven kids, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger. If you work a 9-5 and entrust your babies to someone else, then come home and throw dinner together and help with homework and clean the house, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger. If you stay at home and being a mom is your full time job where there are no breaks and there doesn't seem to be an adult conversation all day, and you have sacrificed using that college degree you worked so hard for, you have been given ‘grace cut to fit’ and it is making you braver and stronger.

And to the world. We need to be careful with each other. Because no matter how old we are, behind every person is a fragile mama who is pleading for you to be gentle with her exposed heart that is out discovering the world--or, there is a big void where that kind of mama should have been. Either way, we should be taking extra care of each other. 

Because being alive--it's a vulnerable thing.

We're all just learning to be a little braver and stronger.

One day at a time. 

We get to Dance

I was sobbing that first Sunday after finding out I was pregnant with Jace. Sitting in the balcony at church everything inside me was turning over at the unknown. What about my job? What about my 8 month young marriage? What about my friends? What about my crappy car not suitable for a baby? Or a condo that suddenly felt too small?

I sat there squirming in my seat during a worship song and suddenly all the noise in my head stopped and I clearly heard the lyrics "the cry of my heart is to bring You praise from the inside out." I couldn't help but sing along.

It was at that moment I knew this wasn't about my convenience. If I really wanted to live a life that brought God glory (and I did), I had to let go of all my worries and trust that this was right that this was good. That from inside of me where this baby now took residence, to outside of me where everything all of a sudden seemed disastrous, I could move forward with confidence and joy.

This week I've had a lot of unknowns. Unknowns give me anxiety. They leave me feeling out of control about the future and my circumstances, and I hate that.

As I was cleaning the kitchen this morning, mulling over all the 'unknowns', a familiar song came on my Pandora station, "and the cry of my heart is to bring you praise from the inside out, Lord, my soul cries out."

That little life that was no bigger than a peanut when I first sang that song with intention, is now a curly-haired boy dancing his heart out to that very same song. Spinning in dizzying circles while flapping his arms around and encouraging me to 'dance mommy!'

So I dropped everything and I danced like crazy with the boy that was once my mystery--now my everything.

Sometimes, we feel like we're standing on the edge of a cliff and we are too scared of what happens next. Too scared to jump in, to let go, to soar--because the water might be too cold or the waves might be too rough, or what if there's a freaking.shark.in.there?!

But, often, when we do--when we move forward into what seems like chaos or seems too scary or seems insurmountable-- those are the moments that change us for the good. Forever. If we never move, we might stay safe, but we'll never get to experience real joy and freedom.

Just like my little boy reminded me today--the letting go, the trusting--it's all worth it. Because often times, after we've made it through the hard stuff,

we get to dance.

Choosing Compassion

There was a very short article on the Internet about the accident my family was in. There were no specific details, mainly that there was just an accident.

The comments that followed made my jaw drop. Not one of them showed care or compassion for people who had just been in a traumatic situation.

One person said "It wouldn't be a holiday weekend without some bonehead rolling his or her car over on a major travel route."

Another kind citizen said "...if you are going to get in a 5000lb weapon on the same roads I travel with my family-then put your damn phone down and drive. Not one text you have ever or will ever send is more important than my daughter getting home alive."

There were plenty of other people who shared their opinions on the matter, but the interesting thing is, no one had any facts! The article never said anything about anyone texting and reality was, no one was texting! My brother WAS paying attention, which probably helped them all survive. This wasn't a case of people being flippant and driving like maniacs or not paying attention. This was a family with kids that happened to be on the freeway that morning.

We do this to each other. We see or hear of a situation and we fill in the gaps with our own theories and ideas. Sadly, when we are removed from a situation, our compassion for people can often come up short. 

When we see a single, teenage girl who is pregnant.

When we see a person who is overweight.

When we see people of different ethnicities and tie prejudices to them.

When we see a man on the corner of the street with a cardboard sign.

When we see a child screaming his head off at the grocery store.

We do this. I do this. We fill in the story in our heads and decide why someone is the way they are and we go on with life, never stopping to know the full story. From afar, we assume the worst, like "the bonehead must've been texting."

It's different when we're up close. When we see people for who they are with our own eyes, compassion seeps in and we act and react from a place of understanding. Just like all the people who witnessed the accident that day with their own eyes, they stopped their lives to love and care for the strangers who needed it.

I want to be those people. Not the ones sitting behind a computer screen making outrageous accusations and judgments about people and their circumstances. I want to look at people as if I'm in the trenches with them. To stop the urge to fill in the blanks that I don't know and to react with love and care.

People need my grace more than they need my criticism.

I want to choose compassion.

Because at the end of the day,

it's what I need, too.

"With [the tongue] we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people lwho are made in the likeness of God. 10 From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers,1 these things ought not to be so. 11 Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and salt water?"--James 3:9-12












 

Gratitude

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Katie's hat sitting upright through all the damage. It says "Life is Beautiful".  It's so true.

July 5th, 2013

All I needed was to feel the rise and fall of Jace's chest under my arm tonight. So, in the middle of the night, I ungracefully scooped him up from his crib and brought him to our bed and decided I didn't care if I didn't sleep a wink. I just wanted to feel him breathe all night long. Thankful that his cousins are breathing in their cribs tonight.

I can't turn my brain off. There's so much to think about. So much gratitude swirling around.

Grateful they are all at home tonight. All 4 of them. They're home.

Grateful for the goodness that I forgot still exists in the world. Things may be dark, but His love cannot be quenched.

It's the woman who was driving northbound and saw the accident going southbound, so jumped the barrier ON THE FREEWAY and left her 8 MONTH OLD BABY in the car to help strangers--strangers that happened to be my family.

It's random Amazon Greg who was helping Joe and holding Ethan and a teddy bear on the side of the road until we got there to pick them up.

It's Tracy who watched the whole thing happen and said her life is changed. Who took pictures and held the boys and calmed Katie down and reminded her over and over that it makes no sense they are alive--it's a miracle.

It's the blankets Katie says she saw wrapped around the boys while they were flipping, as if put there by Jesus' hands.

It's the airbag Joe felt pressed against him to hold him back--yet the airbags never went off.

It's the middle window where Declan was, the only window on that side of the car completely untouched by the crash.

It's the first responders who got there before we did.

It's the family that came by the dozens ready to help, care, comfort, feed, pray.

It's the friends that proved to be no different than family.

As I was laying in bed, the scene would not escape my mind. I kept picturing the car rolling and Jesus rolling with them in the chaos, putting his hand up against those backseat windows to protect the boys.

But then, I thought of Psalm 18:2. "The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer. My God, my rock, in who I take refuge, my shield...'

This is not a picture of Him being tossed around in all the chaos. It is firm, it is stable, it is unshakeable.

His firm, stable, unshakeable hand was their shield today. It's the only thing that makes sense in spite of the destruction and chaos.

Thankful that He was there today. Standing beautiful in all our mess.