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.