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her children rise up…

4 Mar

…and call her blessed. proverbs 31.28

Seven days ago, as I left Gramma Donna’s hospital room, I said goodbye to one of the most beautiful, influential people I’ve ever had the privilege to love. I knew as I walked away that night that I’d never see her sweet spirit again this side of Heaven. I had to go, but I hated to leave–to close the door on hours and days spent in that room with her, on so many “conversations” written on the white board over laughter and tears. A week earlier, Gramma had been placed in hospice care in the hospital, and our family had been given every indication that her days were few. I’m so thankful that nothing stopped me from packing up the car and making the drive with Henry back to Gramma’s “room with a view,” where we’d visited only days earlier. Then, Gramma and I had exchanged a beautiful conversation–one I will not soon forget and will always strive to remember…

From Monday until Sunday, Henry and I made our way to the hospital daily to be with “Gramma Gramma.” Not Great Grandma Donna (although she certainly was great), but “Gramma,” just the way she always spelled it, times two because it made Henry smile and I liked the ring to it. Whenever we gathered there, we did so in the company of all of Gramma’s children–my mom, aunts and uncle, their spouses, my cousins, and my dear sister, who flew in to be with Gramma, too. By Friday, Jason had joined us, and as the room swelled with people in and out, day by day, the memories and sorrow and grace and peace swelled there as well.

There are so many remarkable moments in the mix of our time together with Gramma that I know I’ll unpack for days to come. I am still processing so much and missing her so deeply…despite having 29+ years to celebrate with Gramma, the fact that our time together on earth is now over has me grappling in a way I’ve never felt before.

Gramma was a remarkable lady. An ideal role model for me and the definitive matriarch of our family. We are all far better off for being raised in her care, and now at a loss for losing her magnificent presence in our daily lives. Over time, I look forward to sharing the beauty that God crafted in our last days with Gramma. We are marked by her goodness–our family, a testament to who she was and all that she poured her life into.

Thank you for understanding the quiet that has characterized this space as of late. This experience has left me beyond having words to share. I hope to do it justice in some way as we move forward, but in the meantime, I’ll simply acknowledge how very blessed this has all been. God’s hand has been in every aspect, and we are all so thankful.

remembering,

mm

at the lunch table.

22 Feb

It’s not everyday that Henry and I get to dine with his Aunt Bridget, but this afternoon was an exception. Here’s what happens when you get the two of them at the same table over food. Or faces. Or both. It makes sense, really. “Auntie B” and I have been known to hold a few “face offs” in our own time. It’s grand to see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this regard. I didn’t even have to teach him!

glad to be making the most of the good things this week!

mm

playtime.

20 Feb

Henry didn’t have any problem keeping himself busy this weekend while mom and dad tagged in and out every few hours to nap. The household was eerily subdued while we all battled a crummy cold. Always the bright spot in our lives no matter what, Hank took matters into his own hands and decided to have a toy party. Sheer brilliance!

I’m fairly certain someone had fun.

Of course, we have all of the grandparents and six Christmases to thank ;)

i love watching him come into his own!

h’s mama

progress revisited.

19 Feb

Seven months ago (minus one day :), I wrote the post below on the subject of progress. Tonight when I sat down to blog, amidst my fill of emotions on a challenging evening, I knew there were words I’d written before that would fit the bill to a T. This particular post was a good reminder for me about being intentional and making the most of what we’ve been given. I’ll share more soon about why this is so significant in the moment, but for now, I hope the refresher is as good for you as it was for me tonight. The part striking a chord most fittingly was this–

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything [anyone] knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control…Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Without further ado, progress:

“It’s in the little things. I used to think that moving forward meant huge strides or big, ginormous leaps into new territory, but sometimes (or most times) it’s the small, hard-to-notice steps that really make the biggest difference. This applies to so many things in life…the littlest prayer turns into a daily conversation with God, which turns into life change and spiritual wellness and world change if we let it. One first jog around the block becomes two, becomes miles, becomes a marathon. One day’s change in a piggy bank evolves into a dream vacation, a college fund, a downpayment on a house, savings. And all of the little steps we take to get to such monumental places in our lives are each significant in their own right. Without one step, how can we take two?

I’m thinking about this tonight as I ponder our new way of life with a little one, and as our conversations these days revolve around schedules, structure, finances, our future…Henry’s. When you have a baby, suddenly you think about his or her future more than your own. And life choices feel more significant because you’re making them for more than just you; for more than just you and your spouse and your future together for the next however many years. Now, I think about Henry and the generations after him. I think about things like diapers in landfills (insignificant in the grand, Kingdom scheme) and generational sin (HUGELY significant where the Kingdom’s concerned)–and everything in between. How will we afford what Henry needs on every level? Spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally, financially? And what about his someday brothers or sisters? Whoa. There is serious significance to a good number of the decisions we make, and at just shy of three months old, Henry is making this more obvious to us than ever before. (Just one of the many reasons we’re meant to procreate and look after children, no?)

So these smallish steps we’re taking daily are baby steps for a reason. We have to relearn to navigate a lot of territory, for Henry’s sake, yes, but for our own as well. There are still plenty of priorities that stayed the same when Henry came along, but there’s a whole new set of priorities that are edging their way into the daily mix. Of utmost importance and at the top of the priority list? Love.

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything this little person knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. Love in your home so that there’s no question about where it comes from. Love God so that your little one(s) can see Him radiating through you into their lives. Love your spouse, inwardly and outwardly, in such a way that your tiny babe can SEE it between you and KNOW how secure a life he or she is living as part of a family. Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Every time we choose love over the alternative (whatever that may be in any case…exhaustion, laziness, disdain, frustration, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, forgetfulness, distraction, pain, naivety, hate, mistrust…), we take one step in the right direction. Not only the right direction for our little ones, but for our own hearts, our marriages, our friendships, and most especially, for our relationship with Christ. And that–no matter how many dishes are left dirty in the sink, no matter how many loads of laundry are left to do at the end of the day, is progress.

I want Henry to remember a mom who took care of things…one who cooked and cleaned and washed and kept things up so he felt provided for in as many ways as possible. But more than that, I want him to remember how I prayed. And I want him to remember–so well that he can grasp at any moment, for his whole lifetime, how I loved.”

processing,

mm

travelin’ man.

17 Feb

We made a very brief trip home to see family last night, and in the past 24+ hours, Henry has proven himself the perfect travel companion in miniature once again. Even with a cold that’s got him feeling pretty crummy, he’ll put a smile on for all of the grandparents, snuggle into the Pack ‘n Play overnight, and cozy up in his carseat for the drive to and fro with little more than a peep. What did we ever do to deserve him? Nothing, as far as I can tell. I just keep thanking God over and over for the gift he is to us. I am always amazed.

We’re still en route home, and while blogging from the car is made much lovelier by an iPhone app these days, it’s late, and the day has been long on many accounts. I snapped these two photos of Hank this morning, minutes apart, and find them a fitting representation of the days events–in some ways, surprisingly joyful, and in others, the kind of stuff that just makes you need your mama. We’re all hanging in there though. 100 some odd miles to go.

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I hope to be able to reflect more on today at another juncture, but for now, I’m pining for bed from the passenger seat.

winding down to rockabye baby, U2 edition, and thankful for it,

mm

the best time of day.

16 Feb

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Family story time can right a bad day with one turn of the page.

a little slice of heaven in my book.

mm

this thing we do.

15 Feb

We spent a little time tonight watching videos from when Henry was just days and weeks old. I can’t believe that the teensy tiny baby on camera is the same child who keeps us moving at all times now, just seven, eight, nine months later. It’s a funny thing, being a parent at this stage. Nine + months doesn’t seem all that long ago, and of course we remember those first moments less than a year later. Right?

To some degree, I’d say. I do remember a lot about Henry’s birth and the days that followed, but I think there may have been a good portion that got tucked away behind the new parent haze and the major sleep deprivation that moved in with us when we got home from the hospital. Still, I loved it. Every minute of it. And tonight, watching snippets of our time as a very new family of three made my heart leap all over again. Sure, this gig is hard on a lot of days, but it’s the best job I’ve ever had. I know Jason would agree.

It’s amazing how much I find myself taken with every stage. A good friend has told me on multiple occasions that she’s loved every stage–and that they just get better and better. I admired the prospect of that possibility, but admittedly, I had a hard time believing it when I first set eyes on our little man–I was so in love. The longer I spent time with him as a newborn, the more I was convinced that there’d be little competition for how much my heart overflowed in that season. Not true. On Monday, when Henry said, “Hi!” for the first time while waving at a friend’s little girl, I was reminded just how much he is coming into his own–and how I love every single new change. This evening, when he said, “Buh Bye” while waving goodnight to friends, every bit of the mom in me lit up. More growth. More fun. More of something to celebrate as a parent.

At this stage of Hank’s development, every small thing feels like a big thing to me as his mama. In the same way that his first smile had me near tears in the nursery last Spring, Henry’s discoveries and new words, the connections he makes–and the ability to watch them happen, all bring me such great joy.

My friend was right. It just gets better and better. The day Henry came into our lives, I immediately loved our tiny baby boy more than I ever thought possible. I couldn’t describe just how good it felt then, and I can’t tonight. We are loving every stage as Hank’s parents. How could we not!?

making the days count,

mm

eats, smiles and reads.

12 Feb

Henry really knows how to start the day out on the right foot–with a healthy breakfast and a good book, of course!

And when my morning begins with this smiling face looking back at me, my day is usually off on the right foot, too :)

one lucky mama,

mm

he shoots, he scores!

10 Feb

It’s just too much fun to be along for the ride as Henry learns new things. Lately, we love our basketball hoop. Here’s a few minutes in the life of my favorite nine month old:

 

already plotting the countless hours i hope to spend on the sidelines (of whatever HD becomes passionate about, of course!),

mm

somewhere else.

9 Feb

We all have moments from time to time when everything else stands still–when something in the everyday sparks a distant thought, hope, remembrance, curiosity, sadness or joy. I suppose I don’t know this for certain, but I presume that it’s true. There are things in life that can evoke deep, striking, vivid imaginations or memories in an instant, and in my own life, I believe that God has used such fleeting thoughts to move my heart. When they happen, I’m always left thinking more clearly than I was before. And it’s rare that I don’t carry these real, evocative moments around with me for the rest of the day…or days…sometimes weeks.

Most often, mine occur out of doors, when the light of the day, the haze on the sky, a smell in the air, or the precise crispness of morning bring me back to places I’ve loved: Africa, Australia, India, any given beach, a vacation, spaces I’ve called home for a season. But sometimes, like today, they take place in the inbetween: in a very quiet moment when the lists and to-dos and commitments have all stood still–when I’m simply living the exact thing God has intended for my life in that space and time.

I rocked Henry in and out of sleep this afternoon as he settled down from a full on cry and into a dreamy, sighing place in my arms. Cradling his sweet head in one hand, his little body tucked tightly to my chest, I whispered, “It’s ok, baby. It’s ok. Shusssh. Everything’s ok…” and I was completely struck. Somewhere else in the world, a dark skinned mama cradled her dark skinned baby, shushing him or her to sleep as she rocked, everything within her wanting just to make it all ok. She acted out of an identical set of instincts, desires and emotions, the same hopes and aspirations and sense of protection I was feeling in that moment. She gathered up all that she had in her–weary and worried, wondering about the next hours or days ahead of her–begging God for help, and loving out of everything she could offer at the same time.

I say that she was dark-skinned, because in this time-stopping moment in the nursery with Henry, she was. She was huddled in a small shack, dressed in worn, but still colorful clothing, lit only by the sun streaming through cracks in the structure above her. She was desperate, trying. She had shut out the grim reality of life just outside her own walls and instead, focused on the one thing God had tasked her with in the moment. A baby. Her baby. An entirely different set of circumstances than my own, and somehow, the same.

Hours later, I don’t yet understand why I needed, in that moment, to feel the burden of another young mother, comforting her babe. I don’t think it was simply so I could recognize that as moms, we’re not doing this alone. God comforts me to that end in friendship and fellowship on an almost daily basis. There was far more to it than that. I ached at the idea of this mother, longing desperately to console a child who lacked significantly more than sleep. I wanted there to be more than just a thought–I wanted to do something. I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where she is. But I know she matters to God, and I know that there are countless others like her.

I’m burdened to share this tonight because I don’t want to forget. God is always tugging at my heart in some way or another, and on days like today, when it feels so tangible and purposeful, I want desperately to preserve what I’ve seen or thought so I can continue to make the connections in my life. What is it that God is after in me? What does He want me to pursue? Be passionate about? Ache over? Certainly, the hearts of mothers who are struggling to do the very best with what they have, even when what they have (by worldly standards) is next to nothing. Certainly those who are isolated, alone, fighting for basic human needs and the lives of their children. What does God to do in me? Through me? Through this?

And what does God want to do through you?

I could have written all of this in a private journal, I know. And it would have been there for all time for me to go back to and re-read if I ever got around to it. But I sat down at the keyboard tonight, unsure of what I had to say, and this is what came out. Something bigger than who I am–bigger than I can entirely explain. We all have our something bigger, our someone, our somewhere else. And I am convinced that God wants to use each of us to do something significant. Not small, not quiet. SIGNIFICANT. As is big. Really, really big. The kinds of things that change lives…eternities. I marvel at the possibilities of what God will do.

If you’re the praying kind, and you read this tonight (or tomorrow, or next week, or next year), will you take a minute to pray for me? Will you ask God on my behalf to keep showing up, to keep making the burden apparent, to keep moving me towards the things I’m supposed to be about? I am praying that for you. Where two or more are gathered, no?

opening my hands up,

mm

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