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ten (plus ten).

6 Mar

Hanker Tanker,

Well, little mister, you are officially ten months old. Ten months and ten days actually, but things were a little offbeat last week when you turned double digits. Will you forgive your well-intentioned mama? As the calendar rolled over to your ten month mark, you were busy spending precious time with family and  loving your mommy well when the days were hard. You never cease to amaze me, mini-gentleman of mine. With less than a year under your belt, you teach me plenty about grace most days–always serving as a reminder for me to be my best self, always cuddling or smiling or needing me in a way that says, “I forgive you,” when I don’t quite get it right.

At ten months old, HD, you have proven yourself a most patient and accommodating child on more occasions than we could expect. You have your moments of course (when the days get long and you’ve been away from your own bed too many nights in a row), but in all fairness, I do the same and I’m almost 29 years your senior. I’m not sure that changes much with age, darlin’, and I’m thankful that you’re at least honest with us about your needs. Truly, there are times when I wonder whether I could inherit a smattering of your miniature wisdom; you seem to have a keen sense of what everyone else around you is feeling, and you act accordingly. I don’t know how it’s possible for someone your age to have such sensitivity or awareness, but remarkably, you do. You continue to be a most incredible and undeserved gift to us.

I have never been more grateful for–nor more proud of you, than I have been these past few weeks. I keep thinking that my love for you couldn’t possibly grow any more, and just when I’m convinced of it, my heart stretches even a bit further. You are a light to the people around you–just ask anyone who spent time with us in Gramma’s hospital room. God shines through you into our lives in a tangible and holy way, and as your mama, I’m just humbled over and over to have the privilege of caring for you in this season of your life. I hope I can somehow do you justice.

In as many ways as you bless us, Henry David, you keep us on our toes just as much:) You are crawling, cruising, scaling, standing, reaching, tip-top-toeing your way to everything you can get your hands on. We agreed just tonight, in fact, that caring for you throughout the day has grown exponentially more challenging in the past week and a half. You’re doing absolutely nothing wrong, mind you. You’re doing everything exactly as you should be. It’s every corner, edge, stair, wall, object, and turn that are the problem, really. Effectively, we could blame the house–or perhaps it’s lack of true baby-proofness (That is not a word, by the way, but I’m your mother, so I’m using it. In time, you’ll learn all about my penchant for making up words;). Needless to say, we are doing our best to save you from the major falls and scrapes and bruises that would cause unnecessary pain and/or tears on our watch. And we’re making note of every angle requiring immediate or near-immediate attention, planning a thorough and vigilant elimination of said culprits in the days to come. You did try to scale your dresser yesterday, Oh Adventurous One, and while it’s tempting to remove all furniture from your sphere of influence until you truly get your sea legs, we will not be stacking soft piles of clothing on the floor in its stead. The thing is heavy and not going anywhere–it’s you I’m worried about. What do you say we don’t fall off the front of the dresser anytime soon?

On a last, but certainly no less significant note, you are pronouncing WORDS, my dear. Real, certifiable, recognizable words. When did you learn to say things like, “Clock!” ??? Clock. Really. Of all things. I’m not knocking the probability of your being our punctual child, I’m just saying. Duck and dog and car and dada and mama were all so much more predictable when they happened. You’re still missing a few K’s and R’s here and there, but I truly appreciate the way you say “Kruger” in your own, special vernacular. It is certainly helpful to know what you want, who you’re looking for, and what’s on your mind. Someday we’ll have entire conversations, and I look forward to those. Still, I’ll take all of the “clocks” and “Krugers” and “cars” I can get while they’re blooming. (I’ve learned so much more about human development raising you thus far than I ever did in biology, psychology and all of the other classrooms combined.)

Thank you for being a bright spot even on the dimmest days, precious bug. Ten months and ten days with you, and we’ve needed sunglasses on every one of them! Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently, sweet boy. YOU are a marvelous creation!

all the love in the world,

your mama

don’t forget.

5 Mar

Today I came across a list I’d written a few weeks back–things I wanted to make sure to do and not forget in the busyness of the daily. On it, a line that read, “Call Gramma.” If I needed a reminder to live a life without regret, this moment was it. I stopped in my tracks for just a second, realizing how fresh things still feel and thinking how much I wish I could just pick up the phone. But the ache was fleeting, replaced immediately with gratitude for so many words and glances exchanged between Gramma and me in those last few weeks. No phone call would have done them justice.

I could have thrown the list away right then and there, I know. But I didn’t. I tucked it back into the pile. And maybe that’s a strange thing to do when I know I’ll find it again and be reminded once more, or maybe not. Right now, I’m savoring how recently we sat hand in hand, how relevant that note was only weeks ago, how beautiful a thing that I always wanted to “call Gramma.”

Two simple words stood out on an everyday page today and made me think. No regrets. I pray to always be so lucky with the people I love.

embracing intention,

mm

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

love you forever.

26 Feb

Gramma Donna, 3 July 1930 - 26 February 2012

All of Heaven is celebrating tonight. Here on Earth, yours is a space no one else could ever fill. My heart aches more than I can say. You changed everything for good.

i’ll love you forever, i’ll like you for always, as long as i’m living, my grandma you’ll be…

molly madonna

wordless.

24 Feb

For the first time in a long time, I’m struggling to put words to how I’m feeling–a strange and daunting turn for a girl like me, who clears and de-clutters my mind by putting pen to paper, fingers to keys. When the year began, I had committed to myself to blog once a day in 2012. I didn’t make the goal public, but the internal accountability was enough to keep me going. Until now.

There’s plenty swirling in my head, and I want to say all of it somehow–want to preserve memories from this week that I know will linger long after the days have gone. I’ve been hoping to preserve on a page all that I’m thinking and all that is happening, but it’s as if every single thought is bottle-necking because there are so many all at once…each leaving little room for any of the others to eek their way out, wild and free.

Nothing about this week feels wild and free. It feels personal, delicate, private. It handles like blown glass, beautiful and colorful at first glance, yet fragile, painstaking, malleable under fire and left to solidify at the hand of its maker. I feel as though I am passing it back and forth between my fingers, praying it won’t drop and knowing that at some point, I will have to let it go anyway. How do you let something so beautiful just go?

You don’t. And that’s why I’m out of sorts. Wordless in a sense, for someone who otherwise has so much to say. There isn’t an utterance to do it justice. Maybe someday there will be, but not for now.

My heart is heavy. In the midst of overwhelming graces, perfect moments, gratitude beyond measure, there is a very real and present awareness of what it happening, and you can’t put words to it while it takes shape. In a way, I think you just have to rest in it as best you can and swallow whole the minutes and hours and days as they present themselves–in tiny, beautiful packages prepared for us by a Creator who foreknew the number of hairs on our heads, the days on our calendars, our every breath. Sometimes, embracing each moment as such makes them possible to handle. It does for me.

doing my best to love with reckless abandon while i can, and searching out words in the process,

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

and my burden, light.

18 Feb

This is not the first time I’ve come to the blog at the end of the day and found this verse on my mind: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Mt. 11:28-30

After two emotionally challenging days, I need to be reminded. Not just for my own sake, though. There is comfort in knowing that this verse applies for anyone who will embrace it–dear friends, family, and strangers alike.

Come to me. A perfectly simple invitation. Come. Bring yourself. Bring the junk from your day, the mess you’ve made or the mess you’re in. Bring the hurts and the triumphs, the hard stuff, the stuff you can’t handle on your own. Just come.

All you who are weary and burdened. This is an all inclusive gig. No one gets left out here. Are you exhausted of something? Are you weary from the everyday, the routine, the rhythm? Or maybe the non-ordinary, super hard stuff? Can’t get something or someone off your mind or heart? Feel a bent towards righting an injustice or helping a complete stranger? Then this means you.

And I will give you rest. “I will,” Christ promises. Perhaps not eight hours of solid sleep or a king-sized bed, but real, valuable rest. Your spirit will be refreshed. You won’t run out of steam and have to give up. His grace will be sufficient for you. You heart will be well again. You will always have what you need, when you need it.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. Christ will be careful with you. Pursuing Him and leaning on Him will make anything easier–if you’ll let it. He will teach you how to focus on what he has shown you, training you to become more and more like Himself in the process.

And you will find rest for your souls. No, really. This is so important it’s stated twice. No one gets to be the energizer bunny without sufficient rest. When you lean into God, He gives you strength for the next step. And then the next. And the next. You don’t have to know how things will turn out in the end, because God already has you covered. He has written and is writing your story as you sit at your computer/read your phone this very minute.

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Pursuing me, following my promptings, resting in my promises for your life, and opening up your hand to me to release your troubles into my care–these are all ways to experience my peace. Ask me for what you need. Share your heartache. Pray over and over again. Praise me in advance for what you’re trusting I will do. Go confidently in the direction I lead you. Leave your burdens with me, at the cross.

I am so thankful tonight for these promises from God, and for friends and family who become the Body of Christ around us when we need to be loved, reassured, prayed for, hugged tightly and encouraged in just the right moment. Things don’t always feel ok, or fair, or comprehensible. And we don’t get to have all of the answers, as much as we may want them. But we do know this: when we are weary or burdened and we ask for help, God will give us rest.

may it be so,

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

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