MollyMadonna.com

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what does it look like? (12)

It’s easy enough to live in a box. Easy enough to look at how the world does things, or how the people around us do things, and then to lock ourselves into those images and limitations, believing that our pictures should look the same.

I woke up this morning, having rested a fair amount for this stage, and still felt so unbelievably tired. I cried to Jason, telling him “I’m not just tired, but all of the kinds of tired.” Weary, worn, emotionally spent, running out of steam in my own mental race against days and the physical things and the actual clock on the wall. This unrest is not from God, I know, but from the enemy we face who constantly tries to steal, kill and destroy. He is relentless, and yet our God is still bigger.

I even tried to rest in that truth this morning, but I couldn’t quite get there.

We decided that I’d go to church on my own, and that Jason and the kids would stay home. Our church is currently doing a series on sex, and while I’m grateful to belong somewhere that is unafraid to face real issues, it’s not the series we feel most comfortable bringing the kids to right now. In light of all of the germs that inevitably come home from Sunday school at this time of year, we’re pretty set on having the kids with us in church at least until baby is settled in, which leaves us with a few options. This morning, it felt like some worship time for me and some down time for the rest of the family was a good choice.

I got ready for church and was set to go, and then I sat down on our bed and tried to soak in a small slice of peace and quiet instead. The thought of wandering the halls at church and having people comment on this belly and my due date and then the inevitable, uninvited tummy rubs and pats was just too much for me today. Maybe that shows a sign of personal weakness, but I really don’t mind if it does. It’s just the truth.

I wasn’t really able to see past church, or missing church, or whatever the morning should look like, and then Jason suggested I needed to just get out and be elsewhere for a while. It’s true that when I’m at home, I just keep seeing more and more things I think I should do or that actually need to get done. Breaking out of that particular box is, evidently, quite hard for me right now.

I just needed to go through the motions to get past my sticking point, so I packed a bag with a few things and some noise canceling headphones, and I got in the car. At the coffee shop just a few blocks away, I pulled into an empty parking lot and walked into a quiet, unpopulated space. I ordered a bagel and a latte and sat down in my favorite booth, way at the back. I put headphones on, cranked up worship music, and blocked everything else out.

Space. In spite of being so grateful to share space with this baby most of the time, I’m just craving space in the worst way. Unconventional, perhaps, but church for me this morning has looked like this:

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Not so much like a pew in the midst of a congregation, but me and God, alone in a booth in the back of a coffee shop.

“This is what I call fake-resting. I’m wearing pajamas…It looks like I’m resting, too, but I’m not. I’m ticking down an endless list, sometimes written, always mental, getting things back into their right spots, changing the laundry, wiping down the countertops…I fake-rested instead of real-rested, and then I found that I was real-tired…Part of being an adult is taking responsibility for resting your body and your soul.” -Shauna Niequist

Maybe I could have learned something valuable about sex from Song of Songs this morning, but I think God was trying to meet me somewhere else. It’s why I felt stopped up in the bedroom as I was ready to leave for church. It’s why Jason prompted me to get out and get quiet–there’s just not a whole lot of quiet happening in our house these days, and he knew I desperately needed it. It’s why Kari Jobe has poured into my ears for the past hour and a half, and why I’ll find my right place back at home for the rest of the day when I return.

Sunday morning church could not be put in a box for me this morning. It looked like a tea latte and a bagel and a book.

***

Before I left the house to come here, I stopped Henry for a minute and asked if we could talk. I apologized for being so tired, and explained just why I feel like I do these days. I asked him, “You know how, when you’re super tired sometimes, everything just feels a bit harder?” His reply: “Not really, Mom. I never really get very tired.”

How true that is, and it’s because our babies instinctively know how to rest. They rest when they need it, and they (mostly) sleep long hours through the night. The weight of things I let myself carry do not fall on the shoulders of our babies, and thank goodness.

The message in “church” for me this morning is coming in louder and clearer: Molly, let yourself be more of a child who trusts me, and less of an adult who relies on herself on all days and at all hours. Put down the box of what things should look like, and come to the table for me to show you what they actually look like.

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith…” -1 Peter 5.7-9

I’m going to head home to make the most of the rest of this Sabbath day. God is faithful in all things…in knowing our hearts, in seeing our needs, in providing rest. When we invite him, he meets us where we are, church pew or corner booth.

grateful,

mm

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nostalgia, and remembering my “why.” (16)

I’ve spent a little time tonight filtering back through posts from my previous 100 days journeys, and I have to say, I’m so grateful. Here, sixteen days away from a presumed end to this countdown, it’s a little bit of a fight to find the words and to say what I mean to say–especially without saying all of the things I could say and don’t need to say quite so candidly.

I try to be real with you here, friends, I really do. But real Molly these days can be fairly unfiltered and maybe too honest for everyone’s taste, so I’ll attempt to keep it forthright without oversharing.

This end of pregnancy gig is hard. Way hard. Harder than I remember, which is why we’re certain to forget at some point, so that we might ever be willing to give it another go. I’m actually crazy-thankful that the hard parts fade over time…I love having babies too much to throw in the towel because the last few weeks come hard and heavy each time. It’s changed with our babies, for sure: birthing a first born is different from when the second one comes along and so on, but I still want to remember the sweetness over the obstacles, the delight over the pain.

It’s always good to remember your “why” as an exercise of self-evaluation and personal motivation, isn’t it? Looking back on the months leading up to this pregnancy, what was my why? And what was it when I decided to write for 100 days again, not recalling then just how hard it would be to commit to this mini-documentary here on the page, day after day?

Why did I pray fervently for this baby? Why is he or she such an answer to prayer? Because I felt a deep burden on my heart that our family wasn’t complete, and I wanted to be used as a vessel to carry more life into this world. I longed for another sibling for Henry and Eloise, and I longed for the chance to mother a tiny baby once again. I prayed and prayed and prayed because God had put this baby on my heart…probably long before I even realized it. And when it wasn’t happening, month after month, I prayed and prayed that I could let it go and release our family’s future to God, and then I waited for what could only feel like a miracle.

This miracle. This beautiful life, swirling and twirling and almost ready to come into the world–a reality and an answer to thousands of petitions for a someday baby.

How quickly we take for granted the things we once knew only as distant hopes and intangible dreams.

Eighty four or some odd days ago, I approached my third trimester and this exercise of documenting the last third of another pregnancy, starry-eyed at the thought of leaving a legacy for this baby to someday read and (hopefully) enjoy. I didn’t calculate all of the very sleepy nights and the third trimester aches and pains and my growing desire for time and space to prepare for baby in tangible ways. No. I counted only my desire to build a pile of memories and the intention in my mama heart to keep things even for all of our kiddos. One hundred days for Henry and the same for all who follow.

I may not have scrapbooks or organized albums of our children for their first years of life, but now, I do have this. Countless details I would never have remembered otherwise–the sweet and the good, the hard and the bad. Being pregnant is a gift and a whirlwind and a marvel all at once, and I’m so grateful that I can look back and recall how each baby has been amazing and amazingly different.

I’m not sure where we’ll cut off this countdown with baby #3, but what I do know is that when the time comes, I will be nothing short of elated to celebrate the newest birthday in our family. And it won’t be because I can put an end to the countdown and move on, rather it will be because of the countdown and the journey that comes with it. Where I’ve been as a mama in these past months and where our family is coming from are so closely related to how this baby finds a space in our lives and home–how he or she has been making a space in our hearts for a long, long time.

We’re ready for you baby, soon and very soon. You stay tucked away for a bit yet if you’re still comfy in there, and then please come when you’re ready to join our crazy, amazing world.

love, love, love,

mm

 

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revisiting light. (17)

At the start of 2016, I committed the word “light” to this calendar year. It felt exactly right for so many reasons, and now, almost 3/4 of the way through, it still feels perfect. I haven’t run everything through the filter of “is this adding light?” or “am I contributing light,” every day, or even every week, but it remains a good barometer by which to measure.

I’ve had the lyrics to “Forever Reign” on repeat in my head this morning, and no doubt there’s a handful of reasons why:

“You are good, you are good, when there’s nothing good in me.

You are love, you are love, on display for all to see.

You are light, you are light, when the darkness closes in.

You are hope, you are hope, you have covered all my sin.

You are peace, you are peace, when my fear is crippling.

You are true, you are true, even in my wandering.

You are joy, you are joy, you’re the reason that I sing.

You are life, you are life, in you death has lost its sting.”

While I have been busy trying to hone in on light in my life this year, God has been working on His end just as much and far more. Reminders are constant in this season that God is the source of light in our lives, and that without him, darkness is prowling and waiting to close in. It’s been some time since I felt so focused spiritually, knowing that I am dependent on God to provide and protect–to cover our family and our minds and this coming birth and baby.

I look at all of the things in front of us, and I can’t say I wouldn’t have crumbled by now without God constantly infusing his source of light into my life.

I have gone through plenty of foolish phases, where I think I can somehow address and control my own circumstances and overcome things in my own strength. The truth is, I can try. But when I fail at this, I can’t be surprised. I didn’t create my life, and I don’t give breath to it. God does. The invitation to include him in the daily workings of things makes even the hardest moments much more peaceful. I don’t know why I have to learn this lesson over and over again, but apparently, I do.

As I do my best to be light to the people around me, it’s easy to jump on the guilt train very quickly. “I haven’t called so and so…,” “I didn’t remember to ask about…,” “I said what I was thinking instead of thinking about what I should actually say…,” “I was silent when what they really needed was my voice…,” “I lacked patience from every angle…” These are thoughts we all face from time to time, and we’re not perfect, so they’re going to come up, of course.

But I can’t say how many times God has offered help in this area when I ask him. “Will you please be in this conversation,” or “Will you give me the right words?” “God, can you help me to hear from you and to hold my tongue.” The intention behind all of this must be consistent, and I’m forever still working on that.

Carrying baby #3 has been one of the most refining experiences for me–in ways I never would have expected. I hope that when I look back on this time, I can remember all of the ways that God has shown up and offered light; they are too numerous to count! Light right now looks different to me than it did nine months ago. I might have predicted that, but not in so many unexpected ways. And darkness has been prowling for sure, unwilling to relent in its grasp unless I regularly employ the mighty name of God to push it back, time and again.

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This life is a battleground, sweet friends. If we look around us for more than a moment, we can see it and feel it. I used to be timid about acknowledging that, but I’ve realized I’m not doing myself or anyone else any favors by pretending we are not at war.

If light is the thing we seek, darkness will attempt to make us waver. Pursuing light sometimes feels like the harder choice, but I’m constantly reminded that it’s always the better one.

onward,

mm

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surrounded. (19)

Look at these days go by, each one of them bringing something new to the mix every 24 hours! This has been the hardest countdown to date, but so worth it as I look back already and see how God is alive and moving at each twist and turn.

The past few days have been hard, but then today came, and with it, a fresh infusion of grace. Time in worship this morning was cleansing and healing, like a balm over the rough places and the painful places and the fearful ones, too.

I have to acknowledge that sometimes I forget to invite God into my mess, even though He is always ready and waiting to be there. More accurately, He is already there, but leaving me space and room to find Him. There’s even grace in this, because God’s help is never forced or contrived. I have to practice reaching out (or maybe caving in)…letting walls of control or pride or bitterness or just plain humanness fall away so that I can see clearly what is real and really true about who He is and who I am to Him.

***

I wanted to make sure that we could go apple picking as a family this fall before baby comes, so this afternoon, we headed out to the orchard after lunch. It was the most perfect weather day, and the time outside together–fulfilling fall tradition and just being us, was so good for my heart. We came home with plenty of apples (and apple cider, and a few *leftover* cider donuts), but better than that, we just let all else fall away for a while and enjoyed being four for a little bit longer. I needed that as much as anything this weekend.

Tonight, a sweet friend hosted a gathering of some of my favorite mamas to celebrate the baby bean over dinner and crafting and fellowship. Women who have poured into my life and into our family circled around the table together, and I felt beyond fortunate to be so surrounded by some of the beautiful relationships God has planted in my midst. I was reminded again just how faithful He has been to provide.

It was more than humbling to be loved so well tonight, and it is just the very best thing to have people around us who I know will love this baby when he or she arrives, too. There’s no way we could raise our little ones without the support of amazing friends and fellow parents on this adventure, and having people in our lives who uplift us and celebrate joy with us is one of the most beautiful gifts to me.

I treasure these women!!

I treasure these women!!

Surrounded is the exact right word for how I feel today: surrounded by God, by our family unit, by our amazing friends…and the timing couldn’t be better for any of that. Tomorrow begins a new week and another step closer to meeting our babe. I’m so thankful that I can be a part of the story that God is weaving for this new baby and his or her life. More thankful than I could ever really say.

I’ll sleep well tonight, I think, falling into bed with a sense of peace that didn’t seem quite as tangible before. This is the beauty and the result of generosity and kinship, truth and worship, intention and perfect timing. What incredibly gracious gifts!

may we all feel so surrounded, exactly when our hearts need it most,

mm

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one more step. (21)

Day 21. Something to mark day 21. There are days when I have so much I want to say, and others where my words won’t touch what I’m thinking or feeling by any stretch. Tonight is one of the latter. It’s late, and I’m tired, but very awake. I’m processing a lot, but somehow peaceful. God is gracious in this way.

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The highs and lows today are significant, but I’m most thankful for these things as the day winds to a close:

-Baby is still tucked safely away and reminding me of new life as he or she moves and shifts every few minutes within.

-I am surrounded by beautiful friends…women God has placed in my life for this season, and some, undoubtedly, for a lifetime.

-My family is a continuous and abundant blessing in my life–Jason and I are a team, always growing through what’s beautiful, what’s hard, what’s surprising and what’s deeply rich. Henry and Eloise bring laughter and adventure and so many reminders of our good, good Father, every single day. I am humbly grateful.

I don’t have words tonight, but I do have confidence that tomorrow will bring a new day, and with it, a step closer to meeting this sweet baby. I am learning so much about giving in to this process and letting go so that God can be the one to move.

with love and a hopeful heart,

mm