MollyMadonna.com

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a very merry unbirthday to you.

A letter for Henry…

Sweet little buddy of mine, you are so dear to me and you can’t possibly know just how. I left you a little while ago, and today it was terribly hard. There’s a lot moving and shaking at home this month: events and travels and school days and church, and I know sometimes that’s too much for your heart to handle. You love to be home.

I think you actually love school, too, but this morning, you wanted to be tucked in cozy in your bed or snuggled on the couch with me. I completely get it, buddy. I love to be snuggled up on the couch with you, too. Your heart is sensitive and beautiful, and so much good comes from that. But there are some days I think it’s harder because of how aware and sensitive you are–at this age, it’s pretty tricky to separate feelings from circumstances, and I understand that as much as I’m able in my grown up, mama world.

I hated to leave you sad today, but I know you find your wings when I’m gone. I could have hugged your sweet, sweet friend who called out to you, “Henry! Come sit next to me!” I consider this grace for your tender age: buddies who invite you and welcome you and include you. I could pray all day long that this would be your lot your whole life through, and I hope it is! But I know as well as any that there will be even harder days, and days when I can’t hug you and let you cry and try to make it all better. I couldn’t fix it for you today, and as you grow, there will be plenty of times when I can’t make it exactly right. Just know that I would if I could, and I want to…oh, how I desperately want to!

Yesterday, we remembered that it was your half birthday–such a fun thing for you to realize that you are half way to your next birthday and closer to five than four. When you’re little, you always want to be the next age: bigger, stronger, more free to do the things that have always been reserved for the “big kids” around you. As your mama though, it’s really strange for me to think about having a five year old on your next birthday. I remember so many of the sweet days when you were itty bitty, and I just don’t want to rush a single thing.

I can’t possibly say in words what you bring to our lives, Henry D. You are so full of life and energy, I’m never sure I’ll be able to keep up. You make us laugh, and you get your sister giggling better than anyone else. Your tender heart is so evident toward her–to see you two loving each other well makes all of the hard moments of parenting feel completely worthwhile. You are curious and smart. Your memory and ability to retain facts and details is inspiring! I only wish I could get back to a mind as sharp and present as yours.

You hear everything. Everything. And you ask about it, process it, turn it into fodder for future conversations. Lately you say things like, “I managed to…” and “I think I’d prefer to…” and “Perhaps it would be best to…” Sometimes you open your mouth and an adult comes out. You amaze me. You with your great big heart and your great big mind. I always delight in imagining what this life has for you!

I don’t write you as often as I used to, but this morning and on the heels of a half birthday, I want so much to tell you how valued and loved you are. I wish I could have just snuggled you this morning. It would have been grand! And we will raincheck and snuggle this afternoon and tomorrow morning and hopefully hundreds or thousands more days after that. While you’re away today, I pray that God is meeting you and your heart where you need him. I didn’t pray with you when you were upset, and I should have done that. Forgive me? I am praying for you now, and so much of the time. And I love you and your sister and dad with my whole heart. Always, always, always, as Eloise would say.

i love to watch you grow, sweet boy. you are marvelous and marvelously four and a half.

xoxo,

mama

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…you have to change your world first. (part 2)

I just absolutely love Sunday afternoons. I didn’t used to–not before we discovered a cadence to the space that takes shape after church and lunch, right in the midst of quiet times and naps. The house gets still, and I feel little guilt about taking time to rest. That’s what this time of the week is for…to pause, absorb, process, draw inward, be.

I used to be a doer. All of the time.

This didn’t change much about the trajectory of my days, save the fact that there was always something in front of me as tangible evidence that I could produce. I had something to show for my time. I could keep up quite beautifully in a world of movers and shakers. I thought this was progress. And I thought my work determined my worth.

There has been a shift in me in this regard, and it’s taken it’s time to evolve. In part, becoming a parent has caused me to discover value in intangible progress: dirty dishes in the sink and toys everywhere, but kiddos whose hearts are forming daily and babies who are growing physically and spiritually at the same time. Sharing life with little ones kind of forces you into letting go of all of your to-dos on a regular basis. In a good way.

More than raising a family, though, the agent that’s caused the most change in me is the Holy Spirit–the presence of Christ in my life and the ability to ask for wisdom and discernment about all things, so long as I’m willing to invite the idea of a higher power and a mighty God into my life. If you’re reading from a different faith perspective, I hope I don’t lose you here, but that you’re open to me sharing my heart just as I would welcome dialogue about what’s going on in yours.

It’s taken a long time for me to realize that I’m not nearly as effective at anything as I am when I am inviting the Holy Spirit into my days. When I’m diligent about this, my production looks far less like checked off lists and far more like a willingness to bend to whims and changes, and an acknowledgment that my life is not my own, but borrowed time.

When I operate with the understanding that I have a responsibility to steward my time and thoughts and intentions well, not only do I feel the difference in my heart, but I see the fruit of this choice in my life. My relationships flow more naturally and carefully. My children snuggle closer and draw nearer in the soft spaces of the day that didn’t used to exist. When I sit down to write, or I head to the kitchen to make dinner…when I drive Henry to school or I talk with Jason about the meatier things going on in our lives and the world, I just have more peace. And I feel like God is willing to use me differently than when I’m overly concerned with the physical output of my day.

Enter Allume, and the ways that four days in South Carolina realigned my priorities and emphasized the work that God has been doing in my heart as of late. I love when this happens–it’s just so beautiful how things work together!

“If you want to change the world, you have to change your world first.” Remember this thought from last week’s conference? I shared a bit about this on Monday. While there’s so much more than a few blog posts worth of information and inspiration to unfold, it’s all coming in bits and pieces that I hope will trickle into my words here for some time to come.

Where do I begin to change my own world, so that I can change the world? For me, that place is in my commitment to intentional times of quiet, prayer and rest, which is why Sunday afternoons are a significant and worthy part of my life these days. Everything within me is richer when I rest, listen and pray.

For me, the listening part is the hardest, and also the most fruitful.

I started to draft a book proposal before heading to Allume. This was my first go, and a very challenging but rewarding process. I hadn’t planned to take this step even a few months ago, but sometimes things come at us and surprise us in a really beautiful way. In my case, a book proposal was the sweet and soul-refining exercise I needed to head into the conference with completely open hands and a wildly open mind. I didn’t know what God was doing in any part of the process.

Every time I sat down to the keys, I prayed first, but I spent more time just being quiet. And the more I did it–the more I surrendered my own thoughts and wants for the space to listen for God’s, my heart was refined. I stayed up, energized, so many nights in a row, not knowing where the road was taking me, but enthralled with the possibility of finding out.

Overlapping this time, I felt prompted to reach out and ask for prayer and support of a dear community of women around me, and goodness, did they show up! Day after day and prayer after prayer, these beautiful souls covered me and engaged with me, trusting that God could do something good…and he did.

He did. And he is, and I know he’ll continue to, so long as I keep giving my time and words and heart over to be refined and shaped. Under my own power, what I can produce in this lifetime pales greatly to what God can do when I invite him to show up. I am amazed at this process.

To be honest, I’ve been a little gun-shy about sharing it all here. Not because it doesn’t excite me, but because I know that talking about God and the Holy Spirit and both moving in my life and heart might seem a bit too etherial. This is true, in part because I can’t do any of it justice with my own thoughts or words.

What I can say is this: my Sunday afternoons and places of rest produce far more good and fruit in my life than any of my own human striving ever could. And whatever God has for my life and for me to do in this world matters way more to me than risking it all by not sharing it, by not prioritizing it, by not making it obvious to my kiddos or the people around me out of fear.

If I want to change the world, I have to change my world first.

So what matters to me? What do I spend my time on? My money on? My thoughts on? What fruit exists in my friendships, my home, my family, my daily life out in the world? Am I thinking in earthly terms, caring so much about the physical things that I forget to give time to what actually matters most?

I’m asking myself all of these questions and taking time for introspection because it matters. Because I really do want to change the world. Because I really do believe that God has something mighty to do, and that he is inviting me to share in a little part of it.

What more could I want or ask for in this life?

I want more of God, and I’m not afraid to say it. I want more of honoring him and pleasing him and serving him, and it starts with Sunday afternoons. I pray that they bleed into the fabric of my whole week…into the very marrow of my being. I pray that the more I’m able to change my own world, the more the world around me will change for good. And I pray that however God wants to use me, I’ll be open to it and hear it clearly.

He makes beautiful things out of the dust. He makes beautiful things out of us. What might he want to make out of me, or you, that could be far more beautiful that we would otherwise dare to imagine without him?!

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love from this quiet space on a sunday afternoon,

mm

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farmer’s market goodness.

A few weeks back, while mollymadonna.com was in the midst of a facelift (hooray!), I had the privilege of guest-posting over at redandhoney.com. I met Beth briefly at Allume last year, and we share similar passions for health, wholeness and family. Naturally, I enjoy her blog and love that she’s welcomed me into the fold this summer.

It’s not a secret that I love the farmer’s market, nor that I frequent ours as often as possible. I love visits when I can sneak away by myself to nab the best produce and flowers in the early a.m., but I love even more to take the kiddos along and make it a regular event. As was fitting for mid-July and my first post for Red and Honey, I thought I’d share exactly why I love taking the kids on a weekly basis and the value we find in going as a family.

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Since I didn’t have the chance to share when the post was first up (construction woes over here ;), I thought I’d link it here as I get back up to speed in this neck of the woods. If you haven’t read it already, I do hope you’ll enjoy a taste of our farmer’s market…and all of the sights, colors and flavors that make it one of my very favorite places to be. Happy reading!!

still reveling in the richness of summer,

mm

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a story for bedtime. and every time.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” Matthew 6.25-26

I spotted it while washing a tomato at the kitchen sink before dinner. The fragile flit of wings against a rock below the hedge. I shouldn’t have noticed it, not really; not while the kids were clamoring for food and the bacon was sizzling right out of the pan, not while a new storm was rolling in and the sky was darkening corners of the house. But, instinct. Instinct rolled in, too, like a mother bird who knows to build a nest…who knows to warm the eggs…who knows to keep the nestlings safe, and then…

There she was, and she was calling out. That same sweet sound I’ve heard from the window over and over again, but desperate. That same sweet mama hopping anxiously from her baby to the tree above and back. I was sure of what had happened before I could clearly make it out through the panes. New life had fallen on her watch and she was panicked. Nothing to do but try to convince her babe to take flight, and it was much too soon.

Something moved in me to take action, and as I think on it, I know three reasons why:

1) I have loved these birds through the window for months on end and they bring me great joy. They belong. Here.

2) My mama heart imagined being her mama heart and in an instant, I ached.

3) I love a happy ending, and darkness doesn’t win in the end.

God drew my attention to this little life today–I’m convinced of it. Even if only to spare the life of a tiny bird, but more likely, to spare mine. To provide a glimpse into His heart, without question.

The details of what followed are important, and not. I set my babies up quickly with something to stay safely occupied indoors. I Googled how to save a baby bird. No, really. I called my neighbor for help, because I’m a little crazy and that’s just the kind of thing you do when you have amazing neighbors and you’re trying to save a baby bird. I prepped a box and ran all around for gloves (plastic bags), a shovel, foil to cover the bacon. I ran outside and prayed to beat the rain.

Overhead, a hawk flew circling. Looming like the gray clouds behind him. Looming as if to thicken the plot. Honestly. I really think God had a story to tell here in our side yard tonight, and God doesn’t miss the details. As my dear friend and I tried to figure out getting this sweet baby back to where he came from, Jason arrived home. Knight in shining armor in that moment. Between them and their enviable height, my willing recruits managed to pick up the tiny cardinal and separate the hedge just enough to set him back in his place. (I only managed to take pictures.) No matter. My heart was light. I nearly cried a few minutes later while I watched from the dinner table as both mama and dad returned to the nest. Such joy!

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Tonight, as is often his request once tucked into bed, Henry asked me to tell him a “new” story. Something he’s never heard before. Something good, but off the top of my head. Hm. Thinking on my feet as best I could, I recounted the tale of a mama bird and a daddy bird who fell in love, got married, and flew everywhere in search of the perfect home. Without luck, they finally found a place to perch one night and offered up a prayer to God for the home that He intended for them–a place where they could raise a family and where He would keep them safe. Naturally, they found a home…in a lovely hedge in a sweet neighborhood in a smallish town. And naturally the mama soon laid an egg and the egg soon hatched and the daddy returned home to find a sweet baby boy bird in the nest that day.

And then I started to tell Henry that the wind blew a little and the baby bird wobbled and fell out of his nest. But before I could barely get the words out, he began crying and begged me not to let the bird fall out, “It’s too sad, Mom! It’s too scary! Don’t make the bird fall out of the nest! He can’t!!” He wouldn’t let it go until I changed the story altogether. Obviously then, the nestling never fell and the mommy and daddy and baby bird lived happily ever after in their cozy nest. The end.

As I finished, Henry thanked me. “You mixed up my feelings and made them all ok again,” he said. And this really gave me something to consider.

We never want the part where we fall and things are hard, and for a while they even seem dark and looming and impossible to overcome. Of course we don’t. We hate that part. It makes us want to cry and scream, “It’s too scary! I can’t!!” But here’s the thing:

There’s no great story without the fall, and there’s no amazing ending with out the Rescue.

In between, there’s no great plot without the great writer orchestrating all of the details and crafting a reality that none of us could dream up on our own. Without the noticing. Without the calls for help. Without the tugging at our hearts to choose what we know deep down to be the very truest bit of it all, that we have a Creator who made us and sees us and knows when we sit…when we stand…when we fall. And He has sent a great Rescuer on our behalf to scoop us up and put us back. Home. Where we belong. Right with our Father.

“But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” Matthew 6.30-33

He cares for us. He cares for us. He cares for us.

Far more than the birds of the air or the flowers of the field, and yet He cares for them, too. Tonight is a perfect tidbit of proof.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” Matthew 6.34

We worry and we fret over the details…big and small…that we’re not sure He sees. But He sees them, I promise you. He covers them, I promise you. And He longs for us to tune in to an awareness and knowledge of Him that He can use for good. Nothing goes unnoticed by the Father. Even when it seems impossible. Even when we fall and fall hard. It’s really an incredible story.

humbly asking to be your hands and feet tonight, God, and to hear your voice even in a whisper. even in a helpless baby bird, a mother crying out, a boy who desperately seeks a happy ending to your great story.

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dear henry.

Do you know how magical you are? I mean, truly amazing and more than I could have ever imagined and just…incredible. So much so that I suddenly needed to share it, right in this very moment. I let so many good intentions go by, but this? This one I can’t miss, sweet boy, and I’ll tell you why.

The other day, your daddy was hugging me and your sister was panicking *just* a little. So you know what you did? You sidled right up to her on the steps and sat down at her level. And then in the sugariest, gentlest voice you could possibly manage, this is what you said to her: “It’s oooookaaaaay, Eloise. Don’t be sad. It’s a good thing! Do you know why Daddy hugs Mommy?! It’s because he loves her. They love each other, Eloise. Isn’t that great?! It’s ok for them to be hugging, see?”  And then you hugged her and she was suddenly calm because you had said it was ok. Do you have any idea what that does for your mama’s heart?!

Today I had a moment in the car when too many things welled up at once and I started crying as your dad was driving us down the road. And there you were, in the backseat, not skipping a beat: “I’m really sorry that you’re sad, Mommy…I care about you. I care about you so much, and I love you.”

Oh, Hank, there is no possible way for me to measure your sweetness in moments or memories. It’s been some time since I’ve written to you, and somewhere in the mix you’ve traded in your toddler status and become this ridiculously great BOY. You’re adventurous and daring. You explore every interest thoughtfully and thoroughly, until you’re completely satisfied with the information you’ve gleaned. You share your enthusiasm for things with everyone you know and love. You are not afraid. You are sensitive to people’s feelings, and bold in your determination and your appetite for what is good. Your mind is fascinating. You engage your sister with gentleness and patience and honest-to-goodness joy. You make her laugh every day. You share. You teach and show her things I’d never think of, and it’s so beautiful! Your care and concern for others and the world is contagious.

You turned four just over a month ago and I feel like I’m able to witness daily what God is doing in your young heart. You don’t have to be older or taller or busier or more successful than others to have an impact on the people and places around you–you’re already doing that. As you get older, please don’t forget that there’s something special built into the depths of who you are, and it’s been there from the very beginning. Your prayers and words and actions and deeds all matter, and you are doing an amazing job cultivating each of those areas as you navigate the world.

It’s a gift to imagine what God might do with your life and to watch it unfold right in front of me. I can’t believe I’ve been so fortunate all this time…

I’ve never been more grateful or proud to be your mama–I’ve never been more delighted to have this vantage point as you discover more and more of who you are. Praying that you will flourish in whatever you set your heart on, my love, and that the God of Angel Armies will watch over you as you chase every new adventure!

love forever and ever,

mama