MollyMadonna.com

by

Abundance. (80)

I’m not sure where to begin about today. It was so rich with unexpected kindnesses and sweetness that I’m just sitting here so humbled tonight. Today I turned 39. Even that mere fact feels like a giant gift. 39 years on this earth and 39 years to grow into more of who I’m called to become…the importance of not taking days for granted is not lost on me, and I am thankful for every one.

On the heels of last night’s not feeling well, I woke up this morning still needing to shake off some of my dis-ease and worry. I hadn’t slept incredibly well, and I could feel the weight of things hanging onto the start of a new day. This wasn’t how I hoped to send out 38, or how I would have picked to welcome 39, either. But I knew I needed to choose optimism to shift the course of the day, and I really wanted to be able to enjoy it. Praying with H on the way to school was the catalyst; gratitude has a way of sneaking beyond the haze and clearing up my perspective time and again. Good thing, because I was in curmudgeon mode, and I surely didn’t want to take everyone else with me.

As the day unfolded, so many moments and little delights crossed my path that I didn’t see coming. I was mostly ok with my very grown up birthday falling on an average Wednesday and calling it at that, but God is so generous and kind. J blew up sixty balloons into an arch decoration for the fireplace, and his efforts greeted me this morning when I came down the stairs. Friends stopped by, and our brief-ish visit set everyone’s moods on a better course. What’s more, every time I think about our kiddos running around the yard with their friends this morning, my heart could burst a bit. It was a long-awaited visit that happened on the perfect day and fed all of our souls in the best way possible.

From there, lunch with another friend outside, with the sun on all of our faces on this incredible weather day…a planned meetup, but without set expectations that turned out to be more goodness for all of our hearts. By the time we arrived at school pick up, there had just been moment after moment to be grateful for all day long. Connections with friends and family. Sweet messages and packages in the mail with homemade greetings and drawings. Our kiddos each giving me some of their own money, tucked into beautiful handmade cards “so that I could get myself something for my birthday.” The total sum? $4.44, and just enough to buy a coffee sometime or to bring a few flowers home from the market. (I attempted to give it back, but they insisted.) An envelope filled with hug coupons from our crew…and the list goes on. It truly wasn’t the gifts at all today, but the thoughtfulness behind each one that made me feel like the luckiest 39 year old on the planet.

Tonight we drove a few towns over to try out a beautiful market for dinner and to find ice cream to enjoy along the water as the kids admired boats in the marina. J found a sweet little (easy) spot to head down to the beach afterwards, where the kids collected rocks to their delight, running along the sand and jumping on logs and skipping stones into the water. The sun wasn’t quite close to setting, but the sky was putting on a color show the whole time. When C announced as we all piled back into the car that, “this was the BEST birthday day ever!” I couldn’t have agreed more. Having almost zero expectations meant that the whole day unfolded with surprise and grace abundant. I feel so undeserving, and yet, I can 100% celebrate God’s goodness and generosity and kindness to me in every aspect. Our littlest babe bumping around in my belly tonight is the perfect cap on all things–the reassurance that all is well and the beauty of dreaming about who our honeybee will become…it’s all overwhelming in the best ways.

I’m capturing this all here because I don’t want to forget it, not a bit. Tomorrow will come and likely bring with it its own highs and lows, and that’s just fine. Sometimes you need red letter day to get you over a hurdle and onto the next thing, and today felt like that to me. It’s so healthy to be reminded of all of the good, and to be able to savor new memories with the people we love. My heart didn’t know how much it needed the opportunity.

Maybe today isn’t any indication of the year ahead, or maybe it is. Regardless, I have felt God’s presence near today. His grace covering over me, His mercies falling thick. I never want to forget that there are days like this, or to mistake “normal” days as insignificant. They all add up to these years we’re living and trying to live well. Abundance, no doubt.

MM

by

The Good Things in Life. (85)

I cried today saying goodbye to C’s three-school teachers. I might cry at more things than normal these days, but my tears weren’t pregnancy hormones talking. They were tears because in a year when so much hasn’t been normal, C’s school days were outdoors, mask-free, consistent, un-quarantined and really just beautiful. I have come to know and love the three amazing ladies who made every day of school special for him. Their attention to detail, their care for his heart and their love of nature made for so many adventures to share and memories to keep.

C was known in school. Not for some kind of reputation, but because of the intentionality of his environment and the hands that cared for him every day. Watching his confidence grow as he tackled new challenges, seeing his face light up when teachers greeted him each morning, hearing him retell about the new animal or seed or nest they’d discovered on daily hikes…it all added up to something that fed his soul this year. As his mama, it fed mine, too.

When I look back on the fall of last year, getting our feet wet with outdoor learning in the midst of a season where school in-person seemed in question most of the time for schools everywhere, I think about how healthy and normal it felt to have interactions with C’s teachers three mornings a week. Real people, face to face. We were all trudging through unknowns with our kiddos, whether for their first time in school or their senior year. Nothing felt (or was) a guarantee. I remember the camaraderie that came so quickly as we relished time to connect in person, everyone needing that interaction to feel sane.

As this experience for C and our family has come to a close, I’m filled with gratitude for what it was and for what we carry forward with us into what’s next. When I asked C’s teacher today why this all made me cry, she replied with tears of her own, “I think it’s because when you know to recognize the good things in life, you see how good they really were…and all that God did in it…It was just so good.”

It’s really true. There were things covered and protected this year that we couldn’t have imagined before God showed up. There were so many details that came together for this outdoor program to open–and so clearly in timing that wasn’t ours, but His. There were people in place with giant hearts who loved our kiddos with abandon, through months and months of cold winter outside, through gear changes and weather-dependent layers and snack time logistics and so many days of little ones learning how to summon their strength to power through the elements. One of the first verses C’s class learned together this year was “I can do ALL things through Christ who gives me strength.” The number of times I’ve heard him say that since are too many to count, and he believes it and knows it to be true because of the energy and love poured into him by others. What a gift!

I cried today because the good things in life aren’t things at all–they’re tiny deposits that add up to something so good, it’s hard to bid farewell to them. And I cried today because three-school was a place that felt normal all year in a world where little else has felt normal, and that was so, so valuable to our family. No matter where C ends up, I know he’ll remember parts of this school year and how they made him feel. I know we’ll see things in him for a long time to come that grew up out of his days outdoors with teachers and friends. I know he is stronger, more resilient, more worshipful and more confident because of this past year and every step out of his comfort zone and into something new. The good things in life are abundant.

As they say in outdoor school, “Bye, bye, butterfly. Can’t stay, bluejay. Gotta scoot, little newt! Hit the road, silly toad! Take care, black bear. See you soon, raccoon!”

MM

by

State of the Union. (86)

It’s blustery outside tonight. The sound of the howling wind and rain combined is one I’d expect near the end of autumn. It feels much more like tea and slippers weather than Memorial Day Weekend fare, but we do live in the Midwest, where anything is possible until after the holiday. I’m so glad our plants aren’t in the ground yet, but I’m still hopeful we’ll be able to make some gardening headway over the long stretch of weekend ahead.

Goodness, we’re all ready for a long weekend. Tomorrow marks 28 weeks for baby, but the buzz around here is much more related to last days of school and field day than how far along we are on the baby countdown. I’ll admit that the last days of school make for a very exciting time, even if I’m still over here counting other things, too. It’s a beautiful time to celebrate all the good that’s taken place in another strange and unfamiliar year.

When we wake up tomorrow, C will be off to his last day of his first year in school. It’s threeschool, mind you, but his first foray out into the world without mom and dad. He’s come to love it, and to love particular elements of his school days that really suit his personality, energy and interests. It’s been really good for my heart to see him flourish elsewhere–not because I don’t love having him here, but because I think he’s really enjoyed having something that’s just his own. This is probably timely as God prepares C’s heart and mind to become a big brother. To watch him take ownership and be proud of his own thing feels like a very helpful step as we look to this next chapter. Tonight as we tucked kiddos in, C said, “I’m the best. Except for the baby, who’s the best.” Ha! You’ve got to love the uncompromised confidence that comes with being so young. I’ll empower that all the day long if I’m able.

Tomorrow also marks E’s last day of 1st grade, which means my last day of homeschooling for this year. This feels like a giant accomplishment for both of us, and perhaps this year more than others. It was a time for flexibility and change, for balancing the dynamics of two kiddos in school (but one of those part-time) and one at home every day without a program to supplement what we were learning here. I can’t get over how much E has matured and grown in this year of studying together. She has taken on so many responsibilities (some that we’ve asked of her and many on her own), and I’m so thankful for the front row seat as she becomes more of who God is creating her to be. She is dependable and responsible in a way that often takes me by surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t). Her sisterhood sandwiched between two brothers brings out a motherly bent that is beautiful to witness. I’m so delighted for her for the growth she’s shown this year–not only in school, but in life and music lessons and dance and as a sister. I know that God is preparing her for her new role as we welcome baby at the end of summer. She’s already such a help to me, and no doubt, she’ll dote on this little one with intentionality and gentleness.

H is gearing up for his last week of school, too, marking time with things like baseball games, a spring music performance, running his first race and planning on field day activities. He tried out instruments this week for the possibility of band next year, is gearing up for a week of overnight summer camp and is still devouring books as though his life depended on it. I can tell that he’s prepping his heart and mind to add another sibling to the mix, too, but mostly for the toll he knows parenting takes in those early days. Being a baby whisperer in his own right, he will welcome a new baby with great joy. I can’t wait to see him holding and loving on this little one with his tender heart and big brother spirit.

All in all, it feels like we’re just moving forward one day at a time as you do, but with thoughts of days ahead that we know to anticipate and that still seem a little out of reach. I’m loving this season of collaboratively celebrating what is to come while still being the family of five that we’ve grown accustomed to for so long. This coming weekend, being together and just doing normal family life will be what we all need…progress around the house and outside, for sure, but also just time to slow down a little and to welcome the change of seasons from the emotional side just as much as the physical one. I’m really grateful for all of the milestone moments that have happened here lately, and equally as grateful to think about entering into some days that have a different cadence about them.

Until then, there’s much to celebrate in our current state; the ending of things just as others are beginning feels right and good. And for now, it’s time to tuck in for the night and embrace the need for warmer blankets on the cusp of a season where we (I?) surely won’t need them. Rest well, all,

MM

by

a note for today.

Mother’s Day. A day for all kinds of feelings to come to the surface. Jason and the kiddos gifted me with some time to myself this afternoon, and I’m grateful. No doubt I’m feeling all of the feelings today.

I just scrolled through IG, and posts run the gamut—celebrations of motherhood from every angle—sensitive posts acknowledging all of the women who are missing their mamas today or longing to be called mama themselves, photos of beautiful babies who are dreams and miracles come true, amazing women I feel so privileged to do life alongside.

I wanted to write the perfect, thoughtful post, but as much as I love words, I don’t have the right ones to offer today.

I understand both sides of the coin as best as I’m able, and based on my personal experience. That’s the very best I can do. Today, I celebrate the three incredible babies who have made me a mom—visibly—this side of Heaven. And I also celebrate and miss and remember the three sweet babies I never had the joy of mothering here on earth. Six lives that all matter equally to me. Six lives that matter equally to God.

To the world, we are a busy family of five with three healthy children, living the dream. I don’t take it for granted, these precious lives entrusted to us—not for one day. And I am so, so thankful for all that God has done. Yet, my heart knows the ache of longing, too. The reality of life here on earth is that we experience pain and loss right along with joy and abundant graces, and they’re not mutually exclusive.

I miss our three who aren’t here with us. I do. And the only thing that can fix the deep ache in me as their mama is to keep my eyes fixed on God, who bears the burden right with me and offers joy to replace what has been lost.

Mother’s Day. It looks different to each one of us. There’s no perfect path to motherhood—not in a fallen world. It’s OK that we wrestle with this, and even that we wrestle with God over it at times. He is a perfect Father who longs to meet us where we are—expectant, broken, hopeful, discouraged, barren or quiver full.

Longing for our heavenly three while I do my best to love our living three well, it brings me to the feet of my Father daily. This is a gift sometimes cloaked in confusion or ache, but a gift all the same. The longer I trust that God’s story for me is better than the one I could write on my own, the closer I draw to the healing hem of Christ, who heals my mother heart through the Father’s heart little by little, again and again.

Happy Mother’s Day to every mama heart today. God put this longing inside of us for a reason, and it wasn’t by mistake. I pray that He will continue to reveal Himself to each of us in ways that allow us to live into our hearts and callings with great joy and the fullness of His peace.

much love,

mm

IMG_1839

by

loving well through miscarriage and loss.

Of all the conversations we might be having as women and friends, the subject of miscarriage seems to tuck itself discreetly into the background in most circles—yet so many of us have experienced (or walk closely with someone who has experienced) this kind of loss. I began posting subtly on the subject on IG a few months ago, and I was impacted by the number of brave women who reached out to me privately to share their own stories. I felt their aches as I have felt my own, the tension of miscarriage both trying and lonely. The common message: “Me, too. And it mattered. These babies mattered. They still do.”

We have lost three babies to miscarriage: one in 2012 and two this year. They have all mattered greatly to us, and each loss has impacted us differently. It isn’t easy to walk around with an ailment that others cannot see, and at the same time, the losses feel so personal that it almost seems taboo to talk about them. I have danced this dance over the past number of months—wanting to share for the sake of being known and better understood, and also wanting to keep our experiences private and quiet where they might be “safe.”

I don’t yet have great knowledge and expertise to offer on how to cope well with this delicate experience, though I’m learning more as I move through it again myself. Instead, what I’m able to share in this season are some of the helpful ways close friends and family have come alongside us as we’ve navigated our losses this year.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, and in honor of the precious baby we would have loved to welcome a few weeks from now, I pray this list is helpful to you (or to those caring for you) as you grieve or support someone grieving through miscarriage.

8 Ways to Support Someone Who Has Experienced Loss:

  1. Provide a meal. This might seem contrary, as we’re so accustomed to bringing a meal to someone who is home caring for a new baby, but the gift of a healthy, prepared meal is one of the most tangible ways to love someone who is grieving (and also healing physically) from pregnancy loss. Not having to cook or to prepare a meal for family members is an incredible grace to a grieving mama.
  2. Write a heartfelt note. When we lost our baby this spring, I took the greatest comfort from two sentences written thoughtfully by a caring friend. Those truthful, grace-filled words have stayed with me and provided peace when little else would do. Simple is best. It’s helpful to refrain from sharing thoughts along the lines of, “At least you know you can get pregnant,” or “At least you have children already.” “Maybe it was for the best,” “This, too, shall pass,” or “You’ll be OK,” (while meant to be encouraging) can be challenging to receive from a place of grief, even when delivered with the best of intentions.
  3. Offer to provide care for other children/provide space for the parents to process, grieve or rest. One of hardest aspects of losing babies while caring for other children is not being able to take pause. It’s a burden lifted to know that your kiddos are in good hands while you take some time to process or rest. Not unlike a full-term pregnancy, miscarriage can leave a mom working through hormones and physical changes that require plenty of extra sleep and emotional space for some time after.
  4. Be present. Sometimes all a mama wants after a loss is to be alone, but miscarriage creates lonely feelings that can linger. Checking in to see if you can swing by with coffee or to chat might be a welcome distraction. If you get a “no” the first time around, make a note to touch base again before too long.
  5. Bring/send an item as a meaningful reminder of the baby’s life. Acknowledging that a loved one’s baby existed and mattered is such a significant way of extending care after loss. A baby blanket, baby ring, or other small token that belongs only to that baby can be kept as a memory when little else feels tangible to parents and siblings.
  6. Create a special item/artwork that will prompt a sweet memory. After one of our losses, an artist friend gifted a simple silhouette of a baby being held, and it was a personal and beautiful image to remind me that I did carry our sweet baby for a time, even if it wasn’t as I’d hoped.
  7. Check in. Help your friend or loved one to know that you haven’t forgotten their loss or their baby, and that they are not isolated in remembering. A simple note or text from time to time…a few weeks later, a few months later, on their due date and/or on the anniversary of their loss, will mean they are not carrying the memory of their sweet baby alone.
  8. Remember that empathy is the real deal. Feeling known and understood is so healing after miscarriage and loss, and to hold space for someone else through your presence or prayer or remembrance is huge. Offering a listening ear and a safe place to share without judgement for the good/bad/ugly is one of the best ways to love someone well in the trenches.

If you are struggling after the loss of a baby, you are not alone. And if you need a safe place to share your story or your thoughts, my inbox is always open. For an excellent resource on grief and hope after miscarriage and loss, I highly recommend Grace Like Scarlett, which you can find at your favorite major book retailer or on amazon.com.

“God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Mt. 5.4

grace and peace to you, dear ones.

mm