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pocket change. (61)

Back in the day, when everyone carried cash and made change with each transaction, emptying your pockets into a jar at the end of the day was quite the lucrative operation. In months or a year, you might save up hundreds of dollars or more and never feel a thing. That is, until you picked up said jar or took it into the bank; suddenly the weight of collected change was apparent. You could feel the impact of that plinking change, a little bit at a time, amounting to something much greater.

There are days lately when I feel like I’m picking up our change jar time and again.

It can be exhilarating to weigh the coins you’ve collected–payoff for the diligence you’ve made to save and not spend, remembering to pour them out at the end of each day. Change of the other variety can be exhilarating, too, and it can undoubtedly add up to amazing payoffs.

It’s just that trading anything for something else is sacrificial in a way, and sometimes, that’s hard and heavy.

Lately, the list of things we’re trading here feels lengthy, and the payoffs aren’t so instant. Hopefully they’re long term instead.

Maybe I should be keeping a glass jar of change nearby as a visual for this season of our lives, remembering that the impact over time has potential to be really great. There’s a task for the rainy day to do list. 😉

I’m so able to appreciate change that’s visible in the moment, especially when much of my focus right now is on emotional space that isn’t quite as obvious to the naked eye. For the past few days, Jason has spent most of his “spare” time painting our living room. It’s been the same color since we moved in almost eight years ago, and while we liked the old color for a long time, the new color has us wondering why we didn’t decide on the project sooner.

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Fresh paint. Lighter, brighter, and opening up our space to new possibilities.

My appreciation for painting projects has grown over the years, particularly because you can see and feel the difference upon impact. The more time you put in, the more a space is transformed right before you. This is the kind of change that doesn’t collect in a jar, but more like the kind you find in your pocket and run quickly to spend at the candy store. It’s sweet, and instantly gratifying.

When you’re saving a lot of change in a big ‘ol jar for some time down the road, it feels good to mix in a few impromptu stops to spend your spare pennies on something sweet along the way.

Someday the baby that’s growing here in my belly as I type will (hopefully) look back on these days before his or her arrival and smile–so many of the unknown pieces at this moment having fleshed themselves out as good and growing parts of our family story. When I think about it like that, the days and months of collecting a figurative nickel here and an abstract dime there seem worthwhile.

All of this “pocket change” we’re storing up could amount to savings we can’t possibly see or imagine now, so we’ll keep putting change away with hopes for best possible outcomes and character building as we go. Meanwhile, I’m going to take the penny candy and fresh walls as bright spots in the process, appreciating the tangible evidence that sits before me as encouragement to take one day at a time, and counting on the fact that there will be beauty around each new unknown corner and turn.

collecting pennies,

mm

 

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keepers. (62)

Friends see your messes and love you anyway. They look past your misgivings and remind you of who you really are, so that on the hard days, you can remember, too.

Long term friends do this especially well.

They’re the ones who have known you as your past self…immature, confused, still searching for a sense of who you really are and who you are called to become. They can appreciate just how far you’ve walked down bumpy or broken up roads, and they recall memories of just enough of those roads that, when brought to the surface, their memory grows your own appreciation of how far you’ve come.

Long standing friends understand your backstory without a need to dig deep into old junk and heartache.

They feel like home.

Growing up is a painful process sometimes. Even at thirty four, I’m still doing it…still working to become more of who I’m meant to be and less of the sinful self I actually am. I want to be more open, more gracious. Less particular, less intense. I want to be passionate about my first loves, but not over the top. I want to champion the people I love and not compete.

The best friendships reflect my strengths and my misgivings back to me, refining me and making me think more deeply all of the time. This is a crazy gift I can’t replace with anyone or anything else. I’d never want to.

In these later days of pregnancy, when my energy is wearing thin and my patience, even thinner, I am craving the presence of these dear-to-me friendships even more. I realize this every time I’m with them, even though I also walk away wincing at the moments when I got crabby or whiny, when I was short with my kids in front of them, or when I complained about any aspect of this pregnancy even though I really am unbelievably grateful to be right in this season, right where we are.

Thank goodness for grace.

Today we spent the afternoon with a group of people who have known our family a long, long time. These are lifelong friendships that grow and change as we do, and as our families do, too. At one point I looked out over a sea of “littles” who just aren’t all that little any more. The eldest turns nine in a few months.

Jedis. Buddies. Evidence of tried and true friendships and God's sweet grace.

Jedis. Buddies. Evidence of tried and true friendships and God’s sweet grace in our lives.

In this group, our family is bringing up the rear with baby number three (and any subsequent babies, should they be in our future), and it is both beautiful and strange to be the last one pregnant in this mix of amazing friends. The history that each one of our kiddos represents is significant and deep…major life changes surrounding each one of them, and then all of the chapters that have fallen in between.

And my, these kids are amazing. I look at each one of them and think just how fortunate we are that they are healthy, smart, funny, kind, resilient children who are each growing to love the Lord and who genuinely love each other, too. They’re all different in so many ways, and it’s so humbling to be among them.

Their interwoven lives are some of the sweetest fruit that comes from long term, deeply committed friendships like ours. I’m so thankful.

The baby bean is going to join a dynamic crew. He or she will be snuggled and cuddled and doted on and carried around as the baby of the bunch, but no less a part of the mix than the rest–only added to the number in the way that close friends embrace each others’ lives and families and celebrations and messes.

Only in the very best ways.

I need a lot of grace these days. I suppose I always do, but especially as baby grows and I feel clumsy and tired and more worn around the edges of myself than I’d like to be. Without friends like these, I’d be floundering, for sure. But it feels like we’re linking arms and weathering the hard with the good in all areas of our lives instead. What a gift as we each change and grow, and as our families do, too!

so humbled and grateful,

mm

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the emotional to do list. (63)

Maybe it’s because we started out with most of the things we’d need to welcome a new baby this time, but as the weeks go by, I’m noticing that my to do list in prep for baby number three is far more emotion driven and way less about what needs to happen around the house. There’s a list for that, too, and I sure would love to check off some boxes between now and mid-September, but I’m finding myself way more vested in taking care of the things that might make baby’s arrival a more smooth transition for my heart than for our home.

This bleeds into my desire to make things as gentle as possible for Henry and Eloise as they transition in their roles, too.

While tubs of baby clothes are sitting in the attic, wall decor for the nursery is stacked in baby’s closet, and several larger pieces of furniture have yet to shuffle to new spaces as we make room, my mind is much quicker to jump to other things–things like making sure we capture maternity pictures, getting the kids squared away with school and schedules for the fall, and, before baby comes, finishing some writing projects that really matter to me.

I care about the aesthetics of things. I do. I just know that our living room wall color or the replacement dining room rug aren’t going to mean a thing to me if life feels like a complete mess inside my head and heart. So I’m trying to place the energy I do have on being healthy from the inside, out, and letting the chips fall where they may on some of the physical things that would actually be more fun to address in the short term.

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In the exercise of minimizing our clutter and clearing out some physical space this summer, I find myself really challenged to keep decluttering while we get closer to baby’s estimated due date. It’s easy to want to add things to the nursery or to make changes to rooms in the house “before it’s too late and we never get to them,” instead of staying committed to letting more things go. While it’s definitely realistic that some tasks will be held off a bit when focus shifts to a new baby, it’s not as though life doesn’t change again once they’re mobile and more independent. We can certainly get back to projects then, and it’s doubtful anyone else will even notice they were on hold.

Letting go is not my natural tendency. I have to work hard at it. I want things a certain way, and I have visions in mind. Toning down my Pinterest-loving self and just being content with good enough is a stretching exercise for me, so that’s on my emotional list right now as much as anything else.

I’m doing all kinds of evaluating in this space where we’re likely eight or nine weeks out from snuggling our little love. How do I want to spend time with Henry and Eloise between now and then? What matters most to me? What can I do now that I definitely can’t once baby gets here? What are the non-negotiables, and what can wait?

I keep thinking about all of the moms and dads who welcome preemies into the world. Not only do they jump from baby prep mode into parenting mode well in advance, but they suddenly have potential health concerns, hospital bills, work schedules and care for other children to pile on top of the things they hoped to accomplish before baby arrived. Focus shifts from aesthetics to life-impacting choices that we don’t mix into paint colors and stroller styles and coming home outfits when we’re looking down the line to a due date.

More than ever, I really want to maintain perspective as we prep, even while I’m enjoying thoughts of baby getting closer and embracing the joy that comes with little steps toward baby along the way.

I want to be healthy in spirit–almost as much as I want to have a healthy delivery and a perfectly healthy baby. I don’t want to lose sight of the relationships that matter most to me or the things I need to keep in place to stay well myself (prayer, rest, time with the people I love, boundaries, exercise, chances to keep writing, sunshine).

A beautifully appointed, inviting nursery–one that’s just waiting to welcome baby–is a lovely thing. I’d be delighted to have baby’s room looking as I envision it before he or she ever spends time there. But an emotionally stable, sane mama–one who has bandwidth for this new stage that’s coming, for our other littles in tow, and for the curveballs that life throws often–is what I desire more than the completion of any other task or home project.

Heart space first. Physical space after.

I have a feeling baby will be more keenly aware of (and certainly more impacted by) my ability to love well over my ability to decorate well, anyway.

I’m so grateful for this third journey through pregnancy that’s allowing me to see even more of what really matters, and so thankful for the first two that have taught me well along the way. I’m always growing into this ever-changing role of motherhood, good days and bad days and every other kind of day in between.

keeping lists of all kinds while trying to keep myself in check,

mm

 

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say what you want. (65)

Maybe you’ve seen the experiment where people have cut an apple in half, placed the two halves in separate jars, and spoken to each half with either all negative or all positive words for a few straight days or weeks? The apple that’s been spoken to negatively is always significantly more decayed and rotten, while the apple that’s been affirmed throughout is far less spotty or moldy, depending on how long the experiment has been carried out.

It’s either terribly interesting, or terribly frightening, or both.

I believe so much in the power of words, and more so all of the time. The things we say have the ability to break someone else down or build them up. I also believe strongly that our words are capable of altering our future circumstances, for better or for worse.

I think about this a lot in pregnancy, because I know that there is a very impressionable little person growing within earshot of everything I say (and at all times). This wouldn’t carry so much weight with me, except that I’ve witnessed the impact of my thoughts and words in birth twice now. As baby’s due date grows closer, I’m eager to make a third attempt at shaping how he or she comes into the world.

To do this, I need to be really intentional with what I say to our baby (and what I tell myself, too) between now and September. This is hard for me to express well in a blog post, but before I start sounding all crazy, I’ll try to explain.

For starters, I’ll just suggest that there’s no possible harm in speaking positivity and life over a baby in utero. There’s no risk to anyone when I work to think carefully about baby’s birth and what I hope it will look like, but as I’ve experienced, there is potential reward.

I love this fact. I feel more powerful in birth because of this fact. The possibility that I could positively impact a birth experience for both baby and myself is fascinating and exhilarating. I know that I’m not the one in control of all things by any means. I also know that it doesn’t hurt to try to nudge things in the direction I’m hoping by keeping my chin up, by mothering our baby through thoughts, words and prayer long before he or she enters the world, and by entering into the space of labor and delivery with a strong trust in my body’s innate ability to work with my baby, and vice versa.

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Twice now, beautiful things have happened when I’ve spoken calm, direct, peaceful things over our children as their birthdays approached. It lends hope to think that, with some intentional effort put in before baby arrives, we could have another peaceful birthing day again.

I’ve gotten a few sideways glances whenever I share that our babies have come as I’ve invited them to, but it’s true. I try to be as keyed into my pregnancies as possible, and although it gets harder with each baby because there’s more going on at home with other siblings, I do desire to connect with and encourage our babies as they get ready to enter the world.

I think about the vast number of changes a tiny human goes through when their skin first feels that rush of cold air upon delivery and directly following. So many hands moving them around, holding them, wiping them, poking them. I think about the feeling of cloth on skin for the first time, the scratchiness of a diaper, the sensation of a hat placed on their head. What does it feel like to leave the only space you’ve ever known…warm, dark, somewhat without gravity…and to suddenly be introduced to bright lights, plastic hospital cribs, loud sounds and a separation from mama for the very first time?

hello world

We’ve all made it through, obviously, but how can the process be the most gentle for these precious little babies of ours? I desire so much for our children to make a peaceful entrance into this world.

I know that there are circumstances outside of our control, and that sometimes medical urgency necessitates a different path from a more gentle birth environment, but I sure am going to try to speak one over baby’s birthday, anyway. I love to tell our kiddos that the world is ready for them when the time is right. I love encouraging them that they will be welcomed into a safe, loving place in our family. I love talking to them through labor–my first chance as their mama to encourage them through a hard transition.

I say what I want and what I mean leading up to our babies’ births, because I know how I hope things will go, and I don’t think it can hurt in the least bit to articulate beliefs and wishes for the benefit of our babes as they’re born.

Sometimes I forget just how powerful our words and thoughts can be…how defeating the negative self talk or the focus on the impossibilities instead of the possible ones.

This week in this pregnancy has reopened the space for me to feel confident that I can speak life over our sweet baby again. With each pregnancy, I’ve gone through seasons of feeling incapable, ill-suited, discouraged and shushed over this conviction, but it always returns as things move along.

God connected us to our babies and our babies to us in so many beautiful and miraculous ways. I mean, goodness! An entire organ develops within us as we carry them, just to facilitate the life giving process that is taking place. It’s amazing and amazingly humbling, and yet, it’s clear that we were meant to function as essential players, welcoming these important young lives here on earth with as much thoughtfulness and care as we can muster.

Our words matter. They matter from before our babies our born until long after they’ve grown. I’m going to say what I want to be reality for my children because it can’t hurt, but it might help. And my words can bring life or decay–I’m sure of that. Just knowing this truth is a beautiful and weighty thing.

God created mamas with the ability to shepherd children. And I have no doubt that He gives us the intuition we gain while expecting and forever after–to love, protect and guide our babies through our thoughts, words and prayers that have the power to shape circumstances for so much good.

I’ve learned to say what I want, and by the same token, I’m always learning to think through whether or not I actually want what I say.

I want a peaceful birth for this baby.

I want to be surrounded by people who speak life and truth while I’m in labor.

I want to trust my body and to know that it is capable of delivering a healthy baby again.

I want our baby to know that he or she is safe and welcome here.

And I want to live without unnecessary fear over any part of the process.

being stretched by pregnancy all of the time, and it’s good. i really mean that.

mm

 

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heartstrings. (66)

I am all over the board emotionally these days. Chalk it up to pregnancy hormones or whatever we’d like, I feel a bit like a ping pong ball. One minute I am so deeply challenged by our ever-changing kiddos, and the next I am falling all over myself out of love for them. I know that this is the dichotomy of parenting, but the contrast from day to day is especially strong in our house right now.

My sister had a baby girl on Friday and she is so far away. I am loving all of the photos and updates, but at the same time, I’m aching to be there. I’d love nothing more than to be snuggling a fresh new babe and helping my sister in all of the newness and change. There’s so much joy in thinking about my new niece, and about my sister traveling down this new path as a mom to three, but it’s all kinds of hard not to be a part of the joy in person.

For the past few weeks, we’ve been on a bit of a roller coaster regarding plans for our next birth, which has been an emotional trigger, too. We were saddened by the news of our friend and doula moving away, and I had to hit the reset button on how I picture the birthing space we’ll create for baby when he or she is born. Our doula was with us for both Henry and Eloise, and she had become a fixture in the vision of that day in my mind. I needed to plod through a few weeks of praying and sorting out how I really want things to be come September, and I needed to process a little grief over the change.

As of today, I think we’ve landed on a peaceful new scenario that puts my heart and mind at greater ease. I didn’t realize how heavily this was weighing on me until I looked through a few birth photography images this afternoon. When someone else’s brand new baby made me burst into tears, the lifted burden became wildly apparent. My heart needed to settle somewhere new regarding our baby’s arrival, and now it can.

After yesterday’s rough patch with the kiddos and with my own disposition, I was really ready for today to take a different direction. Thankfully, the plans on the calendar lent themselves to refreshment from a variety of sources, and I’m sitting in a different space tonight than I was just twenty four hours ago.

In this stage of raising two small humans and growing another, I know that there are going to be days that feel particularly hard. I also know that they’ll be followed up by respite from any number of directions. I’m so thankful that thoughtful, praying friends are only a text or a phone call away–I’m not sure how we would all dance through these up and down seasons otherwise.

My heart feels a bit like a marionette, and that’s okay. Some strings tug at it from a life-giving place of hope, and others yank back in a darker direction that I have to be intentional about shutting down. Prayer and rest, worship, heart-led conversations, and quality time with the people I love all help to settle the strings and tone down the antsy dance that can otherwise begin to well up in me.

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A (decaf) latte and some time to reflect can do wonders.

Pregnant or not pregnant, there’s plenty right now to draw me toward spaces of stability, positivity, and truth. I need to keep fueling my heart and mind with these, so that the hard days have their place, but they don’t bleed over into all of the good.

My heartstrings are getting their exercise, which simply wouldn’t be the case without plenty of highs to contrast some of the wearing lows. There are just spaces in life that feel far more like peaks and valleys than even terrain, and this is one of them; while I don’t get excited about experiencing the valleys sometimes, I certainly do appreciate that the mountain tops are lofty along the way.

willing tomorrow to be filled with life-giving nudges anew,

mm