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a spirit of fear. (96)

Coincidentally or not, after sharing last night about the very real spiritual battle we face when we’re trying to stay on track with God, today has been an in-the-trenches kind of day for me. I woke up feeling off, with a bad headache and some dizziness throughout the morning, and then this afternoon I started having sharp pains on my left side.

Sometimes it seems it can take about two seconds for fear of “all of the things” to creep in and take over our thoughts, and that’s exactly what I had to work hard to fight against as I tried to stay calm and make a reasonable assessment of what was happening with my body earlier.

Of course my radar was up about baby’s well being. Naturally, I started running through symptoms in my mind, checking myself against all of the signs I know to be a red flag at this stage of pregnancy. Aside from a number of contractions that put me in the hospital for a few hours when I was 28 weeks along with Henry, I’ve not been quite so close to driving myself over to the hospital while pregnant before. It is SO easy to start thinking about all of the what ifs and the dangers and the negative possibilities, when the place I want to rest is as far away from that kind of mindset as possible.

But it doesn’t take much, does it?

If I were to pay close enough attention to it, I think I’d recognize fear in myself every single day. I’m not someone who lives in a constant state of fear at all, but I am a mom to small children, which seems to be enough to do the trick 😉 Add in some defining life experiences: witnessing major car accidents, Jason being hit by a car, the cancer scare we waded through last year, losing someone so very close to my heart, a miscarriage, trips to the ER late at night with each kiddo, living in a very dangerous place on the other side of the world, navigating life as a minority in some challenging and spiritually dark places…it’s not hard to go back to those life changing pieces of my history and filter my life view through them if I’m not cautious.

I absolutely know that this is not at all where I’m called to park or how I’m supposed to live as someone who puts her trust in God.

It’s still hard sometimes.

If I’ve learned anything through my very hardest and scariest moments–especially those that have occurred since I truly began serving Christ with my life–it’s that I’m no better off for all of the worrying. I don’t accomplish anything good by fretting it out. I do get somewhere by praying, and I’ve seen the power of God work mightily on many occasion–always to bring a level of peace, and sometimes even, to bring about complete resolution.

Today, as I rested on our bed and began to really worry if baby was ok, I remembered to pray before letting my mind wander to every possible scenario. And my heart rested, which made all of me more comfortable and calm. But when I got up and the pain returned even stronger than before, I was right back to that place of fear again in an instant, because I’m pregnant and human and easily tempted to worry before claiming God’s provision of peace.

I might have so easily jumped the gun and decided to go to the hospital in that moment to check on baby, but I remembered again that the outcome of this pregnancy and this baby’s life is not mine to control. I have to trust, every day, that the circumstances by which I live and move and have my being are not in my hands. As I carry him or her to the end of this pregnancy and into the world, our baby’s life isn’t in my hands, either.

I can’t be foolish about the care of our little one. But I can’t let fear take hold of me while I do my best to lean into my own heart and instincts. I encourage other mamas to trust their instincts all of the time. Why is it that our own advice is so much more easily applied to others than it is to ourselves?

In the end, I pushed through (and admittedly worried through) another half hour or so of the pain, until I could get our little brood where we were headed to meet Jason and I could sit down.

Do you know that thing that happens when you’re feeling so incredibly sick (or you’re sure a bone is broken, or your lungs are so tight that you can’t breathe), and then you get to the dr. or the hospital and it seems like at least some of your symptoms are suddenly, miraculously (and little bit obnoxiously) gone?

Sure enough, I just needed to get to what felt like a place of safety to settle in, rest and breathe in deeply the truth that I can trust my instinct. I needed to surrender to the fact that God could bring resolution and peace to me, whatever the circumstance. I cozied up with Eloise on our picnic blanket just as soon as we arrived at our church’s outdoor baptism, soaking in the worship music and the testimonies being given and the summer sunshine. And after a little while, having put my focus back on life-giving truth, the pain subsided.

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I swear today was a spiritual battle just as much as it was a physical one. It’s hard to try to articulate that here, especially when I want to be so careful to speak a universal language with those who land here with me, and I know that sometimes this talk of spiritual things can get sticky. But I think it’s important to share candidly and honestly that we can trust this very tangible truth:

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6.12

The struggle is real, and I mean that in all sincerity and not as a lighthearted joke. I am both weary of and grateful for the battle we face, because when we face it, we know that we are warring for a much greater good in the end. There are harder days to come than what we can know now, but there is hope for so many beautiful ones, too.

I will cling to what I know to be true in the hard–that God is in control, that He is worthy of my trust, and that He is a good, good Father who cares for the places where aches run deep. He loves with authority, casting out our fears and offering new hope every morning.

better for today’s wrestling,

mm

 

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear…” 2 Timothy 1.7

 

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in my own skin. (98)

I turned 34 a few weeks ago. It wasn’t a milestone birthday, but it definitely felt like a bigger jump than other birthdays before it. This is at least in part because I’m growing a belly right now while a lot of my friends are entering into a different phase of parenting and life. Many have sold their baby things or have sworn off maternity clothes for the rest of forever. I celebrate the new stages of parenting they’re approaching, just as I celebrate the one we’re about to begin again. It’s just different this time, not being quite as young and not playing the baby shower circuit on the weekends.

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Truth be told, I loved that season of life–when we were all having our first babies and completely green and starry-eyed at parenting. Sometimes we’re still all starry-eyed at parenting, but there’s that settling in that happens after a while, as life parenting a newborn for the first time shifts swiftly into new and different territory.

It’s been long enough since giving birth to Eloise that I feel new at certain things again this time around. I’ve forgotten a lot about how it feels to be pregnant in different stages, and, while I know age changes things for a pregnant mama, I’m consistently surprised by the number of surprises pregnancy affords me in the day to day. It’s old hat, and it’s new again.

The greatest difference this time is simple, but significant. Carrying this baby as we near the third trimester, I realize that I’m absolutely pregnant in my own skin. Mentally, I know how I hope things will go. My to do lists are robust, but far more relaxed. There’s not much rushing around, but instead I’m feeling settled in.

There are plenty of changes to come, sure. And I know I can’t control much of anything, really. But I can envision baby’s birthday and my previous experiences…how Jason and I will work together to welcome baby, and how we’ll share the news with the kids in that sweet, sweet space in time that you never, ever want to forget. Visualizing the beauty surrounding labor and birth gives me such fodder for the weeks to come. Like training for a marathon, I have heart goals and mental goals and physical ones between now and then, and keeping my eye on the finish line (or starting line, maybe?) will offer me stamina and determination along the way.

I had a few rare hours to myself this afternoon, and as I walked around downtown with baby in tow, I had time to think about how this season feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be. The sense of peace I have about welcoming a new life into our family is more than good. It’s life-giving and heart-settling and joyful in the very best ways.

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Little one, I am beyond excited to know you and to see who you will be. Your place in our family is ready and waiting, and when the time comes, we’ll all be so grateful to have you here with us. Keep kicking and growing, and I’ll keep plugging along out here. You’re right where you belong, sweet baby, and I have the sure feeling that I am, too.

praying over your life and heart as you snuggle up near mine,

your mama

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from the mouths of babes. (99)

Eloise tells me at least once a day that she can’t wait to be a big sister. Her excitement over my growing bump is palpable at all hours. Both Henry and Eloise stop what they’re doing in random moments to talk to the baby, to lay a hand on my belly or to give it a kiss. If I react to baby’s movements within their earshot, they’re like moths to a flame. And it’s beautiful.

Tonight before bed, after we’d gone around sharing what we were each thankful for today, Eloise asked if she could pray. She remembered Daddy and Henry and baby and all of the usual things, but then she said this, “And for mommy’s heart and Jesus. Amen.”

I must just be in a very hormonal and weepy space, because I almost cried right there. Really? After all of the craziness of this week and my poor attitude at times? My unwillingness in moments to act with a servant heart toward my children, and the grumbly nature of things here in the little blue house? Thank you for mommy’s heart?

This is the epitome of grace as best as I can define it. And it’s also such a reminder to me of the weighty and incredible responsibility given to us as parents–that we must steward our influence over our children oh-so-carefully, and with intention as much as absolutely possible.

I ask myself how my two and a half year old can be thankful for my heart when I’ve felt so depleted of my energy and ability to express love lavishly? When I feel like I’ve been getting it all wrong?

How important and edifying it is to recognize afresh that our children’s desires are actually quite simple: quality time, basic needs met, affirmation, presence. God spoke to my heart tonight through the words of a not-yet-three year old, which is perfect when my world at present centers on motherhood and the well-being of our still-small babes here at home.

They don’t need perfect. They just need me.

They do need me to respond to their physical needs. They need to me to initiate and reciprocate loving words or hugs or snuggle time. They need me to affirm them more than I correct them, and they need to know that I am consistent, present, and a place of refuge.

Yesterday I did not feel like a place of refuge, and, as I mentioned, we all limped along.

There must have been beautiful souls praying for our little family this morning, because today’s wake up was so much different. (Thank you, by the way, whoever and wherever you are!) I sat on the couch soaking up some quiet time for reflection while the kiddos played well together, and I could breathe deeply. There was so. much. peace.

All day today, the still small voice in my head and heart reminded me to temper my words. To encourage. To wait until it was necessary to exercise correction. To be the gentler version of myself that I so often aspire to and quite frequently overstep. There were sweet spaces in the day and I felt them. I prayed that Henry and Eloise (and even baby) would feel them, too.

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So, tonight? Tonight when we were past bedtime by about 45 minutes and still up sorting through story time and sore ankles and missing lovies and family prayer? Tonight, God used the littlest of our household to remind me afresh that it’s my heart I have to offer above all else.

It’s the best thing I can give freely to our children–not just our two here with me now, but also the third well on his or her way. It’s the best thing I can offer Jason in this season and always, even when our focus is easily drawn toward our young family, baby preparations, life decisions, and the daily grind. And it’s the absolute thing I’m called to offer God in the daily, whether I’m rejoicing or hurting, in awe of him or in doubt.

My heart is the thing, and it always will be. Yours is, too. Just ask your favorite two year old.

grace and peace,

mm

 

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state of the union. (100)

Wow. To begin again, here in this place…these 100 days…this is humbling. It’s a great time for me to acknowledge how fortunate I feel that my belly is so full with baby, but also to take a step back and make note of exactly where I am today, just as I prepare to teeter over into a double digit countdown in the morning. It’s crazy. As with so many things, the days go by slowly and the weeks pass in a flash.

Tomorrow, I will be 26 weeks pregnant.

This baby is moving and growing, certainly, and I am, too. Not always in the direction I want to be in some regards, but always moving and always growing just the same. Today was not a day I would have been proud to broadcast to the world. The truth is, I’ve been feeling pretty raw this week–personal challenges stacking up and troubles here and there that are insignificant over the long haul, but that feel weighty to me in my current state of mind.

It’s hard to be real with myself sometimes, and it’s even harder to be vulnerable. This being said, I felt burdened today to begin this pregnancy countdown with the truth–not because it’s comfortable right now, but because it’s honest. Someday, when our little bean looks back on this time of preparation and anticipation for his or her arrival, I deeply hope that my authenticity will create space for our son or daughter to feel freedom to be authentic, too.

I woke up this morning ready to face the day, but by 10am, I was ready to call it quits. Some days are just like that. Our stay at home trio was housebound yesterday while our eldest (Henry) battled a stomach bug and I battled the mess that was left in its wake. This, coupled with our youngest (Eloise) having broken a bone in her ankle last week, and I was just a bit bummed about missing out on plans to get out of the house and into the temperate, sunny day peering in at me through the windows. We’ve been cooped up more than usual this past week, so a day outside together in the sunshine was going to be balm for my mama soul.

Today I got out of bed thinking we’d give our outside plans another try, but to my surprise (and admittedly, my frustration), Henry was not yet back up to speed. He spent the morning on the couch, poor Eloise limped along in a physical way, and I limped along emotionally. The living room still smelled like yesterday’s yuck, and try as I might, I couldn’t get rid of it. No cleaning or scrubbing or diffusing or sudsing did the trick. The house was stinky, and my attitude was worse.

These circumstances are no big deal, and they are absolutely no one’s fault. But the pregnant mama inside of me just wanted something to go right; I wanted desperately to have some sort of summer “experience,” wishfully thinking we must pack in lots of summer goodness before this baby belly slows me down more in the months to come. I suppose I’m in a “seize the day!” sort of mode, but there’s not a whole lot about life this past week that feels like it’s in the mode with me. Today was no exception.

There’s nothing remarkably awful about the day I’ve had, but the little things have just continued to pile on in a way that challenges my every effort to stay upbeat, to choose joy, to parent graciously and well. I got news before lunchtime that I didn’t see coming–a change of direction that calls me to prep my heart and mindset for future things in a way that’s not what I’d hoped for or planned. And I want to be strong before all of this–both the small things and the weightier things that I’m called to as a mom and an adult and a friend, but this morning I just wanted to (needed to) cry on the couch for a moment and not save face in front of my kiddos by “being strong” for one more minute or one more hour of this day.

Sometimes strength looks like being real and letting your guard down, even if it means doing something that the world has taught us is weak–something that will cause people around us to talk or ask questions and not fully understand.

So here we are,  a 26 week-along state of the union from a harder-than-I’d-like-to-admit place:

My two year old and five year old saw me cry today–more than once, and I am feeling raw and jagged-edge as I enter into this countdown of days. I wanted to do it with so much grace and sophistication, but I also wanted to do it for the sake of remembering what was (and what is) real. I showered at 1:30p this afternoon, and I put on the comfiest pants and tank top I could find. I didn’t do my hair. I put Eloise down for a nap and Henry played Legos and I spent time trying to get back to what’s true by praying a desperate prayer and quieting my heart in the Word. And I took this photo, so I’d remember this upside down day and the following:

-what 26 weeks pregnant looked like

-what 100 days feels like

-why it’s important to be honest with myself and to look and dress the part without guilt

-that I’m still smiling daily at the idea of this baby tucked inside, no matter what comes as I wade through this crazy-beautiful season:

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Because life is real, and some days are hard, and sometimes the dog photobombs your belly pictures and it’s all going to be ok, anyway.

This journey is an imperfect one, but it’s the journey I know that God has planned for me. There’s one more day on the books, and I’m grateful for it. I woke up with air in my lungs and summer calling outside. Maybe I’ll be able to answer it just a shade better tomorrow 😉

bidding adieu to triple digits,

molly madonna

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here we go again!

Just shy of five and a half years ago and in the midst of my first pregnancy, I felt a little nudge in the direction of a personal challenge. With no little ones in tow at the time and plenty of days stretched out before me to prepare for baby, I decided to attempt writing daily for the last 100 days of my pregnancy countdown. I was fully aware that God and nature might dictate more or fewer days before we would welcome our sweet babe, but 100 was a tangible number for me and a way of quantifying the waiting and time as it passed. I didn’t know how the project might evolve, nor that it would end up being a great blessing to me as a mama looking back someday. All I knew is that I was up for something, and 100 days seemed about right.

Days went by, and some were robust and beautiful while others pushed me to new limits and into new territory. I never would have remembered so many of the finite details of that sweet, growing season had I not been jotting it all down. Why I made it public, I’m not sure, but it stuck, and the end result was what I hope will always be a wonderful story for our firstborn, Henry, and a walk down memory lane for my mama heart. As others came along for the ride–reading, commenting, interacting when we met face to face, the village around me felt so tangible, and my awareness of being surrounded was great.

In this way, 100 days became a vessel of community, connection, openness and honesty that I craved. I loved the process so much that I repeated it with our second born, finding it just as cathartic and helpful and heart-driven the second time around.

It’s true of me that I like a little bit of a challenge from time to time, so I’m grateful to the handful of folks who expressed their doubt that I could see my first 100 days project through. While Henry arrived six days before my official due date estimate, the momentum of the first 94 days held me accountable all the way into active labor–a sweet, sweet memory and a hilarious story of me blogging through contractions, which Jason tells best. From start to finish, I loved the process for what it did in me and around me as God prepared my heart for motherhood that first time.

In retrospect, I’m also grateful to those who were certain I would never repeat the challenge for a second child. You know, unfinished baby books and the thousands more photos you have of your first born versus the second and so on. Doubt gave me great fuel for an already determined fire, so when we were expecting Eloise in 2013, I began a 100 days project for her, too. I’m so glad I did.

Tonight, on the second longest day of the year and after a handful of challenging days and weeks, I find myself again on the eve of another 100 days. It’s been on the calendar for some time now, but my anticipation of it is peaking just before I turn the page.

Another 100 days means far more to me than a personal challenge or a public one. Each time, but especially now, it translates into a season of expectation–this one following a more difficult season of wondering, waiting and doubt. These next 100 days (give or take) equal a million answered prayers and the very definite call I’ve sensed to mother again…every dream and heartache and hope and fear welling up and being turned over for joy in the form of a dancing babe within.

This pregnancy has not been easy for so many reasons, some of which I’ll undoubtedly unpack here in the days to come. And it hasn’t been without my constant need to die to self and to acknowledge that I’m not in control. I don’t take a single day of this baby’s life for granted. Not one. Perhaps, for me, that’s part of why this process of counting the days feels so personal and important and sweet.

This time around I feel a little more seasoned in some things and still very green in others. The call to vulnerability and trust is new with each pregnancy for different reasons. So, here we go again, foraging new territory in a practice that has become refreshingly familiar. I can’t say how delighted I am to have arrived at the edge of another countdown, nor how full my heart is that we can be here, journeying through the big and the small things in life, together.

For as long as the little bean will stay tucked away safely as he or she grows, I’ll be here.

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with joyful expectation,

mm