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Stones. (13)

The gift of waiting in this kind of season, even though it’s hard, is the way the days aren’t quite as scheduled and there’s sometimes space for a different cadence. We’re done with house projects–not because they’ll ever all be done, but because we’re ready to be done, and because last night we made the decision just to soak up as much of the weekend as we could as a family without having chores and to-dos get in the way. I don’t think we’ll regret it.

This afternoon I held small rocks in my hand–no pockets–just a tiny collection of stones as I picked them up, one by one, off the beach. Smooth ones, etched ones, almost-pebbles that reminded me of this little honeybee in my belly because of their size and perfectly golden color. When I was done growing my small collection, it still grew as the kids each added more to the mix that they wanted to share or thought I’d like. Small stones. A few among thousands or probably millions on the shore of my favorite place, where the waves pushed and pulled them here and there, covering and uncovering new treasures and lapping onto the sand in perfect rhythm. Peaceful rhythm. The place my heart craves most when I’m feeling celebratory or adventurous or sad or ungrounded. The place that somehow always heals, even if there’s nothing pressing that needs healing, and the place that reveals things needing to be healed, even if I didn’t know they were there before.

I gathered up my long dress and stepped into the water today–not something I always do when we go to the beach, though maybe I should. The cool water was like a balm as it covered my bare feet, little gems of rocks in every color beneath me and shifting like the sand. Grounded. The way I want and need to feel right now as I prepare in heart and mind to welcome baby and to enter into the space that is labor and delivery, somewhere between heaven and earth in ways, life springing forth while I’m holding on and letting go at the same time. And these stones. Evidence marking the time of the here and now, but weighty as they represent all that’s anticipated, too.

Leaving the beach, I clutch these stones and bring them home with me. Not because I need rocks in new places around the house, but because they mark a time and space where I felt wholly present to all that was around me and in me. Because in every stone, there is something of the marvelous–intentional creativity and variation, color, texture, beauty. God in the details. Something to notice for the noticers, and I want to be among them. At home, tiny rocks that have a story of their own find a spot clustered together, not mixed in with other stones from other times and places. I won’t always remember them sitting there, but when I do go back to them, I’ll remember this day, this weekend. The way the sun glistened on the water and the breeze was perfect. How the kids picked up rocks to their hearts’ content, how this belly was still so full with baby, how it all felt magical in a way and time stood still.

Stones. Marking the time, the days, the atmosphere. The depth and light of this life I never want to take for granted. The promise of waves always cresting, pebbles always tumbling, God always present and patiently waiting for us to see Him in this moment, right where we are.

MM

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another fresh start.

What is it about birthdays? I fall asleep one age and wake up another, and the day takes on a life of its own that feels different than the rest. You, too?

I’ve heard many adults say it’s “just another day,” but that’s not really how I feel about it. Just as with the new year in January and the start of a school year each September, a birthday feels like a fresh start to me. Let’s call it capitalizing on an opportunity—I can always use a fresh start.

It wasn’t until last year that I asked for time for my birthday, and Jason has been gracious enough to oblige. I don’t have any major agenda today except to sit quietly, to write and pray, and to reflect with gratitude on another year on this beautiful, magnificent, captivating planet. THIS is a gift.

birthday afternoon

In this stage of life and motherhood, I’m not sure I sit still or quiet often enough, but I ought to try. As a newer tradition then, I throw all guilt out the window as best I can on my birthday and I just GO. If I’m honest with myself, this “just go” mentality isn’t an easy one for me, and I’m wrestling that afresh these days. I’m grateful to Jason for his kind nudge.

It isn’t that I think I should be able to simply drop my responsibilities and throw caution to the wind with regularity (and today isn’t that). But even getting myself out of the house and putting down my role as mom and wife and teacher for a little while has gotten harder over time. It’s the result of a lot of factors, really, but I’ve lost myself a bit in motherhood, and I’m coming to terms with this in the quiet spaces when I do steal away.

I didn’t think I’d be here, actually. It just sort of happened. Maybe if you’re in the midst of young motherhood, you can relate. Or maybe you remember those days when your kids were young and your identity was largely based in the young family you were raising and the lives that depended on you 24/7. The past year has surprised me in a lot of ways—not the least of which is how our littlest is moving out of the toddler stage and approaching three. I didn’t imagine I wouldn’t be changing tiny diapers or still nursing or juggling infant gear by now, but I’m holding our baby’s hand instead of carrying him more and more; I’m soaking in every possible snuggle and bedtime rocking session with the awareness that I might not revisit this sweet stage again. I turn the lights out on another day, and as I slowly close the door to his room I wonder where the time has gone and who we’re becoming now…who I’m becoming as my babies grow.

What is God calling me to in this season where everything is changing and I’m finally picking up on the fact that the ground has shifted under my feet?

I have thoughts about where 37 will take me—where God will lead me as He offers each day as a gift not to be assumed, but savored. I don’t want to take things for granted, and I’m learning (yet again) that His story for me always turns out better than the one I continue to try writing for myself. I want to fit so many pieces into the puzzle so I can see it all clearly, and God keeps handing me just one fragment at a time—for good reason.

I may be a year older, and I *might* be a tad wiser, but I have far to go. Leaning in and listening closely is perhaps the best way for me to let plans unfold. Though I love every bit of being a mom to young kiddos, God is reminding me that my motherhood is best served when I don’t forget who I was before diapers and homeschool and all that’s come with parenting for me. I’m working on making space for life-giving passions (like writing and doula work) that aren’t mutually exclusive, because God keeps nudging me there.

It’s scary to let go and it’s scary to pick things back up, too, but it’s probably time. So I’m nervous, but not afraid. I’m hopeful and curious and anxious for what’s next. I think there’s more on the horizon to share, and that gets me excited—even with just a few pieces of the puzzle in view.

Here’s to 37, and to each of us growing into who we’re called to be, a little more, every day.

mm

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still coming along.

Today is my birthday, and I asked to have time alone. It’s been a hard year. It’s been an especially hard few months. I’m craving time by myself because I’m rarely solo, and the daily noise that’s hard to hush lends little space for breathing deep or simply being, for processing or healing. I feel selfish saying it, though I know it’s self-preserving to admit—I need all of the space and healing I can get right now.

There’s no clear cut path to healing, I’m pretty sure of it in my old age. I’ve convinced myself a lot of days that I’m fine, but I can feel the not-fine sitting just below the surface.

I ran into a friend yesterday who I haven’t seen in a long time. She asked how I was doing and I was honest. We talked for a few minutes about life and what’s moving and happening for both of us, and then she offered me grace. She said, “You don’t have to be fine because it’s not fine. Permission to not be OK.” She’s right, and I’ve missed her, and our intersection was timely.

It’s OK to not be OK.

I don’t know why our culture makes it so not OK to not be OK. I really don’t. The truth is, we’re a bunch of people all moving through life with our own stuff. And sometimes we’re OK. Better, even. But when we’re not OK, we tend to walk around feeling like we ought to be, and instead of granting ourselves the permission to be hurting, we heap guilt on ourselves instead. The voices get loud.

We’re not ______ enough. We’re too _______.

In this “not OK” space, we’re vulnerable, so we’re more easily convinced to buy into the lie that we’re burdensome, weak, alone. I’m writing this and being reminded at the same time that God promises to carry our burdens, to be strong when we’re weak, to be our ever-present help in times of trouble. Sometimes when I’m not OK, It’s harder to dig down and remember who God is and what he says, too.

So, there’s this. Here’s what I can offer in my not-OK birthday ramblings as I set sights on a new year and aim to project hope into my own circumstances, just as I desire to infuse it into yours:

We have permission to not be OK. It’s not a “get out of jail free” card on life, but it is a pass to downshift for a time while we practice holding grief and joy in the same space…while we pursue help and healing. It’s an acknowledgement that we live in a broken world, and that we might feel broken in it.

We’re not alone, but our space can be lonely.

We may be surrounded, when all we crave is space.

We might find space and feel uncomfortable and messy in it while we scramble to get a better sense of what’s next.

As I type, I’m sitting in the car down the street from the chapel where Jason and I were married. I left the house unsure of where I was headed this morning, but as I drove, I felt drawn to go and sit in a space where God has done a lot of work in my heart. I walked up to the chapel doors to find them locked. Someone came and opened the door, but only to tell me that the chapel was closed and I couldn’t come in.

Burdened. Weak. Alone. I’d thought I was onto something by coming here, and then one more “no” closed in on me when I needed it least. I walked back to the car and ugly cried in the front seat. Not getting inside the chapel felt personal. It yelled all of the things at me that I’ve heard on repeat lately, “You’re not worthy. You’re not wanted. You don’t belong.” “Shouldn’t a chapel be a place you can go freely and enter in with God?” I started thinking. Sure, maybe. I had to be careful not to place my own sense of rejection onto my belief about God and who he is for me, right now.

I rarely attempt to go to a church space (outside of Sundays) to find God there. He shows up most to me in nature, in the mundane, in my children, in the everyday. I know better than to think he’s off limits just because the chapel doors are locked, but man, it would be so easy to buy into that lie and stay there if I wanted to.

I’m 36 this morning and I’m not entering it with ease. If I dig deep down, I know that this will change—I just have to allow myself the space to heal, and to let pain be pain, when it comes.

It feels good to write something down…to pound it out. I knew, at least, that I needed that today. Like anything worth fighting for, this being real with these feelings and sitting in the yuck feels uphill to me. As I’m climbing, I know God is building muscles I’ve not developed just yet. I hope that as he strengthens me, I can put my strengths to good use.

How does a date on the calendar make us stop and think harder, or feel gratitude or ineptitude or cause so much self-reflection? Since we all do it, I’m thinking God built that into us as humans. Maybe it’s a birthday, or an anniversary, or the remembrance of a hard loss or a really great victory, but whatever the case, we feel because we were meant to feel, and we attach meaning to dates and take them to heart because our past and our present both shape us for what is to come.

God has graced me with 36 years on this planet thus far, and I have a lot of figuring out to do yet. If I measure where I am by the worldly things, I’m not quite sure where I stand. What I do know is that God is stirring up some things in me that I didn’t know were possible ten years ago, or even five. I stopped growing taller a very long time ago, but the growth happening where I can’t see it is still coming along. I hope I’m granted many more years to become more and more like the person God designed me to be—the one who grows through what’s hard and what’s not OK, and someone who offers grace and permission to others where they need it, when they need it, too.

it’s good to be back here.

love and grace,

mm

Birthday Peonies

birthday beauties.

by

ten years, motherhood and a much needed latte.

Ten years ago yesterday, I walked down the aisle as a bride. The world felt like one endless possibility stretched out long in front of us. Today I’m admiring waiting white gowns in the bridal boutique windows across the street through the Saturday drizzle; this hour, the first quiet daylight hour I’ve spent alone in a long while. So much has changed.

I ordered my coffee in a mug, for here. Found myself a seat at the hightop bar at the front of the shop. I propped open my computer to get to writing–the first thing my head and heart long for when daily life takes a tiny pause–and my head filled up with silence. Just silence. No one clinging, no one crying. No one spilling or needing water to drink or asking to have their cream cheese spread on a bagel. No one due for milk or wanting milk even though they don’t need it, no requests for a story or paper to color on, for a game to play or a potty break.

I love our babies. I love them more than I thought I could ever love anything. I don’t take them for granted, and I genuinely enjoy being their mama. But I so deeply need a break. I’m not easily slowed down, but I could sit here just staring out the window for the entire day, I’m sure of it. All of the usual voices are at home, probably loving time with daddy and certainly surviving without me, and we all need it.

When Jason and I got married a decade ago, I had so many dreams of how the future might look. Travels around the world together and a cozy place to come home to. Someday, babies…the chance to be a mother and to love and raise children as I’ve always felt called to do. Time to write, to contribute to the world in tangible ways, to volunteer, to soak in art and culture and the creativity of others…Beach days and rich time with God and everything a girl might dream about on her wedding day. I feel so fortunate to admit that many of these hopes and aspirations have come to fruition in ten years. I knew I could dream, but I had no idea so many possibilities might actually materialize, too.

In the same, we’ve faced our share of hardship. It’s easy to focus on the good things when I write in a public space, and I’d rather spend time practicing a spirit of gratitude anyway. But there have been many hard seasons amidst all of the good; only the good and the hope of good are what have always kept us going.

When God put Jason and I together, He had plans, no doubt–plans for life to come from our union, plans to shape and grow and strengthen us through the sour and the sweet. I am not the same person I was ten years ago, and neither is he. I never imagined we’d have to work so hard to continue to find ourselves and each other in this season of parenting young children, but we do. When the kids have gone to bed at the end of the day (some of them for a catnap), we scramble to meet in the middle and gather up all of the conversations and sharing and life-doing we can muster before we fall into bed at too late an hour. More often than not these days, we both fall asleep before we have the chance to chat or plan or dream, and we postpone “progress” on much, despite the best of intentions.

IMG_4316These little people God has given us? I remind myself often that they are an inheritance from Him. They truly are. And each one of them is beautiful and refining for us in their own ways. Our third little buddy is as sweet as can be. He loves deeply for a baby his age–his affection, both tangible and endless, is sustenance for me in the daily. In the same, he is incredibly attached at all hours. I believe completely in giving him everything he requires, in building his level of security, in nurturing his growth and development as he makes his needs known. He’s faced health challenges these past few months that have caused me to focus even more carefully on him, even as I so deeply desire to spread myself evenly as a mom. It’s not always possible, so I’m learning every single day to depend more and more on God’s grace and covering to get us through.

Parenting begs me to be selfless, while I battle back moments of selfishness all of the time. In the noise and the needs stacking up and the lives around me desiring everything I can give, I’m practicing an art I may never master, but God is faithful to keep refining anyway.

I never thought I’d be the type of parent to spend all of my time with our children, but these days, I do. I’m in a place of acknowledging that this is probably too much for me, knowing that I need to find ways to rediscover myself even as I pour into our family as best I can.

Stepping away, I can see the mom I’m trying to be. It’s easy to be hard on myself for every misstep, until I remember that I’m not the one who fills the gaps. I can’t be. God waits and invites and holds space for me when I probably don’t see it; sometimes in my exhaustion I forget to look.

Sitting here, I can look back see that young bride, too. The couple God started out ten years ago as we pledged to be two of three strands in a cord that’s not easily broken. Two strands on our own would have fallen apart a long time ago, but God stands faithfully as the third strand in a braid that’s stronger than we ever knew it could be. I have a feeling that as the tension has pulled tighter over time, we’ve grown tighter, too. Even when we fall asleep before the chance to dream. Even when the noise is so busy around us that we forget what it was like to be new at this life together.

Ten years. Three babies (and one we never knew). One cozy house. So many travels. Adventures in the good and the hard. So many cups of coffee. So many rainy Saturdays.

God isn’t done here, and that’s always where I hang my hat. Someday there might be time for more self-discovery, more tangible contributions by way of writing or doula work or building into others outside of our four walls. For now, three little babes call me their mama and look to me at every hour to be just that. Today I’m praying that I can rest in God as they rest in me, and that I can look like Christ to my people, even when it’s noisy and hard.

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almost to the bottom of my mug, but never empty,

mm

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ten things i’m picking up, and what i’m putting down. (46)

I cracked open Jen Hatmaker’s For the Love on the plane home today. It’s been sitting on the shelf for a long while. So often, the words I need to read wait patiently for me. One chapter in, I already felt compelled to make notes and to pray—you have to love a book that moves you within its first pages.

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Having space on the plane to read, write, think and pray was a gift. It’s a rare day that these things find space in the middle of an afternoon, but this was Monday’s grace to me. Prompted by chapter one, I asked God to show me what this season requires of me right now. I grabbed my journal to make notes, and the list just poured out.

Maybe as I process through this new list and discern how to order my days–hoping to accommodate what’s really most important for me to be about, something will spark a flame with you, too. Why the list, and why narrow down the core things that deserve my attention right now? Because we can’t do it all, and some of the things we try to accomplish are beyond our scope.

Jen is right: Social media allows us to see the best of everyone’s talents and successful attempts in life every day. Not only do avenues like Instagram and Facebook make this possible, but they magnify successes in all areas of life–some friends are cooking extravagant, organic meals every day, some are juggling six extracurricular activities per child, some are rocking full time jobs while mothering, too. In turn, the reminder that our friends and connections can do x or y or z with finesse magnifies within us the unceasing sense that we are not keeping up or doing enough.

The fact of the matter is, your gifts are yours, and mine are mine. Your loves and passions are yours, and mine are my own. If I try to do everything you do with gusto and success, I’m missing the boat. I’ve got to do what I do best and what gives me energy.

You do you, and I’ll do me. I think we all, almost always, need this reminder.

Here are the things I sensed God calling me to be about for this season, and not in a particular order. They’re all important. Surely the list will change over time, but this is where I am in the here and now and what makes sense for me…I need to prioritize:

  1. Trusting God. To spend time in prayer and quiet so I’m poised to hear what He has to say and to believe it for my life, family, pregnancy and baby’s upcoming birth.
  2. Resting. I am not my best self when I’m not well rested. Especially right now, I need to carve out extra time to be still, and to sleep (while the sleeping is good 😉 ).
  3. Loving my people well. Primarily, this means Jason, Henry, Eloise and baby. I need to get this right first, before I pour out attention to anyone else. When I’m not loving well at home, guilt sneaks into my life everywhere.
  4. Making time for self-care (beyond physical rest). This upcoming chapter will be so focused on the well-being and care of a new life. I can’t sustain another person if I’m not intentional about refueling emotionally and spiritually myself.
  5. Making lists and clearing my head, and then setting priorities rationally.
  6. Caring for the physical needs of my body and this baby leading up to delivery, and spending the time necessary to prepare for the birth I envision.
  7. Connecting with Jason intentionally–scheduling dates away from the house and listening well. Talking about our priorities as a couple and family, and making plans together with intention.
  8. Creating space for quality time with each of our kiddos pre-baby. One-on-one dates, adventures out as a family, thoughtful time spent at home.
  9. Making a space that feels welcoming, calm and cozy for baby. Continuing to clear out clutter from other areas of our home and life.
  10. Continuing to write. Documenting this journey is important to me, and writing is deeply foundational to who I am. It moves me forward and sharpens my mind.

Other to dos that matter to me before baby are separate at this point. This list is a “Top Ten” of things that will set the tone for everything else I do. To have room for the to dos, numbers 1-10 on this list have to come first.

I likely have six weeks or so to build better habits and a stronger foundation around these goals. Do I feel like it’s a lot to consider? Yes. But improving in any one of these areas will make me better in every other.

I have to lay down some things, like:

-The guilt I carry when I’m not spending hours in the kitchen preparing beautiful meals. These days, the simple (and simply healthy) ones will be better for everyone in our household. I’m not a happy mama when I’m stressing out about food for our family.

-Managing housework my body doesn’t really facilitate right now. Washing floors and cleaning out the shower in the bathroom come to mind.

-Exercise. Taking walks and keeping up with kids–with some stretching mixed in when I can, will have to do. This baby does not like it when I overdo it, and lately, that doesn’t take a whole lot.

-Throwing Pinterest-y birthday parties. Eloise turns three this weekend, and while I plan to celebrate her with gusto, her party will be simple. Simple is best for all of us right now.

-Feeling guilty about quieter days at home. This is super hard for me. I love to be out and about, and I love to adventure with our family. It’s summer, and I want to make the most of all of this great weather and the longer days. But the heat is hard, and I’m the crankiest when we’ve pushed too far. Simple rules the roost right now. Even if it’s a summer day and gorgeous, I’ve got to let go of being outside all day and showing up for every event.

Whew. This feels like a lot to think about. Really, it’s tangible. I just need to remember to choose what gives life and brings joy into our home and family, and to put down the rest. It isn’t that I don’t want to juggle more plates, it’s that I realistically can’t. No need to let the high priorities suffer for the sake of so many things I’m not being called to right now.

Thanks for slowing me down, little bean. You are so good for me and for my heart. And thank you, Jen Hatmaker, for bringing it in a powerful way. For the Love sat on the shelf for the exact right length of time.

learning to grow more thoughtfully on this journey,

mm