When I rock in the wooden chair that’s been a staple in our home since the day we brought Ava home, I can hear them breathing – the three children I get to call my own.
The sighs in the dark as they exhale and drift off to sleep. Their gentle sounds wash over me like waves to where I sit, with eyes so heavy and a heart so full. My feet push back and forth and the chair cradles me as I cradle her and I count blessings. Stillness. Breath. Life. Joy. Blessings.
I gently sing, "peace, peace, wonderful peace, drifting down from the Father above..."
I lay her down and gently close the door, stepping over the tiara and babydoll that lay abandoned in the hallway. I pick up the strawberry shortcake socks that missed the laundry basket by several feet. I drain the bubble bath water that someone forgot to empty. I put Heidi's shoes away. She always leaves them in the same spot. And not the spot where I ask her to put them. But the same spot every time. I notice London's perfectly lined row of shoes. Not one out of place. And Ava's are scattered everywhere throughout the house. One shoe here. One shoe there. It's as if they fall off without her even noticing.
I finally find rest on the couch next to my love. I count the years and hours we’ve been together. I think briefly about where we’ve been and where we’re going because I know I can always count on him. No matter where life leads us, this is home. Not this house, but these people. This feeling. These faces and noises and voices and breaths in the dark.
This is home.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Five Minute Friday: Forgetting
Here's the challenge: Write for 5 minutes flat without editing my voice. Today's topic is "forgetting".
Go.
It's a delicate balance. I find myself rushing them. Rushing them to sleep through the night. Rushing them to crawl. Rushing them to walk. Rushing them to use the potty. Rushing. Rushing. Rushing.
But once they accomplish those milestones, I miss them. I miss the snuggly little newborn nestled in my neck. I miss the sweet smell. I miss the warm blankets. I miss the first smiles. The first words. The first time she locks eyes with me and knows that she is safe, because she is in Mama's arms.
I ache because I don't want to forget. I want to remember.
But time continues to rush by. And I am it's enabler.
I want to savor every single moment.
The silliness between sisters in the bathtub. (Even if it makes a huge mess.)
The last day of kindergarten. (Even if it makes me cry.)
The stubborn two year old who insists on dressing herself - and getting stuck in her shirt every time. (Even if it takes a little longer than it should.)
The inquisitive three year old who asks so many questions. (Even if I'm tired of talking.)
I carry my camera and attempt to capture the moments. To make them stand still forever. So that I won't forget.
I want to remember. I can't imagine forgetting.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
My Story
I always assumed things would turn out right.
Get married, have babies, live blissfully, raise babies who turn into well adjusted teenagers, who then turn into successful adults. Health. Happiness. High expectations.
I turned 34 this week. And things haven't quite turned out the way I assumed they would.
We lost our home.
Our marriage almost ended.
Friendships have been lost.
I've been disappointed. And I've been the source of disappointment for others.
My goals have adjusted. My passions have taken new form. My priorities have shifted.
I wrote the story. I prayed the story. I ask friends to pray the story with me. And when things deviated from my plan I wondered what’s wrong with me? What have I done to ruin things? Or what has someone else done to ruin things for me? This THING, this heartache, betrayal, loss can NOT be a part of my story, right?
Not the one I wrote.
10 years ago today, I said "I do" to the guy who wakes up to my flattened hair and funky breath every morning. (10 years of waking up to the same funky breath must be love.)
10 years ago, I was in a church office, preparing to walk down the aisle. Putting on the dress, fixing the hair, making sure everything was just right. My thoughts were consumed with the flowers, the reception and the honeymoon.
And when the minister instructed us to "pray through the difficult times", I thought, "not us". Of course, I was prepared for the occasional fight about bills, dirty laundry, and what to watch on TV. But surely we would breeze through our marriage blissfully ... after all, divorce was "not in our vocabulary".
10 years later. Disappointment. Distance. Chaos. Job loss. Home loss. Marriage counseling. Pain.
Not in my plans. Never in my wildest dreams.
But then we found ... Forgiveness. Grace. Affirmation. In Abundance. Together.
Here I am. Here we are. We made it. We are stronger because of it. I love him more than ever. We are rebuilding trust, our savings account, and a new home.
Wouldn't trade my story now, for anything. Really. He's a much better writer than I am. And His dreams for me, as it turns out, are much bigger than anything I can imagine.
Instead of accepting the terms I set out, He gently takes my story in His hands. He leaves some spots blank. He erases some of what I've already written. He rearranges a few items. He fills in some of the gaps and asks me to be content. He also makes promises. Big promises.
My heart spins and I can’t believe the changes He’s made, the new story that stares me in the face.
The end of my life might look very differently from my plans in the beginning. The friends I have now might not be the ones I know later. Things might get really, really hard. Again.
But I'm ok now. And I'll be ok then. We made it.
I'm learning to trust Him with the details. He's already written my story. It's time for me to live it.
This verse is quickly becoming one of my favorites: Job 23: He knows where I am and what I've done. I've followed Him closely, my feet in His footprints, not once swerving from His way. I've obeyed every word He's spoken. And not just obeyed, but treasured His advice. He'll complete in detail what He's already decided about me.
Get married, have babies, live blissfully, raise babies who turn into well adjusted teenagers, who then turn into successful adults. Health. Happiness. High expectations.
I turned 34 this week. And things haven't quite turned out the way I assumed they would.
We lost our home.
Our marriage almost ended.
Friendships have been lost.
I've been disappointed. And I've been the source of disappointment for others.
My goals have adjusted. My passions have taken new form. My priorities have shifted.
I wrote the story. I prayed the story. I ask friends to pray the story with me. And when things deviated from my plan I wondered what’s wrong with me? What have I done to ruin things? Or what has someone else done to ruin things for me? This THING, this heartache, betrayal, loss can NOT be a part of my story, right?
Not the one I wrote.
10 years ago today, I said "I do" to the guy who wakes up to my flattened hair and funky breath every morning. (10 years of waking up to the same funky breath must be love.)
10 years ago, I was in a church office, preparing to walk down the aisle. Putting on the dress, fixing the hair, making sure everything was just right. My thoughts were consumed with the flowers, the reception and the honeymoon.
And when the minister instructed us to "pray through the difficult times", I thought, "not us". Of course, I was prepared for the occasional fight about bills, dirty laundry, and what to watch on TV. But surely we would breeze through our marriage blissfully ... after all, divorce was "not in our vocabulary".
10 years later. Disappointment. Distance. Chaos. Job loss. Home loss. Marriage counseling. Pain.
Not in my plans. Never in my wildest dreams.
But then we found ... Forgiveness. Grace. Affirmation. In Abundance. Together.
Here I am. Here we are. We made it. We are stronger because of it. I love him more than ever. We are rebuilding trust, our savings account, and a new home.
Wouldn't trade my story now, for anything. Really. He's a much better writer than I am. And His dreams for me, as it turns out, are much bigger than anything I can imagine.
Instead of accepting the terms I set out, He gently takes my story in His hands. He leaves some spots blank. He erases some of what I've already written. He rearranges a few items. He fills in some of the gaps and asks me to be content. He also makes promises. Big promises.
My heart spins and I can’t believe the changes He’s made, the new story that stares me in the face.
The end of my life might look very differently from my plans in the beginning. The friends I have now might not be the ones I know later. Things might get really, really hard. Again.
But I'm ok now. And I'll be ok then. We made it.
I'm learning to trust Him with the details. He's already written my story. It's time for me to live it.
This verse is quickly becoming one of my favorites: Job 23: He knows where I am and what I've done. I've followed Him closely, my feet in His footprints, not once swerving from His way. I've obeyed every word He's spoken. And not just obeyed, but treasured His advice. He'll complete in detail what He's already decided about me.
Friday, May 6, 2011
criticism stinks
especially when it's directed at me.
my pride wants to scream, "who do you think you are"
my hearts wants to interrupt, "give me a chance to explain"
my soul questions, "god, am i out of line?"
my feelings are hurt. my ego is bruised. my vulnerability is exposed.
sometimes it's fair. sometimes i deserve it. sometimes it's helpful. sometimes i even welcome it.
other times, not so much. i read through the lines, evaluate my perspective, and rest assured that it's undeserved, unwelcomed, and unfounded.
what then?
my sister is an animal fa-reak. seriously. she will rescue an ant. growing up, she had animals of all kinds in her room. birds, chicks, lizards .. you get the point.
she had a lizard of some sort. i don't know what kind exactly. i just know that it was green, slimy, and gross. but she knew every little detail about this creature. this little firebreathing dragon was rough and scaly on about 80% of his body. however, underneath, on his belly, it was smooth and soft.
for the most part, only the tough exterior was displayed. rarely did we get a glimpse of his soft side. the vulnerable part. the place he rarely exposed.
maybe their anger is a result of a pain they endured many years ago. maybe their skepticism stems from years of unfulfilled promises. maybe their harsh tone and sharp tongue is a habit formed by always feeling the need to defend themselves. maybe they lash out and then feel regret. maybe they walk away feeling guilty.
“out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.” (matthew 12:34b)
and from that place, they spew.
when i remember this vulnerable side, i am free to let go of the hurt, anger and disappointment that they've inflicted. after all, it's not really about me. i am able to keep it in perspective.
it is then that i allow god to use me to reach past the tough exterior. to affirm them. to love them. to understand them. to assure them. to hug them. to love them.
my pride wants to scream, "who do you think you are"
my hearts wants to interrupt, "give me a chance to explain"
my soul questions, "god, am i out of line?"
my feelings are hurt. my ego is bruised. my vulnerability is exposed.
sometimes it's fair. sometimes i deserve it. sometimes it's helpful. sometimes i even welcome it.
other times, not so much. i read through the lines, evaluate my perspective, and rest assured that it's undeserved, unwelcomed, and unfounded.
what then?
my sister is an animal fa-reak. seriously. she will rescue an ant. growing up, she had animals of all kinds in her room. birds, chicks, lizards .. you get the point.
she had a lizard of some sort. i don't know what kind exactly. i just know that it was green, slimy, and gross. but she knew every little detail about this creature. this little firebreathing dragon was rough and scaly on about 80% of his body. however, underneath, on his belly, it was smooth and soft.
for the most part, only the tough exterior was displayed. rarely did we get a glimpse of his soft side. the vulnerable part. the place he rarely exposed.
maybe their anger is a result of a pain they endured many years ago. maybe their skepticism stems from years of unfulfilled promises. maybe their harsh tone and sharp tongue is a habit formed by always feeling the need to defend themselves. maybe they lash out and then feel regret. maybe they walk away feeling guilty.
“out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.” (matthew 12:34b)
and from that place, they spew.
when i remember this vulnerable side, i am free to let go of the hurt, anger and disappointment that they've inflicted. after all, it's not really about me. i am able to keep it in perspective.
it is then that i allow god to use me to reach past the tough exterior. to affirm them. to love them. to understand them. to assure them. to hug them. to love them.
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