Motherhood: Expectation vs. Reality

While scrolling mindlessly through Facebook this afternoon I came across a share from a friend.  It was a link to some “fails” where parents tried to recreate those cute, magazine worthy photos of their kids.  You know, the kind with the baby tucked sweetly into a watermelon all cute and cozy.  Only life got in the way and their pictures reflected the fact that babies don’t actually enjoy laying naked inside a scooped out watermelon.  Who’d have thought?  The heading was Expectation vs. Reality.  As I stared at the words, I realized this heading could apply to so much more than failed parental experiments.  For me, it really could apply to life across the board. 

See, I’ve arrived at a conclusion that has taken me years to absorb and accept.  In this season of life, I’ve realized that my expectations are many times not my reality, and that’s OK.  It’s not that I’ve given up or shut myself down.  It’s not that I don’t still dream or indulge sometimes.  It’s simply that in this season of life my expectations sometimes have to die so that I can ENJOY my reality. 

I’m not saying that my expectations are bad.  In fact, I don’t think hope and expectation are very far apart and without hope I think my heart would die.  I have just come to realize, that in my season of motherhood, my expectations are unrealistic, and those unmet, unrealistic expectations were stealing my joy.  I don’t want to live that way. 

My house is not going to look like a magazine.  My last minute, on a whim adventures aren’t going to fly with a 4-year-old who hates transition.  My body is not going be bikini ready for the summer (or maybe ever).  So I’m letting go of many of my unrealistic expectations and taking life as it comes – raw and outside my pretty, gift wrapped box. 

Someday maybe life will shift and I’ll indulge in more of my crazy expectations.  Someday maybe I’ll shift and more of my crazy expectations will fade away.  Personally I think I’m hoping for the latter.  Either way, this is a very short season in light of eternity and I want to enjoy it. 

So, if you stop in at my house on a whim and you have to wade through remnants of my kids latest creative project just to get in the door, please know I’m working on enjoying life.  It’s going to be a process, but I’ll get there.  It just may be my craziest adventure yet. 

There is a God

This testimony took place in February, a little over 12 years ago.  I was 7 months pregnant at the time.

The phone rang.  It was 6:15 and I was still sleeping.  I ignored it.  Then it rang again.  Groggily I answered it.  It was Joey on the other end, “Ashley’s been shot.  I think she’s dead.  All the windows are shot out.”  Then silence for a moment.  “I’m calling you from the ambulance phone. I have to go to the police station.  I’ll call you when I need you to come pick me up.”  Click.  What!? 

My brain was still slowly waking up, trying to put the pieces together.  I knew Joey had gone in early to the gym that morning.  Ashley was part owner of that gym and would arrive early to open up.  Was this a mass shooting inside the gym?  What windows was he talking about?  What had my husband just witnessed?  I plopped my sore, pregnant body into the bath tub and began to pray.  My prayer was, “God, whatever he’s just witnessed, give him peace.  Protect his mind.  No flashbacks, no nightmares.”

It was hours before he called me again.  I drove down to the New Holland Police Station, hands shaking on the wheel.  When I got there they directed me to Joey.  There he was, sitting on a chair, a bible in his hand.  He was pretty scratched up and his shirt was bloodied, but he wasn’t hurt.  In fact, he looked calmer than I felt.  He told me later that he had been somewhat in shock until he arrived at the police station and asked for a bible.  The minute he began to read it, a peace washed over him. 

After a little while, we drove home together.  It was then that I got the whole story.  That Monday morning Joey had off work.  He wasn’t sure if he was going to head into the gym at his normal early time, but after a quiet time that day felt like he was supposed to.  He arrived at the gym that morning like he did several times a week, turned up his music and waited for Ashley to arrive and open up.  Minutes later he heard what sounded like paintball shots then a scream.  The windows to his car began to shatter.  He ducked (which due to Joey’s excess muscles looks more like a slump and a head tilt).  When the shots stopped for a moment he looked up in his rearview mirror only to see a man with a shot gun in his hand moving from the back of his car towards the front.  More shots, more shattered glass.  He grabbed his keys and quickly threw them into the ignition thinking either he was either going to get out of there or hit the man on the side of the car.  As soon as he began to reverse the man ran, hopped into a van and drove away.

Joey got out of the car, joined another member of the gym next to Ashley, who was now laying in front of his car, and prayed.  A minute later the ambulance and police arrived.  The EMT’s explained that Ashley had died instantly.  There was nothing Joey or the other gym members could have done for her.

Later that day we went back to the police station where I got to see Joey’s car for the first time.    They estimated that approximately 15 bullets went through the car.  There were bullet holes everywhere – through the ceiling, headrests, dashboard, and every window but one.  Joey’s dad took one look at the car and said, “Son, there is a God.” 

It wasn’t until that night, when I laid my tired body down next to his that it fully sunk in.  Joey should have died.  I should have been a pregnant widow, alone in that bed, our 4 year old asleep in the next room.  It hit like a ton of bricks. 

Joey never had nightmares or flashbacks.  Instead, he was able to pray with most of the gym members who happened to be there that morning and struggled with what they had seen.  He knew that God had directed him to be there that morning so that he could be someone for others to lean on during such a difficult time.  He was there to be a light in the darkness. 

One month later I delivered a beautiful baby girl.  Joey was there to hold my hand and kiss his new daughter.  Two days later we drove her home in our bullet ridden car, which my Aunt Lydia appropriately named the “God Mobile.”  I don’t know why God protected my Joey while others have had to walk the path of loss, but I am forever grateful.  “For the Lord is good.  His unfailing love continues forever, and His faithfulness continues to each generation.”  Psalm 100:5 (NLT). 

... but God

I sat beside my husband Joey as we sped into the hospital.  My water had never broken on its own before.  In fact, with all my other biological children the midwife had to break my water and a half hour later I’d be holding new life in my arms.  Because of this, the Doctor had advised us just 15 minutes before to get to the hospital and get there fast.  I was petrified.  I was sure I was going to be the woman who delivered her baby in the freezing cold along the side of the road.  I can’t explain the fear, but it was overpowering, stealing joy with every mile we drove.  This whole process was completely outside of my control.  It wasn’t until we got to the hospital and I was told I was only 2 cm dilated that the fear began to subside.  Seven hours later I held my 5lb 9oz miracle.  A month early, he decided to make his debut on Valentine’s Day.  Little did I know that the season the we were walking into would be the most difficult one of my life. 

I sat in the bath tub, fan on, trying to drown out the screaming.  Ten minutes of peace, relaxation and relief was all I wanted.  Every facet of me was exhausted and at the end of my rope.  Joey appeared through the door with our sobbing babe.  “Nothing’s working.”  Everything in me wanted to quit being a parent, but that’s not how it works. 

I sat across from the Pediatrician as he informed me they found blood in the diaper sample.  I was advised to cut out soy on top of the dairy I’d already cut out.  If that didn’t work we’d go down the list of allergens until we saw relief.  A week into it things weren’t getting better so I cut out all 8 top allergens.  Still nothing.  My diet was cut back to 10 foods, then 8, then 5.  Nothing.  No substantial change, only more hopelessness.  On top of it all I was convinced that I wasn’t producing enough milk on such a limited diet.  He always seemed hungry, but with all his presumed allergies the only formula option was a hypoallergenic one and he wouldn’t take it (after tasting it myself I completely understood why).  The anxiety covered me like a heavy fleece blanket on a 100 degree night.  I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could all handle. 

I sat next to my mom who had come over to hold our 2 month old and give me a much needed nap.  This was probably the 10^th time we had tried over the past couple weeks, but I couldn’t sleep.   I was exhausted beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, but the anxiety tormented me and I couldn’t rest.  I felt like I was stuck in fight of flight mode 24/7, only I couldn’t run away from this.  My body was shutting down. 

I sat on the porch swing rocking back and forth, babe in my arms.  The swing on the porch, hidden under the shade of our large maple tree had become my refuge.  As the breeze would blow over us both I would worship, cry, war, and call out to the Lord.  God continued to be faithful and meet me, blowing little pieces of hope into my heart and spirit.  There was new manna for each day.  I knew that there was a purpose for the season.  God was doing something in me.  I was being pruned, tested and put through the fire.  It hurt.  I wanted it to be over. 

I sat across from Joey and listened to him tell me that this was the hardest season of his adult life.  It made me feel a little better, like it wasn’t just me.  It wasn’t all in my head.  It just sucked and there was no way around it.  Kind of like that kids book about the bear hunt.  “Can’t go over it.  Can’t go under it.  Got to go through it.”  Shit. 

I sat across from the Midwife and listened to her tell me that within 2 weeks I should see a difference on the antidepressant she was prescribing me.  I knew she was right, but I also had an eerie feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better, and they did.  That Thursday, when I woke, the first thought that came to mind was, “I need to commit myself.  I can’t do this anymore.”  As I woke up a bit more I realized 2 things needed to happen:  this child needed to learn to sleep and I needed to put him on formula so I could distance myself from it all a bit.  Everything in me felt too shattered to do either of those things, but I knew they had to happen.  I called my parents who came and picked up the middle 3 children so I could focus solely on Israel and teaching him to sleep on his own.  That day I pressed in like I’ve never pressed in before.  Every time I put my babe down for a nap I worshiped and fell apart on my living room floor.  Never have I been so raw, so depleted, so desperate.  I paced the floor back and forth.  All the anxiety, fear and adrenaline wouldn’t even allow me to sit.  I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin.  As I listened to my sweet baby scream through the monitor I laid all of me out before the Lord.  As the Lord met me I felt Him say, “You’re crowning.  Three more days until the birth.  Give me your little and I’ll make much.”  

I sat with the Lord, well more like paced with the Lord, every chance I could over those next couple days.  I had finally come to a point of releasing all that I was.  I wasn’t fighting the process anymore.  I was too tired to fight anything.  The Lord was speaking many things to my heart.  One of the things He spoke was that our family was to make a prophetic act and march around our house 7 times, giving up a shout to the Lord after the 7^th lap – just like the Israelites did when they took Jericho.  It sounded crazy.  We did it anyway.  Something broke that night, the 3^rd and final night of the birthing process. 

I sat with the Lord again that next morning as He spoke to me about my healing, Israel’s healing and the healing of our family that was to come.  He told me that there would be a 6 week postpartum healing.  In the coming days I found myself grateful for that revelation.  Healing did not happen instantly.  It has taken time, but there has been definite healing. 

Today I stood at the front of our church, babe in hand, family by my side and dedicated Israel David to the Lord – an act I had already done more than once throughout the previous season in private moments.  It also just so happened to be the last day of our 6 month postpartum healing process, a strategic merging of dates that I believe to be orchestrated by the LORD. 

Through it all I have learned that God is God and I am not.  He is forever faithful and good, my shelter in the storm.  He will do what He says He will do.  His joy is my strength and when I have nothing left HE will fight for me.  People will politely say, “God will never give you more than you can handle.”  I don’t buy it.  This past season was a storm I could not handle.  On my own I would have sunk.  …. But God. 

What Ferguson has taught me...

OK, so let me first start out by saying that this perspective is from that of a while, middle class woman.  I’ve been privileged all my life.  During my single-mom-in-college days I navigated my way through some of the welfare system, which was an interesting venture, but that’s as “unprivileged” as it gets for this girl.  I’ve never had to worry or wonder if I was being targeted simply because of the color of my skin.  I’ve never had that fear for my children.  I acknowledge that. 

Over the past weeks I’ve read numerous articles, blog posts, interviews, facebook status updates, etc. about the Ferguson tragedy, and the conclusion, the only real conclusion that I’ve come to, is that we as the American people like to pick sides. 

We pick a side and then we find evidence to fit, even if unintentionally.  I have yet to read or hear anything that doesn’t feel like it invites you to one side or the other.  I feel like we become so focused on our own perspective that we forget about the people.  Sure we use their names as the face for our cause, but are they truly our focus or are we driven more by innate fears and biases that lie beneath the surface of our own hearts.   A perfect example of this is those who have used the local death of a beautiful teacher by a young black man to perpetuate their perspective (which in my opinion is so out of context and is motivation behind this personal rant). 

Honestly, I still have yet to figure out where I stand.  I don’t know if I’ll truly ever know.  I feel like I’m stuck in some weird, middle ground, no-man’s land.  My heart breaks for Michael Brown’s family, for a mother who will never get to see the hopes and dreams for her son realized.  That hits home for me.  My heart aches for Darren Wilson and what he has had to and will have to deal with in these coming years.  Such a tragedy does not end well for anyone involved EXCEPT by the grace of God.

And so that is how I pray.  That’s God’s grace would sweep this nation.  That what the enemy intended for evil, God will use for HIS glory.  That all who are wounded by this tragedy, and tragedies that have taken place this season, would have an encounter with the God who heals all wounds and brings HOPE. 

Without God, I do not believe this nation will see the unity and love that it deeply craves.  We love because HE first loved us (1 John 4:19).  So I pray for my own heart, that God would bring the fears and biases to the surface.  That I will be able to receive God’s love so that I can love others as He has loved me.  I guess that is my stand.  God help me.  God help us all.

When Someone Else's Child Becomes Your Own

"A child born to another woman calls me mommy.  The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me."  Jody Landers.

March 20th was a beautiful, long awaited day.  It was the day that we "officially" welcomed our beautiful son, Daniel, into our forever family.  It was a day that we had longed for, prayed for, and desired with all our hearts for over 18 months.  It was glorious, and it's all still sinking in.

What is it like to desire with all your heart for someone else's child to become your own?  What is it like to sit in the same room with the mother of that child and see her tears, her desires to be a mother, and still desire for that child to become your own?  It's complicated.

I am forever grateful to this woman, this other mother, for choosing life, for loving our little boy, and in the end for trusting us with such a precious gift.  I pray for her joy and peace.  In those moments when her heart and arms ache to hold our little one, God, comfort her.  May she know that she is loved and cherished by a Heavenly Father who will not wrong her like her earthly one.  May everyday hold a piece of healing for the heart that longs to hear our little one call her "mommy." 

And when that little one calls me "mommy,"  may I never forget the privilege that comes with those words.  The beautiful and heart-wrenching privilege of someone else's child becoming my own. 

A Second To Spare

Every year as I ponder Christmas, I ask the LORD to make it more real to me.  I don’t want to get caught up in the hustle of bustle of trying to perfect things that, in reality, don’t make much difference.  I mean, I love Christmas lights and buying gifts, but my outdoor display of Christmas spirit will not be the piece of Christmas that truly changes a persons’ life forever. 

As I ponder this year, the thought that keeps coming back to me is how life can be forever changed in one short second.  I mean really, isn’t that a HUGE piece of what the Christmas story is about.  In one short second the world was changed for eternity, never to be the same.  OK, don’t get me wrong.  I know that child birth takes more than a split second.  I have been there, 3 times, but there came a second, one amazing second, where the Christ child was thrust into this world, took his first breath, and changed the course of history.  It got me thinking.

What do I do with my seconds?  If a split second is all it takes, then what can one do with that second?  Here are a few things I came up with:

   - Say “I’m sorry.”

   - Choose to forgive, even after years of holding a grudge.

   -  Buy the person in line behind you at Starbucks a coffee.

   - Tell your children or someone in your life that you love them.

   - Give someone a hug.

   - Choose a kind word instead of an angry one in a heated situation.

   - Let someone merge into your lane, even when you’re in a hurry.

           

Anyway – there’s many more, but you get the point.  The choices that we make in one second have the power to change another persons’ life and our own.  We may not always feel like it, but we all have a second to spare.  What will you do with yours?

Sowing Seeds

When you have a child at age 15, it adds some messy dynamics to your life.  When you get married 4 years later and terminate parental rights of that child's biological father, things get even messier, in a sense.  It was easy to go on with life, and forget the past, but it wasn't just my past to be forgotten.  What goes on in the mind of a small child when the father figure they once knew bails and a new one takes his place?  What happens in their heart when those ties are broken, even if for their own good?

It's not like we never talked about it with our son over the past several years, we did.  We asked questions like, "Do you think about him?  Do you have questions about him?" and made sure he knew that he could always talk to us about his biological dad.  It was just never really anything of importance, until a few weeks ago.

It is a strange thing when our past invades our present and makes things, well, messy again.  I received a request from our sons biological father to begin writing to him.  I was conflicted.  I could feel the mama bear rising up in me, wanting to protect our son from any harm, and at the same time the realization hit that this man is his past too.  He is becoming a young man and there are areas of his heart that need healing and reconciliation from that past.  It was not my decision to make, it was his.

The first letter came last week.  I opened it, of course, and read it.  There was true recognition of the hurt and pain that was caused and a deep repentance.  It was genuine and real.  I watched as my son read it (after he rolled his eyes at me for opening it first- however, in my defense I would have had to wait 4 hours for him to get home from school and open it).  His face was serious as he read through then folded it up and put it in his back pocket.  "I'm keeping this so I can read it again," he said.  I could tell it was precious to him.

A few days later he came down the steps, carrying his own letter.  I read the letter.  I cried.  Were these really the words of my 13 year old son - the same kid who had pummeled his little sister and left his dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor?   There was forgiveness and a genuine desire to get to know the man on the other end of that letter.  There was encouragement through scripture, Psalms 32:5 and Isaiah 43:18-19, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See I am doing a new thing!" and a call to continue to press on.  Misspellings and all, it was real, it was genuine, and it flowed from a heart of love.  I could not have been more proud or humbled in that moment.  


So, we begin a journey towards a messy reality and choose to believe that it will be one full of healing and life.  "See I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”  Isaiah 43:19.  AMEN!
 

These are a few of my favorite things...

As the evening winds down and I get ready to hop into bed I ask myself, "what is one of my favorite parts of my day?" As I rack my brain, going through all the many things I've done today, I realize that my favorite parts have nothing to do with what I've accomplished, but instead revolve around the people that I love. My favorite parts are:

1. Snuggling my little Anna on the couch and listening to her giggle as I squeeze tighter and tighter.

2. Seeing my kids faces when I told them they could have 10 minutes to jump on the trampoline with the hose before they had to leave with their Mimi (yes, I know this does not create ideal jumping conditions, but they sure do love it).

3. Finally getting to see my hubby after his long day at work and eating dinner together while discussing church leadership, work, and other things we don't normally get to discuss when the kiddos are home.

4. Kissing my kids goodnight after they were already asleep - especially since Alex was having some funky dream and almost whacked me in the face as she muttered to herself, which made me giggle :)

5. Seeing so many different members of my family in 1 day (I guess it helps that I'm currently living with most of them!).

While it's so easy, at the end of the day, to focus on the things I didn't get done or the things that I still don't have yet, tonight I choose to go to sleep focused on the many ways that I am blessed. Tomorrow has enough worries of it's own and quite frankly I'd rather count my blessings.

In A Season of Waiting

Waiting (as an intransient verb):

1. a: to remain stationary in readiness or expectation
b: to pause for another to catch up —usually used with up

2. a: to look forward expectantly
b: to hold back expectantly

3. a: to be ready and available
b: to remain temporarily neglected or unrealized

Patient:

1: bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint

2: manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain

3: not hasty or impetuous

4: steadfast despite opposition, difficulty, or adversity

5: able or willing to bear

Waiting patiently is not for wimps and it is certainly not for the faint of heart. It is not about sitting on our hands, inactive and inattentive. It is a fierce battle of the heart, mind, spirit and soul. In a fast paced, have everything now society, we cringe at the idea of waiting. We want a quick and convenient experience, whether it’s at the grocery store or in our relationships (um…facebook). But there are times, seasons, when God takes us into a place of waiting and asks us to do it patiently; to “look forward expectantly” while “manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain.” This is the season that I have found myself in for the past 13 months.

I must admit, there are many days that I wish this season would end. There are many times that I have acknowledged the fact that we very well could have forced it to end on several occasions. But, I know that if I continue to give this season to the Lord and seek Him, if I am “able or willing to bear” the process that the Lord wants to take me though to grow me, then not only will I end up with a wonderful home, but I will end up more like Him. And so, no matter how many times I may want to throw in the towel, I continue to press on, urging my heart, mind, soul and spirit to wait patiently and rest in the promises of God. I know His promises are true, His process is good and that He has amazing things in store for me and my family. I just hope I'm nearing the end of the tunnel :)

The Ministry of a Burnt Out Housewife: God Mends our Broken Hearts

I have the privilege of being married to the most wonderful man in the world. He was created to be my husband (among many other things), crafted to be the one man that can speak into my life like no other man ever could or will. Together, we are the ultimate team! We’re just not quite there yet.

You know the saying “Men are from Mars, and women are from Jupiter?” Well, that pretty much sums it up. For years after I married my husband I thought that maybe my marriage was God’s idea of a cruel practical joke. Maybe he put us together just so that our children could be raised by a Godly mother and father. Maybe he put us together to make me realize how much I need HIM to meet my needs instead of an earthly man. Maybe, just maybe, I married the wrong man all together. But deep in my heart, in my spirit, I knew those things were not truth. I just ached so badly to be known, to have my husband know my heart, my inner most desires and dreams, and most of all, to be pursued and cherished. As women, we all truly desire these things, no matter how many walls we may erect to keep ourselves “safe.” When these desires go unmet many of us pick up emotional and spiritual baggage. This baggage may include anger, frustration, fear, offense, disappointment, bitterness, unforgiveness, judgment, and the list goes on. We build up walls of self protection to make sure that we never have to feel that kind of pain again. We numb out parts of ourselves and become “okay” with everything, sometimes to the point where we lose sight of who we really are all together. Does this sound familiar?

This was my experience for the first 6 years of my marriage. I carried every single one of those emotional and spiritual baggage pieces that I listed above. There were times within that 6 year period where I was able to lay some of them down, but then something else would happen and I would pick the pieces back up again. I built up walls, some pretty big ones, and I relied on them to protect me and keep me safe. I felt I needed to control my emotional and sometimes physical surroundings so that I would not put myself in situations that would bring me disappointment or emotional wounding. I tried to convince myself that the desires of my heart truly didn’t matter because they would just set me up for more disappointment. I had become “okay” with things that were not okay, and I justified it by telling myself that this is what I needed to do to emotionally survive and be there for my kids, but in reality I was dying inside.

Ladies, this is no way to live. God tells us in John 10:10 that “The thief comes only to steal, and kill, and destroy; I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly.” What I did not realize as I was building my walls, was that not only was I distrusting my husband with my deepest desires, I was distrusting the Lord as well. I took control of the reigns instead of leaning on God and allowing Him to be my protector and healer. I chose to stuff and hold onto my pain instead of nailing it to the cross and leaving it there! The enemy had come in and convinced me that I needed to be my own savior. I was not truly protecting myself, I was walking in sin and that sin was stealing my joy, killing me inside, and on it’s way to destroying my marriage, and all the while I was completely oblivious, wallowing in my own sorrow.

Praise God, for He will “bring to light the things hidden in the darkness” (1 Corinthians 4.5)! It was like the Holy Spirit flipped on the light, and lies became exposed. I realized how deep and entangled these lies had become and how so much of my life was filtered through my “self protection” and “okayness.” But most importantly, I realized that I needed to be set free from a spiritual mindset that had infiltrated my life. The Word of God tells us that “we do not fight against flesh and blood, but against ….the powers of this dark world” (Ephesians 6:12). Dealing with this spirit of control and self protection was not something I could will my flesh to do. I had tried before to lay these things down, but it never really stuck. I always picked my walls back up. The healing that I needed had to go past my head, heart, and soul down into my spirit. I renounced the spirit I was dealing with by the blood of Jesus, repented for my distrust of God and my choice to hold onto the pain, offense, unforgiveness, judgment, etc., and began to replace those lies with God’s truth. Within the next few weeks I was amazed at how lie after lie began to be exposed. It was like my eyes were opened and the bondage that had held me before was unraveled piece by piece.

Next week we will celebrate our 8th year of marriage. YAY! Over the past 2 years we have learned so much together and have come so far. I have seen the need to control the situations in our marriage slip away from me and have felt the peace of the Lord, even when disappointment comes. I am learning to express my heart and trust that my husband will hold it well. Even when he doesn't (he's still learning too) I can rest in the assurance that God ALWAYS holds my heart well. We still aren't quite there yet, but by the GRACE of GOD we're definitely a few steps closer.

The Ministry of a Burnt Out Housewife

So, about 2 years I felt inspired to start writing a book, if for no other purpose than to give myself a place to write out many of the things going through my mind about my season of life as a wife and stay-at-home mom. I decided to title it, "The Ministry of a Burnt Out Housewife." Now, 2 years later I think I've written maybe 1/20 of it. What can I say, I'm a starter...but not so good at the finishing thing! So, I was going through old files on the computer the other day and came across this "book" of mine and thought, hmmmm, I should pick this up again. I figured I'd post some of the writings on my blog as I go - some will be old and some will be new. Maybe someday I'll get the book actually finished, but if not at least I'll be able to put some of it here. The first post is an old one and was the intro to the book.

(October 2009) "About 2 weeks ago, my husband and I had a somewhat heated conversation. I had embarked on a new business idea consisting of hand painted signs. Unfortunately, at that time I did not have any place to create my signs other than our kitchen table. With all the time and energy I was putting into getting the signs ready I did not have much time to pick up around the house. I was also making a bit of a mess myself with all my supplies. Now, my husband is a creature of habit. He goes to work and likes to come home to a clean house, which I can completely understand. It is much more relaxing to walk into a home that looks clean and organized than it is to walk into a home that looks like the toy box threw up. And frankly, my husband deserves to have that stress free feeling in his own home after a long hard day of work. The problem is, sometimes I get a little distracted. And this particular week, I was definitely distracted.

The first day my husband didn’t say anything, but I could tell by his demeanor that he was less than pleased at the mess. Our heated conversation occurred on day 2 of him coming home and opening up the door to toy box upchuck. Again, I could tell that he was frustrated and very displeased at the mess he had come home to, so I confronted him. Our conversation led us to a place where I was expressing my frustrating at being expected to have the house clean everyday by the time he gets home. To which my husband unwittingly replied, “Your home all day. It’s your job!” I just sat there, in my chair, feeling like my mouth was hanging open with nothing to say. Not that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Oh, there were words, many words coming to my mind, but none appropriate or productive to say in that moment. What felt like a righteous indignation was rising up in me. How dare he? Does he have any idea how much I actually do around here? There’s the kids doctors appointments, dentist appointments, grocery shopping, field trips, running the kids here and there and everywhere for who knows what, cleaning, cooking, baking, returning the library books, organizing the play room, painting the hallway, planting the flowers out front, and oh by the way I actually have 2 part time jobs on the side. What more did he want from me? I was feeling dry and burnt out and yet, there was a demand for more. Ever feel that way? As “housewives” or “stay-at-home moms” we are committed to a cause that sucks us in way over our heads and sometimes leaves us feeling like we are under paid, under appreciated and in need of a serious vacation (or at least an undisturbed bath).

Over the next few days, as I processed my conversation with my husband, I realized something; most days I viewed my role as a stay-at-home mom as a job. I did what I needed to do, completed my duties, and got the job done for the day, but there was something missing - JOY. What’s up with that? Here I am married to a wonderful Godly man with 3 beautiful children and I’m grumpy with my role in the family. What was going on? God began to speak to me that my “job” as a mother and wife is actually not a “job” at all; it is a ministry. The devil had come in and stolen my joy, convinced me that there was something better out there, and blinded me to the ministry opportunities that I had everyday with my kids, my husband, and the people that I came in contact with throughout my busy day. I had simply chosen to agree with the lie that I was nothing but an unimportant stay-at-home mom than rejoice in the truth that God has chosen me to be his hands and feet to my family. What a calling!"

Death and Resurrection

Last week while driving past a church I noticed a MASSIVE sign, one where each letter is it's own sign actually, staked into the front lawn of the property. In big capital letters it said "CHRIST HAS DIED." I couldn't help but feel like this was terribly morbid and somehow missing the point of Easter. I mean, yes, Christ died - a gruesome death carrying the sins of the world. I can't imagine the agony, loneliness, and despair dying such a death, but it didn't stop there. There was more, so much more.

Sometimes I think we live in a place that keeps Jesus Christ in the grave. We recognize that Christ died for our sin and disease, and that we can come to the Father because of what Jesus did on the cross, but we don't live in what happened 3 days later. Our Savior conquered the gates of hell, destroyed sin and death and, against all natural odds, rose from the grave so that we may have life and life ABUNDANT. Jesus died so that we could walk out of something (our sinful bondage) and rose again so that we could walk into something (life ABUNDANT). How many times have I stopped just short of the life abundant and left Jesus lying there, dead in the grave? How many times have I let the enemy weigh me down and steal my joy, my hope, my inheritance not understanding fully what happened when Jesus rose that beuatiful morning?

I'm not sure that I will ever fully be able to comprehend what it means that my Savior, perfect as He was, took my sins, died for me and rose again, so that I can be FREE, so that I can look the devil in the eye and say, "I am redeemed, a daughter of the King!" I pray that it continues to sink deeped and deeper into me every day that I'm alive on this earth, until I have the amazing opportunity to thank Him face to face. This day I choose to live in the FREEDOM, the GRACE and the LIFE ABUNDANT that is mine, not because I earned it, but because I am loved by the King of Kings. Happy Easter to you all!

This Girl Can't Dance!

Last night was a first for me. I'm not sure what it is about me, but I do not do group aerobics. I think it's the fact that they scare me. What if I can't keep up with everyone else? What if people are watching me? What if I look like an absolute moron? Well, after an invite from my beautiful sister-in-law I decided to "just do it."

The website www.danceandfit.com describes Zumba as "a fusion of body sculpting movements with easy to follow dance steps to the tune of Latin and International music." Really? Really?? In what world are those steps easy to follow? As we made our way into the gym I felt the panic wash over me. Everyone was already dancing, together, with at least some type of rhythm, but where was the instructor? Where were the step-by-step instructions for each dance move? The wave of panic was fleeting as I spotted the instructor and realized that there were others who didn't fully know what they were doing. This was a take a deep breath, jump in and hope you can swim approach to dance, no step-by-step instructions necessary. The instructor danced and I jumped in, hoping I could get at least a few moves down by the time each song was done. About 2 songs into the workout my legs were burning, my chest was heaving, and the things the instructor was shaking were not the same things shaking on me, but I realized something. I was smiling - probably a weird and disturbing looking smile as I concentrated on moving my body in the right direction, but none the less it was there. By the time we were done I had come to the conclusion that even though my moves were FAR from perfect I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I had gotten out of my own way and allowed myself to experience something new and it was FUN. Yay me! Yay Zumba!

This morning I have that sore feeling of accomplishment. That knowledge that I did something good for myself, body and soul. The Zumba class meets every Monday night and I intend to go as often as possible. Hopefully, my intentions pan out!

The snakes are last

So, our beautiful Anna is quite the dreamer. She's also a giver. At the moment, this has created quite the conundrum. Over the past few months she has had it in her head that she is called to start a pet shop so that she can raise money for our Sunday School sponsor child named Tebogo. She has impressively figured out many little details and talks about them multiple times a day, every day. This morning, while heading for a garage sale, she was talking to herself about the animals that she would purchase and bring home for her shop. "Don't worry, the snakes are last mom," she piped up. She is absolutely convinced that this is not a dream for the future, this is a dream for RIGHT NOW.

The problem is her mommy and daddy are not pet lovers. In fact, her daddy pretty much despises all animals, pets or not. To make matters worse, we are living in the in-law quarters (aka finished basement) of my parents home. Not a good season of life to even own 1 pet, let alone an entire pet store. I have tried to no avail to persuade her to own another dream, one more adaptable to our family. I even suggested owning a candy shop, to which she replied, "yes, I can have a small candy store in my Pet Store Gift Shop."

How do I protect her spirit to give, perservere and fling herself whole heartedly at her dreams while at the same time helping her to understand that this dream is most likely not for now? She reminds me all too much of myself. How many times I have run and tried to pursue my own dreams when God is gently saying, "Now is not the time my daughter." Sometimes it takes me a while to get it.

My precious Anna,
I love your vivacious and innocent spirit. The take on life that anything is possible and nothing or no one can hold you back from your dreams. Someday God will fling the door wide open on some of your dreams, the dreams that are truly in Him, and you will run hand in hand with Him in full abandonment. Whether that day is tomorrow or 30 years from now, wait and draw near to your Heavenly Papa. Waiting patiently is fierce and not for the faint of heart, and some days it may take all that is in you. But, know that in the end it will be worth it. Our Papa is not a God who withholds, but a good God who holds us close. He gives good gifts to His children and in perfect timing. Continue to use the creativity that God has given you to bless others. Continue to dream and allow God to put His dreams in your heart. He will use you in mighty ways to do mighty things. Never buy into the lie that you are too young or too inexperienced. In your weakness God is strong, and in His strength you can do all things! Someday, maybe someday, you will own your own pet shop. If this is the case it will be for the glory of God and the blessing of others. And even though we are not pet people, your daddy and I will be there to help you and encourage you, however we can, snakes and all.
Love you little girl!
~ Momma

50 Cents, Modge Podge and Spray Paint

During my latest trip to the Goodwill bins I discovered this thing:



Yes, this is some sort of letter, paper, bill, and whatever else you need to be held holder. It was in rough shape, but with a little love I had a feeling it could find a spot in my home (whenever we get one!). So, I grabbed it, paid my 50 cents for it and was on my way to AC Moore to pick up some Modge Podge and Scrapbooking paper for the background. I found the Modge Podge in the glue aisle (as always), then headed to the scrapbooking section where I proceeded to find NOTHING that fit what I was thinking (this happens often). I decided that maybe I could make something, grabbed some green cardstock and headed home.



After returning home I spent some time washing, degunking, and sanding down the "holder thing" before grabbing some white spray paint I had left over from a previous project. After a few coats of paint I was ready to Modge Podge. Luckily, while googling patterns I found one that I really liked, copied it to word, enlarged it and printed it out onto my green cardstock.



Using a thin coat of Modge Podge I glued the pieces of cardstock into their proper spots, painted the little thingy mabob on the front black and added a simple &H& to some left over green cardstock to pull the colors together.







It's not perfect, but it works for me. And for under $6 I got a nice little....whatever ya call it.

Mom For the First Time

My first post is dedicated to the not so little boy who, 12 years ago on this day, rocked my world and changed my life forever. That tiny little bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket propelled me into motherhood, a place exciting and terrifying all in the same breath, and my life would never be the same. It was not how I imagined my teenage years going - learning how to drive with a newborn in the back seat, reading Parenting magazine instead of Seventeen, graduating from High School with a grinning 2 year old cheering me on in the audience. It was definitely a wild and crazy ride!

Today that grinning little 2 year old turns 12 years old. I have watched my tiny little bundle grow into a young man. I have seen him touch people's lives and bring healing and encouragement to the hearts of others simply by being who God created him to be. These past 12 years and 8 months (from conception until now) have been an unforgettable and irreplaceable blessing. There were many times I had no idea what I was doing (many times I still don't), but God always knew and His plans were far beyond what I could have imagined.

Jordan Taylor Hartranft,
Our family, our friends, our church, our neighborhood, the world, they would not be the same without you. I would not be the same without you. You have taught me much about love, joy, patience, perseverance, faith, forgiveness, and the power of my words. You are created by God for greatness. He has a special plan and purpose for your life that will bring Him glory and will be better than you can imagine. You have a lot of life ahead of you, some days will be rough and others smooth, but God will always be with you. He will never leave you or turn His back on you. He will always fight for you and will always listen when you call on Him, even when it's a simple whisper. When you don't have strength He will make you strong. When it's hard to love others ask Him and He will give you love for the unlovable. Nothing is impossible for Him. Keep your eyes on Him, keep your heart in His hands and keep your ears opened to what He has to say to you. I promise you bud that if you give your life whole heartedly to the Lord it will be one crazy, amazingly beautiful ride and you will never regret it. I love you bud. Happy Birthday!

Love, your mom