Heuristic Leaning

I feel as if I've become something of an insomniac. That's dramatic, I've become a night owl. What has happened is that my baby is no longer a baby and my toddler doesn't put up a wild debate every night about bedtime. So when operation put-kids-to-bed is finished I actually have a little bit of energy left.

At night my mind comes unwound from the tight coils wrapped around my day-to-day living. Emotions and to-dos had turned around themselves and then crossed over fears, some doubts, making its way back around to joy.

Some mornings start out in a slow long line, they rise or fall, veer left or right until the pace of productivity sets and we're off rounding bend after bend. There are days that start with a screaming baby in early hours, or a migraine (thank you hormones). Those mornings jerk me into a coiled spring so small and tight I could slip between your toes and be trampled underfoot. Most common are the days we wind around ourselves with the routine of thoughts, commands, events- coffee, shower, ask nicely, don't climb on the table, let's get dressed, don't argue with me, yes you are arguing with me, where's a binky? 

But coiling isn't a rotten nasty curse of humanity. It gives me the tension to jump further, push deep into the day and come out ahead. At every curve there's a questioned motive or underlying message. All those moments are speaking something, something I can be taught by. I like to think all this reflection makes me a sensei in my own right.

And when the kids are quieted in their beds and my mind is free to think its own thoughts, my life spins round my head. The words I spoke, frustrations, questions, and deep down longings. It's all there. A mess of multicolored threads going this way and that. 

The real problem is this. What I want, and have always wanted, I won't get. I've been waiting for someone to show me the blueprints for my life. To point out why every screw and board and wall has been constructed. While I trust God is building my life, I would have really preferred a more open line of communication about it all. I don't want to show up at the end to find out what was happening, and I don't want to wait for retirement or an empty nest to live the things I really love. I want to be in on the plan, getting it all done now.

What I really can't grasp is that God cares more about the me that's involved in the plan than the actual plan. I'm far too anxious to comprehend how someone could be so hands-off. But heuristic learning doesn't frighten Him. All my wanderings He watches and counts as significant journeys. The seasons of long graceful strokes and the ones where day after day small dots gradually reveal something of movement; learning by discovery, learning by leaning into the moment and its whispered dreams.

Whether roads are rocky, wide, or barren, He's there. His very presence making a way before me. Making feet like a deer and streams in the desert He sustains me; the sun to rise and set a path He leads me. And all the anecdotes I've heard of giving up to gain ease my heart into peace so that slumber can fall.

Can't Tame This Heart

For what brings grace and liberty to one, condemns with weight and death to another.

I'm going on week three, this phrase pounding in my heart, prying apart duty and calling. Embracing this truth is unwinding miles of knotted wandering, years of struggling to find where my lines fall. From every angle, an opinion for how my road should travel. I could take these early years of my babies' lives slow and steady, pour every ounce of my attention into their souls. I could run hard and fast after the dreams (big or small) that keep me up late into the night. I could let my house rest in mess. I could work my body hard, trained to fight laziness and apathy. These wouldn't be in vain or waste, causing my life to shine, and yet my soul could be dying.

If these last eight years could say anything, most likely, they would say don't doubt it.  About a dozen things I expected (or outright declared) I would never do, I've excitedly and whole-heartedly pursued. These divergencies could bring dismay, but I'm clinging tightly to the grace I've received. It's the grace to work outside the home, sow into my children by exampling a woman who loves life. Grace to stay out way too late, squeeze in a few hours of sleep, and make up the difference later. Grace to lock the bathroom door for five minutes to regain my sanity. Grace to believe things that aren't popular.

There are overloaded bookshelves of self-helps and blogposts cheering us on, but somehow I still feel that we're missing one cosmic gap. A hundred thousand wild spirits are beckoned to follow a calling only intended for a handful, and a pile of knotted cord is benching our best players. Tragedy is a life lived in fear, turning all-stars into bench-warmers.

Many days I've wished for no burning heart to tame. But I'm no good at that. It's just too much weight and I've never been good at faking. I love change, progress, finding solutions, making improvements. Right now they carry me out my front door and don't let my mind rest. What seemed to be so hard, is too hard to ignore. I can't tame this heart.

And it's truly amazing how this letting go of law has caused truth, the real 100%-don't-doubt-God's-opinion truth, to go so much deeper. Where tangled up roots made my mind hard and rocky, liberating love has allowed my convictions to go deeper still.

Fear wants to speak filthily that the baby will be thrown out with the bathwater, but God always rushes in to show His great Love that isn't threatened by our wandering off the beaten path.

"A great gift of any adult to a child, seems to me, is to love what you do in front of the child." - Fred Rogers

Never Ending Kingdom

Centuries of wandering and wars; through miracles, prophecies, and justice- God was speaking Himself. And then in holy obscurity unto us was birthed, to all of creation, the entirety of God.

Comfort and joy came, showing the way to live life full. Yet we turn our souls to the earth, straining to find light in contrite happenings. And why do we hasten to label all this goodness as hate? When God reached down to bring heaven and earth together, we saw rules and separation.

But grace is not defined by our finite minds.

I can't get away from this revelation that everything God is, everything He was aching to express to us, He gave in His Son Jesus; born in a humble barn among the lowliest of creatures. We get to know and love and live the truth of who God is. What a blessed gift we have received.

Hallelujah that the God of all creation pursues even the furthest soul- obstinate and sure they have no need.

And even if you don't want to accept that Savior, it is His light that will overcome all darkness. For His kingdom has no end.

Nobody's Hero

They say hard work pays off, but this payoff I can't work hard enough for. I'll make the circles in my prayers and cry the tears to sow those seeds deep, but my own two hands can't accomplish the miracle of growth. This overworked body is broken down. All my problem-solving skills have been adding, multiplying, and subtracting everything I can. How do we approach this from a different angle, find that hidden passage, so we conquer and move on to awaiting battlefields. These horrible prisons we've made for ourselves of ideals, holding tight even after the scarring of shattered promises.

As a mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, human. I cannot solve all these. Tomorrow may be another fruitless day, no end to problems.

It's too easy to rely on a person or a program to heal this hurting world. All the good intentions and tax dollars in the world won't bring the solution.

But gracious if we can't hold tight to faith, hope, and love.

Good Gravy

All these tired bodies. So weary from attempted proving. I am enough. I am alright. I am making it to the other end of this winding road, this winded breath.

Why can't we embrace the pause? To survive this cosmic swirl, inhale the chaos and exhale grace.

I am not a survivor. I'm not scraping by, just making it to the next vacation from a life of problems. I'm a thriver. I take all this mess and scrape it together into beauty; into the good that is my life.

Good glory. Make my life something holy. Above the grime of tantrums and patience run out.

Not only for the lives living like me- wives and mothers. For the outside, upside, inside out. We're all in this together. Racing humans to find that prize.

The most demanding part is giving up the reigns. I don't control my life, my child, my friend. We each take what we have and go where we must, fighting upstream to our Spirit's broad pasture.

Hardest working doesn't mean best receiving. But investing heart and soul, we always reap what we sow.

If I compare and contrast these last years given to husband, child, and another child, I must exclaim- "What strength was lain under tranquil waters!"

All that I needed to learn and to love, waiting for the push, tug, pull of giving.

If I Could Turn Back Time

This human race is, and most likely always will be, obsessed with time travel. Books and movies overflow shelves with their speculating scenes and scenarios. Attempting to teach the past all the things the future wish they'd known.

I don't like carrying regrets or if-onlys around with me. They cause too much introspection. They steal too much from today. But the lessons learned, those are invaluable. People say live and learn, I think it's healthy to make note of the lessons we've learned so we don't forget to live by them.

Revisiting my high-school-self I would tell her all that loneliness was forming so much strength. I would affirm the wacky uniqueness she possessed but felt so uncomfortable in, so sure that it was something to shed before she could become an adult, before she could find her "soul connection". I'd let my first-and-only-relationship-self relish every midday walk and coffee date. I would congratulate her for her grounded-ness and the good chunk of money they saved up together. I would tell my first-time-mommy-self she is doing great, even when she feels like she's lost in a stormy sea of crying and emotional turbulence. I would let her know that yes, old things have passed away- days of doing what she wants when she wants. But a new thing has come- new contentment of simply loving and being loved in a way only a mother and child can.

If I could turn back time mostly I would tell myself to let go and live. All my eyeing the progressions and possessions of another's life only returned resentment and fear. Worry is such a wicked curse, whispering that what we know now is reality forever. But when we live by our lessons, the truth is undeniable—this too shall pass.

In three years I'll look back on my two-kids-self and command a slowing down of time. The nights at home rocking babies to sleep will seem so sweet, park play dates precious and pure. Maybe I'll even miss the spitting up and blow-out diapers. But most likely not.

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My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you’ll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ’s love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God. (Eph. 3:14-19 MSG)

Becoming Great

... But whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave; just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many. -Matthew 20:26-28

What a privilege we have, to live this life as a servant, bearing and birthing tiny creatures who don't offer us the choice, to serve or not to serve. Selflessness is demanded, required, unceasing.

I'm learning a little more every day what it is to give continually. To give my ears, my heart, my body. Not just to those tiny creatures, but even after a frustrating afternoon still give to my husband when he comes home, and to the people I interact with as I go about my day.

Learning it's not a competition or a scale we have to balance, who gave more, who's felt more unloved or devalued. Our greatest commandment is to love, and love usually looks more like serving than it does conquering.

It takes a very special pair of rose colored glasses to see this life of serving as a privilege, to believe that we are becoming great with all our giving. Those glasses are rose colored and thorn covered.

This serving-life draws blood, asks for the very sustenance of our life. It can leave us feeling more at risk to bacteria and disease than feeling great or strong.

Maybe my theology has been rattled by all the crying, but I've been thinking Jesus might not have come to teach lessons or gain a following, but to serve. The miracles, demonstrations of power, raising Himself from the dead- maybe it was all serving. If so, shouldn't that be our greatest honor, the highest goal?

But we're humans, and giving without always getting is hard and uncomfortable. How could changing diapers and bounce-walking earn us anything but a sore back? 

Days are long and makeup smears, hair gets frazzled and we all shed at least a few tears. Clothes get spit-up and snot wiped on, but I'm becoming great. Magazines and Instagram celebrities mostly document the clean white blankets and adorable outfits, but even those moms are becoming great. The ones with potty-trained tots, sleeping-through-the-night babies, and tantrum-less days. We all get our opportunities to serve, to give without getting. And it's a privilege. We are becoming great.

Family of Four

We're three weeks into this whole family-of-four thing, and I've survived two whole weeks with Max back at work. I'm a mess of thankfulness for the family and friends who have brought dinners, diapers, coffee, clothes, watched Hanley, changed diapers, and just hung out- bringing a feeling of normalcy in the midst of exhaustion. That's my coping mechanism with weariness, don't give in, just keep trekking through that rough first month.

In a way it seems like we arrived here in a flash, yet have been rocking and burping for months. But we are so thankful to have Eliza Louise here with us.

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After a week of intermittent but strong contractions, I was dilated to a three and feeling ready to meet our little girl. It was one day before the due date and I had the doctor strip my membranes (read up on that if you dare, I think it sounds worse than it is, but I'm also terrified of all things medical), after which I went back to work to see what else of the crazy end-of-year mess I could get done. A January baby when you work in payroll at an accounting office is less than ideal, just ask my co-workers how they feel about the last three weeks.

By 7pm that night contractions were five minutes apart and I was wondering if this was the real deal. By 9pm they were more intense and I was going to attempt some sleep since I figured I had a long labor ahead of me. By 10pm I realized no sleep was happening, trying to relax and keep breathing through contractions was taking all my focus.

For two hours I tried to distract myself walking around the house, eating, watching old 30 Rock episodes (honestly, my favorite part of the labor). By midnight the contractions were three minutes apart so we figured it was a good time to head up to the hospital (Hanley was sound asleep, the sitter sleeping downstairs with the baby monitor). 

When we arrived at the hospital my body was shaking uncontrollably and the nurse had the nerve to tell me I might not be in real labor, just my body freaking out after the membrane stripping. Between that and then being told that I had only dilated to a four after a few intense hours of labor, I almost died.

In my labor with Hanley getting from four centimeters dilation to holding the baby in my arms was twelve hours. I did it without an epidural, but I couldn't imagine twelve hours of these contractions. The nurse left the room and I told Max the whole natural childbirth thing probably wasn't going to happen. He prayed, the nurse came back in and started asking questions about my level of pain (dumbest question ever, but I forgive them), and we just kept going.

Two hours passed painfully with some throwing up and me telling Max I didn't want to do this anymore (or ever again), but smart man that he is, he just held my hand and told me I was doing great. I was too focused on the labor and answering questions about my family's medical history (another dumb question in the midst of hard labor) to think much more on the epidural. By 2:30am (two hours after being checked into the hospital) the nurse asked if she could check and see how much more I had dilated. Apparently the intensity of the contractions (and pain) had done their work, and I was at nine and a half. Obviously the epidural wasn't happening, which was okay with me.

I can't express how relieved I was to know that we didn't have much longer, but then terrified that I was soon to be pushing.

By 3am I was fully dilated and the nurses had everything ready for delivery. With some very helpful coaching on when and how much to push, Eliza was born at 3:26am, healthy and beautiful.

And here we are, a family of four.

It still feels pretty unreal.

I don't think I've been anywhere on time with both girls. In two years I forgot how much time it takes to feed, burp, and change a little one. Especially when their cuteness is so distracting. We were almost on time to meet my sister and her husband for donuts. But that's because we didn't take showers or get ready much. And it was for donuts.

Life with a newborn and a two year-old is tiring and overwhelming, and also overwhelmingly beautiful.

There are some things that have come so much easier, like nursing (HALLELUJAH!), and her diapers don't seem gross at all in comparison to the two year-old's.

But each baby has their own uniqueness and I keep wondering, is this what Hanley did? Is this normal? How do I treat this diaper rash? Who knew there were so many kinds of diaper rashes a baby could get, and SO many ways to treat them.

Hanley is so sweet with her little sister, although she's still mixed up and calls Eliza her big sister. She talks to her in the highest pitched voice, brings her toys, asks why she's crying, and seems to get the idea that she can't eat the same food as her. Last week Hanley told Eliza, "we're going to be friends". I'm pretty sure she learned it from a show, but still that's darn cute.

Of course we are all learning the transition of spreading out our time, energy, and bodies a little further than before. And leaning more on God's faithfulness to strengthen and to be our faithful supplier of peace, wisdom, and patience.

Five Minute Free Write

Oh good golly gee,

What a thing to be

Stuck on a phrase

For infinite days

Learning that living

Isn't always giving

But taking the breath

That will lead to the rest

From the stopping and going

All the hitting and throwing

Must.

End.

Here.

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For the month of October I am participating in the 31 Days Writing Challenge put on by the lovely Myquillyn Smith of The Nesting Place. Read about it and find other bloggers here.

Steadfast

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

His patience I can't get over, tenderness I can't comprehend. All my rough edges smoothed over by His endless grace. He can't stop, won't stop, chasing and loving my soul.

For the month of October I am participating in the 31 Days Writing Challenge put on by the lovely Myquillyn Smith of The Nesting Place. Read about it and find other bloggers here.

Enough

I will never have enough, be enough, give enough, know enough. Enough is ever-expanding, that infinity we always talked about as kids. It daunts us with its un-definabilty and vastness, calls us to venture on eternally. Wearisome journey to take, terrifying destination to arrive at- to come to enough and settle there for the rest of our days.

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For the month of October I am participating in the 31 Days Writing Challenge put on by the lovely Myquillyn Smith of The Nesting Place. Read about it and find other bloggers here.

Day Eleven

Formalizing words with actions
Laying down distractions
Eyes must keep from straying
True message of love relaying

These moments so tender
Our Creator did render
To hold close as a prize
If only we'll realize

Tomorrow will come
Slower for others than some
For us, we can convey
Messages of thankfulness for today

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I have a difficult relationship with around-the-world-awareness. I love being brought out of my bubble, seeing how others live, and thus challenged to live a life more full. Yet it's easy to get carried away, losing the fine line between a safe learning experience, and having fear, guilt, and depression.

As with all difficult things these days I'm choosing thankfulness, peace, and to be stirred to love deeper and more true.

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For the month of October I am participating in the 31 Days Writing Challenge put on by the lovely Myquillyn Smith of The Nesting Place. Read about it and find other bloggers here.

Mommy-ed Out

Sometimes the "mom" hours of my life tick by so slowly I feel like I'm not cut out for this job. I'm one child into this mommy business and my patience doesn't seem to be expanding, but evaporating more quickly. The little hands grabbing to be pulled up into my arms are sweet, but so exhausting. It's  a high intensity workout, trying to focus on deep breaths so I don't notice the pain of my own selfishness being worked and worn thin.

Grace grace. That's what they tell you when your tired body is sagging and your spirit feels crushed beneath the weight of one child growing inside and another child's will growing outside. You can do it. Sure, but when I find myself on the other side will I still have my sanity and dreams alive? Again, I'm only one child into this.

Loving is so easy when the other half is giving, but a lot of days it's hard to find their giving and only see their needing. The gifts we do receive more often look like clothes that never fit our bodies right and coffee that got cold. Marker somehow on our arms and heartburn and back pain. Those aren't the gifts you'll find on many wish lists this holiday season.

But we can't carry on in an attitude that is fraught with negativity. I'm so thankful for nap times, for a momentary quiet even if it takes some wrestling and crying to get there. Today we both cried. We cried because we don't understand what it is we truly need and how to get there. I'd like a giant piece of chocolate cake, but I think a gentle reminder that there's greater strength available would be a more lasting help. She wants crackers and markers but the crackers keep breaking and the markers keep ending up on her face.

We need a pause. We need to refrain from our worked up emotions and space to see that there is plenty of room for us to find peace.

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For the month of October I am participating in the 31 Days Writing Challenge put on by the lovely Myquillyn Smith of The Nesting Place. Read about it and find other bloggers here.