Total Eclipse of Birth Certificates

It was Friday night, two days before our road trip to Canada, when Hunter looked through the file containing our ID documents.  I had been preparing all week for the trip by cleaning the house like I would if the queen of England was arriving for tea the following day, catching up on laundry, and preparing food so that we wouldn’t need to live off Mcdonalds and gas station snacks, much to my children’s chagrin; Hunter prepared by working 12+ hour days to finish non negotiable deadlines at work.  Needless to say, we were both very much looking forward to our upcoming vacation.  Technically the drive could be accomplished in a day since it was *only* 10 hours away, however after factoring in four little kids, we figured it would take closer to 15 hours, and not to mention shave years off of mine and Hunter’s life. 

“Wait a minute, where are Joy and Ezra’s birth certificates?” Hunter looked at me with slight panic in his eyes. 

“I don’t know, they should be there.  Are they not there?” I replied. 

Calm searching turned into frantic hasty glances of all the papers ever to exist in our household; we discovered that, unbeknownst to us, we did not actually own two of our children.  

So 2/4 or 50%, not exactly a passing grade.  

We had each gone through our filing cabinet multiple times so we knew the papers weren’t there, which then begged the question, can we get birth certificates by Sunday?  To which we discovered the answer, absolutely not. Devastated, we resigned ourselves to our fate, we would not all be going to Canada to see the eclipse.  Some of us would be Left Behind, not quite as bad as being left behind post rapture, but worse than that one time my parents left me behind at church.  

I called my mom, partly because I wanted to tell someone the inconceivable news, to lament over what terrible parents we were to not own our children legally, and to maybe, cry a little.  At this point I figured I would stay behind until I got the birth certificates, then join Hunter and Parker immediately after visiting the office of Vital Records.  I know, foolishly ambitious of me to think I could drive 10 hours solo parenting a 5 year old, 3 year old, and 18 month old.  Equally foolish, assuming I would be in and out of the Vital Records office as quickly as the Chick-fil-a drive thru line.  But as you can tell, we don’t plan well, we just let things sort of smack us in the face violently before realizing a plan would have prevented the injury. 

“Mom, we don’t have Ezra and Joy’s birth certificates” I told her over the phone.

“Oh that’s perfect! Parker is old enough to remember the Eclipse and Helen is too young to be Left Behind.  I can watch Ezra and Joy while y’all are gone.” she said. 

Woah, this idea was not terribly far from my mind, but it seemed too good to be true.  However she offered before I had even thought to ask.  Hunter and I hesitated, still in the denial stage of grief, hoping to not break up the family for a family vacation.  We said we would pray about it, slightly brazen of us considering our options were quite limited and our family would have to break up in order for anyone to go.   

In the end, we decided to leave the middles with my parents for six days while we vacationed in Dunnsville, Canada to see the Eclipse.  The next morning, I strategically took Joy out to Chick-fil-a for breakfast and presented the news to her as optimistically as possible which was pretty easy since 5 year olds aren’t typically aware of what the future holds anyway and the Canada vacation still seemed in the distant future to her, despite it being only one day away.   I knew that if Joy could get on board with the new plans, she would be able to convince Ezra likewise since he basically does everything Joy tells him to, occasionally rebelling when he finds the mere gaze of Joy to be offensive. 

That night, we had dinner at my parent’s house, got the middles settled, and left them there for six days; the longest we’ve ever left any of our kids.  We packed for our trip late into the night, knowing full well we would have to wake up at 4:30 to leave at 5am; motivated to leave that early by frequent warnings from friends and family of the terrible traffic we were likely to encounter since Niagara Falls had issued a State of Emergency due to the influx of people traveling to see the Eclipse; friends and family that knew Hunter and I probably weren’t doing a great job of planning in the traffic since we don’t, you know, PLAN. 

Crawling into bed at midnight, 4:30am came much too quickly, (but when does 4:30am NOT come too quickly?), but we got up, got Parker and Helen in the car and headed off for a great vacation to Canada to see the Total Eclipse and Niagara Falls.  Helen was even more excited but not in the giddy, happy sort of way, but in a weeping and gnashing of teeth sort of way.

“I can’t believe we had to leave Ezra and Joy behind.  I wonder how they slept…better yet, I wonder how my mom slept” 

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t have their birth certificates,” Hunter replied to me. 

“Wait…did you ever grab OUR passports and Parker and Helen’s birth certificates?” I said, sure my responsible husband would say yes, of course babe, I got you.

“no…did you?” 

With those dreaded words that literally changed the course of our trip, we turned the car around, adding an additional 1.5 hours drive time, which felt multiplied since Helen cried the whole time.  However we were extremely grateful that we didn’t spend more time in the car before realizing our mistake.  And if Helen hadn’t been crying we probably might have laughed at the irony, but we haven’t yet and I don’t know when we will.  I’ll keep you posted.

While we were sad to leave behind two of our kids, it worked out beautifully.  The car ride was difficult enough with a weepy 18 month old, however ear plugs and audio books came in clutch, and exploring the busy city of Toronto was a lot easier than it would have been with a 3 year old and a 5 year old.  Still, Hunter and I try to keep the family together, to pick vacations that cater to the lowest denominator, which constantly changes since you never know who will have an emotional breakdown, it could be the 3 year old, the 18 month old, or even the 30 year old because of the previously mentioned 18 month old. 

And before you ask, we did in fact order the birth certificates so that next time we go to Canada we won’t have a proper excuse for leaving them behind.  However, we might need to wait until the lowest denominator can put on their own shoes. 

Alone Time

I have always loathed doing anything alone, although I do appreciate the forever allusive alone time in the bathroom.  In high school, if I had an errand to run, I would bring one of my younger siblings with me, which wasn’t too hard since I had a plethora of younger siblings who were normally biting at the bit to be taken out into the “real” world.  Just kidding, We weren’t THAT kind of homeschool family.  I never realized how motivated and accountable I am by the mere presence of people until marriage, and then having kids. 

I consider myself a hard worker in general, but if I am alone, I lose motivation to work hard. So far no one has left me alone for more than 10 minutes so it’s not been a problem. But truly, I don’t know how much my inability to enjoy alone time has to do with my upbringing (nurture) or my personality (nature), or maybe it’s the combination that has made me absolutely crazy (that’s normally the answer, right? A little bit of BOTH!).  

When I was first married, a billion years ago (almost 9 years, to be exact), I had a hard time being alone while Hunter worked (I did work, but mostly part time, and I was alone a lot more than I ever had been).  The amount of Netflix shows I watched in my young adult years is ridiculous; I had SO MUCH FREE TIME, and yet, I was discontent, not really enjoying or soaking up the time I had married and without kids.  Being newly married, living in a new town apart from my family and friends, and at a new church where we struggled to make friends was isolating.  We both struggled, Hunter struggled with learning how to be married to someone he didn’t know could be so mean (spoiler alert: that WAS me, folks) and I struggled with isolation and the new normal.  

However, despite these struggles, we were learning what it meant to be “happily married”, how to truly love each other in word and deed.  And of course we did love each other, hence getting married; we enjoyed our random runs, obsessing how to make good coffee, riding bikes downtown, watching shows, hiking, and last but not least learning how to argue.  I had a way of putting my foot in my mouth, saying exactly what I was thinking, no matter how mean and sometimes for the sake of being mean, and Hunter was in disbelief that anyone so lovely as myself could be such a terrible person.  It wasn’t until he started to fight back that things took a turn for the better, not only did I need Hunter to stand up for himself, I also needed to recognize that my discontentment with the new circumstances didn’t warrant the hurtful way I was treating Hunter.  And I do not mean I was unhappy being married, I truly was elated.  It was everything else that took me by surprise.  Learning to live with ONLY one person was an adjustment, even if that person was my favorite person in the whole world. 

I still struggle with wanting to be right, pride, and moodiness. Hunter and I were recently sharing about our first year of marriage with my younger sister and her fiance, and while I sometimes cringe at the thought exposing my sin to others, there is healing in confession (Jame 5:16) and sin cannot live in the light. Pride tells me to shove sins behind the curtain of the past and act like I’ve always had my life together. When in reality, I still don’t have my life “together”, whatever that means, and it’s only by God’s grace that He continues to reveal to me blind spots that I haven’t submitted to Him. And let me tell you, there are still plenty of areas I need to daily submit to the Lord, but that only happens when I recognize that my good deeds aren’t qualification for His love.

Since early marriage, my home life has become more and more social, as Hunter and I have taken the call to “be fruitful and fill the earth” very literally. Whereas Hunter’s work life has become less and less social as he works alone almost all the time.  He is an electrical engineer and he works remotely for a company based out of D.C. that makes satellites (I married a genius, but it’s no big deal), so all day he writes computer code and solves the world’s problems simultaneously motivating himself without the daily interactions that most people have in the office. However, he would be the first to tell you that isolation has been the hardest aspect of his job. 

Man was not meant to live alone, we innately crave human fellowship, to differing degrees but no doubt we need one another.  I’m still learning how to honor God with my time and resources regardless of the number of people around.  My kids make me a godlier person; they motivate me to control my tongue, to choose kindness, to get off the couch and help them clean up their messes.  Same goes with having younger siblings; I was extremely motivated to be a better person once I realized the influence I had over my younger siblings; well, I always knew I had power over them, but that didn’t motivate me to be Christlike, think opposite of Christlike.  Basically, I “ain’t a saint” (bumper sticker idea, anyone?) and I struggled very much with submitting my life to Christ, but it wasn’t until I realized my life apart from Him was meaningless, and that my siblings’ lives could be positively or negatively impacted by my life. 

God has given parents unique influence over their children’s lives and we can use that to either point them to God and His grace and mercy or to point them to ourselves and our good deeds, negating the entire purpose of the cross. So whether you work alone or with a plethora of little ones undertow, seek community within your four walls,  and “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Romans 12:18), even though sometimes it doesn’t feel possible to live peaceably with a toddler.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.

Ephesians 2:8-9

Weight of Glory

Last year I turned 30 years old. I know that may not seem old to those of you who are older than that, but to those below the age of 20, I should be picking out my tombstone engraving (here’s your friendly reminder, it’s never too early to be prepared for life insurance). Almost everything in life can be chalked up one way or the other with “perspective”. There are many sayings/quotes to help people cope with aging, the act of getting older and closer to one’s DEMISE or ETERNAL GLORY. One being “age is just a number” which I like to add on “with HUGE implications” which doesn’t normally go over well. Everyone has family members who reject the notion that death awaits them, avoiding the subject their entire lives. I’ve never wanted to do that, and I’ve also never wanted to fear death because if I do, it means my faith is useless. The entire reason Christ died on the cross was to set us free from the sting of death, and while I do fear dying, I hope to approach death itself with a faith that encourages my children and my children’s children.

My grandma died last year; in the last 10 years of her life she battled Alzheimer’s. At the beginning, the memory loss was minor and seemingly inconsequential but with each year it exponentially increased until she almost completely lost herself inside her mental jail.  I loved my Mimi so much; in High School I called her weekly to lament/vent about all my teenage drama which she absolutely loved.  She consistently asked me if there was any special boy in my life, which she continued to ask me after I was married and had four kids.  

“Faith, is there any special young man in your life?” She’d ask 

“Yes Mimi, my husband of 7 years is quiet the special young man” 

And with tears filling her eyes she grabbed my hand desperately and said, “I’m going crazy, Faith. I’m so sorry.”

Anytime I visited my Mimi at her Assisted Living facility with my husband, Hunter, she couldn’t pin who I was because Hunter threw her off; she would remember who I was if I was visiting without him, but with him she was confused.  My Mimi had such a strong faith that even when she couldn’t quite remember who I was, she prayed with and for Hunter and me. One time, before leaving we asked to pray with her and Papa, and despite not knowing our names she always wanted to pray too. 

God, please be with this young couple as they are getting married, please bless their marriage. Thank you for our friends from Hessel (an old church that they had many friends from).

Despite being married for 7 years and not ever attending Hessel church, Mimi knew that she loved me, despite not knowing exactly who I was to her. I treasure those last confused prayers over me. 

I grew up with Mimi and Papa very involved in my life. Mimi taught me about friendship, she was a good friend to so many people, she taught me about prayer, and she taught me how to make people laugh, meaning she always laughed at me; I don’t mean I would fall out of a tree and she’d laugh, that’s what brothers do, not grandmas.  But, she thought I had a great sense of humor and I could always count on making Mimi laugh, something I still very much enjoy, making people laugh.  

Mimi loved fashion and I’m sure it pained her to witness my emo phase/Twilight phase.  A phase that lasted a couple months, and considering one day would have been too long, a couple months is a mark on my record. Every year for my birthday she would take me shopping and basically revamp my homeschool wardrobe.  I was permitted to spend $40 on anything I wanted but if I chose to go shopping with her she would often spend more because the gift of shopping was as much a gift for me as it was for her.  She loved it. One year I chose to use all my money on converse, shoes that ended up being way too big, and for some reason I didn’t return them and get the right size.  One of my biggest regrets to this day.  Not only did I miss out on spending quality time with Mimi, something I thought I would never run out of, but I also got ridiculously huge looking converse, at a very vulnerable time in one’s life.  The stakes are too high in Junior High.

We went to the same church as Mimi and Papa until I was maybe 8 years old, so I grew up seeing Mimi worship.  As a little girl I thought, Mimi must be so spiritual since worship makes her cry so much.  I can’t imagine how I could make myself cry right now, but it would probably look good if I did. 

I didn’t think my time with Mimi was so limited, but now I realize that all the time we have here on earth is not only by definition limited but also feels fleeting.  On Mimi’s death bed she was hallucinating and thought she was pregnant, and she kept trying to get out of bed, unaware that her body wasn’t capable of standing.  She also talked of people who had been dead for a long time as if they were living.  At one point I asked if she needed anything, mishearing me, she looked at me incredulously and said  “Am I skinny? What do you think?” and having spent the majority of her adult life overweight I’m pretty sure she was being funny, but I can’t be sure.  At the end, I brought Helen, who was newborn, and Parker or Joy to see her weekly.  She loved holding Helen, who was named after Mimi’s Aunt Helen; her Aunt Helen and babies always brought her so much joy.  She often didn’t know who I was, but despite that, she always said “I love you, darlin’” and I know she did because she spent her life telling me that in those exact words.  

It’s so painful to watch someone you love die; it puts everything you believe to the test.  When God said Adam and Eve would die for their sin, not only would they die, they would also grow old.  I’m not looking forward to growing old and dying but I know every hardship I face, including memory loss, incontinence (very unpleasant reality), and physical pain will not compare with the relief and joy when face to face with Jesus, hearing those sweet words “well done good and faithful servant”.

For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18

On Your Knees, NOW!

“Mom, Helen is awake and I was cuddling her in her bed!”

I awoke with a jolt as my 3 year old’s statement began to make sense.

This was it. I jumped out of bed and ran to the shower to take the fastest shower in the history of motherhood. I badly needed a shower and refused to take one with my 16 month old for obvious reasons; one not so obvious reason being she had previously stuck her finger in the drain. My husband and I thought we would have to cut the metal off in order to free her little chubby finger, but praise be we were able to emancipate her with the help of conditioner and fervent prayer. I had neglected waking up any earlier than I had to because Hunter and I have this terrible habit of staying up late and paying for it later. But a shower? That was non-negotiable.

As I was taking my trendy cold plunge shower (against my will, forced by the rate our water heats up), my 7 year old son Parker brought the baby, Helen, to the bathroom and set her right outside the shower stall, where she sat somewhat happily while I finished; however I was not quick enough as she was playing in the toilet when I exited the shower.

The morning block had begun with minor travesties (Helen playing with pee in the toilet is considered minor around here), and while I hadn’t read my Bible, or worked out, I had taken a shower, and that’s a win folks. You’re welcome, world.

…………………………………….

Some days are such a blur, they start off so chaotically, and it’s hard to get back on track, to submit the day to the Lord. I recently was convicted of my lack of personal time spent with the Lord; wanting to change that, I started getting up earlier to make time for Bible reading/prayer. The kickoff was fantastic, but the consistency thus far? I give that an F. I don’t know if it’s merely the season I find myself in, the ages of my kids, or my own flesh getting in the way, but waking up any earlier to spend time with the Lord seems so out of reach. I want to give the Lord the first fruits of everything, including my time but it feels like I’m grasping at straws. As moms (and dad’s), we can’t rely on a full night’s rest, in fact, we can probably rely on the fact that we won’t get a full night’s rest. So to then wake up earlier to give the Lord our first groggy 30 minutes seems unsustainable. But to be fair, I thought waking up multiple times every night was “unsustainable” and look at me, I am sustained/still living/barely surviving. But all jokes aside, God has sustained me through unsustainable circumstances including sleepless nights.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.

2 Corinthians 9:8

Every good work includes motherhood/homemaking. I need God’s grace to abound in me so that I am able to tackle the jobs He’s set before me. Because this is Kingdom work. That’s why inviting Him in at the start of every day is so integral to the success of the day. It doesn’t have to be intense, just centering yourself in Christ before the day kicks off is powerful because you’re declaring the day His.

What if I’m not a morning person and I HATE waking up before my kids because I need all the sleep I can?

Wow, you sound just like MYSELF. You don’t have to spend the morning with the Lord, it can be anytime, and anytime is better than no time. However, I have found that if I don’t do it in the morning it doesn’t happen. So figure out a time that works and commit to that, otherwise it won’t happen, because not only does it go against our flesh, there are spiritual forces that do not want us to grow in our knowledge and understanding of the Lord.

For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds.

2 Corinthians 10:4

Narrowing down what matters is necessary to get anything done, otherwise the day will take us places we don’t want to go: losing our tempers, yelling at the kids, letting the house “go” and our kids bad behaviors go unchecked. Or, maybe we don’t do those explicitly unacceptable things but instead we accomplish the bare minimum and become the forever “surviving not thriving” momma. When we invite the Holy Spirit to work through us, to motivate us, to soften our children’s hearts, we’re engaging in a spiritual battle that requires us to get on our knees.

I’m definitely not an authority on spending time with the Lord, in fact, I’m not an expert on anything other than making sourdough bread and cracking my phone’s screen (so annoying) but the Lord is constantly teaching me how much I need Him to be a godly wife and mother. My flesh is constantly getting in the way of being the wife and mom I want to be and it’s only by God’s grace in which I stand. So on the days that take you by surprise, when the chaos feels like more than you can stand, make a game plan that includes spending time with the Lord where you invite Him and His blessings on your day, no matter how crazy that day may be. It’s those crazy days that we recognize our need for Him the most.

Scrub That Toilet Like You Mean It

I was recently talking with a mom friend about the disastrous state of her home. She said to imagine a messy house and multiply it by 10. Woah, that was vivid because I have a pretty big imagination.

All jokes and judgment aside (because who can’t NOT relate with that at some point in their lives?), the mess in my friend’s home is one symptom of having four kids ages seven and below; something that isn’t liable to change anytime soon and something I find extremely relatable, it’s uncanny actually. So how do we cure Messy House syndrome? It should go without mentioning that getting rid of a kid or two is not an option.

Housework. It’s the gift that keeps on giving; you accomplish one task only to find another needing your attention. You take one step forward and your 16 month old takes 10 steps backwards, regardless of her walking capabilities, or lack thereof. There are different approaches for how to teach your children to do chores, when to start, and how strict to be about them. And Thank God I’m Here because I’m always right.

Growing up, my older sister would tell me that I would act a certain way because of my sanguine personality type, and as the younger sister I absolutely hated being told I would act a certain way due to forces outside of my control. While personality tests can be helpful to understanding oneself and others, no one fits perfectly into any box. So the same thing applies for the following mom types, no one fits perfectly into a category but often there are some major ways you identify with one over the other.

1. The Happy to do Everything Moms, and I mean EVERYTHING, for their kids because they have the time, the energy, and struggle relinquishing control.
2. The Creative Moms who are so entrenched in their own projects, (i.e, crafts with kids, home improvement, homemaking) that they neglect chores until after the kids are in bed, forcing themselves to stay up late into the night cleaning the entire day’s catastrophe.
3. The Drill Sargent Moms who keep a regimented home, think mom version of Captain Von Trap. These moms love sticker charts, organization, and try to keep their home items minimal.
4. The Exhausted Moms who are in “survival mode” and can’t find time to take a shower let alone vacuum (pshh vacuum? How archaic.).

As Christian moms, we are called to faith based parenting, not fear based. So ask yourself why you identify with one category over the other. Are you scared your children will resent you for making them do hard things? Are you afraid that your children will grow up and not need you? Do you struggle with prioritizing housework because you dread it and recognize that a quick power nap would better serve your family? Are you so overwhelmed with the state of your home life that you’d rather procrastinate than tackle it? Or, maybe, you are depressed and feel trapped, therefore lacking the motivation to do anything beyond caring for your family’s immediate needs.

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

1 Samuel 16:7

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that you could have the most beautiful, Pinterest and Instagram worthy home and be wasting away spiritually. If we want to raise our children up in the way they should go, they need parents who are more in love with God and His Word than anything else, because contrary to John Wesley, while important, cleanliness is not akin to godliness (come at me, John). However, that does not negate the fact that we are to steward what we own well; Colossians 3:23 tells us to work heartily for the Lord and not for men and what better way to teach this principle to our children than to involve them in cleaning the house?

Teaching our kids to empty the dishwasher, to put away their clothes, to set and clear the table, gives skills and discipline that will contribute to all their future relationships. When we teach our kids how to scrub a toilet we are actually teaching them how to love one another, which is the second greatest commandment given from Jesus. Who knew scrubbing poop could be so meaningful? Jesus, that’s who! And if scrubbing poop doesn’t summarize mom life I don’t know what does.

I hesitate to give any prescriptive advice, however here are some general suggestions that may contribute to an orderly home.

1. Be consistent; give your children each a task that they can accomplish daily. So for example, my 7 year old empties the dishwasher every morning and my 5 year old empties the silverware before eating breakfast. This has taken so much consistent effort on my end but we’re finally to a place where it happens without much complaint.
2. Minimize clutter; if you are asking your kids to clean a room where the floor isn’t visible to the naked eye, they will be overwhelmed and not know where to start. In order for Parker and Joy to be able to empty the dishwasher, I make sure the counters are completely cleared and clean so that they aren’t overwhelmed with their environment. If you follow any minimalist moms on social media, you’ve probably heard this before, but the more stuff you own, the more stuff you have to manage, and everything you manage takes times and energy, so minimize it.
3. Positive Reinforcement; encourage your kids by praising them for the hard work they exhibit. When Parker and Joy do their job with a good attitude I try to remember to give them a penny (once they have 10 pennies they receive a “reward”; IT’S MAGIC.) But honestly, they are motivated by those pennies, sounds lame but if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

We’ve all been to the friend’s house where every stinkin’ thing is straight out of a Magnolia magazine, and the tendency is to leave feeling jealous. On the other hand, we’ve been to houses where the house is so messy it’s hazardous to our physical and mental health, where we leave wondering what disease our baby picked up crawling in the questionable sticky substance littering the floor. So where does God want us to line up?

My husband and I recently flew to California for my cousin’s wedding. While there, we stayed with my cousin, his wife, and their three children. Their home was lovely, not because she had the most updated decor, or the nicest couch, or a big living space, but because it was a peaceful environment, orderly, but not unlived in; because when kids are present there will always be something that needs to be picked up. I was inspired by how hospitable/generous they were to us, how infrequently they mentioned and focused on material possessions but instead invested in relationships with us.

If the mess in your house is interfering with your relationships with family and friends, than something needs to change because that is why we’re here, to glorify God through our personal relationship with Him and through our witness to others.

Lastly, and my least spiritual point to date, having a clean toilet ensures that your baby is splashing in less hazardous waste next time she makes a beeline for the bathroom toilet. You’re Welcome.

Grateful

Sometimes, life changes so drastically, and so suddenly that it’s hard to remember what life was like before the changes. It’s easy to bemoan backward glances, fearing you may not like what you discover if you do in fact, brave the past (ie red hair dye and loads of eyeliner) and the events and people that made and changed you. However, those pivotal moments in our lives, the tragedies and the celebrations are what shapes us into the people we are, whether that be embittered or joyous. I hope to be the latter but sometimes I find myself lashing out, yelling, or crying because I’m unhappy with my current circumstances, whether that be potty training or getting up for the 10th time in one night. 

On the contrary, there are seasons in our lives where it seems like nothing of significance is taking place, that one could literally DIE of  BOREDOM; that describes how I felt as a kid. Growing up, I felt like my life hadn’t begun and couldn’t hold any significance until adulthood. I consoled myself with the fact that school wouldn’t be forever, that once an adult I would NEVER have to mentally labor over dreaded school work again. All the while, choosing to homeschool my children and inflict the same torture I endured. But hey, I turned out great, right? RIGHT?

Having kids has been the most abrupt and drastic change in my life, and I often forget what life was like before them. Similarly, there have been a million gradual changes in my parenting journey that have taken place since then; one simply being time, my children are growing up right before my eyes, and I’m conflicted, wanting to freeze time all the while wishing for a full night’s sleep and an end to poop catastrophes. If you haven’t guessed it by now, we’re currently potty training our 2 year old and while it’s been good overall, it’s been exhausting and the whole poop-in-potty thing hasn’t sunk in yet (only into the carpet, actually). Yay for “it’s just a season”.

I’ve never been one to “know myself” very well; for instance, I don’t know why I am the way I am, I’m not big on psychoanalyzing myself. My sister likes to say “I’m learning [blank] about myself” and I’ve never been a good student in general, but especially about myself, although that might have been one class I would have really enjoyed. I’m not trying to sound modest, I definitely struggle with thinking of myself too much and too highly; however, lately I’ve been pondering how much of the way I feel is rooted in emotion/hormones and sleep deprivation, not facts or circumstances (well I suppose “lack of sleep” qualifies as circumstantial). Obviously I’ve known that emotions don’t always align with reality, but it’s a whole separate thing to actively recognize that in the moments when in the pit of despair.

Like everyone ever, I have great days with the kids, and really, very, awfully, terribly, horrible days with kids and it’s good to know that no matter what happens, and no matter how I’m feeling, that God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and that I’m blessed whether I’m feeling it or not. It’s easy to say, “God is consistent and consistently good regardless of how I’m feeling” but it’s not easy to act like my feelings don’t matter because, even if they’re irrational, they still affect me greatly. I wish I could waltz through dreary days and seasons with a huge smile on my face but I haven’t achieved robot status yet. Someday. 

Just last week I was weeping in the shower, the best place to weep, duh. Part of my emotional “breakdown”, if you will, was caused by lack of sleep, a messy house, and anxiety over the 2-year-old’s erratic sleep patterns, oh and I was crying because of my postpartum hair loss. crying. I know, pathetic. It’s crazy that no matter how good life is, it’s still hard. I should be thanking God I have hair to lose! I know my life is SO GOOD, that I get to serve a good God, that I have a hope and a future because of Him AND YET I can get so bogged down by spilled milk (literally). Meanwhile, one of my good friends from college has cancer and has already had to undergo invasive surgery because of it.

Being pregnant 4x has been physically difficult but I would do it over a million times if I had to, thankfully I don’t have to! With each additional child, life has become busier and weightier, but each time we ask ourselves, what are we living for? Are we living for ourselves, to simply enjoy life? Or are we living with eternity in mind? That looks different for everyone, but it should factor into every decision we make. Hunter and I have never really known how many kids we would have, and we still don’t. I guess eventually we will know but as of now, the verdict is still out. 

There is so much freedom in giving God the reins, because He knows what’s best for us, and He longs to give us the desires of our hearts. Thank you Jesus. Even with all the changes life brings, the joys and the sorrows, God is the same, He doesn’t change like shifting shadows, and we get to serve Him together and forever and for that I am grateful even when I’m just not feeling it.

Identity in the Storm

It’s 2022 and the New Years Resolutions are rolling in. If you want to be basic go for either losing weight, eating healthier, or maybe spending more time outside. Whatever it is, it probably doesn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things (motivational speaker, yeah?), and that’s not to say those things don’t matter because of course they do however I wonder if they matter as much as we think they do. We can all review the years past to help us make educated new year resolutions; for me, I’m making mine based on some recent information about a friend’s child.

It’s a strange thing, to die at a young age, to never grow old and to, in a sense have time stand still while the rest of the world continues to grow older. This past year, our small group leaders from our former church, lost their daughter, Gabriella Brooke Thorn, to dilated cardiomyopathy at the young age of 4 years old. They recently announced that their second born, Lucy (3), has been diagnosed with the same heart condition.

So while new years resolutions vary in degrees of gravitas, nothing matters more than loving our fellow man like Jesus did when He laid down His life for us on the cross. For those reading this, it’s easier to not think about Lucy, or her parents who are walking an unthinkable journey. But for those of us who know Christ and the power of prayer, we need to be willing to feel only an ounce of what they’re feeling to know that they need Jesus now more than ever. Pray that God would save Lucy’s life, give her a new heart, either miraculously or by medical intervention, and of course to not only spare Tim and Amanda any more grief but to bless them abundantly and restore to them what has been so callously ripped away.

In light of this sobering information I’ve been trying to soak up every moment, to not tarnish it with a discontent spirit. Yesterday I watched my oldest as he played outside in the snow and thought of the Thorn family. I want to be present for the simple pleasures of life because this life is fleeting, like watching Parker take a walkie talkie into the woods so he could explore on his own, or watching my daughter’s imagination take flight as she entertains herself playing pretend with literally anything, she especially gravitates towards food coming alive, or stacking blocks for my toddler only to have him gleefully and predictably knock them down.

As a mom, I can get so caught up in having a clean house, decluttering, decorating, working out, and while these things aren’t bad, there is a tendency to idolize these self-help goals from a spirit of discontent, control, or pride. The longer I’m “adulting”, so to speak, the more I realize just how little control we all have. I’ve heard it said that control is an illusion; I think I’m in control because I’m a self diagnosed obsessive compulsive control freak but what about when the rug is truly ripped out from underneath? Working out and having an organized house can only help so much.

This past June I witnessed an amazing thing at the funeral of Gabriella (4), where her parents Tim and Amanda, worshiped the God who gives and takes away, even to the point of raising hands in worship. I’m far removed from the situation the Thorns are facing, but it’s not hard to imagine the devastation and loss it would be to lose Parker abruptly and soon after face the same diagnoses with Joy. I believe God will make all things clear in the end, but right now nothing makes sense.

A couple weeks ago my husband and I went to a Bed and Breakfast to celebrate our 6^th anniversary, leaving our kids overnight for the first time. Our goal was to do things we can’t normally do with kids so we went trail running, hiking, rock climbing, and of course (randomly) antique shopping. We sound pretty cool, right? I’ve been trying to physically push myself because for the first time in forever, five years to be exact, I’m not nursing or pregnant and whenever I’m pregnant it’s all I can do to not only eat ice cream and chips. But hey, no matter how much of a couch potato, as long as I continue to wear North Face and Patagonia people will think I’m super outdoorsy; it’s all about the aesthetic (life motto right there). For example, when we went rock climbing some people on the trail were praising our ability to climb, saying they wished they could come watch us (that would have been embarrassing); meanwhile, we each climbed only one time because we got started too late in the day and I had a mild panic attack right before the top. We’re definitely no Alex Honnald.

Hunter and I have been so blessed by our children, but like all good things it’s been extremely challenging. It’s pathetic but I was feeling sorry for myself a couple weeks ago, envying the people I knew who could just get up and go wherever whenever, and so out of a spirit of wanting to feel “normal” and in control again I started working out. We all have coping mechanisms when life isn’t going the way we want, ways we deal with discontentment that don’t actually get to the root of the problem.

I have been working out to prove to myself (and probably to others too) that I can “do it all”, that I’m a capable mom, and while I think it’s actually a godly thing to care for your health, to do so from a spirit of control is foolish because every breath is a gift from God and when a storm hits, I won’t care one bit about how long I can run, the clothes I’m wearing, the car I drive, the size of my bank account, the list goes on, suddenly the things that matter become all that matter. This translates to all aspects of life, whether you identify so deeply with being the most intelligent, the most attractive, the most stylish, the most athletic, [fill in the blank], to find your identity in such a superficial foundation is futile because eventually a storm will hit.

The Thorns have been in the middle of a scary storm for some time now; not only are they in midst of grieving the loss of their eldest child, Gabby, they are fighting for the life of their second born, Lucy. Please join me in praying for the Thorn family; ask the Lord to show you how to pray for them, it can be a challenge to know where to start. What’s true despite the circumstances is that Jesus is the only foundation that can handle any storm, He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Waiting to Arrive

Sometimes, late at night, I monologue writing ideas to myself; thinking, this would make a great blog post, I should write about this tomorrow. Throughout the day, I have countless moments like that, where I think to myself, this is blog worthy stuff, only to be overwhelmed by the days tasks, countless silent prayers of “Lord give me patience” or “help me not to freak out” when my daughter pees herself or my toddler won’t nap, making food of some sort, and eventually collapsing into bed at the end of the day, all the while finding time to stay up too late talking and laughing about the day with my husband.

I’m in one of those seasons where, I tell people how many kids I have, three to be exact, and they almost always respond with “so you’re busy!” or my favorite, “you have your hands full” to which I always respond with a smile and an emphatic “yes” because heavens to betsy it’s TRUE. I AM BUSY AND LOOK AT MY HANDS. Sorry, didn’t mean to yell. Busy with leaning into this fleeting season only to be greeted by another change, another phase, where I have to re-evaluate my parenting and homemaking strategies. All the while, making my marriage a priority, so that when seasons change we change together. I’m not busy advancing in my career, I’m busy learning how to make a home a safe, loving place; something that has to start with me becoming a loving wife and mother. Easier said than done, right? Preachhhhh!!!

My family and I recently moved to the country where we have a bigger house with a lot more land, 10 acres to be exact; my husband bought a tractor and overalls and I’ve acquired a southern accent, it’s just something you sort of catch when you live out here with the “salt of earth” type people. But in all seriousness, it’s been wonderful. You know the feeling that once you reach point A or B or C (get ready y’all, I know the WHOLE alphabet) that then you will arrive and life will improve, whether that be a owning a home, getting married, having a child, or improved health, there’s that in between stage, the waiting. And it’s easy to believe that once your out of the woods the skies will always be clear from then on out. Most of us live our lives that way, looking forward to the next thing, college, marriage, then children, always believing that each subsequent thing will contribute more purpose to our lives. And of course living life that way, always looking forward, is not a bad thing; in fact I believe it’s a God given longing for heaven. And at some point, people reach an age where it seems like all they can do is look back, because most of their life is behind them, not in front of them like it was when they were 20 and pumped to start a career or get married.

Everyone has met someone like that, the “back in my day” people, and if you haven’t met someone like that than that’s probably because you are that person! Yeah, I’m talking to YOU! At some point it becomes natural to look back, but while doing so it’s easy to lose sight of the present: the grandchildren who want you to take an interest in what excites them, the friends who need encouragement, and of course looking towards heaven, your eternal home. I hope that no matter how old you and I have the joy of becoming that we will always look forward to the joy that awaits all who know Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Looking back is safe, looking forward is scary, but it’s necessary and exciting. Live in the present, thank God for the past, and anticipate the future, whether you 16 going on 17 or 96 going on 97.

Waiting to arrive, always looking forward, naively believing that life will be perfect once your plantar faciiatis goes away, or your little one learns how to go potty on the toilet, or until you lose the baby weight (all extremely random examples, none applicable to me in the least). But the truth is, you will always be waiting. There may be times of reprieve, and even moments where it’s obvious you are in the middle of God’s will, but so much of life is spent with plantar faciaties, so don’t waste the waiting. Motherhood can feel like the longest in-between waiting game and if we’re not careful we forget to take the fleeting time we have with our children, and stretch it. Stretch the time you spend in the car with your children by talking to them (what a novel idea), grow the time you have with your children by going on a walk to pick wildflowers, soak up the time with them by merely being present; enjoy the in-between because that’s called life. Whether you have always had a natural inclination towards motherhood or you never wanted to be a mother but here you are with a child who strangely enough calls you “mom”, your identity isn’t lost in an abyss of motherhood, you are merely adding all you were before to who you are now. God doesn’t call the equipped He equips the called. You may not feel like a natural homemaker but if you’re willing to submit to God, He will equip you and His grace is sufficient.

Mom’s feel like they have lost their identity, that they’re drowning in a sea of laundry and simply surviving, just waiting for the Littles to grow up so that they can have their body back, their career back, their clean house back. Don’t wish this season away because the grass looks greener on the other side. And if this season is running you ragged because your kids run the show, find ways to change that. There will always be stresses in this life, but there are ways to minimize that stress. Because of our move, we are closer to family, but even so, going on a date once a week can become such an event that it’s not sustainable for us to do every week. What has worked for us is putting the kids to bed early (for us that’s 7:30) and having an in-home date night. Last week we cooked steak, crispy potatoes, and kale salad; and we drank the most disgusting wine while cooking together but it was fun! My point is, motherhood doesn’t mean putting all fun things on hold until the kids are older; be creative and have adventures now.

Your children are joining your life. You are not joining their life. Kids are a lot more adaptable than we give them credit. Yes, a schedule is important but it’s also important to shake things up every once in a while because rolling with the punches is a great skill to teach your child. Last winter, every Saturday as a family we explored nearby small towns for the whole day. There was no agenda but to maybe find a cute coffee shop and explore. It felt spontaneous (especially when my daughter pooped her pants) and it was fun for the whole family, well except for when my daughter pooped her pants but hey, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and if that’s true I should be a bodybuilder. Sorry, I think that was a dad joke, I’ve been hanging out with my husband a lot lately.

Since moving, it feels like we are in the middle of God’s will and it’s hard to explain, but I have a peace that I didn’t have last year. That doesn’t mean the skies are always clear, that I never yell at my kids, or that my husband and I don’t fight, but it means that we have a peace that comes from God. Motherhood is hard, but so is life, and everyone everywhere is looking for hope. Show people the joys of motherhood, not the unrealistic, perfect picture that Instagram wants to prescribe, but the real, messy, grace filled mothering. Enjoy this phase of motherhood, and look forward to the next phase, whatever that is for you, but know deep down that the next big thing won’t give you all you’re longing for, that you will never truly arrive until you see Jesus face to face.

Finding Friendship during Isolation

NO THANKS TO COVID I have been starved of human interaction. I have started talking to myself more than usual, and that’s saying something since I am, after all, my favorite person to talk to. I relate so well with myself, you know? Okay, too funny Faith, too funny….uhhh, where was I?

*stares blankly for what seems like an eternity, five minutes approximately*

ah, yes. The allusive human interaction, the isolation, the lack of, dare I say it, friendship. No one likes to admit that they don’t have friends because typically that means they’re not a good friend to begin with. At least, the skeptical, judgmental side of me always assumes that much and I assume I’m not the only one like that….*crickets*

I wouldn’t say I don’t have ANY friends, I have a few, but I don’t see them often. For instance, our small group used to get together (outside with masks on – for all you gestapo) every week but we were growing so much (by people, not individual weight gain) that we changed it to ladies and men alternating every other week. So my life revolves around this bible study; okay I’m being dramatic. I am a well rounded individual with friends outside of this small group, at least that’s what I tell myself. But seriously, our church doesn’t have childcare, although they will soon (PRAISE JESUS) so going has required more motivation. Our kids have no organized activities and rarely get together with other children. And of course the winter isn’t helping. There are days where I don’t set foot outside my home because the weather is bad and we literally have nothing going on, no MOPS, no bible studies, no hikes with Hike it Baby (yeah, they even shut that down. Hiking. Outside. With other moms.).

These covid days are all running together; I feel like time is standing still, like nothing I do matters. I haven’t worked out for months and sometimes I don’t know what I’m living for. Not seeing other people consistently has depleted my motivation and drive for life. Remember jeans? I used to wear those. When covid is over, I’m going to have a big bonfire where I burn all my sweatpants and masks. Here I am, my world seeming to small, with children that I love fiercely driving me crazy within these four walls; all the while, they are growing up. Seriously, childhood is so short and covid is taking up a chunk of theirs. I’m not saying they are to be pitied, I’m saying I need to get my act together!

Friendship is imperative for a mother to be a good mom. Today I went to the park with the kids and God placed the kindest christian mom of four there. I was so encouraged to talk to someone else, and wouldn’t you know it, she doesn’t live in Virginia and is going back home next week. But I’m grateful for the refreshing conversation and encouragement. I was asking her how she was capable of taking care of four kids four and under while her husband was deployed for months. She said that her church family has been extremely helpful; at one point she said something about how people often say something to the effect of “how can someone be so strong while facing such difficult circumstances” to which she responded by saying “you never know what someone has been through, that has led them to this point, and how they are dealing with their pain behind closed doors”. I imagine this to be true of all of us dealing with the different elements of covid: obviously there’s the threat of actually contracting covid, of seeing those you love suffer, and in my case and probably yours, the isolation of it all.

Despite isolation due to covid and seasonal depression, I am committed to getting together with families as much as possible, because the small, seemingly inconsequential interaction with the stranger at the park brought life into my heart. I am so blessed to be spending these long, wintry, pandemic days with those I love, my children and husband. I hold my baby close and smother him with kisses because despite the stress my children give me, they make my life sweet. We will all look back on this year and wonder, how did we make it through? But it was the events leading up to that year, and the people, the church, and Jesus that got us through, not only alive but with joy and vigor for life. And of course the wonderful thing about knowing Christ is, even if you don’t survive this year, there is eternal life awaiting each of us who know Christ. I cling to that hope on days like these, days where I truly feel sad, but grateful, grateful for another day of life with the ones I love (even if they do drive me CRAAAAZYYYYY!!!!).

Bench Warmer

Currently Parker is in his room for “quiet” time talking to a bug on the floor telling the bug that it needs to go outside because this is not its house. I’ve heard many moms say they’re living for nap time, that basically nap time is their only “me time” and of course this resonates with me being a mom of young children. Hence me telling Parker to take care of the bug himself, hence Parker pleading with the bug to go outside, hence me sitting here unwilling to help. Hopefully it’s some harmless stink bug but I may never know considering this is “me time” so I’m unwilling to get off my bed and help the four year old out. In my defense, Parker is enjoying the company.

One of the reasons I’m sitting here, unwilling to get up during quiet time is because I SUFFER from plantar fasciitis (too dramatic?). I have had it for four months now, ever since Ezra turned three weeks old. Therefore during quiet time I sit on my bed with these sultry looking night socks (see pic) that are supposed to help heal my feet. Ironically, I keep acting like this upcoming summer is “MY” summer, like I’m not pregnant now so I need to take advantage of all the adrenaline junkie things I aspire to do, like backpacking, rock climbing, and not peeing every 30 minutes. Wild, right? I love having babies, I really do; so far I have had relatively smooth pregnancies, healthy labor and deliveries, and of course awarded with an an adorable baby. However, I loathe being the bench warmer. It wasn’t fun in high school and it’s not fun as an adult.

I remember my first pregnancy with Parker, everyone went tubing at my uncle’s river house and I wanted to go so badly that I decided to, but only at approximately 5 mps because I knew getting flung off a tube while pregnant wasn’t the wisest idea. I vowed that the following summer I would go tubing while I wasn’t pregnant. But we didn’t go to the river house so I didn’t go tubing. The following summer we went but GUESS WHAT? I was pregnant again. I think you can see the pattern; I have a dream that someday I will go tubing while not pregnant, I may be 60 years old when it happens but it’s going to happen.

Of course, being a bench warmer is a small price to pay; being pregnant is a huge blessing (literally and figuratively). It’s such an elating time, to have your own child growing inside of you, to go through the excruciating pain of giving birth (gives me PTSD just thinking about it), to then holding your little one in your arms. I highly recommend it.

Ever since my first pregnancy I have struggled to speak positively about the pregnancy process. Mentally, I know it’s something to be in awe of but physically, the weight gain, lack of energy, and nausea is always on the forethought of my mind. During my pregnancy with Ezra, my third child, I decided that if I had to be pregnant, which I had to since I was in my second trimester, that I was going to change my negative perspective on pregnancy itself. I thought the power of positive thinking would somehow make the physical fall in line with the mental. However, no amount of positive thinking was going to change my physical discomfort but my attitude and language towards pregnancy wasn’t helping either.

I had been feeling discontent with my husband, my children, and my own body. I was feeling like no one was good enough for me; once I spoke my complaints a loud to the Lord the blinders fell off. I had become so unhappy within my own mind because I was believing lies generated by my feelings. I made a commitment to not speak negatively about my physical appearance, to not allow my mind to dictate it’s own truth. I apologized to my husband for being so moody and things quickly got better. Sure, I didn’t physically feel better but my perception of my body being beautiful changed and my perception towards my husband changed. I had been so unhappy because all I did was focus on myself. It didn’t matter how much my husband praised me because I felt sorry for myself; sorry that I didn’t like the girl in the mirror, sorry that it felt like my life was on hold, sorry that I had to wear compression stockings in 90 degree weather. I was pushing my husband away because I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways life wasn’t turning out the way I’d hoped; I was a victim of pregnancy. By doing this I was extremely unhappy, lonely, and discontent.

As I said earlier, I currently SUFFER from plantar fasciitis so basically my feet hurt all the time. It wasn’t until last week that I told my husband that I was going to choose joy amidst the discomfort. I am not resigning myself to having this cursed condition forever, but I am also not going to resign myself to sitting on the sidelines always wishing I was feeling better, as opposed to living life and enjoying my family. I have continued to push aside everything thinking I will participate once I feel better but eventually I realized that this time, however painful at worst and annoying at best it may be, should not be wasted. This time is a gift and I am going to choose to find joy in it. I realize that many people suffer from much worse but the message is the same. Despite bleak circumstances, live today with a joy that comes from a conviction that each day is a gift not meant to be wasted.

If the goal is happiness, you will constantly be searching for ideal conditions, but life is comprised of less than ideal conditions. You will always end up empty and more unhappy than you started unless you can find joy in the waiting, waiting to not be pregnant, waiting to be pregnant, waiting to not have plantar fasciitis; those are the moments where God can truly change us. Whether it was discomfort from pregnancy or plantar fasciitis, talking to the Lord about my struggles always revealed what was in my heart. Each time I was having a pity party and no one was invited (who would even want to come?). I encourage you to take your complaints to the Lord, let Him reveal to you what’s in your heart, and when you realize who you’ve hurt during your downward spiral, apologize to them. When we confess our sins to one another, the people we love are usually happy to forgive us and grateful for the humility it took to apologize, plus they oftentimes help pull us out of the pit we’ve dug if we’re willing to listen to them. For example, my husband has been giving me a foot massage every night. That’s sacrificial love right there.