The Straight Path

Lately, I've had a lot of things swirling around in my brain. Things I've wanted to share, but then, as I began thinking more on them, I got weighed down by their gravity. On relationships and giving thanks and living from enough and being in the here and now - both through the joys and the frustrations of parenting (and pregnancy with a toddler).

The other day, I was headed home, sitting at a red light with a mile long line of cars in front of me. The left lane was practically empty, as it always is, because everyone and myself eventually needed to turn right instead. I committed to the right lane, and after a minute of puttering along, the cars in front of me came to a halt.

I'm not an impatient driver, entirely. But we all have days. So I was frustrated at the unapparent reason for delay and swerved into the left lane, foot on the gas.

And there she was. 

The terrified doe jumped as quickly as she could from the road to the median as my car hurled toward her. I slammed on my brakes and could barely keep my composure for the remaining five-minute drive home.

Five minutes. I was the jerk who nearly pummeled an innocent doe out of impatience to get home in five minutes. I was mortified - and sad, most of all. "I'm sorry's" spilled out from everywhere, without any true recipient on the other end. To whom was I apologizing?

We've lived in Colorado for seven years now. The frequency of encounters with deer can be likened to seeing someone walking their dog. We are trained to respect and be mindful of wildlife on the road. I stop for deer nearly every day. How could this thought have slipped my mind?

In that moment, or perhaps several moments later, I vowed never to lose patience in similar situations again, despite warnings that the "all or nothing" approach to resolutions almost never work.

But it wasn't the thought of the deer that pierced me most. Deer are common enough 'round here that you can't always be prepared for them to run out into the street. I am often amazed at their acute ability to wait and watch for the opportunity to cross, particularly with babies in tow.

It was my behavior that ravaged me most. And as I reflected upon the incident in the days and weeks that passed, I realized I was apologizing to myself. For all the times I have spoken before thinking, reacted before seeing, or judged before knowing.

Every day is an opportunity to grow and learn and love and teach. Every person has a story, an invisible lifeline that trails them as they go about their day, and though we cannot see it, we have the opportunity to speak hope into that lifeline and give it the same grace that we received when God sent His son to pay the biggest price ever paid - all for us, his children, to wash clean our sins.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Wouldn't you do anything for your children? No matter how naughty they may be one day or the next, you know their heart. You are rooting for them every single step of the way. You know their weaknesses, their hot spots, their most worldly cravings and desires.

One of my husband's favorite lines to quote when my daughter gets testy comes from a Max Lucado Hermie and Friends video, "The Straight Path." It's about two caterpillars headed to a party. Their friend, Schneider Snail, who is throwing the party, gives them directions to get to his house: "Stay on the straight path and it will take you right to my house." With many distractions along the way, one of the caterpillars needs constant reminders from the other to stay on the straight path.

The truth is, we are a distracted bunch of people. Life can be busy, chaotic, tiring, all out crAzy. And we want to just get where we are going, or do what we are doing or have what we want in our possession as quickly and as easily as possible. But God has promised tribulation in our lives. This isn't supposed to be easy, ya'll. The good news? He's also promised salvation - not just the big kind - but from our everyday messes and hiccups and ugly moments.

"But take heart; I have overcome the world."

Isn't that what we promise our kids? At the end of the day, our love still reigns. As parents, we aren't just trying to keep our kids alive and on the "straight path." We are trying to stay on this path ourselves. 

How lucky are we that we don't have to win at life? He already has. We just have to        F O L L O W  him and raise the next generation to do the same. To be conscious of the unknowns, the invisibles, the unanswered, and seek God's will instead of our own. For His is so perfect in every moment of our day .

Perhaps the hardest decision of all

In February 2014, my skin was crawling with excitement for the news that my husband was offered a transfer to Nashville, where I imagined we would put a stake in the ground and reclaim our Southern roots – forever.

There would be family gatherings on porches, where laughter and memories would suspend amid the soft glow of the summer sunset; rain storms that summoned angry skies but left us with the indulgent drum of thunder and the smell of awakened earth; new memories in a familiar land that felt almost a fantasy. It was to be home, after all, filled with a new set of God’s promises.

In a blurred couple of weeks, our life was haphazardly thrown into boxes and onto a Penske truck due East. There were moments of mourning for the small family we’d grown in our adopted home of Colorado. But the hope of newness overcame it.

Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox …  

that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement.

That movement subdued the pang of doubt and, as I found later, put the voice of God on hold.

This transition brought many changes with it. The opportunity to stay at home with our then one-year-old daughter was my favorite. More traffic and a longer commute for my husband, who we saw less of as a result was another. The potential of a house in a far off suburb that, geographically, felt more like Alabama than Tennessee, but that we wouldn’t be approved for, for a year or more. And the loss of a church we loved.

These were small changes. Though some nuisances, none were trials by any means. As a family, however, we began to feel and appear like deer caught in the headlights. We were disconnected and a little dismayed, clutching close to our chests the hope that this was God’s hand at work and all we needed was to “Be still and know…”

It was a slightly cold and drizzly Friday in March that I sat alone in an unfamiliar doctor’s office in Franklin, feeling homesick and out of place, that I looked at the void and lifeless ultrasound of what should have been our second baby at nine weeks in utero. All the air left my body, the tears sweltered and hope vanished.

This was not how it was supposed to be, I fumed at God. I wanted nothing to do with this new place, these dreams we’d laid and fresh plans we’d hatched, until I heard him reply:

Then, dear child, how was it supposed to be?

Nothing could have prepared me for that day, for that news, for His response. His words reverberated deep into every fissure of my being, and clarity consumed me.

I had become impatient, unwilling to wait and see how God was going to meet my desire to feel “home” that I had completely ignored His desires for me and my family, the plans He was etching before my very eyes, the place that had become our home and the people who had made it just that. And as I betrayed his trust, he fell silent. The way we sometimes must when our child repeatedly ignores our better judgment about an unsafe activity or erupts into full meltdown mode despite our urges to “wait just a moment,” or calmly discuss the request first.

In comparison to God, our foresight is like that squishy part of a toddler’s brain that renders them completely incapable of social and emotional reasoning.

Commit your way to the Lord, trust in Him, and He will do it … Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

Sure, I had been committed, to my way and my timeline. That’s the genius of it: God’s timing is ALWAYS Perfect.

Losing a child, at any stage of life, breaks us. For some things, words cannot suffice. Even seeing it with my own eyes wasn’t enough. At first, I prayed and prayed and waited for my body to prove my doctor and the ultrasound wrong. They weren’t. But in my follow-up visit, my doctor walked straight in and, without a word, enveloped me in her arms as I cried. That was all I needed that day.

But afterward, God was there to meet me in my brokenness and put the pieces back the way He intended them to be.

The course of our reverse move across country in the matter of two months was like watching an artist at work, as if life was just waiting for us to resume in Colorado. God was waiting for us there, too.

It’s hard to explain or describe to people who ask what led us back to Colorado, and I find my answer comes off sounding sort of rash and uninformed. There were some who said, “But you didn’t even give it a chance.”

But after months of silence, God spoke loud and clear into my heart:

For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

In 10 years, I have never felt more at home.

 

 

The struggles we find

Let it go. Let go of the worry. Stop the doubt. Release the anxiety.

What good has come from it?
What time has been reclaimed?
What problems have been resolved from your worrying?

Exactly.

Life goes on. The world keeps turning, through the night and as the sun rises. And even if it's been raining, or storming, for hours or days or months or years... it's gonna let up. And you'll be wet for a while, but you'll be OK.

You. Will. Be. OK.

Ever felt like this?

Recently, I reclaimed from my parents a box of journals filled with thoughts, prayers, hopes and dreams from my youth. Thumbing through them was fun, but painful. Because even as children we begin this practice of worry. Many of the same tendencies toward thinking that often suffocated my ability to live joyfully as a young girl remain with me even now. They've grown up a little and adapted to "adult" life. But they still steal joy.

Worry has taken on a new face. Instead of worrying about being liked, finding love, getting into college or surviving my parents, I worry about my children, my marriage, my finances, my time, my health, my house. I worry if I worry too much.

My small but mighty family got caught in a storm recently. After six years, we uprooted ourselves from the only home we've known as us three and moved from Colorado to Nashville. It was on wings of faith that we arrived and with hearts full of hope for something new, yet familiar thanks to family nearby.

But life got messy, real quick.  I won't go into details about it now. Maybe one day. But things happen. Life happens.

I don't want to downplay our time here or portray it as negative. Sosie met her littlest cousin, took her first trip to the beach, road tripped to Virginia, visited both her great-grandpas, celebrated birthdays, recitals and went on three family Easter egg hunts. We've made more memories in two months with our wonderful families than we have in nearly 10 years. It was a reminder of that which we've been gifted during this life. And that's a lot.

It was through the fear, the disappointment, the heartbreak and the brokenness that I began to realize a truth I should have hung onto long ago. That despite how distraught we can be or how broken we feel, we can ultimately choose to live in joy for in our struggles we find our Savior. 

Our need for Him cannot exist without faith. Faith that you will be OK, even when things are as bad as they seem. That the sun will find your face again. That there is joy before, throughout and after the heartache. Because God is near. And He will not give you more than you and He can handle together. 

We'll be back in Colorado soon. I'll miss our families, the laughs and moments that can only be created and shared within them. I am thankful for them - and I am grateful to the sweet South for the space it allowed me to grow, learn, make mistakes and take chances. Now it's our little family's turn to do some growing up and in our faith in the Colorado mountain air.

Ya'll take care. 

There's No Use In Crying Over Spilled Milk

There it was. All over the kitchen counter. But there was no use in crying over it.

I had spilled the milk. Liquid gold. And really, after 13 months, I was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Transferring breastmilk to bottles is a process I do not take lightly, but treat more like bomb disposal. The goal: Do Not.  Spill.  The.  Milk.

So last night, I took a deep breath and mopped it up with paper towels, reminding myself that:

this was not a big deal. 

It was, however, one of those mommy-fail moments when the guilt just lodged itself right in the middle of my throat, and the reminder that I had just spent a half hour of my life pumping to no avail left me reeling in self pity. It required a BIG SIGGGHHHH.

But then there was this...

The reminder that I had a healthy, happy, hilariously fun toddler who meets me at the baby-gated stairway entrance of our house each day, bouncing with delight to see me.

Who knows how to "hug" and gives the very best ones of all (besides my hugging-loving husband, of course!)  

Who immediately stops to "sing" and sway, caught up in the moment (like "Desperado" just came on for all you Seinfeld lovers), when music and/or my mediocre singing strikes up.  

Who can locate her eyes, ears, nose and toes upon request.  

Who has the cutest version of the word "that" around.  

Who has 101 "Sosie faces" that entertain and surprise, but the very best one comes with a crinkle of the nose. 

Whose tendency to tote her life-size stuffed animal "friends" around the house deserves an aaawwww every time.  

Who could go head to head with the Energizer Bunny for "going and going and going and..." (He's getting old, after all.)  

Who won't can't wave yet, but will clap for anyone coming or going. 

Who always sits like a lady at the dinner table...

And suddenly, there really was no point in crying over it.

A year, it seems, has come and gone as quickly as the milk spread across the counter. And now a toddler has taken over my house. I find little use for the gym anymore. I can get a workout chasing my playful mini around in the comfort of my own home.

Our nights typically end with my husband and I sprawled on the living room play mat in a friendly verbal competition over who is - A) most tired, and B) most achy - as Sosie flits from room to room. This, folks, is the part of parenthood I will not miss.

My toddler certainly has her less-than-graceful moments (when the words "no" and "diaper change" arise) or on days that attachment is at its height, but her resiliency and playful spirit are infectious. She may be coy with strangers at first, but her thoughtfulness is evident, and "no sooner than they looked that they loved" because she ends up giving sideways smiles as if to say, "You're OK. It's time to play," in the end.

She is a daily reminder that life is full of wonderment and joy, which is easy to lose sight of the older I get, the more responsibilities I have, the less time I have to share with those I love. It's a gift, to be fulfilled, experienced, enjoyed. An intoxicating blur of reality that I never want to end.

This is how it should feel.

Ten Months: Pt. II, Change is never easy

Things are a'changin'... and in so many ways.

Yesterday was difficult.

We made a family decision that tugged at my heart. That insisted I relive feelings and memories I'd tried to file away. That left me holding my baby longingly and with nostalgia. That demanded I accept that a chapter of her our life is coming to a close...

That brought me to my knees several times. In prayer. God grant peace and guidance to our family and those who come in it.

It's going to take a week or two until I stop getting teary-eyed. But that's what moms are for, right?

Yes. My mom. She will be spending a short time with us. So part of me is excited - #1 to see her again so soon! - #2 that she will be able to experience Sosie during this time when things are changing so rapidly they could get lost in a blink.

Our sweet girl is ten-and-a-half months old today. A week ago she began clapping. Really clapping. Not just scattered here and there claps. But everything deserves applause. As it should.

She also began standing. Wherever, whenever, she practices squatting to standing. Up-and-down-and-up-and-down-and-up-and-down. A self-satisfied grin of determination planted on her face.

She points to everything, declaring "that" to whatever is in sight. She hands us books to read, actually pausing a few moments to listen and look at the pictures intently. And she's suddenly "Ms. Chatty Kathy," with the cutest intonation to her voice, as if she were telling you a story about the things that she sees. Putting anything resembling a phone up to her ear.

The downside to all of this is that sleeping has become nonessential. Naps are touch and go. Some days they don't happen. And others, it seems her body has withstood all the sleep deprivation it can, tanks up on a couple of hours and is good to go for another day or so. Nights, too. The sweet satisfaction of claiming that my baby "sleeps through the night" has come to a pause. Just for now. I hope. Although, at this time, we've had several lucky nights.

Her changes and development are at warp speed. It's no longer by the month, but by the week, the day. I find myself holding her tighter. Studying her face longer. Smelling her sweet baby scent more often.

Every day is a fight to hold on to "the way things were" for their familiarity, whether it be the way things were an hour ago, a month ago or 10 years ago. 

And there's a fight to let go of worries and expectations. My challenges, however, are overwhelmed by love. Because if you are not pushing forward, you will become swamped with your own history. 

We all have moments when we just need an extra breath to get through the next. But they are bookended by tiny reaching arms. Dancing in the driveway. Belly giggles. First everythings. A sleepy, nuzzling head in my chest.

Let's face it: nothing worth doing is ever easy. Certainly not being a parent. It requires a lot. To make the hard decisions. To sacrifice time, money, sleep and personal desires. To channel your inner child. To find hilarity amid the madness. To let things be messy and disorganized. To be strong when you're feeling stretched thin.

To let go, and let God.

I Will Carry You

She asked that I hold her.

Not the crisp patterned crib sheets. Not the new mattress. Not the wide expanse of the creamy white crib.

So I did. For five months I held her in my arms as she slept through her morning nap. She would have it no other way. We would sit and rock in the cool darkness of the room I'd labored over with love and carefully pieced together in soft pink and blue tones. And when she craved movement, we would rock and sway to gushing white noise. I would hold her until my arms went numb, and her baby-soft, nine-pound body felt more like 50.

Because she needed me. She needed me to carry her burden of adapting. Of understanding. Of becoming in this new place so different from her last. She needed me to guide her through it until she had the eyes to see. The hands to reach. The legs to stand. The voice to speak.

Tomorrow, she turns 10 months old. My Sosie. My sweet, once-colicky, mama-clinging, curious-as-a-kitten, busy-as-a-bee, belly screechin', banana lovin' Sosie.

These days, she sleeps in her own bed. We still dance to the "ocean" in her room until I lay her down, and she turns onto her tummy, limbs all smushed in and tightly tucked beneath her body. But she knows. And I know. That she would let me hold her forever. Or at least until she naps. no. longer.

When I was exhausted from little sleep and all the carrying and rocking and bouncing and picking up and putting down gave me an achy back.

When I was frustrated because she was frustrated and I didn't have all the answers and why won't she just sleep in her crib already? 

When I was worried because her nose was snotty, my nose was snotty, and did she get enough milk? 

When I was sad because it felt like we were all alone in this and the days were slow and the reward was out of reach.

He carried me so that I could carry her.

Ten Months: Pt. I

There should be a word for the dainty way you flex your hand while notched upon my hip.

I can't imagine where that comes from. You don't strike me as dainty. I don't have a word for it yet. But you are more wild, more vivid.

You crave the sunshine, the cool air, the waving trees, the roughness of rocks. I could sit for days and watch you inspect them over and over in your tiny hands, discovering their natural qualities.

You will be the one to swear off dresses. To go barefoot. To jump through rain puddles and piles of autumn-fresh leaves. To throw off your coat. To prefer air and water on your skin. To wear your hair curly and free in your face, not tied up in a bow...

...but for now, I've got all the bows you'll need.

Keep peeking around corners. Keep pushing the boundaries. Some need breaking. You turn back to see that I am still here to rescue you, to give you courage to enter rooms and places unknown. Your face, brimming with curiosity.

Stay curious.

You. Who never quite understood stillness. Are in a constant state of motion. Take it all in. Discover the beauty in all things along your way. Keep moving, but stop to smell the flowers.

Right now, the notion of selfishness or cruelty escapes you. They exist. But keep your head high, and your eyes lit for the One who made you. Perfectly perfect. Just. As. You. Are. For greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.

Even as you dance and sing and skip and cartwheel through each season, listen intently, love widely. Always be kind, not right.

You may not find happiness in everything you do. But never give up on anything.

You delight in being where the action is. And only just so... Tucked neatly in my arms. To watch. To study life's players and destinations. To discover where it is you want to be.

Wherever, whenever and whoever that is, is fine with me. So long as your heart SINGS.

I'll be here as you peek around each corner. I won't budge when you need me. No ma'am. Not tomorrow or the days after.

So go ahead and

But don't. ever. lose your love for yourself.
For you were fearfully & wonderfully made.