Happy Birthday Callaway

Happy Birthday Callaway,

On this day, 6 years ago, we welcomed you quickly into this world and into my arms. Although you were a few days past your due date, your love of life was already so evident as you came barreling into this world. It was a gorgeous fall day with leave sweeping in the wind as I contracted all the way into the second floor of St. Francis hospital. I was ready, excited, and knew it was all going to be worth it. You have certainly been worth every ounce of effort that motherhood entails. In fact, I know how perfectly you were meant to be a part of this family and how you stretch and grow me into a more lively person.  In this last year I have seen such growth and maturity in you without losing your joy of life and silliness that makes those around you so happy.

It has long been said that it is not what you say to someone that they remember but how you make them feel. One of my favorite things about you is how you make others feel. When you sprint to hug William, when you jump up and down when you see Matthis, when you hold Nonnie’s hand on outings, or when you greet me with a big hug. You make those around you feel loved, welcomed, and valued. That is a gift from the Lord that I hope you always exude. It shows others that their life matters, they are special, and they have something to offer.

I also love how you are always up for an adventure and activity like baking, coloring, crafting, building a fort, reading, or writing! You see life as one fun thing after another and can even make emptying the dishwasher fun. The reason it ends up being so fun is that you include others in your life. I’ve seen you include Lindley is the dishwasher, Mills in the games you play on the trampoline, me in the baking, and Henry and Dad in your crafts. You are a “with you” person that genuinely enjoys the company of others. My dad, your Daddoc, was just like that and I love that I always have you to remind me of his companionship that I miss so much.

Sweet Callaway, I am so proud to call you my son. I pray that over the years, God will continue to reveal himself to you and you will hear his voice and respond. He loves you so much and I am so grateful I get to enjoy life with you. May you continue to see others and opportunities through His eyes with such excitement, life, and joy. I love you Callaway! Happy 6^th Birthday!

Love, Mom

11.2.17

Henry's Birthday Letter

July 15, 2017

Happy Birthday Henry! 

This year on your birthday, I wanted to do something a little different. I wanted to start a new tradition where each year on your birthday, I write you a letter that reminds you of how dearly loved and special you are. 

I am so incredibly grateful that God allowed me to be your mother eight years ago and am daily reminded of the gift that you are to your entire family. As you know from your birth story that I have told you many times (and will continue to do every birthday), you came out with your fist clinched and raise high in victory by your head. It is how we came to name you Lawrence as a middle name. Since birth, your tight fist represents more than a focused boy on legos, although that is certainly true. I have seen in this last year a fight for what is right. You are making wise decisions about friends, school, work, siblings, and home life. I am noticing a determination to stick with something even if it is hard because it is the right thing to do. This is a gift from the Lord that I pray in your 8^th year you could continue to cultivate. God sets people apart who are willing to stand up for what is right, be an example to others of His righteousness, and pursue what God values. I see those qualities in you and am very proud. 

Not only are you making wise decisions but you are simply a joy to be around. I have seen you grow in your compassion for others. I love when you ask me about my day or how something turned out that I did. You listen to your little brothers’ stories, pick up Lindley when she falls, and watch magic videos with Dad. You bring a calmness and a peace to our family that I love. I especially notice that at night when I get to stay up and “talk” with you. It is a special time that I hope we can continue much more in this next year. 

I love you so much Henry and hope you have a wonderful 8^th birthday! I am so honored to be your mama. 

Love, Mom

Dear Luke

Dear Luke,

            Good morning. It’s your mama writing here. It’s Saturday morning. You are almost 37 weeks along and I am thinking so often about your arrival. These 37 weeks of getting to know you have been hard but we have both persisted for we know it will all be worth it when I can hold you in my arms. Right now, the midwife says that you are breech, meaning that your precious head is right next to my heart. You do keep moving around a lot and I am not sure of your position this morning. You seem to be very active and respond to my constant eating of ice! I hope it is not too cold. In just a few weeks, it will be time for you to enter our family on this side of my body.

I want you to know that you are already so loved. Your big brother Mills talked to you this morning and already had a fire truck picked out for you to play with. Your big sister, Lindley, said that she would take care of you. She picked out a puppy dog toy from the playroom that sings the ABC’s for you. She has been walking him around the house and I am imagine you will like watching her do that once you are snuggled in your bassinet. Your bigger brothers, Henry and Callaway, are away this week. They went on a road trip with your grandparents, Grammy and Buck. I told them you would wait to come once they were here. Henry thinks you are going to look like him and Callaway hopes you like to listen to stories because he has become quite the reader in these last few months. And, your daddy, wow, you are one lucky baby to have the daddy that you do. He has loved you from the second we found out you were growing in my belly. He has so many plans to take you camping, teach you to ski, and build things in his basement workshop.

I know it has been a harder journey for me to carry you this time. I was so sick at the beginning of your pregnancy that I had many doubts I could carry you all the way to the end. But, God has taken great care of me. It has not been easy but each day, He gives me new strength to see that you have all the time you need to grow and develop into the baby that He has for our family. God has known you since the beginning of time. He knows everything about you and the plan for your life to glorify Him and bring light to this dark world. You have already done that for me during these past 8 months. Darkness has tried to take over, has tried to steal my joy for you, to make it physically hard to enjoy the life I have, but God has given me you to carry, given me your kicks to feel, given me the promise of new life, and given me hope for the future of the world to continue in only a way that a sweet new baby can remind us of what is truly precious in this world. I have had to stop, slow down, sit still, remove false expectations, shed unworthy efforts, and be present in caring only for you and me. It is in those moments that God’s presence is clear and strong. He cares about life, about you, about me and about his people.

I don’t know the day or time that you will come. God has ordained that perfectly. Your body knows just when to come. My body knows how to respond to your needs in labor. Together, we can meet each other outside of the womb perfect. I trust you will find your way to get labor ready and I will continue to pray that God will prepare me to meet you. I can picture pulling your body up to my heart and seeing you for the first time. You are welcome here. You are loved already. When you do arrive, we will certainly whisper to you: “we are so glad you have come.”

Dad's 63rd Birthday

Today, my sweet dad would have turned 63. I think of all the things he would have loved to do to celebrate another year. This weekend, my heart and mind have been attuned to all the things he would have enjoyed with my crew and all the ways my heart breaks wishing he were here.

We sweated like crazy at Callaway’s tball game yesterday where I was able to explain the game of baseball to Mills and Lindley better than most parents. Thanks to dad’s desire to teach of a love of the game, baseball had been ingrained from an early age.

I jammed my toe badly at the start of the weekend and Henry stepped right up as the “doctor in the house.” He cleaned my wound, made sure I didn’t pass out, and even helped bandage me up. I headed into the doctor this am to get it checked out as it is not healing well. The last time I hurt it this badly, I was in high school and dad took care of it right in our kitchen with some pliers and a lot of paper towels.

My big boys have their first swim team meeting this afternoon for our local pool. Story goes that dad threw me in as a toddler and I popped right up and was able to swim. I’m not sure on the validity of the story, but my love of the water has never waivered. He would be so proud to see the boys swim this summer.

At a birthday party yesterday, Lindley chowed down on a huge piece of cake and said “Daddoc would have really liked this cake, mama.” She doesn’t know that he really didn’t prefer chocolate cake and would have picked Bryer’s Vanilla Bean as his dessert of choice. It is still my top choice.

I made a huge breakfast yesterday morning after waking up thinking of him. I toasted the entire bag of English muffins and covered them this jelly just the way he would have on Christmas morning. Mom could never make enough of those for him.

My baby boy is moving, turning, and flipping inside of me these days and nights. I worry about his final positioning and just this weekend have started wearing some belly wraps/binders to keep him in a good place. I wish Dad could tell me it would all be ok. He could remind me that babies find their way and that labor will go just fine.

A cardinal just landed outside of my sunporch. I know he is here with us in so many ways. I miss him so. Happy Birthday Dad. I love you!

You Are Not Alone

 A Testimony to God’s faithfulness during suffering and the power of prayers of others.

Just a few weeks ago, I was desperate. There is no better word to describe where I was, who I was or how I saw things. Desperate. I was desperate for the sun to shine and the days to be longer. I was desperate for the holidays to end and a normal routine to return. I was desperate to find joy in this season and feel the excitement that a new baby brings. But, joy was eluding me. I was too tired, too drained, and too sick to fight or it or even remind myself of truth. Things seemed dark and heavy. Tears flowed often – memories of my dad or grandparents, frustration with the kids, overwhelmed with the possibility of adding more to our already full life. Seriously, what were we thinking? I had gotten to the point that I wished I wasn’t pregnant. Maybe if I weren’t pregnant I would parent the children I have better. I could keep my house in a neater working order. I could stop throwing up throughout the day. I could cook again. I could think. I could be one step closer to my children not needing me each second of each day and maybe, just maybe, breathe.

But, I knew in my heart this wasn’t right. We had prayed for this child. We had carefully considered opening ourselves up to another member of our family. We had felt for months that our family wasn’t complete. We had analyzed the “pros” and “cons.” We had relived my postpartum depression, the financial strain, the help I would need, the addition burden we placed on ourselves. It all seemed worth it. It is all worth it but I was blinded to see that. I was overwhelmed with the negatives and failed to remember the blessings in bringing forth life. I knew I needed to be reminded of truth. My heart and mind needed to change. I knew I couldn’t make it 5 more months being pregnant feeling like this and then entering a postpartum phase that could pull me even farther away from the light. Desperate.

So, I did what felt like the hardest thing I have done. I reached out. I told someone how I felt. I actually said the words to a friend “I wish I was not pregnant.” I cried. She teared up. I felt lost and scared. She prayed for me and encouraged me to reach out to others. I wrote and email to a few of my girlfriends and explained where I was. It’s terrifying to do – to let someone, multiple people, into your web of lies in your own brain and admit how you really feel. Terrifying.

But, what happened is nothing short of a miracle. I sent the email. That day I tangibly felt the heaviness lift from me. I stopped throwing up for the first time in weeks. I felt lighter. I had energy. My house was still a wreck, parenting is still hard, and I still am overwhelmed. But, the darkness is not around me. I can move without feeling hopeless. I can imagine a future with this baby in this family and smile. I can see the joy growing as I am reminded of why children are such a blessing. There is no way I could have gotten to this place on my own. I was stuck. I was frozen – paralyzed by my own fears and doubts. It was the grace of God through the prayers of my friends that set me free from the bondage of lies I believed. I know this is not the end of the journey and I will probably have to reach out many more times but the truth is – when you cannot pray, when you cannot walk out the truth that you know, when you cannot stand to take another step, others who believe are there to see you through. You do not have to do it all on your own. You can raise the white flag, call it quits for today, and let others hold your arms up in worship to the God that cares, that sees, that hears and that answers prayers. James 5:16 says, “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.”

Parenting Through Grief

Recently a friend said, “this seems like a burden to you but it isn’t to me.” She was referring to parenting. It is a burden. A huge, terrifying burden that most days I am completely aware of how heavy a burden that is. When my three year olds ignore my warning and dash to the car through a crowded parking lot, when my seven year old is intentionally aggressive with his little brother, or when my five year old sneaks candy into his room, I am all the more aware of the sin that looms in their little hearts and my endless work to teach them what is right. It’s hard. It’s exhausting and yet completely necessary work. 

There have been seasons in my parenting where I was consciously aware of how little parenting I was actually doing. Pregnant and huge with twins, my two year old certainly got the short end of the discipline stick. He thought it was great. He picked his own snacks, watched a lot of TV, and got away with sneaky behavior that he should have gotten reminders for. I was too big, too tired, and too overwhelmed to deal with him. The result: a child that struggles with self control, getting his way, and doing what is right no matter who is around. He has certainly grown in those areas as my husband and I have focused on them more recently but for a while, he was hard to be around. 

I thought things would certainly be different for the twins. When they turned two, I remember thinking “I won’t repeat what I did, or rather, what I did not do with Callaway.” I will be present, aware and quick to discipline. Insert grief. I stepped outside of myself for many months and watched as I struggled to even dress, eat, or move without intense expenditure of energy. Disciplining my children and the effort that took seemed impossible. I knew the dangers and sitting back and hoping for the best but I physically couldn’t do any more than I was doing. My daughter became whining, throwing fits at every turn. My son was a terror and as much as I enjoyed going places outside of the home, it was a gamble at the destruction he would cause wherever we went. I was watching my parenting go down the drain right in front of my eyes and felt overwhelmed to do anything about it. 

This wasn’t just about the kids either. I could tell my husband was feeling the effects as well. He saw training the children in a very black and white manner. When they did something wrong, consequences needed to happen. Other things can wait. Disciplining was first priority in his book and while I completely agreed with him, my actions did not always line up. I know my lack of ability was frustrating to him. He was so very patient with me though and gradually encouraged me to start small and to remind me of our big picture with parenting. It helped to call him throughout the day and see parenting at simple small movements in the right direction. He would talk me through it, talk to the kids on the phone, and train them as much as he could when he was home. 

It was about friendships too. With close mama friends that were the primary caregivers of the children, parenting seemed to be a main focus of our lives and conversations. And, whether we cared to admit it or not, the behavior of our children marked how well we were doing at this job of mothering. A month or two after moving into this house and only a few months after my dad died suddenly, a friend came by with her kids. It was the last time we have hung out in over a year. “You child delights in evil,” she let me know about my then 4 year old. A few months after that, a dear friend and her children were over too. But, it is also the last time they have been to our house in over a year. I heard through another friend that they needed more supervision if her sons were going to be around mine. Weeks ago an incredibly close friend resisted her son coming over for a play date due to worries that her son my get hurt if I let them play in the backyard alone. And, just yesterday a friend admitted how different our parenting styles are. “I am not as hands off and laid back as you. I like to know what my children are doing and am strict with what they are allowed to do.” 

All of these friendship interactions hurt, but the most recent ones felt like the final blow. In the recent months, once the devastation of holiday grief and intense nausea of my 5^th pregnancy wore off, my parenting became my first priority. I slowed down my schedule, we had little commitments at night, and any energy I had went to patiently working with the kids to train them up in the way they should go. It was exhausting and hard but completely worth it. I remembered parenting this way at different times in the past and life went so much better when I was putting in the work to teach and train them. I finally felt like that groove was returning when BAM, those recent friends hit me with the reminder of how they say my parenting: not enough. Not good enough. Not. Good. Enough. 

It instantly brought of feelings of those past hurts from friends and feeling like a failure in parenting. I cried, I was mad, and I retreated. I took it all so personally. Thankfully, my husband brought some clarity to my jumbled feelings. He reminded me that there had been seasons where my parenting was not what it should be. If friends wanted to pull back, that was their prerogative. He also reminded me of how far I have come. How I had “woken up” and rejoined the land of the living as far as parenting is concerned. He had seen the change in our children. The integrity, the responsibility, the tenderness of their hearts, he saw it as they worked hard with joyful hearts, obeyed the first time, cared for one another, and generally had lives that were marked by honoring our words. Whew! Thank goodness for his performance review. 

I had put so much power in the hands of my friends to determine if I was a good parent or not. I wanted them to think I was a good parent and that I could handle it all. But, I couldn’t and I let their words destroy what little bit of hope I had in seasons that I already felt depleted. Instead of extending grace and patience when my life was literally unbearable, they backed away not wanting my chaos to affect them. Whether they did that intentionally or not, it is how I perceived it in my grief, depression, and exhaustion. But, they very well needed to do that for their own protection, to keep their own boundaries, and remain sane in their parenting. 

Although my friends have hurt me during my seasons of grief with their lack of understanding and continued expectations, I can’t fault them. Having a dad pass away at the age of 30 is not normal and not something any of my friends have been through. I want to open my heart to forgive them for the intentional or unintentional hurt I felt from them but also forgive myself for giving them power to determine my worth, my capabilities, and strength. It isn’t their approval that I should be seeking. It is God’s. It is His children that he has given me and instructed me to care for. It is Him I must press into for help, Him I must seek for guidance, and Him I must stand accountable to in the last days – not my friends. 

My husband and I are on the same page with our parenting. We know the struggles we have faced and the special circumstances that are presented to our family – children close together, lots of boys, a set of twins, grief, depression, etc. It is our lot and according to Psalm 16, those boundary lines are set in pleasant places. God knows what our family needs, what special circumstances we have been through, and the children he shaping them to be because of them. Thank God for that. Our job is to teach and train our children but I am not doing this alone. God knows what my children need and all those days I was not able to give that to them, I am thankful for the continued work He did on their hearts. I will continue to pray for that work, as He is the one opening their hearts to change, for forgiveness and to mercy to grow more Christ-like each day. I certainly cannot ever muster enough energy or effort to accomplish such a task. 

So here is to a new start, one of learning more of the mom God created me to be, relying on His to give me strength to accomplish the task at hand, and trust that He will be enough knowing that I certainly am not and that is just fine.