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. 

Prayer of the Saints

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 for 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 thought 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 cried. 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.”

A Grieving Doula on Christmas Eve

It’s Christmas Eve and as a doula I cant stop thinking about Mary. Imagine her nearly due with her first baby and still journeying from her hometown to Bethlehem. She is with a man who she is supposed to marry and yet pregnant with the Son of God. From most historical accounts, Mary is still a teenager. Regardless of age though, she is about to be a new mom – a mom to the baby that will save the world. Here she is on Christmas Eve on a donkey, barely eating a thing, entering a strange city with no midwife, family, or friends to be seen.

Contractions begin and Mary knows her baby is coming soon. All they can find is a small barn behind an inn. Another contraction rolls in reminding Mary of the need to make her space ready to greet her son. For those moments I imagine she’s forgotten that her son will save the world. This is just her son. Her baby is that inside her contracting uterus, longing to make his way earth side. If I were there beside her, I’d encourage her that she is close, that she can do this and that she’ll be holding her baby soon. I don’t know what Joseph said to her that night but if he stayed by her side as she worked through her labor, I imagine he’d be the kind of man to say just those encouraging things.

As the night moves along, so does Mary’s labor. Jesus is coming soon. With each contraction, he makes his way down and Mary knows she does not have long. Joseph moves some hay to make Mary a softer place to birth. The animals are all quiet. They are the ones holding the space for Mary giving her the peace she needs to calm her fears as Jesus is crowing. Mary finds the strength within her to give into the pressure and welcome her firstborn. Joseph removes his outer garments and finds a soft inner layer that he can cover the baby on Mary’s exhausted chest. He’s here – Mary’s baby, Joseph’s first son, God in human form.

As I think of Mary this Christmas Eve, my heart is heavy for her. She and her fiancé travel a long distance to give birth in a stable without any assistance. She contracts minutes after minutes, suffering through pain for a child she yet to understands how much she will love and yet how much his love for her and us all will change the world. I wish I could have been with her to give her water, to support her back, to reassure her that it will all be ok. But, somehow I believe Mary must have known that it would be ok. When Mary learned of Jesus’s conception she pondered it in her heart, rejoicing and praising the Lord. I have to believe she felt that same assurance as she welcomed her baby boy into the world. Maybe she and Joseph were able to remember that Angel that told them to not be afraid of what would happen and to trust in what God had for them.

My heart is heavy this Christmas eve. I miss those who have gone before me and wonder when this laboring of grief will end. Christmas eve this year feels like a somber laboring of my emotions that I hope will be birthed into joy tomorrow. Today at lunch the song, “Where are you Christmas?” came on the radio. I was eating pizza at my in laws with my kids and extended family. And, right then, like a contraction you can’t control, it hit me. Grief. It folds you over like the stomach pain of a uterus clamping down and makes you stop. I can’t eat. I can’t drink. I can feel my face turning red and eyes watering up.

Usually I can take a deep breath and get it together but not today. The pain was too strong. It is that part in labor where you don’t’ care what sounds you make or what clothes you still do or don’t have on because you aren’t in control anymore.  Grief is like that. It enters your space with strong intensity and allows no warning for appropriate preparation. And, as I was weeping in the bathroom and practicing deep breathing techniques, there was her face. I thought of Mary again. Mary, grieving what her body was going through and the circumstances of her moment. Yet, she pushes through her pain and fear to greet her baby – the greatest joy she and the world would experience. How encouraging?! How beautiful?! She labored her way through the darkness of the night to bring us the Light of the World. I think of the way she had to rely on the truth of who she knew God to be and trust in the words of the angels. May I do the same. When the grief greets me with unexpected pain and exhausting power, I hope I will continue to remember Mary and the woman God chose to bring forth his son – the hope of tomorrow. My hope for tomorrow.