God gives to his beloved sleep

I've been sick all week, in a fog of partial wakefulness. My house is a disaster of half-done chores and piles of clutter I can't bring myself to focus hard enough to tackle.

My coughing fits could wake a village, so Jim's been sleeping on the couch. He had the plague before me, and the quarantine has made housemates of us.

Achy and weak, my body feels outside of my control, and I remember it is, even for the most disciplined among us. We can nourish our bodies and exercise and rest, but we still can't stop the sick.

(I'm not so great at any of those three, if we're being honest. I've subsisted this week on toast and something called Biscoff spread.)

I lie there coughing and remember that Welcome Wagon (and the psalmist's) refrain:

God gives to his beloved sleep.

Sleep is a gift I've taken for granted since the children began sleeping through the night. But they didn't for about four years, and life was foggy then, too. I remember keeping a night watch as I breastfed James, praying particularly for the grieving and longing mamas with empty arms.

I turn on the light and find my copy of The Night Offices. If I weren't alone tonight, I wouldn't read this liturgy now, and I try to receive this, too, as a gift.

O God, come to my assistance.
O Lord, make haste to help me.

Two lines turn my sunken, inward gaze a few degrees.

Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.

Before we married, Jim and I were long-distance for our entire relationship. I remember getting on plane to leave him, again. The rain beat down angrily, and the sky was so dark it looked much later than it was. My eyes blurred with tears as the engine roared and picked up speed, getting farther and farther from the only place I wanted to be.

The plane lifted off the runway and into the grey, climbing fast through the clouds which quickly obscured the airport and city below. The was nothing to see but thick clouds and water.

But then we broke through the clouds and into the pink sunset, an ethereal wonderland of light, texture, and dazzling color so bright my breath caught.

Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.

The litany leads me to pray for the Church, for friends and enemies, forgiveness and grace.

Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer.

I am reading a book that tells me Trappist monks greet the day and the Lord together at three every morning. I pray alone, but there are others keeping watch (and they won't go back to sleep!). They are far more faithful and practiced, and somehow their prayers buoy me, these unseen pilgrims along a shared way.

Now guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep, we may rest in peace.

{image source}

acedia & motherhood | exorcising the noonday demon

I don't think I'm cut out for this stay-at-home-mom gig.

You're not supposed to admit that, are you? I'm blessed and lucky to be able to stay home, so the least I can do is be grateful, right?

I am grateful. I love my kids fiercely. I loved being the one at home with them when they were tiny. But at three and five, they aren't tiny anymore, and I'm weary and poured out. 

Five years is a long time in the land of littles. 

--

We don't spank. God doesn't parent me with fear, threats, or force, and I don't want to either.

We listen with our ears.

We speak kind words.

We help with our hands.

We love each other.

These are our rules. We do love each other, but not always well. There are days in which we hurt as much as we help, and around here, listening is as elusive as a unicorn, or an errand by myself. It's difficult to be kind at top volume. A little bit louder and a Whole Lot Worse.

A hot, crimson rage fills my heart, love.

The fabled Mommy Wars are fought on two fronts: in the media, of course, but many days, the battle feels closer, under my roof. I feel foolish for believing that babywearing and breastfeeding could create a magical foundation of attachment, trust, and peace in my home.

I don't want to reinvent the wheel, but I don't know how others do it. If a child isn't naturally compliant or fearful of punishment, where is the incentive to abide by family rules or function as a team? I can't prevent and redirect every negative behavior of my own let alone all of theirs.

--

Deep down, I know that every Yes is a No to something else: a clean house, a play date, a quiet morning at home. But I keep joining. Staying too long. Committing to things whose season has waned. I hang on, just in case.

If I don't keep putting myself out there, this loneliness could be construed as entirely my own making.

--

There was that study last spring, about how stay-at-home-moms (especially low-income ones) experience more depression than working moms or women without kids at home. The findings familiar, my eyes brimmed. Mothering is emotionally exhausting. Without that village it so clearly takes--or the money to hire one--the isolation exacts its toll.

--

I saw a counselor once this summer. She had a lot of pointers.

I just needed to get out more. Date nights!

Writing might not be the best use of my time. Too solitary!

And she was the one, after I told her we didn't spank, who reminded me none-too-subtly about a certain Proverb's fondness for hitting kids with rods.

I wiped my eyes and nodded my head dumbly. So hungry was I for adult conversation that I made an appointment to return the next week.

But I didn't. I remembered my already-ample access to ill-suited advice from strangers, free-of-charge and called back to cancel. "You'll be fine," she assured understandingly and yet not at all. "You just need to get happy again."

--

I finished a book about acedia, the noonday demon, bane of solitaries, desert monastics, and apparently, stay-at-home-moms. It's a spiritual restlessness, different from clinical depression, but with similar markers: lethargy, languor, and lack of attention to the daily upkeep of life.

I'm still in deep. I confess it here, without tidy resolution, to say: I'm ready to work, to fight. Not my kids. Not my husband, not even myself, but the acedia. The creeping suspicion that if my best isn't good enough, then what's the point in trying at all? 

Work, gratitude, and prayer are all antidotes, and when I'm stuck like this, I shrink from all three. But I need them, blessed footholds to climb my way out. To live again as an actor in my own life. To fight hard against complacency and escapism. To be present to joy in hardship, purpose in monotony, and holy ground on the kitchen floor.

To not despise the day of small things.

{image source}

the smitten word: feminist edition

good reads. shared.

Rebecca Traister, Salon: Can modern women "have it all"? A new Atlantic cover peddles dangerous myths [rebuttal to Anne-Marie Slaughter's Why Women Still Can't Have It All]

“Having it all” recasts a righteous struggle for greater political, economic, social, sexual and political parity as a piggy and acquisitive project.  

It is a trap, a setup for inevitable feminist short-fall. Irresponsibly conflating liberation with satisfaction, the “have it all” formulation sets an impossible bar for female success and then ensures that when women fail to clear it, it’s feminism – as opposed to persistent gender inequity – that’s to blame. 

Neda Ulaby, NPR:  Branding 'Brave': The Cultural Capital of Princesses

Sarafian says Pixar actually experimented with making Brave's main character, Merida, not a princess at all. 

"We tried making her the blacksmith's daughter and the milkmaid in various things," she says. "There [are] no stakes in the story for us that way. We wanted to show real stakes in the story where, you know, the peace of the kingdom and the traditions are all at stake." 

Now, you'd think someone could find stakes in the story of a blacksmith's daughter or milkmaid, but apparently not Pixar (which is owned, of course, by Disney). Still, Pixar didn't seem to have the same problem with ordinary civilian boy heroes in movies such as Up.

Although I don't necessarily consider myself an attachment parent, our values mirror most of its principles, and as a feminist, I've shaken fists more than once at the way the media likes to pit one against the other. In light of a new study turning the popular narrative on its heels, Annie at PhD in Parenting responds artfully to critics with Why Humanism, Feminism & Attachment Parenting Are Compatible.

Did you know that servicewomen are not permitted to breastfeed in uniform? (Salty language in that one, so you know.)

I'd be remiss not to mention the female Michigan lawmakers barred from House debate--and the ensuing performance of The Vagina Monologues on capitol steps in protest. 

Lastly, something from Sarah Bessey, that beautiful and unrivaled wordsmith. I don't even want to give any of it away, but fair warning: you may succumb to the ugly cry. Lesser folks have failed. In which my daughter wants to lose weight.

Tell us, what are you reading...or writing? Happy Friday, friends.

{image: MorBCN}

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the smitten word | gay marriage! extreme mom! edition

{good reads, shared}

It's been quite a week, y'all.  

I haven't posted links in a while, but as the internets exploded sometime between Obama's endorsement of same-sex marriage and TIME's mother-shaming magazine cover, it seemed a worthy week to bring it back.  Shall we?

Kathy Escobar:  unless we’re all free, none of us are free.

christians should be leading the way on equality in absolutely every area, yet we all know that on the whole, we are lagging behind, stuck in white privilege & imbalanced power & segregation and all kinds of things that are not reflective of the kingdom of God Jesus called us to create.

Fearless Formula Feeder:   Hey TIME (and everyone else): There is a mommy war, but this isn't it.

The Mommy Wars are not about parenting styles. The Mommy Wars are about experts - and consequently the mothers who are looking to these experts for guidance during a fragile and intimidating time in their lives - attempting to validate parenting choices/philosophies by marginalizing or insulting others.

Washington Post:  How the ‘war on women’ quashed feminist stereotypes

In Memoriam:  Beastie Boy Adam Yauch [MCA’s Feminist Legacy] and beloved children's author Maurice Sendak.

Tell us, what are you reading lately--or what's happening at your site this week?  

Did you enter to win The Nields new folk-rock album yet?

top image: MorBCN

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notes to the new mom {practices of parenting}

1. no child can be spoiled with love.  
we let dishes pile.  every yes is a no to something else, and we want to say yes to now and to love and each other.  they are only little so long, and there aren't endless hours to snuggle baby #2, so we savor moments.  "doing nothing" together may just be everything after all.

{but friend?  not all moments savor-worthy:  poo-splosions, PPD, colic, sickness.  mothering is beautiful and wonderful, but it is hard, and if you're looking for permission not to carpe diem every second, you got it, sister.}

2.  baby carriers are magical.
at the grocery store, communion rail, or around the house, nothing beats securing baby to your chest in a cozy sling or wrap.  babywearing encourages infant sleep, discourages crying, and promotes attachment, making it a wonderful practice to learn in those harried first weeks and well beyond.

3.  we are the experts for our babes. 
not our mothers, neighbors, strangers in the grocery store, well-meaning church ladies, famous authors, or even the pediatrician.  we've learned to trust our instincts and take whatever anyone says with a grain of salt...or a whole salt shaker!

4.  we do what works for us, not whatever "they" say.  
dylan hated sleeping in her crib.  we thought she *should,* so we battled.  all three of us barely slept longer that two and a half hours at at time for eighteen exhausting months.

looking back, i wish we had brought her into bed with us and taken sleep where we could get it instead of trying to force what wasn't working.  dylan would have slept on her own eventually; she didn't have to do it from day one.

5.  relax.
milestones and schedules are not worth stressing over.  every kid is different.

6.  breastfeeding is natural (and wonderful and worth it), but it is not easy. 
read about it.  go to la leche league meetings.  take a breastfeeding class.  meet with a lactation consultant.  ask for help.  having good support can make all the difference.

but, also?  not every mother can.  not every mother wants to.  we work.  we adopt.  we face health problems.  we all give our babies our best and nourish and comfort them just like they need--with breast, pump, or formula.  at ease, mamas!

7.  every parent needs time away.
we [try to] schedule regular time for solitude and adult community and refuse to feel guilty about it.  time away nurtures us as people and makes us better equipped to love and serve each other.

8.  we all end up doing something as a parent that we swore we'd never do.  
it's true.  so we try to put away judging eyes and never say never.

9.  comparison is soul-crushing.  
so what if her kid walked first or sleeps through the night?  so what if she sews halloween costumes, mills her own flour, or weighs less pregnant than i do now?

we're different:  gifted in some ways and lacking in others.  we don't have the whole story on anyone else, and comparison only makes us feel competitive and self-conscious.  the mommy wars are a war against women that we'll all lose.  so we lay down arms.  we become conscientious objectors.

10.  there are no perfect parents.
even the ones that look like they have it all together don't.   we give ourselves--and one another--a break, permission to ask for help, and release from the fear of messing it up.  we apologize, ask forgiveness, and keep going.  perfection is an illusion, but we will find our sea legs and mercies new every morning.

what have you learned about motherhood?  what advice would you pass along?


{i wrote this in the throes of parenting baby #2 when #1 was two and a half. originally published 5/6/10. shared with sarah's parenting carnival.}

Mommy Gear Breastfeeding Boutique | December Featured Partner

Those of you who have breastfed know that shopping for nursing bras can be a horror. They can resemble medieval torture devices and be about as supportive--and attractive--as training bras for prepubescent girls.

I have no idea why, during the fragile post-partum time when a woman needs the most support in the bra department, she is generally offered the least in both form and function.  When I first had Dylan, I thought that ugly, flimsy bras from the big box stores were the extent of my options as a breastfeeding mom.  It's not like Victoria's Secret sells nursing wear.

{Side note:  have you ever taken your pregnant self--or a toddler--into Victoria's Secret?  They look at you like you have three eyes.  Or six boobs.  Hot young things are welcome but women in the family way?  Not so much.} 

Shortly into breastfeeding, I discovered Mommy Gear, a place where moms and families are valued, breastfeeding is supported, and new moms are honored as women who deserve to feel pretty, confident, and well cared for.

I am thrilled that Mommy Gear is my featured sponsor for December, and I get to share this fantastic mom-owned company with you.  My friend Dawn opened Mommy Gear out of her home in 1996, and she is a tremendous resource for breastfeeding moms and families.  Her online business ships bras, breastpumps, and nursing clothes all over the world.  Mommy Gear's beautiful brick-and-mortar store stocks nursing bras in sizes ranging from 30A - 48K and carries anything a breastfeeding mama might need and more than a few things she'd want, like a great baby carrier.

Mommy Gear carries a variety of options for babywearing moms and dads, including slings, wraps and both soft and structured carriers.  Wouldn't an Ergo be a great family Christmas gift--or how about these Ergo doll carriers for the wee set?  So cute!

"Mommy Gear is where fashion meets function for breastfeeding moms.  We believe that breastfeeding is beautiful and want every mom to define her own breastfeeding success.  We are here to encourage and support each mom every step of the way, whether she is expecting, breastfeeding, or exclusively pumping."

Dawn wasn't kidding about fashion:  have you ever even seen a sexy nursing bra?  Mommy Gear also carries sleep bras, sports bras, nursing bras from Bravado, La Leche League, Goddess for full figures, and many more.

Mommy Gear is running a fun series of daily promotions called the 25 Days of Christmas:  each day, one brand is 25% off with a coupon code.

Save 25% on all Cake Maternity & Nursing Lingerie using coupon code 7THDAY until noon 12/8/2011.

Keep up with Mommy Gear on facebook and find quality breastfeeding apparel, nursing gear, and all kinds of items for baby and mom during their 25 Days of Christmas and throughout your breastfeeding journey.

Warm thanks to Dawn and Mommy Gear for sponsoring my site this month.

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Breastfeeding, Baby Feeding & Learning to Heed Instincts

Thanks to Plum Organics for sponsoring my post about tips for baby feeding magic. What if you let baby choose what's for dinner? Check out their "Quest for Yum!" video and see what happens. 

Nothing feels quite so bad as having a sick child and being powerless to help her.

When Dylan was eight months old, she developed horrible food hypersensitivities. Like clockwork, two hours after eating solid foods she would begin vomiting, sometimes for hours. During the worst incidents, she became lethargic and pale, spit bile, and had to be hospitalized for dehydration.

The doctors and specialists had no idea what was wrong.

It's just a virus, they'd say. But that was extremely unlikely: after each incident, I'd exclusively breastfeed her for a few days, and she'd be fine. But whenever we fed her solids again, within two hours, she began vomiting again violently.

This happened for months. I made lists of trigger foods. Rice cereal was a common denominator, so we cut it, even though our pediatrician swore it wasn't the culprit. We saw improvements. Doctors claimed it couldn't be allergies. It's probably just a virus.

Why won't doctors admit when they don't know?

A G.I. specialist sent us home with a prescription for reflux and advice that didn't make sense in our context: supplement with formula.

Formula has the same amount of calories as breast milk without any of its immunity protections. I was a young first-time mom but knew enough to trust my instincts: my milk was exactly what my sick baby needed and the only surefire thing my baby was demonstrably able to digest. Supplementing could reduce demand, threaten my milk supply, and leave us even more desperate than we already were.

We didn't refill the prescription, kept breastfeeding, and stopped serving baby foods.

Breastfed babies under age one get all of their nutritional needs met in their mother's milk. Baby food is fun and introduces a world of learning, but it's not necessary. Many young babies are not ready for solid foods, and there's no need to rush it.

By the end of ten months, with time and prayer, Dylan's digestive system finally sorted itself out. She continued to get most of her calories through breastfeeding, and we offered table food as she showed interest. She ate asparagus and salmon and whatever else we were eating. Mealtimes became a pleasure again, and our little one began gaining weight.

Looking back and having done more reading, I now believe that Dylan suffered from FPIES, Food Protein-Induced Enterocolitis Syndrome, a condition that presents the symptoms she exhibited and is delay-triggered by foods including milk, soy, cereal grains (especially rice!), green beans, sweet potatoes, squash, poultry, and more. FPIES affects infants and young children and generally goes away with age. I wish I'd known about it during that difficult time.

We live and learn. With our second baby, James, we didn't rush things. We never offered baby cereals. (Babies can't even digest them.) I breastfed and offered whole foods. Easy foods I could mash with a fork were ideal, like avocados, bananas, and sweet potatoes. Foods he could feed himself worked well, too, like blueberries or pastured egg yokes.

The book Real Food for Mother and Baby: The Fertility Diet, Eating for Two, and Baby's First Foods helped me to realize that traditional infant feeding is baby-led, uncomplicated, and not something to push or stress over. Knowing that babies can get all the nutrients they need from breastfeeding takes much of the drama out of mealtimes and frees them up to be playful, pressure-free, and fun.

Edited to add: FED IS BEST, however that plays out. There's no one best feeding blueprint for every kid, parent, or family. This is merely my reflection on feeding my own sick babe that first year of motherhood.
 

I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. 
To learn more about Plum Organics, visit their Facebook page: Plum Organics.

mommy wars: on being a conscientious objector

{Edited to add: The comments and discussion happening at this post are truly insightful.  I hope you'll read the whole thing over at Red and Honey.}

  Get the epidural?

Breast or bottle?
Cry-it-out?  Co-Sleep?

Work or stay home?

To spank or not to spank?

Parenting is difficult, for sure, but the way decisions and philosophies polarize mothers is certainly among the worst parts.

May I let you in on a secret?    

The Mommy Wars cannot be won.

For what are we fighting?  Peace, community and contentment were never won through comparison, competition or judgment.  I'm laying down arms, smoothing lines in the sand and confessing to you this:  

I've no wish to fight you, mama.  Mothering is hard, and we need allies, not enemies.  In the Mommy Wars, I am a conscientious objector.

I am guest posting today for the lovely Beth at Red and Honey. as part of her series: 31 Days of Real Housewife Confessions.  Please click over to her site to read the rest and share your experiences in the comments.  Spend some time with Beth and you'll glean wisdom about all aspects of natural, holistic, God-honoring living.

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alma mater {the grace of awake}

                                                            

James isn't sleeping through the night.  Not every night or even most nights.  No one asks, like they did with Dylan, so I don't feign politeness at unsolicited advice.

"You know, if you only stopped breastfeeding that child..."

He turns two soon.  Quiet moments shared are few and far between these days of go go go and Mama, look!  I drink them in, nestling him close.  His eyelids flutter while breathing becomes heavy and regular.

His quiet nursing and a lone car engine are the only sounds that stir the night.  My heart turns to mamas with empty arms, and I lift them high in prayer.  The mothers who know the searing pain of loss.  Who grieve for what could have been and never was.

Why is the path to parenthood such a hard road for some?  {Why was it easy for me?  What will be our lot to suffer?}

I pray for mamas-to-be, waiting.  Those enduring shots and procedures, filing mountains of paperwork and making room for babies heart-grown.

Jesus, fill their arms.

Tears fall hot. Smoothing James' cornsilk hair, I lift high foster mamas praying for keeps.  The ones who pour out love without guarantee.  Theirs is love-parental.  Love sacrificial.  Love without condition.

The love of a mother.  The Love of a Father.

Bind up the brokenhearted, Lord.

Thank you for the grace of awake with a child when the world is darkness.

For mercies new every morning.

{shared with heather for just write and emily for imperfect prose.}

the sacrament of the ordinary {embodied prayer}

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I'm re-posting this story from last summer.  

On a rare afternoon away from camp, our family was able to attend the baptism of the first child of new friends.  The service began at the entrance to the Basilica, symbolic of Miss Zoe Abigail's entrance into the family of God.  Every liturgical detail was meaningful, and we were thankful to be there in support.

After the priest baptized the baby, her parents dressed her in an ornamental white gown, a fitting symbol of new life in Christ.  (Zoe's sweet name even means "life.")  Anyone who's ever dressed a newborn knows how tricksy a maneuver it can be under the best of circumstances, which the day's decidedly weren't.  The gown was no cotton onesie; it was about 90 degrees; and there was, of course, the matter of the assembled congregants pressed in closely to watch the sacrament.  After being woken, doused with holy water, and clumsily dressed, predictably, the baby started to scream.  Unpredictably, my friend put the babe to her breast without skipping a beat.

It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

Here was a brand-new mom, who has only been nursing a few short weeks.  All eyes were on her and her baby, yet she felt confident enough--at the baptismal font, no less!-- to put caring for her child ahead of worrying about whether the assembled congregants would approve.  She gave her daughter exactly what she needed at that moment, and throughout the rest of the service--blessing, prayers, and even pictures--Zoe nursed contentedly and quietly, completely at peace.

Breastfeeding is a natural, nurturing, beautiful thing, designed by the One who spoke the universe into being and created us in his image.  Cheers to not hiding it away in fear or shame, but celebrating, worshipping, and living a fully-embodied, God-honoring life, wherever we are.

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."  (Isaiah 46:15-16)

Related links to make you think:
Sorta Crunchy with breastfeeding as worship 
Jesus Needs New PR with 'i don't want to see your boobs!'

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like a weaned child

My heart is proud.

Quick to defend myself.  Hasty to be right.

I have not stilled or quieted my soul.  Not enough.

There is time sufficient, but I fill it with so many lesser things. I've not drunk soul-deep from the well of grace.

Restless.  Longing.  Want, want, want.

James has been refusing to eat dinner.  At bedtime, there isn't enough milk to satisfy his hunger, and he gets so angry.

Baby, you have to eat dinner, I tell him.  There's not enough milk to fill your tummy.  You're a big boy.  You need to eat your food.

I am that child, refusing nourishment, bewildered and angry at my lack of satiety.

Oh, to be still.  To rejoice in the presence of my Lord, demanding nothing.

And so receive all things.

Psalm 131
    A song of ascents. Of David.

 ¹ My heart is not proud, O LORD,
   my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
   or things too wonderful for me.
² But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
   like a weaned child with its mother,
   like a weaned child is my soul within me.

 ³ O Israel, put your hope in the LORD
   both now and forevermore.

 share with emily's imperfect prose and the gypsy mama's five minute friday.  prompt: still.
{image credit} 

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the grace of losing

we do lose things, as mothers.

i say that not to diminish the incredible blessings of motherhood, but like anything, there are trade-offs.

my body is not my own.  my time is not my own.  hell, i barely went to the bathroom by myself until two weeks ago when jim installed a lock.  (thank you, sweet Lord Jesus.)

more than anything lately, i've wanted to pick out pretty summer clothes with a gift card i got for my birthday--in march--and maybe buy a bra not made for the nursing mom.  (we are still nursing but nothing fits as this is the first time in four and a half years that i am not pregnant or breastfeeding a baby or pregnant and breastfeeding a toddler.)

but the mall is far and my kids are small and my husband works long and late, and i worry 'tis not to be.  my not-best self sulks, "waaaaah, woe is me, i deserve blah blah blah," but i know that is a lie.

because who ever promised that life was about me--my needs, my feelings, my desires?  certainly, there is a place for self-care (especially as moms), but there's also a place for "suck it up" and "pick up your cross and follow Jesus."

the way of self-denial, sacrifice, and humility.  the way of give thanks in all circumstances.  the way of suffering, loss, and finding ourselves not in motherhood or accomplishment or acceptance or anything but the very One who created us with purpose:

But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  -Philippians 3:7-12

so wearing gym shorts, a tee shirt, and my too-big bra, i look for grace in the losing. for joy in frustration and a perspective bigger than my selfish heart.  i pray for eyes fixed outward and upward and thankfulness for what's gained in place of the bitterness of perceived loss.

and i press on.

shared with the gypsy mama (and like her, i took more than five minutes this friday) and alita's bigger picture moment.  {image: Mike_tn}

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i will not forget you

{image}

Can a mother forget the babe at her breast,
who grew in her own Body and is sustained by it still?

Nuzzled close and warm,
milk-drunk smiles suggest no.
Aching fullness creates urgency the
fuzziest awareness cannot suspend.

Tender moments nurture intimacy,
embodied grace of Mother-love:

I will not forget you!  See, 
I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.

Nail-scarred hands ache, too:

O Jerusalem, killer of prophets, 

how I long to gather you as 

a hen gathers chicks under wing.

But you were not willing.

Love, secret-knit and nourished in mystery,

poured out for the prodigal unto the very ends of the earth.

shared with five minute friday at the gypsy mama, imperfect prose at when eden murmurs,

and simple moment, bigger picture at peanut butter in my hair.

rest for the restless

jim put james to bed friday and had the kids saturday, too, while i was at our MOPS retreat.  he can be a pretty easygoing kid, and his dad and others have gotten him to sleep without problem, but as we're still nursing, i never leave him fully confident that bedtime without me will go down without a hitch.

as it turns out, i needn't have worried.

apparently, i'm blonde in the back

james and his daddy brushed teeth, put on jammies, and settled in for a story.  jim was about to put him into his crib when james asked for a second book and began rustling through them all, searching intently for one title in particular:  where is mommy?

they read it together, and at the end he kissed my picture, tucked into the back just like he'd remembered. james requested to read it a second time and to take it to bed with him.  he then laid down contentedly and fell right to sleep.

could your heart just melt?

an ongoing record of God's goodness, #258-277

long distance kisses from a sweet boy-babe

a husband happy to help me get away

a wonderful retreat and a great team to pull it off

quiet and conversation

music and worship

chocolate-dipped biscotti (and leftovers for breakfast:)

time exploring the Word together

community and bridge building

new spring green and wildflowers

an attentive staff that enabled weary moms to feel pampered

fears faced head on

"you make people!  you can climb a pole!"

coming home to family and friends sprawled out in the yard, covered in mud, from a day of play and gardening

sabbath rest together

the fact that no matter how good it is to get away, there is always something sweet in coming home

in the interest of keeping it real, i just had to banish my kids to their room so i could finish this ever-loving thankfulness post without blowing smoke out my ears.  life is hard, and i celebrate those shalom moments of wholeness as they come--and repent for the times when i'm the one so quick to shatter it into shards.

grace for this mama

physical space

learning gentleness

always mercy

recognizing eucharisteo, even (especially?) amidst chaos and frustration

sharing thanks with ann's gratitude community at a holy experience.

if you'd like to read the happiest mom or win a subscription to parenting: the early years, have i got a giveaway for you.  also, i'm hosting ShoutLaughLove tomorrow; won't you come back and link a story?

the grey that bleeds

{image credit}

i bristle against the labels.

in or out

good or bad

right or wrong

Us or Them

slap one on and everything falls into place
neat and tidy, carefully ordered and
false.

this behavior.
that philosophy.
his church.
our politics.
her parenting.
your neighborhood.
(or schooling, or accent, or jeans....)

breast or bottle
liberal or conservative
black or white

but what of the shades of grey?
{charcoal, slate, ash, heather}
the overlap and threads that
weave our stories together or
the Story written on the Hands of One who loves?

i know the allure of the kindred spirit who
looks and thinks and laughs and talks and writes and votes and worships just like i do
{me me me}

that heady heart-connect intoxicates
my desire to feel known and loved and understood is natural
[like my sin-nature]

real Love loves the Other, too:
the ugly, the enemy, the alien

it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love protects, trusts, hopes, and
rejoices with Truth which
sets us free from law, sin, and judgment.

Jew and Gentile
male and female
you and me

shared with emily and one stop poetry

Over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. 

-Colossians 3:14

he gently leads those who have young

an ongoing record of God's goodness, #209-227

a weekend first aid course cancellation and an extra dose of sabbath rest

thick cut bacon and the time to enjoy it at home

sweet sibling love

  

my still nursing boy-babe

 

warm wheat biscuits with butter and honey, made with love by a baking beauty

 a new spring adventure (with delicious result) 

shrove tuesday pancakes (BYOMS, of course;)

the broken, beautiful Church {won't you share a story tomorrow?}

spring cleaning blitz

fun new dishes (and a giveaway for you:)

practicing the daily office and everyday liturgy for lent

quiche and crepes at the catholic school

hanging with stef--the pied piper with a crochet hook

a fish fry at the fire hall complete with personal tour of all the trucks

preschool visits and a most enthusiastic scholar-to-be

a well-stocked library and catching up with Mad Men missed

celebrating a milestone with friends and neighbors

looking forward to some mini-vacation time together

God's mercy and patience, especially when mine wear thins

 He tends his flock like a shepherd:
   He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
   he gently leads those that have young.-Isaiah 40:11

what are you thanking God for this march?

see you tomorrow for ShoutLaughLove and grace tales shared.

and the day yet to begin

today began at 4:55.  after nursing james, i tucked him back into bed and dressed in the dark.

i am so not a morning person.

my bleary eyes have seen wee hours plentiful.  in my younger days, it was because i hadn't yet been to bed:  papers and projects and conversations engaged me while others slept.  i've woken early for work, brewing coffee in the pre-dawn hours for commuters and college kids at--count 'em--four coffee shops.  these days, it's the breastfed babes and sick kids who keep the crazy hours, and we meet their needs before dawn breaks.

until today, i never got up that early for me.

the house was quiet as i laced my boots.  i stepped onto the deck and caught my breath:  the moon shone larger-than-life on the horizon, swollen gold and appearing bigger than the still-sleeping sun.

a strange, luminous gift to light a new path.

photo by chris demayo

The day is yours, and yours also the night;
   you established the sun and moon. -Psalm 74:16

shared with melissa and the bigger picture beauties as well as emily's imperfect prose.
are you a morning or night person?  how do you create time for yourself in the stillness?

ebenezer-raising

 

 

my sweet boy is one!  james' birthday was last weekend, celebrated in hotel rooms and banquet halls as i attended the relevant conference.

not being home, he got a little bit of a raw deal in that there was no official party, but truthfully, we're not much for those around here anyway.

i have photos of j eating his first cupcake and opening presents, but our camera is being uncooperative, so you'll just have to take my word for it that cake was had, and james enjoyed every chocolaty bite:)

my parents came to relevant for two nights to spend time with james, so even though we weren't home, he got lots of wonderful face time with grandma and grandpa.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created.  -James 1:17-18

james, sweet boy, you are a precious gift.  your joy and energy bless our home.  you love to play (even independently!) and you are so good with your hands.  you love your big sister, and i am so thankful for how you and dylan play together.

  How good and pleasant it is
       when brothers live together in unity!   It is like precious oil poured on the head,
       running down on the beard,
       running down on Aaron's beard,
       down upon the collar of his robes.
  It is as if the dew of Hermon
       were falling on Mount Zion.
       For there the LORD bestows his blessing,
       even life forevermore.  --Psalm 133

at one, you say mama and dada and a variation of both dylan and stinky;)  you stand with confidence, cruise like a champ, and can take up to four steps.  i think you'll be running after dylan any day now.  you love playing with the kitchen and cars, and you hold up one finger when we ask you how old you are.

one year with james has gone so much faster than dylan's first year.  i'm glad that james is still nursing, so he can be my baby a while longer:)

happy birthday, sweet boy.  we are so thankful that God blessed our family with you.