Dear Judah

Your first birthday has come and gone. More than two weeks have gone by... and I'm just now sitting to write your birthday letter.

I'm sure you would understand if I gave the excuse, "I've just been too busy or I've not had a moment to..."

Because that would be true. The past few weeks have been very busy.

But it wouldn't be entirely true. 

This excuse might not make sense to you. But my mommy-heart hasn't been quite ready to write your first birthday letter. And my mommy-heart can be a tricky thing.

This past year has been such a joy for me. I just didn't want it to end. I haven't wanted to admit, really admit, that your first year has come and gone. But it has. And I can say it now, if not a little quietly.

A couple of years before you were born I was somewhere. I can't remember where now, but it was away from home. I had Olivia, Deacon and Levi with me and maybe Daddy too. We were busy and there were lots of people buzzing about, so I counted.

I counted the heads. One... two... three...

I counted again. One... two... three...

Everyone was there, but for some reason, I couldn't shake that feeling that someone was missing. I looked around, waiting to see who it was that I was missing... but you weren't here yet.

That kept happening. Sometimes I would get a little panicky about it. And then I would feel a little silly. So I decided to pray and ask God why it was that I was feeling that way.

And then He showed me.

I'll never forget the first time I thought that I might be pregnant with you.

I was downtown and wanted a coffee. But as soon as I walked into the coffee shop, I didn't want coffee anymore. So I got tea. But it just didn't taste right, so I threw it out.

I paused for a moment. Hmmm... could it be? A few days later we would know for sure.

I remember laying in bed with my hand over my tummy and my tears streaming down into my ears. My heart was so full. Yes, that mommy-heart of mine. That one that can be so tricky. It was so happy and full of joy and I wondered who you would be.

I thought of your forming body and that verse that talks about God knitting you together. I pictured His hands at work, even then, in the hidden place of my womb. My heart rejoiced.

I didn't know then that you would be a boy, but I knew if you were what I would name you. I would name you Judah, for my heart was Praising the Lord.

I thought I was done having babies. That's what we had said. We had even given all of our baby things away! My heart was content with that. But I'm so glad God decided something different. For my heart has been full of praise since the moment I knew you were on your way.

As you grow, you will learn that God is always working and preparing us and those around us for... something. Sometimes it may seem like a small thing, an unimportant thing. But looking back you will see that it wasn't unimportant after all. That God had a plan for that something and used it in a very big way.

Adding children to a family is a special thing. It is also a very natural thing. And although every baby is a miracle of God's creation, it is also very normal and not unusual. I know I may be sounding a little wishy-washy. I blame it on my mommy-heart. It can sound that way sometimes.

But what I'm trying to say, is that God used the very natural occurrence of having a baby to do something big in the heart of this mommy.

We are all born for a purpose. God plans the time and place and family He places a baby in. It's never an accident. I want you to grow to believe that, David Judah. He numbers our days before we ever see one of them. And God has a book that He writes all these things down in. He knows us. He loves us. And He uses our lives to change the lives of others.

And God is already using you, sweet boy. To encourage this mommy-heart. To confirm God's blessings over my life. To whisper... I still hear the cries of your heart. Cause sometimes, this mommy-heart cries.

And just as I held you those long hours and days and months when all you did was cry...

God is holding me.

And when I didn't sleep at night, but nursed you instead, breathing you in...

I remembered how God never sleeps, and always tends to our needs.

And when my heart would expand to yet another size and the tears would stream down at your first smile....

My heart would be refreshed at the thought of God's favor over His children.

I have praised the Lord, my son. I have praised Him with my whole being for giving us you. I have praised Him for another chance to be a mommy.

I have praised Him for 10 more little fingers and toes...


















And for the way you just wanted to be held all the time and how you don't mind wearing your jammies to the park....

And for how you loved your first Christmas, even though you napped through the family picture and mommy forgot about you needing to be in it! And the way you are so good at eating your food all by yourself....

 

And for your chubbily scrumptious cheeks (sometimes I eat them!) And for the way you LOVE your lovey (it truly as magical powers) and suck your tongue when you are sleepy...



 





For your ears and your duck hair and the way you meow every time you see the kitties...

 



For your new teeth and the way you love to play in your Pack N' Play... (and how you love balloons!)

 For the way you love your Uncle B. and how you ROCK a faux hawk!

For how I don't have to see your smile to know you are smiling! And the way you are mommy's helper in the kitchen (and yes you are wearing a tie here =)).

 

I am praising Him that you are my fourth blessing (whether you like it or not).

And for the way you are trying so hard to stand even though you'd rather just sit on my lap and smile.

And for how much you love to play with your toys and your brothers and sister. And for how you knew exactly what to do with that cupcake (eat it) and that number one (throw it on the floor).

And for how simply beautiful you are. You take my breath away. I love you my son. Thank you for filling this mommy-heart to overflowing. Happy Birthday.



You Know You're a Momma When...

You pick up 100 Lego pieces in a day and instead of throwing them away, you put them back in the box because you know they will need them for their next building project.

You do 8 loads of laundry in a day.

You load and unload the dishwasher at least twice before dinner.

The only time the house stays clean is when your children are sick.

You reach in your purse to find your sunglasses and instead your hand comes out covered in goldfish crumbs.

You don't hear your name until the 11th time they've said it.

You feel guilty for no reason.

People stare at you in Wal-mart.

You ask your waitress to change the channel on the restaurant T.V. and ignore her belittling stare.

You opt for casual comfort rather than the latest fashions.

You wonder, just what do they do with all of that toilet paper?

You play peek-a-boo through the window of the car while pumping gas... and again people stare at you.

You cry when your child's hamster gets hurt.

You cuddle your hurt boy and kiss his sweaty head, ignoring his puppy dog smell.

You talk about your kids on dates, even though you know you're 'not supposed to'.

You collapse in the bed at the end of the day.

You stay up all night watching your child breathe when they are sick.

Your heart aches with love.

You have all of your lunch dates at Chic-Fil-A.

You stand up for your kids when know one else does.

You feel glamorous walking into church Sunday because it's the first time you've worn make-up in a week.

Your favorite shows are Veggie Tales and Cars 'Number 2', and My Little Pony...

Some of your favorite conversations are with people 3 feet tall.

You cheer very loudly at T-Ball games.

You hear phantom baby cries in the middle of the night.

You hold her hand after someone called her a name... and take captive thoughts of inflicting harm on another child.

You are embarrassed to open your car door.

You step on cheerios and march their crumbs through the house... and in between your sheets.

You wash his camouflage clothes after he goes to bed so he can wear them again the next day.

You swallow your pride and let them dress themselves.

You get your exercise by dancing in the kitchen.

You don't mind smelling like spit up.

You become a pro at hiding greasy hair.

You spend hours begging God in prayer.

You try really hard to believe Jesus wasn't kidding when He said, "Don't worry.."

Johnson and Johnson baby shampoo becomes your favorite scent.

You cry every time your read "You are Special" by Max Lucado.

Wooden spoons have multiple purposes.

Mosquito bites make you angry.

You find dirty diapers in strange places.

You feel like a champion after only 4 hours of sleep.

You consider glue and play dough and crayons and markers and puzzles a great investment.

You send messages of love in lunch boxes every day.

You somehow change an explosive poop on your lap on a crowded air plane and enlist the help of the passenger sitting next to you.

You answer letters to the Tooth Fairy in curly hand writing.

While driving yourself to the doctor, after hacking for a week, your kids ask you if you are sick and you refrain from glaring at them.

You learn to share the gospel in a very simple, childlike way... and cry tears of joy when they come to you late at night and tell you they want to become a Christian.

And then you realize that all the dirty work and long hours and tired shoulders and frustrated moments were all worth it. Because moments like these are why we are here being their mothers. To take them by the little hand, dirty finger nails and all, and lead them to the Saviour who will lead them far better than we ever could.

And we leave them at the cross for a moment, before we pick them up again, and in that moment there is peace. And we wish we could stay in that moment, but mostly we just remember those moments of peace and surrender. Because as mothers it's the hardest thing to hand them over to God and not worry and strive and try harder. Because that is what we do. We mother. And sometimes there is fear and we wonder if it will be enough.

But it will never be enough. Only God can be enough. And we are reminded once again and try and let go a little bit more.

God knows. His heart is more mother than ours. And because He let go of His Son... we can hold tighter to Him.

Happy Mothering.

Goodnight Moon

It's one of my favorites. That little book. I used to have it memorized, now it's only parts I remember.

Bedtime has always been my favorite time of day.

It's still a favorite. But I think my reasons have changed.

Before it was because I was tired. I mean, really exhausted. Mommy was done. I had been going since my feet hit the floor. Giving, giving, giving. There were battles over bowls and cups and the right color. Toy wars had ensued. Sometimes I came out the victor. Sometimes. Discipline had been accomplished. Spankings, timeouts, no t.v., no snack, come inside NOW!

We may have gone to the grocery store, if we absolutely had to. That meant one car seat captive in the back of the buggy, a walking 20 month old beside me and the older 3 year old in the front seat of the buggy. Believe me, this was how it had to be, as funny as it may have looked.

I endured the stares and comments... My you have your hands full! ...You must be military, he's home just long enough to get you pregnant! (really, do people have no couth these days!?) ...God bless your SOUL!  I repeated my rehearsed replies, Why yes I do and I'm so thankful! ... No, I'm not military, but am so thankful for their service to our country, military wives included ... God HAS blessed me, yes. That shut them up, most of the time.

After several melt downs along the way, the kids included, we would arrive home. It was usually nap time by this point. I would quickly deposit the kids in their nap locations, some on my bed with books, others in cribs. Then I would tackle the bags and bags of groceries, which would hopefully last more than a week. This is why I didn't need to go to the gym.

I would try and take advantage of the quiet to get dinner started, but usually got distracted at some point while putting things away. I'd end up cleaning behind the dryer or something and would later wonder why my back hurt.

By the time dinner was well under way there was usually someone on my hip and another one clinging to my leg. I had the other watching Cinderella for sanity purposes.

Daddy would come home. We'd try and have a conversation while inhaling our food over the high volume level of little ones and in between the 20 times I had to get up and go back to the kitchen for something. I'm sure someone had spilled something or picked that time to want to try and go potty and don't forget about the nursing baby who's internal radar senses the precise moment you sit down to eat.

Bath time was essential after dinner. Mashed potatoes were now in ears and caked over eyebrows and they smelled like whatever chicken dish I had haphazardly thrown together. I couldn't risk a tiger picking up their scent in the middle of the night. We would all be wet by the time it was over. But they were clean and smelling so good and I would just breathe them in.

Some nights we would rock and sing and read books before bed. Most nights we would. I would pray over their fuzzy heads as I laid them down in their beds, 1, 2, and 3.  I would sigh a huge sigh of relief as I tiptoed out of their rooms, crossing my fingers in hopes of not having to return sometime in the middle of the night.

Walking down the stairs I felt satisfied. Another day done. I had survived it. A smile would creep over my potato crusted face. I would get to that later. For now, it was the kitchen that must be tackled and then the slippery bathroom and the 10,000 toys that seemed to multiply by themselves which were scattered across the floor, just beckoning you to come and step on one. It may be quiet, but the work was not done.

Many hours later I myself would crawl in bed. I may have tried to read, but wouldn't get very far. The book would have fallen across my chest. I would turn off the light after waking around 2am. I'd make sure the monitor was on. I may have traveled up the stairs just to make sure that tiger hadn't found them and would again revel in their stillness.

During the rest of the night my mind and body would be renewed by precious sleep. Unlikely uninterrupted, but precious all the same.

I would wake again the next morning to more diapers and tantrums and laundry and spit up and... well you probably get the picture.

I'm not proud to admit the survival-mode mentality I lived with in those first few years of mothering. But I was a different person back then. A different mother. I was in a very different season of life and I'd like to think that I've seasoned over time and matured just a bit. Just like with every other thing, I've grown better at mothering the more experience I've had.

Many have commented on how differently I'm doing things with number four. Again, it's a different season, I'm a different mommy.

Tucking them in at night is different too. I'm still tired at the end of the day. They are still loud and still fight and we still battle through the grocery store. But my perspective has been tweaked just a bit. I'm not always in such a hurry to end another day.

If you combine all of my kid's years, then we have celebrated 22 birthdays so far. That's a lot. And I can't believe Judah's first is next month! The more years that flash by, I think the more a Mama realizes just how fast it really goes.

You also realize that no matter what mess or catastrophe may happen in a day, you will survive it. Even if you've been up all night with a sick one, you know you will sleep again. You know the crying will stop and the food throwing and the booger wiping (well, maybe) and the constant bickering and running through the house with muddy shoes... one day we will all have clean houses and we will hate it.

There will be an end to this crazy season of 'mothering'. We will never stop being mothers, but will stop the mothering part. And we will stop tucking them in at night too. They will grow too old for Good Night Moon and I Love You This Much and all my other favorites. Some of mine already have.

That's what I think of when I tuck them in sometimes. So I don't mind laying just a bit longer and snuggling a bit closer. And don't mind giving one more kiss or hug or listening to one more thing that happened in their day or meeting the challenge of tickle me too! They just love that. But I think I love it more.

So as we say good night to our young ones, let's remember that we will one day say good bye to these precious days. We will heave a sigh of relief I'm sure, but I think we'll miss it more. This shouldn't make us sad. Great things and great hope come with every season of life. But maybe it will help to give us a better perspective as we fight off the temptation to rush things and wish it away.

In the great green room there was a telephone
And a red balloon and a picture of--

The cow jumping over the moon

and there were three little bears, sitting on chairs
and two little kittens and a pair of mittens
and a little toy house and a young mouse
and a comb and a brush and bowl full of mush
and a quiet old lady who was whispering "hush"

Goodnight room goodnight moon
goodnight cow jumping over the moon
goodnight light and the red balloon

goodnight bears goodnight chairs
goodnight kittens goodnight mittens

goodnight clocks and goodnight socks
goodnight little house and goodnight mouse

 

goodnight comb and goodnight brush
goodnight nobody goodnight mush
and goodnight to the old lady whispering "hush"

goodnight stars, goodnight air

goodnight noises everywhere

He Built a House

It's taken me too long to write this post.

I started it almost a year ago and had to stop. I realized I couldn't just write about the house. I couldn't write about the house without writing about the man who built the house.

And I realized I couldn't write about the man who built the house without writing about why he built it.

This is a big story. A sad story. And it's really not mine to tell. I had to ask permission. But I will still only tell it from my perspective.

The man we are talking about is my Daddy.

The house began with a dream. And this is what I remember of the beginning of that dream. I was a young child so there is a chance that my childhood lens might be a little clouded or rose-tinted, but this is how I remember it.

I remember making the drive out to Seabrook. It seemed like such a long drive. We'd come out just to look around. It was fun.

There was this big white house with double porches. It looked like one of those really neat houses that you see in movies. I dreamed of living in that house. There were two other white houses across the street. They were smaller, but just as pretty. They looked like family.

There were railroad tracks.

And old buildings that once were special to this small town. Had it really been a town?

There was an old post office that people still used. What fun it would be to have your own post office box! And a key to match it and to have to ride your bike to get your mail. I dreamed of having a post office box.

There were other old buildings that I wanted so badly to explore. They looked so intriguing.

And there were pecan trees. So many pecan trees. What I eventually came to understand was that this used to be a pecan orchard and some of those 'other old buildings' were the packing sheds.

The neighborhood smelled of onion grass and it made me want to reach my hand down under the earth and pull a small bunch out and take a bite. It smelled so delicious.

There were two matching silos. Had those been used for the pecans too? I wondered.

There was a dock that you could fish off or swim off or go crabbing off of. But you had to live there to do those things...

And we didn't.

That was the dream.

Mom and Dad would drive out there and imagine all of those things too. I'm sure just as I did, including wanting their very own post office box.

It was always a little sad when we would drive back home. To the house we knew and the busy street we lived on. Not that we didn't love that house too, but it just wasn't part of the dream.

I remember going to Park Day with our homeschooling group. We met at a house that was in Seabrook too (ironically this would one day be my family's house, my one-day-husband's family). As we turned left to go home, we would all longingly look out the car window to the right and say, "Maybe one day we will be able to turn right to go home..."

It was strange when that day came. I was 13 when we moved out here to this quiet little neighborhood. The roads were still dirt. The houses far apart. There were woods everywhere. Oh how we loved all those things.

Playing manhunt with friends became a favorite. Climbing trees and picking pecans off the ground to eat was another. Staying outside til after dark and taking long walks down to the dock that we could finally call our own, well it was a dream come true for my family.

We eventually moved into another house just down the road from the first one. I loved that house. I used to babysit for a family that lived in that house and now we did. It was strange at first. But it would eventually become our own.

I left that house to go to college. I remember the night before sitting on our porch swing. A favorite place. I cried. I had just said good-bye to my then boyfriend, who would become my husband. I didn't want to say goodbye to anyone else. Not to my parents or brother or sister. Or to my house where I felt so safe and at home.

I came back often to visit. I just couldn't stay away for long. I was sooo homesick.

I got married in that house. Well, in a church, but you know.

After that my parents decided to build a house in the neighborhood.

That decision didn't come easy.

I wasn't living at home anymore. I had my own house somewhere else. But that place was still so special to me. The thought that they wouldn't live there forever was a strange one for me. That I wouldn't be able to come sit on the porch swing made me sad. But things were happening out of their control and they knew they had to do something.

They put that sweet little white house up for sale.

I knew it was just a house. But it had been my house. I grow attached to things easily, so it was hard to let go the day they closed on it. It was so hard for many other reasons too.

My parent's world was starting to crumble. At first it was just small pieces. But then the pieces started to get bigger and bigger. We would later learn how big.

I remember watching my Daddy build this house. It seemed to take a really long time. So much was happening in his life and I remember thinking, building this house is what's saving him.

And I still believe that it did.

We don't really talk about that time much. It's almost like we aren't allowed. My parents have never said that. But it still feels that way. There were so many people involved. People we still know. People we were so close to.

That's just it. We were so close to so many and then we weren't.

How do you recover from that? I mean fully? How do you talk about it? How do you share honestly without causing further pain to others?

I don't want to do that. Not anymore at least. Maybe that's why I've waited so long to write about it. I'm not bitter anymore.. I've extended grace and forgiveness even when it wasn't reciprocated. I've moved passed the consuming anger, even if I still get angry.

Even though I would never want to cause further pain to those involved, I think it's important to acknowledge the hurt. I think it's ok to say, wait a minute, I've been left wounded.

Watching my parents go through that was excruciating. And still is at times. Knowing there was nothing I could do to take away their pain. Nothing I could do to help them regain their life as they new it before. And learning how much had truly been lost... the relationships, their identity and occupation, the good standing in their community and church, their reputation.  If it had just been money. If it had just been a house. If it had just been a job. If it had just been a friend or two.

But oh, it was so much more.

It was devastating and baffling and confusing. Almost like being side-swiped by a car. It just came out of nowhere and left our heads and lives spinning. The damage left us totaled, but mostly mom and dad.


But the hardest thing was to remember there used to be light in his eyes and there isn't anymore.

I know things are going to happen. I know that no church is immune to problems. I know that people are imperfect, that they make mistakes. It is foolish to expect anything else.

It's one thing to make mistakes. It's another to pass over someone lying in a proverbial ditch with a gaping heart-wound. That's just not ok. That's what it felt like.

But I guess in a way it is ok. Because nothing happens out of God's control. Nothing goes unnoticed by Him. Nothing happens in a person's life unless He deems it right and good and for our ultimate holiness and His ultimate glory. That's why we can forgive and move on and look to the future with hope.

If nothing else, (and there is so much more) I've learned that people are fragile. More fragile than we think. Sometimes we can't recover and wont until we reach heaven. Sometimes people smile when they really wish they would just die already. Sometimes their hurt runs so deep that several generations are effected by it.

People can't be looked at through a lens of black and white. We are so much more complex than that. And so our problems. I wish it wasn't so. I wish you could use a Bible verse like a bandaid. Or what worked for you. I wish we could expect people to give the right answer when they are hurting. But that's impossible when they still haven't found it yet.

You can't expect people to stand up and walk without a limp when they have been so badly crippled.

I've also learned that it's ok to talk about it as hard as it is. To share the pain. Not to inflict more pain, but in hopes of find healing for yourself and for others.

In giving us our stories, God never meant for us to keep silent about them. He meant for us to share them with speech seasoned with grace, as it were with salt. Sometimes salt burns. But sometimes that's needed for healing to take place.

So when I walk into this house that I now call home, it's sometimes weird to think that this is where my parents used to live and now I live here. I never lived here with them.

But I love that I live here now and that they live just behind us. At first I thought it would be hard to be so close. But after a year, it has only been good. So good.

So good to see my Daddy's house being used. Being filled with lots of grandchildren and noise and messes. That the table he built twenty plus years ago is still being dined upon by many who love him. Who know the man he is and used to be. And who only wish for his happiness and healing.

But even though it makes me so happy to be living here. I sometimes get sad too.

I get sad when I look at the concrete floor in the living room. I remember seeing it right after it was poured. I remember seeing my dad looking so beaten down. So discouraged and confused and hurt.

I remember the long hours he would be here. To escape. To survive.

I remember worrying so much. That he would fall or get hurt when he was by himself. That no one would know to come help him.  And no one really did know to come and help.

I remember watching Mom up so high on the scaffolding white washing the walls that turned out so beautiful.

I remember the question in her eyes. What's happened? Why?

I remember the isolation we all felt. And still feel at times. Knowing that people were innocently wondering and talking and not knowing how to treat us.

There is so much good represented in this house. There is so much pain too. Because it represents a time in the life of my family that is hard to remember. Hard to look back upon and see the good.

But we are choosing to see the good. And we are thankful for the blessings God has bestowed on our family. Not everything was lost. And so much was truly gained. Understanding God's grace over my life has been one of my greatest joys. I don't know if I would have otherwise.

I hope a year after living here wasn't too soon to share this story. I hope you understand my heart in this. I hope you see my family differently. I hope you see our fragility. But more importantly, I hope you see the strength of my Heavenly Father. And that His grace is all sufficient in our lives, no matter what course it may take. That you can be left standing!

Thanks, Daddy for the privilege of living under a roof that you built. It brings me so much pride to brag on you and your beautiful workmanship. You are one of the most gifted and talented men I know. I love that we are neighbors and that we share a yard. I love that your grandchildren run on floors that you laid. And that I cook in a kitchen you made. I love that you aren't perfect, that you make mistakes and that I can love you anyway. And I love that you love me the same. You and mom have come so far. God has given you a story. A story that is meant to be shared, so that His glory isn't wasted.
I love you, Daddy.

The Mom Look

Today is Saturday (if you weren't aware).

It's my 'free' day.

It sounds better than it actually is. Because although I don't have the weekday responsibilities looming over me, I have Saturday responsibilities looming instead. But don't get me wrong. I love Saturdays. This glorious day allows me to get caught up with the stuff that's fallen between the cracks during the week.

I should be catching up on dusting right now. But instead I'm catching up on blogging...

Last Monday was... well... a Monday.

It had been a day and half since my last shower. It had been two weeks since I had attempted the mountain of laundry. And it was the first day back to school (since Friday) and for some reason that always overwhelms me just a bit.

I had forgotten to eat breakfast as usual. I was feeling a bit on edge due to the 4 cups of coffee I had ingested so by 11:00 I was shaking-starving and quickly inhaled leftover rice and beans from the previous night. Good protein, right?

So when my husband called and told me that he was on 'this side of town, so how about we meet for lunch?' I of course said yes! (this never happens) But I looked down in horror at my appearance, plus I wasn't even hungry!

Oh well, I thought. I'll just throw on a hat. Besides, no one will notice and I can just sit and enjoy his company.

I didn't realize that my brother-in-law would be with him. Don't misunderstand, we love Brandon and it was a pleasant surprise. Until he said...

"Whoa... you got the Mom Look going on today!"

So, someone had noticed...

I laughed (really) and agreed with him. It was bad. So bad in fact that I took a picture.

I'm not sure why I enjoy humiliating myself...

I couldn't shake his comment for the rest of the day. Actually it's been a week. (but believe me, it's a good thing)

The Mom Look

I have laughed to myself repeatedly this week. It's true. I have the Mom Look these days. But I'm ok with that. More than that actually, I'm proud of it.

Lil' Mom in training

Because, guess what. I'm a MOM!! A mom of four little ones and they are my life, so why shouldn't I look the part?

If you are a mom and have never read, "Loving the Little Years" by Rachel Jankovic, you've just got to stop what your doing now (but finish reading this first!) and order it on Amazon. I promise you'll love it!

I LOVE what she had to say on "Me Time" and what that should mean to us moms. Here is a little excerpt from that chapter.

 

 

 

Scars and stretch marks and muffin tops are all part of your kingdom work. One of the greatest testimonies Christian women can have in our world today is the testimony of joyfully giving your body to another... the testimony of women who know the cost and joyfully pay it is profound. So make sure that you aren't buying into the world' propaganda. While there are a great many rewards, the sacrifice is very real. The reason so many women don't want to do it is because it is very hard and has very real costs. But the answer to these obstacles is not to run away in fear as the world does, but to meet it with joy, and in faith.

My very kind and wise husband once left a note for me on Easter morning, two weeks after Daphne was born. He wrote, "To my wife, before she even goes near the closet on Easter morning."... In it, he encouraged me to realize that there was no more fitting way to celebrate Easter (or any part of the Christian life) than in a body that has been undone on behalf of another.

So realize that your body is a testimony to the world of God's design. Carry the extra weight joyfully until you can lose it joyfully. Carry the scars joyfully as you carry the fruit of them. Do not resent the damages that your children left on your body. Just like a guitar mellows and sounds better with age and scratches, so your body can more fully praise God having been used for His purposes. So don't resent it, enjoy it!

I have definitely needed to be reminded of this 3.5 months post-baby. Having children takes a toll on your body, your mind and soul.

You are no longer just a woman or a wife. You are now a short-order cook, potty trainer, teacher (whether you home school or not),
etiquette instructor, launderer, cleaning service provider, nose wiper, nurse, chauffeur, kisser-of-boo-boos, discipline-er, etc...

And as our pastor's wife just said last Friday at our Play and Pray, "I am so proud of you all! You have the hardest job in the world." Gosh we need to hear that. Because it is hard and sometimes we can get lost. Lost climbing the mountain of laundry.

Motherhood changes you. And we must embrace that. Otherwise we will come to resent our mothering.

But at the same time, we can't let "The Mom Look" define us and take away our femininity. It's important to remember who we are for our own sanity and it's important for our husbands and children too. (oh gosh, I really need to hear this today too!)



In that same chapter Rachel says this,

Your body is a tool - maintain it. Having sacrificed your body for your children is no excuse for schlepping around in sweatpants for the rest of their childhood (oops!). When you were eighteen, you might have been skinny without trying. In your thirties, after having had a pile of kids, the chances are good that you will need to try.

 



I remember my 25th birthday. I had just given birth to my third child (literally the day of). We celebrated with my family a week or so after. I was so touched when my sister-in-law, Mom and sister decided to give me a 'make-over' as a gift. I tried not to let the thought seep in that they were doing this because they thought I needed it! Instead I enjoyed the pampering.

I will be forever grateful for that sweet act of kindness! I had really let myself go. I hadn't even realized it until I was in the store trying on clothes and shoes... when was the last time I did this! Amy my s-i-l was wonderful at helping me find a new style that I was in desperate need of.

That was five year ago. And I have learned so much about dressing nice and looking pretty for my man. Which doesn't always mean make-up and matching accessories.

But I find myself a little stuck these days. And I need to find myself... again.

I am going to have the Mom Look every now and then. And I'm ok with that, because that's where I am in life right now. I am a busy, homeschooling mom of four.

My body (and appearance) is bearing the fruit of motherhood. And that is a blessing that I do not take for granted. What a small sacrifice it is.

But I'm also a wife.

And a woman.

And it's important not to forget that. That's why just the other day I went and bought some new perfume and some stud (baby-pulling proof) earrings... and resisted buying new comfy 'workout' clothes (quotes b/c I don't wear them to work out in!).

Yes, it's fun to indulge and pamper yourself just a bit. But don't forget the true renewal and reminding you of who you are will only come from God and His Word.

This is so hard for me. But it truly works! God's Word is alive and it speaks to our hearts, not matter where we are stuck in life.

If you have an extra minute, skip on over to my friend's blog where she writes about some practical how-to's on how to make time for this. She should know, she's got 10 kids! And is still homeschooling 8 of them! And she's a real person! You'll love her.

Ok, back to my Saturday catch-up day! I'm getting a late start, but that's ok. I love sharing my heart with you and it helps me better understand what's going on inside me too. Thanks for the therapy!

Dinner

Nothing like living off the land...

or the water!