The little things are important.

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Many of my conversations with others share this common theme; this need for purpose, excitement, newness. The hum drum tasks of life just don’t quite cut it and we are constantly searching for more.

When I break it down it’s all quite confusing. I’ve heard my whole life how Jesus is rest for the weary, and there have been times in my life where I have felt that so strongly. But hand in hand I have also gotten the message that I must do and achieve and work hard for his kingdom. In the Christian culture, aren’t missionaries idolized? We don’t look at stay at home moms or businessmen and say “wow. Look what they are doing for the kingdom of God”.

What a mistake we are making. To promote this culture where doing more equates to serving Jesus more. I just don’t buy it.

And so I’ve been on this mission in my own life to really sink my teeth into the sweetness of every single moment. To treat the little tasks in my life as if they were a great adventure with so much purpose and meaning. Because even though it may not always look like it, everything we do has promise.

Of course serve. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do things for others or get out of our comfort zone, but what I am saying is that the little things are important. Grand gestures and big ideas aren’t always the best ones.

I guess the key is, are we listening to Gods voice? Are we so in tune with that greater plan that we can feel content in every moment because we know what we are doing has a purpose beyond what we can imagine? It’s so hard to live in that peace. But that’s what I want for my life. Not the certainty that I’m doing everything right, or that Im impressing anyone, but the acceptance that everything I do has a purpose and it’s never not enough.

The little things are important.

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Many of my conversations with others share this common theme; this need for purpose, excitement, newness. The hum drum tasks of life just don’t quite cut it and we are constantly searching for more.

When I break it down it’s all quite confusing. I’ve heard my whole life how Jesus is rest for the weary, and there have been times in my life where I have felt that so strongly. But hand in hand I have also gotten the message that I must do and achieve and work hard for his kingdom. In the Christian culture, aren’t missionaries idolized? We don’t look at stay at home moms or businessmen and say “wow. Look what they are doing for the kingdom of God”.

What a mistake we are making. To promote this culture where doing more equates to serving Jesus more. I just don’t buy it.

And so I’ve been on this mission in my own life to really sink my teeth into the sweetness of every single moment. To treat the little tasks in my life as if they were a great adventure with so much purpose and meaning. Because even though it may not always look like it, everything we do has promise.

Of course serve. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do things for others or get out of our comfort zone, but what I am saying is that the little things are important. Grand gestures and big ideas aren’t always the best ones.

I guess the key is, are we listening to Gods voice? Are we so in tune with that greater plan that we can feel content in every moment because we know what we are doing has a purpose beyond what we can imagine? It’s so hard to live in that peace. But that’s what I want for my life. Not the certainty that I’m doing everything right, or that Im impressing anyone, but the acceptance that everything I do has a purpose and it’s never not enough.

Creating not Becoming

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I’ve always been creative, but I’ve never been able to nail it down to one passion. I love acting, singing, decorating, writing-the list goes on and on. I love to create.

For so many years I thought I had to choose. How could I be all of those things? It didn’t fit into what I had been subconsciously absorbing since I was a little girl: that I had to choose something to be known for. Not to mention, that being known by others was of utmost importance.

Creating became a source of great pain for me throughout college and years after. It felt too hard. There was too much pressure, I couldn’t choose what I wanted to be the creator of. I retreated into myself. I was able to skate by using only the creativity I needed to create lesson plans for my preschool class and nothing much more.

Still the nudge to create kept seeping into every area of my life and I couldn’t stop it. I auditioned for a show, got in, and spent the next two years creating as an actress. It was glorious. And then I got pregnant, slowed down, and that desire to create onstage took a back seat to a different form of creativity-writing. For the first time in my life I was content with the switch. I wasn’t afraid I would lose theatre, I knew that would be there when I needed it. I didn’t feel like I was choosing, I felt like I was just cycling creativity to match my phases of life. It was unexplainably freeing.

This morning I am organizing and redecorating the house, which is one of my favorite creative outlets. Under our guest room bed I have been storing my keyboard and guitar, untouched for a few years. As I pulled them out from the dust bunnies, I felt that suffocating need to put these instruments to good use. My mind flipped over to schedule mode and I began to strategize how to get practice time in every day, setting goals to lead worship in church as a seasoned pianist. And then I stopped myself. This was all wrong. These are creative outlets, to be used as I desire, on my own time, in their own cycle. I can put them up in the guest room to be more accessible, but they are about creating, not becoming something more.

You see, there’s nothing wrong with becoming something. Goals are wonderful things, and sometimes we have to push ourselves to reach our goals. But for a perfectionist like myself who sets goals for everything, the importance of creating with no need to become anything is so important.

I challenge you my friends, to create to your hearts content without asking that you always become. Take a pottery class for no reason, or paint a watercolor of your backyard, no strings attached. The pressure for everything we do to be moving us towards “success” is exhausting. Creating allows us to be without needing us to become.

Why Me

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Today as I was nursing Lilah before her nap, I felt an overwhelming sense of thankfulness at the little person wrapping her little arm around my waist. But that feeling of thankfulness was followed by another familiar question: why me?

I’ve wondered this at so many times throughout my life, both the good and the bad. But now as a mother I wonder: Why have I been given a child when others struggle to have one? Why am I able to nurse my little girl in peace while other babies are ripped from their mothers arms at the border? Why do I sit here a beautiful beach house while others sit amidst the dirt and grime of poverty, begging for food to feed their babies.

Why me?

I’ve been asking questions as early as I can remember. I’ve always been obsessed with fairness, justice. I don’t understand why some of us suffer more than others. Why some of us claw our way through life while others float by.

So many times I just stand there, look up, and ask “what the hell are you doing?”

Sometimes It’s in the midst of my own suffering; the deepness of my own thoughts has caused me much pain. But the older I’ve become, the more I’ve come to recognize my own privilege. The more my heart breaks for those who were given something different, a life I could never even imagine.

And while I believe that there is purpose in it all, that all things work together for good (Romans 8:28), I am still saddened, outraged, shocked over the things I see going on all around me. More often than not I cannot grasp that any of it is good.

I find myself praying that I will see things clearly. That my heart would break for those things in this world that really matter. That God would lead me into dark places without fear, that he would use my privilege to love others. If not that, what have I been given all of this for?

I wrestle with wanting to stay in my bubble. Wanting to avoid fear and pain, failure. But that bubble is also a prison that will rob me of true life.

Why me? I have no clue. But I will not waste it.

The Days Are Long

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Veteran mamas always tell me, “the days are long, but the years are short”. I hate that they are right.

Here I am, with 7 months of motherhood behind me already. My little girl has a tooth. How did we go from tiny little peanut on an ultrasound screen to this? It’s surreal. And yet it’s reality. Time just keeps on ticking.

But the days are long. The early mornings, the singing my thoughts all day to keep her entertained, the random errands to keep us busy (that may or may not end in me crying because-social anxiety). Those make up some long days.

The binge watching Netflix days (you know the ones). Where you have a little one or two playing at your feet, with My 600lb Life playing in the background all morning because you can’t quite keep your sanity.

But more often than not, in this new season of motherhood, the lengthy days have very little to do with her and much more to do with me. The thoughts that plague my brain over and over. “Am I doing any of this right?”, “am I a lazy housewife?”, “am I engaging her enough? Kissing her and squeezing her enough?”. The googling what’s normal, what stage she’s in, etc.

Ok maybe, some of you are just feeling like this day got a lot longer just reading the thoughts of this type A, anxiety prone mama, but my bet is you’ve been there too. Because there’s no manual. It’s all new. I am learning who she is and what she needs every day. But I am also learning who I am now, what I need, how to do both. Doing both, that’s what makes the days long. Her little smile and giggle, and teeny tiny hands grabbing my feet, that’s just a puddle of joy amidst my own intense thoughts.

Maybe a few years from now I’ll check back in with a toddler and a baby and tell you to forget everything I said before, that the kids make the days long-the tantrums, and throwing food, the balancing both, and keeping everyone alive. But for now, It’s just me and her. And I’m doing my very best to learn how to let go, but also hang on.

The most beautiful, frightening, journey I’ve ever been on. Blindly walking in who knows what direction, holding this teeny tiny person as close as I possibly can, and hoping for the best.

Thank you to my support system. You people are angels. Love you.

Forgetting Jesus

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Jesus has long been my confidant when God just seems too big, too busy, too far away. Jesus has always made sense to me. He lived on this earth, experienced the bittersweet that is life. He cried (more on that later), got sick, was betrayed by friends. He was fully human. And so when I feel like maybe God is just a little bit out there, Jesus always makes sense.

And yet today I forgot about Jesus. Not completely. I woke up thinking about how it was Good Friday and how I should probably carve out some time to rest in the presence of God or to sit at the feet of Jesus, something Good Fridayish. But then Lilah woke up screaming, I burnt my eggs at breakfast, Eric got home around lunch time to let me escape. And all of a sudden my to do list was way more important. It was Loooonnngggg and I was itching to check off all my boxes (literally).

I just happened to be texting with my cousin this afternoon who is one of my mama peeps-she keeps me sane, and on track, and in the know since she’s seasoned. She told me about a beautiful service she had gone to this morning and I immediately thought, “oh right, Jesus. I should probably make time for him today” and then I literally cringed at myself. Ugh. I’m doing it again! My to do list is light years ahead of my desire to sit with Jesus.

But despite the fact that I might have missed the mark a little bit today, there are two things that I found myself thinking about all day today:

1. Jesus wept (okay this isn’t technically the Easter story, but who cares)

2. Jesus had help carrying his cross.

“Jesus wept (John 11:35)” has always been one of my favorite verses. It’s even proudly displayed in our living room. People give me all sorts of odd looks when they see it and the bolder ones ask if it’s an inside joke. Seems a little bit dismal, huh? Well not to me. This little verse screams HOPE to me. I feel like a kindred spirit with this Jesus, the one who cries when life is scary and sad just like me. I can get behind a God who cries, yes I can.

Similarly I love the image of a man from the crowd, carrying Jesus’ cross for him. Hallelujah, it’s not just me, the God of the universe has help when times get tough!

Last week was a nasty one for me for many many reasons. One of those weeks where you’re just barely bobbing above the surface of the chaos. I had a few meltdowns, and then a few more. I begged Eric not to go to work, and cried myself to sleep. That kind of a week. Eventually I called upon my friends, although it took me a while to get there. And they came through so beautifully! But I wish I would have remembered this piece from the Easter story-that Jesus needed help too. He couldn’t carry the weight of the world on his own, he was tired. I hope that I will remember this next time (because for sure there will be a next time) and I won’t hesitate to call on the people around me when I feel like I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

People, religion is messy, scary, really disappointing a lot of times. But I can honestly say that Jesus has always been a constant. He gets it, he’s been there, he knows. And so when nothing else makes sense, I will call on him.

Done With the Mom Thing.

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My sweet girls’ smile, her excitedly kicking feet, her laugh, those big observant eyes. When I’m not near her I want to be, I crave holding her little body close. That same little person requires so much of my energy, time, and patience. The nap struggle, feeding from me like I’m a dairy farm, does she need more tummy time or less, google this symptom and that. The mom thing can be exhaustingly beautiful. And so when I need to I’m learning to say “I am done with the mom thing. ”

Heaven forbid that as mothers we choose to relinquish titles and responsibilities to spend time doing our own thing. GASP! Don’t worry, Lilah is well cared for when I take time off from mamahood. I never do so at her expense. But oh how desperately I want my little girl to know how to love and care for herself. And I can show her how by knowing when I need to be done with the mom thing.

Last night I went to a friend’s musical. And as I watched, I felt this passion rise inside me that has been resting for over a year. How I love to perform. And how I love to do so many things outside of my role as a mom. I might even argue that pursuing those passions in tangible ways is just as important as being there constantly for my little one. Because as much as she needs my attention and affection and my boobs, she also needs my example. The example of a woman who follows her heart, whose driven, and dynamic, and multifaceted.

So be bold my mama (and daddy) friends! Follow your dreams and your heart. Make your children a priority But don’t make them your entire world, because really that is doing them a disservice. To my Lilah lu, I hope that you always know how much your mama loves you and also how much your mama tries to care for herself. I love you little one❤️

Naps Change Everything

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I’m obsessed with sleep these days. Constantly thinking about my warm comfy bed, or more often, how to get lulu to stay asleep long enough for me to close my eyes. She’s a professional sleep fighter like her mama. Not sure why, but sleep feels like letting go, which is hard for me, and apparently my poor daughter has inherited her mother’s odd sleep habits. Sorry babe!

But oh how a good nap soothes the soul, both hers and mine. We’re different people when we rest, kind and gentle. When I’m tired, I can barely make a sandwhich, I snap at everyone, use flowery language because no filter. I’m really a mess without sleep.

It’s gotten me thinking a lot about rest. How our culture leads us away from true rest, and yet how much we all need it. I don’t know about you, but I get anxiety when I don’t have my phone. For years before we had Lilah, I needed the TV on to fall asleep. The quiet rest is what is missing. It’s hard to shut off our brains isn’t it? A little boring to meditate or sit in silence. One of the reasons I love to run is because it’s a rest for my soul, yet my body is still moving. I think that’s as close to real rest as I’ll ever get.

But I wonder how our lives would change if we rested more. And I don’t mean naps or Netflix binges (although nothing wrong with a little Greys anatomy). What I mean is a break from all the noise. Driving to work without the radio, doing chores with just our minds to occupy us, taking a walk with just ourselves-phone away. As silly as it sounds, many of us are fearful of being alone with ourselves. Our thoughts and feelings can feel scary or overwhelming. But it’s a disservice to not know ourselves. Every corner of our heart and minds should be explored. How can we love well if we don’t take the time to rest and know who we truly are?

In a world where there is so much noise, so much doing, so much chaos, my soul craves true rest. I find myself floundering when I can’t find that. And while I know true rest is found in the presence of God, I also know that the noise all around me makes it hard for me to hear God, see God, follow God. And sometimes I’m too angry about life’s hardships to seek and so I just rest, and that is enough.

Connection to self is connection to God. Knowing God is knowing self.

Even if the sight of the word God on this page makes you cringe and roll your eyes. Know that is my journey and my truth. Whether you bring God into it or not, rest your soul today.

You’re a Good Mom If…

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For years I have heard mothers labeled as “good moms” and “bad moms”. As a middle class white Christian woman, most of the people I know are labeled by society as “good moms” (which is a whole other issue of discussion). However after working years in foster care, I have also gotten to know the ones that many call “bad moms”. And oh it breaks my heart. It breaks my heart that there’s this division between who is a good mom and who is not. A “good mom” is really one step away from a “bad mom” if we take away her resources. Could any of us really do it if we had a colicky baby in a one room apartment with no partner or family to support us, barely any money for food, and an addiction that has gripped us for years? And yet some of us have all the resources and struggle still.

Motherhood is NOT easy.

I want to scratch “good mom” and “bad mom” from our vocabularies. Because it produces shame, plants guilt, fosters hopelessness. I think many of us wonder if we are truly a good mom, regardless of how the world labels us. We wonder if we’re giving our little one everything they need, supporting their development, creating a healthy bond. But there are so many colors and shades of those colors when it comes to motherhood. We all do it differently. And that is more than okay-it is a gift.

You’re a good mom if you breastfeed or bottle feed, or whether you get milk from a donor whose producing like a farm cow. You’re a good mom if you vaccinate or don’t vaccinate-because both can be scary and the choices can feel hard. You’re a good mom if your baby sleeps on you all day or if they have a beautifully designed sleep schedule. You’re a good mom if your hair looks nice every day or if it’s in a greasy messy bun. You’re a good mom if your house is a mess or if it’s clean and organized. You’re a good mom if you lost all that baby weight upfront or if it’s hanging on for dear life. You’re a good mom if you struggle with a mental illness or if your seratonin functions like a champ. You’re a good mom if your kids have never had a Dorito or if it’s Dino nuggets for dinner every night. You’re a good mom if your little people get baths every night or once a week (if you’re lucky). You’re a good mom if your kids go to private school, public school, or are homeschooled. You’re a good mom if you’ve lived in the same house they’re whole lives or moved around a bunch. You’re a good mom if you back delicious treats for your kids or if you use your oven as storage. You’re a good mom if you’re up in the morning with a pep in you’re step or if you need 75 cups of coffee not to yell everything that comes out if your mouth. You’re a good mom on the days you have patience and the days you do not. You’re a good mom if your kid ends up in rehab, or if they struggle through a mental illness, or if they defy everything you’ve ever taught them. You’re a good mom if you love your kids and are doing your best-whatever that looks like for you. And sometimes that means dumping the kids on someone else for a few hours and crying under the comforter. Sometimes it means taking 3 buses to get to a one hour visit with your kids, trying not to cry as you wonder how you lost them. Sometimes our best is barely breathing. And sometimes we’ve got to pull up our bootstraps and do the things anyway. But we’re all different. Motherhood looks different for all of us. And at the end of the day all of our kids will need therapy anyway.

Mom Expectations-No Thanks

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Yesterday I got out of the house AND took a shower! Double win!  I spent my time out getting myself a 2018 planner because I’ve been without one for over a week now and I’m barely surviving (type A personality problems). When I am out on my own, I feel like I can breathe again. Lilah needs so much from me that sometimes I don’t even realize that I’ve neglected myself until there’s someone else watching out for her and I can just take a minute to be fully in my body. I don’t know whether it’s my own personality, or the pressure of our culture, or just this overall sense of fear that these moments will disappear and I won’t be able to get them back, but I often feel mom expectations strangling me.

It started when I was pregnant. The pressure to adorably capture every single week with a bump picture was suffocating. I never remembered, and part of me just didn’t care about doing it. But I would see other pregnant friend’s posts on social media and I would immediately panic because I wasn’t doing that. Was I missing something? Was I neglecting to capture these memories for my baby girl? And now she’s here, and the pull to capture every little moment, and document every smile, is even stronger. Sure I take a lot of pictures (have you seen that sweet little face?), and I journal most days and include Lilah milestones in that, but not a lot of planned memory capturing going on here. Of course I had high hopes going into this mama thing that I would create an organized online photo album and write all about Lilah’s day every single evening. But instead, our pictures of Lilah are hanging out somewhere in the cloud, and sleep is much more important to me at night than anything else.

Yesterday afternoon, after a particularly panicky moment in regards to my failure to organize my daughter’s memories, I found myself thinking about what is important to me from my childhood. My amazing mom kept journals and calendars for us and it really is fun to see what I was doing 2 weeks after birth, but honestly I can count on one hand the amount of times I have looked at those. But that picture of me running down the beach in my duck bathing suit? I look at that all the time. And that blanket I slept with until I was 10? It houses more memories than I can even explain. And above all else the most important things have been the things my parents taught me. The hours and hours a day my mom spent teaching me to read and write my name. The evenings when my dad would come home and wrestle with us until we could barely breathe we were laughing so hard. Those things above all else, I hold onto.  The other stuff, while sweet and fun to look at, isn’t a must. I don’t have to do it, and Lilah will be okay, I will be okay.

When wrestling against a certain expectation, I always ask myself if this would be important to the Ingalls family (you know, Little House on the Prairie). And what I mean by that is, was it something that they needed to survive or be happy? It’s my favorite way of bringing myself back to the basics. What do I need here? What does Lilah need here? Is this thing I am obsessing over really all that important? Did Ma and Pa keep endless memory boxes for Laura and her siblings? Nope. They didn’t even have photographs then and yet no one cared that they didn’t know what they looked like as a baby. And I bet that Ma spent way more time experiencing and way less time documenting. And hey, that’s not to say that I’m not going to bask in the beauty that is modern technology, but I’m sure I can learn a few things from the way that they lived their lives.

While I know I will forever battle these expectations of momhood- which bottles to use, or if co-sleeping is safe, or should you really give an infant Tylenol before shots-I am working every day to  create experiences whether I capture them forever or not. Documenting events will not be my obsession, but experiencing them. Lilah may not have a neat little picture album, and the journal of her first year of life may be filled with her mama’s own struggles and insecurities, but I will make sure that she has beautiful, challenging, comforting memories to hold onto for her entire life.