A quick thought.

Child #1 has toy.

Child #2 grabs at toy,

(naturally).

Child #1 doesn't give it up.

Child #2 hits Child #1 

(Is this starting to sound familiar)?

Child #1 yells "Don't hit me! God made me!"

<Record screech>

What in the world?!

Fast forward a couple of days later... 

Child #1 is talking to Siri, the creepy woman who lives in our phones.

I hear a beep beep from the phone and then Child #1 say, "God made me! Don't cut me off."

Now of course, there is a whole lot of human nature going on in these two scenarios, but there's also the knowledge that "God made me, I am special, and pretty darn important to Him."

What if we all walked around knowing that God made us-- that we have a destiny and a purpose and that He thinks we are special and pretty darn important....? 

What if we all walked around remembering that God thinks the same thing of all the people we encounter every day... What would that look like?

Dang right, you must get that from your mother! Part two.

Finally!! A minute to sit and get the second part of this enormous lesson out of my head.

It's becoming more and more clear to me that we become parents not only to, and maybe I will even dare to say, NOT to parent new humans, but to explore and learn and be guided in a whole new side of ourselves that God put in us for HIS purposes.

It (being life, everything in life) is always about our relationship with him. Always. It never isn't.

And yes, of course, to achieve all of the goodness God has on this parenting journey, we must in fact be PARENTS, but ultimately we are ALL His children. He has us. He has them.

We are just standing in--

and in my little opinion, it's not because he needs us to. It's because we need us to.

Mind. Blown.

I think about my dear Simon boy a lot. I love him. I take care of him. I can tell you his schedule, I can sort of tell you his likes, I can definitely tell you his dislikes-- and I can tell you most of this in the context of Judah-- his big sister. Naturally, he is the stereotypical second child. I have in fact, not only forgotten his name, but I have forgotten he exists.

For instance, Simon likes when Judah jumps up and down. Simon doesn't like Judah to take toys from him. Meal times are mostly about screaming for food because I am not only focused on feeding him but also feeding his sister. These said screaming sessions, lead me to believe that he really likes to eat... so forth and so on. I learn about him, mostly because of his interactions with his big sister.

and this isn't bad, it is what it is.

 He was born into a family with a sister who likes to manage, likes to talk, a lot, likes to oversee and organize-- He will be the person he was destined to be largely because of the circumstances he was born into. Hence why many first borns, second borns etc. are predictable in many ways.

 Anyway, Simon was in his 10th month of life and really didn't have any words at all.

 NOW before anyone starts thinking that I am expecting too much, or thinking that I think he should be more like his sister-- that's not what this is about. I am the SPOKESPERSON for kids developing on their own timelines-- and not forcing anything on them.
I wasn't concerned about his speech or development.

I was concerned for my sanity.

I couldn't take the screaming and yelling for what he needed (specifically at meal times) anymore. My head was about to explode.

I remember the day. Just looking up to the heavens. Oh dear LORD, why won't this kid just TALK?!

And I remember so clearly the answer.

"You talk about him. You talk around him. How often do you talk to him?"

GULP.

That was it. I sat down. I looked at him. "Simon, it seems like you need something. Can I get you some more?"

This seems elementary. I know. It is!

But when you have 8,576,000 things to do and think about at one time and then a preschooler QUESTIONING your every move--- you don't take much time to talk to the screamer! You hear the scream and you do whatever has to be done to MAKE IT STOP.

Two days later he was asking for more. Praise you sweet Jesus. Seriously.

This got me thinking. God wanted me to focus on Simon. To build an intentional connection with him- an intentional relationship.

Through this seemingly small change, Simon was able to move into his full potential at the moment.

Relationship matters.

What would happen if we focused our energy for just one day, even, on being super intentional in our love and communication with the people around us? Would they, in turn, move into their full potential? Would we all feel more alive?

What would happen if we stopped talking about God-- but made a significant effort to speak with him. What would happen if we actually made our relationship with Jesus, a relationship that we pursued with focus, discipline and intention?

I bet there would be a change. I bet we would hear him. I bet prayers wouldn't seem so distant. We would know Him, and I bet His realness to us-- would be the light that we need to shine in darkness.

I hope that I can continue to pursue intentional relationships in my life. I hope my children see that,
and I hope that I hear one day I hear someone say to them, "You must get that from your mother!"

Update: Dang right, you must get that from your mother! Part One.

I just have so much to get out in this tiny blog post.

These lessons, these thoughts and ideas... they dance around in my head taking up precious space. I make lists so I don't forget, but it doesn't matter. The dance doesn't end until I get them OUT. So this blog... this is for me, mostly. I share because it's nice to know I'm not alone. And if I think that, than you probably think it's nice to know YOU aren't alone. So I'm sharing.

But mostly... I just need to get it out.

Today there is just too much. Too much to get out in the minute amount of time between my eyes holding themselves open and my eyes giving up the fight. So this post will probably continue on, for one, maybe two, more times. Bear with me. I hope it all comes together.

I'll start with an update. Awhile ago when I wrote this post, I was feeling like a major failure as a mom. I was feeling like a fanatical, crazy, looney person. It was one of those moments when I couldn't have been more grateful that Mary lost Jesus.

I felt like my kids were turning out terribly. I felt like they were learning awful habits and inheriting crazy mindsets and obsessive behaviors from me. ME! The one who was supposed to be their example.

The one who they spend 99% of their time with was losing her mind.

Well, I just have to update here. So that I know that at some point in my life I was capable of change. I was capable of seeing a mistake and changing it-- even if it's not consistent, even if it doesn't last forever. I am still malleable and teachable. And that's what matters right? No one is perfect, but if God can change us, if He can move us, then theres HOPE.

Phew.

Since that blog post, my floor is crumby, and sticky. There's clutter around-- and I do freak out. I do feel my heart beat a bit faster, but not nearly as much. I have made it a point to spend more time with music on. I have made it a point to pray out loud more, to worship out loud more. I have made it a point to be silly and to use my imagination. I have even made it a point to spend more time outside.

This is what I hear from J now:

"Mom, we forgot to pray! Can you pray for us?"
or
"I think I'll pray by myself tonight."

(She even found her own little spot on the night stand where she talks to God in the sweetest little whisper, and thanks Him for nearly everything imaginable).

I hardly ever hear "It's a mess in here!" Instead I hear randomly throughout the day...
"Mom, I just love you."
"Simon, buddy, I love you."
"Hey Dad? I love you."

ALL. THE. TIME.

The other day after we visited a friend, J and I decided to pick up dinner for everyone back at home. I pulled into a parking spot in the Chipotle plaza, J yells out, "Mom! You did it! You made it to Chipotle! Great job!"

And she thanks us frequently for the smallest things.

She is developing the most thankful, kind, loving and encouraging heart.

My eyes well up and my throat gets lumpy, but not for the same reasons as before.

I see it. I see Him moving. As He changes and molds me into the full expression of who I was created to be-- she is released to be who He has created her to be too.

Wow.

Taking a step back and realizing where we are broken, realizing where we are in need of a grace-filled God is not only necessary for our personal development and well-being, it's necessary for our kid's as well.

This parenting thing-- this is NOT what I signed up for. It's kind of better ;)

Learn your baby

*** Disclaimer: The first half of this post is dripping with exaggeration and sarcasm. I know my husband will read this and say "welllllll, that's not entirely true." I'm going to extremes to make a point. Just keep reading!

It's becoming pretty clear to me, and probably to you, if you have been following this blog, that I struggle with control issues. I even considered renaming this blog to "control freaks anonymous" but I discovered something like this already exists. So then I considered joining the group. Kidding. Sort of.

You can imagine what happens when a struggling freak has a second baby. First baby slept so well, did everything so well... so second baby will too, if treated in the same. exact. way.

Let's just all take a minute and LOL over that one.

Well, that was me. Our first was a delightful little peach. Our lives didn't change much at all in the beginning. We took her everywhere and she just willingly and happily hung out. She was the definition of a baby who CHILLED. She LOVED a schedule. She loved consistency. So she was the PERFECT baby for me. She fit so well into my little controlled atmosphere.

People would comment. I would smile. Life was sweet.

Other people would have babies and they would ask "What did you do???" I would tell them of my "perfect" little routine that worked so well for us, and encouraged them (because OF COURSE it was the way we swaddled her, the way we sang to her, the way we fed her and napped her and bathed her....) that our way would work for them too!

But it didn't always.

Then I would hear the common excuse of "every baby is different." You've heard it too, right? I would smile and nod, secretly thinking... "no... every baby is the same, you just aren't doing this parenting thing RIGHT."

If you want,  please take another moment and LOL.

Then I had a second baby.

Although, we lived in a different apartment, I set it up the exact same way. Bassinet by the bed, nap nanny on the kitchen floor, burp cloths strategically placed around the house. I made sure the oldest was potty trained and binky free. (Only need to deal with ONE baby at a time, people!!) There were locks on the refrigerator, the bathroom door, and the closets, so that when I couldn't see the oldest I would know she was safe. She had a basket of special toys for when the baby had to nurse and everything was going to be JUST WONDERFUL.

Do it again. LOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!

Holy MOTHER! WHY DIDN'T THE SECOND BABY WANT HIS BINKY?!

Why did he want to nurse ALL the time?!

As I stood by his bassinet, with him swaddled the "right"  way, rocking him the "right"way so that he would get just sleepy enough to put down but not totally asleep, singing the SAME song I would sing to the first kid every time she would nap, and forcefully shoving the binky into his mouth.

I heard the whisper.

It said "Learn your baby."

WHAT?

"Learn your baby."

Oh. Damn.

What now?

I stopped rocking him. I held him. I let him sleep in my arms (just this ONE time, of course!). I took a big deep breath and let those words wash over me.

It was so easy to forget that this little baby was a special unique human being who had a special and unique personality.

There was no time to spend in babyland with a 2 year old toddler bouncing around. He was forgotten about all. the. time.

I actually remember being at a party when he was about 3 months old when someone asked me what my son's name was. I stared at them for a long time until they (finally) said "Is it Simon?"

I had COMPLETELY forgotten I had a son!!

It was time to take a step back and make a plan with God. Slow down, and figure out this baby. Slow down and love the beautifulness that he brought to the table.

In doing this, I have learned SO much about each of my children. Because of their differences I get to know them better. Because of their differences I am expanding my parenting abilities. Because of their differences I am

giving up control.

God is able to mold me and shape me more into the person He created me to be.

I get to spend time with God journaling and brainstorming how to raise each child. (see picture above from my last session)

It's not the same. Our parenting is always based on some of the same principles such as respect, love and boundaries; but these look different for each of them.

This makes me think of how many children God has. We are all different, but sometimes we expect Him to treat us all the same. Or even worse... we judge others because of how they feel God is dealing with them.

EEEEK.

God is BIG. We are intricate. He made us and He knows how to care for each of us.

It doesn't look the same.

I wonder how much more unified the church may look, if we could grasp this.

How much more love would be flying around??

Thanks God, thankful for this lesson. Rip the control, rip the RELIGION right out of me. I'm ready.

Are you?

How Lovely to be a Woman

Awhile ago, there was a video floating around of men wearing bands around their stomachs and backs that imitated the sensations of labor pain. A sort of experiment to see if they could handle the pressure.  I have to admit, I thought it was kind of lame, and didn't watch the entire thing through. But from what I understand once the labor pains became super intense the men went BALLISTIC.

Could. Not. Deal.

I believe this.

What I don't believe though, is THIS:

As a birth worker, I hear men say all the time that they could never give birth (if given the proper parts of course!), that they could not endure the labor and birth journey.

I used to believe this was true and let me tell you, with every womanly part of me, I still desperately want to believe that they (men, that is) would never have the strength and that women are the superior gender! THERE.

But I just can't.

I hope I can explain why. Just after I had given birth to our first babe, I was traumatized! Totally, in shock, did not know WHAT just happened, and never ever ever wanted to go through it again. There was an inkling of pride and accomplishment, but mostly just trauma. Yeah.

I wanted to understand. I wanted to know WHY it had to be so intense. WHY God couldn't have just rescued me out of my "misery." WHY did the contractions had to get THAT intense before my baby could be born?

I am so humbled by what He showed me. Here it is. Ready?

Giving birth is a BIG deal. Bringing new life into the world is a BIG deal.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that you already knew that. But really? Think about it.

Did you?

It happens every single day. Multiple times a day. Millions of babies are born every. single. day. If I told you that my aunt's sister-in-law's cousin's daughter's baby was born today, would you even think twice about it? You wouldn't.

But when a woman is in labor, she is bringing ANOTHER HUMAN BEING INTO THE WORLD. My aunt's sister-in-law's cousin's daugther's baby is another person on this planet who will live and breathe and CHANGE the lives around him for better or for worse.

This person's life will make a difference.

God showed me that bringing forth new life is pricey. It's not easy, it's really damn hard. But it's worth it. It's worth it because the pain is for a purpose. It's for a baby. It's for an incredible love to be born between three people that will be unlike the love they have ever experienced. It is for the world to be changed.

Just like Jesus.

I often ask... How Jesus? Why Jesus, did you endure the cross? And now I have my answer.

NEW LIFE.

The pain was bearable because it was for a purpose: ME. YOU. HIM. HER.

We are worth it.

Just this past week, I had the incredible honor of supporting a friend through labor and birth. While debriefing she was speechless; searching for the words to describe her (beautiful) experience. She mentioned war. She mentioned being caught up in a war with no one to rescue her. I said to her, "But wait, you got a baby though." She thought again, "well, I guess then, it was like Jesus and the cross."

YES.

Today, I sat in church, pondering what God had shown me three years ago and what he showed my friend this past week. Then He hit me with it. The kicker. He said,

"You did it even before you experienced your daughter's love for you. Before you even knew her, you made the choice to give her life."

He did it before we knew Him. Before He could feel the satisfaction of our love. He did it knowing that we may never choose him.

That's pain with a purpose. That's LOVE.

And that's also why I have to believe that men, if physically capable, could bear the pain of giving birth. That every human being is capable of this kind of LOVE. It's what we were created for.

When I look at my children, I am humbled and honored to be a woman. To be able to experience a part of Jesus that is reserved just for women.

A part of Him that, for now, men can not fully understand.

You must get that from your mother

There are crumbs covering the kitchen counter. There are smushed blueberries all over the kitchen floor. The coffee table that I am resting my feet on is covered with keys, a jean jacket, books, a pretend baking pan, a water bottle, crocs, a paper towel with Chipotle chip crumbs on it, a journal, a shirt, a pair of feet pajamas, wipes, six tea-party cups, two bibs, a remote control, a sheet of stickers and a baby ergo.

It's a mess in here. 

That's not to mention the couch that I made room to sit on. 

I can only BEGIN to tell you how much this mess makes my head spin. It's constant. All. The. Time. It's no matter how many times I put things away, they come back. Everyone hears about it. The kids, the cats, my friends, my mommy acquaintances, and my husband. 

This mess has it's own blog post for goodness sakes! 

The mess stresses me out and poisons every part of my life. When the house is messy I feel distracted. I feel dirty, I feel busy, I feel like I can't sit and enjoy, well, anything. I'm constantly moving. Constantly telling the kids "in a minute, let me just clean up..."  and constantly pushing my husband away so I can wipe a countertop or clean a dish. I can hardly focus on writing this post because the coffee table looks the way it does! 

Clutter has hijacked my life. 

Lately, Ive been hearing things like this out of my almost three year-old's mouth: 

"It's a mess in here!" 

"Mom, can you fix my bed, it's a mess!"

"Let me just wipe my baby's face, it's a mess!" 

I'm remembering how impressionable children are. For better... or worse. 

My eyes well up a bit, my throat gets lumpy. 

Lately, I've also been hearing things like this: 

Me: "Let's thank God for our meal, do you want to pray?"

J: "No."

"Stop praying mom."

"I don't want to pray, you pray." 

Or,

Me: "Did Jesus say anything to you?"

J: "No, he was sleeping."

What kind of example am I setting for my children? Am I who I want them to be? 

Why do I pray and worship when they can't see but fret and worry when they can? 

Will I be proud when someone says "You must get that from your mother..."?

I look again at the coffee table. The kitchen counter. There are muffin crumbs because we had a breakfast treat this morning. There are keys because we went outside today. There are books because we love to read and visit the library. There are crocs because I found the perfect orange crocs on sale today that I know J will just love! There is a paper towel with chip crumbs because we shared a snack together. There is a a tea party set and baking pans because my daughter loves to use her imagination! The list could go on. 

A friend mentioned to me today that perspective is key. That choosing joy is necessary. 

I am going to do that. No matter what the control freak, type A in me says, I am going to do that.

And when the kids wake up, I am going to turn up the music and let them see me worship-- even if I'm standing on blueberries and muffin crumbs!

Rain Rain Go Away

I'm sitting on her bed, just waiting- riding out the latest stall tactic- desperately just wanting the lights OUT. My husband stands by her in the other room- glazed over- just staring nowhere special, I'm sure feeling the same way as me.

She cares nothing of putting herself to bed. First her babies must be swaddled and sung to, prayed for and then lovingly placed down.

Our schedule, is clearly not her schedule.

I listen as she sings "Rain Rain Go Away." First, inserting her baby brother's name, then... Her dad interrupts- "Ok" he says, "Time to get to bed."
"No! No! No!" She yells. He doesn't realize the song isn't over just because it was sung all the way through. It's not over until each family member has had their turn.

I find myself wanting to protect this ritual for her.

Once she is heard and understood, she picks up where she has left off. "Little mommy wants to play... Little daddy wants to play" etc.
After each person has had their turn, she places her baby to sleep and walks herself into her room for bed.

No stalling, no battle. Lots of peace.

My mind wanders. There is a purpose in what she is doing. Every word, every verse, even the way she swaddled her babies- intentional. When that is uninterrupted, everything seems to fall into place. She even (gasp!) becomes aware of my needs!

She is aware and she should be trusted.

I start thinking about God. I'm thankful for our relationship but if I'm honest it isn't always ... easy.

Why not?

He says things to me like "Give me your burdens."
He says He will provide everything I need.
He says, He is aware and can be trusted. 

That sounds easy. But it's not, and I'm starting to understand why.

My control.
My agenda.

In a world where I am encouraged to take pride in how much control I have over my life (ahem, and my children), it seems God is once again calling me higher.

"The Lord God is my strength, and He will make my feet like hinds' feet, and He will make me to walk upon high places." Habakkuk 3:19