I can recall, with nearly perfect clarity, the first time I experienced a broken relationship. The scene unfolded on a kindergarten playground. My friend approached me at the beginning of recess and said something witty like; “I’m not your friend anymore. I saw you talking to so-and-so. I’ll never talk to you again.” Apparently, I was only allowed to communicate with her, a rule nobody mentioned on the first day of class. She walked away and I cried. The sting of that loss was unlike anything I had known prior.
Relationships are tender and tricky beasts. We need them and our hearts ache in their absence, but the protocol for establishing and maintaining them is often less than clear. Occasionally, problems arise due to the actions of one person, as seen above; but often, both parties are involved in the fallout. Many of us have experienced the pain of being ostracized within a group of people, but when that situation repeats itself in new contexts, we have to ask ourselves if there might be a pattern to our story. Perhaps it is time to stop listing the reasons other have let us down, and instead give an honest appraisal of our own contributions…(continue reading at iBelieve.com)
I’ve been pretty quiet over the last few weeks…not because life slowed down, but because the pace was faster than I could keep up with. I was spinning in the crazy mix of holiday plans, applying to transfer grad programs, prepping for the GRE, meeting article deadlines, and life married to a man who works in a church (Christmas + church staff = see you on Dec 26!), when time quite literally stopped. Ten days ago, my dad texted my sister and me to let us know that our grandfather, who had been sick, was having difficulty breathing and it was only a matter of time. They were making him comfortable and now we should be with him and say goodbye.
Over the next three days, we sat by his bed. Crying, holding his hands, telling stories, laughing at wonderful memories, and reconnecting as a family around our patriarch. Today marks one week since Papa’s death.
As we gathered together and recalled moments that had left us doubled-over laughing, brimming with confidence and refreshed with inspiration, two themes seemed to emerge from the tales of his life. The first was something I always knew about Papa. He loved God with fierce passion and that love spilled over onto everyone he met. It was the catalyst for every breath he took over the last forty years. The second theme was something that I suppose I always knew, but never realized until I heard it said over and over in the stories we were sharing. He was a man without fear.
I imagine that Papa was always a brave man…joining the army after college, marrying a beautiful Italian woman while stationed oversees, bringing his new bride and soon-to-be firstborn son back to the states, beginning his own law firm with two friends, and possessing a riveting spirit of adventure. He was strong and confident by nature, but I’m talking about something deeper than courage. Something more.
Courage and bravery are rooted in our ability to stand up in the face of fear. When I say that Papa was a man without fear, it had nothing to do with his ability to be strong. It was because of his sincere, powerful trust in God. Courage says, “I’m afraid, but I’m moving forward anyway.” Trust says, “I’m moving forward and I will not be afraid, for I know that God is with me and God is good.” This is the confidence that Papa woke up with every day.
Fear is something with which I am well-accustomed. As soon as I was old enough to understand the darker realities of the world, I began to worry. Less that ten years old and I worried about death, failure, and loss to the point of tears and sometimes panic. Papa heard about this through my loving father and it broke his heart.
As children, we often laughed because of Papa’s sleep habits. He went to bed around 7:30 every night and he got up between 4:00 and 4:30 in the morning. A successful lawyer with a long day of work ahead of him, he knew that in order to care for his soul…and his mind…he had to start early. I can remember being a little girl asleep in the guest bed and hearing him walk upstairs to his office in those pre-dawn hours. Occasionally, I would wander up to find him sitting at his desk with a single lamp on, reading scripture and praying. During those final days of Papa’s life, we read to him out of his Bible and there was not one page I turned to which wasn’t marked thoroughly with notes and underlined passages. When Jesus calls us to “abide” in Him, I am pretty sure this is what it looks like.
On one of those mornings, after hearing about the way fear had gripped me, Papa sat at his desk and wrote out a list of scripture related to fear, as well as a note of encouragement, and gave it to my dad to give to me. As a child, I could not appreciate this gift in the way that I do today. I also could not appreciate the care and compassion involved when a busy, highly respected attorney takes time out of his day to pen such a note for a little girl. It speaks not only to the love he had for his grand-daughters, but to his conviction about what really mattered and why we can live a life without fear.
In his book The Wisdom of Tenderness, Brennan Manning quoted Charles de Foucauld as saying, “The one thing we owe absolutely to God is never to be afraid of anything.” Manning went on to describe this faith, writing…“His unflinching trust in the love of God morphed into humble confidence that the grace for the next step in the dance of life was already there, given. Without anxiety, Abba’s children move forward, knowing that the next and the next steps will take care of themselves. Abba’s children don’t worry about tomorrow or even late this afternoon.”
My Papa lived his life with this “humble confidence” and expectation of God’s provision. My prayer is that I would carry on his legacy in this way, believing God fully when He says, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
Papa was unable to move for the last couple days of his life, until he took his final breath. In that moment, after days of unresponsiveness and complete stillness, he pulled his arm out from under his blanket and stretched it straight up towards Heaven, as if he was taking the hand of another. I wish I could have seen his face in the moment he heard his Savior say, “well done, my good and faithful servant!”
This is a small excerpt from a featured article I wrote for iBelieve.com.
My heart was racing, my hands trembling and my breath was short and fast. No matter how deeply I inhaled, I couldn’t seem to take in enough oxygen. The headache that had started just above my neck was now wrapping around my temples. As I turned the steering wheel to drive home for lunch, I shook my left hand in an effort to knock out the tingling sensation that was encompassing my fingers.
The physiological reactions I was experiencing suggested something serious had occurred. Yet, there was no tragedy, emergency or great personal conflict. I was simply going about my day; but my body suggested something more. My mind had been telling me I was handling life’s stress with ease, but my labored breathing said certain needs were not being met. The pain radiating around my head suggested I needed a time-out; and the numbness moving up my hand told me something had to change. This was my story for several years…until I decided I had had enough. (come read the rest of the post and join the conversation at iBelieve.com!)
I was mad. Fueled and ready to debate. All I needed was to get alone with BJ so that I could relay the way I saw it and why I needed him to compromise. But first I had a lunch meeting to get through, which wasn’t going to be easy given the riveting speech I was mentally preparing. As the lettuce wraps arrived at our table, I confided in my friend. I asked her to help me see it differently. Her advice was unexpected. “What if you didn’t say anything?” “Hmmm.” (direct quote of my response). “What if this time, you were just his cheerleader? And you decided to not say anything negative for a little while? Just see what happens.” I called BJ after the lunch and told him that I didn’t want to argue. I told him that I loved him and trusted him.
In the weeks since that conversation, I’ve noticed an interesting change. In the beginning, I was frustrated. Wound up. Then I wasn’t. And then I was peaceful. My feelings towards our disagreement have actually changed. I noted recently that I am genuinely on his side…and I don’t think I would have come to that place if I hadn’t taken the time to be silent.
I’m a talker. The people who know me well just laughed and said something along the lines of “you think?!” Not speaking, especially when I am emotional, is a far stretch beyond my natural inclinations. It is also an important discipline; and it is for the health of my relationships.
When I choose to not speak, I pick up a few things I had been missing…
I hear what I’m actually saying. Three years ago, BJ and I felt convicted about how often we were critical. We had justified our comments because they were “constructive”…you know, frequently discussing how something else could have been more efficient, the reasons behind someone’s behavior, etc. We weren’t helping anyone. We were just puffing ourselves up. There are appropriate times for those observations, but we sensed that they were occurring too often. “Let’s agree to not say anything critical for at least a month.” This was especially difficult because we were in the middle of a season of American Idol – and we’re musicians. Suddenly we became aware of how often we spoke this way. It was unsettling and the realization changed us. We’ll slip back into old habits at times, but that period of silence made us listen to what we were actually saying so that we recognize it today.
I discover the beliefs behind the words. When I chose to reserve any negative comments related to the story I told you earlier, I was able to hear my thoughts play out…and they revealed the motives and beliefs behind my emotions. That understanding was truly constructive. We need to be people who speak up, share our feelings and are honest when we’ve been hurt or we disagree. I realize that for some people, those are difficult things to do. But some of us don’t have a hard time with that. In fact, for people like me, we can easily share everything, all the time, without running it through a filter to determine if it is best to speak – or at least to speak in this moment. Waiting gives us time to listen closer…and to hear the words that aren’t being said. The thoughts we didn’t know we had.
I realize that I was wrong. Sometimes the wait clarifies our thoughts and enables us to better express our original feelings. Sometimes the wait gives us the space and perspective to realize we need to change those original feelings. If you asked me today about the situation I mentioned above, I would tell you, with complete honesty, that I do not feel the way I did on that day. I see it differently now and I’m grateful for the words I did not say…words I would not have been able to take back.
A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion. -Proverbs 18:2
Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger… -James 1:19
Words are big deal to me. They can communicate, inspire, hurt…and for me, they tend to come quickly. But that intentional moment of silence…reserving what could be said…adjusts my heart and eventually gives me the words I really mean. The words I’ll be proud of later.
Amanda is the second guest writer to contribute to our new series on perspectives. I asked her, “if you could back, with the perspective you have now, what would you say to yourself?” This is what she said…
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If I could go back and talk to 5-, 10-, 15-year old Amanda, what would I say? That question is harder than I expected. There are plenty of things I’d like to tell myself, but most of it comes from the cane-waving side of me. Obey your mother! That skirt is too short! Travel now because it will be much harder in a few years. Oh, and speaking of “in a few years”, you think you’re tired now? Boy oh boy, do you have a rude awakening coming…
There are other things, too. I would tell myself to relax because there will be a day when you won’t even remember AP exams. Don’t put too much stock in certain friendships, most of those boys weren’t worth my time, and mostly that you are enough; beautiful and made in God’s image. You are so deeply loved that Jesus died for you. So do not worry about being found out as imperfect: you are made perfect through the blood of Jesus.
I might want to tell myself those things, but all those hard times got me where I am today. Instead, I think I would just tell her that it will be ok. It will be hard, your jeans will be tight, then they will be loose. Your plans will change and you will cry yourself to sleep, and you will land your dream job on the first try. You will lose loved ones, you will have your heartbroken once, twice, three times. But it will all be ok because God will be with you.
I think a more beneficial meeting would be between me and my future self. I have a toddler and a newborn, meaning my days and my nights are long, hard and exhausting. But I’m also living my dream come true — I have a wonderful husband and two healthy babies who I get to stay home with — but the day-to-day is a grind. When I’m up at night feeding my baby girl, I try to pray for my friends are waiting for babies — trying to adopt or get pregnant or counting down the days to their due date. Praying helps me maintain perspective, but lately I’ve been too tired to pray; my eyes water because they sting with exhaustion.
I think too much about the future. It will be easier when my baby girl is sleeping through the night, won’t it? Or when I finally lose this post-pregnancy weight. Or when I don’t have two babies in diapers. Yes, it will be easier then. So I make an idol of the passing of days; wishing away these beautiful, precious years.
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I typically do my grocery shopping on Tuesdays, which is Senior Citizen Day at Kroger. Going shopping on Senior Citizen Day with babies is like bringing Justin Bieber to your high school prom; you get a lot of attention.
One day, about a year ago, a woman with a strong accent came up to me and David. “Ah, King David!” she said. “You be a good boy for your mommy.”
She told me that she had married very young. She was just 16, her husband was 21. She had her first child at 17. I was shocked, and then she explained, “Well, dear, it was 1941, I needed someone to take care of me. I was in a concentration camp. Do you know what that is?”
I swallowed hard.
Yes, I told her, yes, I know what a concentration camp is. I’d never met a person who survived the Holocaust. Did I even hear her right? Was she kidding? But people don’t kid about living in concentration camps. What do you say to a person who not only lived in, but had a baby in a concentration camp? I’m sorry? That didn’t seem appropriate. Nothing seemed appropriate, so I didn’t say anything.
She spoke to her husband in Polish, and then turned back to me, “Enjoy these years, dear, they are the best years of your life.”
I don’t know the details of this woman’s life, but I do know that she didn’t have a nurse line to call at 2 a.m. when her baby woke up with a fever. I know she didn’t have the luxury of turning on Elmo when she needed a moment, and she probably didn’t get involved in snarky conversations about when her infant first slept through the night.
She, probably without even realizing it, called the years she was in a concentration camp and post-WWII Europe the best years of her life. And it was because those were the years she was with her child.
Perspective.
I wish I could talk to my future, well-rested self, who no longer worries about nap schedules or teething, and hopefully be reminded that these years are beautiful so don’t wish them away. Instead, soak them in, wring every bit of joy and toddler-happiness and newborn-smiles out of them.
If I had to go back and tell myself something, it would be the same thing I’d tell myself today. Slow down. Rest in Jesus. Trust that the place you’re in right now, no matter how hard or tiring or wonderful it is, it’s teaching you to rely on Jesus, and to put your trust and hope in Him.
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Meet Amanda: Amanda writes about running, knitting, and life with two kids at Living On Grace. She and her husband are raising their family in the heart of Richmond, VA and sharing their lives with us through their blog. Be sure to head over there to read more!
I’m thrilled to share the first guest post in our new series on perspectives, written by Matt Sanner. I asked Matt, “if you could go back to a specific moment or season of your life, with the perspective that you have now, what would you say to yourself?” Here is what he had to say…
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That’s easy.
I’d go back to when I was 9 years old, and I’d tell myself to run away from those older kids.
I’d go back to when I was 10, and I’d tell that little boy that it’s OK to trust his parents enough to tell the truth. That it’s not his fault. I’d encourage him that his family is trustworthy and safe and that he can be vulnerable with them. I’d tell him that he doesn’t need to be ashamed.
I’d go back to when I was in Bible College and tell that young man that the head-knowledge about Scripture is going to make it tougher to trust Jesus for the hard things in life. I’d beg him to simply acknowledge the truth about his own shortcomings, and not to compensate for his failures by studying harder. I’d let him know that his record of righteousness doesn’t matter….that he’s forgiven, over and over.
I’d encourage him to find a circle of men with whom he could share life, and be honest, vulnerable and weak. To develop a habit of avoiding a secret inner life by getting thoughts, temptations and bad decisions out into the light with those guys, and to help them by being there for them.
I’d tell him to buy Microsoft at anything less than $1 per share.
I’d pull him aside on the morning of my wedding and congratulate him on one of the best choices he would ever make. But I’d remind him that he will hurt her badly, and she will hurt him, but to cling to each other anyway, and to throw himself into the arms of the Father. I’d tell him to pray for her when she feels like an enemy.
I’d let him know that the doctors are wrong, and that the baby girl will be healthy and full of life.
And then, just for fun, I think I’d just show up at random times, smile, and say “Beware the penguin.” Just to mess with him, er, me, or myself….the whole time-travel thing gets confusing.
If I were allowed to just pop in at various times, I’d beat one message into his/my head: “You are weak. Stay weak. Admit it often. Trust in Him. He knows you deep-down, He loves you, He is good and you can trust Him.”
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About Matt: “I am an eclectic mix of head and heart. I love geeky computer stuff, God, vampire shows and worship music. My brain is full of stuff about video gaming, data analysis and internet marketing. My heart is full of family, relationships, and following Christ. Mattsalad.com is about ‘head and heart, tossed together and served up fresh!'” Read more!
Parenthood is teeming with opportunities to learn new (and often difficult) lessons. And the instructors are typically the tiniest teachers – my children. If this weren’t true, I’d have very little to write about! Lessons I should have learned years ago have taken on fresh meaning through the eyes of my sweet boys. These are a just a few of the most recent…
How To Buy Cheap Dessert: This may annoy some of you, but until the littlest one was born, I was the woman who wouldn’t bring food to an event unless it was fresh from my oven – especially dessert. I kept this up when my first son was born, even taking a little misadventure through the world of running my own baking business. But then our family of three became a family of four…and now I’m happy if I manage to make spaghetti, much less a three tier cake. Over the summer, I made the leap from homemade desserts…to fresh from the bakery desserts…to mini eclairs bought in the freezer section at Target. These precious babies, combined with some good friends who love me no matter what, have helped my heart to settle. They taught me to more fully enjoy the time I have with people, and to let go of any desires I have to prove my worth by what comes out of my oven. I’m sure I’ll dust off the cookbooks when my kids are older, but for now, there’s not enough time, I’m too tired, and my kitchen doesn’t need any help getting messy. Just point me to the freezer section!
Kisses First: Being two-years-old is hard. Sure, there are naps, prepared meals and nobody calls you for money. But people are also always telling you what to do…or what not to do. Someone is always pulling on your arm, making you stay in bed, and telling you to be patient. You try to help load the sink and end up breaking dishes. You want to hold your baby brother and everyone yells “be gentle!” Perhaps most frustrating are the many moments that you try to communicate and not one adult, including your own parents, understands you. It’s hard to be two.
In the thick of this tension, the oldest barked something at me while we walked out the door last week. I started to pull his arm harder and snap something back, but then I stopped. I heard myself in his tone. I remembered that he is learning how to speak and what to say from me. I knelt down to his level, kissed him on the head and told him I knew he was frustrated but we had to leave. I picked him up and we walked to the car. He stopped screaming. There are moments when raising my voice is the only thing that’s going to keep him out traffic or make him stop running away in the store. But there are also moments when I can choose to soften my tone, steady my frustration and kiss him before responding.
A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger -Proverbs 15:1
Our children will learn their tone from us, their parents. They will watch us for cues on how to handle disappointments and frustration. And they will watch us to learn how to love. They’re watching closely and have proven to be excellent students.
Loving the Diapers: A friend of mine recently reminded me how short the tiny years are. In the spans of their lives, our babies will spend such a short time in diapers, waddling around our homes. I’m often struck by the thought that my sons will likely spend most of their lives with their wives…rather than their mama. It’s sobering. It’s not a new lesson for me to discuss on here, but it’s one I’m walking through day after day. They are only small once. So I’m going to love the whole mess. The difficult nights, the long days, the wet kisses and the dirty diapers. It will be gone before I’m ready to let go.
He came home after being at work since 9:00 AM. I handed him leftovers and watched him walk towards the door for his second job. As he kissed me and said goodbye, I rolled my eyes at the sound of one of the boys beginning to cry. Unable to shake my frustration, I sent him out with a heavy sigh and clenched teeth. He had to work and he was doing it for us. But I was annoyed…at him. What was that?
Two days later. I’m sending emails when my sweet two-year-old crawls up in my lap with a book. Peering over his head to finish what I’m typing, I click save on the message and release a frustrated breath as I close the laptop and kiss his head. There it is again.
We used to dream about what it would look like to have kids. I imagined my children standing at the door and waving goodbye to daddy in the morning. I expected play-dates, cups of coffee and car rides with babies in the rear-view mirror. I expected squishy cheeks and dirty diapers. I expected giggling and tantrums. I expected a messy house and days without showers. But in all of that, I did not expect resentment. Ugly, sinful resentment.
I did not expect to look at my son as if he interrupted my plans. I did not expect to snap at my husband when he told me he had to work. I’m married to an incredible man. He bathes our boys, sings to them, and kisses their sweet round faces. He loves me, encourages me, and rubs me feet at the end of the day. Our children are a gift beyond our brightest dreams. The abundant blessing we were given with their births is not lost on me. So what is going on in my heart?
re-sent-ful (adjective): feeling or expressing bitterness or indignation at having been treated unfairly.
Have I been treated unfairly? Absolutely not. Do I sometimes act as if I have been treated unfairly? Unfortunately, yes. Nobody forced me to birth these babies and spend most of my days at home. I chose those things. And at the end of it all, that’s what I want. I want other things too and the truth is I can’t have all those things right now. But I get to have my boys. And my husband. And that’s what I want the most.
A Google image search on the word “resentful” reveals that I may not be alone. The results are divided into six categories, with the third category as a collection of memes on resentful mothers. Let me say that again – an entire category on resentful moms. Google autofill also offers three variations of the term.
Perhaps many of you carry deeper grace than I do. I know women who humble my heart time after time with their joyful, sacrificial love. I’m not saying I don’t sacrifice – I do. Throughout the day and into the night. But sometimes, I also keep a little list of all the things I’ve done. The things I’ve given up. And I pout when I don’t feel like the scales are balanced. I’m guessing that at least a few of you can relate…because if I’m the only one, then Google has placed an inappropriate level of attention on just me.
We don’t sit around the house complaining about our lives. It’s unlikely that we talk openly about sometimes feeling that things aren’t fair. And there is no question that we are deeply grateful for our families. But maybe we toss around sarcastic jokes with our girlfriends, reflecting this subtle condition of our hearts; laughing tends to make the questionable feel excusable. Maybe we roll our eyes while “sacrificing” for the ones we love. Maybe we do all of it with a smile, while quietly letting bitterness stew within us. The moments are small and quick; but they are not holy.
Let me be the first to say that this is me. It’s subtle, but real. And I’ve decided that it is not a part of the language of love.
There are thousands of beautiful posts about the grace we need to extend ourselves as mothers. I have been and will continue to be a loud cheerleader for that message. We need to hear it on a daily…sometimes hourly basis. We battle enough guilt as women and mamas, we don’t need help adding more. But sometimes, we also need to take a conscious look at our hearts and simply pray “Search me God. Change the places that don’t look like You.” We can say “yes, this is the messy truth of motherhood and it’s hard. At least we’re honest about it. Grace abounds.” OR we can say, “yes, this is the messy truth of motherhood and it’s hard. Change my heart Lord. Thank You that grace abounds. Thank You for loving me deeply in all the mess.” We can feel justified in those little moments or we can recognize them and whisper a prayer for change. A prayer for broken hearts and renewed minds.
I’m working this out through the process of motherhood, but as a good friend reminded me today, “resentment is ugly for all of us.” Maybe you feel traces of the same condition, even if it looks different in your story.
Bitterness has nothing to do with Jesus. Whenever I think I know a little something about sacrifice, I am reminded of what He knows about sacrifice…and He has given no foundation for the “holiness” of resentment. Instead, He offers love that does not keep count. It is a love that doesn’t roll eyes or snap sarcastic passive-aggressive quips. Praise be to God that this love is big enough to cover my stubborn heart and that it means grace truly does abound. My prayer is that I will grow to better reflect this love and that it will in-turn spill over into the way I love to my husband and children. A love that is quite literally full of grace.
“You don’t have to put up a fight. You don’t have to always be right. Let me take some of the punches for you tonight. Listen to me now. I need to let you know. You don’t have to go it alone…Sometimes you can’t make it on your own.” -U2
I was familiar with the saying “it takes a village to raise a child” before having kids, but it wasn’t until those early months with my firstborn that I understood what it really meant. I was drowning and without that village, survival felt questionable. A swift cure for any delusions of being perfect or all-knowing is the birth of a child. To say it can be humbling is putting it gently. I needed other women to tell me what to do when my baby screamed all day long. I needed them to laugh with an “I’ve been there” smile when I talked about all my clothes smelling like regurgitated milk. I needed my mom to go to the store and pick up the handful of prescriptions I was given at the hospital. I needed her hands to hold my baby while I napped. I needed BJ to help me shower because for the first few days, I could barely stand. I needed the dozens of women who brought us dinners…and the girlfriends who brought me lunch. I needed my friends to text me messages of encouragement on the day BJ went back to work and all I could do was cry. I needed people to tell me it was going to get easier, because I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see the day he would sleep more than 45 minutes at a time. I couldn’t see the moment he’d call me “mama”. I couldn’t imagine the first time I’d ask him what was wrong and he’d actually tell me. I couldn’t see the afternoon I’d pack away his baby clothes and cry as I taped the box shut. They could. And I needed them.
We need people. Even the most introverted among us needs the support, experience, perspective and practical help of other people. Sometimes we forget that though and we tend to act as if we are an island unto ourselves. Maybe we feel ashamed to ask for or accept help. Perhaps we worry about becoming a burden. Or in some cases, maybe we are just too stickin’ prideful.
I had lunch with a friend today. She arrived early and caught me off guard as I hung up the phone after a difficult conversation. I debated whether or not to bring it up, and ultimately decided that I needed help seeing it differently. Her experience gives her perspective. That perspective allows her to see things that I simply cannot yet see on my own. That perspective changed everything about my attitude.
Don’t make decisions in a vacuum. Be discerning about who gets to speak into your life, but then let those chosen voices love you well. Let them support you. Let them warn you. Let them advise you. Ask for help. And when it’s offered, graciously say thank you. Seek perspective from those with more experience. Listen to their stories. Consider their insight.
“Listen to advice and accept discipline, and at the end, you will be counted among the wise.” -Proverbs 19:20
“The way of fools seems right to them, but the wise listen to advice.” -Proverbs 12:15
From this place, I am excited to announce a new series of guest posts coming to A Conscious Life. We will have the opportunity to hear from a variety women, men and couples about what they would go back and tell themselves with the perspective they have gained over time. I’m sure we will find ourselves in many of their stories, with their voices echoing our own struggles and doubts. I am also confident that I will be encouraged, challenged and inspired by what they have to say. Hopefully you will too! To be kept up-to-date with the posts as they roll in, follow us via email or like the facebook page. And keep an eye out for an opportunity to submit your own perspective story. More details on that coming soon!
You’ve been kind of bumming me out lately. I didn’t pay much attention to you after I gave birth to my first baby, because it was winter and I wore sweaters everyday. By the time spring arrived, I slid back into most of my old clothes. Now I’m one month out from the birth of my second baby and one month into summer. I’m practically swimming in baggy maternity wear, yet I cannot button, zip or squeeze into my old “regular” clothes. Do you know how frustrating that is? It’s summer. A time for bathing suits, shorts, tank tops and sundresses. But my shorts won’t zip and my tank tops are so tight they look painted on. Dear feet, apparently you grew while I was pregnant and now the fun little heels I packed away in the second trimester don’t fit. Ab muscles, where did you go? Don’t you remember how you used to run down the center of my belly rather than your current residence flopping around my sides. While we’re at it, belly button – it was cute that you faced the ground as a part of my pregnant torpedo days, but it’s not as precious now that my tummy is wrinkly and squishy and you look more like a warped bruise than a “button”. Hips, according to my jeans that can no longer slide over you, you used to be closer together. And finally, dear ferocious appetite, I know I’m feeding a baby all night long, but is it really necessary to send me searching through the kitchen at 4AM just so I can feed you too?
So dear body, I’ve been feeling a little down. Wearing the same 2 or 3 shirts everyday (and literally cycling through them every. single. day. thanks to breast milk and spit-up), well, it gets old. Fast. Digging through my drawers and not being able to recover even one item that fits can be a bit discouraging.
But here’s the thing…I’m so proud of you. Thank you. Each one of those changes happened so that a sweet baby boy could grow and come into the world. Thank you for every sacrifice.
Dear feet, thank you for bearing the weight for 41 weeks. Thank you for walking me back and forth to the bathroom four times a night. Thank you for hustling to get into Ian’s room when we he woke up crying. Thank you for all the days you carried three of us – me, this baby and his big brother on my hip.
Thank you hips, for moving out of the way and making room for two 9lb babies to be born. You are certainly invited to return to your original position, but don’t get too comfy there. More babies will come your way in the future. And if you stay where you are…well then I guess I get to go shopping for new pants!
Ok Ab muscles, let’s be honest. You weren’t that strong to begin with. I’ll try to take better care of you before the next time. Thank you for being so flexible – stretching, shifting and supporting for so many months.
Dear stretch marks, thank you for reminding me of the gift of my children. Even with exercise and time, you won’t go away. This belly will never look exactly like it did on my wedding day. Thank you for that. I wasn’t a mama on my wedding day. Being a mother has changed me through lessons of sacrifice, love, patience and grace. So I don’t want to look like I did on my wedding day. Thank you for sticking around and reminding me that I’m a woman who has carried, delivered and loved her children.
Dear body, I thank God for designing and allowing you to work. I thank Him that He allowed me to be a mother to two bright little boys.
There is a spirited, tender-hearted two-year-old asleep in the room across the hall. To my right, a soft little baby is wiggling and grunting while he dreams. These are two of the most precious gifts I will ever receive, and they were given to me through the stretching of this body. And at the end of the day, it’s not about me. These children have much bigger stories ahead of them. I just get to be a part of how they arrive at those stories.
So I will not curse you. I will not demand that you “hurry up” and “get back to normal”. I will extend grace and say thank you.
I can recall, with nearly perfect clarity, the first time I experienced a broken relationship. The scene unfolded on a kindergarten playground. My friend approached me at the beginning of recess and said something witty like; “I’m not your friend anymore. I saw you talking to so-and-so. I’ll never talk to you again.” Apparently, I was only allowed to communicate with her, a rule nobody mentioned on the first day of class. She walked away and I cried. The sting of that loss was unlike anything I had known prior.
Cara Joyner 