sons

This photo popped up today in the ever-changing reel of favorites Ryan set up on my phone’s home screen. Certainly there’s nothing particularly fabulous about this, and yet it made it into that elite collection of hearted (yes, that’s now a word, of course) pictures.

Because this is my three boys and me.

So much here makes me smile: the fact that it doesn’t matter what clothes I supply; my sons will always wear the same favorite sweatpants or gym shorts ad nauseam. The position of their arms, each with their particular stance when in conversation. Me looking up at Jameson, who by now is about two inches taller than in this photo.

But mostly I smile because I just love these boys so, so much. Well, I say boys, but really, these two men and a baby. Because men is what they are becoming, right before my eyes.

I’ve prayed Psalm 144:12 for my children, and set it often before my eyes as a godly goal as I disciple them, and this year when I was reflecting on answered prayers of 2021, this rose up in my heart:

“That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth;
That our daughters may be as pillars,
sculptured in palace style.”

Sons who are not trapped in perpetual boyhood, abdicating responsibility and acting on childish impulse forever. Sons who bear the yoke in their youth and grow strong shoulders. Sons who understand sacrificial leadership and oversight, learning to care about the state of their flock. Sons who are called to answer for words and deeds, stare those things straight in the face, and seek true repentance. Sons who show honor and deference to their father and do not despise their mother. Sons who seek after the Lord today rather than arrogantly putting it off till tomorrow.

Is this a tall order? Is this beyond the scope of my parenting ability, beyond Ryan’s?

Yes. Yes, it is.

And yet, this is what I see emerging before my eyes, and I am awed and humbled.

We are in the thick of it, in so many ways, the moments of greatest tension before the arrow is released, and it will grow only more so in the coming years. We are desperately in need of wisdom, and do our best to follow the Holy Spirit as we serve Him in discipling these young men, but more than wisdom we need Him to show up in our hearts, in their hearts, in transforming ways.

But we are seeing mature plants even in youth, the work of God right in our midst, the beauty of His design in shaping beautiful boys into strong young men with tender hearts.

my seven wonders.

There’s this idea in my head that I need to write more, as writing is such a large part of my life processing. But something about my current reality — the one where the limited time I have to my own musings is mostly consumed with Bible reading and prayer, and tackling actual life management strategies — comes crashing in to burst such bubbles.

Still. I wish I was keeping a better record here of words and pictures. There’s so much to make me smile and sigh and be thankful.

Today, as the cold nips my nose with the furnace cranked and fire blazing, a quick oldest-to-youngest sort of glance at the month so far. Perhaps when I’m finished, I will have mustered the courage to greet the sub-zero air head on for a brisk walk.

The boys and Ryan skied a new mountain this week, and I got this amazing photo from them. Ryan kept exclaiming to me that it was too amazing to even seem real, the stunning beauty all around them. Last night they arrived home late after four solid days of exertion, and they were a laughing, talking, inside-joking trio off MAN that made me smile. Life at home with the five younger ones had been simple and special, quiet and full of conversation relevant to my girls, but we missed these tall, loud, leave a wake wherever they go boys of ours.

Of course, they left the week we finally got real snow, and so I spent quite a few hours shoveling. Beatrice poked her head out the door: “Can I help you, Mom?” And so we shoveled together in the gathering dusk, watching the white snow turn to blue, pausing for conversation now and then, suddenly not minding how long the task was at all. I love her so.

And having left them home one evening, I returned to find this vignette: a girl and her baby. He’d been hysterical and she patiently held him minute after long minute until at last, he surrendered and slept. What a capacity this girl has for leading and caring with understanding. And so tender — ready to burst into tears when I got home because his sadness had broken her heart.

Cecily is growing before my eyes. Helpful, aware, conscientious, and the biggest eyes and ears as she takes in the world. She loves to get a laugh out of us and is generally successful in her humor. And oh my, she loves babies at a whole new level. Everywhere we go, she finds a baby to hold and love.

And this one? There are no words. She is non-stop, independent, always thinking hard and would prefer you to NOT get in her way. She sleds and plays as hard as any of them, tumbles and spills her way through life without skipping a beat. She’s sweet and sincere and so thoughtful, despite how impetuous she seems.

My baby and me. I don’t know who took this picture, or when, but I love seeing us together from someone else’s perspective. He runs now, and his top speed makes us just laugh and laugh. He loves his siblings and is another happy, loves-to-laugh kid in a long line of them. He’s losing his crazy chub but still is so fun to hold, when he allows that. Fortunately, although he’ll eat bowls and bowls of curry and rice, he mostly just loves to nurse, so for now… he’s my baby. We adore him.

Percival is O N E

Percival Robert.

A whole year with you has passed, and again, I am in awe. How can twelve short months, a string of days, bring about so much growth in a baby? And how is it that you’ve only been here for a year — haven’t you always been a part of who we are? It certainly feels like that.

In the last six weeks you’ve figured out walking — from figuring out how to pick your feet up while standing (that was a big moment!) to walking as quickly as your bow-legged stance can handle. And it’s the cutest thing to see you suddenly arrive around the corner, fists up in the air for balance, wobbling at every turn. But I’ll admit, seeing the rolls on your arms and legs melt away with all of that walking made me sad. You’re growing — and growing up.

I loved this year with you, Percival. How many times did I just laugh over your rolls! And how delightful to see every one of your siblings immediately and completely fall in love with you. You still wake up each morning and from every nap to exclamations of your name as everyone pauses to smile in your direction. For many months, your morning routine was to want to be wrapped snug and tight, held with your head snuggled in my neck, while I walked and bounced around my room — and you’d quietly and quickly drift off to sleep. Oh, so sweet, and a moment in each day when it was just you and me. I cherish that.

Happy, smiling, already working so hard to get a laugh from your adoring fans. I think God’s idea of family is so amazing, as I see you confidently take your place in our world, knowing from the very start that you belong here, you are loved here, and all that we have is yours.

In another calendar change, you’ll be 2 — you’ll spend a few more months wrecking Enid’s play before you figure out how to constructively engage. You’ll figure out how to say “Mama” on purpose, and probably a good hearty “no”, too. We’ll freshen up our matchbox collection and maybe you’ll rediscover Jameson’s beloved trains. Whatever it may be, I’ll be here, soaking it up, wishing it could slow down, smiling at the simple fact that you are.

celebrating NEW

The sun keeps rising and setting, the earth spinning over and over again. Seasons repeat in their familiar pattern, life in its age-old way. You could certainly say, There is nothing new under the sun.

And yet, there is: the mercies of God, fresh, clean, enough, every morning. God is a God of faithfulness, unchanging and certain. And yet, He is a God of new — and one day He will make all things new, but for now, we delight in the glimpses of that “new”. We could miss it, dismiss it, be bored and tired and uncaring, or we can notice and delight and be refreshed.

New: the theme I couldn’t help but see in the recent weeks’ photos.


New bathroom, so close to done.


New shoes needed, and the sweetest note.


New opportunities for a new generation of worshippers.


New babies to love.


New accomplishments.


New discovery in our backyard of new birds.


New blooms.


New toys.


New braces!


New guitar.


New braids.


New bows made by friends.


New treasures for Mama.

S I X months

Six months! Where, when, how? But somehow, over 180 days of holding this sweet boy in my arms morning, noon, and night, and I still can’t get enough of him. None of us can. He was instantly the dearest thing and yet grows more dear every day. Isn’t that amazing? Love is like that. It’s vast and complete, but then the details get filled in as time goes on.

He’s a solid 27 pounds, which just causes anyone who sees him to break into laughter. Who knew baby thighs could make anyone and everyone laugh out loud? His fat little hands are my favorite. He has a mouth-wide-open smile for anyone who makes eye contact with him, and his deep blue eyes are so friendly and inviting. He rolls but still doesn’t sit without help, and I’m assuming he’ll just be on the slow track with all that movement stuff, as was his similarly-round brother, William. His siblings adore him, his daddy adores him, and I certainly do. And when we see the way he lights up at each one of us, we’re fairly certain the adoration is mutual.

He is a treasure, and my soul is fairly bursting with the wealth that’s been poured into my lap. Pressed down, shaken together, and running over — a house full of children formed by God, put into my hands to love and nurture and steward as disciples. It’s overwhelming — and I don’t just mean in the 5pm dinner is burning the baby is crying and there is noise everywhere kind of overwhelming. I mean I am overwhelmed by the bountiful goodness of God. It is so much.

And yes, the treasure and gifts of God require something of us, and when He expands our territory we find ourselves stretched further than we’ve been before. There is weight to it, soberness in it, the sense of stewarding the treasure of another. I’ve been tempted to say about so many things, “I’m not sure I’m really up for this,” but then I catch myself and think, “What are you talking about?? Serve the purpose of God in your generation! Now or never!” And suddenly it all becomes clear again: I just need more Jesus along with the increase of blessing.

Yes, I have grown. I have been expanded. I am probably more wise, less frantic, and don’t react to every seeming crisis. But also?? There is fruit. God knows what He’s doing! Our house is so loud and busy but it is teeming with capable children who delight in one another and in serving me. I’m pretty sure 28 year old me would have an emotional meltdown at the level of “lived-in” my house daily achieves, but that makes sense: 28 year old me had to stay on top of it all by myself. And now? Now we are a team.

But so much more than the practical blessing I’m living in (pinch me, is this real?, I think whenever I walk into a clean kitchen after guests leave and I spent the whole evening visiting and didn’t lift a finger), there is fruit in their hearts. There are young men who I simply enjoy, who make me laugh, who I lean on for help and encouragement. Daughters who spill joy and kindness everywhere they go. Little ones who are caught up by older ones, taught and read to and led by example. I know that I know that I planted seeds and watered and weeded for day after day after week after month for years, but this fruit that I see? I can’t begin to take credit for it any more than I look at the stunning beauty of my favorite peony and pat myself on the back for my stellar planting job. My part and the result just don’t add up, until you factor in the faithfulness of God. It’s Him.

That is the bounty that makes me want to weep in thankfulness. And it gives me hope for tomorrow, because guess what? I am so far from a perfect gardener when it comes to my children. I do my best, by the grace of God, to show up and ask for help, but repentance is my most-often used tool. The skill is all Him. His Spirit pursues their hearts as I apply faith and diligence. I never feel that these children are somehow mine, or my doing — I am so aware that these are people God crafted and called, and is asking me to serve in a truly precious and unique way. But as they grow, and I see softness and humility and forgiveness flowing from their hearts, I marvel even more at the things God has done, and what a tremendous honor it is to be used by Him.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”

Percival Robert

Percival Robert Dunphey
“One who pierces the valley; Bright fame”
10/23/20, 11:53pm
8lbs 10oz, 21″

What a difference a day makes! I’m always amazed by how true that sentiment is when it comes to new babies. One day, going about my day as usual; the next, our family and lives forever changed by the arrival of a brand new person.

*****

Already we’ve passed two weeks together, he and I. Rarely apart, I watch his little face change almost before my eyes. His eyes are the eyes of an old soul, and I gaze into them, wondering who he is, who he will be. I swaddle his little body and let the sweet weight of him rest on my chest, sink into my soul. At night, he is the perfectly sized bundle to nestle in my arms, and I drift to sleep taking in the scent of his newborn head.

null

And before the rush of life sweeps us up in its current, and Percival is folded into the rhythms of our lively routine, I want to record the happening of his birth.

*****

There was the hunch that maybe this baby was a boy. In fact, Ryan was very sure. Part of me wondered if maybe that would mean a more punctual arrival, since my first two babies were born on time. But 40 weeks came and went, and there was no sign of imminent arrival. Instead, I began the now-familiar routine of waiting but not waiting, resting but staying busy, and maintaining readiness while somehow not worrying about it too much. My times are in His hands, and so are the days of this baby’s life. Worry, anxiety, and impatience don’t need to be part of our lives, and perfect peace is offered to those whose minds are fixed on our Good Father.

Somewhere along the way I began sleeping very poorly, often interrupted by random contractions, but nothing that seemed “real”. Thursday afternoon and evening, October 22nd, I felt more antsy than usual, as well as achy and uncomfortable — all signs that a baby was getting ready to arrive, but, well, we already knew that! Ryan was out at a meeting that night, and when he came home, I let him know I’d been having regular contractions that felt more legitimate. After a couple hours, I drifted to sleep, only to be woken throughout the night by more but unchanging contractions. I woke up without any progress to report, but feeling like a caged animal. Ryan got the older kids to their Friday program, and the little girls and I went into town with him for bagels and a walk. It was a 75*, sunny, perfect October day, and I was so thankful to not be cooped up on a rainy day! I walked and climbed stairs and Ryan took bumpy back roads home, but still I had nothing too much to report beyond, “I just feel like this is it.” Kids came home, Ryan went to work, we rested, they went out to play… still nothing beyond the same random contractions and a lot of angst. By late afternoon, I texted Ryan to simply say, I don’t know how to process this nothing-ness that feels like something, and don’t know what to do. He had my midwife call me, and she encouraged me to just “erase my mental blackboard,” get dinner and rest and stop even thinking about what to do or not do — because babies will come when they’re ready. No rocket science, but at that point in the day, I needed to be reminded of simple truths.

So, I went to the couch, got an afghan, and turned on a brainless house flipping show. I told Ryan there were no dinner plans, so he brought Thai home and fed the kids while I continued to just rest. Food was the last thing of interest to me! I eventually started to take note of the regularity of the contractions, which were settling into a pattern. Ryan and I went outside to walk around the yard while the kids cleaned up. The dusk was settling in, geese were flying overhead in their graceful ribbons, Enid and Cecily played around us, and we walked and talked and just stood through continuing contractions. It was peaceful and beautiful, and grateful calm sank into my soul.

There was the obvious progress of intensity, and Ryan stayed in touch with Sunday and “The Birth Crew,” and eventually he felt confident about telling them this was really it. When I said, “I don’t want you to call them all because I just really don’t want to do this right now,” he decided it was real.

And so, slowly, the house became focused around the coming event. Sheets changed, candles lit, little girls pj’d, people gathering, tea brewed, and me just floating through it all, half-aware, mostly just zoning into labor. There was laughter and conversation, and between contractions, I remember offering water to people, giving some direction, and joining in the laughter. I walked and walked, not feeling any desire to be still. Eventually it became intense enough that I had to stand by the bed, leaning into the mattress for support, and then the pressure became so much that I needed people pushing on each hip through the contractions. Sunday brought a birthing stool, and I hesitantly decided to try it — and loved it! There I sat for… who knows how long! I remember being in the dining room eating a buttered bagel around 6:30, and next thing I knew I heard my mother saying it was 9:30. How can three hours just disappear? Only in labor!

Being on the birthing stool had a rather curious effect on my contractions. Of course, I knew they were very effective in that position, but they also felt less sharp and undoing than what I am accustomed to. With counter-pressure on my hips, I was (please read this next word in context! Ha!) easily able to relax through each one as I focused deeply on what was happening. And I also had the most interesting experience a few times: as the pressure increased and I knew the baby was progressing, I had the deepest waves of gratefulness at being a part of such a miracle, and rather than just yielding to the process of birth, I felt such meaningful moments of surrender to the Lord. “Be glorified in me,” my heart cried out, and suddenly, it wasn’t just birth, but worship. And thankfulness for His incredible nearness to me. We were doing this together, He and I. What a privilege.

Eventually, I decided I needed to get on the bed. (Funny how in hindsight the progression of labor is obvious, but in the moment, it’s all just instincts!) On my knees, with a pile of pillows to lean on, and oh my, this was it. That baby was moving down and the feeling was so intense. The quiet encouragement of sisters and friends grew amplified as it was obvious that I needed to stay engaged and somehow relaxed. And then suddenly I couldn’t kneel like that anymore — I needed to be on my side to rest. (Or to push out a baby. Same thing?!) Without any mental initiation, my body was suddenly bearing down, and the scramble to prepare was on. My water broke, and there suddenly were the long pauses between urges. I remember just thinking, I can’t believe we’re already here. Okay. Let’s do this. A few pushes, and suddenly he was crowning. Another long pause, and I was ready to push — and suddenly, a baby! Oh, best feeling in the world!!! To collapse on a pillow, the marathon of labor over, a baby born! Boy, girl, in that moment I don’t even care. Baby on my chest, being rubbed to a nice pink, their cry greeted by celebrations and exclamations over their health, and me just crying in relief and thankfulness. And then someone called out, “It’s a boy!,” and the room erupted in cheers. I opened my eyes to see my two oldest daughters, weeping with emotion over the arrival of a new life. Two older brothers beamed, thrilled to welcome another boy into our clan. The flurry of movement all around me was a happy blur as I just savored the thoughts: It’s over. I’m done. He’s here.

By 1:30am, friends and sisters were gone, and my parents slipped away, too, after sharing in a prayer of thanksgiving for this miracle we all witnessed and partook of. Ryan tucked little girls into bed — because, yes, the whole family was awake and waiting for Percival’s arrival! Who could really sleep with so much excitement in the air? Two happy sons finally tore themselves away at 2am, and all was quiet. Just me and this new wonder, a son, a person to learn and treasure and love.

In the two weeks that have passed, my older children have blessed me beyond what I can say with their cheerful willingness to keep things running, caring for one another and for me. Countless loads of laundry, hours of managing a spitfire of a toddler, school and chores, meals, refilling my water endlessly, and all without a trace of complaint. I spent several days in bed, the longest respite I’ve ever taken after a baby’s birth, and all because they are so wonderful. Many times I was visited by a sibling, eager to check on me and hoping to sneak in a snuggle with the new baby they’re all so in love with. Sitting on the bed together, gazing at Percival’s sweet sleeping face, talking quietly — these are all memories I’m tucking away. So many treasured moments, so much grace, so much peace — and I have done this enough times to know those things are gifts to be noted and enjoyed!

And of course, two weeks of Percival. Two weeks of timeless days, waking with him, hoping to sleep with him whenever I can, bundling him tight in swaddles, taking too many pictures, letting the kids hold him and the whole time just wanting to take him back. The first time I let him sleep alone for two hours, and I busied myself with dinner prep and tidying and such, I told Ryan I deserved a prize: I didn’t even cry. Because yes, I cry every time I’m separated from a new baby.

These newborn days find us mamas to be soft, sensitive, tender, raw in so many ways. There are mountain tops and valleys — and both of those places can be prompted by the most ridiculous and small things. Toe-curling pain of a babe learning a good latch, heavenly bliss of soft cheek and delicate fingers to kiss. The wrong pants going through the dryer and the toddler testing every command, the soul-satisfaction of all of our babes gathered for a family movie night. Seven times later, a decade and a half of perspective under my belt, I take it all a bit slower and lean hard into grace.

These are but a few of my thoughts from the past two weeks. Mostly, my thoughts have been of how thankful I am for a strong and God-fearing husband, for children who have chosen honor and servanthood, for a healthy beautiful baby, and for the faithful nearness of God.