Post Category → motherhood

sowing.

I love to find beauty in my days. I love to notice little moments of loveliness that might easily be rushed right past and forgotten. I work hard to make each moment something — books, crafts, chores with Mama, candles at supper, clean pj’s, tickles and kisses on bare bellies. Those things are little seeds.

There are some hours, even days, when it’s harder to see life as beautiful, as sowing seeds. And when life is less than beautiful, I find it hard to not blame myself for failing. When there is an hour of repeated blatant disobedience and a baby crying hysterically in the background, and two parents are finding it hard to not lose it in the emotional pressure-cooker of the moment, I most likely am thinking, “This is awful. What am I doing wrong?”

Sometimes? Nothing.

Why does it surprise me, when I live with three sinners (plus the one within), that there are messy hours? When these darling little babes are born into the world as haters of God, rebels from the get-go, why does it surprise me that faithful parenting sometimes means coming face to face with sin’s ugliness?

That awful hour of tried patience, multiple offenses and meted consequences, crying baby and general upheaval — is that any less sowing seeds than the quieter hours of reading and singing and dusting? In the midst of that chaos, isn’t it possible for me to hear a whisper of commendation: “Keep up the faithfulness; you’re doing great”?

From the right perspective, isn’t it even possible for me to see something beautiful — to see that my little men are having seeds of righteousness planted in their hearts? To see young parents who know so little about grace and patience learning the ways of a perfect Father?

It may not be the most fun sowing — but it is sowing. Necessary and invaluable sowing.

And I don’t need to flog myself for having failed; I don’t need to feel like I’ve let God down. Sin coming to the surface — that’s part of His plan, and part of the crazy adventure called Family.

In fact, if I’ve failed at all, it’s because I’ve hated those moments and wished them gone instead of being glad that grace is at work. I, too, want to see beauty in the ugly.

sums.

Sometimes I find myself with a lull. Both boys are napping, and I just don’t feel like jumping right into household chores. Usually it’s because I’m super tired. So instead of working, I decide to ponder. (When you’re super tired, work is ALWAYS a better option than pondering.)

I ponder my current life. I contemplate how the weeks, days, hours are being spent. I reflect on the grand goal of my life — to glorify God — and visualize the trajectory of my actual life and the bulls eye of said goal.

You know where this is going, right?

Yeah. I come to the conclusion that I’m clearly way off the mark. I’m never going to hit it. How can

1. getting dressed
2. getting two more people dressed
3. helping my son make his bed and brush his teeth
4. nursing the hysterical baby
5. making pb&j
6. cleaning up the spilled milk
7. removing the pb&j plastered to little arms and hands and mouths
8. changing a diaper
9. reading a book
10. not losing my temper when my nose get bashed while little people get comfy for storytime
11. starting the book again
12. settling disputes over who touched who
13. taking care of the kid who disobeyed by not laying his head down
14. praying for the 3 year old as loudly as i can because the 1 year old has totally lost it
15. wiping the huge tears off chubby cheeks
16. nursing the baby to sleep
17. deciding to tackle the day’s demands (i.e. washing dishes, vacuuming, making dinner, folding laundry…)

amount to glorifying God??

I certainly don’t feel like I have to be living in Africa in a hut in order to be living a radical Christian life, but don’t I have to be doing more than the above? I’m suddenly panicking. How am I ever going to see the glory of God in my life doing this? I want my kids to know and love Jesus. I want the fruit of the Spirit to ooze out of me. I want our lives to be spent in service to the Church and the world around us. I DON’T SEE THIS ADDING UP!!

(I warned you, there’s panic involved.)

My head is hurting, trying to figure it out, trying to decide what radical thing I need to start doing in order to get a radical outcome. There are tears.

And then there’s a whisper:

Faithfulness.

Oh. I’ve heard this before. In fact, I’ve been here before. (Would you believe that young motherhood is NOT the first time I’ve found myself in a hum-drum sort of season? It’s true!)

Be faithful. Do what you know to do… faithfully.

And I suddenly realize what this is: a challenge to faithful sowing. Faithfulness is obviously a highly-valued attribute, but I forget that being faithful doesn’t necessarily mean doing some Really Big Hard Thing. It usually means doing Some Little Thing Every Single Day No Matter What. That’s what faithfulness means.

It means that even when I look at what I’ve accomplished today and some niggling little voice says, “Feel like a hamster in a wheel yet?”, I don’t cave. I don’t quit sowing these plain-jane little seeds in search of a huge glamorous job — because that would be unfaithful.

And it’s sowing those plain brown seeds with eyes of faith, knowing that there’s some sort of miracle inside that befuddles the human mind. It’s knowing that the sum is greater than its parts. It’s being content to just trust and obey.

“Trust in the LORD and do good;
Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness.
Delight yourself in the LORD;
And He will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD,
Trust also in Him, and He will do it.
He will bring forth your righteousness as the light
And your judgment as the noonday.”

“Do not be deceived, God is not mocked…” — psalm 37; galations 6

a prophet in the making?

Yesterday when Jameson woke up from his nap, he surprised me by letting me scoop him up, lanky legs and all, and hold him “like a baby” for a few minutes. His sweet little face rested on my shoulder, and I told him how special he is. Then I started telling him about how God made him, and before Mama or Daddy had ever seen him, God already had made his eyes and ears and chin and cheeks. (This made him quite happy.)

I continued:

“And God knew about all of your birthdays…knew that you would love Uncle Merrick…knew that you would love going to the Hometown Cafe for hotdogs…”

I went on and on, telling him that even the days we don’t know yet are already planned by God.

He finally piped up:

“And you and me walk down to eat hotdogs. Just us.” [“Us” is pronounced “Hus”, which is ridiculously cute.]

I was a bit confused, since I couldn’t remember ever having taken him out for a hotdog.

“Buddy, is that something that already happened, or something you would like to have happen someday?”

“Someday! You and me eat hotdogs, just us. God knows it, Mom!”

That clever kid. How on earth am I going to get out of that one??

one year

[letter for William’s first birthday]

Dear William,

A whole year.

That’s how long I’ve known and loved you. A whole year.

Even while in the middle of living them, I felt the days slipping through my fingers like sand. I knew Time would fly, staying barely long enough to make the faint impression of memory before flitting away. I was right, but that doesn’t make it easier. There were plenty of days this year that I would love to live over and over, savoring you.

Oh, William, just saying your name and thinking of you makes my heart want to burst! I love you so much and can’t believe there was ever a time that you weren’t here, filling my days and heart with joy.

But there were days before you. Notably, some sick, cranky, exhausted days that left me wondering, maybe?… And sure enough, the test said Yes! You had quietly arrived, and in the dark and hidden place were being woven together. Even before we knew the idea of you, you already had a future and hope. Isn’t that simply amazing?

I loved carrying you. Running after your older brother kept me fairly preoccupied, but when your kicks began their flutter, I had a constant reminder that there was a baby to love. I would cherish the few moments here and there when I found time to stretch, read, prepare for your coming.

I decided to have you at home, and your birth is one of the best memories I’ll ever have. You came in the quiet, in the dark, a circle of smiling faces and ready hands to welcome you. We didn’t know if you were girl, boy; didn’t have a name settled on. But when you came with a swoosh, I knew instantly that you were a boy, and that we would call you William.

The first few months are a single memory of days in the living room, your brother playing trains, you wrapped in a blanket on the couch; singing songs, reading books, cuddling; sunshine in the afternoon, candles in the evening. There were long moments, but even those were precious. You ushered in a new rhythm to life, and it was wonderful.

In February, you got sick — the flu, perhaps? For several nights in a row, we only managed 2 or 3 hours of sleep; the rest were spent pacing the bedroom floor, laying in bed singing to you, and finally tucking you into the ergo in the wee hours of the morning so I could make coffee. I remember being delirious with exhaustion, and absolutely thrilled by the softness of your baby-body, all at once. You needed me, and I loved being your mama.

Your first smile came early, and you’ve been smiling ever since: big, vibrant, dimpled grins that we adore. You love to laugh, and the sound of hysterical laughter at your brother’s antics is one of my favorite things in the world! Your only sad times have been when you’re on the brink of a new milestone, and you can’t quite be patient any longer. Then all at once, one day you can sit — or roll, or crawl — and life is peachy again. You’re happy to play by yourself for long stretches, and have been entertained by Little Bear since you were only weeks old. Of course, your chubby little body just begs to be cuddled, and I confess that I often scoop you up long before you need me, because your cheeks need kissing. What a cuddly baby you are!

And now you point at lights and airplanes and exclaim “Ooooo!”, say “Mama” (melt my heart!), talk into pretend phones, do a “Tevye” dance (while sitting — what a crack-up you are!), and read every book you can get your hands on. You adore your daddy, love to play with Jameson, and are still my ’round-the-clock buddy.

Yes, a whole year of life, lived and gone. Your strong personality is emerging (you know exactly what you want, that’s for sure!), you’re learning the challenges of obedience, and you spend more and more time crawling after your big brother. But I look at that handsome face — that face that is slowly leaving babyhood behind — and I remember your first days, sleeping on the couch together, your fresh, new body fitting so perfectly in my arms. You are a solid, big boy, but forgive me if once in awhile, I still snuggle you close like the infant I already miss.

I can’t wait for the years ahead, for making childhood memories, discovering who you are, learning life together. There’s work and training ahead, because you, son, were born to be a man. I’ll do my best to shape and train you for the future and hope in store. You’re going to do and be wonderful things, but before any of that has even begun, I love you.

You’re my Sweet William — always.

— Mama

a jameson anecdote

Preface: Jameson has recently been quite interested in mustaches. He doesn’t see many, this not being 1986, and perhaps that’s why they are so fascinating to him? At any rate, he points out every one he sees.

Okay.

So, the other day the boys and I walked down to the store. They were in the stroller, quietly taking in the world, which happened to include one very kind older man who was out mowing his lawn. He stopped the engine when we walked by, and waved to the boys. I thought what a kind face he had, with those bushy eyebrows so typical of old men, and twinkling eyes sparkling beneath. I was lost in thought, pondering what kind of life he may have had, watching the Bay Area boom, when I heard Jameson laughing.

“Mom! That man had his mustache up here [points to his eyebrows] instead of down here [points to his upper lip]! That’s so funny! On his eyes, not his mouth!” And he laughed and laughed.

And I did, too.

making do

I love seasonal decorating. (Hmm, wonder where I got that from??) Breaking out the autumn decor is especially fun, since there’s that whole shift to the indoors that occurs as the temperature cools. And right up there with decor is food. Who doesn’t love the smell of chicken soup, banana bread, apple sauce, and pumpkin pie oatmeal (which has taken the world by storm this week!)?

So, it goes without saying that I love to set my table with seasonal things! This year, I decided that what I really need are some everyday fall placemats that can be wiped clean after each meal. I didn’t have the money to actually buy any, but I did have this tutorial bookmarked, a new pile of cardstock in lots of colors, contact paper, and an hour last Sunday afternoon.

Sometimes making do works just fine.