Now a couple of months into the school year, I’m getting the same question from everyone who knows me: “So….how is it?”Read More
“Growth looks like...nothing.” These words had me murmuring yeses and amens when my friend Breanne spoke them. Most of the time growth doesn’t announce itself, it doesn’t look like anything in particular on any given day. Like that old cliche about faith and the wind….you can’t see it but you can feel it. Well with growth...you usually don’t see it or feel it until you are forced into a situation that requires your growth to come into play, and then it kiiiinnnnddd of looks like something.
For me, growth kinda looks like an abandoned dirty kitchen at 7:40 a.m. on a weekday.Read More
Today there will be many feelings. But this is your baseline: They are ready. They are, they really are ready for this. And so are you. There will be a moment (maybe a few) when you think…Read More
I’m sitting here in a dimly light kitchen while three-fifths of our family sleeps soundly in their beds and all I want, honest-to-goodness, hand-over-my-heart, all I want is to sleep. But one-fifth of our family is suddenly feeling very scared of the dark and can’t fall asleep. You know it’s funny, you think once you stop with the midnight feedings and diapers you will actually get to sleep like a normal person again.
All of our kids have been on the struggle bus lately. Lots of big feelings. LOTS. Something shifted for them recently, but really we’re all feeling it. It’s the click, click, click of the ride when it’s far too late to change your mind and that big hill is getting closer. Only now as summer is closing, it feels more like click….click…….click……..and then, we plunge. The stomach-in-your-throat, “I don’t know if I’m going to make it. I might like this or I might have made the biggest mistake of my life” feeling is just under the surface, waiting. Waiting exactly 12 days and then...we plunge. The closer we get to the beginning of the school year, the slower and scarier those clicks become.
This ride starts with that too slow and too fast jolt over the biggest hill you’ve ever seen. That’s how it works, that’s how all roller coasters get their momentum and speed, and excitement. That’s also how major life changes work, the too slow and too fast jolt over the biggest thing.
The utter delight and excitement I have can only be matched by the pain in my stomach and tears that come with no warning. All my babies are growing and going and living a little tiny bit of their own lives away from me. All of them will be out of my protection for hours, not able to get a pep talk or a hug until we see each other after whatever happened, has already happened.
I’m feeling all the maternal feelings, but also I’m feeling an excited anticipation. Really, I promise. I can be my own self for hours each weekday. I can be independent and brave and conquer projects and dreams and do good things. And I can also do all the chores and the errands and then have mind-space to give actual attention to my kids when we reunite. And! They are learning! And having fun! And learning their giftedness. And making friends. And having their own little agendas and purposes for each day.
In this whirlpool of emotions, I’m trusting that after the plunge we will all be doing great and adjusting very well. But I’d be a fool and a liar if I couldn’t admit that the click, click, click and the steep plunge at the beginning are going to be….well, they are going to be what they are: kind of terrifying. I’ve had a baby, toddler or child with me every day for 8 (9 if you count pregnancy time) years. Almost a decade of having a little chick under my wing. Ugh….why did I wait in line so eagerly for this school roller coaster ride again?
Then again...quiet coffee shops and mompreuring doesn’t sound so bad.
I can’t deny that with a deep sense of satisfaction and some relief, there also lingers a guttural melancholy. There’s a particular sense of sadness when a goodbye is permanent which throbs in my stomach when I sit still. An overarching sense that says, “This is right. It’s time to move forward.” reverberates through my bones, and yet….Read More
I wish someone had told me that not only is it impossible to be the “everything” woman, but it’s boring. The best thing, the very best thing about growing into new seasons is that YOU get to experience it. You get to see what YOU are like as a career woman, what YOU are like as wife, what YOU are like as a mom.
One of the most giant realizations I’ve had and embraced about myself lately is that I’m a salty mom. That’s who I am.Read More
I could easily worship while I folded laundry and swept up the sand that tracked in from outside. I love cleaning our home, it serves our family. I can worship while I do that. I can wipe down the counters. While I’m at it I can plan for my week of work and map out my list of to-dos. I can consult the calendar.
But I can’t sit still. I can’t BE still.
This isn’t worship at all. This is bondage.Read More
Remember: you are not alone and you are loved! We can do hard things! YOU can do hard things.
Here are some of my favorite resources that I’m excited to share with you! So get ready, get in the fight, pursue your health. The reason it's called "good-hard" is because this is for the sake of your goodness. Doing the hard work isn't just so you can be "normal" it's so you can thrive from the inside out, so you can go on and be a light and a warrior.Read More
In my worst days, a friend told me over the phone, “I am so here for you, for whatever you need. If you need me to come over and hold your hand so you can shower, I’ll come hold your hand.” This is the same spirit with which I write to you today. I may not be able to come to your house and hold your hand, but I am here to help you however I can.
It’s going to be okay. I know it doesn’t feel that way, it feels confusing, overwhelming, and scary. But one step at a time, you’ll make it through this storm. For now though, let's just take the tiniest step.Read More
Maybe this is a thing you’re well acquainted with; maybe this is brand new and secret and scary. No matter, you’re in this thing now. So this is just a letter. A letter from a friend who knows how it feels when the world is big and the waves keep you down and you can barely catch a breath before the next one crests.
It’s scary now, but you will have normalcy again.Read More