June 26, 2020

The Little Years

For every sleepless night, there's a tiny hand cupped around my cheek.

For every meltdown, "I just love you, Mommy."

For every assault by baby fingernails, there is a strawberry scented head nestled on my chest. 

For every refusal to eat anything but cheese and carbs, I find a new trick buried in my sleeve. 

For every bite stolen, there are those delicious cheeks.

For every bump, bulge, and wrinkle; "Mommy, you're so beautiful." 

The little years wear you down, just to build you up anew. 

June 23, 2020

20/20 Vision in 2020

If there is one thing that 2020 has taught me, it’s this: The world is not a safe place. To scratch the surface, I’ll list a few things that have happened this year and it’s not even half way over. My dad had a heart attack. A tornado swept down my sister’s street and busted her window. A pandemic turned our world upside down. I experienced my first panic attack. Racism still runs rampant and eyes, including my own, are opened. It has been a hell of a year. Leave it to the year 2020 to give us 20/20 vision of the kind of world we live in. 

2020 has also forced us to do introspective work. We have had to face our issues as we rewire our lives around the pandemic and unlearn racial prejudices that have plagued our own hearts due to the systems in our society. On top of that, add the personal trials each one of us is facing, and we have learned probably more than we care to know about our own hearts. But this is so necessary. We must look at our hearts and learn from what we see. We must look squarely upon: 

Our control issues
Our judgmental issues
Our defensiveness issues 
Our selfishness issues
Our marriage issues
Our insecurity issues
Our financial irresponsibility issues 
Our relational issues 
Our apathy issues
Our hypocritical issues
Our blame issues 
Our anger issues
Our honesty issues
Our integrity issues
Our unforgiveness issues
Our independence issues
Our discontentment issues
Our jealousy issues

Shall I keep going? Can anyone look at her heart and and say that she is good? Like really, truly good, in every way?  I don’t mean good compared to the person next to you. I mean simply good. 

I’m not. I need a Savior. And I am thankful for times that make me remember that. I’m not above needing the reminder.

The only way for Him to be my Savior is for Him to be my Lord. I can’t simply say “Hey, thanks for dying for me!” Nothing changes then. I have to surrender. I have to surrender everything that feels natural to me (being in control, blaming others, being selfish, being defensive… you get the point) to be saved from a heart that is simply not good. 

Eyes have been opened. Now what are we going to do with what we see? 

May 14, 2020

Girl Mom

This poem by Tess Guirney makes me giddy about raising a girl:

If I choose to always grow,
maybe she will bloom like a wildflower.
If I make art from my everyday,
she too, will create her days full of colour.
If I let my tears fall and always when they need,
perhaps she’ll water the earth with an open heart.
If I’m clumsy-crazy and all about her Dad,
a beautiful-crazy-love is what her heart will search for.
If I let him forever romance me in the wake of day,
she will forever know no less.
If I say “I’m sorry”—even when it’s hard,
maybe she’ll be quick to forgive others.
If I choose to speak life in vibrant and rich colours,
let beige words never settle in her heart.
If I leave pretty love-notes, handwritten on every wall,
affirmations will line the depth of her soul.
If I choose the uncomfy and forever shake up my ways,
maybe she too, will stand to live life bold & brave.
If I take time to be alone & make dreaming paramount to my week,
she’ll learn solitude is important and a golden gift to seek.
If I look in the mirror and speak kind and gentle words,
she too, will forever know her worth.
If I fill our house with flowers, music & sweet loving scents,
maybe the silhouette of home will always be warmth.
If our front door is always open to those who are in need,
she’ll learn the golden purpose of life.
If I pray out loud and have real conversations with God,
maybe she’ll move mountains with her voice.
If I tell her I love her a million times a day,
maybe, just maybe, she’ll learn:
that even in my flaws,
my lack,
and my mistakes,
I gave her my entire heart—
My motherhood monologue.

We snapped these pictures on Mother's Day. My goofy girl couldn't stop belly laughing after seeing these.