{ Five Minute Friday: Mercy }

The thing about mercy is--I often don't know what it looks like. I know what I think it should be.

Certainly not closing on "our" house two days after we're supposed to move.

Certainly not staying at the house of dear friends {who are out of town and have offered their home to us} if we actually don't have a house to move into when we need to move out of our condo.

Certainly not emptying and cleaning our little nest for the renters who are moving in next week, while not knowing where we will live.

Yet I know all these things are mercies.

I don't know why things are appear to be working out so that our timing is just off enough that we may be semi-homeless for a few days. I don't know why it's taken so long for all this real estate/financing stuff to happen, why there have been unexpected curveballs thrown our way at the last minute and why we are questioning Should we even buy this house???

I do know that Jesus knows why all these things have happened and are happening. He alone sees all our lives, the beautiful tapestry that is all our stories being woven together, one day at a time. By His mercy, I am resting in His mercy that undergirds all the unknowns and seeming wrenches that have been thrown in our path. I know that this all works together for His glory and our good.

It's just that our good--and His glory--is turning out to look different than I expected. And that's okay, because I don't know the whole story. Only He can see how everything--everything--unfolds.

{ Five Minute Friday: Lonely }

I'm participating in Five Minute Friday again this week. Today's prompt: Lonely.

Go!

Mothering, it can be lonely work.

In the first year especially--that's all that I know from personal experience--so much of it is solitary. The nursing, the diaper changing, the rocking to sleep, the middle-of-the-night crying or feeding or seemingly endless soothing, the three-hour "please-go-to-sleep-tonight" marathons. The unseen hours of preparation for what used to be a mindless outing--grocery shopping, for example. The tummy time and the board books and the days at home stretching on endless because a little one needs her naps, but won't sleep unless she's in her own crib.

It's lonely. It's easy to fall into the trap of "it's easier to just stay at home, so I will." It's easy to think that you are the only one who feels like she's walking through waist-deep molasses as you mother a helpless little person.

I feel like I'm finally emerging from this phase, which was compounded by the fact that I'm quite the homebody and prefer quiet days at home anyway. But little girl no longer relies on her naps quite so much, and getting out isn't as draining a production as it was the first few months. I feel like I am tentatively venturing out into the realm of regular society again, only to realize that in a few short months I'll be starting the cycle all over again.

Only this time, I have the benefit of experience. Of knowing it doesn't have to be solitary. I think this time around, I'll choose a few more of those draining, exhausting, "why on earth did I ever leave home in the first place?!!" excursions. Because mamas don't need to be lonely.

{ Five Minute Friday: Story }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for this week's Five Minute Friday. The prompt: Story.

Go!

~*~*~

Most days I live like I'm the author. This is my story, my plot; these are my characters, and there are very specific ways I want all those variables to play out.

The truth, which I usually forget, is that I am a character--specifically, that Jesus is the Author, this is His story, and I am a character in the greatest plot ever to unfold: That of Jesus' redemption of humankind. I know that truth in my head, but I don't live it in my day to day moments. Hence, the frustration when characters and plots and things don't work out the way I'd envisioned.

Is it possible to not only acknowledge, but to be grateful--to rejoice!--in the sure knowledge that this isn't my story? That things are never going to work out as I imagine? That this life isn't all about me? Is it possible to be thankful instead of annoyed and frustrated when my baby wakes up with a stuffy nose and needs me more than usual--when I was expecting to get loads of paperwork and ironing done today? Will I choose to say "thank you, Jesus" for whatever He gives--because He is the Author, and He alone knows how my bit in this works together with all the other billions of stories He's weaving together on this planet?

Thank you, Jesus, that my life is secure in Your hands.

{ Five Minute Friday: Comfort }

Joining the many writing for Five Minute Friday, linking up at Lisa-Jo's blog. This week's prompt: Comfort.

Go.
Freshly vacuumed carpet. A bed that's made. A good book and a cup of coffee laced with cream and sugar. My mom's macaroni and cheese, or new potatoes and peas. A sunny afternoon at the park. A bookstore. Catching up with friends--those conversations that last for hours, feel like minutes, and leave you with a tummy ache from all the laughing. These things are like a long, slow, exhale. They make me feel safe. Relaxed. They're comforting.

My husband's idea of comfort is often quite different from mine. A cheeseburger or a steak--medium rare, please. A cold glass of beer. Snuggling on the couch, feet up, watching his favorite TV shows on Hulu. Playing pool or smoking a cigar with friends.

For Lainie, I'm pretty sure "comfort" means a nice long snuggle while she drinks mama-milk. Not having a diaper change. Mommy or daddy's undivided attention. Unlimited yogurt and scrambled eggs.

It's one of the things we're learning to balance as a family of three--how to enjoy the small things in life with each other, how to see the world through one another's eyes, how to value another's comfort and enjoyment over our own.

Stop.

{ Five Minute Friday: Brave }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday. This week's prompt: Brave.

Go.

It didn't seem brave at the time. It had been my plan/hope/goal/dream ever since deciding to pursue a college degree: One day, I'll get married and start having babies, and I will stay home with my babies. I want to. That's all I've ever wanted to do.

It was an easy choice then, and when I lost my job 18 months ago--a week before finding out I was pregnant with Lainie--the choice practically made itself. We've talked over the months, Mike and I, about whether or not I should keep up my continuing medical education credits {CMEs} and my professional certification, even while I'm a stay at home mom, "just in case." Just so I don't have to re-take the board exams if, by some disaster, I ever need to go back to work. But CMEs cost money, and maintaining my license is a couple hundred dollars a year, and neither of us WANT this. We both WANT me to stay home...so why spend so much time and money on a worst-case scenario?

But then I got the letter. And another. And finally a certified letter, hand-delivered by our mailman because it required my signature. Reminding me that I am no longer a registered sonographer, that I'm no longer current on my CMEs, that I'll have to re-take the board exams if I want to work as a sonographer again. They were clearly trying to make me think this is an awful, final, drastic, horrible choice I'm making.

And then I realized: I may not feel like this is brave, but maybe others do. Maybe me choosing to be a full-time mom looks brave to someone else, to a mom who is struggling with what choice to make, to a dad who is afraid to be the sole provider. Maybe being brave isn't always something you feel or know about yourself. Maybe sometimes you're brave in the eyes of another. Maybe sometimes someone else sees your bravery so they have the courage to do their own hard thing.

That's worth all the certified letters in the world.

Stop.

{ jump }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo over at Five Minute Friday. This week's prompt: Jump.

Go.

it's contagious
if you're around someone who isn't afraid to jump
head first
feet first
just jump
into whatever wild and terrifying and beautiful unknown Jesus places in front of you
i've loved him for five years
been married for almost four
and i've prayed so, so many times for the courage and desire i see in him
the courage to jump

i see both of us in her:
the slow, methodical examination of whatever new thing she's got between her tiny chubby fingers
and then the wholehearted SHOVE into her mouth
she's not afraid
she will accept any new challenge you give her
sure, she thinks about it first
gets familiar with it--a little--
but always, she jumps
into the unknown food or toy
{not so much into the arms of unkown people, but that's another story!}

i have prayed so many times that God will change my heart
take away my fears, my propensity for hesitation, the way i drag my feet f.o.r.e.v.e.r before i timidly dip my toes in
maybe that's not all bad.
maybe it's good that i am cautious, concerned, not running recklessly
maybe that's why God gave me mike
and gave me to mike
so we can learn from each other
grow with each other toward the God who made us
Who made one of us uber-cautious
and the other one a lover of risks
so that together, we can jump
because underneath are His everlasting arms

Stop.

{ broken }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for this week's Five Minute Friday: Broken.

Go.

I'd much rather be the one who is broken than the one who is walking with someone--someone bloodied and bruised from life, sin, poor choices, people--because walking with a person through their brokenness? That's the hardest of all.

I hate the helplessness I bring. I hate that I can't fix their problem{s}. I hate that what Jesus asks me to do is to be with them. Not to fix them. Not to "help" them.

But to love them. To do the next right thing, as Elisabeth Elliot says. To pray and love and just walk through today with them.

Maybe it's because, in seeing the frailty of another, I glimpse my own shattered pieces. I see how much alike we are. I'm afraid to touch wounds and offer balm because it's messy and unpredictable and complicated and there is no guarantee that if I faithfully walk with you through this--by God's grace maybe more grace-fully than I have in the past--there's no guarantee that you will come out the other side "better." There's no promise of healing on this side of heaven. There's no certainty that pain will end, brokenness be healed beautifully.

But I will walk with you. By God's grace, I will walk with you. And I will pray to the only One Who can heal our broken places, both yours and mine.

Stop.

{ Five Minute Friday: Rest }

It's the nature of life, I suppose, when he has a job and a commute and I'm taking care of the home and our wee one and after that there's church, community group, family, serving opportunities, friendships--all manner of things and people vying for our time and attention. But I don't like it when I start to sound like a human calendar. When dinnertime conversation is

We need to make a decision about X

and

We've been invited to Y's party--do you want to go?

and

Are you having breakfast with Z on Saturday?

and

I need you to do this and this and this

I remember when we were first married, and Mike talked to me about how, for him as the provider working and fighting battles--both financial and otherwise--for us outside the home, it's important that our house is a sanctuary for him. A refuge, a place of rest and comfort and safety. And not just our home, but me. As a wife, one of my highest responsibilities is to be my husband's safe haven. His sanctuary. A restful person to be with.

Even though I'm not nagging--I'm pretty sure he'd agree--I realize that the way I've been interacting with him lately is more like a machine trying to get as much accomplished ASAP, rather than inviting his soul to rest when he gets home in the evening.

Honey, I'm sorry. Tonight, let's rest.

{ Five Minute Friday: Home }

Linking up here this week...

Home.

Hard to believe it's been nearly four years since I crossed the threshold from "spinster" to "Mrs." and started making a home with my man. A real live man, people!! This is not something I ever really thought possible! Hard to believe that for nearly four years, "home" has meant "small treehouse near the lighthouse." So much growth, learning, awful paint choices {followed by really good ones}, good memories, new life--so much is wrapped up in these four walls. I love this place, and I will be sad when it's time to move on.

But we won't be leaving our home: everything that really means "home" to us goes where we go. This treehouse has been the canvas for the home we've created with our lives, and our next dwelling is simply the next canvas. It will still be home. I firmly believe that Jesus knows exactly where we're going to live next, and when, and that it is perfectly suited for us. Just like all the homes I've known before.

The farm.

The houses where I rented a room from family friends.

The cozy apartment Lizett and I shared.

The house where Lizett, Colleen, Kristi and I did life together.

All perfectly suited to those particular seasons.

Because wherever He wants me to be, that is the perfect home for me.

{ Ordinary }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo at Tales from a Gypsy Mama for this week's Five Minute Friday! Today's prompt: Ordinary.

Go.

It's so hard to feel anything but ordinary, bland, boring, when it seems like all I do all day is nurse, change diapers, roll around on the floor and play with her--with flurried stints of housework in between. I feel plain. Invisible. Ordinary.

It's a lie, isn't it? This IS the Great Thing I've always wanted to do with my life: Bring up little ones. Teach her how to eat, walk, talk. Show her Jesus with my life. Be the gatekeeper of this little heart. It's not ordinary! It's so extraordinary, this responsibility and this privilege, that when I stand back for a moment and look at it, I'm breathless with the weight of glory.

It's only when I can't lift my head about the daily drudge that I forget. My perspective skews ugly. She's not the interruption, the distraction, from the Great Things I was doing {or was going to do} with my life. Being her mama is the great thing. Shaping and molding her heart and soul? It's a huge task, too monumental for me. The fingerprints I will leave on her forever? I'm terrified of them--that I will hurt, break, mar her.

That's why my days with her matter so much more than the other stuff.

{ What Mama Did }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo at Tales of a Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Friday. This week's prompt is not a word, but a phrase: What mama did. Ready, set, go!

 

~*~*~

  

 

The door was always open, pantry stocked, extra places set around the dining room table at a moment's notice. More evenings and noontimes and Sundays-after-church than I can remember, unexpected guests joined us for a meal, games, a movie, endless conversations around equally endless plates of snacks and desserts.

 

She's hospitable, my mama is. Never met someone who was a stranger, and no matter how tired she was, how exhausting the day had been, how sick she was of cooking, how unkempt the house was, she never turned someone away. Never decided not to invite someone over. Our house wasn't the biggest or nicest, and we definitely weren't the most exciting--but no matter.

Anyone was--still is--welcome.

 

Countless afternoons and overnights and mornings babysitting neighbor kids. A literally infinite number of meals. Hours upon hours cooking and talking and cleaning up and sitting and chatting with neighbors, friends, visitors of every stripe.

 

Now that I'm a mama {of just one, not four!}, I don't know how she did it--ran a household, a homeschool, and had time for all these people that she welcomed into her heart and home. Even though it seems daunting, I know this for sure: I want to be more like her.

 

 

 ~ my parents and I when I was a day or two old ~

{ Beloved }

Linking up at Tales of a Gypsy Mama for this week's Five Minute Friday!

~*~*~

 

 

I can feel it in his gaze, how much he loves me. He always whispers "Goodbye, I love you, have a good day" when he slips into the dark of our bedroom to kiss me goodbye before leaving for work in the morning. And the first thing he does when he gets home? Before he loves on that bewitchingly chubby little girl? Kisses me and tells me he loves me.

 

I know what it is to be someone's Beloved. I know what it is to be so, so secure in his love...to know that I can count on him no matter what. Looking back, I know now that I didn't expect it. Not even after I said yes and he put the ring on my finger. I couldn't fathom anyone knowing me--and still loving me. Not just "still" loving me, but loving me more each day, loving me more with the passage of time, more even though he knows even better how I'm broken and dirty and how I've hurt him and how I'll inevitably hurt him again. Because we're both human, you know?

 

He's not perfect. Neither am I. But I am his Beloved. He's always finding new ways to show me. Last night it was sea salt caramel gelato and a Skor bar--and I said I didn't want anything for Valentine's Day!

{ Bare }

It's Five Minute Friday over at Tales of a Gypsy Mama, and I'm joining in!

~~~

 

I don't know what it is about exhaustion that makes me feel so exposed, so vulnerable--like my heart and soul are hanging naked in the public courtyard. Like all the worst parts of me are on display. Like sin I thought was being put to death by the Spirit is very much alive.

 

Today I can barely keep my eyes open. Between the little tooth shoving its way through Elaina's gums, and my decision {brilliant? insane?} to stop swaddling her since she's already not sleeping well--two birds with one stone, ya know--I haven't gotten much sleep lately. And yet, for some reason, this time around the soul-baring tiredness isn't so ugly.

 

This morning I rocked Lainie to sleep half a dozen times, nearly falling asleep myself. She kept pulling her pacifier out and then wailing in sorrow as she held it between her chubby fingers. And I relished it: the baby smell of her head, her little sleepy-snorey noises, the warmth of her hand rubbing my neck in her sleep. The bare-ness is good today: In it, I am knowing my Jesus and my daughter more deeply.

{ again }

joining the crowd over at tales of a gypsy mama--it's five minute friday!

   i feel like i can get nothing done today. it's one of those days where, no matter how sweetly i sing, how gently i rock, or how many 20-minute "let's go to sleep" sessions i perform, lainie refuses to nap for more than 30 minutes at a time.

i feel like i'm stuck on a hamster wheel with a tired baby who just can't figure out how to stay asleep. so i get her to sleep...again and again and again. and she wakes up...again and again and again.

i wouldn't be so frustrated if she and i weren't flying to idaho tomorrow and i have yet to pack, or make food for mike to eat while we're gone, or all the other half dozen important things that i can't do once i'm a few hundred miles away.

i know that in the grand scheme of things, this "stuff" isn't really important. one way or another we will make it to the airport tomorrow, even if the kitchen counter is covered in dirty dishes that will probably not be washed 'til i'm back home. *sigh*

so i'm trying to keep the eyes of my heart on Jesus as i rock little one to sleep for what feels like the four billionth time today. reminding myself that i am every bit as stubborn and foolish and demanding as she is...again and again and again. followed by reminding myself that Jesus loves me, died for me, took all God's wrath for me, and gives me His perfect righteousness as my record, because He bore all the punishment my stubbornness and foolishness and sin. again and again and again i have to remind myself.

maybe it's a good thing lainie and i are living in the rocking chair today.

{ Stay }

Linking up with Lisa-Jo over at Tales of a Gypsy Mama for this week's Five Minute Friday. The challenge? Write for five minutes using her one-word prompt--no editing, no backtracking, just write.

This week's word: Stay.

Go!

~*~*~

 

Stay.

Stay right here.

This is where I want you to be.

Don't try to live in the future.

Don't anticipate this afternoon's naptime and what you hope to accomplish in the 90 minutes she {may or may not} sleep.

Stay here.

Stay with the drowsy mumblings of her half-asleep and nursing.

Stay with the fat cheeks about to split in two from the sheer joy of her huge, huge grin.

Stay in this moment. It will be gone so quickly and you can never get it back.

See how much she has already changed in 4 1/2 short months? Tiny newborn forever gone.

Stay here. Stay right now. I am giving you the gift of this day, hours strung like pearls on a chain of moments, and you can never have more than one at a time. Never have anything but the one I give you right now.

So don't dream about this afternoon, or tomorrow, or when she can crawl, or when she can entertain herself better, or when you will sleep through the night consistently. Today is the gift. Tomorrow is tomorrow's gift, and if you try to live in tomorrow...you miss today.

Stay here. It is the center of my will for you. It is exactly what you need today. It is exactly what she needs today. Love her today. Soak her up today. Kiss Mike with gusto today when he walks back through that door.

Stay.

{ Quiet }

It looks like that random morning when the baby sleeps till 10:30am.

It looks like those 15 minutes when she magically entertains herself without getting bored.

It looks like driving home from church, holding hands with the Mr., while she naps in the carseat.

It looks like 2am feedings, when we are both probably more asleep than awake.

Quiet.

There's more of it than you'd expect in a house with a four-month-old.

But it's still hard to protect, to use properly, to cherish. I'm tempted to fill every moment with silly songs and peek-a-boo and narrating my every action to the little girl glued to me with her eyes.

I had no idea what a gift quiet is. How hard it would be to snatch a few moments with You now that I'm a mama.

I don't want to fill all these moments with laundry, dishes, grocery lists, a quick phone call to catch up with a friend. I want You to be my first choice in the still moments. You to be my first choice for an "adult" conversation. You. I want to find You in the quiet.

 

If I don't choose to spend time with You, will she? If she doesn't see You incarnated in my life, how will she know You?

{ Look }

Look at you, all pretty in pink, fat little sausage toes and dimpled fingers and a gummy grin that splits my heart right open.

Look at you, less than four months old and over a thousand photos of you already sit in folders on my desktop, testimony to how you've won our hearts and become accustomed to the flash in your blue, blue eyes.

Look through those folders, and you'll see snuggles with Daddy; meeting grandparents, aunts and uncles; dozens of cute outfits; silly faces that make me laugh. But where am I?

In all that happy cacophony of baby pictures, I can think of two with me in them. And it makes me wonder: Someday, when you look back on your childhood, will you wonder where your mama was? I mean, you'll remember that I was there with you every day, but will you see it?

In my willingness to stay on the other side of the camera, will you know what I looked like during these exhausting months of new mommyhood? When you are a mama yourself, will you imagine you are the only one with crazy unkempt hair, stubborn pregnancy pounds, and a makeup-free face? Am I painting an unrealistic picture of motherhood for you, my daughter, by staying outside the frame?

It's so easy to do. But maybe today I'll wait for our little photoshoot 'til after Daddy gets home, and have him take a few snapshots of his girls. Together.

{ Race }

It's Five Minute Friday again, folks!

~*~*~

When did this life become a contest? A kind of race against myself? Do more. Faster. Be better at XYZ. Accomplish everything on this list today, and I win! Win what? Tired-and-crabby-Nikki? Great prize!

I treat so much of my life like I'm competing desperately in a competition, and almost always coming up short. The to-do lists never end. There's always another meal to cook, another load of laundry waiting, another errand to run, another book I ought to read. Am I living looking so far ahead at what remains to be done that I'm missing today?

Yes.

So often my answer to that question is Yes. It breaks my heart when I stop and think about it. I don't want Lainie to grow up with a mama who is always rushing from one thing to the next, always trying to get more done and be more efficient and have more time and be a better parent--to the point where I'm not actually present in the present. I want to be here with her. I want her to know that life isn't a competition and she doesn't have to worry about winning because it's not a race. It's a gift.

So today I choose to play peek-a-boo and count piggies and spend as long as she wants talking and giggling and cooing with her. I choose to put down the running shoes and just be.

{ Grasp }

I was petrified of committing to Five Minute Friday: Set a timer for five minutes and just write. Use the prompt on Lisa-Jo's blog and just go. But it has been good for me, so good for me, to write about things from a perspective other than "this is what we've been up to lately." So here I am again: Five Minute Friday!

~*~*~

I've gotten lazy, and I'd like to blame it on motherhood and caring for an infant 24/7, but maybe I should be a little more honest and acknowledge it goes back farther than that {can I blame it on pregnancy? work? getting married?}. I've gotten lazy about my time with You, Jesus, and it screws up my days and my mind and my life.

I don't fully comprehend the ramifications of choosing to cook dinner or fold laundry or fritter away time on Facebook instead of seeking Your face. But I know some of the cumulative effects...the dryness, the bone-deep, parched, desperate-for-water feeling that pierces my soul. I grasp at springs of water that turn into mirages. You know them. You know how easily I am fooled by their shimmering promises of hope and rest and peace apart from You.

I spend so much time reaching for the wrong things, trying to find what only You can provide anywhere but with You.

So now I come to you, feeling weak and ashamed and embarrassed to acknowledge the futility of what I spend so much time doing. Take my hand--reach for me--pull me up out of the hole I've dug with Your strong grasp.

{ Wide }

Here we go again: Five Minute Friday! The challenge: Set the timer for five minutes and go. Unscripted. Unedited. Real. Get your fingers dirty and type!

Word of the Week: Wide

I'm like one of those horses in period films, blinders on, unable to see anything but what's immediately straight ahead of me. The sad thing is, so much of the time I don't even wonder what's on the other side of those blinders. I assume the little bit of road in front of me is all there is in the world.

I stand outside a vacant home, cheery red door and narrow front porch, peer in windows at dingy carpet and old linoleum and my heart sinks. Will we live here? Do we have to live somewhere like this if we want to buy a home? A few minutes later, Mike and our realtor show up, and Mike is all joy and excitement, pointing at what he can fix here and how he will make that better. "I love this place!" he declares with the gusto of a lover, and inside I am shocked.

The next day I go to the windswept sunny beach to pray about this. Lainie naps in her stroller, and I hear God's gentle words. This life God has for us, this life God has for me, it is big. It is wider and fuller and more varied and beautiful than I imagine in my little blinder-bound world. It may include awful wallpaper and a kitchen that needs to be totally redone, yes; but what of it? God's view of our house hunt is the wide-angle one, the long-distance vision, the eyes that see not only further down the path, but all the options around me too...He gently lifts the blinders and says, Trust me, daughter. I have you in My hands.