Norman Rockwell Meets the Psych Ward

I am enamored with Norman Rockwell sorts of perfect moments captured. They intrigue me and leave me both warm and cozy and also slightly disturbed. 

One of the conversations I seem to have found myself a part of a lot these days is, "What should I post online for the world to see?" As in, "Should I choose to post only the good moments or should I reveal the normal, crazy, I'm going to pull my hair out and someone is gonna call the cops on me moments?" 

Fellow mom friends, have you entertained the same sorts of questions? I mean really, what makes you choose to post the so not normal pictures of your seemingly everyday routines with perfectly behaved children over the ultra realistic cereal bowl smashed to the ground, insanely high pitched scream protesting the "Go potty and get on your shoes" roll call? 

Essentially I'm asking do we post only the good moments and leave the forgettable moments by the wayside? And if so, why? 

I think my generation and following are quite invested into the notion of authenticity. People just want real, right? They want to know that the same crud that takes place in their homes, with their kids and family time happens across the street and to the pastors family too. Right? Don't we find a little bit of comfort in the fact that their kid lashes out irrationally too? (I borrowed that line from The Santa Clause...thank you Tim Allen). 

Here's the thing, I often only post on my Instagram those happy, pleasant moments and occasionally mention the crazy that led up to that moment or the rest of the day that was hell-ish after that glorious moment. But I don't dwell on the negative. My writing on this blog is often a bit more in depth into those "normal" moments. I'm not a fan of taking a picture of my kids while in the midst of a tantrum. First, I have no free moments during the tantrum to grab my camera or phone. Second, I don't think that's necessarily fair to our kids. I mean, how would we like it if our kids posted our moments of loosing it for all the world to see? How's that for authentic and honest? 

Here's the truth. Raising kids is no small feat. I rarely have an entire day that I can look back and say I've done a great job today as a mom. Because ya'all the truth is often times I mess up royally. I'm not always composed or remember to be calm. Sometimes raising kids makes me question all that I know to be good and gracious and want to lash out irrationally. And I do. 

I don't always feel I'm great as a mom or a wife or a human being for that matter. But ya'all I'm a work in progress. And, here's the thing...I kept them alive today. They had good food on the table. They were bathed. We played. They fought. I lost it. We had beautiful moments I wish I could capture but I'll try to hold in my heart and mind forever. 

Life, day in and day out as a parent is so full of so many mixed emotions. I cannot tell you how many times I've described my day to Josh as a day in the Psych Ward. No sooner our sweet moment is under way, five seconds later, the roof is caving in and sudden emotions leave me spinning. I. can't. catch. up. 

The batch of cookies we made together was beautifully captured and then five minutes later a fit was underway because she didn't want to clean up. 

The messes are never ending, the dishes constant. Sometimes all I feel I do is referee and clean...all day. But here we are. This is us. This is the makings of something holy. I feel it. 

Chaos is all around me and I truly do try to seek the holy in the mundane because I honestly feel there is some underlying sweet, life giving existence to be lived in the midst of it all. Real life often feels typical. As young kids, don't we all often dream of the "When I'm an adult..." Then when adulting happens, we cringe what our life has become. 

I choose to remember the moments Norman would have captured and learn from the moments better left in the psych ward. I absolutely love it when a fellow mom friend spills the beans on her day in the life because you know what...that's truth. I live it every single day. I'm working on finding humor in the moments that feel isolating and unkind. I'm looking for joy...even a small glimmer of it. 

And the other thing I'm recognizing about myself is that when I can exercise the gifts God has given me in other capacities other than within my own home, I somehow come alive. For some people this means working outside the home in a job that is life giving and using their adult skills. For others it's the opportunity to volunteer and pour into peoples lives. I personally love to teach and mentor teens. Teaching Scripture and Theology is something that I have really missed, especially within the capacity of youth ministry. It's an area I desire to grow more maturely in. But it just fills me with such joy, I just can't explain it. I. Geek. Out. 

So, I move through my days with an attempt at making it memorable for them, for me. But often times I experience the mundane and find myself stuck. Stuck in appreciating its value. Stuck because it can feel lonely. 

Then I talk to my mom friends and somehow the world seems right again. 

Precious sisters sharing the same journey, with different little people: let's not be too hard on ourselves. Good job for keeping your crew alive today. Good job for picking up that pile of blocks for the 17th time today. Good job for reading to your kids with constant interruptions from your younger crew and the dog. Good job for sacrificing your own sleep for the sake of staying up all night with them when their sick. Good job for starting the laundry in the washing machine and remembering it five hours later. Good job for attempting a bathroom break while playing goalie keeping your baby away from the dog dish that happens to be also located in the bathroom (I have no experience with this). Good job mama friends. 

You have a tough job. Not all of it will feel memorable today. Most of it you probably don't want to capture and post and that's okay. I see you. I hear you. You are my heroes. 

PS: If you have a MOPS (Mother's of Preschoolers) group that meets in your area, try to join them! I recently joined one myself and I already feel part of something great. 

The Crooked Four Eyes Seeks Justice

Our 11 month old son, Josiah is quite the grabber. He is the king of swift, crazy movements that can really have a way of sending my back into bad fits. The boy is strong.

His personal favorite thing to grab hold of is my glasses. And more recently this mama is coming closer to considering eye surgery so I don't have to wear glasses or contacts again. Whew. In all honesty, it may be a good thing that I rarely wear my glasses out in public. People might double look at the crooked four eyes walking down the grocery aisle.

Without my glasses or contacts, I'm as blind as a bat (actually that's not entirely true; it turns out that bats are actually not blind). If I try to maneuver my way around familiar places in the house, I can do a decent job. But put me on the road, at the park or the grocery store, I'd be arrested for acting drunk or some other such craziness.

Eye sight...good eye sight is so important. Without a clear picture of the world around us, we play a guessing game on what is actually taking place in our surroundings. And guessing is often wrong.

I've been reminded of the perspective we all have, the bias if you will, concerning world events and even those that hit closer to home. How we view the world around us is determined by how clearly we can see things. Our world view casts a picture of our values, our preconceptions and our priorities.

When my glasses get knocked off my face, it's an instant frustration for me. One, I worry if the glasses will break and two I feel totally incapacitated without good vision. It's as though someone was playing a cruel trick on me.

Our daughter, Adelynne recently turned four. Within her four years of life, it's amazing how much of my thinking has been tweaked or refined, now being a parent. I can't watch shows or movies where a child is being victimized. It isn't entertaining and I run far from it. My mama heart strings get tugged on all the time when I come across news stories of sweet, precious little ones without a home, without safety or basic necessities. I always put my own kids in their places. What if it happened to us? What if we were displaced?

Adelynne has kindled a love for history this past year especially. I'm totally okay with that (read: mom likes to geek out every once in a while). Recently, I handed down my three American Girl Dolls I had growing up. These are very special dolls to me. Their clothes, their accessories and books hold some of my greatest memories. They were what my parents saved up for for Christmas' and birthdays and I knew that was a sacrifice.

The original dolls were all based off historical fiction. I read their stories over and over. There were little corners in the house or my room that became my reading nooks with me and my dolls. There was nothing Pinterest worthy about those corners, but they were very memorable times. I felt transported back in time, to another world, not entirely like my own. What would it have been like to have been a pioneer?

Even recently, Addy and I got a book from the library on pioneer's on the Oregon Trail. Just reading about how much they endured through 6-8 months of traveling, most of the time walking. They lost livestock, food went bad and loved one's passed along the way. Yet, they pressed on. They carried hope in their wagons and in their hearts. Hope that the ultimate destination would be better and more profitable than what they left behind. They blazed new trails and shed many tears along the way. Camping in a trailer for a week with both kids felt many times like a chore for me. And I had creature comforts of heat, air conditioning and a refrigerator. Imagine doing that for months on end without said comforts. Traveling with all you could gather from your past life. Traveling with babies, elderly and even livestock.

Have you ever tried to explain a devastating, unjust time in history to a young child? How do you explain our country's history of slavery and other social injustices? As a parent, it's not easy. And while I do exercise caution with how much to share at this point, I don't want her to be blind to the world around her.

This world is full of much beauty and breathtaking, awe-inspiring moments. When those moments are captured, we all take a step back and admire the view as if we can't believe we get to witness and be part of something so magnificent.

But our world is also broken and the people in it are often hurting, in pain and in the lowest valley. The mountain top experiences are sometimes quickly forgotten in the midst of all of the ugliness. Another school shooting, another rape victim, another person enslaved, victimized. Low moments and seemingly no way out.

Addy has mentioned a few times a grievous line in the midst of a toddler meltdown: "It's not fair!!" This is perhaps one of my least favorite phrases and each time I hear it, I feel as though I could burst at the seams. Maybe it's because, if not used in a proper context, the words can feel utterly selfish and meaningless.

Not fair is hungry people with no food. No clean water and no safe home.
Not fair are the woman and children victimized repeatedly because some lunatic terrorist thinks it's his right.
Not fair are children given no education or no chance to enjoy their childhood and instead have to work in dangerous factories, given pennies for their labor.
Not fair are people who went to work on a normal day and ended up being victims of a shooting or a terrorist act.

There is disease. Pain. Crippling pain in our world. It often times feels overwhelming to me. And how can we not compare our lives to theirs? What if a refugee took my phone for a day and snapped selfies of a day in his life? What would he record? Would I post those things? At what point am I really any different than them? Doesn't our basic humanity hold us together, if nothing else?

I had the privilege of teaching Sunday School with our high school students recently. We unwrapped the idea of "imago dei" or being made in the image of God and how that concept alone should ripple through all we do with and in our lives.

When we allow the idea of "I'm more than..." "I'm better than..." "I'm greater than..." we are allowing a Holocaust to take place one small step at a time.

When we don't stand up against serious injustices all around us, we're treating true pain like it's some kind of cheap entertainment.

In the midst of such grief and ugliness, we can often find ourselves reaching out for answers. I am in a season of trying to be informed about social justice issues. I want to know how to Micah 6:8 this life because God "has shown us what is right and what the Lord requires of us. To do what is right, to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God." I want to live into this.

Maybe it means supporting more fair-trade entrepreneurs, where workers are given just payment for their work and in fair working conditions.

Perhaps we buy soap for Christmas gifts, made by refugee's in Syria, trying to get back on their feet and break a vicious cycle.

Or maybe it's in how we spend our time and what we put our efforts toward.

Maybe we selfie capture more than ourselves with weird snap chat filters and less time playing Pokemon Go and spend more time talking with people and being super intentional about how we spend our time with them.

If knowledge is truly power, let's begin by turning what we know into change one small step at a time. Let's be prepared to have our vision adjusted and our perspective altered, if need be. Lets try to spend less time debating if we should interact and welcome and just do it.

Here are some great places to get started in being informed:

• http://www.preemptivelove.org/
• http://www.doortograce.org/
• http://www.thearchibaldproject.com/
• https://www.ijm.org/

Dental Hygienists, Dusty Keyboards and The Holy Spirit

Our home isn't often quiet. Nor is it perfectly put together.

I once read a sign that said, "Excuse the mess, my children are making memories." 

In so many ways that rings true of our home. I love to organize and I love for things to have a spot. My rule: If I'm not going to use it within a year, out it goes! I'm not one to hold on to things and I'm not a fan of clutter and mess. 

Becoming a mom has in time smoothed out the rough patches of my perfectionist mindset. Not that you have to let all things go completely when you become a parent, but perhaps some of those expectations aren't as relevant any more. Other things become more significant perhaps than the time you take to make sure every little nook and cranny is spotless. Things like stopping everything to play with playdoy or making a fort or signing the same song over and over again. Making memories can't be done over. I'd like to have my family remember we had a clean house but more importantly that we had fun with each other. 

More than anything I'd love for my children to remember a mom who took time out of her crazy day to be with them and who valued being present with her kids. A mom who showed love based on the love she'd been shown through her Heavenly Father. 

Within the past few weeks I've been hit hard with a significant lesson and I'll be perfectly honest, it hurts. 

Every once in a while the Holy Spirit makes known in my life such powerful reminders that I can do nothing else but stand in awe and then act. 

What is this said lesson that requires action you might ask? The Fruits of the Spirit. 

That's it. Plain and simple and Sunday School worthy. 

Or is it? 

You see, life in the Spirit is hugely significant and ought not to be taken lightly. 

When God's Holy Spirit makes his home in our souls, how can we stay stagnant? Unmoved. Alone. How can we not be changed? Renewed? 

The reminder I received came through several months of feeling bogged down, overwhelmed and jealous. Perhaps there was some post-partum blues or just the reality of adjusting to life with two kids? Maybe I had just gotten myself in a comfortable reality with my toddler and was just starting to enjoy some new freedoms when life with my infant rocked all of that again? But for whatever reason, my attitude and outlook each day wasn’t great.

I felt I was going through the motions, weighed down and stuck. I needed something to help renew me.

Then it came; at first through gentle reminders from friends and family, reminding me of my value and purpose and the temporary-ness of this crazy season with little ones. I have hung on to each of those reminders. And then I’ve been so loved by people willing to experience my mess, toddler tantrums and baby wailing with me, beside me and all along reassuring me that they don’t mind it one bit.

The journey…

Yet the biggest reminder game through a dental hygienist and a dusty keyboard.

Let me explain.

Addy went in for her second dentist appointment. We absolutely love her dentist and the hygienists. The morning we went in wasn't great. There was yelling and repeating of what needed to happen, time outs and poop blow outs and tons of spit up all over. In short, it was pure stress. 

And in the events leading up to getting out of the door, my daughter wanted her daddy and I to pause for a quick picture that she wanted to take. My mood wasn't great and I fought back tears. Taking a picture was the last thing I needed in that moment. Capturing me in my spit up mess and out of wack back pain wasn't my idea of family fun. But there we stood, Josh and I. He attempted a smile. I did not. Somewhere on her little orange camera sits a picture of a way stressed out mom, not in the mood for fun. I. Was. Exhausted. 

We finally made it to the dentist and as I approached the front desk, the kind receptionist behind the counter stopped me. "We tried calling you..." 

Uh oh. Did I miss the appointment? We're we late? 

Nope, the doctor was at another appointment in town and he himself was running late getting back. 

Great! Confirmation that I'm not the only late one in this life! 

He was on his way back and would be there in about 30 minutes. 

A sweet hygienist offered to start Addy on the cleaning process and he would be back probably just in time to check her. I agreed and back we all went. 

Addy wasn't totally sure about her second trip to the dentist, though she's been role playing being a dentist since her first visit, six months ago. Josh went to the chair with her and I fed Josiah close by. 

The hygienist asked her what movie she wanted to watch on the ceiling, what flavor of tooth paste and fluoride she wanted and if she wanted to wear some super rad looking sunglasses. Did I mention our pediatric dentist is way cool?! 

As the movie Frozen began on the ceiling, I watched the hygienist and almost immediately felt that tinge of guilt inside. This girl was way patient and totally fun. She reminded me of myself several years ago. She had joy that was seriously contagious. When she smiled behind her mask, her eyes sparkled and danced. She was full of life. 

Have you ever experienced a person who was way more patient and understanding than you? I think for me it wasn't so much the fact that she was cute and adorable and seeking to make my daughter feel comfortable, it was a reminder for parts of my mommy-ness that was lacking these days. 

I was sleep deprived and spent and felt I was standing in a fog of too many things that I couldn't keep up on anymore. There wasn't time to do projects with Addy, Josiah demanded too much time. Addy grew impatient when I asked her to wait until I could get her a snack or play with her. Any mom reading this knows that time for yourself, even time to go to the bathroom or take a shower can be few and far between. 

Needless to say, the gentle reminder to find joy in the midst of... was poetically unraveling before my eyes. 

The Fruits of the Spirit are not simply useful cute verbiage in a preschool song. In fact they can be quite hard to achieve and live into. 

The Spirit yields results in our life far beyond the magnitude of what a TV evangelist can proclaim and a short term missions trip can burn within our hearts. 

Love

Joy 

Peace

Patience 

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfulness

Gentleness

Self-Control

I love that when Jesus left earth and ascended into heaven, He for sure did not leave us alone. The Spirit is called a Comforter for a reason. And he's more than Jimmy Cricket could ever conjure up as a conscious. The Spirit is living and life-giving. Sustaining and overwhelming. 

And, we are not alone. 

We. Are. Not. Alone. 

As a mom, I desire to impart a glimpse of God in action to my family. I want them to see God at work in decisions I make, crisis I face and storms I weather. That's my hearts desire. God help me on the days I fall very short of that desire. 

What happened next truly felt Spirit-led. 

In the gentle reminders and in the loud astounding ones, I've come to realize that the enemy of our souls wages war against the Spirit of God. 

There are a plethora of things that the enemy would love to see defeated. And any results of life in the Spirit are high on his list. 

God spoke to me in the mist of these lessons, prompting me to bring a Spirit of worship back into our home. It had been years since I'd played piano and guitar and led worship. Those were life-giving, flourishing times for me. I'm not a fantastic musician or singer but my soul resonates with worship so pointedly. 

Sitting in our garage, collecting dust and cob webs was a keyboard, given to us by Josh's grandparents about three years ago. A few years ago life was starting to get chaotic by adding a baby into our life. There wasn't an adequate place for it, nor did I think I had time to enjoy playing. 

Or so I thought. 

My daughter loves music and I adore that. Worship music had begun to take a big place in her life. We now share many beautiful moments worshiping God together. I love to see her twirl around singing as loud as she can, raising her arms or playing instruments. There aren't many three year old's whose heroes are Chris Tomlin and Lauren Daigle. I love her simple heart of worship. It makes any fancy stage and thrilling light effects of a mega church pale in comparison. 

Through all of these crazy changes and adjustments in life, I'm finding joy in folding my 635,684, 990 load of laundry. The messes that seem to reappear five minutes after being cleaned up are beginning to look like part of my liturgy. Fussy baby nights and defiant toddler tantrums are one big musical genius, composed by the Author of parent hood. 

And here I sit, a much needed donut in hand (brought to me by a husband who decided to listen to my mommy craving for something sweet), finishing a blog post that has only taken about four weeks to write. Thankful. Overwhelmed. Burning tired eyes. Ready to embrace tomorrow. Sunday. Not just fun day, but a day to celebrate our God who is delighted with the praises of his children. Tomorrow will be exhausting as well but I'm praying for it to be life-giving and Spirit directed. 

I'm praying for joy and grace in the impatient parts. I'm praying for love that gives my children what they truly need, not just their fleeting wants. I'm praying for peace in a rocky decision that I've struggled to make. I'm praying for faithfulness to the calling God has carefully and fervently placed on my life. 

Be. 

Breathe. 

And don't forget to exhale.