An honest reflection of me- in fragments. Imperfect- Grace Covered. Balance. Mom. Wife.
Nurse. Homeschool Teacher. Christ follower first. Second changes. Thankful.

Mean Mom

Friday, February 21, 2014

The peace of morning is saturating
Deep breaths fill the quiet
The sun lights my shoulder and casts shadow over the Word as I read
And then they get up

I love them more than I ever imagined possible
They're unique
They make me laugh
They force me to think
And they wear me down
Irritating noises

It's the little things that strip away at the peace, the joy
Swallowing the bickering
While addressing the unkind word
And sly punch on the shoulder
Pressing down the disappointment in their disrespect
While requesting quiet, refocus, forgiveness

Until there is no more room for swallowing
Filled to overflowing and ready to burst from pressing it down day after day
And I'm no longer gentle, or in control
I'm a mess of my own emotions
And too often yelling

I don't want to be the mom who yells

He is a fortress, quiet, and brooding at times
He doesn't break
Not that I want him too
But sometimes the realization that I'm getting through would be nice
Arms crossed and face hardened, he's good at rationalizing, excusing, blaming
Aren't we all
But in a rare moment of exposure
I realize how shallow my perception
For beneath the crossed arms is a heart bleeding with the realization of inadequacy
And his hardened face hides the harsh self-judgement contained in his mind
He is harder on himself than I will ever be

And in that moment I know what he needs

So, I hold his weeping body and he lets me
I kiss his hair, as the tears roll down my cheeks, and breathe out a prayer
A prayer for peace
A prayer that speaks truth
A prayer that claims promises for his life
A prayer that builds him up
A prayer that asks for forgiveness
A prayer that is his lullaby

I don't want to be the mom who yells

I want to be the mom who prays
The mom who sees what they need

I know I can't save them
I can't make them love each other

But I can pray

And so I will...
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Being a Parent is Hard

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

There are nine months of growing pains
And though it's often unrealized in the moment
The uncontrollable changes to your body are just the beginning
The governance you perceived to have
Bends to the realization that you are not in control 

Then they're born 
Or sometimes they're not

And, we fight for control
Because our ideals our dreams are all we've ever tried to see
We wrestle with our sufficiency
We question why
We doubt our dream that once glistened
Now drowned in diapers, and fatigue
Or an empty crib
And our reality is rocked,
Because it's not all that we imagined
Or maybe it is - and so we hold our breath

Then they grow
Or time wanes your emotion from their absence

And still we fight
To protect, and love, and discipline, and inspire, and guide, and encourage
But they need more from us than we can give
And they have their own will
And so
We wrestle
We wrestle with them and with our inadequacies  
We question the love we show, the guidance we give
We doubt our ability to discipline, and encourage and inspire at the same time
Though we try to hold them in our hand closed and safe
Our reality isn't this assured life we pictured
It's fluctuating
Out of our control, they are out of our control

What if there was a better reality
Where the absence of control brought deliverance
And we hold our children or their memory with an open hand
What if we could live in the place of surrender and yield the fight
How would that free us of the guilt we carry for loosing babies
What if we asked for vision instead of imposing our own
What if we quit trying to appear perfect
What if we ask for and accept undeserved forgiveness
What if we allow our best to be good enough, even when it doesn't feel like it
Being a parent is hard
But it's worth it

It's worth every prayer
Every tear
Every sleepless night
Every doubt
Every mistake
Every stretch mark
Every moment of grace
Most of all it's worth trading your near-sighted dream of life
For a vision of grand design, and living surrendered

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these" - Matthew 19:14

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Snapshots of our Reality TV Show

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

The hairbrush has gone missing again
I'm too annoyed to sing like Larry "Oh where is my hairbrush"

There's grace for the little things
She's not organized, but always joyful in her distracted world
Her tangles don't matter as much as her spirit
A moment, I almost swallowed in emotion
I choose her joy, and helping her find the brush or asking daddy to help her find it
And the lost is found, on brothers floor - right where it belongs

There's still milk on the table, remnants of breakfast bowl overflow
No one seems to notice except me.

Walk away,
I'm not going to let spills and our mess define my worth
And because today
He wanted to sit with me over the iPad and make a rectangle bracelet
In this moment I chose him, and rubber bands
And pretending the bracelets don't cut off circulation giving my fingers the pins and needles
Park it. Create. Stay.

There's laundry to fold and dishes to wash
Eyes heavy, body weary, zero motivation

Rest is necessary, time together doing absolutely nothing is valuable
Expectations ruin moments
Blessed that never has he expected me to be more than who I am or do more than I can
He washes the dishes, hangs the laundry, iron his own shirts
And I share his days
Hold hands. Rest. Be

Real life is being annoyed and then realizing you're over reacting
Singing like Larry will make you smile
Real life is getting swept up in tasks and then stopping to enjoy moments when you're wanted
Because it matters
Real life is not stopping, and getting annoyed when it doesn't really matter
And then giving yourself grace and a second chance
Real life is tangled fingers and sitting on the couch with a husband who just finished the dishes and falls asleep while you type and scroll through Facebook
Real life is the 8:00 rush to get kids into bed because your done being a parent for the day
And slowing down when you hear an unexpected an undeserved blessing in her prayers
It is simple- too boring for reality TV, but incredibly satisfying
All the little moments and choices compound into days and years and memories
Memories of life - our simple real life

For the Love of Today, Holding hands, Rainbow loom, JOY, and Making memorable choices,

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America Doesn't Keep It's Promises

Saturday, February 1, 2014

The idea of America holds a promise
That life is Better

It's a promise that prompts
Prompts mom's with vision and hope
Of something more, something superior
It beckons
The promise, of a better life for the ones she loves
Her belief substantiated in her migration
Anticipating all her hard work will pay off in their reunion
Years living on optimism
Pining for them
Scrimping and Saving
Because America has promised her something

But America doesn't keep it's promises

America is just a place
Don't hear my honesty as ungratefulness
I am grateful
But this place, America, is just a place
There is bondage here
There is heaviness
There is sadness
And there is incurable sickness
America is an imperfect temporary place

And the temporary is disappointing
They will all disappoint you

There is One 
One who will never disappoint
One worth your belief
Your hope
Your trust
Your striving
And your surrender
One who gives truth, because it is in truth that you find eternal freedom
And when you take up His yolk - it is light
One who promises you peace a midst sadness, because He will take your burden
And He is The Great Physician, healer of souls, and weary bodies

And HE always keeps His promises

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