I see you.

When we come to the barn in the evening and you're working that difficult colt but the four-year-old is begging to ride, so you put everything on hold and saddle his gelding. Then you play a game with him to teach him how to neck rein and in the end he earns ice cream. But, it's after eight o'clock and the ice cream store is closed, so you drive us twenty miles to town to honor your promise, only to find that the little cowboy fell asleep and doesn't feel like ice cream anymore. I see you.

I hear you, too. When you walk up those stairs with two giggling, rambunctious boys at bedtime. I sit in the bedroom rocking our baby girl and I listen to you on the monitor as you read them a book, throwing your voice to make the perfect impression of each character. They ask you questions about nightlights and superheroes and prayers and monsters in the closet, and I hear the patience in your voice. 

When Valentine's Day comes around and you get a babysitter and invite me and that girly on a special date with our best clothes and fancy dessert, I feel your effort.

You put in very long hours providing for these babies. I know sometimes it's almost more than you can muster to play and hold and converse. But you do it. With that same fierce determination that I fell in love with years ago, you invest in these children with all of your heart and your time and your strength.

Come to think of it, you remind me of another Father I know. That One who loaned us these sweet little humans. You've taken the responsibility of representing Him and poured your whole being into it, and I can just see Him beaming with pride.

I don't expect our children to realize the sacrifices you make for them. Or the energy you spend. Or the way you love in the real definition of the word. Really, none of us ever appreciate our parents until we are parents ourselves. But I want you to know that from this mother's heart -- the one you foster and pamper and shower with affection -- to me, every single thing you do for them matters. And if you accomplish absolutely nothing else in your entire life, I hope you are convinced to the very core of your blessed self that loving us has made a lifetime of difference.

Happy Fathers Day to my favorite person on earth.

Hey, God?

You hear their breathing, right? Those three babies that grew inside my own body and all have my nose and my eyelashes and are sleeping soundly on this Mother's Day night...You hear the constant deep breaths of their slumber in this quiet house. And You feel this same passionate love rooted so deep it's woven in every molecule of Your Being like the DNA they share with me?

Being their mother has brought about the fiercest love I've ever known. Their tears, their expectations, their feelings, their needs, their little souls...every single thing that matters to them matters to me. Because you see, God, they are flesh of my flesh. My heart walking around outside my body. I've endured morning sickness and pregnancy anxiety and the terrible pain of labor and traumatic births, but the first look at them makes it all worth it. I've fed each one and held their tiny bodies against my skin and prayed a thousand prayers for their lives and their hearts. I've rocked them during sleepless nights and kissed their tears away and sang lullabies in their ears. I've seen their bodies get bruised and their feelings get hurt and wished I could shield them from the messy stuff that life brings. I've answered their tough questions about life and loss and You. And these children -- the ones whose breathing fills my ears -- they bring constant joy and wild loyalty and the heavy responsibility of Love.

So tonight, as my babies are all tucked in bed with the remnants of my lullabies serenading their dreams, I can't help but think about You, the creator of motherhood and the very Being of Love. And I remember all the times You've whispered comfort in my ear, and the times You've rocked me in your arms through the torrent of life, and the heart-wrenching sacrifices You've made so I can be with You. It's hard to grasp with my heart and not just my head, but God? If Your love for me is even a fraction as relentless and all-consuming as the love I have for my three babies, I have absolutely no choice but to be compelled to love You back.

Happy Mother's Day to You.

"For the love of Christ compels us."  2 Cor 5:14

"As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you." Is 66:13

Love him. And his dreams. And his persistence in pursuing them. 

Thanks, God. 

Worth It

The moment she was born she looked identical to her next-older brother, only with three more pounds of fat on her tiny bones. The expression. The eyes. The mouth. I repeatedly asked if she was okay because she hardly cried, and the nurses assured me she was perfect--that she just didn't feel like protesting.

They laid her on my chest and that Lover-man admired her long fingers, dark hair, and the signature nose that all of our children have inherited from me. Amidst the unbearably intense pain of a c-section without enough anesthetic, my first thought was that she was worth it.

The days pass quickly and the remarkable body heals itself, and when the pain is forgotten, there is sheer joy. And dresses. And bows. And snuggling her tiny self, which, just twelve days ago, was a part of my own body.

They're miracles, these children. The result of the overwhelming love I feel for that outstanding man who is my favorite person on earth. Raising them is like the forging of iron -- hammering the crooked and imperfect parts of me with the steady rhythm of a million chances at patience and the minute-by-minute choices to lay down Self in the name of Nurture, and the ever-present promise that this will all pay off in the end. There's sleepless nights, inconvenient messes, ears listening to a drawn-out, stuttering story that's so important, and the tolerance for the hundreds of times that middle child says "maaaaa-ma" in a row; as if that one word communicates everything that's significant in his world. The baby sleeps and eats and spits up on my clean shirt, and I feel the weight of every second of caring for her basic needs because I know her soul feels love and understands security when her needs matter. I want her to know in the deepest part of her self that she is worth it. To know that the first thought I had about her in the midst of tremendous pain was that she is worth it. I want all three of them to be convinced that they have been worth it since the first time their heart beat.

In the midst of these busy days, it strikes me that no matter how patient or loving or capable I am, I still can never be enough for these children. That first brings grief, and then relief, because that blessed sacrifice given over two thousand years ago makes it all okay. I don't have to give everything. I'm not required to be all. My best efforts will still fall short, but redemption is better than perfection, and Jesus is awfully amazing at redemption.

And so, with her tiny body wrapped in my arms, I thank God first for the gift of her life, and then for the gift of LIFE, which makes that little sweater dress, bow-wearing, cookie cutter baby girl and her two brothers completely worth our sweat and tears, and every drop of His blood.

If all of my effort produces nothing else, my prayer is that their little hearts would know that beyond every trace of doubt.

Behold our gifts from the Lord! They are our reward. We are blessed!

(Ps 127:3&5)

That mother-in-law

In honor of Mom J's birthday today, here are a few thoughts I jotted down when she visited us early this year.

February, 2015

I went to sleep to the sound of her whistling "you are my sunshine" to that fragile four-pounder who may never realize how lucky he is.

That mother in law -- she always shows up with a car full of food and hands ready to help and immediately asks where the dirty laundry is. She entertains the toddler and scrubs the dishes and there's something blissfully humbling about all your underwear getting washed and three dozen socks being matched while you're taking a nap with the baby. She sends the money she earns at farmer's market just so we can have a date. Her handwriting scribbles sweet notes in the fronts of the books she leaves for us to read. At night she sends us to bed and feeds the preemie his bottle, then sleeps with him right next to her so we can get a couple precious hours of undisturbed rest. As if that weren't merit enough, she raised the most excellent man I've ever known, and something that significant doesn't just happen by accident.

And these little boys, the ones who look so much like her son--they will always remember that Grandma for her singing and her smile and the hours she spends driving across the state just so she can invest time in them. Because, in the midst of a crazy busy world and a million lines on a to-do list, she sits on the couch at night and whistles to that ninth grandchild, "you'll never know, dear, how much I love you."

And her whole life is proof that she means it.

Of God, honesty, and 2015

I have a friend who doesn't know God. Being an American, of course she has heard the name, but she doesn't actually know who he is. During a conversation with her last week, I realized that her picture of God is an angry, dominating Being who is, quite unfortunately, all-powerful, and therefore always gets his way.

It hurt to talk to her. And I thought about how I once called God "Suppressor" in a bleeding-heart honest moment when I gave up on being churchy and finally told him how it was. And it was like he gave a huge sigh of relief that we were finally being honest with each other, and from that moment on, my relationship with him went from "the-church-says-You're-great-so-I-guess-it's-true" to "holy-cow-I-can't-believe-You're-for-real."

Speaking of God and honesty, I'm not gonna lie: 2015 has been a really tough year for our family. From the very early birth of our little Colter (so thankful for him!), to a long recovery from severe preeclampsia and a c-section, to the 19 times we kissed our preemie goodnight and drove away from the NICU in tears, it was a journey we were not exactly ready for. Then, on our anniversary in May, Warren got kicked in the knee by a horse and ripped up a bunch of important ligaments and severed his ACL. The specialist said 6 weeks off work (actually, to continue the honesty trend, he said surgery with 6 months off work, but the laughs we gave him produced plan B). Being self-employed in the horse industry, "6 weeks off work" doesn't mean a couch potato vacation while cashing in on some workman's comp. There's still hay to be bought, horses to feed, stalls to clean, customers to explain to, rent to be paid, hay to be bought, insurance premiums to keep up on, employees to manage, and did I mention hay to be bought? The we're-being-smart Dave Ramsey emergency fund lasted as long as a flake of hay at chore time in a barn full of hungry horses (no, seriously). And the accident insurance policy? Apparently that was not as generous as we were led to believe.

One day the stress hit a max. We were preparing to move to a new house and barn, which had been planned for several months, but just happened to come up on us in the middle of the chaos. We were trying to move horses down to the new place (which would save us a considerable amount of the already severely limited funds), and the pickup began to run out of fuel. Warren asked and I said no, there wasn't even enough available for a gallon of diesel to get us there.

There's something that happens in a person when you are no longer in control of the basics, and the taken-for-granted things can't be taken for granted anymore. A sort of paradigm shift; a change of perspective; a new attentiveness toward people around you who may look like they're doing fine when they're not at all.

My friend would say this low was a classic case of God on a power trip. But you haven't heard the rest of the story!

A family member came to visit and left money on the table for groceries. And I cried. We got a random call from someone asking if we needed help, and they showed up with food and a very sacrificial-for-their-budget monetary gift to give us a boost (yes, I cried again). New tires were put on our pickup. The computer I use to run the bookkeeping business completely died, and it was replaced. I had been saving for a year to have some extra to buy household things when we moved out of our one bedroom apartment to a five bedroom farmhouse, but all of those funds were used up (there was hay to be bought!). One afternoon another family member showed up with an entirely new set of dishes, silverware, pillows, and several small kitchen appliances as a housewarming gift. Someone bought us a fridge. A bookkeeping client tacked on a bonus. A friend cleaned stalls so we wouldn't have to pay an employee. Someone from our church gave us eggs, another person bought us tickets to a rodeo so we could have a night out, and our lawn was mowed for two months when we didn't own a lawnmower. A family member asked us to name a bill that was causing stress, and then paid it. Another random check in the mail paid our insurance deductible, filled our fridge and paid our first month's rent. The new house landlords told us to choose new carpet and do all the painting we wanted and charge the supplies to them (aka, I'm now a spoiled brat living in a house that's customized to my exact taste, only a mile from the new barn, and I have enough closets to play hide-and-seek with a whole passel of nieces and nephews without anyone having to share). The church's baby shower has carried us almost a year without buying diapers. And don't even get me started on the family who put up a brand new barn for us, found us the house we now live in, constantly ask us how they can improve the property, and help with a large variety of things, all in the name of "we want you to succeed." (Crying again.)

I'll try not to be a bore by making this an exhaustive list.

My friend? The one who believes God is angry, dominate, and tragically completely in control? I hope she comes to church with us someday. Not because I think she "needs to go to church" -- no, because I want her to meet God for real. The one who makes dependence on him a compliment, who takes lack of control and makes it abundance, who hears every single desire and completely cares.

Suppressor?          Supporter.

Angry?                 Abundant.

Dominant?           Delighting.

Controller?           Cherisher.

All-powerful?       All-providing.

Trust me, I know.

Take that, 2015!

Grow up!

My mom used to have a magnet on her fridge that said "motherhood is not for wimps." As a teenager, I thought that was a funny and rather sarcastic joke.

Now I don't think it's funny at all. I definitely don't find a single drop of sarcasm in it.

Ten years and two sons later, I have a sort of awe-struck admiration for mothers, particularly the ones who raised me and that overflowing-with-good-character Lover-man. I am not flattering when I say I actually don't know how they did it. How Warren's mom was a pastor's wife, homeschooling mother of four, who grew a lot of their own food, took care of a church congregation, had her kids involved in 4H and sports, and invested in her community with more energy and genuine, heartfelt care than I've known in anyone else. And my mother? With eight children in tow, she took shopping trips, and field trips, and kept up with fifty zillion loads of laundry and eight grades of school, and an acreage, a garden, a bus, and a ministry, and happens to still be breathing today. Women like that are strong and selfless and extremely mature.

When I was a kid, my only answer to the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" question was always the same: "A wife and mom." And so here I am: wife to an incredible man, and mom of two completely delightful little boys. I couldn't be happier or more content, and yet, even with all those years of single-minded vision as to how I wanted my life to be, I find that I had no idea how to actually prepare for what that life would be like.

Because, you see, I went to the local grocery store the other day and only needed one thing. I figured two minutes and a dollar-and-a-half and we'd be on our way home to make lunch. Thirty seconds after entering the customer-less store, that blessed mini shopping cart that is the toddler's favorite part of our little town met my heels at break-neck speed. I hopped around and tried not to wail in the otherwise silent store, and just then that ever-so-sorry little boy informed me he had to pee. Right now. And of course there was a "no more public restroom" sign hanging on the used-to-be-public-restroom door. So, infant carseat hanging on my elbow and toddler in tow, we abandoned our cart and hurried to the front door. I swung it open and collided with the bobbing head of that newly-potty-trained little guy who was doing the famous pee dance. Instantly, every inch of that store was filled with unabashed, painful shrieking. I apologized as profusely as he had just seconds before, and we finally made it to the van where I pulled out a newborn size diaper and let him pee in it. That was just in time for the baby to wake up and realize he was overly starving and absolutely couldn't wait one more second to eat. 

And as my mood spiraled and I tried to remember the peaceful young adult years when I was only responsible for myself, and then the newlywed days when the house was quiet and life was somewhat in my control, it finally occurred to me. I know why I am bothered by scenarios like this (which seem to be repeated in all kinds of varieties daily at our house): it's because I have to grow up. That is the only option.

Not "grow up" in the way that bratty neighbor kid used to say every time she disagreed with me. No, it's time to seriously and literally grow up. I am an adult now. A full-grown, all-in, real and complete adult and I have to act like one. Actually, now that I think of it, that's not enough. Acting like an adult will still fall short. I have to act like Jesus. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control...a healthy dose of those things would sure go a long way.

You see, I could spend my days waiting for these boys to become more independent and stop creating every sort of inconvenience you can imagine. I could feel sorry for myself on the ever.so.long. nights when the newborn is hungry and the sun rises on the world when my eyes have seen less than two hours of sleep. I could lose my composure when the toddler decides the thrift store is the perfect place to make a very abnormal-for-him scene. I could decide to be grumpy all evening when my day has spiraled out of control and nothing has gone as planned. And I could let that never-ending laundry pile and the dishes that stack up faster than I can wash them make me feel overwhelmed and cheated of the time I used to have to relax.

Trust me, I've tried these things. It's awfully hard not to give in to their temptations on some days. But do you know what's worse than all of the sacrifice and exhaustion and sheer exasperation? The way it feels to go to bed and know that all of those emotions caused me to miss out on the privilege and fun of being with my very young and immature sons, who will someday be grown and gone. And especially the feeling of an evening that could be spent basking in the friendship I have with my husband, that I instead chose to spend completely overwhelmed by the children our love has given us.

It's no small thing to be the woman in all three of these guys's lives. If I want my husband to feel as loved as I dream for him, and my sons to be raised in anything resembling my idea of a home for them, I simply have to let all of the little trials push me to maturity, instead of away from it. I have to lean harder on God and less on myself. 

The truth of the matter is that, in order for the occasional (and by occasional I mean constant) interruptions and chaos to seem less like interruptions and chaos, someone is going to have to grow up around here.

And, although there are some very fast-growing little boys in this house, judging from the adorably ornery grin peeking out from a blanket fort, and the shocking blast of urine that just hit my computer keyboard the instant I opened the baby's diaper, my guess is that it's not going to be them.