He's here!

We are thrilled to announce the (early!) arrival of our son,

Colter James

January 5th, 2015

4 pounds, 11 ounces

18 inches long

After spending 19 days in the NICU, we are happy to have Colter home and thriving. Thank you to everyone who prayed for us!

Hey, God?

I thought I knew the man he was the day 
I married him. That gentle, ever-so-protective cowboy who chose me, out of all people, to buy a ring for...I thought I could never
 be more in love with him than on the day 
I wore that white dress. 

But God? There were so many things I didn't know. That voice that promised at the alter to cherish me and give all of himself all the 
time? I didn't know how it would sound 
when three months later it sang hymns 
to me in bed until I fell asleep.

Those hands that held mine so tightly as he slipped the custom made diamond ring on -- I had no idea how they would feel when he held my hair back as I threw up with morning sickness.  I couldn't have imagined the shine of pride in those brilliant eyes when I rode a colt I had broke under his patient teaching. 

And when I said "I do" on that sunny day in May, I had no idea that three years and two sons later I could love him so.very.much.more 
than I already did.

I knew he would spoil me, God. But I didn't expect him to buy me pearls for my first Mother's Day, and garnets when that second son was born in January. He promised to honor me and I knew he would, but I didn't know that honor would spill off his tongue every time he talked about me. That rugged, calloused-hand horse trainer...I didn't know how gentle he could be when holding his four-pound son, or praying with that two-year-old. 

God, you were there; you heard me tell him I would share myself with him for the rest of my life. I called him best friend. But I just didn't know that this is the life he would build, and that a best friend could be like this. I thought I knew. I vowed my entire self because I thought I knew him. 

So God, I just have one thing to say to you as I celebrate that completely-cherished Lover-man on his birthday today. I've said it before, but every day I mean it more:

  Thanks a million billion, God. 
You really outdid yourself on this one.

Seconds

Sometimes I feel like the kid who was accidentally served a second helping of dessert and no one has noticed yet. There are momentary thoughts of sheer thrill at such good luck, followed by a nagging conscience wondering if I should admit that I've already had my fair share at the risk of having it taken away.

Because, seriously, if God knew how happy I am and how well-loved and cared for and treasured, surely he'd have to make the decision to spread the joy around a little bit more. This tiny apartment we live in? Yes, it's crowded sometimes but I am perfectly content here. Our business is sometimes stressful but Warren loves his work, and we spend the majority of our hours together every day. At this very moment there's a baby that's kicking me from the inside. Earlier this year we miscarried for a second time and I honestly wondered if I'd ever be able to carry another baby full-term. Today my womb is full of life -- a healthy, vibrant life that we will get to meet in just a couple months. And there's that little boy who is so.very.inquisitive and observant and full of joy. Some people never know what it's like to be a parent, and here I am with my arms full of toddler sweetness and a belly quite literally filled to the brim with an infant. I could stop with all of this and anyone would agree that I've had way more than my share of dessert. But the icing on the cake? That Lover-man who is astonishingly wonderful and cares for me even more exuberantly than the year I fell in love with him, and invests so much in my heart. Our marriage is a safe haven of conflict-free bliss.

I'm not bragging. I have no intention of writing something that portrays my life as perfect, stress-free or immune to the real world with the result of arousing jealousy in a cyber crowd. I'm just writing what's been going through my head for weeks.

For weeks I've been afraid to put these words on paper because I might as well be a five-year-old calling attention to the distracted adult who just gave me seconds on dessert. And as much as that adult loves the five-year-old, the second helping will inevitably be taken away in the name of health and fairness. Or, at the very least, it'll be split with the other half-dozen children at the table and two extra bites will be the final portion.

It occurred to me the other day that living in fear of having my unexpectedly wonderful life shadowed by tragedy, poverty or some other catastrophe, is not God's ideal. It's possible that he is actually aware of what he's given me, and even gets a kick out of watching me enjoy it. I know, the concept is hard to grasp--at least for me, who has always struggled with an inaccurate view of God. Nonetheless, it seems like I'm giving God an unfair shake to react to this kind of abundance with fist-clenching fear.

I'm not really sure how to sit back and enjoy all of this. How to soak in the sheer happiness. How to relish each bite of o-so-sweet goodness as if a second portion isn't actually an accident. But somehow it seems like that will bring God the most delight. 

And if God is anything like the person he says he is, I have a feeling that he might just really like that. 

Thanks, God

These little babies are due just one day apart. 

I love it when God shows off! 

Of gray hair and silverware

There's no household chore I hate more than washing silverware.

I may be a year shy of thirty years old, but washing silverware makes me feel like a four-year-old with an empty crayon box and 1,000 crayons that have to be organized right-side-up and by color, and I just want to throw them all away and start over.

I will gladly wash every other plate, cup, tupperware, pot, pan, skillet, cookie sheet...I can turn a mountain of dishes into a clean kitchen in no time. I even enjoy dishes most of the time, despite the fact that I don't have a dishwasher.

But I.despise.washing.silverware.

It takes so much time for so little accomplishment.

The other day, that Lover-man came in from the barn and said he was going to wash dishes for me. I, of course, was thrilled, and watched him organize the dirty dishes on the counter and run water in the sink. Then he said something I will never forget as long as I live: "I always start with the silverware because I love washing silverware."

WHAT?! I couldn't believe my ears.

 First of all, what kind of person loves the tedious and completely unrewarding task of washing silverware? That's like saying your favorite job as a four-year-old was arranging 1,000 crayons into a tiny box with all of the tops up and the colors in the right order.

But second, how did we make it three years into marriage with me slaving away and sweating and striving and growing gray hair while I washed all the silverware when it's his favorite job?

And third, is there anything more glorious than to find out three years into marriage that your husband's favorite job is your absolute worst one?

Hmmm...you made us like that that on purpose, didn't you, God?

Happy birthday, Owen Wesley!

He loves to drive the tractor and Bobcat, play in the rain with his "puddle boots," and go swimming. 

He can eat more macaroni and cheese than Warren and I put together. 

And Curious George...there's just nothing in the world that compares to Curious George! 

He always wakes up singing to himself in the morning, and his life can be utterly shattered if he doesn't get to sit on our bed and read books at night. 

He is particularly attached to his "mainke" (blankie) and he still hasn't forgiven us for selling the paint pony that belonged to a client when he thought it belonged to him.

He loves his cowboy hat "like Daddy," balloons, and holding up two fingers to say "I'm two!"

He's got that contagious giggle and face-engulfing smile.

Two years ago we never could've imagined how much personality and joy this little guy would bring to life. We're so thankful for our Owen Wesley!

all photos copyright In the Blink of an Eye Photograpy

Big Enough!

We were told the filly is supposed to be broke. At least a little broke, and relatively rideable. But do you know what she did? The day after we bought her, Warren saddled her and she put her head between her legs and snorted and bucked until she ran dead into a fence and flipped herself over, splitting her head open. She jumped up and continued her bucking escapade, completely oblivious to her surroundings and the blood dripping in her eyes. She almost barreled over Warren. Almost hit another fence. Didn't stop until she could hardly breathe.

The next day she did the same thing again. 

And the next day.

I wonder if she'll ever learn?

Last night we came in from the barn late in the evening to a messy kitchen, a messy living room, a messy bathroom, a messy bedroom and not a scrap of clothing clean. Summertime calls for long hours in the barn and I've been putting in my share of them lately, eager to be with Warren and help him. When we came in the house, the first thing out of that Lover's mouth was, "It's okay. It's really not that bad." (I wonder if he read the panic on my face?!) I laughed at him and commented that if his barn looked like this, he wouldn't be able to sleep. I did the dishes and left the rest for tomorrow. 

When I laid in bed I thought about the fact that I didn't read to Wesley as long as I wanted to today. I should've sent a note to a grieving friend. I meant to say goodbye when Sterling and Natalie went home after riding with us. I wish I could do perfectly on this never-ending (or so it seems!) trek of treating hypothyroidism. I want to be kinder, more attentive and a little less likely to want to accomplish, instead of just wanting to invest...   The thoughts swirled and raced and I could almost feel blood dripping in my eyes from the constant running head-long into a fence of self-condemnation.

I think I might have something in common with that filly.

In the darkness, that Lover-man said something about wishing he had been able to ride a few more horses today, instead of dealing with all of the little interruptions that came up. And I told him to give himself a break; that he's doing a great job; that he's excellent at what he does.

Why oh why is it so easy for me to give grace and approval to others...so easy to teach it to my son and extend it to my husband...and yet, when it comes to me, it's the hardest thing I've ever done?

I remember vividly one afternoon on our family vacation in Estes Park last September. Rain was falling outside, and from our cozy mountain cabin you could barely see the bottom of a fog-covered valley and an occasional pair of headlights traveling slowly down the highway. It was too wet to go outside so the family was crowded in the cabin talking, playing games, watching movies and making food. I was sitting on the floor with Wesley and our (then) two-year-old niece Josalea, trying to entertain them through the long hours of being housebound. We had already played hide-and-seek, built puzzles, stacked Legos and read books. Trying to stay ahead of the toddler energy, I decided to play a game that Aunt Havilah had recently taught Wesley. 

"How big is Wesley?" I said. His eyes sparkled and he threw his hands as high as they would go over his head. 

"So big!" I exclaimed. Then I turned to Josalea. "How big is Josalea?" I asked. 

She grinned, threw her hands over her head and she said, "Big enough!"

I froze, staring at her. Her wispy hair was dancing around a grin the size of her face -- a face that is almost identical to mine at that age.

Big enough.

Tears came to my eyes. The bright butterflies on Josey's shirt sparkled on a round belly and her little skirt covered roly-poly-toddler legs. Her fantastic brown eyes were full of pure delight in herself.

And I wonder...when did it change? When did the complete acceptance of myself and the willingness to extend as much grace to myself as I do to others -- when did it start to fade away? 

There's that Bible verse about becoming like children to gain the kingdom of heaven and for all I'm worth, I want to become like little Josey Kate. I want to be as grace-engulfed as her...so all-believing and delighting and approving of myself. At the end of the day, with my best effort given and all of me poured out to my husband and son and all the people who make up my life, I want to lay on my pillow and say,

"Big enough!"

Because, for goodness sake, I don't have enough blood to spare to keep splitting my head open on this same da-blame fence. 

And besides, it just really hurts.