#GirlMom

Three.

Three giggly, snuggly, little daughters who love all things girly.  Each is different, exhibiting her own unique characteristics from birth.  All have engraved their precious selves into my mama heart for eternity.  Each was flawlessly crafted by our Father's hands for me (and their daddy) to love for all my days.  To love them when they do not love themselves.  To see their beauty when they only see imperfections.  To pray for them, relentlessly, that they know their value in Him.  That they know His plans for them are good.  That they know they are His.

I sometimes question my purpose in this current phase of life.  Did I really follow the Lord's guidance?  Maybe I took a detour along the way, taking the scenic route before realigning myself with His path.  However I arrived here, I wonder if I am allowing Him to use me -- selflessly and wholly used for His glory.  His clear and unmistakable answer comes every Wednesday night.

A few years back, I began volunteering with the youth at our church.  As a small group leader to junior high girls, I see loneliness, confusion, deception, and heartache.  I hear stories of broken families, imprisoned parents, and emotional neglect.  Young girls, just barely teenagers, are tackling issues too complex for their understanding.  Sexual impurity, substance abuse, depression -- it is all there.

Whatever reasoning urged me to begin volunteering a few years ago has changed.  I no longer serve just to be fulfilled, though my heart has never been fuller.  I no longer serve just to congregate with fellow sisters in Christ, though I am building invaluable relationships.  I serve because I see girls with incomprehensible value, angelic beauty, and limitless opportunities.  I see daughters of the King lost in the muck of this world.  I see daughters who believe their critics, before considering the truth of our Father.  I cannot help seeing my daughters.

My daughters have changed me.  They are a reflection of my own childhood and offer me a glimpse of the Lord's promises in my future.  They grant me overflowing grace in this journey, though I stumble every day.  I never fathomed feeling as much love in this lifetime as my heart carries for them.  They are persistent reminders of my Father's favor.  They embody flawlessness and innocence, and I pray these things remain, even after society sinks in its grips on them.

Too many people and things will try convincing my daughters they are unworthy or unwanted.  Surface beauty somehow outweighs the truth in a person's heart.  My girls are outwardly beautiful and talented, and we have confidence in their future successes in life.  Above all, though, they are His.  Before I dreamt of them and felt their first fluttering kicks, they belonged to our Father.  Before their daddy wrapped them in swaddles and tucked them into his heart, they belonged to our Father.  My daughters are His daughters, and I ache for them to know this truth.

It is my responsibility (correction: ours, as parents) to deliver such truth to my daughters.  If they cannot love themselves, no future husband will ever make a difference.  If they cannot find comfort in the Lord's embrace, no future bad habit will ever alleviate the heartache.  If they listen to the lies of what mainstream considers beautiful and popular, their bodies will be unrecognizable and their spirits will become sickly.  We are failing the children of today, sadly convincing them that their legacy on earth is more valuable than their destiny in heaven.  They know no better; they are only watching the example set by the rest of us.

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."
Psalm 139:14 (NIV)

Mint Condition

Broken.  Shattered into jagged fragments.  A resin fleur-de-lis now sits on our kitchen counter in broken pieces, awaiting repair.  We had an earthquake.  Not the kind produced by colliding tectonic plates (although, we had one of those last week, too).  This was a boiled-over-the-rim, reached-my-last-fuse, slamming-doors kind of Mama Earthquake.  The destruction included crying daughters, a regretful mama, and the shattered fleur-de-lis.

To begin defending my gross display of fury, allow me to preface with the following... Our whole family has been sick for the last week.  Snotty noses, sore throats, and congestion-filled heads even cancelled our travel plans over the weekend.  The house is two three weeks dirty, laundry gets done whenever the spit-up stained, pee-soaked garments jump themselves into the washing machine, and hand-washing the mound of dishes in the sink is frequently required, since the dishwasher remains full and because our cabinets are a smidge bare.  In addition to this mess of a house, I have also been juggling homeschooling our oldest and my own homework (remind me why I thought an accounting degree would be...fun?  Anyone?), all the while my husband's nearing military separation leaves our immediate future a little uncertain.  So, now that you have read the above, I get a pass, right?

Have you ever broken something that you refuse to throw in the trash?  Maybe it was a memory-filled keepsake passed down generations or something your husband bought on your first date or an awkwardly beautiful piece of art from your kindergartner.  This particular, broken decoration is minimally significant to me, except that I have a slight fleur-de-lis obsession...and that throwing it away would suggest defeat.  Tossing the fragments into the trashcan, leaving bare wall-space, would imply a deflated mama's spirit and an overpowering Enemy's stronghold.  Mending the resin piece and returning it to its position on the wall will signify second chances, lessons learned, and heavenly grace that is never-ending.

Super Glue can surely help to remedy an array of household mishaps (I think my mom earned majority share-holder status in the nineties with two sons at home).  Repaired decorations are no longer in mint condition, though, and may even lose value, if the mending is not meticulously conducted.  There are usually dried glue beads and misaligned angles reminding the culprits of their mistakes.  Memories of indoor soccer games or dodgeball may provide enjoyable reminiscing, while other memories are not as pleasant and foster regret.

The glued-together fleur-de-lis will be a recurrent reminder of my Mama Earthquake, but our Father's overflowing grace and forgiveness repair me to mint condition.  Mama, do not let yourself relive past mistakes and regretful decisions, while Jesus offered all of humanity redemption at the cross.  Do not abandon even the smallest, broken bit of yourself, while the Healer sees perfection in His daughter.  We may not be capable of reversing the damage we cause in life, but Jesus renews us and our Father loves us, in spite of our dried glue beads and misaligned angles.

"In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace..."
Ephesians 1:7 (NIV)

Welcoming Tomorrow

One of my biggest mama struggles is learning to let the past fade.  Ask my own mama, and she will tell you that I have shed a great deal of tears over lost yesterdays and forgotten moments with my girls.  I was a basket case with our first daughter as I cried at every milestone, knowing that yesterday was gone, and I had one less day with my precious baby.

Memories are immeasurably important to me.  Handmade quilts crafted from our girls’ infant clothing are displayed in their rooms—a priceless keepsake a beloved "bonus mama" gave to our family.  I have also invested many tear-filled hours into creating photo books of our girls’ first years and documenting supplementary notes in painstaking detail; I even documented the exact dates that our middle daughter’s teeth erupted—the upper four and the lower four.  When I am old and forgetful, I want tangible reminders of my precious life with my hubby and girls.  My memories are irreplaceable, but you better believe I lug a suitcase full of treasures down into the shelter with me during our tornado season here in Oklahoma.

So many changes occur with the passing of time.  Yesterdays take with them chubby toddlers, while tomorrows bring kindergartners anxious to turn sixteen and drive.  My first baby loves helping me cook, helps her little sister go potty, uses complex words like “identical,” and understands emotion well beyond her years.  I have discovered, though, she is not just an older version of who she was a few years ago.  She is a better version of her younger self.  I would not trade these days for yesterday, no matter how bittersweet this whole growing up thing is.  My daughters' futures will be beautiful, and I am honored to help build them. 

  Since I thought my life was fast-paced and sleep-deprived with our first daughter, I sure have been surprised after adding two more girlies to the mix.  I realize that time passes more quickly now, but I can excitedly await tomorrow’s arrival, instead of trying with all my might to keep yesterday in my grasp.  Without living tomorrows (and fully enjoying them), I would surely have an empty memory bank.  I must live, and I must live without regret.  Sure, maybe I still dwell on the past more than I should, but I will look forward to tomorrow with excitement and gratitude that I may be given another day in this undeserved life with my beautiful family.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

James 1:17 (NIV)

To the First-Time Mama: Find the Joy!

I am still awake over here, walking and bouncing a restless baby.  I cannot understand how she takes a mere three cat-naps during the day and still has trouble falling asleep at night.  It is amazing this adorable three-month-old can so easily disrupt our entire household or, at the very least, my daily schedule.  Before this third, precious baby of ours joined the world, I ignorantly considered myself a professional mama; others have even called me "Supermom."  Let me tell you: this cape is tattered, my x-ray vision is obstructed by spit-up and other bodily fluids, and my secret power is styling my three-day-dirty hair.

I often remember the early days of motherhood five years ago and the abundance of naps I was granted.  Now, two big sisters demand my attention and crave my affection, all the while their baby sister is draining my energy, patience, self-confidence...and (sometimes) my joy.

Before baby arrived, I worried our two-year-old would feel neglected and replaced, but she is so carefree that I do not even think she is bothered by our newest resident.  I misjudged, however, the effects of baby on our oldest.  Even at five years old, she wants me to snuggle on the couch, play hairdresser, read books, and go shopping.  While I want to just curl up in bed for ten uninterrupted hours, she still wants to live and share special experiences with her mama.

I pray that her little mind is storing happy memories of these early months with her new, littlest sister, instead of the days that Mama cries, does not play with her much...and even yells.

This journey is harder than I anticipated, but it is a one-way street; I will not have second chances or do-overs of the same day.  I must fall into our Lord's gracious arms and allow Him to rejuvenate my spirit.  I must collapse into bed at night leaving my disappointments of today and my expectations of tomorrow in the diaper-filled trashcan.  My girls may not remember all the details of their childhood, but they will remember if I was happy...or not.

Take heart, First-Time Mama, even those of us with a zoo of kiddos still struggle to keep our heads above water.  While we try our best to keep our children nicely dressed, organically fed, and intellectually stimulated, some days, they wear pajamas from morning until bedtime, eat mac & cheese for lunch and dinner, and engage in better conversations with Daniel Tiger than they did with each other.  If we stress over every minuscule detail of every day, we will be searching for our sanity during the five-second-long trips to the bathroom.  (You know, the ones interrupted by tiny, spider-like toddler fingers under the door.)

Motherhood is hard, but "mama" is the most rewarding of titles we will ever have.  Allow yourself to enjoy the younger, sleep-deprived years, before the teenage attitudes and after-school activities test your sanity again.  (I have heard those years with three daughters will be F-U-N.)  Tackle the challenges of the day, knowing that our Father has well-equipped you with the skills and heart needed to raise your little one.  Your journey is a one-way street.  Be sure to find the joy!

"Her children arise and call her blessed..."
Proverbs 31:28 (NIV)

Pardon the Disruption: An “Apologetic” Letter to the People at the Grocery Store

We are wrapping up the second month of this adventure called "Having Three Kids," spending a good portion of our days entrenched in the woes of colic with our newborn.  I have read all the articles and am barely surviving grudgingly practicing an elimination diet (I realize now, second to my husband, how deeply I. love. cheese.), but Little Miss is still relatively unhappy.  Her two levels of crying are loud and LOUDER and, while I know the specialized diet has offered her some relief, she is sometimes so discontent that even swaddling or Mama's bouncing or Daddy's soothing voice cannot calm her.  This third, precious baby of ours strips me of my confidence, drains my (already-waning) energy, and makes me feel so isolated from the outside world that walking to the mailbox and taking out the trash feels like freedom.

Today's trip to the grocery store, with the little one and biggest sister in-tow, solidified just why I have been so anxious to leave the house.  The baby screamed.  Her wails attracted the unwanted attention of many shoppers and prompted a few of you to actually speak your thoughts.

"That's one unhappy baby."
"I bet she's hungry."
"Did you pinch her?"

I know my hair was messy, and maybe you knew I wasn't able to shower today, but trust me
—I checked all the boxes on the "Baby Needs" list before venturing into society.  Sometimes, there is no hope of consoling her, and your commentary was not constructive or encouraging for this mama's already-weary spirit.  I am (kind of) sorry the soundtrack to your errand included my screaming baby, but I weathered the circumstances and walked out of my house today to breathe unstuffy air and to feel "normal" again.  Instead, I spent my temporary escape dodging remarks from people who don't know me from Eve.

Why is it so easy for society to speak up in criticism but remain silent in encouragement and praise?  Why does society pummel the parents at the gorilla exhibit, instead of praising God that a child's life was spared?  Why do grocery store shoppers feel comfortable enough criticizing my circumstances (unintentionally or otherwise), instead of offering encouragement or just remaining silent?

There are days that mamas need to breathe unstuffy air and crave to feel "normal," even if that means braving the grocery store with an unhappy baby.  Give her grace.  Smile at her.  Say a silent prayer for her.  Do not criticize her.  Do not trample her already-weary spirit.  New mamas, seasoned mamas, young mamas, old mamas all need encouragement and grace.  If you cannot offer it, pick up a loaf of bread from the grocery store shelf and move on.