weeklythoughtexchange

One of the first things I heard the midwife say as she lifted up our newest boy was , “hey Cheeks!” And that hasn’t really changed about our little midget man. He is plump from head to toe and struts around like Napoleon. His short, bowled legs do not prevent him from climbing to the height he desires nor does his pigeon-toed walk deter him from tailing his four older siblings. As long as he has his boots on his feet and his snuggle blanket in his hand, he considers himself invincible.

Recently we have begun to catch glimpses of what his busy brain is thinking through his growing vocabulary. He likes to be asked questions about himself to which he either answers with a vigorous head shake and an emphatic “no!” or a grin with a lilting, “noooo.” We are drilling him in all those important polite words like “please” and “thank you,” and every. so. often. he gives that impish grin of his and says one without prompting, waiting for all the cheers that will come in response. He sings silly songs of his own composing and then laughs hysterically when he is finished. It’s a riot and soon he has all of us laughing right along with him. But my favorite word routine of his comes when I tuck him into bed at night. I always say, “I love you more, Simi” and he replies, “I love you more-ee, Mama.”

The last few months and weeks leading up to his birthday have been trying. He is pushing all of the boundaries and testing every limit. He takes pleasure in chasing Shilo around with a stick in hand; he bites anyone who offends him; he throws the food he doesn’t want; he screams when the boundaries don’t move; he vents his big feelings by raging through the house and tearing down whatever stands in his way. At the end of the hardest days with him, I like to tiptoe into his room and peek at him sleeping sweetly in his bed. I need to see him in his calmest state and feel my heart swell with love for him without any prompting. One of the greatest responsibilities of parenting is to grip onto love when anyone else would let go.

Year two is a milestone year for little people. In our home, potty-training begins (and lasts all year) and about halfway through little chores are assigned. When school begins in the fall, Simeon will have more activities to do including recognizing his letters. But most of all, his personality his personality will blossom even more. I can’t wait to hear his thoughts about life as his vocabulary explodes, watch him play with his baby brother as they both grow and mature, and see him gain more self-control over his very big emotions.

My heartfelt prayer for this roly-poly boy is that he will “grow in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man.”

“How were you changed by the process of growing a human being inside of you for 9 to 10 months?” “What was it like to meet that brand new soul for the very first time and to know that person came from you?” “How has motherhood transformed you as an individual?”

Those aren’t questions that are normally asked when people are chatting with moms, are they? Instead, birth stories are often shown as much interest as personal accounts of learning to drive- they might come up in certain circles but not on a regular basis. When birth stories are discussed, they are often summarized in basic facts and descriptions with emotions and thoughts omitted. But no pregnancy or birth is ordinary; each one is miraculous and unique.

This indifference towards the miraculous process that keeps mankind from extinction varies in intensity from nonchalance to hostility. One subtle indicator of our culture’s attitude about motherhood is evidenced by how quickly the new mom is shoved out the door in those early postpartum months. I remember the accolades I received after my first babies were born when I resumed a normal pace and routine as soon as possible. It stroked my ego to hear, “You’re amazing! Only 3 weeks postpartum and you’re already hiking?” It made me want to do more faster. The same could be said for the new mom returning to work a mere 6, 8, or 12 weeks after delivering her child. She is praised for not resting, not allowing her organs to settle back in place or her blood volume to regulate, not giving her emotions and body a chance to adapt to nurturing a tiny human outside her body, not getting a chance to enjoy her baby every hour of the day as it begins all those firsts. Instead, she is assured that pushing herself is worth it; that slowing down and savoring is an indulgence, not a necessity.

In an era that boasts the catch phrase, “My body, my choice,” mothers can recognize the empowerment that comes through pregnancy and childbirth. She can learn to not be ashamed of the way her body changes but to be awed by it. She can exchange fear of birth for anticipation as she awaits the new persons within: both her and her child. And in the midst of the grueling labor of motherhood, she can welcome the invitation to rest, to make home her haven and to embrace the abundance of rewards that her efforts have earned: the firsts, the hugs, the discoveries, and the satisfaction of being the one they run to.

It is my belief that when we minimize the portal to motherhood, that is, pregnancy and childbirth, we are robbing ourselves of the heartbeat of our society. When mothers are equipped to determine the direction of their pregnancy, birth, and postpartum recovery, their birth stories will become their crowning achievement.

My first taste of the grueling demands of motherhood came with a puppy. This wasn’t your typical adopt-a-puppy situation. I helped deliver this one at the vet clinic where I worked and since she was an orphan, I took her home to raise her. That first night was a bit of a reality check for my college-student self as I set my alarm for every two hours and groggily prepared bottle after bottle. I had to change bedding and make sure the temperature was just right for her in her little bed. I had to manage work and classes in a sleep-deprived state and arrange my social life around her feeding schedule. If I couldn’t bring her with me, I needed to find puppy-care. It was a much different experience from all of my other pet adoptions.

The cost was worth it when she began her “firsts”: her ears opening and then her eyes; her first wobbly steps; her first attempts to play and bark and try solid food. What really got my attention, though, was when I was shopping one day and heard a newborn baby cry. My heart skipped a beat and I immediately thought of my “baby” at home. “Wow!” I pondered. “This must be what it feels like to be a mom!” Motherhood changes a person: to invest so much into a life and forever be connected to that life no matter where you are or how many years go by. Obviously, raising a puppy is one thing; raising a baby is another. But I think we often fail to laud the rewards of motherhood and instead become bogged down by the costs.

While they are usually not a party, pregnancy and childbirth are often bemoaned as reasons for not becoming a mother. Women avoid motherhood because they don’t want their bodies or lives to change. Because they are difficult, society allows the beginning steps of motherhood to set the tone of the mother-child relationship and paint it negatively. What would happen in our world if we collectively began to celebrate the conception and birth of mothers? Would mothers find themselves more connected to their children from day one? Would they stand more in awe of their of bodies and feel empowered to advocate for themselves in their role as mothers? Would mothers feel more invested in their homes and families as they recognize how integral they are to the foundation of society?

This distorted view of the motherhood journey carries over into mainstream medical practice. Pregnancy is generally treated as a condition and childbirth as a medical procedure. Mothers have to search hard to find a medical provider who will view them as a participant rather than a patient; in the birth process and not merely at the birth. I cannot tell you how many birth stories I have read or heard firsthand that began with the mother’s hopes for her birth and concluded with her being at the mercy of her OB. It shouldn’t be this way. Mothers need to be encouraged to trust their bodies and supported as they learn about the strength they never knew they had. The strength and knowledge that is cultivated during pregnancy and childbirth will translate into the years of mothering ahead.

The ranks of motherhood are filled with diverse descriptions: teens and adults, single and married and widowed, surprised and planned, longed for and unwanted, scared and excited…what connects them all is that, whether or not their pregnancy was desired, their bodies have given everything to sustain the life within. Maybe, just maybe, if there is a cultural shift in our view of pregnancy and childbirth, every mother will feel ready to embrace who she is and who she is becoming. This transformation continues well after the birth.

In part 3, I will explore the fourth trimester and its significance on the motherhood journey. I hope to share ideas on how it can be an enriching time for mothers- something to be anticipated rather than dreaded- and how our society can be supportive of it.

Ever since I could toddle and talk, I wanted to be a mommy. I wanted to hold babies even if they were nearly as big as me. I was infatuated with feeding them and changing them and wrapping them up in blankets; as I grew from tot to little girl I loved all the baby gear- the strollers and beds and infant seats and clothes and bottles and all those amazing things that come with babies.

Once I was old enough to babysit, I learned that caring for babies and children is much more involved than snuggling them with a bottle. I became somewhat adept at entertaining them and even teaching them simple lessons which, years later, blossomed into a teaching career. Looking back I see that my entire life centered on caring for children in varying avenues: from playmate to babysitter to youth leader to teacher. But was I prepared for motherhood?

As a little girl playing with baby dolls with my friend, I never pondered the nuances of motherhood. To me, being a mom meant having all the babies I could possibly want and getting to enjoy all the fun things needed to take care of those babies. Of course, maturity tempered my naïveté about the responsibilities of child rearing, but it wasn’t until I began having children of my own that I began recognizing the gravity of having souls so closely connected to mine.

In six years, I have birthed six babies and now my oldest is an avid reader and pondering thoughts of a spiritual nature. During my pregnancy with him and during his very early years, I was much like that naive little girl, thinking motherhood consisted primarily of baby schedules and baby care and finally having all the baby gear I could want. But as toddler transitioned into preschooler and preschooler into a vivacious young boy with many younger siblings the complexities of mothering unveiled before me. And now I see how much I didn’t know when I first became a mom, beginning with childbirth (or maybe even before that).

To date I have had 3 traditional hospital births and 3 home births. Our first home birth ignited my passion to learn all I could about pregnancy and childbirth. It felt like I was encountering all of it for the first time even though I had already delivered 3 babies! It was as if my body and I were only then beginning our acquaintance; after the first home birth I couldn’t stop reading and learning and continued through the second and third births (and am still reading). And with each book I read I’m able to connect my own birthing experiences. My experiences and the discoveries I have made throughout them have altered my opinion about our society’s attitude towards motherhood.

There has been a recurring theme in all of the books I’ve read, a theme which, I believe, is not isolated to childbirth alone. All of the authors have agreed in their writings that the mother’s role in motherhood is being trivialized through our society’s approach to childbirth. “Surely not!” you might say. “Look at the hospital’s elaborate birth centers and all the insistence on prenatal care.” It’s true that the trivializing is subtle; it is there just the same. In part II of this blog, I will explain how our society undermines mothers by:

• Portraying pregnancy and childbirth as conditions that must be treated and overcome.
• Making her a bystander at her own birth
• Ignoring the fourth trimester

It is my developing belief that our attitude towards pregnancy and childbirth, where the mother herself is conceived and birthed, greatly impacts the motherhood journey itself. When it is esteemed, celebrated and explored, the mother flourishes and is able to strive for her greatest potential. When it is trivialized, she questions her abilities as someone who can deliver and nurture the future.

I look forward to continuing this discussion in my next post.

Hi Everyone!

I want to thank all of you for subscribing to my blog and faithfully following along.

I have made some changes to my blog which include 3 new pages: my Thirty-One shop page, my Thriftshop page, and one dedicated to pictures and those little moments in life that beg to be shared.

Since I am expanding my blog, I have created a weekly routine for when it will be updated. I want to share this routine with you so that you can mark your planners, set phone reminders or check your email to ensure you don’t miss anything. 🙂 Here it is:

• Monday, Tuesday, Thursday: the shops will be updated with either new inventory, new activities or new announcements.
• Wednesday: my standard blog post will go up
• Weekly: a photo post or a book review (these will be surprises so be sure to check those pages for updates.

Of course, a blog isn’t quite as fun if there’s no interaction so please comment on my posts, text me with your orders and participate in any of the activities I post on my pages. I’ll be sure to reply back!

I have some raggedy wildflower plants in my yard. They are raggedy by no fault of their own, really. I’ve moved them from pots to the ground; they’ve been buffeted by storms, chilled by sudden temperature drops and then shocked with blistering heat- all in a matter of days. They get bumped by the dog and yanked on by the children. As raggedy as they might be, it’s surprising they’re still in my yard. So why are they? They have the most stunning blooms!

Some of these plants are half brown and green, a testimony to all they have been through. But they keep blooming and blooming and blooming. Their flowers are brilliant and multicolored. I eagerly look for more each new day. And I take to heart the lessons these hardy little plants, easily mistaken for weeds, teach me: when to keep blooming.

Life can be rough, volatile and seemingly unfair. We can be moved from one location to another only to settle in and be moved again. Circumstances can beat us up; people can treat us harshly. We may not always feel like we are getting the treatment we deserve or the tending we think we need. But our responsibility as human beings with a divine Creator is to keep fulfilling our calling. What that looks like for each of us may be different, but the calling we have in common is to live joyfully, gratefully and with kindness to all mankind. When we do that, the world will be a much more beautiful place.

You and I may not look like much or feel like much on some days; in those moments, remember the wildflowers and keep blooming in whatever way you can. It will be beautiful.

I was kneading bread dough the other day and a sentence from the recipe kept repeating in my head: “keep kneading, it’s good for you.” Kneading involves pounding, turning over, folding, squeezing, pounding, turning it over again. More flour is added as needed and the process continues. It’s rigorous on the hands, fingers and forearms- but most of all it takes time.

Time is a running theme with sourdough. The longer the rises, the better the bread. And it takes practice. I’m just now learning how to make sourdough bread so I try to make 4 loaves a week. Each time the loaf rises a little higher and the bread is a little more to my liking. But it takes time and effort.

So back to the kneading. The bread maker must keep kneading her dough until it’s just the right texture. That final texture is what will make the last rise a success and present you with an excellent loaf of bread. I’d like to think of my life as dough in the Creator’s hands. Since He is the Bread of Life, He knows what bread perfection looks and feels like. He allows the circumstances of life to knead the rough edges out of my character in order to present me perfect before His throne one day. But kneading isn’t just for smoothing out the dough. It also mixes all of the ingredients together for excellence. The kneading that occurs in my life is a mixing of all of my experiences and lessons in a way that helps me integrate them into understanding.

A lot can be learned over the bread bowl with fingers busily kneading away! I wonder what is to be learned next!

With six children ages six and under, my husband and I have put certain boundaries in place. Some are for safety: don’t cross the street without permission; don’t go outside without an adult supervising; don’t play with knives or run with scissors, etc. Some are for a peaceful home: stay in your own room until Poppa and Mama get up in the morning; knock on a closed door- don’t just barge in; don’t disturb someone who has requested to be alone. And some are for our own mental health: no one comes into Poppa and Mama’s bedroom without invitation. These boundaries are a reminder for children and parents alike that there is a responsible authority in the home.

There are times when the children press against the boundaries. They fuss about them and test them; they remind each other about them while personally ignoring them. My husband and I often wonder if maintaining the boundaries is worth the effort. But when we do maintain them and the children do respect them, the health, safety and peace for all is absolutely worth it- and we keep going. In the long run, we know that our children will need to be able to respect boundaries all their lives.

I have noticed a growing conversation about putting in place personal boundaries. This can be in relationships (marriage, parent-child, friends, relatives), in use of time (a balance of work and leisure), or in thought processes (putting a stop to toxic thinking, for example). People are accepting that boundaries are necessary and even good, for they help maintain healthy distance between what is destructive and what helps us thrive. Yet at the very same time there is a major shift away from the boundaries that have guarded the conscience of our land: those moral boundaries instituted by God.

Have you noticed as I have, how those boundaries that have governed our society for centuries are disappearing? Gender is one example. Suddenly, we are being told that there really is no such thing as male or female; we are told it’s all just a mindset and people can be whatever they feel. Sexual orientation is another. As long as there is love, we are told, it’s ok: adults with children, with multiple shared partners, with partners of the same sex, it is all acceptable. The sanctity of life is yet another boundary that has been eroded for decades but in recent years has made a more rapid decline. Ending life in the womb was once nonexistent in common speech, but now it’s ok to leave a baby to die in a hospital linen closet if it survives an abortion. As long as the head is the last thing to be born, a mother can choose to end her baby’s life even while birthing him.

Knowing that we are made in the image of the Almighty God, is it any wonder that the boundaries He has instated for our wellbeing would be under attack by those who wish to forget Him? Gender, marriage, and life itself are just a few of the tangible reminders of mankind’s connection to the Creator. When we are secure in our biological identity, have stable families and count sacred the essence of life, we flourish in who we are meant to be- as individuals and as a society. When we are told that our gender is fluid, sex is permissible with anyone at any time, and the value of life at any stage is conditional, we wander into dangerous territory.

It is time for us to begin fortifying once more the boundaries that safeguard our moral conscience. Our nation, our future and our very lives depend upon it. There are some boundaries that are simply non-negotiable and those are the ones that remind us that our ultimate authority is the Almighty God. One day we will all answer to Him.

In last week’s sermon, the pastor drew attention to the often overlooked detail of Christ’s sinlessness. He pointed out how we humans are skilled at excusing, even justifying, our sin: “I lost my cool with the kids- but I’ve had 3 nights of interrupted sleep!” “I stubbed my toe! Of course some choice words would slip out.” “If you had had the day I had you would understand why I couldn’t take anymore.” I’m sure we could all add our own quotes to that list. And then the pastor drew our attention to what Jesus endured during His earthly journey.

Let’s take a closer look at a few examples. He went 40 days and 40 nights without food or water and then was tempted. He had the perfect “out” for capitulating to the tempter. But did He? No. He was almost continually surrounded by bumbling, annoying, accusing, devious, demanding, selfish, dense human beings. He could easily have yelled at them and said, “Enough! Don’t you know who I am? And yet you treat me as if I’m nothing more than a genie in a bottle. Stop touching me!” But did He? No.

And then there was the Cross and the torture leading up to it. The betrayal. The mocking. The spitting and scourging and crown of thorns. Who would have blamed Him for cursing everyone involved and moving on with His life? But did He? No.

The Bible tells us that Jesus understands our sinful condition. He was tempted in every way that we are but He did not sin. Sinful thoughts did not even enter His heart or mind; and that is the standard to which we are held. “For God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life.” 1Thessalonians 4:7. For those who are Christ-followers, we are to not only follow Him but to be like Him.

This is not meant to discourage but to inspire. Why? Because what is impossible for man is possible for God. It was Christ’s sacrifice that now enables us to live a holy life. He knows we are but dust and He equips us to resist temptation and bring glory to His name. “May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 1 Thessalonians 5:22-23

I think the hardest part of very hard days is feeling like I could have handled them so much better. But then I pause: did I want to do better so that I could feel better about myself? Or did I want Jesus to be glorified in my day? I truly think that my proverbial stubbed toes, skinned knees and bruised ego are to serve as daily reminders that I really cannot do holy on my own strength. For holiness to be holy it must remain untainted by human fingerprints; it is imperative that it comes from God and God alone.

As we approach the holy days of Passion Week, Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, let us put aside our own meager attempts to be like Christ and surrender instead to the sanctification process He promises to His own.

Has it already been three years since this adorable boy entered the world? Everything about him has felt like an anomaly- from how big my stomach grew during his pregnancy to the 41 weeks and 5 days I had to wait before going into labor to his being my first home birth to how rapidly he grew.

One reason why I like to do birthday blogs for the children is because it allows me to think about that one child and his/her inner workings. What makes this child unique? How does this child influence our family? Why do we smile when this particular little one enters the room? So all day long I’ve been pondering about Shilo.

Everything about him is truly unique. His hair can’t make up its mind about the way it wants to grow. He likes to comb it himself and say, “I’m making my handsome, Mama”. His smile is gentle and soft when he is drawn into a hug with Poppa or Mama. He explores new items with his fingertips and then smells them next. He brings me flowers every day (usually with the roots attached). And as much as he desires to be “braver” and “stronger,” he dotes on his baby brother like no one else can. He can’t help but figure out how everything works even though his curiosity frequently gets him into trouble. Somehow he balances strength and gentleness, exploration and mental prowess, without even trying: loving on babies yet being able to fight bad guys; singing worship songs and lifting things for Mama; mastering complicated puzzles and wrestling with his big brother.

Something about Shilo brings comfort to his siblings. They can’t play “family” without him and usually want to know where he is if he isn’t around. On the occasions when he gets to go on an outing alone with Poppa or Mama, he is showered with hugs and kisses upon leaving and returning. He is skilled at annoying his siblings and instigating squabbles with his tongue, but he is also ready to show concern and help his sisters whenever he can.

As his mama, this little boy tries my patience beyond measure. I would love for Jesus to give me a sneak peek into his future so that I can get an idea of how his curiosity and stubbornness will work for God’s glory. Simultaneously, I am overwhelmed by how much I adore him and am awed by how he draws our family together. We are who we are as a family because he is in it. It’s a pleasure to chat with him, read stories to him, teach him, and walk with him. No one views the world quite like Shilo does- scanning for details that others would normally miss. I am a more flexible, more patient, gentler person because he is in my world.

Happy third birthday, handsome Shilo! Continue being braver and stronger every day and keep seeing the wonder in the life God has entrusted to you. You are a miracle!