Loving My Children

Yes, I read those prenatal books. A whole stack of them. Some were hand-me-downs from friends and others I checked out of the library. I read the websites, too—the ones that compared my developing baby to the size of a blueberry or a plumquat each week. They told me what to expect as a first-time mom. Although I read and reread about the first signs of labor, I somehow neglected to read any of the chapters or articles that told me what to expect if  I needed a C-section . Call it optimism or naiveté, I didn’t expect an emergency C-section. My mom never had one, so why should I? It wasn’t a shocker that I was six days past my due date. What caught me by surprise was that after repeated, confident assurances from my OB/GYN that my son was head down, I saw him sitting upright in an ultrasound. I didn’t expect him to be sitting in the Frank breech position or for the amniotic fluid he was swimming in to be low. After my son’s birth, I didn’t exactly assume breastfeeding would be

Grateful. That’s what I feel every time we exit Children's Hospital, drive out of the parking garage, navigate the expressway, and cross the bridge. One of our children went for a routine specialist appointment yesterday, if any child seeing a specialist is routine for a parent. Relatively uneventful, there was no new diagnosis or earth-shattering prognosis. Just more watch, wait, and see. Keep checking numbers as needed. The unpredictable and most difficult part was my child’s fear of being poked or prodded. Resistant even to being weighed on the scale, we were weighed together, and then my weight was subtracted from the total. (We’ll do almost anything for our children, won’t we?) But we got to leave. Sometimes my husband and I see the plastic bags parents carry, and there’s always that question—who’s coming or going? How long? I’m grateful we came home—because I know there are some who stay all day into the night, and into tomorrow. And longer. I know becaus

I didn’t change our firstborn’s diapers until he was a week old. Fresh, tender feelings sprouted deep inside me as I watched my husband Scott gently care for our newborn son while I recovered from an emergency Cesarean section in a hospital bed. Scott was in command, not only keeping our son clean but also mastering the art of swaddling. During my extended recovery and the numerous feeding challenges that followed, I didn’t have the option of control. From the beginning of motherhood, I felt weak and helpless, truly dependent on nurses, doctors, my husband, and other family for practical care both for me and our newborn. I never assumed motherhood would be easy, but I also never expected it to be so hard. During those days of endless rounds of breastfeeding, pumping, bottles, and bottle washing, my husband stood by me and advocated for me. He helped me find my voice. Those were agonizing weeks as I did everything I knew to do, and my son would still cry. My husband? S

Sometimes I flounder like a fish out of water in my mothering journey, seeking to live by faith but not really knowing what I’m doing or where I’m headed. With so many voices, I struggle to discern God’s voice and to walk this road with godly conviction and confidence.   Here’s a collection of thoughts for moms like me who need to be reminded and encouraged that God gives us great freedom as well as responsibility in our call to care for our little people.  Our children are gifts from God. Wow. That’s both humbling and awe-inspiring. It’s humbling because we’re weak, limited, and sinful creatures who’ve been handed a swaddled baby that comes with great responsibility. It’s awe-inspiring because the Giver is God himself. He designed this tiny human, watching its every heart beat and developmental stage in the womb. Because God is sovereign, we can each say, “God chose me to be the mother of my child, and he chose this child to be my son (or daughter).” There’s a lot at sta

I never considered myself to be a “fearful” person until I became a mom. All of a sudden, this tiny human stirred in me the most intense emotions. There was a fierce desire to defend and protect. Along with this God-given, she-bear mentality came the realization that so many things, especially health-related, are out of my control. What do we do when our anxieties surrounding our children seem to overrun us?   This question opens up a wide door for examination, and I’ve struggled to narrow my thoughts. The big-picture is this: there’s a place for fear in faith-filled parenting. The issue isn’t fear, but who and what we’re fearing. The Bible repeatedly tells us to fear the Lord. When we fear the Lord properly, we don’t need to be anxious about a million other real or imagined fears. Instead, we bring them to the One who loves us and is able to do what is impossible for us to do. Please don’t hear what I’m not saying. The Bible never denies the existence of “frightening thin

“Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love…” Let your love be first—first in my day, first in my thoughts, and first in my life. You love me—yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Your steadfast love is unchanging, unwavering, and unmerited. It disregards circumstances and doesn’t depend on feelings. It’s fact. It’s abiding. It puts everything else in its place. Even in suffering, your love always works for good in my life. “...for in you I trust.” I trust in you. This trust has been born in the fire of adversity, in a history of past trials in which you have been faithful and good, always prevailing. “Make me know the way I should go…” My eyes are on you, looking for your light to shine on my path. I don’t pretend to know my way on my own. I want to act on your leading, not my own intuition or in fear of what others think I ought or ought not to do. My way is with Jesus—the way, the truth, and the life. “...for to you I lift up my soul.” I entrust

Neither the stars nor moon shine but the sun has yet to show its face. It’s dusky dawn, between night and day. Clouds cover the sky as I slip out of my covers and pass the broad drapes dressing our bedroom windows, reminders of the previous home owners. As quietly as possible, I pass the pack-‘n-play where our toddler sleeps and a sleeping bag holds our six-year-old daughter, stretched out over the reclined rocking chair. With temperatures higher than a hundred, we shared our space and our window air conditioner to keep cool last night. Now downstairs in the kitchen, the tea kettle whistles as the neighbor’s air conditioner hums and the songbirds, glorious songbirds, warble praise for a new day. My heart, too, slowly stirs as I stir sugar into my tea and take a sip, then slip again, this time through the heavy front door—with all three locks keeping out the world—and onto our front porch. I light a candle, and that’s my light as I open God’s Word, the lamp to my path. A

My mom tells the story that when I was born at dawn, the doctor marveled because…I smiled. This is interesting because she tells a second story, from before I was school age, about me telling her I decided to smile more. She and my dad both remember a change that took place. All I remember are my parents’ stories, with a few bits and pieces of my own, and when I fit the puzzle together, maybe it explains why I still have to remind myself to smile. Under my dust-skin, I wish things as simple as smiling came more naturally to me. But I realize that joy is supernatural, a truly Spirit-thing, and I lean on my Savior even for this. So I ask him to infuse me with grace to step back, see, savor, and smile—especially at my children. I catch my baby daughter’s eyes, and slowly, widely, smile. She catches it from her high chair, and the corners of her mouth twitch and her eyes start to sparkle as she realizes I’m smiling at her . Then she beams one back at me. Before

"Water Wednesday!" My sister-in-law smiled as she gave me this valuable piece of advice. She'd just given me a prayer plant as a birthday present, and she read my skepticism as I thanked her. This luscious green plant with its coiling leaves, researched and ordered from Amazon, looked up at me pitifully as if it also knew my past record with plants. It was Wednesday, and she assured me that this hearty plant only needs to be watered once a week. So week after week, usually on Wednesday--but sometimes on Tuesday or Thursday--I water my prayer plant and pray. I watch its leaves curl and uncurl, like hands folding and unfolding, and pray for the people I love. Wonder of wonders, it’s been a few months and my plant is actually growing.  One of my prayer requests for my children in June was, “Lord, could you make a way for my kids to have some swim days this summer?” We don’t belong to a neighborhood pool, and friends have always been generous in opening their po

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” (2 Cor. 4:8-9). In this world, we are afflicted, perplexed, persecuted, and struck down. This doesn’t surprise us because Jesus told us what to expect: “In the world, you will have tribulation” (John 16:33a). But oh, the sweetness of these words! ·          …Not crushed. ·          …Not driven to despair. ·          …Not forsaken. ·          …Not destroyed. There are always limits to our suffering, boundaries that the enemy of our souls can’t cross. God’s determined ahead of time that whatever affliction, perplexity, and persecution we face, however many times we’re struck down, if we belong to him, then, “Neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” -Romans 12:15 My single friend hosts a bridal shower. Our family grieves the loss of a father/grandfather, and then turns around to celebrate a wedding. Some mamas are expecting little ones, but not all the babies survive. Friends are separated while others celebrate anniversaries. These scenarios and more leave my head spinning and my heart wondering, how do we “rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep”…and do it well ? There are seasons to rejoice and there are reasons to mourn, and sometimes it’s both at once. Sometimes the two are clearly delineated, like an egg white and its yolk, and other days it’s scrambled. Part of living in community, life together, is rejoicing and mourning…humbly. It’s a working out of grace to laugh and celebrate with one friend, then turn around and cry with another. It requires flexibility of heart, being thin-skinned, letting oursel