A Pleasure To Have In Class

As a teacher, I hated doing grades.  I was an English teacher.  English is so much about art and creativity and expression.  Putting a numerical value on all that just seemed wrong.  I cared about authentic learning.  I watched kids grow in skill, in confidence, in social ability.  Something about tacking a number, or letter to my students’ work just felt icky.  Plus, I knew what was riding on those silly letters that would have no meaning except that which we’ve ascribed to them.  Kids would feel disappointed.  Or proud.  Kids would feel stupid.  Or smart.  Kids would get grounded.  Or get ice cream.  Kids would be told they were lazy.  Or hard-working.

I knew in my bones, that those letters could not show the whole picture.  I couldn’t sum up that one of my students went from barely being able to put a sentence together to being able to write a five-paragraph essay.  I couldn’t adequately mark the hours of hard work and imagination and collaboration that went into the work.  How could you melt that all down into a grade?  Making report cards felt like putting all the color, and discourse, and life of my classroom through a meat grinder, and watching it come out the other side as a letter.  A letter that could be condemning or freeing.  Often, my hands were tied as to which letter I had to give out.  I couldn’t give extra grace to someone who was still learning English.  Or someone whose parents had just gotten a divorce.  Or someone who was more concerned about having enough to eat and staying warm in the winter than doing their homework.

So, I found one small way to “rebel” against this system.  It was something I looked forward to every grading period.  I found a way to use report cards to encourage my students no matter what letter I had to give them.  The system my former school used had comment codes.  You couldn’t write your own comments on the report cards.  But you could choose from a prepared selection of comments.  It was like sending students a messenger robot.  Just click the right button and the robot would show up on their doorstep and intone, “has potential,” or “more effort needed.”  Most of these seemed silly, and again, not enough to share what I really thought about a student and the time we’d spent learning together.  There was one, though, that I thought any student would like to get.  And one that I could genuinely say that I believed about each small person that entered my door.  “A pleasure to have in class.”  To me, those six words said, “My teachers approves of me.  My teacher likes me.  My teacher appreciates me for who I am.” 

Before I entered the comment, I thought about each kid.  Because I wanted to be genuine; I didn’t want to say something that I didn’t mean.  So, I held up the phrase “a pleasure to have in class,” to each student.  Could I say that about the one that argued with me?  The one that blatantly ignored my commands?  The one that, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t seem to meet classroom expectations?  Could I feel that way about the know-it-alls, and the know-not-much-at-alls?  The students that did all their homework and the ones that had every assignment I’d ever given them crumpled in the bottom of their backpack.  The ones that smelled, and the ones that twirled their hair?  The kid that talked about me behind my back and the kid that drew a penis on the desk and the kid that swallowed one of my manipulatives and the kid that hid his phone behind her book during silent reading.  As I thought through my attendance list I believed that I could.  I honestly enjoyed and delighted in each one—if not every moment—at least most of the time.  So, I scrolled through the list of comment, chose that option and boldly clicked “apply to all.”

I did this secretly.  Hoping that my students wouldn’t realize that they all got the same comment and then feel less special.  Knowing that if my colleagues saw it some would surely disapprove.  Some would believe that not every student earned that praise.  Some would say that this comment means less because everyone is getting it.  To some, it would be no more than a digital participation medal.  (Which apparently is right up there with avocado toast as one of the reasons my generation is ruining the world).  To me, though, that one small action reminds me of Jesus and the way that he feels about each of his kids.  I think that he would be able to call each of us a “pleasure.”  I believe that he takes joy in each of us.  That he delights in us.  That he sings happy songs about us.

You might call me a heretic, but think that everyone from Mother Theresa to Hitler would get a “Pleasure to have in class,” from Jesus.  I’m not saying that he condones evil behavior.  The bible shows us that God takes sin pretty seriously.  I know that God is about justice and making wrongs right.  I just don’t think that God operates on a merit system.  I think he goes out handing out compliments like a kid throwing candy from a parade float.

 You don’t have to earn God’s love.  In fact, we couldn’t even if we tried.  The bible says that each one has fallen short of the glory of God.  If God were giving us report cards, we’d probably each earn an “F.”  The law (laid out in the old testament of the bible) shows us God’s “rubric if you will.”  It shows us that every person is failing in a lot of those categories.  Not because we’re bad, necessarily, but because God is so good.  He is perfect.  He is holy; set a part; sacred; different from anyone else on the planet.  Compared to the good that he’s done, even our list of best good deed looks like a used maxi pad (that may sounds gross, but it's in the bible:  Isaiah 64:6). The good news is, that even our most epic failures have been taken care of.  That’s what the cross was all about.  The cross is the intersection of justice and mercy.  A god that cares about ending oppression, took all the world’s pain and suffering upon himself so that, we, the very root of wrongdoing, could be free.  It’s like Jesus earned an “A,” and then somehow swapped out his report card with ours.  He took our failure and let us stand on his merit.  I don’t know anyone else that good.  God just loves us because he is loving.

I loved those kids because they were mine.  They were in my class. I could find value in each of them.  Some students were so fun to talk to.  They told me clever jokes and interesting stories.  Some were insanely smart.  They could memorize facts like nobody’s business, read faster than me, come up with compelling arguments.  Others were artists.  They made beautiful drawings in their spare time.  A few were just great friends.  You know, the ones that made seating charts impossible because they are comfortable talking to anyone.  I had students that were great athletes.  That struggled in school but excelled with a ball in their hand or at their feet.  I had competitors that were not talented but were very passionate.  Kids that had the gall to believe they could be in the NBA someday.  There was something so pure about that brand of bold naivety.  Every one of my students had something so amazing about them.  Every one of them had worth.  The comment “a pleasure to have in class,” was just one small way of saying that to them.  One subtle way of telling them “I see you, and I love you."  (Because if you were to literally say that to a thirteen-year-old it would probably creep them out).

Similarly, God loves us because we are his.  We are his kids.  He has placed beauty and value in each person.  We are all different—mixed bags of good, and bad, and history, and struggle, and talents, and gifts, and bits of God’s nature tucked inside for those who seek it to find.  He has poured out his love on each of us.  If one of us is in trouble (and if we’re honest we all are) he will leave ninety-nine others to come and pursue us.  Even when that trouble is of our own making!  I’ve always thought of that saying, “Everything happens for a reason,” “Sure, but sometimes the reason is because you’re stupid and you make bad decisions.”  God knows that some trouble is brought on by other people’s mistakes or comes about just because we live in a broken world, but that sometimes we inadvertently cause our own problems.  Or cause problems for others.  Yet he doesn’t give up on us.  He offers us love, guidance, provision, companionship.

This is not my vendetta against grades.  I know that feedback—and even feedback that is expressed on a number or letter scale—can be useful.  As much as I am hesitant to give out grades, I’m not necessarily calling for educational reform.  Whether or not you agree with this particular step that I took, I am calling for those, in any profession (or in no profession at all) to find ways to pass out unconditional love.  To look at a room full of people and say, “You all belong here.”  “There is a place for you at my table.”  Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself.  One time someone asked Jesus who his neighbor was (which humorously makes me think he was looking for a loophole).  Jesus thought of the group of people that this particular person least respected:  Samaritans.  Jesus told a story about how a man was beaten up and robbed and left for dead.  Lots of seemingly “good” people passed him by.  But one person, stopped to take care of the downtrodden man.  The Samaritan (the person that this guy would have had a hard time loving) was the hero in this story.

 Notice and love people.  Those down on their luck, and those that rub you the wrong way, those who are different from you, and those you were taught to think were stupid or immoral or wrong.  Find small ways daily to tell people, regardless of their performance, “You are a delight.”  It’s what Jesus would do.

*Disclaimer: Like many of the teaching practices that I put in place, I stole this idea, shamelessly, from a colleague.  In this case, her name is Mrs. Lybbert and she is one of the most extraordinary educators that I have ever had the privilege of working with.  My teaching career (and life) is forever marked by her compassion, authenticity, and openness to learning and trying new things. *

I Am {Still} a Stay-At-Home-Mom

You know how when adults make small talk the first thing that comes up is usually career?  It seems like a pretty safe topic, and one that everyone can contribute to.  Except that I can't.  Because technically I'm unemployed.  Lest you be fooled into thinking that I spend all day on the couch eating bon-bons and watching Gilmore Girls, trust me, I keep plenty busy.  I am the full-time mom of two young boys:  Emerson is two years old, and Theodore is five months old.  These two chubby cherubs have me at their beckon call twenty-four-seven. 

Still, when I'm in a group of competent looking people that, you know, wear pants on a regular basis, and we approach the subject I find my palms getting sweaty.  I have to tell them that I am a stay-at-home-mom and the fear of judgement creeps in.  I honestly don't know if this is based on the reality of what people think, or if I am projecting my crazy insecurities onto others.  Either way, I am so quick to give my reasons for staying home and add that I also teach summer school and substitute teach here and there.  Because somehow raising the objectively cutest humans on the planet doesn't feel good enough. I get defensive.  I fear that people will think my role is oppressive, antiquated, unfulfilling, and a waste of my time and talents. I guess, deep down, a little part of me believes those things, too.

How did I get here?  Sometimes I ask myself that.  A self-proclaimed feminist with a Master's Degree hanging out barefoot in the kitchen.  I certainly didn't see this path in my future.  My mom has always told me that she was a better mom because she worked.  I truly believe that.  I believe that working brought out the best in my mom.  That being at her best equipped her to raise us well.  I have watched her thrive in her career and in her home.  At the same time, I have come to believe that I am a better mom because I don't work.   I firmly believe that is best is up to each family, each mom, to decide.  There are a whole myriad of factors to weigh, from the mother's temperament, to what her job is like, to how the father feels, what the children are like, to the financial state of the family, and the list goes on.  There is no one right way to divide up the responsibilities of earning income and raising children.

When I felt new life begin to flutter inside me, I had a difficult choice to make.  I had a job that I loved, and that I was kind of good at.  I was a teacher:  a middle school English Language Arts teacher, to be exact.  But this baby would change everything.  I'd have new responsibilities, new feelings, I'd kind of be a new person.  Would I continue working?  Or would I take some time off to be a full-time parent?  In the end I made my choice.  I quit my job.  I went into this mom thing head on, full force.  I set my career aside and let my family be my life for awhile.

At the time my reasons felt clear and firm.  As time has gone on and staying home was nothing like what I pictured, I have sometimes lost sight of these reasons.  This year, an opportunity came up that forced me reevaluate everything.  Essentially, I had to make that difficult choice all over again.  I asked myself:  why did I quit my job in the first place?  What am I willing to sacrifice?  What are my non-negotiables?  What will help my family to thrive?  What would life be like if I was teaching again?  What kind of teacher would I be?  What kind of mom would I be?  I went back and forth in my heart and mind. In the end,  I decided to continue to be Emerson and Theodore's mom as a full-time gig (for now).

Going back to work seemed like such a titillating (under-utilized word in this former-English-teacher's opinion) option.  For this simple reason:  Before I quit my job I was sure that I was doing meaningful work.  

I felt that my work had the potential to make an eternal, widespread, lasting impact.  On a daily basis I was advocating for students who are often overlooked.  I made a special effort to serve those who were under-served.  I got to show love to individuals who sometimes didn't get this from their peers, other adults, or even their families.  I didn’t do it perfectly, but it felt like I was changing the world--or at least my small corner of the world.  I was sending out love and light and those things don’t come back empty, they bring a return. 

This work earned me income, and a nice-sized chunk of it.  I know teachers often complain about not being paid enough.  I don't want to brush over those concerns, because I understand them.  It can feel like you should be earning more money when you often work a substantial number of hours outside of your contracted time.  A teacher's salary also can be hard to sustain paying off the amount of debt required to obtain a teaching degree.  But to me, it felt like a large sum of money.  I guess being young and fresh off of working minimum wage jobs will do that to you.  The fact that the work I did every day brought in money made it feel worthwhile.

 It was highly intellectual.  I got to study really complex things and help make them simple to my students.  When kids weren't understanding the material I would wrack my brain for a creative way to help them get it.  When I was having discipline issues I'd consult books and other smart people and come up with a plan.  I got to attend professional development.   I could sit and listen to experts talk and feel like that doe-eyed college student who vigorously took notes about pedagogy.  My brain was consistently stimulated.  

At this point, though, I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and go back to work.  Simply because, ultimately, I decided that I wouldn't be the mom or the teacher I want to be if I tried to do both.

It's partly my energy-level.  Teaching exhausts me.  I am an introvert.  So being in a room filled with loud, needy little people all day long drains me of my energy.  At the end of a long day of repeating instructions, extending patience, and inspiring enthusiasm I want nothing more than to lay on my couch and have nobody bother me.  Thanks to my super-human husband, when I was working before having kids, I often did just that.  I came home from work and basically just rested my weary head in silence until he brought me a hot meal. I can't imagine that puddle of a person being the only version of me that my kids ever got to see.  I know that living in limbo between meeting the endless needs of my students and then coming home and attempting to meet the never-ending needs of my young children would make me into shred of myself.  I don't want my children--or my husband for that matter--to just get my leftovers.

It's partly my temperament.  I have this neurotic need to do everything I do to the best of my ability.  I feel this tug as a teacher and as a parent.  The thought of letting someone else be in control of my child's sleep, diet, activities, discipline, etc. all day long makes me cringe.  Likewise, I am not satisfied in my teaching performance unless it is darn near perfect according to my standards.  This requires a lot of time and prep work.  As a teacher, I rarely worked a day without going outside of my contracted hours.  Additionally, I spent time dreaming up lesson plans on the weekends and during the summer. I can hardly imagine allowing myself to be, what I would consider, a sub-par teacher.  Harder still, is picturing myself not giving everything I have to my kids.

It's partly my kids' ages.  Theodore, in particular, is so young.  I am still his own personal milk machine--on call for nursing every two-three hours.  That means, that as a teacher, I'd have to stop working to have a date with my pump at least three times a work day.  Theo is still struggling with sleep, bless him.  Some nights are good, others make me whisper cuss words under my breath and seriously debate slipping a little something adult into my morning chai latte.  If I were teaching currently, I would come to work exhausted, and I would come home exhausted.  I don't know that I would be able to give my best to either party.  That doesn't sit well with me.

So, this year, another first day of school came and went.  I watched my friends, former, colleagues, and my dear husband go and ready their classrooms with butterflies in their stomachs, eagerly anticipating that first week.  My heart longs for that feeling.  Especially after listening to yet another tantrum, while changing yet another poopy diaper.  When I was teaching, I loved my job.  I loved decorating my classroom:  filling it with memes and bright colors and other things that excite thirteen-year-olds.  I loved learning all their names, and I loved the proud, surprised looks on their faces when I was able to recite each precious one.  I loved coming up with fresh approaches to classic material.  I loved the way the kids lit up when I gave them opportunities to move, to talk, to be creative.  I loved seeing them make strides academically and socially.  I loved watching them begin to feel confident knowing that someone was on their side.  And sure, there are plenty of things I don't love.  But man does that grass look nice and green from my view on the other side.

This is my third year of doing work that is thankless, invisible and underpaid.  I am just now starting to come to terms with being a SAHM.  I am finally beginning to feel at peace with the way I spend my days.  This journey has been difficult and frustrating at time, but it has taught me so much. 

Lesson one:  there is no such thing as meaningless work.  Perhaps, like me, you've bought into the message that important work requires a college degree.  Or earns the big bucks.  Or utilizes great talent, intelligence and creativity.  I think more than anything that is just our cultural bias.  Important work is whatever you find yourself doing in this season right here right now.  You are important, the people you work with and for are important, so your work is important.  Just because your job may not be traditional or prestigious or innately benevolent does not mean that it isn't good. 

Are you a janitor?  Do it to the best of your ability.  Maintain a space that is clean and neat and ready for people to love and laugh and work and rest in.  Create an atmosphere of peace.  When you have the opportunity to interact with others know that your smile and kind words go a long way.  Are you a bar-tender?  Use your gifts to give people an enjoyable experience.  Lift their spirits (literally and figuratively).  Bear their burdens.  Love friends and strangers.  A nanny?  Love those children with everything you have. Stand in the place of their parents for a little while.  Allow Mom and Pop to leave their homes with peace of mind knowing their greatest treasures will be well-cared for in their absence.  Speak truth and encouragement over those little souls. Are you a full-time care-taker?  A starving artist?  A construction worker?  A lawyer? A barista?  Your title doesn't matter.  But you do.  You matter. And the time you are spending is absolutely not wasted. 

Because it doesn't really matter what you do.  It matters how you do it.  Do whatever you're doing right now in a way that gives value and dignity and hope to human beings.  Because that's what really matters.  Not money, or status, or visions of grandeur.  People matter.  Love matters.  Do what you do in love and joy and it will inherently be meaningful.

Next lesson:  parenting is valuable.  It is becoming more clear to me that this specific role is not to be taken lightly.  I am hyper-aware that the things I give my children will be theirs for the rest of their lives.  The pictures I take will be the only ones they have of their childhood.  The memories we build will be theirs to cherish forever.  The habits, the love, the relationships with food, with money, with conflict, with church will stay with them for a lifetime.  Luckily, people are resilient, and God's grace is big, so they will be able to bounce back regardless of the particular way we are inevitably messing them up.  There are no perfect parents.  But still, the work my husband and I are doing in our children's lives matters.  As I was pleading with God about my purpose recently, oh-so-humbly reminding him about the training, talents, and intelligence I have for him to use he gently corrected me, "Yes, you are qualified, but who would you want raising your children?"  Raising your children.  Helping human beings to grow into people of character.  Of course God would pick someone qualified to do this role, because it is important work.  I am in a position to influence human souls.  That echoes into eternity.

I don't know where you're at today.  Whether you're thriving in your career, or working a just-for-now job.  Whether you're happily unemployed, or hopefully in between jobs.  Whether you're spending your days parenting, or praying, or accounting, or cashiering, or policing, or studying, or doing a hodge-podge of things.  But I do know this:  whatever you're doing it is meaningful.  You don't have to defend your life to me or anyone else.  I don't either--thank goodness.  We have the potential to make a difference in the world exactly where we are right now.  We can bloom wherever we've been planted.  Even if if looks like that's in a crack in the middle of the sidewalk.

 I'll leave you with a word of encouragement from Jen Hatmaker's book For The Love (she is speaking to Christians in particular here, but I think if you can wade past the church-y language, it is applicable to anyone):

"If you assume an obedient life requires a thousand moving parts, a bunch of church programs, an international movement, a big fancy ministry, or a giant platform, let Jesus' description of the kingdom relieve you:  small, invisible, humble, tiny seeds, mostly hidden.  Faithfulness is not easy, but it is simple.  You are already able, already positioned, already valuable in your normal life on your normal street next to your normal neighbors in your normal work."

Supernova

I have big feelings.  When they crop up they feel all-consuming.  I look to the east and the west the north and the south and only see them all around me like constellations lining the inside of a tent.  They are dark and yet littered with glimmers of beauty and light.  Being a mom is hard for me.  Harder it seems, than for some.  I don't know if other people are better at hiding their feelings.  Mine pour out of my eyes.  Perhaps others have personalities that help them flow into the roll of motherhood more naturally than mine.  Whatever the reason, this season of littles feels extra challenging.  I feel as though I used to be a planet.  But now I am a moon that revolves around my children.  Or maybe I just have little moons orbiting me, constantly tugging at my gravity.  I wonder who am I?  What is left of me after diaper changes and bedtime stories and dos and don'ts.  Who is this person that I let fall onto the couch like a pile of clean laundry at the end of a long day.  Who is this woman that I scrape out of bed in the morning, at an hour that comes much two early, with a proverbial spatula.  Moments spent doing something that I enjoy or completely at rest are few and far between and almost always interrupted.  Quiet is a unicorn.  It disappears as quickly as I have let out a sigh of relief.  And then the guilt seeps in.  Because this life is a catch-22.  I love these children!  There is enough joy in one wispy blonde curl, one chubby cheek upturned in a grin, one musical baby coo, to power the sun.  Yet I watch the clock and count down its ticks until they will be sleeping and I will be able to breathe.  There is a condemnation in that.  A voice that whispers, "You're supposed to enjoy every second.  This season won't last forever.  You'll miss this someday."  While I know those statements contain flecks of truth, I think it's also okay to feel.  It's okay to feel sad as I watch my old life die.  It's okay to feel exhausted after I give more of myself than I knew I had to give.  It's okay to grieve my maidenhood as I watch it disappear in the rear view mirror.  And besides, while I'm looking in there, I might just catch a glimpse of those little blue orb eyes full of wonder, full of joy, full of unconditional love for me, and remind myself that this will all be worth it one day.

My Favorite Baby Products Round Two

When I was pregnant with baby number one, I remember feeling so overwhelmed choosing baby products.

Bumbo.  Boppy.  Nosefrida.  Ergo.  Mamaroo.  K'tan.  Wubbanub.

 As I scrolled past the words on my screen they sounded like gibberish.  It felt like learning a new language: the secret language of motherhood.    I knew some of the basics babies needed like diapers and bottles.  But then there were so many things I hadn't even fathomed could exist like a wipe warmer and a diaper genie (which FYI doesn't grant you three magical diaper change-related wishes--I know, I was bummed when I found out, too).  Plus, there were so many different styles, models, and brands of everything.  I didn't know where to start.  What really helped me were recommendations from other moms.  Hearing what they found useful was a great starting point for me, so I thought I could provide the same for other moms.  A couple of years ago, I made this list of my favorite baby things that we used with our first son, Emerson.  While I still love those items, this time around I have some new faves to add to the list.

Zutano Booties

You know how everyone wants to give you tiny sneakers (or ballet shoes if you have a girl) because they look stinking adorable on babies' little feet?  Well, those are super fun, and good to have for pictures or special occasions, but here's how it goes most of the time with those shoes:  you finagle babies feet into them while he/she squirms and kicks and fusses and then they stay on for all of about 36 seconds at which point you toss them in your diaper bag because you can't imagine going through the whole shoe-applying process again.  This is why I love Zutano Booties--they actually stay on!  As an added bonus, since they are booties, you don't have to bother with socks.  Have you ever tried to find newborn socks in a load of laundry fresh from the dryer?  When babies are first born they are notoriously cold so it's good to have something to keep their toes cozy.  These booties get the job done with very little hassle.  Low-hassle has been a large priority for me as I adjust to life with two very needy nuggets.

Haakaa Silicone Breastfeeding Manual Pump

Okay, silicone pump, where have you been all my life?  Seriously, I have not used my big machine pump once since baby number two came along, and I have over 25 bags of breast-milk in the freezer currently!  What?  With baby number one I thought I was pretty much a pumping pro on those rare occasions I had a freezer stash of five or more bags.  I am a stay at home mom, so I don't need tons of expressed milk.  But I also love to pretend that I have a life outside of my children so I need to have some breast-milk available in the event that I choose to leave the house without the infant.  This manual pump was perfect for that.  I hate pumping.  I never make time for it.  It involves making sure several parts are available and clean.  Plus it kind of makes me feel like a cow on a dairy farm hooked up to one of those milking machines.  This little silicone guy makes expressing milk so easy!  All I did was suction it to one boob while I fed baby on the other.  In those early days after your milk comes in, you can tend to have a lot of supply.  So during that time I'd just use the Haakaa once or twice a day--usually in the morning when I was nice and full--and I'd always get 2-3 ounces for zero work!  All I had to do was suction it on and feed baby, then put the milk in a bag and pop it in the freezer.

Solly Baby Wrap

Some lovely friends of mine gifted me with this for baby number one, and I definitely used it with him, but am using it much more frequently with little brother.  I have a toddler to take care of so those times when little one really struggles to sleep I can just throw him in the wrap and go about my business.  I also have loved it for small outings:  the farmers market, the grocery store (because only one kid can fit in a shopping cart, so I found it easiest to wear the baby and let the toddler sit), the park, church (can I get an amen!  Wearing baby seriously makes my church experience so much easier and more enjoyable), even just playing in the backyard with my first.  The Solly Wrap may look intimidating at first--gee that's a lot of fabric--but I've found that once you get the hang of it it's actually pretty simple to use.  It's soft, light-weight, easily to pack and go, and is laced with magical baby sleeping powder.  The wrap makes soothing your baby and getting around with him/her a snap.

Backpack Diaper Bag

How did I survive without this before?  Okay, let me just say that I loved my first diaper bag.  It was beautiful and had tons of storage.  (I still use it for times when one kid goes here and the other goes there).  But, I do remember it feeling cumbersome at times.  It also occupied one of my arms and slid off if I needed to quickly assist my son or bend down for some other reason.  The backpack stays on better.  It frees up both of my hands.  I can even hold one of my kids while I'm wearing it.  There are so many options out there currently as backpacks are kind of trendy right now.  Ours is a Skip-Hop and I love it because has lots of pockets for organization (I hate digging through a big open bag and not being able to find anything).  I also love the clips it has that make attaching it to our stroller super convenient.  Plus, it looks cute.  I don't know if that's a priority for everyone, but it's definitely a bonus for me.  I'd say that if you have two or more kids a back-pack diaper bag is a must-have.

Dwell and Slumber Dresses

Probably my favorite thing to use for those early days after labor and delivery were my Dwell and Slumber dresses.  Yes dresses, because even though I told myself I only needed one somehow I ended up with two...They are soft, loose, flowy, and basically the most comfortable thing you could wear.  Plus, because of the way they hang and the pretty patterns and colors available, you can look put together and feminine while still experiencing the comfort of lounging in a pair of sweats.  They have snaps down the front for easy access to the goods if you're nursing.  And pockets that you can keep your snacks or phone in.  I got my first one while I was still pregnant (it was heavenly in those last couple of months when basically nothing fit) and my second one right before delivery.  I actually wore one of them to the hospital, and the other right after giving birth.  They were comfy enough to sleep in, but looked cute enough to wear home.  When we left the hospital I basically wore them on repeat for the first month+.  My body had changed.  My tummy felt round and squishy, my breasts were heavy with milk and often disproportional so I found that these dresses were some of the only articles of clothing that I felt good wearing.  I highly recommend buying one or two for recovery from birth (or even for maternity, or if you just like to feel like you're wearing pajamas without actually wearing pajamas).  They might seem a little pricey, but really they aren't when you consider that all D+S gowns are ethically made in the USA.

Halo Bassinest Swivel Sleeper

We keep our babies in our room with us for the first few months while they're still little enough that they're up multiple times a night to breastfeed, and while I"m still obsessively checking in on their breathing.  I think it's pretty common actually.  So if that's your plan, I would recommend getting some sort of bassinet.  With our first son, we used a Pac-N-Play with a bassinet insert during the early days.  We loved that option, and especially loved how the Pac-N-Play was still functional and useful after we moved baby to his crib in his own room.  This time around, we were in a new place and our bedroom had less space.  The Pac-N-Play would technically fit, but it would make the room feel pretty cramped.  So we opted for something smaller.  I absolutely love the Halo Bassinest for this purpose.  It is tall and sturdy (read:  my toddler can't knock it over or destroy it).  It is flat which makes me feel better about following safety recommendations.  The sides are mesh, which again helps me feel safe enough to sleep at night.  The sleeping space is large enough that baby has a little room to grow in it (just in case he gets too big before we're ready to transition him to his crib).  Plus, my favorite feature is that, as per its name, it swivels.  In a small space, that makes it so much easier to get around.  I can easily turn the bed so that I can fit beside it.  I can swivel it closer to the bed to take baby out of it to nurse in the middle of the night, but the swivel him further away from the bed while he snoozes.


What would you add to the list?  Did any of these products work for you and your little one?  New/soon-to-be mamas, any other questions about brands or products?  I'm no expert, but I'd be happy to let you pick my brain.

*Click here to read my first post about favorite baby items*

Just Like God

Do you ever feel like you're missing it?  Like beautiful, profound, holy things are happening and you're just not seeing it?  Like just beneath the surface God is invisibly weaving miracles and you're too busy, or tired, or angry to notice?  I had this wake-up call about a month ago.

Somewhere between my dreams I heard the faint jingle of our chubby French bulldog's tags against her collar.  I lurched from my sleep and headed to the living room hoping to catch her before she peed on our carpet and throw her out the back door so she could do her business where nature intended.  Our squatty girl has a small bladder and sometimes still, at three years old, struggles with this potty training thing.  Naturally, at this point, I was already feeling annoyed.  I had been awoken from a dead sleep at 1:30 in the morning in order to prevent having to scrub yet another urine spot out of our cream-colored carpet. 

Out of the big glass window, one of my favorite features of our living room, I saw what just barely registered to me as snow falling.   The lights from the elementary school across the street illuminated the fluffy flakes drifting from the sky as the whole world slept.  The grass outside was frosted with a thin layer of the beautiful, glistening, stuff.

I had to wake my husband up.  He is a snow enthusiast.  We just sat on the couch for a few moments with matching groggy grins, taking it in together.  This snowfall was completely unexpected as it was the middle of February after an almost dry winter.  In fact, the weather had been in the 60s just a week prior.  This really felt out of the blue and therefore surreal.

Then a thought crossed my mind that filled me with instant bitterness.  "What if we get a snow-day tomorrow?"  I asked my husband.  As a stay-at-home-mom who's married to a teacher, the prospect of a snow day usually fills me with glee.  With it comes help with the baby, an adult to talk to throughout the day, and bonding with some of my favorite people on the planet.

This time, though, a snow day meant only that I wouldn't get to sub.  I had been substitute teaching once a week as a means to get out of the house, keep my foot in the door of education, and to earn a little bit of income.  My friend and I happened upon a really great system.  Both former teachers and current SAHMs to one year old boys, one day a week she watched both boys while I subbed and vice versa. 

Recently, there had been several weeks when, for whatever reason, I hadn't been able to sub.  Sometimes I couldn't find an opening on a day that my friend was available to babysit.  Sometimes the small district I worked in just didn't have any openings at all.  The previous week, I had a sub job scheduled for a Friday, and my friend got sick on Thursday.  Every time I missed a job, I felt frustrated, stressed, and anxious, mostly because it meant loss of precious income, and let's be honest time away from my child, that I treasured.

When I feared I was about to miss out yet again, because of a snow day of all things, I thought,"This is just like God to do this to me."  It seemed like the stars had aligned just perfectly to deprive me of subbing that day.  As if God had orchestrated this.  My job was for a Wednesday, the district had no school that Friday, and my childcare buddy was unavailable Thursday--this was my only chance to sub that week.  My natural inclination was to assume that God would rearrange the weather no-less, just to short-change me.

I felt those words crawl out of my throat, "It's just like God to do this to me."  When I heard them play back, I knew they could have only been birthed out of some ugliness in my heart.  What was I believing about God?  I was essentially believing that God was intentionally holding out on me.  That he knew how much I enjoyed subbing and how much I would love to have that money, and yet he plotted behind the scenes to take those good things away from me.  Isn't that the original lie that Eve believed in the garden of Eden?

Here's how it went down in Genesis 3:

"Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” 2 The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ ” 4 “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. 5 “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” 6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it."

The snake (aka Satan) essentially tells Eve, God isn't protecting you.  He's holding out on you.  He knows that you would get this good thing from eating the fruit, but he is choosing not to give it to you.  Sound familiar?

Lies can only be quenched with truth.  The truth is that God is a good father.   "Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God" (1 John 3:1). The bible describes me as a child of God.  What parent doesn't want good for their children?  Sure, we may sometimes deny their wishes out of protection or preservation.  But I know that as a mom, I am looking for opportunities to bless my son.  I love to say yes to him.  It's not always possible (you can't have jello for every meal), but when he wants something and I know it's also in his best interest I delight in giving it to him.

God is no doubt the same.  The bible says, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? So if you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" (Matthew 7:9-11).  God is a better parent than me!  If I love to give good things to my children, then of course he loves to give good things to me.  God isn't arranging the cosmos behind the scenes to hurt or deprive me.  It is quite the opposite, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future," (Jeremiah 29:11).  He is looking for ways to bless me.  He is working all things together for my good (Romans 8:28).


So, what came of that snowy night?  Well, instead of school being cancelled it was simply delayed:  we had a two hour late start.  That meant that I got the whole enchilada: extra time with my husband, an opportunity to sub, and the full day's worth of pay that comes with it. Not only this, but because of the snow that brought on the two-hour late start I'd received extra blessings. 

When I arrived at the school and made my way to the preschool classroom that I happened to be working in that day, I began to read the sub notes.  The nitty gritty details were scrawled across four plus pages of yellow lined paper.  The words "toileting," and "diapering," quickly caught my eye.  Here I was doing this at least partially to get a break from diapers, and this job would require me to wipe behinds additional the one that was waiting for me at home? That bitter feeling crept back into the pit of my stomach.

Then, a paraeducator walked in and informed me that due to the late-start,  preschool had been cancelled for the day.  Preschool took place in the early half of the day.  The rest of the day the teacher I was filling in for worked with small groups of kindergartners.  It also happened to be Valentines day.  Which meant that said kindergartners would be spending the day eating pink-frosted heart-shaped cookies and passing out cards that read things like, "You rock, Valentine," rather than doing their regular school work.  My job for the day was exceptionally simplified. I had essentially nothing do to for the morning, and in the afternoon I'd basically be watching kids delight over their treats.  God had lightened my load.

 Additionally, I ended up helping another teacher with some of her prep-work in lieu of teaching preschool, and she encouraged me.  In side conversation we approached the topic of staying home full-time to care for young children--something I constantly doubt and wrestle with--and she told me that she believes it makes a huge difference.  She said that as a preschool teacher, she can tell the kids who have had a parent (or relative, or great nanny) provide their full-time care.  She said that it has the potential to make a difference in development, manners, and demeanor.  She described these children as confident.  This is something that I desperately want for my children:  for them to know that they are loved and to feel secure.  I felt encouraged to press on in my work as a stay at home mom.

It turns out that it was just like God, to do this to me.  It was just like God to give me those sweet moments in the middle of the night to appreciate his beauty alongside my husband.  It was just like him to give me extra rest.  It was just like him to remove the burden from my day.  It was just like him to arrange for me to hear the very encouragement that my heart needed.

Why did I expect cursing, rather than blessing to come from God?  I believed a lie about the very nature of God.  We inform our view of the character of God based on a lot of things.  Past experiences, past hurts, past disappointments can often seep into the way we see him.  Sometimes the enemy of our souls whispers about God into our ears.  We can start to believe that he wants bad for us rather than good.  We can start to question whether or not he really loves us; whether he is really for us.  We can start to expect God to behave based on this false character that we have assigned to him.  When we view God through these tainted lenses, we can miss out on what he's doing.  We can mistake things he's intended for our good as bad.  We can even see blessing as cursing.

How are you viewing God today, friend?  Are you just waiting for him to bless you?  Are you believing that he is a good father who wants the absolute best for your life?  That because he didn't withhold even his son from you, there is no good thing he would deprive you of (provided that it's actually in your best interest)?  Or like mine was, is your view of him distorted?  Are you anticipating the next heartache he's going to bring your way?  Are you just waiting for him to leave you in the dust?

Let's remind ourselves who God is, what he's done for us, and how he feels about us.  Rather than viewing our God based on what we know about our situation, let's view our situation based on what we know about our God.  So that the next time God weaves together a miracle in our midst, we'll think to ourselves, "It is just like God to do that."

Jesus is not Santa Claus

Recently, the president of the United States asserted that "We're saying Merry Christmas again,"  as a valiant defense against the supposed attack on Christmas, and Christian values in general.  And, well, that made me feel angry.  Because he used his platform to declare to the world that the thing Christians are willing to take a stand on is the right to tack Jesus' name onto a holiday that has pagan roots and is often more about consumerism than Jesus' love.

 Don't get me wrong, especially in recent years, I feel moved during the Christmas season.  I enjoy the peppermint this and that, I celebrate our family traditions, I relish in cheesy Christmas movies, and during December my house tends to look like someone threw up red and green all over it.  More than that, though, reflecting on the notion of a God who leaves heaven to come to earth and enters into the most humble of circumstances in loving pursuit of humanity changes me.  I love setting aside time to remember that each year.  However, sometimes I wonder what associating Jesus with the not-so-spiritual aspects of Christmas has done to our collective psyche.  How has the connection impacted our views on God and who he is?

I think that sometimes we look at God like he is Santa Claus.  Santa is generally looked on as a positive character.  He is loving and kind, generous and jolly.  Those are words that the average person might use to describe God (assuming that person believes in him).  Saint Nick is an old man.  Both he and God are often portrayed with long white flowing hair and beards.  Santa's thought to be omnipresent, "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake."  That's another characteristic that links him with God.

Santa is primarily a gift-giver.  Lots of folks view God this way.  He's the guy you go to when you want/need stuff.  But Santa has a naughty and nice list.  If you do enough good, and don't do too much bad, you make the nice list.  If you're not "good, for goodness sake," watch out.  You might end up with no presents, or find the ominous gift of coal lurking at the bottom of your stocking.  The bottom line is this:  we ask Santa for (material) things, and if we've been good enough he gives them to us.  Do believe that Jesus is the same way?

We treat Jesus like he's Santa Claus when all we do is ask him for stuff.  We send up prayers like, "Dear Jesus, please give me an Xbox, and an iphone 8."  We often ask for things we don't need, things that would not add value to our lives, or even things that would be destructive were we granted them.  I don't think this is necessarily wrong to do.  The bible talks about having childlike faith, and I want to be dependent upon God the way my son is dependent upon my husband and I.  That naturally leads to looking to him for things I want/need.  I think it's to be open and honest with God about where I'm at.  That includes bringing my desires to him. 

 Ultimately, though, I also want to ask God to be sovereign over my desires.  To change my desires--make them more holy, more selfless.  I want him to give me whatever it is that he knows is best for me.  Plus, if that's all we ever talk to God about we are missing so much.  God wants to have a relationship with us.  He wants to walk with us in intimacy through life.  He wants to hear about your day.  He wants to share with you his dreams for your life and his heart for humanity.  He wants to just be with you while you're doing the dishes or walking the dog.  He wants to express his love to you and for you to express it back.

Sometimes, we act like, in suite with Santa, God has a naughty and nice list.  Only, instead of coal the perceived risk is hell-fire and damnation.  (Try fitting that into a stocking).  I think we often sense that getting into heaven, or earning favor with God works on a system similar to Santa's.  Don't do too many bad things.  Do enough good things, and you're golden.  You'll make it to heaven.  Or at least, God will give you good gifts.  This is so contradictory to what the bible actually says, and to what I personally have experienced in relationship with Jesus.  Take a gander at these bible verses in Ephesians:

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast."

The path to heaven here is described as undeserved.  It is declared a gift from God.  The clarification is made that this is not based on works.  It can't be earned.  It can only be received through faith in Jesus.  The passage also speaks of the kindness Jesus wishes to show us.  The good things he desires to give us.  We see words like "grace" and "mercy," used.  Mercy:  not giving someone something bad even if they deserve it.  Grace:  giving someone something good even if they don't deserve it.  That is a stark contrast to the naughty and nice list!

The bible reiterates this point in Matthew:

"For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust."

God is a good father who likes to give us good gifts and that is not based on our behavior.  That, is the Jesus that I want to contemplate during the Holiday season.

With all due respect, Mr. President I am bowing out of the battle.  Someone else will have to fight the war against Christmas.  As a Christ-follower, I'd much rather stand for the downtrodden.  For the widow and orphan.  For the poor and the broken.  For the outcast and the oppressed. I'd rather stand for love.  Sure, I'll still say, "Merry Christmas," most people that I know do, religious or otherwise.  I might also say, "Happy Hanukkah," or even *gasp* "Happy Holidays," at times in consideration of my friends.  That doesn't mean that I won't be celebrating, even the pagan rituals, because evergreen trees smell amazing.  But I want to use the Christmas season to reflect on who Jesus really is.  To be in communion with him.  To celebrate who he is, what he stands for, and that day when he appeared and my soul felt it's worth.

Reckless Love

This is one of my favorite songs as of late:

According to dictionary.com (the new Webster?), "reckless" means:

utterly unconcerned about the consequences of some action; without caution; careless 

Reckless, is usually considered a bad thing.  Think, "You kids are being so reckless!  Make better choices!  Eat your vegetables!  Wear a helmet!"

Why then, use this word to describe God?  A creator so precise in his actions that he knew exactly where to place the earth:  were it a few million miles closer or further from the sun, the planet could not sustain life.    How could that God, ever be described as reckless?  Certainly he is not akin to a some careless hooligan.

I think the key portion of the definition is "utterly unconcerned about the consequences."  No, God isn't romping about the heavens all willy-nilly.  I think, that in this case, reckless love, refers to God knowing the consequences of his actions, and being unconcerned about them.  In fact, utterly unconcerned about them.

He does not love cautiously, only to those who will accept it or give it back.  He just loves. He loves every human. If you think about it, there's nothing in it for him. He has everything he could ever want.  He doesn't need to even give humans a second glance. Yet he still chooses to love us.  He pursues us relentlessly.  Unconcerned with what the response will be.  Unconcerned with the results.  Unconcerned that  the very people that he pours out his life for, often reject him, condemn him, or ignore him.

Jesus bore the weight of each person's sins, knowing that they would keep right on sinning.  He left his heavenly oasis, knowing he'd be rejected on the planet he had a hand in creating.  He died a torturous death, just to offer the free gift of salvation, knowing that none deserved it, and many would not receive it.  None of this concerned him.  Without caution, without care, he just went on giving and loving the very people that would spit on him, and curse him, and rip the flesh from his bones.

I don't know how to love like that.  If I'm honest, most of the love I give is very calculated.  If I really think about it, many things I do in the name of loving others, serving, or giving are actually about me.  I rub my husband's back knowing that  he will be happier with me.  I initiate time spent with my friends, desperately attempting position myself as a priority in their lives.  I give a thoughtful gift hoping that at some point in the future I might get one back.  I make investments in others hoping there will be a return.

And if not a return of love personally directed towards me, I at least expect there to be some results.  I want to be able to pat myself on the back for accomplishing something good in the world.  I want an impressive story to be able to tell.  I want something to boost my resume.  I want that student to come back and tell me that I've made a difference in their life.  I want that look of gratitude that makes me feel like maybe I'm a good person after-all.

In my short life I have seen glimpses of truly selfless love.  First, I think of my husband with his students.  (Yes, he gets paid to work with them, but he could easily get paid doing something less taxing).  Philip works in a self-contained special education room.  Most of his students are non-verbal, or almost non-verbal.  The chance of him getting a thank-you or a you-changed-my-life speech from one of them are slim to none. Every day he uses his best energies and strategies to teach them things they've often forgotten by the next time he sees them.  He gives them skills that might allow them independence, knowing that many of them will never move out of their parents' homes.  He builds relationship with each one knowing that it in some cases it will never be reciprocated.  That's reckless love.

I think of my dear friend, who reached out to me when I was at my darkest.  She had nothing to gain by loving me.  She dipped into her precious time and resources.  She gave me very one-sided phone calls and text messages.  She encouraged me.  She was courageously vulnerable with me, so that I would know I was not alone in my grief.  She gave me notes and gifts.  She prayed for me.  She gave to me during a time when I literally had nothing to give back to her.  I like to think she was unconcerned about that.

I think of my (now) sister-in-law, who gave everything to care for my brother when he was in the throes of a battle with cancer.  They were just dating at the time.  It wasn't like she had already made the, "in-sickness-and-in-health," promise.  She didn't owe it to him.  She had no guarantee that they would even stay together long enough for him to return the favor.  In fact, she didn't even know if he would make it through this.  Still, she gave up her job.  She set her dreams and ambitions aside for awhile.  She spent countless, weary hours tending to his every need.  I know it wasn't easy.  Even if she would have gained nothing from this, I know she still would have done it.  That is love without caution.

I think of motherhood.  As moms, much of the time you are giving so much to someone who can't, won't, or doesn't give back to you.  Not to mention, you never know what the result of your careful parenting will be.  Let's be honest; there have to have been serial killers who had great moms.  For all I know, Mrs. Hitler was a wonderful woman who loved her kids well (actually, I was fascinated to learn more about her story).  There's no guarantee that you are going to raise a loving, life-changing, or even somewhat civilized human.  I'm not saying that what we do as mother's makes no difference.  I'm not saying we shouldn't do it with intentionality, or that we won't reap a reward for our labor.  I'm simply stating the fact that sometimes a mother might do her absolute best and never see her investment come to fruition.  You can't control people.  You can only love them. And, that, as it turns out is pretty reckless.

I think of countless other small ways of loving without conditions.  Giving money anonymously:  without thank-yous or accolades.  Reaching out to people you feel rejected by.  Showing kindness to the naughtiest kid in class, the one that will never give you anything but further grief in return.  Having a conversation with that person who will talk your ear off and not so much as ask how you're doing in return.  Praying for healing or life change even if it never comes.  Sitting with someone in suffering.

Dear Jesus,

The distance between your goodness and my goodness is great.  In fact, I'm not sure that I've actually ever done something completely void of selfish intent.  Will you take my heart?  Will you make it more like yours?  May I reap the benefits of your love.  May I soak it in.  May I look at it in wonder.  May it pour out of me.  Like water permeating a sponge, flowing from every orifice.  Teach me to love the way that you love.  Love through me.  Help me to be unconcerned about  the consequences of my investments of time, energy, and talent.  Rather, I want to love unconditionally to the point of recklessness.  I want to throw kindness around like it's confetti--even if that means that some of it just winds up lying on the floor.  Lord, you are good.  More of you, and less of me.

Following God Like a GPS

As a language-minded person, I can't help but love metaphors.  I am also a person who happens to be terrible at directions--like I have managed to get lost in a town with an area that is less than three square miles.  While I have joined the 21st Century by owning a (30 dollars from Walmart) smart phone, I don't have a data plan.  Which means I can't access most of my apps, including the Global Positioning System (GPS), unless I'm connected to WiFi.  So I am not accustomed to the ease of having a GPS with me 24/7.

I often rely on printed directions from Google Maps or Mapquest (along with frantic phone calls to my husband) to get me from point A to point B.  So, when I decided to make a two-hour drive to an area I was unfamiliar with, I borrowed my mom's GPS.  The soothing sound of a woman's voice giving me gentle reminders where and when to turn, and letting me know I was on the right track put my mind at ease.

As I was following the twists and turns of the freeway, taking in the picturesque hills of sage brush, and singing along to my Taylor Swift album, I started thinking about my GPS as a metaphor for God.  I think we often view following God like following those printed off (or written down, if you're more old-fashioned) directions.  When, really walking in step with Christ functions a lot more like navigating with a GPS.

When using turn-by-turn directions, you know every step of the journey before you embark on it.  While--as a planner--I feel like I would love it if life worked this way, it just doesn't.  Honestly, though, that might be for the best.  Looking at all the steps together, I sometimes get so overwhelmed!  I start to question how this will all work, and wonder if I can actually do it.  I think if I really knew all the details of how my life was going to go, and what God was going to ask me to do along the way, I might feel the same.  Like a GPS, I've found that God often tells us where and when to turn in the nick of time.  We don't necessarily know the next step miles--or years--in advance.  Rather, he gives us a direction right when we need to use it.

Following a set of turn-by-turn directions evokes a lot of fear and anxiety in me.  Here's the thing:  it is so easy to make a mistake with those as your guide!  You are busy trying to make sure you're going the speed limit, and staying between the lines, and eating your road-trip snacks.  Meanwhile, you need to keep an eye on that sheet of paper with barely readable font that has all the answers scrawled onto it.  Sometimes I get confused because the directions want me to do something like make a "slight right," whatever that means, and I have nothing to encourage me that I'm going the right correct way.  In fact, I've gotten myself completely off course before and not even known it until I was obviously miles away from my destination.  The GPS, however, reminds me multiple times that my turn is coming up.  It gives me a visual, and a glowing arrow to help show me where to go.  And once I've made my turn correctly it gives me an affirming DING.  It is much harder to miss a turn when following a GPS.  I think God's the same way.  I don't think he tells us what he wants from us one time, and if we're not listening well, then, too bad.  I think he gives us lots of hints, nudges, and reminders along the way.  I think he reassures us when we're on the right track.

Perhaps the biggest pitfall of having the directions printed, is if you make one wrong turn, you're kind of screwed.  You're left to your own devices to attempt to navigate your way back onto the path.  The GPS is far more forgiving.  If I misunderstand the directions or don't make a lane change fast enough, the little woman who lives in the GPS extends me grace and finds me another route.  Sure, I might not take the intended path.  The one I inadvertently choose might even be a little longer or more difficult than the original plan.  Either way, my destination remains the same.  I continue moving in the overall same direction.  I think that's how it is following God.  We aren't going to do it perfectly, but we don't need to panic when things go awry.  In life, I often feel like I am following that sheet of directions, like if I make one mistake, if I take one turn outside of God's will, I am out of luck.  I will have to figure things out on my own, and there's a chance I'll never make it back to the right path.  Meanwhile, God just says a calm, casual, "Rerouting."

How do you view following God?  Do you want him to map out your entire future for you right now?  Do you feel anxious that you might miss a direction from him?  Do you experience a lot of fear when you think about making a mistake?  Does this sound all too familiar?  I am, often, right there with you!  Perhaps we need to stop viewing following God like following a sheet of directions.  We need to think about his path for us as less fixed.  We need to trust that he is going to help get us where we need to go; that he is going to make it known to us when he really needs us a to make a change.  And perhaps most of all, we need to believe that it's okay for us to get it wrong sometimes.  Let's trust that many paths can get us to the same destination.  If we're surrendered to him, he'll keep us moving in the same overall direction.  Let's treat following God more like following a GPS.

His Grace is Enough

 Sometimes, when I walk into a Christian gathering, I feel like a fraud.  This is amplified when I find myself in some sort of leadership role.  Things I've thought, said, or done that are less-than-Christ-like flash through my mind.  I think of that harsh thing I said to my husband.  The frustration I felt towards my son.  The amount of time I wasted on social media.  All of these short-comings haunt my thoughts.  I start to feel like I'm not good enough.  I wonder, what am I doing here?  How did I fool these poor suckers into thinking I belong here?

All I need is to hear a word, or a song, or a prayer about the cross.  Then I remember the truth:  not one of a us is good enough.  But Jesus is good enough.  His work on the cross is enough.  Yes, my sins are many.  But his grace is sufficient for me.

Because of this, we are invited to come as we are.  I can approach God freely.  I can do the small tasks he gives me in confidence.  Knowing, that I don't stand on my own righteousness, but on his. We all belong, here. There is a place for every loser, every hot mess, every wretch at the foot of the cross.  His grace is enough.

My Body Is a Tool, Not a Decoration

Photo by Elizabeth Mason Legrand

I didn't think that it would bother me so much for my body to change after giving birth.  Just a few short weeks postpartum people were commenting on how quickly I lost weight and how little I was.  Even now you probably wouldn't look at me and think, "There's a girl who definitely just had a baby," or, "She could stand to lose a few pounds."  I, however, am up-close and personal with my new body.  I can see and feel my squishy, round tummy.  I have experienced my now wider hips rejecting my pre-pregnancy pants.

I guess that being thin and having a flat stomach somehow became a part of my identity.  That's not to say that I felt perfectly secure about being skinny.  I knew that I would never have some of the--ahem--assets that other women had.  I would never be a curvy girl.  At times that bothered me.  Though I felt I had those short comings, at least I knew I had the zero fat thing going for me.  I can't say that anymore.

In the past I almost always reached for the smallest clothing size that a store carried--and sometimes even that was too small.  Being a size four or six or small or medium rather than a one or two and extra small might sound like a dream to some women, but to me it feels foreign.  Wearing my skin-tight pre-baby clothes and seeing a little pooch around my midsection, I hardly recognize myself.  I honestly feel embarrassed.

I've basically had to buy a whole new wardrobe.  I'm someone who loves clothes.  I so enjoy creatively putting together outfits--coming up with new combinations of texture, color, and print.  What used to be a glorious adventure has become a chore that I dread.  Instead of delighting in the ensembles I crafted, I find myself scrounging for something that I can wear that I won't feel stupid in.

I'm trying to remind myself:  my body is a tool, not a decoration.  This body allows me to do extraordinary things.  It has allowed me to kick soccer balls, run miles, win wrestling matches.  My body has embraced the broken, walked alongside people, and brought meals and gifts to bless others.  Most recently, my body did the incredible feat of bringing life into the world.  Instead of being amazed and praising my body, I have chastised it.  When I should have said, "Great job!  You have created and sustained the most perfect little human,"  I have asked, "Why can't you look like you once did?"

Something in me, as a woman craves beauty.  I desire to be lovely.  I think that's okay.  But who says that the new slightly chestier (thanks breastfeeding), wider hipped, squishy-tummied, still not very curvy, me can't be beautiful?  Who decided that a round belly is lovely when a woman is going to give birth and hideous after she has already done so?

So, I will probably keep living in flowy shirts, and high-waisted bottoms that I feel flatter my dynamic figure.  But, instead of hiding and shaming of my ever-changing body I want to celebrate it.  I want to love and accept my imperfect self.  I want to use my body to love and serve.  Even if it means stretching it, wrinkling it, and wearing it out, ultimately I hope that my body will be used as a tool to bring more of heaven to earth.  I think that, is pretty beautiful.

Kingdom Work Is Inconvenient

Sometimes, bringing Emerson to the youth group that we serve at feels like a huge inconvenience.  I often have to leave in the middle of the message or a game to go and nurse him.  My arms or back grow weary from toting him around.  When I'd rather be chatting with students uninhibited, I often have to multitask:  making conversation with them, and caring for his needs simultaneously.  Sometimes his already sporadic sleep gets thrown off because youth starts right around his bedtime and there's no way he's dozing off when there are so many people, sights, and sounds to take in.

Last week the Lord showed me that he could use this for good.  As small group time was about to come to a close, and my group was finishing up praying, a girl asked me, "Do you pray for Emerson?"  To which I said, "Yes."  Her stare lingered on me, a begging look in her eyes.  "You want me to pray for him right now?" I asked.  She nodded enthusiastically.  "Ok, sure," I replied.  So I began to pray and recited many of the things that I pray over Emerson each night as he settles in his crib.

"Holy Spirit, please fill Emerson up.  Give him peace.  If there's anything that needs healing in his body please bring him healing.  If he's experiencing any pain please ease his pain.  Lord, help him to know that he is loved.  Help us to love him well, and fill in the gaps where we fall short.  I pray that one day he would come to know you personally, and experience your love and presence.  In Jesus' name, amen."

It's a simple thing really.  By me bringing Emerson to youth group, these young women are exposed to a godly mother--I use that term "godly" loosely because let me tell you I am oh-so aware of how imperfect I am.  However, I am open to the Lord.  I've stayed in communion with him throughout the ebb and flow of this journey.  Jesus is at work in my life.  I believe that, through his grace, his goodness reigns in me.

Who knows what situation these girls come from.  Some of them probably have darn near perfect moms.  Some, might not have moms at all.  Others still have mothers who've painted a picture of rejection, harshness, or abandonment where tenderness, unconditional love, and selflessness should have been.  These girls get to watch me parent with the gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit.  While I am grumbling about being inconvenienced, God is taking my small sacrifice and doing Kingdom work.

The Dirty Diaper Gospel

As soon as I walked into church I smelled that familiar smell.  So, there I found myself behind the sanctuary in the appropriately named, "Mother's Cry Room," (I have cried in there numerous times) changing a poopy diaper.  Missing worship, something that I love.  Thinking about how unfair it was.  Thinking about the many things that I have given up for this child without much more than the occasional coy smile or open-mouth kiss in return.  When I was reminded, this is the Jesus way.

Matthew 10:39

"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."

So, Emerson, I will keep laying down my life for you on Jesus' behalf.  And, hopefully, on the other side of this, I will be more like him.

My Nets Are Breaking

As I was reading the bible last week Jesus brought me to Luke 5.  It’s the moment when Jesus calls his first disciples to leave everything and follow him.  “Don’t worry, soon you will be fishing for people,” he tells them.  What a comforting thought.

 Jesus happens upon these grisly, seasoned fishermen after a bad night of fishing.  In fact, they have nothing to show for a full night’s work.  Their boats are at rest, their nets are being cleaned.  Climbing aboard one of the boats, Jesus asks the men to go back out to sea, just a little ways, so that he can preach to the crowds from a safe distance.  They oblige.  When he is finished, the prophet has the audacity to instruct them to try fishing again.  Simon reminds Jesus, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing!”  

To toil is to work extremely hard or incessantly.  Fishing is Simon’s trade, so I’d imagine he knows the ins and outs of catching fish.  He probably used the best techniques, fished at the optimum time, and put down his nets in the place where they were most likely to—as modern fishermen would say—get a few bites.  Yet he caught nothing.  Can you empathize with Simon’s frustration?  Have you ever toiled after something and despite your best efforts found yourself with a big ole net full of nothing? 

 Most recently, I have been working incessantly at helping my six-month-old son learn how to sleep.  Let’s just say, I have a few choice words for whoever coined the phrase, “sleeping like a baby.”  For over a month my son, who once let me sleep in glorious eight hour chunks regularly, has been waking up every one, two, or three hours needing to be rocked back to sleep.  I have scoured the internet for explanations and ideas.  The best I could come up with was that he was in a “sleep regression,” (because his sleep had gone from easy-peasy newborn sleep, to more adult-like sleep—moving in and out of light and deep sleep) and he’d developed some “sleep associations,” namely being rocked by dear old mom and dad (meaning he when he moved out of a sleep cycle he woke up and didn’t know how to get himself back to sleep without our help).  

Determined to fix this, I began to try everything I could think of.  We moved him from his Pack ‘N Play in our room, to his crib in his own room.  We added a white noise machine.  We blacked out his window.  We bought him a suit that promised to have magical sleeping powers.  We implemented a bed time routine.  We moved him to an earlier bedtime.  We worked to get him to fall asleep in his crib—by any means necessary: patting, shushing, picking up and putting down, lovies, binkies, music, you name it, we tried it.  And we waited.  

I would guess that nothing about Jesus’ request made sense to Simon.  He had already worked his hardest to try and catch fish: with no results.  Why would he try it again?  For whatever reason, he was obedient anyway.  As Jesus had asked, Simon put the boat out into deep water and let down his nets for a catch.  Next, the fishermen encompass what could accurately be described as a ridiculous amount of fish in their nets.  In fact, the nets can’t even handle the amount of fish they have caught, because they start breaking!  There are so many fish that they have to call out to their partners for help!  There are so many fish that they fill not one, but two boats, to the point of almost sinking under the weight.  One night, they put out their nets, and nothing.  The next day, they put out their nets and they are so full they start to break. 

This week I started to feel hopeless, as I have at various points during Emerson's sleep journey.  We’ve had good nights and bad nights.  There have been nights when the baby was up every hour, and nights when he only woke up twice.  There have been nights when we heard him self-soothe multiple times, and nights when he wouldn’t even try.  We had been overall making progress, but it hadn’t been linear.  We were at a point where most nights he would wake up around three times and we were getting at least a four hour chunk of consecutive sleep consistently.  That felt survivable.  Then, three times this week, baby boy decided to be up basically every two hours again.  A couple of those nights when he woke up he really struggled to fall back asleep.  I was devastated.  I was sleep-deprived.  I was confused.  I wondered why God wasn’t intervening.  I knew he had the authority to do so.  And yet, I believed that he was good; I believed that he loved me.  Loving my baby through this stage was the work he had given me to do, and I would continue to do it even though it was difficult.  Even if it seemed like my efforts weren't yielding any fruit.

The passage in Luke spoke to my situation in a few ways.  As I read, I heard God telling me this:

1. You don’t have as much control as you think.  Because at the end of the day, you can do all the right things and still not catch any fish.  I needed to stop blaming myself when Emerson had a bad night.  I needed to let go of the guilt I was feeling.  You can’t make fish swim into your net; you can’t make babies sleep.

2. Listen for my voice.  Jesus told Simon where and when to drop his nets.  So I asked for help, and listened.  When I thought Jesus was giving me an idea for something to try with Emerson, I’d obey.  

3. Don’t lose hope.  You might have no results one day, and more results than you know what to do with the next.  Simon fished all night and got nothing.  The very next day he began to fish and instantly caught a bounty.  I knew that I couldn’t give up hope.  I might try my best to get my son to sleep one day, and see nothing come of it.  But the next day might be the day he gets it and finally sleeps through the night.  

It turns out that is exactly what happened.  One night, Emerson was up every two-three hours needing to be rocked to sleep.  I didn’t hear him attempt to fall back to sleep even once.  The next night, I tried again and my nets started breaking!  Emerson slept for ten hours straight!  He has only done that a handful of times.  Even back when he was consistently sleeping through the night it was typically six-eight hour stretches.  I’m not saying we’re out of the woods yet.  We may have more rough nights ahead of us yet, but I know that my son is getting it.  He is learning how to sleep on his own.  Above all, I know that God is faithful—on nights when I toil for nothing and I nights when I get a net overflowing with fish.  

Are you toiling today?  Remember that God is good, and he loves you.  These things are true whether we get zero results or abundant results.  Don’t put too much pressure on yourself because you can’t make fish swim into a net.  Listen for Jesus’ voice telling you where and when.  Then, drop your nets, yet again,  hopeful for a catch.  Because you never know which day God is going to step in and bless you.  One day, you might get nothing, and the next he might fill your nets until they're breaking.