Corn

It was an afternoon spent in the sunshine

with barefoot wiggle toes

and three freckle growing noses.

(The tiniest nose around here spent her afternoon snoozing...)

And preparing for a Mother's Day feast,

we brought the chores outdoors

so little fingers

could learn the task.

It's the little things 

that teach the lessons,

form the memories,

shape the habits,

leave the legacy.

And,

as my momma used to say, still says

corn have ears.

A ironic little reminder

of the constant audience

we as mommas have...

little moldable minds

total little sponges

watching, learning, soaking up

my language, reactions, 

my outlook, perspective,

attitude...

A pretty grand responsibility, actually.

Shepherd

With the hubs going back

and starting back up again myself,

it's been full settling back into the swing of things.

It was so very pleasant to have our family of six together for so long,

before we find our routine in the daily ins and outs and survival of deadlines and diapers.

Life is good and so very blessed,

but it's back to a season of work around here.

I've been reading a lot about peace lately

and reread a passage nearly every little Sunday School attendee knows,

but this time it resonated a little truer to my momma-tired soul. 

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.

In every season of life, You are there.

You provide.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my Soul.

In the loveliness of restful days, your Peace prevails.  

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

In the long days of labor, tedious striving, your strength guides.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

In the confusion and darkness of trials and pains, You protect.

your rod and your staff, you comfort me.

In the midst hard lessons and heavy trials, Your tenderness carries.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

In feasting and abundant provision, You rejoice with me.

you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

In the times of fellowship, You embrace;

You delight in me. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

The seasons may change, 

my perspective may shift, 

but your faithfulness never wavers.

My Shepherd never changes.

All photos taken with my IPhone.
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Mess

My husband and I shared one of those deep belly laughs the other evening. 

One of the ones where eyes squint close and cheeks cramp up and your whole face becomes some really ugly open mouth grimace as you desperately try to regain your composure and lasso the hysterics back into flattering giggle range while simultaneously continuing to spiral out of control into mascara-run-massive guffaws. 

He hung through one side of the mini-van wrangling one screaming toddler, and I doubled over through the other side trying to swing the infant carrier into the latch and in-between us one unnamed little one shoved another unnamed little one because they were taking too long to hike over the clogged center aisle and both collapsed to the cheerio strewed floor in their own set of sobs. 

It was just so overwhelmingly such a mess of a day, it was hilarious.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t feel so gleeful earlier in the day during our quite heated debate on who held the most tallies for changing the most diapers that day. And there was no laughter to be found in this mother’s heart when a certain unnamed child woke up from an especially short nap with proud handfuls of the contents of their diaper. 

And later on, I may have literally sprinted, one hand pushing my cart and one hand steadying my baby in the sling, to  hide around the corner in the grocery store to avoid the scene I heard unfolding as another unnamed child of mine tipped a full cart of groceries over onto themselves with a crash and shriek that brought the entire store to a silent freeze. I let the hubs deal with that aftermath. Yes, I could share a number of other stories, some tearful, dirty, some disgusting and some that would plain just make you just about as tired as I am at this very moment, but the point is, it was just one of those days.

We all have them. We seem to have a good number of them around here. And, more often than not I find myself in survival mode with an outlook and attitude just like my stories...tearful, dirty, disgusting and tired.

And yet, a wise woman shared a proverb with me recently. It holds a redemptive promise for those of us in the midst of chaos of child-rearing, a tender hope for those of us struggling through the mundane and the mess of the daily.

“Where there are no oxen, the feeding trough is clean,

but profits come through the strength of the ox.” Proverbs 14:4

Another version words it -

Where no oxen are, the crib is clean:

but much increase is by the strength of the ox.

To expound further on this, the Reformation Study Bible reminds us , “...the minor benefit of the unused trough must be weighed against the nothing that is produced when no oxen are working. Expenses must be accepted if anything is to be accomplished.”

I find this analogy incredibly refreshing, rejuvenating. See, I may not have the four-legged creatures this verse references, but I’ve got some seriously powerful animals running wild around here. And, according to this, with our laundry room, the noise level, the floor of our minivan, the number of diapers needing changed, the attitude adjustment sessions held during the day, the messes we find ourselves in the midst of daily, the overall state our "stall" is in...well, I must have an abundance of “rewards” coming my way.

And, if nothing else, at very least, I’ll have a collection of belly-laugh worthy stories someday.

Meaning

Ponderings have been simmering for me.
Time awake in the silent night, rocking, rocking, soothing, nursing, rocking for hours,
it yields much time for thought,
and my writer self has been mulling
seeking to ravel the truth thread
stringing memories and journey and struggle and growth
to find meaning.



See,
I grew up with a stay at home momma;

she dedicated her existence to the careful nurturing of her children.

Our early days were spent raising chicks, baking bread, learning to sing, play piano, guitar, hours and hours of reading chapter upon chapters of classics in a painted blue treehouse we helped build, 

her life was devoted to, her sole mission was solidifying the foundation of our hearts.

My plan from a very young age was to follow this way,
I longed and planned from childhood to stay home with my babies.

Thus, five years ago, when my own mothering days came to fruition, like many a woman, although my dreams of mommying were fulfilled, I found myself deeply torn about where my days would be spent. 

I believe whole heartedly that mothering is an all-encompasssing life mission, and yet, for many, many reasons, including our budget, I found myself returning to a full-time job outside the home.

Thankfully, it was one I loved- surrounded by caring coworkers, inspiring leadership, a role I felt called to, a sense of belonging; I truly felt a conviction that I was using my passions for the best-
and so, I was teacher by day, mama by night.

And yet,

the return, the leaving, it wasn't without struggle.  It wasn't without hurting.

Despite all these wonderful things,
my heart was left diapered up back at home.

Packing up the diaper bag, the bottles, the routine of a 7:00am drop off, hurrying back at 4:30pm and tucking our baby girl in bed by 6pm, the mothering hours were short each day.

Early on in my struggle with this reality, I drew a parallel, felt a connection with another young mother, thousands of years ago. 

She who also packed up her baby, 

tucked swaddled blankets into crevices of a basket, examining, readjusting, carefully cushioning him,  tenderly brushing trembling fingers across his cheek, tracing his features, memorizing his beauty, murmuring prayers of hope through salty, stinging tears,
trusting her Lord to make meaning of a life
though threatened, though seemingly abandoned.

What faith,
despite her longing,

despite her fear,

what faith it took to choose what was best over what was good,

to trust Who knows all.

 And so finding strength in the promise of this parallel, I would drive in the dark,
earrings dangling, mascara running

daily dedicating my own Moses-baby,
and I would sing to her

my sweet Ellie girl,
Ellie meaning light,
"This little light of mine"
and slowly it became a prayer,

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let her shine…"



 Many a morning when all I wanted to do was stay home with her snotty little nose, delight in sloppy kisses, cuddle aching gums, relish first steps,
simply managing the melody would be the extent of my plea,
"Let her shine, Lord,
despite my longing to keep her safe,
You are her protector
Let her shine, Lord,
though I yearn to hold, tend, to care,
You are her provider.



For a brand new mother, this routine began to shed new light on my mommy role,
my mother calling.
Not just to birth and hold,
but in love
let go.

To trust that there was meaning in the redirection of my plan.



So then there was  Tristan 
whose name is full of knighted legends,
holding meaning of battle and noise
he became part of our story,
part of the packing, the kissing, the drop-off
the journey
and once again,
I would sing the meaning of his name to him on our daily drive,
"I'm in the Lord's army…"
Tristan, you're in the Lord's army.
Make him strong, Lord, strong in your might alone.
Ephesians 6:10

And as sand grain years began to trickle a bit quicker,
toddlerhood and the struggle, childhood and the frustration
new stages of motherhood began to set in,
a new career path, a new routine, or lack thereof
and once again I found myself, 

I find myself daily 

surrendering what I thought would be
in exchange for
what is.
A woman may plan her way, but the Lord directs her steps.
Proverbs 16:9.
So totally type A,
each planned day of mothering, I find myself redirected each moment.



Then there was Judah,
meaning praise
the boy we bless the Lord for
the man we pray praises the Lord
May he bless the Lord at all times, may his praise be always on his lips.
Psalm 31:1

And now Lucy,
another name meaning light
I love that she and her sister share this meaning,
this mission.
Let her light shine so that men may see her good works and glorify you.
Matthew 5:16

Yes,
it's been through the tears and the prayers and the failures and the triumphs, that my own personal mothering mission has been solidified.

Through the journey,
because of the journey,
through the painful frustrations,
because of the long days,
He's directed my path,
and
I've come to the realization
in my few beginning years of being mommy
that the meaning of motherhood has little to do with where our daily footsteps land,
because little feet follow our heart.

And regardless of our stay-at-home, work-at-home, work-from-home or full-time, part-time, all-time
identity,
we are loved by a God
who works all things for good
and is the Establisher

of all lasting meaning.