the story of this boy.

Only God can write a story this good. A story that even what the enemy means for evil, He makes good. All the time.

That devil tried to steal family from a sweet baby boy. Steal the love of a father and a mother. God wouldn't have it.

I already love this story, but first we need to back up.  

The week leading up to this one was hard.  It was hard for me.  Hard in the parenting department.  Hard emotionally, hormonally, whatever.  Just hard.  The previous Monday we had just submitted our paperwork to our adoption agency to say we would gladly adopt a boy or a girl.  I knew it was right, but that week, instead of dreaming of the future, I found myself paralyzed with fear.  What if I fail at this?  I can barely keep up with my own two boys, what am I thinking?  I'm not cut out for a big family or adoption.  This just feels hard.

I was signed up to attend the IF:Gathering conference that weekend and the thought crossed my mind more than once to skip the conference entirely.  I never spoke the words, and I knew I would be too stubborn to skip.  I'm so glad I didn't.  But I was exhausted.

February 5.  I was scheduled to fly out of Grand Rapids (by myself) to Austin, TX (by myself) to attend this conference (by myself).  Luckily I had Facebook connected with a gal who I had a mutual friend with, so despite having never met her before, I didn't feel completely alone.

My first flight ended up being delayed 3 hours, which was okay, because already my second flight was rescheduled to be about 2 hours later.  Luckily, I heard about the delay before leaving for the airport, so instead of sitting by myself for hours, waiting, I had lunch with my mom and boys and then left for the airport.

Boarding time was about 20 minutes away when I get a phone call.

Eugene, OR

Said my caller-ID. 

This can only mean one thing.  Our adoption agency is in Eugene, OR.  And they really have no reason to call, except for one.

I have a referral for you!

Said the singsong voice on the other end of the phone.  My heart started racing.  I quickly told the caseworker that I had to get on a plane very soon so, tell me everything as fast as you can!

It's a baby boy!!....

I was shaking.  Us?  Now?  This soon?  I was shocked, but not surprised in the least all at once.  My caseworker said she would email me the file, and all I could think was that I just can't wait to see this boys face.  Can. Not. Wait.

They called to board the plane as I drained my phone battery by continuing to hit refresh. refresh. refresh.

The plane took off before the file came in, and as we ascended to cloud-level, it hit me for the first time that I have a child on the other side of the world.  

I knew that ambiguously for the past year or so, but now I knew it for certain.  There was a boy out there, living and breathing, that I could claim as my own.  

The email was waiting for me when we landed and I saw my son's face for the first time.  Such an odd thing, to see your child's face for the first time... as a toddler.  The beauty and complexity of adoption is more real than ever.

And he is just the most perfect little boy.  In his photos and videos, he is just so happy and full of life and I have nothing but gratitude for the fact that he has already, CLEARLY been loved on.  Oh, Lord, you answered my prayers for kisses.  I pray that he continues to get the affection and nurture that he needs to thrive.  

So allow me to informally introduce you to our dear son, Owen.  

Young warrior.  Thrown from birth into the battle for his life.  He was God's first, but now he is mine. 

You hear that, son? You have always been and always will be God's first, but YOU. ARE. MINE. 

These fears I talked about?  They don't matter. They don't. They are bred my of my human responses, just fleeting emotions, but NOT truth.  Fears don't care about an all powerful and supernatural God.  Fears don't remember Him. But the Spirit in me does, and that is who I am going to listen to. 

Those fears that say “I could never adopt”? Why not?  That is the question we came to. WHY. NOT? The “I could never” is fear speaking.  Drown that sucker. 

Those fears that say “I could never raise three crazy boys”? Why not?  I have no experience, but apparently boys and girls are quite different to raise, because people tell me all the time.  But you know what?  Man, I love boys.  Ever since having my own in my womb the first time, God has been cultivating a sweet spot in my spirit for boys.  It wasn't long after, I visioned a house full of boys.  Wow.  It does souls crazy and energetic and dangerous.  But wow.  WOW.  So good.  What a privilege.  To raise MEN.

It was a whirlwind of a weekend.  But we are taking this step.  Pushing aside all fear and doubt in the confidence that the Lord has prepared this road for us.  And we couldn't feel more honored.

Owen, my boy.  We're coming for you.  Consider yourself one less orphan.


P.S.  You have no idea how badly I wish I could share these videos and photos of our boy, but we simply can't until he is officially ours.  Just picture the most adorable Chinese face you ever did see, and you'll have it right.

it started on Monday

Before I tell the real story, I have to tell the back story.  The prompts and nudges by God that lead us to change our mind.  To ask different questions, and once again, pray about why we are doing this and what does God have for us.

It seems that the initial decision to adopt was even easier than this one.  The special needs program in China pulled my heart strings.  No, YANKED them.  As I was looking at the faces of the cleft kids and club foot kids and heart kids, I literally felt like God was telling me I was looking into the face of my future child.

When we were discussing whether or not to adopt, the question was never where.  We hardly discussed that, amazingly enough.  It was always China.  Always special needs (which the term is more loosely used in this context than how we say it in America.  Any additional medical need is considered "special needs").

And, it's China.  We assumed there were girls upon girls waiting.  We, too, believed that the effects of the one-child-policy in China were still rampant and that there were baby girls just waiting for families.  I read blogs upon blogs of families who had adopted from China, and at that point, most of them had adopted girls.  This gave me a vision for what this might look like, and I started to dream of adding a daughter to our family.  Also, we have two boys already.  This also seemed like a no brainer.  As we were submitting our application, we checked "girl".  Again without discussion (which seems crazy to me now, but God has His own timing for things).

Until we started getting emails from our agency.  "There is an urgent need for parents to adopt boys, but you will wait 6-9 months for a girl."

An URGENT NEED.  It is boys who need families. The orphanages and foster homes were not overflowing with girls... but boys.

It wasn't the difference in wait time that bothered me.  Our documents had already been in China for nearly 3 months.  I was fully prepared to wait longer for a referral.  In fact, the timeline moving closer scared me a bit.  But email after email came in expressing the fact that boys are waiting for families, while families are waiting for girls.

the adoption of boys, lwbcommunuty.org

Ugh.  My heart.

You see, I have two boys.  Two rowdy, incredibly active, sometimes defiant, but always sweet and up for a snuggle, all-out-boys.  I love having boys.  I really really do.  From what I hear, having boys is very different from having girls.  In fact, more than once people have told me "God knew what he was doing not giving me boys, or only giving me one".... I never quite know how to respond to that, because as much as they exhaust me, it is a pure pleasure to raise men.  And man, I wrestled in a huge way with the fact that boys were waiting, and we were saying NO based on the fact that they are boys, when I had two boys I adored right at home.

So, the conversation started even before our dossier was done.  But it is hard to let go of something you have been dreaming about.  I even have a bag of girl clothes in the closet, because I snuck them out of the leftovers of our garage sale.  It has been the vision.  I just started to question, where this vision came from.  I started to pray, God, did you call us to adopt a girl, or did you simply call us to adopt from China?

We knew that if we checked "boy or girl" from the beginning we would be quickly matched with a  boy.  And this change in vision needed lots of prayer and time.  So we kept our application marked "girl" and prepared to wait and pray.

We waited for months, uneasy, and feeling a little lump in my throat every time I said we were adopting a girl, because it started to feel like when I said that, what I was really saying was that I was saying no to a boy.

In January, Jordan told me that he had been praying about whether we should adopt a boy or girl again.  This shocked me, because prior to that we had said that the vision of a daughter was what was given to us and we needed to pray.  But over the past month of prayer, we both came to think that the vision of a daughter wasn't necessarily of God.

One night, after discussing the possibility of changing our adoption to a boy, I was struggling to sleep and suddenly clearly remembered what started the seed of adoption in my heart.  I woke up and searched my blog, certain I had written about it, and I was right.  A video, I posted 3 years prior, about the plight of being an orphan boy.  I wrote at that point Just having a boy of my own, I can't imagine not loving many more boys. And I realized that is still true today.  The next morning I prayed as I showered (because when else do I get complete quiet and solitude?) and I just felt a huge sense of God telling me to trust Him with my family.  However that my grow.  However many children he has for me, it is already in His plan.  I can trust Him.   

You see, it might be crazy, but here is what I believe happened.  If I had been thinking "boy" all along, I'm not sure it would have lead me to China.  I associate China with girls.  In fact over 75% of families who adopt (in general, but especially in China) go there specifically asking for girls.  I was one of them!  The truth is, that now it isn't "girls" who are being surrendered for adoption in China so much as the special needs kids, and in that crowd, boys and girls are equal.  But boys wait, because more people are asking for girls.  So, I think God lead me to China before he lead me to a boy, because boys in China are waiting.

Now, I want you to hear me on this.  I do not believe that if we had stayed only choosing a girl, that it would have been wrong, immoral, or selfish.  I don't believe that at all.  So, those of you who feel God's call on your life to adopt a daughter, DO.  PLEASE do.  Right now, the way things are, yes you will wait for a daughter, but the only people who are adopting those girls are people who are specifying that they will only take a girl.  If you say boy or girl, you will get a boy with about 98% certainty (unofficial numbers I'm making up myself, but still).  I believe God can give you a vision for adopting a daughter.  This is just our journey... the way God guided our steps to lead us to who is supposed to be our child.  And it simply looks different than we had originally thought.

Over the past many weeks, we've prayed through this decision.  Talked.  I've asked for prayer from my closest friends, and asked them to call me out if I start sounding off or crazy.  And it eventually brought us to Monday.

We felt that we could both say that we truly didn't feel a tug either way, boy or girl.  We would be thrilled with either.  So we took a turn in our journey on a Monday.  We submitted our document on February 2, to say we would love to have either a boy or a girl.

That brings us to the following Thursday... (click to read the rest of the story).

he already sees

The other day, I was driving to somewhere with a new kid's album on, purchased at the recommendation of a friend.  This one is my new favorite, with simple Bible songs over really pleasant folky guitar.  A nice change over the sometimes-obnoxious Pandora Toddler Radio that often plays.

The third song started singing about Moses.  And something about this song struck a cord in my heart.  I felt a lump in my throat as I pondered the words.

Who saved a baby in a boat? 
Who kept that baby’s boat afloat? 
Who loved that baby in the reeds? 
Who knows just what a baby needs? 

Who cares for you in just that way? 
And gives you all you need today? 
Yes, God’s the one who, day by day 
Will care for you in every way.

We are two months deep into the adoption paperwork, and I still have a difficult time wrapping my mind around how this is going to flesh out in real life.  I do feel like I have a daughter with a beating heart, somewhere, half-way around this world.  When I dwell on it I feel a huge urgency in my spirit to bring her home.  But much of the time, it still seems so far away.  Without a face attached to my somewhere-daughter, it's easy to forget that she even exists yet.  That sounds horrible, but it's true.  But truth is, she probably needs my prayers more than ever now, before she is home.

As I listened to this song, my mind was stuck on her.  My sweet baby girl, somewhere.  Being kept afloat by the only one who holds life in his hands.  Loved already.  Her needs known already.  Cared for, and given what she needs in a way I simply can't yet.

Man.  A mixture of heartbreak and complete gratitude as I pondered that God cares for our baby girl just as he cared for Moses.  An orphan baby just floating about, wondering who is going to put a roof over her head.  And one more picture for me of how deeply God loves and cares for the orphan.  Over and over again in His story, he has used the fatherless to bring forth his great plan.  How easily I forget that the God of the universe already sees and loves her.

As I'm driving, I hit repeat on the song a time or two, using as a prayer for the face I have yet to see.  And then it hits me again.

Do I not believe that the same is also already true for me?

I struggle with striving.  Trying to do it on my own instead of surrendering.  Living as if I need to prove my worth or something , when really God already cares and gives me what I need.  And even, feeling like who am I to be on this journey.  How often I need to rest in his truth, as a mom especially.  With a two-year-old and a three-year-old I feel like I am flying by the seat of my pants.  My kids don't always buy into my plans for good behavior.  My method of discipline often seems to fall short when two tantruming boys seem to result in only more ugly behavior... often from me.

Still.  I am seen.  My needs are known.  And I only need to abide.  Fill my mind with truth, instead of the lies that I'm unworthy.  Rest in Him.

Now this song has become my prayer for my baby girl, wherever she is, that she find His love covering her already.  That she would feel seen.  Cared for.  Known.  Peace beyond understanding.  Despite whatever chaos may be in her world right now.

being a boy mom

So, this happened this weekend.

Notice anything missing??  As in, a good chunk of Isaac's tooth?

There was no big traumatic event.  No blood.  No scratching or bruising.  A simple fall on just the right spot on his tooth, and off it broke.  This tiny baby chipped tooth has been taking up all of my brain space since yesterday when it happened.  I'm not sure why, but I'm seriously grieving his whole-toothed smile.

I took him to the pediatric dentist this morning, and he basically gave us two options.  We can leave it.  Or they can fill it in and "fix" it, which involves him being sedated, probably traumatized, because he'd be taken back into a room without me and having strangers poking at his mouth, and only then, just for cosmetic reasons.  And for a "filler" that has a decent chance of falling off because, well, he's a boy.

I feel like this must be some sort of rite of passage being a boy mom.  And as easily as this happened, I'm shocked any of my kids have any teeth at all.

I haven't decided what I'm going to do about this hole-y grin.  I'm far to emotional about it right now to make any decisions.  So, I'm sitting on it for a couple weeks and then we'll decide.

In the meantime, I just spent the day googling "baby chipped tooth" and "boy broken tooth" and I'm comforted by the fact that this is a common thing.  Especially with boys... who have brothers... apparently.  So, maybe it'll just show the neighborhood kids that he's tough stuff (which he is) and perhaps I'll even miss the dang thing when he actually loses it in 5 years.  We'll see.

*sigh*  I feel like this is only the beginning.

on baby #3...

It is not every day you get to do something that you know is going to dramatically change your life.  And someone else's.  Yet, today is that day.

{don't worry... old photo... there is no longer snow on the ground!}  

Today is the day we submitted our adoption application.

You read that right.  Our family is growing!  I have been getting the questions concerning baby #3 for months now.  Which is about right, considering Isaac will be TWO in two months (which seems simply impossible).  I have baby fever in the worst way.  Everything about me feels like it is time to grow our family.  And I feel a nervous excitement as we begin this journey.

Adoption has been on my heart for years, but, unlike others, it was not something that I always wanted to do.  My vision for my family as I was growing up never included adoption.  I always loved it, and thought it was great... for other people.  In fact, I never had a real vision for my family at all.  I knew I wanted more than two kids, but what that looked like was completely up in the air to me.  It wasn't until Jude was born... and probably about a month old, that the tragedy and beauty of adoption struck me.  I saw how this little person needed me, relied on me, and loved me.  And I remember sitting and watching videos of parent-less boys in India, just in tears, knowing that those most basic needs of love weren't being met for them.

A few months later, I told Jordan that I wanted to pray together about adoption as a way of growing our family.

The very next day I found out I was pregnant with Isaac.  Clearly, a "not now" from God.

During my pregnancy with Isaac, I considered the fact that it may be my last pregnancy.  However, that also is not certain.  I have no idea how God is going to grow our family in the future.  All we know how to do is take one step at a time - one kid at a time.  We have prayed through, and looked at how we want to grow our family from a million different directions, and no matter what, we keep coming back to adopting now.  We feel that baby #3 should be adopted.

We also keep coming back to a specific country.  China.  I cannot say WHY China, except to say that it has completely captured my heart.  Months and months ago, while perusing adoption blogs, I came across a blog with a sweet Chinese girl with a cleft lip and palate.  I'm not sure whose blog, but probably Ashley's or Angie's.  I couldn't get her out of my mind.  This was last fall, and I brought it up to Jordan and wasn't quite met with the same enthusiastic and maybe somewhat hormonal-impulsive decision to jump right in.

My hubby is a slow decision maker, and I am so grateful for that, because so many good things have happened in this season of waiting.  We prayed through it, researched our heart's out about China, orphans, international adoption, the problems with it, the tragedy of it, the risk and potential pain, and also the redemptive beauty of it.  And in the end, came to a resounding YES in both of our hearts.

And so we make the decision to leap, and trust God in this journey.

The best way to describe how I feel is nervous and excited.  And on the verge of tears all the time.  I'm overwhelmed and overjoyed at what this means for our family.  And we desperately covet your prayers as we begin this journey.  A long journey is ahead of us indeed - that will not stop once we have our baby girl in our arms.  We know we are signing up for something that begins with tragedy and pain.  We know this could be very hard.  But we also know that God uses such situations for His glory.  And that is why we are doing this.  Because we feel like, right now, we have the ability and the desire to open our family to someone who did not come from our womb.  And that is such a tragic and beautiful thing when it all comes down to it.

So, in a way, I feel like I'm announcing the longest pregnancy ever.  Baby #3 is on her way!  And sweet girl, we cannot wait to meet you!

three.

Three years have passed since I began this parenting gig.

March 28 was the big day.  This birthday has been, by far, the most anticipated one yet.  He asked daily if he was three yet, if he was a BIG BOY yet.  Because that's what we told him.

When you turn three, you're going to be a big boy and are going to have to go potty like a big boy.

Yes.  The dreaded potty training that started and stopped and has started again, once an for all.  And darn it, he'll get it one of these days.

Not long after his birthday, Jude says, almost sadly "I'm still little Mommy!"  Yes, you are little, but you are bigger than you were yesterday!  And then he says, "I'm still growing."  Yes, you are.  

"Are you growing, too, Mommy?"

I almost said no.

But the question jerked my heart in a way I didn't expect.  

Yes, Mommy is still growing too.  Every day.  Just like you.

I remember holding Jude in my arms for the very first time.  Afraid in a way, and absolutely captivated by this little person I had NO IDEA I could love so deeply.  Privileged to have the responsibility of raising this little guy into a man.  And truly... clueless.

I had no idea how parenthood would grow me.

How, even more than marriage, I'd see my own selfishness and pride.  How I'd have to, literally, put my life aside for someone else.  And I had no idea about the blessing that comes with sacrifice.  

I think I used to believe that parents knew what they were doing.  That there was a method to the madness and everyone did what they did and were confident in their decisions.  I now know that this isn't true. Because, no matter how many kids I have, I will always be a first-time parent to Jude.  He will always be my guinea pig, and praise the Lord for anything I have done right.  Because there has been a lot of growing and learning and trial and error.  

As I begin this journey of having a three-nager (such a perfectly descriptive word, am I right?), I am still growing as a Mama.  Every day.  Just like Jude.  I pray that my growing involves patience and kindness and all of the other fruits that I daily lack.  I pray that I grow in dependence on God and confidence in Him and the intuition he gave me as a parent.  

I see how Jude has changed me from the person I was three years ago.  For the better.  So much better.  Not because it was easy.  If anything, it has showed me how, at the very core, we all need Jesus.

Happy THIRD Birthday, my sweet boy Jude!  There is no one else I'd want as my first boy.

this is my boy

I see him peeking through the crack in the door to his bedroom.  Looking for any signs of movement from me.

He's been a Mama boy lately.  Wanting me and only me.  “Mama do it” he says.  The washing, the bed-timing, the clipping in the car-seat.  He wants me.

I can't say I mind one bit.

In that moment where those sleepy eyes peek through the darkness at me, I flash back to a moment when I so desperately wanted him.

Months of not getting pregnant.  Charting, testing, clomid, and nothing.  Months turned over to a year.  Our dear friends gathered around us one evening to pray specifically over this area of our lives.  Hands on us.  Begging God on our behalf.  For peace... and if it was his will, a child.   

I will never forget it.  I don't know that I've ever felt so loved in friendship than in this moment.  They stepped into our waiting and suffering.  This is love.  This is the body.  

And less than a year later we were given this child.  I truly don't think this was any coincidence.

This child that now gazes sleepily through paci and blankie.  All along the Lord knew it was him who we were to parent.  The waiting was hard, but this is my boy.  

I have loved ones who are in that same desperate place that I once was.  Waiting.  Month after month.  Aching.  I know the ache.  It breaks my heart.  

But sometimes I forget.  When I'm all wrapped up in myself and my frustration and MY MY MY.  I forget the goodness of the Lord.  It's easy for me to focus on what I'm lacking.  My default is worry.  But he tells me not to worry... he says in ALL things... with thanksgiving... to make my requests known.  

He answers.  He does.  

Part of thanksgiving is remembering.  So today... I'm remembering the days when there was no one calling me "Mommy" at 5am and no dirty diapers to change.  I'm remembering the desperation.  But most of all, I'm remembering the goodness.  And just as my friends stepped into my suffering and my want, I'm praying for you.

I can only hope that I could be the kind of friend that is wise enough to know when prayer is needed and doesn't hesitate to hold tight to hands and speak to our creator.  I know I'm far from it.  I'm still a work in progress.

But tonight, all of you are on my heart.  So, I'm praying for you.  Begging for you.

For peace... and for a child, when the time comes for you to meet the one who will call you "Mommy".  

It is a hard wait, I know.

Much love. 

what two has taught me

How can I even put into words the change that happened in my life two years ago when he was born?  My own flesh and blood.  My heart, staring back at me.  A love carrying a responsibility and joy that I've never felt before.

Two years ago, 7:23am, my sweet Jude Michael was born.

And sweet he is.  In-between the non-stop running, jumping, train-and-tractor-loving, rowdy two-year-old that he now is.  The kid daily breaks a sweat just running in circles around our house.  But he always was a Mama's boy and he still is.

Even at two, he often wants to be held.  Asking for a hug.  They may only last for .2 seconds, but this boy needs affection.  He needs his snuggles and kisses.  And then, just like that, he's done.  Off to build legos or play race cars.

It's only been two years out of my twenty-eight-and-a-half, but I still find it difficult to remember life without him.  But I do know that I am a better person because of him.

He's taught me a bit about selflessness.  And how I'm far more selfish than selfless.

He's taught me about patience.  And that I don't have nearly enough without whispering prayers throughout my day.

He's taught me about responsibility and intentionality.  Two things I carry on my shoulders.

He's taught me to not take life so darn serious and just be goofy once in awhile.  (Just ask him if he's a duck.)

He's taught me that trains, tractors, bulldozers, cranes, tow-trucks, mixers, diggers, and dump trucks are very very important and they each have a specific name and purpose.

He's taught me that the 5 second rule really exists.

He's taught me that childhood is not as long as it once felt.

He's taught me that the seemingly monotonous day-to-day routine is where the kingdom work happens.

He's given me more of a sneak peek of the unconditional love that the Father has for us.

Jude Michael.  The first most precious gift ever given to me.  I am so blessed to be your Mama and to guide you in this journey as you grow.  You are a joy, and I love you.  Even when you are acting your age.

Happy 2nd Birthday, my sweet boy.

remembering his name

The big one's vocabulary is exploding these days.  I adore the absolute joy on his face as he finally has words to express what has been going on in that little brain for months and months.

This morning he is walking around saying, "I Jude!  I big!".  I'm putting the dinner in the crock pot and he's weaving in and out of my legs as I attempt to measure the broth and seasoning.  I feel him hug my legs as he says, "Mama?  Mama?  Mama?"

"Yes, bubba?"

"I Jude," he points to himself.

"Yes, I know.  I named you."

And as I remember his name and the story and meaning behind it my heart swells.  Praise.  A precious gift, this boy was.  So desperately wanted.  Not that my love and want for him is any different than that for Isaac.  But Isaac was the sort that I didn't know how our family needed him until he was part of it.  We longed for our first child for years before we met him.

Later in his room, I get his attention.  "Look at Mama's eyes," I say.

After repeating myself a time or three, he looks.

"I love you.  With my whole heart.  You are so special to me."

I'm trying to remember to tell him this every day.  It's easy to let a day pass without looking him in the eye and making sure that he hears these words.  That I am for him.

He smirks.

"PERCY BIG CHOO-CHOO!!!"

Did I tell you he turns 2 next week?  

Still.  I try to take this moment to remember that this is how our Father feels for us.  The type of unconditional love I feel for this boy that grew in me and that I named.  The ownership and responsibility I feel.  How much more does the Father that designed us care for us?  So much.

the thing about being 8.5 months old

Here's the thing about being 8.5 months old. We're ending one season and right on the very edge of the next. A friend once told me that she felt that babyhood seemed to end at 6 months and toddlerhood started to peek through soon after. For us, that season seems to have been stretched out.

The first-time mom in me would be eager to see my sweet boy conquer the new feats. Crawling. Climbing. Cruising. But the second-time mom that I am knows that will come all too soon. So, I'm not rushing it. And I'm not concerned.

For us, being 8.5 months old means that crawling is on the horizon, but not yet here. It means being content to sit and watch big brother and roll in laughter, without necessarily feeling the need to keep up. It means napping twice a day, eating lots and lots of baby food, and needing complete and utter focus and silence to complete a nursing session without distraction.

Being 8.5 months means getting on hands and knees to only scoot backwards and deciding that rolling is a more effective means of transportation. It means not liking it at all when mom even considers leaving the room, much less being out of sight.  It means that everything in sight must be touched and tasted.  It means making the sweetest cheeky cheese smile ever seen.

It also means that the baby days are quickly passing by.  I know that it is literally a matter of days before this boy takes off crawling, standing, and cruising.  I know that in a matter of months he'll be walking.  And the little peanut that contentedly sits and snuggles in my lap will be on. the. go. and will resemble more of a boy than a baby.

If you ask, yes, it makes me sad.  I ADORE the baby stage.  The squishy, cooing, gurgling, bitty baby stage.  I am already feeling the itch for #3 but sanity tells me that we need to wait.  I sometimes worry that I'll never feel done having kids even when I need to be.

So, yes, I'm sad that my baby is growing up.  I suppose I better get used to it.

But on the other hand, I have another boy who is turning two in a matter of days (10 to be exact)!  And with every new stage I find myself more and more in love with being a Mama, more and more in awe of our Creator, and more and more challenged to be on my knees before Him.  While, in my opinion, the toddler stage is far more challenging as a Mama than the newborn stage, I absolutely adore each and every stage that Jude has gone through, including this one.  He continues to grow and learn and blow me away with his humor and his smarts.  I've never once thought, ya know - I don't like this Jude very much.  I wish he would go back to being baby Jude.  Because we've come so far in two years and I love every part of his two year journey.

So, while I am sad to see my little bug growing bigger, approaching a rite of passage of sorts into toddlerhood, I know that I will love the next stage as well.  And the next.  And each part of his journey, because I have the pleasure of watching him grow and learn and explore the world for the first time.  And it is simply amazing.  I don't think that will ever get old.


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psst... Did you see the $100 giveaway happening this week on the blog?  Don't forget to enter!

entering two with patience

With the coming and going of each season, I now find myself thinking back on the one before.  The changes happen so quickly with babies.  I often look between my two boys and am in awe at the difference only a short 15 months can make.

I am in awe of the many things I haven't needed to teach them.  I heard it once said that, "everyone needs to have two babies.  Because you think you did it all with the first one, and then the second one comes along and you realize how much it wasn't you."

I have a boy who is turning TWO this month.  A mere two years ago he was still kicking my ribs and we were planning for a birth that would go completely differently than I had planned.  But today he is running, and jumping, and talking about chop-choo trains and tractors and bulldozers and says "please" and "thank you, mama" and melts my heart with his mischievous smile.

Oh, the mischief.

Did I say that we are nearing TWO?

You never quite know what you are going to get.  And I know it's not his fault, it is just being two.  An answer of "no" may get a calm and acceptable response, or it might get an all-out kicking and screaming-bloody-murder, terrible-twos tantrum.

These are the teachable moments.

For him, yes, but mostly for me.

For him, I believe that this is mostly a stage that will pass.  Of course I try to teach him acceptable responses to anger, to use his words instead of screaming, and to make good choices.

But he doesn't have to take me with him into those tantrums.  Oh, how often I realize that I, too, want to stomp my feet and demand my way with an attitude and heart not all that different from my two-year-olds.  But the problem with this is not only the juvenile behavior, but the way this attitude effects how I view my child.  My heart is no longer in a position to teach and love when I let frustration overwhelm me.

But I do.  Often.  And I hate it.

Dinner time and bed time are often trigger-moments for this two-year-old.  I have learned that, while I must give him a warning a few minutes in advance about what we are about to do, I also must prepare myself to be patient.  Not just yelling, "Jude, sit down for dinner" and expecting an obedient child, only to find myself frustrated when it doesn't go my way yet another night.

For me, it is mind over emotion.  To be patient with my son.  To not hurry him.  To give him options, with the opportunity to make good choices.  To praise him often.

And if it results in the dead-weight-screaming-two-year-old (as it often does), I at least have control over myself.  To continue to be patient and not let the frustration get the best of me.  To not act in anger.  And to not let my blood boil.

It is like turning off your emotions when you feel that they could get the best of you. Going numb to the frustration and irritation and just choosing something else instead.  At least, this is what works for me.  Allowing me to stay consistent and clear-minded.

It allows me to extend more grace.

Do I do this all the time?  Far from it.  But I'm aware of it.  How often do I chose to give in to frustration and anger and complaining?  I know I have a choice.  I have a choice in my parenting, in my marriage, and in my everyday interactions.  A choice that can either turn your heart toward someone or away from them.  Always choosing the relationship or choosing self first.  That's what it comes down to, it seems.

I pray that in all the moments, the good and the frustrating ones, that my heart would be turned toward my child and that he would know I am on his team.  I fail and I will continue to do so.  But in the mere two years I've gotten to know this boy, I know that he is always watching.  So perceptive and intuitive. Understanding and picking up on far more than I know.  The terrible twos are only practice for the many years to come of needing to choose to turn my heart toward my child even when he wrongs me.  When he makes choices that aren't good.  Hoping that he'll see the same patience and unrelenting love that Christ has for us.

when that Mama-bear side shows up

Today was the first real snow of winter.  The kind where it actually sticks to the ground and makes crazy people like my hubby giddy and realistic people like me terrified of the roads.  

In all honesty, I should have just stayed home.  But I hadn't seen my Monday morning Bible study gals in weeks due to the sickness that overcame my boys, and I was feeling antsy to see another four walls.  

And of course, it's never as bad as my mind makes it out to be.  Suck it up, Lindsy.

Only it was that bad.

Getting on the eastbound highway, cars are going 10 miles per hour.  I soon see, and count, ten cars on the side of the road and in the ditch going westbound.  Soon to follow are about ten other cars spinning, crashing, and flying through the median.  Including a semi which was skidding perpendicular to the road and a pickup truck plowing through the median as if it were another lane.

I was shaking.  Praying fiercely that God would keep us safe.  Probably terrifying my kids as I sternly lectured each car to stay the heck away from me.

All was fine for us.  I took the next exit off the highway and slowly drove the rest of the way home.  Missed my Bible study gals, but arriving home safely was enough accomplishment for me to consider the day a success.  We celebrated with a Thomas the train movie and hot cocoa.

Being a Mama has revealed a protective mama-bear side to me.  I remember being pregnant with Jude and being absolutely livid while driving that people were being careless on the road.  Because I was pregnant and my body was doing its best to protect my child and anyone who would do anything to put my child at risk was going to hear from me.  

That same pregnant Mama-bear rage found me in the face of a guy who seemed to think it was a good idea to smoke weed while standing next to me at a concert.  Me, being large, hormonal, probably 33-34 weeks pregnant, and absolutely flabbergasted at this guys idiocy if he thought I was going to stand by and let my unborn child second-hand breathe in that poison.  Yes, he heard from me.

The hormones have calmed down, but not much has changed.  These little lives were given to me as a gift and I will passionately advocate for them.  Anything to keep them safe.  And one day, I know they will be the ones terrifying me with their own decisions.  But I don't have grace for those days yet, so we just won't think about that.    

But when you see me driving 25 miles per hour on the highway, know that it's because I love my babies.  

Okay, I'm not that slow.

good to be a brother

To think that I was afraid now makes me laugh.

That a little over six months ago I was so unsure and fearful of how another child would change our family.  Really, it is near hilarious.

There is a reason the Lord tells us not to fear.  

Six months into this mom-of-two gig, and I am grateful that God knows what is best for our family far better than I do.  Adding to our family has been oh so good.  I can't think of a previous six months that has brought me more joy.

I know it is good when Jude wakes up and asks about Isaac (Eye-see) first thing in the morning.

I know it is good when Isaac is more smothered by hugs and kisses than anyone in our family, since he is doted on by all three of us.

I know it is good when a little Mr.Mom constantly replaces pacis, wipes Isaac's face with a burp cloth, and grabs a spoonful of baby food and (almost) feeds his little brother dinner.

I know it is good when I see the two of them laugh hysterically at one another for reasons only a brother could understand.

I know it is good when they snuggle on the floor together and I see the absolute glee in Isaac's face as Jude (gently) wrestles him and gives him paci kisses.

I know it is good when I already see opportunity to teach Jude about sharing, gentleness, apologizing, and forgiveness.

I know it is good when life before kids is fading from memory and I'm at peace with that.

I could not have planned this life. 

Six months in, I see so much goodness.  So much faithfulness.  Loads and loads of grace.  And a sweet little boy only God knew we needed.

Can I just say that I must be one blessed lady to have the opportunity to raise brothers.

La-ya Mama

I can't be sure, but if it is so, my heart may have just skipped a beat.

I sit with the sick little one in my lap, because snuggles are truly the best remedy for those sick eyes.  The big one is complying by watching yet another episode of "Bob the Builder".  For sanity's sake.  It is one of the few children's shows that doesn't get under my skin after the billionth time.  And listening to Jude try to sing the theme song is just precious.

So we sit.  We snuggle.  Getting through the day.

He gets up from his chair and comes over to me.  He lays his head in my lap and gives me a squeeze.

"La-ya Mama"

Is that what I think it is?

He's learned the names of all the transportation vehicles (car, truck, bike, tractor, train, choo-choo!).  He knows all the animals and he tells me each meal if his food is cold or hot.

But this.

"La-ya Mama."

My Mama heart soars.

"I love you too, punkin boy."

And just like that he walks back to that chair and plops his booty down like he hasn't just rocked my world with the words I heard for the first time.

A gift in the truest form.

"I love you too, punkin boy"

*linking up with Emily of Chatting at the Sky for Tuesdays Unwrapped.


...

the gift in the everyday

My weekend was filled with kleenex.  Sneezes.  Coughs upon coughs.  101.3 fevers.   A dose or two of Tylenol.   One boy who slept really well and another who did not.  Red, watery, sick eyes.  And lots and lots and lots and lots of extra snuggles.

I hate having sick babies, but there is a sweetness in being forced home in your pajamas with nothing on the agenda but being held close.

And at the same time, I could not shake the happenings on Friday.  Twenty babies who are now with Jesus.  But twenty Mamas who ache for their arms to hold them close even one last time.

I don't mean to sound morbid, but after reading One Thousand Gifts, everything kind of changes.  My lens now views life in terms of gifts.  Because in all reality, I know I don't deserve anything.  I don't have a right to anything.  I am not even guaranteed another breath.

And as I care for my sicklings this weekend, in light of the tragedy, I am thanking Him for the gift of being able to care for my little ones who are sick.

And I hope that I continue to have this perspective.  Weeks from now.  Months from now.  Years from now.  When I'm tempted by entitlement or my own rightness or ingratitude.  I pray that I'll instead turn to gratitude and realize that life is a gift and every piece of it.

Praying you are able to find the gift in the everyday.


*linking up with Carissa for Miscellany Monday


...

come Lord Jesus come

These are my people.  My sweet littles are home.  Safe.  Tucked in bed.  And I'm holding them close tonight.

I have no words to express the ache I feel for those whose arms are empty tonight.  It's a tragedy in the worst way, and my Mama heart just burns with anger and fury over the evil in this world.

I want to cry, but I also want to scream.

This fallen world.  There IS more.

There IS a kingdom.

And one day it WILL reign in it's fullness on a new, sinless earth.

That day is not today.  Today, there is still sin.  Today, there is still pain.  Tears.  The deepest ache.

Until then, we pray.  Your kingdom come.  We seek his His truth to reign in our lives.  Your will be done.  And we become the hands and feet.  On earth as it is in heaven. 

Come, Lord Jesus, come.  


*written in response to the elementary school shootings in Newtown, CT this morning.  Heavy hearts pray peace over those who lost.

evening coffee

Most of my coffee dates these days are in the evening.  The kiddos are snuggled in bed and that cues mommy time.

So, if I wanted some one-on-one coffee time, chances are it is going to be at 7:30pm or later.

This also means I'm drinking decaf.

So, welcome.

If you came to my house right now you would see legos and race cars strewn around the floor.  I've decided it can wait until tomorrow.  The tree is lit.  The coffee is made.  And I'm ready to kick up my feet and sip slowly.

If you were here tonight, I'd probably ask you how your day was.  And when it was my turn I'd share about how this toddler stage has brought with it new challenges.  I'd talk about my desire to teach grace over punishment and the struggle I have when deciding how to discipline.  I'd tell you that Jude's breath holding spells seem to be coming back, and it just breaks my heart.  And that he has been a real Mama's boy, which doesn't so much break my heart, since I know it is a phase that I will miss one day.  It only makes getting things done a bit more difficult.

I'd also probably tell you that I think often about our future family.  What it will look like.  And my struggle with wanting to have a plan or even control of it all.  And I want to know right now what it is going to look like.  I would tell you we aren't done having biological kids, but that I still have a heart for adoption and I have no idea what that looks like for our family.  Only that I do hope that it does have a place for our family somehow, someday.

That would probably get me on the topic of my house.  My small house and my growing family.  I'd tell you that we are eager to have more space, but not eager enough that we rush.  I'd tell you that I've come to grips with the fact that I will likely have three children in a small house.  And I'm learning contentment.  While at the same time praying that the cards all fall into place when the time is right.

I'd tell you that I'm starting to meet with a college girl to disciple her.  And how many days I feel incredibly inadequate.  Days where I have been overly frustrated in motherhood and days where I am tired and spiritually under-fed.  I buy into the lies that I have to have it all together to pour into another's life.  Truth is, I really believe it is the opposite.  She'll see Christ in my weakness and I believe that.

Somewhere in all of that, I'd practice listening.  I'd ask about your life.  Your kids.  Your marriage.  Your dreams.  Your time with the Lord.  And I'd do my best to affirm.  Encourage.  Share in the triumphs and the tears.

And before you know it, it's been two hours and our eyelids are heavy.  But I'm still all ears if you have something left to share.

a night marked by motherhood

The clock reads 2:30am as I stumble into the littlest's room for his first feeding.  A bit earlier than most nights, but I quickly feed him.  Perhaps he is beginning (another) growth spurt.  I secretly treasure these mid-night feedings because I know that one day they will end and these tender moments will be only a fond memory.

I'm not back in bed two seconds when I hear the coughing from the big boy's room.  And again.  And again.  I sneak in his room to mother him and give him a drink of water, but he's out cold.  Dead asleep to the world, yet coughing enough to keep his concerned Mama awake.  I elevated his sleeping head and even broke the cardinal rule and tried to wake him enough to take a drink.  No luck, and the coughing didn't stop.

Somewhere in the middle of the next two hours of coughing, the littlest needed the pacifier returned.  I hear the heavy breathing of my husband beside me, but my sleep is continually interrupted by my needy children.  And I think, this is motherhood.

I remember as a child, being sick and yelling for my own mother to get me a cup of water and knowing that that is what Mamas do for their sick kids.  They work around the clock.  Serve when they feel they have nothing left.  There is nothing better than the comfort of a Mama when you are a sick kid.  The rubbing of backs and the singing of soft songs.  Soaking up the sleepy snuggles of squishy children.  The mark of motherhood.

In the moments I once would have felt frustrated and entitled to a nights rest, I find myself feeling differently.  Maybe counting my thanks each day is doing something deeper.

Somehow, even though I am exhausted from lack of sleep and monitoring runny noses and sore throats, I find a sense of gratitude in these sick moments.  I feel like a mother.  I am meeting my kids needs in a tangible way and it is a blessing to do so.  I gladly wipe the noses and bring the cups of water and rub the backs of my restless boys.  Thank you Lord for this gratitude.

At 4:45am the littlest needs to eat. Again.  And so he does.  As I return to bed my husband's alarm rings and I think this morning has come too soon.  But my night wasn't wasted.

I think that naps all around are needed on a day like today.

when hope is shared

I got the text.

I just found out I'm miscarrying. Thanks for your prayers.

And my Mama-heart is stuck in my throat.  The tears well in my eyes as the devastation of this loss is all too familiar.  The age-old questions of why, Lord, why linger in my prayers.  And I wonder, no, I know that her heart breaks the same as mine did.

I remember the advice that I rejected at the time.  The truth that was spoken then that I hated, is now true in my life.

It was necessary.

Why God?

In my weakness He is made great.

But, God, it hurts.

So, trust.  He is sovereign and He has a plan.

The truth that was spoken said if it weren't for my loss, I wouldn't have the one I labored over for hours upon hours.  And it is true.  My sweet Jude is the one I was supposed to parent and raise.  I want to tell her this.  Of the gift that comes after the suffering.  But those words are hard to swallow when you haven't met your one yet.

I know what the Lord told me.  That He is more powerful than science.  His plan is greater than this event.  His will be done.

And I wonder if it happened to me, so that I could be a friend to her.  Sharing my story.  Sharing in pain.  Sharing in waiting.

The stories shared were medicine to me.  The survivors who thrived and told me of the days to come.  The women I will never forget in their raw comfort.

I wasn't alone.  Neither is she.  Neither are you.

Friend.  This is not the end.  He does not allow pain carelessly.  And your story will one day bring light to anothers' dark place.  This is what happens when pain (and hope) is shared.

when my coffee is lukewarm

Sipping my lukewarm morning coffee, I hoped that if there was a smidge of caffeine in my cup of decaf that it would make it's way through my veins and wake me up.

I don't wish these days away, but the day when I have two children sleeping through the night will be a glorious day.

But watching my two little punkin boys reminds me of the sweet season we are in.  Jude not-so-gently grabbing Isaac by the face to lay a smacker right on him.  Isaac squealing with delight as he watches his brother run through the house flapping his arms like a duck.  Jude's vocabulary growing by the minute and his complete joy when we affirm what he's said.  Isaac just being a 4-month-old.

I think four months old is one of my very favorite ages.  I'm not entirely surprised I (whoops!) allowed myself to get pregnant when Jude was just six months old.  I adore the baby stage.  Absolutely adore it. But those babies turn into toddlers (who I LOVE) that begin to exercise their will and demands and this combination of baby-not-sleeping-through-the-night and my toddler-risk-taker-wild-man-testing-the-boundaries is what leaves me feeling run into the ground this morning.

And don't worry.  I'm fully aware that my body needs a break from being pregnant and I don't plan to have any sort of announcement in the next year (or so).

I sip my coffee slower.  Taking the moment in.  Watching my boys interact and remembering how desperate I was for them only a few years earlier.  God is good.  And I am challenged to take my mornings slower.  We have places to go, people to see.  But I want my boys to remember me as someone who was always present with them.  Fully present.  Not zoned out on my phone (guilty).  Not too much of a zombie to listen to what they're telling me (guilty).  But slowing down.  Looking them in the eye.  Being there.

I do hate being rushed, but I'm so often the one doing the rushing.

Thank you Lord for my sweet children.  For mornings I can sip my coffee.  For moments you sustain me so I can give enough.


Linking up with Just Write.