On Breastfeeding

April 7, 2020 to July 20, 2021.

439 days, roughly 15.5 months, spanning ages 28, 29, and 30.

That’s how long Liam and I spent in the breastfeeding season. 

We did feedings in a car, a plane, a boat in Michigan, in the middle of a mountain on a hike, a Dunkin drivethrough...the list could go on, we ventured into many territories. The beauty of having the food source easily accessible and on the go.

With pregnancy and breastfeeding included, my body was busy sustaining both itself and another life for roughly two straight years. (And I wonder why my emotions were a bit of a roller coaster during that time... #hormones) I’m grateful my body was able to produce breastmilk, the miracle substance, to sustain Liam for so long. I know not everyone is able to do that, and so, I’m extremely grateful.

If you had told me before giving birth how long we might go, I think I would have been shocked. Truthfully, I was more worried about the pain and challenges of breastfeeding than I was birth...until it came time to go to the hospital and the reality of getting the baby out of my body became inescapable. Ha.

On day two of Liam’s life, while still recovering from the C-section, learning to breastfeed, feeling sore everywhere, experiencing little contractions as the breastfeeding stimulated the shrinking of my uterus back to normal sizes (a brilliant system but like, ouch), and having not yet taken the good drugs for the pain, there was a moment I was walking around the hospital room in tears. Ronny, the kind man that he is, gently said it was OK for me to be frustrated, even frustrated with Liam because it was all so new and challenging. It was very kind to hear.

We came a long way, and life improved with more painkillers. All I can say to my fellow C-section ladies is, take the drugs, the good ones. Trust me.

Just as my body healed and adapted after birth, my relationship and experience with breastfeeding changed over time. 

For whatever reason, my body was very good at producing milk. One time I pumped 14 ounces which meant I lost almost a pound in 30 minutes! What even? Apart from two doses of formula in the hospital to make sure his blood sugars were fine, my body was solely responsible for providing Liam with nutrients for many months. In retrospect, that is insane to think about! Not only that, but breastmilk adapts to what the baby needs if they’re sick, can help heal scratches on skin, and so much more. Wild!

When I consider the hours a day I spent feeding him in the beginning of his life to the total of five to ten minutes at the end of this breastfeeding season, it’s no wonder my perspective changed.

New mothers are cows. 

There’s just no other way around it. You exist to produce milk to sustain the little life that was recently being cared for inside your body but is now outside.

Even with getting Liam on a predictable schedule, there were still times where I felt like I couldn’t even get an hour of time away before he woke up from a nap (that 45-minute intruder business took some sorting out...if you know you know). For the first few weeks, I wouldn’t wear a shirt while I fed him. Clothing just felt like too much to deal with while I was trying to figure it out.

This verse was significant for me both during pregnancy and breastfeeding. A living sacrifice indeed.

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.

Romans 12:1

The first time I fed him in “public” was at a house church not too far into the beginnings of covid. I brought one of those covers and tried feeding him in a chair in the living room with everyone else. I kept popping my head up through the hole and tucking it back down. In addition to providing plenty of entertainment for everyone there, my hair looked as good as you might expect.

The ability to produce well, coupled with my, at times, obsessive intentionality to ensure my supply did not drop, meant the decision to stop breastfeeding was one I got to make rather than having it be made for me. I was definitely sad and drug my feet about concluding it because I kind of hoped I would get pregnant and have the decision made for me so I could avoid walking into grief. In praying through it with the Lord, He told me I needed to embrace walking into some grieving of the ending of one season, to conclude this season well before stepping into the next. 

The bittersweet nature of motherhood and parenting started early. 

And all the parents said, “It goes so fast.”

It’s been two and half weeks since we stopped, and apart from the buildup of deciding when to be done and a brief cry after the last feeding, I don’t think either Liam or I have missed it much. Truthfully, I’m not sure he even noticed the change because I intentionally stopped before we were away from home and out of our routine for a week and a half. 

It was time to finish and enter a new season of bonding. 

Coming to the decision to choose the last day took me a while. It wasn’t necessarily because I loooved breastfeeding, but rather I felt sentimental about the season passing. Liam and I would not ever go back to that time. It’s unique, but it’s also meant to be temporary.

There are definitely things I won’t miss. One of my least favorite parts of it was when he got teeth and had a day of biting me. Well, two feedings to be more specific. We had some intense fellowship involving me flicking his mouth following a bite, his lip slowly starting to quiver as he realized what happened, and then I think we both cried. Ronny, not realizing a flick had already happened, sealed the deal with an additional flick in defense of me, so it was just all-around not great for any of us. Mama was not down with biting. Ugh, I was sweating all over during the feed following the first time he bit me. Yikes.

I won’t miss having stains on the sheets because I leaked or having to figure out where to pump if I wasn’t going to be with him during a feeding time or just needing to wear pads for the surprise let down or how frequently he needed to eat from me.

The first time he slept for a seven-hour stretch, I still woke up ready to feed because my body had obviously not yet adapted. It was a strange feeling to realize we made it. Also, ironic that when your baby does finally go for a long stretch, you are likely not able to yourself because of the full factor. It’s incredible that your body can pretty quickly learn to maintain a milk supply but not produce overnight. The entire system is a miracle.

I won’t miss using a washcloth to desperately try to keep him awake for a feed.

Travel, in the early days, was a lot. We did several long roadtrips where I would pump while using a bottle thermos to heat up stored milk in a cooler. It was a time that I can think back on with some degree of fondness but am also very OK having it be simpler. At least, feeding him is simpler haha.

I’m not sure if I’ll miss the food source switch or not. There was a clear shift from “oh there’s mama” to me morphing into a boob. It’s like those cartoons where someone is so hungry the thing in front of them turns into a food item. Yeah, I was the food item. The switch was usually followed by a lot of whining and then the satisfying relief sounds when he was allowed to start eating. This process was often catalyzed at nighttime when I would sit down in the nursing rocking chair while Ronny changed him into his pajamas.

There are, of course, things I’ll miss, things only I experienced with him in his lifetime. 

Hearing the sound of him drinking, for someone who does not like very many sounds, was something special. I feel the same way when he drinks a bottle now. He had a funny habit of putting his foot in my face or having one leg up while nursing, but also very much did not want me to be touching him. He’d go so far as to kick my arm, my bicep specifically, to get me to move it. 

Letdown is such an odd sensation to describe...like spidery veins being filled up. I came to like it, especially because it let me know things were moving. Having it happen outside of feeding wasn’t always ideal, but hey, you learn. My grandma, Nini, had the advice to wear patterned shirts when you’re a new mom. Lots of wisdom in that because few things are more awkward than having a solid colored shirt on and a nice leak spot for all to see. 

Pumping provided such a feeling of relief, specifically early on when your body is cranking out supply. It’s truly THE BEST. The longer we went the more efficient Liam became and the less I enjoyed the pump, but having a feeding off to pump in the early weeks was a dream.

A mixed bag is whether I’ll miss the equipment involved - nursing chair, Boppys, pump, milk storage bags, cleaning everything, cooler, bottle thermos, etc. OK, I probably won’t miss that.

Just as I changed throughout, so did he. He started signaling all done once he learned how. I’ll never forget the snatch and latch to start. Goodness, it was excellent when he became skilled at nursing! Him playing with my mouth and reaching up was sweet. So were all the selfies we took.

Looking back, my favorite feedings were in the middle of the night when the world was quiet. I’d take selfies with Liam and send them to Ronny to wake up to several hours later. We took LOTS.

One funny routine I developed was to play a song on our google speaker from my phone in Liam’s room to let Ronny know we were finished. It was birthed out of Ronny not having his phone near him one time so I had to figure out a way of getting his attention without leaving Liam’s room. The result? I played “Shut Up and Dance with Me” and picked new songs going forward. We called them summoning songs. Hilarious and effective. 

Finally, one big piece of the breastfeeding journey I’ll cherish was the community of moms I had at the time. Three other couples had their sons within a month of us having Liam (one of them shared our duedate and another had a Liam of their own). It was incredible comforting to wake up for the middle of the night feeding and have texts from them because they were awake as well. What a gift. I realize you cannot control if you’ll be pregnant at the same time as other people in your community, but if you’re able to find that, 10/10 would recommend.

Like anything in life, breastfeeding has both positives and challenges. I’m grateful my experience had far more positives to it, but also, that the season was temporary.

To the women out there deciding if it’s right for them, do it. It’s amazing and worth the sacrifice. Say no to nipple shields if you can help it. Find a husband like mine who was so encouraging. He was the one to suggest I take a feeding off to pump while he gave Liam a bottle so I could get a break. Praise the Lord.

If you’re not able to, hey, a fed baby is a happy baby. You have to do what’s right for you, your baby, and the life rhythm of your family. Either way, if you want suggestions, we followed the Preparation for Parenting sleep training schedule, and it made a HUGE difference because we went in with a plan on how to go about it. Liam dropped the middle of the night feeding between two and three months. He’s very predictable with sleep. We actually never lost an entire night of sleep! Our only really bad night was our first night home from the hospital, and we still got several hours of sleep even with that.

All that to say, breastfeeding was worth it for me. I’m grateful my son and I were able to share that time together. I’m grateful I got to care for him that way, to be his mom. 

The good news is, I’m still his mom. He may not need me the same way, which is a relieving and sad thing, but we get to move into a new chapter.

Throughout the conclusion of this season and subsequent processing, this verse stuck with me:

But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.

Psalm 131:2

Honestly, I think my soul calmed and quieted once I got my head wrapped around the decision to finish breastfeeding. It’s a beautiful, stretching, and temporary time.

Liam, we did it. I want you to know that I wanted to soak everything I could out of that time with you because I knew it wasn’t forever. I wanted to fully embrace that time before saying yes to a new season with you, with our family, and before you get any siblings. You are a sweet boy, and you were more than worth it all.

PS Mooooooo. 

Michigan Summers

We’re in the midst of our annual summer trip to Michigan. If you’ve never been, just know, summers in Michigan are the absolute best. The weather is so lovely, cool enough in the morning to wear a cozy sweatshirt and warm enough during the day to hang out in a bathing suit. 

Part of this trip has been going on for over twenty years. One side of my family gathers in Traverse City for a reunion. The trip activities have not changed a whole lot year to year, but the consistency of it has been something I’ve begun to really value the past few years. It reveals the subtle changes of family, for instance, the youngest of the grandkids is now nearly done with college and the next generation has begun with Liam. Spouses and fiancés and relationships have been added. Much is the same and much is very different.

When I was thinking about it at first, I felt sad, the bittersweet taste of change. Welcoming in the new is a joyful thing, but it also coincides with letting go of old seasons. The tension is real, and I found myself emotional on more than one occasion, though some of that may have been connected to wrangling a very energetic toddler…

Tradition and innovation. We need both. Tradition and the consistency of it tells us who we are and where we’ve come from, while innovation helps us be a part of creating where we’re going and reminds us that change brings with it a lot of good as well. 

Change helps us experience traditions with a new perspective. 

I find it interesting that I’ve been invested in the psalms the past few months. Throughout the ups and downs of the book, one thing remains true: the psalmist praises the Lord and regularly reflects on his faithfulness.

He encompasses both tradition and innovation. He remains constant and faithful and patiently guides us into new seasons of trusting Him.

There’s comfort in that.

I’ll continue to look forward to these summer trips which have grown to include reunions with both sides of my extended family. I’ll continue to enjoy being around bodies of water at almost every turn, riding in the boat at the cottage, soaking in the farm atmosphere, and, ultimately, embracing that time moves forward and brings change with it. 

Fortunately, He is faithful through it all.

Get to the Stage

Event season is in full swing at Adventures in Missions, where my husband, Ronny, and I are on staff. We have participants preparing to launch on their overseas trips, some returning to debrief their time and more. Lots of events, even more people, and the Lord moving.

Ronny sings on the worship team during some of these events. The other morning, he was sharing something the Lord put on his heart in the transition between songs. I had been holding Liam the entire worship session up to that point, and unknowingly decided to set him down right around the time Ronny started speaking because let’s be honest, our son is a substantial being these days. 

He began wandering around the room. At first, I just thought he was moving aimlessly, embracing the freedom to go where he wanted. 

After a time, it became clear he was headed toward the sound of his daddy’s voice, deliberately making his way to the stage.

He wanted to be with his dad.

It was a good reminder. Are we that way with the Lord? Do we hear His voice and have little concern for the obstacles in our way?

Are we seeking the heavenly throne room like Liam was seeking the stage?

What’s amazing to me about it is there wasn’t a question for Liam. He heard his dad’s voice, and he was going to go find him. Chairs, people, beverages, it didn’t matter. None of it was going to stop him or distract him from getting to his dad.

That’s how I want to be. I want to have everything else stop mattering the moment I hear the Lord speak. Some seasons I nail it, others not so much because I’m distracted or scared or tired or some other lame reason.

All that to say, get to the stage. Go follow your Father’s voice and let it lead you back into an awareness of His presence.

When was the last time you really did that?

Holy Garden

Our yard went from no garden to full garden structure with plants in the ground over the course of a week. 

It was wild.

We spent several nights after dark, with phone flashlights on, getting eaten alive by mosquitos to make it happen before we went out of town.

In retrospect, getting the motivation to make that happen sooner would have been more ideal, but there’s just been a lot going on. Summer, am I right?

The entire process was very fun (and exhausting). Thinking through where to erect the structure in the yard, how big, and my favorite, figuring out the configuration of where to put the plants was no small task. 

Some plants are excellent buddies and some are very much not.

For instance, watermelons and squash are not friends, but strawberries and thyme are. Sorting through all that for the first time was so much fun! (Granted, I’m sure we have a lot to learn.)

Plants continue to be therapeutic for me and a way I learn more about the Lord. 

There’s something incredibly holy about a garden. And no, I don’t mean the holes bugs can leave behind as they munch through leaves. I’m talking about how it all started in a garden.

Do you think God spent time configuring it so each of the plants could thrive? I do, and goodness knows I would love the blueprint of Eden for creating our next garden. 

Jesus was also buried in a garden. Mary mistook him for the gardener before he said her name. 

There’s something to all of this. 

Either way, I am jazzed to hopefully be harvesting some vegetables and fruit in the next little while. Our big producers right now are the mint, oregano, tomatoes, and blueberries. (I use the word “big” rather loosely.) 

I intend to give the Lord space to speak with each encounter I have in the garden because, again, it feels holy to be in and cultivate a garden. 

Happy growing to my fellow gardeners out there!

What's Underneath?

Fear.

A quick google search yields the following definitions:

1) An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

2) Be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

Yikes.

But also accurate.

There’s a lot going on in the world that, in my opinion, can be traced back to fear. Sure, it may show up as anger, sadness, depression, avoidance, and the list could go on, but many times, if we zoom in closer, I think fear is what’s underneath.

The piece in the definitions about causing pain particularly stands out to me because it could be easy to think of that as physical pain, but I think the fear of emotional pain is an even bigger motivator. 

What started me thinking about all of this was this simple verse:

When I am afraid,

I put my trust in you.

Psalm 56:3 ESV

So very simple. So very profound.

When all these other emotions are swirling around, and we come to the conclusion that we’re actually afraid of something or afraid to lose something, what do we do?

In reality, more often than not, I turn towards ways of mentally escaping (phones can be so handy in that way can’t they?) or disengaging or trying to control or so many other instances, even if they’re only small moments of fear. Fear truly is an “unpleasant emotion” as the definition states.

When I ask myself, “What’s underneath?” and fear is the answer, this is what I want to return to in those moments. I want this verse to be my anchor, to be true of me.

I’m grateful for the reminder this verse brought me. We have a choice of what we do with the fear and where we put our trust in those moments. This is not to disregard the fact that there are many instances in the world today that have very real reasons for fear to be the root. That is very true. The choice still remains.

Lord, when I am afraid, I choose to put my trust in you. 

One Million Spatulas

My son is known for his collection of one million spatulas.

One day, a few months into my son’s life when mobility was becoming a more serious part of the conversation, I handed him a spatula while we were in the kitchen. My goal was to keep him entertained while I finished cooking something.

Little did I know I was handing him what would soon become one of his identifiers. 

The initial spatula had butterflies on it. We actually have two with slightly different butterfly patterns but the same size, and they quickly became his go-to “toy”. He’d crawl with one in each hand, and we’d hear the alternating thump thump thump as he made his way around the house. He was even photographed with the butterfly spatulas on his first birthday! As he’s progressed to walking, he still carries two spatulas around everywhere he goes. 

The difference now is the collection has grown.

One of the shelves in our living room plays host to the spatula collection, which continues to increase. He’s received six spatulas as gifts and has four of ours mixed in to provide a magnificent variety. He’ll even pick the matching ones when he’s deciding his choices for the day.

The desire to hold things extends into every area of his life as he toddles around. While we’re outside, it’s usually sticks of various sizes, but inside, it’s the spatulas. When we drive somewhere in the car we’ll let him pick out a car spatula. Same for stroller walks.

It’s honestly been one of my favorite things about him because he’s so known! 

Spatulas are his identifier.

(OK, cute blondness is too, but you get my point.)

The fact that many spatulas have been gifted to him warms my heart so much. I love that my son is known. I love how other people also love him enough to get him something he loves...even if it is a bit of an odd toy.

Many have said he’ll be a chef or a drummer. Perhaps they’re right, but I’m not reading into it that too much right now. I just love how each spatula added to the shelf is another reminder that my son is dearly loved by so many humans beyond mom and dad. 

What a gift. So maybe he doesn’t have a million spatulas, but to his toddler self, it probably feels that way. For that I am grateful.

And to those who have contributed to the growing spatula collection - thank you!!! 

But back to the beginning, can you imagine what it might look like to have one million spatulas in one place? We could start a nonprofit to fight world hunger somehow. I’m only partially kidding here...

Travel Spaces

It’s been over a year since I’ve been on an airplane. Actually, it’s been almost a year and a half.

A fair bit of life has happened since that trip. I was pregnant at the time and have since had Liam. The pandemic hit. 

It’s been over a year and within a matter of hours we’ll be back on an airplane, but this time, with a toddler.

I’m looking forward to Liam experiencing his first plane ride and also a bit nervous about how he’ll do. 

Beyond that, I’m looking forward to being back in a travel space. I’m talking about the kind of space we exist in as we navigate from one place to another. We experience this regularly with walking between one room and the next, but there’s nothing quite like a long car ride, bus ride, or plane ride.

It’s this unique travel space. 

The journey, the in-between, the no-longer-there-yet-not-yet-there, the transition. 

Something about that space allows my brain to think in a way I normally don’t. It’s like there’s this freedom from the normal and thus, a permission and opening to think deeply. 

While we’ve taken a number of long road trips in the past year, I’m very much looking forward to being back in the plane travel space. Sure, it will undoubtedly be different with our little toddling man, but I’m excited.

How’s your experience with travel spaces been? Tips on flying with a toddler?

With This Ring...

There was a large tree in our backyard that was dying. It was clear. There was a wound on one side of the bottom of the trunk which continued to grow.

Death was a when not an if. 

We decided that keeping our roof intact was worth saying goodbye to this otherwise wonderful tree. Shocking, I know. Sounds obvious, but it was sad to have to choose to cut down a tree of its size.

It was massive. How old was it? How many residents of the house had it known?

After our tree friend was dismantled branch by branch and then chunk by chunk, all that remained was a low stump. The rings inside were exposed.

Each ring tells a story about the tree. Some are thicker than others. Circumstances and the environment have an impact on what each ring looks like. 

The cross-section gave a glimpse into a lifetime.

So it is with us. Each year we live adds another ring to our story. Some are robust, full of abundance and celebration. Others are lacking, showing signs of weathering some storms. Some rings we want to remember because of the sweetness they held. Others we want to forget, move on, and, if it were possible, remove.

Either way, each year, or ring, is part of the makeup of who we are.

So, the Lord has given us a ring. We are currently living through the celebrations and circumstances which contribute to the character of the ring and this chapter of our story. 

With this ring…

How would you complete the sentence? How have you seen the Lord be faithful? What’s been hard? 

Regardless, it’s a ring we’ve been given. Let’s do our best to wear it well.

Grace to Fall

Learning to walk is no joke. There’s far more failure than success, particularly at the beginning.   

As I’ve been watching my son toddle around, I’ve learned a lot.

Tiny humans have this instinctual propensity to fall well. Not always, of course, but on the whole, they go from attempting to take steps to falling in one relatively graceful motion.

Toddlers do not agonize over each fall and failure. They probably spend essentially no brain energy on each fall other than to figure out how to get back up again. Because they are so short, they have a small distance to go before hitting the ground.

The grace to fall matches their season. 

I think our need for grace increases with our height - easy for me to say as a 4’11’’ woman, I know. Perhaps it’d be better to say our need for grace increases with age. Adults are both literally and figuratively taller than toddlers which means we fall farther. The farther we have to fall, the harder we may land. 

The stakes may go up with our season. More may ride on our ability to learn and execute than those gloriously simple times of learning to walk, but I think there is still grace to match the season.

As we get older, we need more grace, not less, to fall. We need to embrace what it looks like to have the fluid motion from failure, to grace, to getting back up and walking again. It may not apply to walking any longer, maybe it’s more to do with success in a job, or relationship, or finances, but there is grace to meet the need.

That’s not to say there aren’t some falls that leave a mark. Much like toddlers have the occasional cry-inducing head bonk, some failures touch us on a deeper level that requires more comfort and encouragement before we’re ready to get back up again. We need someone to wipe our tears and acknowledge it was hard, just as my son needs to be held on occasion before he recovers from a fall.

Regardless, our adult failures may be and feel more potent, but the portion of grace available to us is sufficient. 

The grace we’re extended has an exponential growth to it.

What a relief. There is grace to fall, no matter our age.

Sun Stretch

Have you ever noticed how plants position themselves to get to the sun? They’ll stretch out, grow at odd angles, and even not be as strong just to get the life-giving rays. 

They cannot resist the need to be in the light, so they engage in a sun stretch.

This light is, of course, from the sun, and the idea brought me to the realization there is much to learn about the holiness of God through our interaction with the sun. Psalm 99 helped me make the connection.

The sun is so bright it cannot be stared at directly. We can close our eyes, turn away, put on sunglasses, or go inside.

Regardless, it is us who makes a change in that moment, not the sun.

God’s holiness is such that it’s too much for us to fully see, but He invites us to be with Him. Our sin may cause us to turn away from the life-giving light, but the option to return, to let go of the sin to be with the Holy One is always there.

The sun provides life to us on the planet. It gives us warmth, sets our rhythms, helps plants grow. It’s also far enough removed that it doesn’t scorch us. The delicate balance of our atmosphere keeps us protected.

So it is with our belief in Jesus. He stands in the gap and shields us from the magnitude of God’s holiness by making it possible for us to survive. Without His sacrifice in our place, we would be scorched.

We would actually not be able to survive in God’s presence.

As it stands, we are able to enjoy the benefit of the sun. We can be in awe of the sunrises and sunsets. We can be enamored with God and just how holy He is, knowing it would not be possible without Jesus.

I want to be like a plant in that I will grow and stretch and will not rest until I get to the light. I want my new growth to bring me closer to Him, much like plants get taller as they grow.

Being in the presence of the Holy God is just as necessary for me as the sun is to plants. 

So, let’s do a sun stretch and get to the light, whatever it takes.

Growing Plants, Growing Humans

The plant parent craze is alive and well.

It rings true that the plant lady is the new cat lady.

To be honest, as far as trends go, this one feels like it has far more positives than negatives associated with it. What a win.

I’m a mom of one son and countless plant children.

It’s gotten me thinking about the similarities between kids and plants.

There’s the obvious in that they have to be intentionally cared for, fed, and watered. They need the right kind of attention and environment. Each kid or type of plant has different needs.

More than that, their growth happens before our very eyes.

New growth on plants is the brightest. Just look around in the spring and summer seasons and you’ll notice portions of plants that are brighter than the rest. The new growth stands out.

The same is true for kids, especially babies and toddlers. I can tangibly see differences in my son.

He’s starting to very clearly respond to instruction and takes great pleasure in “put that back,” “close that please,” and “go find your books.” 

We’ve also ushered in the walking season. He is taking increasingly longer journeys on his feet before resorting to crawling. Walking is slow, crawling is fast.

Much like we notice that bright green growth on plants, the new skill or development stands out and is focused on the most in that moment.

So really, plants and babies are the exact same.

OK, well, they do have some similarities. Regardless, proud plant mom and even prouder human mom over here.

He Knew the Betrayer

Ronny (my husband for those who don’t know) and I have gotten into a rhythm of reading some scripture together each night after we put Liam down for bed. While I wish I could take credit for the idea, I can’t. It was all Ronny, and I appreciate him leading us well in that way.

We’ve been going through the book of John, and last night we read John 6:60-71.

Two things stuck out, the second being a bit weightier.

It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all. 

John 6:63A

Somehow, the idea that our flesh is really just not helpful whatsoever made me laugh. Oh how true it is, and yet how often do we allow it to lead us?

Even more profound was this:

“But there are some of you who do not believe.” (For Jesus knew from the beginning who those were who did not believe, and who it was who would betray him.)

John 6:64

Can you imagine? The day Jesus called Judas to follow Him, to be one of the twleve, one of His closest circle, He knew. He called His betrayer knowingly. He even allowed him to be intimately involved in His ministry.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t in charge of being the savior of the world because I could not have done that. The injustice and pain of the impending betrayal would have gotten the better of me. 

Yet, Jesus still called him. Jesus even died to save him from his sins too, as He did for all of humanity.

It makes me want to re-evaluate every time I experience even the smallest amount of judgment toward someone else. Again, it’s good that the fate of humanity did not rest on my shoulders.

He knew the betrayer and yet, still called him to be one of the twelve.

Wow.

A Lamentable Steam Room

Our church is entering into a season of lament, or rather, of learning to lament and practice lamenting well. We’ve gone through several psalms (6, 22) and will continue forward in that light for a time. 

It’s an interesting thing, learning to lament well. It pairs emotions, especially those that are confusing, challenging, and painful with faith and trust. 

Those things that often seem at odds with one another are reconciled together in the process of lament. 

Much like our prayers rise like incense, our tears rise like steam. 

I got this picture of a steam room. In order to create the steam, water needs to be poured onto hot rocks. Once contact is made, steam begins to form. 

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Psalm 18:2

The Lord is referred to as a rock in several instances in the Bible. To continue the steam room imagery, when we bring our tears to Christ, our solid rock, full of the warmth of grace and compassion, something new emerges. 

The combination of our belief in Christ with our tears produces something new - water in a new form. 

He provides living water after all. So if He is both our rock and gives us living water, it makes sense that He can turn our tears into something good. It makes the process of lament very worth it.

Now, can someone kindly point me to the nearest steam room?

Close and Safe, Open and Free

Back in high school, my friends and I were sitting around late one night cutting out pieces of magazines, trading markers, and enthusiastically filling up what we called “quote books.” In essence, it was a creative expression of words and quotes we found inspiring.

One quote I discovered that evening stood out. I’ve remembered it in different seasons, and for whatever reason, it came to mind again today:

Go now, and live.

Experience. Dream. Risk. Close your eyes and jump. Enjoy the freefall. Choose exhilaration over comfort. Choose magic over predictability. Choose potential over safety. Wake up to the magic of everyday life. Make friends with your intuition. Trust your gut. Discover the beauty of uncertainty. Know yourself fully before you make promises to another. Make millions of mistakes so that you will know how to choose what you really need. Know when to hold on and when to let go. Love hard and often and without reservation. Seek knowledge. Open yourself to possibility. Keep your heart open, your head high and your spirit free. Embrace your darkness along with your light. Be wrong everyday once in a while, and don't be afraid to admit it. Awaken to the brilliance in ordinary moments. Tell the truth about yourself no matter what the cost. Own your reality without apology. See goodness in the world. Be Bold. Be Fierce. Be Grateful. Be Wild, Crazy and Gloriously Free. Be You.

Go now, and live.

― Jeanette LeBlanc

I’m honestly not sure what reminded me of it today. Maybe it was my walk/run this morning. Part of the path was spent on a trail with a lovely spring green canopy above me. 

Close and safe.

A later part of the path involved a curve leading into a long stretch of water that opened up before me with mountains in the distance. It made me grin and felt like my soul marveled.

Open and free.

Something about expanses of water makes my heart leap and like I’ve taken a huge breath of relief.

Close and Safe. Open and Free.

Both are needs and desires I have. Both express contradictory sides of myself.

I think the quote does the same thing. Each time I read it, a different part stands out to me. Those standout parts coincide with the season I’m in, resulting in some contradiction.

There is beauty in the contradiction. 

If we’re honest, we’re all walking contradictions to some degree.

And you know what? That’s OK.

Do you see it in your own life? Where? Is there a way you could embrace and accept that contradiction more fully?

4am Wake-up Call

Yesterday, Liam turned one.

Wild. 

Becoming parents in the midst of a pandemic was certainly quite the experience, but because we were working remotely, we were blessed to be able to begin the parenting journey very much together.

There are countless things I could say about how wonderful I think my son is (if you’ve followed me on social media, you’ll see that’s happened already), but I have a story to tell instead.

Today, I simply want to remember my 4am wake-up call.

I went to bed on the eve of Liam’s birth with a gut feeling he’d wake me up around the time he was born. I heard him around 4:09am and went in to give him a pacifier. 

He was born at 4:12am. 

I stayed in the room after he put his head down wanting to be near him when the minute changed. I was all prepared to take a screenshot on my phone with the exact time, but he sensed I was there.

He stood up in his crib and reached for me over the railing. It honestly felt like he was just giving me a hug. So instead of taking the screenshot, I spent the minute of his birth hugging my son.

It was very tender and one of the sweeter parts of yesterday.

Sure, we did pictures with balloons, opened presents, let him eat cake, and generally got excited about his birthday (as did many others...he really is so loved), the hug was one of my favorite moments. I had all these expectations of what his first birthday might look like and the reality of the day was it was a lot busier than we had anticipated with work and things that needed to get done. We, of course, still celebrated, just in waves.

I’m grateful Liam and I got to hug the same minute he was born last year. Since I had a C-section, it took a little while before I got to hold him. Ronny actually got to hold him first between the two of us which was sweet as well. 

This year, we got our hug and it was the best. 

I don’t mind 4am wake-up calls like that.

Also, in case you’re interested, here’s Liam’s birth story. It has a nice blend of hilarity, suspense, and teamwork.

Visa Gift Card Surprise

On Tuesday, we won $150 worth of visa gift cards.

The story behind that is honestly shocking.

Our staff does an annual Easter lunch to celebrate Christ’s death and resurrection. In addition to the tasty food and cute decor, there is also a highly anticipated egg hunt with great prizes from generous donors who love to celebrate!

Props go out to our Events team because the egg hunt includes picking up physical eggs as well as an app that gives clues. This year, there were three different categories: seeking out codes, silly activities, and a scripture-related quest. 

It’s so fun.

This year, Team Wilson decided to do this as a family. Ronny strapped Liam in his MiniMeis (if you don’t know what that is, check it out #thanksinstagram) and we set off...about fifteen to twenty minutes after everyone left.

It was about fun, not winning. We were surely the slowest (albeit cutest) group without question. We likely collected the least amount of physical eggs, too. Four, in fact.  This was, again, because we started far later than the other groups, so the goods were quickly scooped up before we set off.

The rest of Ronny’s department even kindly gave him a couple of gift cards from their mass of “special egg” winnings, because truly no one would have expected us to win anything on our own (except maybe a prize for cutest egg hunter).

When the time was up, we headed back to hear the results, pleased with ourselves for having successfully finished all the tasks, but fully accepting we would not be in the running.

Second place was announced. And then, first. 

Wouldn’t you know it, we won! There were questions along the way and points were deducted for each time you answered one incorrectly. Part of why we left late was to read the directions which explained this. 

The result? We actually got all of the questions correct so even though we likely had the slowest time, our point total was the highest so we won.

My jaw dropped when our name was announced. Truly still in shock even today, and watching Liam munch on the gift cards added an extra layer of hilarity. 

Why tell you this?

Well, first, it’s just a funny story of an unlikely group rising above the rest.

Second, it’s a good reminder that sometimes, slow and steady really does win the race. Just because things in your life might not be going as fast as you’d like or as fast as those around you, doesn’t mean you’re not headed for an amazing price.

Finally, we follow a good God, one who cared about us so much He sent His only son to die in our place. 

If that’s not a reason to get out of bed in the morning, I don’t know what is.

Happy Easter!

The Seeds are Enough

He sat, gasping for breath, on the steps looking out over the field. 

He had absolutely no idea or understanding of how the fire started, and the unknown threatened to drown him in despair.

The Master would be most displeased.

It had been a year ago when the Master had entrusted him with this field and a heaping bag of seeds. The honor felt like the biggest gift at the time.

Now, all he felt was the entire thing had been an opportunity to fail.

He had failed. Desperately. He felt his chest constrict in panic as the inevitable truth washed over him, soaking him in the misery of it.

Before him, the scene was bleak. Smoke rose haphazardly across the field where the remaining embers stubbornly continued glowing. Despite all the effort, all the running, all the attempts to stop the inferno, everything was gone.

All his best laid plans. He had painstakingly tilled the soil, hand-planted the seeds, obsessively removed any weed that so much as considered threatening to grow, and sacrificed sleep to tend to the crops. 

He had so badly wanted to please the Master, to have earned the trust bestowed upon him.

Continuing to stare across the devastation that had mere hours ago been a lush field of thriving plants, his grip tightened on his only hope.

A small bag of seeds. 

Believing he would successfully manage the harvest, he had intended to plant all of them. In the midst of his planting frenzy, a wise, old farmer wandering by suggested he keep a few seeds stored away, in case of emergency. Insurance.

Well, this was an emergency alright, but he could not see how presenting this feeble bag of seeds to the Master could in any way make up for his pitiful lack of harvest.

He threw the bag of seeds down in frustration and immediately regretted it because the seeds spilled out over the ground. They were so small he could not distinguish them from the dirt. 

He sighed, scooped up the surrounding dirt, and deposited it back into the sack, even as he did so realizing things were somehow even worse.

What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What would happen to him? 

The small bag of seeds was his only hope. He believed he could still do something with them, if given a second chance, but time had run out. 

The meeting with the Master was unavoidable.

So, instead of ending a day with sacks full of the crops he had so carefully tended, he would be showing up with nothing but a sad sack of seed dirt.

Reluctantly, he began the trek down the dusty road, wishing the journey were longer to give him more time to collect his thoughts. Unwillingly, a tear cut through the dirt and smoke caked on his face as he saw the flocks of other farmers wheeling their bounty.

He slowed his pace. If he was going to face humiliation, better to be the last one to be seen by the Master.

The crowd swelled in the town square, and a gong rang out abruptly silencing the crowd. An eldery, calm voice called the first name of the list. The first farmer, standing a few people away, picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow and pushed his way up to the building. A helper ushered him inside and gently closed the door.

After what felt like hours, he was the last to remain in the square. The dread building inside him, he heard his name called, and approached the building fighting the urge to simply turn around and run away.

Sooner than he would have preferred, he was crossing the threshold of the worn building - it was really more of a barn - and his nose was flooded with the pleasant smell of vegetation. Piles and piles of crops surrounded the walls of the interior. The sun was setting, he could see the beams through the occasional cracks in the back wall he was facing. 

His eyes fell upon the silhouette of the man sitting at a table. The Master’s face was hidden, such was the sun’s effect.

“Good evening, Pippin.”

The voice was calm, evening soothing. There was no accusation in it, more like a father greeting a son. 

Pippin remained silent. His voice had deserted him.

“I heard there was a fire earlier today. Most unusual,” the Master said.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. The words exploded out of him, “Master, it burned. All of it burned. I tried so hard. I did everything right. I’ve barely slept. I don’t know what happened. I know I failed you. I wanted to earn the trust, to be worthy of it. I tried. I tried...all I have is this sack of seeds. I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry…”

At that point, he sank to his knees and sobbed. He could not catch his breath. After several minutes, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and through tear-filled eyes, found himself almost nose-to-nose with the Master.

“Pippin, do you know what your name means?”

The question seemed so unrelated and out of the blue, he muttered something unintelligible. 

“It comes from a word meaning seed, or seed of fruit. Your faith in keeping some of these seeds is enough. Seeds, when paired with faith, lead to fruit.”

Pippin’s mouth fell open.

“So...so...you’re not angry?”

“Angry? Why no, not at all! Seeds we can work with! We have more than enough crops to meet our needs. The seeds are enough, Pippin,” explained the Master kindly.

“But, I thought...what? Why not? I failed! Everything burned!”

“Do you want me to be angry?” 

“Well, no, of course not...but…”

“My dear Pippin, the seeds are enough. I promise. Though perhaps, next year, you might let me be part of your process a bit more? I love to be involved, and I suspect you might find it to be more peaceful. How does that sound?”

“Thank you Master! Thank you so much!”

“Oh, and one more thing. Call me Abba.” 

Just Call Me a Plant

Rain has been coming in abundance recently and with it, new growth. 

I’m not sure what it is about spring this year, but seeing all the new buds has given me an immense amount of hope and joy.

New life. New season.

Maybe I should consider getting one of those “happy lights” for wintertime because I seem to be so dependent on the sun. Even with the rain, spring has more sunshine, and I am THRIVING with it!

Just call me a plant.

At any rate, I was walking around checking out some of the new plants we put in over the past few weeks to see how they’re coming along and noticed a bush without visible flowers yet. It had the remnants of a recent rain in the form of evenly spaced droplets of water.

The pattern caught my attention.

Upon investigating further, I noticed that where a water droplet clung to the branch, there too was the beginnings of a bud.

The water gravitated to and was positioned to support the new life. 

The small lesson in this, for me, was to recognize that new life is delicate. It requires more attention and resources to really stabilize.

Babies are that way. So are new believers. 

I learn so many lessons from my plant friends, and I’m grateful to be back in a season where I see them visibly showing signs of new life.

Anyone else?

Oh, To Be So Earnest

My son is quite the efficient crawler. He manages to get himself from point A to point B with very little difficulty. 

Oftentimes, point B is me or my husband, Ronny. 

Liam is a people person. He likes to have us around and becomes varying degrees of upset when we go to another room while he is unable to follow. Barricades have become a necessity to get things accomplished, much to his disappointment. 

On the occasions where he is free to roam and realizes we’ve left, he becomes either highly enthusiastic or desperate in his attempts to come find us and be with us again. 

He’ll even come to the bathroom…

When he gets us in his sights again, he’ll get a huge grin on his face and scurry over to be as close to us as possible.

Oh, to be so earnest.

It’s very sweet, and it’s also gotten me thinking.

What if that was how we pursued our Heavenly Father? He never leaves us, of course, but what if our desire to be with Him, to enjoy and be in His presence, showed up as an enthusiastic or desperate attempt to get to Him? 

What if we grinned at Him like Liam grins at us?

I want to have that kind of faith and trust in His affection for me and in my affection for Him. I want to be that earnest in my pursuit of him.

Anyone else?

On Having Covid

Welp, it happened. 

I got exposed to covid on 2/11, started feeling symptoms on 2/13, officially tested positive on 2/15 and then, Team Wilson was hit.

It’s a strange feeling to have the disease that is the cause of a global pandemic. I felt like a sign should have popped up over our house saying “Infected” and then confetti would have exploded when we were finally done quarantining. It was an especially bizarre experience to hear the healthcare provider inform me that I was indeed positive. I left the clinic (in Kroger) and had to walk through the store to go home. My skin wasn’t glowing a neon color informing everyone to stay away and no random tentacle was popping out of my forehead. 

Nope. People could have looked at me and had no idea.

We were fortunate in that our primary symptom was fatigue. We had diminished taste and smell but never lost it entirely. Some shortness of breath and cold-like symptoms, but all in all, the fatigue was what got us. If you’ve ever had mono, you can get a sense of what the fatigue was like, if not even more amped up.

Our church community was incredibly kind and brought us meals. 

How did Liam do, you ask? 

Well, he fought covid off much better than his parents. In fact, he remained symptom-free, unless you count the restlessness that ensued as a result of having exhausted parents. It was kind of about survival so he got his favorite foods, Ronny set up a barricade of chairs to contain him to the living room, and we got by.

All in all, it certainly could have been worse. 

We made it, and that first excursion back out into the real world felt like it should have been accompanied by High School Musical’s lyric “we’re breaking free.” 

We are almost exactly at a year of a global pandemic being declared. Crazy times. Stay healthy everyone!

PS Anyone else had it?