Sling Diaries: Perception

For most of my life I lived in fear of people's perception of me. Anxious about what others would think about my every move. Afraid of making a fool of myself. As I grew up, my identity shifted from others' perception of me to the reality of who I am. I'm loved, chosen, and valued. I am free to be who I was created to be. Not constrained by fear or reputation.

I place great importance on this in my motherhood journey. I want my children to know freedom because they have seen it modeled by their mother. I pray they'll live their own lives confident in who they were created to be and separated from a stranger's perception of who they are.

My husband and I practice this in little ways with our crew. We try to embrace the costume wearing. We say yes to piling on all the accessories. We join in the dance parties and encourage the puddle jumping. The truth is, at age 5 and under, they're too young to recognize another's perception of their choices. But we believe that championing their uniqueness and creativity only breeds more of it. And if they grow into adults unwavering and confident in who they are, it's because they were loved to their very cores and unbothered by what others thought.

But if not, He's still good

I have so many mixed feelings surrounding the news I’m about to share. We’re expecting again. I am a little over 6 weeks pregnant and tomorrow I’ll walk into the ultrasound room and wait to hear our sweet baby’s heart beat. It’s the same ultrasound room where we saw an empty screen after a miscarriage in January. The same room and same screen where we saw our tiny, lifeless baby and began to process a second loss in April.

So, yeah, I’m scared. And the more I think about the impending pain and hurt that would follow a bad report tomorrow, the more fearful I become. I’m terrified that this little one’s heart will not be beating. Afraid of what my reaction will be. The thought of having to share the news of yet another loss makes me want to hide away.

Yet when I think back on our previous losses, I can’t ignore God’s presence. Before I even knew I was pregnant in January, he asked me to trust him. He knew what was to come. He knew we would lose two precious babies in three short months. And he prepared my heart to trust him like I never have before. I will always be incredibly grateful for the way he’s shown us grace throughout this painful battle.

So, yeah, I’m thankful. Crazy thankful for this life that’s tucked away safely inside of me now. Thankful for whatever awaits me in that ultrasound room tomorrow. Yes it’s the room where we’ve had a few dark — really dark — moments recently, but it’s also the room where we saw our first three babies’ hearts beat for the first time. It’s the room where we cried happy tears every time we heard the words, “It’s a girl,” or “It’s a boy,” for our daughter and two sons. I was never promised that I would carry one child, much less the gift of six different lives. That is God’s grace in my life, and I’m thankful for each of them. Three I carried full term. Two I carried only for a few weeks. But according to Psalm 139, every single one of those days were ordained for our babies. As much as I would love to add months and years to their lives, there’s freedom in knowing that they belong to God first.

Will I carry this baby full term? Only the Creator knows the answer to that. But we are praying big and bold for this little life. We are praying that God will do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.” Praying that we’ll bring this baby home with us. Praying for great, gracious joy through this baby’s life.

Since my very first pregnancy, I’ve read Psalm 139 from a totally different perspective. I can’t help but read it from the viewpoint of a baby still in his mother’s womb:

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Psalm 139:13-16

When I shift my focus to the One who ultimately made these precious children, I’m able to let go of the fear of their futures. Especially tomorrow. We have so many people praying big and bold for this baby. I know God is the sustainer of all life and he his holding this one in his hands. There’s no doubt in my mind that he could give us a healthy, full term pregnancy. I believe he can bring this baby into our arms and our home.

But if not, he is still good. We will not stop praising him. He is always good. And he loves me.

Heartbreak, Loss, and Trusting God

"I'm so sorry. I'm afraid it's not going to be good news today."

I reached up to squeeze my husband's hand as I stared in shock at the screen. The silhouette of our baby whose heart beat we had heard only one week earlier, now still and quiet. As the ultrasound tech stepped out of the room with tears in her eyes, we began to weep. It was shocking and painful. And all too familiar.

Just three months prior, we sat in the same ultrasound room and waited quietly for her to confirm what we already knew. My bleeding had indeed been a miscarriage and our baby was gone. The baby we had already told our then 3, 2 and 1 year olds about. Gone. Not coming to our house in September, but already home now with Jesus.

The morning before I found out that I was pregnant with our fourth baby, I was praying for the Lord to give me one word for the year. As worship began that Sunday morning, I could hear him whispering, "Trust. Trust Me." If I'm being totally honest, "trust" is not the kind of word I was hoping for. I was really planning on changing it to something a little more light hearted, like "joy" or "peace." But as worship continued, I knew I couldn't deny His voice. Trust. It was in the songs we sang, the message our pastor delivered and constantly in my mind. Undeniable. Deep down in my heart, I knew this was a call to something painful. Something way out of my control. Where trusting Jesus was eventually going to look more like clinging to Him. With every ounce of bravery in my body, which is seriously not much, I whispered back, "Okay. I'll trust You."

And with those four words, the storm clouds rolled in. Only I couldn't see them yet.

Six hours later, I was doing a (silent) happy dance over a positive pregnancy test. And because I love him and I'm a pro at this now, I told the hubby in code over dinner at the kitchen table with our kids that WE'RE HAVING ANOTHER BABY! Since we are the best at keeping big secrets from our kids for long periods of time, we waited a solid half day before telling them the exciting news. And there was plenty of excitement once the 2 year old got past the fact that, "We already have a baby," and the baby brother would soon be a big brother like him.

The first appointment was a couple days later, and everything appeared to be right on track. We proceeded to tell our family and friends about our new baby. With every pregnancy, we have agreed to share the news as early as possible. There are multiple reasons for this, but the biggest two are prayer and accountability. Neither of us could fathom NOT having our people praying for such a big part of our lives and for our baby's life. We also knew that if something happened to our baby, we would need our friends and family to know. Telling them early on in the pregnancy always ensures that we won't even have the option to walk through a loss alone. This is a big one for me because I'm not quick to share my present pain. Isn't it always a little easier to talk about battles once the wounds have healed and the verbs are past tense?

My belly was already starting to grow (the fourth one just pops right out there), we still had a few people to share the news with, and I was finally coming up on my first ultrasound appointment. It was all exciting! I mean, I l-o-v-e being pregnant. I was starting to plan the announcement and think of fun ways to tell the world about baby number four.



And then I began to see the storm clouds looming overhead. Without too much detail, there was a little blood, a few hours of restless sleep, and then a lot of blood. It had been two weeks since God started preparing my heart to trust Him in the trials that were coming. I laid there that night, uncertain of what the next few hours would hold, but being held by the One I can certainly trust. With tears streaming down my face, I begged Him to not let this be what it undoubtedly was. I begged Him to stop the bleeding. I begged Him to let me keep my baby. My baby.

My God is so sweet. He is so gracious and I can't believe the ways that He loves me. He held me so close. I thought about that verse that says, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted," and I knew it was His arms around me in that moment. So I stopped begging for the things I wanted and in my most vulnerable state and my weakest voice I whispered, "I trust You." The tears didn't stop. In fact, they increased. I wasn't suddenly content with the thought of losing this child. I still wanted to wake up and find out it was all a nightmare.

But it was real. And so was the tough conversation with our precious babies about our new baby going to Heaven with Jesus instead of home with us. I was so mad at myself for getting them excited about the baby because the loss brought so much sadness to their hearts. And then grace covered that, too. It ended up leading to conversations with our deep thinking little girl about life and death, and eternity in God's presence or eternity away from God and all his attributes. It opened the doors for conversations about how following Jesus doesn't mean everything is going to be happy all the time, but it means He will be with us all the time, even when things get sad. I believe the truths she's learning in the midst of this sadness at then 3, now 4 years old, will serve as part of a rock solid foundation on which she will build her life.

I was learning so much. Mostly about the absolute uncontainable love my heavenly Father has for me. I was sharing my story as I had the opportunities to do so. I never failed to mention that I've never felt as loved by the Lord as I have through this pain. I was trusting Him as we walked through the storm and His grace covered me constantly. Oh His grace! Protecting me from the lies the enemy was hurling my way and comforting me when the sadness was overwhelming.

We were determined to not be fearful of another pregnancy, and then two months later we got to put that to the test. Three positive pregnancy tests over three days - because I was afraid they were false. I waited four days to call and schedule my appointment with the nurse - because I was afraid of going back to the office. I made my recent history very clear with the nurse in hopes that they would get a look at the baby soon - because I was afraid that history would repeat itself.

Afraid.
Afraid.
Afraid.

But, wait. I just went through this whole "trust" deal and God, once again, proved faithful. He gave me peace when I could have been consumed with fear. He gave me purpose in the pain. He stretched me. Grew me. What do I have to fear? There is no better option for me than to trust Him with every detail of my life, much less the big stuff.

And so we started fresh. We told our family and friends. We asked for a whole lot of prayer. We didn't tell our kids until the day we heard the baby's heart beating. I was feeling sick. Sicker than any of my previous pregnancies -- I started to wonder if there were two of those babies and the second one was hiding from the camera. People were always asking me how I was feeling. I told them the nauseous truth followed by, "I'm just thankful for signs of a growing baby!" My tummy was growing and I wanted to eat at all times of the day and I was so thankful.

Then the storm rolled in. As we sat in that quiet ultrasound room, both too shocked to say words, I heard the words God spoke to me almost four months earlier. "Trust Me." What? NO! No thanks. Haven't I trusted Him enough? Wasn't one miscarriage enough? Did I not learn everything He had to teach me just three months ago?

And why?

Why now? Why this? Why my babies? Can't I learn to trust You without this?

I was mad. I could feel Him drawing near to me like before. I knew He loved me and I was mad. I knew He wasn't caught off guard like we were and that made me madder.

And then I broke.

I know all these things to be true because I've experienced them firsthand. "He's never failed and He won't start now." He did not leave my side in the last storm. He protected me and comforted me. I don't want to choose anything different than that for this storm or any of the storms coming my way. I want to choose Jesus every time. "Okay. I'll trust You," I whispered.

We went to another room to meet with my doctor, who, by the way, is a huge blessing to us. He is kind and compassionate and genuinely cares about our family. He asked us multiple times if we had any questions. And as much as I wanted to have some great ones, I didn't. There is not one answer I could receive that would make this make sense. And that is why I will trust my loving Father. He knows all the answers. Therefore, I need to know none of them.

I don't know why He's allowing us to go through this extremely painful, heartbreaking season. But I don't have to know why. My only concern is "How?" How is he going to use this to bring glory to Himself? How can I be obedient in the task He's laid before me? He's been teaching me for four months now that I can best glorify Him when I am transparent, authentic, and honest with others. When I share my story before the wounds heal, He is healing me and giving hope to those around me.

I'm sure that my story is for anyone.
It's for you who doesn't understand why pursuing a relationship with Jesus didn't eliminate the heartbreak of this world.
It's for you who wants to trust God with something bigger than yourself, but aren't quite sure that he's going to prove faithful in your life.
It's for you who doesn't think there's a God who loves you so much He would die for the opportunity to have you be His.
It's for you who are picking up the pieces of shattered dreams and trying to figure out what the future looks like now.
It's for you who have suffered great loss and heartbreak.
It's for you who's right in the middle of the storm.

And I'm confident that it's for you: the woman who is missing her baby she never got to hold.
You who instinctively holds a shrinking baby bump and gets flooded with the loss of dreams all over again.
You who can't get dressed without tears welling up in your eyes because all your clothes fit weird and there's no longer a growing baby to attribute that to.
You who are dealing with the lingering physical reminders of a life that was lost.
You who are grieving the very real loss of a child that only you carried for it's entire life.

Trust Him. He is good. Pour out your heart to Him. Your anger. Your questions. Let Him hold you as you grieve the loss of your child. Trust Him with all of that. He's waiting for you to. Let Him begin to heal your heartache. And then be available for Him to bring purpose to your pain.

He wants to use your story to bring glory to His name and hope to those around you. Be transparent, authentic and honest. Let others in on your pain. People rarely talk about the loss of a baby before birth. After my first miscarriage, I learned that almost 20% of pregnancies end this way. That's so many! It should not be this sort of taboo subject that we've twisted it into. I get it -- it's so tempting to grieve in silence. But we weren't meant to live like that. We were intended to encourage one another. In the good times and the tough times. Which means each of us has a responsibility to share our good times and our tough times.

It's scary. It's alright to be afraid. But in your most vulnerable state and your weakest voice tell Him, "Okay. I'll trust You." Then walk with Him. Watch how He guides, protects, and comforts you along the way. He is always faithful. And above all else, He is worthy of your trust.

Chipotle Run

When your husband decides he’s “all in” for the triathlete world, your life changes. And when your own previous exercise included walking to the mailbox every three days, said change is drastic. 

Today was the perfect example. Rob has a fairly unpredictable schedule as a nurse anesthetist and occasionally there are days when he gets to leave the hospital before lunch. An early departure in the pre-triathlon days would send me running to preheat the oven for chocolate chip cookies, settling babies into early naps and searching for our last stopping point in our perpetual NCIS marathon. These days, however, an early departure typically means an invitation to run. Not to the fridge for cookie dough. Not anywhere. Just running. In circles. Now I know I completed a triathlon this summer, but I still don't find running to be fun or enjoyable. I do love my husband very much and we like to spend his unexpected off days together, so after getting everyone dressed for the third time, we headed to meet the excited triathlete at the gym. We dropped all the kids in the childcare area and I denied the temptation -once again- to detour to Heritage House for an hour to write and drink coffee instead. After walking a few laps and having uninterrupted conversation, I forgot that I didn't want to be there in the first place. It was fun! And then the running started. I tried to be a good sport, but here's the deal: I can be a brat. I took two different five minute water breaks and then decided I would finish running the last few minutes with my man. "Almost half way! Let's go!" he cheered in his ridiculously energetic pep talk voice. I don't remember exactly what happened next, but there were secret tears and not-so-secret tears and a quick exit to the bathroom because it was break time again. I might have passed out. I'm not really sure. Rob chose to be done with his half marathon for the day and we hiked up to get the kids. 

I know from experience that kids feed off their parents' emotions and attitudes. So, in their defense, I didn't set my children up well with my pouting through the gym parking lot and in the car on the way to Chipotle. But the next 20 minutes of our lives were all around not our best work. There was whining and crying, possibly some fire and gnashing of teeth. The food was too hot. There wasn't enough cheese. Evan was so over waiting between bites. And then some rice was thrown and I gave Rob the let's-get-the-heck-outta-here look along with all the other poor souls who came in expecting a laid back burrito experience on their lunch breaks. We carried all 3 kids and our barely eaten lunches out of the doors. To be exact, I ran. I ran out of Chipotle with a baby carrier hooked on one arm and a three year old in the other. Then in a moment of lapsed judgment as I strapped kids into their seats, I served the consequence. Even as the words spilled out of my mouth, I already regretted them. "We are not eating in a restaurant for five days. Five whole days. Because of the way y'all acted in there." Five is the biggest number to Kate. It's like the ultimate number. So this was the maximum sentence. Really it was probably over the top, but I was still picking rice off my leg so it felt fitting. The part I regretted was giving a consequence that affected me most of all. Because now I have to cook and serve every meal at home for five days. Five whole days.

Our actions have consequences, and like the ripple effect of a pebble tossed into the water, those consequences affect the people around us. Especially those closest to us. My attitude this morning was selfish and it spilled over into the lives of those I love. I got angry at my husband whose intentions were good. I got angry at my kids who were actually too tired to go out to lunch in the first place. In my anger, I served a consequence that was not well thought out. And as much as I wanted to blame everyone else on the way home, I was the one in the wrong. 

It's on my worst days that I'm most thankful for grace. The freedom to run to Him, already forgiven if we're in Christ. Paul writes in Ephesians 3:12, "In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Hallelujah! With rice in my hair and shaky from embarrassment, I can turn again to the One who has wiped my slate clean once and for all. I am free. And I've been instructed to use my freedom to serve others in love (Galatians 5:13). It's funny how God works all these things out for his glory. I'm headed home to serve my family the first of our "consequence meals." I'll ask for their forgiveness and then serve the ones I love most. Serving food and serving grace. For five whole days. 

Altars to Zoos

We celebrated Sam’s second birthday a couple weeks ago. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. He’s officially two years old. We took our little zoo to the actual zoo for some birthday fun. Sam wore his lion shirt. We talked the lions up the whole way there. We saved the lions for the grand finale. We turned the corner to the lion’s area to find... a note reading, “If you can’t see me, I’m probably inside cooling off.” THIS IS REAL LIFE, LION. YOU ARE AN OUTSIDE CAT. Surprisingly, the lion cutout appeased the birthday boy, and everyone left smiling. 

Sam's birthday will always be special to me. Not only because he’s our crazy brave, crazy loved oldest son, but also because his birthday is one of those altars that causes me to remember the faithfulness of the Lord in my life. All through the Old Testament we read about God’s people building altars in places where God encountered them in a mighty way. Sometimes God himself instructed them to do so and other times his people chose to worship in that way. The purpose of these altars was always to bring glory to God for what He did in that place in their lives. The same is true for believers today. There are dates, places or objects in our around us that cause us to reflect on God’s hand in our own lives. 

One of the most significant of these altars to the Lord in my life is Sam’s birthday. He was a little less than 2 weeks old when I began to feel completely overwhelmed with the responsibility of keeping two children under two alive, much less fed, dressed and clean. I was secretly crying over the stove into a boiling pot of macaroni while my last reserves said their goodbyes and started to head home. Rob was on call at the hospital that night so my first night without extra hands was also my first night alone with not one baby but two. I remember crying - not secretly anymore - on my dad’s shoulder and saying, “I can’t take care of two of them. What if they cry at the same time?” I laugh about it now because, guess what? They did cry at the same time. And we all survived. 

That night in a survival mode prayer, I asked God if maybe He had mistakenly given me more than I could handle. Didn’t people say He wasn’t ever going to do that? Rest assured, it was no mistake. And the people who told me that were actually very wrong. He will consistently give us more than we can handle in our own strength and our own capacity. Why would we ever need Him if we could handle it all on our own? In fact, the Gospel is centered around that guarantee: we need a Savior to rescue us from our sin nature. We cannot handle that on our own. Instead of steering us around the tough stuff, God promises we’ll go right through it and He will be our strength when we are weak (2 Corinthians 2:10), our peace in times of confusion (Philippians 4:7), and that He “works for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).” 

The next morning I sat down at our kitchen table, and running on approximately 4 hours of highly interrupted sleep, I decided to put God’s promises to the test. Because if He wanted to give me strength in the midst of my darkest hours, now would be a pretty darn good time. (I had a really great attitude about it, obviously.) I begged Him for strength and some semblance of energy. I journaled before I even opened the Word that morning, “Lord, I am tired. I don’t know that I am strong enough to care for 2 babies on my own. I need You. Your strength, Your love, Your guidance. You know far better than me what I need every minute of every day, so I’m begging You to supply me with it.”

I opened the Bible after that to Isaiah chapter 40 and when I got to verse 28, it started to click. 

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. (28-31)

Right in front of me lay the answer to my plea. “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” At that moment I realized that I didn’t need an outline for exactly how He planned on giving me strength. All that I needed was to trust that He would. It was weird. This acceptance of not understanding how He would supply the strength, but a total peace that I would not lack anything I needed so long as I trusted Him for it all. 

I scribbled that passage in my journal, and put these words on paper almost as quickly as I was thinking them, “My hope is in You! I’m trusting You for what I need through this day. Thank You, Lord! You are good and everlasting. Never growing tired or weak. Thank you for loving me enough to equip me for today and every day. Amen.” This encounter with the Lord changed my outlook on parenting forever. It was honestly no longer about how much I could accomplish as a mom, but now about a total dependance on the Lord for even the strength to get out of bed in the morning. Over the next weeks and months my journaling had this theme of worship like it hadn’t before. The very next week on August 14, 2013 I wrote, “Father, You have graciously blessed me with every the last few days and I am so grateful! I know it’s come from You, because I’ve been incredibly tired. But when I shift my eyes to You, Your Spirit equips me with what I need for that moment. Thank You for Your faithfulness.” 

He is faithful. His promises hold true and they are for you and for me. I’m reminded of His faithfulness to me every day, but the beginning of August will always bring sweet memories of learning to walk in complete dependance on the Lord. It’s one of my many altars of remembrance of the Lord’s grace in my life, and it’s purpose is to bring glory and honor to Him. (Trust me… there is not a single other reason I would share pages from my prayer journal.) 

God knew He had to teach me that lesson early on in the "parenting multiples" game because He knew what was in store 15 months later. And the 3 under 3 life would call for that whole "grace upon grace" promise to be fulfilled. I love my family, and I really love Jesus for giving me the freedom to enjoy them in the midst of chaos and managing our own tiny zoo.

I am not Supermom

Confession: I am not Supermom. Some very well intentioned friends have used that label while observing my delicate balancing act of three small children. Here's the thing I've learned about labels: they can start to define us after a while. Or maybe we begin living up to the expectations surrounding us, whether good or bad. The motivation behind our actions is no longer conviction or a desire to live a life above reproach because we recognize the cost of our freedom, but rather the selfish desires of our flesh to be great, to be known, to be completely independent of any sort of rescue. 

While I always awkwardly accept compliments such as the Supermom title, I also always feel the need to explain why I am not worthy of the kind words. Oh shoot. If you only knew what went on at our house before we got here, you would take that back faster than Sam can climb on top of the table I just spotted across the room... Wait, where is Sam? 

If you only knew. If you only knew that there were tears, frustration and a few good fits pitched (and the kids weren't perfect either), then you would probably not tell me that you don't know how I do it.

In an attempt to keep pride at bay and to prevent myself from foolishly believing in this whole Supermom character, let's be real. There is no perfection behind these walls, but there is SO MUCH GRACE. Thank you, Jesus! So I've decided, since you can't all experience the reality of me with my wild things behind our actual walls, I'd like to invite you to follow me on a not so quick journey through a typical morning in our home. Specifically this morning. 

*Warning: Type A friends enter cautiously.

*Note: This is not a stay-at-home-martyr story. I love my role at home and have chosen this above all else. 

Our children are all great sleepers. They sleep great when they are in our bed, and they sleep great when they are under half of my body or on the top half of Rob's pillow. Today at 5:45 I woke up with Evan cradled in my left arm and Kate laying sideways in the middle of our bed. In a successful effort to get a few more minutes of sleep, I moved Evan to the crib and Kate 90 degrees to a normal position. 

At 6:15 Evan realized he had been duped and proceeded to let me know how much he did not appreciate it. I did what any good mother would do and ran quickly to turn on the coffee pot and then into the baby's room. Because priorities. I nursed him, put him back in his crib and escaped to the living room for some therapy time with Jesus. 

Then I sneezed. I knew I should have held it in, but I'm still afraid my eyeballs will blow out of my head if I don't let my sneezes out. Enter Kate who woke up via sneeze alarm. I allowed myself the privilege of a thirty minute babysitter - shout out to the Bubble Guppies - because, guys, I for real need that time with Jesus and hot coffee. *Sneeze* Evan is the victim this time, and I've been sitting for about 90 seconds. Rock the baby. Lay him down. Jesus. 

Sam, our late sleeper, is awake at 6:45 asking to eat. That is without fail his first word of the day: eat! Time for first breakfast. Lately that's been Trix. Limited Edition Mini Trix to be exact. Stop your judging, it's fruit-ish. I then move to my work table to start on a few thank you notes, when I hear the familiar sound of tiny cereal hitting the floor. Kate runs in to inform me, "Uh, Mommy. It's a really giant mess in here. Like, really giant. Like, really." Limited Edition Mini Trix covering the floor. Oh and Sam is stepping on them like bugs, so we don't have to worry about them getting too far.

Back to the notes. Never mind. Kate went to "check on Evan" which always means she's going to bust in the room singing and turning the lights on. Can't stop. Won't stop. Where is Sam?

Feed Evan breakfast. Make a mental note to clean the highchair. Move Evan to the jumper in hopes of finishing these thank you notes. (I'm really terrible about thank you notes and seriously want to finish them this year.) Maybe I shouldn't put Evan in the jumper. Should he be crawling by now? Make mental note to have intentional tummy time this afternoon. I then run to the back of the house to put an end to World War III at 7:00. I've only been up for 45 minutes? Our clocks must be wrong. Did the power go out?

Complete a whole 3 thank you notes. Conveniently remember it's Thursday a.k.a. Family Swim Day. Is that even possible? Will the sun still be out by the time we get out the door? It's a legitimate concern. Then I notice the calligraphy supplies on the work table which reminds me to do the last address that was added to my list which reminds me that I HAVE to post my calligraphy project on Instagram. Because priorities. Done. 8:15.

Run to tell the kids that we're going swimming and they need to find their swim suits. Kate tells me she will just wear her tutu skirt in the pool and "that will be fine, Mom," to which I respond "You will wear a swim suit. Where is Sam?" Evan is crying. Time to nurse. 

At 8:22 I hear quick footsteps down the hall and, "MOMMY! MOMMY! Sam said he wanted to poop in da potty so I just helped him take his diaper off and den I tried to pick him up to put him on da potty but I can't pick him up because I'm not strong enough and HE NEEDS TO POOP." Great. He's probably pooping in the hall. I'm going to have to clean that up. Run with Evan down the hall. No poop. Good. Sam is in the bathroom, no diaper, as promised. He tries to poop in the potty. He's actually kind of successful which forces Kate to tell him there's a prize box for pooping in the potty. Not anymore, kid. No one is potty training. Cue screaming fits from both big kids.

I feed Evan, lay him down for a nap at 8:45 and start to gather all swim necessities. Kate walks down the hall crying for her tutu skirt. Wakes Evan. It's 8:48. I help Kate get her red dress off which she throws in the crib. But it doesn't matter because apparently Evan won't get to sleep this morning. Where is Sam?

Walk Kate to her room to find the elusive tutu skirt and Sam walks in wearing goggles and holding a book. Yes, of course I'll read to you, Sam. I want to read to you. We won't have swim suits or towels at the pool because I can't finish a single thing. But always YES to reading. Mental note to not forget the towels. It's 9:05. Need to be leaving in 25 minutes and I am still in my pajamas and Kate is the only child wearing pants. I get short with the kids and Kate tells me she doesn't like the way I'm talking and, "I'm very frustrated about you." Me too, don't worry. 

To make up for my tone of voice, I agree to take jumping pictures of Kate. Turns into a photoshoot where she had to approve and critique every picture. She does so many spinning jumps that she falls down, hurts her "wittle toe" and needs to snuggle. Snuggles and reading don't get turned down by this mama. Because priorities. 

Transplant Evan to the middle of my bedroom floor. Thank you, Lord that he isn't crawling yet! Scratch tummy time off my mental list. If he's moving, I'm done. It's 9:45 and we have officially passed my hopeful departure time. Still wearing pajamas. 

I hear faint knocking coming from the nursery. Sam. He shuts doors and can't open them. Open the door to find him with Kate's red dress over his head. WE ARE NEVER GOING TO LEAVE. 

I dig through my swim suit stash, remember that only two of them fit me and surrender to the same one I've worn all summer. Make mental note to go swim suit shopping. Ha! Immediately scratch that one off the list. Yell into space, "I hope y'all are ready to go because we're about to leave!" Silence. Where is Sam? Again, I announce into the abyss, "Sam, you need to get your shoes!" which is really just a tactic to get him to stop pouring out powdered sugar in the pantry or climbing on top of the leather chair to jump or whatever it is that is keeping so darn quiet.

It's 10:00 and I'm sweating at the realization that we've been trying to leave for 3 hours. No time to cry. As I attempt to make my hair not look as dirty as it actually is, Kate comes in to ask if it's okay that Sam has those chips out because they're hungry and ready for breakfast. I forgot second breakfast! I remove the taco kit from Sam's grip which sends him into Hulk mode. It's 10:02. Nap time for Sam. Can't nap. Must leave. I quickly hide the pacifiers because we're limiting them to bed only and that's all Hulk Sam wants. Make mental note to google humane ways of breaking up with the paci.

I make the bold move to put Evan in his carrier. Thank you again, Jesus, that he stays where I put him! Buckle Evan. Play with Evan. Take pictures of Evan. Because priorities. I mean, just look at that cutie.

Got distracted. Kate found some soap she was given hanging on the key hooks by the back door. Obviously this is the best time to refill the soap in her bathroom. "Can you believe it smells like bubble bath?!" Okay, the soap smells amazing, but seriously we need to be walking out the door. Where is Sam?

Found him. He's got the keys and the right idea. Maybe we will actually leave. It's 10:15. Is it raining? It better not be raining. I remove Sam from the cooler and he quickly darts to who knows where. Not me. I never know where. Evan is babbling and I remember baby food. Head back to the kitchen.

Okay. It's now 10:20 and the diaper bag is ready. Evan is ready. Kate is ready. WHERE IS SAM? Kate follows me on a quick search of his usual hiding places. Spotted: Sam is lying in wait in the middle of Rob's clothes. Just a simple game of hide and seek, Mom. Not too much to ask.  

So I give him the thrill of scaring me a few times.

Of course, Kate wants in on the game now too. Reusing the same hiding spot over and over again reminds me of how little they really are even though I unfairly expect them to act like serious big kids sometimes. Not even sure of the time anymore. Because priorities.

We get a few really great scares in before Evan calls for us from his carrier in the hall. Time to go.

I herd them like kittens into the garage and to the car. Open Sam's door for the big kids to climb in while I load Evan. I walk back around to fasten their seat belts and pass out entertainment from the floorboard for the ride. 

We're later than I would have preferred. I'm one hundred percent sure that I've left some things - like the boys' pants. But my heart is full of everything I've wanted. I lost my cool a few times and got scolded by my intuitive three year old accordingly. It took approximately three and half hours to leave our house, but the important things were taken care of. My children got my attention, although sometimes divided. I did my best and I know that His grace covers the rest. 

If I'm Supermom, then my cape is grace. In 2 Corinthians 12:9, the Lord tells Paul, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Mom or not, your weakness is an opportunity for His grace and redemption in your life. Let go of perfect except for His perfect power. His perfect love. His perfect peace. He is perfection and I am not. 

Thank you, Jesus, for freedom from perfection. 

Freedom in Failure

Sixteen days from now, Rob and I are participating in a triathlon. I am clearly not a real triathlete because I never know how to say that. You don't "run" a triathlon. Do you "do" a triathlon? That seems too broad. To say that I will 'finish" a triathlon is a little presumptuous on my part. Trust. Me. Yes, the goal is to finish, but I'm fully prepared to hitch a ride on the back of the photographer's kayak during the swim if needed. So, I've settled on "participating." These are the things I think about while swimming. Maybe if I focused more on how the heck to breathe while I swim, I wouldn't look like a duck trying to dodge a swarm of bees. Are ducks even scared of bees? Anyway... it's not pretty. 

If you know me, you're as shocked as I am that I've actually committed to this thing. I don't exercise. In college I had to take a P.E. class for my elementary education major. I was too sore to walk the day after we had to lunge across the playground with the second graders. A few years later I threw my back out playing a (very competitive) Wii bowling game. Later that year I pulled a muscle during a really good attempt at pilates. My doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, rest, and of course, no more pilates. 

Rob is not like me in this. He's a stud. And he's always up for a challenge. Two of his life goals are to run a full marathon (he's already barely finished a half) and to complete a triathlon. Two of mine are to allow him to run races and to cheer him on from the sidelines. Kidding. Sort of. 

So how did I end up here, registered for a sprint triathlon in the middle of June? Basically, I'm crazy. And I also really love my husband. It's not that I haven't wanted to do things he enjoys before now. It's been more about my heart. I don't like doing things with a very high chance of failure ahead of me. Success is so much better than failure, until it becomes more about the success than the journey. I chose to start something at which I knew I would be terrible. Where I would fall on my face a thousand times -literally once or twice- and then get up to take the very next step. 

It is incredibly freeing to do something that's outside your own strength. I am all about finding your gifts, strengths, and talents and then operating in those. It's the sweet spot. That's where ministry and life flourish because God has gifted each of us in completely unique ways. I believe with all my heart He created you to glorify Him using the gifts He gave you. However, when you act in your weaknesses, He is strong. He proves to be faithful when you are on your last leg. He breathes life into my weary body when I would rather jump off the bike. 

Y'all, He is so glorified in our weakness! If we could wrap our heads around that truth, then our lives wouldn't have to be about the successes or the failures. As long as you are in Christ, you are free to enjoy the journey without any concern about the outcome.

Now I do hope the outcome of this is not me crossing the finish line on a stretcher. If that happens, I'm moving on to my own life goals of owning a coffee shop and taking the fam to Disney World.