Sweet Baby,
There's so much I don't know. There's so much God is teaching me every day. I am so, so tired. Being your momma has meant lots of learning and little sleep for me, but I know God is refining me, making me a better person through you. Refining is hard, becoming a better person is painful, but it is for His glory.
I can't write much because your Daddy insists, wisely, that I get to bed very soon. But this is the first chance I've had in a while, and I want to let you know a few little truths.
You will struggle with friendships in your life. We all do. But there will come a moment when you realize that He has surrounded you with exactly the people you need. Friendships have caused me a lot of pain in my life, and there's been much I haven't understood. However, I stand here today knowing that I am surrounded my amazing, AMAZING women of God. Women whom he has placed in my life, on purpose, to lift me up and point me to Him when I'm struggling. We are all so imperfect, but we are all loving each other in Christ, and that is beautiful.
You will struggle with things you don't *want* or didn't have *planned* in your life. God reigns true over everything. This world is His. The plan He has for you is not flawed. It is perfect. That doesn't mean it won't be hard or confusing, or even downright miserable sometimes. But it is His plan, and all things are for His glory, and he will use your misery for His good. He makes all things glorious, even if it takes us a while to realize that they truly are.
And a little more about that glorious stuff: He made YOU glorious. He made ME glorious. He gloriously ordained that I would be your momma, he gave you to me to shepherd. I am learning you. It hasn't been easy, but together we are learning how to be the best we can be for each other. The relationship we have was created and put in to place by Him, and it is good. Even when it is hard, it is good, so amazingly good.
I love you, baby girl. You are more of a blessing to me than you will every be able to comprehend. You were created for his glory. You are glorious.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
Guilt
I keep wanting to write to you. I keep thinking, "She'll need this someday. I need to go type this up for her." But wow, life is SOOOO incredibly busy. I plan to come back to this post. I want to tell you about your tongue tie surgery. I want to tell you about your refusal to sleep and the effect it is having on my brain. I want to tell you about weakness, and friendship, and prayers. I want to tell you about Little 500 week, about The Boston Marathon Explosions, and about how completely crazy it is that you are crawling and you aren't even five months old. But I can't right now. I can't tell you because I have a zillion things to accomplish before our family comes for your baptism on Sunday. I can't tell you because so much of it is still so fresh that it stings. I can't tell you because right now I'd rather just hold you. Today I'm not willing to miss a minute of your being little, of your needing me, of your being blissfully unaware of the evils of this world. But I'll share with you this little note from a friend, though I pray you never need it.
"Remember, guilt does not come from God. And I'm fairly certain He does not want these high standards to come at the sacrifice of your own well being. One of the best ways to teach your children to take care of themselves is to let them see you take care of yourself. How can you fully love someone else, the way God intended (love one another as you love yourself) if you don't love yourself enough to take care of you too? Don't sacrifice yourself, you are important too!"
Love you baby girl,
Momma
"Remember, guilt does not come from God. And I'm fairly certain He does not want these high standards to come at the sacrifice of your own well being. One of the best ways to teach your children to take care of themselves is to let them see you take care of yourself. How can you fully love someone else, the way God intended (love one another as you love yourself) if you don't love yourself enough to take care of you too? Don't sacrifice yourself, you are important too!"
Love you baby girl,
Momma
Saturday, March 16, 2013
He Whispers Sweet Somethings
I pray, sweet girl, that God sends you a man to marry who is just as perfect for you as your daddy is for me.
We've had a really, really rough week. We had to be out of the house for most of the week due to repairs from a roof leak. Between trips back and forth to Greenwood, and attempts to participate in other social activities, today was evidently the breaking point. Everyone was a disaster. As your brother would say, "Having a meltdown!"
After over an hour of hysterics I finally put Gideon in the Ergo and walked around the neighborhood to get him to sleep. After I put him in his bed, I walked into my bedroom and hit the floor.
I sobbed. I am exhausted. I am overwhelmed. I am touched out. I am confused. I can't seem to figure out half of what your brother is going through right now. I am ashamed. I want so badly to offer your daddy a peaceful and happy home, but that's just not how it is right now. I feel trapped. I can't seem to get out of the house without one of my babies becoming hysterical, so I feel like I shouldn't even try to leave. Every time we attempt to go anywhere it ends in disaster. Motherhood is hard. So. Incredibly. Hard. So, I sobbed those deep, long, painful sobs and I prayed. I prayed the simplest prayer. The thing I ask of Him when I am absolutely beyond even knowing where to start. "Lord, help me." I sobbed and prayed.
Your daddy came in and put a hand on my back and whispered in my ear, "I love you. I love you so much. Take all the time you need." and then he went out. There is nothing more perfect that he could have done. He offered me his love and support, and then he offered me time and space.
He is such a wise man, Lydia. It will take you a long while to understand that. But, really, he is so good and so wise. He knew he couldn't "fix" my problem. He knows me so well. He knew I needed Christ in that moment more than anything else. But, still, he knew that his love and reassurance would be helpful to me. So he rubbed my back gently and briefly, he gave me his love, and he gave me permission, time, and space to fall apart in the hands of my God.
As we looked at the mascara stain I left on the carpet when all was calm again, I told him that I know God is refining me. He's teaching me, in these moments that are so hard, that I am not in control. He's teaching me to let go of the illusion of control that I cling to so hard. He's showing me that there is no benefit to my attempts to control things, that the only reward is in relinquishing my sense of control to His true control. But, oh, how hard that lesson is.
And your daddy knows. He knows that God's not done with me. He knows these changes can be painful. But he loves me so. He loves me when I'm a mess. He loves me when I leave mascara stains in the carpet. He loves me when I'm in a moment of darkness and confusion, crying on the floor with my hands opened up, seeking God. He loves me when he watches me fall apart so that I can let God change me.
I pray that you might be less stubborn than I am, that you might let Him change you without such a fight. I pray that for you now, because, from what I know of you in these 3 short months, you are going to need those prayers.
Love you, my precious girl.
Momma
We've had a really, really rough week. We had to be out of the house for most of the week due to repairs from a roof leak. Between trips back and forth to Greenwood, and attempts to participate in other social activities, today was evidently the breaking point. Everyone was a disaster. As your brother would say, "Having a meltdown!"
After over an hour of hysterics I finally put Gideon in the Ergo and walked around the neighborhood to get him to sleep. After I put him in his bed, I walked into my bedroom and hit the floor.
I sobbed. I am exhausted. I am overwhelmed. I am touched out. I am confused. I can't seem to figure out half of what your brother is going through right now. I am ashamed. I want so badly to offer your daddy a peaceful and happy home, but that's just not how it is right now. I feel trapped. I can't seem to get out of the house without one of my babies becoming hysterical, so I feel like I shouldn't even try to leave. Every time we attempt to go anywhere it ends in disaster. Motherhood is hard. So. Incredibly. Hard. So, I sobbed those deep, long, painful sobs and I prayed. I prayed the simplest prayer. The thing I ask of Him when I am absolutely beyond even knowing where to start. "Lord, help me." I sobbed and prayed.
Your daddy came in and put a hand on my back and whispered in my ear, "I love you. I love you so much. Take all the time you need." and then he went out. There is nothing more perfect that he could have done. He offered me his love and support, and then he offered me time and space.
He is such a wise man, Lydia. It will take you a long while to understand that. But, really, he is so good and so wise. He knew he couldn't "fix" my problem. He knows me so well. He knew I needed Christ in that moment more than anything else. But, still, he knew that his love and reassurance would be helpful to me. So he rubbed my back gently and briefly, he gave me his love, and he gave me permission, time, and space to fall apart in the hands of my God.
As we looked at the mascara stain I left on the carpet when all was calm again, I told him that I know God is refining me. He's teaching me, in these moments that are so hard, that I am not in control. He's teaching me to let go of the illusion of control that I cling to so hard. He's showing me that there is no benefit to my attempts to control things, that the only reward is in relinquishing my sense of control to His true control. But, oh, how hard that lesson is.
And your daddy knows. He knows that God's not done with me. He knows these changes can be painful. But he loves me so. He loves me when I'm a mess. He loves me when I leave mascara stains in the carpet. He loves me when I'm in a moment of darkness and confusion, crying on the floor with my hands opened up, seeking God. He loves me when he watches me fall apart so that I can let God change me.
I pray that you might be less stubborn than I am, that you might let Him change you without such a fight. I pray that for you now, because, from what I know of you in these 3 short months, you are going to need those prayers.
Love you, my precious girl.
Momma
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
In My Falling Short
Your brother turns two in 30 minutes. I have spent the past several days thinking about this. His first birthday was a lot about him, about how much he had changed and grown over the course of one magical year. This second birthday feels like it's a lot more about me.
Don't get me wrong, he's learned to do so many awesome things in the past year. He's grown and changed, learned and matured, and we will celebrate that. But when I stop and think about this day 2 years ago, what amazes me more than anything is the change that has taken place in me.
Two years ago I thought I knew what it meant to be Momma. I rubbed him through my bulging tummy as we settled in to the hospital. I loved him, I wanted the very best for him, and I had felt my heart get bigger and softer over the course of the 49 weeks and 4 days it took to grow him. Truthfully, I had no idea.
Now, two years later I have an almost 2 year old and a 3 month old, and I am changed. I could go on and on and never really, fully capture what it is that I mean to say. That's just the way it is. Motherhood is a reformation of the soul, if you allow it to be, and although I am far enough in that I can recognize some ground shaking changes, I'm not far enough to be able to name them and describe them with any clarity.
Here's what I know: I'm softer now, both inside and out.
My tummy used to be smooth and taut. Then it stretched and grew to accommodate you two and keep you safe while God did His work in there, putting you together. Now it's a squishy pillow that you both love to nuzzle in to. My breasts used to be firm and supple. They nourished your brother for over a year and continue to provide your every calorie. They bulge and ache in the morning and grow softer as I feed you through the day. When I lie down at night they seem most akin to pancakes, and for what it's worth, you appreciate their nourishment just the same.
I used to think I knew things. I used to have "theories" and ideas about "best practices" for education, for sleep habits, for nutrition. Now I know that all of the research in the world doesn't much matter when something different is what works best for Momma and baby. I used to have a plan. Annual goals, a monthly calendar, a daily schedule. Now I have a toddler and an infant. Some days drag on as we struggle to figure each other out, as teeth poke their way through tender gums, as germs cause stuffy noses and disturbed sleep. Some months fly by as I grasp at fleeting moments of accomplishments and milestones that seem to come one right after the other.
I've learned to withhold judgement far better than I used to. There were so many things I thought parents were crazy for doing, things that I've now found myself trying, or at least being able to understand. I've grown to love your daddy even more. There is nothing quite like watching a big, strong, grown man be so tender with his baby. It turns me to mush. Every day when he tickles your brother or sings you a song, I fall ever more in love. More importantly, I've learned to trust him in a way that I never could have if I hadn't had such precious gifts to share with him. You and your brother are our joint responsibility, and our relationship has grown so much stronger as we've shared you two.
Above all else, I have grown ever more reliant upon my God. I know now, more than ever, that I need His guidance, His direction, His love, His forgiveness. I turn to him so much more now that I have you two to shepherd. I ask His protection over you both on a daily basis, because I know that you are His. I know, as hard as it is to understand, that you are merely on loan to me. That He has entrusted you to the care of your daddy and me. We need His help, daily, to do best by you both. And yet, I know that in my "doing my best" I will still fail to give you all that you need. You need more than me, more than Daddy. You need Him, too. And so I pray that where I fail, where Daddy and I fall short, that you will seek God, because He will not fail you. He will not fall short. He will provide all of your needs, all of them. It is only by my faith in Him that I continue to grow in to the mother He intended for me to be to you and your brother. Pointing you to Him is the only way I manage to maintain my sanity, to keep my hope, because I will never be enough for you, and that's exactly as it should be. I will never be enough because in my falling short, you are led to His never failing.
Don't get me wrong, he's learned to do so many awesome things in the past year. He's grown and changed, learned and matured, and we will celebrate that. But when I stop and think about this day 2 years ago, what amazes me more than anything is the change that has taken place in me.
Two years ago I thought I knew what it meant to be Momma. I rubbed him through my bulging tummy as we settled in to the hospital. I loved him, I wanted the very best for him, and I had felt my heart get bigger and softer over the course of the 49 weeks and 4 days it took to grow him. Truthfully, I had no idea.
Now, two years later I have an almost 2 year old and a 3 month old, and I am changed. I could go on and on and never really, fully capture what it is that I mean to say. That's just the way it is. Motherhood is a reformation of the soul, if you allow it to be, and although I am far enough in that I can recognize some ground shaking changes, I'm not far enough to be able to name them and describe them with any clarity.
Here's what I know: I'm softer now, both inside and out.
My tummy used to be smooth and taut. Then it stretched and grew to accommodate you two and keep you safe while God did His work in there, putting you together. Now it's a squishy pillow that you both love to nuzzle in to. My breasts used to be firm and supple. They nourished your brother for over a year and continue to provide your every calorie. They bulge and ache in the morning and grow softer as I feed you through the day. When I lie down at night they seem most akin to pancakes, and for what it's worth, you appreciate their nourishment just the same.
I used to think I knew things. I used to have "theories" and ideas about "best practices" for education, for sleep habits, for nutrition. Now I know that all of the research in the world doesn't much matter when something different is what works best for Momma and baby. I used to have a plan. Annual goals, a monthly calendar, a daily schedule. Now I have a toddler and an infant. Some days drag on as we struggle to figure each other out, as teeth poke their way through tender gums, as germs cause stuffy noses and disturbed sleep. Some months fly by as I grasp at fleeting moments of accomplishments and milestones that seem to come one right after the other.
I've learned to withhold judgement far better than I used to. There were so many things I thought parents were crazy for doing, things that I've now found myself trying, or at least being able to understand. I've grown to love your daddy even more. There is nothing quite like watching a big, strong, grown man be so tender with his baby. It turns me to mush. Every day when he tickles your brother or sings you a song, I fall ever more in love. More importantly, I've learned to trust him in a way that I never could have if I hadn't had such precious gifts to share with him. You and your brother are our joint responsibility, and our relationship has grown so much stronger as we've shared you two.
Above all else, I have grown ever more reliant upon my God. I know now, more than ever, that I need His guidance, His direction, His love, His forgiveness. I turn to him so much more now that I have you two to shepherd. I ask His protection over you both on a daily basis, because I know that you are His. I know, as hard as it is to understand, that you are merely on loan to me. That He has entrusted you to the care of your daddy and me. We need His help, daily, to do best by you both. And yet, I know that in my "doing my best" I will still fail to give you all that you need. You need more than me, more than Daddy. You need Him, too. And so I pray that where I fail, where Daddy and I fall short, that you will seek God, because He will not fail you. He will not fall short. He will provide all of your needs, all of them. It is only by my faith in Him that I continue to grow in to the mother He intended for me to be to you and your brother. Pointing you to Him is the only way I manage to maintain my sanity, to keep my hope, because I will never be enough for you, and that's exactly as it should be. I will never be enough because in my falling short, you are led to His never failing.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Babies Don't Keep
A portion of a very sweet poem by Ruth Hamilton:
This poem conjures up images of a mother in a white cotton nightgown with her hair neatly swirled into a bun at just the right place on the crown of her head, rocking her sweet sleeping baby with a gentle grin on her face and her eyes closed lightly, humming a sweet lullaby. I love you, dear girl. Oh, how I love you. But this is not my life. This is not my reality.
I just bounced you to sleep for the third time tonight and it's not even 10pm. I am wearing sweatpants stained with the lavender paint from your bedroom and an "IU" tee shirt from college, complete with the wet spit up mark on my right shoulder that now always adorns every outfit I wear. My hair looks decent, but only because I styled it last night in preparation for church this morning, although we didn't make it to church due to a variety of slightly ridiculous factors including one involving you and a middle of the night party started by an interest in the tinkling of the air vent blowing heat against the vertical blinds.
Don't get me wrong, I adore your snuggles. I'm very conscious of the fact that you won't be little for long. Your brother taught me that lesson very clearly. I hold you, and bounce you, and carry you, I study your soft skin and tiny toes, and nuzzle my nose against the top of your little head and breathe in deeply that heavenly, perfect baby smell, I know the dimples on the back of your knuckles and the way your chubby cheeks make your eyes shrink when you smile.
But, here's the thing, I'm a bit of a neat freak...bet you hadn't noticed...and I like to have things in their places. Some would even call me, dare I say it, OCD. After I got you and your brother to sleep tonight I started my normal ritual of putting our house back together after a day of letting things fall apart around me as I tended to the needs of my sweet children. Get this, Lydia, there was a lid from a steaming pot in the bathroom sink on top of a pile of peed on clothes from your brother's "potty learning" experience. I have no idea why it was there nor how it landed in that location. All I know is that by the end of the day I am completely exhausted and my house is a disaster.
I treasure you and your brother, but having two under two is insane, complete madness, and I have a feeling it won't change much when your brother has his birthday in a couple of weeks. Yet, once you are both sleeping peacefully I absolutely can not relax until my house is put back together. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect. I'm "done" for the night and there are two heaps of laundry in the middle of my kitchen, a pile of toys in the living room that I swept out of the walking path with my foot, and a heap of framed pictures on the kitchen counter that I haven't gotten to hang on the wall since we moved in two weeks ago.
I'm learning. I'm learning to lower my standards, to be more realistic. I'm working to get to a place where I'm okay with the heap of laundry and swept aside toys. They bother me a bit now, but I'm so wiped out that I will let them be until tomorrow. I know that the most important things in my life aren't things, but people...your daddy, and your brother, and you! Still, I like the things to be neat and orderly. It's hard for my brain to rest when my house isn't tidy. So, I'm compromising. I took the pot lid out of the bathroom sink, and I put it in the hamper so that I could take it out and put it in the kitchen sink to be washed on my way to take the laundry to the washer, except...I'm pretty sure...now that I think about it, that the pot lid is still in the hamper, and it's just going to have to stay there until tomorrow.
Your daddy is off of work tomorrow. That means I'll get most of the "put off" things caught up. That means I'll get to shower long enough to shave my legs. That means, if I'm lucky, that I might get to go to the bathroom without my entourage! I love you both dearly, but wiping my bottom while fielding your brother's questions about my "gina" and holding you is...interesting, to say the least, not to mention the one handed shimmy I have to do to get my pants back up with you perched on my arm. Yep, that's my goal for tomorrow: diminish the laundry mountain and pee in privacy. It's not glamorous, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Sweet Dreams, my littlest love, until you wake to nurse in a couple of hours....
Love,
Momma
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.
This poem conjures up images of a mother in a white cotton nightgown with her hair neatly swirled into a bun at just the right place on the crown of her head, rocking her sweet sleeping baby with a gentle grin on her face and her eyes closed lightly, humming a sweet lullaby. I love you, dear girl. Oh, how I love you. But this is not my life. This is not my reality.
I just bounced you to sleep for the third time tonight and it's not even 10pm. I am wearing sweatpants stained with the lavender paint from your bedroom and an "IU" tee shirt from college, complete with the wet spit up mark on my right shoulder that now always adorns every outfit I wear. My hair looks decent, but only because I styled it last night in preparation for church this morning, although we didn't make it to church due to a variety of slightly ridiculous factors including one involving you and a middle of the night party started by an interest in the tinkling of the air vent blowing heat against the vertical blinds.
Don't get me wrong, I adore your snuggles. I'm very conscious of the fact that you won't be little for long. Your brother taught me that lesson very clearly. I hold you, and bounce you, and carry you, I study your soft skin and tiny toes, and nuzzle my nose against the top of your little head and breathe in deeply that heavenly, perfect baby smell, I know the dimples on the back of your knuckles and the way your chubby cheeks make your eyes shrink when you smile.
But, here's the thing, I'm a bit of a neat freak...bet you hadn't noticed...and I like to have things in their places. Some would even call me, dare I say it, OCD. After I got you and your brother to sleep tonight I started my normal ritual of putting our house back together after a day of letting things fall apart around me as I tended to the needs of my sweet children. Get this, Lydia, there was a lid from a steaming pot in the bathroom sink on top of a pile of peed on clothes from your brother's "potty learning" experience. I have no idea why it was there nor how it landed in that location. All I know is that by the end of the day I am completely exhausted and my house is a disaster.
I treasure you and your brother, but having two under two is insane, complete madness, and I have a feeling it won't change much when your brother has his birthday in a couple of weeks. Yet, once you are both sleeping peacefully I absolutely can not relax until my house is put back together. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect. I'm "done" for the night and there are two heaps of laundry in the middle of my kitchen, a pile of toys in the living room that I swept out of the walking path with my foot, and a heap of framed pictures on the kitchen counter that I haven't gotten to hang on the wall since we moved in two weeks ago.
I'm learning. I'm learning to lower my standards, to be more realistic. I'm working to get to a place where I'm okay with the heap of laundry and swept aside toys. They bother me a bit now, but I'm so wiped out that I will let them be until tomorrow. I know that the most important things in my life aren't things, but people...your daddy, and your brother, and you! Still, I like the things to be neat and orderly. It's hard for my brain to rest when my house isn't tidy. So, I'm compromising. I took the pot lid out of the bathroom sink, and I put it in the hamper so that I could take it out and put it in the kitchen sink to be washed on my way to take the laundry to the washer, except...I'm pretty sure...now that I think about it, that the pot lid is still in the hamper, and it's just going to have to stay there until tomorrow.
Your daddy is off of work tomorrow. That means I'll get most of the "put off" things caught up. That means I'll get to shower long enough to shave my legs. That means, if I'm lucky, that I might get to go to the bathroom without my entourage! I love you both dearly, but wiping my bottom while fielding your brother's questions about my "gina" and holding you is...interesting, to say the least, not to mention the one handed shimmy I have to do to get my pants back up with you perched on my arm. Yep, that's my goal for tomorrow: diminish the laundry mountain and pee in privacy. It's not glamorous, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Sweet Dreams, my littlest love, until you wake to nurse in a couple of hours....
Love,
Momma
Friday, February 22, 2013
Delayed Urgency
I can't wait. I can't put this off. I have to get these things written out for you now, before they fade and become blurry memories. These are things I desperately need to tell you, just not the 3 month old you. Someday you will be where I am. Maybe not 27, maybe not with a 23 month old boy and a 3 month old girl, maybe not with a police officer for a husband, but someday you will be right here. You'll be Wife and Momma and overwhelmed and elated, thankful and terrified all at once. There are things you need to know.
I'm not going to spend a lot of time on background information, because I've got a lot to say about this very moment.
I hope by the time you're old enough to need this there is no evidence of the fact that your momma ever struggled with sinful eating, but it's a truth. It's a truth that I'm struggling to make a part of my past. What was once perhaps a "sweet tooth" has turned in to "emotional eating". I had a moment about a week ago when I got really honest with myself about the situation. I've known for some time that I was struggling with food, with self control, with eating to "feel better" emotionally. Yet, I'd been sort of sweeping it under the rug. I've developed a mountain of excuses to justify to myself why I have been doing what I have.
Then it happened. All I can attribute it to is the Spirit moving me, changing me, but it finally came to my conscience that what I was doing wasn't just unhealthy, it was wrong. I talked to a dear friend, I cried, I talked to your daddy, I googled, and I cried some more. Here's what it comes down to, my sweet girl, I've been using tasty sweets to fill a craving, a craving that I thought was in my taste buds, but it's not. It's a craving in my heart. My heart longs for the sweetest treat, and that is only found in Christ.
But here's the thing, taking my "issues" to the Lord isn't nearly as easy as taking my issues to a brownie. I can't lie to Him. I can't lick my lips and say, "I feel better" and fool Him. He knows my heart, and that means He will force me to wrestle with some things I'd rather leave tucked away. That means he will call me in to some really uncomfortable situations. That means he will call out the worst in me so that He may break down the disaster I create and recreate Himself in me.
Guess what...brownies are a lot less complicated than that. Cookies don't expect anything of me. Ice cream doesn't call me out and whisper to my heart, "You were made for more than this." Brownies are nice, and sweet, and gooey, and quiet. But all of the goodness that will come from Him refining me when I take my mess to Him, well, that just turns into chunk when I take it to brownies. Let's not even get in to the fact that brownies, no matter how chocolaty, don't offer eternal salvation. Yep, that's a pretty big one.
All of this to say, though I haven't been in a new frame of mind for very long, I've been thinking about my sweets differently. Thinking about how I am called to honor Him with my body. Thinking about the fact that I am made for so much more than "satisfaction" from sugar. Thinking about the truth that taking my aching heart to Him will work towards healing my eternal soul, not only my fleeting emotions, though he cares about those as well. Thinking about the shameful truth that I was worshiping food above My Savior.
All of this admitting and processing, praying and wrestling, it has put me in a pretty vulnerable place. That's why I nearly let my progress be destroyed by someone I didn't even know today. Another mom, 3 months pregnant with her second baby, said to me today, "You look like you're about as far along as I am. When are you due?"
It's almost enough to make me cry just to hear it echo in my ears as I write. I wish I could say that wasn't the case. I wish I could say that I'm strong enough in my understanding of my image in Christ that her comment didn't rattle me. I'm not there yet.
I struggled a lot after Gideon was born as I tried to accept the body I was left with after delivering a 9lb4oz baby. There are parts of my body that will never be the same. As a woman in my mid twenties I found myself aching for the former smooth and firm tummy that used to look back at me in the mirror. It took some time, and some prayer, and especially some self forgiveness, but I finally came to terms with my "post baby body". I realized that a miracle, and now two, had been performed inside of my body. The very hands of God knit together not one, but two beautiful babies right there in my womb. My body was made for more than firmness under my tee shirt, it was made to be your very first home.
I can't say that the only reason I look the way I do right now is because I've grown two babies. I have to be honest and admit that I've not been honoring His temple in me with the way I've been shoveling sweets in to my mouth. I am made for more than that, and I'm working really hard on being done with that mess. But I'm happy to embrace the stretched out parts that you and your brother have left behind. I even sort of appreciate the fact that you didn't just use the pre-made stretch marks left before you. You left your own marks on my body and they will forever serve as a reminder to me that the very Creator pieced both Gideon and YOU together deep inside of the safety of my warm and squishy tummy. A tummy that, despite what the world tells me, isn't designed for the purpose of being revealed by a bikini, but rather for being the workshop for two of God's sweetest creations.
We live in a fallen world. A world where media, men, and even other women cause us to question the beauty of God's creation in us. Don't fall for that nonsense. Rise above. Rise above the tempting treats and put foods in your mouth that will nourish your physical body and reflect your respect for His temple in you. Rise above the desire to put a brownie bandaid over your aching heart and take your troubles and your tears to The One who can heal you. Rise above the idea that media and the world shows you about what your body is intended for. Your body is not a tool to be used to lure a man. It is not a tool to be used to inflate your ego over that of your Earthly sisters'. It is a tool to be used as God's dwelling place, and as his workshop when He makes you a momma.
As I snuggle all 13lbs of you in my arms and you suckle at my breast, you have no understanding of any of this. But there will be a time, my love, as much as it pains me to imagine, there will be a time when you know all of these things by experience in one way or the other. That's why I desperately need to tell you right now so that you will know without any blurriness or fading when you need this knowledge. YOU WERE MADE FOR MORE, SO MUCH MORE.
Be blessed and be beautiful, my sweet girl.
Love,
Momma
I'm not going to spend a lot of time on background information, because I've got a lot to say about this very moment.
I hope by the time you're old enough to need this there is no evidence of the fact that your momma ever struggled with sinful eating, but it's a truth. It's a truth that I'm struggling to make a part of my past. What was once perhaps a "sweet tooth" has turned in to "emotional eating". I had a moment about a week ago when I got really honest with myself about the situation. I've known for some time that I was struggling with food, with self control, with eating to "feel better" emotionally. Yet, I'd been sort of sweeping it under the rug. I've developed a mountain of excuses to justify to myself why I have been doing what I have.
Then it happened. All I can attribute it to is the Spirit moving me, changing me, but it finally came to my conscience that what I was doing wasn't just unhealthy, it was wrong. I talked to a dear friend, I cried, I talked to your daddy, I googled, and I cried some more. Here's what it comes down to, my sweet girl, I've been using tasty sweets to fill a craving, a craving that I thought was in my taste buds, but it's not. It's a craving in my heart. My heart longs for the sweetest treat, and that is only found in Christ.
But here's the thing, taking my "issues" to the Lord isn't nearly as easy as taking my issues to a brownie. I can't lie to Him. I can't lick my lips and say, "I feel better" and fool Him. He knows my heart, and that means He will force me to wrestle with some things I'd rather leave tucked away. That means he will call me in to some really uncomfortable situations. That means he will call out the worst in me so that He may break down the disaster I create and recreate Himself in me.
Guess what...brownies are a lot less complicated than that. Cookies don't expect anything of me. Ice cream doesn't call me out and whisper to my heart, "You were made for more than this." Brownies are nice, and sweet, and gooey, and quiet. But all of the goodness that will come from Him refining me when I take my mess to Him, well, that just turns into chunk when I take it to brownies. Let's not even get in to the fact that brownies, no matter how chocolaty, don't offer eternal salvation. Yep, that's a pretty big one.
All of this to say, though I haven't been in a new frame of mind for very long, I've been thinking about my sweets differently. Thinking about how I am called to honor Him with my body. Thinking about the fact that I am made for so much more than "satisfaction" from sugar. Thinking about the truth that taking my aching heart to Him will work towards healing my eternal soul, not only my fleeting emotions, though he cares about those as well. Thinking about the shameful truth that I was worshiping food above My Savior.
All of this admitting and processing, praying and wrestling, it has put me in a pretty vulnerable place. That's why I nearly let my progress be destroyed by someone I didn't even know today. Another mom, 3 months pregnant with her second baby, said to me today, "You look like you're about as far along as I am. When are you due?"
It's almost enough to make me cry just to hear it echo in my ears as I write. I wish I could say that wasn't the case. I wish I could say that I'm strong enough in my understanding of my image in Christ that her comment didn't rattle me. I'm not there yet.
I struggled a lot after Gideon was born as I tried to accept the body I was left with after delivering a 9lb4oz baby. There are parts of my body that will never be the same. As a woman in my mid twenties I found myself aching for the former smooth and firm tummy that used to look back at me in the mirror. It took some time, and some prayer, and especially some self forgiveness, but I finally came to terms with my "post baby body". I realized that a miracle, and now two, had been performed inside of my body. The very hands of God knit together not one, but two beautiful babies right there in my womb. My body was made for more than firmness under my tee shirt, it was made to be your very first home.
I can't say that the only reason I look the way I do right now is because I've grown two babies. I have to be honest and admit that I've not been honoring His temple in me with the way I've been shoveling sweets in to my mouth. I am made for more than that, and I'm working really hard on being done with that mess. But I'm happy to embrace the stretched out parts that you and your brother have left behind. I even sort of appreciate the fact that you didn't just use the pre-made stretch marks left before you. You left your own marks on my body and they will forever serve as a reminder to me that the very Creator pieced both Gideon and YOU together deep inside of the safety of my warm and squishy tummy. A tummy that, despite what the world tells me, isn't designed for the purpose of being revealed by a bikini, but rather for being the workshop for two of God's sweetest creations.
We live in a fallen world. A world where media, men, and even other women cause us to question the beauty of God's creation in us. Don't fall for that nonsense. Rise above. Rise above the tempting treats and put foods in your mouth that will nourish your physical body and reflect your respect for His temple in you. Rise above the desire to put a brownie bandaid over your aching heart and take your troubles and your tears to The One who can heal you. Rise above the idea that media and the world shows you about what your body is intended for. Your body is not a tool to be used to lure a man. It is not a tool to be used to inflate your ego over that of your Earthly sisters'. It is a tool to be used as God's dwelling place, and as his workshop when He makes you a momma.
As I snuggle all 13lbs of you in my arms and you suckle at my breast, you have no understanding of any of this. But there will be a time, my love, as much as it pains me to imagine, there will be a time when you know all of these things by experience in one way or the other. That's why I desperately need to tell you right now so that you will know without any blurriness or fading when you need this knowledge. YOU WERE MADE FOR MORE, SO MUCH MORE.
Be blessed and be beautiful, my sweet girl.
Love,
Momma
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)