Dark

Some days, when the nights are too short and interrupted; when the tantrums start with the sunrise; when there seem to be more needs than one woman can possibly meet; when your hair has spit up in it; when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and cringe; most of all, I think, when you feel so very alone . . . Don't Give Up. Don't Give Up, beautiful mama. All shall be well, truly! Look up and cry out. Probably Mary Poppins or Nanny MacPhee are not going to alight on your doorstep, but that extra bit of grace will help you find strength you didn't know you have. Breathe. One moment at a time, one tissue at a time, one tantrum at a time. All shall be well. All manner of things shall be well.

Higher

they can't be who they were made to be if we are trying to make them into who we think they should be. let go of your expectations, and rejoice in the person your child is trying to become.

Aching

Sometimes when you're a mama, or a friend or a wife or a person in a relationship, you have to "hurt" someone to take care of them: anything from removing a wart to confronting an addiction or taking out a splinter to taking another to task about a hurtful behavior. It's a horrible, horrible feeling, but at these moments we can stand firm in peace if it is done in love. So many, many times we "correct" others, or we "give the truth" or "tell it like it is" from a place of pride, or vindictiveness, or pettiness, or whatever. Remember, mama, to speak and act from love and humility, remembering we all stand in desperate need of mercy.

Lay Me Down

One of the hardest things I find about being a mother is the physicality of it: the tremendous bodily changes we experience. The postpartum physical drama: feeling like a leaky fountain, trying to be patient with a saggy, blubbery, slowly healing self. The intense physical contact needed by babies, and toddlers, and growing children wrestling with world- and self-discovery. Truly He says that the greatest love lays down its life, its self, its very body.

Be patient, I tell myself. These days of great physical sacrifice are short. Soon enough I will be alone, aching for the little bodies that now nestle against my breast, into my heart.

Onward, Upward

Some time ago, someone said they were "praying I would enjoy being a mother." Especially since this person doesn't know me well, it cut deep: Is that how I come across? Is that what people think of me?! Added to the drama of postpartum depression and an anxiety flare-up, those words have haunted me. Let's face it though, sweet mama: this vocation we live is NOT always enjoyable. And you know what? That's okay. Just don't let the dark moments, the hard moments, the endless-tantrum moments--don't let those take over. Because they are just moments, even if they seem interminable, and they will, in fact, pass. I know in the deepest parts of me that I will not remember the horrible times as much as the good ones, if I choose to hold the good close to my heart and let the bad pass under the bridge. All shall be well. You are loved.

Trudging

when i was little, Dr Dad would only let us stay home from school if our glands were swollen. so yesterday when i was driving my son to school, i felt them and they are swollen, boy are they ever! so i thought, "yay! i'm really sick! that means i get . . . nothing. that means i get to do everything i normally do and feel sick doing it. never mind."

you know what, though? the day ended up having unexpected bright spots: my husband came home early; i had a new riding student who did really awesome; my baby was really happy "exploring" her crawling world. 

very few days have nothing difficult about them. carrying our daily cross, whatever it may be, makes us stronger only if we carry it with His grace.

Tired

Well, Mama, here we are, and what are you by going to do about it? It won't get any easier by ignoring it, so might as well gird up your loins and prepare to take action. Life's demands don't stop when we don't feel up to them, and they won't go away by ignoring them. Time to show yourself what you're really made of . . . and how much you need His grace.