When the struggling ceases

I scoop her up off the floor, plop down into my favorite nursing chair, raise my shirt and offer her some milk. She latches, but as she does she extends her arm until her pudgy, dimpled, dainty elbow reaches a locked position.

This is how we nurse. We've nursed this way all 12.5 months of her life. I cradle her, smooth her hair, gaze at her eyelashes and smile. She looks at the ceiling then rolls her eyes as far as possible to see what is behind her, without unlatching.

She tolerates me. With my other babies there were tender nursing moments. Times when they would nurse, grin while milk streamed from the corners of their mouthes, unlatch and offer me a huge grin, only to spray milk all over the both of us.

But Evelyn is not that baby. She loves me, and wants me sometimes, but mostly I'm a source of nourishment for her. It's her Daddy who is her ultimate soother. She adores him more than any of our other children have at this young age. Normally it's Mommy and Mommy alone while they're breastfeeding. But not her.

She drinks until she's had her fill, then she unlatches with a smack, rolls away from me, requesting with her whole body to be released from my arms. She's done with me and I've come to terms with the fact that I am the one who is fond of the nursing, not her. I've finally realized it's not personal. She grins and me and smiles when we play together. She giggles at my over-exaggerated laughs. But if the choice is me or Daddy, Daddy wins every time.

Evelyn, 9.5 months, tolerating my affection.

Tonight, as the house was still, and I rocked her while she nursed, He washed Himself over me in a way that used to be familiar and regular.

"This is us," he whispered. "You use me solely for life-sustaining nourishment right now. There is no intimacy between us. You wait until you cannot wait any longer, have your fill of me, then you make it clear you're ready to have your space."

I recoiled in the truth that He showed me.

I've been angry. Hurt. I've felt neglected and robbed. I've wanted to walk away, and I probably would have, for not the consistent and fervent prayers of my husband and dearest friends. And now, I'm in a place where I'm no longer wanting or struggling to break free from this faith that has gripped me so tightly. I'm fine with it. It's here, it's who I am. It's a part of me.

I wait until I can wait no more, fling myself before the cross, fill myself with just enough to get me through the next trial, the next thing and then I'm done with him for a while.

In the simile that is my nursing relationship, I am Evelyn and He is me.

He longs for the intimacy that should exist, the affection and the joy upon my face as we embrace and delight in one another. And oh how He has never stopped delighting in me. He makes that clear when I draw near. He loves me as much as He ever has, increasingly as the days pass. As my love grows for my almost-walking babe, does His love for me.

My embraces with him have been distant. My (not as cute as Evelyn's) pudgy, dimpled elbows lock into place when He comes near because keeping Him at arms length is just easier. At arms length it can't hurt as much. At arms length I cannot hear His whispers clearly. At arms length, my perception is that if He should forget me again, then I can catch myself before I fall.

But the truth is, I was never forgotten. As much as my heart, and my enemy, wants be to believe the lie that I have been cast aside, He could not forget me. I know this is true because I could not forget my precious, independent, ever looking-for-a-distraction-while nursing, baby girl.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15
Oh this love He has for me is relentless. He is showing me, as I pursue all but Him, that He is here. Offering the nourishment and sustenance I need for life, a rich life, right in his very arms. He hasn't quit offering it, though I have pushed it away, kept it at arms length and, sometimes, refused it all together even though it was exactly what I needed at that very moment.

This Jesus of mine, He cares for me. He keeps me in his tender grasp, and even lowers me gently as I thrash to get on my own two feet. How could I ever believe He would forsake me?

My girl, she's rewriting my knowledge as a mother, expanding on it day by day. Eight kids into this gig and He's still using these tiny (and not-so-tiny) people to show me that He sees me as I see them. Full of life, hope, love, joy and rich in mercy. This love He has that I am so thankful never ceases. Just like my love for the most independent 12 month old I've ever met. He takes me, defiance and all, embraces me, welcomes me back time and time and time again until one day, the arms relax, the eyes lift and meet his and a smile creeps across my face. And joy is found when the struggling ceases.

A rare, tender, arm-not-locked moment.
Perhaps my most favorite photo of all time.

(Photo credit: Light of Mine Photography)

Abigail is one!

One year ago I sat in a hospital room, sniffing, cuddling and soaking in a brand new baby. Now, that tiny little baby, who was my first baby to be born without an induction, the seventh blessing in our growing family, is ONE.

How is that possible?

Some how that sweet little baby we've all ooohed and ahhhhhed over has grown into a curious, crawling baby that EVERYONE continually dotes over.


Isn't she lovely?

I snapped a few photos of her about a month ago. I've started a small little photography business, even though I've still got LOADS to learn. It's a nice hobby.

Anyway, our sweet baby girl has been a beautiful distraction considering our last year's events. Cuddling with her in the calm of a dark room, nursing her quietly as she falls asleep in my arms, hearing her giggle, laugh and squeal at her siblings has been soothing balm to our hearts.

And, as her little personality emerges, I'm looking forward to learning the quirks, habits and character that God has planted into our tiniest treasure.

Last night we went out to eat Mexican food for her birthday, something that's becoming an unplanned family tradition. Because what else says "Birthday" other than chips, salsa, Mexican food and mediocre cupcakes?

Our sweet girl is ALWAYS smiling.

This girl is curious. Always wondering what is going on and usually breaking out into a crawl-sprint to find out.

"What 'cha doin' there, Dad?"

At first she was so shocked that everyone was singing, to her, in unison.

Then, she decided she liked it. A lot.

Then, it was time to DIVE IN. So delicately, she tasted the icing.

Then, she was all in.

She kept looking at Luke and I as if to ask, "I'm really allowed to eat this? And make a huge mess?"

Our sweet, baby girl. Already a year old.

First birthdays bring so much bittersweetness to my heart. I'm thrilled because I know that the last year has been filled with sleepless nights, countless feedings, lots of baby wearing and diapers galore and soon, most of that will be a thing of the past. But it's also sad that we will quickly watch this young baby turn into a toddler who needs less and less of Momma and is eager to walk, explore and wean.

We made it to a full year of nursing! Something I've not been able to accomplish with any of the other children. My plan is to allow her to self-wean, though with each day she's becoming less and less interested, I'm afraid.

At one year old, Abigail is cruising on furniture, has eight teeth, can sign milk, more, eat, and all done. She loves the dog and shows no interest in wanting to walk. She says Mom, Dad and Dog and can emit the most shrill scream of delight in an older sibling who is trying to make her laugh.

She is thrilled to see Daddy come home at the end of every day and is addicted to her pacifier.

When she was about 4 months old I bought 4 little ducks on the clearance rack at Target. All of our kids have "lovies" we've bought them as we've transitioned them from our room to their own bed and bedrooms. Abigail wasn't having anything to do with any of those ducks. Instead, she adopted her old swaddle blanket as her lovey and she sleeps with it smashed over her face. She loves it and it freaks me out.

She loves to be held, likes to be in the mix with all the other kids and won't shy away from a good cuddle. She has the most delicious dimple on her right cheek and every time she smiles and it comes into view I can't keep from kissing it.

Certainly this sweet baby girl is a delight to us all. Happy first birthday Abigail Mercy. How I love you so very much!

The delicate dance

Gratitude and love. Topics that seem to go hand in hand with lines blurred as to where one ends and another begins. Because, indeed, if you have ever been loved well, the gratitude of being a recipient of such is a natural overflow.

When Bethany asked me write for this blog I immediately said yes. And then, moments later, regretted it. Don’t get me wrong. I have much to be grateful for. But currently, I’m in a season of life where grief overshadows most my gratefulness. And that’s the funny thing about love. It can often bring with it a two edged sword bearing pain and piercing joy. How the two can exist in delicate harmony is something I’m learning day by day.

.....

Click here to read the rest of this post over on my friend Bethany's blog, "Your Daily Dose of Gratitude" where I contributed this post for her 28 days of love series.

Comments here are closed here, but feel free to comment on the post linked above.

Happy 2nd Birthday Ella Joy!

To an outsider, my life today and my life from two years ago today probably don't look that much different. Two years ago today, I was snuggling, rocking, swaddling and nursing a newborn.




Two years ago today, I was mesmerized by the intoxicating smell and gentle coos of a sweet baby girl. Today it's Abigail I snuggle. Two years ago today, it was my sweet Ella Joy.

Somewhere along the way in the last two years I blinked and life went racing by. My cuddly, sweet newborn babe turned into a feisty, jabbering, independent two year old. My cubby, round cheeked baby grew into a chubby, round cheeked little girl with flowing, blond ringlets and a smile that melts my heart.




At two years old, Ella really believes she's one of the "big kids." No matter where the other kids are or what they are doing, she's smack in the middle of it, throwing her toddler weight around and enforcing her own set of rules.




She adores wearing shoes, anyone's shoes, especially boots. As soon as one of the older 3 kick off their cowboy boots, she races to get them and shove them onto her own squishy toddler foot.




She's an expert escape artist and pint sized Houdini. She's been known to escape from footed, zip up pajamas that have been put on backwards - all without unzipping the zipper. Her nap and bedtime routines consist of duct taping on her diaper so that she won't take it off and launch it out of her crib.




And speaking of her crib. Oh, that girl. We've had crib escapees before. But typically, a hard fall or a consequence from Mom or Dad usually deters future crib breaks. At 2, Aaron moved from the crib to the big boy bed and never looked back.




But Ella? Ha! Falls, consequences and the lure of a big girl bed wasn't enough to keep her in any bed, much less her crib. Finally, we gave up and bought a crib tent. So far, she's managed to stay put. So far.




She's maintained her nickname of Ella Goat because of her willingness to eat just about anything. Especially anything green. Her affinity for foods that are green are only out measured by Aaron's repulsion of the same foods. She'll eat anything and does so in large quantities. She's been wearing 24 month and 2T clothes for a while now and as I begin to pull out spring and summer clothing, it's a given that she'll move straight into 3T clothes. I'm eager to see what percentiles she's in when we go for her 2 year check up next week. Having never had a baby in more than the 50th percentile, I'm sure she'll be a rule changer in that arena as well.




This girl and I have a special bond, it's unique from the one I have with the other kids. It's not that she's my favorite or even because she's the "baby" (which, I mean, she's not. Though it's hard for me to wrap my mind around that). The bond I have with her is is just...well, special. She's a Momma's girl through and through. She squeals with excitement when Daddy comes home at the end of the day but when push comes to shove (which is does a lot around here) Mommy is the only one who can adequately soothe her cries, calm her fears and kiss her boo boos.




As I was taking these photos of her yesterday, she kept wanting to sit on my lap or stand with one arm wrapped tightly around my leg. And I couldn't help but smile, even though I really wanted her to step back so that my lens could capture her sweetness.




You know, love is a crazy thing, especially when it's directed toward your children. You find out you're expecting (whether by birth or adoption) and suddenly your heart begins to expand and you begin to love this person you've never met. Then you hold your baby for the first time and think that surely your heart will explode from all the love inside it, trying desperately to pour itself onto this person in your arms.




Then, they grow. And one day they're swinging on the swingset or running through the freshly mowed grass or just sitting and watching cartoons and you look at them and that same swell of emotion happens again. And you wonder, how on earth could I ever love someone the way I love you?

And yet somehow your love continues to grow, day by day, week by week, year by year. And if you add more children into the mix you're sure that none of them could ever capture your heart the way that this one does.

But let me say with confidence, that loving the 6th child with a reckless abandon, in only a way that mother can love, is entirely possible. In fact, I'm learning that it's possible 7 times over. Somehow, this heart of mine continues to multiply the love I have inside for each of my 7 babes. It's entirely possible to fall in love with your children over and over and over again.

And with this frazzle haired girl, who hardly ever lets me keep her hair in a cute, neat pony for longer than .375 seconds, I'm finding that falling in love with her is simply wonderful. Somedays I think I could just squeeze her til she hurts. She floods my heart with such simple, wonderful joy.

Happy 2nd Birthday my sweet Ella Joy! I love you so very much!

Mr & Mrs: An anniversary repost

I originally posted this last year on our anniversary but I thought it was good enough to post again this year. Plus, I still feel the exact same way.

And since we are officially having our Anniversary Date Night tonight, I figured this was as good time as any.

-------

It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

His own flesh

Maybe I could blame pregnancy hormones.

Or maybe I could blame being tired from being gone,  homeschooling our older 3 children or just having 6 kids ages 7 and under and being pregnant.

Or maybe I could blame it on the rain (I mean, Milli Vanilli did, right?). I mean, it DID rain a lot here lately.

But I should probably own up to the fact that my flesh just wanted to be mean.

Y'all I've been a real snot to my husband over the last week. Actually, more like a week and a half. I've been rude, stubborn, selfish, prideful, hateful, angry, selfish, easily annoyed, selfish.

Did I mention selfish?

And the thing is, he really didn't even give me a good reason to be mean and selfish.

Unless you count breathing.

Or talking.

Or just generally being in my presence.

Then, OH SWEET MERCY, then Tuesday happened.

Our oldest 3 kids went on a Thanksgiving adventure with my parents. They left bright and early Tuesday morning and I set my pregnant mind on getting our house in some kind of order. My darling, ever-patient-with-me-husband did exactly as I asked him (not so casually or nicely, mind you) and disassembled and moved an enormous bunk bed that was in the big kids' room. We'd purchased a smaller set and Amanda and I had plans to set it up on Tuesday. And we did. We set up bunkbeds, rearranged rooms, half-assembled a small dresser. You know, did LOTS.

Then Tuesday night, we got the bright idea to go do some Christmas shopping. About and hour or two into our escapades, the day hit me. Or so I thought.

Cold sweat, chills and extreme nausea and fatigue.

We headed home and for the next 12 hours my husband held back my hair and brought me cold rags as I battled the WORST stomach virus I've ver had.

He, as a result, had to take the day off Wednesday while I recovered from my all night pukefest.

Slowly on the mend, Thursday was better and somehow I managed to be a little nicer to my husband who had served me so graciously over the last 24 hours, despite my hatefulness the week before.

And then TODAY. I knew Luke was planning to work this week. I mean, he'd just taken off work for our Colorado trip and for his trip to Guinea-Bissau so taking off time at Thanksgiving was not really an option. Especially since he'd played nurse all night and day Tuesday and Wednesday.

But this morning, he got our three littlest darlings out of bed, fed and dressed them all before I stumbled into the kitchen. As I stumbled toward the coffee pot, he looked at my disheveled self and said, "You can go back to bed if you'd like."

"Huh?" I said, sure I'd not heard him right. "What time are you going to work?"

"I'm not going to work today," he said as a big smile spread across his face.

"What?" I said, in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'm going to take the babies and run some errands. Why don't you go grab lunch or something and take the day off? Just be back by 3:00 because you have somewhere you need to be."

What-tha?

At 3:00 I found out that my darling husband had scheduled me a prenatal massage. The BEST massage I've ever had, mind you. Then after my day off and afternoon of pampering, I went and did more Christmas shopping with Amanda.

Seriously.

HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG, so this wasn't suck up behavior.

Then it hit me.

He was living out Ephesians 5. Despite my nasty attitude, my selfishness, what I deserved, he was loving me as he loves his own flesh.

Why? Because of his love for the Lord.

Y'all, my man isn't perfect. Trust me. Earlier this week, I probably could have listed off about 10 of his flaws. Quickly.

But he loves me. He sacrifices for me. Even when I don't deserve it.

Even when I'm hateful and selfish and mean.

Just as Jesus Christ Himself loves the church and sacrificed his own flesh for her.

My prayer tonight is that if you've never experienced that kind of love, that you'll seek it out and find that Christ loves you much more than any human man could ever love his wife.

And you'll relish it in His extravagant love. Just as I am relishing in my husband's love for the Lord, which has been poured out on me, despite what I really deserve. Both Christ and my husband love me extravagantly. Like their own flesh.

Just as I suspected

Africa






is





BEAUTIFUL







just


(photo credit to my friend Wendi)



as I







suspected.

He could see the answer shining in her eyes

What do you call the person who's at your house more than just babysitter hours but not quite here enough to be called a Nanny? Babynanny? Nannysitter?

I call her MY SANITY and the kids call her Miss Amanda. Several months ago, Miss Amanda got engaged to Nick. It's a close call on who the kids like more, Nick or Amanda. Aaron is crazy about NiCK (emphasis on the CK) and the girls adore Miss Amanda.

Last week I got to pretend to be a photographer for an afternoon. Who were my lab rats subjects? Nick and Amanda, of course! The outcome was some hardly professional, yet super inexpensive engagement photos of them.

Y'all, I'm just so excited about their future. They both love the Lord, Nick will surely prove to be an amazing leader of his home and Amanda is incredibly humble and has the heart of a servant. I couldn't be more ecstatic about what God has in store for them. And my kids are just a teentsy (read: HUMONGOUS) bit excited about their wedding next June.

As I snapped photos of them, I couldn't stop the voices of Wynonna and Naomi Judd from flowing through my mind, hence the title of this post.*




The laughter and smiles were abundant as we strolled around downtown, trying to find interesting places to snap shots. I love this one of them throwing the leaves. And especially the one of them in the doorway. Mercy. So sweet.


It wasn't hard to ask them to lean in closer and give each other tender gazes and small kisses. It took me back to when Luke and I first were engaged and how we just enjoyed each other's company, no matter where we were or what we were doing. Blessedly, that has only continued to grow and I love my man more today than I did nearly 11 years ago, when we first met.

These next 2 are certainly in the top 3 of the whole day. The genuine laughter and the way the sun shines on Amanda's face as she looks into the eyes of her love. Priceless.


I remember being at the wedding of Luke's best friends from high school. We'd only been married 6 or so months ourselves. It was the end of the ceremony. Laughter had abounded, the bride and groom had prayed and they'd just had their first kiss as man and wife. The minister said something to the effect of, "In this ceremony you've done 3 of the most crucial things a husband and wife can do together. Laugh together, pray together and kiss often."


If such is the case, I can't see a reason in the world why Nick and Amanda would ever have reason to struggle. How I already pray that their marriage is one that will they guard with fervent prayer, laugh about each other's flaws daily and share lingering kisses.


Praise God for new love, new seasons and a home that serves Him with abandon.

*The title of this post is from The Judds' song "Young Love."