The boys wrestling with their daddy on the rug.

The “hold my hand, Mommy” as we go down stairs every morning.

The way my oldest whispers to his baby brother as they fall asleep at night.

The “Mamamamama” jabber as the baby reaches for my face.

The laughter at the dinner table.

I know I will miss these things when they are grown because I feel the swelling these moments make in my heart. When these moments are gone, I will feel the space they will have left.

But the $4 of spilled blackberries.

The whining and pulling at my pants.

The learning (and learning, and learning, and learning…) to share.

The semi-comedic circus to get everyone out the door.

The constant questions. (O, sweet mercy! The questions!)

I want to miss these moments, too. I want to treasure them for what they are – fleeting. But with my current perspective, these moments aren’t expanding my heart. They are annoyances to me. Isn’t that the strangest thing? How does it happen that my children learning and needing me has become, in my eyes, a burden?

O, let it not be so.

I want God-eyes to see the preciousness in my near-three-year-old’s efforts to put away the berries himself. The connection OBrother and I have formed that makes him so long to be close to me. The foundation for the future of my boys’ friendship which we are laying now, on the floor of the playroom as they learn to share. The excitement that awaits us on the other side of that front door. The curiosity and learning spirit of  OBoy.

I want to see those beautiful sides of these imperfect moments. I want my heart to expand at the blessings, not shrink and harden at the burden. I want these moments to grow and stretch me so that when they’re over – even the messy ones – my heart feels their absence and remembers them with fondness.

May I see the God-breathed beauty in every moment and may I miss them when they’re gone.

He wants me to love him more than anything else on earth (even girl scout cookies).

He wants my attention.

He wants me to love what he has given me (even my generous hind parts).

He wants me to care for what he has given me.

He wants me to trust Him.

He wants me to know the freedom that is in Christ.

(even freedom from food-guilt)

(even freedom from what the scale says)

(even freedom from low self-esteem)

He wants me to know that He made me for more.

(even more than feeling like a prisoner in my own body)

(even more than trying to be skinny)

My weight loss journey is not about being skinny. It is not about how I look. It is not about a number on a scale or on my clothing tag or on the weights I lift or even on a BMI calculator.

It is about who I am.

It is about being disciplined. It is about the search for true satisfaction (and realizing that it’s not at the bottom of the brownie pan). It is about learning what’s a need and what’s a want. It is about leaning into these heart struggles, these soul struggles and getting to the root of them.

If I get to my goal weight and am still carrying around the same extra spiritual baggage, then I’m doing it wrong. Because let’s face it: if I’m not filled with the joy God has given me now, today, I will not be filled with that joy just because my pants are two sizes smaller.

God doesn’t want me to be skinny. He wants me to be His.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

My Journey to Health:

April 6, 2012: 161lbs

March 31, 2012: 163lbs

February 29, 2012: 166lbs

January 30, 2012: 174lbs

December 30, 2011, 187 lbs

26 lbs lost!

Friends, I pulled up so much old flooring this weekend that I can hardly see straight. There was the faux wood that the most recent owners had put down (which, hi. Why would you put down fake wood next to real, beautiful original wood? You’re not going to fool anyone.), below that was a layer of vinyl tiles of the black and white checkerboard variety, then came a semi-ancient linoleum floor, followed by the original linoleum floor (which was so fancy and new-fangled for our house’s era, 77 years ago). Each remodel had simply stacked upon the last, no one bothering to wipe the slate clear and start fresh.

Because the layers were so deep, we cut rows with the skill saw then with much effort and several crow bars, we ripped it off, all the way down to the sub-flooring. Then, when the pile of discarded floors got too large, we stopped and hauled it to the dumpster.

This peeling back, this undoing time, starting fresh concept is not lost on me.

Through our recent financial faithfulness adventure, this weight loss journey, and what was that other change? O yes, becoming a mother, I feel like the calloused, sinful layers I had built up around myself are being peeled back layer after selfish, prideful, impatient layer.

(And I thought that old linoleum was ugly.)

My health and weight loss efforts have brought to light my ‘need’ for comfort through food, my belief that I deserve to eat whatever I want (see also: overwhelmed mom), and my lack of concern for the body God has given me. Our crack-down budget and new-found fiscal responsibility (Total Money Makeover fist bump) has made it apparent, O so apparent that I have very little self control over my consumerist tendencies. And now that I feel that my postpartum anxiety and depression have been consistently in check for a while (glory to God!) I am needing to be honest about my character and behavior toward my children.

It’s like God can’t leave me alone, y’all. He just keeps after me, keeps trying to remodel my heart, and it’s hard. It has been especially hard lately, with so many vices and sinful tendencies coming to the surface at.the.same.time. I have honestly prayed and asked if I could keep one or two for now. You know, just put some new flooring over the anger issues and we can address those during some other remodel?

No? Can I keep the laziness, then?

Humph.

Obviously just peeling back and seeing what’s under there is not the same as the actual work of removing the layer. Be it flooring or sin, it takes a lot more back breaking effort and a longer timeline than simply the first identifying glance. So here I am, being peeled back where scabs had grown and where I had gotten comfortable without even noticing it.

I know this work is long and hard, but I also know that the result is beautiful.

most unexpectedly

Motherhood is a series of lost and found blessings.

The blessing of carrying a sweet baby around in your tummy is lost, the blessing of birth is given.

The blessing of a fresh, snugly, warm newborn is lost, the blessing of an alert, smiling peanut is given.

The blessing of a chubby cheeked  toddler is lost, the blessing of a talkative, imaginative pre-schooler is given.

At each stage I find myself mourning what was – what I’ve lost, who my boys were at such and such age – but each time I am blown away by the unexpectedly beautiful next stage.

The assurance that what comes next will also be a blessing allows me to enjoy today without fear. Knowing this, that each blessed stage ends, makes me want to dwell that much more in the moment, drinking in who my boys are that day because surely they will be different tomorrow.  But tomorrow will be a blessing as well. I don’t have to cling to today as though the end of this stage will mean the end of the blessing and the beautiful, because another will be most unexpectedly given in its place.

Even when I can’t fathom what could replace the sweetness of a standing, cruising, smiling OBrother or a creative, enthusiastic OBoy, I can know and trust that it will come, and that it, too, will be a blessing.

The more times I experience this cycle – loss and then unexpected blessing – the less unexpected it becomes.

Praise God, I can trust in the unexpected blessings of tomorrow.

This week I will be flying to Nashville for 5 days of BlissDom, an awesome social media conference… with my 9 month old baby boy.

When I bought my ticket and flights, I felt brave and empowered. Look at me, blogging world, I’m so dedicated to breastfeeding, babywearing, and attachment parenting that I bring my babies with me around the country. Huzzah!

But lately I am nothing short of frightened at the thought of traveling and being alone with my (unpredictable) kiddo at an event that I would, you know, actually like to be able to attend. Will he nap? Will he be quiet so I can hear the sessions I’m paying to attend? Will he let me sit and eat? Will he be bored? Will he sleep at night? Will he keep my roommate and her baby up? Will I get frustrated and steaming mad and want to just be home instead of in some strange hotel in another state?

Will I even enjoy myself?

The anxiety about this hasn’t come overnight. What started out as optimism and excitement – that I wouldn’t have to miss another BlissDom conference, that my roommate (the sweet Kim of Prairie Mama) and her baby would be in it with me, that so many awesome friends are going to be there – has degraded into fear.

I would have a long day with OBrother, he would get irritated that he didn’t get to nap in his crib, and I would start wondering how it would go in Nashville. He started getting teeth and learned to stand (see these circles under my eyes? I haven’t slept well in weeks) and in the wee hours of the morning I think about Nashville. Then it got to the point where every poor nap and every fussy afternoon became another reason why BlissDom was going to be stressful, which meant that fussiness from my baby then became fussiness from my baby and a going-to-be-ruined conference.

You guys. Anxiety is the devil’s playground.

I’ve been researching, preparing, packing, and losing so much precious sleep. Do you want to know what I stayed up thinking about last night? Well, do you?

What tote/purse/diaper bag/backpack should I bring? Because, I mean, I won’t be able to wear my diaper bag as a backpack because I will mostly be wearing OBrother in the ergo which is a pack, and I don’t like the shoulder straps on my diaper bag so that’s kind of out. I could bring my purse but that isn’t going to be big enough for a change of baby clothes plus diapering stuff plus MY stuff. My tote bag is big but it isn’t very structured, so when I set it on the ground it tips over and spills…

I think myself in these anxious little circles, like my dog before she commits to laying down in a certain spot. Around and around and around…

Diaper bag? Purse? Tote?

Ballet flats? Wedges? Riding boots?

Ring sling? Ergo? Stroller?

Laptop? Tablet? Paper and pen?

At 12:20am last night, after a sweat-inducing hour and a half of uselessly rolling potential situations around in my head, I had had enough. It suddenly occurred to me to let it go. Let each of these individual scenarios go as they come to mind. Now, letting go is easier said than done (thought?), so I made a mental exercise out of it. Each time an anxious thought  arrived in the forefront of my mind – which camera lens should I bring? – I literally pictured myself taking that object or situation and laying it down at God’s feet. I lay it there, and, here’s the important part, I pictured myself removing my hands from the object now sitting on the ground before my Heavenly Father.

O, sweet relief!

Can I be honest with you? A lot of my postpartum mental health issues were (are) anxiety centered. I have sat on a couch or three talking about this very thing as it related to my babies and my ability to parent. Anxiety and I are oft companions. But this? This mind’s-eye setting down of my worries and watching myself loose my grasp and leave them there, earth-bound at the Creator’s feet?

It has been a breakthrough for me.

{image source}

And you know what? I really was ok with that. Sure, the idea of my husband taking a box of Revlon to my tresses makes me more than a little nervous, but I acknowledge that getting my hair highlighted is completely a vanity thing for me. I am happy to swallow my vanity if it means living debt-free. Bring on the box kit.

My sweet friend Cindy knew very little of this when she handed me an envelope as we were sitting in Caribou Coffee.

“I won it at a raffle, but I don’t color my hair, so I thought of you.”

The outside of the envelope read “Complementary Cut and Color, a $135 value”

I started crying immediately.

Because, no, I don’t need my hair highlighted, and no, I would be by no means ‘suffering’ to go without a professional dye job. But, I recognized this as the extravagant love of my Heavenly Father, and the kind thoughtfulness of a friend.

(a friend that I totally started crying in front of in a coffee shop and I think maybe she got a little misty eyed, too.)

I am leery of the message that if you are wise, faithful, and generous with your finances that God will bless you with financial security or earthly possessions. We are not promised security or comfort. I think what really happens is that because you are living intentionally (being wise, faithful, and generous) you notice God’s blessings - whatever form they may take.

Tuesday night, my blessing took the form of some hair dye, aluminum foil, and a fun conversation with a sweet expectant mama who did an impossibly good job with my color and cut.

{sorry for the blur, but look! pretty hair!}

If you live in the Twin Cities, Meranda at Studio Bodair in Lakeville did a fantastic job on my hair. I highly recommend her!

:: :: :: Let’s chat.:: :: ::

How have you experienced – or given! – extravagant love?

Both hands free, no little feet traipsing behind me, no little heads to check are clear of it’s swing – I open the door.

They’re home, all of them, and I’m here and good grief this is liberating. I eye the cake display. I debate between the lemon blueberry cheese cake and a red velvet cupcake. Or maybe I don’t need either. I am getting a coffee, after all, and dinner is not that long past. But there’s only one piece of cheesecake left and about 4 people in front of me.

I tell myself “If it’s still there when you ring up, indulge.”

From the side entrance, she comes around the back of the cafe. This friend of mine, available at a moment’s (ok, 15 minutes’) notice for a one on one date on a Sunday at 7pm, we have a funny story.

Once college classmates, yet I could not have picked her from many the other 600 people with whom we graduated. Funny to think we once sat on a too-small stage for an entire commencement ceremony some 800 miles from here and didn’t know each other at the time.

We hug.

Then we hum, haw, what drink to order to go with my… I see the empty spot where the cheesecake once was. O well. Medium latte it is, but with only one shot, lest I don’t sleep tonight. She has cocoa, smart choice. I buy.

The barista brings out our drinks and we laugh giddily together; both glasses towered impossibly high with whipped cream.

Corner booth, straight down the wall from the corner booth we sat the first time we met. We slide in.

Then, I had my first baby with me, 4 months old. Walking up she looked familiar, but as we got to talking, it was unlikely that we had ever crossed paths at our alma mater. We probably wouldn’t have crossed paths here in Minnesota either had it not been for the internet.

We’re not allowed to talk kids this time, though and I stated that from the beginning (for my own sake). This is my time. They are home and I am here and I can breathe. I attempt a sip of my latte and get a face full of whipped cream instead. We discuss cars. There’s always something with cars, isn’t there? We discuss houses and real estate  markets and interest rates. We discuss the goings ons of mutual friends. We laugh about… well, I can’t tell you. Slowly, in creeps the topic of theology.

Her email was sweet and appreciated. She said that she lives in the Twin Cities and, ‘I love reading your blog! My husband and I went to Wheaton, too. What year did you graduate?’ I replied, shared our majors, dropped some possible mutual friend names. Then on a whim I asked if she’d ever want to meet up for lunch with a cute baby boy and maybe his mama.

A youth pastor and a fellow alum, I thought her a good person to bounce thoughts off of about a recent sermon at our church. It got under my skin in that way that sermons can when something doesn’t align with your own doctrine, your own understandings and grasping at the mystery of it all.

I make headway on my whipped cream.

She didn’t think I was crazy for asking if we could meet (after she confirmed that she was not, in fact, an axe murderer, of course). Lunch it was, I picked the cafe, she picked the corner booth. We talked life after college, husbands, Minnesota weather, blogging, and I nursed my baby. An immediate friendship was born.

We talk out hypotheticals.

“If God regretted it, then did He have foreknowledge of it? And if He had the foreknowledge of it but knew that He would ultimately work it together good, would He regret it?…”

“And if His big-picture-Will for our lives is to bring Him glory, highest glory, how detailed does His will get? Was there someone else I could have married within His will? Does He care if I live here instead there? Should I wear a blue shirt today?”

Two years later, I still have a 4 month old, but tonight he waits for me at home. My once 4 month old nursling is now a brave, strong 2 year old. Iron sharpens iron as our thoughts roll over and under and through the ways that are not our ways. I love these conversations. Finite minds pondering the infinite.

Same cafe, new booth. Same friends, new depth of friendship. Same God, new understanding.

Funny how God works, isn’t it?

I watch their days mostly from above them.

I lean over his crib and tuck the blanket up around his frogged legs, from above he takes up a humorously small area of his mattress.

I walk into the play room where he is crouched over a recycling truck making sound effects, loading and unloading the bins.

Over the changing table I negotiate with him. ‘The less you kick and cry the faster this will be.’ He looks up at me without a clue what I have just said but he calms, if only a little.

Standing in the bathroom while he’s squatted low on his potty, I cheer him on, talk him through it.

He’s fussy and anxious and tense so I put him to the breast. I look down at his face resting against me and I stroke his hair with my fingers. One of the best views in the entire world.

On the ground in a flash after being told ‘no’, he’s flailing and screaming and O my heavens what do I do with this kind of explosion? I step over him and leave the room.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

I think of God, watching my day from above {and from within, and next to}.

The dinner I stir and chop and serve.

The laundry I bend and load and unload and fold.

The diaper I change, the blanket I tuck, the baby I nurse.

None of them unnoticed.

Sometimes I feel like all of life hinges on a pendulum that swings between good and bad. There are times when things all crash down at once, the world and it’s troubles open up and swallow you whole.

My senior year of high school. My parents’ divorce. An unexpected breakup with my boyfriend. Hurtful, cruel comments from a teacher. Severe migraines. Collapsing during school and taking an ambulance to the hospital. Swallowed by the bad.

I remember a few times in life I have been so surrounded by tangible blessings that I have feared heaven couldn’t be better than this. As a newly engaged woman, I honestly worried that Jesus would come back and I’d have to go to heaven instead of enjoying God’s earthly blessings (apparently I really liked wedding planning?). I worry about that now, too. My heart is supposed to long for heaven. Scripture tells me my citizenship is of another country, that this is not my home.

But our citizenship is in heaven. – Philippians 3:20

And maybe it’s not. But I kind of really like this house.

My mid-twenties. A husband who loves me and whom I love more everyday. Two beautiful, healthy, growing sons. Two! An impossibly supportive extended family. Health of loved ones. The financial ability to stay home. Friends on similar life paths. A passion for a craft. A warm and beautiful house.

When I look around, I start to worry. Is this the apex of the good? Is the pendulum about to swing the other way? This can’t keep up for too long. Isn’t that just so me? To be surrounded by extravagance and yet to be consumed at times by fear? Ridiculous.

So what is it I fear, then, that’s worth this bitter taste despite a mouth full of sweetness? This bad pendulum swing, what does it do? Now 8 years later I can see what my senior year did for me.

I realized first hand the importance of a Christ-centered marriage and family. I left for college without an attachment at home and met my husband to-be within hours of walking on campus. I felt the impact teachers have and wanted to use it for good – I went into education. I had to trust that God would provide me the strength and health I need to complete what he has in store for me.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him. -Romans 8:28

What is this bad pendulum swing, then? If God works it al for good, which He does, which He has, which He is doing, then is it bad?

Well, yes. There were things that happened to me that were not God’s will. They were the result of my own sin, of the sin of others, and they were fallenness. They were unjust. But they were also good.

Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” – Job 2:10

Ouch. I do. In the moment, the hour, the day, I resent the trouble of life. These days it looks like tantrums, exhaustion, stubbed toes and unreliable cars, but other days it has looked like my family being ripped in half after 17 years into my life. I kick and I scream and I don’t accept it. Yet it works out for good.

The pendulum swinging. It works out for good. Both sides are good. It swings from the apex of good to the apex of good. Blessings. All of it.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. – Psalm 46:2