Love, Faith, Trials, Blessings

Yesterday Clint and I watched part of the video of our honeymoon. Although it was only a little over seven years ago, I couldn’t help but think we looked so young.

Amidst footage of us traipsing through island gift shops and aimlessly walking through the corridors of the cruise ship, there are actually a couple of nice candid moments. At one point I turn the camera on Clint and ask what he would like to say to our future children.

“I’m glad you’re not here,” he says.

What can I say? The guy has a sense of humor.

I ask him why, and he says he would most likely be spending a lot of time disciplining.

“Except for that one girl,” he says. “She’s probably pretty good. But the oldest boy…he’s like me. He’s a pain in the butt.”

It was such a great moment to reflect on because Hannah really is a sweet, well-mannered little girl (most of the time – she is a toddler after all), but since Daddy was right so far about her, his other prediction has me a little freaked out.

I know nothing about little boys.  Growing up, I was surrounded by sisters, so I felt pretty prepared when I found out our first was going to be a girl. Of course, it turned out that I was not at all prepared for the trials of a newborn, but that’s a story for another day. Luckily, I have no doubt that I will figure out how to raise a boy as I go because, well, that’s just how it works.

This pregnancy has felt so much different from the last in a lot of ways, and not just in a physical way, though the fatigue has pretty much kicked my butt this time around. I can’t decide if I feel more prepared now, or if I’m actually more scared because I know what to expect…round-the-clock breastfeeding, pacing the floor until the wee hours of the morning…basically, I’m terrified of the sleep deprivation. But at least this time I also know from experience the joy that lies ahead.

Whenever I start to feel a little apprehensive about what it’s going to be like to add another little one to the mix, I remind myself that there was once a time when I wasn’t sure if I would ever even get to experience being a mother. It took nearly two years of some dark, emotional days and a devastating miscarriage before Hannah came into our lives. I think back to that time and the fragment of a person that I became, and though I’m so relieved and thankful for the way things turned out, I sometimes feel a little guilty. I didn’t have to struggle through it for as long as some people do. My heart aches for everyone who is experiencing infertility or loss because it hurts on a level that, I think, others can’t truly understand unless they’ve been through it themselves. It feels so unfair to watch everyone around you get pregnant and wonder why it’s not so easy for you, why you don’t deserve to have your longing fulfilled too.

I know that God is big enough to give us peace and comfort even when we are filled with despair, and that’s my prayer for those who are going through such tough trials. His love is greater than any we have ever known, and that’s a reminder that often escapes all of us, especially when life starts to look nothing but cruel. I know there are times when it was sure hard for me to remember.

I look at those two kids on that video, so young and in love and unaware of the hardships that are in store for them, and I’m thankful that they started out with faith.

It has been an amazing journey, and there is so much more life to be lived. I can only hope that as new trials approach, I can learn how to face them with more strength and faith than I have in the past.

And I hope this baby boy is easier than his daddy expects, but no matter what, he is a blessing and a gift that I will always treasure.

Daydreams and Thought Streams

I was such a dreamer as a kid. I would get so lost in my own mind that I would unknowingly make ridiculous or bizarre facial expressions and would not realize it until after someone else had already noticed. I would eventually look up to find the spectator watching me intently, with a look of either extreme confusion or dread/repulsion – I was never quite sure which. (Granted, this usually happened as I was staring out the window of the school bus, a place where kids tended to look at each other with repulsion.) I can’t really blame them because I must have been quite a sight. Why is that weird girl over there gritting her teeth and flaring her nostrils at nothing? But those experiences forced me to attempt to reign in my thoughts and emotions and make a concerted effort to keep them hidden.

Has that stuck with me? I think so, to an extent. I think we all have hesitancies about revealing our true thoughts and feelings, out of fear that others will find us odd. But the funny thing is that as a result of turning myself into a closed book, I often wonder if I’m generally misunderstood. I’d like to say that I don’t care what other people think of me, but I really do. It bothers me if I feel like someone has the wrong idea about me. After all, I don’t know who wouldn’t want to be friends with the co-creator of this awesomeness:

*warning – shamelessly unnecessary cute kid photo ahead*

I think about the way that my daughter makes me feel, and I hope that I am that for someone. I hope I am capable of giving affection the way she does, of bringing joy and laughter to someone, of just being a soul that other souls want to be around.

I know I can’t be that for everybody. In sixth grade we took some sort of social studies quiz about relationships and interacting with others. It was just a quiz for fun, but back in the day I took all quizzes pretty seriously, and being the typical idealist I was, I marked “True” next to the statement “It is possible for everyone to like me.” It took me a long time to figure out why I got that question wrong.

Thankfully, there are many times when I look at Hannah and think, I must be doing something right. It brought tears to my eyes the first time I saw her wrap her doll in a blanket, give her a kiss, and say, “Night-night, baby.” A few days ago I asked her, “Hannah, are you Mommy’s best friend?” I don’t think she has any idea what that means, but she replied, “Yes, Mama. I wuvoo,” and gave me a hug. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Ten Years Ago

It has been ten years since the 9/11 attacks. TEN. YEARS. I can barely wrap my mind around that number. It has been ten years since I graduated from high school. Ten years since I started college. My daughter is nearly 1/5 of her way to age ten. This is not supposed to be a short time span. And yet when you remember something so vividly in your mind – like your false sense of security crashing to the ground and your awareness of evil in the world heightening – well, I suppose it will always seem like just a blink of an eye ago for you.

For me 9/11 occurred during the time in my life when I was standing on the precipice of adulthood, trying to figure out how I was going to bridge the gap before me without crashing into the abyss below. There I stood, a contemplative teenager who up until this point had all of these plans and dreams about how my life was going to go, and then suddenly I was forced to accept what I already knew but just didn’t want to acknowledge – my earthly time was fleeting.

Surely we all recognize the impermanence of life, but how often do we really think about it? 9/11 was a forced reminder. Life is full of loss and pain, sorrow and uncertainty…grief, suffering, heartbreak. But with all of that comes some pretty amazing things as well – compassion, healing, LOVE. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

It breaks my heart to hear all the personal accounts from those who were there to witness it firsthand. I know we all feel like we were right there with them when we think back to that day, our eyes glued to the TV as we struggled to fight back tears. But even though there are moments in life that look so horrific, what gives us hope are the moments that look like this:

I’m so thankful that this is what my life looks like ten years later and that freedom and security still exist so we can feel this way. I’m thankful for the heroes who make it possible, and I’m thankful that no matter what the world holds, our Creator holds the world in His hands.

Persistence

Although Hannah speaks quite clearly for her age, there are some pronunciations that she hasn't quite mastered yet, so she uses her own special versions of those words.

For example, 'chocolate' is known as ‘colly’ in our household, and ‘moy’ means ‘more’. Moy is a word that we hear quite often. Sometimes the kid just doesn’t know when to quit.

And I’ve got to hand it to her – there is no better lesson in persistence than a toddler with an agenda. If I’m not paying attention when she comes to me and asks for ‘moy milk’ or ‘moy colly’, she reaches her little hand up to my face and tilts my chin down so my eyes meet hers. “Mama, moy juice,” she insists, her eyes ablaze with an intense, earnest expression that indicates the sheer importance of her request. Her determination often makes me laugh, but it also makes me think about why some of us lose that sense of perseverance as we get older.

Granted, some people probably never lose it, but I know that so many of us get complacent in life. Being content is certainly something to strive for, but there’s a difference between contentment and lethargy.

Sometimes I get frustrated with my own laziness when I consider all the things I could or should be doing. But maybe it just seems impossible to accomplish everything I want when I’ve forgotten what true persistence looks like. And there are so many things that I want to learn…and do…and be.

Maybe it just gets to be overwhelming when we pile so many things onto our wish list and then realize that life goes by in a flash. Or is it because our efforts seem to get thwarted so many times along the way?

I imagine God must find us rather amusing, as there are so many times when we truly, deeply yearn for something but can’t quite articulate it. That shouldn’t stop us – it doesn’t stop the kiddos. Perhaps it’s simply easier for a child to strive for what she wants, without cluttering her mind with expectations and apprehensions. She goes for it and puts her whole mind, body, and soul into getting what she wants, not letting any barriers or miscommunication get in the way…because when the barriers come down and the goal is finally achieved, the payoff can be pretty great:

“Mama, here. Towel!”

“I don’t need a towel, Hannah. I’m dry.”

“No, mama. Towel! Here!”

“No, thank you.”

“Towel!”

“Baby, I really don’t need a towel…”

“Mama, towel! Towel!”

“Um…okay.” I give in and bewilderedly take the towel. “Thank you?”

“Mama…swimming.”