These little steps of mine

In so many areas of my life, I am eager to run full stride. To find a rhythm that allows me to syncopate what is in and around me. Maybe this is part of why I love running . . . allowing my body to let loose on the pavement, pound away at my questions or insecurities of the day, and return home sweaty but sure. I was raised with a sound work ethic and dreamers inclination, so often this finds me believing that if I just work hard enough I can achieve, attain and accomplish whatever it is I've set my mind to.

(Enter adulthood i.e. . . reality.)

While yes, this belief is in part true and has served me well, there are experiences where no amount of hard work or determination can speed the process along. This is a hard truth for dreamers like me, and is perhaps why algebra as an 8th grader or studying Chinese as a late twenty-something were identity-altering experiences. It seemed that no matter how hard I worked, formulas, equations, or verb tenses would not instantaneously appear in my mind or pour out of my mouth. These things took time, patience, and perseverance. 

Motherhood I'm finding to be no different. While I'm savoring each moment of Brooks' development, I do not savor the "working out" of my own salvation per say. I want to snap my fingers and have identity issues solved and neatly tucked away. I want to wake up and instantly know how to balance ministry and motherhood. I want to wiggle my nose "Bewitched" style and have beautifully mastered my home, meals, and relationships. (Experienced mothers everywhere snicker). 

As I've wrestled with the reality that just like Brooks my own development is in fact a process, several passages of Scripture have come to mind about how Christ calls us to move. While my heart is eager to run, so often we see the children of Scripture take small step after small step. I can't imagine the agony of thousands of tiny steps in dessert sand by the wilderness wanderers, or the hopeless shuffle of those waiting and watching for the Messiah.  

But then I think of the children of Israel at the edge of the Jordan waiting to move towards Jericho and their promised homeland. They're commanded to "come to the brink". Yikes. We see in Joshua 3 that "when the soles of the feet of the priests bearing the ark of the Lord . . . shall rest in the waters of the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan shall be cut off from flowing, and the waters coming down from above shall stand in one heap." What a first step that must of been. One small step, stepping from the brink. Waiting, expecting, hoping, praying . . . that the waters would still. Not wave a magic wand, dance around or make a fuss, just take a step. A small, wholly trusting step. 

And then I think of Peter. Rash, often foolish Peter. So eager to encounter Jesus that his small physical step had him walking on water. Sure, he sank like a rock as soon as he saw the wind, but he took a step and experienced the enabling and saving power of Jesus. 

I'm reminded that we are called to step out, never knowing if the miraculous or the mundane will ensue. But I believe that it's in the faith of these tiny, often monotonous steps, that the God of the universe meets us. We never know what these little steps of ours will result in . . . dry ground to conquer strongholds, logic-defying intimacy with our Lord, who knows? I just know that my heart is so often ready to run or leap, and just skip over all the little steps along the way. Funny, how the Kingdom of God so seldom works that way. Yes, we are often called to make bold leaps into the unknown, but how do you think the Lord brings us to that brink? Tiny step after tiny step, in which we are proving that we are faithful to follow. 

And yet, also as those who carry the very presence of God in our midst, I want to be like David who erupted in dance and worship after six measly steps. Six steps that proved God was true to his promise to bless and secure those His presence dwelt among.

I'm not sure where you are today, but I'm striving to be faithful with these little steps of mine. Faithful to follow, so that when I come to my own brink of faith, I have developed the faith to simply leap.

Mommyhood 101

Naptime, glorious naptime. Those precious few hours of the day where you choose to Tasmanian devil it around the house trying to get things done, or do something indulgent like shower, have lunch or even blog. While I'm not thankful my little man wanted to party two hours earlier than normal last night, I am thankful for good naps today. That my friends, is the stuff dreams are made of. Or at least the dreams of a new Mommy.

It's in these quiet moments that I find my heart trying to catch its breath, and my mind trying to be still just long enough to figure out what the heck is going on and what might be next. As I plod along down this golden albeit sometimes rocky road called motherhood, I'm realizing more and more just how much I stink these days at dividing my time and attention. I used to be proud of how I could multi-task, but I am convinced that skill went out the window along with a non-muffin topped waistline. Because you've see, I've learned that when these tiny people of ours arrive they fill up just about every inch of your heart and mind and then some. In my 4.5 months of knowing Brooks Michael Bentley he has filled up more of me than I even knew existed.

I maybe should have caught on that my sweetly packaged life and sense of self was in for some undoing when we reached hour 40 of labor, still with no sign of a baby. I should have maybe known that crunches would take a back seat to breast feeding when my voracious little eater latched on at minute 5 of his life. And I maybe should have caught on that how I know and understand God was forever changed the second I heard his gusty cries and almost topped them in gusto and volume with my own.

Babies have a way of doing that I'm learning. Changing, altering, taking over. My plans, my body, my time . . . all belongs to this bald, pudgy, gummy smiled little guy who has taken up residence in my home and my heart. It's hard, really hard for people like me who like to plan and always "have it together". Babies aren't so interested in that. One of the many things I've learned to love about Brooks so far is he is a passionate little fellow with opinions to be shared. (I can't imagine where he inherited that trait). When he plays, there is no stopping the constant motion of his legs. And when he's hungry, me and most of the building are made well aware.

I think the Lord knew I would need a baby like this, one that would throw down the gauntlet per say and invite me to give it up and give it over. Because when I decide to quit worrying about my inbox or calendar and just decide to spend a few hours on the floor blowing raspberries on a bulging tummy, my heart soars to the heavens in worship as we laugh together. When I chose to r-e-l-a-x about that days health, feeding or sleeping concern, I can treasure the sweetness of this miracle nestled contentedly against my skin even if it's not at a planned or even preferred time of day.

I don't want to miss this; this season, these lessons. I want to get over myself and my ideas of how things should be so that I am who my baby, and more importantly, my God needs. There is worship in surrender, and yes, it's painful. But Lord oh Lord, if my 42 hours of labor are any indication of how the pains of mommyhood are repaid . . . sweet Jesus is it worth it.

Brooks Michael, Jesus?

I'm in.

(gulp) 

The Coming Light

Each year liturgical calendars and our little family celebrate Advent, a practice in which we anticipate the coming of the Christ child. I'd be lying if I said this year I was anywhere near on the ball with our selected readings, reflective hymns or even a still heart with which to welcome the Savior. Blame it on life with a 3.5 month old, or a busy schedule, or recent days clouded by family sickness, but I know better. My heart is anywhere but journeying to worship the newborn King, and in light of recent news events both near and far the darkness seems near impenetrable. 

And yet I find this to be the exact reason we (I) desperately need Advent. We need to be reminded that in the midst of long days and unspeakable tragedy, there is a promise of coming light. As I look at the yet to be used advent wreath in my living room I am reminded that for both myself and those around me, we desperately need what these candles represent.

First, is the candle of prophecy and hope. Hope is what meets us when we're on our knees overcome by the darkness, and stirs us to get up, believing that somehow, somewhere, redemption is promised. It prompts us to simply get up, and put one foot in front of the other along the path. Next is the candle of peace, that gently guides us to grope our way on the road to Bethlehem, and somehow assures us that even though the darkness is still thick, we and the world around us will somehow be ok. Following is the candle of joy that beckons as we stumble along the way and we begin to see even the smallest sliver of light along the horizon. Just enough light that assures us that yes, the dawn of a new day surely is coming, and those promised mercies will be new yet again. The fourth candle of love motivates us to break into a full on sprint, and as the light crests over the horizon we know that in fact the long awaited hope is here, filling our hearts with love unspeakable. And finally, we are stilled in our tracks at the last symbolic candle, the Christ candle. The Savior himself. It is here that we sit astounded with the shepherds as the skies of our life are filled with rejoicing and angels clamoring "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" It is now that the darkness is obliterated, and our eyes and souls are blinded by the power of His glory and the truth of His promises fulfilled.

Wherever we sit this day, in mourning of innocence shattered, overwhelmed by the thick weight of whatever our individual darkness may be, or just with a heart downcast feigning ignorance to the Light, it still comes.

Hope will still be born. Peace will find us on the way. Joy will overcome us, and love will fill us anew.

He is here.

He has come.

Glory, glory to the newborn King.

 As anyone will tell you, having a newborn isn't the easiest phase of life. Precious and awe-inspiring? Absolutely. Restful? Not quite. We were incredibly blessed to have my parents with us for three weeks before and after Brooks' birth, but when they left it was that overwhelming feeling of it was just . . . us. Us and this very tiny, very needy baby. Thankfully we are at a point in our lives and work where Baxter is able to be home with me and the babe for part of the day so we can take turns doing those really luxurious things like eating or sleeping throughout the day. 

At one point I began to feel spoiled and even lazy in a way that I so much help from my precious husband, when Baxter pointed out that we don't exactly have family nearby to lend a hand. Seeing as how this is our first baby, I don't know what it's like to have Aunt so and so run over to keep the baby for a date night, or a mommy's play group for fellowship and stroller fitness. I have seen how easy it could be to slip down the slope of loneliness in this somewhat isolating phase of our lives, but instead, I choose to focus the faces and love we were given as seen in these pictures. And this isn't even everyone that has come to see our little guy! Sure, I've had my lonely days as moms all around the world might, but I know that the relationships represented below are a sweeter blessing than any Mommy & Me whatever could ever be.

Is our life different, and sometimes difficult? Sure, but whose isn't? Richer and fuller because of the people and experiences represented here? You better believe it.

The Greatest Change

Well, we did it. We had a baby. He is without question, the cutest, most cuddly little guy you've ever seen. And no, I'm not biased in any way whatsoever. : )

Our little man will be a month old this next week, and let's not even go into how that simultaneously blows my mind and breaks my heart. It's has without question been four of the most exhausting, intense, heart-splitting, joy-filled weeks of my life. To see this little guy grow, take in the world and yet be so helpless truly is an incredible thing. To see and know how he needs us is remarkable, and even more amazing to know that despite the dizzying "holy crap can we do this" feeling that threatens to overcome us just about daily, God has equipped us with exactly what our son needs.

So often I find myself just staring at him, overwhelmed by the similarities in his development right now and my own spirit. As I see him fight and resist the sleep he desperately needs I see
myself and my own stubborn heart that insists I know best what I need. As I see my son voraciously eat what my body provides I think of my dependence on the Lord, and how He alone can fully and abundantly meet my needs. As I feel my baby relax and sink into a deep sleep on my chest, I think about how my heavenly Father longs for me to find similar peace in His presence. And as I see that gummy smile stretch across his perfect face, I think about how my Father longs that I find joy in Him simply because of who He is, my Father.

I know that the lessons that come with our little miracle are just beginning, and I'll spend the rest of my life learning from Brooks about our Father. Heck, those lessons began with the first pangs of labor! (which by the way I will someday write about, still processing that craziness!) My prayer for now is that as I walk through these fleeting newborn days, that my heart would reflect my son in its simplicity, and that as I pace the floors, feed yet again, wash somehow another load of diapers, that my soul would find communion with my Father like never before.

A Letter to My Husband

Baxter,

Just four days ago began and ended what was hands down the hardest and sweetest 42 hours of our lives. I remember finishing dinner last Saturday evening excited, even THRILLED that contractions were finally beginning. Little did we know that after 6 hours of laboring together that night that things would stop, only to begin again the next evening and then last for another 36 hours. I'm still not done processing the whole birth experience, but I want to make sure I cement in my mind how incredible you were for every single instant of bringing our son into the world.

From early on I know you were more worried about making sure you were supportive and encouraging enough to me more than anything else. You say you're not good at those things, but I think we now have hard evidence of just how WRONG you are my love! We were confident in our doctor, our hospital, our childbirth classes, and even all the unknowns of giving birth so that we never really worried about all the things that could happen. I think you were worried about letting me down, or not being able to be what I needed. I on the other hand, knew you would be more than I need, because you always are. You have this remarkable ability to surpass all expectations in the crunch, and are so steady and unwavering it's sometimes difficult to believe.

I never want to forget how for literally every breath, contraction, trip up and down the stairs, lap around the living room, sway, check, moo, moment and pushing, you were there. I will always treasure how you literally coached my breathing in your sleep, regardless of how quietly I tried to breath so that you could sleep for just a moment, somehow you knew I was having a contraction and were awake and coaching me through it. I never want to forget how many times you told me you were proud of me, or how you thought I looked beautiful, or excited you were that our baby was coming. I never want to forget how utterly exhausted and scraggly faced you were (so out of character for you!) coming into the delivery room, and yet how you put your own exhaustion aside to encourage me as we pushed our son into the world. We both couldn't help but cry as we saw our perfect little boy, and were just in awe at all we had been through and that we had a SON.

I will never think of this is "my" labor, or how hard it was for "me". I know absolutely, unquestionably that WE labored, and it was exhausting for US. You loved me in ways I might never understand those three days Baxter, and served me so selflessly. You showed me the depth of your character and strength, and a love that I could have never even known to even pray for during those days. You were my anchor, and absolutely what pulled me through. I could not have and will never do that again with out you, and am grateful that the whole experience proved me right about how encouraging and supportive you truly are. ; )

You are my rock, my heart, and the father of our most perfect little boy. Thank you for loving me so deeply during the hardest and best moments, each of them I count as holy because we shared them together.

I love you so much,

Katie

A Letter to Our Baby

Dear Baby,

Well, it's 4:30 pm on your due date, but apparently we forgot tell you that. I have a distinct feeling that although you're not here yet parenthood has officially begun, and you are the universe's way of reminding us just how little control we have over pretty much anything. I'm trying to be ok with that, but honestly between the peeing every 10 minutes, the sore parts and my constantly constricting mid-section I'm just so stinkin' ready to meet you. Now don't get me wrong, pregnancy has been more wonderful than I thought possible. You have been so good to me, in that my morning sickness was minimal, my energy has been high, and even here at 40 weeks I still feel relatively great. Thanks for that, and for not making my face too puffy, although I suppose there's still time for that to happen.

It's hard to be mad you're not here yet, when I know deep in my heart that you were created in the image of one who knows so much better than I. I wake up every morning and just stare at the empty crib beside me, sad that you're not there to marvel at how miraculous and perfect you are. I'm just dying to see you, and still pray every day that if you're a boy you will look just like your Daddy. He is simply the best looking guy I know, and I might just die if you come out fuzzy headed and looking like a disgruntled old man like he did.

See, what you should know is that patience and not being in control has never been your mother's strong suit. I'm a planner and a perfectionist who likes things to go just the way I plan, hence my anguish that you're not here on my preferred time table. But again, I'm learning that I am not the ultimate planner of your little life, and for that, I'm also learning to be thankful. As I wait and ache to hold you, I'm learning to trust that at this point in your life you are wholly obedient to your Creator, which is an incredible thing. I'm learning that my heart and my perspective must be placed in the Master's hand, or otherwise I am a hopeless mess convinced I'll be pregnant forever. I'm learning that the best things truly are worth the wait, and you my angel, are one of those best things.

So until you decide to "crack out" (as your cousin Grace has put it), know that we are here waiting and wishing for you. You are the sweetest gift already, and we've never even held you. Thank you for reminding us that our God is greater, stronger, and higher, and that for now and always, in His hands and in His timing is simply the best place you could be.

Love,

Your Sappy Mom