SUPERSTRONG.

For as long as I could remember, I thought something was wrong with me. I've been known to binge on food. I've have a huge amount of aggression. I can lift very heavy amounts of weight...I've always been able to. I eat as much as my husband. I don't need a lot of sleep to survive. When I don't feel physically strong, I feel emotionally weak.

 Most of these things are concerns that I have been trying to change for the majority of my life. I wanted to have a "thin" body...but when I did, it didn't look right on me. I "needed" to have a bigger butt- whatever that means. I obviously have my grandfather's genes... on both sides. I'm a strong girl, and I like it. There is little that is dainty about me... unless I'm wearing a dress. I often try to hide the fact that I'm extremely loud and pretty boisterous. I throw my boys around in the air and we growl like wild animals as we crawl across the living room floor. That's what I do.

I used to equate this reality to being more of a "tomboy." Back in the day, there was no other definition. The reality is that you can be extremely strong, yet completely feminine. You can be breathtakingly beautiful and still have some big guns. (In that, I am referring to your arms.) You can be a hard worker, have dirt under your nails, feet that look like you've been climbing trees and still be so very lovely. You can be the complete opposite and still be very lovely. 

I don't know how the idea ever came to my mind that strength was bad. I freaked out one day when my husband and I measured our arms together. Mine was just about an inch smaller than his. I was terrified. In reality, I was just strong. I know if I really tried, I could probably be as physically strong as he is...but I'm sure he'd never let me get that close. He's too competitive.

We had a lovely moment the other night when I was feeling overwhelmed and wanted to run away to the library. As I approached the car, he looked at me with this huge handsome smile and dared me to jump in and join him as he was skipping rope. I almost felt like a kid again. My heart began to race and I found myself letting go and trying. It was the first time in a long time that I had actually tried something new. I'd never jumped rope with my husband like that before. As he twirled the rope, I felt my soul light up. I was connecting to him and to myself. It felt like perfection as we jumped beneath the stars... the kids staring at us from the car wondering what the heck was going on.  I realized then that I needed to stop running from me. I needed to step away from the norm, no matter how many judgments or awkward stares I get. I need to be me.

I happened to stumble across a website today that confirmed that there are so many other women just like me. Looking at the pages, I immediately felt at home in my skin. I felt joyful in my epiphany that I wasn't broken and that God had simply made me strong. Awesome.

Voicing these truths are new to me, so here it is: I am an aggressive, loud, very strong woman who is often messy, loves to paint and sing her heart out before God. I enjoy the burning sensation in my chest after an intense workout and I love to lift heavy weights off of the floor...sometimes to my detriment. I have a tendency to feel I have something to prove. I enjoy needlework, being outdoors and I don't particularly like washing the dishes. I have a tendency to avoid difficult things, drive too fast on city streets, blast my music extremely loud when I am by myself and watch ridiculously cheesy wholesome movies. I have high- sometimes perfectionist personal standards and I often have a really hard time fitting my thighs in my jeans. I love to make the souls of others shine and I can't walk by someone who is in tears without asking them if they are alright.  I have a hard time parting with sentimental papers but I love getting rid of clothes. That's me. That's who I am.

Don't be surprised if I write about joining a boxing gym to train for the next Olympics or enter into a strength competition. It's probably gonna happen this year.

I love the way God made me. I love the way He perfectly knit you together as well. Let's start seeing ourselves as we were truly made to be- Perfectly crafted in the image of a beloved God. Nothing broken. Nothing missing. Nothing to be desired. Just beautiful you.

Have a great weekend.

-Mel

It Is Well

So, it was a pretty crazy morning. I woke up to two little boys bombarding my bed with sweet "good mornings" and stepping on my head... you know, the usual. After a few tantrums I got them all situated with breakfast and ran to take my shower. Everyone was dressed and ready to go, except the baby, who was still sleeping. I awoke my little prince, who was smiling immediately as usual. What a great gift to start my day:-)

I glanced at the clock- Woo hoo! Looks like we'll be on time today! Not. It's funny how when you are trying to get somewhere on time, everything starts to fall apart. I walked to the wall hook to grab my keys. Nothing there. I scour the house. Look on counter tops, under furniture, in random bags. Everywhere, to no avail. I text my husband to see if he possibly knew where they could be. No response. Then I remembered. The last time I had them was last evening when I sat them on top of the car in the driveway while we were doing yard work. There was no way I left them on top of the car last night...right? 

I tore through the living room, out of the office and into the garage. Slapping the button to open the garage door I strained to see the top of the car. To my horror, there they were. My car keys. In plain sight. Thank God no one took them and my car last night! That would have been a disaster!

I started to calm down and got ready to load the kids in the car when I saw it. My two year old Gideon had ripped the alarm system power source out of the wall. Seriously?! How am I supposed to arm the house while I'm gone? Kneeling over to check the wires and housing for the unit, I see it was an easy fix, I grabbed my tools, shut the power off and begin to re-wire the unit. I turned the power back on to find I did it wrong. Shoot. Try again. All the while, the clock is ticking, and the kids are starting to get hungry as breakfast is leaving their tummies. 

I hear a reassuring beep to let me know the power unit is a go. Awesome. Now to load up the car. I grab my purse and wallet, as I was planning to go grocery shopping after I dropped my eldest off at school. I get them all in the car and start my drive to hear Nehemiah yell "MOM! You forgot to buckle my seat belt!" Oops. I pulled over to take care of that and glanced in my wallet to make sure I had everything for my grocery trip. Once again- No card and no ID. By this time I'm thinking "Come on! What's with this day!" 

Taking a breath, I turned on some music to hear Kristene DiMarco singing "It is well" and let the words of the song wash over me. I thought "Yes. It is well. No matter what things look like, this day is going to turn out just fine. "

I drop my eldest off at preschool an hour late, chase Gideon back to the car and head back home. By this time the baby was asleep and I didn't want to haul them all out of the car again. I rolled the windows down, pulled the car as far into the garage as I could, and hoisted our huge black lab into the front seat to guard my precious babies. I grabbed the keys and ran back into the house. 

The routine continued. Looking over and under everything. Why was I working so hard? That's when I stopped to pray. "Lord, please help me find these cards. Show me where they are." Immediately I knew where to look. I went to the office and knelt under my husbands desk.  Low and behold, there was the card that I needed the most. At this point, the other ID was insignificant. I got the dog back into the house and headed for the grocery store. 

Once I arrived,  I strapped Gideon in the cart and placed Ethan in the harness. My shoulders ached. I was on day 9 of a 10 day water fast and felt weak. I didn't remember him feeling so heavy. 

Any parent knows, taking little ones to the grocery store is no picnic, so I planned to make it a quick trip. I zipped though the aisles to get what I needed. Once finished, I prepared my price-matching list and found the shortest line with the most friendly looking check out attendant that I could find. 

Now, during this trip, Gideon had decided, as he usually does, that he doesn't want to wear shoes. He had already kicked them off once. I had put them on tighter than before, thinking they would stay on. We were next in line when I looked down to see that one of Gideon's shoes was missing. Here we go again. I back tracked through the store, looking under racks and down the aisles that we had been. My body was aching and all I wanted to do was go home. Finding nothing, I grabbed his other shoe and threw it in my purse. We'd just go without shoes today. 

I finally got back to the checkout lane, excited to get my deals and get out of there. The attendant, not as friendly as I had hoped, started ringing up my cart. She notified me as item after item no longer qualified for price-matching at this store, due to patrons exploiting the program. Product after product I told the clerk that I no longer desired to purchase them. I'm on a budget. I figured I could buy them for a better price at the commissary. (That was other other ID that I could not find. My military one.) At the end of the ordeal, there was a whining toddler and a stack of fresh produce that I would not be bringing home. I shrugged, thanked the woman behind me for her patience and headed to the car. Geeze. So much for a quick trip.

I loaded up the kids and groceries, silently hoping the goldfish crackers that I gave my son would be going into my mouth. Before closing the trunk of the car, I glanced down to see a few flashes of orange. I wondered what it could be. Low and behold the clerk had slipped the food that I asked her to take back into my bags, and then some. There were the minneolas that I returned, as well as an orange bell pepper and a juicy mango. I immediately thought "Maybe this was a mistake! I need to take these back." Then I considered the clerk- the way she was very cut and dry and corrected and rebutted me on the appropriate prices of the price-matching ads. It seemed that she caught everything...then why not this? No, this was intentional. 

So, I chalked it up to a blessing and got in the car. Even now when I write these words, I almost feel guilty. Maybe next time I'm in the store, I'll give a donation to charity. Either way, what I took from the experience was that even on a seemingly horrible day, it doesn't take much to turn it all around. The one person I thought could care less about the details of my plight gave me a little blessing. It reminded me that through it all, God sees me. I needed that. Pushing the cart back to its place, I spied Gideon's other shoe on the bottom rack. Hmm. Everything turned out just fine...and you know what? It is well with my soul. 

-Mel

A Change of Pace

Let's pretend for a second that life is a rat race...or maybe it's like being on a rowing team. Instead of the Coxswain yelling row in the megaphone, they are yelling "Strive! Strive!..." My goodness, this is how I feel at least 75% of the time. How I want so bad to dwell in the unforced rhythms of grace all day-100% of the time!

I was in the bathroom a few nights ago, trying to figure out my hair. I had this elaborate design planned in my head, but I was subtly racing the clock to have it done before my husband got home. I would begin a row of twisting my hair..."Strive! Strive!" Was all I could hear in my head...leading to epic hair failure. I undid my work. Began another row. "Strive! Strive!" ...epic fail. It looked so bad, I decided to change my hairstyle altogether. 

All the while, I'm thinking about what I'm going to wear at church the next day. Thinking about how I regret unfinished business plans. Thinking about how I still haven't cleaned the kitchen, finished the laundry, painted the boys bedroom, swept the dining room floor, or done my nails. Oh, my poor nails. I haven't given them proper attention in years, partially because of the incessant "Strive! Strive!" chant I've been coasting along to. The weight of it never really affords me the opportunity to get anything worthwhile done.

I remember once, I was spending time in prayer and I felt like God was tugging on my heart to change my pace. To stop striving all of the time. How do you stop when you've been moving at breakneck speeds for most of your life? Doing many things, but few things well? Just getting by and running on empty far too often. Bouncing from one task to another- to complete anything just to have even the slightest feeling of accomplishment. 

 Sometimes our peers can be the greatest teachers. For a while now, I have been noticing the life of my sister in law, Donna. She is a ballroom dance instructor, so she kind of glides when she walks, moves gently and deliberately- even when she endearingly punches my husband, (as his older sister) there is a certain grace to it. :-)

 One thing I love about her is that she is rarely in a rush. She allots more than enough time to get ready in the morning. She actually tastes her food when she eats. She sits at the end of the day with a glass of wine in her hand, lets herself unwind and begins discussing the happenings of her day. In contrast, most days I hop out of bed to the sound of my kids yelling for me to come and get them from the bottom of their bedroom door, maybe take a 5 minute shower and sometimes brush my teeth. I grab the boys, throw breakfast together, break up a fight over toy cars, let the crazy dogs outside, maybe even eat my eggs straight from the pan to fill my stomach before the baby wakes up and starts to cry to be nursed. You know, the life of a mom with young children. 

I was considering that maybe things don't have to be this way. I don't really have to strive and stress in the happenings of my day. Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes, I wake up early. Sit outside by the water and listen to the birds chirping with a steaming cup of tea- do a small devotional and get grounded to begin my day. Days like those are so much better overall because I start the day with intentionality. I want to begin every day this way. I need to. Not only for the sake of not losing my mind, but for the sake of hearing the voice of God.

If I'm moving so fast, I lose the beauty of the stillness that I find Him whispering to me about His great love for me and for my children. I miss Him cheering me on as a mother and wife when I feel like I'm doing a thankless job. I miss God's reminders of love written across the skies as I walk with the boys to the park in the morning. I miss what is far too valuable to ignore. I can't afford to do that anymore. 

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 says:12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 

So today, I will be intentional. I will taste my food. Even though I have many unfinished tasks to be done-many of which could easily overwhelm my heart with feelings of shame, I choose to reject striving in my dealings. I choose to believe that the goal of my life is far more than just to accomplish things. The goal is to enjoy the journey. To really know the love and heart of God. To really get to know and love myself. Out of these places will flow great beauty that will allow me to bless my world and the people in it. No more striving. Just grace.

 I challenge you to do the same. Be intentional today. Rest. Love well. Find delight in the works of your hands and throw striving out of the window. Bask in the love of Jesus. You can do it! I believe in you. 

Love,

-Mel

Does He Need Me?

Next week marks the 4 year anniversary of my eldest son's arrival at home from the NICU. In honor of that day, I wanted to share a previous post I wrote about the process.

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Sometimes I like to analyze things...maybe over analyze things. I'm sitting here scrubbing the dining room table contemplating whether or not I really need to nurse my 7 month old through the night. He acts like it's a matter of life and death... and I'm just trying to stay alive from sleep deprivation. He needs me too much...Then a stark contrast enters my mind. Does my 2 1/2 year old really need me at all? In his mind, it seems he doesn't. He would go all day in a soiled diaper, eating raisins and bananas, and is highly skilled at operating the water dispenser to fill his own Dixie cup, thank you very much. He knows what TV show he wants to watch, when we need to go to the park, or what t shirt he doesn't want to wear. The difference between he and his brother is a matter of time...time in the NICU.

I have been told the attachment issues my 7 month old is experiencing are present because he was taken away at birth to an entirely different hospital on the other side of town for ten days. It was at least 2 days before I even held him. Smelled his sweet hair...touched his skin. He was born with a keen awareness of my presence and the trauma of our separation.

Back track two and a half years to the birth of Nehemiah. Born at 24 weeks of gestation, he lived in the NICU for almost three months. The nurses were his mother... the beeping of machines lulled him to sleep. He never had the opportunity to really comprehend his need for mommy. It was about a week...maybe more when I saw him for the first time. The innocence and newness of his transition of life outside of the womb was only residue covered by layers of thick medical tape, as he was tucked safely in an incubator under bilirubin lights. It was probably a month or more before I even touched his sweet hand without gloves. To him, all that time, I could have been another nurse. But in my heart, in my being I knew better. He knew...I was mommy. I am mommy. I will always be.

Sometimes with his independence, I fear he will forget that he needs me...yes my job is to prepare him for the world and let him fly in time and it's coming fast...all to fast. Will he ever really know? For he doesn't know he was meant to be held in my arms... meant to be nursed at my breast. Lulled to sleep by my love songs.

Hmm...

Well, What I missed then is mine to give now. I have to teach him. I choose to give him all my love and more. I won't have him forever. So go ahead sweetie. Fill up your dixie cup and let the water fall on the floor, cause at the end of the day, I tuck you in bed with your big Brown blanket and Mickey mouse with the chewed up nose that you refuse to sleep without. I read you the same story over and over again. Sing you the same songs and I kiss you goodnight. I am irreplaceable and I am yours-
whether you like it or not. :-)

Yeah, these guys need me...no matter how much or little it seems. Truthfully, I'm pretty sure I need them a little more.

Does he need me?

Sometimes I like to analyze things...maybe over analyze things. I'm sitting here scrubbing the dining room table contemplating whether or not I really need to nurse my 7 month old through the night. He acts like it's a matter of life and death... and I'm just trying to stay alive from sleep deprivation. He needs me too much...Then a stark contrast enters my mind. Does my 2 1/2 year old really need me at all? In his mind, it seems he doesn't. He would go all day in a soiled diaper, eating raisins and bananas, and is highly skilled at operating the water dispenser to fill his own Dixie cup, thank you very much. He knows what tv show he wants to watch, when we need to go to the park, or what t shirt he doesn't want to wear. The difference between he and his brother is a matter of time...time in the nicu.

I have been told the attachment issues my 7 month old is experiencing are present because he was taken away at birth to an entirely different hospital on the other side of town for ten days. It was at least 2 days before I even held him. Smelled his sweet hair...touched his skin. He was born with a keen awareness of my presence and the trauma of our separation.

Back track two and a half years to the birth of Nehemiah. Born at 24 weeks of gestation, he lived in the nicu for almost three months. The nurses were his mother... the beeping of machines lulled him to sleep. He never had the opportunity to really comprehend his need for mommy. It was about a week...maybe more when I saw him for the first time. The innocence and newness of his transition of life outside of the womb was only residue covered by layers of thick medical tape, as he was tucked safely in an incubator under bilirubin lights. It was probably a month or more before I even touched his sweet hand without gloves. To him, all that time, I could have been another nurse. But in my heart, in my being I knew better. He knew...I was mommy. I am mommy. I will always be.

Sometimes with his independence, I fear he will forget that he needs me...yes my job is to prepare him for the world and let him fly in time and it's coming fast...all to fast. Will he ever really know? For he doesn't know he was meant to be held in my arms... meant to be nursed at my breast. Lulled to sleep by my love songs.

Hmm...

Well, What I missed then is mine to give now. I have to teach him. I choose to give him all my love and more. I won't have him forever. So go ahead sweetie. Fill up your dixie cup and let the water fall on the floor, cause at the end of the day, I tuck you in bed with your big Brown blanket and Mickey mouse with the chewed up nose that you refuse to sleep without. I read you the same story over and over again. Sing you the same songs and I kiss you goodnight. I am irreplaceable and I am yours-
whether you like it or not. :-)

Yeah, these guys need me...no matter how much or little it seems. Truthfully, I'm pretty sure I need them a little more.

Motherhood

My job isn't easy, for it requires all of me. I work overtime everyday, yet my job is never done. My role and purpose has opened my eyes to some horrible flaws in my character, yet everyday I am in awe at a new capacity to love. It breathes and expands everyday. When I want to throw a tantrum as a backlash to the attitudes and behaviors of my little ones, and give them time outs, and throw away all of their toys, I am so easily reminded of the nature of Christ. We throw tantrums, reject His good gifts, bruise him with our words and behaviors, yet instead of returning the good gifts he has so thoughtfully chosen to lavish upon us, he just saves them for a later time. A time when our eyes will be open to see that He is good. His wrath relents, for His love surpasses it. Beautiful Lord. I want to learn to parent like this.