He is for me.

Pregnancy after loss is an interesting animal. Not even "just" pregnancy loss either. But loss of any sort.  Hope after trauma, after grief.  Leaves one...disoriented.  I've spent almost 4 years wrestling, sometimes clawing and barely hanging on, fighting to believe that He is good, in all things.  In all the hard, and the ugly, His goodness does not change.  My playlists are filled with songs like the one below that remind me of these things. 

"I know You're able and I know You can

Save through the fire with Your mighty hand

But even if You don't

My hope is You alone

I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt

Would all go away if You'd just say the word

But even if You don't

My hope is You alone"

Recently I was in the shower when I heard a song I have clung to in recent years and a chorus stuck out to me.  

"I will sing it 'til my broken heart believes it

I'll declare it 'til I smell the smoke of faith

And with my hands held high, I'll scream it in the darkness

'Til hope is finally louder than the ache"

It stuck out because this inevitably used to bring tears to my eyes.  It felt like, or, it actually had, been years of screaming it in the darkness, with no smoke of faith rising to my nose to speak of.  On this morning, with tears again, I realized it came.  The hope.  It is louder than the ache.  Oh the ache is still there, at times stronger than others.  All is not wiped clean and forgotten.  But I haven't screamed in the darkness in a long while now.  

It's an interesting place I find myself in now.  I've spent so many years settling in the Truth of His goodness even in the hard, that I now find myself struggling to expect and believe that He wants to give me good gifts.  That not ALL His goodness involves the loss first.  I feel like I'm bracing myself.  I'm afraid to dream that He might give me the things I desperately want. As though somehow if I don't tell Him I won't be disappointed when it goes the hard way.  (Yes, I know it's ridiculous...as though He doesn't know my every thought in the first place, before I do, and the outcome as well). 

I'm not a pessimist.  But I am not an optimist either.  I know that this life is hard.  That hard things happen.  Sometimes we see it coming, and sometimes we are blindsided. I find it hard to believe He will move in extraordinary ways, because frankly I've just seen a lot of times where He doesn't.  Oh I still believe and know full well that He CAN.  But He doesn't always choose to.  And I have to hang on to the truth that He is still good.  

So how does one cross that bridge?  How does one find the courage to hope again?  To ask Him boldly for the true deep longings of our hearts?  To surrender and hand it to Him, to be vulnerable enough to ask for what I REALLY want...it's scary.  Because He could say no.  And I will find myself again relying on the knowledge that He is good even when He says no.  

I've been listening to the song below on repeat all day. (I know.  Lots of songs.) He's pulling at my heart.  Because what I am afraid to speak is that even now, 30 weeks pregnant with the baby I NEVER dreamed He would give me, somewhere in there I still fear this dream won't be my reality.  I am afraid to ask Him for an uncomplicated delivery, perhaps even without meds, with a brain that doesn't associate this pain with trauma pain, for a healthy baby and stable blood sugars and lungs that are ready to breathe on their own.  If I tell myself this baby's first week will look like Piper's, then it will just be a pleasant surprise if it's not, right?  Yeah.  I'm not terribly convinced either.  What I desperately want is to deliver this baby in peace, with my music, and dim lights, to hold and nurse for days, to soak in the wonder of it all.  To bring babe home with me in the cute matching shirt I have to meet siblings, and to watch this little Dot meld into our world.  

"May His presence go before you

And behind you, and beside you

All around you, and within you

He is with you, He is with you

In the morning, in the evening

In your coming, and your going

In your weeping, and rejoicing

He is for you, He is for you"

He is for me.  In Dot's coming...He is for me.  He is for our little Dot.  He wants to give me good gifts.  So somehow, I'm going to ask for these things.  In my scared little mind, I will ask Him for my dreams.  And I will remind myself that He isn't up there waiting to take it all away.  Maybe it will look like my dreams, and maybe it won't.  But I'm going to ask.  I'm going to ask Him to help me hope He will.  I'm going to fill my playlists with the promises like these.  I'm going to fight to believe that "The Lord bless you, and keep you, make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you.  The Lord turn His face toward you, and give you peace." (Numbers 6:24-26) Because this is His Truth as well.  Maybe I can't figure out how the two fit together.  And I bet He's okay with that.  I guess this is where 2 Corinthians 12:9-11 comes in and His "grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness".  I am weak here.  Thankful for His sufficient grace.  

He is for me.  His favor is upon me.  And He.is.good.

Where to even begin...

It Is Well.  

I can't count the times I have stood, tears silently running down my face, lips held tight because I can't say the words.  Babies I felt He ripped from my womb.  Hospital trips and health struggles for my babies we couldn't explain, and really couldn't afford.  Family struggles that just are so painful, and so endless. Trauma. These last three years have been no different.  

Not only have you let this happen to me, but you want me to say I'm okay with it?!  This is our call?  To say it is well with us when our babies hurt, when our parents walk headlong into sin with no regard for You or the consequences for the rest of us, when our brains are full of nightmare images for years on end?  

I don't know how all these others around me stand with arms raised high in the midst of their own pains and sing this with such confidence, but I just don't have it.  Those are the real Christians, I have thought.  Those are the ones getting it right. And so I have stood in my own feelings of condemnation, for YEARS.  I don't know how to get there, but that seemed like the goal in my mind.  To trust Him enough that absolutely no matter what the pain, I could stand with arms raised high and say that this is well.  This struggle is well with my soul.  

We started singing on Friday night, and I shifted immediately to this thought process.  Here we go again.  Another room, full of more people who are okay with their struggles because they trust Him more fully than I do, and I can't bring myself to be okay with the things that have happened to me. “I’m trying okay? I’m trying so hard to trust You. I just can’t say these things are well with my soul.”  As angry tears threatened  at the corner of my eyes I heard a quiet thought whisper “I’m not asking you to. It is well...with.your.soul.” and a chain link hit the ground. Say WHAT now?! I don’t have to be okay with these circumstances? How have I misheard these lyrics for so many years? It Is Well. IT≠circumstances. IT=the resting state of my soul in His hands. And because my soul is well, the rest can fall away, if only even for a moment. It’s been days now and I can hardly believe the implications of misunderstanding this one statement. In this hurt, in the hard, my soul is well. And if that is the ONLY thing I can say is well, it is more.than.enough. More than I ever deserved.

Recently I posted about the things we Christians tend to just say when friends are facing hard things. Unhelpful things. Incomplete truths, or even just poorly timed and handled truths. One that I have heard time and time again. Sometimes directly from well meaning people, sometimes just indirectly from the general culture, memes shared, the Bible verses that make for pretty graphics surrounded by flowers and vines. So many times I have sat, torn up over what feels like my incredible lack of faith and asked “what am I trusting Him for?! Not that He will keep me safe - He doesn’t say He will! To let me hold this baby? He doesn’t say that either, and He hasn’t in the past. (Hold your brains people - I’m talking about history here...there is no mid blog announcement.) So what? Am I just trusting that one day He’s going to come and take us home? Because I can get on that train. I just need to know that that’s it.” This weekend I feel like He answered that question for me. And the answer is to trust HIM. Trust that He is who He says He is, and the promises He does clearly give us in His Word. Yes, that He will come and take us home to Him, and “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more. Neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” ~Revelation 21:4 

So we sang. And I cried. And we sang some more.

I’m gonna lift my hands till I can reach heaven
I’m gonna shout your name till the walls come falling down
I've come to worship, I've come to worship
I'm gonna sing my song like I am unashamed, I'm gonna shout for joy at the mention of your name I've come to worship, I've come to worship.

The walls began to fall.  Some dust. A pebble.  A handful of pebbles.  Then a brick or two, or maybe even ten.  I walked down by the lake, a flood of emotions and thoughts still pouring out.  All the ways I feel like He let all this hurt happen, and didn't stop it, or protect me. And I just sobbed.  And it was as though He was holding me up, telling me I was allowed to tell Him all these things.  It is okay that I don't understand.  He knows, and HE loves me still. Then the lyrics from another favorite song poured into my mind. 

Walking around these walls
I thought by now they'd fall
But You have never failed me yet
Waiting for change to come
Knowing the battle's won
For You have never failed me yet

Your promise still stands
Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness
I'm still in Your hands
This is my confidence, You've never failed me yet

I know the night won't last
Your Word will come to pass
My heart will sing Your praise again
Jesus, You're still enough
Keep me within Your love
My heart will sing Your praise again

Your promise still stands
Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness
I'm still in Your hands
This is my confidence, You've never failed me yet

I've seen You move, come move the mountains
And I believe, I'll see You do it again
You made a way, where there was no way
And I believe, I'll see You do it again

Your promise still stands
Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness
I'm still in Your hands
This is my confidence, You've never failed me yet

You guys.  I've been singing these words for years. Doing what I believe is the "right" thing to do.  Even when I wasn't sure I believed it to be true.  "You have never failed me yet"...my throat caught on these words.  And walking by a very cold lake that day, I sang out these words with peace.  He hasn't failed me.  I know the night won't last. His word will come to pass. My heart will sing His praise again.

As I sang and cried, my dear friend came down to the lake, and as she wrapped her arms around me she whispered  "He did not do this to you." and just let me cry some more.  And all I could see was this image of myself trying to manage my life doing all the right things.  Take the right supplements, make sure I use the right oils, often enough.  Eat clean, but don't be obsessive about it.  Reach out for prayer, but not too much.  DON'T BE TOO MUCH. Don't push people away by being too needy.  Be humble enough to take meds, but don't rely on meds or take too much.  Don't mess things up in counseling.  Draw the boundaries that help your mental health, but be loving and kind.    Frantic. Absolutely frantic, trying to manage all of it, because I didn't think I could trust Him (but I would never say that because goodness knows *that* isn't allowed. I KNOW that He is faithful, and good, and trustworthy, so to say I have trouble believing those things would be wrong. So in addition to the struggle to believe them, I've lived in condemnation for that exact struggle as well. 

 In these moments it just fell away.  His shoulders are strong enough to carry my struggle, His chest enough to handle my pounding fists, His hands gentle enough to wipe away my tears.

This weekend He brought me into a context where there was space for me to BE.  Space to cry, to process, to worship and wrestle, and not have to shut it down and pick up my responsibilities in 7 minutes.  He brought me beauty in nature, fresh air and icy snow and an incredible waterfall.  Memories of standing at this same waterfall, hands on my ever so small baby bump, a dream growing in my being, with flutters in my heart as I had just begun to feel the tiniest of flutters in my belly.  He brought me friends.  Oh my dear friends.  Friends at home watching my kids so I could be there.  Friends praying me through the fear of being away, the fear of sleeping in a bed not my own, the fear of flashbacks in "public" with people who don't know my story.  Friends I barely knew to call friends before we went on this weekend.  Friends who sat by my side when I had a flashback, processed for hours and hours with me as I churned over thoughts and questions and victories.  Who spoke truth to me when I couldn't find it myself.  A friend who took me in the hot tub (I do not have good memories of a hot tub.  But I really wanted to get in this weekend), who conquered something scary by my side, encouraging me all the way that I had overcoming to do, and I wasn't alone.  And He brought me laughter.  Oh my goodness I laughed.  A friend showed me the picture below, and I think I audibly gasped at the joy...and I am just so thankful.  I am still in here somewhere, even in the hard that the last years has brought.  My sweet friends thank you. Thank you for being all these things for me. For holding up my arms when I cannot. For carrying me to Him. For showing me who I am. I am oh so thankful for each and every one of you.

I will sing 'til my broken heart believes it
I'll declare it 'til I smell the smoke of faith
And with my hands held high, I'll scream it in the darkness
'Til hope is finally louder than the ache.

He hasn't ever lost me, He's never failed me yet.  He sees me. 

My heart will sing His praise again.



It.Is.Well.

Trying to do the unimaginable

"I'm sorry you have a broken wife". The words slip out in the darkness, when it's finally safe to let go and let the tears fall. "They deserve so much more.  You deserve so.much.more."

I live in between parallel worlds.  In one world I'm living my dream life, with the babies I love and the man I never could have imagined I would get to have all to myself.  In the other I'm a 17 year old girl in the darkness, raped, lied to, and sure I would never get away from the monster who holds me in his grip. I don't want to walk away from one, and no matter how desperately I want to, can't get away from the other.

There's a song from Hamilton that says it well.  Listening to it is cathartic, and it's played a lot this week.  There's so much about this world that I think differently about than I did 10 years ago. Even just 3 years ago.  So much...broken here.  So many people walking around so broken.  "If you see him in the streets, walking by himself, talking to himself, have pity. He is trying to do the unimaginable."

This is this parallel.  This life I live, heightened at times, especially after a recent memory.  My own unimaginable...and I don't want pity...but just...when I'm trying to grocery shop, or pick up my phone from a crowded mall, or lose sight of my little girl for just a second...and all of a sudden it's there in full force.  Sights, sounds, smells of a monster raping me just behind my eyes.  "There are moments that the words don't reach.  There is suffering too terrible to name."..."The moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down."

I'm trying to do the unimaginable.  And I can't always, and I try and fail often, but I'm just trying.  Some days, it feels easier to just swim down.  And I don't want people to know what happened to me, because it's probably the most embarrassing piece of information about me.  But, I also just want to scream it sometimes.  Like...I know that I messed up that class deadline, and wasn't prepared for that class, missed that email, didn't respond to that text, and couldn't cook dinner...again.  But I'm trying.  For heavens sake I am trying.

And I will keep trying.  Because that other world, the one I actually live in right now?  It needs me.  There's another song by Ed Sheeran - Supermarket Flowers.  If you haven't heard it, go listen...but get a tissue box first.  This one also plays a lot, and when you hear it it might not make sense.  But hear me out.  From just a sheer emotion, non spiritual, makes my chest hurt kinda feeling...this is what I want for them.  I want them to know without a shadow of a doubt that I absolutely freaking adore them.  That there isn't a hint of anything in mama life that I didn't want - even if parts of it are harder than I ever could've known. "I hope that I see the world as you did cause I know, a life we love is a life that's been lived." I want to be that mom.  I can't fathom the thought of point of time in life when I'm leaving my kids behind.  But, if my kids are going to hurt when I did I will be damned if it's gonna be because they wonder if I cared, or they're hurting because I couldn't see and love and mama them well.  "Oh, I'm in pieces, it's tearing me up, but I know a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved."

So I keep going.  I keep getting up in the morning.  I keep facing the triggers and the flashbacks they bring.  Sometimes I can do all the things, and days and weeks at a time are "easy".  And sometimes in an instant I trip and fall in the pit.  A guy walks around the corner of a store I didn't expect, my heart jumps and a picture flashes behind my eyes I haven't seen before.  The pit in my stomach because I know what this means.  In the darkest of days I ask friends to pray, curl in a ball while my husband makes dinner, and ask him to hold my meds for a few days until it passes. It feels easier to just swim down.  But I will LIVE. Really live.  Which means I have to fight.  I have to let Him walk me through the fire and carry me when I can't walk myself.  For them.  I will keep trying to do the unimaginable.

Just Stay With Me

“Show Me”

Audrey Assad

You could plant me like a tree beside a river

You could tangle me in soil and let my roots run wild

And I would blossom like a flower in the desert

But for now just let me cry

You could raise me like a banner in the battle

Put victory like fire behind my shining eyes

And I would drift like falling snow over the embers

But for now just let me lie

Bind up these broken bones

Mercy bend and bring me back to life

But not before you show me how to die

Set me like a star before the morning

Like a sun that steals the darkness from a world asleep

And I'll illuminate the path You've laid before me

But for now just let me be

Bind up these broken bones

Mercy bend and bring me back to life

But not before You show me how to die

No, not before You show me how to die

So let me go like a leaf upon the water

Let me brave the wild currents flowing to the sea

And I will disappear into a deeper beauty

But for now just stay with me

God, for now just stay with me

Battle. Fight. Strength. Enemy. 

These are the kind of words that I often use to describe the hard pieces of these years. And it’s true. It has been much of these things.

But these words from the song above have rushed like water over my soul. And brought words to me like Rest, Still waters, Peace, STILL. (For heavens sake it is inked on.my.arm!) 

With the move of my dear friend last week I told my kiddos “We are going to be ok, but we don’t have to be ok right now.” And so now I will tell myself these same words. I am going to  be ok. But I don’t have to be ok right now. He could bring me back to life, bind me together, bring beauty out of the ashes. And I am confident He will.  But before then, after years of fighting to keep my head above water, I want to REST. To breathe the air He brings when I am gasping for a hint of a breath. I’m so thankful for a rescuer who doesn’t lose strength at my fight. 

I am...tired. I am...afraid at times. I am...weak. 

And one day all this will “disappear into a deeper beauty”.

But for now just stay with me. God, for now just stay with me.

Through the storm

These flowers have been through a storm. First planted, they were covered in bright blooms like these. Little clusters of red and orange and yellow petals, a burst of color in each  pot.

Then came the winds. Ripped off the fragile beauty, and nearly killed them. Stems cracked, whole legs broken. The soil that held them fast in places torn from their very roots. Extra water, some new soil gently pressed around the edges. 

It’s been a few weeks now, and I am beginning to see a few buds. New baby leaves and blooms emerge from the ends, bright green, healthy and picturesque. But underneath lie the older leaves. The ones that held fast through the storm bear the scars of a fierce wind. Cracked, brown and dried. Right next to fresh buds are brown stems that held buds before, but now are cracked and dry.











 

The wind blew again last night, and stems that looked like they could hang on cracked and broke again. They are broken, the cut of these stems raw and jagged. Eventually the buds will grow in. The cracked and broken stems will be overgrown by fresh new leaves and flowers will burst forth. But the plants will always carry the evidence of the storm. Legs that were torn off, roots exposed in need of extra care, misshapen by the loss of a piece here and there. 

A story to tell, the storm they lived through. It almost killed them. It broke them in places. For a bit it wasn’t sure they would survive. And yet here and now, they bloom. 

Perhaps I too, have lived through a storm. 

Chains

It’s like He’s breaking a lifetime of chains from the life of a girl who grew up believing she had no chains. Words well intended, concepts meant for growth became invisible links in a chain of all the ”should do’s”. 

I was 5 when I got a purple scooter for Easter. Mom sent me out to the garage to find it, and excited, I rode around the block. Coming home and running inside, my mom was sad. Because I didn’t come in to say thank you first. Make sure you say thank you. LOCK. 

I was 7 when my friend’s mom looked at me with sad eyes. “Shannon’s going to be so sad. She was so excited you might stay for a whole sleepover this time.” Don’t make people sad, even if it is because you don’t want to do something. LOCK.

Again, at 9. “Please don’t cry all night and make them stay awake with you again.” And that mom...”if you cry every time friends aren’t going to want you to come for sleepovers” Don’t make other people tired by needing things. LOCK.

In middle school, I went to Acquire the Fire. They taught us about spiritual disciplines and the importance of regular devotions. Be sure you’re growing in the Lord. I remember well hearing Hebrews 5:12 “In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again. You need milk, not solid food!” You’ve known Jesus your whole life, you should know these things by now. LOCK.

At 13, I stood in my sister’s kitchen. They took Jen to the hospital again two days ago, and nobody has told me what’s wrong. I play with these babies all day. I make sure they eat. And we play. I change their diapers, and feed Grace a bottle while Josh plays and Emily naps. Someone comes to help a few days in. I change Grace again. Wash my hands, dry them on the towel lying on the counter. “You can’t do that! That’s where you just changed her diaper! You’ll make everyone sick.” Doug started throwing up that night. Josh in the middle of the night. Somebody came to take Grace the next day. Emily and I got sick two days later, in an apartment upstairs from Aunt Marcy’s.The babies can’t be home because I made them sick. Don’t mess this up again.LOCK. 

17 years old. Walking in to work at the church office. Put on the happy face. The pastors wife asks how I’m doing, and when I say I’m tired, she says “did you know you say you’re tired every time I ask how you are? You should try to find a more positive answer”. Say the positive answer. Don’t say you’re tired. LOCK.

I sat at a table with Lori next to me. Explained to my parents that I had been keeping myself from eating, and Lori thought I needed help. They said how sorry they were. We walked out, Mom was sad I didn’t feel like I could just tell her. And then she never mentioned it again. LOCK. 

Spring break. “If we truly love Jesus, it is easy to tell anyone about Him, and we should want to tell everyone we see!” If I truly loved Him, this would not be scary.

Same trip. Falling madly in love. Scolded by a leader for making the other girls feel sad and lonely because I had a boyfriend. LOCK. 

As an adult, I sobbed as my babies left this earth into His hands. People told me to “be grateful for the ones I have here. Thank goodness this wasn’t my first. Thank goodness it is easy to get pregnant for you.” And when I struggled with these thoughts I was told that “people mean well. Give them the benefit of the doubt. They don’t understand.” 

Like a tangled mess of vines, they all interconnect, sometimes contradicting one another, until taking a step is like a toddler walking through a deep thick jungle. There’s no way to step over the root of giving the positive answer without the vine that says you need to be genuine and real grasping around your ankle. Which vine does this person hold the end of? Which one will they wrap around me if I do the wrong thing?  Giant roots grown thick in years of reinforcement. Purity...the greatest of all commandments according to youth leaders nationwide. Submission. Contentment. Thankfulness. Independence. New tiny vines grow, and gain strength each time they’re tripped over. Each time I fail, the vines grow thicker. Tighter. Stronger. These are the voices I hear in my head. But I’m not supposed to. I am supposed to believe the Truth. So that wraps itself into another vine. Another root to trip over. 

I wonder if on that day...those days...I couldn’t figure out which root wouldn’t hurt as badly to trip over. I shouldn’t go there. But I’m supposed to care for people. And I’m not supposed to raise a fuss. Don’t talk about problems. 

I don’t have chains of years of rebellions for Him to break. That’s what He came for. And what He has done for me, and kept me from. What a gift. Just now...who can cut these vines? Just believe the truth, friends say. Sounds so easy. I just don’t quite think it is. 

Making room

 Mornings that start slow, coffee in bed while they sleep off last night's adventures.  Girlies that stay in bed because there are books there, and they need not even step out of bed to go on adventure.  A boy who is more young man than that little boy I held tight sleeps off the exhaustion that is growing a toddler's body into a man's.  His brother plays quietly on the floor, Legos all to himself.  Ahh, summer.

This summer, I want there to be room.  Room to say yes.  Room to see.  Room to be seen. The thing about this room, is it won't happen on its own.  It doesn't just appear.  A million things reach up to grab at my ankles, winding around like the tendrils on my clematis as it clings to anything around it.  Other plants, the trellis,  Stupid facebook videos that somehow seem important, or at the very least aren't screaming that they are one giant freaking waste of time. Inefficiency with my tasks.  Checking that instagram feed one more time.  Good things take up this room too! My brain heads in a million directions.  Healthy recipe browsing turns into..."I should make a standard lunch list, they should make their own lunches, what is the cheapest way to buy applesauce pouches?"...and on and on the rabbit trails go.  Not bad thoughts.  Sometimes not fully wasting my time.  But, not well used time. Ha!  Example - briefly just now I thought of a question I had about our vacation area and started to pick up my phone to follow that trail.  Not necessary today.  Or tomorrow.  Or honestly in the next month.  Certainly not necessary or helpful right this moment.  Had I chosen to follow that rabbit trail, I would have lost this train of thought!  I would have been pulled away from this delightful bit of time I have to quietly write and drink coffee while my people read books in their beds.  And then it would have been over.  With very little actually experienced in this time.  That "experienced" word is really important here, for me.  I don't want to measure by "production", but by "experienced".  Because you see, the best parts of my days don't measure up to much if you're looking for production.  They're best soaked in, one moment at a time.  Sometimes captured on an iG story, a video, a picture to put words to later, and more recently just soaked in through my eyes and heart.

 I want to say yes to firefly catching past dark, and a bonfire that starts when the usual task at hand is jammies and bedtime snuggles. Ice cream before dinner because it's 95 degrees? Yes.  That craft you want to do, that we don't have the supplies for?  No worries, let's go to Michaels and grab them. Yes. Curious about a bug you found?  Let's look it up, draw it, label it all. Yes.  Paint by 8am?  Yes. The thunderstorms that were predicted aren't coming, and the lake sounds wonderful?  Yes.

And.get.this!  I want to say yes, to me too.  A nap sounds better than mopping the floor and folding the laundry?  Yes.  The storyline in a book is gripping and wonderful and I want to read in the porch swing for hours?  Yes. I really want to clean out that closet/paint that shelf/start that project? Yes.
Sounds contradictory, doesn't it?  Like all things, this will require some balance.  Obviously saying yes to mama often means saying no to littles.  And saying yes to them often means saying no to myself in some ways.  So, balance.  Ha.  Story of my life, how about yours?

There are a few things I know I can say no to to help make room.  Random scrolling and refreshing and scrolling again.  Switching apps, to scroll and refresh again.  It's embarrassing how easy this is.  Trains of thought that take me from whatever I'm currently experiencing and have no useful end. This is a significantly harder one, and not nearly as clear.  Perfectionism in unnecessary things.  Ouch.  This one hurts for this mama.

Another way to make room is just to not fill it all up!  FOR ME (don't get all offended if you don't do it this way and think I'm saying you're wrong.  You're not, and I don't care how you do it!)  I am just so much better off not filling my weeks ahead of time.  Sometimes things need to be planned ahead of time. But sometimes they don't.  And that's ok.  Because I don't always know what we'll need, or what others will need around us ahead of time.

Lastly, I'm preparing!  I cleaned out the dress up bins today, so I don't have to feel angsty every time they play dress up (or don't because they're too overwhelmed by the bin to play).  I have a few small projects I want to tackle in the next two weeks before I officially declare summer, things I don't want to be constantly thinking about.

I know I already said lastly, but I'm adding one more.  I'm a woman, and if there's one thing we're good at, it's multitasking right?!  Guess what.  This is not.helping.me.  I don't want to see my kids through the light of the "other task" I'm already doing.  So another piece of this for me is to slow down enough to do one thing at a time in the moments where this is possible.  To focus on the game I'm playing with Taylor, to sit and make playdough snakes with Piper, to really see what Logan is building, and to engage in the little silly story Hudson is telling me.

I want room this year.  Room to be.  Room to love.  Room to SEE.