May 9, 2013

When Mother’s Day Hurts

flickr flower

I remember what it’s like wishing I could sleep through Mother’s Day. I remember what it felt like to know that I was a mother deep in my heart and yet I did not have the children to prove it. Bareness and dreams miscarried, a heavy heart with empty arms, I was doing my best to fake a smile. The safest place within me to carry a baby was my war-zone. Doctor’s visits and testing dates littered my calendar instead of playmates and first haircuts. I remember the ache when I saw flowers in every shade of pink and paper cards with sloppy handwriting in crayon. They were masterpieces in my mind and of more value than a five-dollar card. I longed for sloppy kisses and a baby on my hip.

Dear sister, I remember…so I whisper prayers and know that they will reach heaven for you. You are not forgotten, the love of God will cradle you during your loss.

Gone are the days where I dread this day set aside, yet my heart hurts for those with broken relationships making it hard to pick out cards because the mother/child relationship limps and is fractured. My heart hurts for those with an empty seat around the family table from death that took their precious child away from them much too soon. My heart hurts for the friend who just lost her mother and this is her first Mother’s Day without her best-friend.

Even though I celebrate and rejoice for ten years of being a mother, I cannot forget my sisters who ache deeply and would rather skip this weekend entirely. I’ve been there. God met with me there. My arms were empty but His arms were strong enough to carry me through it. My strength and faith deepened during that time where my body was so frail. I’m grateful for the heartache I have felt because I love deeper and feel like every day, even the messy ones, is a gift.

“He raise the poor out of the dust, and lifts the needy out of the ash heap, that He may seat him with the princes- with the princes of His people. He grants the barren woman a home, like the joyful mother of children. Praise The Lord.” (Ps 113: 7-9)

You are not forgotten, I remember what it’s like when Mother’s Day hurts. I’m praying for you to be lifted out of the ashes of grief as God mends your broken heart. May joy be restored to you. You are loved.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Ps 30:5)

Much love,

Jennifer

Posted by on May 9, 2013 in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , .

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May 1, 2013

Motherhood and Roadmaps

flickr.girl on pavement

I’m thinking about you today, you women who wrestle wondering if what you are doing is making a difference in the lives of the ones you love and serve. You feel like what you are doing is small, but it’s not. Beautiful thing, you are leaving roadmaps on the hearts of your children. It’s not small; it’s glorious. You who feel like everyday looks the same with never-ending piles of clothes and dishes to wash. You’re so very tired at the end of the day and yet still give into one more request for a hug and another kiss as those smart, little ones smile buying more time before they slumber.

You wrestle wondering if you’re beautiful and frown as you notice that unwelcome gray hair, but to the little one who calls you “Mommy” you are more beautiful than a thousand airbrushed twenty-something’s who have graced the covers of a magazine. You are their leading lady and the one they run to when they just need to be held. Your teenager might roll their eyes at you, but they know you are always going to be there for them, loving them despite the hormonal hurricane that has just become their new normal. They don’t need a perfect mother; they just need you. What you have to offer is exactly what they need. 

So much time is wasted on unrealistic comparisons and jumping through invisible hoops. That way of life leaves you spent and running on empty. Comparing ourselves to others causes a deficit in our souls wilting what God designed to shine and stand out. There is not one perfect mold for all women, but there is this one woman who took the time to simply “become”. She’s the Proverbs 31 woman and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t in her thirties.

Sweet thing, stop worrying that you’ll never measure up and start owning the fact that you do. God has an unending supply of grace to cover us when we fall short. He is the God that we can run to when we are the ones who need to be held. What you do is not small or insignificant. This world needs what you have to offer.

“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” (Prov 31:25)

Much love,

Jennifer

Posted by on May 1, 2013 in Uncategorized and tagged , , .

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April 2, 2013

Worry Stones

keri-1

 

We carry them like stones in our pockets. Throughout the day we hold them in our hands and rub the rough edges with our thumb. We pick them up without even thinking. Carry them with us where ever we go.
Worries. Cares. Anxieties.
Some small, some more like boulders. Whatever their size, they are familiar to us. The weight of them in our pockets, the coolness of them in our hands, the memory of them in our minds. We turn them over and over. Holding on, holding tight.
{join me over at (in)courage for the rest?}
~Keri

Posted by on April 2, 2013 in Tattered Journey.

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March 28, 2013

Chasing Boys, Losing Boys~ My Adoption Story

Flickr, Chasing Boys

Everything about loving him scared me senseless. He was a flight risk and I knew it. I asked God to reveal it to me, to show me and to guide me, and He did. Once again I felt that risky, head-over-heels love that wrecks you. The one that leaves you forever marked, memories swirl around me as I watch a little boy slurping down his chocolate milk with his mom at Starbucks. I stare at the boy three years older than the one I loved. I smile and hurt simultaneously at the same time. I never really understood the mother son relationship before. But, I do now. I only had four months to fall in love hard and walk away without my pint-size prince. I get it now.

They smell different. They love different. They destroy things and leave a trail letting you know exactly where they have been. And when the mess is gone, you miss it. I know it sounds strange, because I like things orderly and in place. But, I miss his mess. But I don’t miss the chaos that came with the strings attached, court dates, and multiple people wanting to infringe on our safe-haven. All I wanted was him. Throw out all the dreams I had and my career finally starting to go somewhere without interruptions, nothing else compares to my deep desire to mother my children. Nothing else matters.

I used to stand him on my legs, his hands in mine and sing, “One Day My Prince will Come.” At only eighteen months he said very little, but he knew the song and would smile and sway as we did our special waltz.

One day my prince will come and he did. And then he left.

We had found out about Taylor a couple weeks prior; his mom was at a crossroads so we met with her to discuss her options, adoption being one of them. His mother getting her life straight and becoming the mother he deserved was the best option but she wasn’t ready to do that. I was in shock when she called on a Sunday afternoon asking us to take him. By Tuesday we were starting the process of adoption. It was unheard of, but the family found us and felt like we were Taylor’s hope for having a different life. He was dropped on my doorstep with almost everything he owned fitting into two laundry baskets. With shaved head, only a shirt, and a diaper he was fourteen months old, beautiful, and broken.

Love fixed him and in the process it changed everything within my heart and my family. We echoed the heartbeat of Christ, fighting for the orphan and the widow. It was selfless, laying down our comforts to welcome a love with so many strings attached. We gave Taylor a voice and a safe harbor. We gave him our hearts, he became like our flesh and blood with no difference between him and the daughters I gave birth to.

My husband fell harder and faster, but I saw the writing on the walls. One of my strongest gifts is discernment and sensitivity to the Spirit’s leading. I ask and I seek and I knock. I listen, even when it’s not what I want to hear. It was only a matter of time until heartbreak would happen. But, four months changes everything and eventually I started believing he might actually end up with us forever. My first month was a hurricane and I can only compare what I felt to post partum depression.

I was never one to fall in love so easily, but sometimes love is like driving a car fast without any brakes. You brace yourself and hold your breath uncertain of the outcome. What once was invigorating and exciting hits the brick wall of change and you emerge different. The hope is that eventually the whiplash will fade to nothingness and your heart will be mended, even if it’s never the same.

Sometimes we chase boys who are worth it and sometimes we catch them and want to throw them back. And sometimes we never want to let go; we never want to stop feeling a love so tangible and real. We never want it to stop for fear of what happens when life fades back to normal.

Loving the way Jesus does is risky, but with all my heart I believe it’s worth it. Jesus walked this earth with every intention of laying down His life for us, even for the ones who rejected and mocked Him. Laying it all down and living a life of putting others first is risky, but I want to love like that. My heart is full of gratitude for a cross, an empty tomb, and a risky, unending love.

 

 

Posted by on March 28, 2013 in Uncategorized.

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