Semana Santa- Good Friday

Last night, a woman I met on base (okay, the ONLY person I’ve met on base so far) invited me to get up bright and early with her to walk out into town and see the early morning Holy Week Procession.

In Spain, the week of Easter is a very serious affair. Every day, and multiple times a day, there are elaborate processions depicting the journey, crucifixion, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. “Brotherhoods” of people, dressed in traditional robes, carry centuries old floats and candles through the streets of their church’s town. The procession we saw this morning included floats for Our Father Jesus of Nazareth, Holy Mary of The Grief, and Saint John The Evangelist. This started at 2 in the morning and won’t be completed until noon! That’s dedication! When you consider that this is only the first of three processions today, and this has been going on for nearly a week, it shows how serious this event is here. The floats were preceded by a band playing music that was both haunting and beautiful. I had tears in my eyes more than once. Jesus came first, then John, followed finally by a weeping Mary, walking behind her son.

Each float weighs hundreds of pounds and is carried on the backs of people participating. Behind them, there were small groups of people who had water and towels available

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You could see children running up to anyone with a candle to collect the wax dripping from the tip, they all had big balls of it. It reminded me of when the kids from my old neighborhood would compare their loot-filled-bags from Halloween the next day. Everyone wants the biggest one! You could see people poking out of their windows in their bathrobes.

It really was a beautiful thing to see. There was a somber mood in the square we watched from. Incense hung low in the air as everyone shivered in their coats and boots. The sun had only just come up, and you could see the tiredness in the eyes of everyone who was walking. It was special and definitely not something my cheap camera phone could capture, but I had to snap some photos to remember it by. I feel so, so privileged to have been able to see it and I hope to make it out for the Easter Sunday procession too.

Verse of The Month: February 2015

D brought me flowers twice last month. He brings little things like that home on his way back from work pretty often if he thinks I had a rough day. Sometimes it’s chocolate or a movie. Last week, he brought a new pair of slippers.
Flowers, though, are rare. They’re usually saved for special occasions, so it stuck out to me that he has showed up twice with a bouquet in hand.

We’ve shared a lot of superficial conversations about deployment. It’s part of life, so there isn’t much to be gained in over-analyzing it. They’re going to happen, we’re going to handle them, and someday we won’t have to deal with them anymore. I know he’ll miss me, he knows I’ll miss him. We’re both expecting challenges when he gets back and MJ has to get used to him being home again. What else is there to say?

Still, sometimes I worry that not talking about it might be doing us a disservice. We’ll both be facing different obstacles while he’s away. He has to stress about a new command, new people, a new job, and being away from his family. I have to worry about making ends meet, being in a new place, and parenting our son alone while he’s away. When I’m thinking over it all, it’s easy to feel alone. I’ve wondered more than once if he understands how truly scared I am.

But then, he brings flowers.

I was looking at them the other day after I had put MJ down for a nap, and I felt the greatest sense of comfort. I thought of this verse and the hope I’ve always found in it.

“See! The winter is past;
    the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
    the season of singing has come,”

This is only a season. A short chapter in our story. Right now, it feels frightening and lonely.
While I have faith that God is going to use this move to introduce me to new and exciting things and people, no matter what, it won’t last forever. If this is our Winter, Springtime will follow. Someday in the future, that wonderful man is going to show up on our porch holding flowers again. Our family will be whole. Our “season of singing” will come.

Marriage Goal: Quit The Yelling

(Linking up with Amberly from A Prioritized Marriage on this one. Button at the bottom!)

I wrote out quite a few resolutions for 2015, I always do. For me, resolutions aren’t concrete. They’re more like a conversation I start with myself and continue throughout the year. They’re fluid. I pick a couple areas in my life I can improve on and then approach changing them from many different angles until I find what works (or doesn’t).

One thing I didn’t resolve to work on was (and I hate to say it) my marriage.

Yikes.

It’s not that there aren’t things I could work on. I mean, I’m human. Of course there’s room for improvement. And it’s not that I haven’t thought about those things. I asked my Mom to send me her copy of The Love Dare last month for that very reason. But somehow, when writing my resolutions for 2015, my relationship with D just didn’t make the cut.

And that, ladies and gents, is just plain sad.

This year, it’s going to be even more important than it ever has been to make my marriage a priority. We’re facing the reality of deployments and patrols for the first time while also juggling our newest family member, my current (and seemingly chronic) unemployment, and life in a new country. It’s going to be so easy to let us slip onto the back burner while we practice balancing D’s career and our family life. I really don’t want that. I don’t want our only accomplishment of 2016 to be that we survived it. I want us to grow together as husband and wife; to learn each other deeper and more intimately than we have so far.

I might not catch this link up every month (let’s be real here, I’m not great with consistency) but I’m going to make an effort to start each month with a goal for our relationship. Depending on what it is, I might share it with D, but I think most of them will be private challenges I set for myself. I want to be intentional with this relationship. I want D to see that I value him by the time that I put into making this marriage the best that it can be for both of us.

This month’s goal:

Raise my voice less.

I never, ever wanted to be the wife that yelled. But too often, I am. If we’re running late or I’m tired or MJ is doing his banshee imitation, I can easily lose my cool and find myself yelling at the person who means the most to me. D and I had a pretty rough argument last week. The details don’t need repeating simply because it was a stupid argument. It started with something small and then, thanks to neither of us fighting fair, turned into a ping pong match of  “you never” and “you always.”  We walked away and gave each other space to cool off before coming back to it, and I found myself flipping through photos on my Facebook of us when we were dating. I thought back to the first year of our relationship when we always gave each other the benefit of the doubt and extended grace quickly and freely. We were kind.

Yeah, I know, it’s pointless to compare a marriage to the honeymoon-like bliss of that first year of a relationship, but it did get me thinking. What made us stop being kind to one another? Did getting to know D better make me feel comfortable with treating him with less respect? Did sharing a home and raising a child with him give me the right to be… well, mean?

The answer to that is a quick and heavy no.

My husband is still the man that I fell in love with. His hands are the same hands that caught mine when I tripped at the river on our very first date. His smile is the same one that melted my heart when he took me back to that spot and asked me to marry him. He is no less deserving of my kindness, grace, and respect than he was when we were new to each other and giving him those things was easier.

So, I’m going to work on it. I don’t want to be a wife or mother that feels she has to yell to get her point across. That’s letting my emotions control my actions when it should be the other way around. Yelling never gets us anywhere. It puts D on the defensive and makes me feel like a royal boob, so that needs to be the first thing to go.

January is just about half way over, but this is a goal I’m going to build on for the rest of the year. When February comes and I commit to a new goal, my resolution to speak at a more… pleasant volume will carry over like the roll over minutes I never had.

I’m sure this is going to be hard, but good things usually are.

If you’d like to join in, link up here:

Verse of The Month: January 2015

(Linking up with The Artsy Cajun for her Sharing Scripture series. Button at the bottom)
The scripture I chose for this month isn’t one I had planned on using. I was hoping to find something full of hope for the new year- something bright and happy. That’s not to say Revelation 21:4 isn’t. Really, it’s one of the most hopeful verses I can think of. But it didn’t come out of a place of excitement or anticipation for new things to come.

It’s closing in on 3:00 am here in Mississippi and sleep hasn’t found me yet. I haven’t written here about my diagnosis of Fibromyalgia since that’s not a main focus of this blog, but it ties into the verse I chose so there it is. I have Fibromyalgia. It’s a tricky, annoying diagnosis for a thousand and one reasons I just don’t have the energy to delve into tonight. But, it’s there.

Some days, it’s easy to say I’m fighting it. It feels right to call myself a “warrior” in the “battle” of chronic pain. I praise myself for accomplishing things on my to-do list and inwardly puff out my chest and tell myself I’m beating it.

But I’m not.

The sad fact of the matter is that I’m not fighting anything. I call it a battle because it makes me feel like I have even a sliver of control over it. Unfortunately, though, no amount of will power can rid us of pain. The mantras can’t beat it. The trendy detox diets can’t wash it away. The most aggressive treatment plans simply won’t, and can’t, cure us of every illness.

Some things just are.

I’ve spent a lot of nights like this one so angry over it all. I never really questioned why me? as much as I just wondered why?
Why is there pain that can’t be relieved? Why are there illnesses that can’t be cured? Why do some bodies feel pressure when others feel pain? Why do some diagnoses merit validation while others attract cynicism?

I don’t know. I don’t understand why God allows our bodies to feel pain that has no explainable cause. I don’t understand why some of us drew the card that says we’ll feel tired for the rest of our lives. And I don’t know why doctors roll their eyes at me because my pain is nerve pain and not joint pain or migraine pain or broken arm pain.

Like I said, some things just are.

It’s here. It’s been here. It probably isn’t going anywhere.

On nights like tonight when it feels like my body is burning from the inside out and the level of this pain is such that it breaks the boundary of sensation and becomes the loudest possible sound… The only hope that I have is in this promise:

“There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

There is a place that holds the cure for every awful thing that hurts us. I won’t have to try and explain to Jesus what the pain feels like or where it is or whether it’s exacerbated by activity. There won’t be drug trials or graded exercise programs.

There will be freedom.
And joy.
And peace.

This condition is no mystery to the one who conquered death.

I could tie this together with something pithy about every day being worth the pain and about how blessed I am (and I am blessed.) But I’m not going to. Maybe pain has a way of cutting to the heart of things. Maybe it makes us cynics. Maybe it’s just 3:00 am and I feel too crappy to bother. Whatever the reason, this isn’t going to end with an upbeat platitude.

Sometimes life hurts, and that’s alright.  (That came out more platitude-y than I would like.)

This month’s scripture is the knot at the end of my rope right now and a reminder that in every moment God permits pain, he reaffirms his promise. There can’t be a cure for everything, because the cure for everything is Heaven.

That’s the end of our story. Heaven.

And that’s more than enough to get me through tonight.

Gratitude Project – December

Today I’m linking up with Janelle over at Simply Love for her Gratitude Project. This link up is an opportunity to look back over the last month and pull together some of the moments you were thankful for. Last week, I posted another gratitude-themed post, and I’m not even the least bit sorry to post another! After Thanksgiving, thankfulness tends to be pushed aside. Which is pretty sad when you think about the thousands of little blessings we have to celebrate the rest of the year. I know, if I’m honest, I don’t spend nearly enough time looking at the beautiful gifts I’m given every day. It’s easy to miss them if I’m expecting God to look ground-shaking or miraculous. He is all of those things, but he’s also in the (seemingly) trivial or unimportant moment that goes unnoticed. I’d like to think this link up will remind me to take a few minutes every day and look for the little miracles I’m surrounded by.

This was a simple one. I strapped MJ in the ergo and we took a walk. There aren’t much in terms of nature trails in southern Mississippi, so I was excited to find this cute country road close to our apartments. There were goats, horses, and sheep along the road and birds hopping between the trees. It reminded me a lot of other places I’ve lived and of the drives I used to take before I was married. There wasn’t anything particularly special about it, except for that the warm beauty of it eased my heart a little. And really, that’s not a little thing at all.

Sorry about the terrible image quality. This was snapped from far back with my cell phone at D’s Hail and Farewell. His CO surprised him with two awards that day, a Navy Marine Corps Achievement Medal and Junior Sailor of The Year. I can’t even tell you guys how proud I was. D takes his job very seriously. He’s the guy who stays late and volunteers when his plate is already full. He’s worked so hard at this command, and all the extra hours wore him down sometimes. It was a great moment to see him recognized for the work he’s done (though I think he would have preferred some advance notice, he wasn’t expecting to give a speech!)

MJ had just woken up from his nap in this photo and was so, so happy to see my face! Nothing is sweeter than the way his eyes light up when he sees me. I don’t feel like I deserve a love so innocent and complete, but he gives it to me freely every day. No matter how haggard I’m looking or how frustrated I was the day before, when he wakes up, he smiles. Maybe I have his goldfish memory to thank for that, but I like to think the kid just likes me.

We didn’t have a lot of money to spare this Christmas. We’re getting ready to move, paying off a mountain of medical bills from MJ’s birth and the few complications I had afterward, and we had just got home from a trip out of state. We gave each other modest gifts this year and made Christmas dinner out of what was already in our fridge/pantry (with the exception of a baguette and some cheese.) Our families know that it’s hard being away for the holidays, though, and they showered us all with gifts and Christmas cards with pictures. MJ got toys and clothes and books, D got techy nonsense I don’t understand, and I got a collection of baking supplies that would make Martha Stewart cry. The gifts themselves were a lot of fun, obviously. But checking the mail and seeing a package or letter from your family really is the best gift. Knowing that the people we’re missing are missing us too made this Christmas a little less bittersweet.

Christmas morning, I sat MJ on my lap in his Santa pajamas and opened his gifts for him. He didn’t understand what the commotion was about, of course, but it was a special moment nonetheless. D snapped some pictures as we laughed at the confused look on our son’s face. He’ll never be this little for Christmas again, and while his growing will no doubt bring beautiful experiences with it, I am so, so grateful for the Christmas where he sat on my lap and was completely uninterested. There’s magic even in that.

 
My mom (Gigi to MJ) brought a crib mobile with her when she came to help during my c-section recovery. MJ loves that thing. It’s like he’s seeing it for the first time every time you turn it on. A few notes are off and as of two days ago, it no longer rotates, but when he hears the “click, click, click” of it being wound up, he loses it with glee. Now, I know my son is just over 3 months old, but I can totally understand why so many parents struggle with telling their children “no”. I would stand on my head, recite Shakespeare, and roll out handmade pasta if I thought it would make him smile. Someday, it’s going to be a lot harder to do. Someday, he’s going to be a teenager and I’m going to be embarrassing and annoying and painfully uncool. So for now, I’m thankful for the plentiful grins I get and the beautiful lack of attitude.

Grateful Heart- The Little Things

I’m joining in on  Ember Grey’s week long link up today.

I have a friend I met years ago. We don’t talk all that often anymore, but she’s the type of friend that I can pick up right where we left off with. There is no awkwardness, no need to reacquaint ourselves. I can get in touch with her and share my heart and know that her beautiful self is listening. During my pregnancy, we were both grappling with some heart issues and a lot of our conversations took on a somber tone. She shared with me an exercise her mentor shared with her, and I feel like it blends well with this theme.

Every day, usually before bed, I’d write down a few things I was thankful for. I’d shoot for ten, but sometimes, after I had started, I’d end up with 25 things written down. I like to write them down in my journal so that I can look back on my lists. This is especially helpful on days where coming up with 10 is hard to do. I haven’t done this exercise in a while, but I remembered it today.  I think that with my sour and generally unpleasant mood lately, doing this can only help. Plus, it will probably make me a little easier to be around. If I’m honest, I would not be winning any “wife of the year” awards. I’m cranky, bleak, and pessimistic and basically a walking, talking rain cloud.

I won’t spam this blog with ten things a day, but there was something that happened yesterday that I really wanted to share.

Earlier in the year, we had to buy a new mattress. The mattress we had was on the floor since we had just moved in and didn’t have money to spare for a frame/bedframe. When we went to move it, the bottom of the mattress was covered in mold. We had taken pictures on our phones to share with some friends when telling the story. We found out yesterday that our apartment’s management has been tangled up in a lawsuit with their insurance company over their insurance not replacing the wood floors in all the units even after multiple complaints of aggressive mold after a big storm we had a few years ago. D was chatting with the apartment manager (they’re buddies) and she told us that if we got her the photos of the damage to our mattress, she would waive the cost of any damages when we move out. This is a huge blessing since our deposit was waived when we moved in due to D being in the military. We were really stressed on how we were going to pay for the damage caused by the dog we had. I’m very, very grateful that not only do we have a big financial weight taken off of our shoulders, but our gross mattress might help our apartment complex win their lawsuit so they can make these units safer and healthier for their tenants.

What do you have to be thankful for? Share in the comments!

Verse of The Month

I decided to start a new monthly post series. As my family faces this huge transition from one country to another, I’m challenged to rely on God to bring us through this and not my own strength.
Also, as we gear up for deployments now that D’s shore duty is completed, I’m motivated to put more time into this blog.

I came across the Prayerful Bloggers Sharing Scripture Link Up and decided to make it a habit here on my own blog as well. I’ll be sure to the link with you guys so you can see the other scripture included each month, but I’m hoping this will help me both stick to a regular blogging schedule and provide an opportunity to spend more time reflecting on God’s promises.

So here’s how it will work. I’ll pick a verse or a few verses each month that I’m choosing to meditate on and pray about, and I’ll add a graphic to the post for good measure. Feel free to use it however you wish, though a link back here would be nice 😉 I’ll include a short explanation of how that verse is speaking to me and maybe even refer back to it a few times before the next verse posts.

If anyone would like to join in, feel free! I would ask that you also participate in the Sharing Scripture Link Up though, since it would be wonderful for others to see your images and be encouraged as well.

This verse is one I had taped to my wall for a long time in my teenage years. I struggle now in the same way I did then with trusting that God will come through for me. It’s silly, really. He has a perfect track record. But I have a definite issue with letting go of control, so trusting him with a situation and with its outcome is always a challenge for me. This verse is a reminder that He is coming. It encourages me to keep pushing onward with the day-to-day while I wait for his faithfulness to become more apparent. Right now, that means continuing to give MJ 100% and keep this house in working order while we wait for a decision on this move. The part of me that is scared of the situation we are in (and if I’m honest, that’s a very big part) wants to turn on auto pilot and check out. There are so many unanswered questions and variables… so many things up in the air. It would be simpler to turn Netflix on for the next few weeks, let the laundry pile up, and let our son’s first Christmas pass without event. But that’s not what’s best for us and it’s not what I’m called to do. I’m called to be strong, to be courageous, and to be faithful. He will come through, but He’s going to do it in His timing. He has given me the strength I need to be patient until then.

We’re Moving To Spain: Murphy’s Law

   I knew starting out that we should expect a few things to go wrong. I prepared for that. I anticipated that dates might change, that a box might get lost in transit, that travel pay might not get here in time… What I wasn’t expecting was for everything to go wrong.

I mean it, I wish I was exaggerating, but if it could have gone wrong, it did. And sadly, it continues to.

We were informed before leaving for our trip that MJ had never been added to our orders, so according to the Navy, only David and I were moving to Spain. Obviously, that had to be fixed. They told us it would take a week and the orders would be modified. Unfortunately that didn’t happen. We waited and waited and continued to get vague answers and I don’t knows in response. We requested an extension so that we could stay here longer and were told it was approved and we would be staying in the U.S. until February. Then, the day after that, we were told our request had been denied and that if MJ’s passport didn’t arrive in time, D would have to leave us here while he reported to his new command. There are about a thousand problems with that scenario, but the biggest three are that MJ and I will have no apartment, no car, and no way to get a hold of D in Spain since he won’t have a cell phone yet. We don’t know anyone here so MJ and I will likely end up taking a cab to a hotel and hoping beyond hope that I can work out one of D’s coworkers meeting us at the gate to give me MJ’s passport when it comes in, since I will no longer have access to base.

Last week, we were told that they received the new and modified orders and had sent out for MJ’s passport. They paid to have it expedited and it should be here soon. However, today I got a phone call from D saying that not only had they not sent out the paperwork last week, they also waited until this morning to look at the new orders and realize that somehow, the new orders still didn’t include our son.

So, we’re more or less back to square one. We are waiting for the orders to be modified, again, and trying desperately to get an extension so baby and I aren’t left in Mississippi with no home and no plan.

D is hopeful, at least he says he is. I’m so worn out and fed up that I don’t have the energy to try and fake any faith in this system anymore. We’ve set our move date three times and now have to negotiate with our apartment complex to allow us to stay longer. We had enough money set aside for basic travel expenses, but nowhere near enough to pay for a hotel and taxi up front while we wait for reimbursement.

I don’t know how this is going to end up. It would be easy to say that I’m trusting God and having faith in his plan, but right now the logical human brain he gave me is having a very hard time not being fearful. It feels like the cards are stacked up against us and I can’t see this turning out well.

But this is where God has placed us. Here. In this mess.

I have to believe that there’s a purpose to it and that we aren’t struggling alone. I have to trust in his promises when we watch our plans fall apart in front of us.

And then? I wait. Wait on new orders, wait on travel pay, wait on a move date… and wait on Him.

Finding Jesus In The First Four Weeks

Tomorrow afternoon at 2:52pm, MJ turns one month old. I don’t think I’m alone in saying the first month with your child is a whirlwind. I feel equally that it went by too fast and that I barely made it through crawling at a tortuously slow pace. I have permanent bags under my eyes, a pile of laundry I’ll never catch up on, and leg hair that is sure to give me a good head start on No Shave November. I am tired in ways I’ve never experienced before.

In my last post, I wrote about how my transition into motherhood has been a slow one. I’m not sure if that will change as he gets older or if I’ll finally feel like I’m getting the hang of things right around his high school graduation. Maybe there isn’t a right way to transform from that girl who sleeps too much and spends all her money on makeup into that girl who survives on 30 minute naps and hasn’t seen her eyelash curler in a year.

If there is a graceful way of doing this, I haven’t figured it out yet. Most days are overcome by a mix of crying, caffeine, and emotion-packed text messages. The next day starts with me feeling worn out and unable to recognize the woman in the mirror. She’s flabby. Her hair is a mess. She really needs to floss. You get the picture. I don’t know who she is yet. Everyday MJ grows, so does this new and very unfamiliar me.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s more to her than a physical appearance that suggests a deep and intimate relationship with the flu.

She loves fiercely, in a way I never knew one could.
She has the type of patience that is only born from listening to your child scream for five hours straight and having no idea how to help.
She can be sustained by one sleepy baby smile, even if that smile is followed by the immediate need to change a diaper.
She does not doubt her body’s ability to care for her child, because she has seen her body grow, break, and mend in the awesome act of bringing him into the world.

Who I am as this sweet boy’s mother is so vastly different than who I was before that I have trouble claiming the title. Caring for a newborn requires so much from you, that I think it’s sometimes hard to believe you even had that much to give. I used to think I was giving 100% when I worked overtime, or traveled cross country. I can say now that until having my son I never knew what 100% looked like.

These last four weeks have brought me face to face with my need for a savior. It’s definitely possible for me to care for MJ and meet all of his physical needs on my own. But to be honest, that usually leaves me with a “me” that is cranky and depleted. She’s resentful and petty and has a habit of snapping at people who got a full night’s sleep. I want more than that.

That’s one of the beautiful things about Jesus. He finds us in the mess. He sees our chaos and hears the sound of our weary hearts and he meets us there. On days that I feel completely empty (and lets be honest, lately that’s every day) he’s in my dimly lit living room with me, surrounded by the bottles and the burp cloths and yesterday’s takeout boxes. He’s standing by my tired body as it bounces MJ on the exercise ball between the hours of 10pm and 3am. He’s sitting on the couch while I rock my crying baby in the recliner, singing the same four Christmas carols for an hour because they’re the only songs my fried brain can remember the words to. He’s there in the hopelessness and the joy, whispering, “you’re not alone” and “you’re enough.”

As I look back on this month, from MJ’s birth to today, I’m in awe at the changes I’ve already seen. I can feel God’s love at work in me as I raise this beautiful child. I’m challenged to make use of this season, where it would be so easy to just get by. I have the opportunity to use this time to lay a foundation for the relationship I’m going to have with MJ, and to deepen the relationship I have with Jesus. That’s hard to do at 2am. I’m not very good at it. But there are many long nights ahead of me, and I have faith that the savior who has sat with me the last 28 days has no plans on leaving anytime soon.

How blessed am I?

Our First Few Weeks

                                                                            MJ and Daddy at the hospital

Sorry for the lapse in posts. MJ and I are slowly finding our routine, and I hope to be posting regularly again soon.

Like I said, MJ and I are figuring each other out. I feel like we had a rough start with getting to know each other. I didn’t connect with him right away like I was told I would. I cared for him, I knew he was my son, but I didn’t have that overwhelming feeling everyone talks about when they describe birth. Maybe it was because he came by c-section, maybe it was all of the medication running through my veins, maybe it was the obstacles in recovery afterward… who knows. What I do know is that the feeling came eventually. Instead of hitting me all at once like it does to some, it crept up on me. It worked its way into my heart little by little over the course of the last few weeks. Then one moment, I looked at him and realized I had never loved anyone more. We’re getting there. This boy has been a lesson in humility and faith like nothing else in my life so far. Every day brings with it moments where I doubt my ability to love him, provide for him, and protect him. In this job with no instruction manual, I constantly feel like I’m failing. I didn’t give him the natural birth I had prayed he’d have, we struggled through our attempt at breastfeeding with LC’s, nurses, and midwives until finally the formula I had been supplementing with took over. I didn’t burp him well enough, I let him sit in that diaper too long, I relied too much on the swing yesterday…. you get the picture. When you’re entrusted with something so innocent and perfect, it feels impossible to do the job right. There’s always something to improve upon, something to do better.

That’s an exhausting place to be. I don’t think it’s healthy or realistic to live in a state of “not good enough.” The fact of the matter is that last fall, when D and I were praying together on the mattress we shared on the floor of our new apartment (we hadn’t purchased a bed frame yet) God was listening. He heard us ask for this child, and knowing how this would all play out, he gave him to us anyway. He knew how MJ would have to be born. He knew how we would struggle with latching and supply and nipple confusion. He knew the newborn sized prefolds would be far too small by the time D and I felt coherent enough to start using cloth. None of this is a surprise to Him. He saw how we would struggle and trusted us with this beautiful boy regardless. If that doesn’t make me feel capable and “good enough” for this child, nothing will.

I started this blog with high hopes. I had a vague idea that motherhood would be messy, but I didn’t yet know what that would look like. Now that this journey has started, I hope this blog can be a place of transparency and sincerity. I will do my best to be an open book, and maybe that will help another new mama trust herself with this beautiful gift she’s been given.

If you’re having a hard time believing that you’re the best mother your child(ren) could have, please believe me, you are. You are enough and then some. You are the sun in your precious baby’s life. Everything you do is enough.