Lost Sleep

Can I tell you one of the things that keeps me up at night?

It's embarrassing, it's often prompted by Facebook, it's prominent when I'm overtired, and it's real:

I'm worried that I'm not going to matter.  

That I will live my life and dream my dreams and have grand visions, and at the end of the day . . . I'm only going to have done very normal things.

And there is this imaginary crowd in my head that is going to say,

"She had so much potential, but . . ."

"If only she'd made that decision differently, then . . . "

"I always knew she'd never do it . . ."

When I am less tired, less comparison-oriented, less focused on me, I realize that this "crowd" is bent on making me the unhappiest person on the planet.  Because all those voices that tell me that I'm not going to matter . . . what do they know?

What if my limits are like guardrails from God . . . directing me into the path of grace, pointing me toward my purpose?

This past year has been one of the most challenging of my life.  I had two babies under two at the start of it.  My work had seen better days.  My thank yous were six months behind, at least.  I'm not going to list the rest of the issues.  Suffice to say, it hasn't been pretty.

This past year has also been one of the most beautiful of my life.  People have been phenomenally good to me.  Unsolicited grace has decorated my days.  Effort, my lifelong idol, has been replaced by something far superior.

And I have these two amazing little boys and their devoted father reminding me day in and day out of gifts, blessings, love.

And it is all so normal.  So blessedly normal.

What if significance isn't so much what we do but how we perceive? Experience?  Share?  Accompany?  Acknowledge?

Witness?

What I have witnessed this year has been extraordinary.

Significant.

Divine.

Normal.

Thank you, all of you, who have blessed me with eyes to see. 

Sweet Joy and Loving Kindness

A birthday message to my boys:  Collin, age 3; Connor, age 1

My dear, sweet, silly, and above all precious boys,

Happy Birthday to you both!  I planned to set aside a day every year to write to you individually before your birthday, but it hasn’t worked out exactly as I planned.  I won’t make excuses.  I also won’t dwell on the undone, because I have learned that God has a way of orchestrating EVERYTHING, even the flops and delays and not-good-enoughs, for his glory.

It just so happens that today is two days before Easter (yes Collin – it is your birthday cake that is in the oven today), and my message for you both this year is an Easter message.

My children, I will let you in on a secret.  Life is like a series of Easters.   You will have seasons of triumph, seasons of betrayal, seasons where the very hands of God wash your feet, seasons of cross-bearing, and seasons where God and his promises seem fraudulent, false, dead, crucified.  There will be moments when it seems that the darkness has won.

My darling boys, we are all human, and your emotions will tempt you to believe that the season you are in is the only season.  But it is not.  Because always, always there is the resurrection.

When you are tempted not to believe this, look around.  Nature, the seasons, our life spans, the birthing process . . . everything is designed to reflect this truth.  Resurrection is printed on your soul’s DNA.  

So when you make decisions, my children, make them with this truth in mind:  the resurrection is real.  Joy will come in the morning.  New mercies await around each corner.  Love can be beaten and nailed to the cross, but in the end, it will triumph.  

What does this mean? YOU ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACHIEVING YOUR OWN HAPPINESS.  Don’t be fooled – you will never sustain any lasting contentment based on your efforts.  You are simply responsible for beholding the resurrection with eyes and hearts wide open, witnesses to grace, recipients of love.   If you do this, joy will find you.  Loving kindness will find you.  Purpose and peace will find you.   

And your heart will be glad.

What bigger prayer could I have for your lives?  What bigger hope?  

When the darkness descends, keep your eyes open.  

Hope is on the way.

I love you, my children, always and forever.

Mama

A Cow Named Hope

Dedicated to the wonderful and brave John Oliver ("Ollie") Tetloff, and of course his mother, Meredith.  (ollieupdates.org) 

Once upon a time there was a cow named Hope.

Hope lived in a great big pasture on Bay Branch Farm with her mama and daddy and lots of cousins and sisters.  The cows on Bay Branch Farm were very happy.  Every day, they woke up, ate grass, drank water, swatted flies with their tails, and mooed: "It's gooooood to be a cow." 

Life was good on Bay Branch Farm, but Hope wasn't happy.  Even though she liked eating grass, drinking water, and swatting flies with her tail, she had this nagging feeling that she was made for something more. 

She went to her mama and shared her problem:  "Mama," she asked tentatively, "Have you ever wanted to do more than eat grass, drink water, and swat flies with your tail?"

Mama looked at Hope, took a big bite of grass, chewed it around for a few minutes, and then chided:  "Hope, it's goooood to be a cow.  Don't be ungrateful.  Now run along and play with your sisters."

Hope bowed her head and walked away, ashamed.  For the next few days she tried to concentrate on living happily on the farm, but - try as she might - she continued to feel like she was missing out on something.

The next day, Farmer Hub noticed that Hope was moping by the water trough.  Farmer Hub loved his cows and always knew when something was the matter.  He walked up to Hope, patted her head, and said, "What's wrong, little cow?"

Hope mooed the longest and saddest mooooooooo Farmer Hub had ever heard.  Because Farmer Hub had been farming for a long time and knew everything there was to know about cows, he understood immediately what the problem was.

"Well Hope," he said.  "I have an idea.  I have a special friend named Ollie. Right now, Ollie is sick and is not feeling his best.  He loves cows but he can't come to visit right now because he is busy getting well.  Would you like to cheer Ollie up?"

Hope turned in a circle three times and kicked her feet up in the air with excitement.  Of course she would like to help!

The next day, the farmer brought a funny looking bag.  He opened it up and took out a camera. 

"Can I take your picture, Hope?"  the Farmer asked.  "For Ollie?"

Hope was a little afraid, but she held very still.  She knew she had to be very good so she could help Farmer Hub's friend, Ollie.


"Click, click,"  whirred the camera. 

"Moo, Moo," said Hope.

The other cows watched warily, chewing their grass, swatting their tails.  What, they wondered, was Hope doing?

A few days later, Farmer Hub came back to the cow pasture.  Hope trotted up, happy to see her friend. 

"Hope," said Farmer Hub.  "Ollie really liked the pictures of you, but he would like to see more cows.  Do you think you could talk to your friends to see if they would like to have their pictures taken?"

Hope moooed a worried moo.  She knew that the cows were happy eating their grass, drinking their water, and swatting their tails.  But - she could tell that Farmer Hub and Ollie really needed her help, so she approached her cousin Thatcher. 

Thatcher looked up at Hope with a mouth full of grass.  His big brown eyes seemed to say, "I'm happy just doing this.  Please let me be."  Hope didn't want to bother Thatcher and almost walked away, but then she remembered Farmer Hub's friend Ollie.  Courageously, she asked:

"Thatcher, will you help me help Farmer Hub and his friend Ollie?"  Thatcher blinked once, then he blinked twice.  Hope was sure he was going to say no and she almost walked away when she heard him say,

"O.K. Hope, I will help you help Farmer Hub." 

"Hooray!"  Hope kicked up her heels and nuzzled Thatcher's neck joyously.  "Follow me!"

Slowly Thatcher followed Hope over to Farmer Hub.

"Click, click," went the camera.

"Mooooooo," said Hope and Thatcher together.

The other cows watched from the corner, eating their grass, swishing their tails.  But this time, a few of the little calves ventured closer.  What was that funny noise?  And why did Hope and Thatcher look so excited?

Over the next few days and months, Farmer Hub came back with the camera.  And every time he came, Hope recruited a few more cows.  Before long, every cow in the herd had had their picture taken . . . every cow, except Hope's mama.  Now when Farmer Hub came with the camera, Hope's mama stood by herself while all the other cows posed for pictures.

One day, Farmer Hub came to the cow pasture looking very sad indeed.  He did not have his camera with him.  Hope wanted to know what was the matter.  She nudged Farmer Hub's shoulder and mooed.

Farmer Hub sighed a heavy sigh, took his broad-brimmed hat and turned it around in his hands, and said,

"Our friend Ollie is very sick, Hope.  He is very brave and very strong, but he hurts a lot and is very tired. I wish there was something else we could do to help him."

Hope thought.  She thought and she thought and she thought.  She thought about all the things that made her feel better:  green grass, summer sunshine, fluffy clouds, playing with her sisters and brothers.  But Hope could not send those things to Ollie.

Photo by Alex Palmour

Just as she was about to hang her head in defeat, she had an idea!  Hope lifted her head up to Farmer Hub's ear and whispered as well as a cow can.  The farmer's face lit up and he began to smile.

"That's a great thought, Hope!"  he said.  "Let's do it!"

The next day, Farmer Hub came with a crew of farm hands and a great big truck.  Even though the other cows now liked having their picture taken, they were a little scared of the big truck.  They backed up to the fence in a tight circle.

Farmer Hub took his hat off again and ran his fingers through his hair.  What if the plan didn't work?  What if Hope was afraid?

Just then, Hope stepped out from the circle of cows.  She took a few steps toward Farmer Hub.  Farmer Hub put his hat back on, straightened his back, and smiled a great, big smile. 

"Okay, guys, let's load her up!" he shouted.

The truck backed up to the gate and someone swung the doors open.  For the first time, Hope paused.  She was a little afraid of that great big trailer with the loud door.

And then, from deep within the herd, Hope's mama walked forward.  She walked up to Hope and looked at her long and hard with her big, dark eyes.  She nuzzled Hope's neck for a moment, and then she nudged her forward with her nose towards the trailer.

Hope stepped on, and Farmer Hub swung the door closed.

The truck sputtered on and then rattled off down the winding dirt road.

Hope rode for what seemed like a very long time.  Finally, the truck clanked to a stop and began to back up. It made a funny beep, beep, beep noise and then jumped slightly as it turned off.

Hope began to shake a little, missing her friends and her farm very much.  Just as she was beginning to rethink this idea, Farmer Hub swung the doors wide open.  Hope stumbled out into the bright light, blinking after being in the dark trailer.

And then .  .  . she saw them.  Waiting for her just beyond the truck ramp was the most wonderful little boy she had ever seen.  He was wearing a Mincraft t-shirt, and he sat next to his mother.  She had beautiful auburn hair and the kind of way about her that made Hope feel better at once.

"Ollie," the boy's mother said, "I think you should go up and meet your new friend."

The boy walked up to Hope, and she stopped shaking.  He lifted out his hand and petted her, and she felt her trembling heart slow down.  She mooed.

Ollie laughed, and his mama laughed, and Hope nuzzled his cheek. She thought for a moment about all the things she had left:  the fluffy coulds in the summer sky, the warm sunshine, the green grass . . . and then Ollie smiled at her again.  His smile was like all of those good things mixed together, but better.  She felt the happiest she had ever felt.

"It's gooooood to be a cow!," she mooed.  Then she posed for a picture with her new best friend.

THE END

Connor's Song

It has been 365 days
 -  Plus a few -
Since you were unwrapped
From my tight, stretched tummy.

A gift -
Surprisingly fair and red and blond
So unlike your
Dark-skinned brother.

The Sandal's wedding song
played over the surgeon's
Pandora station
As you were plucked from inside me
And taken to be weighed and
baby-tortured in your first few
oxygen-breathing moments.

What went through my mind?
Thoughts of joy and exhaustion and
Tingly-pain,
Mingled with randomness:
That is a good song.
I'm glad he was born to that.

The next few days were full of
Morphine and marveling
My heart over-saturated
Tired
Processing
A veteran mother,
but a rookie again
to you and your cries,
wants, needs.

In the tradition of all new mothers,
the thought-question-challenge
slipped in and out, out and in
as I fingered your hands,
cradled your head,
traced your nose:
Am I up to this task?

365 days later
 - Plus a few -
The question still hangs
And, will, always, I think.
A good question:
One that reminds me of
My mission,
My limits,
My dependency on the divine.

I could write
For a year and some days
About this tension:
the impossible task
of raising a person
to be better than me -
isn't that every parent's dream?

But - just now
I hear you waking
Your tiny yawn,
Your sleepy stirring.

You jolt up - startled,
scared
But then you see me
Typing here on the floor.

Your face relaxes
As you settle back in
To dream a little more.
It's not that complicated,
You seem to say.

You are just glad
That the bed is soft,
Your belly is full,
And Mama is here.

Beautiful Mommy

Yesterday, I needed to calm my two year old down before supper, so we went to his room and sat on his bed. 

"Tell me a story," I said.

"O.K.!" he agreed, and launched into a tale.  I only remember the first three sentences, which went as follows:

"Once upon a time there was a girl.  And the girl's name was . . . p- p- p- MOMMY.  And Mommy was a beautiful girl . . ."

Doesn't your heart just melt?  I know mine did.  I mean, in the 34 months that this kid has been alive, I have:

• gone up and down 56 pounds - TWICE;
• felt the need to create a 48 hour rule --- as in, it's been 48 hours, you must now take a shower;
• have publicly "cracked a smile" multiple times because my ill fitting jeans can't stay up over my too tiny hiney and too big waist; and
• have gone WEEKS without makeup.

This may be acceptable in other parts of the world, but I live in the South.  Down here, we equate beautiful with made up and put together.  Woe to the new mother who confronts this standard . . . or at least this new mother.  I'm a hopeless, lost cause.

So, imagine my surprise when my two year old, with no coaching, called me beautiful.  He may not know the meaning of the word yet, but I don't really care that he doesn't know.  If he thinks me beautiful, then I am.  After all, don't I think MY mommy is beautiful?  Really - I do.  And not just when she is fixed up and on display at church or (because this is the South) the grocery store . . . but when she is tired at night after helping me for three weeks with my new baby, or when she is sipping her Gatorade while she cooks dinner for our family, or when she is watching Entertainment Tonight for her latest celeb gossip.

Do you know what makes my mom beautiful?  The fact that she is always actively loving me, even when I don't know it, even when she can't say it.  I know this now in a way that I didn't know it before I had two children of my own.  As I make my own mistakes along the way, she becomes more beautiful because I see just how hard it can be, and just how tenacious she is to love me 33 years long --- more than she loves herself.

So mommy, this one is for you.  Because once upon a time, there was a girl.  And her name was mommy.  And Mommy was a beautiful girl.

I love you!

Little Bird Takes a Nap (A Bedtime Story for Collin)

Little Bird was a beautiful bird with long, purple feathers.  He had an orange beak, orange feet, and little red stripes going up and down his legs.

One day Little Bird was flying over a field of flowers.  The flowers were beautiful and were all sorts of different colors:  red, orange, blue, pink, purple, white, and green.  Little Bird swooped up and down, over and around the flowers until he was all tired out.  He really needed a nap.

He spotted a tall tree with a nice, fat branch and he headed towards it, thinking that it would be a good place to settle in for a bit.  But - just as he swooped in towards the branch, he saw that the tree was in front of a little brown house with an open upstairs window.  Cheery yellow curtains were rustling in the breeze. 

Little Bird was a curious little bird and he couldn't resist the temptation to see what was inside that house.  He flew right past the tree branch and through the open window.

Inside, the yellow curtains rested against pleasant blue walls.  He hopped forward a bit more, and he saw a brown dresser, lots of books, and a little orange bed.  The bed had a happy blue bedspread with little monkeys dancing on it.  At the top of the bed, there was a brown and white giraffe pillow next to a black and white panda bear.

Little Bird was still very tired, and the bed looked so inviting.  He looked around the room and could see that no one was home, so he decided it was safe to take a nap.  He hopped over to the bed, used his beak to lift up the covers, and scooted under them for a cozy afternoon snooze. 

He slept for a long, long time. 

Do you know where Little Bird is now?

He just woke up! (Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle)

Evidence

My eight month old is not a great sleeper.

On a good night, he wakes up once or twice.  Those nights aren't so bad because he can be a little charming in the middle of the night.  When he realizes that we are there to help him, his smile radiates through the dark. "I missed you, Mama and Daddy!"  he seems to say.

On a not-so-good-night, that sweet baby greeting loses its appeal around wake ups three and four.  And by wake ups five and six, there is nothing charming and dear about him.  Or me.  I am generally just angry.

Every parent knows that tired angry is not good.  Exhausted angry is worse.  It's actually a little scary.

Fortunately, my husband and I have developed an unspoken language that enables us to deal with our irrational, sleep-deprived emotions.  We each have a distinct "rescue-me-from-this-baby" grunt.  When we hear it, it is a non-negotiable call to action.

95% of the time, this system works out well for us.  Unfortunately, last night was one of those nights where we both hit the grunting stage at the same time.  At around 5:30 am, I flipped on the lights and took my infant downstairs to the play zone to preserve his well-being.  As he happily gnawed on a wooden giraffe, I popped open a Vanilla Coke Zero and jumped up and down in the kitchen until I was awake enough to function. 

How, I wondered, was I going to survive this day?  This month?  This year? 

If this sounds dramatic to you, I urge you to take the midnight to 5 a.m. shift at my house for a few nights. 

A couple of groggy hours later, the kids and I were on the way to daycare and work.  I was still on a woe-as-me thought trajectory when we turned off of the main street onto a little cut-through road.

There, in front of us, was a rainbow.  We paused at a railroad crossing, and my two-year-old and I both admired it.  "Whoa!" he exclaimed over and over again.  "A rainbow!"

Chill bumps rose up on my arm as I thought about the meaning of a rainbow: about its message of hope and mercy; about its representation of love; about its visible reminder that God is with us even during the storms.

Some days I can acquire perspective if I am intentional about it, but this was not one of those days.  I believe God heard my grunting and understood what I needed.

Proof.

Thank you, Father, for evidence that you love me and meet me in my trials - both big and small.

  

Sweet sleeping Connor.