A Wonderful Life

 Originally posted here . Our pastor recently talked about how he is more curious about the questions behind what people actually ask out loud than the questions themselves. He was talking about faith-based conversations, but I experience the need to practice this discipline more often when talking to adults about my husband and I parenting a child who has developmental delays. When we started our journey with our sweet now four-and-a-half year old, the following is a list of common questions and my knee-jerk mental reactions. I usually held my tongue pretty well, but not every time. Question : Wow, what a cute baby, how old is he? I would answer. Next question : He’s really small; was he premature? Thought:  Why are you asking? Do you think we don’t feed him enough and your best fat-filled diet will be the next thing out of your mouth? Answer:  No, he was two days overdue. Comment:  Oh really? My child (or I) was… and…they/I caught up eventually, I’m sure he will too. Thought:  Gee, t

 Originally posted here . When we were pregnant with our first baby, we explored a lot of different parenting styles and felt like the attachment mindset might fit our family well. I’ve seen the ups and downs of that since we started our parenting journey more than four and a half years ago. Here’s an example: Our kids both co-slept with us for longer than I would have liked (and I didn’t think we were going to co-sleep at all before having children). My daughter especially loves time in my arms, no matter the hour or the fact that I need to get up and work in the morning. I write this while holding her in my ring sling, on my lap, in the way too early hours of the day. Bedtime is a battlefield, like it is for many, but mine is because my daughter enjoys my snuggles so much that she doesn’t want to let go of me. That’s a good thing, but sometimes drives me a little batty. I recently realized that sometimes when I just want to be done for the day, I had been saying some unkind things to

 This was originally posted  here . It seems like everywhere we look, thirty is the magic number. Thirty days to a new you, Whole30, thirty easy make-ahead crockpot meals, thirty-minute meals, you get the idea. For the last year or so, forty has been a much more important number for me, though, and it has recurred in my faith walk a lot. This time last year, I remember our pastor talking about how forty is an important number in the Bible. He said it’s either a literal or metaphorical death or end of one thing and birth or beginning of something else. Some sources online also note that the number forty is a symbol for a period of trial or testing. The combination of those things makes forty pretty challenging sometimes, but God is showing me that it is worth the wait (even if the wait is still happening). This time last year, forty was important for me in a lot of ways. I realized my kids were going to be forty months apart, while I waited to hit the forty-week mark with my second chil

It should not come as a surprise to anyone I know well that I've been in a little bit of a funk off and on since I had our baby girl in May. Things have gotten better, but it has been a struggle, for my mental, emotional and spiritual strength. With Valentine's Day coming this weekend, Lent starting today and a genuine desire and need to reconnect with Jesus, I write to you this holiday hodgepodge that God inspired in me this morning. My family of origin did not "do Lent" (or Advent, for that matter). We grew up with faith in God and attending church as important parts in our family and lives, but these more formal traditions were not part of my faith practice. I don't know if I've ever "successfully" given anything up for Lent. This morning as I loaded my car with all of our stuff, to get the kids to daycare and myself to work, I saw the most beautiful sunrise happening! As I got Zachary out to the vehicle, I stopped, pointed and said, "L

 This was originally posted  here .  God can read. I know that might sound odd, but I distinctly remember a moment journaling early in my marriage when it occurred to me that God can read. I was feeling a certain way so strongly that I couldn’t talk about it out loud yet, so I went to “vent” to God through prayer, on paper. As I poured out my heart, I realized how thankful I was that God can read. I did not want to say those things out loud. Nor should I have, if I recall correctly. This thought has come to my mind several times since then, usually when I feel so overwhelmed that the only way for me to process is to write. Some people play music, walk, run, paint, draw, garden to get alone with God and process. I do these things too, but mainly I write and create with my hands to get out of my head. It’s my way of organizing and expressing what feels stuck inside of me, so that it can get out. It’s healing, restoring, and connects me to my creator, God. It is good. As I recently sat in