September 15th

Every September, my heart catches a little.  This is the time of year that I think of what would have been. What could have been.  Its been five years and I still have questions.  Was it a son or a daughter? Why was there no heartbeart where there had been one before?  Why a surprise pregnancy just to have it slip through my fingers several weeks later?

The physical pain is long gone.  The emotional pain is mostly past as well--but there is remembering.  There is remembering what was lost during that hard season.  There is the remembering--the quiet ultrasound, the tears, the hospital visit and the due date that never came to fruition.  There is remembering the person that I was before and who I am now, after.

A hard, hard season followed that D & C in February 2009.  A summer where my belly should have been growing was instead filled with me pushing my body to run to longer and longer distances.  In place of my baby's birth, I celebrated my due date with my first half-marathon.  At the time, I thought that if my body was going to fail me, then I would force it to do something hard--the hardest thing I could think of doing.

I remember those runs like they were yesterday.  Runs fueled by anger and disappointment with tears often close at bay.  Looking back, I realize that those runs were a huge part of my healing.  Everyone heals in their own time and their own way. For me, running

Last fall, I was sitting in church one day and during worship we began singing Matt Redman's song, Blessed Be Your Name.  During the song, the lyrics got to me and I found myself singing with tears in my eyes and remembering in my heart.  I was surprised that I really meant the words with my whole heart and even while remembering the loss. 

You give and take away
You give and take away
Still my heart will say
Lord, blessed be your name

Soaking up the moments

Since we had our twins first and then the rest of the boys pretty close in age, it has always been a special treat to have one-on-one time with any of the boys.  To have regular, weekly one-on-one time with Caleb has been a new thing for us this fall.  I'm not gonna lie, its delicious.  There are no quarrels to break up and no personal space being invaded (other than my own and generally I'm pretty good about not hitting people when they invade mine).

Three days a week, Caleb and I have the morning together, just the two of us.  I'm trying my best to soak this up and ignore the never-ending "to do" list that is calling my name.  There are still breakfast dishes to clean, two minute showers to be taken and laundry to be switched out.  But as much as possible, I'm snuggling up with him in our living room chair and reading through his favorite books.  Right now, he's on a Sandra Boynton streak.  So, we are reading Blue Hat, Green Hat and But Not The Hippopotamus like they're going out of style.  He giggles each time we say Oops.  He is wiggly and constantly elbowing me during our reading time, but its still precious to me.

Sometimes we pull out the alphabet legos and build the tallest towers we can.  And I do my best not to cringe when he knocks it down splattering legos EVERYWHERE on our hardwood floors.

Last week, we took a much anticipated trip to the library as a reward for having "gentle hands" the ENTIRE four hours of preschool (that's a whole different post).  For not being able to read, he did amazingly well at finding the only 2 veggietales books in the library, 4 veggietales cds and 2 veggietales movies.  Are you noticing a theme?  
On the way out and across the parking lot to the car, I was carrying him and each step I took, he would give me a light head bump or kiss on my neck.  It tickled, so I laughed.  The more I laughed, the louder his laughter got.  About halfway to the car, he got hiccups (this always happens when he laughs his deep belly laughs) but kept laughing.  The two of us giggled and giggled in the sunshine that afternoon.  I don't think I'll ever forget it. 

There is something just delicious about one-on-one moments with the people you love.  I'm really enjoying this new season of parenting where I'm able to do this more regularly.

Anticipating Kindergarten

For the last week, this sweet boy has been a bundle of nerves about the start of Kindergarten.  There is excitement--ordering his hot lunches, picking out a new shirt for the first day of school, dropping off school supplies.  But it doesn't take long for the fear to move in.  Fear that he won't have friends.  Fear that being shy means he won't succeed.  Fear that he might get teased.  Fear that he isn't enough.

I keep holding him and telling him the truth: You are enough.  You are loved.  Shy doesn't mean you can't succeed.  You have friends.  You are enough!

I look at this smile, this smile that so many love and I think "how can he think he won't make friends?"

I look at those sparkling blue eyes of laughter and mischief and I wonder how he doesn't know what I know? Why doesn't he know that he will do great?  Why doesn't he know that he has friends?  He will love school.  I just know it.  He will make even more friends than he already has.

I look at my boy who feels so deeply and sometimes wish that he didn't feel the fear so deeply.  I sometimes wish he didn't feel the sadness of upcoming changes but I don't get to choose how he is wired.  God did choose how Aaron was wired and he knew what he was doing.  He didn't make a mistake making this boy so sensitive and sweet.  This boy that feels fear also feels joy.  He loves without limits and he gives grace abundantly. 

I wonder how my six-year-old can let these voices in his head tell him that he's not good enough, not well-liked enough, not loveable.  Then I look at myself and I think about how many days have I told myself that I am not enough, that I am not loveable, that I am not a good enough mother, that I am not attractive enough and I know.  I know how he can do this because he listens to those other voices in his head and not God's truth.  I know because I'm thirty-give and I do this all the time--way more than I'd care to admit because I like to seem like I have it together.

Just like Aaron's creeps downstairs after bedtime telling me that he is having dreams about not having friends at school, I will tell a friend in my most honest moments that I don't feel like enough.  This friend will give me words: You are Enough, You are Loved, You have been Redeemed.  This friend will remind me, just like I remind Aaron. 

Change brings up so many emotions--excitement and fear.  One more day and then the anticipation process will be over and Kindergarten will have started and he will know in a tangible way what to expect.  Until then, I will keep holding him and whispering: You are loved, You are enough, You have been redeemed because it is true.