- Aug 22, 2017
I pretty much swore—up, down, and back again that I would not be a mommy blogger. Sure, kiddos and the lessons we learn from them are incredible fodder for writing. Teaching dozens of children on Guam taught me that. Kids are the best; they are hilarious, thought-provoking, and they can completely crush you in both beautiful and tragic ways. But still, it was a resounding “no” to mommy blogs. I did not want to add another drop to such a saturated section of the blogosphere.
Now, I think a lot of mommy blogs are great. They offer some clever tips and candid moral support, and I frequented them plenty during my pregnancy. I just did not want to write one of them. And I still don’t, but I’ve been examining my motives why.
One of the reasons I wanted to avoid writing a blog dedicated to the art of motherhood is that I wanted to be cool—to be unchanged from this mama deal, or at least, I didn’t want it to swallow me.
If I must be a social media/blog mommy, then by golly let me be looking totally cute and thin with a baby perched on one hip in a carefree fashion as I glide through life, smiling with my fancy diaper bag (that doesn’t look like a diaper bag) and an iced coffee. None of this here’s-my-birth-story for perfect strangers to read and photos of me nursing my baby while simultaneously showing everyone my rather maimed abdomen, while I offer some coupon links at the bottom of the post. Heck no.
I wanted to remember what it was to be single or without a child, and remember that photos of my child are most likely not the highlight of anyone’s day besides her close relatives. I questioned the wisdom of sharing a lot of personal information on the internet. Children are people and deserve respect and privacy as they grow. My goal was to be well-rounded, to not obsess over everything baby-related in a public forum, and to remain open to and interested in people with all sorts of lifestyles whether or not they were moms like me.
I still feel this way, but a few things have changed. And being a rational person, I knew things would change. I knew my body would change. My skin has stretched and plumped and housed a beautiful, smart, and takes-my-breath-away baby girl. I knew it would be precious to hold my girl, but I didn’t know just how precious and how natural it would feel. My life has, in some ways, been consumed by her existence. A giant, glassy wave of beauty crashed over me, pulled me in, and I am left beautifully marred and tragically whole. In a way I feel like I was made for this and that I have in some odd, twilight zone way always been a mother.
Yet, I have mourned the girl, the girl who traipsed through Malaysia right after a political uprising and hitchhiked down a mountain. The girl who instigated shenanigans with college girlfriends and could fit into those size 4 jeans. The girl who could just hop in the car and chill at the beach. The girl who left everything to live with strangers on a tiny island in the Pacific. Her. I missed her.
What I am learning, is that I still am that person, for that person has always been changing and growing. And just as I learned and grew from other experiences and roles in my life, so I will from this one. The weight of motherhood is surpassed only by its joy. What pure delight to see our Talitha Rose smile, and what satisfaction it brings to know that I am doing my best to care for her.
Will I be able to continue blogging with no mention whatsoever of my little puffin? No, probably not. She is an ever fixed mark (thank you, Shakespeare) upon my heart, so motherhood will be an aspect of my writing, just not the focal point. I am still working on what my niche is in the blogosphere, and I am excited to hone my skills and invite you, dear reader, along for the journey. May we all be encouraged and God be glorified. For now, life goes on, and it’s filled with newness and a lot of talk about poop. But there are also whispers of wonder: “My word, we made her.” Oh wait, this totally isn’t a mommy blog.
Photo Credit: Creationfoto by Barbara Sanders
- Nov 16, 2016
A year, or has it been five? I remember the giant boxes and our dearest of dears who stood with us in line at the airport. There were no words for the sadness, so we offered up lines about when we would see one another again, maybe in two years or so. It’s the vastness that gets to you. In moments like those I am thankful for technology that allows for email and skyping. But we all know our true community is those we see in our everyday life–at church, at work, at the grocery store. And yet, the Bible reveals something powerful that adds a caveat: our hearts towards one another should not be dependent upon physical proximity.
If this sounds like sentimentality, think about Paul the Apostle. When he was in prison, I am sure he ministered to the prison guard, but he did not just minister to him. Yes, God had a specific calling on his life, but when God gives you gems as friends, people who have taught you and molded you in ways that other people could not, there is no letting them go. There is a see you later, and a dang, I will miss you. Jim Elliot said, “Wherever you are, be all there! Live to the hilt whatever situation you believe to be the will of God.” I have clung to that in moments of I do not like this–Delta, take me home.
And yet I know that God brought us to the Lowcountry of South Carolina. It is the land of sweet tea, architectural charm, pimento cheese, and monograms–so many monograms. It is the land where God brought me to our new local church, and through this church family He spoke His goodness over me, He spoke His sufficiency over me. From the first day I walked in the doors of Sangaree Middle School and sat in a metal foldout chair, God reminded me and His people welcomed me.
Charleston is called the Holy City. There are so many lovely, cathedral-type church buildings. Steeples point to the blue sky and pepper a town with continual reminders that the church was once our central place as a society. A city forever haunted by its past and its dependence on the idea that souls could be indentured by a man and his money. But let me tell you, the people of this town love this town.
And all the outlying towns (where I have resided) live out their identity in light of their proximity to Charleston. It’s like Charleston is the cool big sister. Outside of the city you’ll find giant trucks with giant flags and lots of women who wear pink camo (with, of course, their monograms). Forget the bowties and charm bracelets, please. But I think that even they admire and enjoy the offerings of culinary, art, and surf scenes from Charleston.
While I believe the culture here will never be mine, it is enjoyable and intriguing. I am thankful for extended family in Columbia–shared laughter with them encloses the heart’s gash and steadies feet on this new sod. We are no longer extended outside of their close-knit family–we are wrapped inside.
Exploring a new place delights all the senses, if you allow it; there are quirks and corners just waiting to be admired or giggled over. The aroma of Charleston is an eclectic mix of sea salt, creamy seafood goodness, and the ever putrid paper mill. There is a sort of celebrity about true Charlestonians–those of European decent have a Southern drawl that has been mixed with British flair and refinement. Those of an African decent speak in a way that is reminiscent of their Gullah culture, a sing-song accent that runs up and down like a deep spring rolling over boulders.
When I think about Guam, I remember how we always would say, “OOG–Only On Guam.” To be sure, there were many things to which that phrase applies. But when I see the souped up trucks, or watch the ocean waves, or remember the way people have welcomed Eric and me into their lives–whether at church or in our favorite coffee shop–I smile and thank the Lord. Even on the days I click my heals together like Dorothy and say, “There’s no place like Guam,” He gives me reminders that there are remnants of His beauty and grace scattered all over, for this is His world. And I am thankful that He is my Father, wherever I may be.
- Jul 25, 2016
I saw a dolphin flip the other day. It was not one from SeaWorld–just a wild, playful thing off the shore of Sullivan’s Island here in South Carolina. Squealing and cheering, I threw my hands in the air and said, “Yes!”
All those years on Guam and I had never seen one.
Seagulls swarmed overhead, and pelicans scooped and dove, scavenging for their lunch. And I sat in the warm, salty water absorbing it all and just loving it.
I was born and bred to be analytical, but I was also taught to search for the simple things and rejoice in them. Sometimes, in a world darkened by terrorist attacks, frightful politics, and general mayhem, it can feel trivial and even wrong to look for the lovely dailies. But perhaps it is now, more than ever, that we must find them. The more I study my Bible, the more conflict I see. It is all over the place.
Today I studied Obadiah, the man who spoke a word from God against the Edomites (descendants of Esau and his various wives, including one of Ishmael’s daughters). People have been interested in doing things their own crazy way for a very, very long time.
The turmoil goes beyond conflict in the Middle East and upheaval in the U.S. It goes far beyond all the wacky things that pop up on my Yahoo account (when all I want to do is check my email). It is in my heart, this turmoil, these tensions. Sitting in my favorite spot on my little blue couch, I bow my head to pray, but all I really want to do is just get up and go about my day, or watch television, or do laundry. Why? Why this struggle?
While I love to spend time with the Lord, there are conflicts deep inside of me, conflicts that will only settle in the shadow of His presence. The very thing I need is the thing against which I fight (Romans 7:15). Daily, I decide whether to humble myself before God or just surrender to the murmuring in my spirit. When I humble myself, I can commune with God who is unseen (1 Tim. 1:17), and I can enjoy this life which is seen.
This world is a flawed picture of what is was originally and what it will be one day (see Genesis and Revelation), but there are remnants of glorious beauty. And they are all gifts, great and small. Perhaps it is a cup of coffee in a cute mug, a dolphin doing a flip, or a conversation with a friend.
Communing with God and enjoying this life allows us to live with purpose and thankfulness, fighting the darkness while dancing in the sunshine.
“As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.” 1 Timothy 6:17-19, ESV
“God is the only comfort, He is also the supreme terror: the thing we most need and the thing we most want to hide from. He is our only possible ally, and we have made ourselves His enemies. Some people talk as if meeting the gaze of absolute goodness would be fun. They need to think again. They are still only playing with religion. Goodness is either the great safety or the great danger – according to the way you react to it. And we have reacted the wrong way.” ― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
