Instead of resolutions, I like to pick a word to work towards each year. I was reminded recently that my word for 2019 was Connection. As I reflected on how this word played out in 2019, my mind traced to memories of when I was in fact the most Disconnected: from my identity, my body, my thoughts, God, friendships, and motherhood.
In some ways this year feels divided in half. I started the year with a 6 month old: sleep training, breastfeeding, beginning to eat solids, rolling over... then ended the year with a toddler: walking, tantrums, resisting naps, demanding attention, becoming more and more independent and assertive and - to be honest - challenging. Within those months of Jack's transition from baby to toddler, I found myself facing a new identity as a Mom - a lot less time to myself, a lot more frustrations and breakdowns (albeit, more sleep!), and a new form of identity crisis (Who am I? What do I like to do? Do I have any passions left?). I felt disconnected spiritually because of the mere loss of time to spend engaging in contemplation and the spiritual disciplines I have found so much life from in the past. I felt lonely in Clairemont, separated from anyone I knew or the Moms with whom I had friendships. I struggled with a postpartum body that felt owned by another human who relied on me for his own sustainment... and then post-breastfeeding hormones... then pregnancy changes all over again.
Through these moments of utter disconnect, at the end of the year I can say that I have found myself reconnected. I was forced into new rhythms. I joined the YMCA for some much needed time away from Jack. God was so faithful to bring me two best friends/families in Clairemont. I had my first weekday morning free since Jack was born from my sweet friend Brit who watches Jack every Thursday morning. We found a babysitter for regular date nights. Jack started making it through a whole church service in the childcare and giving Ben and I time to spiritually engage with worship and sermons. With some training, Jack successfully dropped his morning nap and stopped resisting the afternoon nap. In his growth, I found my own growth. I renewed my love for fiction reading and have read about two books a week since July. We went to Japan. We found out Jack will have a baby brother next May. I joined a Mom's group that has filled my soul on Friday mornings with speakers and prayer that filled a void I didn't know I had. I was gifted a zoo membership for Jack's birthday and love having another outlet/destination for us to explore together. In all these things, Ben has been beside me. We are journeying together and figuring it out one mystery at a time.
The discipline has been perspective. I am learning that growth with the Lord does not solely come from hours of meditation on Scripture and moments of silence in prayer. While this has been a regular part of my days many times this year, it has not been consistent - especially with our little 5:30am riser over here. I cannot rely on these moments alone, I must find Him throughout my day. This is the challenge: through the rise and fall of the day to see that He is with me. He is right beside me. I am no "less spiritual" than before if I don't wake with the rise of the sun and read my Bible. I am no less a Christian because I am simply too exhausted to engage with Scripture as I once did. I was listening to Fr. Greg Boyle the other day who reminded me that the Desert Fathers and Mothers would meditate on a word each day in moments of solitude. The word was not God or Jesus or Father or Holy Spirit. The word was "Today." They would remind each other: "Now. Here. This."
This is the word I carry into 2020. Today. How do I see Him with me today? We can easily recognize the sacred in the holy - in the places of worship, in the sacraments, in the prayers. But Jesus reminds us that He came to show us the sacred through the ordinary: the cup and the bread. The table we gather around. The friends we do life alongside. These moments that we don't often deem holy or check-off in our box of "spiritual growth" are in fact the essential acts of worship. As I was reminded of (and wrote about a few blog posts ago) this is the spiritual practice. This day-to-day seemingly meaningless routine of life.
My hope for 2020 is to create sacred spaces. To have the perspective to see the ordinary routines as sacred acts of worship. Cleaning a diaper, picking crumbs off the floor, giving Jack my presence. These moments are just as sacred - if not moreso- as our time of worship. This is my challenge: to find him there. To find Him today. To see that the sacred is in fact the ordinary.
In some ways this year feels divided in half. I started the year with a 6 month old: sleep training, breastfeeding, beginning to eat solids, rolling over... then ended the year with a toddler: walking, tantrums, resisting naps, demanding attention, becoming more and more independent and assertive and - to be honest - challenging. Within those months of Jack's transition from baby to toddler, I found myself facing a new identity as a Mom - a lot less time to myself, a lot more frustrations and breakdowns (albeit, more sleep!), and a new form of identity crisis (Who am I? What do I like to do? Do I have any passions left?). I felt disconnected spiritually because of the mere loss of time to spend engaging in contemplation and the spiritual disciplines I have found so much life from in the past. I felt lonely in Clairemont, separated from anyone I knew or the Moms with whom I had friendships. I struggled with a postpartum body that felt owned by another human who relied on me for his own sustainment... and then post-breastfeeding hormones... then pregnancy changes all over again.
Through these moments of utter disconnect, at the end of the year I can say that I have found myself reconnected. I was forced into new rhythms. I joined the YMCA for some much needed time away from Jack. God was so faithful to bring me two best friends/families in Clairemont. I had my first weekday morning free since Jack was born from my sweet friend Brit who watches Jack every Thursday morning. We found a babysitter for regular date nights. Jack started making it through a whole church service in the childcare and giving Ben and I time to spiritually engage with worship and sermons. With some training, Jack successfully dropped his morning nap and stopped resisting the afternoon nap. In his growth, I found my own growth. I renewed my love for fiction reading and have read about two books a week since July. We went to Japan. We found out Jack will have a baby brother next May. I joined a Mom's group that has filled my soul on Friday mornings with speakers and prayer that filled a void I didn't know I had. I was gifted a zoo membership for Jack's birthday and love having another outlet/destination for us to explore together. In all these things, Ben has been beside me. We are journeying together and figuring it out one mystery at a time.
The discipline has been perspective. I am learning that growth with the Lord does not solely come from hours of meditation on Scripture and moments of silence in prayer. While this has been a regular part of my days many times this year, it has not been consistent - especially with our little 5:30am riser over here. I cannot rely on these moments alone, I must find Him throughout my day. This is the challenge: through the rise and fall of the day to see that He is with me. He is right beside me. I am no "less spiritual" than before if I don't wake with the rise of the sun and read my Bible. I am no less a Christian because I am simply too exhausted to engage with Scripture as I once did. I was listening to Fr. Greg Boyle the other day who reminded me that the Desert Fathers and Mothers would meditate on a word each day in moments of solitude. The word was not God or Jesus or Father or Holy Spirit. The word was "Today." They would remind each other: "Now. Here. This."
This is the word I carry into 2020. Today. How do I see Him with me today? We can easily recognize the sacred in the holy - in the places of worship, in the sacraments, in the prayers. But Jesus reminds us that He came to show us the sacred through the ordinary: the cup and the bread. The table we gather around. The friends we do life alongside. These moments that we don't often deem holy or check-off in our box of "spiritual growth" are in fact the essential acts of worship. As I was reminded of (and wrote about a few blog posts ago) this is the spiritual practice. This day-to-day seemingly meaningless routine of life.
My hope for 2020 is to create sacred spaces. To have the perspective to see the ordinary routines as sacred acts of worship. Cleaning a diaper, picking crumbs off the floor, giving Jack my presence. These moments are just as sacred - if not moreso- as our time of worship. This is my challenge: to find him there. To find Him today. To see that the sacred is in fact the ordinary.
