Next Christmas Eve, I might not feel the subtle rhythm of his tiny inhales and exhales as Ford's full weight of his body leans into mine in the quiet darkness of the night. I might not laugh at his tiny squeals as he bounces on the floor attempting to crawl to his desired object; or delight in the first solids he so confidently holds to his mouth as a wide open smile bursts across his face. I might not dance party with Jack to "Santa Clause is coming to town" every night as he repeatedly (read: a million times over) asks for "Chawlie Bawn Cissmas" or "Polar Efress." I might not hear his favorite sayings then as I do now - "Hold you Mommy," "Guy reading Polar Efress" "Close door wittle bit" "Watch a tiny show... Maybe we can do that?" "I love you, Mommy" "a little twreat?" "Why did I say Poppy Stick?" I might not be physically exhausted by the end of the day from breastfeeding, soccer in the park, chasing a two year-old, coaxing a crying baby back to sleep at night, and holding the baby with one arm while simultaneously helping Jack climb the ladder on the playground. 

Next Christmas we might not wear masks to the Christmas Eve service, or wait in lines around the block for last minute gifts at Target, or talk about the "crazy unprecedented state of the world." Our conversations will change, our daily rhythms will be different, and our boys one whole year older. Christmas sometimes feels like it will be frozen in the time it exists right now; but the truth is that it will look different. When I close my eyes, I can remember the Christmas of my childhood, going to sleep with Raffi's Christmas music circling in my head, the anticipation of Santa the next morning and trying to spy on him bringing gifts down the chimney. I remember the Christmas of my teen years, bringing with it the letdown of expectations, the striving towards making it feel like it used to, and grieving the loss of transitions I didn't choose; the Christmas of college with the nostalgic feeling of Home for the Holidays and the rest that comes with breaks from finals and roommates and sorority life; the Christmas of my 20's with the longing for a partner, the wondering of who I will share this season with and the distraction of swiping on random dating apps following the tears that come with broken relationships; and now - the Christmas of our sweet little family, the wonder a young child brings to the day and the delight in recreating those traditions we once held so dear. Every season holds its differences, its uniqueness, its own memory from the year.

Though traditions will live on and more church services attended, Christmas will remain a marker of "this time last year" - and year to year to year, it will look different than the previous year. I don't know how our family will grow, what ascents and descents we will walk, what transformation lies ahead; I don't know what we face politically, financially, or economically; I don't know the future of cultural topics or what kind of interests will carry into our kids' Christmas lists or if we will ever be the family that gifts our kids a puppy for Christmas (spoiler alert: we will never be that family!) 

But this year, I am more confident than ever that all will be well. I recently finished The Book of Longings and though I devoured every bit of it, one quote in particular stood out:

"When I tell you all shall be well, I don't mean that life won't bring you tragedy. Life will be life. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. All shall be well, no matter what."

If we can survive a year like 2020, surely all will be well in spite of the future circumstances. God came to be with us. That's the beauty of Christmas - God WITH. He came here, entering as a human, choosing to walk among us. He is Emmanuel. He is here with us; all will be well.

Right Now in 2020

Within the obvious feels that have descended upon us this year - loss of control, grief, isolation - there has also come an immense sense of loneliness. Although our "Family Pod" here in San Diego meets up fairly often - perhaps just as often as those "pre-Covid" days - what I am experiencing is the loss of normalcy within social outings. The feeling of options in which I would normally be seeing people - even if strangers - brings a sense of Alone. Last year this time, I was regularly going to the YMCA for a two-hour break from Jack, libraries and Trader Joes, baby storytime, Mom Group, church, and meeting new moms at the park and beach. It felt like everywhere I went, people struck up conversation regarding Jack's red hair or the newest neighborhood gossip. All these things are feel off-limits in a way; an impossible future that I miss as though it will never exist.

2020 has brought about a collective grief we are all managing in our own way - the moments and places, and perhaps people - that 2020 has stolen from us. The trips cancelled, anniversaries and birthdays left uncelebrated, and the New Normal we are forced to live into.

I am taking this moment to acknowledge that of course, I am so richly blessed, so deeply grateful, and so greatly privileged. But I have found that it is not Either-Or; in fact it is Both-And. I can be all these things, and still be lonely. I can be so thankful for days with my boys, but also feel overwhelmed and unfulfilled. If 2020 has taught me anything, it is the co-existence of the feeling of loss dancing with the feeling of thankfulness.

On the heels of a pandemic, confronting a broken racist system, the anxieties that come with an election - it is no surprise that what we are facing right now brings us to a place where we are forced to look inward. Long gone are the sold-out toilet paper, Tiger King, peaceful quarantine days - what we live in now is the the brokenness 2020 has created and how to move forward in our world in a more loving, kind, gracious way. I believe we can, but it will take time.

Park days with my boys

Some photos we got taken for our Christmas Card

Our little musician with Uncle D

Pumpkin Patch in Julian

Little Ford man - this summer

What most of life looks like these days

 I have come to love

the sacred of the days.

That early morning light;

The whispered hum of hours

Not yet begun.

Holding within it a promise

Of wonder within the earth,

My two miracles beside me,

In their innocence, in their joy.

Lives unencumbered by the burdens,

Of this world in which we live.

Wanting to pass down the virtues,

Of all the generations past.

All the goodness and the love,

That I know lies within humanity.

These are the sacred minutes,

To live right now.

This, here, thank you.

Our Home Life

I have been wanting to capture the feel of the rhythm of these days, but I continue to run out of time to gather my thoughts. My days are filled with navigating tantrums of a two-year old and somehow managing to sustain an infant. They are picking up the spilled bag of frozen corn for the tenth time, convincing my toddler he does in fact need a nap, changing spit-up off my clothes once again, while also maintaining a semblance of social life outside this home that we feel so bound to these days. 

We are home - we are all still home - for a time we never thought would last this long. Along with everyone else, I miss the normalcy of life and the activities we used to do. I miss Trader Joe's being our morning activity, where happy people offer samples. I miss the peace of mind to go out and have Jack touch everything without caring. I miss chatting with mom friends at the playground while Jack jumps on the bridge and asks me to sing "Apples and Bananas" in the swing. I miss events and activities and restaurants and leaving the house without a mask. It has been six months of Home, and I miss travel. 

There are also moments I soak in and want to last forever. Ford's tiny squishy waking up face that bursts into a smile when he sees me. After he feeds, he puts his tiny fists in the air as if to say "I did it!" and then when I burp him, he wraps them around my neck and buries his little nose into the crease of my neck. When we say "Hi buddy!" to Jack, he repeats it back without realizing we are referring to him. Some of his favorite phrases are "Hold you, momma," "Jack do it," "Another one book" and any truck name that comes to his mind (we laugh when he says "skid steer" "excavator" and "cherry picker" - it's just too cute). Sometimes I feel that life with these boys requires the kind of energy that only superhumans possess.

On our attempted road trip this past week (another story for another time), after being awake and driving for 17 hours, once Ben and I finally got Jack sleeping in the closet and Ford at the foot of our bed - there was a sigh of relief as we both acknowledged the craziness of these days, and also laughter because who attempts a roadtrip with a newborn and a toddler?! (Ben is definitely a superhuman!)

In this moment, Jack is screaming from his crib, so I must attend to him. This is life these days. Short segments of time to regain the strength to do it all again.

A picture before Ford fell over

This little guy smiles all day long

La Jolla: Realizing we don't need to leave home for a vacation

34 is

-learning from this time of pause. Learning presence, appreciation of the simple things, and finding rest.

- spit up on the shoulder, breastmilk everywhere, and endless loads of laundry.

- figuring out how to discipline a two-year old while attending to a infant while battling my eyes wanting to close over and over again.

- facemasks, global uncertainty, sometimes fear, but trying to trust.

- recognizing the gifts of the everyday. Remembering that what I have now is all I have ever wished for.

- growing with Ben. Learning how to be parents to two. Finding time together on the patio for an after-dinner-post-bedtime drink, playing cards, and watching videos of our talkative little Jack.

- noticing wrinkles around the face and getting on a new skincare regimen.

- coffee in the morning, iced latte in the afternoon,  always an extra shot when I get the chance.

- community. Leading a community group and doing life together with neighbors in Clairemont. Raising littles, digging into our marriage, and googling everything in-between.

- gathering around our new table Ben recently made and finding a new flow in our home.

- trying to stay off social media. Nothing very good comes from it.

- a confidence and identity in my role as Mother. Feeling deeply grateful for this calling and my two little guys.

- embracing the body that has done the miracle work of birthing two children and carried me for 34 years. It has changed and evolved. It is magic. 

- overwhelming and chaotic. Finding new ways to get alone time and recharge. Solo mornings with Ben sometimes happen and sometimes don't - but when they do, I feel more connected and alive.

- singing Police Car on repeat and going to sleep with Blippi songs cycling through my head.

- making goals to accept the Today. Not wish it different or change it any way, but acknowledge that this is Life Right Now and it is challenging, but transformative. The story I write now is the story I will write someday. It is all connected and it is all part of growing up. It is a continual journey of growth.

I will always remember you swaddled in my arms, with those heavy breaths slowly and silently along my neck. My body craves more sleep and my eyes give-up on their squinty tired days, but these moments are sacred. I yearn to know the days ahead - who you will be, who you will become - what life will look like with brothers running around in the yard together. What family vacations will be when you are trying to keep up with your older brother on his two-wheeler or trying to out-run him or be just like him in every way. But for now, it's you and me, in these wee morning hours; your ultimate trust in the safety of my arms, wholly surrendered to the familiar comfort of my embrace. This is what we have right now. It won't always be this way, but this is our Right Now.

In so many ways, it seems natural - this rhythm we have fallen into. Ben up with Jack in the morning as I scrounge together another few minutes, or even an hour, of sleep. I'm feeding Ford, Jack is sitting at the table with "soop-up time" and wanting to eat everything Ben eats, exactly how he does it. Ben on a morning call, or making his way down the hall to the nursery-converted-office. Our morning adventures together - Mom and Her Boys - the 30 minutes it takes to get loaded in the car with bribes of snacks and "water with lemon and ice cubes" and every other request for Jack. The hustle towards lunchtime and naptime - balancing brother in the swing, Jack with naptime needs (aka: every truck book and song he can think of...). Napping Jack, feeding Ford, Jack wakes up, Ford falls asleep. Is it 5 o'clock yet?! Ben comes out from work, dinnertime - balancing the feeding/rocking/napping with a glass of rose in hand - then brother baths, tagteaming - Jack's lights are out, Ford is possibly on his way to sleep. Ben's making a cocktail, I'm on the foot of the bed rocking the bassinet until I either join Ben or we eventually both fall asleep. Then again tomorrow. And on and on.

I wonder if I'm being a good mom to these boys - with attention divided and body exhausted. I want to give them all of me - to foster the growth and love of this little two-year-old heart; offer the sensory stimulation and language development for this 7-week old infant. Between daily tasks of cleaning and dishes and laundry and - have I even eaten today?! - it seems hard to offer them the presence I so desire to give. I remember that my presence is what they will take with them - Being with them is enough. Holding Jack, dancing to The Police Car song for the 100th time, this is how we grow. Meeting them where they are at - joining them in what makes their passions come alive. It is these everyday moments that the relationship is built, trust is formed, and learning happens. Will life slow down so I can Be with them? Deep breath. This season offers a pace I sometimes feel I can't keep up with - with always Time pressing up against my spirit - will my boys be in college tomorrow? The Missing Out thoughts haunt the mother in me... So here I am. Offering my best to them today. That's all I can be required to give - even when tantrums lead me to tears or lack of sleep leads me to shortened patience. Grace upon grace, [Jesus be near]. Two under two for 4 more days. Trying to not simply persist and persevere, but to take breaths of gratitude and find the Divine in and through and with it all. He is here, He sees. I find comfort in that truth.

Am I willing to say - this is hard, but I am learning? These moments are challenging, and I surely will not forget. They are equally difficult as they are sweet. They are equally chaotic as they are memorable. Equally tiring as they are fulfilling. It is Both And right now, and I am living the fullness of it. 

I read a quote the other day "We get 18 delicious summers with our children, this is one of them." I started to think about that - 18 doesn't seem like a lot, and it already feels like a generous number. (Let's be honest - by the time our children are teenagers they will be doing their own summer without their super uncool parents!) COVID or not, this summer we have together. I want to remember our Togetherness above all. Through the exhaustion, through the tantrums, through the newborn emotional strain... I want to remember that we are a family and this is what life looks like right now.

Moonlight Beach - Lofty Coffee, Sand, and Walks

Double Stroller walks - Ford swaddled on one side and Jack singing the Excavator Song, Police Car Song, and Bulldozer song on the other

Jack and Juj - strawberry picking. The best of friends.

Pancake Saturdays. Especially on the 4th of July!

That Work-From-Home (/Nursery) during a global pandemic life

Masks everywhere you go. Will it always be like this?!

Tired eyes and a baby in the wrap

Jack with a babysitter and working in a coffeeshop looks like this

So many trips to the Fire Station / "wee-oh" truck

These boys have my HEART!

Jack wants to be just like Daddy - he loves to eat cereal with him

The new centerpiece of our home - the table Ben built!

Ford // 7 weeks old

Coffee is Life

Ben - Superdad as always! My better half, teammate, and love of my life.
Couldn't do any of it without him beside me! Thankful BEYOND.

It is all so beautiful, so challenging, so chaotic, yet so fulfilling. I remember these blurry-eyed days... days running into night into days again... Confused to the time and the day of the week and the season. It all runs together like an unending circle... only remembering it is morning by the beep of the coffeemaker and the sunlight streaming through the curtains. We live on caffeine, but it seems there is never enough.

And yet, the body can be physically exhausted and the heart can be so full. There are moments: Jack's sweet voice and sounds - his repeating of everything we say, singing to himself all day - Ford sleeping on my chest with the quiet rhythm of his breath, his safe and favorite place to snuggle. And I remember - This. Now, here, this. This is it. Not to live into a distant future of non-sleep-deprived days, but to be present here with my boys right now, in this season. It's challenging, tear-filled, frustrating, infuriating at times... but it fulfills a piece of my heart that couldn't have been filled any other way. The road to transformation is always initiated with challenge.

I recently read (then watched) Little Fires Everywhere, and I'm reminded of the brevity of this place in time. My children cuddled close, the vulnerability in their full weight pressed against mine, the absolute trust and admiration of a small child as he looks up at his Mom. The desire for affirmation and the need to be celebrated. The love and the nurture and the sweet exchange of toddler kisses so innocent. It won't always be like this. This time will pass and I will long for it like a distant nostalgic dream. To be here now is all I can do. To remember that spit-up and burping and crying every few hours at night and swaddling and cooing and pacifier-holding... it is all a phase that passes. What remains is the sweet little life that is growing up beside me, looking to me for guidance, and becoming more and more independent each day until eventually they won't need me anymore. Or at least in these ways.

“To a parent, your child wasn't just a person: your child was a place, a kind of Narnia, a vast eternal place where the present you were living and the past you remembered and the future you longed for all at the same time. You could see it every time you looked at her: layered in her face was the baby she'd been and the child she'd become and the adult she would grow up to be, and you saw them all simultaneously, like a 3-D image. It made your head spin. It was a place you could take refuge, if you knew how to get in. And each time you left it, each time your child passed out of your sight, you feared you might never be able to return to that place again.” - Celeste Ng

Our first night home, I buried him close in my arms for three hours that night - something I never would’ve done with Jack. I smelled his baby hair and clasped each of his baby fingers. The tiny pit pat rhythm of his breath on my skin awakening my consciousness to the reality of this life I held. Completely surrendered, his heartbeat against mine. I now have the perspective I didn’t have with Jack — it goes so fast. Everyone tells you that, and they're right. Even in the challenge, this isn’t forever. Everything is a phase and everything passes. The seemingly long sleepless nights and the crying and the frustrating nap protests... they all pass. What I have here is a newborn, who will grow into a toddler, who will continue to grow into a little boy, who will become a man. In only a few short months, holding him all night won’t be possible. So here I am, bleary-eyed, tired, straining to make it to morning, but with a heart so full of gratitude it brings me to tears. I will forever remember these nights; him and me, snuggled close, and that full beautiful trust of a baby with his Momma. 

"I'm always here for you," I whisper. And I mean it. I always will.

Ford: A Birth Story

There is a journey of inner transformation that happens when we embark upon difficulty, challenge, and pain. It's why people return to places like the Camino, or choose to run marathons, summit mountains, cycle across the country. Innately, human instinct tells us that when we choose the thing that feels impossible, and enter into it with courage, there is a process we are taken through that breeds growth. Ultimately, life is about this kind of work - the kind that sees the mountain, climbs the mountain, and summits the mountain saying: "I can do hard things!"

Monday, May 18th was a pivotal day for me in this way. After my 40-hour laborious birth with Jack that ultimately led to a c-section, there was little hope instilled in me for attaining the birth dream I have always wanted. I had equated a lot of fear with birth due to my previous experience, and an overall feeling of failure and the mantra: "I don't have what it takes." In my third trimester with Baby Bro, I was encouraged to seek God and allow Him to do a work in me of letting go of fear. Each morning, I awoke with the prayer of my heart, choosing to believe God saw this desire and was going to give it to me. In the recesses of my imagination, I relived my birth with Jack and chose to write a different memory. I told myself that I will not believe the lies, I will not listen to the fear, I will not choose to feel that I failed... I will enter into this birth with courage and confidence. I felt God tangibly lift my heart and remind me that I am not alone. He prompted me to rely on my teammate and partner Ben to help carry me through labor. He physically brought me into a place of hope, healing, and redemption that I have desired to experience through my pregnancy and birth journey.

When my Dr told me on the Thursday before my planned c-section that I did not have a chance at a VBAC, I began to doubt the things I had heard from God. I settled into the reality that a repeat c-section was necessary and I had peace moving into that, alongside grieving the unmet desire of my heart. When we showed up at 5:30am that morning, something felt different. They put me on an IV and began to prep me for surgery, when the still voice of God was working in my heart. As they monitored my contractions, something stirred inside of me to ask about the possibility of a VBAC once again. A nurse encouraged me to advocate for myself. She checked me and found that I was 3.5cm dilated and the hope of a VBAC came rushing back. As the Dr listed all the possible ramifications and drawbacks, I had total peace in moving forward into this birth without focusing on what could go wrong, and instead visualizing my baby coming out into my arms.

The next 6.5 hours were a whirlwind. It started slow and calm. Ben and I listened to worship music, played cards, and prayed over our son. Between hopeful tears of excitement, we swayed and held hands and Ben spoke truth over me, telling me I was going to do it. From that moment forward - I entered in and accepted the contractions as they came. I learned not to fight them, but welcome them. The Dr broke my water, put me on pitocin, and helped me go from a 4cm to a 10cm in 30 minutes... at which point I turned into a side of myself I didn't know existed. After peeing on Ben (and the surrounding nurses), I scream cried for an epidural, then almost kissed the anesthesiologist on the mouth.

The room was filled with a thick layer of peace that only comes from the presence of God. Every contraction, Ben was beside me pulling me through it. He knew exactly what to say that allowed my heart to feel at ease - he told me they were prepping the baby warmer, bringing in the diapers... that the doctors and nurses believed I would be having the baby in that room -- and not be wheeled into an emergency c-section. With every push, I felt that I was partnering with the baby to come out. I told him I wanted to see his face, hear his cry, feel him on my chest. With the first push, the nurse told me he had dark hair and I visualized holding him in my arms. She even placed my hand so that I could feel his head - and I was shocked to know he was right there! An hour and 40 minutes later, the doctor came in and it was in that instant I finally knew it was happening. I couldn't stop saying: "I did it, I did it!" I did the thing I didn't think I had a chance at; I underwent the pain I never knew I could handle. I broke into a pile of thankful tears. He was coming out -- and there was no stopping now.

Holding my crying little baby on my chest was one of the most empowering and intimate experiences of my life. I will never forget seeing his face for the first time and kissing him and the overwhelming feeling of relief that he had arrived.

Our little Ford Noah. 

He will always remind me that God fulfills His Promises for us. He gives us the desires of our heart and guides us in unexpected ways.

Happy Due Date

May 15th... Happy due date little man! You and I, we did it. We made it to 40 weeks. There was a point in this pregnancy we didn't know if that would be possible, but we did it. My momma heart beats with pride already.

We found out 33 weeks ago you would be coming into the world. We didn't know you would be a boy and we can't wait for you to have a brother. Will you have red hair? Will you look like Jack? Will you be a sleeper??!

These are our last moments together like this. I am ready to meet you, but I also cherish this time.

Please remember.

I'll always be your first Home.

This Last Week

This morning while walking on the beach, feeling the kicks and rolls of our second son, I considered the truth of these last moments of knowing our little guy in this way. 

This is my last week of being his one true Home. I will always be his first Home, but in this life he will discover so many more.

These are the last hours of fully protecting him, providing for him, and sustaining him. The last week of my body fitting snug around his, enveloping his tiny little frame, and cuddling him tightly within the womb. 

These are the last few days of wondering in curiosity what he will look like, sound like, be like... before he becomes so much a part of our lives, it's as if I have already known these things all along.

The last time his little eyes are closed to the wonder of the universe before he is brought out of this cozy space created just for him and immersed into all the Unknown that lay ahead. Soon he will open his eyes for the first time to real light, he will breathe real air, and he will be grasped by real human touch. These are his first moments of awe with the simplicity of life, and surely will not be his last.

Birth is such a mystery in this way. A fully formed human curled one moment inside with all the lingering curiosities of the mother... already so familiar with the tiny movements and gestures, so aware of who he is becoming and intimately connected to him while growing him for 9 months; and yet we do not know each other.

There are so many things I don't know. As I birth my child, how will a new mother be birthed within me? In what ways will my identity change? What will it be like to give my heart fully to another human? Can I possibly love as much as I love now?

These things I know. We will always do our best to invite him into this universe of wonder. To help him know adventure. To guide him, shepherd him, and never assume we fully know him. We were designed to be this child's parents, and that is simply enough. In all my weaknesses and shortcomings, I am enough for you, little one. Come, come. We can't wait to meet you.

I want to remember these days - these days walking around (and around) the block with Jack, playing in the yard, building forts in the garage. Ben working from home, happy hour rose on the patio, and frequently doing a "knock knock" on his door to deliver coffee.

There have been stages in this process. I fought it in the beginning - I didn't want to accept a reality I knew I eventually would have to face. Prior to quarantine, I could count on one hand the amount of days we stayed at home in the totality of Jack's life. I love home, but I am not a homebody (or at least not with a toddler!). I thrive on being out with him, exploring the world, hanging with friends, and experiencing new places through his eyes. Home feels monotonous and less exciting.

But last week, I had a perspective change. It's not what we do or the adventures that we create that make our identity - it's what I choose to see in each moment and how I remain present with it. I have become so in tune with Jack - the language he is constructing, the connections happening in his brain, the sense he is drawing from life. Because the backdrop of our life seems mostly the same, my focus has shifted to who he is growing into, and I love who he is becoming. He is filled with a contagious joy, a sensitive spirit, and a desire to receive affirmation. Lately, he loves to dance and see trucks of any sort, and make "cack-ee" (coffee) in the morning with us. These are such sweet moments to soak in - the innocence of our little Jack, the wonder and anticipation of "baby Foop" on the way, and this new identity we are finding as a family.

"The crucible of our formation is in the monotony of our daily routines." 

(Liturgy of the Ordinary, 34)

If I cannot live my daily routines with intention and care, then I will miss it. I will miss what the majority of life consists of - these small acts of worship throughout the day, these daily habits that feel meaningless, yet become the liturgy of our life.

So, here we are... still at home. Still unable to go anywhere. Still unsure how long this will last. But still living fully (or at least trying)... and still in awe of how much Jack has changed in the last few weeks and how independent he is becoming. Soon to be a Big Bro - but in a way, always my baby.

"Daily life, dishes in the sink, children that ask the same questions and want the same stories again and again and again, the doldrums of the afternoon - these things are filled with repitions. And much of the Christian life is returning over and over to the same work and same habits of worship, We must content with the same spiritual struggles again and again. The work of repentance and faith is daily and repetitive. Again and again, we repent and believe."

(Liturgy of the Ordinary, 35)

Such a Time As This

It is in these moments that the tension of life is lived and the collective experience of being human is seen. We are surrounded by both beauty and challenge; grief and joy. The dance of this tension is being lived and we are tasked with the figuring out how to live into this reality on a global level. The soul of humanity comes out in a shared union of sadness in the unknown and creativity in the hardship.

Being quarantined at home with a 20 month old is an experience unique to this time. In the past, if Jack and I had spent a day fully at home it was enough to drive me wild. It has been 17 days now that we have been self-isolating; 17 days in which I have ridden the wave of high's and low's, breakdowns and triumphs.

One thing I am learning: our life is already so full without the things we usually fill our lives with... (except the people, of course. We need them!). In the process of being stripped of freedoms I have previously taken for granted, I am noticing a joy for life that nothing can steal away. An acknowledgment in this tough time that God is still Sovereign, He Reigns, and He is Good. Though social gatherings feels like an immense privilege and gathering at beaches to celebrate with friends seems like a distant dream, I am tuning into this present moment choosing to be thankful.

I am hopeful, I am sorrowful, I am finding the beautiful, I am seeing the ugly. There's no way around it - this.is.hard.

And yet, I enter into times of the day when I feel exhausted from the enormous burden of "trying." Trying to make each day purposeful, striving to see the beauty in the mundane, and forcing myself to enjoy these simple moments is tiring. In the past, the discipline to enjoy the simple routines of life felt more spread out, it seemed manageable. It felt like a reality I could handle on a sporadic basis. But the day-to-day mystery in the future Unknown and the sense that there are an infinite number of days left in which I am battling toddler manipulations and forcing Jack to stay in our driveway, is upending. Let's be honest, it could make even the most normal human slightly crazy. It is here I find myself, it is here I wonder how to not just "make it through the day" but seek out what the day has to offer in its ways of wonderful.

Practically speaking, it means lots of driving, stroller-walking (around the block), and slowing down. It means we stop at every flower, branch, twig, bug, fence, truck, trash can, tree, bird... Jack inspects it and tries to pronounce it and then asks for more snacks. It means being present and attentive to how he is learning, instead of staring at the soul-draining scrolls of the phone. It means I learn about Jack at a whole new level because I choose to study how he works and understand what makes him come alive. It means lots of oat milk lattes, carbs, and ice-cream. Because it's the little delights of life that bring meaning to our days, right?!

On a deeper level, it means gratitude. It means a perspective shift. A thankful heart. We are so lucky to have our space - our home, our garage, our backyard, our driveway - thank you Jesus for this space that we really love to be in together. I know that my reality is my reality, so I can't compare to others - but I also know it could be so much worse. Choosing this day to have a thankful heart.

I'm not sure what I will say when I look back on this time. I wonder about the long-term changes that will press upon our society - in education, in the workforce, in the daily functions of our existence. I wonder how God will use something so terrible for good, as He always does. I wonder what our future will bring after a unified experience of grief, and how we will transform and change because of it. Will we move on from this and fall back into the regularity of our own habits? Or will these new ways of living actually change the way we live?

The one thing I know is that the day we can come together with our friends and family with shared hugs and high-fives without thinking about sanitizing our hands every 10 minutes or wearing germ-containing masks will be a day to rejoice. And one I pray we forever hold close to our hearts as a true privilege and joy that brings real purpose to our lives.

As I read in Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, yesterday: "As I grow older, I discover more and more that the greatest gift I have to offer is my own joy of living, my own inner peace, my own silence and solitude, my own sense of well-being. When I ask myself, "Who helps me most?" I must answer, "The one who is willing to share his or her life with me."

In all, this is my prayer.

I was recently chatting with a friend regarding the nature of my personal writing these days. Though it mostly circles back to the same themes, it has evolved over time in that it often seems like I have a lot less material to process right now. My 30's are disparate from my 20's in the way of identity and life path and searching for so many answers to questions. Those endless questions kept my writing inspired and progressing; as my heart searched for recognizing its own desires, my writing propelled forward into seeking meaning and answers. While I certainly do not have all answers to my big questions in life, I find that moving out of the independence and freedom I once felt has led me into a cycle of living that doesn't have as many questions, or perhaps doesn't need to seek out the answers it once needed.

There are so many things I want to accomplish, goals I want to reach, and people I want to impact. Yet, sometimes I feel like those things aren't worth the time to process or reflect or figure out because I know it's not my call right now. The reality is that my call is to my children, my husband, our growing family. This was revealed to me at a deeper level yesterday when I received an email from my Department chair at PLNU (where I currently teach adjunct) asking me to teach new courses this summer. It's the opportunity I have waited for for two years, only to find out that the courses start literally on my due date. It is the opportunity I want to say Yes to, though I know I have to say Yes to something else - this little life entering our home, giving my attention and love to him and Jack as I figure out how to do life as a Mom of Two.

In this way, it can feel like motherhood is an endless track of sacrifices. It is a constant Giving Up, Giving Out, and Adaptation to a new lifestyle, human, and way of being in the world. Being pregnant magnifies this reality in the physical sense. As a mother, I am in a position where I am required to give all of myself to not only the toddler demanding everything in front of me, but also growing another child. As he forms, I don't have a choice whether or not to change physically - it just happens. When he comes, the physical sacrifices only increase. For women, this is the sacrifice that you often don't think of as such, because it's just what you do. There's no heart question at stake here, my love for my children is so deep that I will give everything to them without reserve, without question, without even seeing it as a choice.

I recently listened to an OnBeing podcast interview with Walter Bruggeman in which he disects the word "mercy." He describes how the Hebrew for mercy is actually the word "womb," as an illustration that mercy is similar to motherlike love for a child. The visual here is a mother who lays down her life, gives every part of herself, and essentially sacrifices all of who she is for her child. Mercy is when we can do that for our neighborhood and the people in our life. He says: "Giving yourself away from the sake of the other instead of drawing others to yourself for your own well-being. It is a generous connectedness to others." Seeing mercy in this sense allowed me to understand the magnitude of this call on our life.

I know that this is a season. There are dreams on the shelf for now; there are hopes that have yet to be fulfilled. There are ways God hasn't used me in this world to fulfill His purposes quite yet. But at the same time, He is here, He is present, He has called me to "Now. Here. This." There is purpose and there is meaning even when it feels like it requires so much of myself. There is formation happening and there are dreams building even when it feels like I am saying No to so many of them right now. He is here, He lives within me, and He has given me what I need for today.

*Please note that this post may contain errors because I didn't have time to go back and review it.

I am trying my best to savor these days with Jack because I know they are fleeting. I want to soak in every little giggle and playtime and curiosity with life that Jack so naturally brings.

Yesterday he was biking down the driveway in his diaper with a bowl full of peas. Sometimes this is my life.

So often I wonder what it will be like to add in another little guy. I am so excited to see their relationship develop - though I know it will be tough for Jack at first. I can already tell he is a boy of routines and not the most flexible when it comes to change. It will be a big change for all of us, but I know we will all adapt in time! We still have 3.5 months just us, my little buddy and me, and I want to live all the adventures together we possibly can.

I read this in short essays by Mary Oliver the other day and it struck me:

"Attention is the beginning of devotion."

This has become my mantra over the past few weeks. I am challenged to discipline the focal point of my attention; wherein lies my attention my devotion will follow. My desire is for my devotion to be for God and my husband, my son, my relationships, and investing in others. It is so easy to be lazy and allow my attention to slip. I want my son to remember my full presence beside him. And I don't want to miss out on these years they say "are so short" even when they feel so long.

On Sunday, Jack and I traded church for a morning date together since Ben was gone camping. We got a coffee and treats in Little Italy then wandered down to the bayfront. The clouds gave a chill to the air and Jack was so sweet running on the boardwalk saying "ships" that I wanted the moment to last forever. Sometimes he is the hardest little guy to please, but slowly I am learning. He delights in the seemingly unnoticeable and I want to be right there delighting with him and in him. I never want to see my child as an interruption to my day; Jack is my day. He has the gentlest heart, kindest little smile (like his Dad), and loves when he makes me proud (which is pretty much doing anything).

I hope I always remember these moments with Jack. They are so dear to me.

I went for a walk by the sea
And I remembered
The vastness of who You are
And I deleted my grocery list
To type this

Year in Review: Photos

[Blogger didn't put these in order and I don't have time right now to organize them - so here's a selection of 2019 memories in review out of order!]

In May we went to Austin to celebrate Lo's bachelorette!

We lived up summer together!

September: trip to Santa Rosa wine country with my two faves

So many good morning memories together

Dec: Jack's first trip to Baja, MX

Feb: Napa trip to celebrate our 2nd anniversary

Japan with my love! 

Mornings at Waterfront Park - when all Jack could do was sit there ;)

Sunday afternoon Zoo Times!

Finding out in Sept we are pregnant with Baby Boy #2!

This little cutie!

Happy Hour at Torrey Pines

Sibsteins Ski Trip in Brek - look at baby Jack in the carrier! 

Jack's first time to Baja in December

Lauren and Daniel's wedding in June

Getting our Christmas Tree together

Santa Rosa wine country trip end of August

Daniel and Lauren's wedding! So happy for them!

Turning 33 - Brunch with my girls

Beach Days with my boys

Lauren and Daniel got engaged in Feb!

We love the Penns!

Park Days with baby Jack

Zoo Dates with my little guy

Summer Music in the Park - Jack loves watermelon!

Our squishy face

He loves the swing

A fall trip to Julian for apple orchards and pumpkins and hot cider

Finding all the Rylee & Cru finds

Ben had Summer Fridays and got off early from work - so we would do picnics at the beach 

Little Italy hangs

Mornings with our little guy

Hosting a shower for Lauren alongside Jill

Laguna Beach weekend in July 

So many visits with cousin Rosie - this was in June

The most handsome guys in my life!

JAPAN!

The year started and he was just a baby!

Gimme all the Ramen in Japan

Time together

Bumbo!

So hard to believe the year began when he was this small!

Jillian and Mikey here with Rosie for DLo's engagement in Feb

Girls trip to Austin for Lo's bachelorette party 

He started to crawl and reach for things

Girls Day in Breck - Sisters! 

Teeth!

Yard Renovation

In May for Lo's shower

Always loving lovey

Love this sister of mine! 

Afternoon park days with my guy 

The beginnings of crawling

Starting to eat some solids earlier this year

Ben's Christmas party - almost 20 weeks pregnant 

Jack's first Easter

Jack met Santa at The Pendry and didn't hate it

Home for Christmas

He was really into sweet potato at first

Christmas in the City and Jack jet lagged in the stroller 

All smiles

Our first picture in his helmet

Discovering what we need to baby proof

Progressive Dinner 2019

Lots of quality time with Grandma Mickey while we traveled

Jack and his buds at Brit's daycare

The Fourth of July ended with Jack going to sleep and fireworks on the roof

Ben's fam comes to visit in July

Jack's first birthday!

Mom got us a Zoo Membership for Jack's bday - best gift ever!

We love Mr Frosty

Jack wants to be just like Daddy

One of Jack's first buddies - Shep!

Turning 33 date at Fort Oak

Family Din Hangs the best with this crew

Snacks at the beach

Our first time traveling alone

On the airplane together

I taught Jack how to do "cheers" with popsicles in Santa Rosa

He traveled a lot this year

Visiting Rosie in Denver over Labor Day weekend

Fourth of July at the beach!

Jack loves the car

Monkeys at the zoo

He could play in the car for hours

Owen and Juj - first friends!

Visited Jenny and Andrew in Waco in Sept (right before finding out I'm pregnant!) 

Enjoying the fall in Julian

Jack loves to do anything he sees us doing - especially sweeping

Kara and Jacob's wedding in Oct

Love my Suzy girl

Fam pics by Jackie Wonders in Oct

Music in Bluebird Park in Laguna

Climbing the stairs and open mouth kisses at the park

Wineries in Escondido

Getting that perfect tree

Jack loves "Dudu"

Everyone's here for Thanksgiving!

Girl's holiday craft night at Jess's - I made my first wreath

We love Mt Etna park - we are there almost every day

Cinnamon Roll Saturday and Sunday with the Martins - 3rd year tradition!

Love my wise and intentional bestie Jen