Weekend Getaway: Napa

Where to start with the highlights from our weekend trip... kid-free, lots of wine, delicious eats, fireplace snuggles, wedding vids, 70 + sunny... the list goes on. Case in point: Napa is a DREAM. As we waved goodbye to the grape lined streets, the only thing withholding my tears was the confidence in knowing this was not our last trip. 

Without Jack, it harkened us back to Our Dating Days; delighting in the freedom of our own timeframe, schedule, and spontaneity. I savor these moments with Ben -- opportunities to connect and learn more about each other's hearts, dreams, goals, frustrations, delights. In the shuffle of the everyday, our focus is often shifted to Jack and we have to intentionally ask the bigger questions, silly questions, and even difficult questions to pivot the conversation back to one another. 

On my favorite day of the trip, we had a 5 course plated meal with wine pairings as we sat in a valley of sun watching the straight edges of vine rows disappearing into looming mountains across the horizon. We savored the crisp of the rose followed by full-bodied reds, trying our best to presently absorb the beauty of the moment. Shortly after, finding ourselves in a German vineyard surrounded by laughing groups of picnickers and a delicious cabernet led us to remember our Favorite Day - two years ago - and reminisce on those first few weeks married. I'm not sure I will ever live a happier day than 2/18/2017; though I know I will come close.

Some days I am still in awe that I get to call Benjamin my husband, Jack our son, and San Diego our home. In many ways, three years ago I didn't know if this could ever be my future. I remember falling in love with Ben realizing for the second time how intimately God knows the dreams of my heart. The first was when He led me to Spain, the second was when He led me to Ben. For those who doubt, I offer this quote: "All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). God is faithful, unexpectedly and unexplainably so. When we look back over the course of our lives, we see His gifts. He has been with us in the past and He remains with us every step into the future. He placed the dreams in our heart and it is He who allows them to materialize in a way that always brings glory back to Him.

Life feels fragile in a way because I know it is fleeting. Each morning is a reminder of the passage of time, as Jack grows another size and all my biases confirm that he just keeps getting cuter. The days and the weekends feel beautiful in their simplicity - morning giggles from Jack in between bleary-eyed coffee pours; the feeling of contentment at a day's end as the sun casts orange and purple hues scattered across canyon cliffs; Jack's sweet bathtime & bedtime moments - watching him fall asleep on the monitor as Ben and I soak in quality time with one another over a home cooked meal and a night of Netflix. Life is lived in these moments.

I will remember this season with such gratitude - every little thing Jack does seems precious in a way only a parent truly appreciates - the way he squeals with delight with the most high-pitched little noise; how he plays with my hat as if it's a toy meant just for him; his eyes growing heavy and peacefully shutting in the stroller when we go for walks; his fiery red hair receiving comments everywhere we go; his sweet cheesy smile that stretches across his face with simply one look at him; his chunky cheeks that I can't help but kiss every second of the day... It feels like this will be the rest of my life - but I know someday this little baby will be towering over me (at least if he gets his daddy's genes!) and I won't be able to snuggle him close and protect him from the world. In those days I will be getting a lot more sleep and perhaps a bit of time to myself - but I will look back and miss these day, realizing every sleepless night meant that I got to spend the day with my little baby boy, who is only a baby once.

I'm not sure how to be more present in this life; but I want to be. I want to show up with my full self to every moment and hold it in my hands with such a grip that it never leaves. I want to seek the adventure that is right in front of me; this adventure of becoming a mom, growing as a wife, and entering into a season with our little family. It is a gift.

Do you ever consider how many different lifes you could have over the trajectory of your lifetime? If you had said Yes to that one thing, or No to that other thing; if you moved to that place or had stayed in that place; if you hadn't run out the door later than normal and happened to run into that one person... life could take on so many forms. And the reality is, even when you are settled into the life you most presently lead, it could still take shape into something completely different.

I just finished Michelle Obama's book (and yes, if I could meet one person in the world it would have to be her!) A quote of hers that showed up in my underlines and has stood out to me over and over again resonates with the mysterious unfolding of life:

"For me, becoming isn't about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn't end" (Obama, 419).

That's the key: the journey doesn't end. If anyone's life reflects that truth, it's hers. As an African American girl growing up on the Southside of Chicago in the 80's, she never would've predicted that her name would someday be known worldwide. I think about this for my life and the story I'm writing with it. I think about how I get stuck in an identity: Teacher, Wife, Mother... and I wonder sometimes what more there could be?! I get stuck on a path because I forget I can veer. I forget about the underlying skills and gifts that surface in those roles - the ones that could perhaps be stretched to other iterations of my identity.

I have a dream that is in the beginning stages of being birthed. It is all a series of thoughts and daydreams right now - ones that I talk myself in and out of because that's what I always do. My inner mantra of I can't do that; I'm not good enough; I don't have what it takes takes over and convinces me out of it. I want to take all of who I am and sum it up into something that reflects me at my core. My favorite themes prevailing: journey, exploration, discovery, growth, extraordinary in the ordinary... I want these to lead what I do next. We'll see if I ever have the courage to step out and make it happen.

I have always been drawn to children, with their innocent sense of wonder and deep curiosity with the everyday patterns of the world. For this reason, I knew at a young age that I would study Child Development and I also knew that someday I would have children of my own. I eagerly awaited this season, jealously eying the moms running errands in yoga pants from coffeeshops to Whole Foods, daydreaming of Mom Life when I could go about my daily rhythms with a cute tiny baby in tow. Sometimes I catch myself watching this play out before my eyes like a film in which I am the spectator instead of the leading lady. I find myself shocked to be in the role of Mom; that the day is not a distant daydream, it is in fact the reality of the life I live.

I don't struggle with a sense of purpose, because I find such fulfillment in days with Jack. I know that so much of my purpose is claimed by him, and I find that a noble and honorable calling to fulfill. 

However, I struggle with a sense of Belonging. I don't feel at home in the world of moms with older children - conversation topics of field trips and kindergarten teachers; the moms who have casually moved past the realm of diapers and sleep training and seem to look back on those days with a sort of non-envy only a new mom can recognize. While I love our home, I don't feel a strong sense of community on our street of retired folks - who in their best intentions to make us feel welcome, take in our trash and tell us they'll watch over our home while we're gone - which only serves to prove that this world is an unfolding of predictable patterns lacking the spontaneity and stories I thrive on each day. Sometimes I feel like a foreigner in California, having not grown-up in a world of everyday sunshine, surfing, and light layers, I feel a constant heartache for the makeup of my childhood snow forts and fireside hot cocoa. Renovating our home fulfilled deep-seated desires of late-night Pinterest finds and journal-filled design sketches, but to find myself as a stay-at-home mom on the edge of a canyon with only a Target within walkability brings a kind of loneliness that even someone with the #1 strength of Positivity can't rise above. I am left with the question of - Where do I belong? 

I belong as a wife to Benjamin, a mom to Jack, a professor at PLNU. I belong as a friend to our community here and the moms I find myself texting with each day. To those roles I feel connection... but when it's just me going about my daily days, I don't tangibly feel belonging to this rhythm I find myself living. I used to find identity through seeking wonder in even the most mundane but human moments of life - dishes, cleaning, errands - but I now find these events uninspiring and lacking anything of actual worth. I can't seem to sense contentment or an ability to bypass the ordinary and find the extraordinary as I used to somehow be so good at curating in my life. So I've immersed myself in other peoples' stories - podcasts, memoirs, documentaries - with an attempt to insert a glimmer of interesting from their life into mine. I so desperately hope to write my own book, but then I fear I have nothing to contribute - after all, who would read the boring story of my life? The life of waiting for the mailman at 11:30 and taking out the trash bins every Tuesday night? People crave adventure. I have nothing to offer in that realm.

I desire to come alive with the very marrow of life itself, to wake-up with a sense of inspiration unshaken by the day-to-day. But I don't know how. When I found myself stuck in a rut in the past, it has always opened a door to move or travel... but for me now, I feel trapped in the very real fact that this is not an option. Where does that bring me? I live with the internal motivation to do Everything with my life, and yet most days I feel that I have done Nothing. The inner voice tells me it's not enough - give more, do more, be more - but I don't feel the guidance or wisdom to know exactly where or how. I respect the roles with which I identify, but life lacks a strong tie to a community admonished with such deep attachment & affection that I'm led to do just about anything for it.

I don't have answers; only questions, reflections, and thoughts. 

And Jack smiles - always Jack smiles.

.

I have been thinking lately about what it means to nourish my soul... to do the things that make me feel the most Me so that I don't get lost in the identity of Mom. I'm so afraid of that - of having one singular angle to life and my world revolving around the Baby... knowing only how to converse of sleep schedules and feeding struggles instead of the important things of my heart and my life.

There is something about returning to the place where I grew-up that reminds me of my core Me - sifting through pictures and memorabilia that formerly consumed my world, and feeling alien to this old way of life.

There is a season that springboarded the formation of my deeper self - one that I am most thankful for - graduate school at Wheaton. It was there that I was immersed in the world of academia on a new level - studying theology and spiritual disciplines and critically examining my rhythms of life and experiences of God. Walks through campus in every season, whether trodding through snow or shuffling in leaves, brought me to reflect on God's faithfulness in leading me to a program where I was challenged to integrate prayer into daily routines and learn solitude and rest at a local monastery. Writing my master's thesis on the spiritual discipline of pilgrimage is a topic that remains close to my heart and one that I hope to explore even further at the university level someday. I remember people asking me - so what do you do with a degree in spiritual formation? While I don't want to dismiss the integrity of the question - it's a good question - it's also a fractional way to view education. The end goal of learning is not necessarily to do anything specific, but to become - to immerse one's head and heart into that which is transformational is always a worthy investment. The topics I explored and the people I met and the discussions I engaged in changed me. My outlook on life now is holistic in the sense of breaking down the silos of "my spiritual life" and "my everyday life" - I was taught rhythms to live by and topics to wrestle with. I became the best version of myself in the program, and I have brought myself - my whole self - to the work I do now with students.

In the past four months, my world has turned upside down and sideways with a baby... not just because of the extreme exhaustion causing my words to get muddled and my brain to be tired from the constant decision-making and anxiety that perhaps I'm ill-equipped as a Mom and causing eternal turmoil in Jack's life - but also because my focus has shifted. In some ways this is positive - I am certainly less selfish and more flexible - but in other ways I have told myself I have to lay down everything that is important to me. What I have considered lately is that in the laying down of my life for my baby and my husband, I can also take time to nourish my own soul and practice the contemplative rituals that are so dear to me - lectio divina, Taize, imaginative prayer. While I can't necessarily travel to a cross-country pilgrimage in Europe at this juncture of life,  I can be a pilgrim here at home, with Jack. I can immerse myself in landscape that draws me to Christ, I can marvel at the sunrise and the sunset that brings me to worship, and I can attend prayer services that provide a quiet and sacred space to experience God. After all, the saying on the Camino is that the true pilgrimage begins when you return home. The mark of transformation is when the practices and experiences of God along the route become the default way of living - I don't return to the habits that used to form my life. I break new ground and form new roads.

I have committed to finding a spiritual director here; to attending a contemplative prayer service on Wednesday nights, to writing even when my thoughts feel misconstrued and unintelligent. Because I believe these routines are life-giving and life-changing and make me the most Me. These practices keep me whole - which make me a more present Mom and a more compassionate friend and a more servant-hearted wife.

The Feeling of Being a Mom

Some days I get a glimpse of Jack and it hits me "I'm a Mom." It feels foreign and surreal because I always thought I would "be a certain person" when I became a Mom. When I was younger, I had a vision of what I would be like when I was a teenager or when I went to college or when I got married. I pictured myself as a different person; I imagined that I would somehow feel different... even though I can't exactly pin down what that "different feeling" would be...

The truth is, I'm still me. And in so many ways, I feel different... but I also don't fit that vision of the feeling I thought I would have. Maybe because life takes its turns and I never pictured myself Mom'ing in San Diego, living in Clairemont, or teaching at PLNU.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that life pans out better than my initial vision. Even though sometimes I want to fight for what I think it's "supposed" to be, being present to what life currently looks like brings much more peace. Letting go of the "ought's and should's" is one of my greatest challenges and disciplines.

It feels an impossible task to capture these moments - each one seeming as though it will be forever, while our Jack continues to prove to us that we are, in fact, incapable over the control of time.

I don't drink my coffee hot anymore; I'm slightly behind on the happenings of the world; my days are lived in 3-hour increments; my sentences sometimes take longer to construct -- but living each day with this little guy somehow brings the most immeasurable joy. It has been said that a child is "your heart outside your body," and that is the closest phrase I can use to express what exactly life feels like right now.

There also exists fear -- looming in the background, mischievously trying to stifle the rest to be found in the present moment. I have never known fear like this -- the kind that debilitates and sends me spiraling to deep lies I am even afraid to admit are there. I am afraid of his 2's; afraid that I will long for these days as a baby and that it only gets harder. I am afraid I won't know what to do as I parent moment to moment; that I won't be a good enough Mom for him. I am afraid for the first time his feelings are hurt, or his body gets hurt, or - even worse - his spirit is hurt. I'm afraid for when he tells me to stop kissing him in public or that he doesn't need me anymore and wants to do things by himself. I'm afraid he won't want to know Jesus or reject the Church or tell us that our beliefs are all lies. I'm afraid for him to experience loneliness or sadness or confusion or fear.

Perhaps one of the best things about babies is their innocence - completely untouched and untainted by other humans or burdens of life. In so many ways, I want to fight to keep it that way. But the transformation comes from the wounds; the journey is marked by overcoming the hardship; and every one of my fears will most likely occur. The truth is, I can't keep Jack from experiencing life - and I would be stealing from him if I were to protect him from the challenge and difficulty. It is in those moments that character is formed and identity becomes rooted. Over and over again, I remember that I have to surrender his life to God, and that He will give me the grace I need to guide Jack through the day to day. I'm not perfect -- and that is the whole point. Henri Nouwen writes: "never trust a Christian who doesn't limp." We all partake in the collective human experience of suffering - and it is our wounds that bring validity to our story.

I am shedding layer upon layer of trusting myself instead of Christ; control instead of surrender; striving for perfection instead of transparency. While I know that God has entrusted me to teach and guide Jack as he grows; He has also given me Jack to refine and form me. I must remember that God is presently bringing me to Himself in every opportunity He can. He is here with me now, in this season, changing my heart to be more like His.

In the gray light of the morning there surfaces a question of time.
The beep of the coffeemaker brings the signal--
yet the home remains undisturbed.
The canyon promises moments of rest;
leaves swaying in fluid rhythm;
fog looming in faraway hills.
The lines that divide day and night are blurred;
but still, the morning invites the peace I seek.
It brings hints of the subtle and gentle hope of His Promises;
yes, they are new every morning.

New Rhythms

Jack has brought a new rhythm to life that we are both still figuring out together. Days and nights stream together like uninterrupted time... three hour block schedules form our day - running around between naps and car backseat feedings and trying to figure out unending baby puzzles is the new normal. Each day feels the same and yet different - it feels like he is growing up too fast and yet not at all. I am trying to savor every moment - every little cuddle and coo, wake-up stretches and little baby faces; every late night sleepy snuggle, sneezes, and songs.

Everyone says these days go by so fast and to soak them all in. I know it's true - I see my first class of preschoolers entering the teenage years and marching off to 7th grade this year; I see my instagram feed previously filled with babies now making their way to Kindergarten... these infant moments won't last forever, which is both glorious and heartbreaking all at once. I love this little guy so much, yet he has turned my world upside down in ways I never could've predicted. I am both exhausted and fulfilled; terrified and overjoyed.

I recently had lunch with two friends who I encouraged to explore the teaching program in Spain I did years ago, and it occurred to me how different life is for me now. They are twenty-three and heading off on their adventure... anticipation, excitement, dreams of travel to Portugal and the south of France... airbnb's and hostels and trains and Euro Life. Everyone told me those days would go by so quickly - to do it all while I still had time... What days don't fly by?! What time doesn't pass?! Life feels fleeting and overwhelming and everything is put into perspective when a little human enters the world.

One Month Later

Nobody can prepare you for what it's like having a newborn. Of course, I knew this going into it. All the years of studying child development combined with nannying other people's children cannot cover the time warp feeling of foggy living -- figuring out if it's day or night and begging your crying infant at 2am to tell you why he's upset. There's no amount of theory or research or experience that can change the every-changing puzzle of a baby.

It is a life of paradoxes - it is the greatest joy and the greatest fear; the deepest love and deepest feeling of loss; it's the greatest change and yet everything remains the same. Life is now lived in the push and pull of these opposites. I realize that even before he was born, these extremes were present - through my 20's, traveling, moving, dating, engagement, marriage... starting a family. The post-partum hormones bring all the emotions to the surface as if the reality of Life itself becomes too much to grip; the passage of time reeling past like a film strip of a movie; unstoppable, uncontrollable.

Has life always felt this fragile? Has time always passed at this pace?

It is in the early morning hours begging a wide-awake, screaming baby to fall back into his slumber that the question "Is this my forever?" runs through my head like a repetitious song lyric that I can't escape. But then I catch a glimpse of a moonlit shadow rocking on the crib wall, coaxing a little bundle side to side, and I think "I wouldn't mind if this is my forever." I will remember these hours with Mom Memory - forgetting the difficult and clinging to the beautiful. Those little blue eyes looking up at me, so trusting, so alert - untainted, innocent, in wonder with the world.

These moments feel sacred and I remember not to wish them away, even in the frustration and fury of "please just let me sleep." Our tiny little guy - only a month old - and even when I dream of him growing up, I just want him to stay this way forever.