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.

Jack Benjamin Knisely

As a 7-year-old little Rebe, I eagerly anticipated the arrival of the monthly American Girl Doll catalogue. Using my own color-coded key, I circled the Felicity doll in rainbow jelly roll pens and begged my parents to somehow allow me to have her. I dreamt of her, read about her, hoped for her, and did extra chores in effort to save my allowance for her someday. Christmas Eve 1993, my Papa surprised me with a box I knew could only contain one item. In a flurry of surprise and joy, I flung open the lid to find those Felicity green eyes staring back at me. I held her all night long, whispering in her ear the adventures we would take together. That night, I constructed a tiny bassinet next to my bed and awoke every hour just to make sure she was still there, staring at her with a giant smile on my face. I couldn't believe she was here and she was mine.

For as long as I can remember, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew-up, I responded with Mother. Motherhood is a calling God placed on my heart from the beginning, and to step into it the past few weeks has brought a whirlwind of intensity -- both the greatest joy + the greatest fear.

It's hard to find words to accurately describe this past month... There was Life Before Jack and suddenly there is Life With Jack; life feels the same and yet completely different. My mind traces back and it feels like a vacuum of time; a blur of foreign emotions outpouring into this little human. An unconditional love that runs deep; an explosion of entirely new experiences that come with birthing a life into the world. The first few nights spent in the hospital, I found myself awake in thoughts and feelings spanning the spectrum of excitement, wonder, fear, guilt; hope, anticipation, empowerment, and a flashback to that similar feeling on Christmas 1993, looking next to my bed with a beaming smile knowing he was Ours Forever. The reality of the most wonderful gift right in front of me, which was now our job to sustain and protect; to teach and to grow.

We waited and waited for his arrival - 2 weeks and 1 day post-due-date. All the while, I wrestled with my adequacy as a Momma. Despite following the "natural induction" recommendations of Google - eating 6 dates a day, drinking copious amounts of red raspberry leaf tea, bouncing on the birth ball, getting adjusted at the chiropractor, and going for extended, rigorous walks - it did not seem to have any known effect on the coming of Baby Boy. Ben and I lived each day as "the last day of Just Us" - for two weeks. We beached, biked, and brunched; morning sleep-in's melted into early evening porch cocktails, the slow summer days layering thick before his arrival. We made three trips to Costco stocking up on hospital snacks and frozen meals with the intention of each trip being "our last trip to Costco" before he came - only to return and replenish the supply. We visited a natural doula who promised contractions with her acupressure and oils, only to find that our little guy still wasn't ready to come out yet. I dove deep into feelings of Not Good Enough and I'm Unequipped; questioning if there was something wrong with me because he wasn't here?! At a low point, I cried tears of wondering if God was playing a big joke on me - maybe there was just an oversized watermelon hanging out in there instead of a baby?! What I couldn't see then was that I was crossing over the first rite of passage into Motherhood - surrendering my plan and letting go of control. I told myself that he would come when he would come, on his own timeframe and when he was ready. But when 42 weeks hit, his eviction notice was clear... it was time to come out.

We traded our sweet, slow summer days Just Me & Benjamin for an even sweeter story that I didn't know could exist at the time.

Prior to Jack's arrival, I focused on everything we would be giving up... from sleeping in (I do love my sleep!) to our travel plans to doing whatever-we-wanted-when-we-wanted. In the moments of my deepest fear, I thought a baby would change us too much, perhaps even ruin us. Instead, what I have experienced so far is exactly the opposite. From labor to birth to bringing Jack into our home, I have witnessed the deep strength in the foundation of our marriage - our centered love for God and for what He has for us regardless of our own Plan. When I didn't think it was possible, I have fallen even more in love with Ben - a love that only grows from these moments that stand still in time. Seeing him as a father has broken and mended my heart in ways I didn't know it could. Our shared I'll-do-anything-for-you-Jack has brought a sense of teamwork, camaraderie, partnership, humor, and grace to our relationship. Only We share this magical love; Only We think this guy is perfect in every way; and Only We will fight for him the way he deserves. Parenting together will no doubt bring its obstacles, but for now it's nothing but bliss.

In spite of the tired eyes and the moments where I have no idea how to soothe his cries, I can honestly say that I have never been happier. Jack has brought a new perspective to life - he has brought a deeper understanding to the love of the Father, who would do anything for His Children, and an awe at the mystery of a child. There is nothing I wouldn't do for this little life in front of me; there is nothing I wouldn't sacrifice or give to him for his betterment and enjoyment of life. In that way, it is less of a sacrifice and more of an opportunity. The world is truly a better place with our Jack Benjamin Knisely!

Moved In!

The last few weeks have been a flurry of packing, moving, cleaning, prepping, coordinating, and finding new rhythms and routines to press into in a new environment. Waking up in the morning to the sun dancing along a new floor feels like a dream that someone will inevitably shake me from soon. When we first stepped into Hubbard Home, the vision for it was alive and tangible. Then the bathrooms were stripped to the studs and filled with a dirt hole, the walls became dust stored in the garage, and the floor turned to cement… and suddenly the finish line felt like an impossible future. Slowly, step-by-step, putting each piece back together built this home into what it is today… and now the past is something we have to recall from the recesses of our memory (*Do you remember the fourth shade of moldy shag carpet that used to fill this room?! Or the mauve tub and vanity? Or the acoustic ceiling? Or the nicotine-stained walls….?!)

Remembering builds gratitude for the journey and rest in the arrival. As humans, we are prone to forget. Even after freedom from the Egyptians, the Israelites looked back at their life in slavery with hopes and prayers to return. We idealize the past, fear the future, and forget the process. I forget the work of God in my life and lose sight of His faithfulness in search of the next best thing.

It is my commitment not to take this home for granted and to facilitate a home rooted in thankfulness. It is so easy to continue to focus on all that needs to get done, instead of resting in remembrance of how far we have come. In home ownership, a home is always and forever a work-in-progress. We need to carve out time to admire where it is now instead of focusing on the road ahead. For this reason, I hope that the images of orange shag, a plywood pantry, and leaky bathrooms are not forever replaced with the renovations I see now… that they remain alive in my mind so that I always remember the value of the Process.

As baby boy approaches his due date, I want to bring him into a home that overflows with deep gratitude. His room might not be completely finished, his drawers might not be organized, but that doesn’t matter. He has parents and community that love him and want the best for him. He has a roof over his head, and food to eat, and he will be the receiver of the cuddliest cuddles. These are the things that matter and where our energy will be directed in only a matter of weeks. Another crazy transition is upon us, but I think we are slowly getting ready to welcome it in… or as ready as we can be as people who have never done this before!

Floors are in! And making those windows pop!

Love this hallway vision. Fruit Lamp still goin strong.

The result of all my indecision led to more demo after the painter and drywaller and purchased shelves.
Very excited for the open shelf concept to be put in motion!

What is Ikea without soft-serve?!

The best human in the world!!! He stays up late every night working away at Ikea furniture and hardware installation and painting and moving boxes for me and providing for our growing family!

The Decisions

This past month has been a series of on-the-spot rapid-fire decisions. I am usually pretty good at this – I know what I want and I trust my instinct. However, halfway through the month, I felt my brain fogging up from multitasking all the decisions and suddenly I couldn’t make a single decision right or left. The thought process would go somewhat like: “I have always wanted this… but maybe I want that… what if I don’t really like this… what if I ultimately prefer that???”… followed by a frantic Pinterest search to confirm what I originally wanted anyways. The painter would be on the other line purchasing paint and I would be Instagram searching for the perfect white; the bathroom plumber would be installing the trim, as I am ordering a new color sink… all in between work and lunch breaks and after work and late night hours. It has been slightly more than chaos… as we predicted it would be.

Something to note about the Enneagram 3 is that we often lose sight of our heart’s desire when overwhelmed with voices telling us what we should do. We are pleasers who hate to disappoint; we are achievers who will never settle for less than best. In the quest for the Best and the commitment to adapting to every other persona and situation we find ourselves in (in order to feel safe and loved), we lose touch with ourselves. We forget our identity and our preferences. I have repeatedly wrestled with this process – I initially know what I want, but then others’ ideas cause me to doubt – but I ultimately end up exactly where I started.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to trust my inner voice and trust God telling me who I was. It is when I lose sight of Him that I get drowned in the sea of pleasing. It is when I let decisions about walls and floors dictate my day that I stray from the Truth of my identity. I am only found in Him; He is the Rock that helps me recognize who I am and where I am going. When I center my day on Him, wake up with a grateful heart and an eagerness for Him to speak, I am able to see it all so clearly.

On Saturday, we move. The quick decisions will be over. I will sit in the house and picture the space and daydream about the best piece for every corner. There will be time. Even after the baby comes, there will be time. A home is a process and a work in the making; it is one that is never fully complete because there is always The Next. 

As Ben has said, right now we have a House – but tomorrow we will make it a Home. Despite doorknobs and cabinet colors, Ben and I there together is all that really matters. Because Home is where we are together.