As we close in on the due date, sleep is naturally elusive. Thanks to the heat, I am swollen and uncomfortable, and I am apparently carrying a tiny little radiator because I cannot cool off to save my life.
Incidentally, I also told my midwife yesterday that I think I might be carrying an octopus because I swear there are eight legs kicking me from every single angle in there. She was a new midwife. She doesn’t get my humor. She told me I probably wasn’t carrying an octopus.
If I birth a squid she will be sorry she didn’t believe me…
With sleepless nights come some unreasonable emotions. Being that this isn’t my first rodeo, I know what to expect, and I am offering myself a little bit of grace these days as I prepare to bring our baby girl (octopus?) home.
The other night, I woke up at 3:30. This is par for the course, but as I tossed and turned, a nagging worry began rolling through my heart. It bubbled soft at first, then quickly grew until I was in full blown panic.
Usually I wake up because the baby is playing Tetris in my ribs. This time, however, I noticed that I couldn’t feel her moving. She was very still, and that is unusual. Suddenly the silence of the night and the darkness that surrounded got the best of me, and I feared the very worst.
I never worried about losing a child in utero with my other three. Of course I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t exercise a lot of mind power on thinking about it, because I didn’t really think it could happen to me. I also had never read a blog, nor been on Facebook the first three times I was pregnant.
I birthed my first three children in the dark ages. We were still using film (FILM!) when Sloan was born.
In the six and a half years since I last had a child, I’ve read countless heartbreaking stories of families losing children late in their pregnancies. It’s much more of a reality to me now and, naturally, more of a concern. I know I don’t need to worry, but again, darkness and fatigue are a wily combination.
I finally got up and drank a little orange juice, then pushed on my belly a little until I felt her shift. She’s not moving as much as she used to due to the fact that there is no more room in there. The Inn is full! It’s time to move on, little one.Thankfully, the shifting set my heart at ease long enough to let me go back to sleep. But the fear was waiting for me when I woke back up.
Having already walked with my older kids through a terminated adoption, I feel more emotion than I know how to communicate at the idea of them experiencing another loss. It nags in the back of my mind, and as I wake each morning I have to lay all those fears to rest. Already, before she’s even born, I’m relinquishing the control over her tiny little life. She is not mine, but merely a gift from God. I will trust Him, and I know I will continually have to lay down this fear throughout her entire life.
I know, because I have to do it with the other three.
I know, because I still pray for the little girl sitting in an orphanage in Russia who had a family ready to meet and love her.
Part of being a mother is dealing with the natural worry that comes with the territory, and with the onslaught of stories passed down through social media, we’re faced with the reality of those worries on a daily basis. So each day begins with a prayer for their safety, and with the relinquishing of control, because I am not in control.
I spent a little time in her nursery this morning. It’s peaceful in there. The colors are soothing, and the room is clean (for now), which makes it the only clean place in the house (for now). As I sat on her bed, I felt her shift and move again, and I was grateful for the reminder that all is well, and I am not in control.
God has been Gracious and Merciful to our family over the last three years. They have been hard years, but He has been faithful. I am trusting in His Grace and Mercy to bring this little girl (squid?) into our family safely (and soon! Oh please, soon!). So when the darkness closes in, and the world becomes still (too still), I will embrace the knowledge that He is Gracious, He is Merciful, and He is in Control.
And I will quit complaining when she jabs me in the ribs, because that feeling is evidence of the blessing.
I’ve kept quiet on some of the events that have occupied the attention of our world for the past few weeks. It’s not that I didn’t have anything to say on the matter – it’s simply that I’ve learned over the years I don’t always have to interject an opinion.
There are certain topics, however, that captivate me in such a way that I cannot remain silent. I will not be shamed into discussing anything online unless I feel really led to speak on it, and in this instance I’ve found that I cannot keep quiet.
A video began circulating this week of Victoria Osteen, wife of Pastor Joel Osteen, speaking to her husband’s congregation of 10,000 about why they should “do good.” The first time I watched the 36 second clip, I laughed out loud. It wan’t an amused, “Oh isn’t that funny” sort of laugh. It was more of an incredulous, “Did she really just say that out loud?!” sort of laugh.
I watched the clip a second time, and I could not keep my jaw from dropping. From the platform of her pulpit, she may have made one of the boldest, most heretical claims of faith I’ve ever heard, and I could not wrap my mind around such thinking.
In the past nearly seven years since I’ve begun blogging, I’ve tamed a lot in my approach to what I see and read online. I realize more now than I did when I began that words and meanings can be taken out of context, and that the internet, while teeming with good things, can also be insidious and wretched, and wildly unforgiving.
In short, I’ve learned to withhold judgement.
So although my first reaction to her video was to feel true indignation at her horrific message, I quickly stopped, and I reminded myself that sometimes I say stupid things, too. Sometimes I mean to say one thing, and something entirely different comes out of my mouth. So I opened up a new window, and I did a little search to see if maybe my assessment of what she just preached was misunderstood.
I’ve long had a weary opinion of the Osteens.I do not believe in the idea of the prosperity gospel in any way, shape or form. I do not think that God is at all concerned with my happiness, or with my every day being a Friday. There is zero evidence in scripture to support such claims, and so I’ve always taken Joel Osteen quotes with a grain of salt. They are feel good fluff – kind of like cotton candy. Fun to eat, but will rot you from the inside out if you consider it nutritious.
I decided to look up a few more videos of Joel and Victoria Osteen speaking, and I read excerpts of their books available online. After doing that research, I feel much more confident in my assessment of that now infamous Victoria Osteen clip.
It is, indeed, blasphemy, and I do think that the Osteens believe that message with all of their hearts.
Dear Church of God, I come to you begging that you use discernment in such matters of faith. We cannot give ourselves over to this belief that God is pleased only when we are happy. We cannot for a second accept the notion that we do good, “not for God, but for ourselves.” To believe that it’s about us is not worship – it is destructive, self-serving and the very worst of a Western faith system.
God wants my yes. He wants my obedience. He wants me to give and love and pour myself out for others, not because it makes me feel good or look good or seem “good.” He wants me to pour myself out as a praise offering to Him – so that He gets the glory. I don’t want the glory – I really do not, because it would be a cotton candy faith that dissolves the second I’m faced with any sort of challenge.
Last year was a pivotal year in my walk of faith. For most of 2013, I fought hard against depression. I was angry and confused, and I clung to my God not because He made me happy, because most of my anger was actually directed at Him. No – I clung to Him because I needed to know that He was real. I needed to know that even in the darkest moments, He was who He said He was.
He did not fail my meager test of faith. Indeed, He has proven Himself faithful not because of me, but in spite of me.
The notion that God is glorified when we are happy is a slap in the face of His true nature and character, and I pray that all of us would have eyes to see, and ears to hear, the false teachings of our time. Do not be deceived, fellow believers, by these fluffy, sugary words. They do not hold weight in a world that is crying out.
They hold no weight for the Christians in Iraq being systematically targeted and slaughtered.
They hold no weight for the children of Israel and Gaza.
They hold no weight for the orphans in Russia, or the poverty stricken villages in Africa.
They hold no weight for the single mom fighting to put food on the table.
They hold no weight for the grieving parents who stand at the fresh mound of dirt that covers the body of a beloved child.
God is for you for no other reason than because of His never ceasing goodness and love. Not because of your deeds, your “goodness,” your happiness, or your false beliefs in yourself. The God of the Universe longs to have all of you so that He may be glorified through you, in both the good times and the bad.
There’s this weird, twilight experience that happens to women when they become mothers. Suddenly a distinct line is drawn between who we were, and who we are now. We feel simultaneously lost, and in the same breath found as we embrace this thing called motherhood.
Photo by Lulu Photography
It can cause a bit of vertigo if we’re not careful.
It seems that this feeling of embracing motherhood, dying to self, rediscovering passions, balancing life, and finding ourselves again ebbs and flows throughout the years in an endless cycle. Sometimes I feel like I’m coursing with purpose in my every day. I feel fulfilled in my role as mother. I feel energized in my work. I feel like…well, I feel like I’m enough.
But there are other seasons – the dryer times when I am utterly spent, weighted down with the responsibility that each day throws my way. I feel incapable of loving my children well, overrun by laundry that never ends, frayed by the bickering and arguing, and completely dry in my work.
In those times I feel like nothing I do is enough.
If I’m being honest, I will tell you that I’m fighting my way out of a very long dry spell right now.
I’m discouraged in my work, feeling like I’m spinning my wheels and getting nowhere fast. I am constantly overwhelmed by laundry, by bathrooms that just. won’t. stay. clean. I can’t seem to pull dinner together before 5:30 every night, I dread the grocery store, and some days I just sort of wander through the house like a vagabond.
I’m even feeling inadequate as I type this blog post, positive that these words have been written before by someone who probably articulated the message much more eloquently.
It’s in these times that I constantly remind myself that motherhood is a journey. I haven’t arrived, and not every day is going to be the best day of my life. Last week, as my six year old showered, he lamented the low water pressure and cooler water. Everyone was showering at the same time, and the washing machine was running.
“Why is the water so soft?” he wailed. When I explained, he hung his head in utter disgust.
“This is da worst day of my whole life,” he mumbled.
I had to laugh, because what I wouldn’t give to have the problems of a six year old. It was a reminder to me, though, that bad days come no matter our age. Sometimes the days feel like they’re trickling out, weak and tepid. I stomp my foot and wonder why on EARTH my circumstances aren’t more comfortable.
Such is the journey of life. It moves in patches of comfort and frustration. Productivity and fatigue. Obedient children and defiant children. Some days are so good. Other days are really bad. Most days are a combination of both.
And thank goodness for the ebb and flow, because can you imagine how boring life would be if everything were sunny and easy? Without the rain, there is no color in this world, but thankfully, motherhood is full of color.
Sometimes I just have to look a little harder to find it.
Blessings to all you Mama’s out there who are working your way through the trenches of motherhood. Hold your head high and watch for rainbows, my friends! They always come after the rain.
On the stretches of highway between Florida, Tennessee, and Arkansas, I devoured the Divergent series. Because I aim to stay a solid 18-24 months behind the curve of pop culture, I decided it was time to see what all the fuss was about.
Every hour and a half, my eleven year old leaned forward, his hot breath all up in my ear.
“Whatcha think of it, Mom?” he asked. “Can I read that series? All my friends at school have read it. Is it good? Would it be good for me to read?”
Round and round we went as I read, and he begged to follow me. About midway through Book One, I thought that maybe he could read it, or at least try to. He’s still not a strong enough reader for a book of that size, but it seemed engaging enough that he might be able to get through it.
By the end of Book One, I had enough reservations about the material that I decided we’d probably hold off on sharing this series with him. By the end of Book Two, I knew unequivocally that it would be several years before I wanted him to dive into this series.
By the end of Book Three, I was convinced that he would need to be at least sixteen before he could read these books, and even then it would be with a lot of dialogue. I had also decided that I would be more comfortable with him reading The Hunger Games trilogy before the Divergent series, namely because it is better written.
Besides the fact that I felt the Divergent series got entirely off track and confusing in its ultimate message (Just exactly was she trying to say?! There were roughly 15 potential themes covered in those books, and none of them were covered well. It was maddening and frustrating, to be quite honest), I also found the kissy-kissy relationship stuff to be over the top, over dramatic, and much too graphic for fourth/fifth graders. As I read through yet another make out session between Tobias and Tris, I couldn’t help but cringe and wonder if the parents who allowed their fourth graders to read those books last year understood the maturity of the subject matter.
We’ve had a lot of talks with our children about the necessity to protect and guard their minds lately. These talks need to start early as our kids are being exposed to more and more thanks to the onslaught of social media.
From music to books to television, our kids are introduced to concepts that are far too mature far too early. At least in my opinion. If my son is ready to dive into a fascinating and challenging series of books this year, I will gladly hand him The Chronicles of Narnia. While I love some of the Young Adult series coming out, I would rather expose my children to fine literature first, and when they’re older, if they’re still interested in reading these pop culture series, we can discuss which ones would be most worth the investment of their time.
I’m also a bit of a stickler about reading a book before you see the movie version. My kids love that about me…
Parenting is a battle. It seems that every day I am waging a war against pop culture, and the conflicting messages that culture sends to my children. I’m fighting too much exposure to the online world, too much screen time, the lyrics of popular songs. I’m battling against a world that tells them to grow up young, that tells my daughter her worth is found in how she dresses (and looks in clothing). Television shows emasculate men, while music demeans women.
This isn’t to say that we’re hard core limiting what they see and hear. On the contrary, we allow quite a bit of freedom for our children to see and hear things in this pop culture world. We don’t want to put them in a bubble. But we do want to teach them that just because something is popular doesn’t mean we need to be exposed to it.
The fact is, my kids are not ready to hear all the messages the world has to offer. They are not adults living in tiny bodies. They’re children learning to navigate their way through this world. And pop culture is not the voice I want dictating who my children become, how they think, and how they behave.
I want to challenge them to be deep thinkers, to have minds of their own, rather than to be tiny robots easily controlled by the next popular books/song/movie, etc…To that end, I’m taking my job as guardian seriously.
It’s a really, really hard job.
What are your thoughts on raising children in a land dictated by pop culture?
I’m back. It’s been a lovely two weeks in which I’ve simply let my soul breathe. I’ve spent little time online, and much time in the very present moment with my family. I feel refreshed, excited, and inspired.
I didn’t know how much I needed the time away.
I’ve spent a lot of time pondering the creative process in our two weeks on the road. Instead of creating, I’ve thought about the simple art of creating – the act of writing, of photographing, of painting and singing. I’ve watched it and seen it and felt the power of the creative arts.
I stood at the top of the Smoky Mountains, and I marveled at the Creator’s brush strokes – the Hand that carved each path, shaped each height.
I’ve watched my children laugh and play. I’ve listened to their delight as they discovered the thrill of shooting a sling shot, exploring a creek bed, walking beneath a waterfall. I’ve gasped in motherly fear when one got too close to the edge, and tried to be cool though images of them plummeting over the side gave me more than a few heart attacks.
We spent a week in Nashville catching up with friends, both new and old. The laughter and shared life gave way to gratefulness. And not once or twice, but more times than I can count, the conversation of creativity came up. It’s not hard to find yourself amidst a group of creatives in a place like Nashville.
The town is teeming with creativity.
For those of us with a bent toward the creative arts, every day has new potential. We wake up with the longing to build, to shape and mold something out of nothing.
Song lyrics.
Stories.
Melodies.
Paintings.
Delicacies.
Decor.
It’s very real, this life of the creative. We don’t always know how to describe it, but we feel it deeply. We know that we were made to create. Some days that creative power flows freely, while other days it tends to bottle up. Life responsibilities sometimes hinder the creative process, but still it sits, waiting for us to tap in and unleash.
I used to think I was alone in this creative life. It made me feel strange, this need to sit down and write, to pen stories for no reason at all. I wondered if my passion for the written word was frivolous. It doesn’t make me much money, so what’s the point?
The point, I’m realizing more and more, is that this art of creating is my act of worship. When I write, I am in communion with my God. The rhythm of the keyboard is my praise offering to Him.
And for you, my fellow creatives, it is very much the same.
That thing you do? It’s an act of worship. You were created with a love for your art, and it is legitimate and real. What you do is a valid form of worship, so give it back freely and joyfully. Don’t be ashamed of your art, and don’t fight the urge to create. Your creative brain holds purpose in this world.
You are a mirror of the Creator Himself. So create.
Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things.” Steve Jobs
For people prone to creative outbursts, the world can be a wildly glorious place. It’s colorful and exciting, lit with life in a way that those more prone to thoughtfulness and analytical considerations may have a hard time understanding.
Creatives can also be frustrating people.
They process the world differently, and this can making working alongside them sometimes harder to tolerate. There are different levels of creativity that people can express as well, and this works to makes each person act and react differently.
Some creatives are shy, quietly mulling each step inwardly until all the pent up energy releases in their art, be that writing, music, drawing/painting, building, and so on. These brooding creatives make us nervous. We don’t understand what they’re thinking because the thoughts all tangle tight inside, and so we watch them from afar, admire their work, and comment on their inability to hold a decent conversation.
Some of the greatest innovations of all time, the greatest works of art, have come from these brooding creatives.
Other creative types are much more engaged in the world around them. They live in it, fully and completely, abandoning themselves to the little moments. These people are usually quick-witted, funny, engaging, and can be the life of the party.
Or the center of attention.
All of us are creatives on some level. Created in the image of the Ultimate Creator, we have no choice but to give in to the creative impulses unique to each one of us.
Here are 3 Keys to Tapping into Your Inner Creativity.
1.) Learn how you individually are most creative.
Make no mistake, you are in some way a creative. Even mathematicians have a perspective that flows out of the creative nature of man’s soul. Perhaps there is more formula involved in the problem solving, but the fact remains they still had to tap into the inner mind to decipher the solution.
And you can’t tell me that the likes of Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, Albert Einstein (recognizing that he would probably be identified more as a physicist than a mathematician), and Galileo Galilei, who famously wrote, “Mathematics is the language in which God has written the universe,” were not all deeply creative and inventive men.
2.) Learn when you feel most creative.
Do you thrive in the quiet? Are you most thoughtful, productive and sure of yourself when you withdraw from a crowd and quiet your soul?
Perhaps it is quite the opposite. Maybe you’re the type who energizes only in a room full of people. Do you feel most alive in front of a crowd, and is laughter and raucous talk your muse?
Most deeply creative types are going to spend more time alone than in a group. There’s something about the quiet that recharges the brain. However, while some would happily spend all their time alone with only their thoughts to keep them company, there are many who need a group setting to further fuel their creative prowess. Extroverts, we would call them, as creativity comes in sound bites of conversation and entertainment.
3.) Embrace Your Creative Bent
There is power in knowing who you are and how you were created. Entertainers keep us laughing (and thinking) through their actions. Musicians feed our souls with melodies and lyrics. Artists show us the world on canvas. Writers take us into a different time and place, introducing us to new concepts, new characters, new ideas, and new ways of thinking.
Scientists take us inside the molecular space in which we reside. Mathematicians show us there is order to life and space. Inventors give us new tools. Designers help us see the space we live in in a whole new way. Businessmen (and women) link ideas and innovation in such a way that gives us structure in this world.
Parents foster a creative spirit inside the walls of their homes. Grandparents take that a step further, creating memories and filling their grandchildren with unmerited love (and perhaps a little bit of candy for good measure).
I could go on and on, but hopefully you get the point, with the point being this:
You are creative. It’s just a matter of looking in the right place to understand exactly how you were wired to tap into the creative energy with which you were designed.
