Two Mothers

 Below is a piece written by a guest about motherhood and the differences it can take in women embodied or not with love for her child. As a warning (and another below marked by the red asterisk) this is not a light-hearted commentary. Please feel free to comment, discuss, and share your thoughts. *The second part of this story concerns a young girl who was sexually assaulted, abused and then murdered.

Two Mothers

    A woman, who just happened to be an actor and singer on a television show called Glee, swims with her 4 year old son in Lake Piru, about an hour north of Santa Clarita, California. It’s a beautiful Wednesday afternoon. The water is warm. The lake virtually empty. Her name is Naya and Naya decides to take a break from her busy world to spend some time with her son. She rents a boat for the day and takes her son swimming in the warm California water. Then something goes very wrong. Naya swims to her small son, hurriedly boosts him onto the deck of the boat, then slips under the water and does not return. Several hours later, her son is found asleep on the boat; hours after that Naya’s body is recovered. The coroner finds no injuries or evidence of a crime and reports her death as an accidental drowning. We can only speculate as to what happened that day. Severe muscle cramps can render swimmers helpless, cold water spots can cause undercurrents and a phenomenon similar to rip-tides. The residents of the area know about these things and have reportedly complained for years about the lack of signage or life-guard patrols. Did Naya get caught by something like this? Did her unanchored boat simply drift too far away, and in her effort to catch it, had she exhausted herself? One of the few things we do know is that her four your old son is quoted to have said that his mom “boosted” him onto the deck of the boat, then went under the water. His lack of alarm or awareness of her distress makes sense. We know that drowning people are often unable to vocalize as they struggle to stay afloat. Lifeguards are trained to look for the “body language” of a drowning person, not merely to wait for cries of help. Her son did not know about her distress or the danger they were in, nothing she did signaled alarm, at least as far as a four-year-old might discern. All of this points to some kind of rapidly changing circumstance. Naya knew she was in trouble and that they both needed to get out of the water. Could she have saved herself and then retrieved her son? Perhaps she lacked the energy to climb onto the boat and that an attempt to do so would only waste her dwindling strength. Had she been fighting an undertow? I can only imagine what it must have been like to move between moments like that. To be swimming, smiling, splashing with your son. Then to pause while you wonder if something troublesome has you in its grips, then the realization that mortal danger is upon you, and then the struggle for life. She becomes exhausted, short of breath, unable to cry out or even speak. Her body is no longer working properly; the lack of oxygenated blood makes it uncooperative. 

    In all of this, one thought occupies her mind. Her child. He isn’t big enough to reach the deck of the boat by himself. If she dies while he’s in the water, he will be alone. Even if equipped with a flotation device, his low profile will make him easy to miss by other boaters. She dreads that he might be left alone, that he might eventually die in the water without her. So with all her remaining strength, she grabs her child, propels him to the edge of the boat and with one final violent effort, she kicks her feet and pushes her child onto the deck. She is spent. So completely exhausted that she no longer feels the tingle of oxygen deprived muscles. Even the water now entering her lungs goes unprotested. But one bit of satisfaction fills her dimming consciousness. In those final moments between life and death, she doesn’t think about her talent, her career, nor the admiration of a million fans, not even her own life. Her child is safe. 

    He is alive because she made a choice. Not a choice made after careful consideration, listing the pros and cons. She made a choice in the midst of horrifying circumstance and every temptation to panic. It is at these moments that our most basic and primal instincts are revealed, the instinct that says, “above all else, preserve thyself.” It is this primal fear that makes otherwise stalwart men run from calamity. It is this fear that makes us cowards. But the only thought in Naya’s mind was the life of her son. Despite all her distress, she fixated on one single goal, to save him. That is now his legacy and forever a part of his story, a frozen moment. His mother traded her life for his. Very few of us will ever be tested this way and fewer still will choose someone else’s life. But Naya was a good mom, the mom we hope we all would be.

. . .

    On July 9^th 2016, Sara Packer ended years of physical and mental abuse inflicted upon her daughter, Grace. 

    Sara and her boyfriend, a man by the name of Jake Sullivan, teamed up to drug, torture, and rape 14 year old Grace in order to fulfill Sullivan’s, “sex-slave,” fantasy. During one session of abuse, Sara told her daughter, “this is your life now,” and when Sullivan had finished his session, Grace would be left alone in a hot dark attic, on an otherwise beautiful summer day, to ponder that new life. These sessions, these violent horrors, occurred off and on for about 12 hours that day, finally ending with Grace’s death by strangulation at the hands of Sullivan. When the deed was done, Grace was dismembered and her body parts were placed in boxes of kitty litter. Sara then reported her daughter, “missing.” After storing the body parts in the attic for a while, the couple decided to deposit her remains in a forest seventy-five miles from their home. Grace was later discovered by hunters. Sara and Sullivan kept quiet but as media attention intensified and interviews with police persisted, they both decided to end their lives together. Their dual suicide failed and while in the hospital, Sullivan confessed. During the subsequent police interviews and trial, more information emerged. We find out for example that Sara felt “betrayed” by Sullivan for confessing. 

    Heartbreaking and grisly details are plentiful in this story, but there is one detail that stands out among all the others…at least for me. After a session of rape and beatings, when Grace was alone once more in that attic, she broke free of her bonds and very nearly escaped. Sullivan and Sara returned just in time to stop her, and a struggle ensued. Sullivan wrapped his arm around Grace’s neck and began to choke the life out of her. Unable to speak, unable to breath, Grace looked at her mother. In a silent courtroom Sara told us what happened next. She took her daughter’s hand, looked into her eyes and whispered, “Just go honey.” It was then that Grace looked away, closed her eyes, and gave up her struggle.

    When I first read about this story, I became numb as I thought about those last moments for Grace. Grace had endured a lifetime of abuse. She had endured multiple sessions of rape and torture. But there is something about the human spirit that seeks life even in the midst of dire circumstance. Our minds, against all reason, believe that whatever is happening, we may yet escape, we may yet live. We believe irrationally that there is some line that our abuser might not cross. We hope at some point this mother, hardly worthy of the title, just might come to her senses and stop the abuse. That was the look Grace must have projected, one final plea as if to simultaneously assert and ask the question, “This is the line, the line has been found… hasn’t it?” And her mother’s answer came in a whisper, “Just go, honey.” A term of endearment mingled with murder. It was surely then that Grace knew she was completely alone in a vast and empty ocean. Abandoned by the only person in the world that could have saved her and should have loved her, even when all others might fail. The last person in the world charged with her protection is now giving her permission, as it were, to simply die. That is Grace’s frozen moment. She died believing that no one loved her, that no one wanted her; that her life meant nothing to the one person for whom it should have meant the most. But Sara was a bad mom, the kind of mom we wish did not exist, but they do.

. . .

        I sometimes imagine that I am an alien studying the Earth and its human inhabitants from a great distance. Just when I think I understand a mother’s love for her child, I am shaken, as if startled from sleep by some horrifying aberration. How can both of these stories be true? How is it that humans can occupy such divergent spaces at the same time. And of all human philosophies, which one can possibly bridge so great a divide between the evil and the sublime?

                                                    Written by J

She's Already Here?

Today J is one week old! Yesterday was also her due date. And let me tell you, I would have never in a million years imagined that I would have an "on-time" delivery, much less an early one! My maternal grandmother carried six children to forty-two weeks, my mom carried four children to forty-two weeks and so did her sister. My first probably would have loved to stay in until forty-two weeks but my doctor at the time only let me go to forty-one.

This second pregnancy went by much quicker than my first and was overall a pleasant experience. I had the usual tiredness throughout and some mild morning sickness but other than that it flew by until around thirty five weeks. At that point, after consistently measuring on the small side, my OB sent me in for an ultrasound to check on the baby's growth. While it was fun to see the baby so much bigger than fifteen weeks before, I couldn't help but be anxious. I finally got the call back.

"Hi, your doctor said the baby is growing normally and everything looks fine. The amniotic fluid was just a little low, so make sure you're staying hydrated!" 

Okay great, I thought, that's a relief. I was already constantly drinking water but at that point I became more intentional about ounces, electrolytes and I cut out caffeine and anything else that would contribute to dehydration. 

Fast forward several weeks. Husband got home from the ship, we put packing and cleaning into high gear to move out, and we also surprisingly (and very quickly) found and bought a house to move into! We made it through all that and got up to our new house on the 20th of June! We had my family to help us move our stuff in and things were going as smooth as moving can be. Unpacking is a long process but we managed to get the important stuff done, we even painted a wall! It was becoming our home and we loved it. 

I was one day short of being 39 weeks when I went to meet my new doctor for the first time and talk about the birth plan and such. The meeting went well and she was completely open to letting me go to forty-two weeks, and understood my history of women carrying late in my family. I was feeling confident and then she had me lay down to listen to the heartbeat and measure my belly. The heartbeat was strong and loud, but yet again I was measuring small. Dr. H. frowned and said that she wanted me to get an ultrasound that same day. Thankfully there was a slot available in the next five minutes so they called me down and I got another peak at my baby. 

I don't know if ultrasound techs are allowed to say anything but this woman was clearly experienced and let me know that the baby was a little on the small side for this age and that the amniotic fluid was pretty low as well. I didn't know the implications of that but next thing I know, the doctor has called me back into the room and is telling me some alarming news.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I know you wanted to wait longer but I'm going to have you come back in tomorrow for an ultrasound. At this gestation, the fact that the fluid is so low is really not a good sign and tomorrow if the amniotic fluid is still so low we will have to schedule induction."

"Oh okay," I said, "would that be within the next week then?"

"Well no, I'd send you to the hospital that same day."

"OH. Wow, well I'd better pack my hospital bag then." She agreed and explained that this was called oligohydramnios and that meant there was probably a decrease of function in the placenta and of course that was not good for the baby. I left and reported everything to my husband, who was also just as prepared to NOT meet his baby for another three weeks. 

"Well, maybe tomorrow it'll be back up, she said to just chug water all day," he said "we'll just make sure you're extra hydrated." I agreed but had a feeling it would not be. How much more water could I drink than what I was already drinking?! I told my husband that I was pretty sure that it would be the same and that we were probably going to be having a baby in the next two days. We came home from that appointment and worked and worked to get the house back together and semi-tidy. While my husband unpacked the bassinet and found newborn diapers, I packed our hospital bags and made sure I had everything I needed for what I assumed would be a 48 hour endeavor. The next morning's appointment confirmed what I suspected and my doctor scheduled my induction for the following morning, July 1st, at five o'clock in the morning. 

We quickly had to arrange for our two year old to stay with my parents. We called my in-laws and let them know too. It was very surreal for me, and I knew I wasn't really processing the whole thing very well, I just wanted my baby to be safe. I never felt very anxious and the verse "Peace that surpasses all understanding" ran through my mind multiple times that day. 

We dropped off our kid and came home that evening. We packed our bags and tried to get to sleep at a decent time since we had such an early morning, and LONG day, ahead of us. 

Around 2:30 AM on the 1st I woke up to some mild, yet very noticeable, contractions. I was surprised and expected them to go away since, in my mind again, there was NO WAY that I would go into labor by myself. To my surprise every thirty minutes I was still having them and they persisted when it was time to go to the hospital. We got checked in, we got into the room and tried to settle in. Contractions were mild, but there and still a little sporadic. The nurses were very encouraging that I was having contractions. 

What proceeded next has really burned me on having babies in the hospital. First of all, while the sweet nurses do their best to NOT make you feel like just another pregnant woman having a baby, there are things that simply just are automatic there. Like automatically getting an IV picc-line because you MIGHT need fluids, or you MIGHT need a blood transfusion, or in my case I was probably going to need pitocin to really get my labor started. You also have to get your blood drawn to get typed in case of a blood transfusion. I was poked and prodded a lot within the first 40 minutes of my being in my room. I'm becoming increasingly agitated about all of it. Another thing was that since this is during the whole corona virus situation, they are testing the patients being admitted. I had to get tested but not my husband (makes sense, right?) There was also no warning about which method of testing they would be administering to an in-labor pregnant woman. Unlucky for me it was the nasal swab kind. The nurse who administered it briefly said "it goes pretty far up there, it might make you tear up" and I thought okay, that's not horrible. I'm pretty sure I'd had the flu swab and it does tickle and make my eyes water. 

THIS was NOTHING compared to that. When they say it goes up pretty far they mean SIX INCHES into your nasal cavity and what feels like your brain. I don't consider myself a wimp but it hurt so bad and it was so intrusive and stupid that I wept for a solid thirty minutes after it had been done. I was so angry and it is such an arbitrary system. I asked how long until the test results and my nurse told me that the results took at least 24 hours. 24 hours?! I will have had my baby and transmitted COVID to her by then if I actually had it, much less my husband not needing to be tested. I had several choice words run through my mind. And the nurses were fairly apathetic about the whole thing too. So, not a great start to that day. 

Thankfully after that, the nurses just left me alone to be in labor. My contractions were picking up and I was sure that everything was progressing as it should. I altered between walking around and sitting on the yoga ball. Chris coached me to breath correctly and was perfectly affectionate and sweet. By lunch, I had been given two doses of cytotec to help my cervix get ready, but things had stalled a bit. My doctor came in to check on me and we decided to break my water. After an hour things really picked up and by five PM I was in active labor and it HURT. I asked to be checked and unfortunately I had remained dilated at a four, but I was 80% effaced. Knowing that this same thing had happened with A, and that her labor had lasted for several more hours after being stalled at a four I decided to get an epidural. I still felt the contractions on one side, which was actually nice in a way because I could really feel my body working to get the baby down and I was still breathing through them. At that point I had the shakes and it was difficult to get my body to relax. Only two and a half hours later I was feeling a LOT of pressure and I called my nurse in to check on me. Things had sped up, and she told me that she could feel the baby's head being brought down with each contraction and in probably another half hour I would be fully effaced and dilated. I was shocked. Again, I had been expecting a long labor like A's, and perhaps even another three hours of pushing like with her, so the fact that things had progressed so quickly was very alarming to me. At 8:17, the doctor on call came in (she was amazing) and after a few contractions and six pushes later J was born at 8:29. She was so small! And all that hair! They put her on my chest right away and she cried immediately and was so healthy and perfect. We only stayed that one night in the hospital and got to go home the very next evening after all sorts of tests to make sure we were both spick and span. 

All of a sudden there were four of us. In the course of a day our hearts expanded, and I'm still processing that I have a newborn again. 

I am up every three hours during the night, and trying to take naps during the day. Since my parents are so close I've seen my mom almost every day and she has been the life-saver that I knew she would be. It's very different bringing a baby home to a house that has a two year old. A is doing really well considering she now has to share attention, and absolutely dotes on her baby sister. I make time to read her books and cuddle her and be silly with her, but there are several hours in a day where I am trapped on the couch for an hour nursing and feeding and burping the new baby. She helps to give her a bottle and burp her and loves it. She gets quite worried when she doesn't know where "baby goon 'ister" is, and often does drive by kisses when J is napping. We are all adjusting, and we have a lot to adjust to! A new state, town, house and now a new baby! God is good and I have never seen His hand move in my life the way it has the past several weeks. I'm constantly in awe of the continuous provision and blessings. Thanks for reading!

Ever Unseen Act of Love

“God sees every unseen act of love, and He is pleased.”

I read that on a random comment thread from Facebook. A friend of mine had shared an article about motherhood, and all the challenges it brings. The article was centered around the theme that God created you, given your child to YOU (not anyone else) and would equip you with the resources to faithfully raise them for Him. A woman I do not know commented, saying something like “Oh, I know, but sometimes I just don’t feel like anyone appreciates all the work I put in!” And my friend replied to her “God sees every unseen act of love, and He is pleased.”

How much that one sentence (not even directed at me) has been an encouragement and, at many points, my anthem to being a mother. Especially during those months when it’s just me and my child, when my husband goes to work. 

God sees me. He sees me take a deep breath and control my tone, my frustration and tears (and sometimes not as much). He sees me bend down for the hundredth time to clean up whatever mess has been made (food, pee, poop, snot, toys… you name it!) He sees me hold my crying babe who just bonked her head really good. He sees me lovingly prepare the thousandth meal for us to enjoy together, and the fun cookies or the playdough. 

And God sees you, mama. He sees you wake up in the morning after hearing your little one start to cry or talk. He sees you take a few moments to wake up, and get motivated for another day chasing them down and making sure they aren’t too cold, or too hot, or hungry or thirsty. He sees you read that one book for the tenth time in a row because (out of the fourteen other books) they only want to read “Goodnight, Princess” that day.

He sees the good moments when you’re both laughing and playing a game, or dancing, or learning. He sees the hard moments when they don’t stop when you say stop and that could have meant running out into the street. He sees the corrections, the “say please” and the “say thank you!”. He sees YOU. And YOU are doing everything He wants you to do. 

This world is upside down right now. We are cooped up all day (especially if the weather is horrible). There's the overhanging anxiety of not wanting to get sick, or be around anyone who even MIGHT be sick. There are all the things that we as adults are dealing with right now- the uncertainty of what is to come. How will the world look when we are finally able to emerge from our houses? What will the new rules be? Everyone is going through this weird, traumatic thing together yet separately and yet our job is to make sure our children don’t feel the worry. We can’t do anything about it, so we carry on. We continue to love and mold our children, and a lot of the effort is going to go unseen, unappreciated and unacknowledged. 

But God sees every unseen act of love, and He is pleased. 

The Two Year Old

April is here and for me that means that there is a birthday coming up! Specifically my baby girl will be turning two! TWO. I would hardly believe it except for all the definite two year old behaviors that have been making an appearance since January. It’s an interesting time to want to celebrate something like a birthday, when this world and country are in such disarray. Still, as the day has been coming closer I’ve been observing more and more what a wonderful and challenging blessing my almost two year old is. 

Yesterday afternoon for our snack, we sat on the kitchen floor and she watched avidly as I showed her how to help me peel an orange. We smelled the rind as we peeled off each piece and she helped throw the pieces away and we ate the orange on the floor. Each bite came with a messy result but the satisfied “yum” that came with each bite was too cute, and I knew that I could easily clean up the mess in a few minutes. The thing about two year olds is that they are such hungry learners! She watches everything I do! It can be kind of alarming- because I’m aware of how poor a role model I can be. The leaps and bounds of speech and communication blows my mind, even from just a few months ago. She strings together little two or three word sentences, narrates all her activities and makes sure I’m included when she does something “coo’!” 

We have rough days too. The waking up grumpy days. The “she didn’t get what she wanted days” and the days where I KNOW she can hear me but is clearly ignoring me. (How do they learn how to do that so soon!?) We have the days of many time outs. But even on those days, we take a bath and she puts on her jammies, we sit in the rocking chair and she lays in my arms for as long as I want and we sing songs, and read some bedtime stories and say our goodnight prayers to Jesus. Those times I get all the kisses and hugs, and the “luh yoo”s erase the day’s frustrations.

I can tell that she is going to be a very sweet and nurturing big sister, and that thought also makes these moments so precious! There are still three and a half months (ish) to go for baby #2 to appear, but these first few months have already flown by! It won’t be just the three of us for much longer, and there are less and less days when it’s just me and my first girl! 

Her favorite things are the Moana soundtrack (Moana muss-ee? Peesh?), apples (app-uh), bouncing off of anything she can (I bunce, I bunce!), dancing (‘anceeng), and generally wanting to copy whatever mommy is doing! Brushing teeth, brushing on makeup, cooking, and thankfully that includes cleaning! She’s a good little helper too (she loves positive affirmation, don’t we all?)

I don’t know how she can get any cuter or how I can love her more, but she proves me wrong every day and while I love watching her grow and learn, the phrase is TOO true: “The days are long, momma, but the years are short.”

Thank you, NO qualifiers

Thank you, no qualifiers.

Ladies, when you give someone a compliment (probably a fellow woman) do you mean it? Are you genuine? When you notice something beautiful or amazing or talented about another person and you decide to tell them about it, it’s probably true. So why is it, when another woman (usually) gives you a compliment about your hair, talent smile or makeup, we have this weird innate way of disregarding it. We say “Oh thanks, but….” 

But… what? You don’t agree? You don’t think they’re genuine? When you look in the mirror you don’t see the things they see?

Why?

This is my New Years Resolution. Say “Thank you”. That’s it. No qualifiers. Because we as women need to learn how to absorb a compliment. Take it in and believe that your friend freely and genuinely believes that your hair looks AMAZING. That those jeans look GOOD. That your eyeliner is ON. POINT. 

I’m in this habit too, don’t get me wrong. I realized though that when I say “ thank you, but” I’m turning my friend into a liar. I’m discrediting them in a way that my friend doesn’t deserve.

After all, if we can’t accept a simple compliment from our closest friends, what does that say about our ability to believe and absorb what our Lord says about us? We are daughters of the King, beautiful, loved, forgiven, and showered with grace. 

Ladies, say thank you. No qualifiers. No buts. Let the love of your Father and friends wash over you and catch a glimpse of how you are viewed. Beautiful, talented, sweet, kind, loved. 

Believe it, don’t discredit them, don’t discredit yourself, and most of all, choose to believe and understand how much you are loved by your Father in heaven. 

Part Time Husband

Consider this "Marrying A Man Who Leaves" part 2. 

Several months ago, we transitioned our daughter off of pacifiers, and she did great and was going to sleep without a peep. Fast forward to early in October, I went away for five days on a girl's trip with two of my closest friends and Husband obviously had the girl all to himself. Well, guess who started giving her the pacifier again?! I truly wasn't upset about it, but maybe a little frustrated I would have to get her off of it again. Three days after I got home, he left for the ship. As far as transitions go, this one was fine. He got to fly out of our local airport instead of the major airport (two hours away) and we got to spend the morning together while he packed his bag. Off he went and my girl and I came back home to business as usual. I understand that it's a very perplexing lifestyle. Afterall, I essentially operate as a single parent for half the year (not to mention just not having my favorite person around anymore. The house certainly gets VERY quiet.)

 I was reminded of this when, a couple weeks later, I emailed Husband lamenting that anytime our kid doesn't get the pacifier she had some epic meltdowns. He emailed back saying "Oh no, what are we going to do??" I responded by saying "What are WE going to do? You mean what am I going to do?" We had a good laugh, but very often that is the case when he is away. (I ended up throwing away all the pacifiers and cutting her off cold turkey. I was over it! She did great, and is back to sleeping without a peep throught the night, and doing great with her nap.) 

I reflect on that quippy exchange. "Do you mean what am I going to do?". The Lord is so gracious, and has let me know that it's okay to have that mindset while my husband is away. I never thought that I'd be the woman married to a man that leaves, but as I've said, here we are! I have an indepence within me, and I just thank God that my husband appreciates and encourages the attributes that come with being the one to run the household, and raise the kids when he is gone. Now it is also because of God that so far, transitioning back to Husband leading the household has been one that I gladly give over. I honestly love my role as a wife and mother. I realize that that is not a popular mindset in today's culture, and I would argue that because of that, there are a lot more unhappy men and women, single or married. God designed marriage to work in the way he did because He designed men and women to compliment each other, and have different but equal roles in the workplace and home. 

Because of this job and lifestyle, I do get to stay home with my sweet girl, and I absolutely love it. I love keeping a nice house, cooking meals, and having friends over. When he gets back, we enjoy our hobbies together, we watch our favorite shows and we get to do some amazing traveling as a family. 60 days on, 60 days off. I realize that can sound like a long time but we make it work- we even thrive. God is so good to us, and on the days when the distance feels extra long, I've learned to lean into His comfort, and Joy. I have an awesome circle of friends, a great church, and a husband that knows how to encourage and love me, even when it's through a quick email. 

Have Rest For Your Soul

I just came across this picture that Chris took of us on the plane to Ft. Lauderdale. How perfectly it captures a sweet moment between my child and I. However just five minutes before Adeline was crying and squirming- trying to fall asleep on a plane is hard! I was sweaty from wrangling her in the hot airplane and self-conscious of how loud my baby was being. I had been awake since 3 AM and neither Chris or I had been able to get coffee or a snack since then. Yet, after patience and calm, and reassuring pats on her back, she calmed down and fell asleep and my sweet husband and I got to catch our breath, get organized and get some coffee into our systems. Thus we settled into our day-long journey to the East Coast.

How often these moments reflect my relationship with God! How often am I tired and cranky, squirming and crying because I don’t understand this new situation, or am not okay with being out of my comfort zone? I remember a sermon from church a couple years ago when we still lived in Boise, the pastor was making a parallel about resting in the Lord and he compared us to a child who is overtired. Sometimes when a baby gets overtired, the poor thing fights sleep even HARDER, crying for an hour or more before falling asleep. As parents we think “if you’re so tired, why don’t you just fall asleep?!”

I have found myself getting overtired, and rather than just resting and falling asleep, I resist God more emphatically. Watching two toddlers every day leading up to long days of travel, improvising new routines with the baby, and then coming home without my husband was a lot for me. Throw in baby jet lag, my sister moving in and a lot of things being up in the air with my husband’s job! 

As mothers we are constantly pouring into those around us- our children, our friends, and our family. Often times, especially when my husband is away for work, there is no one else to pour into me except God. But that begs the question, isn’t He the one I’m supposed to look to in order to be ‘filled up’ anyway? Why don’t I remember this more often? 

Matt 11:28-30 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I know that my “troubles” don’t hold a candle to what many other people work through and struggle with, but the comfort from the Lord is the same. Especially as mothers where we give so much of ourselves every day- just as the Lord wants us to do. I've had such a loving reminder to unburden myself at the feet of Jesus. 

Our family is in a time of transition, and rather than wiggle and squirm and fight, I’m soothed and encouraged by the Lord to just rest in him. He knows the plan, the journey, and the outcome. Why not be along for the ride?