The Things I Said I’d Never Do: An Unraveled Parent

April 25, 20151 Comment

There was a moment the weekend right before Christmas where I found myself cheering in a dark deserted parking lot on a chilly December night. I was cheering because my three year old was peeing in the bushes, outside and in the cold.

Really. I was rejoicing. This is something I’d never thought I’d be doing. Six years ago in my early parenting days, when my first son was about nine months old, my husband shared a story with me about a little boy peeing in the church parking lot and I said,

“I WILL NEVER let my son pee in a parking lot.” And I really believed myself. I was even reluctant to let my first son pee in the yard while we were potty training at two.

And there in December, I found myself applauding my three year old in the dark. I was so proud of him. This was same kind of pride I feel when one of my children take their first steps. Peeing outdoors has actually become an important milestone for me and after three sons, this “will never” along with many others has given me the opportunity to see myself unravel my wound up strings, breathe and let go of all those things I thought I’d never do as a parent.

A dear friend told me once, “parenting is actually for the parents” and I could not agree more. I can see how these little humans that I’ve carried, nursed, fed and cleaned up after are actually changing me more than I ever thought they would back at the beginning of the all the “will nevers”.

Parenting is for us. The parents. It’s funny how such tiny people have helped me grow and change. How these tiny people have helped me conquer fears, push the boundaries of who I thought I was and help me learn to love in ways I never thought I could.

I also said I will never let my kids watch Spongebob but when your stuck in a hotel room at 4pm on a rainy day with no Disney Junior you learn to let go on the tiny things that you think will corrupt your children’s tiny hearts and minds and you trust that God is bigger than Spongebob.

I said I will never own a toy gun back in those early days of being a new mom. My intentions were to raise boys that were not violent miscreants shooting everything and everyone they see. But looking back now I can see those intentions were ruled by fear and not trust. We now have multiple storage containers for weapons and nerf darts lodged into every couch cushion in our home. And so far- no violent miscreants.

I believe I may have uttered the words…

I will never let my children jump on the beds or the couch. Clearly I did not understand boys or children when this sentence came out of my mouth. This was also tangled up with the fear of my children getting hurt. I now actually sometimes encourage jumping on the couch and the beds, rejoicing when I hear them jumping and laughing and playing together the same way I was rejoicing when that little three year old was brave enough to pee outside in the cold.

I will never let my kids have formula. I am pretty sure I cried like a madwoman when the pediatrician told me my first son had lost too much weight and we had to supplement formula. The doctor’s eyes even bulged out a little at my overreaction. He wasn’t suggesting poison. Just formula. For supplemental purposes. And I was hyperventilating in my hospital bed uttering words of defeat, fear and remorse. When my fourth child was born I actually asked the nurse to give her formula our last two nights in the hospital so I could rest after having my fourth c-section. For supplemental and sanity purposes. All my kids have been nursed and given formula and despite my fears none of them has grown a third eye or eleventh toe… yet.

I will never teach my children the word MINE. I found myself correcting a friend a few years back when he was playing keep away with my infant son and using the four letter word, mine. “I don’t want him to know what that word is” is what I think I said. I felt like the word mine was the root of all selfishness. The word that in four letters can turn a sweet child into a monster. My desire was to teach my son that everything was given by a Great Giver and therefore help him learn to not use words which represented a heart of selfishness. But again, my good intentions were tangled up in fear and the unknown that a word does not produce a heart of selfishness. A heart of selfishness is naturally in all of us and selfishness will work it’s way into a home with or without the word mine.

I will never be able to survive parenting four young children, who happen to be within four years of one another. Look. It is true. Having little humans is tough. Tears on the floor, will I make it to nap time tough. I do not like to live in the unexpected. But having four kids so close together has taught me to learn to swim in unexpected waters. I am slowly learning to survive in the unexpected and learning to be comfortable when I can’t control every little thing happening around me. So far I am surviving. I haven’t lost anyone yet and everyone is still all in one piece. Things almost never go the way I planned them to go but I am learning to trust that God’s plans are greater than my plans. God is growing me and changing me, unraveling threads of fear and weaving new stronger threads of trusting in Him.

I am thankful when I find myself doing things I thought I said I would never do. It is there where I see growth. It is there where I see God making me into a better version of myself.

I never thought about parenting being for the parents. But it is. It changes you.You may even find yourself cheering for your children when they are peeing outside in the dark.

Hi, I’m Rachel. I became a follower of Christ one year before I found myself married to a man pursuing a seminary degree and on the road to become a pastor. That was nine years ago. We now have four kids, he is the head pastor of a PCA church in Mason, Ohio and I am figuring out how to be a mom, how to love my husband and how to trust God in the every day, one day at a time. I write stuff here and I try to keep it honest and encouraging as I have accomplishments and set backs. Follow this page on Facebook or add your email to the follow box on the right so we can stay in touch.

You May Remember When Your Shoes Felt A Little Too Big

April 17, 2015April 17, 2015Leave a comment

I see you in the back of our minivan. You are strapped into your carseat and you are trying so hard to crank your neck over the high back to join in on the conversation your two big brothers are having behind you. All the cranking and trying is frustrating for you because you are strapped in too tight and those big boys in the third row can’t seem to hear you anyway.

I see you there. The third brother but not the baby. The baby sister you hold dear is sitting on your right.

I see you sitting there with those light up Spiderman sandals. The ones I pulled out for you just a week ago. I know those sandals have seen two spring and summers before they have graced your feet. I know they are a whole size too big. But for now, you don’t seem to mind. I think of the pants you wear that are almost always worn down to their last threads around the knees. The pants that have reprised for the third time. The shirts that have been stained from years past. The hand-me-downs that are worn with grass stains and stories from previous summers.

I wondered today if you’ll ever grow up and think about why you almost never had a new pair of shoes or a new pair of pants. I wondered if you will remember when your shoes felt a little too big.

I was sad for you for a minute because I know how this kind of thing can develop in the story of a child and get tangled up in hurt and pain. I was sad because I know you never get first pick when it comes to Halloween Costumes or which movies we watch.

Being the third brother, I know, is tough. It is tough now and it will be tough as you grow into a boy and a man.

I think about you and those light up shoes that are one size too big, your pants with holes and your shirts with stains.

I hope when think of those shoes you will remember the hand-me-downs, you love those light up shoes. But I hope you won’t stop there. I hope that you will not measure your worth on the things you had that were brand new with stickers and tags versus the things that you had that came up from storage and were a reprise of you big brother’s last summer.

I want you to always know the big love that we all have for you. Even brand new shoes and pants off the rack could never express how much big love we have for the third brother with those light up shoes that feel just a little too big.

I want to give you the world. I want you to feel important and unique and worthy. I just don’t go about it by buying you new shoes or new clothes every season.

My love for you is deeper and richer than things.

My love is more deeper than shoes that are one size too big.

My love is richer than reprised pants.

My love sees you. My love sits with you when you are sad and laughs with you when you are happy. My love holds you when you are sick and carries you up the stairs every night.

My love will stay with you and never leave, even when your feet grow up and out of those little light up shoes and you move on to more new-to-you shoes and new-to-you seasons.

As you grow you will learn that these things are worth so much more than clothes with new tags or shoes fresh out of the box.

I’m not a third child so I don’t know what it is like to be stuck somewhere in the middle or towards the end with the shoes that are a little too big and the reprised pants. But I wondered today. I saw you today.

I saw that perfectly unique and special boy who sits right behind the passenger seat of my minivan. That special boy who gets to give new adventures to those shoes that are too big, new stains to the old shirts, and the one who gets to tear the hole all the way through on those reprised pants.

I see you. And you are deeply and richly loved. Much more than shiny new shoes or a fresh pair of pants.

What Having Kids Really Does To Your Marriage

April 8, 2015June 22, 20163 Comments

Six years and four months ago my husband and I became parents for the very first time. We had no idea what we were doing when we brought our son home to our two bedroom townhouse with nothing but a bili-bed, some blankets and formula supplements from the hospital. There was no manual and very little instructions. We were both in disbelief that someone would send two twenty-five year old kids with no experience home with a human life to care for and keep alive. We felt like goldfish being tossed into a cold water tank just praying that the quick transition from the cozy comfortable waters of not being a parent to the cold, unnavigated and unchartered waters of being a parent wouldn’t lead us to become lifeless floaters.

Or at least leave our marriage lifeless and floating at the top of the surface.

I’ve heard it said that “having children can ruin a marriage” and I know this may be true for some but having kids has actually done many positive things in our marriage. Having kids has given us, those two young goldfish kids, the perspective that even though there were times we felt like goldfish years ago we were never destined to be floaters in that small pond. Together, my husband and I have been able to lead one another to deeper waters, experience deep challenges and actually find ourselves growing and thriving, especially in our marriage.

We brought four babies home from the hospital. Between the twenty-fifth year of my life and my thirtieth we brought home four babies from the hospital. Three sons and a daughter. Each time feeling the shock of the cold water as we were thrown into managing two children, then three and then four.

There were days and seasons where we felt like our marriage was on the edge of this ruin we had heard about before. There were seasons where I sometimes could see the life in our marriage beginning to slowly die and watch it begin to float to the surface.

We were so tired.

So overwhelmed.

My husband expressed jealousy over how much attention I paid to the children and I sometimes resented being at home all day.

We were barely able to manage the little lives that were graciously given to us and sometimes we found ourselves sacrificing us for them. Those were the times when I slowly started to see our marriage begin to float (lifeless) to the surface of our little pond. This has been part of the journey and it has not come without hard lessons and tough waters.

It was a hard lesson for us to learn to choose each other and bring life back into us and our marriage. There were many fights and many tears until we faced the truth that before we were graciously given these little lives to care for we were graciously given one another. We were graciously given the gift of marriage first and it was our job to learn how to put us and our marriage before them.

I can see how having kids could ruin marriage if you forget to choose one another first. I could see it in those moments when we failed to choose one another first and I began to see those lifeless seasons of our marriage. When we were so busy tending to them we forgot about caring for us.

So, two years ago we decided that we would fight to choose one another. That was always our intention going into this whole parenting thing but somehow we lost that good intention in the exhaustion, the diapers and the cheerios and we found ourselves desperately digging and turning over every crumb to get it back.

Now our kids are six, four, three and almost a year and a half and it is a relief to say we are through those challenging years of having new babies and all that exhaustion. And our marriage made it though. Four times. It is a miracle and a gift.

It is a miracle and a gift to come out on the other side of that hard stage in our marriage and see my husband with a new lens. It’s like the Michael I once knew was just a boy back then before the kids and now I find myself looking at a man.

A man who kneels beside the beside and prays with my children every night.

A man who gets lost in children’s literature with my kindergartener and keeps him up past bedtime reading just one more chapter.

A man who takes the kids to the doctor for their vaccinations when I am too afraid to do it myself because I can’t stand the sight of my sweet baby crying or being stuck by a needle.

A man who has taught my sons to love God, love fishing and who digs for bugs with them.

A man who sings to my daughter when he pulls the blinds up in her room in the morning.

A man who will come home if he has an hour between his daytime hours and nighttime meetings just so he can push kids on the swings and give me forty five minutes of quiet.

Having kids has given me a lens of tenderness, love and care to see my husband through and that lens has made my love grow more deeply for him.

Choosing to see him as the man he has grown into because of being a father has given me a stronger and deeper connection to him and a heart that is more tender for him.

Having kids has also given us the firm foundation of finding ourselves on a team. It has to be us against them. There are only two of us and four of them so we have to stick together. We find ourselves laughing on our team when our kids do crazy things like walk into the same bathroom stall as another kid and pee in the toilet with them, at the same time, all while casually sharing our plans for our family vacation to Florida. Even if this other child was a complete stranger. (That is only a glimpse into the crazy).

We find ourselves supporting one another when a parenting situation is hard. We need each other. I sometimes need to tag him in for awhile when I feel the wind in my sails fading over discipline or even homework.

Having kids has given us deeper unity together. Something that I hope and pray grows as we approach having four teenagers all at the same time.

Having kids has given us a common interest to invest our heart and souls into and it has also given us something to grow in and get better at together. We exchange helpful phrases and prayers as we fight to grow.

Having kids has given me a better friend in my husband than I ever could have dreamed of having when we were those two young goldfish in that two bedroom apartment with that newborn baby.

I never expected having kids to bring trials into our marriage and I never expected those trials to deepen my love for my husband. I know we have many more years of choosing one another and fighting to be us against them. But these early trials have brought us together and made us stronger which make me think if we can survive the little years maybe there is hope for the rest of our parenting days.

Having kids really can (and has for us) deepen the relationship between a husband and a wife. It has given us an unbreakable bond. Look at that husband, he is such a gift to me.

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Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.

(James 1:2-3 NLT)

Thankful To Have Been Her Daughter

April 6, 2015January 2, 20161 Comment

Seventeen years ago on Tuesday night of my spring break freshman year, April 7, 1998, I lost my mother and I will never be the same.

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For a little while I was her daughter. She was the first one to hold me, she was the first one to kiss my boo-boos and the one to tuck me in at night.

She was my safe place when I had a bad dream in the darkest of nights and the one who knew all the places where I felt ticklish.

For a little while I had the privilege to be her daughter in this life.

For a little while I had the privilege to let my mother hold me.

To hear her laugh.

To see her smile.

To experience her love of life.

I never appreciated the role of being her daughter while I had the chance. I’m a stubborn one who always wanted to grow up too quick. But in time all things unravel and I can see now, seventeen years later, how sweet it was to be her daughter even if it only lasted a short fourteen years.

It was so sweet to be her daughter for a little while. Even though we battled one another in my teenage years I was never unsure of her love. I knew her love for me was unchanging no matter the circumstance.

She loved me at my best and she loved me at my worst.

I am thankful for the time I had to be her daughter and thankful how God has used that time with her to make me into the mother I am today.

I try to pass on the incredible woman she was, my own four children will never get to hear her laugh or see her smile. I can only try to pass on the incredible woman she was and the memories I have of her.

I could never be even close to the woman she was. Not even close. She was so much wiser, stronger and carefree. And cool. But I can pass on the good parts of her as best as I can.

I am learning to be more like her. To laugh more and complain less. And to love while I have the privilege of being a mother myself with a BIG love.

I am thankful for the privilege to be her daughter. Even if it was only for a little while.

I am better because of that time.

The impact of her life and the good of the woman she was will live on through me forever.

I am thankful to have been her daughter even if it was only for a little while.

Easter Was (Mostly) About The Dress

April 3, 2015April 4, 2015Leave a comment

For as long as I can remember, Easter was about finding the perfect dress.

The perfect shoes.

The tights.

Sometimes even little white gloves and precious white hats.

When Easter was coming every year, my sister and I have fond memories of dressing our best. We acted like debutantes. It felt so special every year to put on that new dress that my mother had carefully selected for us or my grandmother had carefully found and sent to us in the mail.

Easter was a special day and it required a certain kind of sprucing up. It wasn’t every day that a girl could put on white gloves, tights, a new smocked dress, fancy shoes and go to a fancy dinner in someone’s dining room. Easter was special day. Even when I was little my outfit told me Easter Sunday was the most important Sunday morning of the whole year. Debutante dresses were only for Easter. Oh dear those little gloves. And my sister in that hat. (Sorry, Ab, I think your eyes are closed in that one.)

Even as teenagers, Easter was an opportunity to wear a special dress. After my mother had passed away my father was kind enough to see that this whole tradition of the proper dress was important. You can see my sister and I lost the white gloves and the white tights but as we grew but we still had that dress and we were still heading to my aunt’s house for Easter dinner after Easter Service on that very important Sunday morning.

I am thankful for the gift of being able to have a new dress every Easter Sunday, as I know that is not everyone’s story. But new dress or not, for me the careful selection of the shoes, the dress, those white gloves and the hat every year marked that spring Sunday as an important one.

For as long as I can remember, Easter was about the dress. There was importance in that smocking and those white gloves for me when I was a little girl. It gave me a feeling of reverence for the Sunday of Easter before I even knew what reverence meant.

Even before I knew the power that could be found in the meaning of Easter, I found myself dressing up like it was the most important thing all year. On Easter Sunday I was able to dress and feel like I was a royal, precious princess right down to those sweet little gloves. I was carefully and especially dressed and waiting – longing for the good news of Easter Sunday to fall onto my ears and change my heart.

And now, as a grown mother of four I still have this part of me that wants to choose a special outfit each spring for the very special Sunday of Easter. That special Sunday when Jesus conquered death by rising from the dead, making it possible for me too to conquer death if I simply believe in the power of the Resurrection.

I still fuss over those very important outfits for my four young ones because Easter Sunday is something special and worth pulling out the white gloves and the debutante dresses.

I love lingering by the nursery counter and the preschool rooms too- a little longer- on Easter Sunday morning so I can see all the other little precious dresses, bow ties and shiny spring church shoes. All those little people dressed and waiting- longing to know why they are dressed up like this Sunday is the most important Sunday of the year.

Even when Easter was simply about the selection of a dress it gave me the tangible evidence that Easter was an important day. The pulling on of the white tights, the putting on of the smocked dress and the finishing touches of those fancy gloves and hats.

On Easter Sunday, the tomb was empty. That is important. An empty tomb sure is worth pulling out the white gloves for.

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Anyone else have pictures or memories like these?