Here We Go Again

After Reese was born, I went through a short period of time where I didn’t know if I wanted any more children. That period started after a serious hemorrhage had me fearing for my life in the delivery room. It continued with a blistery, nightmarish introduction to breastfeeding, and it culminated in an episode of postpartum anxiety during which I spent several weeks trying to convince myself that diving out the window and running to Mexico in my pajamas was actually not a good idea. As I sat on my toilet fighting off another panic attack with my squirt bottle in one hand and a jar of Tucks pads in the other, I promised myself that I was never going to do this again.

Almost two years later, that time seems light years behind me. Eventually, the blisters healed, the anxiety faded, the stitches dissolved, and I finally started to look back and say, “I guess that wasn’t so bad.” Then Reese started to smile and coo and each milestone pushed the negative memories deeper into the recesses of my mind.

As I watched the most beautiful baby I had ever seen grow into the most beautiful toddler, I fell deeper in love each day. All of the “I’m never doing this again” moments like teething, whining, tantrums, and public embarrassment pale in comparison to kisses, cuddles, first words, and baby belly laughs. But I still experience plenty of both feelings, often in the same breath. As I make my third attempt to figure out why she’s crying while our dinner burns on the stove, I wonder, how could I possibly do this again? And then I sneeze and Reese says, “Bess you, Mommy” and I think, how could I not?

Last month, as I sat in our bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test, my excitement was interrupted by a brief resurgence of memories… the labor pains, the sleepless nights, the squirt bottle. Dear God, not the squirt bottle! Do I really want to do this all over again?

Suddenly, Reese emerged from our closet wearing my shoes and Matt's tie. “Bye-bye, Mommy. I go work,” she said as if she actually had somewhere to be. As I started to laugh and cry at the same time, she walked over to me and touched my cheek saying, “Mommy sad?”

“No, honey,” I answered. “Mommy’s happy. Mommy’s very happy.”

October 28, 2012… Here we go again!

Amazing Love

After a short hiatus surrounding our move, I finally joined back up with the Hearts at Home Third Thursday Blog Hop. The topic for March is, “if you could have one super power to help you in your role as a mother, what would it be?” Just one, huh? I can think of quite a few things that would make my life easier – like a couple extra hands to help me get everything to the car in one trip, or enough brain power to keep me from forgetting at least one essential item on every outing. Maybe I’d like an endless supply of energy so I never have to choose between late-night relaxation and early morning workouts. Or what about the ability to make things appear out of thin air? I always thought that would be pretty awesome. Oh, we’re out of cheese? No problem. Poof! Maybe I’d like to have a clone – someone to work out while I sleep or to cook while I clean or to sing Old McDonald’s farm (again!) while I scream into a pillow. 


As I went through the list of possibilities, I started to (in typical Lisa fashion) over-analyze each one as if I would actually walk away from this blog post with my chosen power. Like if I could make anything appear, would that be the same as stealing? Wouldn’t I inevitably become greedy? What if I actually had extra arms? That would be weird. Where would I buy shirts? And a clone? Let’s not even go there. Would Matt love us both? (I said, let’s not go there). Maybe all the super powers that seem so great in our imaginations would actually make our lives more complicated in the long run. Maybe it’s better to accept the occasional forgetfulness, to leave a dirty toilet here and there, and to just take stuff to the car in two trips. Better yet, maybe instead of wishing for unrealistic super powers I’ll never have, I should focus instead on the one I’ve already been granted.


The chorus of my all-time favorite Christian song goes, “Amazing love, how can it be / That you my king would die for me?” The song ponders the great mystery of Christ’s love and the difficulty we might sometimes face in wrapping our minds around the possibility that He would suffer and die to give life to each of us.


The Lord’s unending, unconditional, all-powerful love seems to be a super power beyond comprehension… unless you have children. Not all parents have it – rather, not all parents recognize and accept it as a gift they possess. Here’s how you know if you do: if you feel immeasurable pain when your children suffer; if you are enveloped by pure terror when they disappear from your sight for even a second; if your heart soars with joy every time they smile; if you can sleep in peace knowing they are happy, healthy, and safe; if you know that you would go to the ends of the earth to love, support, protect, and comfort them; and if you would not think twice about giving your life in exchange for theirs, then God has granted you this gift of amazing love. Of course, our human version of amazing love represents only a fraction of God’s true divine love, but it does help us understand on the tiniest level why Jesus might have been willing to die for His people.


I was reminded of the depths of a mother’s love just last week after an outbreak of tornadoes destroyed parts of the Midwest. A mother of two sat huddled in the basement of her Indiana home with her children wrapped in a blanket underneath her. Using her body as a shield to protect them, she listened as her home crumbled around her. Debris pummeled her body from every angle, and she prepared herself to die so her children could live.


Both children emerged from the rubble without a scratch, and thankfully, their mother survived as well although she lost parts of both legs. As I followed this story in the news, it always brought me to tears to think that this mother had the strength and courage to put herself in between her children and the forces of nature. Amazing love, how can it be? And yet, I have that love. I have that ability. I could, and would, do the exact same thing for my child without skipping a beat. If that isn’t a super power, I don’t know what is.

Doing Something Right

Sometimes I wonder how well I fit the “good mom” profile. I don’t even know who this mythical perfect mother is, but I compare myself to her a lot. I wonder if I’m giving Reese the right kinds of foods, letting her watch too much TV, or spending enough one-on-one time with her throughout the day. Am I patient enough? Consistent enough? Loving enough? Is she smart enough? Are her social, motor, and vocabulary skills up to par with other kids her age?

I question myself the most in the moments that make me feel like a “bad mom” – when I forget to turn on the baby monitor until I hear a faint cry from the other end of the house; when I realize that she’s been walking around with a poopie diaper for who-knows-how-long; or when I get bored during our play time. When she catches a cold, develops a diaper rash, or falls and gets hurt, I always feel at least a small sting of guilt. Even though the realistic side of me knows I can’t prevent everything, sometimes it’s still hard not to wonder if I wiped her well enough, washed her hands often enough, or watched her carefully enough. 

To a certain extent, I think all moms do this at least a little bit. We wonder if any of the decisions we make will someday affect our kids’ health, intelligence, or social skills. We want to do what’s best for them, and we equate that desire with the need to be perfect. Because of this need, we tend to judge ourselves for what we do wrong way more often than we take pride in what we do right.

Reese recently reminded me that the most important parts of being a good mom are often the little things that I don’t notice becuase I’m too busy worrying about whether I’ve taken the right approach to potty training. We were playing in her room when she walked over to me, put her little arms around my neck, and said, “love you, honey.” Actually, it sounded more like, “Zuh-vee, Honey” but I knew what she meant, and my heart soared.

In that moment, I remembered that it doesn’t matter how many words she can say or whether her diet is perfectly balanced. All of my little day-to-day decisions don’t matter nearly as much as the fact that everything I do comes from a place of pure, unconditional love for my daughter and more importantly, she knows it. She hugs me and says, “love you, honey” because she hears Matt and I say that to her and to each other so often. Whether she is consciously aware of it or not, she knows that she comes from a house full of love.

I may not make the right decisions 100% of the time and I don’t always measure up to the mythical perfect mother, but every time Reese hugs me and says, “Zuh-vee, honey,” I remember that the small things I do wrong don’t matter nearly as much a big thing done right. 

Living in a Fish Bowl

I used to work for University Housing Services at ISU, and many of us lived in the same building in which we worked. Our supervisors often reminded us that we lived in a fish bowl, meaning that the students were always watching us so we had to constantly work to set a positive example whether we were officially “on duty” or not. I suppose the same concept can be applied to any professional who lives among those they serve including teachers, police officers, church leaders. I used to think of this concept only on a professional level, and I never thought to include parents. Having a toddler is a quick way to learn just how deeply that concept applies to parenting. Here's how I realized it:

Reese and I were in the bathroom getting ready for her bath. The tub filled with water as I removed her clothes. When I pulled her sweatshirt over head, it got stuck and she started to cry. We got it off after just a few seconds and I said in a silly voice, “Whoops! Sorry, baby. Your big head got stuck.”

She turned her innocent face toward me and repeated, “Big head.”

I could almost hear my former supervisors reminding our whole staff, “You live in a fish bowl now so choose your words and actions wisely.”

That incident happened weeks ago and since that day, every time I pull her shirt on or off she says, “Big head.”

I always respond apologetically, “Honey, mommy is sorry for saying that you have a big head. You have a very beautiful head.”  Now she says, “Beau-ful, big head,” which is at least an improvement.

As silly as it sounds, I feel really guilty about this. With just one spur of the moment comment, I made my daughter believe that she has a big head. I wish I could just brush it off and say that she doesn’t really understand what she’s saying anyway, but (as I’m learning more and more lately) it’s never safe to assume that a baby doesn’t understand a concept.

I’ve always known that kids absorb information like sponges absorb water, but I never really stopped to think about the responsibility that puts on us as parents. Our kids are listening to everything we say and watching everything we do. It’s easy to assume that babies aren’t tuned into our conversations or TV shows, but they are taking in more than they let on. I have learned to never underestimate Reese's ability to pick up on what I say, remember my words and actions, and apply them at a later point in time. Whether I’m watching the news, arguing with Matt, talking on the phone, or getting her ready for a bath, she is listening and watching and learning. She will repeat my words and pick up my habits. She will follow my lead and be affected by my choices.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we all live in a fish bowl. The bowl is tiny and the audience is impressionable. Choose your words wisely. Choose your actions carefully. And never tell your 20-month-old daughter that she has a big head. 

Your Day Off is Calling

No matter how good we are at our jobs, we all need a day off now and then. I loved my old job, but I still always looked forward to weekends, holidays, and vacations. Those breaks provided much needed time to nurture myself and my personal relationships and to remind me that my work is not the end all, be all of my existence. After a nice relaxing break, I would eagerly return to the job I loved with renewed energy and fresh ideas.

The single hardest thing about being a mother is the complete absence of these breaks. We don’t get evenings, weekends, sick days, vacation days, or holidays off from our mothering duties. We are on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week for our children. They are our whole world, and our love for them envelopes our whole heart. Even on days when I am not physically with Reese, my heart never leaves her. I wonder if she needs me, if she knows I’m coming back, or if something will happen to her in my absence. No matter where I go, my heart is always at home.

Although it’s wonderful most of the time, a job that offers no breaks eventually leads to burnout. Even the best moms get burnt out on the constant demands of life with children. We start to wonder if we’re the only ones struggling with the division of labor in our homes, the decline of intimacy in our marriages, or the behavior of our children. We see other moms who appear to be doing everything well and we feel inadequate, incompetent, and out of control. We view our imperfections as major flaws and our challenges as insurmountable weaknesses. We lose the ability to see the forest through the trees.

That’s why we need to find other ways to replenish our strength and restore our energy. We need a day that lets us celebrate the honorable role we play in the lives of our spouses and children. We need to surround ourselves with women who can validate our concerns, share our struggles, and rejoice in the amazing journey that we so often take for granted. We need to be reminded that our imperfections are normal, our bodies are beautiful, and our work is important. We need an experience that inspires us to become our best selves and to believe that our best is enough.

Registration is currently open for the annual Hearts at Home conference on March 16 & 17, 2012 at Illinois State University. It is a weekend full of celebration for the lives we lead and praise for the Lord who provides those lives for us. You will laugh, cry, and learn more than you ever thought possible in one single day. You will come away with the true belief that the sky really is the limit when it comes to all that you want for yourself, your marriage, and your children. You will reconnect with your faith, strengthen your commitment to your spouse, and deepen your love for your children and for yourself as their mother. If your heart is at home, this is your weekend. Your day off is calling.  

Register today at www.heartsathome.org.  

Divorce is Always an Option

I've been hearing about a lot of divorces lately, and not just among all of those superficial Hollywood relationships, but people I know; people I actually thought would make it. I'm bothered every time I hear about another divorce – not because I judge those couples. I don't know what happened to their relationships or whether our marriage could have survived if it happened to us. Rather, divorce bothers me because it reminds me of the vulnerability of my own marriage. Just like the tragic death of a young person reminds me of my own mortality and causes me to drive more carefully or take safety more seriously, when a seemingly happy couple throws in the towel, I remember that no marriage is completely divorce-proof.

I hear a lot of couples say very righteously, “Well, for us, divorce just isn’t an option.” As sweet as that sounds, I’m not really convinced that such a belief can provide a permanent safeguard for your marriage. For one thing, it can stifle your sense of freedom, leaving you feeling trapped as if you're not in your marriage by choice. Isn't it empowering to know that either one of you could leave at any time, but you stay because you choose each other every day? Believing that divorce isn't possible also provides a false sense of security that can blind you to the daily sacrifices and compromises that come with sharing every aspect of your life and yourself with another person. Rather, let us all remember that divorce is always an option because that’s the reality. I know people who have had a harder time breaking an apartment lease than filing for a divorce. 

I bet if you could rewind the clock to their wedding day, many divorced couples would never have predicted that their marriages would end the way they did. Some of them might claim that they had doubts from the beginning, but most people would not choose to marry someone if they knew for certain that divorce would be the result. Some of them might even be the same people who once said, “divorce is not an option,” but in the face of extreme negative emotions, it’s impossible not to be aware of that possibility.

As much as I would like to say that there's no possibility of Matt and I ever getting divorced, I know that's not necessarily the most realistic line of thinking. We're still in the early stages of our marriage, and there are plenty of rough times ahead. Our commitment to each other, support for each other, and faith in each other will no doubt meet their challenges over the years. There may even come a day when we find ourselves on the brink of calling it quits. As much as those thoughts can be scary, that possibility is what fuels us to find other ways to safeguard our relationship. It reminds us to nurture our marriage, take time for each other, and resist taking each other for granted. Most importantly, it encourages us to hold each other when we're tired, love each other when we're angry, and listen to each other even when we disagree because, despite what we often allow ourselves to believe, divorce is always an option. 

A Bunch of Swimming Ducks

If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.

Okay, I get it. It’s an easy way to understand the type of inductive reasoning that allows us to determine what something probably is based on its observable characteristics. And although I get it, I’m not sure I understand why the comparative example is a duck. Why not say, if it’s striped like a zebra…, or if it’s tall like a skyscraper…, or if it’s flat like a spatula…? It’s not that I have anything against ducks, but I’m pretty sure that when it comes to ducks, what you see isn’t necessarily what you get.

Next time you see a swimming duck, just watch it for a minute or two. Watch how it glides through the water so beautifully, how it floats along so effortlessly. Looks peaceful, doesn’t it? But to the duck, it’s not necessarily effortless. Well, the floating part actually is effortless because ducks float naturally, but it still has to paddle to maintain its position and reach its destination. And the faster the current on the water, the faster that duck has to paddle to stay on course. But just by looking at a swimming duck, you can’t tell how fast it’s paddling. And that’s why ducks and moms have a lot in common.

Last fall I joined a Bible study for stay-at-home moms. We meet on Wednesday mornings, and we always start with coffee and small talk. As we discuss the verses that spoke to us or raise questions about unclear passages, we're each pretty clueless about the pace of each others' currents or how fast each of us is paddling to stay on track that week. All we know is that we all appear calm, collected, and organized on the surface.

Sometimes during our small talk, we land on the topic of stress and how we constantly feel like there’s so much to do and so little time to do it. I love those conversations because I walk away remembering that I’m not alone in feeling overwhelmed by the demands of everyday life. Although we all call ourselves stay-at-home moms, we’re all pretty involved in church and community activities and some of us work part-time jobs as well. At any given time, we all vary in the number of demands and stressors pulling each of us in different directions. Add in housework, errands, and children, and of course it’s easy to get a bit overwhelmed. Yet, there we sit every Wednesday, all calm and collected and ready for an hour of socializing and prayer. 

Sometimes when I'm around other moms, I wonder how it's possible that they're not stressed or overwhelmed or tired, and I wonder if they're asking themselves the same thing about me. Maybe we're all thinking, "She's got this figured out. I must be the crazy one," and maybe we're right; or maybe we're all just a bunch of swimming ducks.

Bringing Sexy Back

I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror at Walmart last week. I had on baggy sweatpants, a hooded sweatshirt, no makeup and a baseball hat covering my unwashed hair. I quickly turned away, and continued down the aisle. As I grabbed the rest of my groceries and headed home, I wondered what happened to the confident woman I used to see in the mirror. Something changed after I became a mom and as much as I try to rethink my attitude toward outward beauty, the physical aftermath of pregnancy still haunts me. When I mention my insecurities to Matt, he always tells me I’m crazy, and his actions and affection toward give me no reason to doubt his sincerity. So if he doesn’t see a difference, why do I?

I started wondering if maybe the problem isn’t pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, or motherhood. Aside from the fact that my bra got downgraded an entire cup size and I’ll probably never have a flat stomach again, all of my issues are much more related to my lifestyle than anything else. Now that I am busy being a mom, I don’t exercise as much or take time to do my nails. Now that I have nowhere important to go, I often skip the makeup and resort to sweatpants, t-shirts, and messy ponytails. Now that I don’t see anyone besides Reese and Matt on most days, it somehow got easier to skip a shower or go (I won’t even say how long) without shaving my legs. Then when I get a glance at myself in the mirror, I get upset and blame it all on motherhood as if I have no choice but to accept the disheveled new me.

Well, my Walmart pajama party was the last straw, and I decided to make some very simple changes. I started by rearranging my clothes. I moved all of the sweatpants, t-shirts, and anything equally unflattering to the back of my closet. I threw out any underwear with stretched elastic or frayed edges. My makeup and nail polish are now easily accessible and my hair ties and sports bras are not. Then, I started getting up extra early to exercise, shower, and get ready for the day just as I did when I worked full-time. No, I didn’t wear pantyhose or business suits, but I did put on a nice outfit and some makeup (even if my biggest outing that day would be a trip to the mailbox).

I was surprised at how quickly I started to feel beautiful again. When I first started staying home (after the newborn stage ended, of course) I got dressed almost every day. Then it was every other day; then just when I had the extra time; then just when I was going somewhere. And although I never got to a full-fledged pajamas-all-day-every-day stage, I’d say it was easily 50/50… ok, maybe even 60/40 with sweatpants in the lead. Before I knew it, I was wandering around Walmart in my pajamas and a baseball hat wondering how this happened.

Somewhere along the way, I started to believe that I didn’t need to look good anymore because it didn’t matter anyway. It does matter, though. Taking a little time for me every day makes a day at home just that much more productive and enjoyable. It helps my confidence, boosts my energy, and reminds me that my work is important. And the compliments from my husband have been pretty great too, which give me even more motivation to do it all over again the next day.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The comfy clothes aren’t gone for good, and I have nothing against wearing sweatpants to Walmart. I know I’ll still skip a shower here and there and I may not always keep up with shaving my legs as often as I’d like (sorry, honey). The difference is that now I can appreciate my lounging around days as an awesome perk of staying home rather than believing that’s all I’m worth now just because I don't have anywhere else to be.

If you’re proud of your role at home, and if you’re proud of yourself for making the sacrifice and the commitment to do it, then you deserve to be equally proud of the way you look while doing the job you love. So grab your yoga mats, nail polish, and makeup. Le'ts bring sexy back. 

Lessons from a Tiny Farmhouse

I just wrote the date at the top of a check and I realized it has been over a month since our move. I paused to think about all the luxuries I’ve been enjoying for the past few weeks – things like my basement, garage, dishwasher, linen closet, and pantry. I thought about how great it’s been to have plenty of storage space, room to exercise, and a guest bedroom for friends and family to visit. Then I thought about all the time I spent in our old house wondering if I would ever have those things and complaining about all the little inconveniences. Now, as I sit here in our new house, I look back and wonder how many moments were wasted on worry and how many memories didn’t get cherished because I was too busy longing for something better.

I recently returned to our old house to clean for the new renters to move in. Although our possessions are gone, each room still holds signs of our presence. There are marks on the bathroom wall from Matt knocking down the towel bar after almost every shower. There’s a faded silhouette from the wall art that hung above Reese’s crib: “Angels danced the day you were born.” And on the closet door in our old bedroom is one tiny handprint that I never could bring myself to wipe away.

As I cleaned each room, I thought about all the things we will never do in that house again. Some of the memories are ones I always knew I would cherish, like the nights we fell asleep together on the couch, the mornings when Matt’s parents came over for coffee, and the day we brought our new baby home from the hospital. Then there are the memories that seemed like such an inconvenience at the time; memories I never stopped to cherish but now wish I had. Like the times we raced down to Matt’s parents’ house in the pouring rain to wait out a tornado warning; or the times when we would both get up in the middle of the night to search the kitchen for a noisy cricket; or all the times we played “Scissors, Paper, Rock” to see who would be hand-washing the dishes that day. At the time, I never thought I would someday stand in that kitchen and cry because there were no more dishes to wash or crickets to smash.

It’s so easy to assume that we won’t miss something until the moment we realize that it’s in the past forever. Now I miss fogging crickets and scrubbing pots just as much as I miss rocking Reese in middle of the night, or her tiny fetal limbs jabbing my ribs. I miss those things as much as I might someday miss the long drive to town or the wood floors that seem to need sweeping every five minutes; or the way I’ll miss Reese’s constant dependency the day she no longer needs me to dress her, feed her, and change her.

As I get settled in this next phase of my life, I hope I always remember to hold the aggravating moments just as dear as the joyous moments. I hope for a renewed ability to find humor in the wake of frustration. I hope to spend less time worrying about my new inconveniences like the half-hour drive to town and my sudden inability to keep my home spotless, and I hope to spend more time enjoying the many blessings our new house provides. And most of all, I hope I stop in the midst of those aggravated sighs, frustrated eye rolls, and irritated scowls, and listen to the voice in my head that says, “Someday you will miss this.” That way, when someday comes, I won't stand in my empty kitchen and cry because I missed out on some of it. Instead I'll stand there and smile knowing that I fully lived all off it.

Here's to new beginnings. Happy 2012!

Where Have I Been?

Well, our official moving date is less than 2 weeks away, and considering my last post was November 8th, I guess I'm on an official blogging break. For those who are wondering where I've been, don't worry. I didn't fall off the Earth or anything. I'm just lost in a sea of bubble wrap and packing tape. Top that off with my insatiable need to over-organize every last box and a toddler whose's nap seems to get shorter every week, and it's no wonder why I've been MIA for the past month.

Truthfully, though, there is a little more to it than that. For one, when it comes to all of the events of the past few weeks, I am still quite speechless. Every day I wake up expecting to see the pictures back on the walls, wine glasses back in the cupboard, and Matt's blank stare as he asks, "What house?" I keep waiting for all of this to feel more real, but it just doesn't. In fact, given the situation, I won't be surprised if I wake up every day for the next 10 years thinking, "I can't believe I live here."

As a result of all this, I find myself thinking about little else these days. I devote all of my free time to packing, organizing, thumbing through decorating books, and thinking about all that we will be able to do with 5 times as much living space. I also spend a lot of time tweaking our budget and adjusting our spending limits to be sure that our new living arrangement doesn't affect my ability to stay home. At the end of the day, after packing a few boxes, responding to emails from our lending company and real estate agent, and putting yet another check in the mail for who-knows-what-fees, I barely have the mental energy to learn any lessons from dead bugs and post-it notes (much less write about them).

My other issue is that writing has become incredibly difficult since Matt went back to work in August. As a writer who needs extended periods of complete silence to produce anything worth posting, Reese's shortened nap schedule has been a major issue. When I first started writing, it was something I wanted to do for fun. Once it became harder to make time for it, the fun dwindled away and it started to feel like a chore. Last March (when I started this blog), I had a crawling infant who slept over 4 hours a day. Today, I have a running, jumping, climbing toddler who sleeps less than 2 hours a day (and some days not at all).

That doesn't mean I'm putting this aside forever, but it does mean that you won't be hearing from me every 3 days anymore. As much as I love writing, I can't allow it to take me away from the other important things in my life - like time for family, exercise, and prayer. I'll never understand how women with multiple children make time for daily blogs. If any of you are out there and have any advice for me, I will gladly take it. For now, I need a few more weeks to get moved and settled in the new house. Wish us luck and I'll be back in January!

I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

P.S. At the top, right-hand side of this page, you can enter your email address and new posts will automatically get emailed to you so you don't have to keep checking back.

The Blessing of a Lifetime

We made a lot of sacrifices when we became a single income family, but the hardest one was not being able to buy our own house. We have been renting a small farmhouse from Matt's parents for the past three and a half years and we often wondered if we would ever be in a position to own. Even when I was working, we passed up several opportunities to buy because we knew it would jeopardize my ability to stay home. When Matt got hired at his new job, we thought maybe we could finally afford a house. We knew it would still be a bit of a stretch and I might have to work part-time to make ends meet, but we decided to start looking.

That was six months ago. We started the process by saying a lot of prayers. We asked God to keep us open-minded, level-headed, and patient. We asked Him not to let us get carried away with unrealistic expectations and to steer us away from anything above our means. We asked Him to keep us hopeful when deals fell through and humble if we ever did succeed. And if all that wasn't too much to ask, we jokingly threw in a request for a nice ranch-style home out in the country with lots of trees and a big master bathroom - the vision of the dream house Matt and I created when we first got married, but knew we could probably never afford.
 
Next, we had to decide on a price range and we came up with three possibilities: (1) what we could afford if I didn't work at all; (2) what we could afford if I worked part-time; and (3) what we couldn't afford. We always checked the price of new listings before we looked at anything else. We figured there was no point in falling in love with anything in range number three. Finally, we had to pick a location. We knew we wanted to move closer to Matt's work and we love the small towns and the schools in that area. Unfortunately, there aren't many houses for sale at any given time in a school district full of such small towns. We didn't find much at all in our price range. Over six months, we saw only 4 houses.

We never got discouraged, though. We put all our faith in God and we both believed with 100% certainty that He would provide for us, just as He always has. We even fell in love with one house, but we encountered obstacles with the seller (it was a FSBO listing) and we were very uncertain about the price because it would have been a stretch even if I did work part-time. Since we had agreed not to push past any uncertain feelings, we walked away. We took the obstacles as a sign that it wasn't meant for us. Still, we were disappointed and wondered how it might be possible that anything better could come along.

Then last week, we got a listing for a log cabin. Neither of us has ever been interested in living in a log cabin, and it was almost out of our price range. Still, we felt an urge to go see it, but we didn't know why. Our realtor set up a showing. We hated it. What a waste of time... or so we thought.

The next day, I got an email from our realtor saying that he had driven past a home for sale on his way back from the log cabin. It had only been on the market for a few days. I looked at the price, and it was in price range number one (which meant that I could still stay home full-time). Most of the houses we found in price range number one needed so much work that we couldn't afford the repairs, so I wasn't very hopeful, but I opened the listing anyway and looked at the details. It was brand new (built in 2009) and was easily enough space for us to raise a few kids without ever needing to move again. I was sure this was some kind of mistake. Without skipping a beat (or consulting Matt) I immediately told our realtor to get us in there.

We fell in love the minute we pulled in the driveway. Before we got too excited, I asked our realtor about the price. He's a successful builder in town and a trusted family friend, so we knew he would give us a straight answer. It's a long story, but it turns out that the house is very well built and the price has nothing to do with its condition. The people had to move for personal reasons, and they needed it sold fast. We made an offer last Thursday. An hour later, the house was ours. If all of the inspections go well, we'll be living there by Christmas.

For the past four days we've been walking around in complete disbelief. We feel like we won the lottery. I break down in tears several times a day - tears of joy for this dream come true, tears of gratitude for the Lord who gave us this incredible gift, and tears of confusion as I wonder how we could possibly deserve such an amazing blessing.  By the way, it's a ranch in the country with lots of trees. Oh, and the master bathroom is awesome.

Lessons from a Haircut

For the past few months, Reese’s hair has been hanging in her face. She has a cowlick at the back of her head that causes all of her hair to come forward instead of falling to the side. I can’t keep it to the side without a clip, but that’s a major problem for Reese. Every time I put a bow or clip in her hair, she pulls it off. If I stop her from grabbing it, she starts to cry and says, “off, off, off…” until I give in and take it out (which usually takes all of about 10 seconds). Over the past 6 months, I’ve made fewer and fewer attempts to do anything more than brush her hair once or twice a day. 

Once her hair grew long enough to hang in her eyes, I started trying to clip it back again. She wasn’t having any of it and usually just ran around all day with the ends of her bangs blocking part of her vision. She makes rare exceptions for headbands and a ponytail is always preceded by a wrestling match, which I refuse to subject her to every day. I didn’t want to cut her hair because I wanted it to grow long and I didn’t want her bangs to start all the way at the back of her head. But my kid couldn’t see and she hates having stuff clipped in her hair and maybe, just maybe, this isn't about what I want.

In fact, I’m not even sure why I wanted this in the first place. Anyone who knows me would probably agree that I'm not girly at all. I don't own a lot of pink stuff; I don't wear a lot of jewelry; and I'd probably cry and say "off, off, off" if someone put a big sunflower clip in my hair. So why am I always pushing it on Reese? Well, probably because I got caught up in that invisible societal pressure that pushes femininity on our daughters and masculinity on our sons. 

The scary thing is that I’ve always said I would encourage her independence and not force her into anything. Yet, there I was going against my belief because I wanted her to wear ribbons and bows in her long hair like all the other little girls. I guess it’s easy to say that you’ll do something until you’re actually challenged to do it. And if I can’t do it with her haircut, how will I do it when it’s something that really matters to me? 

Over the next 17 years, there will be lots of times where my interests clash with Reese’s interests, needs, or desires. As a parent, I owe it to her to put my agenda aside and to refrain from pushing anything on her just because I think she should look a certain way or have certain interests. So I decided to give Reese the hairstyle she needed instead of the one I wanted her to have. It bothers me that it took me so long to give up on the clips, and that I almost put my interest above hers, even if it was about something as silly as a haircut. I finally ended up putting her in the chair and saying, “just make it so she can see without needing a clip in it.” And, ya know what? She still just as cute.  

Internal Mommy Gear

Reese had her first time out yesterday for hitting another kid at Bible study. She and one other little girl are always fighting over the same toys, and I guess Reese had enough because she waited until G turned her back, and then grabbed a different toy and clubbed her over the head with it. Some moms might be inclined to think it was an accident - “Oh, she was just trying to hand it to her.” But I’m not that naïve. She clocked this kid. On purpose.
 

Immediately after it happened, I set her on my lap and said, “Reese Margaret, no no. We do not hit.” I held her there for about a minute, and she cried the whole time. After I let her down, I took her over to G and told her to say “sorry” not thinking she would actually say it. “Sigh-eee,” she said to her, which instantly melted my heart. As I rejoined the adult conversation, all I could think about was how terrified I am to have to add discipline to my growing list of parenting responsibilities.

From the day Reese was born, I’ve always said that I dread the disciplinary part of parenting. I believe in responsibility, accountability, and consequences, and it’s important to me that I find an effective way of passing those values to my kids. So it’s certainly not that I don’t want to discipline Reese. It’s that I feel completely clueless about how to find the strategy that works for me and for her. It doesn’t help me to ask other parents what they do because kids are so different and what works for them might not work for us. And it doesn’t help me to read books because the “experts” always try to make black and white instruction manuals out of topics with too many gray areas. It seems that whenever I seek advice, I always come out more confused (if that’s even possible).

Well, if my friends can’t help me, and the experts can’t help me, what’s left? I guess all that’s left is what I have in my heart, but now I'm wondering if maybe those are the only tools I need: 

·                   * Trust in my maternal instincts

·                   * Faith in my values

·                   * Unconditional love and respect

·                   * Forgiveness

·                   *Patience with my own mistakes in the process

 

Before today, I never sat down and thought about a discipline plan. I never said, “when Reese hits another kid, I’m going to do X, Y, and Z.” It just happened, and I responded from my heart. About an hour later, I carried her out of the car, and she said again, “sigh-eee.” Then we parked in the drive way and I carried her to her crib for her nap. “Sigh-eee, Mommy.” Okay, so maybe she doesn’t understand what sorry means… or maybe she really does feel bad. Maybe I'm showing a little bit of the "mommy bias" here, but I choose to believe the latter. “It’s ok, baby. Mommy loves you very much,” I said as I put her in bed. I left the room and silently wished for every future incident to go so smoothly.  

I know there’s plenty more discipline coming in the years ahead and many situations that don’t have a clear answer or ones where I end up choosing the wrong answer (and that’s where the patience with myself comes in), but yesterday I realized that maybe discipline isn’t a process to fear or a topic to research or an invitation for advice. Maybe it’s just like our ability to decode cries and grunts and mumbles, or the immeasurable love and patience we have for our children or our willingness to sacrifice so much of ourselves for them. Maybe it’s just another part of parenting that we all fear until we realize it's included in our internal mommy gear.

If You Jump, I Will Catch You

I hear a lot of moms talk about how badly they wish they could stay home, but the fear of losing their income prevents them from taking the leap. For all the moms who want to stay home as badly as I did, all I can say is I know that fear. I know that doubt. But I did it anyway, and I have no regrets. This is my story….

When I was pregnant with Reese, Matt and I wavered quite often in our feelings about me staying home full-time. Although it was the lifestyle we both always wanted, neither of us was convinced that we could meet our needs with half of our income. With the help of an online tutorial, I created an elaborate spreadsheet detailing our expenses and the upcoming change in our income. I quickly developed an unhealthy addiction to tinkering with the numbers… maybe if we downgrade our cell phone plans, or if we cancel our cable TV, or if we give up this or stop buying that, maybe then the number at the bottom of the screen will rise above zero. It was not uncommon for Matt to find me staring at the screen in tears saying, “It’s just not going to work. I can’t stay home.”

Halfway through my pregnancy, I gave up on my dream and started researching daycare options. I started by calling a few women in town who provided daycare in their homes. No one had any openings. I was running out of references, so I chose a different route and went to a local day care center. As I looked through the window to the main play area, I could already feel the heat rising in my body, the tears pooling under my eyes. I thought about the life I pictured for my children, and this was not it. The woman behind the counter said, “Hi, can I help you?” At least, I think that’s what she said. I was already out the door.

After that, Matt suggested that we take a break from the daycare search until after the baby was born. We decided to spend less time worrying about doing it our way and more time praying for guidance toward the right decision. It took over six months, but we finally decided to leave it to God. Once we did that, we realized that He was already trying to give us the answer. The uneasy feeling I had in the daycare center and my inability to find any openings with an in-home provider were two of the obvious signs. Then there were other things like the unexpected partial tuition waivers we received from Matt’s work or the last-minute financial aid award notices that helped pay for his graduate classes or our decisions to skip out on a bigger house and newer cars just because we “had a feeling” that it wasn’t the right time. We had too many instances where money just happened to line up just as we needed it, as if God was saying, “If you jump, I will catch you.”

A few months later, I watched my brand new baby sleeping peacefully in my arms, tears coming and going with each new surge of emotion: pride, joy, pain, exhaustion, love, fear. After watching the look in my eyes all day, Matt finally asked the question we both already knew the answer to, “You’re not going back to work, are you?” My answer was simple: “I can’t.”

We still had three months to make a definite decision, and we talked about it almost every day. After actually having the baby, we were more determined than ever to make it work. With just a couple weeks left of my maternity leave, I sat down at the computer and wrote my resignation letter. As I walked it into the office, the negative number on my spreadsheet flashed in my mind like a strobe light. I handed the letter in anyway. I quit my job anyway. I walked out the door and went home to my baby.

Since that day, it hasn’t been easy. We’ve turned down invitations to go on trips and passed up homes we wanted to buy. We drive cars barely large enough for a car seat, and we hardly ever eat at restaurants. But we didn’t cancel our cable TV; we didn’t give up our cell phones. We still do fun things, and we have a great life. We pay all of our bills and we still have a lot of money in savings. And that negative number on the spreadsheet? Well, I don’t know where it went, but when I go on line to check our bank statement, even on the months where I feel we went a little overboard, there’s always enough. There’s always more than enough.

I've been home for almost 17 months, and I never regret my decision. I never miss my paycheck, and somehow it all works out. Living with less really is easier than it seems. Of course, I can’t say that it will work that way for everyone, but it worked that way for us. All we did was turn it over to God. We prayed and we listened. We took a leap of faith and we followed our hearts. We jumped and He caught us.

Thinking for Two

I was in the shower this morning when I grabbed the shampoo, popped the top open, and turned the bottle upside down. As a stream of orange gel flowed into my palm, I had a sudden thought, "Wait. Did I already wash my hair?" I seriously couldn't remember. I decided better twice than not at all and I proceeded to lather up anyway. "How does that even happen?" I wondered as I shook my head at my own forgetfulness. I answered my own question in my mind, "Don't even act surprised. You do stuff like this all the time." 

I can only imagine where she gets it.

Ok, I'll be honest. I do stuff like that all the time. I drive away with my coffee cup on top of my car. I spend 10 minutes looking for my sunglasses and then realize they're on top of my head. I open the microwave and find the lunch that I heated up 3 hours ago and forgot to eat. I'm prone to those kinds of mental mishaps partly because I'm always rushing around anyway and because of the ever-so-common Frazzled Mom Syndrome, but I think there's also another reason. It's because I'm constantly thinking for two.

Thinking for two. It's like eating for two except that (1) thinking for two lasts much longer than nine months and (2) eating for two is fun and thinking for two is exhausting. When I got pregnant, I was prepared to eat for two. I was even kind of excited about it. "This one's for the baby," I would say as I grabbed a second cookie (and often a third). It's fun because it only lasts nine months and then you go back to eating for yourself and your baby eats for herself. Yeah, not so much with the thinking. It's by far the most exhausting part of motherhood (including midnight feedings), and I can only imagine how it's possible that there are so many mothers out there thinking for three or five or seven.

With two bodies to bathe and dress, two sets of teeth to brush, two mouths to feed, and two lives to manage, it seems like I never get a break from thinking about, planning for, and doing everything... twice. I keep track of her meals, naps, baths, and every other daily routine. When I say I need a break from Reese, that's the part I need to get away from most. Unfortunately, it's the part I rarely escape. "Hey, can you feed her some lunch?" I ask Matt sometimes on the weekends. "Sure," he answers, "What's she having?"

Okay, so I sometimes get a break from sitting there while she eats, but I almost never get a break from thinking about her lunch, knowing what time she should eat it, and deciding what she'll have. I also never get a break from remembering to keep the house clear of all possible hazards or from worrying about her when I'm not there or from hoping that I'm making the right choices for her. When I really think about how mentally demanding it is to be a mom, it's no wonder why I sometimes end up washing my hair twice.

Thinking for two is the same as being pregnant and reaching for an extra snack or ordering a larger portion. You give yourself a break because you're eating for two, right? So the next time you're looking for the car keys that are in your pocket or you accidentally leave the refrigerator door open or you're standing in the shower trying to remember if you already washed your hair, just remember that you're not dumb or crazy. Just laugh it off and give yourself a break and say, "Hey, what do you expect? I'm thinking for two."

How Great Thou Art

Lately I’ve been bothered by a subtle, nagging anxiety. It isn’t the kind of anxiety that causes me to hang Matt’s dress shirts by style and color or the kind that urges me to perfectly arrange all of Reese’s toys at the end of every day. It doesn’t affect my ability to enjoy my days with Reese or trust my decisions or keep my home in order. Instead, it’s the kind of anxiety that always has me wondering what I’ve forgotten, the kind that leaves me feeling a bit uneasy for no apparent reason. Something seems to be missing. I’m not completely calm; not entirely comfortable; not totally at peace. 

I floated along this way for weeks, maybe even a few months. It grew so gradually that it became difficult to pinpoint a beginning. I started to wonder if I needed counseling or medication or maybe I was just slowly going crazy. It feels like I’m walking on a platform high above the ground, and although I know it’s wide enough and sturdy enough, I still can’t shake the fear that I might go tumbling over the edge at any moment. As I watched my platform slowly rising higher, I wondered how long it would take before others noticed how unbalanced I felt. The whole time, I had no idea that my saving grace was so easily within reach.

Six weeks ago, I started teaching 5^th grade CCD on Wednesday evenings. It’s a great reason to get out of the house every week and I’m gaining teaching experience and deepening my faith. Talk about a win-win situation! I switch off leading the lesson every other week with Kristin, my co-teacher and close friend. Last night I parked my car and trudged to the classroom, glad it wasn’t my week to lead and hoping the hour would pass quickly. We started class with our usual prayer circle and then Kristin turned off the lights and played the video of Carrie Underwood singing "How Great ThouArt" at the ACM "Girls Night Out" concert. 

I knew she was planning to show that video, and although I had seen it before, I was completely unprepared for my reaction. Just a few seconds into it, my eyes brimmed with tears. I casually wiped them away, pretending to scratch an itch, but new ones came in their place. I reached for a Kleenex to stifle a fourth sniffle, and I wondered if the kids could see my red face across the dark room. Suddenly, as I listened to the refrain - “Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee…” - I felt so deeply connected to the present moment. My mind and my heart soared with comfort and peace; the unnecessary worries and irrational fears melted away; and a complete calm settled over the storm. And there it was, plain as day - the “something” I was missing. I had become disconnected from the Holy Spirit, and in that moment, I felt God calling me back.     

When the lights came on again, no one mentioned the emotion on my face. Maybe they didn’t notice, but I couldn’t imagine how that was possible. I pulled myself together as Kristin started her lesson. Afterwards, I walked to my car in a completely different mood from when I arrived just one hour earlier, and I realized that I did get my wish – the hour passed very quickly. 

As I drove home, I thought about how infrequently I have those moments where I feel fully connected to God. It’s a connection that reaches deeper than daily prayer and weekly Mass, which are uplifting and inspiring, but often become such a matter of routine that I don’t fully experience them as I should. These moments, rather, come in the form of triumphant stories, magnificent sunsets, uncanny coincidences, answered prayers, and beautifully sung hymns of worship and praise. They often catch me off guard during times when I don’t even know I’m looking for God, and that’s probably because He only lets me stray so far and then He comes looking for me.

If you saw me going about my day today, I would have seemed just like I always do on the outside. On the inside, however, I have a renewed sense of peace. Although all of my little fears and anxieties have not been entirely wiped away, I feel better equipped to handle them with the grace of God surrounding me. It’s a grace that can be found in the simplest of moments, out of which flow the most powerful reminders of God’s unending, unconditional, all-consuming love. And all we have to do to fully experience them is quiet our minds, open our hearts, and let our souls sing.... "my Savior God, to Thee. How great Thou art. How great Thou art!"

No Brats Allowed

“Effective [this date], we will only be seating children over the age of six. We appreciate your cooperation. Thank you, The Management.” 

I paraphrased the above statement, but a sign sending the same message was recently placed on the front door of a restaurant in Pennsylvania. This restaurant is one of many businesses putting a ban on young children. The brat ban has become a parenting hot topic as parents in increasing numbers are being asked to remove themselves and their unruly children from public venues.

As talk shows and news reports continue to highlight this debate, I see little mention of the real problem. It is unfortunate that the focus has shifted to the children who are simply victims of circumstance. In my attempt to look at this debate for what it really is, I created a few alternative signs for the windows of businesses that would prefer not to serve young children: 

1. “Effective [this date], we will only be seating children with attentive parents.”

I’ll never forget a segment I saw a few months ago on the Today Show about bullying. Matt Lauer interviewed an expert on the topic who, as usual, pointed every bit of fault toward school officials and teachers for not being more attentive to the problem. Lauer asked how much of the responsibility should fall on parents to educate their own children on the issue. Finally, the question that never gets asked! I eagerly awaited her reply, which was quite matter-of-fact: “Parents these days are too busy and simply don’t have the time. Therefore, they need to be able to rely on schools to equip their kids with necessary life skills.” You can imagine my shock. That’s the moment I realized that we live in a society that places responsibilities to work and self above responsibilities to home and family. No doubt such a mentality has given rise to the spread of inattentive parenting habits. If they’re not teaching their kids to be responsible and respectful citizens, they’re certainly not going to stop them from banging their plate on the table at Chili’s. 

2. “Please enlist common sense before entering with children.”

If Reese was suddenly banned from places like McDonald’s or TGI Friday’s, of course I would be offended. But if she was banned from restaurants with white linen tablecloths and businesspeople in formal attire, I think I’d get over it. Some places are just not appropriate for children and most sensible parents understand. Even when the kind of place isn’t the issue though, parents still need to consider the child’s general temperament and current mood before deciding if his presence is appropriate to the venue. Reese is in a screaming phase right now, which means that I rarely take her to restaurants or other quiet places. If the sound is annoying to my ears at times, I can only imagine the opinion of the elderly couple at the next table.

Of course, I am aware that parents can’t predict their children’s behavior with 100% accuracy, but most of us know our kids well enough to determine the type of public setting they can handle on a given day.  (If you aren’t able to do this, please refer to sign #1). It isn’t fair to expect everyone to adopt a “kids will be kids” mentality in the presence of children, especially when someone’s toddler starts launching spaghetti across the room. If parents know their kids can’t handle a certain setting, there are lots of alternatives: hire a sitter, stay home, or go to a place that is always kid-friendly, like McDonald’s.

3. “Due to the inability of our staff and customers to recognize and accept the normal cognitive skills and behavioral patterns of young children, we are only able to serve those over the age of six. We apologize for our ignorance.”

This is where I fall on the opposite side of the debate. Even the greatest, most attentive parents have children who occasionally make a scene in public. I’m amazed that anyone would expect a toddler (or sometimes even an infant!) to have good manners and appropriate social skills. Most people who get upset with children in public do so because they believe the children should “know better.” Most of the time, though, children don’t know better and it’s simply because they’re at a place in their development where they can’t know better. Fortunately, these people are easy to spot, as their lack of knowledge about normal child development is obvious (like the hostess who hands your eight-month-old a kids’ menu and crayons, or the lady at the next table who asks if your tantrum-throwing one-year-old would like a Tootsie-Pop).  

Just as parents with unruly children can stay home to avoid bothering others, people without any patience for the occasional screaming toddler can stay home to avoid being bothered. Parents aren’t the only ones who should have to enlist common sense before entering a public place.

Seriously, though, all jokes and rude signs aside, it saddens me that such a debate is even in question during a time when we have so many other major issues to attend to – like our failing economy and the fact that children in this country are literally getting bullied to death. What really needs to happen is a revival of the long-dead cultural expectations of common sense, common courtesies, and unconditional respect for others. If we do those things, I guarantee we can consider this problem (and many others) to be as good as solved.

A Mother's Journey

This is me: 6 months old

I have a calendar on my nightstand that displays an inspirational quote about motherhood for each day of the year. It was a gift from my sister-in-law on my first Mother's Day and I still enjoy turning the page every day to read the new quote. I agree with many of them and disagree with many others, but all of them are equally thought-provoking. One of the recent ones said, "A mother is not a person to lean on, but rather a person to make leaning unnecessary." While I adamantly disagree with the former phrase of that sentence, the latter prompted me to write one of my favorite pieces of poetry to date. 

High School Senior Pictures 2001

On a brief side note... it may (or may not) surprise you to hear that I dabble in poetry a bit. It started as a cathartic release of teenage angst, a phase during which I realized that a well-written poem can be the most beautiful way to relay a story, evoke emotion, and deepen a message. I rarely share my poetry (the one I wrote on Mother's Day is the only other poem that appears here thus far). It's mostly because of an intense fear of rejection, but I guess six months of opening myself and my life on the internet is hardening me a bit and boosting my courage. 

My Wedding Day 2008

Ok, back to today's message... after the above quote came up on my calendar, I realized that I had not yet fully considered the true level of the sacrifice that mothers make for their children - a sacrifice that goes beyond labor pains and midnight feedings. It's a lifelong sacrifice of ourselves for children who are actually not ours at all - children who will someday tie their own shoes, make their own meals, and live their own lives; children who will lean on us less and less as they grow in confidence and independence. It begins with the literal cutting of the cord and as our children venture further into the world - from the first day of kindergarten to the last day of college and from high school dances to wedding day - each milestone cuts the metaphorical cord away just that much more. Without speaking from direct experience, I can only imagine the mixture of pride and joy and sadness and loss that dwells in our hearts on those momentous days. 

I wrote this poem in an attempt to put a beautifully bittersweet journey into words and to remind all of the moms with grown up children that even though you may succeed at making certain kinds of "leaning" unnecessary, you will always have an irreplaceable role in the lives of your children. Once a mommy, always a mommy!  

A Mother’s Journey

My mother’s journey starts today

In this tiny room where we both lay.

My mom is just so very proud

As she picks out the perfect gown

To take me home on my first day,

And show the world the life she made.

She lifts her chin and smiles wide

As we head toward the world outside.

She'll pause and bow her head to pray

For God to guide us on our way.

Those 18 years will fly so fast.

Her little girl will grow at last,

And she will be so very proud

As she fits my graduation gown

And matching cap for my big day.

She’ll be sad but she won’t say.

Instead she’ll give a happy smile

As I make my journey down the aisle.

And she will bow her head to pray

As life leads her baby girl away.

Someday a man will come around

Who sweeps my feet up off the ground.

And she will be so very proud

As she fits me for the perfect gown

And matching shoes for my big day.

She’ll be sad but she won’t say.

Instead she’ll give a happy smile

As I make my journey down the aisle.

And she will bow her head to pray

As she gives her baby girl away.

And someday when we both are gone,

And our daughters still are living on,

I know she will be so proud

As she fits me for my final gown

And matching wings for my big day.

Her baby girl is Home to stay.

On the other side she’ll stand and wait

As I make my journey through the gate.

As we bow down at Jesus’ feet,

My mother’s journey is complete.