Wednesdays in the Summer (aka Peptalk to Myself)

Every year in late May we pull out the goggles, fins, suits and coolers and begin preparing for the summer competitive swim season. We don't do team sports throughout the rest of the year but in the summer, the girls swim. With every ounce of their being, they swim.

I'll admit, and my kids know this, that I have a love hate relationship with summer. Around March, I begin envisioning easy summer afternoons with good books and lots of completed home projects (at last!) and I begin to not-so-subtly hint that perhaps our family might consider taking a summer off from swimming - a suggestion considered anathema to the swimmers in the family. So I surrender my Wednesdays (meet days) and hope that maybe those other wonderful plans will fall in around the practices and meets. They never do and come mid-July, I always wonder where the summer has gone and why my expectation never matches the reality. On paper, my aspirations for the summer months always look do-able but the day to day reality is that, for a number of reasons, those things rarely get done. So why to do I succumb to the madness?

First and foremost, I trust my husband and his love for me and our kids. When he tells me it's good for them, for us, to do this, I believe him because I'm confidant he has my (and their) best interests at heart.

Secondly, I do it because I love my kids. And as this book emphasizes so well and also as August reminds me often, I understand that one of the best ways to love my kids is to love the things they love. An even truer mantra, as I'm quickly learning, for the adolescent years.

Thirdly, I do it as an exercise in dying to myself which seems to be something I come back to as a mom again and again.

And so this past Wednesday, in what had to be the wettest, dreariest evening of the year, we sloshed in the rain and mud for hours while the girls competed. As we were preparing for the rainy evening, my number one goal was to keep my kids - especially Brayden - as warm and dry as possible through the evening. We packed warm towels (lots of them!) in a cooler and I grabbed my Moby Wrap with the plan to wear Brayden much of the evening. (I'll add here that someone has acquired quite a "Moby addiction" but I'll not say which one of us! :-) ) I also had to be sure I kept track of all four girls' events. I've learned over the years that the best way for me to do this is with lots of Sharpie marker scrawled down my arm. I can't lose my "notes" and they don't wear off for days. In our 9 years of summer swimming, I've only missed two races and one of those times was last week......because I didn't take the time to make my "arm notes" with Sharpie ahead of time. This week, I made sure that wouldn't happen again. After lots of teamwork through the afternoon, I was ready......we were ready......for the long, rainy, cool evening.

What we hadn't counted on was the MUD. And there was lots of it.....everywhere. And yesterday, much of the mud that was there, was now HERE in my house, carried home on shoes, coolers, chairs, and towels. :(

So as I scrubbed mud out of T-shirts, socks, and baby blankets, I'm reminded myself why I do this every year - why WE do this every year. And I thought back to that moment Wednesday night when I looked through the rainy mist and saw, across the pool, lovely Marina, gliding poetically through the water with graceful strength and beauty. Her face radiating with delight and contentment, despite the cool night air and mud, as she raised arm after arm, backstroking to a strong finish. That smile made every load of muddy laundry worth it...........I think. ;)

Countdown to The End.......Or Rather the Beginning

(This post was written 3 days before Brayden's birth but never published. The content is even more true now.)

In the past week, I've had two different conversations with folks who assumed we would "be done" having children after this one. The conversations included questions like this:

"You're not planning to have any more, right?"

or

"At least you know, since I'm sure you're not going to have any more, that you'll never have to go through something like this again, right?"

I really understand where they are coming from. Really I do. I'm 41 years old and about to have my fifth baby. August is older still (shhhhh......he really doesn't look it). Why would we add more to an already "oversized" family? Furthermore, we homeschool and we care for August's widowed mother who lives with us. Our plates are full enough, we're told.

But I guess my question is......who decides the size of the plate?

Seven years ago, I thought we did. Eliza had surprised us and we were stunned......and done! I couldn't imagine "handling" any more....and this was even after much prayer. But God had some things to say to me, to us. And this "conversation" between us and Our Lord would last years.

Soon after Eliza's birth, I read an article entitled The Baby IS The Lesson. (I'd encourage you to click over and read it......or if you don't have time now, come back later and give it a read. You don't have to have a newborn in the house to glean something useful from it.) Upon reading that article, I became the student, and Eliza (or God through Eliza) the teacher. Recesses of my heart, that I didn't even know existed, were opened. I was challenged to rethink my priorities and those things I thought I should be teaching/modeling to my children. I was challenged to reconsider how much importance I assigned to my own agenda for each day or even for my life. I was challenged to rethink my definitions of success and accomplishment. We (August and I) were challenged to rethink the value we place on our children and also our openness (or lack thereof) to new life in our family.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life." John 12:24-25

I was, up until that point, a happy and contented grain of wheat. So much so, that my decisions were calculated in a way that would hopefully avoid any need for death to myself. I wasn't a horrible mother but I wanted to serve God in ways that I got to decide. I had plans and projects - good and noble - yet many of them distracted me from my family. And although I was glad to work my children in around those things, I did not understand that my children WERE the agenda. How much better would my children understand the sacrifice of Jesus for them on the cross if they were to see their own mother living sacrificially.

"Behold, sons are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the son's of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them!" Psalm 127:3-5

I'd love to do a word study on the word "happy" in the above verse. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean a life without trials or pain but I'll bet it has a lot to do with fulfillment, lasting meaning, and joy. As I witnessed this "happiness" in families around us, I began to long for it and I noticed that the more I put aside my own plans and embraced what God had for me, the more peace and joy I experienced. Over time, it became clear that in our family, embracing what God had for us meant being open to more children - regardless of our ages, regardless of the size of our family already, regardless of not being understood (and possibly even being judged or mocked) by much of the world.

This baby that we'll all meet within the next two weeks is a culmination and a beginning. He is the culmination of many, many years of struggling, wrestling, and longing. He is an answer to 7 years (down to the month) of prayer. (Incidentally, the number 7 in the bible refers to fullness, completeness, or perfection.) He is evidence of changed hearts; and he is a sign of God's undeserved faithfulness and mercy. While I'd like to think this mama is more dead to herself than ever before, I'm sure I've still lots to learn. And I'm so glad the Lord has sent this little man to help me continue on in those lessons.

So maybe my plate is full now and maybe it's not. The truth is, I don't know the size of the plate, but I know the One who does and I'm keeping my eyes on Him.