Tag Archives: growing up

Bigger and Tireder and Come Unto Me

He said Come unto Me all you who are weary and I will give you rest.

He didn’t say Come every Wednesday or Come unto me even though you’re exhausted or Come unto me or else we won’t be friends anymore.

He said Come unto me all you who are weary…

And they don’t tell you in the pregnancy books that there comes a time, way past the first roll-over time, way past the sitting up time, way past the solid foods time, and wayyy past the first-steps time…

1914286_1166372360404_1622838_n

There comes a time when it seems a little like it did when there were babies in the house, and a little like it did when there were toddlers in the house…

1936900_1130220816638_7623810_n

But it’s all a little bit different and a little bit bigger.

Because they’re bigger.

13512074_10207220730697506_1974492824310303875_n13700026_10207354848010355_4509519964525493000_n11826050_10205171062377079_8389131653967778264_n

You should be tougher but you don’t feel much tougher.

In fact, when you talk to mamas just a wee bit older than you, you might whisper it to them quiet and confidentially and maybe even with a hint of a doubt in your tone while you secretly hope that maybe they’ll understand.

You really hope they’ll nod knowingly and that they won’t tell you that you’re wrong. You hope they’ll hug you and say OH HONEY YES.

It’s harder than it was.

It’s just a different hard.

You feel somehow weaker than you did even though you never ever thought you’d feel weaker and more vulnerable than you did with no sleep and no makeup and milk streaming down your chest and soaking through your shirt and onto your mattress and into your days while the beautiful baby just screamed and screamed and constantly needed a new diaper.

You’re tired.

And that just seems so wrong because they sleep all night now, a long teenager’s sleep late into the morning for their growing bodies if your day can spare it, so a full eight or nine is your delight, and most mornings even a leisurely cup of coffee is yours before they arise…and they do work now, real work that makes yours easier.

12631294_10206165962208953_5236890358614510355_n13095810_10206811267861191_3830617926206379257_n

But they take more of you now.

More mind muscle. More money. More miles.

They take up more space.

In your house.

In your head.

In your heart.

There are more of them and they are bigger and it’s just all bigger and a little more overwhelming but you’re older now and wiser now so you handle it better but handling it better makes you tired sometimes and it’s a different kind of tired.

And sometimes coming unto me looks a lot different than what a mama thought it would way back when they still napped in the middle of the day and still needed you to buckle them into their car seat.

A quiet time isn’t always ever a quiet time, and me-time doesn’t work and long ago when they were toddlers I cut out a magazine piece that said me-time comes when the babies are grown and now that mine are almost there I see.

I see how it is that I don’t really feel like taking that me-time anymore unless they force me, and now that more than two of them fill a room while college and jobs and future fill their horizon…

I’m glad my me-time revolves around them.

1991_10206432559433717_1815804492705814144_n11825971_10205221778764957_1878700156571017671_n14242251_10207766341857444_2893662077870790043_o

It means saying no sometimes.

It means that I actually had more time for friends when my babies were babies and we could all get together over diapers and coffee and Cheerios and Boppies.

It means that pulling in to them instead of pulling away needs to be my daily priority.

It means that I may lose outside opportunities in order to stay inside the circle of these years.

It means that my growth might actually be watching them grow and that is what my job is right now.

It means that I might have to work through the new ages and stages and grow right along with them.

14445131_10207928258865268_7764277683725295738_o.jpg

It means that I might be lacking for folks outside of here and seem shallow when in truth, I’m growing deeper and broader in my care and attention.

But a mama still needs come unto me and thankfully, He stands and He knocks, and what a comfort…what.a.comfort. to know He’s there.

That He is always there.

That when my quiet time is driving-down-the-road time, He doesn’t abandon.

He’s there.

That when I’m extra busy or frazzled or full, He doesn’t condemn.

He invites.

That when I forget, He doesn’t write me off.

He gently prods.

That when I’m exhausted, He doesn’t shame.

He comforts.

That He loves.

That He forgives.

That He encourages.

That He holds.

That He stays.

And that unlike this time that rushes…that goes…that hurries…

He doesn’t.

He still says come unto me and when I’m weary and when I’m burdened and when I’m heavy laden…

He doesn’t pressure but He waits.

And He gives rest for my soul.

14435389_10207913973268137_8039937684713356572_o

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

Matthew 11:28-30

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains
One thing remains

Your love never fails and never gives up it never runs out on me…your love…it’s your love…

On and one and on and on it goes
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never ever have to be afraid
One thing remains

In death and in life I’m confident and covered by the power of your great love
My debt is paid there’s nothing that can separate my heart from your great love

Your love never fails and never gives up it never runs out on me…your love…it’s your love…God it’s your love.

~Jesus Culture

All These Years

 All these years that I’ve been holding you…

The morning whisper before the routine of the day and it’s me and it’s him and it’s quiet before kids louden the house and it’s all these years and all that holding…

All these years.

A day can seem like a year and one year looks like the one before it and pretty soon all the years mix into one big day…and the messes and the money and the love and the fights and the hugs and the tears and the critters and the kids and the good and the not-always-good…they all blend up together in a sweet day-swirl of years that soften as they go, and pretty soon it’s been over twenty now that you’ve been holding each other in the dark and in the quiet.

april-2015-137 (2)

How did we get to all these years when I thought we were still just starting?

How did the babies go on and grow and get to be a mini-version of the adults they’re turning into?

And how did we somehow get all grown up when we still have so much work to do on growing up?

All these years…

11204987_10204645643961947_4348532204931243447_n

The trail we boondock bumps and jars and I hop off the four-wheeler while he works out the high-center and I walk with the fireweed and my hands touch the tall grass and there…right there…is where I’d have him put the house we’ll stay in for all the years that are yet to come.

It rolls like a meadow from back home, but it’s rugged like a spruce from this home, and my eyes water because I’d really love to buy this land and standing here in the fireweed, I’m standing at my to-be kitchen sink and looking out my to-be big window and right there my little horses are grazing in their to-be pasture while my children do what farm children do, they hunt and run and yell and create and care for critters here on their to-be homestead where they’ll bring their to-be children back to spend sunny days and wrap their dirty play-stained fingers around mine someday.

I look at the old cottonwood that reaches its emerald clumps of leaves high in years-long praise. How old does a tree have to be to reach that size?

All those years it stood there.

Right there.

I want our house to be right here. I want to look out over that meadow every day and I want this cottonwood to be here with us. Right here is where I want our house to be.

076 (2)

He usually has to think things over for a good long time. He’s like that and it’s good.

But I ask him if we can’t pray on this one because sometimes God decides to move faster than we do and

God? Can this be one of those times because all these years are going by faster than I thought they would.

I want Him to move faster than smart husbands who mull long so we clasp hands and I try not to cry because sometimes God moves even slower than husbands who take time, and I’ve learned while that’s hard, it’s a good thing too.

But in the slowness when will we finally grow into who we are?

When do we finally have it together?

When do we finally look out over the meadow and feel like there’s peace?

When do we quit feeling like a wreck, like a mess, like there is so.much.more growing up to do?

When do we finally feel like we’re Home?

It’s hard to wait and God, can’t You just make it happen fast?

But then today I remember.

This time of year marks the time of year I said yes to Jesus.

Twelve now since I said yes, I’ll follow and I’ll grow up into the girl you had in mind when you made me. Yes. I will follow.

In all my waiting to finally be there…I forget that it’s not just twelve days.

I’m growing up.

It might be slow, but I’m closer to Home now than I was then and even when I’m high-centered, I’m still on the trail.

All these years…

I’ve been holding you…

When I reach my hands up in years-old praise and stand firm in this good soil He gives…

…or when I lay broken like the spruce that snapped in the massive wind storm years back and just hasn’t quite gathered the strength yet to stand…

030

…or when my heart is hardened like the burl, that huge one that forms around a mar in the design and grows bigger until it’s finally chopped off and used for good…

043 (2)

…or when I sit quiet and vibrant like the wildflowers that show up briefly and grace her surroundings with beauty…

063 (2)

…all these years He’s been holding me.

I’m growing.

You…me…we’re getting there.

In the quiet…in the dark…in the good…in the bad…

All these kids and all these critters and all these fears and all these tears and all these flaws and all this growing and all these years…

We put an offer on the land today.

We might get it or we might not.

We might have to wait for another meadow or we might have to make one right where we are.

But today, this day of meadows and dreams and hopes and prayers I know this: all these years…

…He’s been holding.

He’s been holding.

009

Teen Song

All in one day it happened that my little boy…

my baby boy

…he was rolling hay bales on out of the truck and climbing around on the load heaving and moving the fifty pound blocks and his pushing and pulling was actually helping not just adding cuteness to the work and that helping made the job go smooth and it got the bales to his big brother who got them to his dad who, because of all this help…

…stacked a whole load quickly.

1922236_10204098340759709_3917158836926982840_n

And my girls…oh my beautiful girls who show me daily glimpses of the women they’ll become…those to-be leaders and wives and mothers, grandmothers and aunties and friends who walk beside…they were just happy little babies with the chubbiest thighs and the cutest cries and an uncanny way of waking their mama up at 4 a.m. bright and shiny for the day. But somehow this day, they clip up their hair and don aprons and dream up the perfect lamb chops and brownie fudge ganache for their big brother who befriends and protects and teases.

1975016_10204098340359699_2095336714031040779_n

I thought the turning from twelve to thirteen was just yesterday for me, the time of staring into a mirror wondering who that person in there was. I thought that little girl was still there somewhere, but today, when I look around this house…this home with paint peeling and dishes stacked and floors needing scrubbed and all those handprints peppered on all the walls painted with all those coats and all those years of stubborn and determined love…that girl inside reminds me that growing up happens quietly.

Quickly and suddenly and silently and gradually.

And beautifully.

10991043_10204073170330464_5771726809448538309_n

10628580_10204073167930404_6722128503545532099_n

10854951_10204073167170385_1914555893414130191_o

So when we’re back home and the big celebration is over and now, today, it’s officially THE DAY, I remember back to the day when he was first born and there in the big white room filled with doctors in blue hats and masks that revealed smiling eyes beaming at me, a sound hit my ears and it bounced off those walls and it was so foreign and so new that my exhausted mind couldn’t make sense of it and I asked my husband to tell me what it was.

That’s your son, honey.

That’s our boy.

10968406_10204073171890503_6187767015158942315_n

Today he’s thirteen and my once-newborn is entering the last third of his trek to adulthood. He makes me proud. He perplexes me. He amazes me.

And before bed I ask him if he’d once more play the pretty song he’s been learning on the piano so his dad can hear it.

Reluctantly, like a teenager and with sighs, he sits down to play for his mama.

His birthday gift to her.

He plinks it out steadily, note by note, measure by measure.

And his song fills our home.

11008392_10204098340399700_3174094801680733297_n

If—

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

 ~

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

 ~

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

 ~

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!