A Pregnant Advent

As a pastor, the Advent season has become increasingly important to me. I especially appreciate the tension we hold as Christians in the waiting period. We have hopes of joy for sure, but we are also honest about the pain in the world, the pain in our own lives. And this tension of Advent is particularly poignant for me as I travel through Advent this year...pregnant.

I've been waiting to write a jolly story of how the first few months of pregnancy were unpleasant, but nearing Christmas now I'm feeling awesome! Only that moment hasn't come for me, and I feel it's important to speak during Advent with an honest heart.

This pregnancy has been really rough.  I'm nearly 17 weeks, and for three months now, I can recall no more than 2 days in which my physical health was in really good shape. In addition to the pregnancy ills, my immune system has been no match for the (seemingly endless) bugs and infections that come my way. This is not meant as a complaint exactly (heaven and AJ know I've done enough of that!), because I am aware of the sweet joy and privilege inherent in carrying new life into this world. I do think, however, that if I didn't write of the pain associated with this pregnancy, I would be holding something back from the joy as well. In Advent, we hold joy and pain together, a reality that has encouraged me in my pregnant Advent, relating with Mary more than ever before.

I really am filled with joy at the prospect of new life entering our family, and on those two days when I felt well enough, my heart swelled with more emotion than I thought possible. But the reality of experiencing bodily pain (at least for me), is how difficult it makes seeing beyond the fog of the present. I want to dream about Briggs as a big brother, but it's hard to rip my focus from what has become a daily goal: survival. I share this with you in an attempt to be honest with myself, in hopes that it gives other miserably pregnant woman a sense of comfort (in a world that often expects us to be happy no matter what), and in the spirit of sharing more than the "happy-go-lucky" images we often project on social media.

And so I wait, in the pain of my pregnant Advent, hoping for the day in which I sense the light of Christ shining in more and more clearly. Here's one thing I've learned: I covet the prayers of those who pray, because although I can sometimes pray for others during these months, it's really difficult to find the words to pray for myself.  Thanks for reading, thanks for caring, and thanks for praying. Even amidst the pain, I have so much true joy! Case in point: the little guy right next to me, smelling like his dad's deodorant (don't ask) and dancing to Adele! May we all find ways to allow the hope of Christ fill our spirits, even amidst the pain life brings.

My growing boy!

hold you and hug you, kiss you and love you.

Perhaps it's the fog outside, or the dropping temps, or the fact that I'm working from home today (and when mom is on the computer, Briggs likes a little more attention!) But for whatever reason, Briggs is a little more cuddly, and I welcome these cuddles with my whole heart...as evidenced by my spontaneous outburst of joy and affection.

"Oh, I just want to hold you and hug you, kiss you and love you."

Really, I feel these things every day with Briggs. He is easy and enjoyable to love.

But my thoughts turn toward others in my life, to whom I don't often find myself saying such warm and loving sentiments...and I wonder, why not? Why don't I extend the same spontaneous outburst of joy and affection toward others I love? Or even toward those who are difficult to love?

After all, Briggs can be difficult too. He can try my patience with the best of them. He can frustrate me, and sometimes his behavior even calls me to question my abilities as a mom. Yet almost like reflex, I respond to him with open arms of love and warmth.

And so I wonder, on this foggy morning, maybe I can learn to do the same for others? Maybe being a mom is teaching me how to love in the midst of frustration, to show affection even when I feel wronged. Maybe I can learn lessons of love from Briggs and apply them to every other child of God that I encounter throughout my day.

Am I up for this tall order? Can I truly allow myself to apply what I learn from my son into other facets of life with others? I'm optimistic. I think it's the part of getting older that can be potentially rewarding. My perspective deepens, and I begin to recognize that life is too short to not be open to moments when spontaneous outbursts of joy and affection are what is most needed.

Thank you Briggs, for preparing me to be a better human, simply by enjoying you as my son.

When Swatting Flies is Fun

I have to say, swatting flies has never been an enjoyable part of my life.

In fact, as they buzz around my ear (maybe in it), flies become such a nuisance that I swat them in a state of frenzy, thoroughly exasperated at how they seem to multiply with each swat.

But this year, during our fly plague of September....my precious 1 1/2 year-old son has officially made swatting flies fun. As he runs around the room, modeling exactly what I now get is my flailing efforts to rid our kitchen of as many pests as possible, I see fly swatting through different eyes.

I see it through the eyes of someone enjoying the chance to expend some energy.
I see it through the eyes of someone trying desperately to learn and grow and gain valuable life skills.
I see it through the eyes of someone looking for adventure.

Seen through the eyes of Briggs, suddenly swatting flies brings a smile to my face. As I sit here, watching my son giggle each time he deliberately swats (what he hopes is a fly), I begin to realize that this relationship between mother and son is a mutual sort. My inclination is to say, "look at how much he's learning from me!" but if I'm honest, the reverse is also true.

Briggs teaches me valuable lessons every day, like how to transform mundane (perhaps even unpleasant) tasks into adventure.

Swatting flies. Pulling weeds. Cooking dinner. Typing emails. Sorting silverware. Folding laundry.

We as moms (and dads) have endless opportunities to learn from our children; what a gift this can be if we take each moment as it comes, keeping an eye out for inherent adventure!

Thanks, kids, for teaching us something new. Thanks, Briggs, for being you.

Why Worship? Why Church? Why Prayer?

This was my sermon title last Sunday, based on a passage from 1 Kings 8, a message that involved a few minutes (for even me!) to journal on each of these three questions: Why worship? Why church? Why prayer? One may assume that a pastor ought to have these questions answered quite thoroughly by the time they are ordained (into the service of God, in the institution of the church, through the power of prayer), but the beauty of a life in Christ is that each day is an opportunity for growth-- or stagnation--and both are very real in the lives of pastors and parishioners alike.

So I welcomed the opportunity to reflect on these questions anew last Sunday, and they've been reverberating in my mind the past few days. As a pastor mom, I want to choose growth everyday. And I believe that if I focus on these three questions, all of life's unpredictable and out-of-our-control circumstances begin to fall into a better place, a richer experience, a more holy perspective.

Why Worship? Aside from the obvious fact that I truly believe in the Triune God, I worship mostly to be reminded that God is God and I am not. This kind of perspective allows me to process what goes on in the wide-wide world, but also within my interpersonal relationships. I am reminded, lest I get all self-righteous, that I fall short of God's glory on my own. God is worthy of worship, and I am not; in essence, I suppose I'd say it keeps my focus outward and upward, and worship gives me the opportunity to see God at work all around me. It's only when I can see God at work, that I can learn to lend my hands to the service of God's Kingdom.

Why Church? This is perhaps an even more intriguing question, especially for my contemporaries who increasingly find the church less relevant to a life of worship. I told my congregation Sunday, "We can worship anywhere, why specifically the church?" It's a question that's been on my mind a whole lot as a young pastor (30 is young, right?), and I've come to truly believe that the church is a spiritual home. We don't spend all our time at home, of course, but we do function in society with greater confidence and a grounded sense of self when we have a nurturing home environment. This is true for our families of origin and for our families of faith. Family is a community of people who "get us," a group of folks who can frolic (or trudge) through life together. This is the role of a family...and the family of God, in my experience, happens to meet in a church.

Why Prayer? I love this question, because it's such a HARD question to answer with certainty. Why do I pray? Sometimes, if I'm honest, I'm not sure. I pray first and foremost because I believe in a God who cares, but I also pray because I've come to understand myself as exactly this: a person who prays. Prayer takes many forms; sometimes I pray at length, sometimes I simply take a deep breath and sense God's movement in my midst. Sometimes I pray with others, sometimes on my own. Sometimes I write my prayers, sometimes I cry my prayers, sometimes I can't bring myself to pray, so I ask for the prayers of others. The bottom line for me is that prayer, in some mysterious and inexplicable way, changes me. And so if I want to be a person who grows, then I need to be a person who prays.

Together, worship, church, and prayer connect me to my God, a God who transforms everyday experiences into holy occasions...a God who takes my hand as I try to faithfully follow the ways of Jesus. My true transformation occurs when I embrace the reality that I am not alone; nothing can separate me from the love of Jesus Christ. What a beautiful truth to guide our days, especially those when difficult circumstances attempt to cloud our vision and hinder our hope.

Need to feel a connection with God? (ahem, Emily?), try worship, try church, try prayer.

Sunset that inspired me on my way home from a church meeting. This makes a commute totally worth it!

16 months can change a world

The truth is, I've been madly happily in love with Briggs since he started his growth in my belly. But something about watching him tease me with his scrunched up nose, shaking his head "no" at the mention of giving mom a kiss, makes that love all the more palpable. I love this child, who turns 16 months old today, in a way that changes the world.

At least this love, a love exchanged between mother and child, changes my world...

In a conversation with my brother over the Fourth of July, he says, "I suppose having a kid makes you much less selfish, huh?" and I almost didn't know how to respond. Because "yes" is the obvious answer. Yes, I have less time to think about myself; yes, I care more about someone else's well-being than I ever imagined possible; yes, I often prioritize my child above my own needs....

But I honestly don't feel less selfish, because when I give myself to another, it makes me happy. It's a form of joy to be generous with one's self. And this is what I think God uses as the glue to keep a mother and family together. It's the same selfless joy I experience as a wife, giving myself to a union that has greater purpose than my own solitary life.

And this glue, this sticky kind of love, is the hope I have for every family God brings together, including my own. This love changes my world, every single day.

When I wake up each morning, I am reminded that I am not my own (often by the rustling and squawking of a 16 month-old next door waiting for his milk). I am reminded that I belong to a union greater than myself...a union created on the tenants of covenant and faithfulness and love.

And I aim to be mindful of this covenant I've made with my husband (just over 5 years ago) with faithful intention, dedicated to the growth of love within our family (even when that means quietly doing the endless pile of dishes and laundry). And when I forget why I chose this covenant, I have a beautiful, adventurous, inquisitive, loving, and (if I'm honest) adorable 16 month-old to remind me.

All thanks and praise be to God, the Creator of love that can change our world, one child at a time.

Pride of a Pastor Mom

Briggs and I are celebrating 15 months today, and I've been catching myself thinking about how truly proud I am of what he's accomplished in this short span of time- transforming from a helpless babe to an active and adorable toddler. And yet that tricky word "pride" often catches us Christians in an odd way. We realize that Jesus teaches us to assume attitudes opposite of pride (i.e. humility), yet as parents we intrinsically know that Jesus wants us to be proud of our children. So what's the catch?

Maybe only Pastor Moms contemplate these issues, I'm not sure. But as I've been thinking, I've come to realize a few things about the type of "pride" I feel on behalf of my son, and it is in fact akin to humility; thus, it's not likely the type of "pride" Jesus speaks against in the Gospel.

Here's what I mean.

I'm proud of the way my son is gaining his independence (like how he toddles away from mommy, returns for a quick hug, and ventures off again), trying new things (like how he insists on feeding himself with a spoon and sorting his food according to categories from least to most appetizing), and modeling all of daddy's mannerisms and behaviors (like propping his feet up as he reclines, combing his own hair, and mimicking funny noises).

And yet all of these burgeoning behaviors requires a certain humility on the part of a mother. Briggs is (too) quickly becoming his own personality, demonstrating preferences that aren't my own :), and testing my patience with each new streak of independence. All the while, I'm left re-adjusting the care-giving bond I created with Briggs when he was brand new to this world. The bond I worked SO HARD at, the bond that took my every effort for several months. And to re-adjust that bond, making room for Briggs to become the person God fashioned from the beginning, that's the most humbling act required of me in my (almost) 30-year existence.

And in spite of how hard it can be to let go, I am SO PROUD of Briggs. This is why I know the type of pride I feel is not antithetical to the humility Jesus requires of his followers. Another way I know this pride is not rooted in selfish gloating, is because I do not reserve my pride for my own son. I beam with pride as I see all children, related to me or not, grow into the little people (and eventually big people) God created for this world.

All of God's children are special, unique... not because of anything awesome they do, but because of who created them. And so as I display pride with each new developmental milestone Briggs reaches, I am certain that the God who created him is beaming with pride as well.

First encounter with Grandpa and Grandma's animals

Pure Joy for Mother's Day

May has always served as a time of transition in my life, and it continues to be so, even years after my life as a student has ended. And once again, I find myself reflecting on where I've been and where I go from here.

Two years ago this month, life as I know it in Mina, SD began; I started this blog without the slightest inclination that I'd be pregnant within a month and experience the life-changing joy of adding Briggs to our family.

One year ago this month I celebrated the baptism of my first son on Mother's Day; In the exhaustion of new motherhood, I marveled at the strength I'd been given for the task and the inexplicable feeling of sharing myself completely with a newborn.

This month, I'm spending time marveling at the growth a year provides. I am no longer exhausted (thank the Good Lord Almighty), and as I look into the vibrant face of my smiling child, I witness what has been my sustaining motivation as a mother: Pure Joy.

Pure joy at the giggles Briggs produces when we play the silliest of games, splash in the tub, chase one another around, play catch with Daddy, and make goofy faces together.

Pure joy as I've watched Briggs transform from baby to toddler in a matter of days. His plodding, yet determined steps reminding me both of the challenges behind us and the challenges ahead.

Pure joy as I see his face light up when Daddy gets home, toddling to the gate to say hello with his chirpy voice of welcome; pure joy as I see Briggs' light bring brightness to AJ's day.

Pure joy as I watch him crinkle his nose and grin while visiting our neighbors, pure joy as I hear him sounding his voice with the hymns sung in church, pure joy as I watch him tenderly interact with babies much smaller in size.

Pure joy as we cuddle to relieve the pain of teething or the heartache of a fall. Pure joy as my arm grows tired, reminding me how healthy and hearty Briggs has grown.

Pure joy as I deliberately take 10 minutes here and 10 minutes there to simply "be" with my son. Basking in the goodness of sunshine and lakeview, enjoying the touch of his still-tender baby skin, cherishing the soft pats on my back, as if he's saying, "You're a good Momma, well done."

This is my gift for Mother's Day: Briggs, and the pure joy he brings about... simply by being him.

Happy Mother's Day!

Life in Pictures

In light of my son's first birthday this month, I have been reminiscing on the past year. And as a rather verbose mom, I also have ten-thousand things I'd like to share. But I've decided to sum up my thoughts on life with a one year-old in pictures today, mostly because I am running short on time for such writing (it is the Lenten Season for this Pastor Mom)...

I will say this. As much excitement as a new baby brings, I am LOVING being the mother of a one year-old (even in the midst of his burgeoning red-head personality expressions, chatter, and scream-talk). So here's the wonder of being a one year-old in pictures...

 

My Goodness, I love you.

As we end the first year of life together (outside the womb, of course), I want to capture a few memories with Briggs. Memories that I hope bring him as much joy as they bring me.

Briggs,

This first year has been tear-filled in so many ways (and not just your adorable pouty tears when I reluctantly set you down to accomplish a task). I teared up at nearly every major milestone you accomplished, from rolling over, to sitting up, to standing on your own. And my tears reflect the sheer magnitude of God's design for you. I marvel at the way (just today!) you pulled yourself to standing, let go for a few gleeful seconds (while waving your arms and giggling), and promptly landed on your butt. And then you did it again and again. This fleeting moment is beautiful, because you are learning to trust. You are gaining a sense of confidence. You are becoming a little boy who is eager to explore your world. And this brings me to tears, for so many good reasons.

I have a million memories from this year that I'd like to preserve for all time. And so, I will attempt with a few...

The way we cuddle when you are tired, you nuzzling into my neck as if that's where you've always belonged. The way you squirm and release ecstatic giggles when I tickle your feet and under you arms. The way you instantly smile when I wink in your direction, letting me know you feel my love. The way you explore EVERYTHING with your mouth, the cabinet hardware (as I type!), every toy you've ever encountered, mommy's fingers (and toes), your fingers and toes, the occasional stray post-it note, the doors and windows and mirrors and vents and gates and on and on.

The way you army crawl when you've got a snack or toy that's too precious to leave behind. The way you mimic our actions and click your tongue, shake your head, wrinkle your nose, grin from ear to ear. The way you incessantly desire to tap the keys of my keyboard, even when I give you a full-sized version of your own. The way you eat everything we give you, then ask for more as you flail your chubby little legs. The way we rub noses and hold hands and give high fives, just because we can. The way you lift one eyebrow with such expression whenever your interest is piqued. The way you love interacting with other babies, but get a little shy around the bigger kids. The way you choose, in a sea of child toys, to rearrange the plastic plates and kitchen towels in the cupboard.

The way you squawk in response to our voices and carry on your version of a convincing conversation. The way you dance only to certain songs, bobbing your head and bending your knees. The way you delight in seeing your daddy as he returns home from a day of work. The way you pose for pictures with your dimples and charm. The way you share your love with so many others, spreading cheer by simply being you.

You, Briggs, are a delight of a son, and as I think of you growing into who God has created you to be, I realize these precious baby moments will soon be a distant memory. Today, little one, I remember for you the ways we share love in this moment, so they might inspire our love for tomorrow.

In this final week of your first year here on earth, Briggs, I say with all the warmth in my heart, "My goodness, I love you!"

I'm playing the long game.

Over the past few weeks I've found myself repeating this phrase within different scenarios.

I'm playing the long game in marriage, allowing the deep love I feel for my spouse to overcome any temporary (and usually silly) differences we encounter. I love being married, and I know that playing the long game means every once in awhile giving up what I want in the moment for the sake of our lasting relationship.

I'm playing the long game in my career as a pastor, determined not to let the endless cycle of visitations, newsletters, meetings, liturgy and sermon prep (and general sense of always being "on call") to overwhelm me. I love being a pastor, I love my congregants, and I recognize that playing the long game means counteracting "burn out" by setting personal limits and realistic expectations.

I'm playing the long game in my friendships, doing my best to cherish the people who know me well. Over the years I have been richly blessed with rewarding companions, and I realize that playing the long game involves nourishing these relationships- if only occasionally- by caring and conversing about what truly matters.

I'm playing the long game in being a mother, making myself available to Briggs on his terms at the moment. Earlier today I sat down to read a bit from a pastoral book (the most relaxing part of my "day off"). About two paragraphs in, this cute little 11 month-old boy makes a beeline for Momma's lap. I couldn't help but chuckle as I recalled only getting about two paragraphs read during my previous attempt with this book. And since reading a book with tear-able pages is not an option while cuddling Briggs, I put the book down and concentrated on being a mom. I know that playing the long game as a mother means establishing a secure bond of trust with Briggs now, so he will be confident in exploring the world later (at which point, I might get to read more than 2 paragraphs, maybe).

And if I stop to consider what it is that best allows me to play the long game as a wife, pastor, friend, and mom, I realize it's consistent and meaningful prayer.

Prayer allows me--almost demands from me--time to reflect. Prayer gives linguistic substance to what I think and feel and believe. And because I'm the type of person who thinks out loud, prayer actually helps me form my perspectives. Prayer gives me a momentary chance to reflect on how I might best "play the long game" in my many (simultaneous) vocations.

Here's one of my favorites: "Jesus, thank you for this life; help me live it to the fullest. Amen."

And here's one I should maybe begin praying: "Jesus, help me play the long game. Amen."

Mom, this blog's for you

When my siblings and I were young, we sang a song for our grandparents' anniversary celebration called Grandma and Grandpa, this song's for you. I was somehow reminded of this simple song the other day while thinking of my family. While I'm sure everyone enjoyed our chirping little child voices, I'm more of a writer, as it turns out. So my blog title today suggests a similar desire to show appreciation for my mother, without using my (less than cute, these days) singing voice.

Mom, this blog's for you.

As I am both naturally and professionally inclined to do, I've been reflecting on my past year. 2014 brought many changes, challenges, wonder, and insight. Foremost in my thoughts these days is my new role as a mother. See, I've always believed I would be a good mother (maybe now I see that's in part because you modeled it so well for me). But the truth is, I never anticipated the amount of strength required of a mother.

Sure, being pregnant, going into labor, and delivering an almost-nine-pound baby (as I also was!) takes grit, endurance, and plenty of strength. But I anticipated needing all that. What caught me by surprise was the strength required to give of myself without ceasing.

The strength needed to constantly anticipate, respond to, and provide for the needs of a completely adorable (and super-dependent) human being. All this, while receiving less sleep than ever before, needing more physical recovery than ever before, and experiencing more hormonal fluxes than a pubescent teen.

Bodily sacrifice takes on new meaning as a mother, but so does the emotional investment. After the first week of Briggs' life, I wrote a blog post detailing the frustration and reality of the experience. And although I remember hearing you, mom, say something about it not "being very positive" :) I said one thing that day that sticks with me:

"I honestly couldn’t love him any more or less. He is my son, and when I let myself think about the implications of that statement, I am blown away with awe."

This is what I learned in 2014, that the love of a mother is unfathomable apart from the experience of being a mother.

I realize that I never understood the love you have for your children, until now. You couldn't love us any more or less. We are yours, and I bet when you let yourself think about the implications of that statement, you are blown away with awe.

As am I.

As is anyone who knows the strength required to give of oneself completely to another.
  

Awe. What a great word to describe the feeling of being a mom, a word to summarize my reflections on 2014. And so on this first day of 2015, I want to thank you, mom, for giving yourself completely to your children. For emulating the self-sacrificial love of parenting so well, that I might better understand the depths of emotional strength needed to do this whole mothering business well.

And the pastor in me might even say the way you love me brings me that much closer to understanding the love of God.

Here's to diving even deeper into the love of a mother and the love of God in 2015.