Soul Care for Moms

Surprise Summer (Plus a Summer Survival Kit)
May 23, 2017 In Childhood Soul Care for Moms No Comment

For the month of May, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Feeling Inadequate, Sleep-Rest-and-Rejuvenation, and Mental Health Awareness Month. We hope you’ll return to read the wonderful essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them.

***This week we are doing a fun giveaway in celebration of the Kindred Mom Podcast release (quick links to subscribe to the podcast are on the sidebar, and we have a podcast page in the navigation with show notes for each episode). From May 17-May 24, you can enter to win one of two Hospitality Bundles full of goodies that might help you head up a Summer Connection Group in your local area. There are some beautiful things from Magnolia Market included. Not to be missed! Enter on Instagram (beginning May 17) for the Backyard Coffee Hour Bundle or subscribe to our email newsletter to win the Evening Moms Gathering Bundle. Winners for both giveaways will be chosen on May 24th.***

 

This is something I originally shared on my personal blog last September. I thought it would be appropriate to share here in preparation of the summer months ahead. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find some of the things that make up my Summer Survival Kit. I’m planning another summer of time outdoors, and I’m full of hope that this one will be just as meaningful as the last. 

~

The summer, warm and healing, arrived without fanfare, and established a comfortable presence without drama or angst or the always striving that pulses through my veins. Like usual, I was planning to take summer by storm, muscle my household into order, and make the most of every day with some very specific expectations. I didn’t quite expect the peace. I certainly wasn’t looking for it. I was on a road with a heavy load over my shoulder — the responsibility to mother six little people and fill them with whatever good things I could scrape up from the bottom of my own barrel. Summer came, and I don’t know how it circumvented my tight grip on the possibilities for these months, but I found myself seated in a collapsible camp chair in the shade of a big tree, watching my children climb and run, play and discover without me for hours on end — my burden laid down and peace sinking in. We did a lot of nothing that was delightfully everything; hours in open spaces playing, jumping, running, in neon park shirts so mama could spy them from a distance while nursing a chunky love of a baby.

Bright and mild June days set the stage for a summer full of connection, drawing deep from a well of peace, and countless tiny realizations that amount to a total awakening within my heart to a pace and a life that I would never have chosen off the shelf, but embrace with all my heart now that I understand. Some things don’t make sense until you’re holding them. Babies. Ideas. Life-callings. Wholeness that I never thought I would experience quite like this. Every time I think I’m at a whole place, I discover yet another layer of sweetness that comes from trusting God with every detail and every day, relaxing into the reality that so many things I want to control are ultimately up to Him and not me.

We spent many days out of the house. I have always been the stay-in type, probably because I made outings more complicated than they needed to be, and also because many small children of a certain age are quite a challenge to herd in the same direction. I developed a system that involves a kit of items that stayed in the car all summer: 2 strollers, a collapsible wagon, 5 collapsible camp chairs, and a zip-up beach blanket. Every time we went to the park, I would unfurl the above campsite, invite friends to join, and play, chat, and eat for sometimes 4 or 5 hours on a given day. It was comfortable, easy, restful. The mobile kids wore their neon park shirts, and all I had to do was count the dots around the park every few minutes and dish out the food when they came around with grumbling tummies. The other part of our system relied on a packing cube that I refilled daily with diapers, clothes for the baby, and sunscreen, and a large packed lunch with water for everyone that could last us all day if we wanted it to.

We did nature walks in various places — intentionally taking notice of plants, wildlife, insects and other natural things, and the kids sketched things on drawing pads with colored pencils. We visited the library a dozen different times and picked up whatever books interested them, and they read on everything from soccer to crochet to adventurous classics. In the hottest months, we went to splash parks and wading pools in the area, and the kids would come home and make projects from the recycling bin, draw, and play. My two older boys caught the sewing bug from their oldest sister and spent hours stitching different haphazardly cut out fabric pieces together to make bags, and stuffed animals, and other randomness. Both are eager to start using a sewing machine, which I won’t allow them to do until they have achieved a level of mastery with hand-sewing that warrants such a promotion. That yet-out-of-reach reality keeps them both experimenting, tediously stitching, and gaining skills that are not typical of boys these days but make me smile.

It wasn’t until part way through the summer I realized I set everything else down to be fully present with the kids. It wasn’t on-purpose, but more of a grace that landed on me. I didn’t write. I didn’t take pictures with my big camera. I didn’t jam our schedule full of urgent things that weren’t important. Instead, I sat still at the parks and pools while they played, watching, listening, pondering, and privately processing the transition into this new season of having six kids in my care. I am in love with them. They are the sweetest, dearest children I can imagine knowing. My desire to be faithful to this mothering task has grown as my heart swells with love for each of them, and I recognize that there are many, many things that threaten to clutter the precious years we have together.

With the arrival of every new baby, I have learned that our family enters a new season that is full of unexpected turns and surprises — some unexpectedly challenging, and some unexpectedly wonderful. It is like we, as a family, are all new again. As a mother, I am all new again.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, 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

Components of my Summer Survival Kit

*the following links are affiliate links*

Collapsible Camp Chairs – I kept 5 of these in my vehicle at all times throughout last summer so I would have chairs for our family or for friends who stopped in to join us at the park. If you set up a camp site in the middle of a park, its easy to stay there all day! I think these chairs may be cheaper at a sporting goods store.

 

Collapsible Wagon – We bought our collapsible wagon from Costco years ago and I use it daily during the summer, especially on days when we’re headed off to a wading pool or splash park so I don’t have to carry all items + baby + lunch from the car to the set-up site. The wagon makes it a one-trip-job.

Stroller and/or travel Pack n Play – This summer I’ll be using the stroller, but I do have a travel-size pack n play that is easy to transport (fits in my collapsible wagon!) and I used last summer when my youngest was only a few months old. It was nice to have him contained (and able to nap) while the other kids played.

 

Beach Blanket – Our beach blanket zips up and was originally a gift from my mother-in-law. It has seen years of use now, but still holds up well. It isn’t this brand (not sure what brand it is!) but this is similar.

 

Water Bottles – This is the brand and style of water bottle I have been using for myself and I love it, although I did ditch the strainer piece shortly after I got it. I have a purple one. My kids use whatever multi-pack Costco has most recently carried.

 

Packing Cube – I have just one packing cube right now, that was a gift from a friend over 5 years ago, but I love its versatility and will be picking up a few more for this summer. I use it as the daily-refillable diaper container so we always have what we need when we’re out and about. I usually put extra clothes in for baby as well.

Utility Bag – These are my favorite things. I have two (different colors) and I have one as the designated lunch bag and one as the designated swimming bag. So convenient and easy to transport and get stuff in and out of it all day while we’re out. These bags are the only things I bring in daily to clear out and re-fill. All our other park-day gear stays in the car.

 

Fitpacker Containers – I use these containers to pack lunch items in. To me, they are more flexible than tupperware, and are more cost effective quantity-to-cost. If I buy grapes at Costco, I’ll wash and store grapes in 3-4 of these containers so they’re easy to grab when I’m throwing a lunch together in the morning. I do this with lots of things: cheese, nuts, apple slices, carrot slices, etc. They do have bento-style boxes, but for our large family, I like the single compartment and keeping each lunch item in one box.

 

Park Shirts for Kids – Any color park shirt will do, but the idea is to put all kids in the same color so its easy to spot them from a distance. We’ve had this neon yellow for several years, and I finally retired them and bough new orange ones for this summer in each size we need for our family. I keep them in the car at all times, and wash minimally (they get filthy), but the kids wear them over their other clothes. They put them on when we arrive at a park and take them off when we leave, and I bring them in just a few times a summer to wash when I can’t stand it any longer. Following this system keeps them from getting lost in the laundry abyss.

ThinkBaby Sunscreen (or ThinkSport) – This is our favorite sunscreen. The difference is minimal between ThinkBaby and ThinkSport – mostly different fragrances – and it’s easy to apply.

 

Sun Hat – I’m a fair-skinned gal, so I picked up one of these recently to keep the sun off my face when we are at a location that doesn’t have a shady spot available.

 Emily Sue Allen is the founder of Kindred Mom. She lives with her husband and six kids in Seattle, Washington. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of a humble, handmade life and deeply values the power of encouragement. She blogs at www.lightandloveliness.com, and shares bits of her life on Instagram.

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To the Woman Trying to Measure Her Worth
May 18, 2017 In Faith & Encouragement Soul Care for Moms 2 Comments

For the month of May, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Feeling Inadequate, Sleep-Rest-and-Rejuvenation, and Mental Health Awareness Month. We hope you’ll return to read the wonderful essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them.

***This week we are doing a fun giveaway in celebration of the Kindred Mom Podcast release (quick links to subscribe to the podcast are on the sidebar, and we have a podcast page in the navigation with show notes for each episode). From May 17-May 24, you can enter to win one of two Hospitality Bundles full of goodies that might help you head up a Summer Connection Group in your local area. There are some beautiful things from Magnolia Market included. Not to be missed! Enter on Instagram (beginning May 17) for the Backyard Coffee Hour Bundle or subscribe to our email newsletter to win the Evening Moms Gathering Bundle. Winners for both giveaways will be chosen on May 24th.***

The pressure is overwhelming, isn’t it? The pressure to perform, to fit in, to measure up. The pressure to do it all, be it all, experience it all. The pressure to be the first, the best, to do the most.

The pressure to be enough.

I know how you feel, because I am one of you. I am a woman whose worth is too often tied up in the external. I am a woman trying to measure my worth, and this is the conclusion I’ve reached:

We’re using the wrong measurements to determine our success.

We look far and wide, high and low, and into places with no validity to validate ourselves. We ask the world what it thinks and blindly accept what it offers. We listen to our culture instead of our Creator.

Our culture loudly proclaims the measure of the moment, and when it changes, we’re left reeling and reinventing ourselves. We’re left wondering if the next measure will find us lacking or if we’ll finally see our worth. We keep evaluating ourselves with an ever-changing ideal, and then we wonder why we can’t find peace in who we are.

We’re using the wrong standards.

Ladies, the length of your eyelashes isn’t a measure of your worth.

The label on your shoes can’t give or take away your merit.

The circumference of your waist doesn’t make you more valuable or detract from your inherent importance.

The grades on your kids’ report cards don’t validate your mothering, and the messes in their rooms don’t mean you’re failing.

The likes you get on Facebook mean nothing about who you are, and the followers you have on Instagram don’t make you a woman of significance.

The number of times you worked out this week doesn’t mean anything about the woman you really are.

The cash you have in your bank account is not a measure of your value, and the debt you’re fighting to pay down doesn’t mean you’re worth any less.

The square footage of your home and the design of your den are far from indicators of your stature.

The looks that others give you are not the measure of how you matter.

We want to quantify our worth based on what we can measure. If we can calculate it, we think we can count on it.

I’d love to remind you of a truth we forget: our worth is immeasurable.

We internally develop complex formulas to figure out our value.

Weight + job title x social media following = my worth.

Credit card bill – clothing expense + comments about my outfit = my value.

Job promotion + quarterly bonus + vacation destination = my importance.

The hardest thing for us to realize is that nothing we can see or quantify can accurately measure who we are. Only one thing matters, and it’s a position given and never earned.

We have worth because we belong to God. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

We have incalculable worth because our only-loving God lifted us from death to life, calling us daughters and “the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21). We are made enough because we belong to the Almighty. We matter because God gave up his Son in order to bring us into his presence.

There is nothing we can do to make ourselves more or less worthy, even though the world begs us to believe otherwise.

Almost daily, I fall into the enemy’s trap of measuring who I am. I look at what I do, how I perform, how I look, and what others think. I fall back into my old ways of working for my worth and calculating how I did based on what people say.

I know what it’s like to work relentlessly for the approval of others and end up devastated when they don’t give their praise.

It is impossible to receive everyone’s approval, and I’ve learned that I’ll always fall short in someone’s eyes. Evaluating my worth apart from God’s truth is maddening. It’s maddening, and it always skews my perception of who I really am.

I am God’s masterpiece (Eph. 2:10).

I am a child of God (1 John 3:1).

I am God’s chosen one (Col. 3:12).

I am His treasured possession (Deut. 7:6).

Whenever we forget the reality of who we are in Christ, we let the world dictate who we should be. We let it tell us what we should do, and we let it control the view of ourselves we hold. We begin to strive and hustle and work and compromise, and then we begin to judge and criticize and condemn and control. We enter into a cycle of doing more things instead of being God’s children, and we judge ourselves based on our output instead of our standing.

We can never work our way into our worth. We can never achieve enough to feel worthy or earn enough to believe we have value.

We can only embrace our worth. We can’t earn it.

Jesus told his disciples, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you” (John 15:15). We are no longer slaves – we are not under bondage to behavior and performance. We are free, and we are friends with the One who gives us worth. He has made both Himself and His love known, and His measure of us is the only one that will stand.

 Jennie Scott is a divorced and remarried mom of two whose life has been far from perfect and completely different from what she planned. What she has found, though, is that God has provided exactly what she needed through it all. He is teaching her to enjoy the journey even when the path is winding and difficult. She blogs at jenniegscott.com.

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Metamorphosis
May 5, 2017 In Childhood Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of May, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Feeling Inadequate, Sleep-Rest-and-Rejuvenation, and Mental Health Awareness Month. We hope you’ll return to read the wonderful essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. Join us on the Kindred Mom Facebook Group to connect with our community. 

 

This morning I had every intention of being a perfect mom. My in-laws were coming to take my daughter for the day, so I wanted to make the most of our moments together. I woke up full of gratitude for the little life cuddled up next to me. I drank in the sweet scent of her as I held her soft hand and squeezed her tight, thanking the good Lord for blessing me with the beauty of her presence.

Then she got her sweet little three-year-old self out of bed, and things took a turn for the worse.

The next hour and thirty-six minutes became an endless stream of semi-coherent demands and mini-tantrums at every turn. I tried to get some food in my system to curb my irritation. I drank some water. I spoke in a calm voice. I took deep breaths, and I repeated myself kindly until the cows came home.

Then you know what I started to do? I started to yell. The three-year-old and I started arguing. It wasn’t my best moment. When my in-laws arrived and my little cantankerous sweetheart walked out the door, I nearly burst into tears. I missed her so much it hurt, and I chastised myself like crazy for not meeting my own expectations of the morning.

Becoming a parent was one of the best things that ever happened to me, but there was a lot that took me by surprise. It’s a crazy ride, to be sure, and the one thing that still takes me off guard to this day is the constant, nagging, unrelenting sensation of inadequacy.

In moments like these, I find myself missing the pre-motherhood me. I had this confidence and self-assurance that followed me everywhere I went. I miss that girl. She drank dirty martinis and wore high heels. She did her hair everyday, and her clothes didn’t contain a lick of lycra. She knew what she wanted out of life and she went after it, laying those obstacles down in her wake.

The truth is that pre-mom me was still a hot mess. She just happened to be a lot more insulated from the knowledge of her own limitations. There is something about being a mom that has acquainted me with my own humanity like nothing else ever has. It’s a feeling of being stripped and laid bare, like a sea snail yanked out of its shell, lying on the sand with its soft underbelly exposed to the heat of the sun. It’s not necessarily painful, just really, incredibly disorienting to have all that vulnerability out on display.

Parenthood is, at its core, a transformation of identity. It is about setting aside the old and becoming something new. We are the proverbial caterpillars, emerging from the chrysalis in foreign bodies, engaging the world in an entirely new way. In the midst of all this change, I wonder if the feeling of inadequacy is an expression of our disorientation and fear. Maybe the sense of certainty that eludes us is about us adjusting to the reality that the old is gone and the new is come.

So here is what I am trying to do. I’m trying to crawl out on that seashore in the light of day. I’m trying to lie down on the warm sand, as I let the salty air and gentle waves touch that sensitive new skin. I’m trying to take deep, cleansing breaths as I allow myself to be new and unformed and incomplete.

I want to believe in the possibility of a different way of being, one in which I welcome the novelty with open arms, and embrace the new me that I am becoming. Transformation is a process, and I’m smack dab in the middle of it. I’m still a hot mess, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all. Maybe it’s beautiful, and maybe I’m exactly who I’m meant to be.

 Jayna is a San Diego wife and mama who became a writer and stay-at-home parent when her daughter, Jude, was born three years ago. She is married to her high school sweetheart, who loves and inspires her everyday. She and her family recently transitioned to the (almost) country life, where they spend their time enjoying the fresh air, growing vegetables and making reclaimed wood furniture. Her blogs can be found at www.jaynarae.com, and www.jlondonfurniture.com/blog. (Bio photo by Katie Gardner)

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A Choir Calling
April 21, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of April, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Postpartum Recovery, Encouragement for the New Mom, Autism Awareness Month, and Screen Time Conversations. We hope you’ll return to read the incredible essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. Join us on the Kindred Mom Facebook Group to connect with our community.

 

It’s a modern church with interesting architecture and striking stained-glass artwork. There are various pieces of art hung throughout the church, each one with its own purpose and story which I want to know. My story is there too. I walk into the church each Wednesday evening, my hair hanging in unkempt tendrils around my face which, if I’m being honest, may or may not have been washed that day. The baby is in the stroller, cooing, maybe crying, it just depends on what kind of a day we’ve had.

Wednesdays at our house are “full-swing.” By that, I mean that we are on our little train, going places. Homeschool, working out, kids’ Kung Fu class, doctor appointments, the 4 year old is with us because he only goes to preschool Tuesday and Thursday…full-swing. There’s not a lot of breathing time or self-care time. That’s more of a Saturday ritual, breathing.

But not Wednesdays.

There’s a late afternoon shuffle. My husband gets home while I’m finishing making dinner for him and the kids and then I leave with my infant daughter. She and I make our way to this interesting and out-of-place-in-Los Angeles Episcopal church where I get to sing. The choir is made up of about 16 people with various backgrounds and most of the people are, ahem, shall we say…a bit grey?

They are (mostly) all lovely and accept me and my chaos—I mean baby—with grace and love.

There’s the 2 grandpa-basses who sit behind me and inquire about the age of my baby again,  “Is she about 8 weeks now?”

“No,” I say, blushing. “She’s 5 months old now!”

They guffaw and smile and say of course. There’s the token curmudgeonly older lady who rarely smiles, but somehow, she likes me. And I her. She asks after me and my daughter every week, making sure we don’t need any help to or from the car.

As I step into the church, I feel like breathing even though it’s only Wednesday. I smile. I know not everyone has this reaction to churches, but I do to this one in particular. As I enter, it’s as if the church asks me to leave my outside chaos…outside. Peace is what is welcomed and honored here. The church is quaint while still being modern, grand while maintaining a mysterious humility. It’s not too big, holding seats for only about 200 people. The altar is beautiful with carved candlesticks and a beautiful concrete and wooden table for the sacrament. There are beautiful stained glass installments, some of which are straightforward like an illuminated Jesus over the altar, while others are more esoteric and require a bit of deeper reflection.

As we rehearse, our sometimes imperfect pitches permeate the walls and bounce back to me. I leave the mama world where I worry about each of my kids. When I’m there, I am a singer. A professional, perhaps. The baby sleeps in the stroller, lulled to sleep by our harmonies, and I am just Lynne, a girl who loves to sing. I dig into the challenge of reading each note and accurately moving my line in concert with the other singers around me. I make a contest out of singing a particularly difficult passage without making a mistake, a contest to pursue excellence and complete something without interruption. For these moments, I am good at something and it feels satisfying. Often my days of mothering feel like a string of question marks marked by desperate prayer. Will they grow up to be decent people? Will they ever sleep? Will they really know God deeply? Will they love me when they are grown or will they turn to therapy to deal with how much I’ve messed them up? Seriously, God? Will they? But these notes on the page are questions answered. I just have to sing the right notes, that’s it. The requirements here in this space are simple.

The baby, having fussed during our last piece, is now nursing contentedly. Rehearsal is over and I feel energized and light. Those two hours of singing and just being me are like a dose of medicine. The choir members filter out to the parking lot and say their goodnights. I gently get the baby back into her carseat and gather my music. On the way out of the church, a tapestry draped on a side altar catches my eye. It reads:

“All shall be well

and all shall be well

and all manner of thing shall be well.”

~Julian of Norwich

My heart swells. I know that in my full-swing Wednesday, I have come to this church and the desperate question marks of motherhood have been answered.

All shall be well.

 Lynne lives in Los Angeles with her family. She pursues excellence in letting it go, letting messy happen, and letting motherhood be fun. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter.

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My Body, Broken
April 17, 2017 In Pregnancy & Birth Soul Care for Moms 6 Comments

For the month of April, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Postpartum Recovery, Encouragement for the New Mom, Autism Awareness Month, and Screen Time Conversations. We hope you’ll return to read the incredible essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. If you would be interested to contribute something to Kindred Mom in the future, please visit the “Write for Us” page for details. 

 

“My body, broken.”

“My body is broken, ruined.”

This became the overwhelming thought of despair in my mind more than a few times in the weeks following the birth of my second daughter. After being miserable during the recovery of my first delivery, an unwanted c-section, I’d insisted on a VBAC for my second, hoping (expecting) the recovery would be much better. Then I tore… to the 4th-degree.

Amidst the physical pain in the simplest of things (sitting, walking, going to the bathroom), the anxiety and (irrational) fear of not knowing if or when I’d ever be able to be intimate with my husband again, the trauma of the way the delivery played out, and the stress of amplified discipline issues as my 3-year-old adjusted to another person to share attention with, I found myself with so many conflicting and intense feelings. I felt love for my two beautiful daughters, along with joy and thankfulness so big I thought my heart might explode. At the same time, I felt soul-crushing sadness, disappointment and confusion. In my darkest moments of despair I wondered if God was trying to tell me something in making childbirth so terrible for me: was my body just not cut out to bear children? Was I not cut out to be a mother?

After almost 3 months postpartum, the intensity of these feelings, along with the physical pain, had waned some. One day, I took some of the physical, mental, and emotional brokenness before the Lord and it hit me like a ton of bricks: “my body, broken” are familiar words. I’d heard them not only in my own moments of despair, but also from Jesus.

“You are not the only one to give your body to be broken on behalf of another,” were Jesus’ tender words to me that day. “I gave mine. For you. To a far greater extent than you will ever be broken.”

Jesus’ incarnation shows us what it means to be fully human. We can look into His life and find what it is to live as we were all meant to, as the beloved child of a trustworthy Father. Jesus’ fully human life led to an immeasurable joy, but the path to the joy set before Him led Him through unimaginable sacrifice, sorrow and pain. Looking at His path, we can know that pain and sorrow are not surprising phenomena on this earth, while it’s still broken: they, like joy, are a part of what it means to be fully human, as Jesus was.

In preparation for my VBAC, I read many positive things about childbirth, which focused on our bodies being designed for birthing.These pieces suggested that the whole process is the most natural thing in the world — so very human. However, when my birthing experience left me so broken, I felt deep down as though the humanity in it had somehow been diminished. My body didn’t seem to do what it was designed to do very well. I felt lesser than the women whose bodies birth babies without serious complications.

But. But!

Jesus giving Himself to be broken for me means that I can experience my brokenness with hope. The extent of the brokenness doesn’t diminish the humanity of the experience. On the contrary, I am experiencing a small taste of the life Jesus lived and I get to commune with Him as One who empathizes with the pain of a broken body, a body given to bring life to another. To borrow a phrase from Kathy Keller in The Meaning of Marriage, I get to “play a Jesus role” in motherhood as I give my body for the sake of my beloved.

The truth is, we get many opportunities to “play a Jesus role” in motherhood. In the aches and pains of growing a human for 9 months and in childbirth, or in the agonizing wait and painstaking preparations for an adoption. In the sweaty, sticky moments nursing babies under a blanket, or in the time we spend as human jungle gyms for rambunctious toddlers. In the meals prepared and the clothes laundered. In the science projects created and the papers edited. We get to use these bodies to love our people. Sometimes it’s painful. Sometimes it’s ecstasy. Always, there’s hope: both in the ultimate joy set before us and in the joy to be found when we look to Jesus as the One who empathizes with both, the soul-expanding joys, and the heart-crushing sorrows of what it is to be fully human and a mother.

Laura Way is wife to Aubrey and momma to Jubilee and Irene. She and her family live, work, and play in a ‘lil million person city in Asia. Laura is passionate about discovering what it is to be fully human and helping others to do the same.  When both the stars align and her kids are occupied, she enjoys writing at sojourningmomma.wordpress.com and can also be found on Instagram and Facebook.

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Speed Boat : Ocean Liner
April 16, 2017 In Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of April, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Postpartum Recovery, Encouragement for the New Mom, Autism Awareness Month, and Screen Time Conversations. We hope you’ll return to read the incredible essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. If you would be interested to contribute something to Kindred Mom in the future, please visit the “Write for Us” page for details. Also, this week we’re participating in a great Giveaway Loop on Instagram for mamas. Skip down to the bottom of this post for more details!


She once had a little speed boat that she traded in for an ocean liner.  Some days she really missed how that little boat could skip along like a rock on a still pond, but she fell in love with the people she met onboard that great big ship.  She figured that regardless of the boat she was sailing on she was still out on the water, and that was freedom.

***

A few days ago a dear friend described how fractured and confining her life felt trying to balance professional life, motherhood, and her own personal desires.  The balancing act sounded very familiar to me especially when she lamented that doing anything with a young child requires an insane amount of planning.  An arrow straight to my heart.  My life before children was much like that agile little speed boat.  I was fortunate to have the freedom to do pretty much anything I wanted, when I wanted.  Want to go out to the pub for dinner?  Sure.  Itching to hit the road?  No problem, saddle up partner.  Those days were pretty footloose and are a stark contrast to life with children, however I never wish for the time before children…unless I am trying to go to the bathroom.  For me, life with children is like the ocean liner, it equally carries a ton of responsibility and wonder, it is an island oasis in the midst of an unforgiving environment and it can’t corner for crap.

The first several months with twin infants were all about survival.  My husband and I were both sleep deprived but I was especially exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally.  I needed my body to be in top physical form, but it was in desperate need of healing from the ordeal of gestating and birthing two baby boys within eleven minutes of each other.  My boys were born 6 weeks early and were hospitalized in the NICU for 3 weeks.  I took it all in stride but my brand new mama-heart began to heavily doubt my ability to care for them because what parent in their right mind could leave their precious babies alone in a strange place with strange people and go home and sleep in their own bed at night?  The beginning of motherhood was tumultuous and the four walls of my home closed in on me big time.

Enough was enough, “I’m not going to hold myself prisoner in my own house.”  I summoned all my courage to get out of the house by myself with my two tiny babies, even though it would have been entirely easier to just stay at home and wait for the coveted help of my husband.  I exchanged the spontaneity that I once enjoyed, for preparedness.  My bottom line became “Do what you can to set your family up for success.”  Every endeavor came on the heels of tactical planning, envisioning every conceivable scenario I would encounter and making sure to have a plan and supplies in place.  A bucket-style infant car seat in the crook of each arm and a diaper bag slung across my back, as crazy as it looked it was easier than carrying one at a time because of the balance.

Preparedness brought balance to those early days of motherhood.  I have emerged from those desert days with confidence that I can handle anything that comes my way.  I am different now that I am a mother and I am also the same as that footloose young woman and her speed boat.  The spontaneity of her youth gave birth to her adventurous heart.  The experience that came with having her children required preparedness so that they could taste adventure too.

Maybe you are a mama who is missing her speed boat.  Maybe you wonder if it is possible to still be that young woman, the one who wore the flirtatious fragrance of spontaneity, even though you are a mom now and your fragrance is more Eau De Spit-Up.  Who says there are no surprises on an ocean liner;  no magic in the steady forward momentum of a mama still chasing adventure while her little ones are along for the ride?  You have traded speed and agility for endurance and strength.  Your ocean liner is built to handle adversity while providing comfort for all aboard and you can go farther into the vast sea than that little speed boat ever dreamed of.  The woman you “once were” is still you, she will always be you.  There may be more souls on board but you are still the captain of your ship and you are still sailing.  The boat does not make the woman.

 Jennifer Van Winkle lives in Seattle with her husband and three children (twin boys and a baby girl).  She is a teacher, musician, and currently a stay-at-home mom.  She loves fueling the imaginations of her children with creativity, songs, all things science, good food and lots of play indoors and out.  She blogs at Pepper Sprout Home and you can also find her on Instagram. 

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Redefining Supermom
March 15, 2017 In Faith & Encouragement Soul Care for Moms 2 Comments

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Modern mommies everywhere are well acquainted with her. She’s gorgeous and fit, eternally calm and cheerful with her children (who are always perfectly behaved), she has a flawlessly decorated home filled with white furniture, and a hunky doting husband who always takes out the trash. You know, like one of those women laughing in a salad commercial. She’s Supermom.

Occasionally, people will call me “supermom” just because I have lots of children and (try to) educate them at home. They assume I must have it all figured out. Reality is that having a gaggle of kids and homeschooling makes me feel like a hot mess most of the time.

(I will, however, give my uterus a little credit. Growing and pumping out five kids in seven years exceeded my expectations of her ability to perform. Someone get her a medal!)

I’ll tell you what, I don’t feel like supermom at all. Constant messes, crazy schedules, and a severe lack of sleep over several years hardly makes a person feel put-together, or even capable of carrying on an adult conversation half the time. But maybe? Maybe it’s time for those of us who feel like the messiest, crankiest, most exhausted moms out there—maybe it is time for us to embrace our inner Super. You may not feel super, but the truth is you are pretty stinkin’ awesome.

Exhibit A. I may not balance my budget at the end of every month (what’s a budget?), but you know what? I can go from REM sleep to the top of 16 stairs and catch vomit midair at 3am. In two seconds flat. Before my husband (bless him) has even rolled over to hear the toddler’s wail of impending doom. Supermom to the rescue!

I may currently have floors that resemble the aftermath of a tropical storm, but guess what? I clipped forty, yes, forty fingernails and toenails the other day. (No one mentioned that in the What To Expect book, I’m pretty sure.) If you don’t think that makes me Supermom, then just go away.

I may not have the perfect body (thanks to my constant hormonal – okay, maybe just primal – craving for chocolate and cheese), but shoot, my husband likes it well enough, and if I get over myself and make a move on him after the end of a long day of sibling squabbles, baby spit-up and attitudes? SUPERMOM. (Or maybe SuperWIFE. Whatever. I can be both if I want to.)

I may have raised my voice today (okay, fine, screamed) at my child over the trivial offense of tracking mud all over the freshly mopped floor, but later in the evening, I came to him, penitent and real, apologizing and admitting that I make mistakes too. And my growing boy smiled big, hugged me tight, and said “It’s okay, Mama.” Sometimes that’s all it takes to be Supermom.

I think as moms we don’t often recognize our value because what it really means to be ‘super’ is a vast departure from what the surrounding cultural influences tell us. We are taught to expect of ourselves the impossible. We’re told, “Be Pinterest creative, be hollywood glam, be successful in the marketplace, be the perfect mom, be…be… BE!”

But all we end up hearing is: You are not enough.

Maybe we’re listening to the wrong voices to discern who we are and the importance of what we do.

I am not super because I am perfect. I am super because I am a woman, wonderfully made in the image of an amazing God, and He has created me with the capacity to care for my family with a supernatural love that flows from Him. Love that catches puke, blesses my spouse, and apologizes to little hearts when it does wrong.

You are Supermom too.

You are worthy of that title. Why? Because with intricate thought and infinite love, God has created you – and you only – to be the mommy of your little one. He has infused into you a little of His goodness and strength to love your child well.

You aren’t perfect, but you are enough.

And maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit for the thousands of little ways you heroically love, sacrifice, and rescue your children in the midst of everyday life. You may gloss over it and think it is nothing, but those moments are everything. They are everything to those little people who depend on you for everything they need.

You are stronger than you think, and more powerful than you know…and you are definitely Supermom.

(Linked up with #HeartEncouragement on 4/21)

 Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

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The Mindset of Motherhood
March 8, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Soul Care for Moms 2 Comments

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I remember being a girl – I played house and longed for the day when I would join the noble ranks of motherhood. I envisioned being the perfect wife and mom.

At 23, I married the love of my life. Two years later, we were excited to announce that we were expecting. We shared the news with family, friends, co-workers and our church community.

That’s when it started.

The nay-sayers.

The words spoken to crush my newfound joy over the baby growing inside.

Rather than being welcomed into motherhood with cheer I was welcomed with words that brought anxiety to my heart.

“Just wait till the baby is born and the sleepless nights come.”

“Just wait till you have two, it is such a hard adjustment.”

“Just wait till they crawl and are into everything.”

“Just wait till the terrible twos.”

“Just wait till they start school and come home with foul language.”

“Just wait till the rebellion of the teen years.”

“Just wait…..”

Wait for what?

Wait for the life I have dreamed of to be more arduous than I ever expected?

Rather than pray for wisdom, embracing God’s promise of peace and strength, my heart was trained to expect the worst. The words of my mouth and the thoughts in my mind had become tainted with fear and frustration.

Unconsciously, it led me to struggle with trusting God Himself created my precious little one with His own hand and would be faithful to give strength in the process of raising this child.

Why was I doing this to myself?

The words I hear and say impact my view of motherhood, making me feel that the daily challenges of life with kids is too much for me.

These words I hear pronounce a hopelessness for the 20 years of childrearing I have in front of me—as if the only light at the end of the tunnel will only appear when my kids are grown and gone and I become an empty nester. Though the chaos brought by the invasion of a little person daunts me, I certainly don’t want to feel like I can’t enjoy these years.

I know that rather than embracing joy, I had been embracing fear. I don’t want to lose these years and the lessons that I might gain from them.

Yet what choice do I have?

I choose to reframe my words that I say to my friends and to myself. Rather than speak negatively concerning the difficulties of motherhood, I can strive to speak words of grace and confidence.

“Just wait till you get to hold your newborn baby in the silence of the night. It is so special.”

“Just wait till you have the joy of seeing them explore the world around them when they crawl.”

“Just wait till they are old enough to talk and begin to know the personality God gave them. He gave you such an awesome responsibility to train that personality in the ways of God.”

“Just wait till they start school and get excited about the things they are learning.”

“Just wait till they become teenagers and you can be proud that you have been a part of raising respectful young men and women.”

When I hear the pessimistic comments accentuating the struggles of motherhood I choose to speak these words of faith and hope to myself. I choose to reject the negative thoughts, and purposefully build confidence in the quietness of my own heart.

Naomi Fata is a wife, a work from home, homeschooling mom of three amazing children, and author of Beyond Head Knowledge: Knowing Christ Who Satisfies Our Hearts. She says she is an ordinary person who has found victory in an extraordinary God. Weekly she writes about renewing our minds at Christian Resource Ministry. You can find her on Instagram  Twitter, and Facebook. 

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Grieving Lost Time
March 3, 2017 In Soul Care for Moms Tender Topics 2 Comments

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It became easier to say no.

To tuck away in my bedroom and remind my loves that after mama’s rest, I’d be able to spend time with them.

That after (another) doctor appointment, we’d be able to build legos and read those books.

There were moments during the dark hard of chemotherapy, and surgery recovery, and radiation this past year when I felt overwhelmed with the loss of time with my people.

I missed routines that had anchored our days, that I wasn’t well enough to initiate and carry out.

I winced at their time being spent in front of a television or electronic device.

I worried that important things were falling through the cracks.

Most of all, I grieved being truly present with my loves throughout the hard days. I often couldn’t hold them as we’d always done, or cuddle with both boys on my lap reading stories. Surgery meant that mama couldn’t lift them, and although each had a special spot when we cuddled (Caleb on the right, Josiah on the left, always) – sometimes my arms wouldn’t cooperate and my skin burned.

My energy and my body’s physical capacity were limited. For a mama who has always been “on” and “yes,” the adjustment was not easy.

I am so thankful for the tender support of my hubby, who from the beginning of treatment, taught our kids the new rules: let mama rest, let mama heal, and be quiet!

I am thankful for dear friends who faithfully reminded me that this season wouldn’t last forever, and that my kids were learning some beautiful lessons alongside mama – lessons that endure.

That resting, and healing, and leaving space for quiet…these are beautiful, needful choices throughout our lives.

As I learned to surrender, I saw the way that God redeemed time that felt lost. My limitations allowed growing in new ways for my kids, like becoming comfortable and thriving in the care of trusted family and friends. Their world expanded!

I learned that what felt like loss, perhaps wasn’t loss at all. Relationships grew, new habits were formed, health was restored, and today my kids can barely remember the days when I was unavailable to them and that weighed so heavy on my heart as their mama. They just know that mama is well and that they are loved.

My heart feels settled and grateful, as I reflect on the many, many lessons that walking through cancer this past year has allowed me to learn that despite what may feel in the moment like shortcomings, setbacks, and huge detours on the path of how we wish a season to look in our parenting; through that and in that, unexpected beauty may grow. We look back and realize that God’s grace met us right there.

I know it will meet us this spring, for my next surgery. I know this: my little loves will be fine. Their routine may be shaken and their mama may be resting more and life may look a little different but we will learn and be stretched and love well and experience grace, once again.

Emily lives in Southern Oregon with her beloved and their three kids (16, 5 & 4). Her heart and her days are full of homeschooling, good coffee, time outdoors in the fresh air, life-giving friendships and walking out healing & wellness. God’s word & His grace are her constant source of refuge. She writes about her hope and healing after a breast cancer diagnosis in 2016, at www.emilyrgreen.com. 

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Mama’s Ruby Slippers
February 21, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Soul Care for Moms 2 Comments

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The other day my husband worked a particularly long day. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I do a little bit of hand wringing. Sixteen hours with just me and the toddler? I love my daughter and I love being home with her, but a mom can lose her wits from time to time.

It turned out to be a great day, and as we cuddled in bed before falling asleep, I read her a little board book rendition of the Wizard of Oz. She loved the story and started asking questions, so I found her a video of Dorothy and her friends skipping down the Yellow Brick Road.

One video turned into a few, and as we watched, this strange and wistful wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was like all this dormant wonder and amazement awakened inside of me, coming to life nearly twenty-five years later. I was a kid the last time I saw Dorothy, and I felt tears well in my eyes at her tender innocence and vulnerability.

Despite all this, there was something else that really got to me. She kept talking about this wizard who was going to fix everything, but all the while she was doing just fine. Dorothy navigated an unknown land  on her own. She made friends who helped her along the way, and she even slapped a lion in the face when the men around her collapsed in fear.

I wanted to turn to someone and say, “Was it always this obvious?” She clearly doesn’t need the wizard. She doesn’t know she already has everything she needs.

I’m not gonna lie. Motherhood feels a lot like Oz. I often feel like that tender young girl who got caught up in the tornado and crash-landed in a strange Technicolor landscape full of adorably odd tiny people– tiny people in brightly colored clothes with strange customs and bizarre behaviors I can’t decipher or understand. They’re cute, but I can’t help feeling like they could turn on me at any minute.

To tell you the truth, there’s not a small part of me who is really tired from the journey and hoping a magical wizard will come along and help me get back to a place that feels like home.

I think the beauty of motherhood is that it is, in fact, a journey. Like any journey, it is an ever-unfolding story, one in which the beautiful heroine discovers her own nuggets of dormant greatness. Through her travels, she discovers she has the brains and brawn that adapt to the challenges of each new day. She taps into a courage that raises its noble head and roars, and she accesses the resilience that persists just below the surface.

Most of all, she unearths the mighty, unfailing love that powers the engine and keeps it all afloat.

I like to think that the best is yet to come, and that each mama already has all the greatness she needs. I am the girl who creates a beautiful life, with nothing but the brain between my ears and the courage in my bones. I am the girl with the giant, ruby-red heart who faces her fears, and discovers herself on her way back home. You are that girl as well.

Someday this journey might begin to make more sense. Someday, we might speak the language and navigate the terrain with greater ease. When that day comes, our starry-eyed and discombobulated expressions just might be replaced by a calm self-assurance, because we will have discovered that we’ve always been exactly who we needed to be.

Jayna is a San Diego wife and mama who became a writer and stay-at-home parent when her daughter, Jude, was born three years ago. She is married to her high school sweetheart, who loves and inspires her everyday. She and her family recently transitioned to the (almost) country life, where they spend their time enjoying the fresh air, growing vegetables and making reclaimed wood furniture. Her blogs can be found at www.jaynarae.com, and www.jlondonfurniture.com/blog. (Bio photo by Katie Gardner)

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