Soul Care for Moms

Say No to the Narwhal
September 13, 2017 In Pregnancy & Birth Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Your bestie is pregnant and you want to give her a gift that will say, “Hey. I’m with you in this, friend. Swollen ankles and all.” What can you get her?

    You could gift her with a witty onesie that will give your bestie’s newborn just the right hipster appeal for its one-month photo shoot. Or you may find yourself drawn to a cuddly and fuzzy stuffed-animal (preferably a narwhal or unicorn) as you envision your gift to be her baby’s favorite toy that it will sleep with well into their college years. Perhaps you will want to marinate your preggo friend in essential oils to keep her calm, energized and ready to push this baby out. She will surely need another vial of rosemary oil….

   But I say, “No”. I say “nope”  to the all of the above options. Your friend deserves better. So, here are 5 gifts that I believe will make YOU your pregnant bestie’s new favorite person. Ever.

  1. A CLEAN HOUSE. Organize four or five mutual friends to chip in and get your beautiful, childbearing friend, a 2-month cleaning service. Trust me. When she is staring at dust balls that are standing 2 feet tall as she holds her screaming infant, she will weep as she remembers your gift or genius. Nobody has time to keep the house clean with a newborn.
  2. SOME PEACE AND QUIET. If your pregnant bestie has other children, offer to take her older kiddos out for a fun day at the park, zoo, movie, or anywhere else that makes little people happy. Not only are you providing special bonding time for your friend with her new baby but you also are lavishing some much needed attention on older siblings who may feel like they have gone down on the food chain. Be sure to pick up the tab and bring her children home well fed and ready for an early bed. She will be forever grateful.
  3. THE DATE NIGHT IN. It’s important for your bestie to stay connected to her spouse BUT that’s hard to do when there is a tiny, little person always demanding her attention. A date night out is nearly impossible. So, provide your bestie with a date night in! Give her a box with a loaded Visa gift card, several take-out menus from local restaurants, a box of gourmet chocolates, candles to create some ambiance, and if you are really bold…a forgiving négligée that will remind her that she is not just a mama… she’s a hot mama.
  4. ADULT CONVERSATION. After her baby is born, offer to come to her place once a week for four weeks at a time most convenient for her. Tell her that you will provide the coffee, the snacks AND that you will stay long enough to watch her baby so she can shower. Be her listening ear as she navigates through motherhood and resist the urge of offering too much advice. Be sure she knows that she should not, under any circumstance, tidy her home before you arrive. While you are there, do the dishes.
  5. WORDS THAT WILL AFFIRM. Listen, motherhood brings on a whole new level of worry that no one is ever prepared for. Chances are, at some point, your precious pregnant friend will doubt her competence as a mother, fear for her child’s future, and generally feel unequipped to successfully walk through this new season in her life. Write her a letter (or several) that will affirm her as the strong and capable person she is. When she is feeling low, she can whip out her notes from you to regain her confidence once again. Knowing that you believe in her and are cheering her on just might be the lifeline that she will need one day. Don’t underestimate the power of your words. Validation is rare in the land of Mamahood but you can be the voice that reminds her that she is seen and is appreciated.

 If you really want to get that witty onesie for your pregnant bestie, go ahead. Just remember, that whatever you give your friend, be sure that she has your consistent encouragement and time. Motherhood gets lonely. We forget that. Your pregnant bestie needs her friends to remind her that it takes a village to raise a child…and her village is behind her.

Noelle is a researcher, speaker, and podcaster. She is the podcast producer/host for Friending Podcast and is a regular co-host for the podcast, Slices of Life. She lives in North Jersey with her hot husband and two wild children. She is a big fan of Constant Comment Tea, the Oscars, and Lesley Knope.

Noelle is passionate about helping women empower women through the art of friendship.

For more random facts on Noelle you can click here or stalk her on Instagram.

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Creativity in the Small Spaces (Guest Post)
September 8, 2017 In Creativity Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

Today, we are sharing an excerpt of a guest post Kindred Mom founder Emily Allen is sharing over on Crystal Stine’s blog. Please visit there to read the complete post!

It all happens in the cracks between meal-making and mess-cleaning. It happens as little ones circle my legs and food simmers on the stove, me scribbling notes and thoughts to come back to later when the kids have gone to bed. It happens in waiting areas, on park benches, and in the early morning or late night hours at home. It happens in pajamas, with wild hair and no makeup. It happens between nursing babies, sweeping, and stops at the grocery store.

This is my creative life, squeezed into the small spaces available to me.

For years, I struggled to embrace the tension between my everyday responsibilities and the dreams of my heart. Where I wanted things to mesh, like a hand-in-glove, reality looked more like sparks of iron against iron. I wanted more time and fewer roadblocks. I wanted a checklist to follow that would supply me with the courage I lacked. I wanted the landscape of life to look more organized: a tidy calendar, a mess-free house, and predictable, obedient children that never turned my day upside-down–all things I thought I needed in order to unfurl my full creative potential. I wanted a clear direction and ideas that were guaranteed to succeed.

I didn’t know that I had to first start the work, and figure some things out as I went–taking little steps (and sometimes leaps) of faith along the way.

I erroneously thought successful people created their brilliant works in great swaths of readily available time, with little resistance, surrounded by tranquil scenery. I thought I was the only one who wrestled my doubts and wrangled my schedule on a daily basis to wring out a few hours of clarity in a week.

What I found is that other creative people are just like me.

Read the rest of this essay on Crystal Stine’s blog…

 

 Emily Sue Allen is the founder of the Kindred Mom blog and podcast and is passionate about helping moms flourish in motherhood. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of a humble, handmade life and deeply values the power of encouragement. She lives with her husband and six kids in the Pacific Northwest, and personally blogs at lightandloveliness.com. She invites you to connect with the Kindred Mom community on Instagram or Facebook.

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Invited Into Friendship
June 30, 2017 In Faith & Encouragement Soul Care for Moms No Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. 

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer!

I thought I was fine. I had friends. I was married. We had two little kids. I felt settled living where I was, but incredibly lonesome as well. Our family had been at Bible College in Sydney, Australia for two years already and going into our third year, I was quietly confident that I would get through this year as I had done the last couple of years—gritting my teeth, pushing through, depending on friends a little—but mostly just enduring. My dearest friend had just left the college, leaving a huge void in my life, and as I mourned the loss of our close friendship, I knew the year was sure to be a different one.

At the start of a new school year, I was curious to meet the new families who would be joining us at the school. I recognized the nervousness on their faces. I was nervous too. Nervous that I might not make any new friends from this new crop of people.

On the day of the picnic to welcome incoming families, I scoped the scene. There were some people already chatting with new friends. Kids were running in every direction on the play equipment, and I thought my baby might like the swings. A beautiful mum was pushing her youngest girl on the swing as well. I introduced myself, clicking the little chain across the swing to secure my son. She smiled wide, and her lovely brown eyes sparkled as she told me the names of her kids, pointing out her older daughter who was running around the playground. I don’t remember the details of the conversation, but I do remember feeling like I didn’t want it to end. A little while later, we were pulled by our tired children and weary husbands back to our separate lives, and I remember thinking, ‘This will not be the last time I see her.’

Our firstborns were close in age, as were our second-borns—hers both a little bit older than mine. They seemed like great playdate material. We got together a few times, and it was fun. We talked and drank tea from lovely cups. A friendship was beginning to blossom, and it was beautiful.

This dear lady went on to bravely invite a few of the ladies that she had connected with and drew us into her life in a deep way. She told us how she wanted to intentionally create the community she was longing for herself. She wanted to encourage us to open up and share the raw messy reality of our lives with each other. Having been at a pretty tough place in my motherhood journey— sleepless and breastfeeding, no family nearby and two little people who needed me almost more than I could handle—it felt like this this precious woman was holding out a life preserver to me.

I accepted the invitation wholeheartedly, all the while wondering why I had never done this before. She demonstrated for me how our hearts—that soft emotional bit of us—breathe better amongst friends. Changes start to happen slowly that open us to see the beauty and joy in our world, even on the hard days. We can intentionally make space for that to happen.

There was something in the way that she gave me permission to live my life, with my guard down, that seemed to unlock something deep in me. It was almost as though I’d been marching to the beat of someone else’s drum for a long time. Sitting quietly with this group of ladies, I started to hear my own beat once more. In this new community, I found the freedom to be more fully me again.

Shannon Anderson lives with her husband, who is the love of her life, and their two kids, in Sydney Australia. They are currently at Bible College while they are preparing for full time cross-cultural ministry in a remote Aboriginal Community. But, in the meantime Shannon is hitting up as many amazing Sydney coffee shops as possible and is kid wrangling full time and writing in the margins of life with a young family. You can catch her on Instagram occasionally.

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On Needing a Village
June 26, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. 

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer! **Edit to add: There is now a Kindred Mom Podcast interview with Lindsey on this topic! Listen here.

I’m surrounded by advice and well wishes, and pastel and glitter baby cards proclaiming obvious truths like, “It’s a girl!” or, “A new baby is here!”. I receive piles of sweet blankets with scalloped edges and tiny onesies emblazoned with witty alliteration and embroidered forget-me-nots. Then the baby comes with a cry and a happy flourish of helping hands and hot meals. My house buzzes with my husband bustling and in-laws simultaneously helping with generous hearts and also driving me crazy. Then they’re off to the airport, I kiss my hubby goodbye as he heads back to work, and I look around my house. It’s empty.

My arms are full. My head is spinning. My heart is bursting, and I am so, so, lonely.

I run errands and see another mom with her hair in a sloppy pony and yoga pants, a sleeping baby cocooned under a brightly printed canopy. I think: Look at me. Smile. Say something. Her eyes glance over and leave mine before I can blurt out the words, “I want to be your friend!”

(photo by Hill Smiley Photography)

Then I’m filled with relief that I didn’t say something so desperate and ridiculous as she answers her phone and chats happily to the familiar voice on the other end. Probably her best mommy friend that she does sweet mommy things with. It seems she never tastes this bright, bitter pill of utter joy, and utter loneliness.

I get into my quiet car and drive home, and wait. Wait for the next feeding. Wait for nap time, and lunchtime, and bath time. I wait for my husband to get home and before I know it, I kiss him goodbye and face another busy, mind numbing day.

In the early days, motherhood can be a confusing blend of big emotions: big joy, big awe, big love, big fear, big loneliness. Yes, enormous love, and cavernous loneliness.

I meet up with friends that were once my safe place, and they feel like strangers. It seems like they are trying to relate, They want to relate, they do, but they haven’t yet experienced the crucible of motherhood with the cries and whims of a tiny human; it’s hard for them to understand where I’m at.

When I spend time with new mom friends, they seem to already have figured out this mommy thing. They laugh and smile, carefree. Their hair looks washed and eyelashes look full with mascara. They don’t look like they want to dart and hide and shout “I can’t do this anymore!” the way I do. They seem to have husbands that are always helpful, grandmas that watch their babies in a moments notice, and other mommy besties that they go on shopping sprees with to Janie and Jack (the store we only window shop at) sipping macchiatos that somehow melt off their perfect post baby frame.

We need a village. I need a village. You need a village, sweet mama.

Some moms might be better at pretending that they have this mom thing figured out. As kids get older, we might even think we’ve figured things out, but the weight of motherhood reshapes our lives for a greater purpose, and a greater responsibility, and we will never be the same again. We suck in that first breath as the nurse places him in our arms , eyes squeezed shut from the flood of light and noise, hands clutching, lip shivering, mouth suckling, and as he draws his first breaths, we never exhale, not fully, not ever again.

I started a moms’ book club last week. I fretted, because a bunch of unfamiliar women getting together can be awkward, and loud, and uncomfortable; it can be exhilarating and beautiful.

The greatest thing happened, I never thought possible. These women started a village. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t the book. It was the beautiful majestic thing called motherhood that gave this group of women the ability to exhale (a little) to be real (mostly), because beneath that great hair is a half a can of dry shampoo, under those lulu yoga pants are unshaved legs, and within that brave mama heart is a small voice whispering, “I’m lonely. I need help. I need others.”

I’m not going to ever get it totally perfect. Yet, when I show up and admit that I need help, when I make myself vulnerable, I am able to find some of the rest my tired mama soul needs. For just a few moments amid the sticky fingers and undone to do’s, I find myself a part of a village, and I don’t feel so lonely or alone. I find a place to call home.

Lindsay Hausch is a pastor’s wife and mother of two girls. She’s a coffee drinking, cupcake-loving, wordsmith that loves leading, speaking and inspiring women to love well. Visit her corner of the world at www.lindsayhausch.com and Facebook. 

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The Fear of Being Forgotten
June 23, 2017 In Faith & Encouragement Soul Care for Moms 3 Comments

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. 

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer!

I was on day nine; nine long days since I had spoken to another adult face-to-face who knew me by name (and one who I’m not married to). We had left our suburban Kansas home and flew 2,000 miles to Vancouver, British Columbia to live in the bustling inner city where I was homeschooling our three daughters in a condo filled with the landlord’s choice IKEA furnishings, surrounded by strangers from all corners of the world. It was during those days when I learned that the well of loneliness runs deep.

Those long, rainy days were filled with hours of first and second grade math, eighth grade writing projects, and ‘recess’ at the city park. I watched my daughters learn close up during writing lessons at our kitchen table, and from a distance while they made new friends on the playground monkey bars. Those days were also filled with a growing loneliness in me. No friends to stop in for a chat at the kitchen table, no late night Target runs and conversations over the ridiculous purchase of yet another seasonal candle (who can resist?), no quick coffee dates, no church family to connect with, no gym buddies, no surface-y catching up in long carpool lines, no bantering with neighbors on the sideline of the kids’ soccer games. The majority of each day was just my girls and me making sense out of a new chapter of life we never anticipated navigating.

(photo by Jena Meyerpeter, “Courage” banner by Jill Dixon)

Raising and homeschooling three chatty daughters means our home is rarely (read: never) quiet. Opinions and ideas are thrown around like confetti on New Year’s Eve. Even with their constant noise all around, my heart began to experience something new and unfamiliar: deep loneliness. It was as if the bucket of loneliness sank deeper and deeper into a well and I couldn’t see the bottom. I was lonely for familiarity and friendships, but more than that I was lonely for belonging. As the loneliness sank deeper into my spirit, my heart grew quiet. Before long this stillness also settled over my thoughts like a blanketing snowfall. It was in the stillness of those lonely days, as the depths of my well dipped farther than I’d ever experienced, I found a treasure waiting at the bottom.

Far removed from anything familiar or comfortable, no friends or family to be our community, stuck in the middle of a big city playing the daily role of mom and teacher, I met Jesus at the bottom of my loneliness. He was there in my stillness, in my quiet, and there in my fear of being forgotten, holding my hand as a steady companion. I’ve known Jesus as my Savior, Redeemer, and Grace-giver for nearly two decades. He was there with me as a tender Father in the darkness of my first born’s bedroom as I rocked her back to sleep for the fifth time. He was there as my Healer as I wept over the loss of pregnancies, and now He’s the Friend I needed most reminding me that my ultimate place of belonging is in His kingdom and presence.

Motherhood has its moments of isolation and loneliness even under the best circumstances. I remember lonely midnight feedings with babies and feeling isolated on long, dark winter evenings with stir-crazy kids and a husband working out of town. Over the past year, I’ve had moments of fear wondering if all this uprooting and sacrificing for our family will leave me alone and forgotten at the bottom of my well, too far down to reach out to anyone and ever regain a sense of belonging. Occupied by these fears, I nearly failed to discover the treasure waiting for me in my well.

Jesus was already there. I didn’t have to reach far or climb high to find His outstretched hands waiting for me. He, my greatest treasure, was right there all along. Jesus transforms my loneliness into opportunities for deeper relationship with Him. I’ve found a friendship in Jesus I hadn’t known before this season. It turns out the bottom of my well wasn’t a scary or forgotten place after all. It was a distraction-free meeting ground where God captured my full, undivided attention. The same is true no matter what season of life and mothering we’re in. Jesus is already there. He’s in our deepest, darkest places speaking loving words of belonging in a family rooted in eternity, giving us the freedom to go anywhere in this world with the assurance that we’re truly never alone.

Jena Meyerpeter fell in love with words as a little girl tucked away in the aisles of her father’s used bookstores. Today, Jena’s love of words continue as she writes and speaks on all topics faith and family. You can find more of Jena’s writings at JenaMeyerpeter.com and follow her and her family’s adventures on Instagram. 

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What Gives Her Away
June 19, 2017 In Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. 

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer!

Elyse was four when she first showed us how brave she was—and what mattered enough to bring that bravery out. We’d moved, pulling into the driveway at a new house after dark on a Sunday night and popping out for a pre-school visit at nine the very next morning. During our tour she cast clandestine glances at the other children and when they invited her to stay for their Valentine’s Day party, she smiled and took a chair at their table.

It was her smile that gave her away.

Elyse is known for her smile. It’s ready and open and real. But not that day. That day it was manufactured and careful and maybe a little bit hopeful.

Thirteen years and another move later, we watched as the landscape of her face gradually flattened from its gentle contours into the hard line of a midwestern highway. Her smile gave her away again. It was gone. I knew why, and that we had to act because when my own smile had faded away a few years before, it was action that saved me.


I’d been lonely. Devastatingly so. We’d moved again, this time to a place where I found myself surrounded by people who called me friend but hadn’t made room for real relationship. Without companionship, I lost hope and withered away spiritually, emotionally, and physically, enduring rather than enjoying my life. So when I stepped out of the shower one morning—already weary and ready for the day to be done—and turned on a random podcast, I expected diversion. What I got was direction: There are friends who need you and friends who you need. If you need a friend, go out and find one. It sounded like a simple solution, but it was new to me.

In our previous communities, friendships—both mine and my family’s—had developed organically. They grew slowly, over time, and blossomed into companionable, sustaining relationships. I’d naturally made the friends that I needed and been a friend that others needed. However, life in our new community wasn’t like where we’d lived before. The thought that I’d have to go out in search of a friend because I was in such dire need of companionship wasn’t simply new–it was foreign. It felt humbling and scary and, after years of believing friendship would happen the old fashioned way, it felt hopeless. But I was in trouble. I knew it. And I did what had to be done.

I identified a couple of  women I knew but didn’t know well, acquaintances who liked conversation and looked like they might have some room in their lives for someone in need of a friend. I invited them for coffee dates and play dates and book studies. I initiated, even though it was uncomfortable.

So when I looked at my daughter and saw a flat line instead of a smile, I recognized the source and I understood its gravity. She was two years younger than most of her friends. After bidding them farewell when they headed off to college, she surveyed her life and found herself alone. We aren’t meant to be alone. Kids aren’t. Moms aren’t. And neither are dads. So we acted, not only on Elyse’s behalf but on our family’s. We didn’t want either of our girls to get used to living lonely and we wanted to stop living that way ourselves.

We talked about the state of our friendships. We acknowledged the fact that we move in a small circle in a small town. We decided to focus our family’s energy on combating loneliness by working to foster better relationships both inside and outside our home.

We chose the right activities for us. For Elyse, that meant finding a place to connect with others in a way she found meaningful, even though it meant taking her to another town. For me, it meant forgoing some of the large group gatherings so prevalent in our community and inviting women for one-on-one conversation.

We encouraged—some might say pushed—Elyse to reach out. We practiced hospitality. Elyse and her younger sister hosted gatherings for the girls they were already acquainted with so they could begin to learn the fine arts of initiating, planning, and inviting.

Eight months later, things have changed. It hasn’t been easy. It’s been time consuming and humbling and scary, but just like the visit to her new preschool nearly ten years before, the drive for companionship compelled Elyse to take a place at the table. Interactions with new friends and deepening friendships with acquaintances have returned her smile and restored her joy. It’s graduation season again and she’s shed some tears because some of these new friends will be moving away. But I know she’ll be okay. She has hope.

It’s her smile that gives her away.

Natalie Ogbourne is fascinated by the roads we wander and the stories they tell. A midwest-dwelling wife and mom, she’s perpetually on the hunt for a skirt that will stand up to the trail because she loves the places they take us and everything they give to think about along the way. You can find her at her blog and on Instagram, where she offers encouragement to pause, ponder the path, and press on. 

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No More Magic
May 29, 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.

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast! 

The floor of my tiny old house creaks and groans underfoot which makes getting to the oasis I’ve been thirsty for all day, a bit of a Parkour obstacle course.  My children are finally in bed after an arduous day of breaking up preschool squabbles, hushing an inconsolable baby, and generally attempting to keep the house from falling apart.  The finish line to my day is within spitting distance but the floor may as well be covered with landmines.  My children—a sleeping three-headed monster that might be roused at the faintest sound–dragging me back to the land of active parenting I am so eager to put behind me.  I tiptoe into the bathroom, gingerly close the door, and turn off the light, murmuring a prayer under my breath. Please let them stay asleep.

I am empty.  I have no more magic, ingenuity or compassion. My last nerve is hanging on by a tattered little thread and I am thankful for the reprieve from being the solo commander of my household.

At last, it is night. I’ve successfully made it to the end of the day and to the bathroom–the last bastion of privacy, solace, and retreat that can be found in my little home–where the tiny upright shower promises to wash my stress down the drain.

I plant my flag here in this tiny closet-sized room, claiming this space and time as my desperately-needed sanctuary.  I pause on the dark side of the bathroom door and take what feels like the first giant breath I have had all day.  My shoulders relax as I subconsciously dismiss them from duty.  This is the fourth night this week I’ve sought refuge in this bathroom at the end of a long day.  Just me in the dark, a hot shower, and a humble little $12.99 candle that illuminates more about me as mother than I thought possible.

I wield a lighter and ignite the dormant candle as it occupies the coveted bit of real estate atop the toilet tank. It is nestled between home improvement magazines and a clock.  In an instant, a soft glow dances on the walls, transforming this tiny room into a spa-like retreat for an exhausted and depleted mother. I cast off the unseen hats: referee, teacher, chef, housekeeper, cheerleader, doctor, counselor. As I toss each one to the ground along with my garments, I become a little bit lighter. At the end, I am edited down to just me.  Not mom, not wife, just me.  I look at the simple little candle that is helping to set the mood of my restoration.

This candle is a metaphor for my recent experiences in motherhood; specifically trying to carry on like business-as-usual when there are just too few resources available to actually do a good job.

Like the candle, I am built to burn, lighting the way with love for my family.  Day after day I light my little flame to care for my family, to bolster their reserves even though it means depleting my own.  The dark ring of soot accumulated around the rim of the container deposited from hours of burning without a consistent fuel supply—I have that too—only my black ring looks like yelling at my kids because I am running on an empty tank.  I’ve got ashy chunks suspended under my waxy surface that testify to my lack of time to take care of myself.  I panic as I notice my energy stores are slipping swiftly down the sides of my jar and I fear that soon there will be nothing left to of me to give.

How does a mother fill the cavernous emptiness after pouring out every last bit she has to the ones she loves?

I realize, as I flicker an unsteady light, void of oxygen necessary for me to keep going, that no one will be able to see very well by the faint hobbling glow I am coughing out.  A candle needs a fuel source to produce light.  No wax, no light.  Mothering my little brood sucks up a lot of my fuel.  I cannot be a help to anyone if I have no reserve from which to draw.  If I am going to do a good job caring for the people I love, I have to keep an eye on how to fill up again.

As I step into the hot shower, I consider all of the hats I have left on the floor of my tiny oasis bathroom, and the water begins washing away all of the unseen heavy, scary, and ugly things that I have hidden away in my heart as I outwardly sing silly songs to my children.  With each droplet of water skittering off my body I heave a cathartic sigh.

This is so desperately hard.

My soul is embraced by the warm water and my limbs are invited to let go of all the tension they’ve carried. I am here to exchange angst for relief, exhaustion for rest. The needle on my proverbial gas gauge inches toward full as I stand in the water. I recognize my own grit, that I am built to do this work.  I can pick up the duties of motherhood each morning and set them down each night.  The fog lifts and I begin to see my world with clearer eyes.  I remember my children are not monsters, but three bright stars in my sky that mesmerize and delight me.

I dry myself off and put on fresh clean pajamas–a simple luxury that is not lost on me–and I am truly thankful for every little thing.  As I nestle my head into my downy pillow, I find I am grateful for these difficult days and deliciously restorative nights–for the clarity illuminated in darkness and for solitude that opens and fills my heart, that breathes on an ember renewing my strength to carry on.

 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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Surprise Summer (Plus a Summer Survival Kit)
May 23, 2017 In Childhood Soul Care for Moms 5 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.***

 

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.

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 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 3 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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