Blessings and Raindrops

seeking joy in the midst of the ordinary

lessons from a second chance at a first year.

In one week, the little surprise that rocked our world is turning ONE. A full year passed by in a blink.

There’s a perspective that comes with your fourth child that you can’t possibly comprehend with your first {if we want to get technical here: Charlotte was our third at home, my second pregnancy and birth and our fourth in order of age – is that confusing at all to anyone?!?!}.

This little one took us by such surprise, I never expected to have another chance to parent an infant. It was such an unbelievable gift and my heart swells every time I think of how precious these days are.

Because I don’t want to forget any of this, I thought I’d record a few surprising lessons I’ve learned the past 365 days with this adorable little gal…


Lessons learned from a second chance at a first year:


1). Your capacity to love expands exponentially.

I know many moms who are worried about having another baby after their first. They’re worried that they can’t possibly love another babe as much as they love their first little love. I was so anxious about this. I had two little guys that had my whole heart and a girlie across the ocean that occupied space there, as well. It just felt like there wouldn’t be enough room for them all.

When in fact, there was. More than enough room.

Our Charlotte girl has lit up our lives. She has shown us that love is not confined by numbers or by our plans. She has given us a surprising glimpse of our Father’s love. The way He can love us all – which always seems a little overwhelming when I think on it. Now that I have this little princess {let’s stop here for just a moment and acknowledge the fact that the royal family clearly decided to name the newest princess after our own Charlotte Elizabeth, but I digress}, I have received a new perspective on His unending and unfathomable love for little ole’ me.

2). Having older siblings is pure joy.

Babies are fascinated with these creatures that are closer to their own size than mommy and daddy. Dance parties are entertainment, silly faces are hysterical, and crazy loud noises induce belly laughter. I love having the older three to distract Charlotte when she is fussy during a diaper change or challenge them to make her laugh when she is screaming in the car. They are built-in baby entertainers. And, their love and devotion to their baby sister is astounding. Watching the gentle way they care for her and love on her makes my heart swoon.

3). Each moment is a treasure. 

Watching the little ones run past me who once occupied the same crib as this babe gives me a daily dose of reality: this season is short. This baby will grow very quickly.

The squishy baby rolls and adorably chubby hands and feet will soon lean out and be replaced with a lanky little person who no longer fits on my lap. Rocking a baby to sleep gives way to bedtime routines that no longer include the slow fading to dreamland in my arms.

As much as I want to rush the rocking and the nursing at the end of a particularly long day, I bring to mind the hard truth that this is just a {very brief} season. The dinner dishes can wait. This baby needing her momma won’t last forever.

4). Let it go. 

You release the pressure of doing it all. You learn to say “no.” You learn to let go of perfection. You cut yourself some slack.

You know that milestones are not predictors of future successes. You know that sleep will return someday {and repeat the daily mantra: I will sleep again. I will sleep again. I will sleep again} and survive on coffee and baby snuggles.

Strict schedules held with your firsts go out the window and you let your baby lead with her own hunger and sleep cues. You hold her often. You know that she can’t be spoiled and you don’t listen when well-intenders tell you otherwise. You finally stop comparing your baby and your parenting style to others. You relax enough to let life unfold and learn to just enjoy the ride.

5). You will surprise yourself. 

When those two pink lines appeared, you may have second guessed your ability to do this again.

Because, well, life was cruising along just fine. You had just started sleeping again. You had just cut diapers/pull-ups/wipes out of your budget. You had just replaced sippy cups with little cups without lids. You had just received a taste of the freedom that those four hours of pre-school provides: no littles at the grocery store. Cue the Hallelujah chorus.

Fear and uncertainty may have tried to overpower you. But, you quickly learn something about yourself: you can do this. You lean on God. You draw strength and stamina and patience and compassion from HIS well. His supply is unending, while yours is very, very sparse.

You can do this and you can learn to find the joy in the midst of these chaotic early years. As the old saying goes, the days are long but the years are short. Oh, the truth in that statement. So, you embrace it all. The chaos, the tears, the hiding in the closet to eat your chocolate so that you do not have to share, the laughter and the mounds and mounds of laundry. You take an excessive number of photos and videos. You tell yourself that someday you will have the time to create pretty albums and they won’t always sit in files on your computer. You get up everyday and do your best. You pour out love and you mess up and you ask forgiveness and you pray. You pray that you are holding up to your end of the deal: to be a guide, a nurturer, a safe place for these little lives entrusted to your care.

You take a step back every once and a while to take it all in. The profound honor it is to be their momma. And, you give a great big exhale of gratitude. You thank the Creator who formed these good and perfect gifts so lovingly and gently placed them each in your arms.

You know with certainty that the first time you held this little babe after birth was the closest you will ever come to Heaven on earth {the only other that compares was the day her brothers were born}. Newborns are so fresh from God, there’s the faintest sense of the warmth of His hands remaining on their tiny bodies. You marvel at photos of that day. You close your eyes and remember the sacred and the holy moments of her entrance to the world. You make plans to gather your people to celebrate this year passed. This breathtakingly beautiful year.

love well.

It’s Spring Break week and we purposely have nothing planned.

I’ve become fiercely protective of my time lately. In the past, I would over-schedule our minutes so that we would run from one “fun” activity to another. The inevitable result was an overly tired, frazzled momma and exhausted littles. All of the “fun” turned sour.

I have been intentional about carving out white space on our calendar this week. Space that allows for spontaneity. Space that allows for long, slow meals on the patio – thank you, gorgeous spring weather. Space that allows for skipping rocks, building bonfires and making mud-pies. Space that creates room for memory making. Space that refreshes and restores.

The time will be filled with trips to the park, craft projects covering the kitchen table, meals shared with friends, slow mornings, building train tracks on the patio, baking muffins, and late night ice cream treats.

I’m grateful for these days where the gorgeous weather brings us outdoors. The hours slow down. We take the time to linger and lift our faces to feel the warmth of the sun on our cheeks.

I would never (ever) say that I have this whole simplicity thing figured out. It’s an ongoing battle to wisely choose how to spend these moments I’m given. I have to fight the urge to be productive when I know I need to pause. This past week, I was forced to slow down when a nasty cold bug hit our house. I spent the majority of my days rocking my congested baby and not much else. Our house was a disaster, the dishes piled high and the laundry overflowed, emails went unanswered, my to-do list went unchecked. But my baby needed the comfort of her momma’s arms. The end. The other stuff didn’t even compare.

She was finally feeling better on Sunday, the breeze carried warmth and our afternoon schedule was free. It was a perfect day at home with my loves.

Let me be clear: I am not encouraging irresponsibly. Or laziness. Or a lackadaisical approach to commitment.

I’m suggesting an intentional commitment to loving well. I’m learning that time set aside for pouring into my loves is an investment of significant, eternal value.

The passing of Kara Tippetts this past Sunday hit me hard. I’ve never met Kara but I have been forever impacted by her life. Another Congo momma is a close friend of Kara’s and “introduced” me to her through her blog last year. I was immediately captivated by the way she chose grace in the midst of a hard, impossibly hard, story. I read her words and continually prayed over her family. Her unwavering faith, her ability to love so very well, her honesty and her courage transfixed me. Her story reminds me that the fight for love and kindness and simple joys are worth every ounce of our energy. A life covered in grace and a home full of God’s peace are the impossibly beautiful gifts amidst the messy, brokenness of this life.

 Everything in the world is about to be wrapped up, so take nothing for granted. Stay wide-awake in prayer. Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything. {1 Peter 4:7 MSG}

spring has arrived.

Spring appears to have arrived to our little corner of the world. Windows have been opened and cool breezes fill our home, freshening the stale winter air. 

Yesterday, we hurried outside to get our hands in the dirt and place shoots of green life in the ground. Mounds of winter coats and snow boots were abandoned for short sleeves and rubber mud boots.

As I watched little hands cover new life with fresh dirt, I was reminded of the words Amber Haines shared at a women’s retreat I attended last year. Her message was focused on holding onto Hope in the wait. My aching, weary heart clung to every word.

Amber said something very powerful in her message that resonated with me in that particular season, “Winter always comes before Spring. Every time.” 

Don’t you just love that imagery? The words Amber shared were a calming balm to my heart. At that time, I was desperately longing for the cold, lonely winter to end and for the joy of spring to arrive. 

Planting a few bulbs in the newly thawed earth may seem simple, ordinary. Yet, I saw the miracle of that beautiful moment yesterday. I saw the joy that had come. The answered prayers. Spring had indeed arrived. 

surprising.

I find this season of my life to be wonderfully surprising. It’s also abundant, fun, and hectic. But, mostly, it’s surprising.

I had all of these ideas of what our life would look like once Sylvie came home and we became a family with four children ages four and under. I don’t even have the words to articulate these made-up ideas. They were just there on the edges, floating thoughts of how things would be. Our family would finally be complete. We would finally be able to rest, to breathe, to focus on anything other than the void in our lives while she waited on the other side of the globe. I knew we would be busy. I knew we would likely be overwhelmed and a touch crazy. But, we would be together. That would be enough.

It’s funny, as I sat in the gorgeous great hall of the 21C Museum Hotel this past Sunday night and listened to the striking voices of Penny & Sparrow as they performed during our latest Bentonville Session, I was taken aback for a moment as I realized my life had taken paths that I never saw coming.

Photo Credit: Sluyter Photography

God is like that. Once you open up your palms and release all that you are to Him and for His work, He fills your life in ways that you couldn’t possibly imagine on your own. You suddenly find yourself on an adventure and completely surprised, in the best possible way.

He has taught me that enough isn’t really what I thought it would be. My family finally residing under the same roof made me realize that only He is enough. No other person or experience could make me whole.

There wasn’t a grand finale to our story on the day she came home. We didn’t stop pursuing Him or stop seeking His direction for our steps. Quite the contrary, God just kept on opening doors and placing our little family in moments that are undeniably orchestrated by His hand.

Because, if I’m being honest, when we said that first yes to adoption years ago, we had no idea where He would take us. We also had no way of knowing that the hesitant, shaky yes to those big, brown eyes would lead to a very long, very intense spiritual battle. We weren’t aware that we would see Him in new ways, or that we would experience His love and grace in such abundance, and we certainly didn’t understand the depth of which we would feel His presence in the midst of our great fears.

We just kept walking forward. Hesitant at times. Shaky at best. One day, one step at a time.

Now, we continue doing the same. We stand on these shaky legs. We hobble forward. We pray for discernment. We ask where to next place our feet. We walk forward into unknown territory. We feel unequipped. We question our ability. Yet, we press on.

We are amazed each month when the money is transferred across the globe that nearly 180 children will be eating three meals a day for the next month. Every month. We pray we don’t grow numb to the miracles of this provision.

We are humbled and grateful as we watch our community rally around this cause of caring for the orphaned and vulnerable children of this world. We walk alongside friends as they work tirelessly planning a concert each and every month in order to keep these little tummies full.

We laugh at God’s sense of humor as we work to ready the fields for planting on our soon-to-be Feed Their Tummies Blueberry Farm. Last year, we moved to the Farmhouse at His leading, not knowing that He had bigger plans for this move. We sensed He would use this space in a big way but as the plans unfolded for this new farm, we continued to be awestruck at His ability to change our lives and flip them upside down. We never saw ourselves as farmers, {well, I never did. Dave may have had this seed planted long ago} but here we are rolling up our sleeves and getting to work.

As I read Shauna Niequist’s new devotional, Savor, this morning, I was struck by the powerful truth of her words:

…”Life is like that, twisty and surprising. But life with God is like that exponentially. We can dig in, make plans, write in stone, pretend we’re not listening, but the voice of God has a way of being heard. It seeps in like smoke even when we’ve barred the door, and it moves us, to different countries and emotional territories and ways of living. It keeps us moving and dancing and watching. And with the surprises comes great hope.”

I just love that… with the surprises comes great hope. Amen. 
You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. 
– Psalm 16:11