A Happy Birthday Girl

Well, it's happening...I'm getting old.  I turned 34 last week, and just to remind me that I am indeed a year older, a few new grey hairs appeared to wish me a "Happy Birthday."  Honestly, I was not too disappointed, because now perhaps I will match my husband a bit better. It might take awhile for me to catch up with his number of grey hairs though!

 

Along with my new gray hairs, I received a few other birthday gifts:  a new camera lens to play with, some candy and Starbucks gift cards from my girlfriends, and a new blue jacket.  But the best gift of all was my parents coming for a visit.  Paul was gone on a work trip, so my parents came to rescue me and they truly made this birthday girl very happy.  They treated the boys and me to dessert at our favorite frozen yogurt shop... 

 

And then in the days ahead they spent every waking hour helping in various ways: playing games with the boys, cooking, patching holes in our walls, cleaning toilets, rocking Isaiah to sleep, fixing broken bike chains, cheering the boys on at their baseball games, playing catch or "hot-box" in the backyard, and, in general, making everyone happy. 

 

How incredibly blessed I am to have parents like this!  They truly made me a happy birthday girl!!!

Thankful Thursday on Sunday (in pixels)

 

Thankful for...

 

 

 ...cherry-red ladybugs to brighten my day

 

 

...this bug's busy search for aphids reminds me to seek

the only Food that satisfies the soul:  Jesus, the Bread of Life

 

 

...bubble bees, fully-loaded with pollen,

reminding me how fully-loaded I am with grace and blessings

 

...this sweet baby napping in the sunshine--

his fuzzy hair, his daddy's face, his squeaky sounds, his soft baby skin

 

 

...Michael, my perpetually grass-stained baseball boy;

his passion for sports and for life

 

 

...GRANDMAS!!! 

One just left and another one is on her way this week...what a blessing!

 

 

...my Moby Wrap that keeps Isaiah wrapped in my warmth

and keeps this momma sane and able to do the dishes and laundry! :)

 

Too Darn Cute

This little guy is just too darn cute...

Too cute to be angry with...

...even when he tries to kick me while I'm pushing him on the swing, or tips over the GALLON of milk all over my kitchen floor and makes me carpet shampoo all morning long. 

Yes, he is just too darn cute and I'm so thankful for his smile that never fails to make me smile!  :)

Mother's Day: Full or Worms, Dirt, and Love

I have fond memories of Mother's Day growing up.  My mom never wanted gifts or special attention on Mother's Day.  She preferred to remain hidden, to be last, to serve rather than be served.   My mom loved being outdoors with sunshine on her shoulders and dirt running through her fingers.  So every Mother's Day my dad would buy her flowers---not flowers for her dining room table that would last a week at best, but flowers to plant in the dirt that would last the entire growing season---and together they would plant them.  When I was old enough, I joined in on the planting tradition, helping my dad to pick and plant the most beautiful flowers for my mom on Mother's Day.  This tradition planted the truth in my heart that love is not about giving gifts, but rather about giving yourself.  How thankful I am to God for giving me a mother who taught me such lessons and so many more.  She is an amazing mother, truly a living saint, and I pray that God will help me to become even just half as holy and self-giving as her someday.



Here are my incredible parents... 
Can't you just see their love and holiness radiating from their smiles?
I am blessed to be their daughter.

Shortly after Paul and I were married, I must have mentioned these fond Mother's Day memories with my husband, because he has continued the family tradition of planting and gardening on that day, much to my delight.  So this Mother's Day my heart was full of thanksgiving, for it was filled with family togetherness and the gift of the men in my life giving of themselves to their very undeserving mother...




Thankful for all these boys planting our garden, and planting more love in this mother's heart...

 

Thankful for these sun-kissed rosy cheeks and ratty jeans...

 

Thankful for this father-son duo who worked the hardest of the bunch...

 

Thankful for these dirty toes and that adorable dimpled chin...



Thankful for little hands who love to find worms and to help out...
 

Thankful for the men in my life, both old and new :)
 

Thankful for being surrounded by blossoms everywhere I look...


So thankful to be a mother...
Happy Belated Mother's Day!!!

Motherhood is a Calling

A friend of mine shared this encouraging article with me, and its message is one I need to be reminded of daily.  May these words bless your day and help you embrace your motherly vocation with more joy and purpose today!  ~Maria

Motherhood is a Calling
by Rachel Jankovic
http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/motherhood-is-a-calling-and-where-your-children-rank


A few years ago, when I just had four children and when the oldest was still three, I loaded them all up to go on a walk. After the final sippy cup had found a place and we were ready to go, my two-year-old turned to me and said, “Wow! You have your hands full!” She could have just as well said, “Don’t you know what causes that?” or “Are they all yours?!”  Everywhere you go, people want to talk about your children. Why you shouldn’t have had them, how you could have prevented them, and why they would never do what you have done. They want to make sure you know that you won’t be smiling anymore when they are teenagers. All this at the grocery store, in line, while your children listen.

A Rock-Bottom Job?

The truth is that years ago, before this generation of mothers was even born, our society decided where children rank in the list of important things. When abortion was legalized, we wrote it into law.
Children rank way below college. Below world travel for sure. Below the ability to go out at night at your leisure. Below honing your body at the gym. Below any job you may have or hope to get. In fact, children rate below your desire to sit around and pick your toes, if that is what you want to do. Below everything. Children are the last thing you should ever spend your time doing.

If you grew up in this culture, it is very hard to get a biblical perspective on motherhood, to think like a free Christian woman about your life, your children. How much have we listened to partial truths and half lies? Do we believe that we want children because there is some biological urge, or the phantom “baby itch”? Are we really in this because of cute little clothes and photo opportunities? Is motherhood a rock-bottom job for those who can’t do more, or those who are satisfied with drudgery? If so, what were we thinking?

It's Not a Hobby

Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.

Christian mothers carry their children in hostile territory. When you are in public with them, you are standing with, and defending, the objects of cultural dislike. You are publicly testifying that you value what God values, and that you refuse to value what the world values. You stand with the defenseless and in front of the needy. You represent everything that our culture hates, because you represent laying down your life for another—and laying down your life for another represents the gospel.

Our culture is simply afraid of death. Laying down your own life, in any way, is terrifying. Strangely, it is that fear that drives the abortion industry: fear that your dreams will die, that your future will die, that your freedom will die—and trying to escape that death by running into the arms of death.

Run to the Cross

But a Christian should have a different paradigm. We should run to to the cross. To death. So lay down your hopes. Lay down your future. Lay down your petty annoyances. Lay down your desire to be recognized. Lay down your fussiness at your children. Lay down your perfectly clean house. Lay down your grievances about the life you are living. Lay down the imaginary life you could have had by yourself. Let it go.

Death to yourself is not the end of the story. We, of all people, ought to know what follows death. The Christian life is resurrection life, life that cannot be contained by death, the kind of life that is only possible when you have been to the cross and back.

The Bible is clear about the value of children. Jesus loved them, and we are commanded to love them, to bring them up in the nurture of the Lord. We are to imitate God and take pleasure in our children.

The Question Is How

The question here is not whether you are representing the gospel, it is how you are representing it. Have you given your life to your children resentfully? Do you tally every thing you do for them like a loan shark tallies debts? Or do you give them life the way God gave it to us—freely?

It isn’t enough to pretend. You might fool a few people. That person in line at the store might believe you when you plaster on a fake smile, but your children won’t. They know exactly where they stand with you. They know the things that you rate above them. They know everything you resent and hold against them. They know that you faked a cheerful answer to that lady, only to whisper threats or bark at them in the car.

Children know the difference between a mother who is saving face to a stranger and a mother who defends their life and their worth with her smile, her love, and her absolute loyalty.

Hands Full of Good Things

When my little girl told me, “Your hands are full!” I was so thankful that she already knew what my answer would be. It was the same one that I always gave: “Yes they are—full of good things!”
Live the gospel in the things that no one sees. Sacrifice for your children in places that only they will know about. Put their value ahead of yours. Grow them up in the clean air of gospel living. Your testimony to the gospel in the little details of your life is more valuable to them than you can imagine. If you tell them the gospel, but live to yourself, they will never believe it. Give your life for theirs every day, joyfully. Lay down pettiness. Lay down fussiness. Lay down resentment about the dishes, about the laundry, about how no one knows how hard you work.

Stop clinging to yourself and cling to the cross. There is more joy and more life and more laughter on the other side of death than you can possibly carry alone.

Couchful of Seven

Here's our new family of SEVEN!  What a couchful!  It is hard to believe that baby Isaiah is really here, and yet, strangely, it seems like he's always been part of our family somehow.  It's amazing how quickly everyone has adapted to this "new normal."

So far Isaiah has been an easy, mellow fellow.  I know it's too early to tell what his temperament will be like because he's still in the sleepy newborn stage, but I am thankful that he has been so great thus far.  He is nursing wonderfully and sleeping 4 hour shifts at night!!  I know there will be sleepless nights to come, but all this sleep has been a wonderful gift while my body is recovering from childbirth.  As you can see in the above photo, Michael is the most doting of the big brothers.  The other boys love him too, but spend most of their time just doing their own thing and playing together.  I am thankful that Nathanael, our 2-year-old, doesn't seemed phased at all by this transition into a family of seven, and I think it's because he has his older brothers to distract him.  He doesn't notice that mommy is constantly occupied with the baby because he is constantly occupied with playing with his big brothers.  It is encouraging for me to discover that having a larger family truly is easier in many ways than having a small family.  There are more hands to help out, and love is multiplied rather than divided.  Once again, God's plan proves better than the culture's plan.

Grandma Jean with Isaiah (in the kitchen--of course!)

Grandma Jean has been here for a week to help the transition go super smoothly.  She spends at least 3/4 of the time in the kitchen---preparing meals, cleaning up dishes, scrubbing the fridge, making more meals, and cleaning up more dishes.  When she's not cooking or cleaning, she is holding Isaiah and settling him back to sleep to give my arms a rest.  She has been such a blessing.  Again I find myself longing for family to live closer to us, but I must remind myself to simply be thankful.  Yes, I have so much for which to be thankful...especially this houseful, I mean COUCHFUL, of boys!

Isaiah's Birth Story

Describing the most emotional, intense, and special events of one's life is a daunting task.  Hence, I'm a little overwhelmed at the thought of writing Isaiah's birth story. I want to get it "just right," to capture every detail so that I will never forget, and to convey to Isaiah how loved he was from the very start.  I'm not quite sure how to do all of those things with mere words, nor do I know the best way to start, so I guess I will just start writing from my heart and let the story unfold as it wills...

The days prior to my delivery felt emotionally charged with anticipation.  I was in my 38th week, the week most of our other boys were born.  Would it happen this week, or would God's sense of humor shine and have me go overdue this time around?  Each morning I would wonder, "is this the big day?"  Even my children could sense this, and the three older boys took wagers to see which one of them would be closest to guessing Isaiah's actual birth date (Dominic turned out to be the proud "1 Dollar Winner" by guessing April 28th--just 2 days off!).  Therefore, after waiting for 9 months to meet my constant companion in the womb, it seemed a little surreal when labor actually began...

It began at midnight on April 26th, with a full moon shining in the sky (hmmm, I wonder if that had anything to do with it?).  Like almost every night for the past few months, I woke up needing to pee, accompanied by a light Braxton Hicks contraction (those two things tend to go hand-in-hand with me).  I figured the contraction would go away once I went to the bathroom and came back to bed, which was normally the case.  This time, however, I got back into bed and another contraction started immediately, then another 3 minutes later, then another 3 minutes later again.  I laid there in disbelief, and honestly, a little bit of grief because I vividly recalled how tiring it was to labor all night long with the births of Michael and Dominic.   I woke up Paul and desperately tried everything I could think of to stop the contractions---I drank some water, I took a warm shower, I prayed without ceasing.  Nothing worked, so we began it get ready to head to the hospital.  Paul called our friends Mike and Margaret to come over, and we were out the door by 1:30am.  I asked Paul to pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy while we drove to help me relax and focus on uniting my suffering with Christ's.  It was amazing how comparing my suffering with Christ's helped my pain feel more bearable and transformed it into something almost beautiful. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the nurse checked me and found that I was dilated to 5cm already.  Indeed, this was the real deal.  I wanted to immediately sit in the nice, warm jacuzzi, knowing that it would help me to relax and tolerate the pain better, but unfortunately I had to wait for the nurse to put in an IV and for the lab to come up and draw blood to check my platelet count (all of which seemed to take eternity).  Eventually, all of that was done and the nurse checked me one more time before I headed for the tub.  I was at 7cm dilation.  For the next hour I soaked and focused on offering up each contraction for a specific intention.  For example, one intention that was very present on my heart was the conversion of abortion-minded mothers and Planned Parenthood employees, because it just so happened to be Friday, which is the day abortions are performed in my town.  I also brought a list of prayer intentions so that I wouldn't forget to pray for the people and requests closest to my heart, because I knew I would probably get too distracted by my pain to think of all of them during labor. It was Paul's job to read the next intention on the list as another contraction was about to begin.  Paul was a constant, calming presence---the best doula I could ask for!  Within an hour, I was already feeling the urge to push, so the nurse asked me to come out of the jacuzzi to check my progression.  I almost cried for joy when she said I was at a 10!!!  I was so proud of myself for making it to a 10 without an epidural this time, and so happy that God gave me the grace to suffer with His Son, to console His heart, and hopefully to help those who were on my prayer intention list.  What I didn't realize was that my suffering, consoling, and helping others through "offering it up" was not yet finished.  I still needed to push. Time to pick up my cross again...and this time it seemed a lot heavier. 

I tried to regain my focus and offer up each contraction and pushing repetition for one of my special intentions again, but it was much more difficult.  Being out of the peaceful waters of the jacuzzi made the contractions feel much more painful.  Some of my peace apparently disappeared down the drain of the jacuzzi.  So instead of making peaceful prayer requests during the remaining contractions, all I could do was make short cries of love in my heart:  "Jesus, I love you!"  or "For You, Jesus!" or "Please help me, Jesus!"  After an hour of pushing during each contraction, baby Isaiah still was not in my arms and I began to worry, overheat, and feel beyond tired.  Paul and my sweet nurse Kaleigh kept fanning me, placing a cold wash rag on my head, and encouraging me with praise-filled words, but I wasn't feeling very praiseworthy anymore.  Dr. Hay was the OB on call that night (I was sad my female OB, Dr. Huntley, would not be there to deliver...just one more thing for me to offer up, I guess), and he suggested that breaking my bag of waters might help.  I desperately wanted to hold Isaiah by this point, so I agreed.  The pain became even more intense after that, and I worried that I wouldn't be strong enough to push Isaiah out because I was so exhausted.  After another half an hour of pushing, I begged the Blessed Virgin Mary to help me, and the moment I made that plea from one suffering mother to another, Isaiah's head finally pushed through!  I will never forget how Mary interceded for me at that moment.  Tears of thankfulness stream down as I type this...

The other tremendously beautiful moment that I want to remember is how Dr. Hay told my husband to "roll up his sleeves" just a few minutes before Isaiah was born and handed Paul a pair of rubber gloves.  No other conversation took place between the two of them.  Dr. Hay did not ask Paul if he wanted to help deliver Isaiah or cut the cord or just be a bystander.  Dr. Hay, as a dad himself, knew that Paul would treasure the memory of delivering his own son into the world, so he didn't give Paul any other option.  How beautiful to watch my husband be the first one to hold baby Isaiah and to give him his first independent "breath" as he cut the cord and then handed Isaiah to my waiting arms.  I wish I had a picture of Paul's moment of pure daddy pride, but thankfully I believe the image is forever imprinted on my heart.

After Paul placed Isaiah in my arms, all I could do was marvel and stare and thank God.  Isaiah was so alert and content.  He looked like a perfect combination of all his brothers and his daddy, but with my reddish, peach-fuzz hair.  I loved the feel of his soft baby skin against mine, and I was so thankful for the hospital's policy of letting me nurse and hold him to my heart's content.  Content it was indeed.  I remember being surprised at how quickly my body went from feeling the most pain it has ever known to perfect peace and contentment.  I had fallen in love again, and I guess love has a way of healing all pain.

Isaiah's official moment of birth was 5:40am---slightly less than six hours from my first contraction at home.  Six of the hardest and holiest hours of my life.  The entire experience was painful but perfect.  I really believe God gave me the desire to have a natural childbirth this time to teach me the fruitfulness of suffering.  Pain can have purpose if we give it to Jesus.  I am so grateful God gave gave me the grace needed to accomplish His will of a natural childbirth for Isaiah, but I honesty don't look forward to going through that kind of pain again anytime soon--if ever--even though it was SO worth it! :) 

And just in case my words don't tell the story well enough, here are some pictures worth a thousand more words...

Mother's 1st embrace...Love at 1st sight

Maria with Dr. Hay and kind nurse Kaleigh

Mommy and Isaiah--together at last!

Paul with his 5th born son--one very blessed daddy

Joseph meets his new brother

Michael meets his new brother

Dominic meets his new brother

Boy oh boy, look at all those boys!

The happy new parents ready to take Isaiah home from the hospital

Isaiah Jesse--one day old
Isaiah means "God is my Salvation"
Jesse means "Gift"
During labor I prayed many times that he and his brothers would receive the gift of God's salvation.
In the end, that's all that really matters.