root.

word of the day: root \ˈrüt, ˈru̇t\ the part of a plant that grows underground, gets water from the ground, and holds the plant in place; the cause or source of something

My parents had to cut a tree down in their yard a few weeks ago.  Said tree had been growing in front of the house since we moved in when I was five.  

Needless to say, I got all “The Giving Tree” about it and made Hannah do a photo shoot with me in front of the tree.  I’m a hopeless sentimental. 

In true Hannah fashion, she turned it into an adventure and made me climb the tree--marking the first and last time I climbed that tree in the 23 years I knew it.  

The tree is gone now. Except it’s not really gone.  A stump remains and an expanse of roots beneath the ground.  

So the word “root” took root in my brain.  

I felt unrealistically sad that this tree (the one I had never climbed) was being cut down.  But, then, as I watched them saw down the stump, I realized that the tree was still there.  You can’t very well tear 30-year-old roots out of the ground.  

And then I moved to Ohio (a phase in my life which will certainly be wrought with more words--some which are already ruminating nicely).  

As I drove away from Des Moines, last week, and in typical sentimental fashion, I listened to the song “Iowa” by Alli Rogers about 8 times in a row (The chorus starts with “Iowa, don’t know how to leave you; don’t know how to tell you goodbye” for crying out loud.  Which I was obviously doing.  And, you will certainly recognize this song if you lived in close proximity to me circa 2006).  

But I digress.  This is the phrase that stuck with me:

My soul is weathered but green

When a storm passes over the roots are unseen  

Until all is laid bare 

And the hope that I needed was already there

It hasn’t fully fleshed itself out in my brain yet, but here is what I know:

It’s hard to pull up roots.  

But hope doesn’t come from the storm that takes away the tree trunk.  It was always there and always will be there if you choose to plant your roots in the right place.  

And hope is what carries you through.  

bittersweet.

word of the day: bittersweet \ˈbi-tər-ˌswēt\ pleasure alloyed with pain

I’ve been thinking lately about the place where bitter meets sweet as though it’s a physical place in which I can reside.  

The past few weeks I’ve been feeling like I straddle the line at all times--one foot in the bitter and one foot in the sweet.  

Jake graduates from medical school on Saturday, and that new beginning brings so many subsequent “ends.”  It brings goodbyes and unknowns; things that can really only be defined as they are: bittersweet.  

But here’s what I realized today: In the bittersweet moments of life, things are bitter because they were sweet in the first place.  It’s not the other way around and it’s not two separate entities converging together.  Bittersweet are the good things that we wish we could carry with us for always but can’t.  

I stumbled across this verse in Ecclesiastes this past week as I churned the word around in my brain:

When times are good, be happy;

   but when times are bad, consider this:

God has made the one

   as well as the other.

Therefore, no one can discover

   anything about their future.

-Ecclesiastes 7:14

God has made the one as well as the other.  

Times aren’t bad.  They’re just bitter because they have been so sweet.  And when I really get down to the heart of it, that’s something to be thankful for.  It means that Jake and I did something right.  It means we surrounded ourselves with good people and good things and a support system that has walked this journey with us from the beginning.  

We could have written a different story for ourselves; we could have traveled the road alone which would, I suppose, have made this current transition much less painful.  

But I’ll take this over that.  I’ll take the sad goodbyes over living our lives in isolation because that’s not what we were meant for.  

We were meant for the bittersweet.  God made one as well as the other.

The beginning of the road.  Jake’s White Coat Ceremony four years ago.

assume.

word of the day: assume\ə-ˈsüm\  to think that something is true or probably true without knowing that it is true; to begin a role or a duty

Lately I have enjoyed reading blogs directed to new moms.  You know, “Things I wish my friends would have told me” or “Things you can do for your friend with a new baby” or “Things you should make sure to pack in your hospital bag.”

I don’t read them for advice though.  I read them because now, as a seasoned mom of two who has it all figured out, I like to see if anyone else has it as put together as I do.  

In other news, does anyone else wish there was an eye rolling emoji?  Who can I talk to about that?

Truthfully, I do read those blogs from time to time, and they always cause me to wonder what my advice is.  What’s my list of things that get me through the dark days of parenting?  My tidbit of wisdom that I'd pass on to the person about to embrace it all?

I realized the other day that I don’t have a list.  I just have one thing.  

Assume the best. (and, for the record, I hardly ever do this well.)

I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, but it crystallized into a fully formed thought after Jake and I had this conversation while he was eating his dinner on Sunday night:

Me: So, you’re not going to save any of your food for Lily to eat?

Jake:

Me:

Jake: You know, you could assume the best of me.  You could just say, “Hey, will you save

some of that for Lily?”  Because, obviously I would.

Me:

I have been thinking about it a lot since and a lot prior (shocker, I know), and I have decided that 99% of parenting and marriage and relational struggles can be diffused by assuming the best.  

Your kid is screaming her head off for no apparent reason?  Assume the best.  It’s doubtful that she’s actively trying to destroy you (although it may feel otherwise).

Your husband forgot to vacuum? Assume the best.  He’s not doing it to spite you.  He just forgot.  Or decided playing with your kids was more important.  Which IS the best.

Your toddler decides to throw a tantrum in the middle of the mall?  Assume the best.  She’s still learning how to be a person.  You haven’t even fully figured it out yet.  It’s hard work sometimes.

Your husband is sleeping on a Saturday morning instead of waking up to spend time with you?  Assume the best because you know you would still be sleeping too if you could be.

I say you when I really mean me because I’m not writing this for you; I’m writing this for me.  There are so many moments when I feel anger or frustration or self-pity rising up inside of me, and when I am able to take a deep breath and remind myself to assume the best of people, those feelings are much more manageable.  They talk me down from the edge of the pit of despair.

(I’ve tend to be a little over-dramatic sometimes.  Ask Jake.  He’ll tell you.)

It doesn’t apply in all cases.  Take Lily for instance.  If I always assumed the best, Norah would have a lot more bite marks on her fingers and head butts to the head.  Lily's a loose cannon, you know?

It has, though, become my new quest to assume the best of the people who love me and really want the best for me--I think it's sometimes easiest to assume the worst from the best people in our lives.  Another tricky lie if you ask me.  

So, there you have it. The last blog post you’ll ever need to read.  Assume the best and all your problems in life will be solved.  

Darn that absent eye-rolling emoji.

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word of the day: [          ]

My favorite scene from the book The Giver is the very first one. In anticipation of the night's sharing of feelings, Jonas spends the beginning pages of the story trying to land on the exact word to convey his feelings about the upcoming Ceremony of Twelve. He starts with frightened but deems it too strong an adjective. He moves through eager, excited, and nervous before landing on the one. Apprehensive. 

I have been attempting to do the same this week. Find one word to describe  exactly what I'm feeling in this current moment in time.

Then I realized there isn't just one word. 

This thought process actually began on a particularly lousy day in December. I snapped the following picture; Lily was blurry per usual, but she was making me smile. It was a brief reminder in that moment that I didn't have to just feel lousy. I could also feel joy. 

It came full circle for me this past week when I was reading about Mary.  She goes through a handful of emotions when the angel tells her she'll give birth to the Savior of the world.  She's first troubled, then confused, and finally speaks these words: "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; Let it be to me according to your word" (Luke 1: 38).

I highlighted those words around Christmastime because I wanted to respond in my hard times as Mary did in hers.  Total acceptance. She did accept her responsibility fully and joyfully, but what I realized this week is that I don't think Mary can be defined by her acceptance alone.  I think that she must also have been continually plagued by fear and and confusion as the days moved forward; she was a person after all. Yet, she remained faithful in spite of those things.  Pressed forward even when it didn't all make sense.  Treasured the moments and pondered them in her heart.
So, today there's not just one word.  There's only blank space¹ which serves as a holding cell for all the words that could be inserted.

It's easy to get hung up on the heavy words.  I can sometimes be a bottom dweller with the likes of anxiety, fear, and resentment, but in light of my rebellion against a single word tonight, I think I'll attempt to elevate to the good ones.

To the love.

Adventurous.

Excited.

Thankful.

Peaceful.

Reflective.

Joyful.

Also, as I side note, I fully intend on implementing a sharing of feelings around our dinner table at least once a week as soon as the girls are old enough.  I think I'll be less concerned about the preciseness of language, though.  In my world, you can use as many words as you want.

¹ Yes, that is a shout out to my girl, Taylor Swift.

sacrifice.

word of the day: sacrifice \ˈsa-krə-ˌfīs\ the act of giving up something that you want to keep especially in order to get or do something else or to help someone

This word has been stuck in my brain for months, but I keep pushing it back into the recesses of my mind.  It resides there with the memory of that one time in high school that I watched The Shining and slept with my light on for a week.  Oh and the sound of my alarm clock and any reminder to work out.  Basically, all the things I don’t particularly want to deal with.

But per usual, the record is broken and the word is on repeat.  It demands to be processed I guess.

The more I think about it, when you have a family, your life becomes a series of sacrifices.  You must, for the sake of your marriage and your children, give up certain things for those you love.  Most of the times it’s easy.  I didn’t mind giving up sushi and red wine when I was pregnant with Norah, and I’m over the fact that sleep is now harder to come by.  I’ll keep the television turned off in the morning for Jake and share two thirds of my banana with Lily.  Whatever.

Not all sacrifices are so easy though, and lately, I tend to get especially hung up on the ones that, I know, will be hard. 

And it’s in these moments that the lies start creeping back in.  The “I didn’t sign up for this,” and the “I don’t deserve this,” and the “This isn’t fair.” And then in the corner, I see med school’s big sister, Residency, bat her stupid, fake eyelashes at me, and I start to feel really sorry for myself. 

Then another voice whispers, “Season the season.”

Yeah.  It’s all coming together.  Especially after I read this today:

For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
                          Psalm 51:16-17

I am reminded again that I have a choice, and the implications of the choice are weighty because the way I choose to proceed affects more than just me.  It affects my marriage.  It affects my children.  It affects every day of our life together.

I can face sacrifice selfishly and believe that I deserve differently.  I can wake up each day bitter, angry, and self-righteous.

Or I can wake up each day with a broken spirit acknowledging my need for God.  I can find satisfaction in the toil, do good, and be happy. 

Oh, for crying out loud.  You’d think I’d get the point already.

If you scroll down on the Merriam Webster page for “sacrifice,” you’ll find this definition and, subsequently, something that gives me great hope:

Act of offering objects to a divinity, thereby making them holy. The motivation for sacrifice is to perpetuate, intensify, or reestablish a connection between the human and the divine.

“Be holy, for I am holy.”   (Merriam Webster didn’t say that last part, thankfully.)

And so, I will keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Waking up and choosing joy even when it's easier not to.  Sharing my banana and drinking extra coffee because I haven’t had enough sleep.  Refusing to believe the lie that it isn’t worth it.

Because it is.

Oh, it is. 

season.

word of the day: season \ˈsē-z^ən\ noun: a period of the year characterized by or associated with a particular activity or phenomenon; verb: to give a distinctive quality to as if by seasoning

The word “season” has been on repeat in my mind.  It’s one of those words with many different meanings, and, as words tend to do, those meanings have taken root in my brain and begun to resonate in this current season of life.  Fitting.

“Season” in its noun form is a period of time.  Sometimes its specified in length other times not.  I find that while the four seasons change rather predictably, seasons in life follow a much less foreseeable pattern. This past year kind of falls into both categories, but I am, nonetheless, thankful to see it now in the rearview.  The long and short of it goes back to my love/hate relationship with medical school. While the year brought new life and exciting changes to our family, it brought far more in terms of distance and stress and tears. 

It’s just as Solomon references in Ecclesiastes 3, really.  There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.  The ebb and flow is ever changing.  There is bad; there is good.  There is hard; there is easy.  There are moments of both in any given season, and as much as I’d love to complain about all the bad and hard and painful, the glimmer of the good is ever present and demanding to be seen as well.  

“Season” as a verb makes things better which might be my favorite multiple meaning word yet.  

I never read past Ecclesiastes 3:8 before today with much intention; the verses following brought together the noun and verb for me.

“What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race.  He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.  That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.”

There is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.  To find satisfaction in the toil—that is the gift of God.  

Finding satisfaction in the toil? Maybe sometimes. Seeing it as a gift from God? Hardly.  I cried a lot, and I called med school dirty names under my breath even more (she deserved it). 

I don’t have any great theological ponderings, but my perspective has shifted.  Each season is bound to bring toil, and I can already see the next major challenge on the horizon. 

However, the choice in the response is mine (it’s certainly not easy, but it’s mine to make): Be happy, do good, and find satisfaction in the toil. I can't change the noun, but I can change the verb.

Season the season.  Or something like that.

And now, a few of the season’s best:

This is Jake trying to get Lily to look at the camera.  I agree, it's counterintuitive. 

isolation.

word of the day: isolation \ˌī-sə-ˈlā-shən\ the state of being in a place or situation that is separate from others : the condition of being isolated

Isolating.

I think if you were to ask a relatively new mom what it's like to have kids, and if you could get her to answer honestly, she might use the word "Isolating" in her response.

An "of course I love it and yes I love my kids and I wouldn't trade it for the world but at times it can feel very isolating" kind of blathering response.  

This word has been bumping around inside my brain for a long time now.  I keep thinking about it because it doesn't seem like motherhood should be marked by isolation.  In having children, you join the ranks of a community of many other women--women who, I've found, are ready to offer advice, encouragement, and support at any moment--and yet, the whispers of isolation (in my experience, at least) persist.  

It's like your life goes from making sense to feeling like you're a square peg jamming into a round hole.  And then, in the quiet moments of the evening when your kids are asleep, a small voice whispers:

You've been forgotten.

I hate to sound so melodramatic, but in the off chance that I'm not the only one to have believed this lie, it seems worth writing.  

I wrote once earlier this summer that it always helps me to detect the lie, and I recently put a name to this one.  The lie is that I am alone and forgotten.  And, as lies tend to do, this one has again caused me to remain motionless.  Taken away my direction.  It has caused me to place all of my focus on myself and, ironically, begin to forget about the people around me and how I am called to love and serve them.  

This week I was reminded of the story of the adulterous woman in John 8.  Her story makes me wonder if her sin was a result of feeling forgotten and like she didn't matter to anyone.  If somehow she convinced herself that nobody would notice anyway.  Not that that pardons the action; I just see now that when you're so focused on your own insignificance that you lose sight of what is really significant (it's always so ridiculously obvious once you're on the other side, isn't it?).  

I wonder if in that moment when Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you" she also heard, "You are significant.  You matter.  You have not been forgotten; go, and from now on sin no more."  

Venturing into parenthood shouldn't be an isolating experience.  Of course it is a challenging adjustment and of course I'll still, at times, feel like a square peg that can't quite fit into the round hole that is my new normal.  I see now though the need to embrace that daily identity crisis and choose to believe that I matter to God.  In doing so, I think I will love other people better and seek out opportunities to serve and belong in the community that already exists around me.  

Angie Smith speaks to this in her book What Women Fear:

We are significant in our insignificance, urged to have the faith of a child and the heart of a servant.  And be assured, friend, that you are loved in a way that is infinitely different than any love you could know here on earth.  It is the love of a Man who had the chance to exert His importance in the eyes of the world, and instead did exactly what he calls us to do. 

Serve, sacrifice, love. 

And be made great for His glory. (130)