What I Want for Her

My one-and-a-half-year-old just plopped down on my tummy. I didn’t experience this type of jostling with my first pregnancy. That nine months was all naps and snacks. This second round of getting rounder is much less serene.
I had a moment of panic last week with my toddler at the dentist’s office. The receptionist noted, “Well, your next appointment will be in April.” April . . . April . . . I trolled through the numbered days in my iPhone only to see a surprisingly clear month. I realized then that I’d be off on maternity leave with a one-month old. The circus juggling act of getting one carrier + diapers + another child + myself (dressed and not crying–me and the kids) all into my car and to a dentist appointment buzzed through my mind as I turned my mouth into a smile and said, “Yes, the fifteenth will be fine.”
How is it that people get these kiddos to 18 with all their limbs and a nice pair of eyeballs intact? As I think again about new motherhood, this new little one, and the world he or she will grow up in it’s hard not to wonder. What is it that I really want for my daughter if I can somehow wedge my thoughts past simple survival and car seat loading?
I want her to be healthy. . . to never know hunger in her own belly.
To see the beauty of a Nebraska gold-soaked sunset.
To enjoy a random Tuesday dinner with a spouse, talking through struggles in a way that leads to laughing.
To feel a passion for something.
To know the pain/joy of helping.
To wear an outfit that isn’t what’s popular, just because.
To feel the pain-then-joy of exercise.
To know how it feels to be on a team.
To plug into those things that are life-giving and unplug from what sucks energy away.
To watch a movie with someone sitting next to her–close on the journey.
To know motherhood . . . if that is what she wants.
. . . I’m guest posting over at my friend Michelle’s blog today.  Will you join me over there for the rest of the story?

here we go

I don’t usually share my prayer writing, but in the spirit of Michelle’s 31 days of authenticity. . . here we go!

I believe that God shows up first.  God’s been here before I even thought about it or knew that it was a pronoun, or knew that it was a word.  God’s preemptive; a preemptive eternal hugger.  Before the hurt, before the tired–before the whatever it is that needs hugging–God arms are around me, holding me up, reminding me who I am and who I might be, saying “Here is the way,” no matter how many times I step off course.

God has outrageous plans.  They include me.  Outrageously fun, and filled with laughter and color and life.  Today I get to be with God–as I will forever–I just gotta show up to the day with a willingness and a realization that I am not God.  Just because it’s dreary or January or I’m tired doesn’t mean outrageous can’t show the heck up.

I believe God is good.  And I believe hurt is real.  Pain is real.  Tears don’t just drop, they’re ripped from us unsuspecting again and again in this life.  God is good and comforts us, joins us in the suffering.  The suffering and God’s people sloshing around in it (to help each other) are both evidence OF and FOR God.

I believe God is mysterious, and I love that.  I love that I can’t know it all.

I believe that God is still creating–through us and for us.

I believe God is bigger than my worry, than my initiative, than my calendar chalk full, than my motherly inadequacy, than my relationship hiccups, than my fear of every little and big thing that might be. . . but probably never will.  I believe that my happiest life is one turned out and upside-down from the way that gravity drags and weights down and dingies everything up around here.

I believe there’s a glimmer around every moment, if I’d just open my eyes, if I’d just slap myself silly somehow and wake up.  WAKEUP!  I believe I am, have been, and will continue to be the problem.  And I believe that God loves me regardless.  And I love That.