speaking words of affirmation [to ourselves too...]

There are some days when marriage is easy, parenting is sweet and filled with joy, friendships are simple and close, and we feel comfortable in our own skin with no extra work.  Those are beautiful, sweet, and glorious treasures - moments in the sun where we yawn and stretch and bask in the glow.

There are also days, moments, and weeks that are not so beautiful, sweet, and glorious.  They are still good - but they're harder.  They are the moments when you feel alone, tired, unheard, not seen or understood.  Shriveled, shrunken, and huddled in a small, heart-frozen ball.  Days when the words you need to hear are not said. When you feel alone, unseen, not understood. When the decisions you have to make are hard.  When the friends you hold most dear are far away or distant for other reasons.

And that's life - both the basking and the shrinking.  The warm glow and the cold huddle.  The beautiful and the hard.  One is not to be feared over the other  - as the winter snows are necessary for the spring bulbs to sprout, so too our cold seasons can be part of our fertilization and growth - an invitation to hope, to long for spring, community and warmth.  Sometimes they're not.  Sometimes they're merely to be endured, wept over, and not to be oversimplified.   But they're both part of life, whether we see the explanation immediately or not.

For me, these past few weeks have been a season in which I have struggled to be known.  By no fault of others, haven't heard the words that I needed to hear, and have felt alone, unseen, and not understood.   Life is in a lot of transition for me, with returning to work, with becoming a mom, with the transitions of marriage of two to family of three, to calling and life and work and identity, and on and on.  And I understand that - and want to give grace for that - it's not a bad place, it's just a place of transition.    But sometimes transition can be lonely.

But I had the realization this morning, that I know the words that I need to hear.  And maybe this is a time in which I need to be able to say them to myself.  To know them to be true.  To say them out loud, to hear them - rather than sitting silently waiting for them to be said.  So here goes, not out of narcissism but because sometimes we just need to speak those words of truth and freedom to ourselves as well...

Kristen,  you're not alone.
You are loved.
You are delighted in.
You are a beloved Daughter. Friend. Wife. Mother.  Sister.
You are beautiful.
I'm proud of you.  You're doing your best, and I see that.

In the relationships and places that are hard, the ones that make you feel shriveled and like the smallest, meanest version of yourself, give yourself grace to be human, even as you must continue to call yourself to courage to press in.  Not to give up.  Not to take the easy way out.  But with the same grace for yourself that you give to others.  There is a small, mean, shriveled part of you - yes - and sometimes you act like her.  But there is also the true you, who longs for wholeness, reconciliation and restoration. Sometimes it's easier to see the small side.  But both are there.

You are not perfect.  Nor are you required to be.  It's okay for you to fail.  Have hope, daughter, and not shame.  You are more than the sum of your failures and successes.

Please for the love of all that is good, please do something adventurous, playful and mildly foolish.  You know the ways that gives life to your soul.  Please sing again.  Please dance.  Please write more often.  And draw pictures that aren't very good but are in bright colors and come from your heart.  This is not just a cliche list of "I hope you dance"-esque idioms.  You know the ways that your heart breathes.  For the love, woman, please breathe.  It's okay to acknowledge your own needs, wants, desires.  Let people care for you.

You're a good mom.  Not because you do everything perfectly, but because you love your child with a freakishly joyful, strong, and deep love.  And while you make mistakes, you repent, and you do your best, with love.  Give yourself a break.  It's okay to be tired, overwhelmed, uncertain.  It's okay to ask for advice, help - and it's okay to not take it all.  

You're a good wife.  And you are loved.  Your husband tells you that - you need to hear him.  Believe him.  You're not perfect, but you're enough.  And you are loved and enjoyed.  Your husband is great, and actually wants to know what you need.  So tell him already, without shame.

It's okay that you don't have this whole life/motherhood/wife-hood/family member/calling/life/direction thing figured out.  Remember that nice, neat, five-year plan you had in high school?  Yeah, that definitely happened and worked out well.  What you have is so much better, and wilder, and more beautiful that that 2-D well orchestrated plan.  Just consider this off-roading.  You're figuring it out, and you will continue to be figuring it out for the rest of your life.  That's okay.

Grace.  Abundant and free.  May I hear it this morning, like the soft rain falling outside, breaking the oppressive heat.  And if it's grace to you as well, may it likewise water your soul.  Or give you room to write your own.