Living [in the middle]

My commute every morning is my time.

My hour of quiet, in the midst of the hustle and bustle; in the midst of all the noise, silence.  In between my door and work, that space belongs to me.

So much transition, so many changes, so much LIFE.

Little man is right on the verge of crawling, and some days it feels like we're teetering on the edge, toeing the line between baby learning how to walk and watching him walking across the platform for graduation.  Watching him tear up as his bride walks down the aisle.  These are the days - the days that are mundane and average - but beautiful.  Last night we were up at 12, 3, 6, as you practiced and tested your new skills in rolling and crawling, waking yourself up with the muscles twitching to try new moves - unable to fall back asleep because of the sheer excitement of the utterly mundane but oh so new to you, act of moving.

This is life right now.  Constantly moving.

My big man is figuring out who he is - what he wants to do with his life - what brings life to his soul - what makes him excited to go to work in the morning.  We as a family are still figuring out who we are, in this crazy world of two becoming three, and three putting down roots somewhere in this crazy earth.

And yet, in the nebulous, undefined, crazy middle - in between where we were and where we're going - that's life.  The beautiful, crazy, chaotic, undefined, but not to be missed, life.

Were we to look only at the ends, we'd have beauty, yes, and order, most certainly.  But we'd miss all of the parts that make this chaotic journey ours.  The ups, the downs, the twists, the turns - the middle.

The days that fall in between the beginning and the end.  The commute, yes.  But friends, this is our time.  This is life.

 Written in participation with #FiveMinuteFriday, hosted by http://lisajobaker.com/ (for more information or to join in, see: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/)

Resolved: on money

Money.

Ugh.

Favorite topic, no?  Great way to keep a party conversation going, right?  Not making it, spending it, or not having it - but money itself.  And the all-inclusive, often uncomfortable, very rarely named, topics surrounding it.  Goodbye, to the half of my readers who are now exiting the page - thanks for stopping by.  For those of you still here, please don't worry - there's no lesson or entreaty for you here, just my own story and reflections of the day.

But seriously, let's talk about money -  I have an interesting relationship with it, I talk about it all.the.time, and yet I never want to really talk about it, and yet, even so, it seems to be the lesson of my day, so here goes.  Let me set the stage a little bit.

Right now, my husband is sitting on our kitchen floor, surrounded by various parts of motor, fans, and gadgets that he could name, but I just call thingamawhatsits, attempting to teach himself how to repair a window air-conditioning unit that we got off of craigslist (which proceeded to break less than 24 hours later - lesson learned? Most likely not, let's be real, but oh well).  I could not be prouder of him and his fix-it skills.  But our chunky, clunky, [broken], A/C will most likely be going curbside on trash day. And the question for us is, "Can we afford...?" "What do we do next...?"

One of the browsers that I have up on my computer is to a discount furniture store, where we have been debating for quite some time (weeks/months) buying (new) couches, since the one that we have (again, craigslist - I tell you, it's a love-hate relationship) has a crack in the middle  - that we affectionately refer to as "the krakin" because it - oh so comfortably-until-it's-not - swallows things, including whole human beings, c.f. us, most evenings.  The bed inside has a mattress which has been home to many a good family of mice, and could be compared in comfort to sleeping on a pile of sticks that are held together by barbed wire.  (Anyone want to buy it from us on craigslist??  Very good used condition!).  But even given it's current state, and the fact that we have the money to buy the (discount) couches, we keep going back and forth.

Add into that a number of unexpected bills this past month - balanced billing for heating that then ends the year in a monster [unexpected] bill really defeats the purpose, in my humble opinion.  Car repairs.  Travel expenses.  High cost of living.  Blah blah blah.  You get the picture - it's on my mind a lot.

So money.

Growing up, there was always enough money - but we knew that things were tight.  We didn't have lots of extras, we didn't have many new things - and we knew that money can cause stress and had to be managed well.  Luxury items had to be carefully thought through and justifiable.

I learned to find deals.  To shop sales.  To do math in my head.  To get things for free.  To do without, when something was not necessary.  To know the difference between necessity and not.

We learned that you work hard, in order to provide for your family.  We learned not to take things for granted.  And we learned to save.  Not to be frivolous.  All good lessons, lessons that I still utilize, and am grateful for.   Thanks to my family, I know how to manage money well.  And do.  And that's a good thing.

Then I went into full-time ministry, fund-raising my salary, benefits, and all expenses.  And right, wrong, or otherwise, became accountable for the ways that I handled money.  And, oh yeah, then I married a full-time ministry man. Totally simplified things.  Right, wrong, or otherwise, often felt that because we were donor-supported, that I needed to always be "tight" on money.  That anything beyond the bare bones minimum, was greedy, excess and poor stewardship - everything had to be justified. Right, wrong, or otherwise.  Right, wrong, or otherwise, if I can be blunt, I think that's often times an easy lie for folks in full-time ministry.  If you get a chance to tell someone you love in full-time ministry that that's a lie, go for it.  Results might surprise you. But that's tangential.

Somewhere in there, I started to feel like I had to justify every way that I spent money.  To keep it bare bones.  And so, even though I already did the deal thing, shopped the sales, calculated bills in my head, budgeted, went for the freebies, didn't buy extra things - I thought about money a whole.freaking.lot.of.ALL.the.time.  How to spend it, how to budget it, how not to spend it.  I had have a spreadsheet that I check, and update every day.  To say that it has been an obsession at times would be an understatement.  And I felt poor, always.  And because I thought that there should never be more than the bare minimum, I felt like there was never more than the bare minimum, even when there was.  It's a different mammonic trap than some, but it's a prison none-the-less.

And then grace came.  Somewhere in there.  Abundant and free.  Crazy grace of God - the invitation to actual be thankful - to enjoy the nice, good, abundant gifts that He gives.  To release my grasp on money and actually - occasionally, obviously - buy something nice.  To have freedom rather than imprisonment, by money.  To see what I had, rather than what I didn't have.  To see myself as rich, and to live in the extravagance of what I did have, with wisdom, rather than its poverty.

Full disclosure - I looked up the median household income in our city, and in our neighborhood, and we're well below the city median, but close to our neighborhood median. Curious how you fare? The reality is, with one full-time ministry salary, and a generous part-time position, we don't have excess, but we have enough.  And, thanks to very generous supporters, we have yet to miss a bill, or wonder where our next meal is coming from.  And while we do have to think about money, and budget, when an unexpected expense comes up - c.f., 90 degree weather, an infant, and a broken AC or couches that swallow people, or a high heating bill - we can make it work.  Reality is, we are not poor.

So.  Gulp.  After all those many many words, we get to the point and my invitation of the day.

It's time to live like I'm not poor.  Not because the numbers have changed, but because my heart needs to.

Doesn't mean spending money frivolously or loosing any of those good solid principles that I have learned.  To be frank, most of the management principles will remain the same.  Most of the spending habits will be similar - with the exception of maybe occasionally doing something nice for my family, myself, or someone else without guilt.

But what does need to change is this:  Gratitude.  Thankfulness.  Freedom, rather than imprisonment.

Living in the extravagance of what I do have, rather than its poverty.  To speak in that freedom rather than shame, justification, and embarrassment.

For example:

We desperately needed an A/C to keep S's room below 90, and so we hunted all over craigslist to find a cheap, affordable option - and found the best deal.

I am so glad we were able to get an A/C for S's room; that has made a huge difference.

We've decided that, because our couches swallow people, it's finally time to  replace them, so we're bargain hunting in every discount furniture store to find the cheapest possible option that will be durable.

We've been saving, and have decided to finally replace the couches with something comfortable and durable.  Glad we're going to finally be able to do that!

It might not feel like much, but to me, it's huge.  It's an invitation to not live in a prison of money; to not serve money with my language, spreadsheets, and heart.  Without qualifiers, to be grateful. To live in freedom, not poverty of spirit.

Maybe that will backfire - maybe there will be judgment from others.  But my hunch is, the prison guard is much more in my heart than anyone else's.  :)

And today, I feel the invitation to live, not behind her lock and key, but in freedom.

beautiful, messy, happy father's day

Sometimes I hate complexity.

Sometimes it's so much easier to tell the simple, neat version of the story, even though the authentic narrative is much more complex.

Father's Day is one of those days.  And I say that not to shame my father - we both honestly acknowledge that our relationship has been up and down, and that even though its much better than it was, it still takes work even currently.   That our relationship is not Hallmark perfect.  And that most greeting cards don't fit the bill. Our relationship is messy. Gritty. Good, but in process. And has way more history than any of us can explain.  This is fact, it is not shame or drama, and we both acknowledge both that, and our mutual desire for it to continue to grow wiser, healthier and better.  I celebrate that healing, and were I to have actually mailed my dad's father's day card on time (oops, still sitting on the coffee table), it would have said something very similar.

In the midst of that, today is also the first Father's day that I get to officially celebrate my husband as a new dad - we celebrated last year, in pregnancy, but now we have the chubby, adorable goods in hand.  On a humorous note, S celebrated Jon's first Father's day by spitting up on him not once but twice, literally within a minute of me handing him to Jon and saying, "wish Daddy a Happy Father's day."  This bodes well for the future.  But in all honesty, with as much objectivity as I have, Jon is a wonderful father and a fantastic husband.  Our son, our children, and I are incredibly lucky to have him.  He is without question, one of the best gifts I and they have ever received, every day, not just today. And we are in process of figuring out together, what it means to be good parents.

So in many ways, it would be so much easier to put up a nice, simple facebook status and let that be that.  But my heart, my promise, my story - in all its value of depth and beauty and honor of the rough, raw, grittiness of work-in-process - says that that is not sufficient.  It's far too shallow for all the hard work and beauty that has been won.

So friends, if you share with me, with the broken, messy, beautiful, in-process story, this post is for you.

For those of you wrestling today, for whom Father's day is complicated, I just want to say to you - you are not alone.  I see you. I am you. I know it's hard, and I honor your hearts desire for what whole relationship with your children or your father should be, but for whatever reason, isn't fully.  I celebrate with you in the memories, the heart-longings for better, and the small victories.  The phone calls, cards and visits, no matter how long or short.  And I urge us together, press in, press on, long for better, best.

For those of you for whom the image of father is absent, missing, ugly, painful, and hurting, it's okay to cry today instead of celebrate.  Sometimes weeping is the truest way to honor what should have been, what is right and good, but isn't presently or has never been - it reflects a deeper longing for the good, a mourning for the missing parts, than we can sometimes ever do with words.  I mourn with you, the hurt, the broken, the absent, and the longed-for-but-wasn't.  I won't give you cliche words or action items attempting to fill that void; it's not that simple to fill a father-sized hole.

For those of you who have lost father, grandfather, child, father-figure, brother - I honor the sweetness and the sorrow.  The laughter, the memories, the absence, and the tears.  If we were together today, I would ask you to tell me your stories, again, and again and I would laugh and cry with you, as we both celebrated and missed what was and we wish could still be.

And for those of you for whom the name daddy would be the sweetest that you can imagine, but your arms are [still] empty, I sit in waiting, longing and hope for you.  I don't know, if, when or how your longings will or won't be answered.   I don't know why.  I don't know a lot, really.  But today I sit with you in that longing, and pray for solid ground under your feet in the waiting.

To my Dad, Happy Father's day.  I love you, and I am grateful for all the ways that you have worked hard over the years to provide for our family.  I am grateful for your steadfast commitment to mom - and the way that you two love each other in simple day-to-day ways.  I am grateful for the ways that you have welcomed Jon and S with open arms.  And I am grateful for the ways that you and I have pressed into the complexity, the history, and the messy of this father-daughter relationship.  That's way richer than any greeting card slogan I could give you.  I am proud of us - where we are, not where we want to be - and that's beauty of what I mean when I wish you a happy father's day!

To my husband, Happy Father's Day.  Te amo.  I am so grateful for you, and the husband and father that you are to me and to our son.  You are so good with him, and so strong and tender with me.  He adores you, even though he currently communicates that by spit-up volume. I know that this parenting this is also messy and complex, and isn't going to get easier - but even in the midst of that complexity, messiness, and ups and down, I am so glad that we get to do it together.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

I don't know a lot of things, but I do know that fathers matter a whole heck of a lot.  And whether today is a happy, meat-and-manliness filled celebration of your best-father-ever or a day marked by quietly attempting to avoid all facebook statuses and ignore the inner emotions, or like me, just one that comes with complexity and the awkwardness of figuring it out - 

Happy Father's day.  I stand here with you, not with answers or simple solutions, but simply standing with you in the complexity, celebrating, regardless of where we are, authentic to where we are.

- KD

a honest convo about returning to work

If you and I were to sit down and have coffee today, our conversation would span many different topics, one of which wold be my recent return to work.  As a young mom, to an even younger child, my return to work (part-time, out of need) has oft been the center of reflections, thoughts, condolences, and opinions spanning the spectrum - some of which resonate, others less so.  And, as I often tailor my  reflections to the conversation I am in, in the spirit of honesty, I thought it pertinent that I reflect here transparently, even as I process... so here we go.

Return to Work... 

If we were to sit down and talk, I would tell you that it's hard.  That I often feel divided, torn, missing out.  That days like yesterday, when I come home and my baby is red-faced and teary, big elephant tears on his cheeks, sleepy, and holds on like he never wants to let go - those are the hardest of days.  The days when I want to cry, to hold him and promise that I'll never leave ever again.  The days when I  question our calling, life choice to serve in ministry, and need for two incomes.

And yet... I would tell you that I am glad that we have made the life choices that we have.  That I'm proud of my husband and the man that he is, the work that he does. I am proud of our family, and the values that we have.  I am proud of myself, and my ability to help support our family.  That I wouldn't change those things.  I would tell you that part of being a wife, a mother, is doing all that I can to care for our family in whatever way is needed - inside and outside of the home.  And I'm glad for the ways that I can do that.

I would tell you that I am SO glad that it's just part time.

I would tell you that work has been incredibly supportive of me, being a young, working mom.  That I am so grateful for all the ways that they have worked with me - for the sake of my family, even though they didn't have to.  I would tell you that my husband is an incredible dad, and I am so glad that he is able to work from home on the days that I work away from home, so he can take care of our son.  And I would tell you that he takes fantastic care of our son.  I would tell you that he works really hard to provide for our family and that he does a good job - that he is a good provider for us.  And I would tell you that he has been entirely supportive of me, both in my desire to be home with our son, and my transition back to work. That I feel that support, and depend on it.

I would tell you that pumping at work sucks.  That I understand why women give up nursing when they return to work.  Each day, instead of a half hour for lunch, I take three short breaks to pump - and I eat lunch at my desk. Every time.  And dressy for work, plus dressing for pumping severely limits my wardrobe.  And even though my work is set up well to care for breastfeeding moms - many others aren't - it's still darn hard.  Frustrating.  Tiring.  Worth it.  But hard.

I would tell you that I think my return to work is good for our marriage - not just in easing a financial burden - but because we have more to talk about than just work for him and baby for me.  We share life, work, and family... he has days at home with our son, diapers, growth spurts.  I have colleagues, conflict, tiring days, and tricky conversations.  And vice versa.  We tangibly get to walk in each others shoes.  Serve one another.  Even in the ways that are counter-intuitive to us.

I would tell you that I didn't want to go back to work - and that some days, I still don't. That there is a part of me that would love to be able to stay at home full-time.  That looks forward to a day when that is an option for us.  And yet... there is also a part of me that dreams of what I could do, were I to continue to work.  That has hopes, dreams, and longings for a career.  That even though I am fully a mommy, who I am as me, hasn't faded.  That even in the days when I miss my son the most, wish I could be home the most, there's also a part of me that enjoys working.  Dreams of what I could do.  And yet... that even on the days in which I love working the most, I still miss my son.  Lament that I'm not there all.the.time.  Hates being away. Wishes I could also be home. And both are good things.

I would tell you that it seems that most people understand either or.  Either the desire to stay home with my family.  Or the desire to have a career.  The divide is messy.

I would tell you that I'm torn.  That it's both and, not either or.  That no matter what choice we make, no matter what choice you make, or have to make, it's not often easy for a mom who has figure out that balance.

I would tell you that I'm still learning.  Growing.  Discerning.  That I'm hopeful that it will become clearer.  But for right now, I'm living in the messy.  In the middle.  In the both and.

KD

Falling

Staring straight ahead, all attention focused on the narrow line extending before me.  My tightrope act is not new - it is comfortable, yet not comfortable, all in one.

Walking that thin straight line of perfection, never stepping outside of what I can do well.  Free from failure, and yet...

Not free.

In the deep recesses, the still small hopeful whisper - just let go.

Fall.

Free.

Step off the line, into the unknown.  Dare to free fall, to fly, to release - it's okay if you admit your humanity, imperfection, need, desire.

No longer free from failure.

But perhaps more free?

It's a free fall of faith, courage, and hope.  Letting go of the act of perfection, falling, perhaps even failing, perhaps even publicly, yes.  But in that failure, finding freedom.

No longer on the tightrope.

Flying.

 
This post written in participation with #FiveMinuteFridays.  Feel free to join in if it sounds fun to you!

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.

Four Months Strong

Happy 4 months (a few days late), my big son! You are growing into such a big strong boy!

Your Profile

This has been a busy month for you and you are growing by leaps and bounds.  At your four month doctors appointment, you weighed in at almost 16 pounds - in the last two months since your last doctors appointment, your head has grown 3 centimeters and you are 3 inches longer, as well as almost 4 pounds heavier!  The doctor says you are "right on the money" for height, size, and weight.  You have precious little chub rolls on your arms and legs, and a great double chin.

Things you Learned

This month, you learned how to roll over from your tummy to your back, you learned how to grab toys (and faces and pretty much anything else), you are drooling up a storm and "pre-teething"and you just started sleeping through the night (!!).  You also are starting to notice people more - mostly mommy and daddy - but also other babies and other people, and books and toys.  You also have learned how to laugh - and mommy and daddy do everything possible to make you giggle because it.is.SO.cute.  And you've just started giving great hugs - which is a lot of fun!

Your Firsts

You took your first airplane ride this month - flying down to Virginia to see extended family!  You met (or re-met) all of your grandparents, half of your great-grandparents, your aunts, uncles and cousin - as well as your great aunts and uncles, all of mommy's cousins, and one second cousin-to-be  - and many, many of daddy and mommy's friends. You were a champ on the flight, sleeping the entire time.  You also visited both daddy and mommy's alma maters - Old Dominion University and University of Richmond - and didn't seem too impressed on first look.  You started going to the nursery at church for the first time this month and you also made the big move across the apartment, into your own room (harder for mommy than it was for you!).  Mommy also returned to work two days a week, and so you started to get to hang out with daddy full-time twice a week (a blessing that he can work from home during the summer months and hang out with you!)

Things you Like

You still LOVE your johnny-jump-up (and anything that allows you to move around).  You like trying to stand up by holding on to our fingers.  You LOVE bath-time, and the silly faces that daddy makes at you, and how he wraps you up in your towel like a giant burrito - you really, really like your daddy.  You thoroughly enjoy going for walks outside in the stroller, and you still like the Bjorn, even though you're getting a little heavy for it.  You're still a snuggle-bug, especially when you're tired. And you continue to have a love-hate relationship with Green Squishy.

We love you so much, little man!  We cannot wait to see you continue to grow bigger, older and more and more into your own little person!

<3 mommy and daddy