My dream to connect with moms about real issues and impact moms’ lives through the written word goes way back to 2003. I’d already been dreaming for months, but on that day, September 29, 2003, I began writing some of those visions in a journal I stored away all these years.

The visions were plentiful. The topics I brainstormed about moms, for moms? Boundless.

Time passed.

And there were lots of journal entries in-between.

Four years later, on March 11, 2007, appeared another journal entry with clarified vision. If I could show you those three pages, you’d see, the vision continued to be plentiful. My goal was still the same, but it was taking shape. I wanted to get real with moms, I wanted to tap into their deepest needs, their deepest longings, their deepest joys and sorrows along their mothering journey. I wanted to be an advocate for moms. And I had a million ideas how I’d do that through writing and other means. (Well, maybe not quite a million!)

Among the “millions” of ideas was this…

Special Moms

I listed a whole host of who those special moms might be – single moms, special needs moms, moms of multiples, moms living in poverty, immigrant moms, moms with husbands who travel a lot – you name it.

Fast forward to January 2010. I was tired of dreaming all this up and never acting on it, so I bought a domain and started a blog titled Perfectly Unbalanced Supermom. There was just one problem! I spent hours getting the blog ready, but never once published a post. It sat empty for two years before I finally let the domain expire.

Somewhere along the way I’d realized – the vision was broader than moms. Not to mention, I’d grown a strong hatred of anything Supermom, so I couldn’t bare the thought of having it as my permanent blog name!

So I moved on.

I launched this blog, which was much more in line with the broader vision, and let Perfectly Unbalanced Supermom expire.

The only thing is that my heart for moms never went away. I wanted to write about real moms from untraditional angles.

So in May 2013, I launched my first Mother’s Day series titled Special Mamas. (Remember that Special Moms topic I’d brainstormed back in March 2007? Yep, a bit of that dream was coming true!)

Special Mamas 2013 was a big success, everything I planned and dreamed it to be.

All year, I planned a second annual Special Mamas series for May 2014. There was no stopping me. This was going to be an annual gig!

I’d gone so far as to secure my first guest writer for Special Mamas 2014. She was all in, and I was honored to have her as part of the series.

But here’s the thing…

One month later, she wrote me with these truths from her heart about mothering (a lot of details have been removed to ensure this special mama’s trust and privacy, because I’m hoping she’ll still write for me in the future):

“This…has just really, really been difficult. [I’m]…not even close to the kind of mother I wanted to be. Sure, there are plenty of great times…but with each of those successes is a lot of stress, frustration…and even myself not being the person I wanted to be. I feel as if the article would be a lie. It’s kind of hard to explain and I want you to know I’m grateful to you for thinking of me…I hope you are able to find someone else.”

Wow.

It was then that I knew – I wasn’t going to run Special Mamas 2014.

Yes, there are thousands upon thousands of mommy bloggers and mom blogs, but clearly this real life mama stuff hasn’t been covered enough. Clearly, we haven’t supported our mamas enough. Clearly, there’s room for letting moms know, hey, I’ve been there too. You’re not alone in this. This is tough stuff. This raising human beings? This is hard work.

It was then that I ditched Special Mamas 2014 and knew immediately the title of the new series.

Motherhood Unraveled

I took a few minutes, literally, to brainstorm topics I could cover in the series…

When You Feel Like You’re Spinning Your Wheels

When Your Life Always Feels Like a Mess

When You’re Desperate for a Moment Alone

When Your Kids Act Like Brats

When You’re Tired of Mac-n-Cheese and Chicken Nuggets

When You’ve Done Just About Everything Before 9:00 a.m.

When Evening Strikes and You’re Just DONE

When Something Breaks and You’ve Just Had It

When You Just Need a Little Help

When You’re Tempted to Live Vicariously Through Your Children

When You Need to Hang With Other Mamas

When You Can’t Find Your Place at Home or at Work

When You’ve Gotta Feel Like Yourself Again

When You Wonder if You’re Doing It All Wrong

Yep. There was no doubt in my mind.

This was the series.

I understand – it’s potentially a little racy, as in vigorous, lively, spirited.

I understand – it’s potentially a little controversial, as in not everyone will love or relate to the words I write.

I understand – it’s potentially a little negative, as in I’ll be aware of balancing pain and truth with hope and beauty.

But I also understand – this series has the potential to impact moms with words of encouragement, to let you know you’re not alone on this journey of motherhood, to let you know that none of us are the mother we thought we’d be.

And maybe in the end, we’ll rest in these truths – that while most of us are not the mother we thought we’d be – we are much wiser than we thought we’d be, we are much more resilient than we thought we’d be, we are much stronger than we thought we’d be, and we are more understanding and forgiving than we thought we’d be.

So let’s connect, moms. Let’s get real together. Let’s share truths together, and let’s share joys together. Because this motherhood thing is hard, but it’s oh so filled with beauty, too.

Starting next week, we’ll dive right in. I’m ALL in. There’s going to be a lot of writing, and in order to get it all in and make it all work, I’m going to work hard to keep my posts shorter than normal.

As with other series I’ve run in the past, this post will serve as home base. All of the posts in the series will be listed right here, below. The Motherhood Unraveled graphic will be on the right sidebar of my blog. Click it any time, and it’ll bring you back here.

So let’s go. Will you join me? I’m ready to get real, and I’m doing it for that Special Mama who believes she’s “not even close to the kind of mother [she] wanted to be.” I’m doing it for you.

Let’s unravel this thing called motherhood and find all its silver linings.

When You Need Your Baby’s Life to Count for Something Big

When Your Life as a Mama Doesn’t Seem Compatible With Your Dreams as a Woman 

When You Just Need Someone to Tell You You’re a Good Mom

When It’s 8:30 p.m. and You’re Just Done Being a Mom

When You’re Desperate to Discover the Secret to Enjoying Your Kids

When You Just Have to Bless the Mess

When You Realize Motherhood Isn’t an Opportunity to Live Vicariously

When Even an Ounce of Brat Behavior Makes You Realize Motherhood is Serious Business

When You Realize Your Babies Aren’t Babies Anymore

When You’re a Single Mom Who’s Living with Mental Illness

Amy

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked full-time until the birth of our first child in 2002. It was then that I realized, for the first time in my life, that I might not want to be a full-time work outside of the home mama. My mom worked full-time her entire life, so I assumed I’d do the same. My husband and I had purchased a home, and hadn’t planned our finances around me staying home in any capacity. But I knew right away, as soon as our son was born – I didn’t want to work full-time anymore. I wanted to stay home more. I worked full-time for a year and a half after that first maternity leave. And then my husband got a raise, just enough for me to stay home one day a week, so I reduced my work to four days per week.

It felt just right. And I was grateful for more time with my baby boy.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked four days a week until the birth of our second child in 2005. After a 12-week maternity leave at home with our daughter, I returned to my four days a week position. I remained solid in that position for one more full year. My husband was deep in the trenches with his work, and just weeks before I’d found out I was pregnant with our daughter, our entire family began managing what would become six years of the worst of my sister’s mental health and addiction issues. Add my four day a week workload, and it felt like way too much. I knew something had to change. So I made a dramatic move. I took a formal leave of absence, and cut all the way back to one day per week of work. Working one day a week worked really well for two whole years. But then my leave came to an end and I was informed, given the shortage of professionals in my field, my employer needed me back, full-time. There were no part-time options, so I opted to resign and open my own private practice.

The time was right. And I was grateful as I’d always envisioned myself in private practice somewhere along the way anyway.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I started and maintained my private practice, working 2-3 days per week, until the birth of our third child, another baby girl in 2011. At this point, we’d been through a lot. I’d been through a lot. We’d spent years managing unbelievable trauma and drama with my sister, she’d had a baby, and things had finally stabilized to the point they were manageable. For years, it seemed there was no way we could add another baby to the picture, but I didn’t feel “done” having kids and our biological clocks were ticking. So we thought hard and prayed hard. The answer was yes. It was indeed time for another baby. After I returned from maternity leave in March 2012, I continued seeing patients two days a week, and did everything else that needed to be done for the private practice when I could fit it in. (And for the most part, that remains true today.)

But things were different this third time around.

You see, after all those years of trauma and drama, after all those years of waiting, I realized what a gift we had in our baby girl. I knew and had a strong sense, for the first time in my life, that if God blessed me so richly with this baby girl, maybe He had other beautiful plans for me, maybe there were other things I was supposed to do that would fulfill me as richly and as deeply as this baby girl? Maybe He’d planned beauty from all this pain?

So I picked up the bits and pieces of a dream that had been building since the birth of our baby boy in 2002.

I’d just returned from maternity leave, and baby girl was only three-months-old. I knew it was kind of crazy, this starting something new and big when I’d just had a baby and was trying to adjust to work, again, as mama of three. Baby was still a baby, I had two other little ones, and my husband had begun a big corporate job. But God called anyway, it’s time.

So in April 2012, after seeking wise counsel, I decided, it was time to launch this blog. In-between work and dance class and baseball and changing diapers and everything else, I worked my butt off getting ready to launch this thing.

In July 2012, I launched the blog. It was no small thing as far as I was concerned. The blog was important to me, and I valued it immeasurably. It was part of a dream I’d been visioning, at that time, for nine years already.

So that brings me to today, to this post.

I’ve decided to take a three week break from blogging.

Because I know, with the birth of each of our children, comes a rebirth of me.

And while I’ve without a doubt been working towards that rebirth of me, it hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve known, for 19 months, that it’s time for rebirth. But my rebirth is different this time. It’s not just a matter of making a few adjustments and I’ll be good to go.

It’s a matter of handing my life over to God and saying – what would you have me do next?

It’s a matter of deciding – am I going to continue thinking I’m all in, or am I actually going to live all in?

It’s a matter of believing and trusting, truly following this Jesus I say I believe in.

So I’m sitting in this boat. Jesus is smiling so slightly with his gentle, gracious and patient spirit. He’s looking at me. He’s waiting. He says “give me an hour, and I’ll change your life.”

And I’m here, still deciding if I’m going to give him “this hour.” Am I ready to give it to Him, or not?

And you, my readers? You’ve found me here, in this in-between place, in this moment of deciding what’s next.

In this in-between place, in this moment of deciding, I’ll be doing practical things, logistical things, and hard things.

What are the practical things? I’ll be attending my nephew’s baptism, celebrating my daughter’s golden birthday, and spending a week with my kids during their spring break. Just as important, I’m desperate to keep my promise and call my friend, Denise, with whom I haven’t chatted for way too long.

What are the logistical things? If time allows, I’ll be updating my Meet Amy and Blog Vision pages on the blog. I’ll also be working on finalizing plans for my second annual Special Mamas series in May.

What are the hard things? I’ll be spending time in reflection and praying, hard. I’ll be reading scripture and books, reviewing old diaries, journals, and blog posts. I’d like to spend some time journaling, without editing, without an audience, to better discern what’s next. And I’m seeking wise counsel, because I can’t do this alone.

Oh ya, I might open that bottle of champagne that’s been sitting in the fridge since December 6th, and enjoy it with my husband some night. 🙂

Thank you for understanding, thank you for reading today and any other day you’ve read in the past, and know I’ll be back.

As of now, I plan to return to the blog on Wednesday, April 9th, but if I need more time, I’ll take it.

If you’re new to the site, or haven’t had a chance to read as many of my posts as you’d like, I recommend reading the two series that reflect my writing and heart best to-date, Letters to the Unthanked and Journey to Haiti. If you’d like to contact me for any reason while I’m gone, please don’t hesitate! All of my contact information can be found on the Connect page on my blog.

Blessings to you all.

Amy

“I’m thinking a mid-life crisis is not so much a crisis as it is an awakening. Either you’re upset where you’ve landed and you perceive you’re stuck there for the rest of your life, or you’re wide awake and ready to use your wisdom to launch you into an even better second half. I strive to be the latter.”

Post from my personal Facebook page – May 25, 2013

It was my first full day in Haiti with Compassion International. Hours into the day, I found myself actively engaged with a group of girls at the far end of the project’s play yard.

With the help of a translator, I uncovered bits and pieces about the girls. They were all around my son and daughter’s age – eight, nine, ten and eleven-years-old. I was intrigued by their personalities and way of being with one another, and kept thinking how cool it would be if my daughter was there, engaging with the girls, just like me.

Another woman from our group approached and began conversing with the girls, so I decided it was a good opportunity to engage the teenage girls I saw yards away.

The day passed. We spent the rest of the morning with mamas and babies enrolled in Compassion’s Child Survival Program, had lunch with project staff, visited families’ homes, and returned to the project at the end of the day.

After we spent a little more time in the classrooms and play yard, after we used the restroom one last time before we had to leave, I met the boy who stole my heart.

I really didn’t want to say good-bye, but I was on my way back to the van. It was time to go.

Most of my fellow travelers were already on the van. I was one of the last to load.

Just feet before the van, a boy approached. He came alongside me, hung close, tight to my body. I’m still not sure if I’ve ever had anyone step in tandem with me the way that boy did. The only way I can describe it is that his little body was so tight, right alongside me, that we became one walking unit in that moment.

God helped me recognize, immediately, this boy’s strong presence.

I put my arm around his shoulders as we walked. “Hi buddy,” I said quietly, lovingly.

He kept close, never out of step. He snuggled in a bit closer.

And then he looked up at me, as we were walking even slower now, and ever so gently but assuredly said “I want you to be my mommy.”

This was the first child that had spoken a word of English to me all day, and these were the words I was going to hear?

My heart broke. I began crying immediately. “Oh buddy,” I said, as I gave him the biggest, most endearing mama bear hug I could muster.

The world around me disappeared. We were three, maybe five feet from the van at this point, and I’m sure there were an abundance of kids and adults wondering why I was crying and hugging this boy. I’m certain they had no idea what he’d just told me.

I loosened my embrace because we were now even closer to the van. He looked down and pointed to one of two bracelets I had on my wrist, one purple, one cream. (Oddly enough, I’d received those bracelets as gifts of appreciation from Haitians in the market 16+ months ago after I’d presented them with gifts I brought from home.) I couldn’t be his mommy, but I knew as soon as he looked at that purple bracelet that I wanted to give it to him to let him know how much he was loved. A translator was present and helped with the exchange. For a few seconds, all was right with the world. I had a bracelet and the boy had a bracelet. We’d be tied together, in our hearts, and the bracelets would be a tangible reminder. But a little girl approached and saw I had another bracelet to give, so I obliged, even though it meant I’d no longer have a bracelet to keep my heart tangibly tied to this sweet boy.

Still crying, I gave him one last hug, waved good-bye, and got on the van. Tears continued to stream as I made my way to the back of the van, past most of my fellow travelers. I explained to a couple who’d asked, he said “I want you to be my mommy.”

How was I supposed to sit in this van, act like I’d just heard any ‘ol words, and move right on out?

Praise. The. Lord. He wasn’t about to let my time with this boy end, even though all other indications said it was a done deal.

Thankfully, our departure was delayed for one reason or another. I didn’t even care because all my mind could think of was the boy. Kids were swarming around just outside of our van. I looked to my right, and there he was. I caught him just as he was looking down, fiddling with his bracelet. “I’ve got to get a picture of this boy,” I told those around me as I stood up immediately and captured not one, but two pictures. I felt blessed to have, at the very least, seen him again and captured these photos to remember him by.

If I remember correctly, the van moved, turned in the direction of the gates where we’d depart. I thought I’d seen the last of the boy. I was sad, but grateful too, that God had given me the opportunity to see him from afar one more time.

But God knew otherwise. The van stopped. There was another delay.

Some moments passed, and then I noticed my boy coming alongside our van. He was looking up, into the windows, and he was now on the side of the van where I was sitting. When he came to the window of the people sitting in front of me, I noticed he was looking at them and pointing to his bracelet. I knew right away, he was looking for me.

“He’s looking for me!” I exclaimed as quietly and as calmly as I could without seeming like a freak to my fellow travelers close by.

I knocked on the window, loud enough so he could hear and notice I was there in the back row. I waved, put my hand on my heart, pointed to his bracelet, and then pointed to my wrist where the bracelet had once been. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and smiled.

We’d found each other, once again.

I began crying, once again.

I opened one hand and put it up flat against the window. He put his hand up too. One panel of glass separated us.

It was clear the bus was about to move towards the gates.

I blew him a kiss. He blew me one, too. I blew another. He blew another.

And as we drove off, I looked back and noticed. He was wearing navy blue Converse, untied. He walked quietly by himself as we drove away, fiddling with his bracelet, yet again.

Call me a blubbery mess. Call me whatever.

In the days following, I wasn’t sure what to do with this experience. In fact, nine days later, I’m still not sure why I met that boy, why he was the only child I engaged with that day that spoke any word of English, or why he felt compelled to say “I want you to be my mommy.”

I’d give anything to know if that little boy has a mommy. I’d give anything for the opportunity to go back and take a Compassion staff and translator with me, visit his home, and know more. If he had a mommy, I’d love on her and tell her how awesome she is and how she’s raising her son with a beautiful heart. I’d tell him what a great mommy he has and how she loves him with all her heart. And if he didn’t have a mommy? Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But reality is, I’ll never get the opportunity to do any of that.

Why is it that my Heavenly Father gave me this gift, this boy to love for just a few moments? I don’t know.

The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be His name, is all I can say.

Perhaps I’ll never know why I met this boy, why he wanted me to be his mommy. Perhaps someday the good Lord will make it clear. For now, I trust, there was a reason.

Five days after meeting the boy, I arrived back home. Photographs of my journey flashed on our television screen as I recounted my days in Haiti with my husband and two oldest children.

And then, the Lord gave me eyes to see what I needed to see in a photograph I hadn’t remembered taking earlier that morning in the play yard.

The boy.

There he was!

I’m not 100% sure because the first two photos I took of the boy were from the side, and this photo was straight on. But my heart knows, my heart feels confident. The Lord gives me eyes to see what He wants me to see, because He’s awesome like that.

That boy in the middle of all those girls?

It’s him.

I recognize his face, he looks familiar. He looks exactly like the boy who told me “I want you to be my mommy.” He looks exactly like the boy who blew me kisses when I was still crying in the van. He looks exactly like the boy who wore navy blue Converse, untied.

And if it’s truly him as my heart thinks it is?

Then God has spoken.

I’m here, orchestrating every bit of your life, whether you know it or not.

I chose you before you chose Me.

You are loved.

Now go love.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

The mamas were giving their testimonies.

One by one, they came to the front with their babies, sharing how much of a difference Compassion’s Child Survival Program made in their lives.

One special mama had two babies, not her own. People didn’t understand why she’d taken them in. She couldn’t afford to care for the babies. She was shunned and found herself all alone crying near the street one day. A Compassion Child Survival Program staff happened to pass by and told her about the program, that she’d be able to get support as she raised those babies. She agreed and the children were enrolled in the program. The translator prayed over her, “even though family might not understand you, God does,” he said.

There was another woman with a baby of her own. But she’d also taken in her deceased cousin’s baby. Mid-way through her story, she broke into song. I had no idea what she was saying because there hadn’t been translation yet, but there was something beautiful and tremendously sad about this song long before I knew the words. She sang with courage, she looked up, towards the back of the church as she poured this heart-song out from her soul. There was hope and promise in her words, but in her eyes, I saw the sadness, the depth of pain. She said the Compassion Child Survival Program staff taught her to sing this song when she was feeling tremendous sadness and despair. They encouraged her, “You need to sing this song whenever you feel sad, and you will feel better.” The song, my heart be happy.

And then there was Archille.

She came to the front, holding her son close, tight in her arms. She spoke quietly and tears came to her eyes the second she started talking. She appeared to be hiding a bit behind her son, as if protecting him from her own pain. He was near and dear to her, you could tell. She felt alone, very alone, and I sensed that the moment she started talking, even before I knew why.

Archille shared with us, her son was born with one leg.

She’d been shunned and teased, disowned and laughed at for having a son with one leg. It was and has been immeasurably painful. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. Her tears, the depth of her pain, visible. If there was a way I could’ve reached out to her in that moment, I would’ve.

Archille then proceeded to do one of the most brave things I’ve ever witnessed. She started taking off her son’s pants.

In that moment, we saw his one leg.

It was holy, intimate. We knew the reality she’d been telling was truth.

Archille was advised, Compassion’s Child Survival Program was the best way to care for her boy. Through her involvement in the Child Survival Program, Archille has developed “good friendships and relationships in [the] center.” Home visitors encourage her. And Compassion’s staff have compassion for Archille. They’ve worked with her and she’s “thankful for all they’ve done to help with [her] boy.”

The translator prayed over Archille and her boy, “If God accepts the boy as he is, as we do, we must love him.”

I recognized Archille’s pain the second I saw her hide behind her son, the second I saw the tears in her eyes and they couldn’t be held back anymore. I’d known that pain myself. When tears are so close to the surface that you cry if you speak even one word, you just need someone to listen to you, care for you, act on your behalf.

Perhaps there’s a purpose for our pain, that we might be able to more readily recognize it in others. And help.

We had an opportunity to ask the questions anyone would ask at that point. How does he get around? How would Compassion help this boy with his leg? Mama answered, indicating her boy is able to stand on one leg, gets around by crawling, and is often carried. Compassion has already sent mama Archille’s and baby to Port-Au-Prince where they’ve seen doctors about baby’s leg. He will get a prosthetic when he’s older, but for now he’s too young, so they have to wait.

Yvonne, our trip co-leader and Compassion representative, held the sweet baby boy as we sang songs and prayed with all the mamas and babies. Safe in Yvonne’s arms, Archille’s boy led our way to the Child Development Center.

We spent the next hour or two meeting children and engaging with teachers in the Child Development Center. (I’ll share more about that later!) But Before we knew it, it was time to visit the Child Survival Program building where mamas and babies meet with Compassion staff. It was a lovely space with boards tracking immunizations and child growth, as well as toys and cribs for the babies. This felt like a safe haven, and it was.

I was one of the first to enter the building. The seat next to Yvonne and this beautiful boy with one leg was open. So I took it. There was a part of me that thought the seat would better be taken by someone else, all the others who cared about this boy and wanted to be close, too. But there was me. Perhaps it was God who brought me in among the first. Perhaps it was He who left the seat open.

I had an opportunity to talk with Yvonne about this boy as others entered the space, the hope I had to share his story. We talked about the possibility of getting crutches for this sweet boy, as usually, he’d be walking around this age. Yvonne commented how heavy it must be for mama to carry her boy around all day since he’s getting so big. And I asked, did mama have a sling in which she could carry her son?

Before long, we noticed mama standing right behind us, outside. We invited her in to join us in conversation.

Yvonne told mama Archille that she’d like to work with the project director to try to facilitate getting her boy some crutches so he can start moving around and develop muscle tone in his leg. She couldn’t promise it would be done, but she was going to talk to the director and do her best to help. And Yvonne asked mama, “Do you have a sling you carry him in?” Mama Archille said “no.” I asked mama, “Would you feel more comfortable carrying him on your back or on your front?” “I’d prefer to carry him on my back,” mama said, “but he likes me to carry him in the front.” Yvonne reminded mama once again that she couldn’t promise, but that we’d try to get something to help.

An opportunity came for me to ask mama Archille questions that had nothing to do with sweet baby boy’s leg. “How old is he?” I asked. “Two,” mama said. “When will he be three?” asked Yvonne. Mama replied, “December.”

“Same as my baby” I exclaimed! “Three in December!” Mama Archille and I smiled big smiles, huge, like divine appointment huge. We discovered, our babies’ birthdays? Only NINE days apart!

Everyone was elated. It was a moment out of time for the folks that had gathered. Well, a moment out of time, at least for me. I’d barely even noticed the rest of the group had arrived until I looked up and realized, they were there.

Yvonne, still right next to me, stepped in at just the right moment, with just the right words I would’ve never imagined possible – “You know you can sign up to sponsor him even before he’s officially enrolled in the Child Sponsorship Development Program? I don’t want to put you on the spot, though.” Um, ya. There was no putting me on the spot. It was a no brainer, taking the opportunity to sponsor this little guy. Of course, I’d say yes.

After some brief conversation with the translator, Yvonne, and another Compassion staff, it was determined that I’d need to take with me the baby’s name, baby’s date of birth, mama’s name, and the Compassion Child Survival Program in which which he was enrolled. Then, when I get home, I’ll need to contact Compassion and indicate I’d like to sponsor him when he becomes old enough to enroll in the Child Sponsorship Development Program.

We all decided, this was meant to be. I’ll be the boy’s sponsor when he comes of age.

The translator spoke with Archille and wrote down all the information I’ll need when I contact Compassion back home.

Before mama placed her boy on my lap for a picture, I’d noted, her beautiful baby boy’s name was Charles.

Pain, it’s true and real for all of us. Pain, it pulls us down, makes us want to run and hide or grab ahold tight of anything that’s near.

Hope, it comes in any package. Hope, a promise of better days to come.

Would you like to give hope to a child in desperate need of it? Check out the Compassion website to take a closer look at all the children waiting for a sponsor. These are real. live. children. Not just pictures on your computer screen. They’re real children with real families with real lives, and they could use your help. If you’d be here, you’d see. You’d choose to say yes, I guarantee. We have so much, it’s time to give. And hope’s where it’s at.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Four days turned into 11 days of the most peace and joy I’d experienced in a long, long time.

But inevitably, things went south on day 12.

It’s not like day 12 came and BAM, everything was bad. That would definitely be exaggerating! Reality was, not-so-fun things kept popping up one after the other, and all combined together, they set me back more than I would have guessed.

On Wednesday, I got a flat tire. The baby was with me, it was 1 degree outside, and since I didn’t know how to install a spare, I had to wait 1 hour and 40 minutes for a tow truck to bring me to the tire station.

On Thursday, my husband left for a 4-day business trip after having already worked 7 weeks straight like a MAD MAN.

On Thursday night, baby was up nearly all night long with a cough and runny nose, crying her eyes out next to me in bed.

On Friday night, I found crusty, dried-up yellow stuff in baby’s ear.

On Saturday, I gave baby a bath only to discover blood and puss coming out of that same ear as I was drying her. A double ear infection is what she had, one of the eardrums ruptured.

On Sunday, I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to get myself and three kids ready to leave the house by 6:20 a.m. to get to a 5th grade boys basketball tournament one hour away by 7:30 a.m. Games 1 and 2 were fine, manageable, tolerable. By game 3, ya, baby and I were on the verge of losing it. The mobile phone car charger we’d bought cheap on eBay wasn’t working. Without GPS, I took the least efficient route home, making it a 1 hour 20-minute drive through snow-blustery winds. And oh ya, I forgot, I’d officially become sick, so everything about me was wearing thin.

On Monday, school was called off for the 4th day this winter due to dangerously cold temperatures, and school was already called off again for Tuesday. All three kids were at home, all day, inside, with nothing to do, and I was sick and completely worn out.

After the two oldest had gotten in a fight, chasing each other around the house yelling stuff and grabbing at each other continuously, I yelled from the couch “STOP IT! YOU NEED TO STOP IT NOW, OR YOU’RE GOING DOWNSTAIRS TO FIGHT BY YOURSELVES! I DON’T FEEL WELL. YOU NEED TO BE QUIET RIGHT NOW!”

Where the Wild Things Are played in the background. Ya, it was pretty much just me watching the movie at that point. Baby was sleeping and the Wild Things were, well, being Wild Things.

They calmed down and I continued my on again, off again watching of the movie while trying to get a little much needed rest.

A half hour later, my daughter approached with a box of tea I’d purchased while life was feeling more peaceful and joyful. “Can I make you some tea, mom? It’s for stress and tension.” (Ya, I knew I’d need that sooner or later.) “Yes,” I said. “That would be awesome. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

I continued to lie on the couch, all snuggled in tight with the last afghan ever knit by my late grandmother, and waited for my tea.

A couple minutes later, after a little direction from a distance, she arrived with the cup I needed more desperately than I knew. I took the cup, tested a sip, and gave that Wild Thing a big hug. “Thank you, that was so kind. You’re such a sweet girl.”

She let me rest in quiet while I drank.

The Wild Things agreed amongst themselves “Mom’s stressed today.” I explained, “it’s not so much stress as it is I’m not feeling well at all, and I really need some rest and quiet.”

Husband was home from his business trip, and I’d planned on isolating myself in the bedroom all night long when he got home from work. I’d planned on making myself a cup of that tea, but realized – receiving that cup as a heart-felt gift from my daughter was much more fulfilling than serving it up to myself.

When daddy came home and I was once again on the couch, he knew “If mom’s on the couch, that means she’s really not feeling well.” So I let him take all three kids to McDonalds. The Wild Thing that gave me tea took my order on a cartoon notepad before she left. Grilled chicken sandwich. Fries. Diet Dr. Pepper.

I got myself a hot shower, lay down in bed under the big fuzzy blanket, and waited in peace and silence until they came back home.

McDonalds was accompanied by the Bachelor wedding of Sean and Catherine, which was followed by another cup of hot tea delivered by the Wild Thing that was.

I glanced again at the tag attached to the tea bag.

The power of love is infinite.

When she delivered the tea, I’d told her this Bachelor wasn’t appropriate for kids, that she needed to go downstairs and spend some time with daddy. But she came back an hour later, “I just wanna spend some time with you.” “Lie down,” I said. “Lie down right here next to me.”

The cares of the day washed away in the moments before she fell asleep. It was in the slowing down, the caring for one another, the receiving of gifts unexpected, where peace and joy were found again.

Amy