You might have noticed I’ve been extra quiet on the blog the past two weeks. That’s because we hosted Christian singer/songwriter, Ginny Owens, for an acoustic house show three days ago!

From day one, the house show was in God’s hands. I sensed God was at work, that He wanted to do something through this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that I needed to simply surrender to His plan. This was a true act of faith for me. But very early on and all throughout the journey, I experienced a spiritual battle of doubt and fear. Faith won. I knew it would. I knew it must.

I journaled my way through the experience of hosting the Ginny Owens acoustic house show. Today, I’m letting you in on my two-month journey of doubt, fear and God’s provision.

May 13, 2015

When I opened Twitter late this morning, a tweet from Ginny Owens popped up in the center of my feed. In-between Ginny’s performances at big Christian music festivals, she and her band were going to be performing intimate acoustic house shows. Ginny was in search of hosts. The thought of hosting Ginny Owens for a concert in my own home sounded AMAZING and I figured there was nothing to lose, so I took 60 minutes to complete the online application and an additional 15 minutes to send photographs of our home. I was convinced this was a pipe dream. I thought there was NO WAY we would EVER be selected to host a Ginny Owens house show. But after I sent the application and photos, I prayed anyway, asking God to make a way for our application to be accepted if this was His will and plan.

May 14, 2015

I received an email from the House Show Agency stating they would love to have a show at our house pending management’s final approval. I was completely shocked. In awe. I had no idea that this pipe dream would become reality. The House Show Agency proposed two potential concert dates, which meant this thing was for real and I’d need to share the news with my husband to see if we could confirm! But there was just one small problem…because I thought it was a total pipe dream, I never told my husband I applied. So when I called him that afternoon, I had to tell him that I had applied AND that we had been accepted and invited to host! My husband was surprised, but thankfully open to hosting the concert at our house with one caveat. He was going to be gone on a three-day business trip leading right up to the concert, so I’d be taking on all the concert preparations by myself. The tweet came through my feed randomly. I applied on a whim. I prayed after I sent the application. I couldn’t deny that God was at work and wanted this to happen, so I sent an email to the House Show Agency stating YES, we are interested. Let’s do this!

June 12, 2015

I didn’t hear back from the House Show Agency for quite a while. So much so that I began to doubt, to fear that maybe we hadn’t been selected after all, that maybe someone better, with a bigger house, more well suited to host had been chosen instead. So much so that I’d resigned myself to the show not being at our house, that it was meant to be, that God wanted to show me another glimpse of the awesome things He could do, but it simply wasn’t happening this time. Just as I’d surrendered, just as I’d doubted the house show wasn’t happening, I received an email asking if I was still saving the date we’d discussed a month prior!

I responded with seven questions, feared and doubted that our house wasn’t big enough to host a small band and 50-person house show. I asked my husband, counted out seats and imagined a bunch of folding chairs spread across our kitchen and living room. My husband assured me fearlessly and nonchalantly, “I don’t think you need to worry, we can make it work!”

June 19, 2015

The House Show Agency responded to all seven of my questions. They wanted to know if “we’re good to move forward” and “get this [concert] locked in.”

I was still in shock, I think. And I was fearing and doubting big time. Would tickets sell? Was our house really big enough?

I sent a friend a Facebook message. I shared all the insecurities I’d been feeling about life and myself, how there’s this very big event we could host at our house, but I’m just REALLY not sure. Maybe someone else would be well suited to host? Maybe I’m supposed to suggest another location? She affirmed me. Prayed for me. Reminded me that I applied and we were accepted. Told me I should leave the rest up to God. After reading her message, I knew we needed to move forward with the concert.

In addition to the message to my friend, I contacted a young Christian singer/songwriter, Jessica Joy, and asked if she happened to be available the night of the house show. She’d come to my mind so many times I felt prompted to involve her. She had the night of the house show wide open and was willing to open the concert pending management’s approval.

June 23, 2015

This afternoon, I signed a contract which means we’ll be hosting the Ginny Owens acoustic house show in less than three weeks! I also sent an email with a special request for Jessica Joy to open the concert (with Ginny and management’s approval, of course). By late afternoon, Ginny’s management sent me a ticket link to share with family and friends.

Tonight, I personally invited five friends to the concert via Facebook message. I wanted to give them first dibs on a small group of discounted concert tickets available to us as hosts. Two were able to attend. Three already had plans for the night. My mind got to worrying. What if everyone’s busy? What if tickets don’t sell? What if Ginny’s team is disappointed in the number of people who show up for the show? What if our house doesn’t live up to expectations? What if I don’t live up to expectations?

June 24, 2015

I sent a message and ticket link to a larger group of 20 people I thought might be interested in the concert. Trickles came in…”Sounds amazing! But so sorry, I’m unable to attend. We have ___ that night.” I was so grateful for the responses, but my mind continued to race with fear and doubt. What if the tickets don’t sell? What if somebody else would have been a better host? Why am I not good at rallying troops for things like this? Peoples’ availability and interest is totally out of my hands, but for some reason, I still feel responsible for ticket sales.

June 25, 2015

Today, we received a “fully executed contract!”

June 26, 2015

We we received first details about the concert and word that Ginny would “love for Jessica Joy to be a part of the house show.” I shared the awesome update with Jessica Joy and the group of 20 on Facebook, and had one party indicate interest in three tickets almost immediately!

June 27, 2015

Only two weeks remain until the Ginny Owens concert at our house! I decided to go ahead and share the news on my personal Facebook page. The post went wild fairly quickly. Within an hour, we sold out of all 20 discounted tickets and were directing people to the regular-priced ticket link. I felt great relief knowing that with one simple Facebook post, a nice little crowd had developed for Ginny’s performance at our house. I viewed it as confirmation that God was in control, that He was going to take care of these tickets I was so worried about, that He was going to orchestrate the details and that I didn’t have to fear and doubt so much.

Behind all my fear was the fact that I didn’t want to disappoint Ginny, her management, or her band. I wanted to make our house show worth their while. I wanted them to feel like they’d made the right decision in choosing us to host.

My ticket sale fears subsided for the moment, but I still didn’t feel secure. My fears circled right back around to the size of our house. Maybe there won’t be enough room for everyone. Maybe our house isn’t big enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have applied.

I decided that I MUST let this fear go. I must TRUST that God opened these doors for a reason, that He wants us to host this show, and that He has awesome things planned for Ginny Owens, Jessica Joy and all the people who will be attending. I decided to view this as a feeding of the 5,000. Jesus took little and made much. He performed a miracle and will do it again. There will be enough space in our house for everyone who comes. I must trust this is true.

June 29, 2015

Jessica Joy shared the ticket link on Facebook and received a nice response. I shared the link on Twitter. And Ginny shared a Facebook post about the concert, too.

July 1, 2015

Today, I started to freak out a bit about ticket sales again. I’m continuing to feel the weight of responsibility to ensure “enough” ticket sales for the concert to be a success. Logically speaking, I understand that it’s NOT our responsibility to ensure sale of the general public tickets. But emotionally and psychologically, I still feel the weight. So today, I sent more Facebook messages…to a group of six women who expressed interest in the ticket link four days ago, to one of the pastors at our church, to my dad’s cousin and her daughter.

July 6, 2015

I disengaged from all things concert for the 4th of July weekend. Today, I put a second notice of the concert on my personal Facebook page. Someone contacted me yesterday to let me know they can no longer attend, so that made two $15 tickets up for grabs again. This was the second time I shared the concert news, so the post received the moderate response I expected. An encouraging comment, another wishing they could attend, and a couple handfuls of “likes.”

As the evening progressed, I became more and more encouraged. Three shares of my post. And one person who said he’d take the two discounted tickets and eight more at regular price. I received his notification when I was at Target purchasing a cart load of water, pop and coffee for the concert. I breathed another sigh of relief. This concert has NEVER been in my hands. It is God’s doing. He has a plan and will make it happen in His own timing.

July 7, 2015

When we stopped by a boys baseball game tonight, a friend surprised me by letting me know she’d purchased a concert ticket. She asked if she should share the ticket link with a friend who might really enjoy the concert. “Go for it! Of course,” I said. God’s lining up everyone who needs to be at the concert. Of this, I am sure.

July 8, 2015

I’m continuing to prepare for the concert as I’m able. With three kids home for summer, my husband at work all day and heading out for a three-day business trip, nearly all of my “free time” this week has been spent doing intermittent concert prep. We have most of the beverages. My mom is making four varieties of bars. I’ve borrowed trays and ice buckets from neighbors, two sets of folding chairs from neighbors and more to come from my mom and aunt. Lining up a coffee percolator, bar stools, guitar stands and a music stand. The carpets have been cleaned. I found a cute caddy at an antique store over the 4th I’m going to fill with old books, vintage vases and delicate flowers for decor. I’m not an antiquey kind of girl, but it seems I have fresh vision.

Despite the forward progression, I’m still feeling a bit stressed. The baby isn’t taking her nap today. Our oldest daughter had a fit about oiling her trumpet valves and taking a bath. And the oldest isn’t being super helpful. I feel like I’m spinning my wheels with house and cleaning prep, but I can only trust that God will make a way, that He will provide time for me to get this place ready for the concert. It’s now 75 hours until Ginny arrives with her crew.

July 9, 2015

This afternoon was a bit anxiety ridden. So much to do, and three kids to mother at the same time. Anxiety was setting in just thinking of all the to dos. And my husband was getting ready to leave for a three-day business trip – Thursday, Friday, Saturday leading up to the concert. If all goes perfectly with his flights, he’ll be home two hours before Ginny & the band arrive. But I got some stuff done. I kept progressing towards the goal of hosting this thing that was God’s from the beginning anyway!

July 10, 2015

We dropped our youngest off with my mom this morning. My parents are caring for her Friday through Sunday so we can prepare for and host the concert. While I love our “baby” heaps, she’s very busy, so it’s tremendously helpful to have her away for the event. As the day progressed, I realized there’s absolutely NO WAY we would have been able to host this concert had we NOT had child care for our youngest. Thank you mom and dad. And oh yeah…did I mention my mom made five varieties of bars for concert refreshments? A life saver, for sure.

Cleaning started strong. We made our way fast – me, our son and our oldest daughter. When our oldest daughter left for an overnight birthday party, time continued to tick super fast, but our progress seemed to slow. At 4 pm, I was feeling good about things. By 8 pm when my mother-in-law checked in via text, I was feeling just okay about where we stood with the to-do list. Now at 11:42 p.m., I feel fine. I have peace. We’re not nearly as far as I’d like to be at this point, but we’ll get things done. It will work out. My in-laws are coming mid-day tomorrow and will help us close the loop. For now, we’ve done ALL we could and had fun doing it!

Ticket sales seem to be going well. 54 hours ago, management reported 18 online ticket sales plus our 20 discounted tickets equaled 38 guests. But since then, there’s been additional sales reported to me, so I know we’ll be near sold out. It WILL be a full house.

Which brings me back to doubt, worry and fear #1, the fear I had from the beginning – that we won’t have enough room for a full house of 40-50 guests + Ginny and her two band members. Despite my fear and doubt, everything has gone like clockwork. All the doors have been wide open. And I’m continuing to remember that I prayed about this, that God’s given us an incredible opportunity to host, that He will make a way. So I am trusting He will part the seas, trusting that everyone will fit, be able to see and partake in this ministry of music.

July 14, 2015

It’s been three days since the Ginny Owens’ house show. It was amazing. Went off without a hitch. With the continued help of our kids, my in-laws, and my husband for the last two hours, we got all the cleaning and preparations completed on time. Jessica Joy’s opening performance was beautifully executed. Ginny Owens’ performance was absolutely amazing! We had a full house of approximately 45 guests. Everyone fit just fine and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And we had the great honor of special one-on-one time with Ginny and her band after the concert.

Doubt and fear worked overtime to steal my hope, peace and joy throughout this two-month journey. But God proved to be faithful and fully in control the whole way through.

Provision.

It’s a miracle.

Pure grace.

For me, you, and Ginny Owens too.

I admit. I was a bit off from the moment I woke up this morning. I know myself well, and something wasn’t quite right. I wasn’t super friendly when my husband asked if I could go to the bank today to pick up all the cash we needed for the next two weeks. He left for work right after that and I gave him a half-hearted good bye. I intended to text him with an apology for the lackluster good bye, but got distracted by kid stuff. Sorry, babes.

The kids wanted to go to the zoo for our summer bucket list and I had no good reason to say no, so after morning trumpet lessons, we made our way to the animals.

It was the last day to get in on regular rate for the girls’ day camp at church, so we stopped in to pay as we passed. I wondered. Why does God always seem to have an important church errand for me to do when I’m feeling a little off, when I’m feeling a little vulnerable and worn? And why do I always run into pastors who want to know how I’m doing? Hmmm…imagine that. Pastors at a church. Asking how people are doing. Revolutionary. Perhaps our Heavenly Father is on to something there.

After a quick (or not so quick) lunch at Taco Bell (there was an extraordinarily long lunch line), we were finally on our way to the zoo.

I was still feeling off, emotionally and spiritually not quite right. Like I would be better off home by myself today or doing something quiet in isolation or going to a retreat center where nuns could tend my soul. But there was no way I was going to let my feelings get the best of our day. The kids were excited and well behaved and I was determined to join in the fun.

So I did.

My son put on loud music for us to listen to as we traveled the interstate. My daughter talked my ear off with stuff she was excited about. I answered questions and taught them some practical things they didn’t know before. We imagined ourselves living in St. Paul and the kids agreed they like to visit, but wouldn’t want to live there. All was good and after a while, we arrived at the zoo.

We got a pretty decent parking spot, emptied ourselves from the car, got the youngest in her stroller (in case of lack-of-nap meltdown), and made our way to the zoo entrance.

The new gardens were beautiful. I soaked in the various plantings, including some tropicals we don’t usually see outdoors in Minnesota. We admired the lily pads and breathtaking flowers in the water garden. The two oldest loved lilac. I loved the dark red one partially hidden behind a pad. I could have lingered longer, but the baby was running ahead and the kids were ready to go. Still. It was nice to move and get out with nature.

Step by step. Stop by stop. The four of us made our way through the zoo.

Ducks. Sea lions. Penguins. A polar bear. Bison and other horned and hoofed animals. Lions. Tigers. Kudus. Zebras. Gorillas. Orangutans. A rare wolf sighting. Pressed pennies. And even a little time in the fun park without spending a dime.

We took our time. We didn’t rush. We stopped to take photos when we felt like it. We enjoyed the animals and each other.

We moved right through that zoo. The pace was perfect. Nobody crabbed until the end. And my spirits weren’t perfect, but notably lifted by the exit.

On our way home, we picked up some ice cream cones with sprinkles and dip from Dairy Queen. I got a chocolate cone with chocolate dip. Good for the soul. Good for the taste buds, too.

The zoo.

Total Cost: $8-something for the cones

Mom Lesson: When we’re in a funk, it might be better to continue moving through the day rather than sitting and dwelling on whatever’s ailing us. 

Kid Lesson: As long as you’re a tiny bit creative, it doesn’t take much to satisfy kids’ curiosity.

This post is part of a summer-long series titled Summer Bucket List. This is my first summer home full-time with our three children. My hope for this series is that it will challenge me to adventure out of my mothering comfort zone, will provide opportunities to live and write simply, practically, beautifully and meaningfully, and will stimulate some some fun ideas for your summer as well! To check out the entire series, click here and you’ll be directed to the introductory post where all the posts are listed and linked for easy reading. Enjoy, friends! And have a blessed summer.

 

I was a gregarious gal.

I really was.

When we first met at my husband’s fraternity house in August 1994, I remember thinking he was the most handsome guy I’d ever met in my life. I’m not kidding. I remember it vividly.

My roommate and I were college freshmen. It was our first week at school. Classes hadn’t started yet and we had nothing to do. So we decided to walk fraternity row. Both small town girls, we browsed the place like it was a candy shop. House after house, delight after delight lined the long campus.

We were just taking a walk.

My husband likes to debate that fact. He claims we were trolling for guys.

I’ve always denied the trolling. But perhaps it was true just a little bit?

After all, our first meeting by the sand volleyball court outside Delta Tau Delta that day marked the beginning of a 2 1/2 year period of the most extreme extroversion I’ve experienced in my entire life.

I studied hard those years. Enough to land a 3.92 GPA in the end.

But I also lived wild and free.

Gregarious.

Extroverted.

Unhindered.

Fun.

Playful.

A par.ti.er.

I drank beer. Lots of it.

I stayed up late. Really late.

I hung with my boyfriend (now husband) and his brothers at the fraternity house ALL THE TIME. So much so that four gregarious girlfriends and I were unofficially coined “Delt Girls.” So much so that I was officially named the fraternity’s “Sweetheart” two years in.

I socialized like a maniac, danced like a mad woman, took plenty of jello shots, dressed in the most ridiculous party costumes, and did things my children don’t ever need to do.

Yes, I was unstoppable.

And that was just the fun, partying, social side of me. I’m pretty sure I was a go-getter all the way around those first 2 1/2 years of college.

I was on my way to a big, bold life. Nobody could stop me. Everything was grand. I was wild and free, smart and vivacious, witty and kind. I was the girl everyone could love. The girl people could laugh at and laugh with. Words flowed free in dorm rooms, cafeterias, classrooms, libraries, fraternity houses, dances, and hockey games. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t doubtful. I had a handful of really close friends, a lot of good friends and a TON of great acquaintances. Guys and gals liked me, and I’m 99% confident that most people (including myself) would have described me as “fun.”

I liked my new vibrant self. She was good. She was free. She was living more boldly than ever before. She was going places, that’s for sure. Yes, there was never a doubt, never a dull moment. She was going to graduate, go to grad school, get a great job as a speech therapist and live a marvelous life. She was going to be a professional, and a respected one at that. She was going to be a mom, and a good one at that. She was going to be a church-goer, too, and a faithful one at that. She was going to be wife, and an awesome one at that.

Yes, that was me the first 2 1/2 years of college. That was me the first 1 1/2 years I dated my husband. That was me most days leading up to our engagement.

But this story’s about to turn serious.

Nearly 21 years have passed since we first met at my husband’s fraternity house.

More than 20 years have passed since we started dating.

18 1/2 years have passed since we got engaged.

And today marks our 17th wedding anniversary. Congrats, babes. I love you so much. The story God is writing through our marriage is important, noteworthy, blessed and delightful. I am honored to call you husband and do life together, easier days and hard days alike. For better, for worse.

But 17 years into marriage, there’s one fear, one insecurity that’s plagued me this year more than any other.

I fear I’m not the extroverted woman my husband dated.

I fear I’m not the gregarious woman my husband became engaged to.

I fear that the woman my husband chose to propose to is NOT AT ALL the woman he’s married to 17 years later.

And as hard as it is to admit this…

I fear he’d marry “that girl” all over again, but wouldn’t necessarily marry “this girl” all over again.

Sigh…

Exhale.

The truth is, I was the MOST extroverted I’ve ever been in my entire life when we were dating. That extroversion was limited to a short window, a short burst of time. If I look over the course of my life, I know for a fact that my extreme extroversion during our dating years was an anomaly, really. And that fact scares me sometimes.

I am NOT the same woman my husband proposed to 18 1/2 years ago. I am not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago.

I’m back to my fully introverted self now.

I don’t drink beer. At all. In fact, I hate it.

I don’t party with the boys. Ever. (Although I still think men are way more chill than women.)

I don’t dance like a mad woman and I don’t do jello shots except the one time my sweet neighbor forced me to on a hot play day in her front yard. I don’t stay up really late unless I’m blogging, I’m not a social maniac at all, and I’d never use the word “fun” to describe myself anymore.

I’ve chosen to step out of the professional, American dream grind and am staying home when his preference would be for me to work full-time. I’m not nearly as confident in my mothering abilities as I would have guessed myself to be back when we were dating, and I’d much rather go to Haiti or Africa than Las Vegas or Los Angeles.

I’m a wolf. INFJ.

He’s a dolphin. ENFP.

We’re married. 17 years today.

But our personality types are night and day.

Did my husband, a dolphin, know he was marrying a wolf 17 years ago? Or did my extremely extroverted dating behavior lead him to believe he was marrying a dolphin?

Okay. I know this is getting a little out there for some of you. (Yes, real live people have assigned animals to each of the 16 Meyers-Briggs personality types so I’m not making this stuff up.) But hear me out.

17 years in, I’m starting to believe that real life CHANGE is quite possibly the greatest threat to marriage.

What happens when our spouse changes?

What happens when we change?

What happens when we barely resemble the people who stood on the altar and said “I do?”

What then?

Do we give up on marriage?

Do we trash it?

Ditch it?

Give up?

Give in?

Say forget about this, I’m out, this isn’t working anymore, let’s get a divorce?

How do we respond to change in marriage?

What happens when your spouse gains 20 pounds, 30 pounds, 40 pounds, 150 pounds?

What happens when your spouse loses 30 pounds, is suddenly obsessed with their weight and you aren’t so much at all?

What happens when kids rock your world?

What happens when you can’t get pregnant like you thought you could?

What happens when the adoption falls through? Or when she wants to do foster care and you don’t?

What happens when your spouse starts working long, late nights to get that promotion and you’re home alone with the kids day after day after day?

What happens when you have an empty nest?

What happens when one of you goes back to school?

What happens when you have significant financial setbacks?

What happens when your spouse makes a major career change?

What happens when one of you wants to lounge around in retirement and the other wants to volunteer, travel, work, and be with the grandkids all the time?

What happens when your spouse grows lots of nose hairs and chin hairs?

What happens when your spouse goes bald?

What happens when your spouse lies in bed all day depressed and withdrawn?

What happens when your kids go off the rails?

What happens when one of your children has a disability?

What happens when one of your children passes away?

What happens when your spouse’s faith is solid and yours has fizzled?

What happens when your spouse receives a cancer diagnosis?

What happens when your spouse is debilitated by dementia, Alzheimers, Parkinsons?

What happens when your spouse is confined to a wheelchair?

What happens when your spouse requires oxygen tanks to survive?

What happens when your spouse needs help going to the bathroom?

How will you respond? How will we respond?

Change in marriage is inevitable.

What makes or breaks our marriages is how we respond to change.

If you’re married long enough, there will come a time when you’ll realize you are NOT the same person you were when you got married. We are humans. We change. We evolve. We grow and develop over time. We become more of who we really are.

As I’ve been working through this fear, this fear that I’m not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago, this fear that he’d marry “that girl” but not “this girl,” I’ve decided that marriage requires an equal parts accepting, surrendering, fighting, trusting and believing.

Accept that you have changed.

Accept that your spouse has changed.

Surrender to your current reality.

Surrender to the ebb and flow.

Fight for your marriage. Fight to the ends of the earth. Until you can fight no more.

Trust it’s the right thing to do.

Believe you are worthy.

Believe your spouse is worthy.

Believe God brought you together for a reason.

Believe God has a plan for your marriage.

Believe you can make it.

Believe marriage is worth it.

Believe he’d marry you all over again.

Believe she’d marry you all over again.

Believe that “this girl” is just as lovely and beautiful, treasured and true as “that girl.”

Believe that “this guy” is just as handsome and witty, sporty and smart as “that guy.”

Believe you can do this.

Believe you are loved.

Believe that change is not only real, but okay.

Believe that long-lasting love is forged through change, challenges and the hardest stuff life has to offer.

Believe in 40th, 50th, and 60th wedding anniversaries.

Believe in wrinkly hand holding.

In the car ride on the way home from church, he played her “Good Stuff,” his favorite B52s song from days gone by. Days prior, she’d played him “Through All of It,” her favorite new song on Christian radio, the song she can’t stop listening to, the song that resonates with her soul most right now.

A dolphin song. A wolf song.

Somewhere along the way, they met in the middle with a frog and pig song. The Rainbow Connection resonated with both.

Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. A frog and a pig.

Seth and Amy. A dolphin and a wolf.

Who knew.

They live. They laugh. They fight. They change. They come together, still. They come together, again. Time and time again. For love. Sweet love. 

 

It’s summer. Day one.

Hubs last words before heading out to work this morning were “have a great vacation!”

Hmmm…vacation.

Our oldest was offered a ride to his first day of basketball, then a ride to his first day of junior golf league.

The girls and I headed out for a morning of activities. First, the gym. Let’s be real. The gym membership hasn’t worked for me for the past two summers. I barely went at all, and by the end of both summers, I told myself I’d never do that again, that I’d put my membership on hold for summer because it was a complete waste of money. But this summer, I decided I’d add our oldest daughter and give that a whirl. She’s way too old for the child care center, but exercise is one of my lifelines. I need to workout for my sanity. So today was day one at the gym. The oldest already mentioned a bit of boredom, but we’re going as long as she can stand it. Or mama’s gunna be a crabby vacationer. After the gym, we hit the post office, which was followed by a quick lunch at Taco Bell, which was followed by a stop at the pediatrician’s office to drop off health forms that need to be signed for my daughter’s upcoming church camp. Next was a call to the music store to verify that her trumpet, stand and lesson book would be delivered to school in time for tomorrow’s first band lesson. They weren’t sure. They looked it up and nothing was showing up in the system. Daughter tells me the mass delivery was already made last Thursday, that all of her friends already have their horns. I’m not sure whether to believe her or the representative I talked to at the store mid-last week. We shall wait for the return call to confirm either way. We drove to Target. I didn’t want to make another stop, but truth is, we had enough toilet paper for two more trips to the bathroom, so that Target stop was a do or die. And yeah, we picked up some bug spray for “natural protection” at camp. After all that, we drove home and dear daughter literally jumped out of the car to go visit neighbor friends the second we pulled in the driveway.

The three year old fell asleep on the way home. I’d promised her a regular pre-nap episode of Sofia the First, but since she’d fallen asleep, my goal was to get her in the house as quietly as possible and straight upstairs for nap. She hadn’t used the bathroom in three hours, so I had to wake her enough for a fight to go “potty” on the toilet before nap time.

Oldest daughter was gone visiting friends.

Son was still gone at golf.

The three year old was “napping.”

So I broke out my computer to start a blog post. I knew I didn’t have much time at all. An hour of quiet at best.

Then she came down. “I want some oranges. Can you get me some oranges? I want lemonade.” “We already ate,” I said! “Remember we ate at Taco Bell?” So much for the argument. She kept asking. I couldn’t deny oranges. And I wanted to ensure a full tummy for sleep. So she won. I broke out an orange and asked her to sit down and eat it. “After you eat the orange, it’s time for nap,” I reminded her. “When you wake up from nap, you can play outside with friends!”

Back upstairs.

Back to “nap.”

Back downstairs to my laptop. Uploaded a few pictures, started a post I’ll no longer write. Heard the three year old walking around upstairs.

Back upstairs.

There she was. Up and about.

“I want some lemonade,” she exclaimed.

I put her back in bed and got her a glass of water.

She refused it. “I want lemonade!” she exclaimed.

“We’re not having lemonade now. We’re having water now. You can have lemonade after nap,” I responded calmly.

I left her on her bed, doubtful of a nap ever happening at this point.

Within a minute, our oldest daughter came in the door with her neighbor friend. They needed my help with their box house outside. I pressed save on my blog post. I’d only uploaded three pictures at that point. Not even close to approximating the dream or vision I had for that post. I helped them in their play box, closed the cardboard door, and reminded them to open the “windows” and not stay in it too long. “It’s hot today, and I want to make sure you don’t overheat.”

Back inside.

Back to the computer for a minute. Maybe less. I don’t think I got anywhere on that post.

Girls came back inside, went upstairs, then came back downstairs. “Guess what?” said dear daughter. “What?” I said. “Maisie’s awake upstairs! She’s playing in her room,” exclaimed my oldest daughter. She and her friend giggled. Apparently, they thought it was cool, funny. They asked WHY she wasn’t sleeping. “She knows there’s a whole lotta fun stuff going on around here today, I guess.”

The girls went back upstairs and began entertaining the three year old. They’re up there still. Talking and playing. Doors shutting and opening again. “Come on sweets, come on Maisie.” I imagine they’re going to do her hair now. I’ll go check in just a few.

I surrender the beautiful blog post I was writing. Not going to happen today. I surrender the thoughts of all the blog titles and posts I’ve been drafting and dreaming up in my head the last week of school and moving into this first week of summer. Posts on friendship and community, fighting for our God-sized dreams, our identities when all the external stuff is stripped away, a commemorative post marking my niece’s 5th birthday and all the trauma that led up to her birth, a post where I ask you what God’s working out in your life right now. I think about the writing group I’ll have to miss (again) this week, for the 3rd time in a row, because the hubs has work activities and I have an out-of-town baseball game for our son. I think about this season, how it seems I’m supposed to be here, surrendering the dreams, surrendering the visions I have for myself, for the NOW, the here and NOW. For the kids while they’re little. While they’re here. While they’re still playing and dressing up and going to golf and basketball and trumpet lessons and singing Sofia the First cartoon songs. While they still want me to come with them to the park.

I feel guilty for dreaming something for myself. It’s a tearing of myself in two.

I surrender the beautiful blog post for a simple one I can type as fast as my fingers will write in the in-between kid moments.

They’re downstairs now. The three year old came down in the blue “bow dress” my older daughter wore to her dance recital in preschool. The “baby” is nearly that same age now. The bow dress fits perfectly and is her favorite. “It’s time for memories,” the older girls prompted her as she came downstairs to show me her loveliness. “It sure is,” I said as I gave her a big hug.

They’re here now. In the room next to me, trying to determine what to do next. It’s loud in here. They’re playing kazoo. My fingers are flying, determined to get anything out on this page.

It’s a balancing act.

And I’m not perfect at it at all.

This isn’t vacation. This is a season.

A season of surrender. To what is. To the now. To living for today. To enjoying and finding peace where God has me.

Yes, they are small. This is their vacation. My words will wait. A different kind of beauty is waiting. She’s tapping me now. “Can I go outside with the girls?” Then, “Guys, guys let’s go outside. Come!”

 

My mom worked full-time as a public school teacher from the second she earned her bachelor’s degree until the second she retired. Even now, in retirement, she still substitute teaches quite a bit.

Growing up, never once did I hear my mom complain about her job.

Never once did I hear my mom long for an alternate life where she didn’t have to work as much.

Never once did I hear my mom wish she could be a stay at home mom.

Never once did I hear my mom question her purpose in life.

She just did what she needed to do. She did what she loved. She made it all work. She worked full-time, cared for three children, tended the household, supported my dad who worked two jobs (full-time teaching and part-time car sales), made delicious homemade meals, kept beautiful flower pots, sewed and mended things as needed, hosted a garage sale every year, and so on.

Between mothering, teaching, cooking and tending house, my mom was in her glory. She seriously DID. IT. ALL. (Although note I didn’t give her any credit for awesome self-care practices along the way. Mom, you know we always want you to do more for yourself.)

Before I became a mother, I assumed I would follow in my mom’s footsteps. I assumed I’d be 100% ALL IN for the balanced lifestyle of full-time work and full-time motherhood.

Yeah, before becoming a mother, I knew so much about balancing work and motherhood, that for years, I silently criticized moms who had college degrees, but chose to stay home full-time with their kids and “do nothing with their lives.” To put it more bluntly, if a mom had a college degree and she wasn’t actively using it towards gainful paid employment, I thought she wasting her degree, wasting her life away. Yep. What a waste.

Man, do I need to EAT my silent, unspoken words now.

Please forgive me, moms.

Please forgive me, college-educated moms who aren’t employed full-time in the workplace.

Please forgive me for criticizing you when I had no clue.

Please forgive me for placing judgement on you when I had no experience.

Please forgive me for assuming such harsh things about your life and your decision-making capabilities.

Please forgive me for being so narrow minded that I couldn’t understand why a woman would have gotten a college degree in the first place if “all she was going to do” was stay home with her kids.

Yeah, I had no clue. 

By the time I returned from maternity leave after our first child was born, I knew this full-time working and full-time mothering gig wasn’t going to work for me. Nevertheless, I survived 1 1/2 years of full-time employment as a mom because the truth was, at that time, we couldn’t afford to have me stay home in any capacity.

Approximately 18 months into motherhood, my husband got enough of a raise that allowed me to stay home one day a week. I applied for a part-time leave, and by the time our son was 22 months old, I was working four days a week. Life felt much more comfortable.

Things shifted again when our second child came along.

And when our third child arrived nearly seven years after that, things shifted yet again.

There’s only one thing I know for sure after 12 1/2 years of mothering. I have NO. IDEA. HOW. TO BALANCE. WORK AND MOTHERHOOD.

It’s clear, okay?

I have no idea how to do this.

The proof is in the pudding.

As of 2015, I’ve DONE. IT. ALL. as far as work-motherhood balance.

I’ve worked 5 days a week. 4 days a week. 3 days a week. 2 days a week. 1 day a week. And now, in 2015, for the first time ever in my mothering career, I’m home full-time.

Yes, I’ve become the woman I silently criticized.

I have a bachelor’s degree. I have a master’s degree. And I’m staying home full-time.

Writing this truth makes me feel kind of icky. You know? The kind of icky like I had to eat all those ugly thoughts and words I kept to myself about college-educated stay-at-home moms all those years. Icky like I should be working today, bringing in some income for our family other than just sitting here typing away on a blog, hoping and praying for a writing career that will actually pay something someday. Icky like I have NO IDEA how to strike the magnificent work-motherhood balance that almost everyone else seems to have found?! Icky like this is NOT the balance my mom struck. Icky like this is NOT the balance my neighbor struck. Icky like this is not the balance my husband’s female corporate colleagues struck. Icky like this is NOT the balance I envisioned for myself.

We’re modern women, they say, pioneers of a whole new generation. We’ll make our own way. We’ll establish our own place at home and in the workplace. We’ll land somewhere comfortably between the old-fashioned housewife who was expected to stay home and abandon her own self-fulfillment and actualization, and the feminist who burned her bra, abandoned all traditional notions of motherhood, embraced equal opportunity employment and fought hard against the so-called glass ceiling. Yes, they say we modern women can “Do It All In Our Lifetime.”

But I have to ask. Have we found a comfortable resting place between old-fashioned housewivery and and feminism? I, for one, am sometimes still confused, lacking clarity as to my place. Clearly, I haven’t quite figured it out. Clearly, I’m a pioneer, often left wondering and wandering in the sea of questions, insecurities and uncertainties about how work and motherhood fit together.

I rationalize.

I’ll become a “better mom.” I’ll have all of this worked out when the kids are older, when they’re in high school and college. Maybe I’m just not good at figuring this all out when they’re still little.

I justify.

I know in my heart that this is a season, a very short time in life when I have the opportunity to be home full-time with the kids, that years from now I’ll be SO glad I had this opportunity. And I know with all my heart that this is TRUE. But right now, there’s still a part of me that feels like I’m wasting my college degree, like I’m wasting my potential at home…tending a house, caring for children full-time, wiping counters, wiping butts, writing for no pay, and doing all the most ordinary, mundane things of life like cleaning toilets and packing cold lunches.

Then, I accept the truth.

I’m a mom. I have a master’s degree. I worked for 14 1/2 years. Now I’m not working at all. My work life has been all over the board. And I don’t claim to have any balance.

It is what it is.

Okay?!

I don’t have any balance.

I have no clue how to achieve work-motherhood balance.

I don’t get it.

And that’s okay.

I don’t claim to have mastered anything about this parenting or mothering gig, so why would I expect myself to have mastered the elusive work-motherhood balance either?

As I stood quietly by the monkey bars at the park this past weekend, I accepted the fact that this is my life, my one true life. I have three kids. My husband has a corporate job. He’s magnificent at what he does. I’m blessed to have this once-in-a-lifetime, very short-term, seasonal opportunity to stay at home full-time while these kids are still young. Before I know it, they’ll be all grown up. I’ll long for these days, I’ll miss these days when the kids are still small, when they’re all still at home. So I will embrace this life, even if it feels a little mundane at times. I will embrace this life, even if I have to remind myself 500 times that my contribution to the human race is just as worthy inside the home as it is outside of the home. 

I looked down at my jeans and Sketchers against the playground wood chips, and let the reality wash over me. Yes, this is a far cry from my favorite White House Black Market work clothes that fill the closet. But this is my life. This is a good life, too.

The kids fight over swings. They twist swings. They taunt and tease one another. They don’t go up the slide the right way, and do all kinds of potentially dangerous things. The honest truth is, we’re all a bit edgy because daddy had a ridiculously busy week and was gone six out of seven days. And yeah, we’re going out for dinner because I can’t handle more meal preparation at this point.

But hey.

Life is good.

We’re going to walk home from this park.

We’re going to enjoy pizza buffet together when daddy gets home.

We’re going to do this again tomorrow.

And it will be good and grace-filled all over again.

The kids don’t have a clue about work-motherhood-fatherhood balance yet. Neither do I.

Perhaps my work-motherhood IMBALANCE will prove to be a blessing someday.

Perhaps someday my children will reflect on their upbringing and realize it’s okay to not have everything perfectly together all the time. Life isn’t always about mastering things and getting everything JUST RIGHT.

Perhaps someday my daughters will come to me when they’re confused about this working and mothering balance, and I’ll be able to tell them with all honesty…been there, done that, sweetheart. Here’s how I worked through it. Day by day. Year by year. Child by child. Follow your heart, sweet one. There’s never one best answer.

Perhaps someday when my husband’s ready to retire and I’m still working like a mad woman in all the unconventional ways, he’ll realize I meant what I said. I’m not saying I don’t want to work, I’m saying for right now, my work is at HOME.

Perhaps someday when the children are grown and we have grandchildren running in the yard, I’ll look back with peace, resting confident in the knowledge that my degrees were never, ever wasted. In that moment, all the pieces of my life put together will make perfect sense. And I’ll whisper to the mamas from the mountaintops, forget about the magical work-motherhood balance. Just forget about it mamas. You’re doing great right where you are.