My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

What I really want for Mother’s Day

Dear family,
Mother’s Day is only 20 days away. I know you’re counting down to it. While I’m sure you’ve already made some big plans, just thought I’d give a little direction because that’s what mom’s do; we give directions.

Flowers and fresh strawberries and gift certificates—they are all great. Really. But, honestly, it won’t take much to make me happy this year.

I want a coffee, fixed just the way I like it. I want it the perfect shade of creamy coffee color with just a sprinkling of Splenda. I want it so hot that I can cup one of my favorite Disney World mugs in my hands and feel the warmth while I sit for a while and sip.

(the adorable card from Jane at HappyDappyBits, an Etsy seller likely an amazing mom herself)

(the adorable card from Jane at HappyDappyBits who is likely an amazing mom herself)

While I’m sitting and sipping in my pjs with my perfect cup of coffee, here’s what I don’t want. I don’t want you to tell me I’m the best mom ever. The world is a really big place. And, since the beginning of time, there have been a lot of moms—surely more than a gazillion. And, I’m fairly certain that this mom sitting seeking peace over a cup of coffee is not the best one ever. I can think of a few right off the bat who were pretty amazing—Laura Ingalls’ mom, okay so I can’t remember her name but, she was amazing. Maybe the fact that I can’t remember her name right away adds to her amazing-ness. Martin Luther’s wife Katie, she raised 6 biological children, 4 adopted children, and was known to still teach the masses who her theologian husband brought into her home. Yeah, she was pretty awesome and the supermom incarnate in the 1500s. Naomi from the book of Ruth, not only a great mom but an amazing mother in law. I mean, seriously.

I’m not the best mom ever—thank you, Pinterest, for that reminder daily. But, I want to be a good mom. Can you tell me that this Mother’s Day? Tell me I’m a good mom and one specific reason you think I’m a good mom. If you all can do that, I’ll have 5 good reminders to cling to when Pinterest says nanny-nanny-boo-boo to me, and I find myself wilting a little. Just each one of you tell me one thing I’m doing right as your mom, one specific thing. That’s what I want.

And, my coffee; don’t forget my perfect cup of coffee.

That’s all.

Mom

best mom ever card

 

What do you want for Mother’s Day? Write about it and share it here.

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It’s our ivory year

14 years ago. I confidently walked down that aisle and gazed into the eyes of the man I loved and vowed, guided by my own father, to be married to him until death do us part. The only anxiety I had was about my hair and where we were headed for our honeymoon since the threat of a hurricane had evacuated the Florida Keys where we were headed.

I wasn’t anxious about being married at all. Because I had no clue.

That day, I had no idea what life would look like and what God would bring over the next 14 years.

Losing a parent, infertility, losing 4 babies, work stress, a layoff, the struggle of parenting a child who struggled and the label of “special needs,” adopting from China, starting a nonprofit, the struggle to balance it all.

All we knew was to hold fast (Gen 2:24) to each other. And, looking back over the last 14 years, we’ve done that pretty well–better through some seasons than others.

The 14th anniversary, the ivory anniversary. I don’t know who chose that symbol for this year, but maybe the desire for ivory beginnings is universal when you’ve been married 14 years.

Mark’s card this year — it’s ivory white with a simple message.

As we start our 15th year as one, I want to have an ivory start, forgiving all and living in freedom of all that hinders us from “holding fast” to one another. I look forward to what God writes all over the ivory canvases of our lives as He takes us and puts us where He wants us to be and we do what He has already prepared in advance for us to do. 

11×14 Ivory canvases to hang above our bed ready to be filled. Who knows what will fill them–love notes, artwork, photos. Whatever will fill them during different seasons will remind us that though we don’t know the future, He does. And, He is the one that will equip us by His grace to hold fast.

Wonder what Mark is giving me. Maybe he bought me an elephant.

*update* no elephant. My clever, creative husband gave me old piano key facades on a key ring with the words: “You will always have the key to my heart” written on them.

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A Snow Day in September

I am convinced that snow days are one of God’s ways of making us stop for a bit. Everybody is all ready to go for their day–lunches packed, homework done, clothes out. And, then, all is cancelled and you’re forced to press the pause button on normal life.

Last night, my parents drove 2 hours up and 2 hours back just to say hello, hug on us, and treat us to dinner. All was well. Lydia was a ball of energy and chatty, chatty, chatty. The night was busy with the bedtime routine and getting all ready for today. Then, busy again as Mark and I bonded with our Macbooks over Connecting While Correcting planning and registration details for Together Called and all the business that causes busyness.

As were calling it quits for the night, we heard a door creak and some whimpering. We found Lydia laying on the hall floor with a fever. She was hot and weak in my arms. And, then she started throwing up. And, no one likes throwing up.

Before we were even all cleaned up, I emailed the senior leader of my Bible Study. “Help, I need a sub for tomorrow! I can’t lead my core group. Lydia’s sick.”

It was a long night with Lydia sleeping by my bedside on a crib mattress. This morning, she woke up chipper and chatty again. “Hmmm…could I pull off still going to Bible Study? Maybe I could find someone to stay here with Lyds so that I could still lead…”

And, then she said it to me: “You gonna take care of me today?”

“Oh, yes, sweetie. I’ll take care of you today. That’s my job.”

“Okay, Mommy. And, I’ll take care of you too.”

And, so, we’re home for the day. My Bible Study group met without me. And, I’m sure they were just fine without me. And, Lydia and me? We’re having our own snow day in September. We’re in our comfy clothes and enjoying the quiet house and the sunlight streaming through the windows and the cats curled up in the warmth of that light. And, I’ve pressed the pause button on all else and have been babying my baby today, and we’ve both been eating it up.

Her fever has come back now, and she’s so quiet and gentle. I’m so glad that it’s my job to care for her today. And, I’m so glad she’s taking care of me too.

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Complete

It’s a different year at the beach this summer. With Lydia wearing big girl pants now and the others getting older, vacations can start to feel like vacations and not simply a change of scenery.

As I sit on the beach, watching my family as I read my book under an umbrella, it struck me.

I feel complete.

I cherish each of my children with each of their unique needs as little people with sensitive hearts being shaped everyday.

I look at the 4 of them jumping in the surf with the man I vowed to love for the rest of my days, and I feel complete.

Things are good. My plate is full. I am content with where He has me, what He has put before me, how He is using me to do good works He has already planned in advance for me to do.

But, even within that fullness, there are images that aren’t far from consciousness that I can quickly conjure up.

Last night, using the marvel of modern technology, we “met” a class of 20 school aged children in China. They pushed and shoved to see us on their small screen, each battling to say the same thing, “hello. How are you? Nice to meet you.” Some covered their mouths and giggled with shyness as their teacher, a friend of my parents, explained that they had never “seen a foreigner.” We asked them a few light questions, even named a few of the students who wanted English names, trying to match American names to the sound of their beautiful Chinese names.

As I went to the bed, the images lingered in my mind of children, not these children whose parents were making sacrifices to have them learn English and have more opportunities. I thought of the children whose faces I see online who have no parents and no opportunities who long for a family, who only know the same routine day in and day out, maybe never even leave the walls of the building where they live.

Yet, I feel complete. At least for this season I do.

For now, I will do what I’m called to do.

Be a wife to my husband. A mother to four treasures. And an advocate as I’m able for the children who wait and for the families who bring them home.

For now.

Ni Hao Yall

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