Category: life thoughts

Our Little Joy

Our little Hannah Joy is now 2 weeks old as of yesterday. She is a wonderful nurser, good sleeper, and kind little thing that has fit right in amongst the joy of her sisters. Funny to admit, but our lifestyle is really quite conducive for the addition of a newborn and thanks to the grace of God that Hannah’s so mild-tempered and such a good nurser, it’s been less of an overwhelming transition than I expected in moving from a household of two dependents to three.There are certainly moments of “Mommy only has two hands, my dear children” that creep into our world, but I have found life to be quite kinder on me and the girls than I had anticipated.

Abi has also done very well with the transition despite my previous concern regarding Abi’s “Mommy only” moments. We have done our best to ease the transition by not making our family “all about the baby”. We don’t constantly emphasize Rachael and Abi in the context of their relationship to their newest sister. We’re not constantly asking them for help with Hannah or trying to push a relationship that has yet to form with Hannah. Their sisterhood will grow on it’s own and we take delight in Rachael and Abi’s initiative in their relationship with Hannah, like when they ask to hold her or help pick out her clothes, but really are working hard to carry on life as “usual”. And due to Hannah’s “sleeping around the clock” habits, it has been a gentler transition of shared time as moments of needing balance come and go.

I am not anticipating Hannah’s addition to our family to be easy and carefree, but as has been the case with Rachael and Abi’s various life stages, we are all adjusting to each other in an effort to learn how to love. Sometimes the adjustment feels one-sided: just ask Hannah when she has to wait to be fed because Abi needs a new diaper, or ask Abi when she needs to settle for Mommy reading her a book on the couch because it’s time for Hannah to eat, or ask Rachael when Abi needs a Mommy-snuggle time and Rachael has to wait to show me her new baby doll set-up in the playroom. But I am thankful that the efforts to teach Rachael and Abi to love each other through serving each other and taking care of each other (which means sharing Mommy and Daddy too) has naturally and comfortably transitioned into a new normal with Hannah as well. They all have their moments of not wanting to share (so do I, I must confess), but it’s nothing that Matt and I feel incapable or unequipped to parent through. It’s a life lesson we all learn together.

So I’ll share some Hannah pictures for those that we are not blessed to live close enough to and for those that are enjoying soaking up our Hannah too. =)

 Those studying eyes. – Love ’em.
 A little personality, no? 😉
 I never want to forget these moments…
 First experience in her crib (and the subsequent short nap).
 Meeting Aunt Sarah for the first time at her soccer game.
[Hannah’s first date-night with Mommy/Daddy at 8 days old.]
2 weeks old

Thank you all for your prayers, encouragement and support as our family moves into our new world of three, age three and under. =)

– We’re adoring it.

– Thank you, Jesus.
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Final Goodbye

From an email sent to my Sunday School class about Grandpa Stauffer:

“Grandpa Stauffer began heavenly walking with Jesus this morning at 6am. He shed this world and stepped into the second chapter of his life without pain or distress, but peacefully in his sleep. We’re all taking comfort in the hope that he is now standing on two legs [he previously had one amputated] and meeting his Savior face to face. We’re also hopeful that he’ll get to dance with his earthly bride again.

While the transition hurts for those of us left behind, the hope in Christ is more than enough to grant a supernatural peace about the whole situation. Barb and Rodger both woke up this morning around 5am feeling that something was different. Rodger later shared that he had a dream that he and Barb were standing in the house with Grandpa and everyone was at peace.

Please, if you do not mind, pray that the Hope we have in Christ is able to bring family members into a stronger desire for Jesus as memorial service plans, phone calls, and travels to Michigan naturally bring up conversations about eternity. Grandpa Stauffer’s wishes to be cremated and buried next to his beautiful bride will be carried out at the small grave-side service in early October.

Thank you again for your love and prayers.

And again, it cannot be stressed enough, that the hope of Christ makes this whole situation saturate our faith in a new level of New Jerusalem focus.

One day every knee shall bow… just some get the privilege to kneel before the rest of us.”

– We know you are resting in peace, Grandpa Stauffer. And we’re also so thankful that you are resting in true Joy. You are so loved and already are missed.

– To God be the glory. 

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Her Voice

The phone rang at another inopportune moment: the baby crying and ready for a fresh diaper, two little girls needing encouragement at the table to choose eating over playing. I heard the familiar family answer machine message inviting the general public into a sample of Rachael’s cuteness before leaving the necessary essentials for correspondence. Then came the almost unrecognizable voice, it sounded important but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear over the baby’s needs. Freshly diapered and reswaddled, my tag-along and I returned to the answer machine, figuring I had a call to direct to Pastor through my husband. I couldn’t place what small portions of the voice I was able to distinguish before, my mind filing through names and faces. Replay and a now quiet room revealed her voice. A voice of deep hurt mixed with desperation. A voice needing a friend.

I wasn’t used to hearing her this way. She always holds herself so strong. Her years of experience carry such confidence and assurance. When someone like that takes on such a broken tone, it doesn’t matter that you just conversed the other day. All of a sudden they become masked until something in their speech is revealed. “Son, I have been trying to get a hold of you and I just can’t,” her semi-whisper broke through. “I need to talk to pastor and I don’t have his number,” her voice unmasked her tears. I was frozen. The rest became a routine. My husband, the assistant pastor was needed, but far more than that, my husband, a son… a friend, was needed.

He wasn’t responding how we thought he would. We all had high hopes. The statistics felt manageable. The promise of a distance from pain coming. The promise of mobility, healing and hope being on the horizon. The family came in as support, encouraging and praying. They got to visit and send their well-wishes in person, face to face – a rarity for such distant travelers, though close in their hearts. Then it took an unexpected turn. Health being a funny friend… or foe.

I’m going to miss him. His quirky wit. His stubborn tone. I’m going to miss the way his face lit up while watching his great grandkids. His funny remarks and commentary leaving some confused as to his sincerity. Hehe. Great Grandpa was just great grandpa – grouchy, stubborn and lovable all wrapped up in one. And he will be missed. He is missed as we say goodbye.

It just hit me all the more,

when it came through her voice.

– praying.

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Born from the Sometimes

Sometimes you just need to cry.
Palm on your forehead,
Face buried in your blanket,
Laying alone in your bed.

Sometimes you just need to stare off.
Disappointment not taking on words,
Fuzzing out of reality,
The bassinet still empty.

Sometimes you just need to lay quietly.
Drowning out the unwanted commentary,
“Helpful” others due date predictions,
Filtering out prying stares.

Sometimes you just need to close your eyes.
That blurry burning in your eyelids,
Headache incurable,
Months of tension in your lower back and shoulders.

Sometimes you just need a moment.
Replaying hospital discharge words,
Medical assistant’s “common” classification rolling so easily from her tongue,
Lip quivering and that lump welling in the back of your throat.

Sometimes you just need to stop counting.
Fake progress’ painful contractions surmounting nothing,
Distance allowing the illusion of control,
Ripping up the latest record sheet.

Sometimes you just need the silence.
Just alone without expectation,
Letting down the game face,
Months of others’ Hallmark hope sayings falling from your mind.

Sometimes you just need to not know what you need.
Heart-ripping frustration rolling from your cheeks,
Not even understanding yourself,
Welcoming the isolation of pregnancy in the moment.

Sometimes you just need to hurt.
Months of sleeplessness and silent symptoms dealt with alone,
Patience statements from well-rested, comfortable others, 
Endless pain welling over the brim.

Sometimes you just need to cry.
Outpouring of honesty to a responseless audience,
Frozen in space and time,
A blender of misunderstood and brushed off.

Sometimes…

Then the sometimes ends,

And you go back to your normal,

Filing the sometimes in honesty and growing into a newness.

… A newness born from the sometimes. 

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Moving Mountains

Saw this over here and decided I liked the quote enough I made my own.

I used some scraps from my collection of gift bags, scrapbook papers, construction paper leftovers from other projects, etc, and glued them onto the lid of a shoebox to give it a canvas-like feel.

 [ “Let her sleep for when she wakes she will move mountains.”]

So now it hangs on the nursery door to the girls’ room as a “quiet zone” reminder when we have the youth over and also a precious little reminder of their beautiful potential to “move mountains.” I really love it. Makes me smile. And reminds me of how quickly the time goes – how little time we have to serve and love our children into adults. But it also speaks volumes of their ability to “move mountains” each day, not just in the future.

And I’m very happy with how it turned out. 

And of course I couldn’t have done it without my eager helper. 😉

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It Overflows.

I sat in the quiet, drinking in the rest. Overhearing the nursery fan on the baby monitor which blended in well with the ceiling fan’s rotation behind me. The quiet hum of the dryer, spinning my latest load of diapers. The sight of the other diapers dancing on the clothes line in the backyard sun through my peripherals. Silence filling the house. Rest.

I prayed throughout my project. Painting rubber cement on a blank index. Thank You, Lord for this rest. Bonding a blank index to the former. Thank You, Lord, for Esther‘s heart. Squaring the corners. In stepping up with Your passion inside her to share the Word. Picking up a magnet and painting on rubber cement. Thank you for the hearts of Will and Theresa. Strokes of the brush. How they are giving it all daily for Your Kingdom. Pressing the magnet to the cards. Please breathe into them rest… peace. 

A smile crept on my lips at the thoughts and prayers for Emmanuel – his growing heart in the Lord. And Ayuba‘s willingness to serve. Those beautiful faces. Beautiful people. Almost as a lullaby did my soul sing it’s thankfulness. King of kings…. Lord of lords… I remembered the Psalm I read just this morning.

Spinning of the fans. The persistently light humming of the dryer. Thank You, Lord for this rest. 

My cup is full…

Instant thought of the list of names to be written on these new magnets. Those dedicating themselves unto the Lord and those that have yet to meet Him. Those I have the privilege to pray for.

In utero dancing.

it overflows…

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