Wandering Heart Bound

I forgot about this space…this online journal where a much younger version of myself poured out thoughts.

It’s 2025 and I’m 40 years old with four years behind me since my last entry. To say time has gotten away from me is an understatement. I’ve hardly had a moment to take a breath since the whirlwind of my woes, victories, pain and joy alike swept me away from a state of reflection. What have I been doing? A younger more idealistic self would call this present chaos a wasteful crucible. Wisdom sees it all for what it really is…this is life. This is living, working, trying, failing, getting back up after each sucker punch to the very heart of you. This is adulting.

I don’t know what it is about 40 but I feel like a grown up. The imposter syndrome creeps in some days, but for the most part, I’m feeling very middle aged. I think most millenials struggle with growing up and the hard reality is finally hitting that we have.

Fast forward…I feel hope. I experienced two deep losses in 2022 and 2023, two losses that left my arms empty and my heart in pieces. However, a glimmer of hope has remained in the shallow of death.

I’ve written of the struggle to juggle, the pain and joy of motherhood, and the reality of this glorious mess we find ourselves in. Maybe I’ve stopped struggling, maybe I’ve given in? Or maybe the grace is sufficient for today and I’ve finally embraced it. Loss changes you….it shocks you and then brings you face to face with the depths of your fears. It makes you brave.

Fast forward, I’ve grown upward and onward.

I turned another year older yesterday. I looked in the mirror to see an aging face, tired from work, tired from parenting, tired from not having time to do the things that make my heart come alive. I read another blog from a “tired mom” type this morning while having coffee in bed and she commented that a reader reached out asking if she wrote about anything other than being exhausted. I laughed. It comes with the territory of raising children. Maybe this blog is the same old story.

I turned another year older, another day in the reality of living in the tension, the pressure cooker of working full time, attending grad school, commuting 45 minutes to work, helping raise three boys, being a good wife/friend to my husband, and at the same time maintaining my own health, physically and spiritually, let alone attempting to invite others into that vulnerable, scary place of being seen in what I call “zombie land”, that hazy grey area of sleep deprivation, depression, and lack of dreaming that leaves you looking like a shell of your former self. Who wants to be seen like that? Who would want to invite friends, especially old friends, into the drama of your current crucible? Welcome to the land of the undead! I’m still here, I think…

I’ve heard it said that the greatest shame of all would be to live a life that was successful, yet unfulfilled. Oh how I fight that desperately, like a bird in a cage flapping its wings against the bars…I am the creator of this containment, I am the one who has yielded.

Another year, another day, and somehow, this year has been different simply by a fresh conversation, started by one of my oldest and dearest friends. Followed by another message or two, reaching out, a song sent here, a text conversation there, a random call on the evening commute. I see you. I hear you. I’ve walked this way too, I am in my own crucible. I’m calling out the gold in you. Changeling. I’m here for the change and I’ll call your heart from the tomb. I see you.

Thus begins the mutual exchange of shared experience, one in which we all rely upon. Humanity is resilient when we know we aren’t alone. In all our individuality, we are pack creatures. Even the most introverted of all need to know they are seen, understood, and somehow, some way, known.

It started two decades ago in a living room with insecure, unsure teenagers, those few formative years planted a precious seed. Twenty years later, in the dead of my winter season, hope begins to stir in me, the ground begins to shift.

Another year, another day and somehow, what was there at the start is here again at my new beginning. What was there when dreams were once birthed is here again at their resurrection.

Success for me has looked like a great career, two degrees, a wonderful marriage, three beautiful sons. Yet this success for me has been a type of death, one I have willingly yielded to when pressed against the Rock. However, just like in all great stories and myths, all which reflect the Truth in the greatest story of all, resurrection happens to those who die with hope.

Raise me to life and let me link arms with those who see me, with those I see, with eyes that see beyond the fog of this present life, where our ageless faces will shine with the Glory of the Everlasting, where all dreams bloom in time and the winter fades into memory.

The world is in a silent panic.  We enter week three of my three year old, two year old, and husband all at home.  Strange days of not being able to find toilet paper and bread we can only hope will be behind us soon.  It seems overblown, yet the prospect terrifying.

It’s Sunday, the house is quiet, I just finished a quiz for online gradschool.  I opened up my computer, realizing it has been months since I have written a post.

Around the time of my last post, I had no idea I was pregnant.  Today, I’m 35 weeks along with my third boy who will be due in just a few short weeks amidst a global pandemic and likely right at the point hospitals are overloaded with patients.

In the midst of this quiet, home bound season, I am trying to fight the tendencies of my personality to simply complain about the fact this is something I have LONGED FOR, quiet, time with my husband, time with my kids, no events, no obligations, the ability to work from home, and instead of embracing the good, stay glued to social media and let these moments pass by.

I always long for time…yet when I have it, I have no idea what to do with it.  Vacations, holidays, all the same….I get so worked up about how excited I am to have time and when I do get it, I end up disconnected and don’t enjoy it.  I guess I just don’t know how to slow down.

My prayer for my own heart this week and in the weeks ahead, no matter how long this lasts, is that I will embrace the quiet, embrace the time away from the usual.  I don’t want to give into the fear of the unknown, the fear of the market, the fear of the price of oil, the fear of losing my job, the fear that this time will slip from between my fingers.

Rest. My prayer is for true, quiet rest.

I’m home with my two boys alone this week, they sleep sweetly next to me in our king sized mess of a bed.  Three years and 20 months old…best friends, back to back adventures that have awakened my heart and ripped it in two in the same sweet blow.  I am a mom walking the tight rope, trying to be the best I can be, to be present…yet circumstances keep me from being with them all the time.  I get them for this short, sweet time, 18 years of bliss….but these sweet young days will be gone before I know it.

How do you live when you are inhabiting two places but your heart resides in only one place?  How do you live this double life of working professional and fully present mom?  Is it really quality over quantity?  What if what I have to offer at the end of the day sucks?  What if my quality just isn’t enough?  Will they thank me for my hard work or resent me for not being home enough?

I don’t know if a working mom ever finds a balance, when the maternal instincts to love and protect your children are undermined by the need to provide for your children, you are immediately thrown into a battle that cannot be won.  So where is the grace for the race?  What is the answer?

This is where I must choose to lean in on a strength that is not my own.  I can’t do this, but maybe that is where it all begins.  Surrender is freedom.

These boys are my life, the very reason I get up every morning…they are my greatest joy and I’m doing the very best I can every day.

 

Crash. It happened.  I had my first car wreck.  The first one ever in fact…my van, my lovely red van with the leather seats and sunroof that I adore, that I feel amazingly fabulous driving, the one that helps me keep my cool as a mom, that one…smashed into a Jeep.  For the record, Jeeps are pretty much indestructible.  My nearly totaled my beloved mom-mobile.  The Jeep had no scratch.  I was a mess.

The wreck happened on Good Friday.  I was frantically rushing to get a FedEx dropped for work, tying up loose ends before our 10 year anniversary trip.  The boys were in the back and I looked down for a split second to check the GPS on my phone and the next thing I know, I’m staring into the back of another car with my entire front in crushed.

So began the unraveling, the anxiety hit.  I regressed to a fourth grader who cried over her first “B”, I regressed to a 16 year old making sure every hair was in place, I regressed to a college sophomore in the back of a bus in Argentina sobbing because I couldn’t handle the stress of leading a team of 16 peers in a foreign country.  I came face to face with the reality that I am my worst critic, my worst enemy.  I know I’m not perfect but I’m going to beat myself up over every mistake anyways.  I’m going to over analyze every comment, every email, every conversation and hold it up to a standard that is completely unrealistic.

The thing is, I’ve carried myself in a way that appears confident, cool, and collected.  It doesn’t take long to realize my foundation is sand.  I’ll knock the wind out of myself and inflict the first blow before anyone else can even think about it.

Crash.  Do all thing really work together for good?  I’ve believed it and held on for dear life to those words, to that promise.  I’ve forgotten.

A giant magnifying glass on the soul, an exposing of the condition of the heart, it took broken glass and dented metal, that’s what it took to wake me up.  I can’t stay on top of every little detail and when I don’t, I must give myself grace.  The damn FedEx could have waited.  I was too afraid to let someone else pick up the slack.  Why? Because in my mind, I’m not worth it.

Crash.  I am thankful we are all ok.  I’m thankful for car insurance.  I’m thankful that I got to keep my fabulous little van and all was not lost.  The gain?  A fresh perspective, a longing to shake off the anxious living, a desire to embrace the gift of today and let tomorrow worry about itself.

It has been awhile.  Both my 2 year old and youngest are finally asleep.  Victory in Jesus! My 11 month old wouldn’t let me put him down….all day, until just 20 minutes ago.  I did one of those roll off the bed slowly and crawl on my stomach out of the bedroom moves, I’d put any marine to shame with my mad covert skills.  I then followed with fresh warm sheets out of the dyer…gently laying them around him on the bed.  No doubt, they will cool soon and he’ll be squirming for a warm body to cling to.  For now, it worked.

This age is precious as can be but exhausting.  Sometimes, you just…need…some…space.

Chocolate bar and a glass of wine, on the floor in the landing.

We are those terrible parents that co-sleep…yes.  We. do. And it’s called survival.  We didn’t even try not to.  We just determined that if we both had to get up for work and spend very little time with them during the week, we wanted to sleep all night and have them close.  So yes, my kids are not sleep trained and they are the favorites during nap time at daycare 😉  No apologies.  Yes, I would like to not have a baby that snacks all night on me and a toddler who doesn’t kick me in the face.  I would like to sleep next to my husband for sure…but we wouldn’t change this for the world.  We had seven years and we’ll have decades more to have a kid free bed.  This season is so short, I want them close to me.  And yes, soon, we’ll help them and encourage them to make that brave decision to sleep in their big boy beds.  Not yet.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to some dear friends who are embarking on the next phase of their missional life in West Africa.  We had them over for a few hours and we shared stories and experiences.  They have a son the same age as my youngest.  I am amazed at how difficult and rewarding their lives are, at the same time, so aware of my own selfish tendencies.  I thought my life would look very much like their lives a decade ago.  My husband felt the same.  Now, having kids, our vision is so very narrow, tunnel vision, survival mode…my precious friends think of their work and plans months out, I find myself thrilled to have made a grocery list.

I am so thankful to know them and I admire them so very much, especially seeing them do what they do with a baby in tow.  It is so easy to compare talents, strengths, weaknesses.  I find myself doing it so often with people I love so very much, with people who are doing the things I thought I would do.

I’m not as strong as I thought I was.  I am not as talented.  I am not as creative and I don’t have the motivation I thought I had.  I don’t operate well without sleep.  Social events drain me and holding an adult conversation is difficult for me these days.  I am not as confident as I used to be.  I don’t like the newest apps that make life easier.  I also don’t think I could do what my friends do.

And I’m perfectly ok with all of it.  I get down too often, I struggle with depression on a daily basis.  I feel like a failure more often than I should.  I feel used and tired.  I am weak, I am vulnerable, and I need help.  I’m exactly where I need to be.  I can’t do it all on my own.

This unraveling started about 10 years ago.  It was a slow process and I have found that having children has taken me to the very edge of myself.  I don’t have anything left to give.  And that is when He breaks in.  I’m out of the way.  He can finally do the miraculous.

Empty…the baby on the bed stirs at the same time the boy who looks just like me calls out “Mommy!”  The silence is over, the wine glass enjoyed.  A cry breaks the silence.

 

Wow, tomorrow my husband comes home after being gone for a week.  I have never appreciated him more or been more aware of my own shortcomings than ever this week.  It truly takes two to do this tango.

I have the most precious babies, but this week has been a freak week of random viruses, poop messes, nose bleeds, broken dishes, cars that won’t start….any random thing you could think of that could go wrong has gone wrong…except nobody has thrown up.  And if we experience another one of those “disappearing poop” episodes (where your kid poops but it comes out the side of the diaper on the floor and you find it later…yeah.), I might just throw up.

I have an amazing boss.  He told me to stay home today since this week has been insane.  So….I cleaned the house, washed the sheets, did every piece of laundry…then I decided to roam aimlessly around Trader Joe’s and Steinmart before coming home, drinking a glass of rose, and realizing I miss my babies…but as I was walking out the door to go pick them up an hour early, I decided to sit down and write.

I don’t like being alone  I mean, being alone can be glorious…but during this season of life…I need babies in my space, a husband here to help me, and all the glorious refining that comes with the mess.  I am a great landman and I do my job well.  A day off is well deserved.  I’m a friend who loves deeply but you may not see me often.  I am a daughter who tries to check in as much as I can.  I am a beautiful mess.

I am who I am without apologies.  I’m 33 and I’ve grown into my skin with all the age spots, grey hair, and extra pounds…I am better with my babies and with my husband.

Cheers to a clean house and a few hours of quiet.  Now time to go love on my wild and crazy boys.

 

OH the HEART WRENCHING MOMENT…..when your baby, your first born, the pride and joy of your heart, the one who looks EXACTLY like you…wants nothing….absolutely….utterly…NOTHING to do with you.  I disappear entirely, becoming the invisible parent.

I cried my eyes out last night.  For the last five months, I might as well have not existed.  Since the arrival of our second bundle of perfect, my first baby boy has found a new favorite human, and that human is NOT mommy anymore.  Daddy might as well be Santa Claus, every magical horsey/dragon/dinosaur creature imaginable, he might as well even be Jesus himself!  The kid is obsessed!

Why does this upset me?  I have a wonderful husband and any normally sane wife would relish in the fact that her almost 2 year old is following in the footsteps of such a man…except I am not your normally sane wife.  It KILLS me.

I come home “HI SWEETHEART!!! I missed you today”

Dead stare.  OR worse…he runs away.

“Give mama a hug because I LOVE YOU!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” as he fights to get out of my embrace.

Last night was the mother of all nights.  I decided it was a good idea to play with said toddler.  Maybe if I did a little rough housing like Daddy, he’d warm up to me.  I held him down, tickled him, wouldn’t let him ago.  Giggling soon turned into whining which turned in to me SCREAMING as he sunk his needle like baby teeth into that tender skin right above my armpit.  My reaction (or overreaction) as a giant purple bite appeared caused him to run away crying to Daddy.  He was terrified of mommy.  Tears. All around. Tears. This was my breaking point after five months of straight up rejection.

I give up on everything, on life entirely…I’m done.  I went to bed and cried my eyes out until little brother needed me and once again I am holding the bundle of perfection that started this entire cycle to begin with.

I know, I’m not acting like an adult in this situation and most of the time, I can ignore this behavior.  Last night was just one of those nights when I took it WAY too personal.  Never mind that my child BIT the ever living daylight out of me!  It seems humorous looking back on it, but it kills me!  He’s a tad bit resentful and jealous of little brother.  I get it.  It just crushes me when every breath I take and moment spent is taking care of these precious babies, only to get a bite, not a hug…a BITE that drew blood, ya’ll!

I guess that is how someone else must feel.

We do the same thing with God, don’t we?  We are his kids and relishes our every word, every action, every smile.  Yet we ignore him, we run away from him, and sometimes we lash out when we have had enough.  Yet he keeps on loving us unconditionally, daily caring for our needs, even when we don’t take the time to notice him.

Being a parent has opened my eyes to an entire new world of emotions, both joy and heartache.  I am thankful for each experience.  We will get through these days, I will one day no longer be the invisible parent.  Until then, I’ll keep chasing my little baby boy and taking time to relish in the hard lessons learned.

I asked for a simple life.  Boy, does it look different than I imagined.

The last few years for me have been a whirlwind.  I started a job where I commute 45 minutes each way, a job that has been challenging, a job I never thought I would ever do, a job I really would not have ever chosen to do if given the choice, nevertheless, a job that I enjoy and a job that I am good at.

I never saw myself as a professional working in the industry I work in.  I always saw myself working exclusively for non-profits, whether it be in church ministry or missions.  My first four years out of college, I threw myself wholly into this vision of living like a vagabond, traveling the world helping the poor and needy, rejecting the “American dream”, guitar in tow, ready to make an impact.  As a young adult, I saw myself writing and recording a collection of songs, I saw myself writing in general.  To me, that was simplicity, the complexity was how to actually do it.

I got married at 24 to my husband who is over 4+ years younger than me, who had not gone to college, who had zero plans except to love me and take care of me.  We both worked retail and attempted to juggle a side ministry…we even packed everything we owned in storage and took a trip to the Middle East with full intention of moving there. On that trip it was made clear that we were in no way ready for that type of move.  So the alternative?  My husband enrolled in college and I found a “real job” that paid.  Fast forward 7 years, my husband is getting his Master of Divinity, has been ordained as a Deacon, serves as a youth minister at our church.  I am working the same job.  Its almost as if the pause button was hit on any dream I ever had before….or maybe, those dreams died?  Or maybe it is actually this…when we are young, we have this rose colored vision of the world, especially when you are a dreamer, young, fearless and ambitious.  I believe God puts those dreams in your heart to move you to chase something, to chase Him.  Those dreams are sometimes actualized and sometimes, they change and grow into new dreams.

I will tell you this, it is Friday morning, the last Friday morning of my maternity leave.  I’m sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee.  I am looking at my dream right now, sleeping in a yellow onesie.  My dream, my greatest joy and desire was unknown to me until I held my first son for the first time.  Being a mom is the greatest calling, the greatest adventure I have ever set out on.  In those tiny faces, I see so much beauty and wonder that the world entire could never offer.  I hear songs more moving than anything that I could create.  I see a life, as hard as it is and as mundane as it can appear, a life more adventurous than I could ever image.

I start work next week, we begin the process of early morning wake ups, throwing on “real clothes”, and getting all of us out the door successfully.  In the chaos and pain I feel in leaving my babies with someone else at daycare, I have to remind myself that I am providing for my family, I am working toward a new and lovely dream, a dream that sprung up from years of being buried in the ground, a sprouting seed that has started unfold it’s leaves.  Two little boys call me mommy, what else could I want?

I don’t know what lies ahead for me, what season are yet to come for our family.  I do know we are in the palm of His hand and this unexpected turn of growing up and growing out has resulted in joy unspeakable.

Yes, my guitar is in it’s case collecting dust and there are songs I have yet to sing…because right now, there is a power in “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” that can move mountains in my soul like nothing else.  A simple song, a simple life.

Thank God for the Boba wrap.  Here I sit, my two month old son wrapped close to my chest, right were he wants to be 24-7.

Words cannot describe the immense joy I have felt at having a second baby.  I didn’t know your heart could be so full, I didn’t realize that the love you felt for your first could expand to greater depths with #2.  I also didn’t realize how insanely chaotic it would be, especially when BOTH end up sick around the holidays and for the biggest duration of my maternity leave.

Yet, I go back to work again in two weeks and the deep sadness I feel is too much to handle…so, I’ll do some processing in this post because writing is therapeutic for me.

I feel like an insane woman.  I sat on the couch holding R as my sweet husband got my 20 month old ready to go to daycare.  Let him stay home with me today….I pondered.  Then the thoughts of how tired I am and how chaotic the day with two will be….I reluctantly sent him on with tears in my eyes.  I asked, am I a bad mom for sending him to daycare? What is wrong with me??  I haven’t cried about sending W to daycare in months!  He’s a force to be reckoned with and he has fun playing with his friends at daycare…a semi-relaxing day with an infant that sleeps most of the time seems much better…so why the tears?!

It’s the LOVE SO DEEP IT HURTS….the radical journey of becoming a parent and learning how to navigate all the emotions that come with it.  I have seen a lot of the world, lived and witnessed a lot of heartbreak, experienced deep joy and excitement, felt like the most loved woman in the world married to the most amazing husband….LOVE….HURT….I have experienced it all on many levels.  Nothing compares to this….LOVE SO DEEP IT HURTS, it makes you crazy!

Sleep deprivation, disgusting diapers, not remembering the last time you washed your hair, having food (or God knows what) crusted on every single item of clothing you own, feeling like a dairy cow…it can get overwhelming to say the least.  Yet, when I look at my babies, I am overwhelmed that the human heart could love so deep.  It cuts down to the core of your soul, it exposes the depth of your own depravity, the scope of your limitations, and at the same time highlights the goodness within all of us, the lengths you would go for these tiny humans, the inner fortitude, and those instincts that at times seem super human, because they are, clothed in a grace not of this world.

It doesn’t get easier, shame on you for telling me that.  It’s just as hard if not harder the second time…I go back to work February 1 and I am dreading pulling out of the drive way, knowing that my little R will be cared for by someone else most of the week, knowing that what I will offer is only a couple of tired hours each night after work.

This is our reality, this is the reality for most.  It is a blessing and a curse, more bitter than sweet…I admit, I am jealous of moms who get to stay at home with their babies and take care of their home.  Yet, I am thankful for the opportunity to be able to provide for my family, for a job that understands that I am a mom first.

A love so deep it hurts…why subject ourselves to the pain?  It is worth every single moment and all the moments I don’t get to be with my babies?? What about them?  They make me appreciate the time I do get to spend with them.  Today, I hurt.  I hurt really bad.  So I’ll snuggle my little one a while longer and soak it all in.