Mommy. I need 'dis.

"Mommy. I need 'dis." Henry slips a roll of 4 inch wide lime green ribbon into the bottom of Charlie's stroller, super stealthy like.

"Um no, we actually don't need ribbon and also that is called stealing." I put the ribbon back on the shelf. "Let's go find some new paint for you and ViVi."

"I need 'dis?" Henry tilts his head and holds up a sparkly red Christmas ribbon.

"Not yet. Maybe in a few weeks when it's closer to Christmas time." But sorry, probably not because sparkles are the worst.

We head back towards the craft section and on our way Henry grabs no less than 20 items that he "needs." A polka dot mason jar, a giant letter X, a bright pink 3 foot tall Eiffel Tower: "I need 'dis, I need 'dis, I NEED 'dis." 

If you were waiting for the metaphor, I'll cut to the chase here: a toddler in Hobby Lobby is a lot like me in life. Well, and also me in Hobby Lobby. But mainly me in life.

I don't steal ribbon or collect huge Eiffel Tower statues (yet), but I do get caught up in this frantic idea that I need all of the things, all of the time. And as much as consumerism is a problem in my life, I'm not even really talking about that because I think it's just a symptom of a greater disease.

Today I had 3 kids napping at the same time. Violet rarely takes naps anymore so this happens maybe once a week, if I'm lucky. Charlie has been in crazy sleep regression for a few weeks straight and I've been in a fog, starting to feel that inexplicable sadness/hopelessness that can come from built up sleep deprivation. I knew I needed to stop and at least take a power nap this afternoon. I scarfed down some soup while standing at the kitchen island, stole a handful of Halloween candy from my kids baskets,  and went straight up to bed. "Ok. Nap!" I told myself. The quiet felt so good for a minute. I started to doze. Then my phone buzzed with texts. "Well I have to see what that's about." I picked up my phone and as I was responding I caught sight of the stacks of folded laundry covering my floor that needed to be put away. "Ugh.... I'll sleep better if I get that done." I thought. I got up to work on the project. While I was puttering around with piles of laundry, Charlie started to cry so I picked him up and nursed him and while I did that I ordered waterproof mattress covers for the kids beds off of the amazon app, which reminded me that I needed to wash a whole lot of bedding and also clean the dog poop that was crusted in Violet's shoes from trick or treating the day before. When I was done nursing, Charlie fell back asleep and I walked downstairs to take care of the poop shoes. This was a serious situation and no joke took a good 20 minutes of scrubbing. By the time I was done my shirt was covered in tiny, smelly shards of dog poop. I washed my hands thoroughly and threw my shirt in the washing machine which reminded me I needed to start a load of laundry. The dryer was full, which reminded me I needed to fluff the sheets that had been sitting in there wrinkling all day. I couldn't get the smell of poop out of my nostrils so I re-washed my arms and hands and lit every scented candle in the house. The smell of candles reminded me of my trip to Hobby Lobby which reminded me I had bags of crafts that needed to be unloaded from the car. Then Violet woke up. Then Charlie woke up. Then Henry woke up. Buh bye naptime! 

Basically every area of my life feels like the book "If you give a mouse a cookie." And while part of that is just written right there in the "mom" job description, it becomes a problem when I completely lose sight of what it means to rest. 

I'm not talking about 'fake resting.' My wise friend Cathy shared that term with me the other day and it really stuck with me. Fake resting is resting but feeling guilty about it the whole time. Fake resting is texting or responding to emails on our phones when we said we would take a nap. Fake resting is folding laundry and checking things off of our To Do list while we watch our favorite show with a loved one. Fake resting is actually just multitasking and while multitasking is an essential part of our lives as moms and as humans- it is not actually resting. Sorry. This came as a shock to me too. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. 

God carved a whole day of rest out for us and said it was good. A whole day! And while I like the sound of that in theory, when I actually think about what it would look like to TRULY rest for a day, I have a mini panic attack. Do you know how much I would get behind on if I just stopped doing things for a day?! Oh the drama.

The problem with not actually resting in life is that we never really recharge. Something has to give so our productivity drops and, more importantly, our relationships suffer. 

Now I know what you are thinking if you are a parent. You can't just stop completely. Sandwiches need to be made and butts need to be wiped. If our children aren't given food and fresh air and exercise they will cry and scream and swing from the chandeliers in protest (yes, Henry has actually tried that.) 

What I would say to that is that resting isn't as much about what you are doing as it is about truly being in a moment: Taking a walk as a family after dinner. Sprawling out on the floor with your kiddos, building with blocks and asking them intentional questions. Watching your favorite show with your spouse while snuggling with your phones out of reach. Carving out a quiet time where you are completely alone and can read a great book or pray or sing.

There is also no doubt a physical component. We need sleep. We just do. And while there are those magical unicorn people who feel fully recharged on 3 hours of sleep (I've heard this is a thing? It sounds like fable to me), most of us need more. I clearly remember an evening last year when this truth really hit me. I was pregnant, had just gotten over a long bout of bronchitis, and my kids were not sleeping well. I was in a deep depression and could not find my way out. After putting the kids to bed that night I looked at the clock and it was 7:15. I struggle with ever going to bed early because after the crazy hour/dinner/bedtime rush I feel I've earned a few hours where no one needs anything from me, but that night I was weepy and angry and I swear I felt God say to me "GO TO SLEEP." I was too tired to argue so I dragged my pregnant, tired self up the stairs, crawled in bed, and immediately fell asleep. That night everyone slept through and I woke up at 5:30 a.m., before my kids, energized and excited for the day. I felt a rush of mixed emotions that morning when I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd woken up and actually looked forward to my day. We NEED sleep. It's worth it to fight for sleep. For you and for your family.

This year, I want to be intentional about digging into the good stuff instead of living with my head on a swivel, like a toddler at Hobby Lobby. I want to take care of myself well so the people around me aren't getting my frazzled leftovers. I want to fight for sleep, because I was created to need it.

I want to replace "I need this other thing to be fixed/bought/finished/won to be happy" with "I have this already, and it is so good."

Deep breath. 

Xx

kb

Author's Note: If you are reading Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist, this post was clearly inspired by her way more awesome writing/thinking! If you aren't reading it, sheesh! Pick it up already! 

Mom Brain

I stand at the doctor's office and look at the receptionist with blank eyes. "I'm sorry, what was that?" 

"When. is. Charlie's. birthday?"

"Ummm..." my chronic inability to remember dates is compounded by the embarrassment that my new, sweet baby boy's birthday is not on the tip of my tongue. "Ummmm...." 

The receptionist studies me and waits, with her head tilted slightly. "C'mon lady," I think, "I know it's right there in your computer. How many newborn Charlie Barnetts could there possibly be at this practice? What's with the early morning pop quiz?!" 

"Ummm... July.... umm..." I laugh-awkwardly and it hits me "July 22nd!" I yell out, a little too triumphantly. She looks at her computer and nods. Yessssss. Got it right. 

"Man I need sleep, huh?! Mom brain!"

To all those mammas out there who are tackling each day under the influence of "mom brain," this post is for you.

Here is a (in no way comprehensive) list of some dumb/embarrassing things I've done since having kids:

2 years ago I opened a car door ON MY OWN FACE and chipped my front tooth. No, I had not been drinking. It was the middle of the day and I was tired and rushing to a dear friend's baby shower and BAM!, knocked a big section of my tooth right out. 

+

The morning after the tooth chipping incident, we were living about 10 minutes from the train station and I had to drop Ty off at 6 a.m. As I left the train station, I decided I deserved a massive americano from Starbucks for all of my tooth/sleep woes and hit the drive through. I ordered and pulled up to the window, looking like a hot mess (picture my front tooth still overtly chipped, mascara smudged wildly under my eyes, giant sweatshirt inside out over my PJs) and realized as the cashier opened the window that I had left my wallet at home. "Oh my gosh. I am sooo sorry. I just realized I don't have my wallet. I will run home and come back." \ "Oh honey," the sweet woman looked me up and down with eyes of pure motherly concern. "it's ok. This one's on me."

+

When we first moved into our house I didn't know how the security system worked and clearly didn't know how toddlers work because I left the security control pad on the floor of our bedroom. In a rush to get ready one morning, I took the control pad from Henry (who had been fiddling with it) and brought the kids in the shower with me. As I stepped out of the shower I heard voices yelling up from our stairway. Yep. While Henry was playing with the control pad he'd called the fire department. They had to break into our house in light of the fact that I was in the shower and not hearing my phone or the doorbell. 

+

The fire department might have to start sending us yearly bills because last month Ty was in the city for a work event and I locked myself out of the house WITH ALL 3 KIDS INSIDE. Vi and Henry were sleeping and I had just nursed Charlie and laid him in bed. I poured myself a big glass of victory wine and scooped myself a huge bowl of victory ice cream when I remembered that I needed to take the garbage out. Unfortunately I forgot that I had already locked up for the night so when I walked out the basement door and into the garage it immediately locked behind me. I freaked out, startling my sweet neighbor by frantically knocking on her door at 10:30pm. We tried, quite unsuccessfully, to pick the lock. I called a locksmith who couldn't come for over an hour. "Call the police" she said. The fire department arrived (again) and broke in, this time through our back door. Fortunately, when I got inside all 3 kids were sleeping like sweet little angel babies. In hindsight, the worst part of the whole ordeal (aside from the blinding fear that Charlie had been crying inside and woken Henry up, who in turn decided to make mac and cheese on the stove by himself and also give Charlie a haircut with Ty's clippers) was that by the time I got inside my ice cream had melted. Waaa waaaaa. 

Plenty more where that came from, but I'll stop there. Enjoy your week and remember: We all do dumb things!

Hugs,

kb

Empathy is... (Part 2)

"And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8

When I was 3 years old, my mom got sick. When I was 3 years old, the most energetic, positive person on the planet was suddenly struck with crippling fatigue and a broken immune system. She saw specialist after specialist and was eventually diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome. She tried everything to get better: studies at Mayo Clinic, regimented diets, cutting out gluten and sugar before cutting out gluten and sugar was a thing. She would take long walks every day that she could muster up the energy for the endorphins and while physically she looked like she was in the best shape of her life, inside she was fighting a daily battle with debilitating illness. 

Dinner plans with friends one evening and she might not be able to get out of bed for days. One of my out of town soccer tournaments on a weekend and she could very easily be sick for weeks. Every day she had to make choices about what to expend her small stores of energy on, had to cancel plans, had to carve out sufficient time to sleep... For a true energizer bunny like my mother there could be no worse fate. This was a woman who would instinctively hop on the exercise bike while watching a movie on a Friday night because she couldn't stand to sit still for more then a minute. This was a woman who was captain of her cheerleading squad, a model student, who graduated from the Fashion Institute in NYC and went on to be the VP and district manager of numerous women's clothing stores in the Midwest before she was 30. She was driven and positive and had never even sniffed at anything that looked like illness or depression for her entire life.  

I can tell you from experience that someone like this does not choose to be sick. They do not choose their diagnosis. 

Years after the CFS diagnosis, a specialist in Pennsylvania discovered that the true cause of my mom's symptoms was chronic Lyme disease.

A lot of people still don't know much about chronic Lyme and for the 10+ years my mom thought she had chronic fatigue symptom, many didn't believe CFS was a real thing either. She was suffering daily from not only chronic physical and emotional pain, but also the 

horrible sense that some around her didn't "buy it."

Watching the trajectory of my mom's life, knowing her character in a way that only a daughter can.. I have never had a doubt in my mind about her illness. When I hear people talk about chronic illnesses as imagined or easily fixed with the proper treatment, diet or exercise, I can immediately feel hot anger building in my chest. Sometimes this is the case, but not everyone is so lucky. 

People who make sweeping statements like this are simplifying a complex problem, usually because they've read some articles on the subject or known someone who's symptoms were psychosomatic (or perceived to be psychosomatic). Having lived the horrors of Lyme with my mother and watched her 25+ year battle for health I know that there is so much more to the story. 

I must admit that, before this week, I hadn't spent a significant amount of time thinking about the unique challenges a black person in America faces on a daily basis. I hadn't really considered what the mother of a young black man feels when her baby boy pulls out of the driveway for the first time with a new license. Every mother fears this day, but for the mother of a son who is not white, this emotion is undeniably heightened. How could it not be? We've come a long way in our country but we can't possibly ignore that there are still many in America with racist beliefs. 

Before this week, I had never truly considered what a black man experiences when he sees lights flashing behind his car, having had experiences with discrimination his whole life and heard stories of police brutality, uncertain if the officer behind him is one of the good guys. I couldn't fathom what it must have felt like for countless black men across the country to watch a video of a brother being gunned down at point blank range, to hold their wives and their babies extra close each night thinking "that could have been me."

I must admit that, before this week, I hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about how the spouses and children of police officers feel when their beloved leave the house each morning, when they gear up to serve and protect at a protest or even on a typical Wednesday in a neighborhood where crime rates are high or cop killings are frequent. I couldn't begin to imagine the fear of walking up to vehicles every single day, not knowing if the drivers of those vehicles are armed or mentally stable... seeing numerous friends die in the line of duty, hugging their spouses and babies extra close each night thinking "that could have been me."

It is so easy to dismiss the pains and fears that are not our own. In fact, defensiveness and dismissal are most often forms of self preservation. It is a heavy burden to bear the sorrows of others on top of our own. Ignorance is easier.

It is also fairly easy to be empathetic towards the people that we can relate to. In supporting them we are essentially supporting our own human experience. This isn't to say that shared experiences and sorrows are ingenuine, they are in fact one of the greatest blessings we have in this life... to look a brother or sister in the eyes and be able to say "me too" is a beautiful gift. 

The point here is that there is another kind of empathy we must possess that is far more challenging and equally important: I'll call this "intentional empathy."

This "intentional empathy" comes more naturally for some than others, but I think like any habit it can be practiced and cultivated, and needs to be if we are to live full and genuine and peaceful lives. This empathy goes beyond the knee jerk reaction we have when reading an article or Facebook post and feeling affirmed in what we already believe to be true. This empathy is quick to listen and slow to speak. This empathy seeks first to understand and then to be understood. 

I come from a family that loves to debate the issues around the dinner table, but frankly in my almost 30 years of life I've never seen anyone's beliefs changed in a heated debate. Real understanding comes when we are willing to--as objectively as possible--step inside someone else's perspective and offer genuine compassion. 

This is certainly not to say that we should abandon our core beliefs for every other belief system out there, or that there isn't absolute truth; Sometimes people are right in their beliefs. Sometimes they are dead wrong. Often beliefs fall in a gray area that is a mix of truth and lies and a lifetime of shaping experiences. 

What this is to say is that we are not and cannot be impartial judges. The media, our personal experiences, our own ignorance, even the data... These things can all be like wolves in sheep's clothing.. Promising objectivity about the issues but so often riddled with lies or only offering a small piece of the picture. 

The fact is, we are all looking at life through our own foggy lens, whether we'd like to admit it or not. 

So maybe the point here is that we need to stop trying to be judges all together. Often, on our personal quests for what we feel is justice, we at some point forget about the unique, complex people involved and simplify the issues in an attempt to win arguments; we substitute grace with snap judgements about our brothers and our sisters. We fight stereotypes with new stereotypes and, in doing so, actually perpetuate a cycle of injustice. 

In Jesus' time on earth as a man, he did not shy away from pointing out injustices or wrong doing, but he also reminded us that not one of us is ever righteous enough to cast the first stone. He offered compassion and forgiveness for those in society whom the masses were set against. Even as the son of God, with a perfect view of hope and eternity and love, Jesus wept with those who wept. He knew better than anyone else that this life would be like a small breath compared to eternity, and yet he didn't let that stop him from feeling the emotion of people who were experiencing searing loss in their short time on this earth. 

Jesus also didn't leave us in our sorrows. He reminded us that:

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

It has been a heartbreaking week (and let's face it, year/years/lifetime) to witness the brokenness in and around us, but I am finding hope in a God whose grace is abundant and endless. I am finding hope in the stories of countless people offering His grace and compassion to their neighbors, flickering like tiny candles on a dark night. 

Today I am praying that tragedy would soften our hearts instead of harden them and holding on to the promises of God and the beautiful truth that when a light shines in the darkness, no darkness can overcome it. (John 1:5) 

Love and Grace,

kb

Empathy is...

The nurse adjusted my belly monitors, looked me in the eye, and crinkled her forehead. "This is going to hit you honey. It might be when your husband gets home from his trip tonight and it might be next week, but it's going to wash over you and you are going to have emotions to work through and you need to make sure you let yourself cry and work through them." 

I nodded and thanked her, but thought "not me." Surely people who have lost someone they love or had a serious injury go through that kind of post traumatic stress. So understandable. It happened to me when I miscarried last year 12 weeks into my pregnancy. You are allowed to grieve those types of things. 

But my babies didn't have a scratch on them. The sweet boy in my belly had a strong heartbeat and the blood tests looked good and I had a healthy (albeit sore) body too. I was feeling a lot of emotions but my primary emotion was gratitude for the miracle that God gave us in walking away from this, unscathed:

I felt intense gratitude for all the kind people at the scene of the accident. The men who instantly appeared and helped me get my kids out of our car within seconds. The gentleman who walked into the corner gas station and bought Violet and Henry candy bars, knowing they needed a distraction to help them calm down. The nurse who looked over my babies and asked us the important questions at the scene, giving me some instant assurance that everyone was ok. My sweet friend Anne who showed up at the wreck within minutes to check on us and my mom and my brother and sister-in-law who took care of the kids and I all day since Ty was traveling for work and couldn't get home until late that night... The list goes on. I felt so much gratitude.

Sure, there was guilt. A lot of it. 

I wasn't texting, or changing the radio, or looking down when the accident happened. I was talking to my mom on speaker phone, letting her know that the kids and I were on our way to pick her up to go visit my grandma in Wisconsin. I spaced out driving on a road that I drive on every day and didn't realize the light had turned red. It was an accident, but it was all my fault. 

Driving again wouldn't be easy, but that would surely get better over time, and if anything this was a wake up call to be hyper vigilant every time I stepped into a vehicle. 

I was fine. I was beyond thankful to God. I just wanted to get home to my babies. 

But the nurse was right. It was almost 48 hours before the emotion of the accident really hit me. And it was so much darker than I could have ever expected. Every time I closed my eyes I pictured Violet and Henry hanging upside-down and screaming inside a smashed car that was filling up with smoke. I imagined the little boy in my belly had been harmed in some unseen way when big, dark bruises started to appear across my chest from where the seatbelt had caught me. When I was able to sleep I had nightmares about flipping our car into a lake and not being able to get the windows open, about losing my babies in malls. The guilt and fear were crushing, and while every part of me wanted to just be THANKFUL, I knew I should JUST be thankful, I truly wanted to die when I really thought about what my stupid mistake could have done to the sweet children that God had entrusted me with. 

I knew this guilt was not from Him, rational Kelly of course KNEW that truth, but there was this darkness attacking me every time I had a second alone with my thoughts; every time my precious little boy retold his jarring memory of the accident: "Car! Bonk! Upside-down! Smoke!"

I cried for 2 days and had panic attacks; I hated myself so deeply and felt so afraid. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone, I was so ashamed of what had happened and how poorly I was suddenly handling it. I can't really explain why I felt all the things I felt, they just washed over me like a tidal wave and I felt like I was drowning. 

The beauty that can come out of any trial, I know, is compassion. And I feel like in this dark patch I learned something so important about what empathy really is. 

The people who helped me get through the dark couple of days following the accident did not just remind me of how lucky I was that my babies were safe or what a miracle God had provided us, because they knew that I KNEW those things already. I felt them deep in my soul. 

The people who were a great comfort and helped me move away from a place of paralyzing guilt and anxiety were the kind souls who said, "that must have been so awful. I can't even imagine what you are going through. We've all spaced out in the car before, it could happen to anyone." 

They were the people that cried with me and that sweet nurse at CDH who probably didn't realize at the time her words would be like a salve when I suddenly started experiencing all these dark emotions that I couldn't understand. They were the kind people who dropped off chicken pot pie (Thanks Aunt Jenny!) and gourmet doughnuts (Thanks Kristen!) without even asking, so thoughtfully anticipating that I would never ask for help but would be sore and drained for days. They were my mom and step-dad who knew I wouldn't sleep well when Ty had to go out of town again and insisted on camping out in our basement overnight so I could get some rest. 

I realized, in this experience, that true empathy is never, ever about trying to fix someone's perspective. Empathy is the willingness to step inside someone's perspective and offer genuine compassion; to just be there with them in the trial. True empathy releases loved ones from the darkness of feeling alone in their suffering or guilty because of it, which frees them up to accept the pain as normal and begin to truly work through it. 

Empathetic people know that their perspective is not the only perspective. Empathetic people care enough and take the time to try and see (and even feel) things another way.

 

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled. And he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept. 

John 11: 33-35

This week has revealed to me a lot of things, but I think one of the most important take aways was that I always, always, always want to be the kind of person who errs on the side of true empathy. 

kb

Author's Note: Kiddos, baby and I are doing just fine this week (and baking up a storm today aka baking one cake and then eating lots of frosting) To all those I didn't mention in this post who prayed over us, called, and texted... Thank you! Your support and love meant so much more to our family than you probably even realized! ❤️

The Sweet Sound of Gratitude

Every night we tell Violet a bedtime story. Some nights they get wonderfully creative, with a big cast of characters, treasure hunts, and imaginative lands. Violet loves to chime in with her 2 cents about who was involved (always her sweet cousins) and what happened (always hilarious). Ty and I usually attempt to weave in a message about being kind or wise or trusting in God and quickly realize that we should leave the parables to Jesus and C.S. Lewis. But we try. 

A few weeks ago Ty was traveling for work and I told Violet a bedtime story that was really... hmm... not my best work. I was ready call it a night after a long couple of days and, wrapping up my sad excuse for a story, immediately felt guilty that I hadn't put more thought or effort into our special nightly routine. I looked at Violet, waiting for her to request another, better story. 

To my surprise, she breathed a delighted sigh, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed my cheek. "Thank you for that wonderful, special story mommy!" She proclaimed, kissing me again and then curling up in her bed, like a full and contented baby. She opened her eyes, slightly, as I kissed her forehead and stood up to leave the room. "Mommy? Could you tell me that story again tomorrow?" 

I stood by Violet's bed for a few minutes, watching her shoulders rise and fall as she drifted off to sleep, considering her sweet show of  gratitude. How it makes me feel deep in my soul when she says things like "Wow! you are the best cooker EVER, mommy!" (While eating a gourmet dinner of mac and cheese, grapes, and avocado slices) and "When I grow up, I want to be a mommy, because I want to be just like you!" (When my tired, pregnant self suggested a game of "Go Fish" just so I could lie down for awhile.)

I thought about how being a parent (or in any relationship that calls for unconditional, selfless love) in so many ways reveals things about the heart of God. 

Our Heavenly Father delights in a grateful heart. He loves it when we turn away from all of our grumbling about the things that could be better, all the people who have wronged us (the poisonous soul venom that is habitual negativity); when we stop and say: 

"Father! Thank you for this special story that I am in! I know it isn't perfect, but Your blessings over me truly have outnumbered the fish in the sea! You have made me stronger through my suffering, more compassionate to the pains of others, both hidden and visible. Thank you. Thank you for the sunshine on my face this week. Thank you for my bed. My bed is so comfortable, you make the best beds God! Thank you for the smell of hyacinth and windows that we can throw wide open and playgrounds with dry slides because my kiddos were about to lose their minds this winter, dear Father! 

Thank you that today, when my back ached and I felt sad for no reason at all, it rained and snowed and sleeted and I didn't feel guilty declaring it a cozy Barnett movie day. Thank you for reminding me that those are ok sometimes. Even healing. 

Thank you, Father, for olives. Right now I want all the salt and they taste so good I cannot even believe it. Thank you for a fire in our fireplace and warm coffee in the morning and my favorite throw blanket because you know, dear Lord, that I run cold and these are just pure luxuries. Thank you for the sweet, quiet moments I have with You in the morning and the loud, crazy moments I have with You in the afternoon cooking dinner and dancing to NeedToBreathe with my babies in the kitchen while we wait for Ty to get home from work. Thank you for their giggles, for I am convinced there is no better sound on this earth.

Thank you for this sweet, fun family that I love with every fiber of my being and could never, ever begin to deserve.

Thank you that You are infinitely greater and wiser and stronger and more loving than we are, that You can see the forest through the trees even in the many dark and low seasons when we cannot. I pray that in these seasons, our hearts would be attuned to all of the special ways that You are sustaining us and loving us. Thank you for creating us and for being our Good, Good Father."

kb

P.S. Oh my goodness I almost forgot!! "And thank you, sweet Lord, for doughnuts. Amen."

When Life Hands You an Awkward Phase

There are times when I feel like my whole life has been one big awkward phase (can I get an "Amen?"). Don’t get me wrong, there have been some particularly awkward stages… I was once told by a group of boys on the playground that my freckles looked just like I had boogers all over my face. Boogers. Kids seriously know how to cut each other deep. For years, I would think about that when talking to people. “Are they thinking about how ugly and gross my freckles are?” For years, I had to work to look people in the eye, I felt so ashamed of how I looked.

Since those playground days I’ve grown to love my freckles, appreciating that these angel kisses (who told you they were sun damage?!) are something that makes me “me.” The only awkward thing about the stage in my life where I hated them was the fact that I listened to some 10 year old boys and let their thoughtless words become my reality.

A few months after we had Henry, I attended a work event with Tyler that a few potential clients had flown into town for. Small talk has never really been my jam, so I have to put on my big girl pants to go to these things (and usually drink wine).

I started having a conversation with one of his client’s girlfriends, who was only a few years older than me and already had a wildly successful career. She stood tall in her stilettos and spoke with calm, measured words about her work and her travels. I listened, in awe of the life she had built for herself at such a young age. Suddenly I realized the conversation had turned to me.

“So, Kelly. Where have you and your husband been traveling lately?”

Umm. “Well….” I thought. “I’ve carried, birthed and nursed 2 babies in the last 18 months so sometimes if I time things juuuust right between nursing sessions, I get a lovely little vaca to the neighborhood Target where I order an Americano and bask in the soothing glow of fluorescent bulbs while perusing the dollar section for super cute polka dot gift tags that will surely end up forgotten in the bottom of a dresser drawer… Hmm… Oooo and if I really want to take a good ‘holiday’ I pour myself a glass of wine and retreat to my sofa to watch The Bachelor, where I promptly fall asleep. I haven’t seen a rose ceremony in 2 years! It’s the peak of luxury, let me tell you!”

I didn’t want to make her envious of my super glamorous lifestyle so I just said “We haven’t been traveling a lot with the babies, but are hoping to plan a weekend getaway when my son is a bit older.”

The woman stared at me for a long moment, poorly attempting to conceal a smirk. “Aww, well that’s ok.” She patted my arm and then mumbled something about refreshing her ¾ full glass of champagne before disappearing into the crowd.

I felt tiny, standing there alone, and soon went off in search of the man who had convinced me to marry him and then impregnated me… twice… crushing the vision I’d once had of getting all my ducks in a row before I even thought about this life. I never doubted that I wanted to be married someday, but kids? I really hadn’t thought much about it. I was an only child for most of my life, I liked kids, I babysat all the time... but I really liked having the ability to go home to my own space where there was peace and quiet and books that weren’t about talking elephants. I had never thrived in chaos and I just didn’t know if I had the skill set to be a mom.

The truth is, Tyler didn’t have to convince me of anything. When I met him, my dreams just changed. They didn’t change FOR him, they changed with him, and because of all of the new things I discovered about myself in a relationship where I could be the realest version of Kelly there was and still receive unconditional love. I remember watching him interact with his sweet niece Bella, a month into dating, and just knowing he was going to be the father of my children. Wait, what children?! Who were these “children” I was suddenly dreaming of?

Fast forward 3 years to me staring at a perfect, tiny little human that God had somehow entrusted Ty and I with, feeling like a fish out of water in a strange land of play dates and minivans. So wonderfully fulfilled and grateful and simultaneously fighting a daily battle against feelings of inadequacy and emptiness. Who let me make such a big life decision without, at the very least, filling out some sort of personality assessment?! Had I unknowingly thrown myself another awkward phase? 

Our church is currently in a sermon series on the life of Moses. And let me tell you, the man chosen by God to free His people and receive His commandments has a lot more in common with us mammas (and dads, and students, and pretty much everyone) than you might think.

We live in this culture that places such obsessive value on purpose. What is your purpose? Are you seeking out your purpose? Are you living out your purpose?! This push is compounded by social media, where we can daily scroll through a reel of beautiful snapshots that exude drive and success. Instagram is like an episode of "Friends," isn't it? We see the 2% of the day where besties are sipping coffee from oversized mugs, laughing together on a burnt orange sofa at their favorite coffee shop... but rarely the 70% of the day spent quietly filling out paperwork in a gray office. (Look, I get it. I post the pretty stuff too. No one wants to see the nasty dishes that have been sitting in my sink all day or the mound of diapers in my garbage.)

But what I think can happen, on a search for purpose, is that we forget the beauty of the minutia. Grasping for a sure and immediate “purpose,” we forget how, for a season, the minutia can be our purpose. The middle FORTY years of Moses’ life was spent tending sheep. The last FORTY years were spent wandering in the desert. He wasn’t parting seas every day, y’all.

As a stay at home mom, for instance, the loving rhythm of diaper changes, meals, clean up, books, puzzles, bedtime, laundry, laundry, laundry, laundry… (You get the point. But really, can someone explain to me mathematically how each tiny new baby increases the laundry tenfold?!) can lead me to actual feelings of guilt… I start to feel like I’m not engaged in society in a meaningful way and yet I’m still so freaking exhausted. Who are these energizer bunnies starting non-for-profits and serving on the PTA and planning dinner parties every week? My main goal some days is to keep my babies fed, alive, and relatively happy, and to keep the pile of laundry to be washed and/or folded from reaching the ceiling. It sounds an awful lot like minutia, when you put it like that.

But if Moses, arguably one of the key players in the story of the Bible, spent 40 years of his life quietly and faithfully tending sheep, then who am I, Kelly Barnett, to downgrade the blessed role of quietly and faithfully tending to my children, day in and day out? Who am I to call it minutia, and let my restlessness to BE something NOW (insert foot stomp) stand in the way of seeing what a miracle it is to build a Lego tower with a little boy who grew in my belly?! Who am I to say that there is anything more glorious and life giving than lying in my daughter’s bed while she scratches my back and tells me an imaginative bedtime story about an adventurous traveler following a treasure map to find his favorite rainbow shovel?!

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself; tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches." -Rainer Maria Rilke

The desire for purpose is, intrinsically, a good desire. But what I fear for us mammas (and CEOs and presidential candidates and, again, pretty much everyone) is that we’ve confused the appearance of purpose with actual purpose. We’ve grown to value the high of loud, big picture achievements over daily, quiet acts of work and service... the "minutia" that make up the majority of a life... even the life of a man like Moses. 

If you, like me, feel as if you spend most of your days tending sheep or wandering in the desert, uncertain that you are even doing the “little” things right and unclear about what the future holds, I’d like to encourage you that there is a season for everything, that your work is meaningful, and that he who is faithful with little will most certainly be entrusted with much.

Xx

kb

Author's Note: My mom sent me this today. Of course, it's perfect (and much more succinctly put than my musings):

"Obedience is not a moment: it is a process connected by countless moments. Jesus neither started obeying nor finished obeying in John 12. In the midst of Jesus journey, he felt troubled. Clearly, then, a troubled soul is not always the sign of a faith deficit. A troubled soul is sometimes the signature of obedience-in-the- making." 

40 days of Decrease

When an Insomniac Loves a Narcoleptic

On Monday, Henry woke up at 3 a.m., sobbing, so I went to his room to calm him down and "asked" Ty to run down to the kitchen and warm up a cup of milk for him. I hoped that with some efficient teamwork we could get our little night owl right back to bed and avoid yet another too-early wake up call.

I started reading "Dragons Love Tacos" to sweet, sniffling Henry, finished it, and then read it again. I heard the microwave door slam downstairs but 5 more minutes passed and my husband still had not arrived with warm milk. Henry snuggled up and pleaded "more, mamma!" so I opened the book and read it again, starting to worry about Ty. 

As I turned the last page my husband appeared, eyes half-shut, wobbling at the top of the stairs. He carried no warm milk, but instead, a wooden bowl. 

"Ty" I rushed over to him, "are you ok?! Where's Hank's milk?"

He blinked a long blink and handed me the bowl. It was filled to the brim with what looked like half melted ice cubes and water. "I don't know what you wanted." He said. "I brought you this." 

Our working theory is that he put a wooden bowl of ice in the microwave. 

In the words of Jim Gaffigan, "Thaaaaanks hoooooney."

One morning, early in our marriage, Ty's phone alarm kept going off but he was dead to the world. I super sweetly grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Honey! Your alarm has literally been going off for 10 minutes. GET. UP."

"Wha? Huh?! Kay."

He shut off his alarm, slowly climbed out of bed, and walked across the room to our dresser. He opened a middle drawer, leaned over, and started whispering into it. 

New to his unique sleep habits, this was super creepy to me. 

"Ty! What are you doing?"

He ignored me and continued speaking in hushed tones to his undershirts. After another riveting minute he closed the drawer, walked back to our bed, and cuddled up like nothing had happened.

"Ty!! Wake up!" I put my hand on his cheek "Hello!"

He opened his eyes, slightly, and smiled. "Hello."

"What were you doing over there by the dresser?"

He closed his eyes and smiled again. "Tiger Woods is in our drawer. He gave me all of the secrets to golf. All of them." He rolled over and went back to sleep.

   sweet, sleepy loves

•••

It is currently 3:47 a.m. and I have been awake for the last 2 hours, not because of our children but just thanks to some good old pregnancy induced discomfort/insomnia. The worst kind of awake to be, in my opinion. And yet, as I type on my phone and giggle about what a weirdo my husband is at night, I can't help but feel overwhelmingly grateful for my sweet, funny little family and even for our sleepless nights.

Don't get me wrong, becoming a parent has made me a firm believer that sleep deprivation is a form of slow and painful torture. Moms who can slam some coffee, put on makeup, and happily function on 3 hours of sleep are like strange, beautiful unicorns to me. When I get 3 hours of sleep I feel like I spend the day trudging through thick mud, and I definitely don't look cute doing it. 

Everyone says we are going to miss this and while the sentiment can sound a bit like nails on a chalkboard when I am walking around with mascara smudged under my eyes like some sort of deranged zombie-mom... "surviving not thriving," as they say... I know their words are true. 

I already miss it, in a way. Even when the days are long, the months go by so fast. I blink and Violet has stopped calling smoothies "mooshies." Henry is helping himself to a cup of water (preferably from the fridge)... time is flying faster than it ever has before.

This morning I'm thankful for the hard stuff because I am reminded that it so very often comes hand in hand with the best stuff.

Now, to make some coffee and start my day. This sleep thing is for the birds (and Tyler). 

kb

To Know + To Love

Years ago I asked a friend what their thoughts were on what the Bible calls "Faith like a child." We've all seen so much by the time we exit childhood, and especially into adulthood. Not one of us comes through scot-free. Death, failure, divorce, war, famine, cancer, job-loss, love-loss, miscarriage, depression, abuse, addiction... How is it that we could possibly "become like little children" after all that we've been through and all that we've seen?

My friend responded and said that to tell people to have child-like faith is a slippery slope. He said that it promotes ignorance and immaturity within the church to instruct people to blindly follow and never ask questions.

I thought about this a lot, at the time, and in the moment wasn't sure how to confidently counter that statement. I knew Christ wouldn't say something as bold as “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven,” if it wasn’t true.

Almost 10 years passed with that question invading my mind again and again. Obviously when Christ talks about "faith like a child," He isn't likening it to some sort of spiritual immaturity or carelessness. He isn’t saying “be child-ISH.” So what DOES He mean?

Last week I started re-reading a book my grandfather wrote called "The Immortal I: Restoring the Sovereignty of the Soul.” In it, he talks about loving and knowing--unique faculties of the soul--and how these are modeled in the life of a child. I flipped through his book, excitedly, as the answer to my question began to materialize in a new and beautiful way.

TO KNOW

“Um mommy, how is that baby going to get out of your tummy?” Every. Single. Night. “You know Violet,” I say for the 27th time, “God has a special way that He helps mommies have babies when they are ready. I’ll go to the doctor and daddy will be there too... and when we come home you will have a little baby brother or sister! Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Well, yeah.” Violet wrinkles her forehead. “But HOW does the baby get OUT?”

Umm….

“Why is the sky gray today? Why are my feet stinky? Why does daddy make eggs better than you do? Who made the park? Who made the trees? Why are there bad guys? Why did Henry pee on my floor? How do I make a house out of play-doh? How do I make a castle out of play-doh? Is heaven bigger than a castle? Why doesn’t my play-doh taste good? Is God bigger than the BIGGEST WHALE IN THE WHOLE OCEAN?” And 'round and 'round we go on the merry-go-round that is questions asked by a 3 year old.

Contrary to the assertation that a child is somehow blissfully ignorant, anyone who spends 5 minutes around a young child quickly finds a tiny person that is hungry for knowledge and delights in gaining understanding.

TO LOVE

As I write this afternoon I can hear Violet singing a made up melody to herself in the next room:

"I love mommy and mommy loves me. I love daddy. Daddy loves me. I love my fam-i-ly. Henry loves me and I love my brother Heeenry. We are a family and we loooo-oooo-oove each other..."

Children delight in the gift that is the ability to love and be loved. With no agenda (usually) they dole out kisses and praises and gratitude and adoration because they know the infinite pleasure of the self-less love that God created us for. And while they are surely not perfect, a 3 or 4 year old hasn't been tainted by a hunger for

money or power or wordy accolades… the gifts of loving and being loved, in and of themselves, are new and beautiful miracles to a child.

“Airplane! Airplane! Airplane!” Henry cries, pointing wildly at the sky. He does this when we drive, he does this when we walk. He waits by the window on garbage day and stands in silent wonder at the splendor of a garbage truck lifting and dumping bins, over and over. I read him “Corduroy” 20 times in one morning and every time we get to the page with the night watchman he jumps up from my lap and yells “Flashlight! Flashliiiiiight!” Children do not miss the miracles that have become like white noise to us. They see the good that is everywhere with fresh eyes and open hearts.

“Life is not lost by dying. Life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in small uncaring ways.” –Stephen Vincent Benet

Tragically, like any good and perfect gift that has been abused since the fall, we lose sight of the perfection of the Love of God. We begin to twist and taint and hoard love to meet our selfish needs. We can’t see the forest through the trees anymore, forgetting that God’s ways are higher than our ways. We are hurt and broken and blind, fumbling in the darkness to fill our emptiness with a love that we design, a love that is selfish and half-hearted and riddled with contingencies.

FAITH LIKE A CHILD

How many sitcoms or dramatic series have you started watching loathing a main character? Then, by the end of the series, you adore them and even miss their quirks? Great character development in cinema is achieved by showing us the true, multi-faceted nature of imperfect, lovable people. We are only able to LOVE when we truly KNOW (understand). We seek to KNOW when our barriers are down and our hearts are open.

I believe what many brilliant people have said before me (including my grandpa Gene-Hey grandpa!), that this only happens in a deep, transformational way when we seek to know and love a perfect God who already knows and loves us. Christ’s words about entering the Kingdom of Heaven are not about exclusion. They are about giving us exactly what we’ve been seeking in this life.

If we knock, the door will be opened. THAT is what Christ means when he talks about “faith like a child.” And THAT is Good News.

kb    

   

Author’s Note: For more on “The Immortal I” by Eugene B. Shea: http://www.theimmortali.com/

Perfect Love

"Our whole business in this world is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."

-St. Augustine

I don't usually set New Years resolutions (per a somewhat depressing track record), but this year in our small group we were encouraged to set a goal for our spiritual walk. I knew right away what my goal should be. It nagged at me every day. "Wake up before your kids do each morning and spend time in the presence of God." 

As far as goals go, this one is pretty benign, right? I just set my alarm for 5:30 a.m., get up, make some coffee, and start my day from a place of peace instead of chaos. Sounds heavenly really.

But here we are, a month into my goal setting, and this has happened exactly once. Kind of... That day I hit snooze until 6 a.m. and the kids woke up 5 minutes into my quiet time. Another day I woke up early with the best intentions but started putting dishes away and got distracted with chores until I realized it was light outside and Henry was screaming "Mammaaaa! Hungry!!!" from his crib. 

Since that time, he has learned to safely climb out of his bed on his own which, as you can imagine, has set off a whole new chain of interesting and wonderful challenges in our household. This morning, for example, he woke up at 3:30 a.m., bright eyed and bushy tailed, screaming that he wanted to "GO PLAY!! PLAAAAAAY!" 

Of course. Why wouldn't you wake up at 3:30 a.m. thinking about Legos? 

It is now 7:15 a.m. and here we all are, still wide awake. Lord help me today. My alarm went off at 5:30 for quiet time but at that point our house had been anything but quiet for the last 2 hours.

This morning I decided I wasn't going to abandon my quiet time all together since I couldn't do it "just so," so while Henry played with trains and Vi watched an episode of The Magic School Bus, I pulled out Jesus Calling and flipped to a few of the dates I had missed this week. February 7 says this:

"Come to me for rest and refreshment. The journey has been too much for you, and you are bone-weary. Do not be ashamed of your exhaustion. Instead, see it as an opportunity for Me to take charge of your life." 

I love that. "Do not be ashamed of your exhaustion." Isn't shame what is holding so many of us back every single day? I'll speak for myself.. I fear failure, I fear others seeing my weaknesses... Gosh, I fear people knowing how much I am controlled by my fears! 

I forget, in my frenzy to get things "perfect", that God does not dole out love and acceptance the way the world does. His love is free and abundant and endless, and not based on my striving... or my failing. It just IS. 

I know that word perfectionism is often over-used, worn like a badge of honor. But if I've learned anything in 29 years of obsessively trying to get things right it's that (worldly) perfectionism is anything but honorable. In the end, no matter how layered or veiled it is behind good deeds and good habits, perfectionism is about prioritizing self-image above everything else. It is selfish. It's an addiction and while it may feel good for awhile, might even offer some great highs... it is ultimately crippling and will always leave you wanting. 

I would argue that we all struggle with perfectionism, in our own unique way/s. We have each grown to place value on different things and therefore each have different requirements for our ideal self-image to remain intact. Some "perfectionists" have more classic traits, but not one of us is fighting an easy battle. 

We cope with it differently. Some quit before they can fail, some obsess until they get it right, some mask feelings of inadequacy with other addictions. 

What starting my day meditating on God has done for me in seasons where I have been more disciplined is shut off my autopilot. It resets my mind to seek a different kind of Perfection. It is not a worldly perfection driven by pride, or shame. It is the ultimate Perfection that we were created for, which is to love and know God, and to love and know his children.

I'm not saying we shouldn't strive to be great at things. We've all been given unique and wonderful talents which we absolutely should utilize and multiply! As with just about everything in life, it all goes back to the motive. 

If we aren't ever quiet, if we don't ever listen... how will we ever truly know our own hearts?

This year my only resolution is to make space every day to be silent and to listen to God. If you aren't doing this already, I would love for you to join me in this journey!

Happy Valentines Day! You are Loved!

kb

*Author's note: The morning after I wrote a draft of this post, I had my first successful quiet time in a long time. When the kids woke up, a copy of Jesus Calling was still on the sofa. Violet brought it to me, opened to June 5, and asked me to read that page. Here is what it said:

"Remember that you live in a fallen world: an abnormal world tainted by sin. Much frustration and failure result from your seeking perfection in this life. There is nothing perfect in this world except Me. That is why closeness with Me satisfies deep yearnings and fills you with Joy.

I have planted longing for perfection in every human heart. This is a good desire, which I alone can fulfill. But most people seek fulfillment in other people and earthly pleasures or achievements. Thus they create idols, before which they bow down. (...) Make Me the deepest desire of your heart. Let Me fulfill your yearning for perfection. 

Sweet little Valentines

Gratitude, Game Changers, + The Boy Who Dumps Everything

Monday 6:52 a.m. 

Henry wants to help me make coffee this morning. I let him press the buttons on the Keurig and hold him as we wait. He pushes his warm, velvety cheek up against mine and is perfectly still while the coffee maker hums. 

The smell of hazelnut fills our nostrils and steam swirls lazily out of my coffee cup. "Woooow" he whispers softly, his eyes wide, as if coffee brewing is the most wonderful and miraculous thing he's ever seen.

"My feelings exactly Henry. My feelings exactly." 

Monday 7:40 a.m.

Lately I've realized that I can send the kids to play in the basement playroom together, unsupervised, for small chunks of time. This is a game changer because for the last 3 1/2 years I've had to have eyes on at least one of them pretty much every waking moment. (And in the brief moments I haven't, as you've read, destruction has been swift and certain.)

So now, on mornings when we are at home, I make the kids breakfast and then send them down to the playroom for a bit. In the 5-15 minutes (usually 30 seconds) that they play together happily, I sip coffee, clean up, write, read, flip on the food network.. It's a serious luxury and in these moments I think that maybe adding a third to the mix isn't going to be so tough! (Moms of 3+, I can HEAR you collectively LOL-ing as you sip your ice cold coffee... just let me have this one ok?!)

My secret to success in this time has been telling Violet that she's the babysitter and needs to let me know if Henry gets into mischief. (Mostly because I love the way she says the word "mischief.") 

Today, I send the kids downstairs to play while I clean up the kitchen after  breakfast. "Ok mamma!" Shouts Violet gleefully. "Don't worry." She puts her thumb to her chest, "I'LL let you know if Henry gets into mischief!" 

As I vacuum the last few crumbs off of the kitchen floor and the microwave beeps with my reheated coffee, I hear Violet shout from the basement "Mommy! Mommy! Henry just got into THE BIGGEST MISCHIEF EVER."

Bye bye, sweet, hot, coffee. Maybe we will meet again when these crazies go to college.

Monday 9 a.m.

The challenging side of having a 2 year old with the body of a ninja and the mind of an engineer is that he can pretty much get to and open/disassemble whatever he wants in under a minute. 

The bright side is that he's crazy observant. 

This morning Hank wanted to help me put away the dishes. I was hesitant, because as much as my life can (and does) get chaotic and messy and disorganized, I have always functioned better in order. If my kitchen cabinets don't look like this:

I start to feel a little bit like the whole system is imploding. (Tyler can attest to how often I talk about this "system." He totally loves it.) 

I watch Hank as he grabs a cutting board, walks it over to the proper cabinet, and slides it in sideways, next to the other cutting boards. I wait as he goes back for the ladle and puts it in the drawer with the large utensils, then grabs a tiny whisk and puts it in the drawer with the small utensils. "More please mamma!" He looks at me, waiting to see if he can continue.

...By all means son, PROCEED!

He pulls out the kids' plastic plates and heads to the pantry. He stacks them the way I do, with the large plates on the bottom, the medium plates in the middle, and the bowls on top.

Game changer. 

Later in the afternoon, I ask him to start cleaning up his blocks before nap time and he does this...

...so clearly I'm not raising a child prodigy over here. But still, game changer. 

Monday 5:03 p.m.

If you ever happen to call yourself "zen" in a blog post, you'd better be prepared for something like this to happen (again), causing you to question if your life is actually the movie Groundhog Day and if it's time to purchase a wet vac so you can stop lugging one to and from The Home Depot every 2 days:

   

The kids are not in the picture because this time they knew they'd better RUN.

Shout out to my sweet husband who--with full knowledge that he would be the one retrieving and operating the wet vac for the next 2 hours--returned home from work, caught sight of the detergent crime scene, and hugged me. "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry" he said. "I'll head to Home Depot"

Dear Lord, give me this man's patience. 

And may we all have the patience of Tyler Barnett this week.

kb