"Am I Living it Riii-iiiight?"

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time watching tiny people breathe. In and out, in and out. Cheeks pink, breaths slow and even. I grieve, some days, over all the times I’ve left the room too soon, set them back in their cribs too quickly, jumpy and edgy over my mental to do list. “This is MY time.” I’d think. “I need to UTILIZE this quiet. Who knows how long it will last.”

It took until having our third baby to realize how fast it all goes by. How one minute you are sitting, bleary eyed and cross legged, folding impossibly tiny newborn clothes, and then you blink and your baby is wearing sneakers and a backpack and waving goodbye as they walk into school. Everyone warns you. “The days are slow but the years go by so fast.” With great love and wisdom they tell you that “parenting is the hardest and best thing you’ll ever do.” And they are right, you can clearly see they were oh so right with the 20/20 vision that is hindsight. But when you are IN IT, sleep deprived and fumbling to find your unique stride in a new job that nothing in your life leading up to it has TRULY equipped you for, it’s hard to see the forest through the trees sometimes. It’s easy to miss out on much of the beauty in it all. I know I often have.

I realized, after I had Charlie, that I had spent much of motherhood up until that point paralyzed by guilt. John Mayer singing “Am I livin’ it riii-iiight?” may as well have been on repeat in my home because it’s what was going on in my brain all day every day. Every day had a hundred choices and no matter what choice I made, I felt guilty about what I was giving up. When I folded laundry instead of playing a game with Violet. Guilt. When I sat in the rocking chair with Henry long after nursing him at night, knowing we still had dinner to clean up and a toddler to get to bed and hours of laundry to tackle. Guilt. When I took too long to respond to texts or emails and then forgot. Guilt. When I spent time responding to texts and emails until I felt a tug on my arm “Stop looking at your phone, mommy!” GUILT. Guilt. Guilt. Even the smallest choices in my day were like tiny weights on my shoulders. Am I living it right?

For years I’ve lived in this place of tension and anxiety without being able to name it. Now it is clear. There’s no one around to give me an “A” on parenting each day or offer me a promotion for a job well done. I have an unbelievably encouraging and supportive husband but he’s at work during the day so I feel like he can’t REALLY tell me if I’m getting it right. There’s no clocking in or out or having time to reflect. For the first time in my life there was no clear bar, no obvious way to measure if my day was a success. As a result, everything I did begged the question: Am I living it right?

I frequently waffled between anxiety and depression: Anxiety when I tried to do too much, desperately grasping to see some tangible “success” in my days. Depression when I would overcompensate for this anxiety and exhaustion and shut myself off for a time. “Why can’t I just be NORMAL?” I would often lament to Ty. “Everyone else seems to be taking this in stride, so busy and happy and confident in their choices. Why do I so often feel like I am drowning?”

I realized, this year, that while parenting is HARD, much of my battle was an internal one. It had way more to do with a lack of confidence in who God had created me to be and what he was equipping me to do than it did with any outside circumstances. It was me looking at moms around me who were doing certain things better and hating myself for those areas I was lacking, instead of thanking God for the unique ways that he had created me to be the mother for Violet, Henry, and Charlie. It was focusing on the areas I felt empty instead of noticing all the ways that God was filling me up to care for these sweet babies each and every day.

When we live in guilt we are paralyzed. When I’m not secure in who God has created me to be, all I can do is play the comparison game. All I can do is listen to harsh internal voices. Living in guilt does not push me to be better, it stops me dead in my tracks. There’s a better way.

Lately I’ve been changing the way I talk to myself. Instead of feeling bad about what I am missing, I tell myself why what I’m choosing is better: 

 “I am going to go work out because it is good for me-mentally and physically-and when I come back I will be a better parent for it.” Or “Ty and I are going to make time to go on dates every other week because our marriage is a priority and we know that having our kids see a healthy marriage is important. Violet and Henry might cry when we leave but THIS IS GOOD.”

(or)

“I am going to sit here and make silly faces at Charlie and kiss his cheeks and smell his head for as long as he’s awake this afternoon because he’s going to be headed off to school before I know it and I am going to MISS THIS. The dishes and the laundry are piling up but right now THIS IS BETTER.”

The idea is that I won’t always have to coach myself through every decision I make in life. But what I’m realizing is that if I want to really be present with my family in a genuine way, I have to let go of the voices in my head that have long told me that whatever I’m doing isn’t enough. I need to relearn how to speak to myself so I don’t look back with regret over how much sweetness I missed while I was busy berating myself. I have to accept the Grace that has been given to me in Christ, instead of turning up my nose at it like I somehow know better.

I’ve also realize that this new way of thinking must go hand in hand with prayer: Thanking God all throughout the day and then thanking him again when my head hits the pillow at night. Being specific with my gratitude, confident that he hears my prayers and loves them. Asking him to help me in the areas where I feel am weak or lacking. Asking for clarity in the seasons when I am confused or lost. Confidence in Christ only comes from knowing Christ and the only way to know someone is to spend time with them. More important than anything else I do as a parent is that I do not neglect the relationship I am able to have with my Creator.

If you are struggling with a burden today, parenting or otherwise, I pray that you would feel the freedom that is offered in Christ. I pray that he would give you confidence and boldness in whatever task is before you. I pray that He would remind you, now and for the rest of your life, that you were created with endless love and great intentionality.

You are LOVED! And knowing that is the first and most important step to living it rii---iiight. (Is that song stuck in your head yet?!) 

Xx

kb

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