warmth for the cold.

{...a letter to a friend}

dear Ana,

It will be cold today. Your city will be filled with people, thousands of people. Some I agree with, others I do not. Among those who share my opinion, are some whose persuasion tactics are poorly thought out, painfully executed, ultimately lacking compassion. People who claim to speak for life but would kill an abortionist, if given the chance. People whose hypocrisy is hurtful to those who are truly there for love. But as many times as you and I have skirted this issue, before I say anything else, I want to tell you that I love you, I admire you, and I value you more than you will ever know.

I know why you're so frequently frustrated with people who share my opinion. And to be honest, I share your frustrations, especially when those preaching life and proclaiming love are acting loveless when they have such condescending, judgmental, and merciless approaches, and if you've ever felt shunned by one of them, from the bottom of my imperfect heart, I am sorry. Please know, people like that, falsely labeled, frustrate me, too. Because of their ignorant ways, people like me get labeled as, 'Jesus freaks,' and all of a sudden, everyone, everywhere, knows who I am, what I believe, and what I'm all about. Just another crazy girl proclaiming the name of Jesus, while attempting to make you feel awful because you could care less. Well, you know first-hand, we're not all like the hypocrites. We're not all false prophets.

But because I love you and care for you as a sister, one of my best friends, I think you should know how much I wish I could be in your city today. To have coffee, to have a late night dance party, chocolate in fifty forms...hello, awesomeness! But all of that would just be sprinkles on that late night fudge brownie, because my desire to be in that historic city of yours, specifically today, would be to march. To march for women. To march for you. To march for me. To march for babies. To march for love. To march for life.

I get it. Women want a choice. We want our freedom. We want respect. I know many of us get in rough situations and extremely tough calls need to be made. I know we all want to make decisions involving our body and we want everyone else to get out of the way. But, unfortunately, it's just not that simple. One thing that is increasingly frustrating is whenever someone says, "ending a pregnancy," or "removal of pregnancy." From my two times being pregnant, these sayings catch me completely off guard. Because if we are being forth-right and honest with each other, then we can call a spade, a spade...a pregnancy means a woman is with child, when we remove her pregnancy, we remove her child. And it's not like we place it in a magic sphere and hold onto it until a later time in life, when we are 100% ready to be a mother, wouldn't that be ideal...but instead, we must remove the pregnancy, end the pregnancy, and the woman is no longer with child and the child is no longer in the picture.

I've also never fully understood the saying, "my body, my choice," because remember all those nights you'd call me late after work, to check in on my pregnant self and see how I was feeling? Remember me venting about how sore my ribs were and how uncomfortable I  was because my sweet girl was karate chopping the stuff out of my insides? Well, every single time she kicked, or punched, rolled, or turned, it was her individual movements. When either one of my babies kicked, in utero, my leg didn't also kick...not only did that never happen, but it would also be incredibly weird. When they punched, my arm didn't randomly punch out. And when they rolled or turned, I didn't stop, drop, and roll like my living room was on fire. My movements were not in-line with theirs because their movements were motions of their own. Their movements were theirs, ones completely separate from mine. So I guess if we, as women, want to say, "it's still my body, and I choose not to want a child dwelling within me," then fine...but let's be real, and let's not skirt the fact that it's worth it to remove a child, remove a pregnancy, because the pregnancy, the child is unwanted, it was a mistake, it wasn't healthy enough, we weren't ready, for the sake of convenience. And we both know, too well, there are plenty of what seem like valid, inconveniences...We're too young. We're too poor. We're cheating and we can't live with proof of infidelity. We're not ready. We don't want to be fat or lose our bodies. We can't give up our career. We don't need someone else to take care of when we can barely take care of ourselves. We can't handle anymore kids. We don't want a reminder of rape and abuse. We can't have a handicapped, diseased child. We don't want them to live a life like that. And these are real predicaments, we women, find ourselves in. Because as we tell each other, time and time again, life can be tough, life can be messy. And we both know just how hard life can be. But when it comes to people who depend on us, family who can be most difficult to live with,  we don't go around eliminating them because they're an inconvenience. But we do go around, emptying uteruses, removing pregnancies, ending the sustenance of a growing baby because life would be easier if they just never existed. And yes, I said growing baby, and I know some people love that terminology because well, they can say..."it's not a baby yet"..."the growing baby needs me and if I don't want to be needed and it can't live on its own, then it's my choice what to do with it...especially since it's still growing, especially since it's not a baby yet." We don't want to be technical with everything else in life, we want to have vague lines, but with this, just this, we want to be technical and define where life begins. And there's plenty of scientific research to prove all genetic characteristics are present at fertilization, but I'm just going to be really simple here...at 8 months pregnant, I was 'pregnant', with child. At 5 months pregnant, I was 'pregnant', with child. At 2 months pregnant, I was still 'pregnant', with child. And even at 4 weeks pregnant, I was still considered 'pregnant', with child, not less of a child, still 2 weeks pregnant, still with child.

When a murderer kills a pregnant woman who wanted her child in the womb, its double murder. We recognize life in the womb when it's wanted. When it's not wanted, a child in the womb becomes a blob of cells. Well, last time I checked, I was just a blob of cells, too. And I'm pretty sure we've all felt unwanted at some point, at some time, and last time I checked on that terrible sentiment, it was the worst feeling I've ever experienced.

The problem is we've become so cold. We don't care to love, or to listen, or to be compassionate with one another. We both know there are women who want their sexual freedom, to sleep with whomever, whenever, and deal with the consequences, come what may, and I get it...but is it so wrong to want more for them? To want more for women in this world? I wish less women found their worth in sexuality and more worth in love, real love, love that waits, and lasts, and is faithful, because as long as we still find our worth in our sexuality, a child, a pregnancy, will always be an inconvenience, one needed to be removed so we can bounce back to our freedom.

It almost makes sense, the March for Life happening right in the middle of winter. On a cold day, in a cold month, at a cold time. Too many of us are cold. We're frigid and frozen, stiff, unmovable, cold with no potential for warmth, with no desire for change. We're cold and we like it that way. No one can move us, no one can melt us, and by never warming up, no one can ever melt us down. We're strong, we're solid, we're as cold as ice. Until we let our guard down and give someone a chance and we let someone in. Until we open our hearts and call on compassion, to listen to ourselves and each other, gently. Until we realize true strength and power come not from a quick response but from gracefulness and mercy. We live in a cold country, filled with people afraid to warm up, and they'll hate me for thinking of them as afraid, for fear cannot touch them, they just want the freedom to choose. And choose as we may, but may we not discount what's at stake. May we not deceive ourselves into thinking it's not as bad as it seems, because it makes us feel better. Let's take responsibility for our actions and consider other options that are virtuous and courageous ---do these words, "virtuous," "courageous," not mean anything, anymore? Is morality that dead? If so, we're colder than I thought. We want to be women of strength, raw, true power...then let's take the high road, let's be generous, sincere, selfless, beautiful, and let's draw our strength from God when we're too weak to stand on our own, knowing He's been there all along, waiting like a gentleman for us to accept His call.

Ana, you took a chance on me a long, long time ago and our friendship, our sisterhood, is one of my most cherished relationships. This issue, this debate, this state of our country saddens me so, and as someone whom I share so much with, I only hope to let you into my heart a little more deeply. May you feel the warmth of my love and friendship on this cold day, and always.

love,

Victoria

::

made new.

There was a soft light peaking through the curtains, the rest of the room was dark and still. A faint muffle of the radio and the sound of deep sleeping baby breaths filled the air. And there she was. The woman in the mirror. I couldn't see the details of her face, I couldn't tell the color of her hair, nor could I see the distinction of the clothes she was wearing.

But somewhere between the rocking, the shuffling back and forth, the patting of backs, rubbing of eyes, and the calming shh's, my eyes caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror. I had seen her millions of times before but something about her was different. A part of her was undiscovered, a part of her was made new.

A new she had never seen before. A new that quietly snuck into her open heart and settled in while she wasn't looking, a new that made its presence known only when she was able to distinguish that the new belonged to her.

The last few months for me have been ones of discovery. As a mom of two young children, so close in age, there are times when I have been beyond tired, completely overwhelmed, and super stressed, so much so that I've wondered how I would make it through the day. I would read articles written by faith-filled women on the gentleness of their motherhood and the joy in their spirit and as much as I could relate to them through all my better moments, believing they maintained their 'life is beautiful' mantra through all the 'shit hit the fan' moments was hard to believe. Are they never exhausted? Do they ever get frustrated with their kids? Do they never cry after a long day? Maybe they do, maybe they don't. But that's not the point. I didn't believe that this tender gentleness could belong to me...I'm a little rough around the edges when I'm frustrated and that's how I'll always be, end of story.

But I wanted to be more gentle. I wanted to be more patient. I wanted to be more joyous. I wanted to be happy. Especially in the chaos, through the headaches, among the tedious chores and repetitive tasks. And I wondered what, if anything, could I do to make this happen, to birth this 'happy about peeling potatoes person' from deep within my soul.

If I get easily agitated with schedules and hiccups in the day and simultaneous messes, what am I really frustrated about? Baby work is messy work, maybe the messiest. So why not rock the mess? Yeah, you can bitch about how tired you are or you could rock your tired. You could cry when your kids don't sleep, or you could rock out that extra hour and do something interesting with them since they're up anyway. What some parents would do for an extra hour with their kids.

If you live parenthood with the mindset of 'what can my kid do for me,' I can assure you your stress levels will be high and your frustrations will be frequent, because more often than not, they will not fit in your parameters. But if you live parenthood with an open heart of meeting children right where they're at, realizing there is a time and place for a stern tone, but they want to be spoken softly to just as much as you enjoy a comforting voice, then your agitation will sink and your love will rise.

I realized the other day, people do this all the time with children, with family, with friends, but especially with God. We yell at God, we demand of God, "God, you need to fit in my life, fit in my plans, fit in my wants, fit in my dreams"...and when He doesn't, we bitch, we complain, we cry rivers, we stop praying.

But what if life is about more than people doing for us and being for us? 'Can you do this for me?' 'Can you be this for me?' Rather than be all about me, I want to be attentive to you. Instead of asking God to fit in our perfectly planned out schedules, we can center our schedules on God, on the people we love. But it comes at an expense...a big one, the expense of ourselves, the sacrifice of me for you. I know, I know, it doesn't always feel good, but I can assure you there's more joy in a life filled with concern for others than a life focused solely on yourself. So stop whining, there's a light at the end of this tunnel, with every loss comes a gain. And if you need a reference, the cross is a pretty damn good one.

We can trade 'what can they do for us,' with 'what can we do for them.' We can swap out our inward tendencies for outward concerns. We can be less, so that He can be more. We can let Him make us new.

And that's what He will do, if we let Him. He will make us new. 

Many say happiness is a choice to be made, a choice to be happy, to be joyous, even when it's challenging. As true as that is, it's a much easier choice when you have faith on your side, when you pray for strength in your weakness, when you ask for grace for your imperfections, when you ask for love for your selfishness, when you see good in the struggle, when you feel purpose in the grind.

As that soft light peaked through the curtains, I could only see the shadow of the woman in the mirror. One who held a baby boy in her arms, while standing feet away from a little girl sleeping soundly after water slides, ice cream, and the summer sun ran her wild. The woman had tired arms from lifting babies and over-sized bags all morning, still rocking, patting, singing her boy to sleep. Her legs were heavy, they had chased, and danced, and jumped. And as many times as she had done all these things before, her outlook was new, her spirit was new, her heart was new.

Life is not all about us, life is not self serving. And when we live life that way, a dark loneliness will slowly consume us, for our hearts were not made for solitary love. And I don't know about you, but I want more for my life than what I'm able to give, I want more for my heart than a one-way street of love. For deep within my spirit, there is peace where anxiety lived, hope instead of despair, happiness and less frustration with myself and with others. For by the grace of God, that woman in the mirror was the fruit of prayer, "less me, God, more you," for prayer through His grace, can make all things new.

♥ photo by one of my favorite photographers, Marianne Greig

::

love well.

I'm tired. In fact, tonight was supposed to be my, 'go to bed early,' night...until I read this. And well, so much for going to bed early.

In a recent homily, Pope Francis shared his sentiments that, "Atheists should be seen as good people if they do good." And well, his bold statement has stirred some people, with good reason. Some Athiests and other like-minded individuals seem to appreciate his statement and his gentle outreach. But the ones, in my humble opinion, who really need to take the Pope's message to heart are the believers, those faith-filled, Christian, religious people of the world.

Too often, people of faith, like to reside in bubbles. We like to hang out with people who believe the same things we do. We are guilty of creating bubbles, bubbles that have the capacity to form walls that keep like-minded individuals in, while locking everyone else out. We place great importance on the acts of people who share our beliefs, but sometimes, we discount everyone else, those who may not share our beliefs, and all they think, say, or do. What a sad shame.

Because if we are really living what we as Christians claim to believe, that our good and gracious Lord came for us all, then we have to trust that He works through us all, every single one of us, those who believe in Him and even those who don't.

At the heart of Christianity is love....love! Not love because it feels good, love. Not love because you totally get me, love. Not love because you believe the same stuff I do, love. But love for the sake of love. Love for the good of another. Love for your benefit over mine. Love for the sake of the person, every single person.

Break those bubbles people, pop them, throw toothpicks at them, I really don't care how you do it. But figure out a way and do it. That doesn't mean you can't share company with those who encourage your beliefs, but spread that love that's at the heart of it all with everyone, including those who may not feel the same way about God. Because if your thoughts about God are inline with who He is, and that's a God of love, and mercy, and goodness...then branch out and start loving better, not just loving those in our bubbles, but everyone outside of them, because...well, God loves well, and if we're trying to follow Him, it's kind of our job to attempt the same and love well, too. 

::

*pic from darkroom.baltimoresun.com

painting the rain.

It was quiet.
Just her voice and mine.
Hers much louder than mine.
And the rain.
The rain was soft, but it made itself heard as it bounced off the roof.
The room was still.
Still enough for the moment to move.
And did it move.
It moved more than the brush across the paper.
It moved more than the rain running down the window.
The moment moved like it had somewhere to go.

She saw more than my unintentional plus sign.
She breathed life into my unplanned.
"A cross. Jesus." She said.
"Of course. That's exactly what that is."
"It's a cross."
Thank you, Jesus.

His name makes people uncomfortable these days, Jesus.
As soon as people hear it, read it, see it, they think they've seen enough.
It's sad.
Really sad.
We let poor examples of Christianity, preconceived notions, and unanswered questions drown out his name, Jesus.

Lucky for me today, she didn't.
She didn't hear the clamoring noise against his name.
The only thing she heard was the rain.

Amidst the scattered mess of paint and paper, she looked for more.
She looked for more, she saw more, she found more.
She found Jesus.
Right there in front of her, as if he had been there all along.
And he was.
Waiting for her to see him.
As the rain sang pitter patter, she found him.
He was right there with her, painting the rain. 

::

the rest of the picture.

She was wearing an orange and purple, green and blue, tye-die tube top and very large, what looked like men's, red, black, and white, plaid pajama pants, with badly worn beige sandals, as she carried her three month old baby boy in his car seat. "He's really big for three months," she said. "He is, he's bigger than my seven month old," I said. It was hard for her to carry him in the car seat, and if you've carried a baby around in a car seat, you know the difficulty I'm talking about. She carried him far, and I mean far. She was visibly tired by the time she made it to her car. "It's almost easier to carry him without the seat," she said. "I know, I usually put mine in a carrier or a stroller," I said. We shared a smile and I told her to enjoy the rest of her day. I got in my car, she and her baby got in theirs, and we parted ways.

It's wonderful how social media has streamlined the "sharing" process. It keeps us connected, it gives us new perspectives, and it challenges us along the way. But life via social media, blogs, forums, etc., doesn't always give us the whole picture.

When all we do, all we are, and all we hope to be is thought to be seen by everyone, we make sure we approve of what we allow others to see, and we let what we see of others determine the value of ours. For some of us, this may be a constant struggle. But I can almost guarantee, at some point, we've all seen the way someone portrays their life, via social media, and thought to ourselves, "They're so much better at ______ than me." 

It happens. To the best of us, it happens. At some point in time, we saw something on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, a blog we follow, YouTube, something, somewhere, that struck a nerve. For some, this nerve might be struck over, and over, and over again. For others, it may rarely be struck. But this is for the people who's twitchy nerve likes to get the best of them...

Look at yourself, your life, your worth, your dignity...through a better lens, and try to see the rest of the picture.

In regards to motherhood and social media, I see what other women do, how other people seem, and there are days, there are times, when I fail to measure up. And I will never measure up, because very simply, I am not them. Even though we share universal sentiments, my motherhood looks like mine,  and your motherhood looks like yours. For this reason, yours and mine are just as beautiful. I can't live your life and you can't live mine. And as much as social media likes to count and measure approval, you can't measure beautiful.

One of my best friends reminded me the other day, motherhood doesn't look the same for everyone.  Some moms take time to get all prettied up in the morning, some moms don't. Some moms speak gently to their children, some moms are a little less patient. Some moms stress the amount of veggies their kids eat, some moms don't. Some moms rock the best baby gear, some mom's don't. Some moms sing to their kids, some moms don't. Some moms always play outside, some moms don't. Some moms work and want to, some moms work and don't want to. It doesn't matter where you fall on the spectrum, or if you change this mom scenario and fill in the blank with your specific situation, none of this matters if you are looking at your life through the right lens, one that shows the rest of the picture.

The rest of the picture shows just how bad a** you are, and how you are probably doing the best you can. Our society would have told that young mom with the non-matching, loose-fitting tie-dye/plaid outfit, messy hair, and no-makeup face, that she wasn't beautiful. That her afternoon wasn't worth "liking." But when I saw her that day, non-matching, and smiling at her baby boy the way she did, I saw the rest of the picture. A mother who did her best to make it to her baby's doctor appointment, a mother who may not have much for herself, but who gives all she does have to her child. A mother who didn't care what anyone was thinking because she was exactly where she needed to be.

If I had taken a picture of her and tweeted it (hypothetically, because I don't have Twitter), or put it on Instagram (my new favorite!), or Facebook, or any other social media outlet, she wouldn't have been portrayed through the same lens she was captured. Her picture wouldn't have been liked by many, there would have been very few approving comments, and some would have judged her along the way...but if I could take social media out back for a sec., and give it some serious sass and a stern talking to, I'd say..."I don't really care what you think you see, or what you think you portray in this one glimpse of this woman, in this mother, because there's absolutely no way you can capture, as hard as you try, the entirety of who you think this woman is, you can't, and you never will. You may not see it, she may not even see it, but she is beautiful, and I bet if she looks at herself with a lens, one that's much better than the false lens you provide her with, one that shows her the rest of the picture, she'd see just how beautiful she is, too."

For when we look at what other people have, and when others look at what we have, that which is shown online, through the internet and it's jaded viewpoints, we have to remember, it's never the full picture. We can't assume we know how good or bad others have it based on their social media sites, and we can't judge ourselves on ours either. We can't forget how worthy, dignified, and beautiful the rest of the picture is. 

::

these days.

I want to remember the sweetness of these days.

Not the lack of sleep.
Not the exhaustion.
Not the schedules, or lack thereof.
Not the whining. Not the tantrums.
Not the nonexistent "me" time.
Not the diapers. And the zillion changes.
Not the constant cleaning and picking up.
Not the laundry, please, not the laundry.
Not the disappointment, the frustration, or the guilt.
Not the tough on myself moments.
Not the, "you've got your hands full," comments.

But the sweetness.

The smiles. The laughs. The belly ones that shake your soul. The nuzzles. The, "mommy sit down and snuggle." The smile that lights up as soon as he sees me. The silly faces before bed. The discovery. The excitement. The wonder. The being needed. The being wanted. The love, oh the love. The yummy sweetness of their big love. They may be small, but they love so big. The spirits that see more in me than I'll ever see. The ones who as far as their concerned, have a good day whenever we're around. This sweetness. This simplicity. This is what I pray I will remember of these days. Because the sweetness of these days give me purpose, give me hope, and teach me what's really important, even when the stuff that's fleeting is sometimes more pronounced than all the sweetness, all the lasting.

For all of us, I pray in life we cling to what will last. All that is now and will always be, sweetness.

two, too fast.

This weekend, she'll be two, too fast. It's hard to believe. It's hard to imagine what my heart looked like before she moved in, before she softened it like no one else could have. Joseph always like to remind me how much I teach her, encourage her, and show her how to navigate through life all around her, but most times I feel like she's the teacher. She reminds me to love with no expectations, that life is better sung and danced, and that everyone, and I mean everyone, deserves a smile.

I'm overjoyed with growing with her and dreaming of what the next years will look like as she continues to grow and blossom, but it's so bittersweet because I know how much I'll miss these days, of her being my best little companion. Days when my craziness is the coolest thing ever in her eyes, after Barney and Tinkerbell, of course. Days when we pray for giraffes, because giraffes need our prayers, too, and days when we sing songs for absolutely everything. I'll miss 'just because' hugs and kisses, and a little girl who always wants her mama's company. I'll miss it all.

Despite how hard it is, moving on and letting go of baby stages that have come and gone and will never come again, I couldn't imagine life without all these scenes, without all these changes, without all these heartaches. Because as heart wrenching as it is to watch our baby grow and change right before our eyes, we would do it all over again, even if that meant having to let go one more time. That's how much their love is worth it.

Happy two, sweet pea. We love you more each passing day.

::