Becoming a Mother

I haven't thought of writing in a long time, but just like that I got the urge again. My thoughts started jumbling and tangling, spinning around and around like a load of clothes in a dryer, growing hotter and hotter needing to be taken out, folded, put away.

I have been a mother for 21 days now. The last time my thoughts demanded I write them down was last Christmas Eve when my heart was heavy with grief caused by the struggle of infertility. But I don't get to use that word, infertility. I don't know that story anymore. And it was never really mine. See, I went through my share of struggles with negative test after negative test. Fertility pills. Appointments. The trying and waiting month after month. Charts and graphs and prayers and patience. It wasn't just my physical body that went though its cycle but my emotions as well. Hopelessness and then hope...and then hopelessness. But, the positive pregnancy test did come. My belly did grow. I did hold my son, new to the world, against my bare chest and thanked God for His miracle of life.

So many others have not. And may never. Infertility is their story, that only they can really know. I won't try to say that I understand or even that I was given a glimpse...saying that, as I hold my sleeping baby boy, would be cruel.

I'm not sure when it is that a woman's switch flips to "mother". For some women, it seems like it was always on, and others' maternal instinct, even when handed their child, never kicks in. I knew the moment I looked at the word "positive" on the stick in my hand, that no matter what happened, my life would never be the same. But I wouldn't say I felt like a mother. I knew every time I rested my hand on my growing bump or felt my baby kick from the inside, that my body, my heart, was no longer my own. But I still wouldn't say I felt like a mother.

I can say I felt like a mother, truly for the first time, when I woke up out of sleep because I heard nothing. I understood what it means to be a mother in that small, fragile moment when I was desperately searching for a sign of life from my sleeping baby. As I waited to see his chest rise, or the blanket move, or to hear a sound, I realized how desperate I was. The short moment in-between the stillness and the sign of life showed me what it felt like to need his next breath more than my own.

And after that, I looked over at my own mother, asleep in the hospital room with me. And the way I saw her changed, because now I really understand how much she loves me and my sisters. Just thinking of this love makes me cry.

They say that after giving birth you are emotional because your hormones are out of order. And that may be true. but maybe some of the emotion comes from this newfound, limitless love.

It doesn't seem right that a woman can long for a child for months, years even, be given the gift, invest her soul in its wellbeing, and then have it taken away from her.

Children are lost at all ages, and I would say the ache is the same.

I am 26 years old and my mother still looks at me the way I look at my new baby. She is still desperate for me to take my next breath.

My mother has also lost a child. But she gets up everyday and does what it takes to keep breathing. Because of this and because of everything, I love her more than I can describe... You really can't describe love like that. You can try, but it can only be felt.

The world we live in is a fallen one. It is full of women who own the story of infertility and mothers who have lost their baby, no matter what age.

And maybe it's true that the reason I can cry for them and their hurt that I've never known is because "my hormones are out of order", but whatever the reason, I'm glad my thoughts can linger on this. I'm glad I can feel a piece of compassion even if it's heavy to carry. I welcome it, because it reminds me that God has blessed me with what I have only for now. It reminds me to live in light of eternity. It reminds me that this fallen world, it is not our home. And that, that is good news friends.

Waiting on the Weekend

From the perch on my bed, I can see some of the pine that I begged my dad and husband to leave standing when they were in the process of clearing trees for the house seat. I can also see a piece of the lake. I can remember one of the first sights I saw when I looked out the window from my bed was jet skiis zipping back and forth. I've watched the lake change from hosting summer fun, to being dark and calm for fishing in the fall, to being lowered for the winter, to being frozen and covered with snow, to being muddy from spring rain. I know that the jet skiis will be back before I know it, and that we will have lived a full year in our first home.

On the bed with me, there is a pile of reading tests waiting to be graded, a marriage book "Men are Like Waffles, Women are Like Spaghetti" waiting to be finished, a to-do list that's waiting to be completed, and a planner waiting to be filled.

My week was so busy last week. I had something going on every evening. On Monday and Tuesday I had to work the concession stand for the peewee basketball games. On Wednesday I had a dentist appointment. On Thursday I had a doctors appointment.  It can be so stressful trying to balance it all and to do so gracefully.

For example, I know I didn't work the concession stand as gracefully as I could have. I had been with my 2nd graders all day (this means: on my feet, one bathroom break, and praying for patience). Two hours into the peewee games, I realize that I wore the wrong shoes, am sweating, my room parents do not understand that "over the counter" is not the place for parent teacher conferences, I'm too sensitive, and it's hard to figure up change when all of the above is happening in front of a 10+ long line of parents.


In Pam's book about marriage (ya know, the waffles and spaghetti, one), she explains that women are like spaghetti in that every event in our life touches another. Everything is connected, intertwined, related. A woman's world is all mixed together: the present, the past, and the future run through our mind in any given moment.

I crawled into bed almost as soon I got home every evening last week. I did not cook dinner. I barely visited with my husband. And each day, I'd add to my to-do list for the upcoming days. Basically, in a nutshell, I wear myself out. And on top of that, the Devil is whispering in my mind, telling me I'm a failure, that I can't balance it all, that I don't even have children yet, that I'm at my youngest and life is supposedly the easiest. Aye yi yi. And somedays I listen to him.

But on other days, most days, I know that He who lives in me is greater than he who is of the world. I know that though I'm young and childless, hopefully with time and children, my heart grows and expands and I learn how to do this "adult" thing a little better. In the midst of my hectic week last week I had a revelation of sorts. It's something I've known all my life, been told all of my life, but it finally registered. For now, anyways. I know I'll lose it again, as is the way with this life we live, but I am thankful that for a time, my heart understands.

I can not live a life full of "waiting for weekends". I do not want a life of "weekends". I refuse to live only for weekends. Do you see what I'm saying? I love my job, but I don't want to count down each week and anticipate my weekends so much that I miss the time spent living in the week...as if I'm driven by a motor and charge through the week on auto pilot- no thanks!

What's more, in my revelation, I realized that all the other women out there are also big messy piles of spaghetti. I was reminded of my favorite children's novel, Walk Two Moons. In that book, the girls realize that "everyone has their own agenda". Basically, we are all running around making to-do lists, fighting the devil, running to Dr. appointments, and balancing it all. In a sense, we are all "waiting on the weekends", whatever your "weekend" may be. I know it's human nature and not something to beat yourself up about, but I definitely do think it's something we should notice and attempt to keep in check.

I have used this weekend to unwind and recharge and am going to attempt to do better this upcoming week. I've made a list that I'm going to keep to 3 bullets:

• dote on my husband
• be patient with my students
• be a light to others- extending grace, mercy, forgiveness, encouragement, positivity, etc.

Here's my prayer for the upcoming week, the first week of March.... 

Lord help me, I pray: 

To be motivated and driven to make the most of my day and get done everything that needs to be done. 

Give me peace, Lord, in the rush. Help me see the priorities, focus on "people" rather than "projects", have patience, kind words, and a cheery countenance. 

Lord help me witness Your love, be a light for Your kingdom, pour into others (husband, students, Mom, coworkers, etc.), help me build others up and serve. 

Lord help me be silent. Help me tame my tongue. I do not desire to be negative, to complain, to gossip, or to spew angry words that cut others down. 

Help me love, honor, serve, respect, and have a submissive attitude towards my Husband.

And as always, help me chase You, choose joy, and walk in love.

Amen 

What No One Ever Told Me About Teaching

I've always wanted to be a teacher. From the time I was a little girl, I have heard my calling. It's who I am.

I can see a 6 year old me standing up my chalkboard easel in front of my stuffed animals. Fast forward to middle school and high school... I can see a teen who adds notes in her journals about what she appreciates and enjoys about good teaching.  Fast forward to present time. I am a "rookie" who lives in my classroom. I feel like an actress on stage when I'm teaching, a preacher in front of a congregation, an artist with a brush, a singer with a song.... you get the point.

By no means do I think I'm an exemplary teacher. I aspire to be, but I am not there yet. (Again, rookie status here.) However, I do feel like I'm in my element when I'm in my classroom. As if it comes naturally. And I love to watch other naturals.  I always enjoy observing in other teacher's classrooms. I love to "steal" and copy great ideas and implement them myself. I'm always asking, how do I become better? Before graduating, I made rounds and spoke to highly thought of, seasoned teachers. I asked them all to give me a list of tips and advice. I asked them each the question that drove me then and continues to drive me now...how do you become a great teacher? 

I've taught in two different counties and in each county I had to attend a series of professional development sessions and cadres geared towards helping new teachers get their feet wet (without drowning). I learned a few things, sure, but obviously the only real way to truly gain knowledge about teaching was to, well, teach. I can remember the very first day I ever taught in my own classroom. I was absolutely terrified when 27 first graders shuffled into my room on the first day of school. Terrified isn't the word for it. The door shut and I looked around at all those eyes glued to me and I thought, "There's so many things no one ever told me..." For starters, I had no idea that even the rowdiest class is absolutely silent on the first day of school. Or how long 8 hours actually is. And at the end of that year, I experienced more things no one ever told me. Like, for example, even the best behaved group of kiddos come close to losing their minds with spring fever around April. And, also around April, 8 hours isn't nearly enough time to stuff all the standards we're supposed to cover into those little brains. 

And I could go on and on with the list I've compiled of all the things that only experience has taught me in my 3 short years. But I want to focus on the biggest one. The heart of teaching. The key. The answer to my question. The trick. The secret. The advice that no one ever told me. 

How do you become a great teacher? It's simple. Love the kids. 

That's it. That's all you have to do. Students will respect you. Parents will request you. Everything else will fall into place. And no one ever told me that. 

Here's the catch- also something no one ever told me. It isn't easy. 

And it's hard for me to admit that, but I'm just being brutally honest. Because no one ever told me that it isn't easy to love all your students with all your heart all the days of the school year. But I'm telling you...it isn't. 

 Don't get me wrong, I care about the well-being, safety, and education of every child in my classroom at all times, or I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing. I never want any of my students to hurt or hunger or be lost. That's genuine. But I'm talking about something deeper than that. There are some students who are just easier to love than others. There are some students who are just easier to enjoy...if you know what I mean- and if you're being honest, than you do. 

Sometimes people just clash. I've met the occasional person that did nothing in particular to me but yet just rubbed me the wrong way. I'm sure we all have. I don't know why I didn't consider this to also be a possibility in the classroom, but it had never crossed my mind. But just like with adults, it can be the same with kiddos. I realized the truth in that when I met Sally Sue and Bobby Joe. They had personalities that simply clashed with mine. Of course, being the professional that I am, I paste on my smile and use my teacher voice and make sure I treat them like any other student of the class. I make sure I give them compliments and encouragement and ask them about their day. There have been instances where I've actually tried to be nicer to Sally Sue or Bobby Joe than I might be to a child I truly enjoy. But here's the thing, (yet another tid-bit no one ever told me!) you can not fake a child. Somehow, no matter what, they just know. It's uncanny really. And I had no idea such tiny humans possessed such a big radar. But, boy, do they. 

So, what do you do if you can't fake it? But it isn't easy to do? 

You pray. 

I can't imagine a prayer that would sound any sweeter to our Jesus than a prayer for love. Pray that He will pour it into you so that you can pour it into them. Pray to have a heart of genuine love specifically for Sally Sue and Bobby Joe. Pray for the power to put on love through Christ so that they may see and feel His love through you. 

It won't always be easy, but it will always be worth it. It never fails to amaze me the work He can do in one's heart! And I do so eagerly pray that He never quits working on me. 

Immortality

It's no secret that we're creatures that long for immortality.

 

These days are fleeting by.

It's known that we were all born to die.

But if we look at our promise in the sky-

then all our questions are answered and we know why.

It's not morbid but a miracle that our souls can be set free.

It's no secret that we're creatures that long for immortality.

You give grace that makes our blind eyes see:

Our only purpose is to strive to become Godly.

You don't play puppets with our life- there are no strings.

We create our own paths, though You know everything.

It's no wonder we have a burning desire to worship and sing.

Our soul yearns for the day it will be given its wings.

The greatest miracle ever performed still happens today in the heart of man.

You take a sinful, stony vessel and make it begin to understand.

It is through your mercy that to Hell we are no longer damned.

You are our hope, our peace, our promise- the rock on which we stand.

It astounds my mortal self the perfection of your grand design.

It's impossible for me to know Your ways- they are higher than mine.

We are Pharisees by nature and yet still receive Your love divine.

Thank You, God, for changing me just like You turned water into wine.

You left Your Heavens to enter this world full of sin.

We cried for Barabbas and claimed You were like all other men.

You came as the sacrifice that would never have to be made again.

You won the battle and put death to an end.

We are on this Earth... but we will not stay.

I want my light to reach sinners, and that is what I pray.

We can all see Heaven's gate if we follow in your way.

I'm anchored in Your promise of returning on that glorious, glorious day.

Written by: Katie Branham (2012)