Happy Father's Day, Love.

To my Lover on Father's Day-

I'm starting this letter nearly a week early because today was a hard day and I think God is okay with us receiving gifts when we need them, even if it's not on man's earthly schedule. 

Today the Enemy came rushing in and tried to instill fear, doubt and hate into our little family. He wanted us to lash out with tongues of fire and venom, drawing swords of hate to match our attacker. 

That would have given him exactly what he wanted-to see a Godly father lose at what matters most; showing his boys how to react when war rages. Yet, you react in the way that makes me fall in love with you over and over again-with grace upon grace. 

This, my love, is why you deserve to know what a great daddy you are to three precious, wild, beautiful and impressionable boys. You understand the magnitude of every action and decision on their tiny hearts because God has fathered you through the years and has handled your heart with extreme delicacy, understanding, desire and mercy. Because Christ so loved you, you are daily striving to be the best daddy that you can be to the boys-raising them with directness, but above all mercy. 

You consistently step outside of your own wants, needs, desires, dreams and agenda and claim not your own will, but God's for your boys. You handle every decision with care. You weigh every choice and outcome with diligence and prayer. You never throw the boys into the midst of an oncoming wave to save yourself, but rather you constantly sacrifice yourself to protect them, cherish them, shield them from the ugliness of the world around them. 

That's what we all want, right? We want to shield our children from the cold world for just a little while, not forever, but ...a little while? Long enough for fearless tuck-ins, park dates, picnics and innocent car conversations. 

That's what we do as parents. We hold the hand of our spouse and form a barricade around our most precious and prized possessions, protecting them from earthquakes and oncoming disasters at all costs, even if we are taken over in the process. 

Three years ago you invited me to stand alongside you to form the strongest barricade the boys will ever see. I didn't just say 'yes' to you as a husband, a partner, a best friend, but above all I said 'yes' to a father-and a hell of a good one. I said 'yes' to ball games, practices, fevers, sniffles, checking homework, home runs, dirty socks, getting splashed at the pool and boy jokes. I also said 'yes' to wage war against any power, person or principle that would try to seep into our boys' hearts, our family's home or our marriage. I vowed to fight for three souls, three minds, three hearts, harder and more intensely than I had ever fought for my own. 

So here we are, holding hands, forming a wall and fighting. 

There's a reason why armies once marched side by side-weapons up and horses high.

They were protecting often an unseen treasure, forming a fortress around the one they were to ultimately fight for and die for. They went to the front lines to protect the life that was of utmost importance. 

This is what we do, love. This is a father's love. God demonstrated the ultimate love of a father for us, the love of a mother for us. He knew we couldn't handle the huge mess, the huge battle ahead-so He went through the gates of Hell to grab the keys FOR us. He sees the ugliness and He weeps, but He is maternal and soothes us, all the while waging war for us, carrying mountains for us, destroying burdens for us. 

This is a father's love. 

This is you. 

You are the front lines for those boys. 

You are the shield.

You are the soother.

You are the wager of war in prayer. 

You are the reader of bedtime stories, the best bed tucker, peanut butter and jelly maker, kite flyer.

But-don't forget, my sweet boy, there is a Father also out fighting for you, too. He is also out carrying your mountains, destroying your burdens, on the front lines, shielding, soothing, waging war and reminding you that you need not fight battles that aren't yours. He already possesses them, along with your family, your home, Caler, Corban and Cannon. 

How amazing and cool is that? He is holding you and you are holding them-talk about a mighty fortress around our boys! 

I love you for so many reasons, for being an amazing partner, but I love you most when I watch you being a daddy. 

Grace upon Grace.

-B

Take Up Space

I wish I could tell you where it started, why it started, that there's some magical equation or scientific reasoning to it.
I can't. I'm grasping at straws here, really.

The desire to take up as little space as possible can be traced back for decades.
It hangs on your mother's face as she turns side to side in her full length mirror. It fills the racks of Target's summer swimsuit line. It comes in waves, in media, in fads.

We cross our legs, fold our arms and self-observe in our school desks, our work chairs, as we stand among our smaller friends in photographs. We hunch with our arms crossed across our bellies as we sit and turn to the side with hand forcing an hour-glass shape when posing with loved ones. We are constantly self-adjusting to take up less space. 

A survey of 2,000 women revealed that the average woman self-criticizes at least 8 times per day, the majority regarding how much space she's taking up. One in seven of those women admitted to criticizing themselves throughout the entirety of their day, reaching a number of self-criticisms they can no longer count.

I am past the stage of wanting to be the size of a small child. It's ridiculous to aim for your pubescent body and leads to a downward spiral of unhealthy habits. Yet, like many other women, I can often find myself confused as to why I desire to take up less space. Why do I self adjust? Why does the stigma of smaller equals happier even still exist when we know it to be so dangerously untrue?

I wish I could answer these questions, dear one. I wish I knew all the reasons, the histories, the solutions. I don't have it. All I have to offer is potential healing before we step full swing into the summer months. Why do I talk about body image so often, year after year? Because it's relevance never fades. Year after year sweet friends and beautiful women cover, hunch, readjust to take up less space and I'm tired of it.

It's not fair and we weren't designed to live like this. 

We weren't designed to pick the plainer one piece simply because someone else says that "your body just isn't two piece material" or that some stupid pool mom gives you the eye when your curves and glorious, glowing stretch marks block her view of her own reflection. Honey-you were designed to be confident in your body, bask in the greatest creation and buy the damn two piece.

You were not designed to take up less space, but to multiply and build a fortress. 

Make the world your fortress and conquer it with your dreams and success! As women we are constantly being told that we should be smaller in every way- our success, our goals, our dreams, our passions, our bodies, so that we might not intrude on the territory of the man.

Screw. That. 

I'm done with that and I want to be the kind of girl that takes up space! I want to be successful and not just "successful for a woman."

I want to wear the two piece and laugh with my girlfriends over a glass of wine and not think twice about how many calories are in a glass of merlot!

I want to expand my dreams all over!

I want to waste time away laughing with my children at the pool, not covering and concerning myself with the way I look, because that is such a small, insignificant, earthly and fleeting thing to expend energy on.

I want you to sport that neon bikini this summer, stay up too late with friends, grab ice cream cones with your kids or have more than one glass of wine with your girls, all while looking freaking fabulous.

That extra skin? That's just the many, glorious pizza nights with your babes while you still have them.
That curve that folds a little extra over your bikini bottom? That's just the evenings of sharing a glass of wine with your lover and best friend over bad horror movies.
Don't waste moments like that worrying about taking up less space.


Get out there and take. up. space.

Chronicles of a Stepmom: The Last Will Be First, Even Though It Sucks

Yesterday was Mother's Day. 
Cringe. 
It's a hard day for many, including stepmothers.
I won't sugar coat it for you reader, being a stepmom is hard and often an unrecognized, thankless job. We're seen more as glorified babysitters than mothers and typically are hanging out behind the curtain or the backseat to parenting.
Some weeks we are doing "too much", taking on duties that are labeled "BIO PARENT ONLY PLEASE", while others we're not doing enough, rather that be discipline wise or other.
It's a hard balance and many step-parents decide to become more apathetic as time goes on because they feel they can never measure up or even measure down to what is desired from them.

Some families live in an ideal divorced situation, with both parents separated yet harmonious with one another. They co-parent well, leaving the snarky remarks and manipulation to the junior high hallways. I applaud those families for being selfless enough to put their own ambitions, agendas and grudges aside to band together and love their children in separate homes.

Unfortunately, this is most likely not the case. It's a rarity-like a divorce unicorn. The chances of you finding a smooth divorce or a seamless co-parenting (especially when new spouses are involved) situation is slim to none. The majority have behind the scenes issues, whether it's aired on your news-feed or not.

All that being said, what do you do as a step-parent when you're faced with turmoil and disagreement? What do you do when you are attacked? Do you stand up and fight, lay down like a doormat or withdraw into a lethargic/careless state?

Remember those corny W.W.J.D bracelets we all wore in middle school? Okay, we thought we were cool repping that Jesus Freak movement. Newsflash: we were lame.
Go back to that time with me. No, I don't want you to literally order a W.W.J.D bracelet off of Ebay.

(Though if you're interested...http://www.ebay.com/itm/1-WWJD-W-W-J-D-What-Would-Jesus-Do-woven-wristband-bracelet-C18-/371561394616?var=&hash=item5682c8f1b8:m:mAKB2d246tdUh9-UaaIizog)

Rather, I want you to live that out instead. Pretend it's there on your wrist every time you find yourself in the midst of hatred, turmoil, attacks, harsh and personal words.
Divorce sucks for everyone and ultimately was never in God's design, but we know that He still knew we were a broken world and that the enemy would try to destroy the strongest unit on Earth-family. God saw divorce, he saw the fights, the brokenness, the loneliness of the process and even the re-marriages and gracefully offers us restoration through these new, sometimes dysfunctional blended families. 

So, I would suspect if God knew of this brokenness ahead of time, we can assume He has a plan and a response for every trial we face within the aftermath of divorce. 
I have received the blunt end of some pretty painful remarks since stepping into this challenging (and beautiful) role as a stepmom. Man ya'll, can I be real here? They hurt. Bad. Like hell, even. They made me question my abilities to help raise three of the most beautiful, kind (and messy) boys you'll ever meet. They made me doubt that I might ever "fit".

I don't know your situation, where you are in your journey of blending a family, but it can be messy momma. You know that. One thing you need to know-you ARE capable. Doubt, shame, guilt, all of these are attacks on you and your family may be coming from a person on this Earth, but they are merely a vessel for the enemy trying to tear apart your strong, spiritual (yes, I said spiritual!) family unit. Don't let it succeed, momma.

Lost? Turn to the Shepherd. 
Confused? Turn to the Counselor.
Hurting? Turn to the Ultimate Physician. 
Wounded? Turn to the one Who bore stripes for you. 

Want to fight back? It's not worth it. I know as step-parents we take the back seat enough already, but momma (or step-dad!), put yourself last. Again.

"In this way the last will be first, and the first will be last."-Matthew 20:16


Who likes this verse, anyway? Nobody. It sucks. It's hard. Who wants to be last? I don't. I don't like getting picked last, or being last in line for food on Thanksgiving. I like winning! I like to be the leader, the front of the pack! 
Jesus says, "No. Go to the back of the line. Be the last to get served. Be last."

You know how you're putting everyone before yourself? Keep doing it. Would you rather win an argument on Earth or build up treasures in heaven? Sometimes being "right" isn't always right. 

Keep trucking. Keep loving. Keep balancing. Keep lavishing grace. Keep looking at that lame (stylish) W.W.J.D bracelet and go to the back of the line with humility. Keep storing up treasures. 

Keep being you, because that's enough already.

Green Lightening

I know you wouldn't understand this because your memory is beautifully impeccable, but many of our past memories get blurry, mostly blurred together. What night did that happen? What was I driving then? Why did I choose the creme dress over the red dress, or was it the other way around?

Yet some memories are still so vivid that I sometimes forget they happened years ago, like I just arrived home from smelling fresh lake water or you kissing my toes fresh from my favorite shoes? Remember that one? You had me pull over into the gravel just to bend down and kiss my dirty feet. I felt more adored in that moment than ever before.

But the night with the green lightening. That night I remember above all the rest. Did you even kiss me? I don't know. We probably held hands, but even that I don't recall.
I remember the green lightening.
The wind was rocking my cheap Honda and I was afraid. You could see it. You always knew when I was afraid. I never wanted to tell you, though. I wanted to you to think I was fine all of the time on my own. That's just not true. For anyone.

The lake water was splattering on my windshield and my palm sweat drenched the steering wheel. You brushed my cheek and said you would follow me home.

No. I'm fine.

Okay. Are you sure?

You followed me home anyway. You ignored my reassurance because you knew otherwise and you followed me the entire way,
Driving I noticed we were chasing the green lightening down every deserted back road, trees like goblins eating on power lines and leaves diving into our windshields like dead black birds.
You pulled in front of my car and chased the green lightening far from me, taking the blow of branches and limbs.

You have always taken the blow and always tried your best to chase the lightening far from me and my tranquil world.
You have always followed me home when I reassured you that I'm fine on my own.
You have always kissed gravel lot toes and sweaty palms.
I think that night is when I really fell in love with you; when you saw the softness and vulnerability through my strength.
I couldn't fool you. I couldn't get around you or away from you.

I could have written you a card, given you meaningless stale chocolates or a balloon that will pop or deflate next week.
That's not enough for you, green lightening chaser. Toe kisser. Piggy back ride giver.
You deserve much more than I could give. All I can give is me.
But that's always been enough for you.
We're enough.

Thank you for always chasing green lightening so that my world is never disturbed, for taking the blows of branches and stray limbs so they never reach me.

I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.

"What the hell am I doing?" and other mysteries of your 20's

Do you remember that catchy yet exasperating song by Britney Spears that came out in 2002 titled, "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman"? I was twelve when the song was released. I would put in my butterfly hair clips, kiss Lance Bass in my NSYNC poster and sing that song into my hair pick (I have a white girl fro, okay?).

At the ripe age of twelve I thought this song was written especially for me and all of my fellow pre-teened, confusion-stricken peers.

No.
NO.

Spears was 22 when the song released. Well out of her teen years but yet not quite on the climb to 30 (undoubtedly the age of official adulthood). She had reached the age that every 20-something begins to feel "the shift," "the change," "the black plague."
 Okay, I made all of that up. It's not that bad.
But, that's the age I started to panic.

"What the hell am I doing?"
"What the hell am I going to do?"

Thoughts of the future, degrees and careers begin to creep into our dreams and daily thoughts.
I swear a few months ago I looked down into my alphabet soup and my noodles were spelling "biological clock," "decisions," "graduate already."

My biological clock never started ticking, but how easy is it at this phase (or any phase, really) to look through our newsfeed and see everyone else in their mid-twenties having it all together?

Oh look, Martha just had another baby.
Oh look, Jennifer just got a promotion.

What the hell? I'm 25 and still eat Cheetos for dinner ON A GOOD DAY.
My dear, sweet, little twenty-something's, I have so much to tell you.

1. Stop comparing your life to the highlight reels of everyone else's. Martha might be running on 3 hours of sleep, picking cheerios from her hair and wishing she could still go out with her friends as often as she used to. Smiling photos, "likes" and #blessed doesn't mean someone is happier than you are. They could be miserable. They could be looking at your feed, thinking the same about your life.

2.  Be where you are now. Oh dear ducklings, how easy is it to think about our lives in some distant time, wishing our lives away to the next job, the next boyfriend, the next step we feel we are supposed to take? We rush to get married because it's what we are supposed to do. We rush to have kids because "You've been married for about a year now, about time to think about some little ones,eh?" We rush to graduate so that we can land our dream job. The next, next, next. Sweet ladies, be where you are now. Live now. Be present in the here. Be happy in this chaotic, confusing, but beautiful season you are standing in right now. Stop hoping and wishing your life away year by year. You are in one of the sweetest seasons of your life. You get to discover who you want to be and who you are ultimately becoming. Right now! Isn't that a gift?

3. It's okay not to have your life together. You are twenty-something, 21, 22, 24, approaching 26 (don't remind me!). You aren't supposed to have your life together. You are supposed to be living and figuring it all out on the way. This is a joy ride, love. Stop beating yourself up and taking all of the joy out of it! Roll those windows down, turn up the tunes and let your fingers make love to the freeway air. This is the one time in your life when people won't look at you cross-eyed when you say you're currently on a journey to find yourself (screw them anyway, right?). Take advantage of these adventurous, wondrous, wild years! Quit your job if it doesn't make you happy. Dump that guy if he treats you like garbage. Try new foods. Travel new places. Learn a language. It's your time to learn more about yourself and more about the world around you. Who wants to have their life together when they can be on an adventure?

4. Not everyone is meant to stick around. Okay, this one sucks. It really, really, really sucks. So many faces have come and gone through out the years and it hurts. Your twenties are a time of making the friends that will stick and unfortunately losing friends that you thought would be around to watch your kids grow up. You change. You grow. You choose a path. They choose another. But, that's okay. Going separate directions at the fork in the road doesn't mean you can't smile at one another when you run into them at the grocery store, it simply means you knew them for who and what they once were. You accept that some people grow with you for a season and then you both began to grow differently, not better than the other, just different. Cherish the people that have grown you in the past, the ones growing you now and the ones that will help grow you in the future.

5. Get the tattoo. Take this literally, or don't. If you know me personally, you know that I would take this all the way to the tattoo shop! Live a little, babe! I wouldn't recommend a large fire-breathing dragon or, well, to each his own, eh? These are the years that you should make mistakes, take risks, be spontaneous! I am about to turn 26 and do not regret any of my tattoos, but most of them were a last minute, " I want to do this. This is my body. I'm getting this tattoo!" Own your choices, even if ten years from now you think they were immature. Isn't that beautiful, though? Why not let yourself hang out in the middle land for awhile? Get the dragon (no, not that) tattoo. Read whatever book catches your attention even if it's awfully written. Jump. Run. Ski. Get on the plane. Leave. Go. Come back again. Make a decision. Regret it. Change your mind. Do it all over again. Your twenties don't last forever, honey. Do something that scares you a little.

Sweet twenty-somethings, please put on your sassy red pants and try to enjoy these fleeting years. Time will be there. The career will be there. Graduation will come. Marriage (if you want that) will come. Children (if you want those) will come. Stand in the middle land and breathe in uncertainty, for years of certainty (sometimes mundane) will come in due time.

"The Quiet Girl"

That is probably the most boring title of a blog I have ever written, but I did it on purpose.

When someone reads, "The Quiet Girl," they get bored. It's boring. I did this because perhaps quiet girls are seen as boring by some outsiders, particularly loud people.
Was that offensive that I called you a "loud" person?
I thought that's what we did now-we tell people who they are based off of how many words that they speak.
No?

Oh.

I wanted to enlighten the public on the freak shows of the quiet girls.
The introverts.

First and foremost, my mind is loud.
It seems contradictory that I may not speak often or loudly, but yet my mind is extremely engaged.
Sometimes, an introvert's mind is too engaged. We are constantly making observations, evaluating and dissecting the world around us. How can someone talk when their mind is so busy?

Our minds do much more work than our mouths. To me, that's a positive.

Next slide please!

Quiet individuals make excellent listening buddies. We are often the sounding board for our friends, but also strangers. I joke often with my husband that I must have a flashing sign on my back reading, "Please tell me all of your life troubles!"

I joke about it, but I really enjoy it. I can't count the number of times I have been sitting in a waiting room, minding my own business, when a woman decides I look like someone trustworthy and silent enough to entrust their stories with.
I once held a woman in a tattoo parlor, sobbing that her husband just left her. True story.
What a privilege it is that my presence screams louder than any words that I could say!
What a privilege it is that strangers feel at ease enough around my "quietness" that they can pour out their hurts because they know "girls like her don't talk."

Que slide change.

I'm sure you've heard this before, but it is true that confidence is silent and insecurities are loud.
Want to know who the most insecure person in the room is? The one making the most noise.

I'm not insecure because I'm quiet.
I'm quiet because I'm confident.
I feel no need to fill the room with noise because I can be comfortable in my own silence.

We live in a world that is constantly moving, bustling, hustling. A world constantly filled with beeps, buzzes, rings and racket. We live in a world that never allows us to just be still, to appreciate a quiet room with only the company of ourselves, to enjoy a meal without checking our emails. We live in a world where when we do find ourselves forced to be alone, we must fill the hole with letting the world know exactly what we are doing, so that we don't feel so alone with ourselves. We live in a world where we feel the need to be validated by a click of a button on our life update or a photograph.
When silent hits, it makes us uncomfortable.

Take some time to be alone and to be silent. It might do you some good.

So many people who call us quiet don't truly want to hear our thoughts, ideas or anything really, they just want noise, anything to fill the silence that they cannot appreciate or understand.

Next slide, please.

When a quiet girl wants to communicate something, she does. She doesn't just communicate it, or say something to just say it, she communicates effectively and purposefully. She says exactly what she means to say and when she means to say it. Her words are developed and thought-provoking.

Have mercy on our souls that we only speak when we actually have something worth saying.

I don't think its a far reach to say that we have enough blubbering baboons around to fill the silence, we certainly don't need more of them.

I have no intention of "recovering" from my quiet nature. It's not a disease, it's a characteristic I wear with pride.
My quietness is actually a strength. Many people do not possess a quiet, strong presence. They can't. They have to be loud. They have to fill the silence in a room. Oftentimes, they are the ones intimidated by the strong silence of you, "the quiet girl." You actually have mystery to you. Intrigue.

Wallflower? Oh no, dear.

While the rest of the world is busy filling the air with meaningless small talk about the weather, my mind will be spinning, working, changing the world.

Bragging: Babies and Bae

Why I Will Brag About My Spouse On Social Media. 

It's become a hot topic on both ends on my newsfeed. 

Happy couples posting photos every day together. 

Another friend posting that they're tired of seeing mushy crap fill their feeds. 

Another friend saying that truly happy couples don't post on Facebook about it. 

This post will most likely be taken as a bias one, because I am a happily married woman. 

I'm also the girl that doesn't want to see five thousand photos of your baby, every. Single. Day. I mean, he looks the same as yesterday honey. We all know about his cute bald head and every bowel movement. Thank you. 

Do you want to see a photo of me and my husband, or any other happy couple, every single day like the bald headed (but cute, I'm sure) baby? 

No. 

Who would? 

But, will I continue to "brag" on my social media outlets about my marriage? 

You betcha. 

Will I continue to shine a light on my husband in every way and in every form and at every opportunity that I can? 

Absolutely. 

I understand that as a single person, it's probably annoying to scroll through your feed and see couples hanging all over one another, giving forehead kisses and hash-tagging #blessed for every Instagram photo (I'm personally not a fan of the latter). 

As a non-baby lover, I'm sure I make the same disgusted face when I see a baby covered in mayonnaise that you do over yet another kissing couple photo. 

BUT-I want to stand up for those of us that are genuinely happy and regularly post about our spouse on our own pages and/or write continuously on their walls even when we are sitting right next to them. 

I know that social media is often used as a highlight reel of everyone's best moments; they look happy, their makeup is done, their kids aren't hitting one another and everyone looks perfectly perfect. 

It's hard to decipher truth from reality on social media. 

We all know everyone was whining and crying before you took that photo and told everyone how #blessed you are. 

Let me be real here: life is hard. Real hard. 

When you marry someone, the right someone, you marry everything that comes with them. They become your person. 

You want to share every stupid moment with them. 

And because they are your constant in a chaotic world, 

And because they are your logical when life makes anything but sense, 

And because they are your life jacket when you feel like you're drowning, 

You want to share every stupid moment with the world, too. 

You want to share that because you still have your spouse to flirt with on their Facebook wall, 

Because you still have your spouse to clink coffee cups with, read books with, sit in church with, go to concerts with, laugh with, cry with, celebrate with, mourn with, that there is still hope.

There is still happiness. 

There is still balance when there's another person on the see-saw. 

We don't do it to rub our happiness in your face. 

We don't do it for your likes (that is an evil form of validation). 

We don't do it for you. Period. 

We do it for us. 

Sure, I tell my husband how proud of him I am every day in person. 

I grab his face and tell him who he is to me every afternoon. 

But-public recognition is important to everyone. 

We like to be told by our bosses how good of a job we are doing. 

We like to be told by strangers  in a grocery store how good of a parent we are. 

We like hearing our parents praise us for doing basic, adult responsibilities. 

Hey-it feels awesome! 

Everyone deserves that pat on the back- including our spouse. 

We don't want to fill your feed with fake, "look at us" photos, but we want to let the world know that life is freaking crazy, but you can still be happy as hell. 

And when you're that happy, you WANT to share it and you SHOULD! 

And when others are that happy, you SHOULD celebrate with them. 

I'm glad you're happy about bald baby. Even though I don't understand it (like at all), keep on sharing that happiness!

 And if it's a dog, please share even more. 

Instead of scrolling through your feed and rolling your eyes at someone else, yet again, for sharing a photo of them smooching their significant other or posting on their wall from five feet away, celebrate with them. 

They will celebrate with you too, in whatever form of happiness it is that you choose. 

But please, #blessed only on photos of pizza or puppies.