Miscarriages, Healing, and Facing the Lie That You're Not Worth It, Guest Writer: Cassandra Pickrel

Healing is such a…silver lining kind of word, if you will. A dawn of a new era, next chapter, new life. In all my healing I seem to always forget about the 3 letter tail to the word: “i n g”. In that lies the hardest part, the process.

I am convinced that we are in constant healing in some form or another.

My name is Cassandra and I am currently a mom healing from one toddler, two miscarriages, mom guilt and mom bod, amongst a myriad of other things. Almost 4 years into parenthood people naturally start wondering “when is number 2 on their way?”. Two years into trying to fully successfully conceive and give birth, the fact is we are wondering ourselves. During the 2018 Christmas season we miscarried at 11 weeks. Like most people who have tragic days, I remember that day so clearly. I remember the ultrasounds and seeing the little flicker on the screen that tells me my baby had a beating heart. However, and most importantly I remember the fact that Jesus was communicating with me throughout that entire pregnancy up to that fateful day.

During my shower that morning I heard the Lord say “my wounds are healed, yours will be too”. In all my days I never dreamed the call to be a mother would give me specifically, anything to heal from! Aside from you know the teenage years when hormones are raging and parent vs. child is in full season. My mom has 5 children, my aunt and my two cousins are all just as fertile.

Enter, stage left, February 2020 with a 2nd miscarriage. The pain was breath taking, disabling. All the evidence that I had collected about myself was validated in that very moment. Im not worth it. I must be doing something wrong. Im being punished. God doesn’t trust me. God doesn’t love me. All that the world had told me I was, was correct. The list is infinite with all the guilt, doubt, and shame I lay down to only pick back up every time I get a negative pregnancy test. The one and only fact that I have to hold on to is, He said that my wounds would be healed; not erased or would never happen again. But healed.

I know being a mom is, by far, the hardest job I have and will ever do. I also know it will be the best thing I will do. For sure, I was caught off guard to the realization that just getting the chance to be a parent again would grow my endurance for patience but if going through the cross was worth the pain, the humiliation, the wounds, then wont my hurt be worth it too? Wont Jesus make the journey more than I could have ever known? But even if He doesn’t, I know that at the end of the day it all points me back to Him. I do fully believe that my heart wound (at the very least) will be healed, how long that process will be only Jesus knows, maybe it wont be till He returns but I know it’s in process.

Healing: the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.

Supporting Each Other After the Loss of a Child, Guest Writer: Jessica Stewart

Compassionate Friends conducted a study in 2006 stating, “72 percent of parents who were married at the time of their child’s death are still married to the same person. The remaining 28 percent included 16 percent in which one spouse had died, and 12 percent of marriages had ended in divorce.” 

My first thought was, “Of the 28% where the spouse dies, how many of those deaths are suicide?” I’ve been in the pediatric cancer community for 5 years now, and unfortunately I’ve learned some parents cannot bear the death of their child, so they take their own life. It crosses the mind of the strongest and bravest parents.

Since learning my son had an 80% chance of being cured of Leukemia, then losing him, I am not a big follower of statistics.

However, knowing my marriage could be at risk after losing our son, made me very vigilant at a time when I could hardly focus on anything. 

Something I learned from the book Love and Respect, (by Dr. Eggeriches) is men feel loved when their spouse is simply present. When my husband, Aaron, woke up each morning crying, I laid on his chest. I was just there. Present. Hurting with him, but saying nothing. 

Part of loving and supporting a spouse through grief, is allowing them to grieve in their own way. Division can come easily. You are both running on empty emotional tanks. Your spirituality may be stunted. You want to draw comfort from the one who’s job it is to love; you but they are empty too. There’s nothing there. 

In my sadness, when I saw Aaron wear something of our son’s to feel close to him, I wanted to be mad. A pain as heavy s as losing a child is so tremendous, your mind is searching for a way to release some of it. Anger is a secondary emotion. Spouses are tempted again and again to lash out. The truth is, you don’t need more pain, and that’s what you end up with when you start taking things out on your spouse. So, when Aaron wore something of Joel’s, instead of reacting,  I would have to think, “If wearing Joel’s t-shirt brings me comfort, how can I blame Aaron for wanting to do the same thing?" You have to guard your heart and your tongue.

Taking a trip sounded ridiculous to me, but my spouse thought it would help to get away. We left for Cancún a few weeks after Joel moved to Heaven. Removing yourself from your current living space, to  a land not saturated with memories of your lost one, may help you to breathe. We walked, we talked, we cried. We sat and watched the ocean ebb and flow. We watched the sunrise, and the sunsets. Here, there was a chance to feel a bit of peace… to feel like we could breath. Broken me, fitting into broken him, doing our best to hold each other up as we limped through grief. Never judge someone’s relationship with a lost one. You may wonder why your spouse is so sad, because they were not close to the parent they lost. You can mourn so much more than a person’s presence. Death can also be a trigger for other issues. We cringed when someone would put emphasis on Joel being Aaron’s stepson. People should be allowed to mourn whatever it is they feel they lost once someone passes away. A chance a reconciliation, a dream to have a close relationship, a childhood hunger for a father, or a feeling of being safe. We don’t know. 

Be present. Just breath. Allow room for grief to unfold without taking things personally. Hold hands. Don't make room for division. Create a safe space to talk. At some point the grief will spill out in words. You won’t have all the answers. Just give love, acceptance, and reassurance. Deeply hurt people don’t usually want to be cheered up. You can’t fix things. You can’t save your spouse. Persist with relentless love.

When You're a Dad to a Daughter and You Question Your Abilities , Guest Writer: Regan

July 22nd 2016. My wife and I go to another checkup appointment with the OB/GYN. She is 6 days away from her due date and everything is running smoothly. She feels good, the baby is healthy, and we excited to be parents in 6 days. After the standard protein tests the doctor nonchalantly says “you’ve got some protein in your urine. So we are going to induce you. See you up at the hospital”. All of the sudden the pressures of becoming a parent come crashing down and I am sitting there wondering if I have what it takes after all. 

Being a dad is the greatest adventure one could ask for. Yet, there is nothing that can surface the insecurities of a generally secure a man like parenthood. Will my daughter like me? Will she always just want mom (still a struggle)? Will I know how to engage and play with a toddler girl that doesn’t seem interested in action movies or sports? 

My father loved me with his whole heart, but was not the most active with my brothers and I as kids. He simply didn’t know how to play with kids. He was raised on a family ranch by his grandparents working long hours at an early age. As an adult, I can acknowledge my desires as a kid for my dad to play with me. Yet, he rarely did. He was by no means a bad dad. He loved me with his whole heart. He encouraged me. He supported me. He loves our time together as adults. But there is a longing in a kid to play with dad. So I resolved to be a fun dad. To wrestle with my kids. To teach them how to throw a ball or ride a bike. And, if I had a daughter, to get fully engaged in the tea parties and nail paintings. Talk about a pride eliminator for a ranch kid from Wyoming. Painting nails…that has become one of my many skills. 

There was a learning curve for me when Hadley was born. For instance, I didn’t know there was a very specific direction that baby girls had to be wiped in order to prevent infections. YIKES. I was not the most help with the newborn phase. I tried. I changed diapers. I rocked Hadley when she was upset. But, I can’t breastfeed which not only helps when she needed to eat but also was the trick to getting her to sleep. Also, I had to go back to work full-time while my wife stayed home. Thus, Hadley grew what felt like a deeper attachment to Cassandra than to myself. To top it off, as Hadley began saying more words she started saying “Mom” right away. However, instead of saying “Dad” she picked up “Regan”. She calls me “Dad” about twice per week, but since everyone else calls me “Regan” why not her. Between her not referring to me as “Dad” and always wanting Cassandra when she is sad/hurt/hungry/anything else I began to build some insecurities on my ability to father well.
I’ve had to intentionally spend time praying over these insecurities; that they would not take root and God would continually speak truth over my fathering. I’ve had to allow God to father me well so I can father my own child well. I’ve had to face the truth that I am not a perfect dad, but that gives me opportunity to do better. Hadley loves me very much. She is excited to show me her achievements; how many stairs she can safely jump down, her drawings, her ability to run full speed into the street and make me chase her in a panic. Hadley knows she is the apple of my eye. 

I believe most dads struggle with insecurities regarding their parenting. Especially when they have daughters. Dads don’t talk about it often. But we are always wondering if we are as good as mom. The lesson God his teaching me is to stop comparing myself with Cassandra. Women bear the image of God differently than men. They parent differently. And the connection they form with their children is different. That is the way God designed it. My identity is not based on my daughter’s love for Cassandra. My identity isn’t even based on her love for me. My identity is found in being a child, fathered by God. Out of that I am able to love my daughter, father her, play with her, protect her, provide for her, and be “Regan” to her. 

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Regan Pickerel

Regan Pickrel is the senior pastor at Gillette Foursquare Church in Gillette, Wyoming. Regan married Cassandra October 18, 2013 and they have one child; Hadley Marie Pickrel.

Here's the crash Course on being a Dad: Be a Dad, Guest Writer: Alan Clother

I’m a dad. I make dad jokes. 

As a dad when my kids were young, I did the dad things. I suppose I was a good dad, or maybe not. I could have been better. 

When our son was born, we decided Cynthia would be a stay at home mom. I worked hard and built my career to provide income for the family. Each house we lived in needed tons of work that we did ourselves. I drove a used Pinto station wagon with wood sides for 10 years to save money. One year I was Cub Master for the Scout troop, an Elder at church, and a new manager at work besides the house remodeling. Thank God for time management!

Somewhere in the middle of all that busyness, I was a dad. Sometimes present, sometimes absent, busy with this or that.

When my kids were 4 and 7, my older neighbor was watching me meticulously scraping and sanding the paint on our garage door. He came over and remarked “I will never be able to see all the work you are putting into your paint job from across the street, but your kids will see whether you are choosing to spend this time with them.” Ouch. 

And I tried to be less of a perfectionist when it came to my projects, and more available when it came to my kids; still filling every nook and cranny of my schedule.

After I took a new job across town, the commute was killing our family time. In our kid’s teenage years we decided to move to a neighborhood near my office so I could always be close at hand and home for dinner. And my kids could show up at the office if they ever needed anything.

During those years, I wanted to take more opportunity to speak into my kids’ lives, but I also encouraged them to speak into mine, even calling me out if I was being a jerk about something. I was sometimes.

My daughter listened to my struggles at work and church and challenged me to make the right decisions after she’d heard me complain about the same thing enough times. And she would come to me with her struggles.

My son would teach me how to engage when I was distracted by the worries of work and church leadership.” Tell me about your day, Dad. I want to hear all the details.” And in turn I would then ask about his.

My daughter’s friends that had no dad, or a crappy dad, sometimes “adopted” me as their second dad and I “adopted” them. My best friend left his wife, and we stood with her and the kids. They are my kids. And I started building dad momentum.

Looking back at our childhood parenting years, sometimes I think we screwed up our kids as much as we helped them. But we all still love each other, so I guess we did OK. If nothing else, they have modeled forgiveness as we stumbled through being parents. 

When my son struggled with mental health last year, he took time away from his wife and three kids to live with us for two months. We went for walks on the beach and he shared his inner dialogues that drove him to consider suicide. I had experienced my own deep depression some years ago, and could relate to the feelings of hopelessness and speak my own experiences into his. I would ask questions, explore his feelings, right-size his observations, be open, trusted, answer questions. I simply needed to be there with him. He did not need to walk this journey alone. And I was honored to be a part of his life, to be there as his dad.

It has taken me some years of practice to slow down and be a dad that’s present. These days, I can have long talks pretty much any day of the week with my kids. That is a blessing. I love being their dad. Our kids are some of our best friends. And our “adopted” kids are many of our friends, too.

So what makes a good dad? I suppose it’s someone with your best interests in mind, that will be there when you need them and not when you don’t. Someone who gives you space to grow, to be you, keeping watch from the background alert for danger.

The role of a dad is an honor to me. To have youngsters who are willing and even eager to talk with me and allow me to pour into their life is a gift. And I continue to “adopt” kids. I enjoy the many young friends we have in our life, and as they have kids, I’m adopting grandkids now!

For those reading this and your dad has let you down, cut them some slack and love them anyway. They are on a life journey of learning, too. And they won’t learn without someone speaking into their life.

If you don’t have a dad, or you could use a second dad, adopt one that you respect. It will honor him and bring new life to both of you.

If you want to experience a peace that passes all understanding, deepen your relationship with God the Father. He will adopt you as His own daughter or son. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” James 1:17 

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Alan Clother

Alan is the Director at Rescue Mission Alliance in Oxnard, CA. He is originally from the beautiful green state of Oregon with a background in engineering and ministry.

Find him on IG and FB.

You Can't Choose Your Parents but You Can Choose to Get Better Not Bitter, Guest Writer: Laura Jackson

   As I think back on my childhood with my mom, I must believe that the mom God gave me was the best one for me.  At times, it is difficult to believe because of the relationship we have. She was a great cook I can never deny that. She literally could make anything taste wonderful. She made sure that if we wanted to be in a sport, play an instrument, or do anything she found a way so that we were able to do those things. She also was the type of mom our friends loved to be around because she was “cool “. That was great especially as we became teenagers. Although she was, in general, not very nurturing I know she did the best she could with the knowledge she had at the time. She was a young mom raising three kids all on her own. She left my alcoholic dad when I was only 15 months old.  I was the youngest of three. We lived with my grandparents for about two years before she remarried and moved to California. That marriage lasted about five or six years. We went to the local Catholic Church on Christmas and Easter. We had to do the First Communion and Confirmation classes. But that was the extent of any religion in our lives.  

 In all my growing up, my biological father did not pay a dime of child support. Instead my grandfather helped us more than I ever knew. And later in life I did find out he was the one financially supporting us. My mom often times would get angry very quickly and our consequences were very unreasonable. She was into watching her soap operas, therefore we only had certain times we are able to talk with her. If you had a bad day at school, that was not the time to talk to her because she was watching one of her shows. Homework was important to her but for us to do. I don’t recall her ever helping us figure it out. We often had to do standards for her if we misbehaved. Doing chores was also a big part of growing up. She was young and she would date. As we got older, she would take off for a weekend and leave three teenagers home alone. It did not take long for us teenagers to find “things to do.“ I am surprised none of us ended up in jail, on drugs, an alcoholic or married multiple times.    

I can only recall one time when my mother told us she loved us and that was after a major earthquake in 1971. I knew she did because “she was my mom” but we didn’t hear it. My mother also felt as the mother, and later as a grandmother, she had a right to do or say things because she “had her reasons”. This often resulted in overstepping boundaries, broken trust and only my feelings hurt. For years I tried to communicate to her about how this is not okay, but she was “always right”.  

I realized when I talked to my biological father on his deathbed, he was not only a very passive man but a very narcissistic man.  My mother was a narcissistic woman in a very different way. Sad to say for the last 10 years the relationship with my mother has been very rocky if nonexistent. I know in my heart I have tried to work things out, I am not perfect, and I have tried to apologize when I know I have been wrong. I am not trying to bash my parents I am just trying to tell you this is how it was. To this day my mother does not have a relationship with three out of four of her children because of the reasons above.   

Then there was my grandmother. Known as Mama Lupe to us.  She was way too young to be a grandmother when my mom had my brother at 19 years old. Maybe because she got to be the grandmother instead of the mom, she was fun and became my saving grace, my angel and my rock. As I grew older, I spent more time with her. It didn’t matter what we did I just loved to be with her. In fact, I was known as “little mama Lupe“ because I was so much like her. I learned a lot about life and living between her and my grandfather. I was able to help take care of her in her last few years. It wasn’t a whole lot because of the demands of work, raising kids and living out of state. Yet, it was an honor to be there and care for her. She passed away In September 2008. Things were not good when she passed between my mother and the rest of the family. I was not “allowed”, or able if you were to ask my mother, to attend her memorial service because of the decisions my mother made. It was one of the hardest times in my life. Many have said that my mother was jealous of my relationship with her. I was told that I loved her more than anybody else in the family and she loved me as much. That’s hard to believe when she had four kids. I know we had a very special relationship that was different from anybody else’s. There are very few people that have left this earthly life that I miss every day. She is at the top of that list.   

Anyway, just giving you some background of my life, I want to share what I have learned from my mother and my grandmother. First, we can’t choose the parents we have but we do have the choice of what we do with the knowledge and experience that we are given and raised with. You and I have a choice… “Are we going to become bitter or better?” I believe I have become better. Many people that know my story and/or walked through some of it with me have told me that as well. I count the Lord’s saving grace and mercy as my number one source of help to not getting bitter, angry, victimized or resentful.  As a mother of two boys, now grown and married, I worked hard to have a healthy relationship with them. That means teaching them mutual respect, keeping trust, that their word was their word and to have healthy boundaries. Even while they were young. I was criticized as a young Mom for talking things out with my kids. But I felt it was necessary not only to teach them communication but to let them know that even when they misbehaved, I still loved them. They must’ve heard it four or five times a day that I loved them, I would just say it randomly. I may not have liked them at the moment but my love for them never changed. And I know to this day they still know that. I felt I was teaching respect and boundaries that I did not grow up with. My boys are very family oriented and respectful. It is a blessing to hear others tell me what wonderful men they are. This is my reward as a mother.

One thing I realized is God has been faithful and even when my step dad stepped out of my life, God brought other father figures into my life. One was a teacher in high school that just kept “tabs” on me. And after high school, one from a church I attended that I affectionately call “Poppy” still to his day...and his wife I referred to as mom. I have adopted them - they did not have a choice.  I was also blessed with a wonderful mother-in-law. Whom the Lord found fit for me to care for during her last five years. So many people thought she was my mom because of our relationship. When she passed, I had peace. She was my mother in law, not my mom and she was not well. It is hard to see daughters share in a blessed healthy relationship with their mothers and even harder to sympathize with those who have lost their mother. Because I never had that kind of relationship with mine and was robbed of the closest one next to that. I have to look “down” my family tree so to speak. Praying that my boys feel blessed that I am their mom, my daughter in laws that I am their mother in law and my grandchildren that I get to be their grandmother (aka Mumum) and the many other kids I affectionately referred to as “one of my own”.    

God has shown me all along he is watching over me and helping me to be not only a better mom and wife but hopefully a better person. Somehow in my story, I pray somebody can be encouraged.  I won’t necessarily blame my mom for what wasn’t “right” while growing up because I have learned from the things that I disagreed with and I decided to do the opposite. No matter what life throws at you, you can make lemonade. 

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Laura Jackson

Laura Jackson is thankfully employed in Southern California while completely loving being a grandma!

What it's like to be a mother to a special needs child, Guest Writer: Sandy Harris

Mother’s Day is a mixed bag of emotions for me.  Being the mother of a special needs child has been a journey of pain, blessings, disappointments, pure joy, frustration and ultimate peace.

I am probably the most non-PC person you might meet and when describing my daughter to people I use words like mentally retarded and people cringe.  Well I like the word retarded.  I explained to my daughter many many years ago that it isn’t a bad word.  I explained to her that she should be proud to be called retarded. I explained to her what a Bonsai tree was.  That people purposely retarded the growth of the tree to make an even more beautiful tree. I explained that it was slow growing and that was no different from that of her growth mentally or physically.   I explained to her that she was a “different kind of beautiful” and told her that when someone called her retarded to say thank you.

Being the mother of a special needs child is met, sometimes daily, with challenges that most would never think of.  I am given advice, to this day, on what would be best for my daughter. How I should or shouldn’t act or things I should or shouldn’t do for her.  Well, I was told that my daughter would not live – she is now 40.

I was told she would never sit up – I just kept sitting her up when she fell until she could finally sit up on her own.

I was told she would never walk – I walked her on top of my feet until she was able to wobble on her own - she walks now, with assistance, but she walks.

I was told she would never talk – I cannot tell you how many times I have had to ask her to please be quiet to give my ears a rest.  So I accept the advice, pray about it and then do what I think will work best for my daughter.

She is challenging to say the least, Autism, Mental Retardation (Developmentally Delayed for those more PC than I), CP, Dystonia, Anxiety Disorders and the list could go on.

This is not a ride for the faint hearted, but, I‘ve always loved a good roller coaster! That is the ride the Lord gave me with my daughter. She is my daughter.  A different kind of beautiful. A challenge. A painful but beautiful walk that the Lord gave me.  He gave me because he trusted me with her.  Have I failed? Of course, I have. Have I had my doubts?  Sometimes daily. But, I would not trade being the mother of this most challenging and frustrating daughter for anything in the world.

I can truly say that the only reason I have made it this far is because I trust in the Lord that allowed me to be the mom to a most incredible human that is flawed by worldly standards but is a most amazing being by the Lord’s standards and it is an honor and a blessing to be her mom.

When my daughter was young, a mom of another special needs child gave me a copy of a poem by Erma Bombeck.  It spoke volumes into my life and helped me countless times when challenged by yet another surgery or another physical therapy session or just one of those days when she would not stop screaming,………… the words spoke strength to me.

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.

This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

"Armstrong, Beth; son. Patron saint...give her Gerard. He's used to profanity."

"Forrest, Marjorie; daughter. Patron saint, Cecelia."

"Rutledge, Carrie; twins. Patron saint, Matthew."

Finally He passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child."

The angel is curious. "Why this one God? She's so happy."

"Exactly," smiles God, "Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel."

"But has she patience?" asks the angel.

"I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it."

"I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has her own world. She has to make her live in her world and that's not going to be easy."

"But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you." God smiles, "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect - she has just enough selfishness." The angel gasps - "selfishness? is that a virtue?"

God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a 'spoken word'". She will never consider a "step" ordinary. When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle, and will know it!"

"I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice....and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is doing My work as surely as if she is here by My side".

"And what about her Patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in mid-air.

God smiles, "A mirror will suffice."

So happy mother’s day month to all those with “normal” children and to those with a child that is “a different kind of beautiful.” Please know that your journey is amazing and filled with challenges that most will never know – so that makes you a special kind of beautiful too!

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Sandy Harris

Sandy has background in social work but now focuses on creating! Check out Sandra’s Heart Art.

You can find her on IG and FB.

8 Seasons of Motherhood, Guest Writer: Rita Wolf

I’ve found that there are many seasons of motherhood. Someone once told me that after you give birth you will continue to cut the cord between you and your child for their lifetime. Giving them more independence to be able to grow and be healthy. Teaching and training them their entire life not just 18 years . I have been blessed with an amazing husband and 3 incredible daughters. If you know them you would agree,I’m not just saying it to brag but they are people I’m very proud of. Through the years there has been highs and lows. Some really high and some really low. That’s the way life is. Expect it and you won’t be disappointed. If we are open to Jesus,he teaches us through every circumstance. Being a mom is wonderful and hard at the same time. We are called to teach and train our children to love Jesus and to be a good person. We need to model a godly life. More is caught than taught. Children are smart and see through hypocrisy. Deal with your baggage before passing it on to your children. 

Here are some seasons of mothering that I found.

The Anticipation of Being a Mother

Where you observe everyone else’s parenting and say I would never do that or that’s the only way to mother. There is a balance. There are many ways to raise great adults. (That is the goal,right?)

The Reality

What the heck did I get myself into. I didn’t think I was this selfish. Realizing you were a better parent before you had children. This is hard but so worth it.T

he Baby Stage

When am I going to be able to sleep? The awe and wonder of a new life. The miracle of birth. Watching and observing growth in front of our eyes.

The Preschool Age

This is one of my favorite seasons being that I taught preschool off and on for over 20 years. All the questions that children ask!? Please write down some of the funny things that your children say. One day I was putting on my makeup and my daughter asked if I was afraid? I said no why? Because “You are putting on mascara” ( scare). Too funny.

*Multiple Children

Siblings are a good thing, right? Different stages ... different personalities...Juggling life begins to get more obvious. The youngest wanting the first ones attention. The oldest wanting nothing to do with the youngest. And the sibling rivalry begins. Children will get attention whether it’s positive or negative. Your life will be much easier if you reward the positive. God, many times, gives us children with different personality types so that they will learn from each other for the future.

Elementary Age

Activities and sports are supposed to be good for children, right? When our children were young we tried not to have a lot of activities going on. This is great time to teach personal responsibilities. We honored Sunday as a day of church and rest. Saturday was chore day and family day. There were sports during the week but not on the weekend. I’ve seen way to many exhausted kids who are constantly going and they don’t know how to just be.

Teenage

WOW this was the best time for my husband to father. Raising 3 beautiful and wonderful girls who were usually PMS-ing at the same time as their mom was a sure and present danger. We did make it through this time and can laugh now about this season of life. Having good but difficult discussions, helping them to set boundaries for themselves. What kind of friends, movies, activities they were going to be involved in. At times it involved being the bad guy.

College

Becoming a coach and a counselor. Letting them have freedom but being there for support.

Adult Stage

(notice that the college age is different than adult age )Being out of college and making the majority of decisions on their own but asking for advice. Now is the time to be their friend. To offer advice when asked. Every season has it’s pros and cons and every mother has their favorite time of life. I tend to take the season as it comes because once I get used to the season it changes.

God has opened up a new season of mothering other adult children. Over the years we have had many people live with us for one reason or another. We had exchange students for a week or a month. (Great way to expose your children to other cultures. ) We’ve had young ladies who’ve gone to college and needed a safe place to live. This has been a joy to help others who haven’t had the stability from their birth families. I believe it takes a village to raise a child. We have had people (mostly young women) living with us for over 30 years off and on. The last 10 have been more intentional to show love and support to the calling of God upon their lives. We need community to learn and grow in a healthy way. Community becomes involved in each other’s lives. We pray together,cry together, laugh together, we do life together. I’m very thankful for the community that God has placed around me and my family. We are better people because of living in community. 

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Rita Wolf

Rita is a massage therapist, mom to 4 adult children and fun fact: makes delicious cupcakes!

Find her on FB.

Days are Long Years are Short as a Mom, Guest Writer: London Murphy

How do you put motherhood into words? It’s the battle of unreachable balance. Of losing your identity as an autonomous individual, while trying to hold onto the you you were created to be. It is the act of giving yourself away every minute of every day, while knowing that you still need a whole self to be able to give.

Much of motherhood is done in secret. No matter what image you choose to show the world, most of motherhood is done behind closed doors. And that is the rub. That is the part where the lonely creeps in. Where the questions gnaw at your mind. Am I doing enough? Or maybe too much? Is this the right technique? Will I scar my children forever? If I have nothing to show for the day, does it still count?

The truth is the science will always change, and something good will be labeled bad. And something bad will be discovered to be good. The trick is to stick with your instincts. To trust what nature would agree with. The days are long, but the years are short, and there is so much time to be wasted. And no matter how many times you can internalize that, you will still waste it.

There are certain facts about motherhood that take some getting used to: Like always carrying a diaper bag. And wanting to leave your kids in the car when you run a short errand. Leaving a trail of crumbs everywhere you go. Having a mound of snacks on hand at all times and when you go to the beach it looks like you’re moving in. It taking at least an hour and a half to get out the door. Always remembering to bring this or pack that or buy this at the store. Not getting to care for just yourself anymore. Your brain now holds the belongings of many others.Having to say no to outings because you can’t afford a babysitter/don’t want to burden a family member again. Always feeling like a burden. So many times the thoughts have run through my head: “Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the kids. Maybe we should just go.” The shame kicks in.

The trick is to laugh. Laugh when the poop is all over the floor and everyone is missing the other shoe. Because if you don’t laugh, you will probably cry. And laughing takes the power out of the pain.

Motherhood is about failing every day and learning to have grace for yourself because your kids are watching. Learning to apologize when you fail at “mom”ing. It’s about holding onto the future knowing “this too shall pass.” Some days I remember this. Most days I forget. Some days I love my body because it birthed two humans. Other days I compare myself to all the women my age ​and I am jealous of their perfect figures. Nothing is sagging....they haven’t had kids yet.

Some days I want to take pride in my children’s abilities and behavior. Other days I am reminded that if I take credit for their good behavior then I have to take credit for the bad.

Motherhood is about learning to see the world from your child’s eyes and being reminded of beauty again. To encourage creativity and even color outside the lines a little yourself. It’s about trying to remember that your hormones are out of control. And if it took 9+ months to grow a baby, then it should take at ​least​ 9 months to get back to some sort of normalcy. But normal is a facade because every day is different and every day your babies are changing into tiny human beings with distinct personalities, interests, giftings, and flaws. And just when you think you’ve got a hold on parenting, one of them throws a wrench in the whole thing and you’re back to learning and wrestling with the days, your children, the clock, and sometimes God.

Motherhood is about recognizing your finiteness and learning to ask for help, which is the very thing I am the worst at.

Mostly motherhood is about wrestling with your needs and emotions without staying stuck in bitterness. But the truth is, we only have our babies for a short 18 years, if we’re so fortunate, and we have the opportunity to shape how ​we​ see everyday and therefore shape whether ​theywill trust or fear the world.

The poop will get cleaned up, the shoes will probably never be found, and you can’t take anything to heaven with you, except your character and the impact you’ve made on those around you.

Motherhood is about choosing to find gratitude amidst the chaos because there is always joy to be found. 

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London Murphy

London has a degree in teaching and is a mom to two adorable children under the age of 4. Fun fact she plays guitar and sings beautifully!

You can find her on IG and FB.