Strong Faith Equals Wet Feet

November 4, 2014November 4, 2014 / amylynw / 1 Comment

This morning I wandered downstairs to the kitchen, where my early-rising husband was getting ready for the day. He stared at me. Are you okay? I smiled and put my rice-bag in the microwave. Already my feet had become cold from the short walk down the stairs. Seeing me this early, in motion, is not a frequent sight. There is a lot on my mind, though, and sometimes God wakes us up so we can spend time together without interruptions.

Later today we have a date in the city with some of his favorite doctors. The past three days his voice has taken a turn downhill, which gives us enough alarm and strong reason to see what’s up in the subglottic region of his throat. Not sure if it’s systemic because of the raging ear infection he’s had for a few months now (waiting for insurance to go through to get it looked at properly), or collateral damage from everything that’s happened to his ear, nose and throat the past ten years. We shall find out later today. It’s easy to start sinking into fear. The world is so very full of scary, unpredictable things. When I spend more time skimming news headlines instead of the Word of God, the shaky, fearfulness starts to creep into my heart and mind. I am Peter when he took his eyes off of Jesus and stared at the raging sea and started to sink. Fear cripples you, silences you, and lies to you. Fear is the result of taking our eyes off of Jesus. If you don’t know how to look to Jesus, I would assume fear has a strong hold on you.

In Matthew 14, Jesus had just finished feeding over five-thousand people. He sent his disciples into a boat and then sent the masses away. What a job that must have been. I feel weary after sending my five to their little beds each night, let alone five-thousand. Then He went up into the mountains to be alone and to pray. It was the middle of the night by now, and Jesus was very aware that the disciples were headed into a storm. Knowing the story already, we know that He has the power to calm the storm, so why didn’t He?

He knows the principle of muscle overload. Doing more than we are used to handling in order to make us stronger. His business is to strengthen our faith. So He keeps the winds blowing and the waves surging and starts to walk towards the little boat full of fishermen. I’m not sure if they were afraid of the storm, so much as we know they were afraid once they saw Jesus walking on the water. They mistook His presence for a ghost, and that scared them senseless. Maybe they wondered, like you and I, HOW can all this be happening if Jesus is right here? Why is the wind still blowing, and the storm still raging if Jesus is here?

Then Jesus confirms His presence, and encourages them not to be afraid. “Do not be afraid. Take courage. I am here!” Yes, this crazy wind doesn’t negate the fact that Jesus is here. He is testing your faith. Peter takes Jesus’ advice and has amazing courage. He asks Jesus to call him out of the boat and walk to Him. “Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.” If Jesus is who He says He is, then He will call you too. Because Jesus is in the business of strengthening our faith. He simply says, “Come.”

This is the craziest part of the story. Peter actually does it. He climbs over the side of the boat and starts walking on the water. I don’t imagine his feet are dry, or his clothes even. The waves are still wavy, the wind is still blowing. But he isn’t sinking. He isn’t drowning. He is eye-to-eye with Jesus. His power and courage and strength are ours when we’re eye-to-eye with Jesus. We’re never untouched by the storms of life. We might even be soaked head to toe, but we don’t have to sink.

Then, it happened. Peter saw the waves. He knew they were there, but now that’s all he saw. His focus changed from Jesus, who called him out of safety, to the danger where he was called. A scary, scary place. To confirm the fearfulness of the situation, and the danger of changing his focus, Peter actually starts to sink. The Bible says, “When he saw the strong wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink.” Fear does that. Pulls you under, chokes the life out of you, paralyzes you.

Three words are all he has time to utter: “Lord, save me!” Jesus is so good. He doesn’t tilt His head and think it over while we flounder and gulp water. The moment we call out to Him, He saves us. He says to Peter, and to us, “You have so little faith. Why did you doubt Me?”

We don’t have to sink. His power and courage and strength are ours when we’re eye-to-eye with Jesus.

“When they climbed back into the boat, the wind stopped.” One day, there will be no more storms, no more fear, no more pain. The salt from our tears will no longer sting our faces. Jesus is there, and we will never again know fear or sadness.

Come out of sadness from wherever you’ve been
Come broken hearted let rescue begin
Come find your mercy, Oh sinner come kneel

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal

So lay down your burdens, lay down your shame
All who are broken, lift up your face
Oh wanderer come home, You’re not too far
So lay down your hurt, lay down your heart
Come as you are

There’s hope for the hopeless
And all those who’ve strayed
Come sit at the table
Come taste the grace
There’s rest for the weary
Rest that endures
Earth has no sorrow
That Heaven can’t cure

Come as you are
Fall in His arms, come as you are

There’s joy for the morning, Oh sinner be still
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal.
-David Crowder

A Crazy-Hair Day

October 10, 2014October 10, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

A week ago I wrote this, before being interrupted for another week:
Right now one boy is blaring classical piano music throughout the house. Two kids are playing a board game, and the other two are building with blocks and dancing at intervals. I snuck out to the front porch, literally hiding a brownie in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Just five minutes of peace would be super. It’s been a long afternoon of school, apple-sauce-making, supper-cooking, and I’m not even cleaned up yet. Time for tea and an undisclosed chocolatey snack.

It sounds all too-familiar, like I was about to type the same words now… as I lick the melted chocolate off my spoon and swallow the last sip of afternoon tea. The kids are all in their rooms practicing how to be quiet. I had a long but beautiful day being a doula yesterday, arriving home close to 2AM. Needless to say, I was pretty exhausted. The last thought I had before drifting off to sleep was: I hope I get breakfast in bed. My super amazing daughter must have known (you see, when you pray, the Holy Spirit is listening, and can communicate that need to someone else who is listening to Him). Her sweet self prepared this breakfast for me, and we enjoyed a lovely morning in our PJ’s.

By lunch-time, however, my lack of sleep started to kick in. I started making scrambled eggs and dropped one on the ground. I snapped at the children I loved so much. Then, I stopped and apologized for my grumpy attitude. Everyone suggested maybe I needed a nap. Then Nadine smoothed the air even further with her honest comment, “You know, Mom? Your hair looks CRAZY today!” I burst out laughing. It still looks crazy, by the way.

The text I sent to Matthew, which prompted my apology to the children.

So, Betty and I decided to take a nap, even though she is “never tired”. Like the other day, when she told me, “My tummy hurts. I’m tired of falling asleep.” Then this happened:

Today she told me she wanted to “talk” before we fell asleep. Thus began our conversation: “I have a question.”
“Yes, Betty? What’s your question?”
“When will I be six?”
“After you’re five.”
“Will I always be six?”
“The whole time you’re six, yes.” We then proceeded to practice counting up to six on our fingers. She is dead set on being six.
She says some pretty hilarious things these days. The other night she lamented in a very sorrowful voice, “Everybody makes me so sad.” When I asked her what would make her happy, she replied, “If you make chicken.” She asked me this out-of-the-blue question the other day: “Mom, can I put this rock in my pocket?”
“Um, sure,” I replied, puzzled.
“Just in case I need it for something.” Good to know she’s prepared.
When I asked her if she wanted apple sauce or yogurt for a snack she answered, “Hmmmmmmmm. I think my body wants yogurt.”

Last weekend, Matthew surprised me with one of my favorite date days ever. We were given tickets to Chester County Day, and drove all around the area touring historical homes, barns, and grounds. It was so beautiful, inspiring and refreshing.

I’ve been slightly obsessed with Instagram the past two weeks. The photos aren’t a false impression of my life, so much as they are a bit of an incomplete picture of it. You might see a shot of apple crisp, but in the background you can’t see the piles of dishes I just washed or have to still wash. You might see us reading books on the front porch, but you can’t see the dirt on the ground, or feel the mosquitoes trying to bite us. You might see the photo of a budding piano-player, but only we can hear the same three songs being played hundreds of times on the keyboard. You see the flower, but not the weeds.
This week’s favorite photos are as follows:

Jack’s ongoing collection of shiny things. A healed bone in Nadine’s big toe. Rock-climbing date with my Elsie Rose. Nadine’s 12th birthday, complete with crepe cake. Love and Daddy. The baby-waiting game. Beautiful clouds that make me wish I was a bird.

The boys just dug out some old CD’s, and we’re rocking out to the Kry, one of my favorite 90’s music memories. The girls are “secretly” rearranging their room (even though I could hear the furniture scooting all around their room from where I lay in bed while attempting to nap). My hair is still crazy. My heart is full.

Only 179 More Days

September 22, 2014September 22, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

Last night I pulled out the half-dead morning-glory vines and squeezed back tears. My feet crunched dead-ness all around, and I fought the yucky pit in my stomach that creeps in every year around this time. This morning I put on shorts, somewhat in defiance, but succumbed to long pants because my body just can’t take anything below seventy degrees. Then I heard somewhere how today it’s fall, which means my favorite time of the year is over. So I did what is only natural for an African-born gal to do. I cried. Mourning the loss of barefoot days, flowers in abundance, fireflies at night, and countless hours spent outside, without having to worry about a coat or something to cover my feet. I may have even found a counter to check off how many days are left until spring. There are 179 more days. But who’s counting?

So, yeah, I cried over the phone to my ever-patient husband, who didn’t laugh at me for the hard morning I was having as a mom and as a summer-loving girl. But I’m not the sulky eleven-year old that I used to be. Yes, I still resist the urge to slam my bedroom door, and sometimes the door swings out of my hands a little faster than I was hoping it would, and makes a louder bang than I truly intended it to make, but I’m growing up. So, when seasons change and I let my dislike of it get to my very soul, there is a problem. I’d like to think there’s a problem with the thermometer or perhaps even the entire earth, but honestly, there’s a problem with me. There’s this tricky little part in all of us that quickly gives in to difficulty. It’s the part in us that needs words like, “In everything give thanks,” and “Endure hardship like a good soldier.” So when everything is wrong with the world, and people who love fall move to my hit-list, there is problem inside my heart. I have failed to give thanks, to see the beauty in change, and to wonder at what this change will bring to my life.

Things that thrill me no matter what season: sunshine, my man, running, fresh veggies, aromatherapy school, my amazing children, and music.

So, I choose joy. Even though I want to curl up in my bed, with chocolate and hot tea until the first day of spring, I simply can not. I will embrace this colder season of life with dignity, grace and strength provided from the God who made me, knows me, and never leaves me. I will keep donning my sneakers (along with many other layers) and run with endurance. I have goals to accomplish. Children to teach. Things to learn. Places to go. Life can’t stop just because the sun is further from my part of the globe. It’s time to pull out my scarves, check my thankfulness-meter, and perhaps buy a few mums to brighten my dead-looking garden.

Run Wild With The Hope

September 16, 2014September 16, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

Amazing experiences are like pearls hidden in a shell. Unless you know there is treasure inside, it is just an ugly shell. This weekend may have looked like a crazy-dirty-roll-my-eyes-at-another-race-type-run to most people, but if you can be patient, I hope I can unpack and share with you some treasures I found hidden in the rough.

It started as a team of twelve people I barely knew. Names painted onto a van. It ended very differently.

We had two vans, with six runners per van. Every runner had three legs to complete, so we made check boxes for each of us to fill in as we finished. Art meets brawn. Or something like that.
As second runner, I waited for my first run and tried not to think about how cold I was. I imagined the warmth that would soon be coursing through my blood once I got going. Once Bonnie tagged me, I was off.
I had a two-mile climb before cresting the hill and experiencing an incredible view. The van drove by me to yell through the windows, words of encouragement. And I listened to words of worship and blessing through songs in my ears.

And the single hawk bursts into flight
And in the east the whole horizon is in flames
I feel thunder in the sky
I see the sky about to rain
And with the prairies I am calling out Your name…
And there is still a faith
That can make the mountains move
And a love that can make the heavens ring
And I’ve seen love make heaven ring…
From the place where morning gathers
You can look sometimes forever ’til you see
What time may never know
How the Lord takes by its corners this old world
And shakes us forward and shakes us free
To run wild with the hope
The hope that this thirst will not last long
That it will soon drown in the song
Not sung in vain
And I feel thunder in the sky
I see the sky about to rain
And I hear the prairies calling out Your name.

I slowed my pace to catch this view with my phone. It doesn’t do it justice. I felt so free up there, maybe a bit like how a bird feels when he’s flying across the beauty only visible between earth and sky. I could feel the glory of the mountains breaking into song and the trees clapping their hands. I was spectator to the majestic song of praise that is constantly being sung. My feet kept time, I met with my Maker up there, and it felt like holy ground.

At the second exchange, I tagged runner 3, and we were off to encourage him. Sometimes it meant screaming through open van windows, and sometimes it meant using sidewalk chalk along the craziest climb of the race. rr3

Through each exchange, each runner tagged the next.

There was a particularly breath-taking view along the way, right before Matthew’s first run.

Who spoke the Earth and sky to form
Who sets the sun and calls the dawn
Who breathed me out of dust to life
With the will to trust or run and hide

I will stay should the world by me fold
Lift up Your name as the darkness falls
I will wait and hold fast to Your word
Heart on Your heart and my eyes on You

Who loved me through my rebel way
Who chose to carry all my shame
Who breathes in me with endless life
The king of glory Jesus Christ

After Matthew ran in to finish leg 1 for our van, we headed to another exchange to wait until van 2 finished their first leg. We slept, refueled, and played Phase 10. It’s always more fun when you win.

I was a bit nervous about running through the night. Donning my headlight, strobe light, and reflective vest, I headed out into the darkness. They weren’t the only things lighting my way.

For all of this life
Your Spirit ignites
A heavenly fire
Untouched by the night

You opened our eyes
Turned death into life
Revealing all truth
There’s no one like You.

In the midst of the darkest night
Let Your love be the shining light
Breaking chains that were holding me
You sent Your Son down and set me free
Everything of this world will fade
I’m pressing on till I see Your face

At a few points during that run, my team pulled over and got out of the van to cheer me on. I’m having a hard time putting into words how that actually made me feel. It was a condensed version of life, really. We all go through dark times, when fears are tangible and light is dim to nonexistent. The second I took my eyes off the light from my headlamp, and darted them into the woods lining the dark road, my heart could feel the darkness. When our eyes are fixed on the light and power that is Jesus Christ, we are truly set free from the fear of darkness. Because darkness is really just the absence of light. Dark times can also be very lonely times. There was literally not a speck of life on some stretches of that road. When those cheering voices came into view, the feeling of loneliness and isolation was immediately overwhelmed by love. Love stands outside on a cold dark night and yells your name until you smile and find more strength in your weary legs.

When we finished our night runs, we were able to rest for a couple of hours at one of the exchanges. The third and final leg began right at dawn. My legs were sore, but quickly the adrenaline gave me an extra boost I didn’t think was possible. We had a few people’s cell phone’s taking pictures along the way. This one is not from my particular leg, but every run had the ever-encouraging “one mile to go” sign posted and blinking. It was pretty exciting to hand off the bracelet one more time, and then revel in the joy of being finished.

Finished running, maybe, but not finished cheering on my team.

When we all completed our legs, we ate a delicious meal before driving to the finish-line in Washington D.C. I even managed to wash my hair and self in the small bathroom sink at Panera. Glory.
The view was gorgeous from the finish line, and then it began to pour. Van 2 team did an amazing job of enduring over very difficult hills, through the night, and in the rain. A few minutes before our last runner crossed the finish line, the sun came out and smiled on our tired but happy team.

2014-09-13 15.08.18-2
Driving home, the sun kept on shining. Check marks on the windows reminded me of hundreds of miles run. Goals accomplished. Hills conquered. Darkness overwhelmed by light. No longer just names painted on a van. Real souls, with stories of their own. Real hearts that pump blood through their bodies. Bodies capable of more than each of us thought possible at times. Names turned into friends. Friends who made me laugh to my core, and changed me in some intangible way I haven’t quite figured out yet. But I know I’m better because of them.
2014-09-13 17.24.03-2
I’ve been shaken up a little. Pushed out of my comfort zone a lot. And somewhere out there on the road, I found a part of myself I didn’t know was missing.

When I agreed to this race, I only saw the shell. I was skeptical of the entire idea. Yet through the hard work and grit and grime, a real pearl emerged. It reflects teamwork, laughter, determination, and friendship. Unique and priceless. Press on. You never know where the next road will take you.

Finishing With A Smile

July 24, 2014July 24, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

The weekend has come and gone. Hours of preparation, driven into the pavement, mile by mile. The weather this year was amazing. I even had to wear a jacket through the night to ward off feeling chilly.

On Friday evening, we delivered the three youngest to my in-laws and picked up Matthew’s race packet. He got checked out by the race doctors, and then we went home to rest. I barely slept, full of excitement and wonder for the following two days. On Saturday morning I drove to Philly to drop him off at the start line, with his cooler of food and drinks, and said good-bye. Then I drove with a friend to drop Nadine off at girl’s camp for the week! Elijah went with my mom where he then was driven to soccer camp on Sunday. What a crazy, emotional day of saying goodbye!

By the time I finished dropping her off and made my way back to Philly, it was about 7:30 pm. I drove the race loop where Matthew was running, in hopes of seeing him. I found him around mile 3 of 8. He was with his buddy from high-school. What a blessing, since the previous few hours he had been struggling with some major stomach discomfort. When he made it back to the start/finish line, he lay down on the ground and said he felt like throwing up. His stomach was not happy. At this point in time, a slew of friends and family had arrived, and we chatting around him, some praying, some just talking. We waited it out for an hour or so before he finally sat up and ate something that agreed with him.

The next two loops were run with different friends. I was able to pray and see the lights of Philadelphia in the middle of the night. Then two girl friends of mine came to sit with me through the night. I never felt alone, which had been one of my anxieties. I didn’t realize how much this had been weighing on me until I sat there with them. It was pretty special. How important it is to be there for one another!

Once 4 am rolled around, my half-marathon buddy, Gail, and I fast-walked with Matthew through the dawn. It was incredible starting off at night and ending in day. We met a fellow lone ranger on the path who was pretty discouraged, and he started to keep pace with Matthew. Once we finished that loop, it was already 6 am, and so Matthew started out for his 10th loop and then some, alone. The total mileage he logged was 88.5. His goals were to finish at 10am, have fun, finish with a smile, and be able to walk to the car unassisted. He did all these things, and I couldn’t be more proud.

Phone Photos12
1- Our last time all together for a week!
2- One last nap, storing up reserves
3,4- Getting all checked in for race day!
5- Lots of melon for the runner
6- When I first spotted Matthew, 9 hours into the race. I beeped my horn like a crazy woman and cried a bit too.
7- A four-year tradition of sidewalk chalk
8- Servant-friends, helping Matthew through the hardest part of the night
9- An art museum steps walk/talk/prayer time
10- Hot tea, words of encouragement and lots of love
11- Almost there
12- Sleep for a long time
DSC_3382-2
He ended with a smile.

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
2 Timothy 4:7

Cleared To Run

July 16, 2014July 16, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

I’ve always loved to fly. Something about the sound of an airplane being able to go where my finite body can not on its own, simply amazes me. I remember the sound of an airplane coming back to our small station in the middle of Africa. I remember the pilots calling out in French: attention! before starting the propeller for take-off. I remember being in those Cessnas so many times, eagerly spying out Mount Nyankunde, which meant we were home. My sister always had her head buried in her lap, or eyes closed, so I took in all the scenery for her, my stomach never feeling the queasy hers did. Before each flight, the mechanics cleared the plane for flying.

This weekend is a big deal for Matthew. His body has been cleared to run, and we are pumped up to take this 24 hour flight. We, meaning, he is doing all the running, and I will be on the sidelines cheering him on big time. When we think back to a year ago, we didn’t know his esophagus was closing up and the strange loss of his voice meant more trouble was brewing in the near future. It was a really hot weekend, and whether it was truly canceled because of the heat or not, we look at it as a blessing from God. We don’t know what would have happened out there, but I think God preserved his life.

About 95 percent of folks think what he is doing is pretty crazy. They ask, why? Reading through the first year of the race, here, I am revisited by goosebumps. Is it safe? This question makes Matthew laugh. I don’t believe Matthew is stupid, but he also isn’t fearful. Too often we let fear keep us from pushing harder. If you asked him why he runs, his answer always is: I feel closer to the Almighty God when I run. Running strips him bare. He spends a lot of time in prayer while he runs. On the practical side of safety, his doctors have given him an excellent bill of health. However, on the side of safety where most of us dwell… not wanting to be in pain, shying away from inconvenient, and letting fear of difficulty keep us from getting stronger… he is living on the edge. Because it isn’t about safety, this life on earth. It’s about trusting a really big God who isn’t always safe. As C.S. Lewis penned: “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

There are three men we pray for daily, throughout the day. One, Jerry, is a prisoner in Africa, and we are praying for him to be found, released and the darkness to fall. One, Saed, is in a known jail, but illegally being tortured and willingly kept from his home country of the United States. Another is a good friend of ours and he lives in an incredibly dark, hellish environment in one of the most unsafe regions of the world. All three are running an eternal race with eternal significance. We don’t know the end of their stories on earth yet. We know what they are experiencing, both willingly and without choice, is bringing even greater glory to God. When Matthew runs, he enters into the suffering of these men who are running too. Maybe not with their feet, but certainly with their lives. As Elsie keeps asking me about Jerry, she says, Mama? Is he still running? Yes, he is still running. And with all of our breath, so we should be too.

We’ve been cleared to run.

A Bug Tie, Three Tissues, and the Truth

May 13, 2014May 13, 2014 / amylynw / 1 Comment

This morning I texted my friend the following: I was up til after 3am because my bug tie has an ingrown toenail! Wow. I have never experienced pain like that before… A few seconds later she wrote back: What!? What’s a bug tie? Worse than childbirth? I laughed and laughed. Silly auto-correct. I meant to say “big toe”. A few days ago my big toe started to hurt a little bit. Soon it escalated into a big pain. So big it became a bug tie. Believe me, you never want to experience a bug tie. They’re the worst.

Besides all the excitement of soaking my feet (sounds so fancy, I know), life marches on. I’m tired. I bent over at least a thousand times this weekend alone. I can’t remember if I shaved both armpits or just one side this morning. I can’t remember if I even took a shower. I know I forgot to eat lunch. Every time I went to the bathroom today someone needed me. I keep forgetting to buy toilet paper. We have three squares left and only a few tissues left in this entire house. I think my kids ate ice-cream for lunch. I never made my bed. I forgot to dry the laundry. I remembered how I forgot to put something important in the mail. I know I’m not alone. This is for all you tired women and mamas out there.

When life feels like it’s marching over you like a herd of elephants bent on crushing you to your core, He sees. When the last ounce of energy was used up tucking that last baby in and another one asks for a drink of water, He sees. When you sit on the bathroom floor and scrub the mysterious brown streaks off the wall, that you would like to believe are from muddy shoes, He sees. When you feel like a laundromat, conductor, referee, dictionary, and Cinderella, all in the same moment, He sees. When your words seem to fly back into your face like a boomerang, He sees. When you sneak into that one secret spot and hug the three tissues left to your name, He sees.

Motherhood isn’t about getting a gold star because you did everything right. It isn’t about being noticed or praised or looking good. It’s about loving and loving some more, and when you don’t think you can, you love even more. It’s a no-pay job with eternal dividends. It’s exhausting and frightening and rewarding and exhilarating. No two days are alike, which is why we’re so flexible and resilient and oftentimes reduced to a puddle of tears, clinging to the edge of our sanity alongside that tissue. We’re tired, I know. But please, don’t grow weary of doing good. God’s Word says in the right time we will reap a harvest if we don’t lose heart. If we don’t loosen our grip on the courage it takes to keep on keeping on. It’s a process, this growing weary. It usually begins when we think we got this mama thing under our belt and need a little humbling. But mostly we become weary when we take our eyes off Jesus, who is the only One capable of infusing our war-weary bodies with supernatural strength and stamina. Giving up is a choice. The enemy wants you to give up, give in, and crumple under the load. Jesus wants you to keep your eyes focused on Him, not your surroundings, and let Him sustain you.

As women, I think we tend to fall into two big traps. The “I’m-not-good-enough” trap and the “I’m-not-as-good-as-her” trap. The second we entertain those thoughts, the enemy pounces in with a volley of lies. Those arrows sting and are deadly if we don’t counter-attack with the sword of truth: God’s word. And the truth is: You are perfect in Christ. You are not like her because God needs you to be who He made you to be. The truth is what sets us free to be who we are created to be.

So, those clean counter-tops you wish you had do not define who you are. You are a beautiful woman with a glorious gift of music. The issue you have with speaking your mind does not define who you are. You are a woman whose heart is so generous, you don’t even realize you’re giving. The hidden clutter doesn’t define who you are. You are a true friend who sees a need and meets it without being asked. Your hoard of shoes, or clothes, or cars, or cookbooks are not what make you amazing. Your ability to welcome people into your home at any time, and always speak well of others is what makes you amazing. Your inability to carry a child within your own body does not make you any less of a woman. You have the uncanny ability to create beauty and inspire others to do the same. Your heart is no less able to love and sacrifice just because you never birthed a child. Your unborn babies do not make you a failure as a mother. Your heart is so much fuller because it loves someone no one else has known. Mothers, women, you are so perfectly custom-made by the same God who created the stars and flowers and every grain of sand. He makes no mistakes. Stop believing you are not enough. Stop believing He messed up when He made you. Don’t stop believing you are exactly what He was going for when He began to fashion you in your mother’s womb. He sings over you, He cherishes you, and He never condemns you. Start and never stop believing that truth.

Thirteen Is Odd

March 31, 2014March 31, 2014 / amylynw / 1 Comment

The times I feel odd happen frequently. Maybe because I’m born on an odd-numbered day. Sometimes I feel this way because of something I have: You have five children? People say, as if having any number over four has basically become as astronomical as living on Mars. Sometimes it’s because of something I do: You homeschool your kids? I could never do that. I’m never sure if that statement is supposed to make me feel better or worse than them. It always makes me feel odd, though. Sometimes I also feel it because of something I don’t do: You don’t wash your hair? Ok, I admit, even I thought that was weird a few months ago. But when one suffers relentlessly from dandruff, one will do almost anything, including the crazy, to be rid of those unwanted snowflakes which aren’t really snowflakes at all. Plus they never melt. Maybe I’ll do another post on that one a different day.

Lately, I’ve felt especially odd as I ran through the coldest, snowiest and sometimes most beautiful of days. Eight weeks ago I wasn’t quite sure about running one mile. Even the day before yesterday, I wasn’t quite sure about it:

“This is how I’m feeling about tomorrow,” I wrote on Saturday.

Yesterday, I set out to do 13, with about 10,000 other oddities in the Philly Love Run. Finally, I’m not odd. Everyone, a common goal. Everybody screaming you on to finish.

Miles 1-5 were relatively smooth.
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By mile 6, the rain was pretty heavy. My friend, Gail, and I ran together. We would laugh at how the rain pooled up inside our jacket sleeves. Whenever we straightened out our arms, rivers of water poured out like faucets. I stopped avoiding puddles and my sneakers spoke a second language, sounding a lot like: squish, squelch, squish, squelch. DSC_1063-2 DSC_1066-2
Around mile 9 my legs felt a more like iron mixed with mush, and less like muscles and tendons. I was so hungry at mile 10, that when someone handed me a Swedish Fish candy, it tasted like a ten-dollar dessert. I savored the sugary calories stuck in my teeth for a few minutes. At mile 11 we ducked under an overpass to stretch one last time.

We snapped our only mid-run photo under the overpass.

The deluge had turned to drizzle, but the cold was starting to cramp different parts of my legs. After a minute, we set off to whip those last miles into oblivion. At mile 12, the welcome sight of Philadelphia’s Boathouse Row came into view. As we approached mile 13, I had some emotional moments inside my head and heart. This is what it’s like to finish, I thought. It hurts. It’s beautiful. It’s thrilling. It’s really, really hard. For a few seconds I was given a quick glimmer of life’s finish line. Like an instagram from Heaven. We will look back and think: That was so hard. How did I get through it? Wow, life was so amazing. So difficult. Beautiful. Rewarding. Painful. So worth every second.
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Unlike our eternal finish line when we’re finally Home, the thrill of this finish line was quickly replaced with the need for warmth and sustenance. We found our husbands, cheering under an umbrella. Then we squelched through inches of mud to receive our reward: a cool medal and a bag of potato chips (among other snacks, but the chips stood out to me the most). DSC_1083-2

It was a grand memory. I couldn’t have done it without the constant cheering of Matthew and Gail. Many others encouraged me as well, and you know who you are. And just like people ask you if you’re ever going to have more kids, the second after your baby pops into the world: YES, I’m going to keep running. Is that odd?

Making More Than Babies & Lunches

February 18, 2014February 18, 2014 / amylynw / 6 Comments

There’s a secret between us. Yet it’s no secret at all. It is loudly spoken by the way he looks at me, the notes he leaves me, and most definitely by the five children who grace our lives.

Our love was strong from the start. Yet its strength was like that of a seed: its full potential unknown until put into the right environment. After four years of waiting, we were given perfect freedom, wrapped in holiness, that first night so long ago. What was once forbidden was now ours to hold. Each, the other’s, to have and to hold, til death do us part.

Nine months later, a sweet darling baby blessed us. I struggled with the holding on part, and slowly he grew farther from me. He no longer had all of me. I felt needed and needy, exhilarated by new life and exhausted by it too. I was leaking tears and breast milk, of practically equal amounts. And as I held this child, I didn’t realize he was drifting farther from my arms. Fear gripped my body, mind, and soul and I closed out the very thought of ever experiencing pleasure again. I was forgetting: he was my husband first.

A few months later, the distance was breached. Our secret, though dangerously close to ruin, was restored and renewed. Trust replaced fear. We had become as blue and yellow, independent of each other. Now our bed melded back into a beautiful shade of green. Our discordant solos became one unified symphony again. It took me awhile to truly grasp: children should never replace the love, care and attention we give to our husband. I’m told one day our children grow up, and am starting to believe it. They are not given to make strangers of us or dull us, but rather to sharpen and enhance what has already begun.

Exhaustion is real, I know. It is not an eternal excuse, however. We miss sleep for football games, favorite television shows, another chapter of our book, and an extra cup of coffee. Can we not sacrifice sleep for love?

Often I forget to make our bed. The past couple of days, a little small fairy, with one missing tooth, has secretly been making our bed and tidying our room. I think of her humming little self, smoothing back the covers and fluffing the pillows. Deep in her heart she knows how much we love each other. This messy bed speaks of love and togetherness. Its crumpled sheets hold a secret. I’m never ashamed they should know. The time one of them barged in, because sometimes love has no schedule and can’t wait for candlelight and quiet, I was embarrassed but not ashamed. He declared he was NEVER getting married, and we laughed to ourselves and held on to our secret.

Tired mamas, hold on to your man. Don’t replace him with your baby, your phone, your mother, or your wallet. Nurture him, because he’s hungry too. He’s hungering for you. When you become unavailable until an undisclosed date, he may eventually feed his soul, mind and body at some other source. I know you feel needed every. single. moment. of. every. day. I know you feel about as undesirable as a week-old hoagie. I know you sometimes feel like you don’t belong in your skin. I know you bear the marks of motherhood in so many places and in so many ways. I really get how a hoodie and stretchy pants are the outfit of choice these days. I understand how the thought of making sandwiches crosses your mind much more frequently than the thought of making love. I totally understand.

Yet I implore you to safeguard this secret with your life. Never share it with another. Always, always, whisper it frequently to each other.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm,
for love is strong as death,
jealousy is fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
the very flame of the Lord.
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it.
If a man offered for love
all the wealth of his house,
he would be utterly despised.
-Song of Solomon 8:6-7

Thoughts From Mt Everest

February 15, 2014February 15, 2014 / amylynw / Leave a comment

We have windows facing the north, east, and south of our house. Every morning for about five minutes, I get to see part of the sunshine as it creeps up past our neighbor’s brick wall and sneaks into my window before it rises higher, becoming indirect light for the rest of the day. There is another small slice of time when it shines full force into the laundry room downstairs and bathroom upstairs. During those times, if I’m able, I practically paste myself to the glass pane while it shines its bright happiness on my white and wintry face. Growing up with access to full sunshine every day it didn’t rain, makes its absence more intense some days. Yesterday, I even climbed the Himalayas for it.

Ok, so it wasn’t the actual Himalayas. It happened to be this ginormous seven-foot snow-pile in our front yard, with a tiny corner of sunshine right at the top calling my name. For a few minutes I disappeared into a world dripping with vitamin D and vast expanses.

My fellow arctic sojourner.

Practically the North Pole.

Then Betty started crying because she couldn’t get up from the deep snow where she had fallen.

Yesterday was Valentine’s day. We generally don’t make a huge fuss about it. If it truly is commemorating an amazing man who was martyred because of his faith in Christ, and who helped to secretly marry Christians who were being persecuted for their faith, because he believed so strongly in the institution of marriage before God, then I think we’ve cheapened it immensely. Passing out messily-written notes out of obligation isn’t exactly how I imagine we should memorialize love. Not to say I dislike Valentines Day, or I didn’t immensely enjoy seeing so many fun and creative ideas floating around yesterday. I mostly dislike the mandatory feeling placed upon so many, when love should never be forced. We have fallen prey to this just as much as anyone else. I MADE my children create valentines for their classmates. It was an assignment, though, not a freewill offering on their part. There is something beautiful about love given when you don’t ask for it, and love received when you know it wasn’t coerced.

When Matthew was on his way home from work, I asked him to stop at the store for a couple of items we needed for supper that night. I ended with, “Don’t buy me flowers!” He replied, “I wasn’t going to!” Then we both laughed. That’s how we work. Don’t buy me flowers when they’ll be jacked up in price to more than is ethically possible. Don’t buy me flowers out of obligation because every other guy is doing it. Buy me flowers (better yet, pick them for me when they’re free and fresh from the garden!) when I least expect it and because YOUR heart told you to do so, not some looming expectation from society is practically forcing it upon you.

Giving out of guilt is one of my biggest pet peeves. It was one of Paul’s too, in the Bible. This is in the context of money, not valentines:
Each of you must make up your own mind about how much to give. But don’t feel sorry that you must give and don’t feel that you are forced to give. God loves people who love to give.
(2 Corinthians 9:7) God loves a cheerful giver: one whose heart is in the giving.

We can not force people to give. Actually, sadly, we can, but we most certainly can not make people’s hearts love to give. Nothing feels less loving than conditional love. Nothing feels less generous than compulsory giving. Nothing produces less blessing than forced and guilt-driven gifts. This goes way beyond Valentines day. The joy of giving is actually stolen when it becomes no longer voluntary but because someone is begging for it. Don’t steal my joy or reward by forcing upon me a dollar amount, a percentage, or a suggested amount. Giving should not be packaged like a vitamin, with its Recommended Daily Allowance to go along with it. It is incredibly personal and no one’s business.

The only consistent amount of money, time or services we are instructed to give can be summed up in a few words. Give secretly. Give willingly. Give until it hurts. Give your best. Give your all.

As I look outside, it appears as if a few more inches are being added to our Mount Everest. We may have a few more climbs before the weekend is over.

Grow Old With Me

(the story of our life)

encouragement

Strong Faith Equals Wet Feet

A Crazy-Hair Day

Only 179 More Days

Run Wild With The Hope

Finishing With A Smile

Cleared To Run

A Bug Tie, Three Tissues, and the Truth

Thirteen Is Odd

Making More Than Babies & Lunches

Thoughts From Mt Everest

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