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.

What My Husband Did Behind My Back

January 19, 2014January 19, 2014 / amylynw / 4 Comments

Some days hit you like a blast of cold water being unexpectedly tossed over your head during a hot shower. Usually motherhood is a series of such moments, as startling as a scattering of sharp legos all over a bedroom floor: you know they’re there, but you can never be quite prepared for their sting. Such was Friday. Actually, ever since Tuesday my brain had been thinking it was Friday. When Friday at last arrived for real, I was ready for it to finish its comic series of events. At the time, they were not-so-funny events. DSC_9383-2
During nap time, Betty came wandering downstairs to where I stood in the kitchen. She sidled up next to me, smoothed her hair and said with a coy look on her face, Is it perfect, mama? I looked a bit closer, thinking she had wet her hair in the bathroom. Nope. There was no hair to wet. She had given herself a generous haircut, right in front. Perfect wasn’t the first word that came to mind.

A teeny tiny part of her bangs remain after her perfect haircut.

My day just kept getting better. While making dinner, which involved mixing up a batch of pizza dough, I grabbed the garlic powder to put a shake of it into the batter. Obviously, I flipped open the wrong side of the cap, as a huge pile of garlic powder dumped like an avalanche into the wet dough. I quickly scooped out as much garlic powder as I could, muttering under my breath. The next best thing to do: double the batch and enjoy the garlic.

As the evening wore on, small things started to get to me. There was mud where I didn’t want mud. There wasn’t hair where I wanted hair. There was arguing. There were interruptions. I have a spot where I like to hide in my room. If I sink down low enough, no one knows I’m there. Friday they seemed to instinctively find me. Especially the nap-less one. I felt like the mama elephant in the book Five Minutes Peace. Eventually it became clear: There is no avoiding the masses, I thought. It’s time to jump back in the boat. So I stopped hiding and plugged on through the evening, mustering up as much strength as I could.

Despite my resolve to be happy when Matthew got home, he was met with a more wiped-out-than-usual countenance. With much grace, he just hugged me. I started going over the difficulties of my day. He took my head in his hands and said something which really caught my attention. It was as startling as a blinding light shining in my eyes: Aim, the kids have never complained to me about you. I needed to stop doing what they never do to me. After looking at Betty’s hair, he let her know it’s not okay for her to cut her own hair, then he turned to me and said simply, She’s three! Yes, indeed. This will pass. It will grow. She learned. Move on.

My emotions were stabling, but not quite steady. I had one last complaint to offer my unwavering husband. I was feeling a bit vengeful towards the bathroom scale, and did a little “Woe is me” routine. Yes, I have been exercising about twice a month. Yes, I am no longer in my twenties, so that matters now. Still, I wish that scale showed me a little slack. I was going to go to the downstairs bathroom to make sure the toilet was flushed and there was no pee all over the seat before our company arrived. Surely my day was on the upswing.

Matthew went upstairs to get cleaned up from work and I decided to check our email before checking the cleanliness status of the powder room. I was a little shocked at what I saw. Next I checked facebook, and the top news in my feed was this:
Surprise anniversary gift for my wife: registering her for the Philly love run half marathon!!! She doesn’t know yet!! Wait till she checks FB or email! Let the training begin! Giddy with excitement!

Let’s just say, I had to go into the downstairs bathroom to compose myself. I spotted a lime on the laundry room floor before walking back into the kitchen. I picked it up and thought pretty seriously about beaning Matthew with it when I saw him. I’m glad some of our company had just arrived and was standing in the kitchen with my sneaky husband, when I emerged. Otherwise, that lime would have made swift contact with his head. He grinned and rubbed the goosebumps off his arms. Risky, risky move, buster.

Since Friday, I’ve thought a lot about difficulties and training. Running this morning in 30-degree weather would not have happened if I had not been presented with this challenge. (My husband knows me pretty well.) Plain and simple, we tend to shy away from difficulties. We want to go from point A to point C without passing through point B. This is impossible. We want to learn a piece of music without ever practicing. We want our kitchen to be spotless without lifting a finger. We want to lose weight without the sacrifice of watching our diet and putting in any effort to exercise. I so desperately want to run 13.1 miles without having to go out there every single day and run one mile or two. It just isn’t going to happen, no matter how much my desire is for it to happen that way. The richness of any accomplishment is deeply rooted in the amount of time it required to succeed.

In the same way, our Heavenly Father knows what’s best for us. He sees that finish line, so very distant from our earthly eyes. He tells us things very similar to what Matthew has been telling me: “You’re stronger than you think, Aim.” My grace is sufficient in weakness, Jesus tells us. Like any good trainer, He pushes us outside our comfort zone. That is where we see results. When you walk the same path over and over, never stretching yourself to go a bit further, you may miss the incredible view just up ahead. When we run the same mile and never push our lungs and our legs past that initial burn, we never discover we have the ability to do a bit more. Jesus totally knows how hard it is. He never once said life would be burden-free, but He invites us to lay our burdens on His capable shoulders. He never said He would only give us as much as WE think we can handle. But He said “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” He will give you just a bit more than you think you can handle, so you’re stronger to go the next mile. It’s cold, it’s nasty sometimes, but He always sticks with us.

So I start my thirteen-mile journey… one step at a time.

Playing Lost and Found

December 31, 2013December 31, 2013 / amylynw / Leave a comment

Tap, tap, tap. I dislike being woken up by tapping. One particular child is often the first person awake and is like a lost puppy until one of his siblings wakes up. I also make the cut, apparently. I shove my rice-bag out from under the covers and sleepily ask him to warm it up for me before I venture out of my warm cocoon. He’s good about things like that. Bringing me my hot tea to ease the blow of morning. Just like his daddy.

Yesterday morning we got into the project of cleaning the attic. It culminated when I looked at their artificial tree, one-third-lit-up, and decided it was time to get it out to the garbage before the trash men came. Elsie & Jack ran ahead of us to stop the trash truck if they were there. They were. It was a pretty funny sight: running outside and yelling, “Wait! Wait!” in my hot pink pajama pants, funky sweater and socks. My feet were a muddy mess. But we made it.

This morning started a bit abruptly when I woke up remembering we had no milk or eggs in the house. A farm and grocery store trip later, we were set. That’s when I thought it was a good idea to probably get our transmission checked out by some professionals. I’ve been describing the sounds our van has been making to various people, but it needed an actual diagnosis. Five kids in a two-chair waiting room was made much more bearable with a small amount of prep and a bag of books. We left with no absolute answers, but the knowledge it needs some further tests. Fun stuff.

After coming home, I thought I should get a few more groceries now that I was more awake and had remembered the rest of my list. I did a quick check for my wallet, only to find it missing. I sort of started to freak out a bit. I called the transmission shop to see if I left it there. Then I called them again, because two of the kids thought they remembered I did in fact have it there. Nope. The man was sweet enough to even check inside the Christmas tree and decorative plant in their waiting room. Nothing.

Next, I drove all the way back to the small grocery store. Maybe I left it on the counter in my foggy morning state. The store was closed. I cried. Two small Amish boys were playing in the parking lot, so I asked them if whoever worked there was home. Yep. So, I knocked on their door and talked to a few sweet people who obligingly opened the store for me to double-check for my lost wallet. Nope. Nothing.

I was pretty discouraged, but know God’s not about discouragement, rather hope and salvation. We all were praying for it to be found. I thought I had looked everywhere. With a weary self, I started to finish tidying the kitchen for supper. The tablecloth was covered in crumbs and yogurt. As I began to fold it up, my hand fell on something lumpy. Underneath one of the folds… which had been folded up since early that morning so I could write out my “list” for the day on the wooden surface of the table… underneath was my wallet. It almost seemed to smile at me. I held it up for the kids to see, and we all laughed. They are so patient with me.

You know who else is patient? My wonderful heavenly Father. He LOVES to find lost things. He is the relentless searcher of the lost. He is the gracious rescuer of the lost. He is the all-knowing God, who waits and is patient for us… because sometimes we’re not ready to accept His gift. Sometimes He has more work to do before He gives us what He already knows we need. In the meantime, He tells us: Do not be afraid; Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will help you. I will strengthen you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

It reminds me of a current real-time situation we are praying about right now: Find Jerry. If you have time, please read his story and pray along with us that God will open the eyes of the right people to find him.

Where Opossums Sleep and Cars Melt

November 11, 2013November 11, 2013 / amylynw / Leave a comment

I love to write. Today, however, is best left unwritten. This Veteran’s Day, I fought my own battles and waged my own war, along with my small army of five. We came out victorious in the end, but sometimes the process is painful at best. The past weekend was rough. I woke up with a blazing fever on Saturday morning, tried my best to mother from bed, while the kids brought me water, cool cloths, and warm rice bags for my freezing cold feet. Matthew was gone, and it was a sad and strange weekend. Both sets of grandparents were gracious to lend their hands to help with the kids so I could sweat and sleep in quiet. Thank you, guys… words aren’t enough.

Sickness, an opossum in the trashcan, and ornery computers all fall into my “No thank you” category of life.

When I focus on the misspellings, the bickering, the grime, and the general imperfectness of life… I end up just like a little wet rain cloud. It’s not cute. This is why I must write, because when I write, I remember. I remember: I love you, Mom, scrawled across the chalkboard… when it felt like the opposite was true. Someone finally nailing multiplication tables. Five wild munchkins voluntarily starting a game of hide-and-go-seek at the magic hour of hunger, while I finish cooking supper. A surprise cleaning of the bathroom without being asked. An entire day of clean bedrooms. Supper altogether.

In our one-room-school-house, learning doesn’t always involve the books. After the boys presented a reasonable-sounding argument as to why I should allow them to melt a few “useless” cars with the heat gun, I obliged. They showed care and it kept them busy for almost an hour.

While the boys melted cars, the girls enjoyed playing with shapes. I love what a dollar can buy in a thrift store!

My favorite thing last week in school had to be Jack’s letter he wrote to our friend in basic training. I knew in his mind he was thinking: Thank you for defending our country, but he wrote: Thank you for saving our city. I absolutely love it. He even told me today that he loves to write.

Those words made my heart soar, because loving to write isn’t forced, it’s born. Every once in a while, I get to witness the miracle of new discoveries being born in the hearts and minds of our children. It’s worth all the labor and gives me fresh perspective to press on for another day.

Wednesday Painted Blue

November 6, 2013November 6, 2013 / amylynw / 1 Comment

Today is Wednesday. Which is usually my Monday, as far as feelings, attitudes,and energy, goes. The sound of temper tantrums filled our home, too many times to count, making its small-ish size feel extra tight. I never knew sound could fill up space, but apparently it does. That sent me to pulling things out of clothes bins and into white trash bags. A word of warning from this mama: If you have more sweaters than fit into your 13×13 bin, then I will purge them from you. That goes for your pants, shirts, and shoes too. I have never once experienced anyone “wishing” they had something I gave away because I never saw them wear or enjoy it. I have pack-rat tendencies, so when I sense the urge to hoard coming on in me or my kids, I go a little purge-crazy. We have strict laws here as far as holding onto stuff. One small filing cabinet drawer easily fits all the papers we need for 7 people for the past 12 years. I am working very hard at making sure everything has a place, and if that thing doesn’t fit in its place, it goes bye-bye. I digress.

So, after my crazy clothing rampage, school began in earnest. There were tears and tantrums twice during one hour. The bathroom, being the only door that locks around here, is my favorite place to hide when the tears need to flow and I need the sunshine to wash my face. I also make important phone calls to the principal in there, and tell God how I don’t think I can do this anymore. Wednesday blues.

Then we had to do errands, complete with tears. I wonder at the source, and how it never runs dry. Three hours later, we came home. I was not met with the delicious smell I anticipated when walking in the door. My crock-pot dinner, which I worked so hard to be ready so at least ONE thing would go right… was cold. Some little fingers unplugged it for the toaster’s place, just before we left, and I never was the wiser.

Spills, blood, bites, stabs, falls, bangs and bruises have all been painted a different shade of blue across my day. But there was also an incredible sky painted today, which I love how Jack noticed all on his own. Clouds like stretched cotton, with a few three-dimensional puffs thrown in for good measure. There are also rainbows of trees, some burning, some glowing, some merely pronouncing God’s handiwork. They touch the blue and instantly cold and warm colors collide into a torrent of glory.

For the first time in fifteen hours, I only hear the clock ticking, with faint sounds of children playing. I used to have so much quiet in my life. Now my quiet is usually accompanied by sleep. Sitting on the sun-streaked bathroom floor, I was reminded not to constantly seek escape from my life, but rather embrace it. Straight on, hands open, arms wide, head up: embrace the noise, the questions, the messes, the tears. Take breaks, but don’t run away. There is one inch of tea left in this glorious break. My soul, only painted blue, is starting to burn a little bit of warm. I am starting to feel like those trees on fire, and I’m ready to add some color to Mon-nes-day, and call it Wednesday.

Oscopy, Ontology, Bananafanafofology

November 1, 2013November 1, 2013 / amylynw / Leave a comment

Today was a great day to be in the city. I ran back and forth from the medical building to the parking lot to add more money to the meter, as the doctor’s appointment got longer and longer. A “quick” consult with the ENT surgeon led to seeing yet another specialist at Jefferson hospital in Philly. The first doctor didn’t like what he saw in the subglottic region of Matthew’s windpipe. The second doctor videotaped his way down Matthew’s throat and explained what we were looking at:

See here and here? Those are your vocal chords. They are supposed to be white, not bright red like that. Down beyond this area is where you are having swelling, and which makes it hard for you to breathe. It was fascinating. Like our friend (who is a speech-language pathologist) described his vocal chords, they looked like a butterfly flapping its wings… except this butterfly shouldn’t be red. The real problem lies just under the voice box, and we discussed what our next step needs to be. As the Wegener’s runs its course, it acts somewhat like a roller-coaster: flaring up and then getting back under control. We are hopeful to be on the downward slope right now.

As long as things don’t flare way back up, he is scheduled for a bronchoscopy in four weeks in order to closely examine the extent of the subglottic stenosis and to perform a balloon dilation of his stenotic area. Basically, opening up his airway ever so little and hoping this small dilation will remain open… then doing it again a few weeks later if his body handles it well. He explained it as a two steps forward and one step back operation. He will also be seeing an otologist about his ears… which have some problems again.

As crazy as it is to keep all the doctors in order, we are so incredibly thankful to have access to these remarkable specialists. We are thankful his eye tubes have still held up and look good a couple of years after that surgery. We are thankful for people who have joyfully watched our children so we can go to all these appointments and for kids who come home and report having “the best day ever!” We are thankful for being forced to slow down and recognize what is truly important. It isn’t our car, our house, our clothes, or our status. It is our breath, our relationships, our time and how we use it. We know we belong to the God of the universe, the God who sees. We don’t know when our last breath will be, but we know when it ends on this earth, our life truly begins. Until that day, we want every moment to count.

Flapper girl with my motorcycle man last night.

A Whole Lot of Simple

October 29, 2013 / amylynw / 1 Comment

This is a guest post I wrote for my friend, Jessica, and was featured on her blog today. Check out her creative ideas and beautiful photography!

Dear New Mama,

I used to think I knew what being a mom was all about. Eleven years ago, we held our firstborn baby: a beautiful girl who weighed a mere 6lbs 3oz, but whose spirit more than made up for her size. Deep within her heart there has always been a spark. It lights up when she sees you, and her heart wraps around life like a hug. More experienced mamas always told me to “enjoy every moment” because they pass so quickly. I believe them now, as I stand eye-to-eye with my curly-haired beauty of a daughter and discuss things like marriage, boys, friendships, and other adult-like topics. I’m reminded of it when I root around in her drawer to borrow one of her shirts, or when she grabs my sneakers as we head out the door. I’m reminded of how fast time flies, but I’ll also never forget those first few months.

She was about a week old when God gave my husband an epiphany. This revelation truly changed how I have viewed motherhood the past eleven years. We were visiting my sister and brother-in-law, and the first night there our little peanut of a daughter just wouldn’t stop crying. She wore little grey footie pajamas with a trapdoor covering its bottom. She was beyond cute. But she wouldn’t stop crying. I nursed her, rocked her, and the tears fell from my exhausted eyes. Eventually, I handed her off to Matthew and told him how I couldn’t do it anymore. This mom stuff just was beyond my ability. I was angry, confused, and tired. That night God spoke to him.

He said, She’s not trying to upset you. Just love her. Here I was, thinking this one-week-old little baby was on a mission: Upset Mom. She had no more of an agenda to make me angry than I had to give birth again. Yet I viewed her wailing as a personal vendetta against me for something I had done. Frustrated, I expected her to know how much I needed to sleep and stop crying.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that my second epiphany came. It was more like a bullet shot straight at me, knocking me over with its force. We were driving home from somewhere and my husband told me flat-out how he didn’t think I liked being a mom. My attitude and actions showed a shoving away, a pushing aside of what I was called to be and do. I couldn’t have verbalized it as succinctly as he did. Most likely I would have labeled my behavior as “exhausted mommy syndrome”. When I let myself in on my own secret, however, I knew he was right. I didn’t like being a mom. I wanted to be just ME again. No strings attached at my hips, my tummy, my breasts, my hands, my shoulders. I was so tired of being needed every minute of every day. I had bought into the lie that children are inconvenient and draining me of my very life.

There are many chapters to be written from that moment to today, but I want you to know how raw and real motherhood is. It’s way more than a baby registry, leggings, and wall decals. It’s more complicated than a birth plan or a nursery theme. Yet it’s as simple as a bedtime story, a back-rub and knowing your child’s favorite color. It’s not about the jogging stroller you use, it’s about the time you spend with your children. It’s not about whether or not your tummy goes back to its original shape and size. It’s more about tickle fights and soothing scary dreams. Motherhood isn’t about you as much as it’s about who needs you. Your worth isn’t found in how you measure up to anyone else, it’s in how much you love. You will be depleted and exhausted to your very core, and then you will be filled up again and again with a love as strong as death. All the tough answers won’t be found in textbooks or parenting seminars, but rather in your child’s heart as you get to know them.

By the time our fifth baby bettered this world by her arrival, I was given yet another epiphany. It was almost too simple of a thing not to have realized yet. It dawned on me that the best possible way to enjoy the fleeting months of babyhood was to actually hold onto my baby. Not put her in something across from me, next to me, or in a different room than me. I held that sweet baby girl more than I ever held anyone. Not to say she never went to her bed or into a highchair, but I wasn’t so quick to use those things when I “got tired” of being needed. Heaven knows I get tired of being needed. But it’s not about me as much as it is about embracing how much they need me.

There is no such thing as a Supermom. There aren’t any secret capes to pin onto your exhausted shoulders. There aren’t any magic pills to swallow or programs to complete. Supermoms have everything together, and I’ve never met one yet. But there are moms whose kids hug them just because they know they won’t be pushed away. There are moms whose quality of life isn’t reflected in how pristine and organized her home is, but rather in how obviously used and loved her home is. There are moms who are secretly awesome. If your biggest fans are the faces who sit at the dinner table with you each day, then you are a super mom. If you love your children unconditionally, then you are a super mom. If who you are isn’t defined by how well you do things, then you are a super mom. If you allow yourself the grace of being imperfect, then you are a super mom. If you know how to say I’m sorry, then you are a super mom.

On the days when it’s hard, remember they are not out to get you. On the days you just want out of this job, hold them a little closer. On the days you’re running on empty, give just a little bit more. Children weren’t made to drain us of our life, but rather to enrich our life. I challenge you to be present more than perfect. I encourage you to love them right where they are today and not to wish away each and every stage of life for the next. It’s time to bury our selfish sleep-loving selves and give it everything we’ve got.

I used to think being a mom meant having a baby. Now I know it means a whole lot of simple, blended with the Divine, making the mundane beautiful. Welcoming your child into your family is what gives you the title, but it’s the everyday inglorious things which really shape you into a mother.

Green Spirals and Merciful Days

October 21, 2013 / amylynw / Leave a comment

Mom, you never get peace, Jack said to me the other day. Wait! You had peace once! And he went on to talk about when they all went to Grandma’s house. I laughed out loud. Or if you’re going to use today’s lingo, I “roffled”. That is what I say in my head when I read ROFL… rolling on the floor laughing. No, I didn’t actually roll, or roffle, but I did achieve a small release of stress when I laughed out loud. Or lolled. (That’s LOL, btw.)

Tonight was no exception. I had great fun spiralizing my zucchini into fake noodles and tossing them with coconut sauce and blackened chicken. The kids watched Daniel Boone so I could spin deliciousness into my pots. But there is always one who doesn’t get the “peace memo”. She rolled on the floor crying. It’s always interesting trying to cook while stepping over a crying toddler. My strategy was to wait until they were so hungry, they would forget that the green zucchini noodles were not actually made from pasta. It worked for two of them, took convincing for two of them, and downright failed for the fifth one. This is when I use every ounce in my body not to take a two-year-old’s opinion of my cooking to heart. In the middle of our green spaghetti supper, a nameless highchair dweller knocked over one of the herb pots on the window sill. The walls start closing in when things like that happen.
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I’ve been waiting for a really really good excuse to scrub my kitchen floor. The successful eaters got chocolate ice-cream for dessert. The last one… did not. An hour later, I graciously gave her a banana, because she at least touched it to her tongue. Elijah said, Mom, you were really merciful tonight! when he saw her eating the banana. Thanks, Buddy.

Then I remembered these verses I just read.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”
The Lord is good to those who wait for him,
to the soul that seeks him.
(Lamentations 3:21-25)

Even when I mess up, spill dirt, and wreck what He has planned… He still shows steadfast love, unending mercy, and abundant faithfulness.

So the truth is, despite what is outwardly going on, inside I always have peace. Jesus has wiped my heart of its spills and dirt. He has left the calm assurance of His forgiveness and faithfulness in place of the mess. Tomorrow, His mercies are new.

And tomorrow, maybe my floor will be clean.

Grow Old With Me

(the story of our life)

lessons

Run Wild With The Hope

Finishing With A Smile

Cleared To Run

What My Husband Did Behind My Back

Playing Lost and Found

Where Opossums Sleep and Cars Melt

Wednesday Painted Blue

Oscopy, Ontology, Bananafanafofology

A Whole Lot of Simple

Green Spirals and Merciful Days

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