Better?

Lately I've been bothered by the word "better."

It's all over magazines I see while waiting in line at the grocery store or walking around in the library:
Find a better career
Tips for a better sex life
Tricks for better hair...make up...skin
Exercises to help you get a better body

The Christian world is not exempt either:
5 more minutes to a better quiet time
Have a better marriage
Be a better wife
Worship better in church, the car, doing dishes in the kitchen

Be a better version of who God made you to be.

No wonder I spend my days beating myself up, stressing myself out, going over my mistakes from the day as I fall asleep.  I spend so much time trying to be better that I don't even know what I'm trying to be better than.  I don't even know who I am right now, in this moment, because my days are filled with trying to be more...better.  Because the literature all around me is telling me who I am right now is not good enough.

I'm calling this out as a lie.  I'm choosing to start focusing on growth instead of making myself better.  The words don't seem that entirely different until you take them by definition. 
(Definitions from Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

*Better - higher in quality; more skillful; more attractive, appealing, effective, useful, etc.
*Grow - to become more developed, mature, etc.

I see being better as a competition and so I'm constantly comparing myself to other women around me.  I see growth being a beautiful process that takes who I am now and over time adds to this woman. 

I want to grow in wisdom.
I want to grow in knowledge.
I want to grow in strength.
I want to grow in love. 

Maybe this only makes sense in my head.  I don't know if anyone will relate.  But I know that coming to this realization and the desire to stop pressuring myself to be better and instead appreciating who God made me to be and how I can grow in the depth of that person is like a weight off my shoulders. 

House

I drive slowly by the house, on a detour while visiting a friend in Grand Rapids today.

The exterior looks the same as it did over 10 years ago when Tim and I purchased it and he carried me over the threshold.  A first home of newlyweds married just nine months.  Nothing special makes the red brick ranch stand out but still it tugged at my heart today.

Who lives there now?  I found myself wondering.  Are there kids running down the hallway?  Do they snuggle on a couch in front of the fireplace on cold winter evenings?

And it surprises me that while a flood of memories come back to me when I look at the house, the current owners know none of them.

They don't know about the painting party our friends joined us for to spend a day laboring as worker bees to get the house ready to move into.

They never laughed while Pippin, our first baby - a chocolate lab puppy - got into all sorts of mischief and tried to convince us as he grew that he was still just a 75 pound lap dog.  Love me, love me, pet me, love me, he would pant as he jumped onto the couch and curled up between us.  

They don't know that there was an evening where candle light framed a marriage proposal between two of our dear friends, one who was living in our basement at the time.  A marriage journey began in that living room and thrives today, years and two children later.

They never heard the shriek of happiness and joyful tears that filled the bathroom when a pregnancy test came out positive.  

They are not aware that there are spaces on the floor where I have crumpled, sobbing and crying out to God to heal my heart after the loss of my grandmother and soon after the loss of our first pregnancy.

They never saw how I stilled myself on beds in the rooms and stared at walls willing the hurt and grief to lessen.

Then, quick months later, more shrieks - hesitant this time - at another positive test, then one more, just to be certain.

That wainscoting in the back room?  It was a labor of love by Tim and a friend to prepare the nursery for a baby boy's arrival.  On the small wall in that room, I painstakingly painted a Hawaiian themed mural that matched crib bedding.

And in the wee hours of August 16, 2005, they never know my eyes flew open as I felt my first contraction...then more...and after a few hours of walking that hallway and timing contractions, Tim and I walked out the side door for the last time as just a young married couple.

They weren't there to witness our arrival home a few days later as a family of three, to have hearts full of joy and anxiety as we tried to figure out what to do with this small bundle the nurses let us bring home from the hospital.

Those rooms and hallways have been crawled through, walls have been used as support for a toddler learning to stand and then walk along.

Fires have been enjoyed in that fireplace, nestled between built-in shelves that made a young bride quite happy to have a place for her books.  

The dining room saw many happy gatherings with friends, family, and held a table graced with food for bridal and baby showers.

And yet, we were just one owner for a short time in a house that is over 60 years old.  What other stories and memories does that house hold?

I think that about the one we live in now, too.  What laughter, tears, fights, joy, parties, decisions, and growth have these walls held?  It is easy to think of our home possessively.  It's "ours."  But it hasn't always been and it probably won't always be.

I am certainly thankful for them - both the house we occupy now and the journey being lived here, and the first house we bought and the memories made there in our very young and early marital years.

I wonder if they know that...

This Girl of Mine

When I asked Eleanor about her "adventuring" outfit today (a wool hat, cape, zebra print bag, and walking stick topped off with a blue ribbon), she answered:

"Amazing adventures could be anywhere."

Dear Noah

I look at this boy who looks all arms and legs playing in the backyard and it takes me a minute to realize it's you.

How did we get here?

Are you not the 7 pounds, 9 ounces of beautifully formed flesh they placed on my chest, both of us crying as we looked at each other for the first time?  Are you not the whitish-blond boy with blue eyes staring so deep into the eyes of those around you that they felt you were peering into their souls?  Are you not the small child climbing onto my lap for kisses and hugs and snuggles after waking up from afternoon naps?

How can this small man-child be the same infant, toddler, preschooler?  How did you grow so fast?

And I don't know what to do!

You turn 9 this summer and I feel like that is on the verge of something big and I don't know how to let you go.  I've never had to raise a boy - or any child - before you.  I ask your dad, "How much more responsibility do we give him?  What responsibility do we give him?  How far can he ride his bike without us?  What kind of things is he capable of doing that we hold him back from because we don't know...we just don't know what we're doing?"

Forgive me, Noah.  I'm clueless.

I wake up every morning feeling blind to what to expect.  I expected the moodiness from Eleanor, from girls.  I didn't expect it from growing boys.  I never foresaw eye rolling, word snapping, silence of thoughts and self-doubt from boys.

I blame myself often.  Maybe I protect you too much.  Maybe I need to back off more.  Maybe I did this wrong or failed to do this right and I don't want to fail you!...I don't want to fail.

I'm sorry if I've pushed you.  I think sometimes I see strengths in you that you don't recognize and maybe I need to just shut up and sit down and really listen to what you want and don't want to do.  You're good at soccer, but if you don't want to do it...I won't mention it anymore.  I'm good at math and with numbers, but I sure don't like working with them.   After 4 years, you want a summer off of swim lessons?  Deal.  You want to try karate?  Big breath in...ok.  If that's something you really want to try then I want you to be able to try it.  What do I know about karate?  Maybe you're a black belt in the making!

I want to help water your strengths.  Those abilities and gifts that God has put in your heart and that make you who you are, I want to help you grow in those.  When you ask me if a master Lego designer has to go to college first?  I don't know, but I'll help you find out.  I see what a gift your mind has when you're working with those little blocks and if you want to create Lego masterpieces with your cousin, Cameron, and have a Lego store and share your love of them with other people, then who am I to hold you back?

I wish I could give you acres of trees to climb and land to run on.  There are few things that make my heart soar then when I see you up in a tree and even more so when there is a book in your hand and I know your mind is worlds away.  We may not travel much outside of visiting family, but you visit so many worlds with those books.  It brings me so much joy.

I know we butt heads often lately, Noah.  I know that I drive you crazy and you do the same to me.  Maybe it's similar personalities.  It's probably just that I don't know what I'm doing and you need a little more freedom but I'm still trying to fence you in.  I'm trying, Noah.  I am.  This is new territory for both of us.

You know what keeps me sane, though, even when I am ready to tear out my hair?  It's the little moments.  The moments where I know that you're still my son and you do still love me.  I don't want to raise a mama's boy.  I want you to one day leave our house and marry a wonderful young woman and form a life with her.  But for now?

Those moments when I'm on the couch reading, maybe "The Hobbit" aloud to all of you, or maybe just a book to myself, and you sit next to me...slowly creeping closer...ever so timidly resting your head against my shoulder to see if it's still ok.

It is still ok.

I love you, Mr. 8-year old.