goodbye to summer: a letter to my boy.

To my baby Charlie,

Summer has swung her door shut this week. She has forced us into something new, pushing us forward as we (read I) dig in and search for the brakes. And this new something is different. And hard. She has exhaled and said her goodbyes, forcing us to say ours in turn.

And I am sad. A part of me is devastated, honestly. It seems silly and at the same time so big. Because my days with you have been a kindness. A gift. Straight from the heart of a Father who knows this particular shape and weight of love. My time with you has done the transformative thing of moving this heart into something closer to His own simply by having been with you.

And if I am being transparent, I did not expect to love these past 4 months. Like them even. In fact, I prepared myself for that very thing. Much time was spent coaching myself that it was okay if I did not care for the season of newborn. I began giving myself grace for this season long before you arrived. Because I wasn't sure how I would react to little sleep and loud cries and constantly being needed. How my introverted tendencies would compute with the most minimal of "me" moments. I told myself that I would like the older days when you could feed yourself and crack jokes and play with me, but not the little ones. Not the baby moments. I prepared. I worked to make space for perseverance and grace. I resolved to not be named failure simply because I didn't like it when others do.

And I still fully believe that there is grace for mommies who don't particularly care for this stage. I fully believe that all of the wide range of mommy feelings are okay and valid and normal. There is space for it all. That it, whatever it may be, is known deeply by a good and loving and gracious God.

But buddy, can I just tell you...I have loved our days.

I wish you could understand the fervor behind those words. The absolute earnestness they represent. I have just loved my time with you.

You are all the good things.

You are eyes that take in this great, big world with joy and curiosity. As if there will always be more to learn and find.
You are a voice that rises to be heard in all the good and all the frustrating. There is this sweet mixture of boldness and warmth. I can already see rising up in you, little boy. I praise God for it. You got that beautiful gift from your daddy.
You are smiles. Oh, you are smiles. The most genuine and joy-filled I've seen. The kind that believe the best in the person receiving them. What a gift you extend with those smiles.
And you are hands that hold tight. From the very first day, you have been that way. It may be my favorite piece of you. Gosh, I hope you never stop wanting to hold our hands tight, drawing close for comfort and rest.

And to leave you this past week... goodness. I can't breathe thinking about it. It has been the tiniest preview of all of the letting go that awaits me as your momma.

I know it is coming for me. I know in my gut that this is simply the beginning of the aches that overtake mommas and daddies. We don't stand a chance. The blindsiding gut punches of feelings are around every corner. Every milestone and turning of a year. Celebration and sadness. An overwhelming mixture.

Because being your parent is the biggest thing. It is the most I have felt. It is not all of me, but it is so much of me. There are really no words to put to what this parenting thing really is. What moving forward in these shoes really feels like. But it is big, Charlieboy. It is big. Too big at times. Because who am I to do such a thing as raise a child? Gosh, and I am just starting. This is but the beginning. There is much more to be lived.

But I will forever treasure these first handful of months I have spent with you, my baby boy. I will store these up and pull them out when I need a moment of good. A moment of best. A moment of new. And beginning.

It seems too simple, but it feels too big. You have made me a mommy, little man. You have changed my days and breaths and perspective and heart for the rest of this life. There is just no turning back. I can't fathom even trying.

And I cannot help but be swallowed up this week. By the fullness of love that our mighty Father has for His people now that I know you. Now that I know this fierce love for my boy. My baby. My first.

And in all humility I am praising Him for your sweet life and this change in mine. Because you have changed me. He has changed me. And I will forever be thankful for the sweetest little 4 months in the beginning. Thank you for easing us in. You are our absolute favorite little dude. Treasured and dearly loved. Seen and known. I cannot wait to be a part. To travel alongside. Holding tight and letting go and loving big for as long as I've got with you.

Love you forever,

Momma

Pictures. If there is anything I have learned about being a momma, there are never enough pictures of your baby. So get ready, little mister, the photos have just begun. A few of my favorites from our beginning months together.

Teeny Charlie.

Boy, have you been growing.

Your nursery.

my boys.

[I began this on 4/4, his actual one month birthday, but #momlife.]

Today is a mark. A month's time has passed. Has flown. Has crept. It has marked not only a passage of time, but also a passage of change. In family. In life. In character.

There is this new little guy hanging around these days. He is cute. And tiny (sort of). And loud. And wiggly. And all around full of good. A new kind of good that I couldn't have anticipated. I had planned to pen his coming and all the thoughts and emotions and nerves and fears that came with it. I had planned to put into words just before and just after his coming the state of our home and hearts.

But he has swept us up. He has captivated our whole attention. And I have decided to let him. Partially because I am exhausted and focusing on him is necessary to...well, keep him alive. But mostly because I haven't wanted to expend my brain space on anything but soaking in who he is. Right now. Each day. All the sweet and all the hard. All the smiles and laughs right alongside all the tears and anxieties. Collect it all and savor it for a while. People tell you to do that,, you know? It's always part of their advice when you are expecting a new human in your home. They always say they didn't do it enough and I am just determined to not let that be my story. I want to remember well. These days. These hours. These little fingers and toes and cries and snuggles. All of it.

And today is a mark. A very special mark.

My newest boy is one month today. 31 days from when he made his arrival. And there have to be words for a day like today. To remember all that he has been to us and for us so far.

He has changed us already. There is no doubt. We have learned to do the new parents stuff: diapers, bottles, swaddles, snuggles. We have changed our routines and changed our sleep schedules. We have adapted to rotate our days around his little needs and desires. But all of that was expected. We saw it coming.

But then there is this deeper change. This inside change. The one that I'm sure is the cause of every fear for his safety and well-being and character to come. The kind of change that immediately reveals that nothing is the same. All is different because of one tiny human.

Because he is ours. Our boy. Our tiny human. He is a part of us both, not simply because he has our DNA and eyes and mouth and hair. But because the Lord has brought him here. To this house in this time with these parents. The Lord prepared us without our knowing for this little man. To be his parents.

What?!?!

He has prepared us for this Charlie boy. He has prepared us to be wife and husband in a new season of different and strange and good. This is the Lord's doing. No doubt about that.

And that is hefty. Not to be taken lightly. Responsibility in the largest sense of the word. We have been provided this tiny thing with absolutely eternal implications. He is meant for big. A work that is bigger than himself. And we, his broken and selfish parents, have a responsibility to guide him. To point him to the Lord in all things. To point each other to the Lord in all things. To not lose sight. 

And there is the shift. The change. That this life is now so much more than a month ago.

And I know that there are those still waiting for such a responsibility as this. That the Lord for some eternal and infinitely wise reason is preparing parents around the globe for the time their children will fill there home. With all the crazy and good. And I haven't been able to escape the largeness of it all this month. The perfection of the Father's timing. That after 6 years of marriage, there is a new person in the mix. That after changes in homes and jobs and heartbeats and passions and so much more, the Lord saw fit to give us this dude at this time. And that is good. So very good. But it is not a mistake. It is not just so happens. It is for purpose and big. It is for Him. 

And so on this one month mark it is so necessary to stop and breathe in how big this thing is. Because it is dang huge. 

With the hugeness of this, I can't help but be thankful for my partner in it all. Another gift. Another purposed gift. He has stood strong when all the emotions have overcome. He has smiled and joked and cheered and encouraged in ways only he can. He has said the hard things and pushed for perseverance in the rough. He has done so many things our little family has needed in this month. And I don't have words for my heart for him. As a husband. As a daddy. As a leader of this home. I have known the Lord has been preparing my guy for such a season as this, but to watch it play out day by day, minute by minute has been a million hallelujahs. Sweet praise to the Father. I stand amazed yet again at how the Lord uses this marriage thing to preach so much to my wandering, failing heart. Even in the hard (because there is that too.) Harsh and tired words. Unmet expectations. Moments of distrust and fights for control on how to do this thing. The Lord is using it all to sanctify this family. 

And so we are marked by this sweet and hard month. Marked in a new and fresh way. Marked for bigger and yet to come. Because the Lord is good. And he uses it all. In His perfect and kind timing. 

And we are thankful today to be marked

to a new year.

Oh, there you are 2016.  For a few weeks now. 

You have patiently waited for me to notice you. Politely allowed me to continue moving waddling and doing and being without so much as glancing your way. No resolutions made for you. No thoughts of how this year might be different from the rest. No skillfully crafted words to welcome you to my days. And yet in your patience and in your waiting, you hold so very much. 

A new little one. 

A new place to call home. 

A new perspective with which to view this life. 

And while I know I am not guaranteed any of it, I should have stopped by now to ponder you. To attempt to prayerfully consider all that you may hold, even more than the “knowns” I believe about you.  All the hope that you bring. All that is new and fresh and clean because of a single change in date. How much a number can affect attitude and heart and perspective.

I have attempted to chock my absence up to moving and illness and pregnancy brain (because it is a thing), but truly it is more of a simple forgetting to be aware. To see the now. Really take it in and let it sink. To the heart and to the mind. To allow what the Lord is doing in each day to really rest on me.

Busyness seems to always bring this forgetfulness. But busyness is always present, so making it my excuse cannot be. It is more. It is something in need of deep change. Something to be intentionally rooted out.

Where is the presence of the Lord and what is he doing with these hours and minutes, even those filled to the brim?

You see, 2015 spilled over with change. Transition. Uncomfort. A bit of heartache and a lot of joy. Changes in address (twice) and title and family. A LOT of stinkin change. At every turn most viewpoints reflect a different image than all that we have known. And even as I type these words I know…I KNOW…that this is my story. It just is. How dare I dwell on change like it is different. 2015 was not new in that regard. The Lord has changed my surroundings and knowns again and again. And all of that “transition” and “uncomfort” and “heartache” and “joy” has ultimately been for so much good. For so much Truth. It is my story. It is our story. All of us. But somehow still, I have to preach and repeat to myself that it is not without purpose. 

So then how do I live knowing all things will change? Knowing the end of this year will not could not look the same as today. Knowing that there is much in store for my good and His purposes around the corner. Most of which I have no inkling about. 

And then there is Hallelujah. 

This word I have heard and sung thousands of times. A word that most of the time passes by without thought. But a word that has bounced in my brain since sitting in a pew in recent Sundays. A chorus that will not leave. 

Because there is praise today. In the busyness. In the norm. In the annoying and dumb. There is acceptance and resolve that the Lord is good. And that this life, no matter how mundane or hurried, is purposed and cherished and meant for something. By the Creator. 

There is hallelujah. 

I know a lot of people who choose a word to speak over their year at the turn of each January 1. I have always thought it was an idea that would be quickly forgotten in my life. That “perseverance” or “boldness” or “humility” would just be another thing I jot in one of these posts or in a journal somewhere and move on from in a week when things get hurried and busy and normal. 

But hallelujah is stuck. Wedged in the crevices of my brain and heart, refusing to allow my every day self to forget about him. This hallelujah remains. 

And so I am praying that this year hallelujah will be ever present. A joyful friend purposed to bring newness to any moment or breath. Someone to take a precious seat in my every day. A valued and unforgettable place at the table of my actions and words and motives. A reminder to offer praise. To bow low. To see each day for what it truly is. 

That there will be hallelujah in the change. Hallelujah in the new. Hallelujah in the good. Hallelujah in the tired. Hallelujah in the uncomfort. Hallelujah in it all. 

Because every piece of this year can be opportunity for drawing near. For coming close. For being present and noticing where He is in it all. 

I listened to a podcast recently (something that has been a beautiful addition in my 2015) where a woman discussed her husband’s infidelity in their marriage. She described the incident and how through an incredibly difficult process the Lord had redeemed their marriage (and quite honestly much more). What struck me most about her story, is the way she tried to put into words the way this experience caused her to become near to the Lord. She spilled out what a purposeful time that was in her life. How the Lord had taken something so very broken and crafted a time of simple nearness to Him. A time that has changed her heart and perspective forever. That nearness to God is necessary. That it is beautiful. That it is astounding in its possibility. That we could even. That the Lord is near and calls us to Himself in it all. 

And it seems like such a simple concept. One that should be mastered at this point in the journey. Or at least known and considered often. And I just haven’t been able to escape that. The notion that 2016 holds this insane possibility for me to draw near to the Lord in it all. That not only can He make good out of this year, but that He will. And I am (we are) able to draw close and hold tight and beg Him for a tiny viewpoint from which to see Him do it. 

Every dang day. 

And then there is hallelujah. 

And because Instagram is genius, if not only for offering yet another way to showcase life, here is an adorable square of memories 2015 offered to the Crumbys. Mostly the good of course, because that is what social media presents. But a fun reminder of days lived well none the less.

baby announcements and arrivals and gifts, trips of celebration and dreams coming true, goodbyes to treasured spaces, new home to fill in the gap, wedded bliss (that's right-I said it), and the sweetest people on the planet

What is so interesting about these moments, captured in pixels and displayed proudly on a silly site, is that when I look back on them I see more than smiling faces and hugs and sweet. I see struggle and  stretching and hard and growth. I see my own humanity. That sounds really deep (and I guess it is), but I see clearly where struggle was present. Where I saw hard and rough edges in myself as I ventured through marriage and friendship and change and family and new. I see down deeper. And that is just good. The best reminder of real life. So don't be fooled by the simplicity of a shining square photo shared on a digital platform (preaching to my own heart here). It is so much more than what it looks like. It is far from perfect. It is harder than appearances reveal. But it is an incredible reminder, when drawn close, that life is real. That each of those pixels represents a myriad of complex feelings and breaths and motives and movements. And that it is all useful. All the shining and all the dull.

Podcast Referenced:

Jamie Ivey's The Happy Hour podcast

Episode 68 with Jami Nato
Here it here or on iTunes.