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. 

Speaking into the quiet

So it has been a while. A long, quiet while. A while filled with celebration and change and also all the regular. The summer regular. It was by no means the summer I expected, but it was a summer that brought much and took away the same. Looking back there seems to be a sort of balance in this. Of which I find myself full of gratitude for. 

A few happenings this summer:

Masters program was completed—gone. A job in a district that I loved was left behind—gone. A new job was ushered in—gift. New babies were born and celebrated—gift. Community was strengthened and leaned into—gift. Life (some of it quite hard) was lived—normal. Breaths were breathed—hallelujah.

But the words...they have not come. The quiet has held strong in the summer months. Every time I thought I could sit down and spill all the words and all the sentences of life onto the keyboard, even if just for myself, something brought pause. The words weren’t ready. They weren’t mine to tell. I didn’t quite have a hold on what it is they wanted needed to say. To expose. What the heck the Lord was doing with my words. With my life. Why so much good was stripped and the seemingly new “good” was just so hard. So different. So uncomfortable.

And so I have just been waiting. Contemplating. Allowing the quiet to reign. And quite honestly it has allowed me to see that words are not always necessary. They are not always for me to spew just because they are there. That pause is good. Even necessary. It widens the space for Him to speak into. To mold. And change. And make Himself known.

But I also do not want to forget the real life that was lived over these summer months. To keep them safely penned for all their sweetness and all their pain. So I believe the words are here. At least enough for memory’s sake. 

June

Was a stinking whirlwind of a month. Goodbyes were spoken to sweet students and co-workers, attempts at wishing them all happy summers and pleas for them to visit next year or keep in touch over the summer. I am always a tad bit mushy when it comes to the end of the school year. It is filled with the promise of summer and fun and time, but it is also so very bitter because it is really an ending. A period at the end of a year’s sentence. And this year I had the inkling that it might be my last at my long-time campus and home. And honestly that was a bit brutal. My sweet Worley crew has loved me so well over the past 7 years. They have taught me what it really looks like to be an educator. They offered me grace and extended confidence in who I am as a teacher. And there is just no word of gratitude big enough for that kind of support. So making my exit on the last day of school, while filled with hope and dreams, was also quite sad. And desperate. To remember all the good and all the people and all the days. Just in case.

And in the same breath as goodbyes, I was meeting with and selling myself and all my dreams for librarianship to a whole slew of new faces. Which is just so not my thing. It is strange and uncomfortable. And necessary. So, I traveled all across the metroplex trying to find the right fit. The right spot. The right home for this next season. And it was hard. And it was so stressful. And it was a bit heartbreaking. Not because the Lord was not faithful. And not because He did not allow for much in the way of opportunity. But because I just HATE closing a chapter. Hate to add the punctuation marks.

And in the same moments as I was interviewing my guts out, I was also taking the biggest exam to date in my post-graduate work. And while my backbone (Steve) reminded me daily hourly by the minute that I had it in the bag. That these three research papers would work themselves through and that there was no need to stress. Stress I did. I did it really well. Because it was everything at once. Everything. No control. No answers. No guarantees. Just change. And hope. And stress.

And looking back, I wish I had handled it so very differently. I wish I had not doubted or spun out or missed the joy in opportunity. But that is just my truth. I did all of those things. For weeks I missed it.

But in the end, despite myself, I passed my test (which meant graduation!). I was offered a great job in a great district with great people doing what I have been working hard to do. I was reminded that all the stressing and worrying and attempting to force answers was for not and will always be just that. I was yet again reminded of the strength of my husband and how much he is able to believe in me when I just can’t muster the strength to do it for myself. And I once again found the strength of the Lord to be far greater and more reliable than my weak attempts at keeping things straight. And sorted.

June was a dang whirlwind.

July

And then July came like a big ol’ breath of freedom.

Most unknowns had been wrapped up and it was time for a bit of summer. We celebrated 4^th of July and a big birthday with friends and family. Steve planned a surprise trip to San Francisco for our 6^th anniversary (a trip I thought would never be) and we did all the things I had been dreaming of doing there.

It was truly an act of service and love on Steve’s part. Not that he didn’t enjoy the trip as much as I did, but he made sure that anything I had been dreaming to do for the past however many years was done and done to the fullest. And isn’t that just like that guy. I forget so often of the gift that the Lord gave me in marriage. He really did provide a depth of love and generosity and help and support and grace that could just never be deserved. And while I am fully aware that neither Steve nor I are perfect or without fault in the everyday, as I sit here remembering the goodness that my husband brings to this marriage, it is so clear that the Lord uses my marriage to preach the Gospel to my weary and stubborn heart. He has and will continue to use this marriage thing. This partnership in Him to make room for Truth. It’s just a matter of stepping back and knowing Him enough to notice.

July was dang good.

August

August was work and change and boldness.

I reported to my new job for new teacher training on August 3^rd and was immediately aware that this thing...this new thing was in all regards just that: new. The job. The district. The expectations. The procedures. The hours. The people. All of it. Just really really new.

And my confidence has wavered since August. I notice it every day because this new place and post is not coming naturally. And that is all too humbling for a girl who has felt pretty confident in who she is as an educator. Who felt ready for the change and all it meant.

Humility.

It seems to always be a byproduct of change. At least in my experience. It’s a whispered reminder that I am not it. I am not the one who provides the giftings or grace or trustworthiness or plan to be confident in. I am just me. Small and weak. Yet, oh so strong in the Lord.

So August (and every Fall month since) was (has been) all about being uncomfortable and unknown. Lowly and small. And each time my rebellion has ceased and space and quiet has been allowed, there has been a whisper.

“Trust me. I am enough. I know what I am doing. Trust me.”

So, August was hard. And humbling. Therefore, needed. And good.

Oh, and we found out this really fun and surprising and hugely humbling thing.

And again we have been laid out. Humbled by our smallness to walk into so much change and new and responsibility and joy. Attempting to stay our fears, especially mine, that this would not work out. That heartbreak is just around the corner. Because I have seen that hurt. It is not uncommon and it is crushing every time. I have seen the faces of friends who have felt that devastation. Who have struggled to reconcile that heartbreak with the faithfulness and goodness of God. I have hugged and prayed and loved and cried for others who have been there. And I am still sitting in that. The humility that I am not in control. And that I have no idea what I am doing or how this will end.

But the Lord is good. He is greater. Than my fears. Than any devastation that could come. Than all of the unknown and hard.

And so with such sweet joy, I am allowing myself to rest in where we are today. Praising Him for the opportunities this sweet baby has already brought. To grow in Him and marriage and family and community. To push past barriers of fear. And to simply rest. And to trust that in all things He is good. He is faithful and worthy to be trusted. Even with our little one.

So the Crumbys are celebrating. And awaiting a very sweet day in April when our family will become just a bit bigger. Hallelujah!!