the list that never got made- part 2

...the second part of the story began with tears, good ones, that is...

she's a little camera shy

The confetti was pink.  It was festive and exciting and beautiful.  And pink.  For the last three months I told everyone it was a boy, I just knew that it was.  Chinese calendar said boy.  I am apparently carrying low, which usually means boy.  My husband has only male cousins on the paternal side of his family, which means strong genes for a boy.  I had two brothers so spent as much time playing sports and burying G.I. Joes in the backyard as anything else growing up, so I was ready for a boy.  I believed, one hundred percent, it was a boy. 

And then just a moment before Emily opened the box of confetti to pour over us, I thought, “wait a second, it could be girl!”  And then we held hands and looked up to a shower of pink.  Our little blessing, precious Harper.  Second only to being announced as Mrs. Alex Blackburn, this was the sweetest moment I've ever been blessed with.

And now Harper is on some part of my mind all day, every day.  My heart could run in circles around all of the things I cannot wait for, and all the things that scare me to death for hours.  It is times like this that I am especially thankful for the gospel, for a power and a strength that is made perfect in my weakness.  I know I will never be enough on my own for Harper, but Jesus will.  And it is in that place of gratitude I want to stay forever...

Dear Harper,

It is amazing how quickly you burrowed into our hearts.  Less than four months ago we did not even know you were coming, and now we cannot imagine our lives without you.  I want you to know, sweet Harper, that even though there is so much we don’t have yet that we want to give you, your daddy and I are ready for you, because we have so much love, and it is going to cover you in hugs and kisses and cuddles.  Making and checking off a hundred lists could not prepare us for you more than feeling you move, seeing your heart beating strong, and now, knowing your name.

I don’t know how to be a mom yet, Harper, but I promise to be a quick learner.  I’ll listen to your cries and learn what they mean.  I'll watch your expressions and learn what makes you smile.  And as you get older, I learn what food you’ll eat and what food you’ll spit out on me.  I’ll pay attention to your favorite books, your favorite colors, your favorite toys, and your favorite hobbies and I’ll encourage you to be creative as you explore those things.  When you are a student, I’ll do all I can to help you learn.  When you are a teenager, I’ll hear your stories about the boys that will break your young heart.  We will probably fight and I will need your forgiveness, and I will be quick to ask for it.  I can promise you I will be worried sick about you when you are old enough for a curfew, even if you are just around the corner, but your daddy (who will also be worried but he will hide it better than me) will remind me to relax and remember that you have a God who is a protector much more capable than us.  

We will have really hard days together, Harper.  Maybe your Dad and I will have a fight and you will see it, or we can’t afford the shoes you really want, or you will get sick and there is nothing I can do about it but let you lay in my lap while I run my fingers through your hair.  But we will have really, really great days, too.  We’ll bury daddy in the sand, go to the zoo to learn about animals, make pancakes on Saturday mornings, and we’ll paint our nails pinks and purples or blues and greens.  And we’ll pray together, Harper, because we have so much to be thankful for… always.

I promise you that daddy and I will always love each other, and that together we will put your needs before our own.  I can’t wait to introduce you to so many people who love you and will always be there for you—in fact, it is because of the beautiful body of Christ that I know we’ll be ok.  And Harper, our amazing blessing of a little girl, I cannot wait to tell you about Jesus, because He is the best.

So keep growing, keep kicking and practicing your summersaults in there, and in the meantime we will keep praying for you and anxiously awaiting the day we get to meet you. 

More than words, we love you Harper.

the father of light

There’s something about Spokane, Washington in the summer. The breezes carry fresh scents of rain-covered greenery and the sun gives off warmth as steady and powerful as the friends I come here to see. It is busy, but stilled. Passes quickly, but stops time in its place. It is vacation, but with more work done to my soul than nearly anywhere else. It is a deep love of mine because of the memories built, the stories shared and the ridiculous amount of snacks consumed.

I get to live an incredible life. I have hurts, land-mines, deep-rooted insecurities and more weaknesses than I often care to expose, but this life that God trusted me with is a good one. I know God adores the moments that I pause in unanticipated silence and thank him for his good gifts.

James, the brother of Jesus, said in his New Testament letter (epistle) that every good gift and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of light, with whom there is no variation or shadow due.

God sheds light. He illuminates the dark. Brightens the dull and sustains the shine. He shows no variation and is always and forever without shadow. We are the shadow makers. In view of his mercies, we squint and put blinders on, turning our backs on the good and perfect gifts he gives.  I picture myself as a little girl sitting around the Christmas tree. Placed next to me is a beautiful present, trimmed and wrapped with such love and care that it’s practically glowing. I open it up and see it is everything I have ever needed, ever wanted. I look straight into the eyes of the gift giver and say:

“The timing was all wrong when you gave me this, why couldn’t it have come sooner?”

Or

 “I think I’ll just take credit for this one because it was all my doing and my idea anyway.”

 Or

“I actually like the gift you gave her better than my own gift.”

Imagine for a second the face of the gift giver if those were the responses of our hearts. It pains me that those three sentences came too easily. My heart is the ultimate shadow maker.

Let me let you in to some of those shadows:

My husband and I seem to be doing great in our marriage (Well, that’s because we work really hard at it and have had ideas to make our marriage better that we’ve carried out- on our own.)

I absolutely love our house (But I think I’d be much happier if I had that house across the street with the front porch.)

It has been great connecting with friends (Where was this relationship before? I needed it then and it wasn’t there- nothing happens when I need it to.)

Husbands, homes and friends are good and perfect gifts from the Father of light. Discontentment, pride and selfishness cast shadows in my heart that make it impossible to see all things as gifts from the God without variation.  There is no stop in the flow of his giving. The halt is a result of me and only me. I want the face of my gift giver to be beaming with gracious love because his daughter is achingly grateful for the constant stream of goodness he pours out. Contentment is where God’s sufficiency truly holds water, and a grateful heart opens the door to gifts I have never given God credit for. He sheds light on my darkest shadows. May it be said of me that I am thankful without variation.

the list that never got made- part 1

Pre-Baby Bucket List.  Love this idea.  I think it is a super fun and creative way to see that you and your hubby are doing all the things you want to do before baby comes.  Things like:

Go to Asia
Spend a long weekend in a cozy cabin
Complete a triathlon together
Take a few Ph.D. courses
Finish Nursing School
Build up our savings accounts

This was our list-in-the-making.  We had never officially written anything down, but we had started putting money away for our trip to the Philippines, we looked at triathlons in Seattle and California, we even scoped out cute cabins on the Puget Sound.  We have been contributing to our 401Ks and Mutual Funds and the savings account was slowly—pretty dang slowly, if I'm honest— making its way along. 

And then the test had two pink lines.  All five of them did, actually.  (Yes, I took five tests over the course of 3 hours.  In that state of shock, that was the least crazy thing I said/did in those 24 hours in April). 

Here is the honest, from my heart truth: I have never wanted to be anything more than I want to be a mom.  Alex and I talked about baby names in our second month of dating (hey, that can be a deal-breaker, ladies), and he has had to put up with my dreaming and talking about “let’s start trying late in 2013… well how do you feel about maybe September of 2013.. ok, you’re right early 2014 is better…” almost our entire marriage.  It was definitely there, that desire and dream and wish to have a baby.  But it was out-there, somewhere in the intangible future, far enough away that my only job was to keep dreaming about it.  And now it’s not just there, existing in my hopes and plans, it is here… that baby is (almost) here.

We have our 20 week ultrasound this week, and we’ll get to see if our baby has all of its organs and arms and legs, if the brain looks healthy so far, and of course, we’ll find out what his or her name is (for the record, my money is on boy).  I am anxious before every doctor appointment.  Every single one.  But this one, this is the half-way point.  I am beyond excited to see our baby, but I am in total disbelief that half of my pregnancy is behind me.  I still feel like I just realized I am really pregnant.       

So our Pre-Baby Bucket List has changed.  The Asia trip fund is now allocated for medical bills, the triathlon goal has been exchanged for “get up the stairs without getting winded,” and the long weekend in a cozy cabin actually means road trips to Seattle to savor time with family and finding fun recipes on pinterest to make at home.  Now, the things we want to check off of our list before the baby arrives looks like:

Prayer
Spend as much time together as possible
Say “yes” to time with friends, as often as we can
Ask good questions of good mentors
Pray some more
Ride the bike to save money on gas
Finish the “Friday Night Lights” series.  Again.
Sleep in while we can
Pray a whole lot more

It is an incredible blessing to have to change your plans for what is so clearly God’s plan.  I really do feel that way. 

There are a thousand things that scare me about raising a baby (finances, work, health insurance, health in general, oh, and just keeping another human being alive are among them).  But they are all trumped by the fact that God is giving this tiny- but actually huge- miracle to us, so in some crazy way, He must think we are ready.  I love our unpredictable life, because we have an unchanging God.  And the miracle of all miracles is that this God loves us with a crazy love, far greater that how I feel about Alex and already think about baby Blackburn.  It’s a love bigger than words, bigger than life.

P.S. I’ll be back late this week to tell you who baby Blackburn is.  In the meantime, if you are a mom, longing to be a mom someday, or just loving the moms, dads and kiddos around you, can I say from the bottom of my heart thank you.  If I understood God’s timing, how he gives and holds back, like He means us to understand it I would certainly share that, but I don’t.  But I understand at least one thing: I think we are all in this together, and I have learned and gleaned lessons about being not only a mom, but a teacher and a mentor, from my own mom, from my best friend who is raising little babies, from my best friend who prays in big ways for my little growing family, from the woman who has 3 of her own kids and 4 from other moms, from my old mentor who is still waiting for her baby, from co-workers, from friends who are adopting, from friends who have lost a baby, from the moms of my close friends, and from those of you honest enough to share your lives in writing.  God has graciously weaved our stories together in both big and small ways, and if I am at all at “good” mom it is only by God’s grace... and because I have known some really incredible women along the way.            

recalling names and seeing sights

Before I left for Zambia, I knew that I’d come home a day before it was “my Monday” on this blog. I sighed a heavy sigh, imagining how I could muster up accurate words, depictions, and stories to suit all that I saw and experienced. Well, I am officially back in Illinois and somehow, much like my carry-on baggage, my sigh grew heavier upon stateside arrival.  

As I sat next to Austin on the flight from London to Chicago, I wrote ferociously in my journal recalling and recounting the trip we had just journeyed together.  I was only interrupted by the occasional hand cramp or the small, energized, Indian boy sitting behind me, (I didn’t recall paying extra for the massage chair. American Airlines, I owe you.)  Nevertheless, my hand could not keep up with the speed of my thoughts and my brain could not accurately articulate the flashes of memories begging to be pieced together into stories.

I wrote and prayed, thought and worshipped, and tightly closed my eyes as if to squeeze every ounce of my mind to remember names.

Zachary. He sat in the front row of his third grade classroom. He wore a forest green sweater, oversized with rolled sleeves. He had New Balance tennis shoes on his feet, too big, with no socks. His legs were skinny and such a beautiful shade of brown that it looked as if he had tights on. He answered loudly and proudly when his teacher prompted him, and smiled with the most perfect, pearly teeth. Zachary was the last boy I spoke to at that school. When I stooped down to look at him at eye level, I noticed he had what looked like a Staph Infection scar on his chin. His eyes flashed to mine, caught me looking at his scar, and quickly covered up his chin with his floppy, green sleeve. I touched the back of his head, looked him straight through his marble eyes and told him how handsome he was. He smiled through his sweater, looked down and then sat up a little straighter as if he had chosen to believe it. I asked to look at his notebook with him and he showed me all the division problems he had gotten right before the crazy group of Americans interrupted his class. “You are so smart!” I said over and over again. Each time I said it, he would show me another page and believed me a little more. Soon his arm came off his chin and he grinned, exposing kilowatts of happiness. 

About two years ago I had a strange scar on my chin. After hoping it would go away, I was embarrassed to find out it was a small batch of Staph Infection.  I still have the remainder of that scar on my chin and am grateful for the invention of concealer to cover it up.  But now, I look at that scar and I think of Zachary.  How sweet of God to connect me forever with a beautiful boy in Africa because we were both a little embarrassed about the scars on our face. What a privilege it is to see past Zachary’s scar because of the Jesus that daily looks past mine.

Ruth. I had prayed one day before my trip for specific names to remember while in Zambia. Then, I did a crazy thing that I hardly ever do. I waited. I waited upon the Lord for his answer, for his timing, for his prompting through his spirit. My heart started to beat a little harder and I could not get the name, Ruth, out of my mind. I turned to the book of Ruth in the Bible, read every word and sat so encouraged by the way God can speak through his word. The faithless part of me thought that was it, but there was a mustard seed-sized part of me that thought maybe I’d meet someone named Ruth in Africa. 

After a few days of ministry, I had forgotten all about this cool encounter with God. It was almost my turn to speak at the women’s conference and I was preoccupied with finding some water for my scratchy throat before I spoke for forty five minutes straight. I walked down the hall and immediately stopped because of the face of a little boy. Regretfully, when I see an African baby, all other life forms surrounding that baby seem to disappear. Mothers, fathers, older sisters, teachers- gone. All focus is on that sweet child.  The young woman holding this boy humored me and asked if I could hold him. Duh. We played and laughed and soon I forgot why I even came out to that hallway. The young woman came back a few minutes later. Out of sheer politeness I asked what her name was.  Ruth. I stopped dead in my tracks and probably freaked her out a little by the look on my face. Only for that name would the little boy have become of little interest to me.  Ruth? I have never been more intentional with a person. It’s as if God had given me one mission to find one girl on earth and love her until the cows came home.  We parted eventually and still in shock, I got up to speak. Don’t ask me what I said, how I said it, or what I covered, but somehow I remember sharing the good news of our gospel at the end. The majority of the girls that came to the conference were churched, so I was so encouraged to know of the re-commitments that several girls told me they had made.  Only God.

After we cleaned up, I sat against the edge of the building, exhausted and without thought. Angela came up to me and asked how my small group had ended. After exchanging stories and laughs about the barriers in dialect and culture, she beamed while describing the quiet girl in her group had accepted Christ for the first time.  Full of joy, I asked, “What’s her name anyway?” hoping to remember.

Ruth.  

For God so loved his Ruth that he sent Angela and Kristin over to Africa to love and minister by his power, so that if she believed in him, she would not perish but have everlasting life.

He loves his children that much. Me. You. All of us. He loves THAT much.

I learned countless truths on this trip, but if the only eternal impact came in the form of a sweet, young lady named Ruth becoming fully known by her father in heaven, wow was it worth it.  


Was Victoria Falls the direct portal into the sights of heaven? Yes. Are elephants as big as they look when you’re at the zoo? Bigger. Is the African sunset truly one of the most breathtaking sights? Undoubtedly.  But Ruth’s going to be in heaven for the rest of eternity. With an unveiled face she will see her savior. And that is the most glorious sight she will ever see. 

John 3:16

Pursuit

If there is one thing that can keep me up past my bedtime these days it is the Olympic Trials.  I can’t get enough of these athletes, I love hearing their stories and the things many of them have overcome to be where they are.  And I can’t lie, I have total track-runner-butt-envy—those ladies have unbelievable backsides if you ask me.  I have become so emotionally attached to the competitors that my eyes began tearing up when the former gold medalist gymnast fell off the high bars, and I could hardly watch the young lady who fell three times and then could not finish.  And the track runners or swimmers who are literally a finger nail’s distance between going to the Olympics or walking away from their careers, I can’t even handle that, my heart honestly hurts for the ones who fall on the later side of that distance.

I think what captivates me about amazing athletes like the ones at the Olympic Trials is the pursuit.  The relentless, focused, disciplined pursuit of their goal.  An Olympian can’t simply decide one day to work hard enough to achieve that status, they decide with their entire lives and the habits of their days follow suit.  They build a rhythm and a balance around the thing they want the most; rigid enough to make them better each day, but free enough to love the process.  It’s a delicate balance that becomes less delicate with experience… and it’s what I want my pursuit of Jesus to look like, too. 

Those of you who know me are well aware that I am a total jock (let’s not confuse this with “athlete” or “extremely fit,” as those are adjectives which no longer describe me).  I could watch Sportscenter all day and I still set my alarm clock to College GameDay on Fall Saturday mornings.  But I will never be the athletes I love watching so much, because I simply look and admire, cheer and yes, critique.  But I am not out there doing what they are doing, I’m just observing.  And the truth is, it is far too easy for me to do this with my faith.  I can go to church and Bible studies, spend time journaling and listening to sermons, I can even talk about Jesus with my friends, and all the while, if I am really honest with myself… I’m still just observing, I’m not out there living like Jesus actually did.  Without a constant heart check, I could spend the majority of my life as a Christian from the couch, and that is not who I want to be. 

This is not about doing more.  For me, it is about finding that balance between trusting the boundaries that will make me more like Jesus, and living in the grace He offers.  It’s about being done compartmentalizing, done taking God off of my bookshelf when I need something, done building a little kingdom in which I get everything I want.  It’s about the pursuit, about being a woman after God’s own heart.  I don’t want God to find me on the sidelines, watching and admiring the lives of others.  I want Him to find me struggling and messing up and doing really hard things, but with a heart that is so fully and genuinely pursuing Him.  It would be much easier and a whole lot more glamorous to observe, but I want to be in, spending my life like I am only a finger nail’s distance from Heaven.