Shrimp, Tequila, Lime & Jalapenos

September 12, 2016 - Leave a Comment

Last Friday ended up feeling like the end to a super busy week. Three weeks into school, soccer, a new routine, and busy schedule. We have been balancing drop offs and pick ups, and I have been praying that I don’t forget a child in the shuffle! {Seriously!}

One of the best places for me to filter out all the feelings of shuffle and hustle is in the kitchen. There is nothing like a knife in my hand chopping, and the smells of garlic sautéing. Samantha is at an age where she can run wild outside for little bits of time, and my Addie Girl loves to stand on her stool next to my side and eat, taste, touch and feel. This girl has a passion for food and the kitchen like here mama, and she seems widely satisfied these days standing near me while I prep dinner or watch Peppa Pig on the couch.

One of my favorite shrimp recipes is one that my mom tried out a couple years ago. I can’t remember where she stumbled across it, but I just figured out today that it’s an Emeril Lagasse original recipe that we have tweaked a bit.{All ingredients can be purchased at Traders…One stop shop!}

Currently, one of the best wild shrimp (always wild!) buys is from Trader Joes. The Wild Argentinian Shrimp is in a red bag and priced at $9.99 a bag. I usually buy 4-5 bags when they are in stock, and I have been known to substitute the frozen wild Langoustine lobster tails in a pinch if I run out of the wild shrimp! I serve it over a bed of coconut rice with lots of cilantro and lime wedges on the side.

Here it is…Enjoy!

3 tablespoons olive oil

6 tablespoons butter, divided

2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 1/4 teaspoons salt, divided

3/4 teaspoon red cayenne pepper, divided

3/4 cup finely chopped white or sweet onion

1/4 cup minced jalapeno

1 tablespoon minced garlic (I use more!)

1/4 cup lime juice

1/4 cup white tequila

1 cup chicken broth

2 tablespoons minced cilantro leaves, for garnish

In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat the oil until hot but not smoking. Add 1 tablespoon of the butter. Season the shrimp on both sides with 1 teaspoon of the salt and 1/2 teaspoon of the chipotle chili powder and cook, in 2 batches, until lightly golden and almost cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer the shrimp to a platter and cover loosely to keep warm. Add the onion, all peppers and garlic to the skillet and cook until soft, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the lime juice and tequila and cook scraping any browned bits from the pan, until almost nearly evaporated, about 2 minutes. Add the chicken broth to the pan and cook until reduced by half, 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and add the remaining butter, salt and chili powder, swirling to melt and incorporate. Return the shrimp to the pan to re-warm then serve immediately, with the pan juices and garnished with the cilantro.

*My mom and I always double the sauce, to make it extra soupy over the coconut rice! Double the lime juice, tequila, and chicken broth!

The Mayor of My Starbucks

February 26, 2016 - Leave a Comment

Gary. It’s been not even 12 hours since you have passed. And the thought of you leaves me sad, and leaves me crying, and leaves me where you always left me, laughing and wishing, and hoping, and praying.

Gary. I remember meeting you in front of a Starbucks, my local Ladera Starbucks, years ago. Has it been years? Where has the time flown? You and I met, I am not sure how, or why, but of course, because we loved to talk, and laugh, and share, and be to one another how I feel like were supposed to be on this earth.

You held court on that front porch of that coffee shop steps. You were, and will always be to me the mayor of my Starbucks.

Gary. You were such a man. You would open all the doors, you would watch Samantha so I could go to the bathroom, you would buy my coffee, and order her cookies, and you would make my day. Gary. I already miss you so much.

Gary, you were a friend to me in a season where my friends were all far away. I was a new mom, and my days were long, and I was looking for friendship, and company, chatter, and companionship. You were all those things to me, and so much more, and gosh, I just want to say thank you.

I think for a year we probably saw each other almost daily. I was running outside like a wild woman in that season, and I would eat breakfast and catch a coffee after my run. I would always hope I didn’t miss you. You were on a schedule, and so was I.

If our days met, and they mostly did, I would love to see your smile, and your face, and hear one of your stories for the day. You would love to tell me about the weather, and it was such a welcomed relief, it was so neutral and safe for both of us. You loved this gal on channel nine, and she was always wrong about the weather. We would laugh, and joke, because wasn’t it always warm and sunny in Ladera Ranch? Of course it was.

You would greet my daughter Sam with the biggest grin, and she came to love you. She is a hard sell, so it meant a lot. I would sit with you sometimes out front, or I would meet friends out by the fountain in the back. Either way, you or I would always make a point to say hi, and bye, we were a stopping point in each other’s days.

You were encouraging, and loving, and gosh, we disagreed on pretty much everything when it came to religion and politics, but I didn’t really care, I loved you that much. See, here is the thing; we all loved you that much. We will always love you that much.

Today, I told Samantha you died. I mean, it doesn’t get more real than that. And all she kept saying, and all she kept wishing is that you didn’t die. She kept asking why you had to, and why you wanted too, and I reminded her, I didn’t think that you did.

Who ever does? Death is so brutal, and so terminal, and so final in the eyes of this world. It’s scary, and unsure, and daunting. I remember seeing that sense of it all in your eyes in December. Who the hell wants to die?

And yet, this morning, your precious Taylor, the one I have always heard about, and loved to hear about texted me. It caught me so off guard. She said you passed last night. Gosh darn-it Gary, this wasn’t the way I wanted it to end. And maybe you didn’t too. I didn’t want cancer to attack your body, and your bones, and take you out.

Dammit. You were the healthiest man I knew at your age. You walked up hill back and forth every darn day to claim your office spot on the front porch of that coffee shop. And yet, it’s a brutal and bad disease, and some how, you caught it. I am so sorry for that. This world is just so unpredictable like that.

All I could do when she texted me was catch my breath. In, and out, and in and out I went. And yet, there was this little caveat, the hope of so many prayers. You came to know my Jesus at the end. Gosh darn-it Gary, at the very end, you accepted my best friend.

Can I tell you I believe in the base of my heart, and the center of my foundation there is no better place than you to be tonight than with my best friend? Jesus. Gosh, it’s so good. He is so good. I can just imagine the place you are, the hope that you have, the feelings of friendship and a permanent sense of family you now have. Gary, it doesn’t get better than where you are, and whom you are with. You’re in good hands. I know this.

And I can envision, and hope and pray that in my humanness, in my imagination of what heaven is like, you’re at some Starbucks, or the heaven equivalent, and you have the front table. That it’s all feeling new, because you’re a new man. That you’re worshipping, because He is worthy, and you now know that for sure. And all I can think about is the joy you must feel now.

So today, on this gorgeous, glorious Saturday, on February 6, 2016, a day I know that you would have loved to have stopped out front and gave us a wave, and given my girls a hug, and said hello, I had to face that table, your table. I had to walk through those doors, your doors, they will always be yours, and stand in line, and order my drinks, and sit with tears flowing down my face. And today, I sat and I sipped that coffee inside, and thought about your presence outside.

I thought about your front table, and your front space, and those front chairs, and how they will never ever be replaced. You will never be replaced.

Gary, you have big shoes to fill. And I hope some days when I stop in to get a coffee, that I, and my little tribe can take your place. I hope as the years go on, and I get older and my girls get bigger, I can sit at your front table and do justice to how you held court in front of that coffee shop. I hope to live into your legacy of love, and laughter, story telling and ridiculous joke sharing, and be to others what you were to me, a gosh darn, good friend.

We will miss you Gary, each and every day that we grab that cup of coffee, and forever on. Thank you for loving each and every one of us so darn well.

Failing in February

June 11, 2015 - Leave a Comment

Onward & Out, And On to the Next!

Our Saturday’s are normally spent at home: bacon cooking, eggs being scrambled, fruit being cut, and drinking too many cups of vanilla flavored coffee. We lounge in workout clothes and pajamas. Saturday mornings in our world break the Monday through Friday rushing routine of packing lunches, quick on-the-go breakfasts, and the chaos and crunch of heading off to school and to work.

Sometimes I de-clutter, or Jordan builds something I have been begging to have put together. I start a load of wash; we clean up the lingering clothes and shoes that pile up at the pit of the bottom of the stairs. There isn’t a true agenda, but we have subtly fallen into the pattern of some cleaning, and some rest, some play, and some laundry. It’s pretty mundane, and pretty needed at the end of our weeks. In some ways I love Saturday mornings because those clothes that have been sitting on the stool on the front porch will finally find their home in the basket to be washed upstairs. It feels like victory! Cleaning, organizing, de-cluttering, building, and throwing away! Domestic victory indeed! And other Saturday mornings, a bit of domestic dread: the hammering, the finding the right place, the deciding: keep or throw away?

I think that’s why this particular Saturday in the middle of February stood out to me in the way that it did. I was off to an audition, I was headed down Crown Valley, up the toll road, and off to Newport Beach to read a piece I had written, on a stage to a group of six women

In my past life, stepping on to stage, presenting, pitching, it all came to me as easily as my Saturday morning suburban routine had become. Convincing a crowd, lighting up a room, encouraging, selling, instructing, leading, it was all so easy peasy.

These days, normal are the days of motherhood: naptime’s, park times, bedtimes, pickup’s and drop offs, and meal plans. Easy is most definitely not driving away from suburbia to stand on a stage. Its vulnerable, it was of my box, and it was exactly where I needed to be that Saturday morning in the early spring.

I knew the moment I decided to audition the exact piece that I would read. But in that moment, when six ladies shook my hand, and I passed out the script, I panicked for a split second about the piece I was about to read. The vulnerability about what I was about to do came rolling in, and the rawness of my own insecurities I was about to reveal. But then in a holy moment of courage, I poured that panic into boldness; and I spoke to their silence, their still eyes, and gave it all I had.

It was over in six minutes, and I was in and out the door within fifteen. It took about two weeks of wondering to find out that I wasn’t picked, that I didn’t make the cut.

It was weird, in some ways, I knew that I completely gave it my best shot, and also, as I walked out that door, I knew I wasn’t going to be coming back.

It was something that I absolutely wanted to do, a team that I wanted to be apart of, a journey that sounded exciting, and a job that would have been all mine outside of the walls of motherhood. It was right up my ally! I was the right fit I thought; this was going to be a place where I could use my writing, my speaking, and my gifts! What could be better than this?!

And, yet, I failed at making the cut in February. I wasn’t the fit.

That Saturday morning I could have stayed home and de-cluttered, and organized, and tossed in two more loads of laundry. I could have kept the rest and routine of our Saturdays sacred, and a part of me for a split second thought that was what I should have done since I didn’t get the gig anyway.

And I then I think of my daughters, and about me… the trying out for the million and two teams that lie before them, and the teams that I might still need to try out for too. And with abounding intensity, I wanted to scream to that part of myself, the hardest critic after all, NO! Go for it, and try out for the team! Take the next shot, and the next chance, and then try to jump through the next open door with wild abandon, even if you don’t make the cut…GO for it, Girl, Go for it.

May we all have a holy boldness to try out, and to keep trying out. To run the race, and work hard at the things we love, the things were confident were called too. May we step out from the doorframe of fear, and into the room filled with faith. May I brave, and continue to step out of suburbia and on to stage every once in a while on a Saturday morning.

And what I hope for my girls, I still hope for me. That we would have courage to fail, that our fears of failure, of our own past failures, of others opinion, that they would never, not for a second, keep us from trying out for the team.

Turning Thirty

January 6, 2015 - Leave a Comment

I have been thinking about turning thirty all year. But if I am really being honest, I think I have been realistically thoughtful about turning thirty for about ten years now.

It all goes back to my early twenties, and the part of me that longed to be older, and more established, and married. For some reason, to me, those went hand in hand. And then, marriage hit, and as I focused more on my career, I thought about who I could be, what role I would play, what my job title would be at thirty.

For a while I wanted the big job, the career that I could brag about, the respect I thought I would ultimately get if I were “this” or “that” in the marketing and advertising world. I looked up to ladies I saw who had those jobs, those titles, those careers that seemed to somehow marvel others, and interest friends, and family.

I knew I also wanted kids, and wondered how I would balance work with motherhood if at all. I watched gals at work who tried to balance it all, and I knew back then even that it was a dance, one that seemed delicate, daring, and honestly, down right hard. I wondered if I would dance that dance or if I would stay at home.

That also seemed hard. For lots of reasons, but the one I kept toying in my mid-twenties was the sense that if I stayed at home, I was letting myself, my degree, and the woman inside who knew she could if she worked hard enough hang her hat on any title she wanted.

And then I became a mom, and when that became my full time job, I decided that I wanted all my babies before I turned thirty. I think I kind of wanted it like a newly found attainable badge of honor, that if I wasn’t going to continue my career, then at least I could have a bundle of babies that would show success to others, and to that singular part of myself who still wanted to succeed at something grand and great. Yes, a bundle of babies, now that would do it!

Now, don’t get me wrong, what I thought of motherhood and what it has turned out to be has been radically different than I could have ever imagined. Motherhood is incredible, and downright exhausting, rewarding, and challenging too.

But, as I turned twenty-nine, it became clearer and clearer that this “twenties” goal of having all my babies before I turned thirty was now a wild card, as my second turned out to be a girl too. I thought you got what you grew up with, and having another girl threw me for a loop.

When I found out that Addie was a girl, God began graciously showing me that the kid-card, the possibility of a third was still up in the air regardless of gender. And I began to think, that this goal of being done with pregnancy and nursing, and rearing one more was for sure still up for grabs.

These “twenty-something” goals and dreams, thoughts and ideas were all starting to fade in light of my thirties. They were starting to disappear in the brightness of what I ended up learning in my twenties and discovering about marriage, motherhood, and life in general. I was growing up, in the most basic sense, seeing that some of what I use to think I didn’t any longer, and that was okay too.

I spent a lot of time last year letting go, laying down, and ultimately seeing that change was really good too. Our family changed as we added a second, we changed churches, we changed some things in our marriage, we changed up the business, and we both changed habits about ourselves. We gave more, fought less, dreamed more, laughed more, and worried less. 2014 will go down in the books as one of the best years yet.

It will always be the year before I turned thirty that I look back on with giddy and glee, wonder and whimsy. My twenty-ninth year, the end of my “twenties”, the end of that era, is one to remember.

The twenties for me marked so many milestones. Finishing college, getting married, travel, advertising, marketing, house ownership, and motherhood times two. It was an incredible decade, one to hold on to tenderly, despite some goals and dreams not coming true too.

I learned this past year, and looking back, I think slowly over the past ten years that dreaming, and goal setting are stellar. What would we be without dreams, goals and to-dos? I know I need them in my life as a framework for my days and my year. But, change, that is harder, and better, and what I have started striving more for as I look into my thirties.

As one chapter has ended, a beautiful, chapter for sure, I look onto the next with excitement, and anticipation. And Hope. As all new chapters begin, I think hope is the best way to start.

I am setting goals, and dreams, both individually, within our family, and for our marriage too for the next decade ahead. The best part about having a birthday right around the New Year is that your birthday and the New Year both start at the same time. Lots of new. Lots of great new.

December was full of a lot of reflection. Honest to goodness introspection. And January is full of goal setting, meal planning, family scheduling, travel booking, house remodeling, and as I am learning, letting myself dare to dream a bit more.

One thing I am sure about, I am confident in, is that the closer I got to turning thirty, the more excited I get about life ahead. Regardless of the title, the bundle of babies, the laundry and dishes that still need to get done, I have more confidence the older I get, the better it gets. Looking forward, looking up, linking arms, and running ahead, thirty, cheers to you.

Home for the Holidays

December 16, 2014 - Leave a Comment

Here we are Christmas. Here we are trimmed trees and cookie exchanges, stocking stuffers, and {soon-to-be} presents under the tree. And here we are expectations, long lines and long list’s too. Here we are Christmas. Over-spend, over-commit and over-do. Here we are Christmas. A baby in a manager, hope and joy, simplicity, and Good News. Choose the chaos, or choose the calm.

This season, I have been fighting hard to maintain the peace. The peace in our home, the peace in our schedule, the peace in our family, and the peace most of all in me. Something about this season, and the wild expectations we put on others, and ourselves can leave us drained and depleted. You know that, and I know that too.

Life has been rolling in fast motion for us since Thanksgiving. And for us, it seemed it started even earlier this year, around Halloween. A dishwasher leak in our house left us without a working kitchen for weeks in November, the wood floor around the island has been pulled up, and the dishwasher removed. All, that’s left in the kitchen around the island is wood, nails and concrete too. Jordan even staple-gunned blankets to the exposed area, so we can somehow still move, and cook, clean, and let Addie crawl.

Were in the process of battling insurance companies, and waiting, doing a lot of waiting, for next steps. The battle for peace has definitely been in my home, and most of all, here in my heart. Some days I have lost the battle, all frustrated and angry by my circumstances around. I have sighed in loud aggravation at the lack of a quick fix, and cried in tiredness at this project I didn’t want to take on.

Being a stay at home mama is lovely, and wonderful, but it’s still my day {and night} job, so taking care of two little’s, the feeding, napping, and playing, has been challenging to do on what feels like a live construction site. Managing people in and out, jack hammers, and tents; it’s not what I was planning on as the precursor to the Holidays.

And yet, here we are Christmas. Here I am whether I wanted it or not, in the midst of construction and chaos. I have had to wrap my mind around cancelling events I was supposed to host, and a home that does not whatsoever feel 100% settled. I am getting cozy waiting, and trying to not kick and scream while I do it.

Last year was one thing with a newborn, this year, is another with a house under wraps. And yet, as weird as it is, as funny as it sounds, I am back to the same place of having to lay down my schedule, lay down these plans, and surrender my program.

The more I push, the more I resist, the more I try to control the less peace I have. And as I’m trying to get one more thing crossed off the list, and to one more event on time, I am faced with the simple fact that in my own presence, in my own plans, I can’t cultivate the kind of peace that I am after.

And when I slow down enough, when I calm down enough, when I gather my thoughts, sit down instead of forge ahead He reminds me of this: I have all I need. That He lets us rest. He is the one who leads us into peace, He renews, anchors and guides. He doesn’t pour on guilt or more expectations, He doesn’t look at us with disappointment and frustration. He looks at us with tender eyes, with love and kindness.

For the longest time this past month I have sat down to write about peace and my path in the midst of construction to find it. I have struggled for words, crossed out paragraphs, and deleted entry after entry. Today, I pushed through it all to try to discover what was holding me back. And funny thing is I was the one holding me back. I was holding myself back from real peace by trying to be my own peace.

You see, anytime I try to be my own peace, my friends peace, my husbands peace, I will come up not enough. I am not supposed to be my own peace. I am not supposed to be your peace, and your not supposed to be mine.

Our peace already came, that Christmas night, wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in the manager, in the middle of the night. The lowliest of places, in the midst of chaos, He brought Peace. He was peace, is peace, will always be the only peace. And He wants me to see that, and you to see that too.

His presence brings us peace. In the middle of the night when your fear wants to flare up, He wants to be your peace. During that doctor’s appointment where signs are all pointing red, He wants to be your peace. In the midst of a home that feels chaotic, with children running around, He wants to be my peace too.

I don’t do a good job of being my own peace. It always leaves me dry. And yet His peace on the other hand will always give me freedom, and brings me rest, because His burden is light. Lighter than anything I could ever feel, stronger than anything I could ever lift, His Presence is the best home for our hearts this Holiday. Maybe this Christmas its time to make some room in the midst of your own life that might feel under construction for a Savior who brings Good News, the best kind of News. He is joy, hope, and our peace.

You Have All You Need. He Wants You to Rest. He Guides You. He Anchors You. His Burden is Light. And His Presence is Your Peace. {Psalm 23}

Merry Christmas, may we return, or maybe for the first time finally really come home for the Holidays.

Holiday Hopes

November 10, 2014 - Leave a Comment

I love everything about the holidays. I love celebrations. At my core, when I am at my best, most rested self, I am a party person. I love a good reason to dress up, to turn up the tunes, with our friends all bumping around the kitchen island. I love watching the wine being poured, appetizers being sampled, and most of all, laughter and connection filling up the room. I think every day is a good reason to celebrate, to shake up a cocktail too. So one can imagine, my hightened level of excitement on any given Holiday. It amplifies my anticipation, and also, I am finding, my expectations too.

I am learning, and uncovering, I have a lot of pre-conceived expectancies for each Holiday celebration. Christmas one-way, then Easter, New Years, and Birthday’s as well. It doesn’t really matter the Holiday, or the reason to gather, there seems to be a part of me that has a subtle expectation of how its all going to play out, how the cookie SHOULD crumble, how in my perfect world it will all go down.

I think some hopes I have for the day are good, are well intentioned. The core of my hopes for the Holidays are connection. I want to feel sincerely secured to one another, and at the same time, I want it to feel like it’s the best party too. That desire, and that hope, is well placed. It’s rooted in a genuine love for family, friendship and fun.

And on the other hand, some of the other expectations I place on a Holiday “day”, well, they reveal a side of me, a part of me, who is still very much striving for some level of perfect. Perfect me, perfect kids, picture perfect life. Smile. Sit. Stand. Pose and pretend whether its really playing out as planned.

I mean, who doesn’t want the hot chocolate moment while trimming the tree? Or the well-behaved child at the restaurant for “we-have-planned-it-all- year” Christmas get together dinner?

I sometimes want it all. Okay, I do want it all. I just want smooth days everyday. And that’s silly, and I know it too. I am learning a lot about the pressure I place on myself, and the need to lower my expectations too.

Halloween was two weekends ago, and let me be the first to tell you, it was not on par with my planned day. The day was packed full of timeouts and tantrums and a mama whose eyes were a little puffy by the end of the day too.

I was late to make the chili, late to dress the kids, late to the neighborhood party. I was late, tired, spent, and sad. Sad to admit that the day didn’t go down as I dreamed, and sad that I had to hard-core parent instead of hard-core play on a “Holiday” of all days.

The funny thing about parenting, is the days I don’t want to do it the most, are probably the days I am called to do it the most. To pull away and discipline, to disciple, and teach, even that day, that hour, that moment where I want to let it all go. To lie down my expectations and the energy I want to pour into party into parenting instead.

I hit Halloween evening exhausted. I spent all my energy on a four-year-old little lady dressed as Elsa, with a penchant for singing Let it Go, to a mama, who is still struggling with trying to navigate how to let all of her expectations go. And thats exactly how I was supposed to spend my day.

Its taken me almost two weeks to figure that out. That day, a day that had an agenda, had to be completely re-written when I discovered what was really needed of me. It was hard work, not the most fun work, it was the epitome of motherhood in the moment. I tossed out a lot of what I wanted, for what my girl needed. What we needed that day.

So, as the Holidays are here, and days full of expectations, and excitement approach, I am trying to listen more to what we need each day, not exactly what we have planned for each day. Sometimes the best plans need to be cancelled, to do what your called to do. To throw off the expectations, lessen the pressure, and give yourself grace in the midst of the work.

Almost Famous

October 23, 2014 - Leave a Comment

I used to want to be famous. When I was younger, probably about four, I wanted to be a famous singer. Watching my four-year-old daughter these days proclaim the same fancy and free declaration for her “older-self” makes me grin and giggle inside.

When your four, you believe you can become anything you want to. It doesn’t matter if you have a good voice or not, or have rhythm on stage, if you want to become a recording artist, you believe that is possible. And gosh darnit, I love that.

And, while I will keep letting her believe she can become anything she wants to for as long as she will like, I am learning the hard way that I cannot become everything and anything I want to be anymore.

[Read more…]

Baby Crawls

October 2, 2014 - Leave a Comment

Yesterday, Addie started crawling. October 1st, 2014, 25 days away from turning one. Before my eyes, before my mom’s eyes, prayers answered, with squeals and screams she received!

Before she started crawling in the afternoon, I had spent the morning more than usual thanking God for His provision in her life. Specifically, for her joy, her infectious cheeky grin, that lights up a room. Her sweet and cuddly personality, the air of innocence she carries with her. Life is better because Addie is in it.

For the past four years, every July 1st, Samantha’s birth month, I am overcome with a deeply serious sappiness. Something for me as a mom, re-living the days leading up to the birth

of Samantha, the days waiting, and dreaming to meet their face. The moments of longing, and praying, wondering, and playing out how the day, the hours, the minutes all were going to play out until she was born.

So, of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised that when my calendar beeped “October 1st” yesterday, that I wouldn’t turn a little weepy and into my sentimental self. It is Addie girls birth month indeed! I spent the better part of the morning thinking about our girl, looking into her eyes, smiling to each other, giggling over Addie with her big sister Sam.

For days, and weeks now, since we started specifically praying for Addie to start moving, she has made leaps and bounds in progress. We started PT, and have gone to one evaluation and two sessions. But you know me, and I believe it was the prayer of our friends over that BBQ on a Friday night in our backyard that initiated the progress, and since that evening, she really started moving.

And what do you know, this past Tuesday night, when we gathered with the same group of friends, they prayed again. I shared that all was so good, that she was moving so much more, a praise report of sorts. And then, they said, lets pray again. Sure, I thought, why not, and our sweet dear friend, “Uncle Chris” did. His prayer, I will always remember, words wrapped in love, and in belief for our girl to keep moving, and growing in the girl God created her to be. He also prayed for us, for our journey as parents, and to trust, hope, and enjoy the gift of both our girls.

So, yesterday, I did just that. I rejoiced in the progress she was making, and I relished her on the first day of her birth month. After her afternoon nap yesterday, I pulled her out of the crib, and laid her downstairs next to me on our new area rug. Jordan spent some time Tuesday night building our new coffee table, and the space felt different, with more space to move around.

I happened to be face-timing with my mom, chatting, laughing, and gabbing. And just like that, Addie started crawling to my mom over the phone. Before my eyes, one two, three movements, there she went. We both started screaming and cheerleading Addie on.

It was the very best. The moment of simple prayers answered that I realized weren’t so simple to me after all. And the sweet relief of it happening while my mom was also on the phone, there to witness that I wasn’t imagining what had happened. Three girls, tangled together through technology at its very best.

Yesterday, after she crawled, I texted my dear friend Cassi who lives in Washington. I shared with her the Addie news, and she said so perfectly this: “I feel like parenting is the ultimate pointer towards God, that we would go crazy without the blessed assurance that He has it all under control when clearly we do not”. She nailed it. And that’s it. It’s all about saying to fear, “No, your not allowed to be my first response”. And practicing
prayer and peace over panic. Even in the very depths of the unknown next steps and outcomes for our children and ourselves.

Parenting keeps pointing me towards a loving God, pointing me towards His Spirit inside of me telling me to rest even when it feels like I need to strive to know, to understand, and to solve.

We lay our little’s down, we love, we work at trust, and we surrender. And today, I rejoice, that He answered this mama’s prayer, for baby crawls of movement and motion for Addie, and baby crawls towards peace and prayer in my spirit as well. Way to go Adda-Roo, Way to Go.

OCGoodmama

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