The gift of immeasurably less

The tree is up in our house adorned with treasures from Christmases past and handmade creations by four little boys.  I listen to Christmas carols on the radio as I help my eldest get ready for school.

Although I've already been planning for the 25th, it seems as though the season of advent has come and I'm not prepared.  I wonder at these ironic moments when I feel like I'm not prepared for the season of preparation.  I could list all that I have yet to do.

Somehow I forget that I am the one who gets to determine that list.

Somehow I forget that I really not need to have a list at all.

There have been so many Christmases now that gave me the gift of revelation: less is more.

I have found myself wrapped up in the pursuit of perfection many an occasion but most particularly at Christmas.  I will never forget my first Christmas as a wife, our first Christmas together, working so hard to make Christmas turkey dinner just as I had always grown up with.  My stuffing turned out to be croutons.  I cried then but, looking back, I  realized that I learned that the gift of laughter.  We've enjoyed this memory in the years since and in that side-dish-based lesson, I learned that letting go is more important than trying to strive for my preconceived version of Christmas where I would re-create perfection.

The Christmas I was awaiting the birth of my first child seemed as though the day and his due date would never arrive.  I spent my time uncomfortably waiting with no small amount of anticipation.  His due date was December 20th and I had my own ideas about pregnancy, birth and motherhood.  I had (and still have) a lot to learn.  His arrival was delayed by weeks and I cried on the 25th holding the little sleeper I had bought for his first Christmas.  That Christmas I learned much about unrealistic expectations.

There was the Christmas where I was given the gift of learning how to be still in the quiet of the prairies - the peace of the fields covered in frost.  There was the Christmas of longing for another child - a hope deferred - followed by a Christmas where I held that very child in my arms.  I cried tears looking into his sweet face as the choir sang around us during the Christmas concert at our church.  They had asked me to play Mary and my newborn was to be the babe; as I held this sweet boy gift, and felt an overwhelming, indescribable, surge of joy.

Most likely due to sleep deprivation, my memories are ambiguous from Christmas three years ago - the year that infant twins celebrated their first Christmas.  In the midst of the busyness and messiness of my household that year, I learned the beauty of less is more when it came to Christmas. This was the year that I truly embraced the perfectly imperfect.

The following year I learned how even less can sometimes mean even more.  That Christmas -  the year I began this blog - is when I realized how I was blessed immeasurably more than I could have ever imagined through the love and blessings of family and friends who brought gifts of time and kindness to our family of inestimable value.  I grew in understanding even as my heart ached and my health condition placed me in a position of being unable to make Christmas happen for my family.  And yet Christmas still happened - perhaps the most beautiful Christmas ever - because our family of six expanded significantly, surrounded by caring family who made a beautiful, memorable, blessed Christmas possible for all of us.  Even less can mean even more.

When it comes to Christmas, our society seems to be intent on proclaiming the complete opposite of this.  In fact, when it comes to most areas of life, the goal is continually to strive after more.  And in that vein, it should be the perfect version of more.  I have discovered something about myself in the years when I worked diligently decorating cookies and trying to get everything done to perfection before midnight on the 24th: striving hinders my ability to intentionally live out the moment.  

This year I have already missed lighting the first candle on our Advent wreath on Sunday.  I also missed hanging up our first figurine on our advent calendar.  Somehow I forgot it was December.  Where once this would have distressed me, I actually felt a sense of peace about it.  I had been distracted the Sunday night by taking my eldest out for a Christmas skate - our first skate of the season - and it had been magical.  And missing a day?  Well, it simply meant a Christmas candle lighting on a Monday morning (which made the start of the week more significant) and an extra figurine for the calendar on the 2nd (which meant that two boys were able to add something together).  

This year I've already messed up a batch of shortbread cookies - using far too much butter and making a melted mess for two dozen before realizing my mistake.  What I eventually concocted was not anything near what I had hoped for (as I had taken the remaining batter and added icing sugar and flour without any gauge on measurement possible) but with a sprinkling of sugar on top, the boys didn't seem to notice or mind.  They had a cookie.  They announced that they were delicious.

As I battled my way through snowbanks with two toddlers trudging beside me, I spoke out thankfulness.  I was thankful for the sun and the blue skies and the little mittened hands that held mine.  This is the gift I want to intentionally give my boys this year: the gift of thankfulness.  

I have learned that thankfulness can be a transformative element.  Thanksgiving always precedes the miracle. It can change the stresses and anxieties of this heavily anticipated season into peaceful acceptance. More, it can move an overwhelmed mama to a place of deep gratefulness for the smallest of moments.

I've heard it all before but maybe it is slowly, year after year, sinking in: that first Christmas is characterized by immeasurably less.  The infinite in the form of an infant.  The king in the manger.  One book of one book alone describes His birth.  That first Christmas was wrapped in such great anticipation but arrived in a way that was unremarkable, perfectly imperfect, and mundane.  

I am deciding that this year, the lessons I've learned of
letting go,
embracing laughter,
joy for gifts unconditional,
less is more,
peace in moments of deep trial,
seeing miracles in the mundane,
intentionally in living out the moments,
thankfulness, and
love will be more important to me than all the trimmings this year.

The advent wreath has four candles representing hope, joy, peace and love.  Over these Christmases and the seasons between I have learned a depth about these beautiful components of faith.  However, more than any one thing, I have learned the truth of 1 Corinthians 13: but the greatest of these is love.

Love came down at Christmas.  It is the source of and the purpose of all that I do during this season.

May your preparations for Christmas be those of immeasurably less as well as immeasurably more in hope, joy, peace and love.  

If I didn't have you

There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared:  twins.  

~Josh Billings

Even before I started writing it, I knew that this entry would be off track.  However, the more I thought about it, the more I believe it does fit under the whole overarching theme of this blog of immeasurably more.

You see, I am a mother of multiples.

Discovering that I was expecting baby 3 and 4 was most definitely immeasurably more than I had ever imagined.  My paradigm had always included me being a mother of two or three... never four.  However, I daily look at these little men and marvel in thankfulness.  

Before I go any further, I feel as though I need to also put out the caveat: this entry is not me writing to rant or to try to change a specific view.  This is me speaking only for me about mothering twins.  

I know that I am also living out what for some would be a miracle - that they would give so much to have their arms full of kids.  My world to them appears to be an illustration of 'what-might-have-been-if' with the resulting feeling of a sense of deep loss without ever experiencing it.  In that vein, I can't even begin to broach how heartbroken I feel for those who would love to have children (or more children) but are unable.  I can only imagine and I grieve with them and I appreciate their view of my boys as gifts. 

And in that same track, having many friends who are single, married or in relationships without children, parents of single children, parents of two children, parents of eight children... I can't express how much respect I feel about each individual's choices with regards to family.  

Yet, I guess that's what it comes down to for me: respect.  

I respect that everyone's journey is unique and different, but it is often challenging to live a life out loud (and it is loud... really loud) parenting four boys when the society I live in is very much set up for two children.  

And yet... here's the reason I am writing: I would like to change a perception about my life with four boys.   Countless times in the last three years I have introduced my family only to hear the comment: "you're exactly the reason I didn't have a third child!".

I don't suppose anyone ever wanted to be a walking public service announcement. Generally, I find levity or, at the very least, I am diplomatic about the many (and there are so many) comments about my twins; however, in this case, I have to say I am becoming most irriated by this particular comment.

Granted, I understand that for many parents, a third child is beyond their comprehension.   I get that.  I realize that they are only speaking for themselves and for what would (or wouldn't) work for their paradigm.  Maybe it could be seen as funny and I know it's been said in an entirely light-hearted-way many times.  Maybe it's a knee-jerk-inner-voice reaction that is said without much thought about what it might mean to the recipient of the message.  

Message received: my life appears to be some kind of reassurance that they made the right decision, a form of an ironic lottery recipient, an illustration from a parallel dimension of 'what-might-have-been-if...'.  No worries; it's understandable from this side of my own ponderings.  

Though last week when it was said to me by yet another stranger who I had just met, I hit a wall.  Thus my irritation.  However, I think it goes much more beyond this.  This quick assumption that less is more is missing some really important outcomes.

The comment about me being the reason to not have a third child because of my experience in having twins is a challenge.  It is delivered by the individual as a confirmation of the choices that she and her spouse have made, but for me, it is a dismissal of my children.  And lately, I've come to believe that it's a dismissal of the journey I am on.  

You see, no matter how challenging it is to parent two infants [two toddlers, two preschoolers, (not to mention to the challenge of learning how to parent twins in addition to two older brothers)], these two boys are incredible blessings.  The journey I am on is a hard one where it is necessary to be stretched in ways I couldn't have ever imagined - from carrying two babes to 38 weeks to having a very full lap whilst comforting them when they are both in tears.  As they are growing, they are growing me in ways I could have never anticipated.  

I remember that old me - the one who juggled life with two kids and a professional life.  I have changed so much.  We went into our third pregnancy prayerfully and after much deliberation.  I know that this is the path that we were meant to take.  It's not the path for everyone; it has meant pouring out in ways I never would have predicted.  Parenting the boys has brought me out of my comfort zone, changed my perceptions of how life is supposed to me, has taught me things that have made me wiser, has taught me lessons (and I am continually learning) which have changed the topography of my heart and, quite possibly, has made me a stronger woman.

Ultimately, as pointed out in this blog entry about marriage, true love means being in a relationship that is not for you.  Motherhood is not for me.

In loving these boys, I grow while I reap joy, I discover that peace isn't about a set of circumstances and I count my blessings.  

I had always loved the poem Song for a Fifth Child. Sometime ago I began writing a poem for my third and fourth children.  With a deep breath (and no small amount of trepidation), here it is...

If I didn't have you

Sitting on the worn dock

looking at the sun set

looking back to me ten years ago.

Remembering that life 

and that pace of days,

thinking about all I didn't know.

I can't sit here that long,

can't stay and meditate,

because your brothers are in a battle

and I've got to mediate.

You're so full of spiritedness

and not too shy for energy

There's so many endless days

that I'm sure you've got the best of me.

And maybe that's the point -

one of the best parts I find -

you've brought out the best of me

in all of me I've left behind.  

Mothering, all I have in each one,

goes beyond your child-like wonder

and joy in your having fun

I hold you tight

and tuck you in

and pray for futures

before dreams begin

but more than that

I see how it's true

what my life would be

if I didn't have you.

If I didn't have you

my life would be

One big pursuit

of things for me.

I might have travelled

or written a clever book

but you've moved my heart

in just one cheeky look.

The chapters written

in your steps

are worth tomes of words

people would soon forget.

So maybe I choose not to care

when people look at us

and stop to stare

because I've heard what they've had to say -

that there would've been an easier way -

but they'll never understand

because they never had you.

If I didn't have you

maybe I would've seen some places

and rested on sandy beaches and social graces

and I know that there's times that I'm left out

because of my life that speaks in untamed shout

But the geography of who I am 

has been sculpted into something new

and it's a thing of beauty 

that I'd have missed

if in this life 

I didn't have you.

Presents

It's that time of the year.  The time when Christmas and all of the trimmings comes to the forefront of my mind.  Last week I had started to compose an email to say that instead of gifts for my boys this year, I'd love for a sentence or two about them and for them to be mailed to them in the family Christmas card.  I would then include these phrases in their books.

Their books are simple exercise books that I picked up in the stationary section.  I had started the books as I began to recover from the pulmonary emboli.  Each boy has one;  these books are a different kind of scrapbook: it's a combination of memories, hopes, prayers, things they've said that make them (or me) laugh and photos from little and big life events. Today, I read this blog about presents.  And this is the highlight that I loved the most:

"This is what I would like for my boys to grow up with. Not mountains of toys (which are growing bigger by the minute) but the experiences and close relationships with the people in their lives that matter most.

I always think about the what if's. What if something happened to me? What if something happened to their dad? They've built strong bonds with some family members, but others are only seen on occasion and only for short periods of time. 

Building relationships now with these family members and friends will only benefit them in the long run if something were to ever happen to us.

These are the things I think about, people. Deep, I know."

Things have been so busy with family life that I've not thought much about my health.  However, in this same week, I've had the blessing of catching up with an amazing friend who I hadn't seen since the twins' birth (and yet we picked up as though we had seen each other yesterday - I am so grateful for friends like this!) and we talked about a hundred things including my health journey.  I talked with another health professional I saw this past summer who was inquiring about how things were progressing; and it is a relief-joy-blessing to be able to report back that I feel fine - how much things have improved.  My condition which once had all-but-consumed my scope of life now has been reduced to the minor inconvenience of having bloodwork done every month, the daily warfarin, the awareness of (rather than fear of) dietary choices and blood clot information.

My life these days has different kinds of hard.  In the midst of motherhood, not much beyond the trenches of toddlerhood, I find the chaos, noise, messyness and intensity of a household of boys often threaten to overwhelm.  Yes, sometimes it's being overwhelmed with joy, but honestly, and more often, it's the threat of being overwhelmed by the numerous demands on my time, energy, and self.

I know that this does not apply to all, but it has been my experience: in some ways, facing a major life event is more manageable than a series of daily life challenges.

I was reminded in an amazing sermon that spiritual maturity happens as life gets progressively more difficult.  This is encouraging.  It directed me to go back to Hebrews 12:2 - this was something I needed [you can watch the message here].  And although things are incredibly good in many areas, in other ways, life is still getting progressively more difficult.  I can only hope that I am becoming progressively more mature.

Therefore, I can't help but be one of many who claim this song as my own.  I can't help but be thankful.  I can't help but count each day and so many moments as presents.  Gifts.  Blessings.  

For now I am enjoying my amazingly good health, some great INR results (2.0 this past weekend - woo hoo!), a start at a new chapter of running (I started my 5km clinic with the Running Room on Monday), my beautiful though boisterous (boysterous?) family, living out life in the moment and counting my blessings every day.

Summer Reading

This summer has been a gift.  Daily I am aware of it, daily I am thankful for it.  One of the gifts that I have had this summer is the possibility to open a book.  Several books, in fact, and I am, again, thankful.  Almost every morning, I have found myself with a cup of coffee, my books, and a quiet time at the patio table. Later in the afternoons, the boys would be happy at play on the beach, and me... well, I would be reading, sitting in the sun on the patches quilt my sister made.  In the evenings, daddy read to John from the Storybook Bible, an amazing book for kids.  We have had some wonderful days together. Although I haven't yet had the chance to delve into a fiction novel I've been wanting to read for sometime now (Cutting for Stone), I have had the chance to read words, sentences and paragraphs that have moved me profoundly.  The authors I read have impacted me and my perspective; that is one of the gifts they have in their vocation of writer.  And in sharing her insights, a writer is able to transform - sometimes briefly, sometimes forever - the way I look at the world around me.  These words are gifts.  And when I find a beautiful thing, I want to be able to share it.  One of the benefits of the internet is the ability to connect with authors online via blogs.  These are three amazing authors that I am grateful for:

3.  Jen Hatmaker

2.  Ann Voskamp

1.  Rose Barley

Happy Summer Reading!

You can make positive deposits in your own economy every day by reading and listening to powerful, positive, life-changing content and by associating with encouraging and hope-building people.
Zig Ziglar 

Summer is here

It's been some time since my last post; I started this blog entry a few months ago and (not unsurprisingly given the busyness of mothering four boys) was interrupted in my editing and posting of it.

Therefore, this post is a two-part-post: a much delayed part 1: Spring is coming and a current part 2: Summer is here.

*

Spring is coming

Spring has arrived and with it my gratefulness list grows.  Every day I am finding new things to be thankful for.  It is a beautiful gift to feel the weight of a moment.  The gift to be aware of the meaningfulness of a moment.

I am learning that if I'm willing to anticipate it, meaningfulness can be found in the most usual of places.

My health journey has been a learning experience of gratefulness and meaningfulness.  Celebrating the little guys' third birthday was profound.  When I first became ill back in May 2011, I wasn't certain that birthdays would be mine to celebrate.  There have been so many gifts because of the realizations resulting in coming to the edge between here and there.  My experiences both here and my meditations on what is there have been deepened by what has transpired - both in my life and in the lives of loved ones - and though pain and grief have been unwelcome companions, they have also ushered me towards a deeper relationship with God and an intense desire to transmit love and grace to others.  For this, I have no regrets for the hard, formative times of this journey.

My health has improved incredibly.  That said, I have to admit that when my left arm started aching back in April that I was transported to a place of anxiousness.  The echo of what had once transpired came back to concern me again.

My doctor wanted to rule out a clot (apparently possible even on anticoagulants) or any other possible lump-related-issue.  In addition to many other blessings, our move to Calgary has afforded us a wide range of health services; the speed and efficiency of ultrasound on a Friday afternoon (an hour before closing) of the May long weekend is a key example.  I knew how long it would normally take to get a non-urgent ultrasound completed; in this case, I had my all-clear answer within half an hour.  That's right: half and hour.  My arm issue since then has been treated as carpal tunnel/possible nerve issue.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

As much as I know that the treacherous path through a serious illness is not walked alone and that, ultimately, I have grown in a thousand ways, I do not treasure the idea of returning to that place.  I keep an eye on my INR and adapt accordingly.  A round of penicillin can knock it out of the park; unfortunately, warfarin can be a fickle prescription and so I simply change what I can with my dosage and diet and wait for my levels to even out.  I no longer feel the same anxiety yet I practice vigilance.

Perhaps that is the final note on this particular health journey: I have been hesitant in the past to say so but now I can confidently say that I am healed.  Yes, I will have bumps in the anticoagulated road I am on; I expect to and do experience the everyday flus and viruses; I anticipate the concerns that come up with preventative health (and more importantly, I am proactive in seeking out treatment) and one day, in God's providence, wisdom and timing, I know I will be going Home. And, although perhaps it will be hard for many to understand, I very much look forward to that day.  In the meantime, I am deeply, unapologetically thankful for each day I am given.

INR is a lot about numbers.  Although it changes some decisions, this number I receive from my bloodwork no longer impacts me in the same way it once did.  So I've been playing a new numbers game: counting my blessings.  

I know I've made mention of her before, but Ann Voskamp is absolutely phenomenal.  Her book, One Thousand Gifts, continues to impact the way that I am seeing the world.   My list (and lists) grows daily; it allows me to turn around the missing of a friend into a thankfulness for that friendship as I write down her name under one of the numbers.  It gives me an opportunity to see the challenging times with one of my boys as a time for gratefulness as I document his words on a tan page.  A flower in my garden becomes something so much more as I take the time to describe it.  The journalling that has been incited by reading this book is helping me to count my blessings one-by-one and it is helping me to live out a life of gratitude.

Spring is coming.    

*

Summer is here.

It is Stampede time in Calgary, an amazing time of the year.  The sense of community is incredible - not only over pancake breakfasts and stampede events (which our family really enjoys - yahoo!) - but even more deeply due to the aftermath of the 2013 flood.

To witness the deep compassion and eagerness to assist by our church family, to read of stories of courage despite loss, and to see a city rally around the citizens who've lost so much is deeply inspiring.

We were fortunate to be located up on a ridge and we witnessed the flood via the newsfeeds we watched.  Our hearts ached for the thousands impacted.  However, talking with a mom from our church who has lost so much in the destruction of her home, washing my husband's mud-caked work clothes and hearing his stories of his experiences downtown with demolishing basements makes the flood so much more real for me.  I want so much to help.

I am so thankful for organizations such as Samaritan's Purse.   Even in a small way, I hope to be a part of the Southern Alberta restoration and I'm thankful that this project is one way I can.  More information about what they're doing in the flood and ways you can help can be found here.

Ultimately, it all comes down to this:
Spring was a time of new beginnings.
There is so much to be thankful for.
Restoration is coming.
Summer is here.

The view of the flooded golf course in our community, the city skyline in the distance

Happy New Year!

It has been quite some time since my last post; between the pre-Christmas stomach flu and the post-Christmas virus that hit our house hard, it's been hard to find a spare moment.  Thankfully, we are all on the mend and back into our routines - which, after getting through the trenches of illness, feels like a significant blessing.  I was able to take the boys out skating just last night... and as the sun set and my youngest laughed at his own shaky attempts at his first time on the ice, I felt an incredible amount of joy and peace in the moment.


I've said it before, but it's amazing how much changes in a year.  Our Christmas Eve photo last year of the boys compared to this year shows just a small reflection of how much they're growing.

Again, it's amazing.

Two things I've been thinking about.  The first is an important documentary from CBC called "Minimal Risk".  The similarities to my own story are disturbing and I think it's incredibly important for women to be aware of the reality of nefarious side effects of hormone-based drugs (and ultimately for any drugs or supplements anyone may be taking).  If you have a chance, please listen to this documentary.

Although I have been assured by every specialist I've consulted that the drugs I received from mirena are not responsible for my clots, I still wonder whether or not similar factors of those in third generation hormones could've been an initiating factor for my case.  Although I am no longer in pursuit of the answer, the fact that I will be prescribed blood thinners indefinitely until a source can be found does provide me reason to consider it.    For more information about clots, check out the video and information on the CBC Health page.

The second thing I've been contemplating has been with regards to how relevant the messages from our church have been of late.  You can watch "An Uncommon Start" and "An Uncommon Power" online.  Motivating and inspirational, the topics have resonated with me in this new season of my life.  And with the consideration of seasons, this new book by Richard Blackaby is on my "would-love-to-read-when-I-get-the-chance" book list (for the season where book reading above & beyond storytime for the boys is made possible. No matter how much I enjoy reading to the boys, it will be nice to carve out some book time down the road).  All the same, I'm not rushing into that season; despite the challenges faced with a crew of busy boys in varied stages of discovery, I'm enjoying my health and the possibilities of each new day where I'm feeling immeasurably blessed in the frazzled, overwhelming, fun, exhausting, and rewarding moments of right now.

It's a good place to be.