When You Were a Teeny Baby: For John

I wrote this little poem a couple lines at a time for a few weeks after John was born. I imagined it with pictures, if I was ever that creative, and I could see myself reading this book to him, showing him how much we loved him and enjoyed him before he ever said a word or did a thing. I've had babies on the brain again so I went back to re-read my and my doula's versions of my labor and remembered this little treasure. I thought I would share it with you too. Enjoy.

When you were a teeny baby.

When you were a teeny baby

I liked to give you big hugs, even though my arms could wrap around you a whole bunch of times.

When you were a teeny baby

You weighed less than a watermelon and you were way cuter!

When you were a teeny baby

I used to give you lots of kisses, even when you were mad or crying, just because I could.

When you were a teeny baby

Your dad and I would just look at each other and say, “Isn’t he the cutest kid?”  We thought all the noises and sounds you made were so adorable.

When you were a teeny baby

You would lay on your dad’s tummy and look around the room with your big, blue eyes wide.  You especially liked the ceiling fan and lights.

When you were still in my belly, I used to pat you on your little bottom.  So when you were a teeny baby, I patted your little bottom and you seemed to like it.

When you were a teeny baby

You smiled when you were eating and going to sleep.  We loved your smile so we always smiled back.

When you were a teeny baby

We liked to watch you sleep.

When you were a teeny baby

I loved just looking at you, even though you couldn’t talk or hug me or do anything.

When you were a teeny baby

I let you fall asleep on my lap instead of putting you in bed because I wanted to be with you as long as I could.

When you were a teeny baby

Everyone said you looked just like your dad.  But you looked just like my baby pictures.  We don’t know who you look like yet, but everyone says you are very cute.  And they’re right.

When you were a teeny baby

You had a head full of dark, brown hair.  I loved your hair so much I never wanted to put a hat on you, even though it was cold, because I wanted everyone to see your adorable head.

When you were a teeny baby

Bear gave you lots of sniffs and licks.  He called them kisses, but we asked him to stop, please.

When you were a teeny baby

Your clothes were so small, I couldn’t believe a human could fit in them.  But you did.

When you were a teeny baby

I loved you so much.  And I still do.

If I could just have one thing...

(Originally posted on September 28, 2012 at 365DreamProject.com)

As the birthday dream window slides gently closed, I wanted to reflect on the birthday-specific wishes and dreams I've had today as I've had time to drive and think and talk about them since. 

Anyone can get through life. Survive it. Breathe air. Do the cycle of things. Chase happiness, get bigger and more noticeable, move upward toward an arbitrary goal. 

But I want more than that, as we all secretly do. What is it though? What is this one thing I want? What fits in all the empty places?

I think I'm finally figuring it out. 31 years later.

Keep reading this post here at 365DreamProject.com.  

{twinkleberryfarm.blogspot.com}

31 Flavors, or a Baskin Robbins Birthday

Today is my birthday, which I traditionally love and hate for all the typical, American white girl reasons. The fact that I have to endure this attention that I'm not supposed to want, but I do want it, but then it's always disappointing since some lights are still red on your birthday and some people forget to call and inevitably your husband can just not do everything you imagined but never actually said. (Although the pink Chuck Taylors were a great touch.)

Birthdays are a strange sort of holiday, and I think they are the direct result of the Fall of Man. I mean, a day where everything is supposed to be about me, and I end up being the most unhappy I've been in months? Yea, that pretty much sounds like something Satan cooked up. He's mean like that.

But there are all these elaborately beautiful things about birthdays, and one of my favorites is that, when done right, it's a time to launch someone into the next season of their life. To bless them, bear them up and give them compliments and praises and identify the beauty and gifts and goodness they bring to the world. Because most of us are prone to forget all of that as we move so hastily through life. 

Thursday my friends brought me back down with a few simple things, a light lunch with my favorite candy treats, then a sushi dinner with more friends, and scarves and a journal and tea, and new shoes from my boys. And it wasn't even my official birthday. 

Afterward my friend handed me a list of dreams she dreamed up for me for my 31st year, and if I had read them a little more slowly, I would've just cried all the way home, but I read them fast. So I didn't. But I feel like I want to frame them and hang them up so I can remember what I want and what I'm supposed to be living for. She encapsulated it all so well. 

I wanted to start a little list of 31 things that I would like to see, experience, live this year. It's like a condensed version of the dream blog, birthday-specific. I feel like birthdays are an open door day where you can ask God for things, like heaven is having a sale or something, so it's just easier to get what you're asking for. 

So my 31 things are probably what I've already been dreaming for on the dream blog, but this is the concentrated version for the year. 31 is a weird number so I'm not sure what this will mean, but I want to at least see what happens. And now I'm suddenly having this trepidation that I can't think of 31 things. I really only want one or two. But here goes:

1. More quiet, alone time (indoors and in nature)
2. Start, read and finish one book a month
3. Prioritize silence and solitude and get it in daily
4. Weekly date nights with my Josh
5. Intentional enjoyment of my son 
6. Intelligent conversations with John about his thoughts and preferences
7. For reconciliation in my family and for all of us to know God fully
8. For a church home for my mom
9. For deep character and integrity for our WELL leaders
10. For an uncompromising commitment to truth and Jesus in our WELL community
11. For 24/7 prayer and worship in Manhattan
12. An appreciation for and contentment with simple living
13. Purpose and career goals, success and favor at work
14. A children's ministry that connects kids to God in new, mind-blowing ways
15. Miracles as a regular part of our WELL experience - Sundays and all week
16. Courage to follow God and obey him 
17. A baby girl, whose name might be something like: Anna Joy Sophia Eliha Redeemer
18. Real freedom from debt and heart freedom to be more generous
19. Love from God that I know, enjoy and live in
20. Boldness to pray for anyone anytime and effectiveness in seeing immediate healing
21. Love that is full of wisdom and inspiration, spilling out to others and bringing them joy
22. Love that doesn't try to prove itself but looks for ways to lift other people up
23. Love that doesn't get tired but serves and gets energy from it
24. Love that lets me like myself and take a break when I need it
25. Conversations with Jesus where he tells me what he's really thinking
26. An unquenchable, unstopping love for the Word and prayer
27. A son who prays, hears from God, and watches his prayers get answered
28. A husband who is loved, admired, effective, encouraged by his life's work and dreaming with God
29. To write with boldness, clarity, and inspiration that comes from God that will motivate a generation and bring them to a new level with God
30. A church community who knows Jesus, loves him and will follow him anywhere
31. For God to continue the work he started in me 

Hopeful Thoughts

I try to wear my wrestlings with hope and faith in sight. That way, other people who wonder if they can be spiritual and sometimes have questions and feel upside down can say, "Well, if she can, I can."

Today I wrote about a dream for my friends who want babies. And a few days ago, I sent up a dream balloon for another new baby for myself. A baby girl, since I'm feeling specific. 

When I think and dream about impossible things like babies, I feel the end of my arms' reach. I can tell this is precisely where my control runs out. And of course, a squirming discomfort ensues since no one, especially me, likes to feel out of control, flinging through space with a blindfold. 

But alas, we kind of are, aren't we?

I wrote tonight that, thanks to my friend, Kim, I've realized that Hope by itself is very small and frail and can't breathe dreams to life all by itself. It needs faith. Kim has faith and I guess I have hope because I write a lot of these dreams like I must. So I will borrow her faith as mine grows.

[Photo cred: destinednomad.blogspot.com]

I wrote this poem about hope as I fought with her. I hate to say that these were my thoughts, these violent, terrible thoughts, but this was me. I gave in to hope eventually, but it was rugged and a bit ugly at times. It still amazes me that something weak and vulnerable can win a bitter heart simply by being persistent. But this is exactly what hope did. 

And still, this is how I get some days when I feel helpless and fresh out of power. I get angry. Angry at hope for letting me dream myself into this mess in the first place. Angry at myself for being so gullible. Angry at God for not talking me out of it.

But dreaming is essential for life. I know it. I'm putting the hoping and dreaming out here for all of us to read, see, feel, experience. All I know is that hope seems to be worth it. And if you can add some faith, you will not be disappointed. 

Hope, the Foolish Child

The child, Hope, is unrelenting in optimism;

Wakes up and says, “Today’s the day”, every day,

Even though It hasn’t happened yet.

With odds against the whole thing,

Hope seems blind to reality.

A starving Pollyanna,

Hope is a survivalist.

In a concentration camp of pain,

Hope is a finger of grass, poking through the asphalt.

Sometimes you want to strangle her neck,

Silence this thing that seems only to bring disappointment.

But she walks blindly, dodging death and famine,

Evading what seems to be true,

Believing in something that is nowhere in sight.

What shall I do with Hope, this child I can’t stop feeding?

I want to kill her, but she says the sweetest things.

She knows my desire,

Keeps telling me it’s coming, it’s coming.

I start to think she might be a liar.

And just when I’m about to stop standing there like a fool,

Hand over my eyes,

Staring into that thin horizon line,

Just then she points, shouts,

“Here It comes!”

I squint into the light and sure enough,

Here comes my Longing.

I reach over to hug Hope, that bouncing child.

But she’s gone,

Gone to lay claim to a new desire.

I wonder,

What if I’d given her up?

What if I’d sold her for a clever book title,

Something for the cynics’ best seller list?
What if I’d held her down and shut her up,

Put my hand over her mouth and made her quiet for good?

Disappointment would have moved in.

Skepticism would have been my neighbor,

Resentment shacked up on the couch.

I wouldn’t have been at the end of the drive that day.

I would have missed my Longing as It rode by.

My Cynicism proven right,

I would have looked haughtily from my balcony,

Confident my Self-Righteousness saved me much wasted time.

I would never have known.

I would’ve been right, sort of, but I would have never held Joy.

I thought of all these things.

And then I stood there one more day,

Stood waiting with Hope, holding her tiny hand.

I was there when the Longing came by.

I welcomed the Longing, gladly,

Snatched It up and planted It in the yard:

A Tree of Life for all to see.

A Tree of Life to remind me.

For those who will wait,

Who believe enough to stand out in all that weather:

She does not lie.

No, and Hope does not disappoint.

[by Sarah Siders. Written August 2009]

It's Harder Than I Thought

Dreaming every day is not as great as it sounds. And I'm not talking about dreaming while I asleep. For this next year-ish, I dream wide awake. 

It's an odd thing because the novelty of a dream a day keeps the thing going for a while. There is the starting of an idea, which feels like a lovely floating. 

Ah yes, like this. [Photo credit: www.drperrone.com]

After the floating, the novelty plugs a steam shot of adrenaline through me, kind of like a swimmer shoving off from the wall. But eventually, we all have to swim. Now I have to swim.

So here I am, Day 43 and I am swimming. Paddling along with the flabby, atrophied arms and legs, wondering when I will get the rhythm to make this work. Wondering when my imagination and altruism will kick in so I can dream away all the worlds problems. But to do this, I first have to face all the world's problems. So like going into labor and many other creative projects I start and commit to, I've pondered if 365 days of dreaming was really the thing to tackle. 

She looks a little angry. I can relate. [Photo cred: www.burnmybellyfat.com]

One must look far outside of one's own life to even get an idea of what is available for dreaming. Granted, I could simply dream up things for my own life. I could dream for getting all the way out of debt, which is a great idea - I will do that tonight. I could dream of better jobs, bigger houses, wider cars that take up more space, children who are geniuses and pay for my retirement, and neighbors who don't mind that our guests park in front of their houses. 

But why be so myopic? I can't handle that. I'm a social worker, pastor's wife and mom, for crying out loud. We bleed mercy and compassion and other gushy things like that. So I've taken to the news and the blogs and the .org sites to find out what is happening in the world. Exodus Cry, Live Action, Amnesty International or Heidi Baker's Iris Ministries are great places to see who needs the dream and the prayer.  

I read and lean into the problem or pain of the situation, pull on my own heart to do it justice by telling the stories. Then I add a picture and up goes the dream, in its own cyberspace balloon.

Some nights I am plain exhausted and don't feel much like dreaming. Even the drama or agony of unraveled relationships or a story I need resolved can not push me to dream.  Some days I feel confused about what to aim for in dreamland this week, what problems need dreamed away. And many days I feel like I just don't know if I can come up with 300 and some odd more of these crazy dream things. What was I thinking?

The (self-imposed) requirement to dream daily, to do anything daily, poses a unique challenge. A commitment that exposes my character in true and painful ways. I am learning much about God, life and self. Here's a few things:

1. God is always dreaming. I only need to ask him for ideas. He has plenty.

2. Dreams come first, then hope and faith. The dream actually grows the hope, which births the faith. Faith is the tangible certainty of the thing that I hope for. But it takes the dreaming before the faith and hope can come. The dream is always first. In this kingdom reality, dreaming inevitably gets work done. 

3. I am already starting to see the dreams take shape. Multiple dreams I've dreamed have led to responses from people - or myself - in unexpected ways where the idea, the Google-searched picture, becomes a real part of my imagination, then it becomes a conversation and a meeting on the calendar. Then it becomes a group of people who take a day or a week to talk and work and hang art or play with children. And then all of a sudden, the dream isn't a dream. It's real.

4. Dreaming is essential for life. Dreaming keeps us alive. Without dreams, we lose motivation. We have no passion. We lose the will to do, well, everything. No dreams, nothing to look forward to. Nothing to cultivate relationships for. Nothing to grow your bank account for. Nothing to write or talk about. Dreaming is where life starts. 
      -An important side note here: we stop dreaming when we move into anxiety/survival/panic mode. In that place of fear and orphan-heartedness, our worlds shrink and we can only think about what we will eat, wear, buy that day. We become obsessed with ourselves; hostile, bitter, angry alley cats, snapping at anyone who thinks about taking away our precious life preserver, whatever that might be. Instead of dreaming and optimism, we move to pessimism and addiction. We do what we have to do to stay afloat. It's a bad place. If you're there, get out quick. (Read #5 if you want to get out.)

5. Related to my side note, I always know I'm in a bad place when I can't write. When I can't dream. Writing is my passion. It lets me dream. If I have nothing to write about, then I'm not functioning. I'm stressed. I care about the wrong things. The only way to get out is to start it back up. Start writing. Start dreaming. If you don't feel like it, do it anyway. 

So this is my snapshot of the story, the journey and the inevitable struggle of the dream-a-day trip I've been on. Here's to the next 300ish days and the dreams and realities that may come. 

On All The Changing and Shifting You're Feeling

Many of us have been feeling the same thing lately, but it's time we talked about it. 

Good things are flooding in, and bad is crashing all around. There is wild success and fierce opposition. There are arguments with people who you want to have your back. There are slight and significant disturbances of the peace all around. And at the same time, there are wide open doors, breakthrough and blessing and dreams coming true. 

It's the best of times and the worst of times, as they say.

The first day of August I could feel it. Something is shifting. It's going to be major. Light is getting lighter and dark is darker. You know what I mean. 

[Continue reading on the 365 Dream Project here.]

How to Get Yourself Back

I am a conflicted human being. I value knowledge and productivity, people and noise and creatives, new ideas and getting things done. I also enjoy rest, quiet aloneness, and sleep. Something funny happens during the days though. All the busy makes me forget how much I love silence. So I get up and go with the sun's wake up, but run out of steam long after it's bed time. Well, not every day, but most days. Let's pick a Tuesday or a Wednesday.

• 6am: Wake up. Hit the snooze too many times.
• 6:40: Get out of bed with 15 minutes to get ready.
• 7: Meet the carpool. 
• 7:30-6pm: Working working.
• 6:45pm: Home for a minute. Load the toddler into the car and something with protein into my mouth.
• 7pm: Go to a meeting or a group or a session of some kind.
• 9:00pm: Home for the night.
• 9:30pm: Goodnight, little buddy.
• 9:45pm: Catch up with roommates.
• 10:00pm: Catch up with husband.
• 10:30pm: Writing, reading.
• 11:00pm: Thinking about sleeping.
• 11:30pm: Asleep.

So you can see how this routine would get a little exhausting. I am very fortunate as this is my schedule only four of seven days. The other three look radically different, more flexible, with travel time, leisure and creative time, play time, face time with people I like, time to clean a bathroom, call a mother. I am so thankful for these days. Of course, they also involve church gatherings, trainings and workshops, planning sessions, lunches, late nights with friends and roommates, all the while dreaming up new things for Manhattan, theWELL and the world. 

Exhilarating. Hard to take a breath. So even when it's all going great, it still takes all the energy I have to keep it moving. The tragic part is, sometimes I get the sense that I can't control my life. That my schedule isn't in my hands anymore. It's not true, but it feels this way. 


I'm learning to draw lines around my time and my possessions, my advice, my presence, my companions - not all things are equal. But it's taken me so long to get here.


Tonight Josh said something he says whenever he thinks of it. "Why I don't I keep John with me tonight, and you can just go somewhere." It sounds so nice. But I am skeptical. 
    Will there be enough time for me to clean up the wreckage of my brain? 
    Can I dust out the cobwebs, regain my sense of self and hear God in 120 minutes? 
    It's not enough time, my Panic shrieks, wringing its hands, swooping in to steal the precious time I do have. 


I reminded my Panic that I don't need 120 minutes to solve all the problems in the world. This is not my only night to figure life out. Getting away for any amount of time will do me good.


Oh. Right. 


I changed into clothes that would be comfortable perched next to a lake or on a patio and away I went. I took the back roads near our house, the roads lined with yellowing rows of corn, in which hover enormous but graceful, spider-like sprinklers. I feel like I'm smack dab in suburbia most days, but I'm so close to country, to farms and barns and vast expanses of sky. 


And my favorite part about living out here: the proximity to several peaceful bodies of water. Tonight I made my way to Tuttle Creek, just in time for the sunset. The two-lane roads dove and swooped through the green hills along the periphery of the lake. I shimmied along, getting a glimpse of sky and then, a glimpse of the water, my view changing every few seconds. It was delightful.


I wanted to get to the water so badly, but I realized, even the drive was healing. The space between me and the small, tiny things I call problems. It took only 30 minutes or so to regain perspective. 

[Tuttle Creek at sunset, iPhone, no editing]

I camped myself along a high bank near the southeast end of the lake. The crickets chirped an evening song, serenading the sun as it slid down the horizon, leaving a brighter and brighter sky behind in its wake. I wanted to take the moments home with me, to remind myself of how close this beauty is, only a ten-minute drive from the place I call home. So I did. But I'll get to that in a minute. 


My lesson for tonight: getting yourself back is simple. It takes only the slightest bit of intentionality and a little planning. 


Knowing what I love, what brings me back to me and God, is key. It's nature almost always. 

I scribbled down plans to do this again soon. Here they are:

Things to do to get alone:

1. An hour drive outside of town

2. Borrow Josh's office for an hour

3. Spend a couple hours at a local body of water or hiking ground

     

Make it happen by:

1. Scheduling time ahead with Josh

2. Getting a babysitter for John

3. Getting up early before the day gets going

Yes, it really is that simple. There are so many beautiful places to go, places with silence, nature and God, just waiting to be discovered, to be heard, to be enjoyed. And it was easy to uncover my soul, to breathe a little easier, a little lighter. 

Every mom, everyone needs time for this. Whatever it looks like for you. There are no excuses left when God is this close and it only takes an hour to reconnect. 

A little treat for you: 

I captured the setting sun, the bright colors in the dimming sky, sounds of nature singing, the water lapping, birds and crickets chiming in. You can hear and see what I saw here if you want. All images were taken on my iPhone, totally unedited, except for a little crop I made on the second one so it would match the horizons of the other photos better. But all the beauty is natural, and even a 5 megapixel phone can see. 


[A couple viewing tips: turn up your volume so you can hear it all - you have to listen close to hear the water, but it's there. Now imagine you're here too.]

And the night ended like this:

[This is low quality, but you can see the enjoyment, the ME I got back. Sitting on a patio, drinking root beer, eating chips and salsa, remembering all I have to be thankful for.]