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Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

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Take the Rose

Take the Rose

All across the country today, churches are handing out flowers to mothers in honor of Mother’s Day.  And all across the country, women stand at the doors of those Christ-dwellings, trembling.

They are the women who yelled at their children just five minutes before.

They are the women who conceived but never bore.

They are the women who feel their motherhood is trapped inside where no one can see it.

They are the women who fought for a child and lost.

They are the women became mothers in their bodies before their hearts were ready.

They are the women who do not love motherhood.

They are the women who long for motherhood.

Long ago, when someone pondered the good and lofty calling of motherhood, she could not know that declaring a national holiday to celebrate maternity would end up being such a nasty business.  After all, everyone has a mother.

Yet not everyone is a mother. 

Suit-clad ushers stand at church doors with buckets of roses to thrust at the women who come in with a gaggle of children, but they cannot know the depths of motherhood in the hearts of the women who come in alone. 

This one suffered a miscarriage just the month before.

This one is putting part of her paycheck aside every month for an adoption that may never happen.

This one has put more miles on her car and gotten more invasive exams than any woman ever should just to find out why.

This one hugs neighbor kids whose own mother cannot be bothered.

This one struggles to be the mother she knows she needs to be, even though she feels the weight of failure night after night when the kids are in bed and she relives the day.

This one knows she is a mother, and she knows she is not a mother, all at once. 

It is a beautiful, nasty business the way God created women to mother.  He wove the threads in so tight, they pull and rip and ache sometimes, especially when some women are clothed in motherhood, and others are half-naked and clinging to rags.

Women, we are mothers; we are not mothers.  All of us.

All across the country, the church doors are open and meager roses try to distinguish which is which.  Only it cannot be done.  If motherhood was nothing more than a biological distinction, it might be easier.

But motherhood is so much more than pregnancy.  It is so much more than birth.  It is even  more than sheer emotional attachment.  It is all of it and none of it all at once, and just as soon as you think you have it all figured out, another mother comes along and messes up all the algorithm.

So who gets a rose?

You do.

You who have borne children.

You who have nurtured children.

You who have lost children.

You who love children and you who want to love them more.

Take the rose.

Reach out your hand, not with trembling fear of judgment but with bold confidence that the God who made you made you to mother, whether you bore those babies in your body or not.  Take the rose because mothering children is so much more than procreation.  Take the rose because it is procreation.

Take the rose because you are a mother. 

Take it because you are not yet the mother you want to be.

Take it because motherhood is more than a becoming.  It is a being, and you can be a mother long before you have children, and you can not be a mother for a long time after.

It is a beautiful, nasty business, motherhood.

But if God wove motherhood into you, it was because He chose you for it.  He is the one who determines your motherhood. Not a baby. Not a rose.  

And He is not bothered in the least if your motherhood defies convention.  He is big enough to glory in a motherhood that is messy.  He is big enough to bless a motherhood that is barren.  He is big enough to rejoice in a motherhood that plays out on a stage only He can see.

If He put within you a heart for children and whispered “Mother” into your ear, then it is done.  It cannot be undone by any force on this earth.

You are a mother.

Take the rose.

 

100 Days of Motherhood, Parenting 9 Comments

Better With You Here

Kristen Glover

The plan for the day improved greatly with one phone call Jeff made this morning.  He needed to pick up some building materials from a friend, a friend who happens to have three giant trampolines lined up in a row in his backyard.  The first one is directly under his roof.

You have no idea how fun it is to have three trampolines lined up in a row just inches from the corner of a roof unless you’ve tried it, or unless you’re under the age of ten and can imagine it.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Gary said when Jeff asked if he could drop by.  “You can come on over as long as you bring the family and stay for some lemonade.”

It was settled.

The only trouble was, I’ve been fighting some fierce kid-germs, and they’re still “winning me.”  I thought about this as Jeff announced the plan to the kids.

“Yahoo!” they screamed.  “We can jump on the trampolines!”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go,” I said through my stuffy nose.  “I’ll probably have to stay home.”

“Even better!” one of the children shouted gleefully.

The words sliced through the air and made a direct hit.

Even better.

Even better if you don’t come.

Even better without you.

It was said carelessly because even very small children can toss heavy words about as if they weigh nothing at all, as if they mean nothing at all.

But they meant something to me, and I felt myself bleeding out right there in the middle of the kitchen because those words cut deep.

Those words were not the words of my child; they are the words of my Enemy.

They are dark words, and deep like the depths of the ocean.  When all the house is asleep and the moon brings in a tide of self-doubt, I feel myself getting sucked into the currents and drowning into that ocean.  It tells me that I am not enough, that I have messed it up, that I am not cut out for this.  It gurgles up in me and I hear the rush of it in my ears: they all would be better off without me. 

My child does not know that I have heard these words before, and often, in my own heart and my own mind.  He does not know how they leave me clinging to the rocks and chanting to myself, “It is not true.  It is not true.”

This child does not know how it cuts me to hear in broad daylight the words I fight in the dark. 

Those words hang in the air between us and for an awful moment, I am swept out to sea by a sudden wave and I cannot breathe.  It is true.  All my failings, all my shortcomings, all my inadequacies: every single one of them is true.  They would all be better off with someone else.

But wait…

They are not true, and they are not the words of my child.  They are the words of my Enemy.  I come up for air, grab hold of a bit of craggy rock, and see it for what it is.  How dare my Enemy use my child’s lips to utter his lies!  How dare he tread on that holy ground.

Because this calling is not my own.  I did not bear these children out of my own desire, nor was I given them out of my own goodness or ability.  A thousand women with empty arms deserved this more.  I know it.  I think of Mother’s Day, looming large on my calendar, and I weep for them because I feel so undeserving of the gift they desire.  Why me?  Why not them?

It is a whirlpool that easily sucks me in.  I can drown in my inadequacies and I can grieve the probability that another mother could do it better, but it doesn’t erase the fact that God gave me a name I did not earn.

He called me mother. 

It is a grace-calling.  And grace-callings are the hardest ones to answer, I find, because they never-ever-never-ever fit right.

Because if it fit right, it wouldn’t be grace. 

If it fit right, it wouldn’t leave me stumbling and tripping over my own mantle like some kind of misfit, or wrestling with doubts and uncertainties like a kid who can’t figure out how to put on her own dress.

If it fit right, I wouldn’t have to trust that God knew best, despite how I perform…

…despite what my kids think of me…

…despite the fact that I am impatient…

…and also selfish.

Despite the fact that I can’t get my arms in my own sleeves–despite all of it.

I was not called to be a mother because I was going to be good at it.

I was called to be a mother because God could make something good out of it, despite me.

I am wet and dripping, half-drowned and inglorious, yet God bends to whisper in my ear,

“It’s better with you here.”

I struggle to believe it.

It is better with you here because I AM the One who called you.

That is the truth I need to hear, and often, a truth that speaks in a whisper but shouts above the waves.

It is better with you here. 

 

100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood: 41

100 Days of Motherhood, Uncategorized 39 Comments

Origami Owl Giveaway

If you’ve been reading this blog and have wondered how I came to be so incredibly talented and witty, not to mention humble,  it’s time you knew my secret: I was homeschooled.

Yes, it’s true.  I was homeschooled off and on during my elementary years and all through high school.  It was a great experience, for the most part.  I got to take naps right in the middle of Algebra and never had any pop quizzes.

But my senior year came and went and I graduated with very little fanfare.  One day, I ran out of school work to do and that was it.  My high school years were over.  I didn’t have a class ring, a year book, or even a cap and gown.  There was very little to commemorate my years of effort except an ACT score and a stack of college applications.

So when Shannon Ferraby contacted me a few months ago about the possibility of doing a giveaway for customizable jewelry, I was thrilled.  Shannon is an independent consultant with Origami Owl Custom Jewelry.  She is in the business of making wearable works of art that tell a story, the story of what you’ve accomplished, what you love, or maybe even what you dream of.

Shannon is a memory-keeper, a story-weaver, a dream-catcher.

All I could think about when I was introduced to her business was how perfect her jewelry is for all the other homeschooled girls out there who graduate without much to show for the milestone they have achieved.  I thought about how perfect her living lockets would be as a graduation gift for a special young woman, like my own daughters, and I knew I had to do this giveaway.

Of course, this giveaway is not just about me (ahem) and Origami Owl is about more than just making lockets for homeschooled girls.  Origami Owl is about preserving any story in jewelry form.

Being a story-teller myself, I kind of love that.  A lot.

Shannon specializes in creating Living Lockets, although if you look around her site, you’ll see some other types of jewelry too.  It’s just that these are my favorite. 

These beautiful pieces are like scrapbook pages on a chain.  You all know I don’t scrapbook, even though I love the idea of scrapbooks.  I just. can’t. do it.  So I am thrilled by the idea of having a “scrapbook” without all the, well, scrapbooking.  

Much like the page of a scrapbook, each locket can be filled with personalized charms that tell a story.  The story can change over time, and you can add or subtract charms as often as you like.  Change it to suit the season, a new goal in your life–whatever you like!

Origami Owl Locket

Lockets are secured with strong magnet closures so they can be opened and changed as often as you desire.

The story you choose to highlight might be an accomplishment, like a graduation,

Origami Owl

Graduation Locket with school colors and year

the story of motherhood,

Origami Owl

Origami Owl

or a lifetime achievement.

Origami Owl

You might want to preserve the memory of a special trip,

Origami Owl

a beloved pet,

Origami Owl

or remind yourself of the person you strive to be,

origami owl

and what you believe.

origami owl

origami owl

Whatever your story is, Shannon would like to give you the chance to tell it with Origami Owl.  She is giving away a $35 credit to Origami Owl to one reader!  All you have to do is enter the Rafflecopter below.  Don’t forget to share the giveaway for extra entries, and stay tuned to Shannon’s Facebook page for other specials you won’t want to miss!  You can even send your husband to her page and Shannon will help him create a Mother’s Day gift you’ll adore. 

That’s what I call a happy ending.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Reviews, Uncategorized 83 Comments

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I believe you can find grace for the mother you are and help to become the mother you long to be—a mom who has the freedom to choose the better things and enjoy her kids right now.

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