Rise up, Children

The summer that I turned 26, I drank a bottle of tequila. Maybe not the entire bottle, but we’re talking a good portion that would help me drown a few sorrows of a burnt-out-on-religion heart, a really broken romance, and a quarter-life crisis. I remember few things about that day, except for being on the phone with Church Mama Heidi, and her laugh that repeatedly told me to put the bottle down. She saw me through a lot of those days. I called that day my rock bottom.

The girls spent all summer watching Sing. There’s a line that I’m hearing as I write this, “Do you know what’s good about hitting rock bottom? There’s only one way left to go, and that’s up.” So there I went, carried by a bushel of balloons, just like in the movie Up. (Can you tell we let our kids watch a lot of TV?)

I decided to submerge myself in the head faith that had been cemented so deeply, and let my heart follow, no matter how slowly and far behind she chose to go. I decided to apply to grad school. I sat for hours talking to my dad about my longed-for-future-husband, and how finding someone as great as him was by far the hardest part of rising up. But in that talk, never did I think that nine years, I’d actually have found him.

I never imagined that together, we’d be soaking up the smells of baby spit-up, and her sweaty little palms.

Never did I think that I’d be braiding hair, over the taste of flat coke at 8 a.m. I couldn’t have imagined the smiles I’d see as my twin girls found their surprises from the back-to-school fairy. Hah. TWINS. Do you think I ever imagined that?? Never did I imagine that I’d get to have my mom by my side for all the great moments of this stage. I miss my dad terribly, but God, am I ever so thankful for your provision…

But here we are. And 35, is just the best most possible year yet.

I asked Trey on Sunday how old I was turning. I blame it on the mom brain because admitting how old I am (as evidenced by my memory loss) is too painful in the silliest of ways. That, and honestly, mom brain is something I never knew I always wanted. The loud screams, both theirs and mine, that make it so incredibly hard to focus on anything other than “Lord, I need you NOW.” The “hurry, hurry, we’re going to be late,” while juggling a pacifier, a water bottle, a pull-up, and a cheese stick while buckling two kids into the car seats– all things that also contribute to said mom brain daily. The “stop pulling her hair,” said with a baby on a boob while trying to break up a toddler catfight…yes, still possibly the best year yet.

It’s the year my dad rejoined our family in the form of our Robbie. The year the girls started dance. The year they started preschool. I couldn’t have asked for a better present either than the deafening silence in our home…once again contributing to my mom brain as I ask myself, “What do I do now…” to which I just looked at the clock and said to Trey… “oh no, I forgot about Robbie!”

My father-in-law texted me birthday wishes today, to which I responded, “The best gift, by far, is the quiet home.” My sister-in-law and nephew called not long after, and the first thing she asked was how my emotions were handling today. It’s funny because most of my other friends have texted to check how Trey was doing. To be honest, there were almost no fallen tears… I’ll let you guess whose tears were the ones to fall.

For me, goodness gracious of course I had tears in my eyes. How, oh how, oh how did we arrive here? Those balloons haven’t stopped floating since the moment the girls were born. I joked at the silence, but in those quiet moments (after I remembered Robbie and started to feed her), I smiled pride. The same pride, I remember my dad smiling upon me, as he watched me rise back up. Because this is their time to rise. And oh my Lord, don’t they look so good doing it…

beholding these blessings and life and redemption and these moments that are fleeting so quickly.