“I’m not ready yet,” he said, looking at me with tears in his eyes still, a sad expression on his face. The tears had subsided and his eyes were getting less sad with each passing hour. I knew he was still sad and unsure, but he was getting there. Unsure at the thought of it all. That I was leaving. That he’d have to stay.
Earlier when the tears were hot and the pleading was high, I encouraged him. “You can do this, love!”
He was much less sure.
I wavered, but I didn’t want him to believe it was something he couldn’t do. I wanted him to know, yes indeed he totally could.
I ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, cupped his wet cheeks. “It’s just a muscle you haven’t used in a while! But you can do this,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘muscle’?” he questioned. I could see the wheels turning in his brain. Muscles, and mommy leaving. What did they have to do with each other?
“You’re just not used to it,” I said. “You used to do it when you were little. You went with nana most afternoons while I went to work for a bit. You loved it, and nana loved it. You are so special to her! Now you’re just not used to it. You haven’t used that muscle in a while. But you can do it darling!”
He thought about it. Still unsure.
“It’s going to be alright, I promise. You are safe and you have everything you need. I’ll just be gone for a little while and then I’ll be home! You’ll see. You’ll even have a nice time.”
Later as we got closer to the time for me to go, his smile had a bit easier, but he was still hesitant. He was still unsure. I mentioned out loud how I had to go to the class and help teach, and had to act something out something in front of the class. I was a bit nervous. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I said to him.
“Oh you’re ready mama.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Well good,” I said with a slow smile and deliberate wink, “because you’re ready too!!”
🙌🏻🫶🏻
He couldn’t help but smile back at me. I had used his same tender excuse right back at him. Flipping the script, back to truth. Urging him, gently nudging him from discomfort to ability. Even if it felt uncomfortable at first.
When I got home later and he happily greeted me at the door, relaying some lovely “old wives tale” his nana had taught him while I was gone, just as a nana should, I could see that all was well. Better than well.
I asked how his muscles were and he flashed his big, dimpled smile. He had exercised his muscles. They were bigger now, and so was his smile. Mine too.
We all were made to be uncomfortable. Else we would have stayed little tiny babies, needing only warm milk and soft snuggles. Parenthood is hard. Growing up is hard. Entrepreneurship is hard. Life is hard. But we were built to grow in the hard, because of it, right alongside it, and through it.
And now here we both were, together, like nothing had changed, and yet. It always is. Changing, and for the better, as much as we’ll allow. Always, for the better.
Some say, “Go out for adventure, come home for love.” Poppycock, I say. I think it’s Home for adventure AND for love. Then, out into the world for both. 🫶🏻✨
So, if you, like my son or like myself, wonder if you’re ready yet, you can remember this. Trust and know, that if you’re given the chance to try, chances are, you probably are ready. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Take a leap and let yourself fly.
We went to church on a Sunday. We drove all day to get there and part of the one before. It was afternoon when we got their evening when we left. But the lights turned on while we sat there. The warm glow of Christmas that had already begun, started burning brighter.
It wasn’t really a church, or truly, it was. An old church with a new name and the same mission. The Hope that strings back through generations and hold us all together. Hope that invites us and the heartbreak of being human.
And music.
Amy Grant and Vince Gill took the stage together at the Ryman- a couple, with a couple of powerhouse careers- and they shared their time, talents, and a Christmas concert with so many of us. A packed house, plus a few more shows.
I’ve loved her for decades stretching back to the 80’s and love her Christmas stuff best. I even walked down the aisle to a song from one of her albums- an instrumental, but still. The love and tradition run deep. Turns out my husband loved Vince from about that long ago too, as he drove around the south during his football coaching career.
Vince and Amy got married the year before we met each other and here we all were together, 23 years later.
Tennessee Christmas has always been one of my very favorites and here we were all together as our little family of four. We sang it on the road, and our son declared it his favorite (only later to be dethroned by Jingle Bells, but still.) Now we sat on church pews and heard it live and sang along softly, a memory, a wish in the making.
We tried two other times to get here, and it didn’t happen. Yet how here we all were, old enough to enjoy it, young enough to care and still a Family. I don’t know if it was the timing or the wait or forgetting it was even possible. Maybe it was all of those things. But even so. It was magical.
I cried a few rivers of tears at some of the songs, especially Amy’s. Vince waxed long and meaningful about his dad, who had passed on. His life and parenting style was a bit harsh but his memory played several strings on Vince’s heart, you could see. He honored him on his birthday, that very day we sat there together. Amy shared what seemed like a real gratitude for us all coming together, and you could feel the force of the stories we each carried.
The thing I loved most of all I think, besides remembering my times spent listening to the songs and past Christmases, was watching my kids here in the present – on the edge of their seats, elbows propped up on the pew in front of them. Faces reflecting the glow of lights on the stage. Eyes filled with wonder. Lips whispering along to the songs they knew. One’s love waxes super long for music, the other loves it too, though he fell asleep on my lap. I can only hope they carry these memories forward with them too. The warm music, shared experiences. The feelings, of being here, together with our family.
I hope that the thoughts keep them warm some night when the wind blows cold and the usual feelings fade. I hope these memories come to warm them, like all the best memories do.
I know that these memories will keep me warm long after they’re grown, maybe possibly snuggling their own children who are sleeping on their laps. Someday, somehow.
I hope it’s somewhere really good. In a church. In a house. In a warm theater. Wherever they are, in their hearts, hopefully, home. So sacred there, it almost feels like a church. And surely, somehow, it is.
In so many wonders wonderful ways it is. Where God is there with us too. That’s the real “magic” of living, of loving.
There’s something about live music and this one happened to hit so many high notes for us, as a family, shared and separate, old and now new, and Christmas too. By the end we were all standing and singing, silent night. And “holy night” voices raised, and a few arms. Holy night it was, indeed.
We stepped out into the cool night air in the middle of downtown Nashville. The lights had indeed, all come on. As we walked away from the beautiful stained glass windows of the church, I did, know, that the night was special. That I’ll be holding it closely too.
What memories are you holding, close, or making this year too? I’d really love to hear yours too🫶🏻❤️🙏🏻🎄
The other day my kids were looking through some old videos on my phone. “That’s you mommy? You sound so different!!” The words were innocent and simple enough, but they cut to the heart.
See they don’t remember.
My voice was sweet and airy, talking to my babies. It sounded unfamiliar to them, when I had no need to coach, only to love. Now a few years later, new responsibilities have come to them and they need to hear the coach too.
But I don’t want to forget the love, too.
I don’t want to forget to love, too. Even if they forget.
This is public serve announcement to myself and to all the other parents. To the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and so on.
Don’t forget the middle kids.
The ones that aren’t quite babies anymore, but aren’t so grown up that they’re at the big kid table, or not for long.
The ones who zoom in and out of the family festivities, who grab snacks and dart off. Who talk about things and places and games that you don’t understand. Try to listen. Look them in the eye and show them you care, even if it’s only for a moment. Even if they upset your nervous system in all of their kinetic ways.
The ones who no longer are toddlers or preschoolers, who don’t delight you with their tiny grins or miracle voices that somehow come out of little bodies.
The ones who aren’t in their youngest or maybe their cutest years anymore, but aren’t quite grown up to be teenagers yet. They may be missing teeth or have mismatched socks. Their limbs may be longer and their faces changing before your eyes. Go ahead and reminisce. Remember who they were. But most of all, try to see them for who they are, today.
They may bore you with long stories. They may talk your ears off (both of them!) They might be shy, but they still see you and hear you from behind that mop of hair. They still notice.
They might be awkward. You might not know where they stand in life, or what they believe right now. About anything. They might not either.
Assume the best. Assume they still want to believe. In love, in Christmas. In Santa and in the spirit of giving. And definitely in themselves.
Be gentle with them Be patient. Be as present and as kind as your attention span can allow, and then maybe a bit more.
Play the game of uno. Try to concentrate for five more minutes on whatever fantasy story or reality life action they’re attempting to share with you.
Because someday these littler ones will be gone too, absorbed into whatever brand of teenage years they have destined for them.
But not before you get to love them a little more. Bless them a little more.
Because as hard as it is to imagine, they might not remember what you did before, when they were littler and tinier and maybe a bit easier to live. The memories you’re making right now, this Christmas, might be the ones that they remember, even if it’s not the ones that you do.
So pour into them- all the love and grace that you want them to carry forward. They are not destined to become anyone’s problem but they can already be our shared delight. To multiple returns.
They will never be this little again. They won’t actually.
And you may never have this chance to make these gigantic tiny memories with them either. Like how you listened. How you believed in them. How you loved. You won’t, not today. It might cost you your patience or your adult conversation. I know it.
But it’ll be worth it. Then even if they grown quiet for a few teenage years, at least they’ll know. They know you love them. They’ll remember how you care.
So don’t wait- pour in that love, already, and right now.
They’ll need to know that they have it for the long haul.
Am I the only one? I’m rather sure I’m not. I couldn’t be.
Tell me that I’m not the only one.
Who doesn’t exhale when I drop off my kids. But inhales, a rather sharp intake of breath
Like something is piercing me inside, no matter how much I expect it. A reflex of sorts, like a pull on my soul’s inner heart strings. A feeling I cannot fully define or certainly deny. No matter how hard I try.
Even when I know it’s good. Even when I know we both have things to see. Places to go. Tasks to complete. People to love. People to become.
These children of mine. They are not “mine”. But they certainly have my heart. In undefinable ways, they don’t just have my heart. They take a piece of it with them. Everywhere they go.
And I feel it, as it stretch just so. Places I can’t go. I feel myself expand, deflate, and grow.
Like my insides not so long ago to make room for them. That was just the beginning.
And so now does my heart.
I know how this goes. I know it’s all in preparation for greater distances and greater destinies for both of us.
We must keep growing. Or we’ll never know. Where were meant to go, on this hot air balloon ride. This journey of life.
But my heart will never not rise to go with them. Stretch just so. Tuck itself in. With the kiss that I placed on their cheek. Or the note that I sent in their packs. Or the words that I whispered at waking time.
“We love you we love you we love you.”
Together or apart. We will grow and stretch and expand.
When you go, child, it is not a relief or an exhale of any real stress. No not at all. It is a sigh. A stretching.
So that when you do come back I have room to love your expanding self more, too. Room to grow and expand in being myself, too.
It goes on and on. All of this growing.
Rising to meet. Stretching to the breeze. Bending toward the sky. Chasing down the sun. Bringing it all, too.
Growing to expand our hearts. Together or apart. We’re growing, together, in love.
That’s what it’s gotta be. That thing that I feel. A very stretching, swelling, and soaring kind of love.
And yet here they are growing up before my very, our very eyes. It’s good and beautiful and heartwarming and gut wrenching and awful and wonderful all at the same time.
I reserve a little part of me in allowing for a theology that in heaven, we might get to do it again.
We might get to slow down and savor, again. Because we’re all trying here on earth. But it doesn’t slow down, and sometimes we don’t, and someday they don’t either.
So I must think that the God who redeems all things might redeem that too?
Those baby cheeks and big smiles and easy laughs and long snuggles. That try don’t go away and disappear forever. That somehow they wait, again for us? To enjoy, again. To inhale and exhale, together, again.
Yes, I must or do, firmly believe that. In some way, heaven has to be a do over, only totally unrushed. Completely free of worries or fear.
Only pure excitement, enjoyment, and love.
Because that has to be Heaven, right?
It has to be.
Because God is Love.
And then I remember that He’s right here too.
When I slow down to remember that, I can slow down and remember to love, NOW. Not only later.
What is it about summer That makes you laugh so hard And shine so bright Things seem so clear. The ringing sounds, the music in your ear. The fearful jumps, landing just right. The longest reads and shortest nights. The cool ice cream and the happy screams.
You taught me love and bravery. The scaredest of me coming to my knees. Just by watching you. I learned a lot by, See all the fearful things Things that I wouldn’t do. Whispers In my ear, Rising up agin as I watch you Take all those giants down.
No, they weren’t for me, and they’re not for you
Than again I hear Love Say, Remind me of all I am. I used to look a lot like you. Some things never change.
Sometimes I still do.
I look in the mirror and I see All of what I could be.
Summer makes me think It still could be happening.
Growing up doesn’t have to mean that we’re growing old. We’re all growing up together, that’s what I’ve been told.
That summer mirror makes me see All of what I might be Growing up to be.
Growing young not growing old. Growing wise, not growing cold.
Burning hotter for what’s true. Living, laughing Loving too, until the night is through
So take a running, flying leap, Cause baby I got you 💛
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 