Today was my son’s last day of preschool and so, it was my Last Day packing a little towel into his backpack for him. The towel that they use to lay on when it’s rest time.
And it struck me. Maybe not in the way that you might think, but maybe in the way that you might need to hear.
You know, as I was volunteering in the classroom the other day and I got to be there to witness the kids get out their towels and laythem out across the rug.
Some have really special towels and the towels they were proud of with pretty pictures or soft textures. Some of them showed them off to me. I looked over at my sons towel. It’s usually just a plain white towel I grab in a flurry, maybe even a little raggedy around the edges. I never really thought of packing a special towel, not too much. Or if the thought ever did cross my mind, it left as quickly as it came, with a flurry of other commotions and excitement.
And that’s okay. Though there is nothing wrong about packing a “best“ towel, and for a moment I perhaps I should’ve.
Then I realized.
That what I gave him was already enough already. It was always enough.
It might be a little ragged around the edges. I might have forgotten a few times.
But The love that I gave him, the care, the time, the attention, in all the little details, even the days I forgot, land he had to borrow a towel from school.
It was always more than enough.
It didn’t have to be fancy. It just had to be. And it was. There.
And do was I.
I witnessed, all of it, that I could. I did, the very best that I could. Perhaps we won’t remember all of the running around we did or the sacrifices we made or the hustle, just get that raggedy towel laid out for our kids. or maybe we will. But maybe we shouldn’t worry about it. Maybe it just is, just was, just will be enough. Enough for it to be. What it is. What it was. What it will be.
We laid out the table, we laid out the towels and so much of ourselves. It will be enough because it already is.
While I cringe for a minor second if I think about those threadbare edges of the towel I sent in from time to time, I know my heart is not threadbare. Or maybe it is just a little. And that’s okay too.
We have given, parents. We love, we lay down, we witness. That, plus telling them, showing them of God’s unending love, is going to be enough.
When we look back we’ll wish we had more to give. But we did it all, friends. We did everything we could, everything we knew to do, everything we had time to. That, and God’s presence is enough, more than enough.
If we can raise our kids to remember this, it definitely is.
You did everything humanly possible as a parent. So you’ll look back at times and when there was enough? If you’re being being really honest with yourself and remember there was everything you had to guess. You laid it out like an offering that threadbare towel and it was more than enough. Why because it didn’t have to be perfect because it was done out of love as a sacrifice I not only for a creator But for the children and he placed in your care. And that is why I will always be enough because you are never alone too We won’t be judged the way we judge one another or maybe even ourselves Will be judged by loving God who knows the difference between an offering. Who knows that a threadbare towel is Sometimes the best you got. Sometimes it’s all you’ve got. It doesn’t matter so much what really matters that you gave
That God anoints our heads with oil, even if mom forgot to brush it. That love never forgot us, even if we think it did. It never does.
That God, He laid out a table before us , there in the presence of our enemies. Sometimes the enemy seems to be time itself. And the ability to do the things well. But it’s not. We can rest. Knowing that right here, is enough. That our efforts are enough.
I think too, that what looks less than impressive might still be more than enough. That not everything can be judged by what we see or seem to place value on. That our imperfections don’t get the final word. That love wins out more than anything, and can’t be narrowed down or demonstrated in any one thing. Or maybe one. But that’s a cross and not a towel. Let’s remember that.
It’s enough because of that cross. That Christ demonstrated His Love for us in this way, that he laid out his life for his friends. Friend, that makes us enough. Not out efforts or our titles But knowing we are loved, and then loving. Knowing that I am who I am, and I lay it all out before God, and my family.
It has to be, and always is, enough.
And so I’ll keep going, and keep choosing love. Keep laying out a blanket, a towel, a table, of love. It’ll look different in the next stages. And it doesn’t ever have to be fancy. It just has to be. Me. Giving, in love.
And because of that, it is always going to be enough.
Annoyed that I had to be reading, scouring through the hundred pages of the new rules that are proposed for New York State. Combing through the legal language and coded words, ones that would directly impact my family.
Annoyed to read the words “expand the department’s oversight” Annoyed to read about new measures, two years later, for expanded powers of the state to quarantine, contain, and isolate, etc individuals.
Annoyed that I had to trade in time and attention for the very kids whom I was trying to look out for.
Annoyed to see the pictures of the governor maskless with school children, smiling beneath a veneer of teeth and a system that has failed them over and over these past two years. Beyond, really. Who shuttered doors, handed out iPads and kept kids away. Then brought them back with masks, are still masking and want to keep it that way for the foreseeable future. Who want to give shots – on school grounds, if necessary- and call themselves heroes. A capital that says “we will do everything in our power”, and then continually attempts to keep increasing their powers.
Annoyed that my kids see me annoyed. Annoyed that we there even is a fight at all.
It makes you wonder sometimes. What is it that we are even doing.
And then I look at my kids faces. The ones were masked, swabbed, distanced, and separated more times than we can count over the past two years. Who missed more school than seems possible. (But that part is really alright.) But all, more than really seems justified, looking back, and definitely more than seems justified looking forward. The ones the state wants to make rules for, more rules, extending to wherever they go.
The ones that like to dress like superheroes. The ones that like to dream and ask questions.
And then it all makes sense.
They deserve superheroes dressed in regular clothes who dream and ask questions now. I am not one. We are just parents walking in our superpower. To speak up for and advocate for our kids. I am not annoyed. I am emboldened. I am a adamant. Purposeful, yet again.
Yes I am annoyed at parts of it Annoyed to have to keep talking about it, annoyed at the noise and drama of it. Annoyed that some think it’s overreacting. Annoyed that the questions are being called dangerous.
It’s enough sometimes to makes you want to turn it off, shut it down and play Uno. (And we did, we played together, we told stories over dinner. And we did what families do. )
But I will not shut it off completely. Because this is not a game.
No matter what criticism, or what watchful judging stares. >>Because those are not the watching eyes that matter. << Because there is no harm in asking questions; there is only harm in not. Because among other things, <<>>>. All of our kids are. And someday they will have questions about all of this, too.
These kids that dream of being superheroes. That do not belong to the state. They do not belong to us. They belong to God. And we have them only, on loan, by His grace.
I’m going to have to give an account for whatever I did or didn’t do to help them in this world, and for whose side I was on. It better be theirs, and God’s. Not convenience. Not programs. Theirs.
So no, I guess I am not really annoyed. Not for having to stand up for them.
That is my right AND privilege. I do it passionately, but hopefully, with great love.
They deserve us asking questions and they deserve us trying to figure out what’s happening. These kids deserve the best possible future. They don’t deserve us handing over their futures to “that will never happen”. The past is too vigilant in telling its stories of things gone wrong when no one was looking. Of governments growing in control while no one was looking. Playing chess while people played uno. We shouldn’t turn a blind eye or a deaf ear. Not this time.
I’ll be over here in my corner doing what I feel I need to, being a voice for their future. Praying like crazy. Telling good stories ourselves, to them. Much like all of parenting, we don’t need to be perfect, we just need to be present and aware . A watchman for them.
Our kids are too precious to not ask the questions, to not have the discussions, to not scour the data and pages, looking for answers, maybe asking more questions. Speaking up. For them. I applaud those who did it for others, who help to interpret. They are doing good, good work.
Because our kids deserve to tell good stories themselves, a lot of them. Stories of life and love and freedom. Stories that make things right. Superhero stories.
You can do or not do whatever you think, too that’s totally your call. Stare if you want even.
I’ll risk being “wrong” in order to help them live right.
I remember that time, when we went to a live outdoor nativity around the corner from our parents’ houses. I remember walking around in the crisp cool night’s air. I remember taking turns holding our daughter and then watching my husband hold her, as we walked along with our little family, and my in-laws. We all marveled at the scenes, the twinkling lights, the real people and mostly pretend animals.
As we progressed along the path, anticipation grew, until we eventually got to the last scene. (Which, really was just the beginning.)
The part where Mary and Joseph were there, by the manger with baby Jesus.
Mary had just delivered a promise, the angels were around her, singing.
That night, in that space, had a different journey. My body started delivering a different promise, not into life, but instead, into the hands of God.
Somehow, reflexively, maybe, or timing, maybe providence, while watching this advent, my body began the long awaited process of miscarriage.
(I know this seems a funny story to share. And in fact I hesitate in some ways. But I share because I know someone might be there right now -in a story like this. or worse than this- somehow, someway, too.)
Some might wonder at the irony, the timing, the discomfort and loss at the nativity scene. But isn’t that the whole point?
Sometimes advent- His coming- can look like something coming to an end. Maybe it feels like your own dreams. Or even His. There are a lot of ways that a dream can die.
But hold on.
I want you to know that you’re not alone. That Christ is there too.
At the very same little corner church, that very same night, while my journey started towards one loss, my heart had a different one, too.
See, after we finished outside and headed inside I ran into a friend from high school.
This outstanding man, with the same quiet strength that he’d always possessed, had recently buried his wife -at Christmas time, no less, a few years earlier. I’d been to the funeral, the church decked out in its festive holiday finery and I and many cried their eyes out. The loss earthside felt thick, even while the gain of heaven caused for much celebration. The weight of a life well- lived, for God’s glory, hung heavy and great in the room. The baby girl she died delivering brought both a sense of great hope and great loss. all tangled up together
Here now he was, a couple of years later while I was holding one child and loosing another. He stood before me with his two kids and not his wife, and I wondered how he was doing, how he was standing.
I am tempted to say it was a painful reminder of loss. And it was. But it was also a palpable reminder of Hope.
It’s almost as if the loss I was carrying responded to the loss that he had carried too.
But with Hope.
While my heart ached for his, I could even almost see what any of us could lose, were maybe were even loosing. I felt the pangs of mine own, yet they lessened and eased for a moment. They’d ebb and flow later. But a wave came in that night air, that had nothing to do with the cold. I saw what he still held, and what held him. Christ. And the Hope in me leapt, even as part of me died.
I remembered in my bones, that Christ came, and none of us ever have to be alone, again.
It tempered the feelings of agony, there just a stones throw away from the manger. I could palpably feel tender Hope-eternal. My friend and I, I could see, were both still surrounded by His overshadowing grace. As I began a walk through a valley of a shadow of my own, I knew I could get to the other side.
I hugged my husband a little tighter, leaned in to the family that surrounded me. Even as my body suffered a loss, my heart gained by remembering what it still had. The children there with us, the family right beside us. There would be new lives and loves later, for both families. New additions, quite impossible without the losses.
But right there in that Christmas scene there was hope.
Every Christmas story has its own share of discomfort or questions, “could this possibly be it?” Not everything is the way that we planned it or hoped for or even expected. But everything happens for this reason. To birth something new in you.
I just want you to know, whether you’re in season of Hope or birth, loss or gain, mourning or dancing, you’re not alone. Because that baby who came in humility and humanity, He is there- for you.
Advent comes, CHRIST comes, surrounded by some unpleasant circumstances or unforeseen obstacles.
He comes to grieving hearts and aching minds. He comes when you can’t see up from down, right from wrong. He comes in the middle of the night. when you’re all alone or smudged in a messy middle, wondering what happened, where your dreams went and disappeared to. He still comes. That Christ child. He still comes. For you.
And as annoying or crazy as it sounds, I can’t shake the feeling of this.. remember to look around, and see the love that surrounds you now. The friends, family, angels and miracles that surround you there right now. Still, just a stones throw away from grief and mangers, hope above hope He still comes.
Sure. Sometimes you won’t be able to see. Not very well or clearly.
There will be times you won’t recognize yourself. Years you won’t look in the mirror, or at least hardly. You’ll be too busy looking elsewhere- caring in other places, other people.
When you look back, you might barely recognize who you see in pictures, who you would have seen in the mirror then.
But you know her. You are her.
You recognize the look in her eyes. The exhaustion and exhilaration. The utter devotion.
(Don’t you see it? It takes your breath away, doesn’t it?)
All the while, so busy you were somewhat wasting away in one way, you were blossoming in another.
You have been been busy. Very, very busy busy. Becoming the most beautiful version of you yet.
Maybe it doesn’t look that way or feel that way on the outside.
But the way your heart expanded, every time you looked at your children or held them or nursed their wounds or hearts. The way you guided them, tended them. The way you sacrificed your body, your mind, your heart- for others, and for your family,
You were becoming more beautiful than you imagined when you were a little girl. See, you thought you knew what beauty looked like.
Until you stopped searching for it in your own mirror. (It’s a good thing too.) Because…
You were busy becoming it.
Becoming more true. Becoming more you. Becoming Mom you were always meant to be.
Keeper of beauty, measurer of stars. Holder of secret hopes, tiny hands, big moments and small. Nurser of tiny people, big dreams. Stretched to new limits. And you didn’t break.
You grew.
Into you.
Look in the mirror, now, love. Say good morning. And thank you. To who you see in the mirror now. While her body and skin have changed, can’t you see that even more so has her heart? Instead of counting her faults and wrinkles and scars, can you count, can you see the Love? Yes, that is the most important, miraculous beauty of all.
Tell her most, “You are welcome”. To be. To stay. This is who you are now. Who you’ve become. So beautiful. Just by loving, more.
Hey, new parents! You just welcomed your beautiful new baby!I was just washing dishes, thinking about this new life that youve welcomed, with my own kids running around in the next room, and was overcome by thoughts of it all. I guess seeing someone starting out this big, beautiful new journey will do that to you. I had to stop and write, and cry at the wonder of it all. I thought I’d share, if you’ll allow. Just a bit different this time.
Advice to you, now On having a baby.
The main advice: Stop listening to advice.
(Funny huh? I guess I could stop there, but let me try to explain.)
Look at that baby before you. Your child, this miracle, right before your very eyes. I don’t need to tell you that this tiny person is going to change everything. Right now, only hours in, you already know this.
Breathe into it, this new life, this precious gift and miracle. Breathe it in. And yes. Stop listening to advice.
Don’t get me wrong. You’ll give and get plenty of it over time. But listen, now, to this. Listen to what this gift is saying. What it is and what it will teach you.
They will teach you so much. This tiny person already has so much to bring to this world. Innate knowledge and wisdom, enthusiasm and joy. Your own kid will show you more than you will possibly ever teach them. Fresh from heaven, they will teach you about it. Earth, too. In fact, most surprisingly, they will teach you so much about yourself. (They already started didn’t they?)
Pay *close* attention, to all of these things.
We’re pretty good at turning kids into adults. But we’re maybe worse at other things- like slowing down and learning ourselves. We’re better it seems at slowly loosing bits of magic, ours and theirs. There is wonder and delight of knowing and becoming known, a joy of discovery. Don’t loose that. For both, for all, of your sakes.
They already came with, so much, wired in a certain way, ways that have nothing to do with nurture. The way they just arrived, how they scrunch their face or open their eyes or wail and cry. You are already discovering this, bits and pieces, clues of what they have to give and who they are already. Before your very eyes, these miracles begin to unfold. You’ll find it things they enjoy and dislike , things that move them, motivate them. Later still, the Mountains they are already destined to climb.
Listen with your heart as you watch them. Then when they ask for directions, with newborn baby cries or teenage angst, you’ll better know how to answer, based on what you’re learning about them and this life. Now it’s snuggles, soon it will be other things, unfolding.
Their path will be theirs to discover. *They* are yours to discover -as they discover it themselves, and the world around them. This path they were set upon, starting here in your arms, today. It will be a good one. It will be hard and beautiful, much like yours, only different.
Their trip isn’t yours. I mean, you’ll drive for a while. Some years you’ll drive a lot. From doctors visits in baby car seats to baseball and first days of school. Eventually one of you will drive away, for “good” (but don’t worry, not forever.)
Because with the start of their path, your own new one starts too. You have your path as parent. The paths be different and separate. They are connected, and for a while, both will intertwine so intimately it will be hard to unravel. Inexplicable they will change and unravel, but forever be tied together with love.
Mom and Dad., you were born for this, too. Right here, right now, this very moment, you were born to be this child’s parent. This path was meant for all of you Enjoy your front row seat.
Remember the only advice intended today: Don’t worry so much the advice. Learn by watching, listening and loving them. They will teach you everything you need to know, if you’re paying attention. Don’t be afraid to ask for advice but don’t start there. Always first listen, to the hearts of the people on the path.
Yours, theirs, and God’s. He’s right there with you all.
Hi, I’m Courtney, and I’m a recovering People Pleaser (raising hand high.) Anyone else? Well you’re in good company. I have spent a great deal of time in my life aiming to please people, longing for approval, and craving recognition for a job well done. Sound familiar? Keep reading. Because I’m not doing it anymore (mostly), and I’m going to tell you why. There are many things that have brought me to this realization, like the slow unpeeling of an onion, and I am in many ways, still arriving here.
For years I heard Kelly Ripa say, “I aim to disappoint everyone just little bit each day.” I always thought that was crazy. I’d laugh, though, and think, ‘That works for her. But that’s not me.” I may have even secretly thought ‘I must be more selfless or giving.” Ha. A few years, a few adventures, and a few kids later, I GET IT.
It began first for me with the inability to do so after having my second child. I mean, a first child can be the catalyst for some, for others, it might be their fourth or fifth. For me, however, as a super hustler with a side of people pleaser, I could do so much still with my one child. She was mostly agreeable, and her schedule was super flexible and I could bring her (almost) anywhere- mountain tops, restaurants, and almost anywhere in between . My people pleasing life continued after she arrived with very little disruption.
However, child number two changed all of that. Have one kid, will travel. two kids, and it didn’t work out quite so seamlessly. By necessity, I learned to establish some boundaries for myself. It took me becoming physically incapable of obliging all of the time to, well, stop obliging. So that was a good start.
Then something else started happening. I started connecting with my own dreams, and beyond just dreams, but PURPOSE. I suddenly realized I could not pursue both simultaneously. And also, this bottom line truth:
I was not put on this earth to. please. other. people.
Let that sink in a little bit. We did not arrive on this planet to make other people happy. We were put on the earth to do great things- in big and small ways- to do them well, and to share our unique creativity and perspective. But we were not put here for the feedback.
Being motivated to help people is not the same thing as being a people pleaser.
We may serve, or bless, but our goal should never be just have other people pat us on the head, compliment us, congratulate us, or feel happy with us. Being a people pleaser means the focus is on the feedback, the sense of self worth, and the sense of love or security we feel in that.
I have a natural bend toward helping, and maybe you do too. Some of us are more likely to grow into these habits than others. Maybe it’s the way that we were raised, maybe it was too much praise at home or a lack thereof. Maybe it’s tied up to your natural giftings as a performer or tendency as a helper. You do something, or help, then people appreciate you, maybe give you a pat on the head, so you go out and help/do/be more. Now, this cycle of recognition/reward is a very natural side effect. But it’s a side effect that can too easily become our CAUSE.
DOING what we were born to do should be our cause. Though I want to help, making others happy with my efforts should not be my goal. My focus should be on doing my part, not the desired outcome feedback.
Let’s be honest. Trying to please other people is an effort to fill a deep need for acceptance and recognition, wrapped in a package of kindness. But at the core, you’re looking for feedback and love based on what you’re doing. It causes you to rely on the feedback. People’s feedback is malleable, based on their day, their desires, their own process. It sometimes has absolutely nothing to do with you. It may connect with something you’ve done in a meaningful way, but it’s not indelibly tied to your life or meaning.
The reality is, if you’re aiming to please those around you all day, the only one that you will disappoint at the end of the day is yourself. I think it also speaks to boundaries. If you’re not “failing” others little, you’re failing yourself and your destiny more completely.
You’re a conscientious person and a very good worker. You’ve honed skills and developed a fantastic work ethic. But, allowing worth to be immediately tied to work, and even more specifically to the feedback from the work, is not a healthy approach. All that you do is important, and it is best when it comes from a deep sense of value that you know, not be the thing that makes valuable.
Whether you’re mowing a lawn, ironing a shirt, stocking a shelf, designing a website, building a birdhouse, or creating a piece of art, if you can approach it with that distinction, your heart will be more clear and I bet that your work will be even better. You are doing the thing you are doing to the best of your current ability because you are a creative, strong, intelligent, capable, and hard working person, who has value to share. If it blesses other people, that’s fantastic, and you hope it does. But that is neither your goal nor your business. When something falls flat or you make a mistakable, it doesn’t crush you so deeply. Your value is not tied to the outcome or the feedback. Your value is in that deep seated individual spark that God put in you from the very moment you were created.
God didn’t place you on the earth to receive great feedback and not upset anyone. He didn’t place you here to make other people happy. Your aim is to add and provide value wherever you go, and with whatever work that you do, But not to seek your value from it.
I am now okay with disappointing. It is a new stance that I have taken out of necessity, some level of failure (I cannot do it all), and with the realization of what it means to walk toward my destiny. It’s not that I’m actually TRYING to disappoint anyone. I’m just learning my own limitations. I have learned to ALLOW myself to not please everyone or anyone at any given time, while still doing my best. It’s called being free.
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. 