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emilystimpsonchapman
Three portraits of a sad, sad toddler, stuck insid Three portraits of a sad, sad toddler, stuck inside due to freezing rain...and whose mom won’t stop sticking a camera in his face. 😂 #busyboy #boymom #cutitoutallreadymom
Hi, I’m Emily. And sometimes I think God put me Hi, I’m Emily. And sometimes I think God put me on this earth to tell people, “Yes, this is hard. You’re not crazy. You’re not failing. This is just hard.”⁣ ⁣ Being single when you want to be married? (I married at 41.) Hard.⁣ Infertility? (3.5 years trying; 0 babies) Hard.⁣ Adoption? (Currently trying for #2) Hard.⁣ New motherhood? Hard.⁣ Being a working mom? (I’m a Catholic writer). Hard.⁣ Holiness? Hard.⁣ Life? Hard.⁣ ⁣ I don’t think life is harder than it was 100, 200, or 500 years ago. It’s probably easier. But, in our culture, we often don’t expect the hard. And the difference between expectation and reality is crushing. Thank you social media.⁣ ⁣ Don’t get me wrong: I love this space. But, it’s best paired with a large dose of reality. If not, all the shiny, happy people, living light and airy lives of seeming perfection, can make us forget that the Church doesn’t call this world a valley of tears for nothing. Life is hard. But, if we let it, the hard opens our hearts to grace. And with grace, comes joy. ⁣ ⁣ So, for my #keepingitreal #fridayintroductions, here are 16 things I find hard (and 3 I find easy)⁣. ⁣ Hard?⁣ 1. Math.⁣ 2. Keeping my office clean.⁣ 3. Getting out of the house with a small child.⁣ 4. Baking. Especially pie.⁣ 5. Keeping my opinions to myself.⁣ 6. Video stories. I can’t talk to my own face.⁣ 7. Writing. Yes, I’m a professional writer. But, as Nathanial Hawthorne said, “Easy reading is damn hard writing.”⁣ 8. Sports that involve hand-eye coordination. I was the last person picked for kickball teams for a reason.⁣ 9. Letting people be wrong.⁣ 10. Night driving.⁣ 11. Making time for prayer as a mom.⁣ 12. Pittsburgh winters. No snow. No sun. Just eternal grey.⁣ 13. Making a budget.⁣ 14. Flying. I need to be medicated and martini-ed.⁣ 15. Running. I don’t even know why people do this.⁣ 16. Sewing. It’s a near occasion.⁣ ⁣ Easy?⁣ 1. Smiling. Some people have resting B— face. I have resting happy face.⁣ 2. Being married to my husband. Only 3.5 years in, but it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.⁣ 3. Hospitality. Inviting people into my home and loving them with food is my sweet spot in life.⁣ ⁣ Your turn! What’s hard (and easy) for you?
2200 characters isn’t enough. Not for the comple 2200 characters isn’t enough. Not for the complexities of mothers, dreams, and babies. But, as a mom who works and mostly dreams of sleeping, I need to say this.⁣ ⁣ Motherhood and goals can absolutely go together. No woman needs to build her dreams on the bodies of her babies.⁣ ⁣ BUT nobody can do it all at once. Something has to give. There’s a cost. And we need to be honest about this. ⁣ In Toby’s first 15 months, I wrote 5 books. 5. I missed every deadline. I don’t remember what I wrote. But I did it. And I’ve paid for it. I miss play dates with moms and phone calls with friends. I miss reading and gardening and having a basement that doesn’t look like the set of Hoarders. I miss folded laundry. And date nights. And sleep. Oh, I miss sleep.⁣ ⁣ For some women, in different seasons or with moms or sisters close, it‘s easier. But for me, in this season, when Toby or Chris or a sitter get sick or when some client has a crisis, I’ve no one to call. And it all falls apart.⁣ ⁣ Lots of women know what that’s like. Which is why, at some point, many lean out. They decide some dreams aren’t worth it. Or can wait. Or be pursued differently. Sometimes that’s a tough decision. Other times not. Because motherhood changes dreams and us.⁣ ⁣ I like my work. I love my son. If I had to choose between every word I’ve ever written and Toby, I would light the bonfire myself and burn it all. And if God blesses us with another baby, we’re praying we can find a way to manage for a little while with me writing less. Still writing. But not 5 books in 15 months.⁣ ⁣ Either way, it’s not simple.⁣ ⁣ Don’t ever believe a baby has to mean the end of your dreams. If God calls you to both, He’ll give you the grace to make it possible. Not easy. Possible⁣. ⁣ But, if you’re trying to do it all, and finding it hard, it’s not you. You’re not the problem. You’re not failing. It is hard.⁣ ⁣ And if you choose to step back and chase different dreams—dreams that wrap their arms around your neck and nuzzle up against you—you’re not failing either. You’re using your gifts to make a home and form a soul. That’s success, no matter what the world says.
Enjoy King Baltasar while you can, kid. It’s all Enjoy King Baltasar while you can, kid. It’s all coming down today. #wasgonnawaituntilcandlemas #butanother50degreeplusdayinjanuaryhaskilledmychristmasspirit #liturgicallivingflop #blameitontheweather
⁣I can’t stop looking at this picture. I took ⁣I can’t stop looking at this picture. I took it in Illinois, standing in the same fields where I played as a child. And the wonder of this man and this child, standing there with me, takes my breath away.⁣ ⁣ I don’t deserve my husband. I’m stubborn, willful, and moody. I struggle to be patient, control my temper, and hold my tongue. My looks will never win any prizes, and my mind is too sharp for many men’s tastes. But this man loves me. This wise, faithful, funny, kind, and handsome man thinks me beautiful. And I don’t deserve it.⁣ ⁣ I don’t deserve my baby either. I’m sure there are 10,000 women more deserving to hold this child than I am—gentler women, sweeter women, softer women. But somehow, my barren self gets to rock this baby to sleep. A child that another woman bore and sacrificed with great love wraps his arms around my neck, nuzzles his nose against mine, and calls me Mama. And I don’t deserve it.⁣ ⁣ But that’s God for you. He’s always lavishing gifts on us that we don’t deserve. Not just spouses and babies, but suns that rise in the morning and moons that rise at night; snow flakes that fall on our tongues and fires that burn hot in our hearths. Food and friendship, rain and twinkle lights—all are unmerited gifts. So is His mercy, His compassion, and even the crosses we bear—crosses, that because of His cross, can help heal this hurting world. And we don’t deserve any of it⁣ ⁣ Everything is a gift. Everything is a wonder. Everything is an unmerited grace. But so many of us miss the gifts God gives because we’re busy demanding other gifts. We expect so much. And when we don’t get what we expect, we act like we’ve been cheated. Like the God of the Universe has deprived us of our just desserts.⁣ ⁣ I don’t want to do that this year. As we begin the New Year and Chris and I pursue another adoption, I don’t want to demand things from God—not a baby, not good health, not less stress or more money, not anything. I don’t want to wrestle him into meeting my expectations. I just want to receive the gifts He gives, the gifts I don’t deserve, and rejoice in them.⁣ ⁣ I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions. But, if I were to do a New Year’s Prayer, this would be it.
I know I sometimes chafe under his weight, when 10 I know I sometimes chafe under his weight, when 100 hundred other tasks are calling my name. But really, there is no other place that I’d rather be. This, right here, is my favorite thing in all the world. #naptime #nighttimetoo #worththewait #adoption #adoptivemom #catholicmom #oldmom #infertility #yesthatisaglassofbaileysinmyhand #dontjudgeitschristmas
Motherhood does not make writing easier. It compli Motherhood does not make writing easier. It complicates it in 1000 ways. It interrupts research and deep sustained thought. It pulls me away from words just as they start to flow. It robs me of sleep and leaves my mind clouded and confused.⁣ ⁣ Writing also doesn’t make motherhood easier. It pulls me out of bed and away from my baby. It keeps me locked in my office, while Toby and Chris play on the other side of the door. It fills my heart with worries and steals my attention from Toby, even when I’m with him.⁣ ⁣ Learning how these two vocations go together—motherhood and writing—has been the hardest part of 2019. I care infinitely more about the first vocation, but the second still matters. Both because of practical needs and because it’s who I am. It’s how I think. It’s how I pray. It’s how I hear God and work through struggles. We could win the lottery tomorrow, and I’d still steal time to sit in front of a keyboard and get the words out of my head. If I didn’t, I’d burst.⁣ ⁣ God has given me two jobs. Someday, maybe, I’ll figure out how to balance both. But that day hasn’t come. Most days, I feel like I’m failing at just about everything.⁣ ⁣ Maybe that’s okay, though. Maybe it’s even good. Maybe it’s what God knows I need most. To fail and to be comfortable with failure. To believe it’s not all riding on me. To trust that God doesn’t need me to keep everyone’s boats afloat; He’s got it.⁣ ⁣ Maybe God also wants me to learn to trust that I am loved even when I fail. That I don’t have to be perfect. That I don’t have to earn love—not Toby’s, not Chris’, not God’s. That I am enough, even when I’m not. ⁣ ⁣ 2019 showed me how much I need to learn those lessons. I doubt I’ll master them in 2020. But with the hope of another adoption, I won’t lack chances to practice.⁣ ⁣ Thank you for coming along on the ride. I know a lot of you are here for the wisdom you think I’ve got to share, but don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m not learning and struggling and crying right along with you. I write for myself more than anyone—to help what I know in my head work it’s way down into my heart. So, Happy New Year, Godspeed, and many prayers. We’re all going to need them!
All the cousin love! #christmas2019 #cousinlove #c All the cousin love! #christmas2019 #cousinlove #centerofattention #adored #adoption #adoptionmakesfamilies
Merry Christmas! May the joy of the Christ Child b Merry Christmas! May the joy of the Christ Child be yours, today and always.
Week 4: Joy⁣⁣, “Do not be afraid to take Mar Week 4: Joy⁣⁣, “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.”⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ When I first began praying the Rosary, I thought whoever named the Mysteries was missing a screw or two. At least with the Joyful Mysteries.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ First, a virgin in a culture that stones loose women, learns she’ll conceive a child. Next, she walks across mountains in her first trimester and gives birth in a stable. She then hears a sword will pierce her heart. Finally, she loses the Son of God for 3 days, only to find Him teaching away, without an ounce of remorse.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ “Joyful Mysteries, my foot,” I remember thinking. “More like the Stressful Mysteries.”⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ And they were stressful. All of them. But, they were also joyful. The stress and the joy co-existed.⁣ Because joy isn’t happiness.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Happiness is a fleeting emotion rooted in circumstance. Joy is enduring peace, hope, and confidence, all rolled up into one tightly knit ball. And Jesus is the one who knits that ball together. He is the source of joy, our Savior and God, who sees us, knows us, and loves us completely.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ As circumstances change, happiness comes and goes. But where Jesus is, joy endures. Through stress. Through anxiety. Through surprise pregnancies, difficult journeys, and power-mad kings. Also through mounting bills, crazy bosses, and crazier in-laws. Through stomach viruses, teething toddlers, and fast-growing tumors. Through shattered expectations, broken dreams, and heart-wrenching loss.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ This is why we call the Rosary’s Mysteries “joyful.” Because they recall humanity’s first encounters with Jesus.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ This is also why, even as we reflect on darkness, repentance, and the world’s long wait, Advent remains shot through with joy. No matter what struggles or sorrows we carry with us, Advent leads us to Jesus. Which means it leads us to joy.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Don’t miss that joy. In these final hours, don’t let the weight of worries and loss, cooking and cleaning, wrapping and family, pull you away from Him. Keep your eyes fixed on the manger. Keep inviting Jesus into your heart. If you do, not just Christmas, but the whole of your life will become a joyful mystery, too.
Over the last several months, a number of business Over the last several months, a number of businesses have reached out to me about doing sponsored posts. I’ve turned almost all of them down. Not because I have a problem with sponsored posts, but because it’s just not how I want to use this space. I’m a writer, not an influencer, and that’s how I want things to stay in my corner of social media. I have, however, made one exception: @lilyjadeco.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ In a culture where there is so much confusion about the good of adoption, @lilyjadeco is a proud supporter of adoptive families and women facing crisis pregnancies. They give practical help, both to charitable groups that support those families and to individual mothers. When you combine that with the exceptional quality and beauty of the bags they create, then, heck yes, I’m happy to champion their brand.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I’ve been using the Elizabeth diaper bag that @lilyjadeco #gifted me for over a month now (swipe left for a closer view). It has kept me organized during an insane month and holds up flawlessly to whatever Toby can throw at it (I wish I could say the same thing about our Christmas decorations!) It also gets compliments everywhere it goes. Both my mom and sister have even requested them for Christmas. 😂 That’s not happening as we just sent the check off to restart our home study process for a second adoption (!), but if you’re still trying to figure out what to get for your hard to please mom, mother-in-law, sister, daughter, or best friend, you cannot go wrong with a @LilyJade bag!⁣⁣ (You can find the link in my bio.) ⁣⁣ #ad #LilyJadeAmbassador #LilyJadeLovesAdoption #LilyJade#adoption #adoptivemom #diaperbag #babyshower #babygift#adoptiongift #Christmasgift #momgift #sistergift #gifted⁣⁣ ⁣⁣
Week 3: Waiting⁣ ⁣ “Be patient, brothers and Week 3: Waiting⁣ ⁣ “Be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord,” Jas. 5:7.⁣ ⁣ It’s no secret I spent much of my life waiting. Waiting for Chris. Waiting for Toby. Waiting for contractors to show up. But, just because I spent so much time waiting, doesn’t mean I always waited well.⁣ ⁣ Sometimes, I did. Sometimes, I trusted, keeping my eyes on the present instead of the future and drawing strength from the graces of the moment.⁣ ⁣ Other times, I doubted. I didn’t trust the goodness of God’s plans and spent so much time crying over what I didn’t have, that I forgot to see what I did have. As I did that, I missed things. I missed opportunities. I missed lessons. I missed graces. All because I wasn’t getting what I wanted when I wanted it.⁣ ⁣ We all do that. Waiting doesn’t come naturally to most of us. We don’t trust God’s plan. We don’t trust His timing. We reach for what’s not ours or reach before it’s time. And as we reach, we fall.⁣ ⁣ So, God gives us Advent. As a Church, He invites us to practice waiting, so we can learn to do it well.⁣ ⁣ Every year, for 4 weeks, we wait with Israel for the promised Savior. We also remember that as a people we’re always waiting—not just for husbands or babies or jobs or houses or healing—but for the end, for Christ’s return, for God to all make all things new.⁣ ⁣ We have 9 days left. Keep waiting. Prepare your homes. Prepare your hearts. But save some joy of Christmas for Christmas. And while you wait, invite Jesus into this moment. Find Him in this moment. Be where you are. And give thanks for what is.⁣ ⁣ C.S. Lewis once said that the present is the point where time touches eternity. Not the past. Not the future. But right now. The graces you need are here. In the not knowing. In the not having. In the not doing or being or understanding. The graces are in the uncertainty, the crazy, the chaos, and the exhaustion. Grace only can find us in the present, not in some uncertain future. ⁣ ⁣ That’s what all my waiting has taught me: to not be so focused on the future that I miss the present. That’s also what Advent can teach all of us. It’s a lesson in waiting. Which means it’s really a lesson in living.
The tree is still bare. We haven’t even managed The tree is still bare. We haven’t even managed to get lights on it yet. Those are sitting on the dining room table, along with other decorations I brought up from the basement last week, and which have sat there ever since. I haven’t done any baking. Some shopping remains. And I don’t know when I’ll get to any of it, as a tiny tyrant is popping out his molars.⁣ ⁣ Last night, in the midst of the mess, I was starting to feel frustrated. The temptation was to complain. Then, I remembered why Advent isn’t going according to plan. And all I could think was, “Oh my God, what a miracle.”⁣ ⁣ What a miracle that a black-haired baby, who calls me “Mama,” is pulling my silver teapots out of a cabinet and banging on them like drums.⁣ ⁣ What a miracle that a child sits at my kitchen counter, dancing to Jingle Bell Rock.⁣ ⁣ What a miracle that I have a son to chase, a son to clean up after, a son to laugh with and play with and hold.⁣ ⁣ What a blessing. What a grace. What a miracle.⁣ ⁣ I dreamed of this. I prayed for this. I wept for this. Year after year, Christmas after Christmas, I knelt in church, surrounded by beautiful families, and begged God to hear the cry of my single, childless heart.⁣ ⁣ And He did. He took His time. But He did.⁣ ⁣ And it’s all a miracle.⁣ ⁣ But not just my marriage and baby. Every marriage is a miracle. Every baby is a miracle. Every family is a miracle. That two people can meet, fall in love, and give themselves to each other is a miracle. That their love can create a new person is a miracle. Or that their love can give another mother the confidence to entrust her child to them is a miracle. That love makes people parents, by nature or grace, is a miracle. ⁣ ⁣ We’re also miracles. We are all our parents’ miracles—their gift of grace. And that each of us is alive and here and gets to know the God of the universe, have His life in our souls, and celebrate His coming as a little baby is an ever-lovin’ miracle.⁣ ⁣ So, that’s what I’m thinking about this week when I’m tempted to complain. It’s all a miracle. This whole blessed season. This whole blessed life. Who really cares when the lights make it on the tree?
Week 2: Repentance⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ “Repent, for Week 2: Repentance⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand,” (Mt 3:2).⁣⁣⁣ ⁣ Damn. It’s that word. That word we don’t want to hear. The word that fills us with anxiety, shame, and fear.⁣ ⁣ But that is a trick of the devil. Repentance doesn’t mean what he wants you to think it mea⁣ns.⁣ ⁣ Yes, repentance calls us to turn from sin. But it also calls us to turn toward God. It’s a two-fold movement of the heart: first admitting what we’ve done wrong, then running as fast as we can, into the arms of our Father.⁣ ⁣ The devil, however, doesn’t want that. He wants to keep us far away from God. So, he plays with us.⁣ ⁣ First, he tries to convince us that sin is not sin, that evil is good, and wrong is right.⁣ ⁣ When that doesn’t work, he tries another lie. He fills us with fear about what life will be like without some particular sin, and whispers that we’re too weak to let it go.⁣ ⁣ If that fails, his next tactic is overwhelming guilt. He wants us to think our sin so great, so horrible, that God’s mercy can’t touch it. He wants us to focus on our sin, to look at it with shame and self-loathing, to keep so busy flogging ourselves that we forget to turn and see the loving gaze of the Father.⁣ ⁣ And that’s the devil’s last trick, his ace in the hole: to make us doubt that loving gaze. He wants us to see God, not as Father, but as Judge, Jury, and Executioner. He wants us to believe that when we turn to the Father, we will only see judgment, condemnation, and the same persistent loathing we see staring back at us when we look in the mirror.⁣ ⁣ That’s the biggest lie of all. It’s also the one for which we most often fall. Adam and Eve fell for it in the Garden when they hid in shame. We continue to fall for it when we live in shame, always lamenting our sin, but never letting the guilt of it go.⁣ ⁣ This Advent, reject the lies. Don’t get stuck simply hating your sin. Run fast to the Father, too. Fly into His arms. Never doubt His mercy. Never doubt His love. You are His pride. You are His joy. He‘s seen every wrong you’ve ever done or ever will do, and still wants nothing more than to hold you close forever. He’s waiting for you. He’s longing for you. Don’t delay.
We moved into this house 3 years ago last week. Ou We moved into this house 3 years ago last week. Our first night here, I cried for hours. “I don’t want to be here,” I sobbed. “I want to go home.”⁣ ⁣ Home was my house in Steubenville. The house I bought a few months before turning 30. The house I slowly and lovingly restored. The house where I wrote my first books, fell in love with Chris, met my best friend, hosted a thousand dinner parties, welcomed friends’ babies, and lived the happiest decade of my life. I loved every inch of that house. It was utterly and completely mine. It was home.⁣ ⁣ This house, this new big house, that needed so much work, was not home. And it stayed not home. Through the renovation, through the infertility, through the adoption, and even through the first year of Toby’s life, this was never home.⁣ ⁣ Yes, it’s beautiful. Yes, it’s big. Yes, it’s updated and open and transformed. But it cost us so much—not just money, but also friendships, happiness, peace, and probably my fertility. It has been many things to me over the past 3 years: a project, a headache, an albatross, but never home. And certainly not “the home,” the one in Steubenville that I have continued to cry over and long for these past 3 years.⁣ ⁣ Until last night. Yesterday, I moved a lamp. To make room for Christmas decorations, I took it down from the top of the pantry and placed it on the sideboard. I turned the lamp on. Then I left the room. When I walked back in—into my messy dining room, with Christmas clutter strewn about—I felt for the first time in 3 years like I was home.⁣ ⁣ Maybe it’s because the lamp reminds me of my grandma. Maybe it’s the bustle of preparing for the holidays. Maybe it’s because there’s a toddler tearing through the place, with a stuffed animal on his head, laughing hysterically. Maybe it’s all those things. Or maybe it’s just enough time living and laughing and crying and stressing within these old walls. I don’t know.⁣ ⁣ What I do know is that expensive renovations don’t make a home. Nor does square footage, beautiful design, or stained glass windows. Don’t let anyone on Instagram or Pinterest tell you otherwise. You cannot buy a home. You have to make one. And that takes time.
Starting slow. A few wreaths here, a few pillows t Starting slow. A few wreaths here, a few pillows there (Hello, dear friend!), a few prayers every day, and our Jessie Tree nightly. Trying not to do All The Things All At Once for a change. Partly because we plan on keeping all this going to Candlemas. Partly because we’re old and tired! 😂👵🏻👨🏻‍🦳😂 . #slowdecorating #slowadvent #easingthetoddlerintoit #easingmommyintoittoo #catholicchristmas #liturgicalliving #liturgicalyear #firstweekofadvent
Week 1: Darkness⁣ ⁣ “The night is far gone, Week 1: Darkness⁣ ⁣ “The night is far gone, the day is near.” (Rom 13:12)⁣ ⁣ Once, long ago, the world was black as night. The sun still shone above, but inside the hearts of men, all was dark.⁣ ⁣ That darkness was the darkness of a soul with no hope for heaven. The gates to Paradise had long since been closed. Death, sorrow, and loss were everywhere. Sin was everywhere. And there was no way out.⁣ ⁣ Unlike now, there was no Baptism to restore God’s life to the soul, no Confession to wipe the soul’s slate clean. Nor were there any images of God, dying on a cross for love of us, to comfort and console. Atonement was impossible. Redemption seemed more impossible. And despair was the lot of mankind.⁣ ⁣ Then, a babe was born. And dark became light.⁣ ⁣ Every Advent, the Church calls us to look back on the world’s dark night, and to remember the people who walked in that darkness—their grief, their confusion, their desperation. She also calls us to remember our own dark nights—the moments when sin or grief or fear surrounded us. To stare, even for a moment, into the blackness of the past—the world’s and our own—is to realize just how beautifully blinding the light of Christ is.⁣ ⁣ But darkness doesn’t just belong to the past. For each of us, somewhere in our hearts or lives, it lingers. There’s always a door we’ve slammed shut against Him, a space in our heart we won’t let Him enter. And the darkness that abides within that space robs us of the fullness of joy the babe in Bethlehem came to bring.⁣ ⁣ Don’t let it linger any longer.⁣ ⁣ This Advent, look at the darkness you can’t shake: the secret sin or deep-seeded fear, the persistent anxiety or reoccurring doubt, the toxic relationship or the deadly habit, the grudging resentment or the unfounded guilt. Whatever it is, look at the darkness straight on. Acknowledge it. Name it. Then, invite Christ into it. Whisper or shout or cry “Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!” Ask Him to light up the darkness in your life with His mercy and illuminate the shadowy corners of your soul with His love.⁣ ⁣ Jesus didn’t come to bring light to a generic world. He came to bring light to your world. He came to bring light to you. Open the door.
Too busy cooking and baby wrangling to take many p Too busy cooking and baby wrangling to take many pictures, but today I’m grateful for black curls and knit rompers; for a 27 pound baby so worn out from traveling that he needed to sleep not just with his mama but ON his mama all night long; for chiropractic care; for my great-grandma’s stuffing recipe; for my crazy sisters who were clearing the Thanksgiving table before anyone had finished eating; for a husband who drove through 10 hours of wind and rain to get me to my family and then made martinis for everyone; for my dad, who is here; for my Mom, who is Toby’s adorer-in-chief; for nieces and nephews who surround my boy with joyful noise; for 24 hours with no deadlines or writing; for $15 thermal Christmas pajamas from Target; for money to pay our bills; for friends to miss; for familiar smells; for this space and all of you, who so patiently allow me to process my thoughts; for work that draws me closer to Christ; for a God who is faithful and shows me more and more of his love with each passing year; for a bed that is calling my name. And for ten thousand things more that I’m too tired to list. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. May your list of thanks be as endless as mine. #thanksgiving #thankful #tired #full
How can you help friends and family who are adopti How can you help friends and family who are adopting?⁣ ⁣ 1. Pray. Just like you pray for expectant friends, pray for adopting friends, too. Adoption can bring many spiritual struggles, and adoptive families need your prayers.⁣ ⁣ 2. Learn about adoption. Seek to understand its complexities. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. ⁣ ⁣ 3. If someone is fundraising for an adoption, help if you can. Domestic infant adoptions typically cost more than what most Catholic school teachers make in a year. Sometimes twice as much. And adoption shouldn’t just be for the wealthy.⁣ ⁣ 4. Welcome the baby and celebrate the new mom. Most adoptive families don’t want showers. We definitely didn’t. But once baby comes home, gifts of clothes and baby gear—new and used—are still needed. And one of the best gifts I can think of is a diaper bag from @lilyjadeco.⁣ ⁣ In celebration of #NationalAdoptionDay, @lilyjadeco sent me the stunning Elizabeth bag (which is currently on sale). It’s beautiful, amazingly well made, and somehow big enough to carry everything I need for both Toby and me: diapers, wipes, snacks, toys, lipstick, and even my 13” MacBook, which is a Godsend when I have to go to meetings with my baby and my computer. #happens. Best of all, it converts from shoulder carry to back pack—something that is key when you have a toddler with a death wish on your hands. 🙄⁣ ⁣ This bag is easily the most beautiful and functional bag I’ve ever owned, and I’m praying we get to use it for a second baby. BUT, honestly, I never could have bought it for myself after we adopted Toby. It’s worth every penny. But when you’ve spent a year’s salary adopting a child, nice bags aren’t in the budget. If friends had gotten together to buy me this bag, though, I would have been over the moon.⁣ ⁣ So, if you want to help an adopting or expecting friend welcome her baby with the world’s best group gift (or upgrade your current bag), follow the link in my profile. And thank @lilyjadeco for all it does to support adoptive families and moms facing unplanned pregnancies!⁣ ⁣ #ad #LilyJadeAmbassador #LilyJadeLovesAdoption #LilyJade #adoption #adoptivemom #diaperbag #babyshower #babygift #adoptiongift
I used to walk outside every day. In my ball cap a I used to walk outside every day. In my ball cap and yoga pants, I would circle my old neighborhood in Steubenville again and again. Everyone knew me. I knew everyone. And every walk was a joy.⁣ ⁣ Then, I married and moved. We tore a house apart, adopted a baby, and started watching him grow. Not surprisingly, somewhere along the way, the walking stopped. Between too many contractors, too many deadlines, and too little sleep, I always had an excuse to sit.⁣ ⁣ Four months ago, though, I decided I’d had enough sitting. I needed to walk. So, Toby and I started heading out every morning, at 8. And we have continued heading out, through heat and humidity, wind and drizzle, and now frosty temps and snow.⁣ ⁣ We walk briskly for 1 hour, passing rambling Victorian homes, century-old trees, children on their way to school, and parents on their way to work. We say hi to Miss Jackie and Miss Nancy—our local crossing guards. We wave at construction workers and street crews. And we always stop to admire puppies and squirrels.⁣ ⁣ As we walk, Toby squeals with delight and sits enraptured. Me? I breathe. I think. I pray. But mostly, I rest.⁣ ⁣ Yes, my body is moving. But my soul is resting. It’s not writing or cleaning or cooking. It’s not anxious about keeping Toby alive or thwarting his latest act of destruction. It’s just being. It’s free.⁣ ⁣ I haven’t lost a pound these 4 months. But I don’t mind. Because in the hour we walk, I lose something better. I lose the weight of my worries and fears. I leave them behind at the house, with the work, the laundry, and the mess.⁣ ⁣ When we get home, I’m no less exhausted, no less busy. But I’m always saner. And grateful. These walks have become my joy again, worth every dollar I spent on cold weather gear and every ounce of effort it took to make walking a habit once more.⁣ ⁣ Why am I sharing this? Maybe because someone needs to know that being able to move our bodies is a gift. Or that weight loss is not the greatest benefit of exercise. Or that winter is warmer when you spend some of it outdoors. Or, most of all, that the best rest for a mama of a busy baby can be found on a walk. Or maybe even all of it. Like I did.
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