HOME TOUR

I think there are just places sometimes that epitomize moments in our story. Places that mean the world to us for what they symbolize. I would have never thought a sunflower field would be one of mine. I don’t even particularly love sunflowers. But I conquered a motherhood moment in that unassuming sunflower field–and it now stands as a place of momma victory for me. So each sweet summer I load up my babies and head there.

It’s so far from easy for me. I go myself. Because there in my victory lies. There’s inevitably a diaper blow out, tears, broken or smooshed flowers and sweaty, dirty brows and tushies. One year there were ripped clothes and a scraped knee. This year there were petrified little boys who got stuck in the under barn hay maze, convincing themselves there were monsters after them. Oh far from easy my friends. But I do it. Each year.

When Kai was 9 months old I saw a picture a friend posted on Facebook, a picture with her kids in a sunflower field. It looked magical and it made my heart ache. Gosh, it’s crazy isn’t it, how other’s life joys can elicit sad feelings in others? It shouldn’t but the comparison game starts–starts whispering all the “can’t” to us.  Because at that moment, seeing her picture of joy, the negative chatter in my head started. The “maybe next year” or “no way you could ever pull that off you’ve got a colicky baby.” But this time there was a nudging, at the same moment it made my heart ache, it also made my heart skipped a beat. And I stopped listening to the negative chatter. I thought to myself, “maybe I could do that too.” You see it had been NINE MONTHS at home with a colicky baby and his toddler brother. NINE MONTHS of NEVER leaving the house by myself with both kiddos. Kai was too hard. For the first 7.5 months he would scream louder than I had ever heard a baby cry in the car. But who am I kidding, he cried that loud in the house too. Colic. A terrible word. I don’t wish it on anyone.

For nine months I gave up every thought of venturing out with them by myself. I did try a few times and couldn’t muster the failure of it all. I needed my husband to pull off even the simplest outings with them and believe me, there weren’t many. Just to and from church on Sundays. Nothing like a colicky baby to evoke prayer! It was nothing short of miserable. But by month nine, Kai had stopped screaming every single time we put him in the carseat and there were flickerings of hope on the horizon. Hope of normal life. Hope of outings and mommahood joys.

So when I saw that facebook picture and chose to not listen to the initial thoughts in my head, I thought, “maybe, just maybe I could do that.” And I pondered it for a few days if I’m honest and then decided, “You know what, I’ve got to figure out two kids at some point. I’m going to try. I’m just going to start driving in that direction and we’ll see.” And I did. The very next day. I loaded them up. And Kai didn’t scream. It was a 25 minute drive to the farm. And no screaming. I got them out of the car, still no screaming and we made our way slowly to the field. And when we got there, standing in sunflowers higher than my head, I looked straight up into heaven and smiled. Nine months of not leaving my house had brought me to this glorious moment of looking skyward and being reminded there is a season to every hard thing we walk through. There is an end and new beginnings. There is hope and lovely.

So look skyward my friends, sweet momma’s craving a moment of reprieve. Needing soul rest. A moment of lovely in a field somewhere. The days are hard and the battles you face daily are very real. These days are slowly ticking by and before you know it you will find yourself at a crossroads, a place of change. We’re getting all too close to walking our sweet 5 year old babe to the door of school and saying goodbye to these, “drop everything and go to a sunflower field days.” You’ve got this mommas. Savor the little victories, the mess in them and see that lovely. Look close for it. It’s there in the dirty tushies and smooshed flowers. It’s there in the failed attempts and those lovely moments of staring heavenward aware of a special victory to your heart. You’ve got this.