"Allow beauty to shatter you regularly. The loveliest people are the ones who have been burnt and broken and torn at the seams, yet still send their open hearts into the world to mend again, and again, and again." -Victoria Erickson
May has earned herself a proper floral-filled, scallop-inspired, illustration and taper candle-celebrating, moodboard - just a few images and colours I'm feeling drawn to and find inspiring for the official begin of warm weather and all the uplifted moods May brings with her. Spring has been a long time coming, a patient sigh after a belated winter and a sad few Toronto days hinting of all summer brings. This week marks 21 weeks of pregnancy - still a surreal thing to even write after struggling with infertility for months on end. I find myself staring in wonder at this growing belly bump and my thoughts often turn to the many women who dream of having this experience, this gift, this immense privilege of watching your body miraculously change and nourish a baby. I'm continuously amazed that it's happening to me. I feel like there are still deep recesses of my heart healing and the ache is lifting from the grief of infertility - those feelings that used to readily rise from just beneath the surface - hoping and afraid to hope, praying, and almost wondering if I should pray for this very real and good desire, in a very raw sense, even just months ago.
(Luke has been faithfully documenting our little growing girl - also currently in our world known as my growing baby bump. He has a dedicated film back for it and all - tucked away to pull out as each week progresses. I love him and his enthusiasm for supporting me, talking to her, and leaning into all the things that will make Luke a terrific dad.)
I felt her kick for the first time around 18 weeks - flutterings that have happened many times since and it's a sensation that is still accompanied by surprise, excitement, and joy. I already love her so much, my heart is full these days, and there's an extra spring in my step, juice in my creative veins, and so much hope for the future, just dreaming of this little girl. It looked as if she has this little dainty turned up nose in her last ultrasound, as she kept her little hands near her face, and by the amount of movement on the screen, you'd think she was a part time acrobat. Dainty floral blankets and scallop details on white are filling my nursery imaginations. We purchased her crib and have been slowly but surely gathering up onesies and socks and sleepers.
A book I've been digging into and feeling recalibrated by has been Gloria Furman's Missional Motherhood - a book I started reading a few of years ago (about the time I started religiously researching and taking prenatals ha!) and it goes wide and deep and high and has started to really sink into the recesses of my heart - Furman starts with the broad scope of the story that God has written and is writing. And then she finishes the book reminding the reader that motherhoood is really all about a man - hardly the culture's message today - and not just any man of course, but Jesus. You close those pages and you hope to hold on to a bit of the glorious nature of it all. God made motherhood, and it's a tremendous gift and something I am sobered by and deeply grateful for, and I already feel like I would do absolutely anything for this little one I'm halfway to meeting. But it's also more down to earth than all of that, these truths are also designed to saturate all the practical details of life - the dirty diapers and the sleep deprivation, the unexpected emotions, and new layers of discovering your own brokenness and struggle with not only bringing a child into the world, but especially navigating parenting and all the pain and joy that I'm sure this road will bring.
The coming of spring and summer, which seems to all be bundled into one in this northern city, seems to fall into a perfect parallel with this baby on the way. Months of patience, seemingly unfruitful waiting, and yet here comes life. It's a long term project, the changing of seasons and the becoming of a mother. It's a lot like God's story of redemption, as creation is groaning and yearning for all things to be made new. And God is incredibly patient, on His throne, weaving a grand story while caring for the gritty details of our lives. A long term project - one that puts the rhythms of a Tuesday - sometimes struggle, sometimes happy, many times mundane and boring, into Heaven's view.
I find myself more prone to tears these days - at the sight of a baptism at church, or seeing a couple receive prayer - knowing they are struggling with infertility. There's an extra layer of vulnerability emotionally that comes with becoming a mother I think - hormones, yes, but also God's weaving in of a preparatory tenderness too. And I want to embrace it all - my vanity hesitates when I think of stretch marks and weight gain and wrinkles and such, but my prayer is to keep it all in perspective, celebrate life as it comes, and as it's so generously given by the Father - it's beautiful if we have the eyes to see it. By grace, God give us the eyes not to miss the beauty of it all.
Writing hasn't come easily to me these days - I'm not sure why, but I'm trying to lean into the discipline of it - show up consistently, write even if it seems extra bad, and show up to hone a new skill. Thank you for taking the time to read here, and for now, I'll share a song. One particular line really struck a deep chord as I was driving one day and the cold drafts were holding on seemingly extra tight through March and April - "The sun's not worried 'bout the winter 'Cause soon it will pass". But it's grown from that line to the whole song in my heart, and the lyrics have become my go-to these days, when I'm prone to worry and tempted to handle life all on my own. I hope you're encouraged by it too. And Happy Mother's Day - to my own mom who's made such an impact on my life, all the women who desire to become mothers, my heart aches for you, and to you who have mothered and lost, my heart goes out to you as well.
And I'm grateful you're here.
Allie
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Sparrows
by Cory Asbury
The sparrow's not worried 'bout tomorrow Or the troubles to come The lily's not thinking 'bout the seasons The drought or the flood A tree that's planted by the water Isn't fazed by the fire So why should I be?
'Cause You take good care of me You take good care of me You know what I need before I even ask a thing And You hold me in Your hands With a kindness that never ends I'm carried in Your love no matter what the future brings Yeah, You take good care of me
The sun's not worried 'bout the winter 'Cause soon it will pass The light's not thinking 'bout the darkness Or the shadow it casts A heart that's planted in forgiveness Doesn't dwell in the past So why should I be?
'Cause You take good care of me You take good care of me You know what I need before I even ask a thing And You hold me in Your hands With a kindness that never ends I'm carried in Your love no matter what the future brings Yeah, You take good care of me
I know there must be more But I can't get past Your kindness I know there's got to be more But I can't get past Your goodness I know there must be more But I can't get past Your kindness I know there's got to be more But I can't get past Your goodness
You take good care of me You take good care of me You know what I need before I even ask a thing You hold me in Your hands With a kindness that never ends I'm carried in Your love no matter what the future brings Oh, You take good care of me