Motherhood [dedicated to Kirsten]

I know it's been a little while since I've written. I have officially turned thirty (thank you, thank you) and I'm still waiting for that epiphany of wisdom that I was really counting on when the clock struck midnight on my birthday. Oh well, I'll have to settle for regular old will-to-get-up-in-the-morning-ness as usual. Luckily, I have a zillion things to be thankful for - so even if my baby starts screaming at 6am, I'm up and at 'em, counting my blessings and trying not to stumble into the overflowing hamper on my way out of the bedroom.
I think that motherhood will dominate my thirties, dare I say "define" them. People often use this term negatively. Many people refer to definition as the ultimate derogatory comment. "I'm a woman, but that doesn't define me"..."I'm an Office Coordinator, but that doesn't define me"..."I'm a blogger, but that doesn't define me"... Okay, maybe you don't hear that one as often, but you all have definitely heard "I'm a mother, but it doesn't define me". I mean, heaven forbid.
I get it - this is something that stay at home moms made up in order to retain their sanity. This is something that Oprah has allowed women to express so that a new mom feels liberated enough to put down the laundry for one second and pick up her book club pick of the month instead. This is something that working moms tell themselves to justify putting in the long hours so their children have health insurance. It's a woman's scapegoat phrase to comfort her amidst the reality that she can no longer hold adult conversations without mathematically configuring in the back of her head when the last time she breastfed was and therefore how long does she have until her nursing pads explode like the Hoover dam giving way...
But maybe, just maybe, the problem isn't with how you define yourself. Maybe the problem lies in how you define motherhood.
Last night, a sweet friend of mine endured the most heinous of nights. She's only been a mother for 6 days, and she is already teaching me new meanings of motherhood in limitless ways. Following a very unexpectedly early delivery, her baby boy entered the world with his share of challenges, and last night he took another unexpected turn in life - needing emergency bypass surgery. Please read his story and pray with us for baby Ewan...I know you will find his mother's account of it excruciating and inspiring: http://www.team-ewan.com
I can not even possibly begin to relate to the unimaginable things that my friend has endured and will face in the future. She has looked death in the face and chosen to see the grace of God instead. She has laid her son (her only begotten) at the feet of Jesus, knowing that only He alone could heal. And He did! But, what's more...even if He didn't, this mother continues to know that God is good. No matter what. Truly, that is the power of a mother's love. She has chosen to hand the illusion of control over to God, and to be firmly planted in the palm of His hand, and His plan.
God have mercy, Christ have mercy.
Motherhood isn't about task-management. Being a mother doesn't mean you start every day with a checklist and balance your self-esteem on the grim potential of completing that list before daddy gets home and still finds you in your jammies. It isn't about folding clothes or cooking dinner or making sure there's toilet paper in the house. It isn't about making sure your kids are polite or clean or even safe... These are all wonderful aspirations, don't get me wrong - there is a reason that women are equipped to multi-task and still remember who's birthday it is that month. These are lovely things. But they are not motherhood.
What my friend reminded me last night, was that motherhood is ultimately the privilege of sacrifice. I don't mean the kind of self-help-Dr-Phil kind of "give your kids the last of the ice cream even though you want to devour it yourself" kind of sacrifice. No. I mean, "cry your eyes out realizing you are not and never were in control of this child kind of sacrifice that starts with the most unbelievable act of selflessness that ever existed" and giving your child to God to allow His will to surpass your own desires. Whoa. That is some serious love. A love that I can only hope to attain someday. A love that I strive to catch a glimpse of as I hold my baby tight and pray over her with tearful gratefulness.
I am humbled. I am in awe.
We are all working towards becoming more Christ-like, trying to allow the Father to mold us a little each day, fearful that pain may come with each new touch of His hand, but grateful for His guidance and protection. It is an agonizing privilege to watch Kirsten be molded so painfully by the Father right now. Her little babe is a miracle-machine, and we await anxiously alongside her to know the plans God has for him. None of us know what to say. I know she would be the first to admit it is only by God's grace and the prayers of many that she lives through each minute. Still, she reminds me daily what it is to be a mother.
Thank you! If that is what motherhood is...please, God...let it define me.

twentysomething

Remember that old show, Thirtysomething? That ABC super-drama about young families and couples just trying to stay sane in the late 80s? I was in grade school when that show aired, so I'm having the privilege of watching it now on Netflix. I have the luxury of mocking their hairstyles and their baggy clothes - remembering "way back when" at the time I thought "those people are OLD". Now, I sit and stare at the screen thinking - do I look like that? (No, not the silly hair and clothes, well, at least I hope not). But, every time I walk by a student on campus, now I am face to face with the reality that I can no longer ever be mistaken to be one of them again...I'm old. Tonight marks the beginning of the end. It's my last week to be in my twenties. One week from today, I will...gulp...turn 30.

Now, many of you (probably still in your twenties) are thinking "Big deal [old lady] so it's another birthday!" and many of you (already in your thirties or beyond) are thinking "It's wonderful, you'll love it!" Indeed, I waver myself. I mean, it's not like I haven't known this was coming! Some days I think "THIRTY! That's exciting! People might start taking me more seriously or asking my advice! People will look at me and think - 'Hey, she's got a good man, a good job, and a cute kid - what a life!' so I MUST have it all! I am living the dream!" and some days I think "Is it just me, or is that Oil of Olay ad STARING at me and shouting obscenities like 'Retinol!' and 'Age Defying!'?" (It's true, with each new decade the cosmetic aisle makes you take one big awkward step to the right, literally shoving you towards youthful pursuits down your very own crows-feet timeline.)

So here I am, right at the cusp. I'm about to embark in a whole new chapter of my life. But, until I do (let's remember I have one precious week left, and I thoroughly intend on flaunting it) allow me to take a glance back. Welcome to the twilight zone.

Welcome to Twentysomething.

One thing I will not miss in my thirties (and I'm counting on this, Lord, are you listening?) is drama. D-R-A-M-A, drama. Somehow it has found me wherever I turned in my twenties (heck, sometimes I chased it down myself, punched it in the face, and bought it a drink afterwards) and that's exactly why my twenties reads something like the caption in the tv guide under the Lifetime network. See for yourself:

When I turned twenty, I had just gotten married. I was a newlywed living outside of Nashville, TN. He was in a band and I was in major need of a therapist. I had just moved across the country, abandoning all friends and career goals for - you guessed it - love. It was a highly dramatic time in my life, filled with passion and jealousy and every other emotion that a boy might write a song about for you. The depression was inevitable, yet shocking. We clung to Jesus and each other, but there were many nights that I stayed awake wondering what was wrong with me...and I made a shining effort to bring each option on my list of woes to the surface. A few years of prayer, counsel, some medication, and slowly-developed-friendships, and I was on the road to being healthy. I had done it! I had fought with the devil and won! I had pulled myself up by my bootstraps and changed for the better. My marriage was worse for wear, but our sights were set on healing and housing...signs of commitment! We bought a house, he got a dream job, and I was thumbing through paint swatches to distract myself from picking out baby names instead. I was ready to live life, having new perspective, feeling older and wiser. He was ready to live life too...but not alongside me. That was it for him. He was out. We never spent one night together in that big beautiful house.

The pain was excruciating. I immediately needed to sink my teeth into something productive, something just for me, something positive and persevering - so I enrolled at a local university to finish my degree. I also sought therapy from anywhere I could get it - professional, church, friends, family, my credit card at the nearby mall... I was in survival mode. My heart made it, but my marriage didn't. After months of living a nightmare, of crying myself to sleep every night, after being forced to sign papers I swore I would never even consider...it was over. I was 24, a Christian, and divorced.

I graduated late the next fall, and I needed change. Not just change...a fresh start. I got back in touch with some of my friends from my teenage years -my California college years - afterall, my ole roommate had just gotten married and she had that cute brother who grew up to be quite a looker. I always loved my time in California, it felt like home. I needed home...comfort...peace. I decided to move back to California and everyone around me was thoroughly supportive - confirming my belief in my plan and myself. Maybe this life could turn out to have some hope afterall - maybe even some fun? That ole brother of my college roommate was more than willing to show me around California if I'd like a personal tour...and the more we talked, the more I wanted that tour. By the time I flew out to see California, I'd found an apartment and a few weeks later I was moving. I packed my car with all my belongings (what little I had managed to keep through the devastation) and headed west. Forty long hours later, I was sitting in the middle of a barren apartment in California, waiting on my new boyfriend to meet me so he could assemble my tv and blow-up bed. This is when true signs of hope began to spring up, and the healing I had been working so hard to achieve finally started to show up. A therapist is wonderful - they can listen to you all day, they can show you a caring face and help you sort through all kinds of emotion...but there ain't nothin like a handsome boy kissin you on the lips to sweep you off your feet and spin your head around to make you realize to your core that THIS PERSON LOVES YOU. And Josh did love me. And I him.

We were married later that year, purposefully the day after Thanksgiving (what a glorious day! an entire day devoted to gratefulness!) and we pursued a healthy marriage as fervently as we had pursued each other - with purpose and Christ at the center.

It's true what they say, "a healthy marriage takes work" - its just that they don't always apply another famous saying "do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life". Totally true. I love that Josh Pardy, let me tell you. And as if my telling you wasn't evidence enough (forgive me), but as the story continues...a few happy years later we welcomed another Pardy into the family. Matilda Hazel Darling Pardy was born last November, and has only increased the joy of our home exponentially each day since.

And that pretty much sums it up.

That's my twenties. Ups and downs, indeed. There were times I'm pretty sure that I could've personally been sponsored by Kleenex, and I could've used the endorsement.

I know that there will be pain in my thirties. I know that there will be trials and unforeseen worries that await. But, I'm so thankful to be entering this next decade in a season of blissful hope and utter happiness. God has been so good to me and my family.

So long, twenties...it's been a ride.

In Process

It's that time of year again, folks...the summer is coming to a close. I know I say this every season (every holiday, every birthday, every Friday...) but I can not believe how fast the year is going! If someone told me it was April today, I would totally believe them - that seems like a much more realistic pace to life. But, nope! Here we are - the middle of AUGUST and I have a 9 month old who is reminding me every day that time is fleeting...quickly!

All summer has felt like catch-up from spring. I had all these goals for the summer, from the simple to the complex: Take more walks, Expand my recipe horizons for dinner, Learn to take more-pro-like photographs, Raise money for Josh to go to Haiti and pray pray pray about how God will use that experience in our lives!

Some goals got met (You can read about some of Josh's Haiti tales HERE in his recent article for Relevant's site called Reject Apathy), some were missed (I never did implement kale or bok choy into any new recipes) and some are still in progress (though I suppose you can never pray too much about how God will use experiences like Haiti to shape your life! Also, I'm hoping to take a local community photography class later this fall - so that's exciting!)

If I had to label this summer in one word, I'd say it was a summer of PROCESS.

The first half of the summer was a process (as a noun) of helping to prepare Josh to go to Haiti.

Main Entry: pro·cess

Pronunciation: \ˈprä-ˌses, ˈprō-, -səs\

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English proces, from Anglo-French procés, from Latin processus, from procedere

Date: 14th century

1 a : progress, advance b : something going on : proceeding
2 a (1) : a natural phenomenon marked by gradual changes that lead toward a particular result

We raised money, we got a new lense for the camera, we bought his tickets (separate from the group since he was traveling from LA and meeting up with them in Atlanta), and we also made arrangements for myself - as Matilda and I had our own adventure to Kansas. Apart from the practical, we also set forth in a spiritual process - praying for the money, the resources, praying for the orphanage to make the proper preparations, praying for the team to come together and be the right people, etc...it was all a process. Even when it seemed haphazard at times, God was in the process...in fact, God was the processor... We would just come up with the questions - and hand them right on over to Him.

Where's the money gonna come from? Here ya go, God!

Who's gonna go? Here ya go, God!

I'm worrying about the orphans, the safety of Josh, the conditions of Haiti, the possible diseases, the flights.... Oh, right...Here God, here's a bundle! Thanks!

Then, once the crux of our summer had passed and Josh returned from Haiti...we started to process (as a verb) everything Josh saw, heard, felt, etc.

Main Entry: process

Function: transitive verb

Date: 1532

2 a : (2) : to integrate sensory information received so that an action or response is generated es visual images relayed from the retina> (3) : to subject to examination or analysis

It is crazy - because I know I wasn't even there! I didn't even get a firsthand account of those people...yet I feel like I was/am part of the team who went. Hearing the stories, seeing the amazing photos that Josh took while he was there (see his facebook album HERE) I emotionally and physically sympathize with the experience, though I feel that my heart is truly empathizing with the team. I can't actually know what it was like to bathe with a water bucket and not taste cold water for a week (though I can imagine it!) and I don't know what it is like to see the miles and miles of devastation that those people live IN each and every hour...but my heart aches for them. Every time I run a faucet, I thank Jesus... and how many more super-conveniences do I still take for granted each day? Millions, I'm sure. All that to say - even though I didn't even GO to Haiti - I feel like I am still processing everything right along with Josh! And I'm so thankful that God is opening doors for him to share his experience and promote ways to help this incredibly in-need country (see Josh's Return from Haiti video HERE from Fullerton Stories).

So, as we soak up these last several days of summer...(though the sun will continue to shine in Southern California day after day after day!) we enter the Fall semester with open hearts and minds...actively processing all that God has shown us in these last few months. I feel like we are hitting the ground running (mentally at least) as we pursue opportunities and pray about doors opening and closing...just asking God to use us how He sees fit.

What will the Fall hold?...Here ya go, God.

Word from Haiti

Instead of posting my own story today, I'll be sharing a post that Kelly recently wrote straight from Haiti. Josh will be home in just a couple days! Thanks for your continued support and prayers.

From Kelly:

It’s one thing to hear about the medical situation in Haiti; it’s another to watch someone you love be held in it’s weak hands. I had to go into a bathroom for solitude to let out a big cry before we loaded Andrea into the van this morning. I hated seeing her hurt and I hated seeing her feel so powerless to find help.

Josh accompanied us for support, a guy named Brett drove and Duncans interpreted for us. Brett and Duncans were such imperative and beautiful servants.

Josh was awesome and he was so perfectly loving toward Andrea. I think my favorite moment with him so far was when he leaned over the seat and kissed her on the forehead. My heart was filled with joy to see his love for her run deeply.

Our friend Andrea had been suffering shortness of breath, had pains in her stomach, pains in her chest and extreme fatigue.

Today her condition worsened and we knew we needed to move on it.

Andrea laid across the seat of the van. I was in the floor holding her hand and Josh was behind helping hold her up in the seat as big bumps and the quick stops tossed her about. Josh and I, of course, made the occasional joke to help us through the situation. It did Andrea’s heart good to hear our laughter.

We finally arrived at the medical tent. It sat in the middle of all things poverty. Two different doctors gave us two different opinions. I was so concerned for her. How can we go from a potential heart attack to a terrible inner infection to an ulcer all in five minutes? Well, because there’s no way at this place to test her. No way to get a blood test. No way to get a heart test. No way to scope for an ulcer.

They tell us to go to another place but that she MUST finish another IV here but time COULD be of the essence. Josh suggested to take her IV with us and we did just that. So, we put her and her iv into the van and began to drive her to another location for a blood test and ekg. We had a post-it note referral and we were banking on it. The IV hurt her arm with every bump of the van because they had put it in kinda funky. Josh and I kinda wished out loud that we could google about IV’s and put it back in the right spot for her. I mean, we would have needed a good dose of steady hands and courage but it could have helped….maybe.

We kept pouring water on her face very lightly to cool her off. Again, Josh made sure she didn’t fall off the seat…and I held her too. She kept winking at us to reassure our hearts and to thank us. Her smile was like the strength of the ocean’s tide. It amazed me. I also kept thinking about how easy it is in the states to get a blood test.

We continued to drive on the painful roads. We ended up on a strange dirt road full of tent cities and at the end you could see a cluster of white tents. That cluster is called the “hospital.” I imagined that i’d try to set up my tent near a hospital if I had to live in Haiti. I imagined it would give me a little hope to find help in a time of need…..until I saw the line.

Anyway, the line was LONG but luckily we had a post-it note referral. The welcome also became stronger for Andrea when they saw she was with Americans. On that note, let me just say that we have a great opportunity as Americans to advocate for the suffering…think on that.

Sadly, the post-it note referral did us more harm than good. They refused Andrea the tests because she had already “been to another doctor.” We tried to explain we were referred…we were trying hard to pretend that mattered. I tried to convince myself it mattered. I felt really passionate about the power of that post-it.

Another local friend of ours FiFi came down to help us talk to them. We were all feeling powerless and angry. Just as I was about to get crunk and use my violent american tongue to lash out at the impotent system all around me….the Father whispered to me to forgive.

Plant healthy seeds here, Kelly. Plant forgiveness and mercy into the atmosphere. Establish the beauty of my kingdom. Look at the sick ones around you and the doctors working tirelessly. Forgive.

I thank you, Spirit of God, for whispering to me and aborting the plan of of the enemy to plant more seeds of powerlessness, unforgiveness and anger into the spiritual culture here. Just as I took a deep breath and confessed my heart to Josh, things started getting clearer and adequate attention was granted to my dear friend, Andrea.

By God’s grace, we encountered a french doctor who was with Doctors without Borders. He examined her well and he felt strongly that she had a really bad ulcer and a urinary tract infection. He said that if her chest pain continued that she could come back, ask for him (dr francois) and he would do an EKG. He sent us away with antibiotics, ulcer medicine and hope.

The team gathered their spare cash together and we went to the grocery store to buy her food that does not have a lot of acid or salt. Now she has medicine, love, and good food to eat. Thank you, Father.

When we returned to our tent, Andrea asked for an interpreter to come in. She said, “I have no mother or sister here in Port au Prince. You have become both to me. You see me and you cared about my pain and now I have medicine. I wish I could give you something in return but all I have to give you is my heart.” I replied, “Andrea, we are friends and that is simply what friends do for one another.” Then, Andrea and I both looked up at Ladonna. She nodded her head in agreement and smiled a nurturing smile toward Andrea. We all silently agreed that family is supposed to take care of family and that we have become just that.

The truth is we were never powerless, unseen or alone. The beautiful Holy Spirit of our Father was guiding us, healing her and directing us to the right place amidst the chaos.