Motherhood, Milk and Mercy

Last week, my little boy celebrated his first month of life outside of me. It's hard for me to believe it's already been a month. You always hear parents tell you "It goes by so fast!" and "Enjoy every minute" cause "you're gonna miss this." (Pause and enjoy a moment of sentimentality with good ol' Trace.) But boy, oh boy, it's true! I always thought it was one of those things where your child turns 18, and you're like, "wow, that flew by!" but no, we hit the end of the first week, the first month, and I'm already freaking out cause I feel like he's growing up WAY faster than I want! But I digress.

The point of this post was actually to share with you, dear reader, one of the beautiful and amazing ways that God has taught me about His love for me through my beautiful baby.

You're probably like, "Duh, Joy. Of course that precious little person is teaching you about God's love."  And I figured he would, I just had no idea to what degree it would be!

I could tell you about how, sometimes when I'm up with him in the middle of the night I'm just brought to tears by how much I love this little person and the fact that God loved me enough to make ME his mommy.

I could tell you about how I'm just obsessed with every little thing about him and sometimes just spend hours sitting and staring at him, despite the fact that there's piles of dishes and laundry and God only knows what else, all over our little house. And how it blows my mind that God looks at me with such love.

I could even tell you about how even the grossest and least desirable tasks aren't that hard because it's just a little way that I can care for him and show him my love. How these messes remind me of the mess that I'm in and God's amazing mercy.

But I'm not going to tell you about any of those things.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about milk and how my adorable little boy has revealed to me something about a parent's love, about God the Father's love for me...and about myself. And I'm sorry to say, it seems he's already picked up one of my bad habits.

It all started with the adventure of breastfeeding. (If the thought of breastfeeding makes you uncomfortable, check out this funny commercial and then don't worry. I won't be graphic.)  For any of you who have not yet had the wonderful opportunity to experience this first hand, you may be alot like I was about a month ago. I was so excited to have this blissful, wonderful, bonding experience of breastfeeding my precious little child. And it is all of those things...but not always right away. Just in case you haven't experienced it yet, I won't go into detail, but it can be a little hard at first.

And one of the hardest parts of it is helping your sweet and starving child understand what he has to do to get the milk. It's all right there for him. It's delicious, nutritious....some even call it "liquid gold." And if you could see the chunky little cheeks on my kid, you'd realize that it is indeed, some good stuff. However, my sweet baby had a really hard time figuring this out at first. I'd be right there, offering him the good stuff, and he'd resort to attempting to suck food out of his shirt, his arm, even his little mittens-that-we-put-on-his-hands-to-protect-him-from-clawing-his-eyes-out, and refuse to go to where the actual food was. And he'd proceed to suck ferociously on whatever random object he found, until he realized he wasn't getting anything and then would serenade us with an extremely frustrated (and pitiful) little wail. Sometimes, in an attempt to help him, I'd gently try to remove whatever random thing he was vigorously sucking, and attempt to replace it with what he actually needed. This was usually met with the angriest little cry you've ever heard from a 4-day-old.

A few days into this whole life-outside-the-womb-thing, he finally started to figure it out. He'd enjoyed a few good meals, and we'd all enjoyed the fact that his poor little tummy wasn't making his life miserable. And then we started having issues again. Sometimes he'd readily cuddle and get a ridiculously cute little milk buzz. And then other times, despite the fact that he'd previously enjoyed the goodness of that "liquid gold," he would refuse me, and resort back to those stupid gloves! I couldn't understand it. I'd offer, sweet talk, beg, and really, try just about anything to help my poor little boy get something to eat...but over and over, he'd want nothing to do with it. And then, in final desperation, he'd usually give in, and finally allow me to feed him. This cycle continued for a few days, which, in new-mommy-land, can feel like AGES. (Wait, I was just talking at the start of this post about how it feels like it's flying? I don't know. I'm losing my mind.)

And then it hit me. My little boy is just like me.

How many times (in my life, in the past month...shoot, TODAY!) does the Lord offer me something SO GOOD, and instead of taking it and enjoying it, I try to satisfy myself with other random things. Things that will never actually provide what I need, or even want! How many times have I started screaming (literally and figuratively) at the Lord when He tries to take away something that isn't helping me, and offer me something much better? And even worse, how often have I tasted how good God is, and then, even after knowing and experiencing the abundant life that He has for me, do I continue to turn away?? It seems ridiculous. About as ridiculous as trying to suck milk from your own arm.

Thankfully, my sweet child caught on pretty quickly, but during the time when he was struggling, it was so hard! I can't tell you how much it broke my heart to watch my poor baby crying, knowing that I had what he needed, but having him refuse it over and over. It killed me to see him struggling to get what he needed, and turning everywhere but me. I wanted so badly to give him something good, to provide exactly what he needed at that moment, but he kept refusing it...over and over. And yet, I kept trying.

There was no point at which I thought, "Oh well, kid, I guess you don't want my milk...fend for yourself." I certainly don't say that to pat myself on the back. In the few short weeks that I've been a mother, I've already failed plenty of times. I say it because it reminds me that, "If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!" (Matthew 7:11)

My little boy, in this whole experience, gave me a beautiful image of how much my heavenly Father loves me. He continues to offer me the opportunity to follow Him and share His abundant life. He longs to provide for me and give me His unconditional love and mercy, even when I turn away and break His heart. He longs to give me good things, even more than I long to give good things to my baby. And He waits, He begs, me to come into His loving embrace, where He can fulfill my every desire.

How long will it take for me to decide to surrender to His love and receive this liquid gold He has for me?

If only I caught on as quickly as my sweet baby.

Say a prayer for me, if you will.

Love,
Joy :)

Hi, my name is Joy...

The day was December 6th 2011. I was driving home from work...and unknowingly to the surprise birthday dinner that my husband so thoughtfully planned for me. And as is common during my hour-long commute home, I was listening to the radio and I was struck by a really beautiful worship song.  One of the lines was "You are joy, You are joy, You're the reason that I sing...." and I was struck by the fact that our Lord IS Joy, and that my name is a call to be like Him...to reflect His true JOY.

And then it was December 6th 1986.  I'd heard the story many times...My parents were just so filled with happiness when I was born that it became my name..."Joy." I've recalled this story at various times in my life, but for some reason, this time, it struck me differently this time. I started  thinking about how "joy" is an important way that I'm called to reflect the Lord's goodness and love, and it's also become a way for Satan to attack me, to seek to steal my "joy." And then I remembered that is how he works. Satan's tried to steal my name before, and been successful, quite a few times. He's tried to take "Daughter of God," "Beloved," and "Good." Thankfully, God's grace and healing have given me the strength to fight back and reclaim those names. But now Satan was back for another one..."Joy."

In these past few months, I've struggled with fear, worry, and frustration - the complete opposites of joy! And somehow I seemed to miss the connection, that, of course, Satan attacks us at our core...he attacks our identity...and tries to take our names. He sure got me. In fact, I don't even remember putting up a fight

What does your name mean? What name is Satan trying to take from you? What part of your identity are you gonna start fighting for?

Well, thank God for K-Love and birthdays, because they really got me thinking...and realizing just what was at stake. And I'm taking my name back. I was given this name for a reason. and I fully intend to glorify and reflect the Lord with it. Sorry, Satan. You don't get to have my "joy."

Love,
Joy :)

My Extrovert Dilemma

What I’m about to say may shock you. For those of you who know my witty, charming and sociable husband, it really might come as a complete surprise.

Although he is generally a wonderful conversationalist and entertaining story-teller…he has a secret. He’s a closet-introvert. Now just in case you’re not a psychologist or obsessed with various personality assessment tools, an introvert is not someone who hates people, fun or all social interaction.  Contrary to the belief of many extroverts, introverts are not anti-social people who hate you.  An introvert is simply someone who recharges and gets their energy from being alone.  I know for some of you, this is a very confusing concept. It confuses me. I honestly do not understand how you can feel better after spending time alone. But amazingly, these people do it…And manage to not only survive, but be in a better mood after being by themselves!

As I said before, I don’t get it. There is nothing that makes me happier than being with the people I love and talking/laughing/story-telling/joking/crying (yes, sometimes all of those things do happen in a whirlwind extrovert session) together.  And so, naturally, I expect that the best way I can love another person is by providing them the pleasure of my company (and voice) and being present , for them to describe the various details of their life. So you can imagine what a rude awakening it was for me when I actually realized that my husband was a real-life-introvert.  I recall a scene where I walked through the door after a long day at work, into our beautiful home...oh wait, no…we don’t have a beautiful home. I walked into my grandpa’s basement, which, in essence is the one room apartment that we are currently occupying, to find my husband, watching TV on his laptop, with headphones in. (Side note, I’m pretty sure headphones were invented by an introvert. I have no proof. It’s just a theory.) He removed the headphones for a minute, said a quick “hi” and plugged himself back in. I was devastated. I wanted nothing more than to love him by sharing my day and hearing about his, and here he was, completely content to lose himself in the world of his favorite TV show.

I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I really “ached” to be able to love Josh by spending time with him. And I felt really hurt and rejected that wasn't how he needed to be loved at that moment. 

I don’t remember exactly what reminded me, but I started thinking about something that Christopher West said when I went to one of his classes this past summer…He talked about how when our love is “rejected” and we’re hurt by someone (especially someone that we love) we can choose to open our heart and offer our pain to the Lord, and HE can fill that ache in our heart. But it doesn’t stop there…HE can also redeem our “ache” and use that redemptive suffering to love that person in the way that they really need to be loved at that moment. WOW! So, by me choosing to not get angry that Josh didn’t want to spend time with me that very second, and giving that hurt to the Lord, I could actually love Josh in that moment…not the way that I wanted to love him, but rather in the way that he needed to be loved! And isn’t loving him what I wanted to do in the first place?

I would love to tell you that is what I do every time Josh admits that he “needs introvert time” and plugs in those headphones. It’s not.  But I can tell you, that in those times when I do give my extroverted “ache” to the Lord, it really does make a difference. And although I know that some of it comes from the fact that Josh feels better once he’s spent some time alone….I also know that the Lord loved him exactly how he needed to be loved, from my sacrifice.  And it’s a good deal for me too, because the Lord’s always ready for a conversation.  I’m so glad He’s an extrovert.  J

So until my husband has a conversion from introversion (oh my goodness…that should be a song. Or a rap. Connor Flanagan, where are you when I need you?), I guess this is how I’ll be learning to love.

Then again, I could always just blog when Josh doesn’t want to talk…

Love,

Joy

Rotten Squash

I had a melt-down the other day. It was my day off and I woke up early, which was really a small miracle in and of itself, determined to have a productive "cute wife day." I did a ton of laundry (how is there this much with 2 people?? Lord help me when we have children!), and then cleaned the kitchen and proceeded to do meal planning for the next couple of weeks. I headed to the grocery store with a list long enough to impress the Krazy Coupon Ladies, and spent close to two hours on a grocery-finding-mission. Being the cute wife that I am, I came home, put all the food away and proceeded to begin preparing one of Josh's favorite meals.   And that's when disaster struck. I cut open the spaghetti squash to find that it was rotten. Disappointing, but I was having too good of a day to let it bother me too much, so I hopped in the car and went to a different grocery store to grab another squash. Upon returning home, I cut open the new squash only to find out that, it too, was rotten. And then I lost it. Literally flipped out. My cute husband heard me freaking out (I may or may not have slammed a few cabinets and pans...) and came upstairs to see what was wrong, at which point I got upset and started freaking out on him. Realizing that the situation was quickly deteriorating, he suggested we go out to eat. A welcome suggestion, right? Not to me. I got even more upset, that he hated my cooking, my hair and puppies. (Okay, maybe not quite that bad. Although, he may have a different story.) In a matter of minutes, my fabulous "cute-wife'day" had gone completely wrong...all because of rotten squash, or so I thought.

Later that evening, I made it to Adoration and was praying with the daily Mass readings from the day.

"On a certain sabbath Jesus went into the synagogue and taught, and there was a man there whose right hand was withered. The scribes and the Pharisees watched him closely to see if he would cure on the sabbath so that they might discover a reason to accuse him. But he realized their intentions and said to the man with the withered hand, "Come up and stand before us." And he rose and stood there.Then Jesus said to them, "I ask you, is it lawful to do good on the sabbath rather than to do evil, to save life rather than to destroy it?" Looking around at them all, he then said to him, "Stretch out your hand." He did so and his hand was restored. But they became enraged and discussed together what they might do to Jesus." (Luke 6:6-11, RSV)

And then it hit me. I'm a "cute-wife-Pharisee." I'll spend all day doing all this random stuff to try to impress my husband, or the cute wife down the street, or Martha Stewart.  But then one thing goes wrong and I can't even speak lovingly to my husband. It becomes more about the meal I make than the man with whom I get to enjoy it. And that's not cute. And it's certainly not love. It's being a Pharisee...looking good on the outside, following all the cute-wife-rules...but not really loving. And let me tell you, it sure is easier to iron laundry than to really love another person. But I'm gonna give love one heck of a good try. Because he's worth it.

Thanks for teaching me a lesson, rotten squash. 

Joy :)

And God laughed...

When people start talking about "life goals," the thought always conjures up some fun memories. I remember watching "A Walk to Remember" in high school and deciding, along with several of my close friends, that we should make lists of 101 things we wanted to do before we died. And so we did. Of course, this was more important than listening to whatever our English/Physics/History teacher was talking about...I mean, it was our LIVES that we were planning here.

And my, oh my, did I plan. Everything from "read all of C.S. Lewis' books" to "kiss in the rain" - I had it covered. I'd always heard that "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans," but somehow it never seemed to really sink in for me... So I made lots of plans...many of them starting with "I'm never going to..."

And yes. He laughed. Out loud, most likely.

I was never going to be a missionary. And then came NET.
I was never going to go to a crazy Catholic school. And then I got accepted to Franciscan.
I was never going to work with teenagers. And then I discovered Catechetics and Youth Ministry.
I was never going to stay in Steubenville. And then I got an amazing job.
And I was certainly never going to marry Joshua Wattenbarger. I am so glad I didn't get my way on that one!

Our life has been filled with lots of plans over the past few months, some which have come together beautifully and some that have fallen utterly apart.

And in it all, I'm slowly learning to trust. Not only learning to trust the Lord, but learning to trust the amazing man that I've married. It's often a crazy journey, but I'm starting to figure out how to give the ache and disappointment to the Lord along with the laughter and victories, knowing that He will bring both to redemption and perfection, if I'll only let go of my plans.

And my most recent "failed plan?"

I will never blog. Whelp, here we go.

I realized that I wanted to take notes along the way and put them together as a reflection on our life.  A journal of our adventure..our crazy journey to His heart.

Love,
Joy