I try to blog each year on my birthday. I think of it sort of like another New Year’s Day. A day to reflect, to evaluate and to inspire change.

Today I’ve rounded the bases towards 40. Closer to 40 than 30. If I shed any tears they are tears of joy. I find the mid-30s to be better than I ever could have imagined. As my mom says: a little bit wiser and without diapers to change.

Later this year my baby starts Kindergarten. I will have officially tendered 10 years of stay-at-mom-hood. Gone are the days of poop, breast milk, baby wipes, naps and slobber. Just like that – in the blink of an eye – they are gone. I suppose many would usher me quickly into the full time work place come fall, but instead I quietly gesture “no, thank you” and take my time to ponder what I might do next.

For starters I plan to do something kinda crazy and take bass guitar lessons. I love the bass guitar. I took acoustic guitar and piano lessons as a young child but neither stuck. (The ability to still play “Oh When the Saints Go Marching In” on the piano doesn’t count, does it?) I’m not sure I’ll be any good at playing the bass (da bass, mahn) but I’m sure as hell going to try AND look cool while trying. My goal is to try to find a purple bass. Craigslist here I come.

I’ve got several other items on my “to do” list for year 37, that I won’t share quite yet. I will tell you that my hubby and I have some creative projects we’re going to (continue) work(ing) on, which I’m very excited about. Our elusive “The Pawn Shop” short film, which I haven’t spoken much about, may just see the light of day this year. Other to-do’s include continuing to work on myself inside and out, trying to organize my gazillion photographs, and certainly taking more time to write.

Where will I be when I turn 37? What will I be considering next year at this time? What will my heart’s desire continue to pursue? A few Sundays ago my prayer in church was: “Help me love better, help me know better, help me do better, help me forgive better.” Perhaps my mantra for the upcoming year…

I’ve written this blog over the past week and originally felt uninspired to post it today. It felt a little boring; as if my blogs are usually more romantic, using words like grateful & fortunate to describe my life’s circumstances. And not that I’m not feeling those things this year but I don’t ache with inspiration to go on and on about them. It occurred to me that posting the blog as it is may just be more like real life. More like a 36 year old mom who has laundry to do and kids to pick up. Sometimes we’re not as romantic about our lives, sometimes we feel boring and that’s OK. For now real life will do just fine.

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My children loved everything about the beach. The water, the sun, the sand. Holy moments occurred when I watched them run on the wet sand, leaving their delicious little footprints behind. Footprints that would never be that exact size again. Each moment and each print to be cherished for the moment of time they were in, for only brief seconds for we quickly continued moving forward in time, never to return to that particular holy moment again.

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

Three mornings out of our week we had breakfast at a delicious restaurant called Girasoles de la Hacienda. The restaurant overlooks the ocean, it’s a peaceful atmosphere and the food is delicious. But what made our mornings most beautiful were the people of Girasoles: Daniel, Norman, Francisco, Deisy, Araceli, to name a few. There was truly a connection between our family and these amazing people.

The Mexican people in general were some of the most beautiful and gracious people I have ever met in my life. They were kind and friendly, they smiled and they were accommodating in ways that Americans never even dream of. The Mexican people I met smile a lot and that’s refreshing. They make eye contact with you when you pass and they say “Hola!” and “Buenos Dias!” They are humble, genuine and encouraging. (”It doesn’t matter that it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, David, have some tequila, it’s your birthday!”)

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

In my cynicism I wondered a time or two if our treatment was purely based on what US dollar someone may receive from this American. However, in my limited experience with humanity, I’ve learned that there are connections that cannot be explained, and that it was more important for me to trust this particular instinct instead of allowing my cynicism to prevail.

In the movie “Before Sunrise” the character Celine describes God as not someone or something inside of us, but as existing in “this little space in between” us. She says: “If there’s any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something.” Our times with our friends at Girasoles were at the very least magical, but much more likely Divine.

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new
You are making me new

The day before we left I spent some time contemplating how fortunate we had been to broaden our horizons and embrace a new and different culture. It occurred to me that our experience was only one of many to be had. Our world is so huge and yet our personal worlds are often so small. How many more geographies, cultures, languages, and, most importantly, people are there for us to experience on this great Earth? Countless, I presume. I hope that this is only the beginning of that type of journey for the W5

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

Like most things in my life I feel as if God ordained each moment of my trip for me. Not only the beautiful moments, but also the busy, the stressful, the sick, the tense, and of course as equally the intimate, the peaceful, the silent, the rest. My husband Dave shared at our Thanksgiving meal how grateful he is to be able to embrace the fullness of life which includes both the beautiful and the ugly, the happy and the sad. He likes to explain that without both sides of each and every coin our life as we know is probably not full. I like to think our time in Mexico embodied Dave’s theory completely. And for that I am eternally grateful.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

PS As per the addition to my bucket list I downloaded an app for my iPhone called “Learn Spanish Quick”. Muy bueno!

(*) Lyrics “Beautiful Things” by Gungor. Watch their YouTube video below.

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All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all(*)

Every five years the immediate side of my family takes a big vacation, all 10 of us together. In both 2001 & 2006 we vacationed in Hawaii. This year my mom made the suggestion we make a change and visit Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It felt like the right time for change. Hawaii, incidentally, is at the same latitude on the globe as Cabo, so in terms of both warm weather and water temp we could expect pretty much the same climate. Both pretty darn close to paradise if you ask me.

So we scheduled our time away, packed up the kids and headed off for vacation during this past Thanksgiving week.

On the plane just before we landed I asked my sister what she hoped to accomplish on her trip. She shared a couple of deeply moving goals she had as she continues on her own personal journey. She asked me about my goals. Without missing a beat I answered: “Sit and stare.” Insert hilarious banter between Jerry (Seinfeld) & Elaine:

I spent a lot of time that week sitting and staring. Me and my thoughts. Long breaks from books, magazines, conversation and most importantly my phone and social media. To say it was glorious is an understatement.

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

I’d visited Mexico only a handful of times prior to this trip, always youth mission trips to Ensenada or Tijuana (just a smidge south of San Diego), but nothing ever as south as the most southern point of Baja California. When you get off the plane (about a 1/2 hour from where we’d stay in Cabo, a short drive to the actual beach) you immediately see beautiful desert mountains. Just stepping off the plane I felt the welcomed rush of different scenery, culture and people and it made me instantly happy.

My mom is a second generation Mexican-American. Her maiden name was Vasquez and her maternal family are Lopez. Even though my mom was raised by a Spanish speaking mother she grew up in the 50s & 60s when (some) Mexican-American children weren’t taught the language of their parents. They were essentially encouraged to be “white”. Not to mention, my grandmother and her sisters gossiped in Spanish, they didn’t want the little kids to know what they were saying or who they were talking about. And so my mom never learned Spanish, which to this day makes her sad. And because she didn’t learn neither did my sisters nor I. Which I wasn’t that sad about…until Cabo.

In Cabo we quickly discovered everyone speaks Spanish (I know that sounds obvious, doesn’t it?). What I mean is they don’t necessarily cater to the American tourists and speak only English. No, in general they speak only Spanish. And you know what? Spanish is beautiful.

About 4 years of high school Spanish y yo puedo hablar un poco Espanol. I was able to speak a little bit of Spanish, but not much. After our week in Cabo I added learning this beautiful language to my bucket list. My sisters and I joke: “So we can speak to our people!” But in all seriousness, after spending a week in Mexico and being immersed in the language I was changed, awakened, and challenged.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

(To be continued…)

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I recently found myself in another HDIGH? moment (That’s “How Did I Get Here?” for short, wink-wink).

A good friend of mine, a mentor mom and social worker, recently asked me to begin co-facilitating a grief support group with her. She’s a licensed clinical social worker and has worked in the field of grief for about a decade. She’s an expert really. So when an expert asks you to help her you don’t say “no”. Especially when you haven’t worked in the social work field for 8-1/2 years because you’ve been busying yourself as a SAHM. Just the “ask” part is an honor. She raised the question: “Do you want to pray about it?” Nope, not necessary. I’m good. Let’s do this.

The grief support group is specifically for parents whom have lost a child.

A-hem: HDIGH?

This particular group of parents have lost a child who is under a year old, possibly even before their pregnancy was full term. Years ago my mentor talked with me about the possibility of co-facilitating but was concerned that I was too near child-bearing age (my baby Grant is 4 now) and I would likely over-identify with the parents, which may not make me the best group leader. We waited several years and now it appears it is time.

But I decided within ten minutes of the group starting last week that it may not have mattered how old my kids are: Losing a child is losing a child. If you have one, you can imagine the horror no matter what their age. You put the baby down for a nap, he doesn’t wake up. SIDS. Even when my “baby” is thirteen, I’ll probably over-identify. And I’m OK with that.

I can’t talk about the specifics of the group, but I can tell you that I didn’t make it through the first meeting without tears visibly rolling down my cheeks. I was embarrassed, but what could I do? Their pain touched me, and I couldn’t help but let it show.

I’ll admit I don’t know what I’m doing (I have a bachelor’s degree in social work), I’ve never led a grief support group before. But I’m totally up for the challenge and I’m so incredibly honored to be invited by my friend to journey with these parents who have suffered greatly. Typing the words “suffered greatly” doesn’t even begin to describe a sliver in the holes of their hearts. The babies they cannot hold.

What I do know is that I am being changed. I wrote in my journal in Starbucks the night after our first group: “Today. The day my life changes forever. Because truly everyday you’re life can change. If you let it.”

Sitting amongst grief-stricken parents is a privilege. A privilege I have not earned, nor do I deserve. I am not a part of their “club”. A club they adamantly declare they never wanted to be a part of. And yet I’m there. I’m going to broaden myself, learn new ways of empathizing, learn a new depth of compassion. I may not know exactly how I got to where I am but I sure as hell know I don’t want to leave. And as I thank God for his providence in my life, I pray for the parents I’ve met, who wake up today with an ache that will probably never be soothed.

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The first day of school is always an emotional day for me. Leaving my big kids is never easy and yet they’re always so excited for their new school year, for their latest adventure. That at least makes it a little easier on me. We say our prayers, cross our fingers, communicate a lot and then say our goodbyes. Trusting the teachers to take good care of my babies while they’re away from me, that’s a huge deal. Trusting God to make something great out of these little people, even huge-er.

Several years ago my sister introduced me to a movie about the amazing mountain gorilla. Mountain gorilla mommies rock. They don’t even let go of their newborns for the first 3 months of life. After that, they don’t let the babies out of their sight for the next 2 years. I’ve learned a lot about a mother’s love through the mountain gorillas. Beautiful and ferocious mommies that they are.

This summer Grant became a member of the booster seat club and closed a chapter not just on car seats but on many things baby. I no longer have children who take naps, or require strollers. I sleep through the night. I no longer change diapers, so I don’t carry a diaper bag. I don’t even carry baby wipes! (Which I could  totally still use sometimes…)

I’ve definitely turned a corner in parenthood. The corner I couldn’t get a glimpse of 8-1/2 years ago. Not even 4 years ago. Turning that corner so far has been about 49% bitter and 51% sweet.

I love my children, I love being a stay at home mom (SAHM)  and I feel present with them no matter what stage they’re in. Having said that, as they grow further from babyhood I feel more space in my mind return for things Candice. I’m still figuring how to prioritize those things but in the mean time I don’t mind being honest that I’m grateful for the opportunity to begin a new chapter in my life.

I’m wondering what mountain gorilla mommies do after the first two years have passed…

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I’ve tried to calculate how many times I’ve actually buckled my kids in and out of their car seats. Times three kids! Then I was overwhelmed by the math (this is summer vacation after all) and thought I might as well just guesstimate in the thousands.

Later this month my baby turns 4 years old. The routine of arm-arm-click-crotch-click-click comes to an end. Grant will be four years old and forty pounds and by California law ready for a regular seat buckle and booster seat. Another major parenting milestone passes. Grant’s a big kid and could easily pass for 4 already. Poundage-wise he’s certainly big enough to switch seats now, and I’ve been tempted to do just that, but something besides the law is holding me back. This is my baby. I’m not ready.

Isn’t it odd though that I’m not looking forward to something that’s totally going to make my life easier?

Easier, but…The truth is, the experience of buckling your baby into their car seat is a pretty intimate one. It’s not only repetitive but you’re physically close to said baby time after time after time (year after year after year). Invading their little personal space, hands maneuvering their little appendages, smelling their smells (OK those sometimes are so great, I was thinking more along the lines of just-after-bath-baby smells.)

Here’s what I remember most about the routine. Not the hassle, but:

The snuggles. The kisses. The giggles. The big admiring eyes. The alligator tears (”Get me out of this thing!”). The times s/he didn’t know I was checking ‘em out in my rear view mirror. The sing songs, the baby conversations with themselves. The baby who fell asleep in the car, their soft purrs as I tried to gently lift them out of their seat (to keep them asleep, of course!). The cheeks, the little hands touching my cheeks. The closeness. The love. The love. The love.

Shortly, my new routine will become a few quick instructions–hop in, hop up, reach over and click. I’ll take out the used, filthy, stinky ol’ car seat. I’ll find old Goldfish crackers, Hot Wheels, Legos, popsicle sticks and even dried up chicken nugget hot mustard (all things I’ve honestly seen). I’ll clean up and vacuum. I’ll move in the cute little booster seat and admire my “new” car.

And then

I’ll shed a little tear for the closing chapter. For the three beautiful babies God has gifted me, for the precious (and challenging) years I’ve spent loading them up, in and out, and for the privilege that it is to raise my children.

For now, and until midnight on July 21st, I think I’ll let those Goldfish crackers stale just a little more.

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I’ve written before that I’ve had a good number of spiritually momentous times in my life. I don’t feel any less normal that most people who’ve decided to follow Christ. I believe God impacts us at pivotal times in our journeys, as He sees fit. As we’ll allow. Motherhood was a huge moment for me. It wasn’t really a moment, though, to be fair. My oldest son was born early in 2003. I didn’t wake up the day after he was born and say “Ew, fundamentalism, gross.” In fact, I remember in the early years of motherhood still arguing points with my brother-in-law who at the time was practicing more of what we’d call emergent Christianity. Oh, he loved the word “conversation”. We’d argue John 3:16 early on Sunday mornings, skipping church, eating egg burritos and listening to Sun Kil Moon. Good times.

Several years after my first son was born I turned 30 and I started to get serious about my questioning, my doubts. I read “The Shack” and I had my first beer. Who knew that’d be the combination to really get me thinking. As my motherhood evolved my perception of God changed. God was a parent, He was me. If I, being created in the image of God, had a love so great for my children that I would never reject them, couldn’t it be possible that God is also like this? Hm.

Moreover, I watched my “non-Christian” girlfriends raise their families and experience the same deep passionate love for their children that I feel for mine. I wasn’t observing any lacking in these dear friends’ parenting skills, their love for their children, their parental devotion or the experience of beauty in the world they had brought their children into. This puzzled me. No, actually, this delighted me! “He will always transcend whatever cages and labels are created to contain and name him, especially the one called ‘Christianity’”. (p. 150) Bell writes in Chapter 6 “There Are Rocks Everywhere” (my favorite chapter of the book).

My mother has often said to me: “Even Timothy McVeigh’s parents still love him.” Oh, you mean to tell me that even when children commit the most monstrous and atrocious acts of crime against innocent humanity, their parents don’t (might not) abandon their love or acceptance for their children? Hm.

I’m visual and very attached to my home. I like to imagine my children, Luke (he’s 8), Danielle (she’s 6) and future politician Grant (he’s 3-1/2) coming to the door of our family home in their worst conditions. Could I, would I, ever turn them away? Truth is: Never. Would I possibly be disgusted and angry? Yes. But I also may be as equally as filled with an unexplainable amount of compassion and mercy. I can imagine myself saying: “Hug me, sweetie, let’s make this better.” Bell beautifully explains: “Grace and generosity aren’t fair; that’s their very essence.” (p. 168).

In my opinion, Rob Bell has great ideas about choice. He asks “Will those who have said no to God’s love in this life continue to say no in the next?…People take that option now and we can assume it will be taken in the future.” (p. 114) “Why limit that chance to a one-off immediately after death?” (p. 150) This concept reminds me a lot of the series finale of LOST. Ben waits outside the church, remember? He’s still got some issues to resolve before he’s ready to go in. Love it.

For me becoming a parent dramatically changed the way I view God. I’ve ultimately come to believe that I have no choice but to deconstruct the boxes I’ve worked so long and so hard to construct or else I’ll end up boxing out my children. In my opinion and in my heart there was just never going to be any box big enough or small enough to keep Luke, Dani & G out of my life. I just can’t help but wonder if that’s why He sent Jesus Christ in the first place.

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I tweeted a couple of weeks ago… “Feeling like changing my “word” from Journey to Path. “Path” seems to have me focused and not as distracted by the fringe. We’ll see…” For a long time I’ve used the word “journey” to describe my spiritual experiences over the past, I don’t know, lifetime. For sure the past 8 or 9 years. The word journey has felt right; it’s like I’ve been traveling to get to a place, right? But I got to thinking since you don’t really “arrive” until you “die” (or so they say) I wondered if “journey” would be my word forever. So I considered: what if it IS possible to arrive and for my journey to change into a path? I’m pretty sure that’s how I feel today.

At certain milestones in my life I’ve taken off, or picked up, baggage during my journey. The last big upheaval was when I turned 30. That was a doozy. Two things were happening. One, I was totally burnt out on church life and people (churchie & non). I swore that, as I turned 30, I’d have a new motto: “I don’t give a $#!t.” I swore that even when people asked me to work in the nursery at church I’d shine ‘em on and not care. True story. Well, sad to say, I guess, it never quite turned out that way. I was still too insecure to give up people-pleasing that easily. I’ve spent a lot of time these past 5 years being disappointed in myself because I wasn’t able to put off the people-pleasing baggage. But what I didn’t know was that maybe it’d take almost 5 years of working it out to actually be able to practice a slightly friendlier version of my motto.

Last year I had the challenge (which was really an opportunity) to put some much needed boundaries in place, for myself and for our family. I decided it was time to truly redefine the aforementioned “fringe”. It was a nerve-wracking and painful year, but after all the hard work I got what I needed: a voice, some freedom and some self-respect.  So as I round my mid thirties and start toward the probably incorrectly dreaded 4-0 I believe having these boundaries in place is what allows me to take my new path.

Here’s a few examples I’m super-excited about…

At the end of last year I was honored to be asked to become a part of the Flood Found Board of Directors. Floodgate Foundation has been an inexplicably humbling experience. (You can read more about Flood Found here, and please support our efforts if you are able.) After our first meeting as a Board I found myself looking around our meeting table, asking “Now, how exactly did *I* get here?” lol. I drove home from that first meeting overwhelmed with appreciation to God. “I’m actually living the life I want my children to strive for.” Surreal.

Earlier this year my good friend and forever pastor, Gary Molander, asked me to write an introduction for the chapter of his first book. He asked if I wouldn’t mind writing about a very specific time in my life, when I was 25 and when God intervened on my behalf in a mighty way. I enthusiastically agreed (and then quietly asked myself again: “Now, how exactly did *I* get here?”).

Writing the intro was beyond my wildest dreams. Sure, I’d wanted to write a book since I was young, but I never guessed my participation in book writing would come at this age, at this life stage. After I agreed I sat down to write a sad but redemptive little story about how God used one woman to speak openly, honestly and firmly into my life. Her name was Jamie, and God used her to completely change the direction of my life. Forever. When the book is available I’ll post the info here, it’s called “Pursuing Christ. Creating Art.” by Gary A. Molander and it comes out this summer.

Finally, after much consideration I’ve decided to launch a website this year that advocates for victims of human trafficking. I’ve felt God turning one of my greatest fears into action and I can’t wait. I’ll write more about that later also. The website should be ready about the time Gary’s book comes out.

Deep breath.

So, yes, a lot of good and amazing things have happened to me this year and through a very painful last year. Enough so that I’ve decided to change my word. I’m on a path. I’m eternally grateful to God that I’m on that path, with Dave, with my kids and with My Savior. Happy Birthday to me.

PS I have three more blog posts in the works, so please stay tuned. One is a two-parter about the process of leaving & grieving (we left our church of 12 years last year, among other things) and one is my review of Rob Bell’s new book Love Wins.

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So the kids and I waited outside for Dave to arrive. It’s beautiful today here in Fresno. Maybe 70 degrees, I dunno. And so it was a nice little wait…until I started concentrating on the state of my garage. Ah-hem. There’s back story here. You see, Dave broke his elbow about six weeks ago. And before that he had started a project making our sons bunk beds. So for a few weeks the garage was going to be a mess, and then it turned into a few months.

I go in and out of the garage daily, but I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not looking at the mess. I’m seeing it, yes, but I’m not “seeing” it. Well this afternoon I saw it, yesiree, and I almost fell over. There’s stuff everywhere, and if I had a nifty iPhone I’d post a picture right now. (Maybe I’ll use Dave’s phone and do that later.) There’s almost no place to walk, tools, wood, the bunk beds, dirt, cords, bikes, strollers, everywhere. Everywhere.

So while I waited I pondered. This garage is a mess and needs to be cleaned up badly, but Dave and I have been acting like it’s not that bad. We pass it every day and notice it with just a glance. We’re just putting off cleaning it up “until Dave’s arm is better” or “until the bunk beds are done”. In the meantime, we certainly wouldn’t want to focus too much on how bad it looks, how badly it needs to be cleaned up. Hmm. Wait a minute, this sure is sounding a little too familiar. Pause.

How many times have I approached my personal (emotional, spiritual, relational) issues this way? Going along in life, getting so used to the mess that I don’t really see it anymore. I might ignore it, I might forget it’s there, or I might promise myself to clean it up later. Either way it’s still a pretty messed up garage.

While I waited for Dave some more I turned away from my garage and focused on the sun, the noise of an airplane passing over, my kids, the trees swaying in the breeze. It really was a beautiful moment for me, taking time out of my day to think about my issues, inspect the life of a lady bug my daughter had observed, wait patiently for my hubby to arrive. If I hadn’t gotten locked out of the house I wouldn’t have had this moment. I’m thankful to God for that. And so today my prayer is that instead of the real garage, but more like the metaphoric garage, God would reveal to me some of the stuff inside my heart that needs to be cleaned up. Otherwise I just might trip over that messy pile of cords.

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Luke looks incredibly handsome, I’ve posted some pics on my twitpic page here. And I love that he’s excited. There’s nothing better than a kid who’s excited about something that could be traumatizing. Luke doesn’t know he could be embarrassed or unhappy, all he knows is now he’s like his dad. And he for sure picked out glasses that look like Dave’s.

Wonder why my little boy getting glasses would bother me so much (which btw I haven’t let on to Luke these feelings, never would want him to think I’m anything but as excited as he is)? Over-sentimentality you ask? It’s hard to explain what happens to a mother’s heart when she experiences the growth of her child. I didn’t know this before I had kids, who could. But to see this beautiful kid, who once was a beautiful baby, getting taller by the day, losing teeth, learning fractions, and even getting glasses, well, sometimes it’s just overload on a mother’s heart.  I know it must seem like all parents say this but it really does feel like just yesterday Luke was the size of my 3 year old and we were Christmas shopping with Luke and Danielle right in the shopping cart. Those days are no more, babysitters are a must for Christmas shopping. “Hey, kiddie, look over there!” just doesn’t cut it any more! I miss those days…

Thinking about Luke growing up and my other two babies getting big makes me ponder where this year went as well. It was a year of severe refinement for Dave and I. Our hearts hadn’t been molded in this fashion for a very long time. After almost 14 years of marriage we still felt the pull to have completely left and cleft from our families. If you can believe it, yes, even after all of that time. But having spoken with many people about this issue, I find that it isn’t that uncommon. It seems with each passing year the need to focus on the Wilkins5 becomes more and more evident. There is such a thing as fringe, and that’s OK.

I took out my list of “to do”s for 2010 and I think I’m now able to cross off about 2 whole things from my list (I had at least 10 to start). *Laughing* Yeah, right! Oh my, what life with 3 children is like. I love it, but I don’t usually get a whole lot done. That’s OK, though. Watching three beautiful and healthy children grow up as slowly as possible takes precedence over any pesky “to do” list. The list never leaves, but the children eventually do.

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