For those kinds of days {the hards ones especially}

It was that kind of morning -- hard.

Probably, you know the kind — the one where everyone wakes up grumpy and out of sorts. 

The smallest child grabs things from her brothers’ hands, sending them both into fits of irritation and her into fits of giggles. The oldest boy-child wakes confused and a little irate while the oldest girl is largely annoyed. My youngest boy is on day three of illness, and yesterday my balance went way out of whack. As my husband tries to go through with his preconceived plans for the morning, I boil over in the midst of frustration and physical struggle and throw two toys onto the living room floor while refereeing a dispute between the youngest three and then cry. And then the three youngest children, all baffled, surround me and hug me while trying to make sense of it all. 

So that kind of morning. 

During the day, it’s no wonder that I find myself struggling against the way of panic and anxiety about everything within our four walls and, well, heck, about terrorism and orphans and all the tragedy that goes on around the outside of our four walls. The whole gamut. Because in my head, at least, when it rains it pours.

As I tuck the two littles in for a nap, I pray with them, and I pray aloud a very heartfelt, honest prayer, one that’s a plea for help and one that’s a certain cry of surrender. 

Because every now and then, more frequently this past year, I find myself keenly aware that what I’m trying to carry is too heavy to shoulder. 

I am reminded of this in increasing frequency. 

Most lately, I’m reminded of it when I’m outside walking with my oldest boy-child as he memorizes a verse he wants to learn. 

“Do not worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank Him for what He has already done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand.” Philippians 4:6-7

Today I’m at the end of my rope. Today I take seriously this invitation to tell God what I need and thank Him for what He’s already done. 

I muster all my tiny faith, and I pray bold prayers and ask for miracles, small and big and in between because with God nothing is impossible or too little or too big. It all matters to Him because everything is within his matters. 

And then I come downstairs to make some medicine out of lemons and garlic and ginger -- when I hear something. 

A voice. 

A man's voice.

And his voice is saying, "we learn how to pray in our family. We know that God hears and cares. We ask Him for wisdom and help from above and thank Him for answered prayers."

For a moment, I think maybe I'm going crazy. 

Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe God is literally talking to me -- and then I remember the book a friend bought us in honor of our forever family celebration, and I'm certain one of the kids has sneaked this beautiful narrated, talk-aloud book into this room during nap time.

I head toward the stairs to get the book from my youngest son, because I’m certain he has it and that’s why it’s talking, but there it is, sitting closed on the front bench in the foyer. 

Normally it only talks when it's open. 

But there it is -- closed.

I open it to the first page thinking it was the words from there that maybe could have been triggered and stuck.

But nope. Not page one or two or three but page four.

Specifically page four.

And at the bottom of the page, this verse-- "Your father knows what you need before you ask Him." Matthew 6:8

God's literal voice. 

I'm taken aback, but I'm not shocked. 

God shows up in our mess, and our mess is often so often He shows. 

It’s like a companion verse to the honest prayers I just prayed.  And following is the loud and startling reminder that God already knows. 

He already knows. 

I have prayed for what He already knows, and He has acknowledge my prayer. 

And so what follows the sharing of what’s on our hearts, according to Paul in his letter to the Philippians?

Thanksgiving. 

My heart, in the midst of chaos that is my own and chaos that I cannot claim, lands there figuratively just a few days before we land on there on the calendar. 

And I’m reminded anew that we can always be in a state of thanksgiving because God ever exists in a state of giving us something for which we can give thanks. 

He is a God who already knows. 

A God who cares. 

A God who keeps giving so we too can keep giving thanks. 

Because His love for us never changes. 

Even on the hard days. 

Especially on the hard days. 

Sound Bytes: The Thanksgiving Edition

We'd been reading every night before the boys go to sleep a cute little story, Run, Turkey, Run, in which a quick-thinking turkey successfully escapes the farmer who is trying to turn him into Thanksgiving dinner leaving the family to dine on some not-so-traditional eats like, say, grilled cheese sandwiches.

G closed the book, looked at me and said "Can we have grilled cheese sandwiches at Thanksgiving?"

"No, hun," I said. "We already got our turkey from Farmer Nick."

"I wish our turkey would have gotten away  ... I love grilled cheese."

****

As we went around the room post-desert and shared our Thanksgiving lists, in which we recounted our blessings, John's younger sister half-joked that she was thankful for parents who let her move back in with them.

G. then shared he was thankful for our house, which inspired John to also express his undying gratitude for our house "so we didn't have to move in with Grandma and Buba, too!"

I voiced thankfulness as well since we've been there done that, erm, three {?} times {I've lost track. It was a lot.}.

As G. thought about it, he pretty much took back his previous blessing statement and labeled it more a curse.

"Man. I wish we could live here ... if we didn't have a house ..."

****

After Thanksgiving dinner we were driving home and E exclaimed from the backseat,"Ooooooh! Found Christmas!" as he pointed at the freshly lit decorations adorning buildings and trees.

And then we nearly choked on cute overdose.

Blessings to you and your family this Thanksgiving and day after!

Bigger Picture Captures: Giving Thanks

I am the song that's playing on repeat, over and over again ending the last note only to begin again on the first.

I can't help but play and play again this song of gratitude, though.

It's been such a rough year.

But through the low notes, we've heard the overarching harmony of peace that comes from holding tight to the truths that God is good

and that He never forsakes those who seek Him.

Our Bigger Picture Capture prompt over at BPB was to snap a shot of Giving Thanks, and I immediately thought of a piece I created yesterday to accompany The Thanksgiving List challenge one of my church's bloggers and our senior pastor issued our church family:

"Before you make your Christmas list make your Thanksgiving list."



And so I write them down, one by one, giving thanks, making my Thanksgiving list, playing my same song, a broken record of praise.

Join us for #BPCaptures! Each Wednesday we upload our pictures to instagram and follow the hashtag to find each other's captures.

Thinking, That's All: Giving

We've been talking lately about generosity in our house and what that really looks like, conversations inspired by a series at church, Living a Generous Life.

And at first, I think we thought we were way more generous than we actually are.

I mean, we give consistently, and we give joyfully

but of our money mostly.

So while we've discovered our palms are largely open with giving our money, we've also come to realize we aren't very generous with our other resources -- the ones that we feel, perhaps, are much more precious.


Namely, for me especially, time.Maybe because time is what seems most fleeting, most like it's constantly slipping through my fingers

As I was working on a visual for church about generosity and giving, I kept going back to that image of the open palms.

A wise mentor once shared that trying to hold onto those fleeting precious treasures is a lot like trying to grab water  and bring enough to our lips to quench deep thirst;

it's impossible to do.

But that's not the only thing that clenched fists make impossible.

When we hold too tightly to anything,we also aren't open to receiving renewing fulfillment either -- whatever is poured out can't be caught by tightly bound fists.

And plus. We haven't been given much to keep it all to ourselves.

We've been given much so we can spread the wealth around

with palms open wide and hearts full of thanksgiving.

Bigger Picture Moments: Feet firmly planted

I'm not ready to let November go just yet.

For me, that's like saying I'm not ready for snow to melt and summer to come; that's how much I love Christmas -- the season, the spirit, the celebration, the savior.

But mostly I'm not ready for the constant whirl of movement, for the focus that's normally thrust on the buying and shopping and the wrapping and the busyness that comes with the Christmas season in our culture.

So today my feet are firmly planted in slowness of counting blessings, the earnest gratitude of November. We've spent the past month as a family talking about having an attitude of thanksgiving rather than just celebrating thanksgiving as a day.

G lists what he's thankful for like water billowing over the edge of a fall; his gratitude seems always flowing for even the smallest blessings.

A boot knife {plastic! Don't worry.}

Our dog {even though he's now twice attempted to chew the eyes off of G's baby chameleon animal}

His mommy and daddy 

and snuggles


And, yes, my brother {he says after a direct question}

"But, mommy, you know what I'm most thankful for?"

"What?"

"God," he says matter of factly.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because He gives me stuff."

And, ohmygosh, yes.

That exactly, little man.

We are most thankful for God, the giver of good gifts, the giver of the best Gift -- the one of a baby King born on Christmas Day. 

I hold their little hands, both boys snuggling against my body as we wipe sleep from our morning eyes amid the soft glow of the tree.

We sink into the couch and my heart a little deeper into gratitude

and I decide right there

that we're taking thanksgiving with us as we move slowly, diligently, thoughtfully into December -- side stepping the fast roads of buying and wrapping and baking and goinggoinggoing -- to instead travel by starlight through the fields to meet face to face with the best Gift we've even been given.

We'll see the face of Baby Jesus by the time we arrive, the path of thanksgiving and gratitude having given themselves the truest of guides.

 

Each Thursday, we come together to share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimmer of the bigger picture through a simple moment. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your moment HERE this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

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Bigger Picture Moments: Does God Really Care about Social Justice?

I go for long stretches of days without remembering her until I slow down the pace of life enough that I actually take the time to see her beautiful face, framed with dimly blond hair against creamy-milk skin, staring at me as I wash dishes.

Last winter, she was out of school for a few weeks because of kidney problems likely due in part to lack of nutrition during cold and flu season. 

When I read in her letter that she'd been so sick, my heart flipped and skipped beats, praying for her full recovery. I asked her, via return letter, if she'd visited a doctor; and as I recall, she's never answered that directly.  

As I licked the envelope, sealing my words into it, my mind struggled to grasp, to understand the world in which our sponsored child lives. 

A world where missing school for weeks is a normal occurrence; a world where doctors aren't just a phone call, a visit, a copay away. 

When I think of her, when I pray for her, I pray for her protection. I pray that she would come to know His grace, His mercy, His forgiveness and redemption. I pray her needs would be met. 

But sometimes I find myself, in the midst of those prayers, asking God why. 

Why are children suffering? Why do parents have to struggle to provide for their families? Why, God, aren't you doing something about it? Don't you care about social justice?

This time of year especially  -- in the days leading up to the abundance of Thanksgiving and Christmas -- the questions brew and stir and become louder, barking in my need-saturated mind. Why? Where are you, God, in the midst of injustice?

But also, where am I? Where is my mind and heart?

****

We sat together, John and I, within the four walls of a building constructed of love and provision. 

We call it our church, but more it is more than a building. It's a place, for me, of deep-seeded community and growth and heart. It's a place I'm often challenged to be more the person I was created to be, a place where I'm challenged to decrease as He increases in me.

When Christy Davis, our World Outreach director, began sharing her heart during a co-led sermon with our lead pastor, she voiced her struggle with coming home to celebrate Thanksgiving with an enormous spread in a cozy, warm house after returning from a trip where memories of devastating poverty is reality for many of the faces she'd only previously saw on TV.

Her heart, too, cried out to God asking where on Earth He was? Why wasn't He there?

Why wasn't He providing for the third of the children who will die of malnutrition before their fifth birthdays?

Why wasn't He giving families to the 145 million children who have lost one or both parents?

She described how these numbers now had faces she'd seen, bodies she'd hugged and how the reality of such extreme injustice rocked her world and relationship with God.

So she went to the Word to find out if God actually cares about those souls who live on next to nothing.

And she saw God's heart:

"Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; the Lord delivers him in times of trouble. Psalm 41:1

If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he, too, will cry out and not be answered." Proverbs 21:13

"If anyone has material possessions and sees his neighbor in need and has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? ... Let us not love with our words or tongues but with actions and in truth." 1 John 3:17

As she read the verses aloud, I half recited them with her. My heart finds deep joy in giving, and my soul is stirred with empathy for anyone suffering. I've noted these verses before and found comfort in the tears I've shed for the suffering, the hungry, the needy, the desperate because God's heart really is for the least of these. And I finally found resolution to the question I, too, had been asking.

Is God really into social justice? Yes, of course!

The real question is: 


Am I? Are you? Are we? 

Do we really care about social justice?

The answers seems to be yes among the church. Dr. Scott Todd, a board director for Compassion International, shared that today the global poverty rate is HALF of what it was in 1981.

People are stepping up to the plate. They are sponsoring children, giving. But the need is great yet.

Christy shared that if Evangelicals alone simply gave 10 percent of what they earned, extreme poverty could be eradicated -- totally and completely.

Everything in my body wanted to shout yes! -- my family was doing its part.

But with knowing that the need is still so great, with knowing that there are still lives that are slipping away for lack of nutrition and health care and with knowing that I still have money left to take a trip to the coffee shop, I couldn't say yes emphatically, yes, totally. Especially after Christy shared one powerful truth:

"We must live simply so that others can simply live."

So do I? Do you? Do we?


Because I think that's actually what answers the real, burning question. 

{This week I am thankful to find rest and growth among a body of believers who seek to carry out the mission of Jesus -- to give hope and redemption to a hurting world.}

During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your moment at Alita's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Bigger Picture Moment: Right Where I Belong {Gratitude}

The afternoon before we're to make the trek home to Illinois from Harrisburg, fat snow flakes are falling from a ceiling of haloed thickness, from puffy grey-white clouds.

And I am wondering if we'll make it home as planned. 

Forecasters sling signs of warning across the television screen and lights flicker through out the hotel hallways as I walk in the company of flesh embodying the hearts I've come to consider soul sisters.

I pray -- Oh, God, I know this is where I'm meant to be in this time and space.

And I am thankful.

I am eye-deep in gratitude to be pressed shoulder to shoulder with kindred spirits, the women I love who are journeying this motherhood road alongside me, His very presence swelling in our hearts.

But, still, tomorrow, please take me to the arms, take me to the flesh in which I share oneness; take me to the man with whom you've interwoven my heart strings.

And in the meantime, let there peace that I am right where I belong.

****

Headlights flicker, dance through the fog while sprinkles of rain tap against the windshield.

I could drive this stretch of road with my eye closed, I think, not because I know the curves as well as the ones on my own body nor because I follow them, the tires of my car pressed against this very pavement almost daily

but rather because I can feel the force of my husband's body, only less than a mile away, pulling my heart toward home.

Yes, my body is the magnetic ball being woven through the maze of streets by the force of soul attraction anchored in a well of love within the four walls I call home. 

The car nearly parks itself, and I jump-fly out of the driver's seat, headlights fading across the garage door, the backs of my legs and I fall into strong arms that are open and waiting for me, pulling me in before my feet can carry me out of the hallway. 

And, again, in a different time and space, I am right where He wants me; I am right where I belong. 

****

I wake to two small bodies pressed on each side of my own. I am the newly restored ingredient of the mommy sandwich. We lounge in bed, two boys snuggled against my skin.

There are dishes to wash, laundry piles to fold, sheets to change, breakfasts to make, lists to tackle, but for the moment, again, a different time and space, I know, I'm exactly where I should be.

So with palms turned up and wells overflowing, I give thanks for knowing that in these moments, I'm certain I'm right where I belong. 

During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your moment at Lenae's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Disclosure: Our trip to Relevant was generously sponsored by Chevy’s Driving the Midwest who has given us a tank of gas and a Traverse to get there. Our ride was also fueled by Kawa Japanese and Asian Cuisine, Dr. Reena Jacobs of The Healing Groves, Curves of Lake County, Bigger Picture Blogs and Little Lake County, each of whom have provided one tank of gas for the trip. All opinions expressed are our own.

Thanksgiving: Provision

I never realized how emotionally attached I was to things like jackets and shoes until I began giving them away.

The diligent work at clearing out the stuff in our closet{s} since my epiphany has been just as hard as clearing out the junk in my heart that's tangled up with the stuff that's piled in our closets.

In addressing the root of this stuff problem -- my lack of trust that God will provide -- I've felt so exposed.

But in my weakness, I've seen His strength.

And in my obedience of letting go of the abundance by trusting He will meet whatever need we might have in the future, I've heard His voice.

Clear as day.

Streaming through the radio.

Through the wise council of a man whose name I'll probably never figure out.

Don't just count your everyday blessings, he'd said. Count the ways God has provided for you in the small ways we often call luck.

Look for God's provision.

****

On the first day of my purging mission while cleaning out a small keepsake box in our bedroom, I found a handwritten card from John's parents, given to me only a few months after his mom and dad met me for first time.

"We've been praying for you since before John was born," it said. "Always remember God is faithful."

I tossed most of the contents as part of my organizing and purging mission, but I couldn't let that card go.

I tucked the note in between a few favorite books, hidden in the safe confines of my nightstand.

****

I always thank Him for the obvious.

Food, clean water, house, health -- all the things that make up a really good prayer of Thanksgiving, all the things I know I'm blessed to have.

But I knew in order to really get this trust thing going, I needed to see His provision in other ways.

So I went looking.

I saw His provision that very day when Stephanie from Adventures in Babywearing emailed me saying I'd won her giveaway to Tiny Prints for my choice of Christmas cards.

I recognized it when I escaped to the coffee shop the very next day to finish some work without the screeches of children in my ear when the barista asked {as I waited in a line seven people deep} if anyone wanted a free drink. And it was the very drink I was planning to order.

And I recognized it the form of an invitation to write about things I know in exchange for actual payment. {A writer's dream come true!}

All of this within the same week.

All of this when I started looking.

****

I was reading in Joshua when I came across an old story I'd read before but never really heard.

"Then Joshua called the twelve men from the people of Israel, whom he had appointed, a man from each tribe. And Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of the LORD your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do those stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever." Joshua 4: 4-7

****

Just how many, I wondered last night, provisions God has made in my life -- the small, the medium, the large -- that I've not recognized or remembered.

****

G. and I have been searching for the perfect rocks.

I wanted to recreate the Joshua scene in a new way within our home by starting a new Thanksgiving tradition where we write a few things for which we're thankful on each rock, then carry those rocks around with us for an entire year as a remembrance of our blessings, of His perfect provisions.

We haven't found many that could hold more than a few words.

Perhaps we'll scrap the rock idea, I told him this morning. Maybe we'll use pieces of paper instead.

My mind raced immediately to the note from John's parents I'd tucked away last week.

I lingered on the thought.

A 22-year-in-the-making prayer, answered in the most unlikely of ways, with the most unlikely, imperfect person -- me.

But documented on a little note in my nightstand so that I might remember His provision.

My small stone of remembrance at the foot of the river, passed down from a generation that saw His provision and knew the value of keeping it fresh in my mind so that I might know Him more, trust Him more.

Bigger Picture Moment: Hope*

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, where we breathe in the moments of life that show us a glimpse of the grander scheme, no matter how big or small.

Next week, Melissa is hosting, so be sure to take note of your moments during the coming week and share next Thursday.


"He said: I am but one small instrument. Do you remember that?"
-- Jimmy Eat World, Goodbye Sky Harbor


It must have been a particularly hard year for a single mom raising two little girls.

I don't remember much, but I remember dumping out the change bank my mom had so we could buy a gallon of milk at the store.

And I remember eating dinner at my grandparent's house quite often.

I don't think I realized quite the hard line my mom was towing, though, until a chilly night in December just before Christmas.

I heard knocking on the door.

I remember a blur of coats, hats, gloves and scarves decorating our pastor's body as well as his wife's swift hands unloading boxes of food onto our counters and into the refrigerator. I remember grateful words, embraces of thankfulness and a genuine spirit of love. And I remember warmth enveloping me and relief swelling inside my concerned heart.

But I don't remember much else -- what was in the boxes or how many boxes they brought or specific words. I just remember feeling cared for and safe and secure when they set those gifts -- those boxes packed with food -- on the table.

****
As I've been thinking about how John and I can make our Thanksgiving celebration more than just a time of a feasting and expressing knee-deep gratitude, my mind has gone back to that night when I was a little girl in grade school.

I often call it my sticky-chewing gum moment because just like a piece of sticky chewing gum sticks on the sole of your shoe and reminds you its there with every step, this moment has stuck with me.

****
My mom and I talk about that night every so often.

She always says she doesn't remember us being that poor, having that little.

Last time we spoke about that evening, she reminded me about what we did with half of the food in that box.

We took it to her friend, a single mom of two little girls, as well.

My mom recalled thinking, "Now, Hope*, she's really in a tight place. She really needs some of this."

My mom reminded me of this to illustrate her point that we still had more than some people and we were not on the verge of starving to death.

However, the image of her selfless giving, her understanding that God always, continually provides, it sparks a little fire inside of my mind, burning slowing.

****
I shared the full story of this memory aloud the first time tonight with people other than my mom -- including the part about my mom giving half of the food to Hope and her girls.

And that tiny little fire, lit inside of my brain months during the latest conversation with my mom a few months ago turns into a burning flame.

And I know.

I just know how we're going to make this Thanksgiving a true time of worship, a true time of gratitude, a true time of serving.

Because even though it's been nearly 20 years after these little little, shaping moments happened, I know there is another Hope out there now. I know she's struggling. I know we can help in the very temporary sense of the word as well as the long-term.

While I know a box packed with a Thanksgiving dinner will only provide a couple of meals, and perhaps buying the food for the dinner and taking the meal to that family may not even leave an impression on my boys' hearts right now because we give out of abundance, I also know there's a chance that such a tiny moment might become the sticky chewing gum on the bottom of some other little one's soul.

I know I am but one small instrument, John is another and G is yet another and Baby E is yet another.

And perhaps that's the best way to impress on their hearts during our season of Thanksgiving -- that, together, in our gratitude, we form a symphony.

*Name changed for annonymity

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Letters of Intent: Dear Mr. Graco Swing

Dear Mr. Graco Swing with the weird little animal pattern,

I love you like the crazy my kids drive me.
Today, you have made having two children easier than I've ever imagined. You must have some secret kind of charm with your constant motion and your rickety crickety motor sounds because little baby EJ has been out like a light several times today for more than ten minute increments. You see, baby EJ really, really likes to be moving at all times, so you've allowed me to do many things including but not limited to
*peeing in the toilet instead of nearly wetting my pants as I'm simultaneously trying to pull said pants down, keep the baby in a constant jiggle while nestled in my arms and squat
*making a dinner that requires more than pulling something out of the fridge and pressing buttons on the microwave
*showering for the first time in, oh, three or four days and
*reading that stupid Dr. Seuss book at least 17 times in a row to a very happy older brother

Normally, you see, I have to walk around the house with the baby nestled happily cooing away in my arms or in a carrier in order to accomplish my daily tasks; this works out fine so long as I never stop moving. And that's where you've got me and the hundreds of dollars worth of baby carriers I bought beat; the mommy simply runs out of steam and needs a break from lugging around the 12-pound 1.5 month old. And carriers only move as much as the person they are tied to. You, Mr. Graco Swing, never cease to stop moving. You are a moving machine, like, literally. And baby EJ loves that about you.


I know, Mr. Graco Swing, that when my first baby was born, I carelessly tossed you aside for those baby carriers like a frat boy drops his empty beer can on the ground when he finds out there is a keg at the party, and for that, I sincerely appologize. Those years in the basement must have been chilly and dreary, but the first baby prefered those expensive, fancy schmancy carriers. I'm happy for you because this baby seems to really enjoy the cheap plastic animals that are stuck to your cheap plastic tray and your ability to never tire from continuous movement. But I just want you to know, if I had batteries, I could do that, too.

So you win for now. But I'm keeping my stash of dozens of carriers because you cannot take the baby to any cool places like to park or the zoo ... but you can take him to the land of sleep and dreams during the day. And for now, I'll take it.

Sincerely,
A very tired babywearing Mommy

Dear fellow babywearers,

Please don't vote to demote me from my leadership role in our group just because I've gone over to the dark side. I'm tired. I cannot move all day long. I promise to wrap baby EJ two times per day for the rest of the month to make up for my swing affinity. I swear, this whole swing thing -- it means nothing to me -- nothing! Please don't hold an intervention and confiscate all of my carriers and redistribute them to more deserving, dedicated babywearing mothers. I swear -- this is a one-time thing. It'll never happen again. Really.

Sincerely,
Your very tired,swing-loving co-leader

Need to get something off your chest and write your own letter? Link up at FourSons and then read everyone elses' letters.