anne m. wilson

weeds are the best of teachers

We spent nearly four hours ripping out weeds today.

We pulled, yanked, and threw out weed after weed. It’s not their fault, really. It’s all because we ignored them for months, pretended they didn’t exist, and walked around them as if we would pull up to our driveway one day and they would just be gone.

I’ve reminded Kyle for months–as if I don’t have hands –and blamed him for these weeds around our house that resemble a garden of procrastinators.

But. . . I have hands. And I have feet. And we have plenty of gloves and trash bags. I am perfectly capable of pulling out weeds, and moving along every inch until they’re all out.

And just like my heart, I ignore the weeds just long enough that when they grow beyond control, it’s too overwhelming, too daunting, and instead of leaning in to dig them out, I ignore and pretend they don’t exist. I hope and pray they’ll magically just disappear without any effort required.

But weeds don’t work that way. And neither does the heart.

Oh, I have issues. I pretend they don’t exist, but I know they sit dormant in my heart while I continue to ignore and change the subject. Like my garden of weeds, I notice them at the first bitter phrase or second exaggerated sentence, but instead of tending to it, I avoid it. Until it’s too late, when I’ve hurt someone with a cutting word, or said something I can’t take back.

And just like the garden of weeds that surrounded every inch of our house, the weeds of my heart are buried deep. And with every pull and tug, I couldn’t help but ask, “What would my heart look like if I paid this much attention?”

What if I truly gave people the permission to not let me get away with pride and arrogance?

What if I dug out all the weeds of my heart that kept me from growing, living, and really loving?

Four hours of weeding is too much. One week of ignoring is too dangerous. There’s too much at risk to leave my heart unchecked. Surrender looks like a daily pursuit of admitting that I cannot do this alone, and I desperately need to pick up the shovel and dig.

T.D. Jakes said it better,

“The sin is in the pride that stops us from admitting that we don’t know everything. The arrogance that we must always be the teacher and not the student. Of all things we fight about, tweet about, blog about, the thing God hated the most was pride. Nobody blogs or tweets about that. Often we have it and it goes untouched. The pride of life–the third dimension–we don’t teach or preach about it because it grows in our garden without ever being weeded.”

let’s hug.

“You know the only people who are always sure about the proper way to raise children? Those who’ve never had any.” (Bill Cosby)

Truer words have yet to be spoken.

I confess, I was a little afraid of myself pre-parenting. I thought I would fight the comparison-game, size up other parents and wonder whose kid was better at eating organic carrots. I envisioned long days sitting outside of pre-school pickup, dodging other moms with fear of judgment and scowling.

But I’ve been shocked (and relieved) to find the very opposite. When I see a mom of three shoving goldfish into her kids’ mouths in the checkout lane, trying desperately to get them to be quiet and leave the store with limbs attached, all I think to myself is, “Solidarity, Momma. Solidarity.” Or when I see a mom going through the Drive-Thru at McDonald’s ordering a 3^rd round of chicken nuggets, I just think, “Do work, girl. Do. Work.”

And just when I thought I was heading into the most judgmental season of life, where moms everywhere stared at one another and we all wanted to hide, I found the opposite. Instead I found companionship, support, and love. My inbox flooded with prayers, support, and encouragement. All I really feel is one big metaphorical hug from Mom-land.

I know Mom-wars are out there, but I haven’t fought them. What I’ve found instead is a group ready to support, give pats on the back in the grocery store, offer a shoulder on the strung-out days, and laugh when someone’s kid is having a meltdown in Aisle 8. We’re trying. We’re all trying. And I could care less if you bottle-feed or breastfeed, co-sleep or have-that-baby-in-the-crib-on-night-one, stay-at-home or send your kids to daycare. You know what? We’re all trying. And we’re all different. Let’s hug.

Cheers to you, Mommas. And an extra-special thanks to those of you working hard to make this space one that’s ready to embrace those of us who still aren’t wearing mascara in public. We know we look a mess, and we’re thankful for you.

By the way, this is what Keegan really looked like yesterday.

listening, watching, reading | june

Listening … I don’t know if it’s parenthood, or just my general coolness-decline, but either way, it embarrasses me to say I’m not listening to much these days. My time in the car is normally spent catching up on phone conversations, and if not, I kind of forget to turn on music. WHO AM I? Someone help get me out of this!

Watching … Mad Men. Is there any redemption for Don? What will come of Sylvia? Will Peggy ever get the respect she deserves? And who is this new Betty? And Sally… poor, poor Sally. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking these people are all my real friends and I’m rooting for them on the sidelines. (Except Pete … who could ever root for Pete?) Yes. I have issues.

Reading … I’m about three years late on this, but this month’s read is A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. I am learning so much from Miller about the concept of story and how I can live a better one.

Eating … THIS. Blueberry Crisp from Bread & Wine. And before you say, “I really shouldn’t, I’ve been eating too much sugar,” (I’ve heard of these people) fear not–there is not a single teaspoon of sugar in this recipe. And it’s still delicious.

Drinking … water, coffee, and Passion tea. Thank you, Erica Garcia, for re-introducing me to this obsession.

Wearing … Dresses. All day, every day. This in-between-body has lent itself to some very creative (albeit hideous) outfits. I’ve accepted & embraced it. That’s the beauty of walking around sleep-deprived–I’m too tired to notice! What was once an obsession and borderline idol has become an afterthought. Pretty freeing, actually.

Weather … This has been the most beautiful summer I can recall. We eat dinner outside almost every night we’re home. And I love it.

Wanting … a little maid to come to my house while everyone’s asleep and clean everything, top to bottom.

Thinking … how bizarre it is that my deepest desire in life is for a little maid to break into my house. Really. It’s what I want.

Feeling … just plain excited. I’m officiating a wedding tonight, and our first Father’s Day with Keegan is approaching this Sunday. I love getting a front row seat to two people committing to love each other, for better and worse.

Enjoying … All of this:

image (1)

What about you? What are you on a steady diet of this June? Can you help me out of my music slump?

just you wait

“Oh, just you wait. Just you wait until you have two kids.”

You’ve been there, right? You share a current struggle or circumstance and someone invalidates it with a statement that shuts down the conversation?

It’s not fun.

But you’ve also done this, right? You sat across the table from someone a few years younger than you, watching them walk right into a season you just left, and your mouth can’t help itself but to throw advice into unwanted ears. Suddenly you hear yourself spitting out, “Just wait until you. . .

go to college.

move out on your own.

get a job.

live in another country.

get married.

stay single.

have a kid.

have two kids.

have three kids.

are pregnant with three kids.

have kids that are teenagers.”

And on, and on, and on.

And what you and I may not realize is that while our heart is pure, and our intentions are good, what we think we’re doing isn’t really what we’re doing at all. Because when we talk at people instead of listen to them we quickly invalidate what they say and trump their pain with “my life is harder than yours, so shut it.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like having clarity about this when the damage is done. I don’t like the moment I’m driving home from Starbucks and realize I monopolized a conversation, or spoke out of turn because my pride needed to come first. I wonder if today, we could listen. If we could place a metaphorical (or physical) hand over our mouth when we’re tempted to trump someone else’s struggle, and instead allow them to feel safe and heard. What we may surprisingly find on the opposite end is someone who wants to listen to the person that listened to him, first.

I wonder how different our families, relationships, churches, and businesses would be if we chose to listen a little more, and speak a lot less. Let’s listen today. And let’s put away the “just you wait . . .” monologue, and replace it with life-giving dialogues instead.

“Just you wait. . .” No. Just you listen.

granola and glasses of milk

On a Tuesday afternoon, a week after Keegan was born, my phone rang. I recognized the area code, so I answered, hoping it would be someone with answers to something.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Anne Wilson?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, Anne! I’m one of the nurses from your hospital. I was just calling to check in and see how you and your little baby are doing.”

“Ok.”

“So . . . how are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Honey, are you crying?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s going to get better. I wouldn’t go back to the first few weeks with my first for anything. I know it’s so hard right now, but it really does get better.”

“When? When does it get better?”

I was standing in my kitchen, letting the tears flow into the sink with water running, hurling down handfuls of granola, forcing myself to eat something—anything—that resembled nourishment and substance. I was in full-on-ugly-cry-mode, the kind that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable, and all I could think was, “When will this baby sleep?” I was exhausted, nerve-wracked, and recovering from a serious surgery. All my hopes and dreams of childbirth, nursing, and motherhood seemed to be laughing back at me and the only word that came to mind when I looked into my son’s eyes was simply . . .

FAILURE.

Nothing was going like I planned. Nothing seemed to work. Where was this feeling of euphoric love mothers wrote about, spoke about, told stories about? I didn’t feel it; all I could think about was sleep. And now that I know him, I so desperately wish I could go back to that time, stare that woman in the face, and say, “You can do this. All those people who say ‘it’s going to get better’? They’re not lying to you. It really will.”

A few friends have asked us since if there was anything that would have helped us through that time. And honestly, there isn’t. We just had to make it through. But, there are some words of wisdom I can share with those that are close to someone going through postpartum.

A few disclaimers: I am not a psychologist or a doctor. I write this purely as someone who’s been there, not an expert. Also, every woman is different. Some may snap out of it (like I did), and for some, it may linger for months, if not years. If you are close to a woman battling postpartum depression, be her advocate and delicately tell her if you think she may be suffering from depression more serious than the first few weeks of baby blues. There is no shame in getting help.

1. Love them well, and from a distance.
I don’t mean that you can’t go over to their house. I wanted to show Keegan off to the entire world. But try not over stay your welcome, as it can be very nerve-wracking for the new mother (and father). She’s just trying to keep her head on her own body, and the added pressure of hosting a guest for a long period of time can be quite overwhelming.

2. Be specific.
Most mothers I’ve talked to aren’t sure how to brush their teeth during the newborn fog. So when someone says, “Just let me know if I can help you!” it’s overwhelming and quite frankly, goes unnoticed. We know the intentions are genuine, but we don’t know what to say back. Instead, offer to do something very specific, like, “Can I come rock a screaming baby for you?” or, “Can I come do your laundry?” or, “Can I come clean your kitchen?” followed by, “Give me a time and I’ll be there, no pressure to entertain me!” Then show up. One of my friends came over one morning, and after leaving her downstairs for maybe five minutes, I came down to find a clean kitchen and empty dishwasher. I could’ve cried. Another friend came one night while Keegan had been screaming 2+ hours and rocked him to sleep while we sat on the couch and stared at each other. Had we had the hydration necessary to produce real tears, Kyle and I both would’ve cried.

3. Just go with it.
Your friend might not be recognizable to you for a month (or two, or three). Just go with it. You may go days (or weeks) without hearing back from her after you’ve texted or called. Choose not to be offended. Try to avoid comments (even joking) about how she’s “a little hormonal” or “going crazy.” She knows she’s not quite herself, and she wishes she was, and all she really needs now is encouragement, love, and support. Save the jokes for a year from now. They’ll (most likely) be funny then. But not yet.

4. Feed them.
During our first weekend home with Keegan, Kyle and I went an entire day without eating real food. No, we didn’t eat paper, but we chugged down glasses of milk as substitutes for food because we really were that sleep-deprived. I was so grateful for all the people who brought us meals that took mere seconds to prepare. If I thought about it before, I would’ve drafted a letter to give each one of them about the meaning of food and how their gift was like a thousand birthdays. Because it really was.

5. Give the husband a really big hug. And a cup of coffee.
I can’t speak to this, because I’m not the husband… but from the wife’s perspective, I wish I could go back to that time and write him hundreds of love letters. Because he did everything for us those first few weeks, and I didn’t have the energy to give him the thanks he deserved.

So there’s my non-professional input on how to help a friend who just brought a bundle of screaming love home from the hospital. She is going to be wearing different skin for a while, and that’s okay. Just go with it.

listening, watching, reading [may]

Listening … Lately, it’s all about Pandora. Maybe it’s because all my music is on an external hard drive still, or because Mumford & Sons station ROCKS. Either way, I’m on a steady diet of Pandora.

Watching … Mad Men is BACK! I’m surprised to say this, but I find myself rooting for Megan this time around. Maybe I’m just sick of Don… yeah right, I could never be sick of Don.

Reading … Quiet by Susan Cain and Lean In by Sheryl Sandburg. My momish-brain is getting them mixed up; sometimes I start pulling together conclusions about introverted women in the workplace and then realize . . . wait, those are separate books. I highly recommend Quiet for everyone–whether you are an introvert or not, chances are you’re married to one, work with one, or live with one. It’s changed the way I approach people, and myself.

Eating … Lots of quinoa, black beans, and goat cheese. I don’t know how my brain decided this was a good meal (probably a moment of pantry-panic), but lately, it’s all I’m eating for lunch. That and… you know, oreos. For balance, obviously. (You didn’t think I was that healthy, did you?)

Drinking … water, water, and then some more water.

Wearing … I’d rather not admit my current wardrobe choices, but since there’s nothing I can do about it . . . you can find me in one of two things: yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie, or yoga pants and a t-shirt. Twice a week, when I prepare to see other earthlings, I dress like a person.

Feeling … grateful, excited, and did I mention grateful?

Weather … In between Spring and Summer, which means geese are everywhere . . . patrolling parking lots and scouring out their next victims. Also, flip-flops are here.

Wanting … to wake up on Saturday morning to a clean house and a enjoy nice, long hike at Eagle Creek.

Needing … to attempt the laundry. At this rate, a mild attempt would equate to extreme success.

Thinking … thinking? What a funny word. Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll see if I remember how to do that.

Enjoying … coffee in the mornings, my son, my husband, my new coworkers, our new church, friendships, watching Mad Men at the Trujillo’s, oreo cookies, passion tea, and back porch living.

What about you? What are you on a steady diet of this May?

i work in threes

A few years ago, a bright-eyed, blonde girl with the last name “Durham” decided it’d be a really clever idea to get married, move cities, and graduate from college all within three weeks. Everyone looked at her like she was insane. And she was.

Almost four years later, that same girl was confronted with having her first baby, raising said baby, and leaving one job and starting another (which also meant changing churches) all within three months.

Okay, I can’t write in third person anymore.

Seriously, life kicked our butt in April. But all I can say is I truly have never been more grateful (and excited) for any season of life. We love getting to know this little guy, and I am stupefyingly blessed for this new adventure as a writer. Oh, don’t worry–I have frequent moments where panic ensues and I think, “Am I cut out for this?” But then I pause, breathe, and remember to release control. I choose to show up and believe that God will equip me for the place He has brought me.

We’re thankful. And tired. So I ask you to bear with us, again, as blogging may be on the sporadic (and random) side of life over the next month or so.

Until then, here’s a picture to hold you over.

transitions

It’s been a life-changing 9 weeks. We feel so blessed and honored that God gave us the gift of being parents to Keegan. Let’s be real, it’s also been hard. There have been a lot of late nights, early mornings, and days I’ve gone without brushing my teeth.

When we found out we were pregnant, we immediately began praying that God would guide us as we made decisions for how to parent Keegan. In 2 Chronicles 20, there’s a story about young Jehosaphat defeating Moab and Ammon. I am not comparing our journey into parenthood to the battle Jehosaphat faced (although . . . just kidding), but I do resonate with his plea and crying out to God. When he found out that an army was attacking him, Scripture says that Jehosaphat was afraid, so he “set his face to seek the Lord.” He then called everyone together to seek help from the Lord, and they came from every town in Judah to seek him.

Scripture paints us a picture of Jehosaphat trusting and proclaiming God’s providence–that He was maker and ruler of all and that although he was afraid, and he did not know what to do, his eyes were focused on God.

I made a little bookmark with this very phrase, and placed it in every book I devoured over the course of pregnancy:

“We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

I am the kind of person that invests wholeheartedly in everything I do. I fail, a lot. But I try to invest wholeheartedly in my relationship with Jesus, my marriage, and my role as a youth pastor. When I became a mom, I quickly realized that the wholehearted way of life poured into motherhood, and that another role was added to the mix.

I am a child of God first. That has always been the case.

But now I am a mother, and it has changed everything.

And so, I asked God to make clear to me what I should do . . . if I could still be a youth pastor and a mom, if I could still do everything I did before with this new little person in our lives. Through it all, I felt overwhelmingly peaceful that He was going to give an answer, I just had no idea what it would be. Could I do this part-time? Should I go back full-time? Should I stay home with Keegan? Ultimately, we decided that I couldn’t come back as a full-time youth pastor.

I knew I couldn’t come back for one, big reason: I would be of no good to anyone. I wouldn’t serve Chapel Rock well, I wouldn’t serve students well, and I wouldn’t serve my family well. I don’t want to be a frazzled mess every Sunday, biting people’s heads off because I only slept two hours the night before. And I certainly don’t want to be a frazzled mess to my family, coming home exhausted and then only giving Keegan leftovers. He deserves more than that. Kyle does, too.

We prayed and waited patiently, as well as pouring ourselves into the word of God more than ever. From the first day I committed my life to ministry, I never expected that part of the story would be a ministry of motherhood. I guessed I would be a mother, sure. But I didn’t realize that motherhood would be a ministry.

I asked God to give me an opportunity to serve the Kingdom and be a mom. I didn’t know how that could work, but I prayed for it anyway.

He gave it.

In two weeks, I will start my new role at Traders Point Christian Church as a part-time writer for their Communications team. I will get to work from home a majority of the week, be a mom to Keegan, and give to the local church in a way that uses my gifts and passions. We are excited for this new season ahead of us, but it also means that we will be leaving Chapel Rock, and so we leave with conflicted emotions of gratitude and sadness.

To Chapel Rock: you have been all we have known as a married couple. I became “Anne Wilson” here. I learned to love people better because of mistakes I made here (I made many). You all listened to terrible sermons and made me a better communicator with your sleepy eyes. You pushed me to serve people in deeper ways because of the ways I have watched you serve others. We are sad to see this season end. But we’re not moving. We still very much hope to be a part of your lives, just in a different way. We won’t be at Chapel Rock anymore, but we will still be in Sunningdale. Thank you for all that you have given Kyle and me. We follow Jesus more deeply because of you.

bread & wine: review

As a long-time fan of Shauna Niequist, I was ecstatic to receive Bread & Wine a couple of months early to read and review. Don’t tell her, but in my mind, we’re actually really close friends and her books are just emails she’s written to me.

Is that indicative of how brilliant she is as a writer, or just creepy of me? I’ll never know.

Anyway, as my life would have it, I received it about three days after giving birth, so it took me a while to pick it up. Okay, I lied. I picked it up that day, but cried almost enough tears to fill the Nile River through the introduction, so I decided my hormones needed some space.

Nearly two months and happy hormones later, I got to reading. And for the first fifty pages or so, I started feeling ravenous/overwhelmed, and thought to myself, “I picked the wrong time to read a book about life around the table.” Lately I’ve been caught stuffing PB&J down my face around 2pm, after I realize I have forsaken lunch. I kept wishing I could bring a post full of pictures of a fancy dinner party, with laughter, lush appetizers and way too much dessert. Then I read this on page 71…

“We all have those stretches–busy parenting seasons where the nights feel like a blink and the days wear on and on, or work deadlines that throw off our routines, or extended family commitments that pull us in a thousand directions. What heals me on those days when it all feels chaotic and swirling is the simplicity of home, morning prayer, tea, and breakfast quinoa.”

And hope was restored.

So early Easter morning, I got up and adventurous with some delicious breakfast quinoa.
Here’s how.

First, take a trip to Trader Joe’s.

Here’s what’s in the bag:

You’ll need approximately 4 eggs, 1 large onion, a package of chicken apple sausage, 2 cups quinoa, 4 cups water, 1 tablespoon olive oil, goat cheese, and salt and pepper to taste.

A protein explosion, basically.

Next, get out your copy of Bread & Wine and turn to page 72. Wipe the olive oil/tears/grease off the page and get to cooking.

Slice and soften the onion in olive oil in a pan over medium-low heat. Then slice the sausage and add it to the same pan. Watch it cook and let your mouth water.

Next, make sure you occupy your baby/dog/spouse/roommate. And take a few photos of them.

Pour quinoa and water into a small pot. Bring it to a boil, then turn the heat down to simmer for about 15 minutes. Fluff with a fork and let it cool for 5 minutes. Oh, and start the tea.

Scoop quinoa into bowls and then stir a scoop of onions and sausage slices into each one. In the onion & sausage pan, prepare the eggs however you wish–fried or scrambled. We chose scrambled, and we also cheated. The recipe calls for one egg per bowl, we went with two. After they’re cooked, scoop those on top of the rest and add a handful of goat cheese to each bowl.

Eat it by yourself with a book and cup of tea, at the table with your spouse, or on your front porch with friends. Then go buy Bread & Wine, and whatever season you find yourself in . . . entertaining friends, survival-mode, or in-need-of-spiritual-refreshment, read. Then cook. Then eat your way back to sanity.

i forgot to brush my teeth

It was four in the afternoon, and suddenly it dawned on me:

I haven’t brushed my teeth today.

“There is nothing that brings you face-to-face with your own selfishness more than parenthood,” Amanda said sympathetically. “I never knew just how selfish I was until there was a little person that constantly needed me.”

Amanda wasn’t the only one that lovingly warned me about the soul-refining process of parenthood. Everyone tried. But there’s no context for understanding just how much, in the most beautiful and bittersweet way, parenting takes the life right out of you.

About a month ago, when Keegan was almost three weeks old, we took a Saturday trip to Trader Joe’s. Keegan was asleep, I needed to leave the dungeon formerly known as our home, and Kyle–well, I think he just needed to see daylight. As soon as we pulled up, Keegan started fussing, so Kyle motioned for me to go on in, solo, while he stayed in the car with the boy. I wandered around the aisles, with lots of phrases popping up above my head…

So this is what society is like…

Am I drunk?

Did I even make a grocery list?

I wonder if I’ll have time to eat that.

Is this a banana?

Am I dreaming or is this real life?

The sleep-deprivation was insurmountable at that point, and if anyone contacted me in those first three weeks, well, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse other than I didn’t know my name most days, and the physical recovery of a major surgery + a newborn that wouldn’t eat was, well, a ~~lot~~ tad overwhelming. Looking back, it’s actually pretty funny. I am positive the people who passed me in the fruit section were questioning whether I was sober/alive/not homeless.

Some women waltz into parenthood, singing lullabies to their sleeping angel and asking themselves how life ever existed before him. If you are this mother, you are going to want to stop reading now. (I am so happy for you, by the way, I just know you’re probably not going to like this next part.) Will you allow me some space to be this honest? That was not me. I wish it was. Don’t get me wrong: I instantly loved Keegan. I constantly just stared at him, morning and night, putting my hand on his chest to feel him breathe.

But I also cried. Every day. Every hour. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t recognize myself. The baby blues were no stinking joke. I’m pretty sure hormones were flying out of our windows.

And then one morning, like the spring that should have arrived a few weeks ago, I woke up and said I can do this. God has equipped me to do this. I am woman, hear me mother. While feeding him that afternoon, I said aloud to my son, “Keegan, buddy, we’re going to make it.” Amanda was right; there’s nothing like it. Parenting is painfully, unpredictably beautiful. So I told him that day how hard this had been, how sorry I was for not being fully present just yet, and how much his little face made my heart swell up to the size of a hot-air balloon.

Then I went and brushed my teeth.

Photo credit to Nathan & Ashley Siner Photography & Design (www.thesiners.com).
Like them on Facebook here: www.facebook.com/nathanandashleysinerphotographyanddesign