anne m. wilson

Ever since I was a little girl, I always imagined myself being a mother of girls. Don’t misread me: this is not because that’s what I wanted, but because girls are familiar for me. I’m a woman. I’m friends with women. I look up to lots of women. I’ve always enjoyed the company of other women, and have pretty much lived on the more feminine side of life. I love dresses, make-up, getting my hair done, painting my nails, buying a new pair of shoes . . . anything that comes to mind when you think “she’s pretty girly,” is probably something I enjoy or like to do. It takes me way too long to get ready.

So when I say “I expected to be a mother of girls,” it’s not because I don’t like men. Hello! I married one. I have a dad and a brother. I’m friends with lots of guys, and have always worked with more men than women. But sit me down in a sports arena, and I feel pretty lost. I get into sporting events, but mainly for the experience. I confess that my eyes are mostly drawn to all the “extras” around me. Last year, my in-laws scored unbelievable seats to a Colts game, and I confess, I probably watched the real game for a total of fifteen minutes. The rest of the time I was looking around at everything else . . . the cheerleaders, announcers, players on the sidelines, Peyton Manning in his jeans and jacket.

I’m all girl. And I love it.

But that’s not the reason raising a boy intimidates me. I’ve kind of prepared myself for a girl. I consider it my job to encourage teenage girls. I spend my week thinking of ways to communicate God’s love to girls who struggle believing they’re worthy, loved, and valued. Girls are familiar to me. I know what to say when a girl tells me she doesn’t believe in herself. I have no idea what to say when a boy stubbornly pretends to not care when he fails. I just kind of stare at him.

But that’s also not the reason raising a boy scares me. I feel ready to show and model for a little girl how to be a “woman of valor,” how to be strong and gentle, how to embody a spirit of love and dignity, how to be confident while also humble. Not because I encompass all of those characteristics, but because I strive for them daily.

I don’t know how to show a little man what it means to respect a woman. It feels terrifyingly unfamiliar to think that I am partly responsible for how my son views, treats, and loves women. I have no idea what to do or say if my son gets in trouble for picking on a girl. To think that my son could be capable of turning a girl into the object of his desire throws me to my knees. I want to teach our son how to not be intimidated by strong women, but encouraged by them. I want to teach him that real strength is found in vulnerability, not arrogance and pride. I long for him to be a man known for humility above all else. And I haven’t the slightest clue how to do it.

So today while perusing the little man section at H&M, I stopped and stared for far too long at this pair of shoes. I found myself praying, “God, help me raise this little man,” while gazing at these little-man sweaters and boots, and feeling our own kicking inside me. And although his kicks intimidate me, I am so grateful for the chance to discover what this boy-raising-journey will bring.

About a year ago, I stumbled upon this website that provided creative, beautiful desktops for every month. The best part? It’s F-R-E-E. Plus, who doesn’t love a little desktop-love to start the new month? It’s become one of my favorite parts about the first of the month. Here’s the one I chose for October:

See? You know you want one. Go choose your October.

During pre-marital counseling, Kyle and I were encouraged to come up with ways to love each other in big, noticeable ways. We learned each other’s language, so-to-speak, in the things that speak loudly to us and things that fall silent.

After almost three years of marriage, I confess, the ways Kyle loves me often fall on silent, dissatisfied ears. I am not proud of that.

We have been without a working dishwasher for a little over a year (first-world-problem, I realize). This means that one of us has to take up the task of the dishes. While I wish I could tell you that–in all my domestic greatness–I jump to it, it is often always Kyle. After dinner, anyone can predict the sounds coming from our kitchen on a nightly basis: running water, Pandora radio, and a humming Kyle.

Yes, he hums. It’s adorable.

What’s worse is that perhaps until this morning, when I was doing the dishes, I have not given this a second thought. His nightly task and labor just became something he did. I never considered in the grimy act of scraping crusty food off dishes, he has been fiercely loving me.

As I was mindlessly scrubbing, I started thinking of all the conversations that sat alongside those stained dishes. Tense moments around our table, times we’ve laughed so hard our dog has started barking out of fear, mornings I drank coffee and then left the cup on the kitchen table all day long, creating a ring that Kyle has scrubbed out for over two years.

And never has it occurred to me that in this little, unglamorous act, Kyle has really been saying, “I love you. I love you so much that I’m willing to do this thing that I will never get credit for, and I’ll never ask for anything in return.”

I think this happens in all of our relationships, not just marriage. We begin to take the dirty work for granted, expecting it from those around us, instead of welling up with gratitude. And in my marriage, I can say with confidence that this has been our biggest challenge: we take each other for granted. We start expecting and stop appreciating. We start demanding and stop noticing. We say, “Love me differently, love me more, give me everything,” instead of, “Thank you for every way you already love me.” I hope, in the years to come, that I become better about acknowledging all the unglamorous ways Kyle loves me.

I have written about my dear friend Stephanie before, how she singlehandedly draws out the best in people in every room she enters into, and how she just overall makes life a lot more laughable. She got married this past weekend, and it was such an honor to stand beside her in her wedding day. Her day was special for all sorts of reasons, but on an entirely selfish level, the day was really special for me. Since I’m about 5 months pregnant, I freely admit my emotions are running a little high. There was something about standing next to some of my closest friends, with this baby in my belly, watching Stephanie commit her life to the man we’ve all prayed for, and knowing I was apart of something very big in such a small moment.

The minister had Stephanie and Adam turn around and look at all the people who have been apart of their “story” before he began the ceremony, and to look out at all the teary-eyed faces was a little breathtaking. We all prepare for the big moments of life, the ones that we assume will take our breath away. But that was one that caught me off guard. Thinking about the many people who have shaped Adam’s life and how God knit together experiences that led him to this moment of promising his life to Stephanie was overwhelming. And to look at all the people who have shaped Stephanie’s life, most of whom I know, was equally as beautiful.

And then all the while to glance down at this little belly, and pray the same for him, well . . . that sent this pregnant lady over the emotional edge. I pray that he has the same kind of community as Stephanie and Adam have shared, and that on milestone days, he is able to reflect on all the people who have shaped his story.

Thanks for letting us be apart of your wedding day, Stephanie & Adam. We love you.

Dear baby boy,

We are so thrilled about you. When we heard the words, “You’re having a baby boy!” both of us sat with jaws dropped and staring at the screen with tear-filled eyes. We both failed at coming up with words to describe how swollen with joy our hearts felt. (Don’t tell him I told you this, but your dad may or may not have cried.)

We have prayed for you ever since we found out you existed, before we knew anything about you. And while I pray every day that you keep growing, I also pray for your character.

I pray you are so full of humility that at the first glance of pride, we guide you towards apology and grace.

I pray you are just like your father, in all of his loyalty and strength, and grow up to admire and love him.

I pray you have a heart full of compassion, seek out the broken and hurting, and live with arms open to the world, ready to love it.

I pray you have a hunger and thirst for knowledge, and it comes from a yearning in your soul to know your Creator deeply.

I pray you are a good friend to others, are loyal and true, and seek authentic friendships, no matter how hard it may be.

I pray during the season of your life when you begin to question us, you know that we love you.

I pray your heart will melt when you first discover the grace of Christ. And I pray that you would accept it recklessly.

I pray you will live a life of love.

I pray God gives us guidance when we don’t know what to do.

Most of all, baby boy, I pray we give you to God, as He so graciously gave you to us. I pray He gives us the courage to trust Him with whatever journey He takes you on.

We love you so much already.

You know what the real downside of this Chick-Fil-A controversy is, on an admittedly selfish level?

I’m pregnant. And all I can think about are waffle fries.

I woke up this morning thinking about sinking a crisp waffle fry into one of their delightful ketchup packs, then sipping my Arnold Palmer in blissful glee. Then I remembered it was Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day, and thought, “Well, shoot, there might be long lines. I still want waffle fries.”

And we went, and I think there might have been 200 people in the restaurant alone. I have no idea how many cars wrapped around for the drive-thru. And we even went early so I could be guaranteed said-waffle-fry.

People with cameras everywhere, posting and taking pictures for the world to see that THEY SUPPORT CHICK-FIL-A!!! Which at first was fine, but then it got really weird. First, because (vainly) I was feeling self-conscious, the one day I chose not to do a thing to my hair, my face might be plastered all over Twitter. Something in my soul was stirring and saying, “Am I making an extreme political statement because my craving for waffle fries has overpowered my ability to make sound choices?”  I heard people making all kinds of remarks about how “this will show them!” and all I kept thinking was how much I just wanted some waffle fries. And possibly a milkshake. But definitely a fry. I think the employees even felt a little uncomfortable, as they are, whether they want to or not, being made political statements just by serving people and doing their jobs so they can receive a small income.

So, to those on both sides–disgusted by those posting photos and supporting Chick-Fil-A, don’t hate me. Please. And to those waving their Institution of Marriage Flags, I actually just wanted some waffle fries, so if you see my frazzled, untamed hair in your camera phone, please–for the love of this world, do not post it. I love all people. All I wanted was a crispy waffle fry. And lots of ketchup.