Safest In My Father's Arms

She was more awake today. More alert at the details that surrounded her. Pigeons pecking crumbs in the courtyard. The siren of emergency vehicles whizzing by. The man lifting his cigarette as we stood at the crosswalk. 

Her eyes were wide today. We walked along the boardwalk pier and I could almost see her mind reeling. The blue. The waves. The foam. The bigness. 

We've been to the ocean as a family of three more times than not. Living a dozen miles from the sand and sea has made us regulars in this little place. Venice
 beach is our favorite. 

But today, today it was like she saw it for the first time. 

"You see the water baby girl?" We'd ask, knowing her response wouldn't be verbal. "That's the ocean. The big blue ocean. It's pretty huh?" 

As I stared and clicked away her facial expressions, I got excited about so many other things she has yet to see, taste, smell and touch. A forest. A mountain of snow. A fire made just for smores. A zoo filled with animals she's only been read to about. 

And then my mind did something I'm finding a little too familiar these days. It skipped passed the good parts to the bad parts. As beautiful as this world is, it will crush her someday. Or at least try to. 

It will push her around and call her names. It will tell her she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart or adequate enough.

And she will cry. And I will cry. And cry. And cry. 

She will break, probably more than once. 

Just the thought of her chubby ever present smile fading because life happened makes my insides knot up. 

I'll just lock her in her room forever, so nothing bad can ever happen. But thanks to the foresight of Disney's fairytales, we know the will of a girl cannot be contained to the top of a tower.

I've been asking God to give me a promise for Baby Girl Mo's life. A verse or proverb I can pray over her that will foster courage and strength and beauty; more for my sake than hers.

And then I read this this morning:

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

Which cross-referenced to this:

"If the LORD delights in a man's way, he makes [her] steps firm;  though [she] stumble, [she] will not fall, for the LORD upholds [her] with his hand.  I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread. " (Psalm 34:22-23)

And then I got giddy. 

She's not ours. I mean she is, but she's not fully. She's His! Our girl belongs to the Creator of the Universe, the same God that commanded and empowered giant armies, the One who raised up strong leaders out of nothing and gave them huge callings!

She is safest in His arms. Not ours. 

She was purposed for His mission. Not ours. 

She is more loved by Him than us. As impossible as that seems. 

But so are we. 

We are safest in our Father's arms.

We are purposed for His mission.

We are more loved by Him than anyone else. ( < Click to tweet)

Thank you Jesus! I prayed. 

Thank you that we get to be the one to hold her and wipe her tears and bandage her battle scars. Thank you for trusting her to us so we may see and experience Your grace and love in a more tangible way. 

Thank you for letting us help mold this precious little being. We'll try not to screw it up.

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While motherhood is a very prevalent part of my current season, I try to limit myself to a once a week gush. It's usually Thursdays. Thanks for reading. 

Dream Bigger | Free Wallpaper

I have a tendency to dream big, up to a certain point, never imagining that there may be something past even that. Do you do that too? 

Let's make a pact to dream a little lot bigger. Let's not put fences on what God can or wants to do in our lives. (< Click to tweet) He doesn't color in the lines and neither should we. You in? 

"And it shall be in the last days," God says, "That I will pour out my Spirit on all mankind; And your sons and your daughters will prophesy, and your young men will see visions and your old men will dream dreams." (Acts 2:17 NASB)

What's Your Birth Story?

While motherhood is a very prevalent part of my current season, I try to limit myself to a once a week gush. It's usually Thursdays. Thanks for reading. ---

My best friend is pregnant, and so is another best friend, and so is my sister. You'd think being surrounded by all these pregos would give me baby fever again...and it does. But not in a lets-have-another-one way. More like, oh-lets-talk-about-birth-stories way. 

I loved every moment of my labor and delivery with Baby Girl Mo. Even the scary parts (like pushing for 5 hours) seem like a beautiful piece of the mosaic. Every story needs a little suspense and tension and fear to make it good right? 

I could talk about that day for hours upon hours. Every detail. Every nuance. 

The nurses I did like and the ones I, um, didn't prefer. 

The view from my window and the overwhelming smell of antibacterial soaps. 

How our families flooded my delivery room and we played games and laughed while my contractions were shooting off the chart. 

And how I cried when my bestie called during labor.

My mother praying over me while I pushed.

My sisters face when the head began to crown.

Ty's championing voice so close to my face that I could feel the steam from his tears. 

The pushing, the meditating, the concentrating, and yes, even the pain.

And then the scream. The wailing scream of my sweet first born child. 

Yes, I love that day. 

And since then, whenever I see a mom, I'm compelled to ask her about her "day." It seemed a little intrusive the first time the question flew from my lips, but to my surprise, most women love talking about their day! 

So I figured, why not go cyber with the question!

What was you day like?! 

Was it exactly how you planned or did you get a few surprises?

• If you're a blogger, share the link to your birth story in the link up below.
• Don't have a blog? That's okay! Write your story in the comments. There's no maximum so type away!

An InLinkz Link-up

Write for the Sisterhood

I use to write because I had something to say. It wasn't always good or important, nor did every word really make sense. But it was something. With more questions than statements, writing has always been something I do because I have to. I have to.

Journalling was my sole writing outlet, before technology took over the world. I have boxes of old journals I've kept since high school. Every time we move, Ty asks, "Are you sure you need all of these? Seems a little over zealous."

#ohnohedidnt

I'm the girl who has more journals than time to actually write in them. It's a collection of sorts. Yea, that's what we'll call it.

Journalling became a habit at a young age when my parents bought me my first big girl Bible and a journal. I think I was 9. I felt so grown up. I remember seeing all the women come in for Bible study with their journals and Bibles in hand. One was never without the other. It was as if they were one big bulky book. 

But the women in that room weren't just Bible study buddies. They were phileo friends. Friends that did life, all of life, together. Even the ugly parts. One's husband wasn't a Christian, and let the world know. The other's husband was from a different country and belief system. The other was locked in her house by her husband so she couldn't go to Bible study. And the last one was my mother, a new divorcee desperate for a sisterhood. All with children. All broken. 

Journalling, to them, became the heartbeat of their gatherings. They'd bring their thoughts from the week into one place, lay them out on the table, and pray over each one. Over the next two decades, those prayers, answered and unanswered, would bind them together with a love so deep, so rich, so full of hope and substance. 

They didn't journal because it was a cute, cool hobby to pass time. They journalled because they had to. 

They had something to say, something to offer one another amidst their own brokeness. Even if it came out in bite sized pieces. 

A sisterhood. 

Regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it. 

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other, in step with each other. None of this going off and doing your own thing. And cultivate thankfulness.  

Let the Word of Christ—the Message—have the run of the house. Give it plenty of room in your lives. Instruct and direct one another using good common sense. 

And sing, sing your hearts out to God! Let every detail in your lives—words, actions, whatever—be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way. (Colossians 3:14-17 MSG)

I want that. 

So I keep a journal and fill it with my everyday ramblings, my scattered rabbit trails, my haunting questions and my deepest cries. 

I keep it in hopes that someday, when my very own sisterhood comes together, maybe even here in this blog space, I'll have something to offer. I keep it in hopes that it adds even the tiniest bit of faith to her spirit.

And I'd encourage you to do the same. No matter how dramatic or predictable you feel your life is, you have a story that someone needs to hear. You have learned lessons the hard way and someone needs your wisdom. But they can't hear it unless you tell it. 

So write. Paint. Make music. Tell your story in whatever way brings you the most joy and do it vigorously and freely. Do it for your sisterhood. 

Dirty Stove Top | My Stone Collective

There's a quote I've seen float around Facebook and Pinterest every now and then that says, "Excuse the mess, we live here." Have you seen that one? I chort to myself when I see it because, man oh man, is it true.

My stove top is often neglected in the "hurry clean the house someone's coming over!" bustle. You know exactly what I'm talking about right? The floor gets vacuumed, shelves get dusted (or something like it), pillows get fluffed and toilets get wiped, but rarely does my stove get attended to.

The other day a friend of mine came over and as she walked into my tiny kitchen, I cringed at the sight of my stove top. Dang it. I thought. I made a casual joke about Ty and I always fighting over who has to clean the stove and so it rarely gets done. haha. chuckle chuckle. please don't judge me. 

We went on about our day but I couldn't get that moment out of my head.

Why was I so ashamed about my stove top being dirty? Was it because of the fact that it was dirty or  because maybe I thought it represented me? My laziness. My inability to become anything domestic. I mean, the food on the stove wasn't even there because I cooked last...Ty did. He's normally the one who cooked last.

Shoot.

That was it. That dirty stove, in that moment, beamed like a spotlight of what I considered failure.

You don't clean enough Jules. Cooking? Forget about it. You'll never be a good housewife. 

Discouragement. Disappointment.

And then I remembered my calling. My promise to God and my family.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and might. These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as frontals on your forehead. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates."Deuteronomy 6:5-9

I wasn't called to be the perfect wife or mother or chef or house tidier. I wasn't called to perfection at all.

I was called to live.

Live fully and freely and in a way that would honor and love my God. I was called to live in such a way that His grace and love and hope would be natural verbs of my life.

I was called to talk about Him, to my husband and my girl and everyone that comes in that front door.

Into my messy kitchen.

Yes, I was called live, and my dirty stove reminded me that I lived that day. It is my Ebenezer stone that reminded me I fed, I nurtured, and I enjoyed doing it.

Are you too, easily ashamed of piece of your home? How about we learn to not be ashamed together?  Let's learn to be alive, together.
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The Stone Collective is a community making much of Jesus as we create art, photography, prose, poems or music that commemorate the wonderful things God does in our life. Started by Sarah Martin and based on the passage in 1 Samuel 7:12-14, each month we will collect Ebenezer Stones as a regularly practice in the art of worship via our creativity. 

Want to join in on The Stone Collective? Create your own Stone and link up to LIVE IT OUT! Blog. #TheStoneCollective

10 Notable Blogs to Read | I Get Around

I'm not a heavy reader. I get bored when I read for too long. #confession But I love scanning blogs and more often than not I get caught up in someone's faith journey, album/book release party, dress mishap or marriage lessons. I share a lot of articles via Facebook, but for the sake of my own recollection, I'd thought I'd start summing up notable blogs here.

ON LIFE

• In Which You Are a Beloved Warrior, was the most amazing way to start out my week. Guy or gal, it's worth a read. (Sarah Bessey)
• Yes, the protagonist of any decent story must want something, and want it bad enough to walk through fire, but she is not expected to plow through obstacles on her own. The Meaning of a Mentor. (Darling Mag)

ON MUSIC / WORSHIP

• Kari Jobe has a new worship album and you should get it. 
• Mutemath is one of Ty's favorite bands, and Mutemath's band wives are pretty cool. Laura has rad style and seems like a sweety. Stacy, well, she's Sucre. And I love her. 

ON MOMMING 

• I hope I will be the kind of mom who ask for forgiveness. If I ever hear the words, I Forgive You Mom, from my sweet girl, I will sob. (Natalie Falls)
• Motherhood is awesome. And hilarious. Thank you Scary Mommy for saying the things that make the rest of us blush and giggle and raise our hands in an "Amen!" (Scary Mommy)

ON MARRIAGE 

• And Then I Stopped Talking to My Husband, an article filled with so much truth I stared at my screen for minutes to let it soak in. (Laura Tremaine)
• In Lasting Love, the first sentence is, "I am selfish. and used to be entitled, and just overall immature." Dude, me too. (Casey Wiegand)
• Conscious Uncoupling of the Martins. My heart broke and so did my non-star-struck husband's. But really, it's none of our business. (Gwyneth Paltrow)

original bike photo via

8 Months and a Mother's Poem

Look right here, sweet child of mine,
Your eyes so dark they swallow time,
The great unknown within your reach,
The One who knows will surely teach.

There is no need to fear the world,
It was built with love my sweet girl,
It's broken yes, and battered blue,
But now it's up to me and you,
To heal with hand and heart that's pure,
For only true love will endure.

Sometimes we see only what we want to see,
But trust me girl, that's not who you want to be,
Take heed to our words and keep open your eyes,
So you see what's before you and learn from the wise.

Your innocence in mama's bonnet,
Will someday be quite a sonnet,
Your voice will be heard from the top of the mount,
Just remember who loves you and what life's about.

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Sym's Outfit | Bonnet, hand-me-down, Polka Onsie, Carter's, Black leggings, Carter's

Why I’m Letting My Husband Off the Newlywed Hook

In life there are beautiful friendships that take time and energy to develop. And then there are friendships that are instant, electric and for life. Christina is one of those friends for me. Her writing and vulnerability will make you feel like you're chatting in her living with room a cup of tea in hand. I know, because I've been there. -JM

The newlywed phase is a beautiful thing. 

Sparks, romance, and hundreds of romantic-comedy worthy moments strung together to make up the first few years of marriage. There’s breakfasts in bed, always sharing the love seat, fetching drinks and other desired objects, and of course, cuddling. This is my newlywed snapshot. Maybe it’s yours, too. Maybe it’s not, but regardless of what it looks like, all marriages start out in their own snapshot of what love is all about. 

But then what?

Here it comes…

The slow (or not so slow) waning of flame, fizzle of oomph, and the like. In other words, time snuffs out the brand new, romance-driven, enticing day to day stimulation of being newlyweds. This is where I currently find myself: 3 years and 1 baby into my marriage and seemingly losing steam. 

I’ll be honest with you. I blamed it on him. I was convinced he wasn’t as interested in me, bored, getting lazy, seeing me as just another person in his day to day life. I whined about it. I complained I wasn’t getting enough attention and feeling loved. 

You see, he just wasn’t making a big enough fuss about me anymore.

Then God did something awesome. 

In so many ways, after however many silly fights, He showed me the whimsical idea of marriage I’d built up for myself was flawed, destructive, and littered with selfishness. It wasn’t love at all. 

I was expecting my husband to entertain my emotions with new and interesting behaviors, to win me over day after day with his chivalry and adoration. Sounds exhausting, doesn’t it? My quick fix: sell myself more effectively. This quickly lead to a roller coaster of highs and lows and ultimately dissatisfaction. 

Another loving intervention: "Your idea is flawed, but my idea is perfect. Let go of your culture-charged, emotion-driven ideas and let me show you something amazing." Our model for love in marriage (in any relationship, really!) is Christ.

Fully knowing our hearts and flaws, He gave himself up, out of love, so that we might have freedom from our sinful hearts and stand before the Father restored and redeemed. 

Marriage is the perfect relationship to grow more like Christ. (Click to tweet!) As we come to know each other intimately, forgiving each other’s sins, and loving each other without strings attached, we can stand before each other fully known, completely flawed, and madly in love. Suddenly my romantic ideas looked more like shadows of an incredible love story.

God’s love story for me.

Timothy Keller wrote in, The Meaning of Marriage:

“Romance, sex, laughter, and plain fun are the by-products of this process of sanctification, refinement, glorification. Those things are important, but they can’t keep a marriage going through years and years of ordinary life. What keeps the marriage going is your commitment to your spouse’s holiness. You’re committed to his or her beauty. You’re committed to his greatness and perfection. You’re committed to her honesty and passion for the things of God. That’s your job as a spouse."

I lost sight of this. 

I forgot that this thing called marriage was about encouraging, loving, and walking through the process of becoming more like Christ. I let my focus fall from the incredible leader and father God was currently molding my husband to be, to the ways he was failing to serve my emotions. I was missing out on seeing the very thing that made me fall in love with him come to light. I was settling for a cheap version of romance when God (and my husband!) had something much greater in mind. 

Maybe you are, too.

So, I am letting my husband off the newlywed hook. 

I am letting myself off the newlywed hook.  I am abandoning my silly ideas of love and romance, my selfishness, my need to be made much of, and my attempts to present my husband with a flawless bride. 

I am committing myself to truly loving and knowing my husband as he grows into what God has for him. I am embracing the freedom in letting my husband see who I am and who I am becoming with the incredibly romantic knowledge that God has written our love story and it’s better than I ever imagined. 

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Written by Christina Nunez, wife, mother, writer and best friend. 
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Photos via Lukabella & Kandis Howell Photography